Time Enough for Love (19 page)

Alberto looked at her, his gaze ardent. “We’ve come through heartache to miracle. I love you, Gwendolyn.” Slowly, he slipped the ruby ring, one by one, onto the first three fingers of her left hand, adding, “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” He left it resting on her third finger, then took a pouch from his belt. He poured thirteen golden coins into her palm and closed her fingers around them. “With this ring, I thee wed, with this gold, I thee honor…”

Gwen knew what was coming next, for she had just seen Adelaide do it at her own ceremony. She was supposed to cast herself at Alberto’s feet and pay homage to her new lord and master. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable but ready.

“Gwen, stop,” Alberto said, reading her mind. “Stand beside me.” He bowed to the king and queen and then to his sister. “Gwendolyn comes from a land where women do not prostrate themselves before their husbands. I accept this, for I honor her ways. I humbly ask you do the same.”

They seemed surprised by his request, but Gwen was hardly aware of the stir. She looked directly into Alberto’s eyes and caught the spark of his keen intelligence and thoughtfulness. He understood. She didn’t even have to ask.

Alberto smiled in response and raised Gwen’s hand. “It is done! We are husband and wife!”

Father Warinus stepped forward and made the sign of the cross, but was interrupted before he could speak.

“Good Father,” Otto said, “the queen and I are already overdue at our wedding feast. I ask that you say a blessing on them and leave the nuptial Mass for tomorrow morning. We all have other places we need to be.”

Flushing slightly, Warinus cleared his throat, then nodded. After saying a brief prayer, he bestowed the Kiss of Peace upon Alberto’s lips, which Alberto then transferred to his bride, a tender brushing of flesh against flesh, the promise of love eternal.

With the ceremony over, Gwen and Alberto were hurried to his bedchamber. Father Warinus blessed the room and nuptial bed as Adelaide and Margherita merrily checked beneath pillows and covers for split acorns or broken beans, ill-luck charms that would hinder the wedding night.

When they were done, Adelaide gave Gwen a kiss on the cheek and hurried to Otto’s side, but Margherita stopped and curtsied deeply. “We shall make proper acquaintance in the morn, sister. But know that you are welcome in the family.” She glanced at Alberto and smiled. “To see my brother healed in his heart and happy again is a gift greater than any I could have wished for. Sleep well, you two. And love well this night.”

Alberto laughed, watching them leave. “My sister has an earthy sense of humor,” he said, pouring wine into two goblets and handing one to Gwen.

She touched his cheek, then drew his face to hers and kissed him. “I love you. Tell me this is real and not a dream, a dream about to turn into a nightmare again.”

His free hand encircled her waist. “It is real, my love. Both our nightmares have ended now, never to return.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he whispered, then leaned down and kissed her deeply, the moment lingering, building.

When he drew back, he smiled and raised his glass for a toast. “To an end of our misery and the start of a beautiful, long life together.”

Gwen smiled up at him and touched her glass to his. “Yes, to us.”

They both drank, and then a question sprang to Gwen’s mind. “I’m curious about something.”

“Yes?”

“It all happened so fast, how did you know, how could you have been certain I would forgive you?”

He pulled back and frowned. “I did not hold any illusions in that regard, only a tortured hope. Why do you ask?”

“You had that bag of coins ready on your belt,” Gwen responded. “Do you always carry one around with the exact amount?”

Alberto chuckled. “You are far too observant. You have caught me out. It was Adelaide who slipped me the one Otto had given her at their ceremony. I promise I will reimburse them.”

Gwen grinned. “You had better. I’m sure it would be bad luck if you didn’t. Worse even than finding cracked nuts in the bed!”

Alberto took both cups and set them aside. “No bad luck will touch or impede us this night.” He drew her close. “No,” he said quietly, “not on this night.”

Moans escaped as he pressed against her, as his lips, hot and searing, found her eyes, her mouth, and neck. She pulled at his clothing, wanting to touch his body, to feel him inside her.

He pushed away her gown, letting it fall, his hands moving over her shift, caressing her breasts.

Suddenly, he leaned back and focused. “What is this?” he asked, fingering the embroidered handkerchief.

“Oh.” Gwen faltered. “You wrapped Stefano’s watch in it that day…” Her voice trailed off with aching softness, at the memory of that terrible moment.

“Ah,” he said sorrowfully. He rested his forehead against hers, gazing at the bit of cloth. “I am overwhelmed you kept it, Gwen, that you did not toss it aside or burn it for what I’d done.”

“I could never have done that.” She removed the handkerchief and carefully placed it on the table. “It was all I had left of you. The only thing.”

“Jesus God, forgive me, forgive me.” He looked at her earnestly, his eyes shining with remorse. “To have done what I did after the faith you placed in me… I will regret my actions for the rest of my days.”

“It’s over now,” she said, shaking her head. “Gone.” She kissed him and he picked her up, holding her close. “Take me to bed,” she murmured. “Make love to me, Alberto, now, right now.”

She felt the soft mattress under her back, the weight of his body, hard against her. He kissed her lips, then her breasts.

“Alberto, please, now.”

He penetrated her and she gasped, his dark, smoldering eyes gazing into hers.

His hands gripped hers, fingers locking as he moved within her. They cried out together, rising up as one, losing themselves each in the other, blended, seamless, a love beyond time.

The room was cozy with the heat of several braziers, the leaded glass of the windows keeping out the chill night wind, the bed laden with furs and made even warmer by the bodies nestled within.

Gwen snuggled next to Alberto with her head on his shoulder, the room lit by the pale shimmer of stars. Her eyelids closed of their own accord, then opened in excitement as she remembered the past week they’d spent together in Pavia, the first, wonderful week of their marriage. Their honeymoon. She stretched and smiled. They’d hardly left their bedroom.

Out in the great hall, the royal court was still celebrating the twelfth night of Christmas and the eve of the Epiphany – January 5, 952!

Gwen grinned, recalling how she and Alberto begrudged the king and queen even those few hours spent away from their room, their privacy, but the evening had been magical.

Candles blazing, music, and feasting, all part of a riotous festival. The Lord of Misrule held sway over the evening, a master of revels bent on turning the world upside down with his comic commands: lords and ladies exchanging roles with servants; cross-dressing by men and women alike, the dances becoming hilarious when the men were forced to curtsey and the ladies got to swagger and lead.

As they watched the fun, Adelaide had exchanged a knowing look with Gwen. The queen’s gentle smile, the warmth in her gaze, signaled that the trauma of their great ordeal had started to fade. For each, the terror had been softened by love and the passage of time.

After the antics and fun, the formal dancing began. Every step was measured, everyone moved in unison as partners ebbed away, then flowed back again, each mirroring the other. Gwen could never have imagined, from the vantage point of her other life, how sensual it was to dance this way with Alberto. The barest touch of his hand, the feel of his warm breath on her lips, so near, and yet… the evening was an agony of desire.

One that was fulfilled at last, sometime well past midnight.

Her thoughts turned forward. Later that day, they would leave Pavia for Canossa. She would miss the queen, but beginning her new life with Alberto was thrilling. She could hardly wait.

Her heart still ached with the realization she would never see her family again, but the desire to let them know what had happened seemed more possible now, because of Alberto. He’d promised to help her find a way.

Alberto murmured in his sleep and then fell silent. Gwen watched him, his face bathed in star glow. The gentle curve of his lips, his expression relaxed, his hair black against the pillow, the silver strands invisible now for the dark.

She rose on an elbow, leaned in, and kissed him, her lips barely caressing his.

“I love you,” she whispered, her heart full.

His arms encircled her in answer.

*

There was a knock on the door. Groggy, Gwen rubbed her eyes. Hearing Alberto’s soft snores, she realized two things: he was still in a deep sleep, and the events of the previous week were no dream, but the real thing. She’d had to remind herself every morning. One day she would accept it, but for now she still needed reassurance. Alberto was here, and he would stay with her forever. The darkness and heartache of the past months were gone.

Another knock. She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her shift. Padding to the door, she stood to the side and opened it a crack.

A servant bowed. “My lady, an urgent message for you.” He handed her a scroll, then turned and left. It was sealed with the queen’s crest, stamped in red wax.

Gwen broke the seal and saw Adelaide’s delicate script. She angled it toward the light and read in Latin:
Forgive the intrusion. Please meet me this morn at Tierce, in my private chapel. It concerns Stefano, may God rest his soul. Adélaïda Regina.

Gwen closed the door. Stefano? What was going on?

She tiptoed over to her clothing. Her pack was now relegated to a trunk in her chambers, but she still carried both wristwatches in a hidden pocket of the purse she wore on her belt.

She opened the purse and removed her watch. Eight thirteen. Tierce was at nine o’clock.

She’d better get moving.

By eight fifty-five, Gwen was hustling across the cobbled courtyard toward the queen’s private chapel. Fierce gusts whipped at her cloak, an icy reminder of the not-so-distant Alps. Dark clouds, tinged with sallow yellow, threatened snow. As the wind blasted and howled, the trees swayed and groaned. Winter’s first storm.

Gwen arrived at the chapel out of breath and sweating, despite the cold. Glancing around, she was surprised to find no one there. “Queen Adelaide?”

The door creaked behind her and she turned. Wearing a fur-trimmed cape and gloves, the queen stood at the threshold, Father Warinus by her side. The priest held something covered with a red velvet cloth. It was rectangular, about the size of a shoebox.

Gwen curtsied. “Queen Adelaide. Father.”

“Gwendolyn, I apologize for intruding on your privacy,” Adelaide said. “This arrived an hour ago, another of my wedding gifts. It is a reliquary, come from Sicily.” As the priest pulled away the velvet covering, she added, “It contains a relic, the finger of Santa Lucia.”

Gwen gasped. It was the golden and rock crystal box, the very one she’d seen in the church in Santa Lucia, right before the earthquake. The one Stefano had shown them during his tour.

She realized Adelaide was studying her. Father Warinus frowned, his gaze going back and forth between them.

“Gwendolyn,” Adelaide took her arm, “come, let me find you a seat. You look as if you might faint. Sometimes relics have that effect, the shock of seeing disembodied flesh.”

Gwen suddenly realized something was missing – the mummified finger was bare. “Where is the emerald ring?” she blurted.

Adelaide halted and let go of her arm. “What?”

“I… I… never mind. Forget I said it.”

“Could you have meant my ring?” Adelaide asked, confused, as she removed her gloves and held forth her right hand. “My Otto gifted this to me last night in the privacy of our bedchamber. Did you already know of it? Does it have some connection with the reliquary?”

Gwen gaped. It was the same ring she’d seen on the saint’s finger, centuries in the future.

Searching to cover her shock, Gwen stammered, “No, no, I was confused. It’s beautiful. Why did you ask me to come?”

“Because Stefano… he, he cried out to Santa Lucia over and over again when he was being tortured by Willa.” Adelaide sighed and crossed herself. “Father Warinus and I spoke of it this morn, Gwen. He was your friend. Did the saint hold some significance for him? The gift seems so providential.”

Gwen glanced at the priest. “I cannot say.”

Adelaide stared into her eyes. “Father,” the queen said, “we have need of wine. Would you kindly fetch some for us?”

He started to speak, then checked himself. “Yes. Ladies, follow me.” He led them to a bench and placed the reliquary on a nearby table. “Please sit and take your ease. I shall return straight away.”

Adelaide sat, but Gwen stood for a moment, until the queen patted the seat beside her.

“You know the truth, don’t you, Gwendolyn? You know why he called to Santa Lucia.”

“Yes,” she replied. “But please, Adelaide, I cannot divulge… I… I…” she grasped for an explanation, “I promised Stefano I would not discuss it with anyone. I swore an oath to him.”

“Say no more. I would not have you break a sworn oath. But you must tell me what I should do. Memmo contacted me through Liutprand, who sent him gold at my request, a gift for him and his family for his heroism in saving us and for burying Stefano in secret. The body of our dear friend is being transported here as we speak.”

Tears threatened and Gwen found it impossible to say anything more. She could merely nod.

Adelaide nodded back. “I would honor Stefano here, in Pavia, but if you know whence he came, I shall bury him there. And I shall take this reliquary there as well, to be placed in his church, as is befitting his selfless service to me.”

Gwen felt as if she had been struck by a thunderbolt. A vision of the church of Santa Lucia sprang to mind, of Stefano taking her and the other tourists down to the catacombs to find a crypt and a marble plaque, the memory overwhelming, the meaning of all that had happened well beyond her comprehension. Everyone had thought it was a coincidental joke when they saw a single name on the plaque, his name.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the inscription:
STEFANO
. And now she knew the reason for the solitary name. Despite the fact they had discovered they were cousins, despite the fact they’d found their grandmothers were related, he’d never had the chance to tell her anything more before the earthquake hit and they traveled through time.

His surname was unknown, and unknowable.