“I’m going above, Clara. Stay here.” I headed up the stairs with the bucket.
The sun had set while Clara and I were clinging to each other belowdecks, and a crescent moon rode high between rapidly moving clouds. A network of dark shadows cast by the masts crisscrossed the deck with lines. I emptied the bucket over the side rail and stood there, trying to calm my anger before acting on it. I had a vision of walking up to Lugani and slapping him—I could hear the sound of my hand hitting his smooth, self-satisfied cheek. If I’d had no respect for the man it would have been easier, but the way he balanced his power with gentleness made it harder to tolerate what he’d done. A little girl—that’s all Clara was, an innocent, impressionable girl who’d been saved once from an uncertain future and was now thrown back into uncertainty by a man who used his power to take everything he wanted.
“The moon does you justice, Monna Trovato.” I spun around to find Lugani standing a few feet behind me. “What brings you on deck tonight, Signora? I would hate to see you pulled overboard by an errant wave.” I wrapped the blanket more tightly around me, unpleasantly aware of how little I had on underneath it.
“I needed air.”
“I too, Signora. I trust you have no objection to sharing the air with me?”
“I certainly do.” I kept my voice quiet to keep the sailors from hearing, but there was nothing sweet about my tone. I saw Lugani’s left eyebrow lift quizzically. “You seduced my maid.”
“Would you rather it had been you, Signora? She is a flickering candle to your gleaming presence.”
“No!” My indignation made me reckless. “Clara thinks you’re going to marry her.” I hated the look on his face—as if he were indulging my chatter.
“She’s quite a lovely thing. So eager, but with the bloom of innocence upon her.” He smiled, remembering. “Motherhood will grace her nicely someday.”
I wanted to kill him. “Not as your wife, though.”
“Of course I have no intention of wedding a servant girl. You though, Signora, might be a better match.” Persistent bastard. He took my arms and leaned into me until my back pressed against the wooden barrels. The blanket fell from my shoulders, and I could see the gleam in Lugani’s eyes as he realized what I was wearing.
“Remove your hands from this woman, Ser, before I remove them for you.” The new voice made my head spin.
Lugani dropped his hands and turned to face my rescuer. “Do you fancy yourself her bodyguard? Monna Trovato and I were in the midst of a private conversation.”
Gabriele stood on deck, holding an unsheathed knife. “Signora, am I intruding, or can I be of assistance in protecting your honor?”
“I am chilled, Messer Lugani, and wish to return to my cabin. Thank you, Messer . . .”
“Accorsi,” Gabriele said, without a change in his expression. “Gabriele Accorsi, at your service.”
Lugani’s easy smile did not falter. “It seems your charms have attracted more than one man’s attention.” He wrapped his cloak about him. “We can resume our conversation in the morning. Please, do stay warm, and inform me if there should be any way I can facilitate that . . . warmth.” He gave a low laugh and walked away, matching his step to the nave’s swaying.
Gabriele sheathed his knife at his belt. The sight of him made me want to throw my arms around his neck, but I didn’t.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
He did not answer my question. “Was I correct in rescuing you, Monna Trovato? Messer Lugani’s parting words suggest the interruption was unwelcome.”
“Of course I wanted to be rescued.” I smiled, but he didn’t smile back.
“Your embrace, and the familiarity of Messer Lugani’s words, suggest you found a more compelling confidant than those you left in Siena.”
I imagined how it must have appeared to him—me wearing my underwear and a blanket, Lugani pressing me close against the wall of barrels. “Gabriele, he’s my employer, making inappropriate advances. What do I have to do to make that clear?”
Gabriele stared at me for a few seconds. “He should not have dared to lay his hand upon you.”
“How funny, I was thinking the same thing.”
Gabriele finally smiled—a sweet smile that made me feel like the sun was rising just for me. “Your capacity for humor in grave situations astounds me, Monna Trovato.”
Not back to first names but definitely an improvement. “I haven’t seen you smile in a very long time.”
“I have not had occasion to until now.”
It felt so natural to be talking with him again that I’d almost forgotten how strange it was that he’d appeared on Il Paradiso in the middle of the open sea. “So what exactly are you doing here?”
His smile broadened. “I have secured my next commission, in Messina, by the grace of the rector of Siena’s Ospedale. An artist travels at the mercy of his patrons.”
“Oh, so you just happened to get your next job in Sicily? What a remarkable coincidence.”
“I could find no other way to follow you here, Signora.”
My heart gave an extra beat. “Follow me?”
“I had the good fortune to find Messer Cane seeking additional passengers just before Il Paradiso’s departure. It was not until I boarded that I realized he was Messer Lugani’s colleague. That may have been chance, as you say, or the hand of God acting on my behalf. I had planned to search for you in Messina, but did not imagine we would travel on the same ship.”
“Why didn’t I see you before tonight? The boat isn’t that big.”
“As I am sure you know, Messer Lugani keeps strict rules on board. I was not encouraged to show myself on deck, or to disturb the more esteemed passengers. I have accommodations of a sort, in the forward storage hold.”
I remembered Cane’s command to me to keep my place. “But you came up tonight.”
“I have attempted, within the limitations imposed upon me, to assure your safety.”
“So you traveled five hundred miles to be my bodyguard?”
“Beatrice, have I been so opaque?”
“You’re as clear as a brick wall.”
He laughed out loud. “Do you really have no idea of the regard I have for you?”
“I guess I’m as dense as you are opaque.”
“No other living woman has found her way into my art.”
I let that sink in, recalling the painting of Saint Christopher that had sent me stumbling into the Duomo, in my last few minutes in the twenty-first century. Had he painted it before we’d met?
“I’m very happy to see you,” I said simply, not finding any more energy or reason for artifice.
“As am I.”
I stared at this man who had pursued me across Tuscany and then onto a ship bound five hundred miles from his home. I had seen Gabriele many times since my arrival in medieval Siena and had imagined him for weeks before I left my own time. But I found something in his face now that I’d never seen before. A current of emotion ignited him, just under the surface.