Page 17 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
I looked my line over; the worst of the injuries had been treated, so I made a shooing gesture. “I’m needed, so get something to eat.”
The exodus to the food line could be called a stampede, and I moved to assist Friar Laurence accompanied by Evella with her basket of bandages. As she had done before, she said all the right things to the thrashing Bartholo, lavishing admiration onhim for his courage, asking him to describe the damage to the orphanage, generally distracting him from the pain.
When Friar Laurence had finished setting the leg, a task that involved four men sitting on Bartholo’s chest to hold him down and another five men holding his feet still, he grunted, “Better. Much better.Grazie, Padre.”
Evella wiped the sweat off his face with a wad of bandages and told him, “I’ll get you watered wine to drink.”
Bartholo’s gaze followed Evella as she shot across the square toward Nurse.
“Thisragazzais as annoying as a buzzing mosquito, with her talking and her darting about and her quips and quotes. I wonder if my wife would want her to take care of our oldest boy.”
His oldest was not a boy; he was a man with a child’s mind and his father’s build. He needed constant care and I wouldn’t allow that for Evella. Anyway, Evella wouldn’t readily leave Anton Maria. “Bartholo, I’ve already laid claim on Evella as an assistant to me and Mamma as we prepare for the wedding. Mayhap we can find you one of the youths who understands how to care for a child?”
He grimaced. “I’ll have to convince Fiordelise. She wants to care for the lad herself, but he’s too big now. She’d be more likely to allow a girl, I trow.”
I nodded my agreement and understanding.
“But Evella will make someone a good wife someday.” He grinned. “Drive him to distraction, she will. I wish her the best.”
My duty done, I looked around for Cal and his men, yet still they were nowhere to be seen. I must have muttered something out loud, for Bartholo said, “You’ll have to get used to it, Princess! He’s the podestà and our ruler, and he will always put his duty first, even before the beautiful young woman he has chosen for his wife.”
“At least somebody thinks I’m beautiful and young,” I mumbled.
“Would you have him be any different?”
I answered honestly. “As prince, he’s perfect. I would have him remember me long enough to send a message.” I supposed I should be disgusted with myself for being selfish, but really! One tiny personal reassurance sent with any of the people who had come to the square from the fire.
“Life or death, Princess,” Bartholo said.
I was surprised at Bartholo’s wisdom, and he must have read my thoughts on my face, for he said, “A blacksmith spends a lot of time alone, and pondering people and events.” He looked beyond me. “Here is Fiordelise, come to comfort me.” He held out his arms, and with a glad cry, a thin, worn-looking woman came into them.
I watched the reunion with a glad heart, seeing what a happy marriage looks like. They murmured with each other, then Bartholo looked at me meaningfully, then shifted his gaze to the side.
I swirled and there he was, Prince Escalus. As always, he wore black, but soot smeared his face and ash sifted from his hair. He looked like what he was: a man who had spent desperate hours organizing the efforts to extinguish the fire, working to carry water, leading men and women in their brave efforts to save the children and the orphanage. Without thinking, I grabbed his cheeks in both my hands, went on my tiptoes and kissed him on the lips, hard, so relieved to see him on his feet and unhurt I forgot he was not my One True Love.
Then, in an unthinking homage to Mamma, I punched him in the ribs. “You could have sent someone to me. One lousy message to let me know that you were—”
He wrapped one arm around my waist, cupped my head in his hand and kissed me back. No simple lip-mashing, this; I forgoteverything except the deep, dark, sweet secrets he could impart without ever saying a word.
When we broke apart (lack of air) a round of applause greeted us, then laughter as he tried to wipe the transferred soot off my face with his sooty hands.
Foolishly we smiled at each other—yes, even the shadow prince of Verona managed an upward tilt to his lips—two people who prided themselves on our good sense, and found ourselves amazed and chagrinned as to have so lost our heads in front of all of Verona, all of whom were grinning…except Lady Luce and her little gang of prima donna bullies. Which for me raised the whole episode to an entirely different level, and for that satisfaction, I’ll probably be vanquished to a lesser level of hell, won’t I?
Then I sawhim, standing off to the side. Lysander, his strawberry-blond hair and fair skin streaked with soot, ash on his shoulders and covering his clothes, his wide blue eyes staring at me sadly.
“He fought the fire bravely,” Cal told me. “He’s a good man.”
I nodded. Yes. He was. That was what made this choice so difficult. His heartbreak was mine, except… I had more than heartbreak. Perhaps Cal was not my One True Love, but we had passion and a future to plan. I had moved on because I had to.Hadto. To choose Lysander would have satisfied my heart, but not my honor.
Lysander…had not moved on. His family was wealthy, but he was a middle son, not the heir. Yet he was brilliant, an inventor, destined for greatness…but not with me.
Cal grasped my arm. “Here is Lady Juliet.”
Mamma arrived from the other end of the square. She ordered Cal to go wash in the fountain, making a fuss so everyone knew that as the guardian of my virginity, she would allow no suchother intimate interchanges (that hadn’t been going well so far, but she made a valiant and public effort).
As directed, Cal left, trailed by his bodyguards who had apparently been there the whole time (I hadn’t noticed) and looked as grimy as he did.
Then Nurse cleaned me up while muttering about men who had no notion of how hard the household worked on laundry day and no respect for the expense of the handsome new gown I wore for the holiday meal.
