Free Waterfall by Lisa Tawn Bergren Page A

I turned and ran to the rock just as he swept by, his fingertips brushing past my shoulder. My two guardians closed ranks in front of me.
    “Bringing women to fight your battles now, Forelli?” the Paratore knight taunted, swinging his sword at Marcello, narrowly missing his chest.
    “And you, as always, are low enough to attack one,” Marcello said, through gritted teeth.
    “Missed her yesterday,” Paratore said. He tossed a leering glance in my direction. “She appears eager to lift her skirts. It’d please me to take her from you this day.”
    I clamped my lips together, chagrined. So that’s what they thought of me banding my skirt to my legs? That I was into sleeping around or something? Oh, brother. I was glad I lived in my own era. There was enough to deal with, then. The massive soldier finally brought his horse to a stop and turned to come back toward us. But his eyes were now on his master. Paratore glanced at him, and in that moment, Marcello’s blade tipped his forearm.
    He gasped and took a halting step back. “That’s the second time you’ve dared to strike me in two days, Forelli!”

    The Incredible Hulk jumped to the ground and came lumbering over to Marcello. He did not attack him, nor did Marcello raise his sword. Instead, his weapon was at his side. What was this?
    “What do you expect? We cannot continue our swordplay and not sustain damage to our persons!” Marcello returned.
    Paratore clamped his lips shut, seething. Then, “What are you doing on our land? Are you begging for an all-out war?”
    Wasn’t that what we were in?
    “We were out for a ride when Lady Betarrini became disoriented and took the wrong trail. We will be off of your land within the hour.”
    “See that you are. And try and keep your womenfolk where they belong.”
    Marcello strode forward and past his men, staring at me as if I’d done a thousand wrongs. What? Was I the reason for all of this? No, this was a war long fought, a family feud like the Montagues and Capulets, or the Hatfields and McCoys. He wasn’t pinning this on me.
    He took my arm and gruffly pulled me along to my horse.
    I wrenched my arm from his grip. “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own. I get it. You’re ticked off. But this cannot all be my fault.”
    He frowned down at me, trying to make sense of my words. They came out in a mishmash of Italian and English.
    I sighed, looked down at the ground, then back up at Marcello. “Why’d he stop? Why’d he let us go? You guys took down at least two of their men.”
    “It is understood,” he said in a hiss.
    “What is understood?”

    “When an heir is wounded, the battle comes to an end. Anything further and our cities might be drawn into a far greater war.”
    Cities. Siena and Florence. These two castles were not just vying for a portion of property; they represented much greater forces.
    “But you fight as if you’d like to kill him.”
    “As he would like to kill me. We’ve traded wounds on any number of occasions,” he said, cocking his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. So he was enjoying this. At least a little bit.
    I shook my head in confusion, trying to sort out their crazy politics, as he led me to his horse. Then I was seriously confused; where was my horse? But then he bent and lifted me to sit behind his saddle and gently untied the strips from my dress. He raised one eyebrow in warning. “You’ve already caught Paratore’s eye. Let’s not give him any other fodder for his dreams, shall we?”
    My mouth fell open a little at that. I wanted to protest. Claim my own mount. But he seemed to not only be saying that Paratore thought I was attractive… but that he considered me Dream Material too. The maid’s words of warning that morning echoed through my mind. “Take care, m’lady. You already draw Lord Mareello’s eye…. “
    Or was he simply referring to the fact that the man apparently had his mind in the gutter? I sighed and turned toward his broad