Time Enough for Love (11 page)

Nodding, he opened the door without question. “My lord,” he announced, “the lady Gwendolyn has arrived.”

Surprised, Alberto looked up from his desk, caught in the act of pouring wine into his cup. He stopped mid-pour and gaped, his expression one of frank approval, his eyes drinking in her new image, her female self. He put the bottle on the table and smiled at her.

Gwen loved how he looked, too. Scrubbed and shaved, clean clothes, eyes sparkling, Alberto looked delicious and she wanted a taste – more than a taste.

It took every ounce of willpower to keep still, to resist launching herself into his arms, and she abandoned all thoughts of telling him about time traveling. She tried to keep her excitement to herself as Alberto cleared his throat, then told the guard matter-of-factly, “You are dismissed.”

The door clicked shut.

“Gwendolyn, you beguile me,” his voice was low, steeped with tenderness, “and I am smitten anew. First a boy-monk, then a beautiful woman and a mighty warrior, a passionate lover, and now a lady of high estate.”

Overwhelmed by this outpouring of admiration, Gwen asked, “And you prefer?”

Still slightly favoring his leg, he walked around the desk and took her hands, then kissed her softly. “Obviously not the boy, but the rest, I have come to realize the others – each of them – are facets of your true being and no mere disguise. I prefer all of you.” He stepped back and looked her over once more. “You are lovely. That shade of rose exactly captures the sweet blush of your cheeks.”

Wow. She would have laughed off the same comment from anyone in her own time, but from him, the words captivated.

Alberto pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I have needed you beside me more than you know, Gwen. I sent for you in hopes we might have a quiet meal together, but how in heaven did you get here so quickly? I only just sent word.”

“Oh, I came on my own,” Gwen admitted. “The queen suggested, practically ordered me to come up here. So I did, without waiting for an invitation.”

“I’m glad you did.” He nodded thoughtfully. “You look so serious. You say the queen ordered you here? Does she send a message?”

“No, no message, but…” Gwen felt a resurgence of nerves as her voice trailed off.

“But?” he asked. He paused, but when she didn’t respond, he added, “All in good time. As I said, I ordered some supper for us. Let us take our ease.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, I am fearfully hungry.”

If she hadn’t been so nervous, she would have laughed. She was hungry, too, but not for food. Her gaze dropped to his lips as they curved into a delicious smile. Resolve crumbling, she took a breath, steadying herself.

He released her hands and poured her some wine. “A toast.”

“Yes, to us,” she blurted.

His eyebrows lifted, then he chuckled. “My sentiments exactly.”

They drank in silence, his gaze as intense as the wine, and she didn’t want to wait any longer, not for talk, not for food.

She leaned forward and looked at him directly. “Alberto,” she said softly, “can’t we put off eating until later?”

With a shiver of desire, she kissed the base of his throat just where the edge of his tunic rested.

“Don’t, Gwen. I’m not that strong.” He breathed in her ear, a whisper-soft caress. “For the queen’s sake, we cannot allow ourselves… I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if we tempted too much.”

“Adelaide told me,” she looked up at him, “she said life is too short to bother with convention.”

“She said
what
?”

“She encouraged me to stay the night.”

Watching her with his dark, sultry eyes, he put their cups aside, took her face in his hands, and kissed her with a rush of longing. “Gwendolyn.”

“Yes,” she replied, aching for him.

He led her down a hallway into a sparsely decorated bedroom.

Closing the door, he pulled her close. “Had I known you’d be staying,” he kissed her tenderly, “I would have brought in the finest linens and pillows of down.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed any of it.”

“But you deserve the best. This moment—”

“Alberto,” Gwen slipped her dress off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, then put her arms around him, “take me to bed.”

He traced his finger along her neck, from earlobe to collarbone, before his lips followed the same course.

Gwen moaned as his feather-light touch sent a frisson of heat through her body. He cupped her breast, his hand moving over her curves down to her hips, and then pulled her close.

She wanted no amount of distance to separate them ever again. “I need you naked, now.”

“Dear Lord,” Alberto whispered.

She laughed and helped him out of his clothes, then he lifted her and carried her to bed.

“My Gwendolyn,” he murmured, kissing her neck, her breasts, her stomach with tenderness. He touched her cheek and gazed into her eyes. “Life without you has been a torment.” He ran a fingertip across her lips. “I cannot go forward without you. I must have you at my side, forever.”

He covered her mouth with his before she could respond, letting passions rule. Gwen reveled in his love for her and communicated her own in every way shy of spoken language.

When he entered her, her world was right, their bond rising far beyond lust. This was where she was meant to be.

As her body responded, as her climax drew near, she threw her arms back and clutched the sheets, then let herself go with a cry of ecstasy.

*

Deep in the night, by the light of a single candle, they sat, propped on pillows, and nibbled at the food that had been set out for dinner.

“Adelaide confided something,” Gwen said. “Something personal. I don’t think she’d mind if told you.”

“It won’t go beyond me, I swear.”

“She is in love, and she says she’s certain he feels the same.”

“She hasn’t…” Alberto frowned, his voice grave with concern. “No, she wouldn’t have. With whom is she in love? Do you know?”

“Yes. Otto of Germany.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he showed no other response. “I see.”

“The queen has had a difficult time recently,” Gwen argued. “I hope she finds happiness with him.”

“As do I.” He was watching her intently. “Our queen is a very wise woman, and I am thankful for the situation, although I can’t imagine when they would have met.”

“It was the day before her wedding. There was a very brief encounter in the church, no more than a chance moment spent together, but she’s sure.”

“Well, she’ll have no arguments from me, nor, I think, from the Pope or anyone else. It would seem to me to be a very advantageous union, and I wish her well. Otto will ensure Emma’s protection, and, more importantly, Adelaide may yet bear a son.”

Gwen studied his earnest expression. “Where I come from, women inherit thrones, too, and men are proud of their daughters.”

He stared at her for a moment, then grinned. “Ha! Would you were a queen, my Gwendolyn! I think it fair to say you would have all the men in this realm at your beck and call, awaiting your every command. There would be no disorder in these parts, of that I am sure.”

He chivalrously kissed her forehead, adding, “You will like my daughter. They say she resembles me, and she is quite intelligent. In fact, it would not surprise me if she grows up to be a strong, clever woman. Like you.”

Alberto drank the last of his wine, or seemed to, then turned the cup and held it out to her. She touched the rim with her lips, sensing the warmth he’d left there only moments before.

He gently tipped the cup and she drank.

“All that is mine is yours,” he said, “whenever you decide to claim it.”

Was that a proposal? No, not quite. Not yet. She thought about bringing up her truth, but the moment was too perfect to spoil with a heavy discussion.

They kissed and the world grew distant, all troubles and cares forgotten.

“We may yet sleep this night.” Alberto smiled. “But I think not just now. I don’t want to waste even a moment on dreams, not when the fulfillment of my dreams is lying beside me.”

“I feel the same way.”

He covered her body with his, and the world spun out of control around them.

Later, as they lay entangled and her breathing slowed, Gwen wondered at how full her life seemed with Alberto. She smiled, her contentment reaching far beyond the moment as she started to drift off.

Suddenly, she was jarred awake as she recalled her need to tell him her truth. Just as quickly, Adelaide’s words came back to her:
Think how much he means to you – how short is our time upon this Earth…

She stared out, the flicker of the solitary candle faint, wavering on the dusky walls. Her mind drifted and she saw glimpses of the last few months, little memories of what had been, the good people she’d met. But then a vision rose full-blown, enveloping her in fear: Willa standing in the moonlit garden, beautiful, bewitching, and totally evil.

Gwen shivered, wanting to block out the image.
Don’t go there
, she ordered herself. Willa had no hold on her, but, then again, she might have the power to send her home.

No!

She gazed at Alberto, deep asleep, his features at peace. I can’t leave you, she thought.
I’m here forever. This is my life, and I’ve got to find the courage to tell you how I came here. Who I really am.

The candle’s flame winked out, and Gwen pondered the dark, the unknowable, her future.

Holding her reins with one hand, Adelaide shielded her eyes against the sun’s afternoon glare. The twisted, eroded hills, chalky-white earth, and sparse vegetation of the Apennine foothills stood in stark contrast to the verdant valleys of Lombardy. Here, the land was barren and forbidding, seemingly as lonely as her heart.

She felt drained, realizing she desperately needed her daughter. How long had it been? Four months? Nearly five?

Oh, when would she see Emma again?

Adelaide cast a glance in Gwen’s direction, but her friend’s eyes were remote, as if she were also withdrawn into her thoughts.

Sighing, Adelaide let her gaze wander on. To her left lay an opening in the Enza Valley, a deep side canyon. Within, she spotted an advance-guard citadel built upon a sharp rise of red rock. She had heard of this place, the fortress named for its flaming stone, Rossena. Some of Alberto’s forces would bleed off here to protect their rear, the rest following him the last few miles to his keep.

Would she be safe, once there? Would someone have news of Emma? Surely, there would be dispatches from her allies. She forced herself to control her emotions.
We are close, so close.

The battlements of Rossena threw long, slanting shadows across the valley floor. As Adelaide passed from brightness to shade, she saw a pinnacle of white rock in the distance. A castle was perched atop the rise, constructed from the same gleaming mineral.

Canossa.

Moving into the sunshine again, Adelaide was stunned. Canossa looked pure and bright, heavenly.

She swallowed, her thoughts once more verging on darkness. Was this the beginning, or the end? And what of King Otto? If Berengar was indeed on the march, would Otto arrive in time?
He must arrive! He must!

“Halt,” Lord Alberto called out.

Adelaide watched as he wheeled his horse around and trotted back to them. He pulled off his helmet, his demeanor confident, easy. Was he attempting to bolster her spirits, or were his feelings genuine?

“Most Gracious Queen,” he managed a small bow from the waist, “my men secure us from behind, and the very mountains around us secure our flanks. In a short while, you shall be safely within the walls of Canossa.” Smiling, he winked at Gwen, then looked beyond them to his men and shouted, “We have prevailed!”

A roar erupted behind Adelaide, a heartening din. But she barely noticed the thunderous response. She shuddered. Gazing at Canossa, tears blurred her vision, and she realized it promised safe haven. Yet, she could not feel secure until her enemy was utterly defeated, until someone confirmed Emma was indeed out of harm’s way.

Oh, how she needed to kiss and hold Emma! Yet, she would take a crumb, any crumb that assured her daughter was in safe hands.
Please, Lord, my security matters not. I beg You, I implore You, keep Emma in Your special care.

God, where, oh where, was she?

*

They’d made it! Gwen rode through a trio of massive gates, which allowed passage through the triple circuit of defensive walls surrounding the lower slopes of Canossa’s summit. The walls enclosed rings of well-made buildings, including stables, barracks, kitchens, warehouses, a great stone church, and various lodgings. But the structures drew only cursory looks from Gwen, for the citadel far above, gleaming, bright – and stunningly desolate – had fully captured her attention.

My new home… all the way up there? And where is Prangilda? I can’t believe she lives there. It seems so, so…

She studied the looming white battlements. Formidable, pure military. The place was built to withstand a siege, a last resort against deadly enemies. She tried to imagine a two-year-old spending her whole life surrounded by fortress walls and soldiers, with no mother and a father always off to war. Poor thing.

She shook her head as they passed through the last of the gates. She needed to brace herself for what was coming.

“My queen, allow me to help you.” Alberto assisted the queen in her dismount.

Broken arm still nestled in a sling, Father Warinus rode up, alighted with assistance, and joined Adelaide.

After seeing them safely into the care of a welcoming committee, Alberto faced Gwen. “Come,” he said, reaching for her as she moved off her horse. She felt the strength in his arms as he caught her. For the briefest of moments, he pulled her close, his lips lightly brushing her hair, as if to signal,
I love you. You are safe with me
.

“Thank you, Alberto.”

Releasing her, he nodded and said, “Stay close. I’ll be but a moment,” and then he turned away, intent on seeing to the immediate needs of his men. The courtyard swarmed with a jumble of horses, soldiers, servants, and retainers.

Gwen stayed near Alberto’s side, listening as he fired off orders. She thought of his daughter again, knowing their meeting was imminent. She scanned the surrounding buildings. Was Gilda already watching them? How would the child react to her, a stranger?

Gwen’s mouth went dry. She looked at Alberto and noticed his face looked wind burned, his brow creased with worry. Was it her imagination, or were those new lines at the corners of his eyes? She felt sure the last thing he was thinking about was how well she’d get along with his daughter.

As if in answer, he turned back to her. “Come, I would have you meet Gilda now.” He frowned. “I pray she doesn’t weep this time, but prepare yourself, for I usually set her off when first she lays eyes on me.”

Alberto took Gwen by the hand and they started to maneuver through the square. This time, when she looked up at the citadel, she was hit by a new thought: Canossa seemed like La Rocca’s mirror image – white versus black. Somehow, this rather theatrical comparison comforted her. Goodness and light versus dark malice, right versus might. As with all her favorite tales, good would defeat evil. A happy ending. She glanced at Alberto. All true romances had happy endings, didn’t they?

With that glimmer of hope, she found herself smiling. What had Alberto shouted to his troops?
We have prevailed.

Yes, no matter what, they would prevail.

But her smile waned as her gaze followed a spiraling line of steps cut into the living rock, rising about two hundred feet from base to summit. “Does your daughter live all the way up there, Alberto?” she asked.

He looked surprised. “No. Did I not tell you? My lodgings and hers are in the forecourt over yonder. The battlements are for defense only. Pray we shall not need to climb the heights except to take in the view for our pleasure.”

Their eyes met and he nodded once, a determined smile on his lips.

“Come,” he added, softly. “Let us not think of battles just now, not on this day of homecoming.”

*

After receiving a bouquet of pink roses from Canossa’s chief steward, Ambrogio, Adelaide accepted his welcome.

“My lady, a monk arrived here yesterday, a courier from the Vatican. He bears a letter for you, sent from the Holy Father. He told me but one thing more; the message deals with a personal matter.”

Emma! A small crack erupted from Adelaide’s knuckles, and she was instantly aware of how tightly she gripped the flowers. She looked at Father Warinus.

“Pray it is good news,” he said, plainly reading her mind.

“Come, my lady,” Ambrogio said. “The monk awaits you at the Church of St. Nicholas.”

Heart pounding, Adelaide hastened after the steward, Father Warinus following behind. They left the courtyard and backtracked through the innermost gate, making their way to the church, located within the second ring of walls. They entered a building adjacent to the church, passing through a side door into a small foyer. A monk in a black cowl sat on a bench, holding a beribboned scroll.

Seeing Adelaide, he leapt to his feet and bowed. “Madam,” he said in a German accent, “we met two years past, in Pavia. I am Brother Felix.” His gaze fixed on Father Warinus’s sling. “Ah, Father, I heard your part in this grew to be much more than that of a diplomat.”

The priest nodded as Brother Felix held forth the parchment for the queen.

“Forgive me,” she said, shoving the roses into the steward’s hands. Trembling, she snatched the scroll, fumbling, tearing the ribbon, and breaking the seal.

Unrolling the parchment, Adelaide’s eyes filled, and she tried to read the Latin, but faltered, blind with trepidation.

Father Warinus’s voice broke through. “With your permission?”

She felt the scroll leave her hand, just as someone helped her to the bench.

Adelaide wiped at her brimming eyes. “Pray, what does it say?”

There was a brief pause, then Warinus read:
“
Pax vobiscum. Infans tuus mecum.
”

She found the words – and her mind – scrambled beyond reason, such was her fear. “What does he mean, Father?”

“Queen Adelaide, he says, ‘Be at peace. Your child resides with me.’”

It took a moment for her mind to grasp the meaning of the words.

“Praise God!” A deep, crushing weight dissipated, freeing Adelaide, body and soul. Tears flowed, but now she was awash in joy. Emma, safe!

*

Holding hands, Gwen and Alberto entered the great hall. Before them stood a host of genuflecting men and women, a scattering of graceful Italian greyhounds, and one two-and-a-half-year-old girl. She was a striking child, her dark ringlets framing a pretty face with large, sparkling, hazel eyes.

Gwen’s heart melted. Except for the color of her eyes, Gilda was the image of her father. “Oh, Alberto, she’s darling!”

He watched his child, his face a mask, but Gwen felt a little squeeze as he withdrew his hand from hers and solemnly stepped forward.

Immediately, a woman dressed in blue nudged Gilda toward him.

The little girl hesitated and glanced back, but the woman shook her head. “No, no, my dear. Go now. Mind your manners, just as you’ve been taught.”

Tiny Gilda stared at her a moment more, then turned and started toward her father with a childishly determined step. She was so young, a toddler really, yet to Gwen’s mind, she already possessed immeasurable poise.

The girl stopped before Alberto and curtsied, then looked up at him, her eyes glinting, green-brown-green, as they caught the light.

“Welcome, my lord father,” she said in a high-pitched voice. She reached out and kissed the hem of his tunic.

Alberto turned and took Gwen’s hand again, bringing her forward to stand at his side. “Thank you, my daughter,” he pronounced, sounding so formal. “I would like to introduce you to a very special lady.”

The little girl stared at Gwen, her chameleon eyes gone wide. In surprise? Shock? Suspicion?

Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. “Gilda,” she quickly said, seeking to reassure, “your father has told me so much about you, and he was right. You are very pretty. It is indeed a pleasure––”

“Are you going to be my new mama?” Gilda asked.

Murmurs swept the crowd and Alberto smiled. Taken off-guard, Gwen smiled back, wondering the same thing.

*

Gilda’s question only reinforced what Alberto had been thinking all along: his girl needed a mother. And a father. He could almost hear Gwen’s voice emphasizing the second point.

He reached out to his child, picking her up in his arms. The burden was unfamiliar, yet instinctively welcome, her body light, yet seemingly heavy with blame. A wave of guilt surged through him, crowding out the lightheartedness he’d felt only a moment before.

Ashamed, he felt the girl snuggle against him. Thankfully, his absence, his distance, had not yet hardened her heart. He smelled her sweet-scented locks, then watched in awe as she reached out to Gwendolyn.

Gwen’s eyes filled with tears as she took the child from Alberto. He tried to control his smile as he watched the two embrace, as he heard his daughter say, “Mama.”

*

It was nearly sunset. Panting with the effort, Gwen followed Alberto and the greyhounds up the last few steps to the top of Canossa’s bastion.

The soldiers on watch bowed to their lord, then turned away, giving them a modicum of privacy. Gwen sought to catch her breath, glancing at the western horizon, the great, ruby orb sinking, almost gone.

With the dogs loping about, Alberto took her hand and led her to the southern wall. Gwen stared out at the ancient Apennines, rolling on in low hillocks and mounds, until they surged up to form the faraway pinnacles of Pellegrino.

“My father, Sigifredo, came from Lucca, in Tuscany,” Alberto pointed south, “and bought seigniorial rights to Reggio and the lands around it. He died six years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She fought a sudden surge of emotion. “I understand. It’s hard to lose parents.”

Alberto nodded. “It was made even harder, coming as it did on the heels of my brother’s death. I was the second son. The title belonged to my elder brother, Tedaldo, but he was killed in battle against the Saracens.”

“I am so sorry, Alberto.”

“Thank you.” Falling silent, he squeezed her hand and then moved off, focused on the distance.

Gwen remained quiet, allowing him time to think, and wandered to the western battlements. With a sigh, she looked at the gorgeous pink-tinged clouds gracing the horizon. It was hard to believe this place had been built solely for war.