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past him, unnerved by his hard stare.
    “I would simply approach the gates and they would welcome me in?” Marcello said.
    “Nay. That’d be far too dangerous. But what if it was a far grander spectacle? Something both Firenze and Siena had equal interest in? The Nine meeting with the grandi, sitting down at one table to dine, to move past the past, on to the future.” I dared to look back at him.
    “And what would draw them to such a table?”
    “The Ladies Betarrini, emissaries of peace and goodwill.”
    He let out a big laugh over that one. “Last I knew, you had killed a good number of Fiorentini and injured more. There is not one man in that city that doesn’t salivate at the thought of seeing you strung up just as the Rossis were here in Siena.”
    I swallowed hard as he paced past me to stand on my other side, staring out to the valley again with me.
    “There is one man,” I said.
    He shook his head. “Rodolfo Greco has already risked far too much. And it’s far too dangerous. It would never work.”
    “Then let us find another plan that shall,” I said lowly. “I am willing to help in any way I can, beloved. For your brother. My friend. Anything.”
    But I could tell he already was thinking.
    He turned and touched my cheek, so softly I felt more the warmth of his hand than his skin. “I shall find a way, Gabriella. To bring him home. You shall stay here, in the safety of Siena.”

     
    When I returned to my quarters, Giacinta and another maid, a young brunette named Savia, were awaiting me. Savia poured a bucket of steaming water into a wooden tub that was already half full, and Giacinta tossed in several sprigs of lavender. I smiled and moved past them to where they’d laid out a gown for me.
    “Oh,” I breathed. “It’s magnificent.” I reached to finger the exquisitely embroidered bodice on the luxurious golden silk. Off the shoulders and tight-fitted, the gown would cling to my torso and hips, then cascade in luxurious, generous folds of the skirt.
    “He had it made for you as soon as he moved to Siena,” Giacinta said, coming beside to admire it with me.
    “So long ago.” I smiled at her, but I could well imagine those lonely moments. The thought of Marcello pining for me sent a pang of ache through me.
    “We must be about it, m’lady,” Giacinta said, “if we’re to have you ready in time.”
    I nodded, and we turned toward the tub and bathing screen. In short order the two maids helped me undress and turned their backs as I slipped beneath the blessedly warm waters. “Would you care for us to scrub you, m’lady?” Giacinta asked.
    “Nay,” I said, as ladylike as I could. Apparently I’d reached the status that required servants to wash me like a baby. “I shall see to it myself. Return in half an hour to see to my hair though, will you?”
    She gave me a little curtsy, as did Savia behind her, then quietly closed the bedroom door.
    I dunked myself under, letting the water infiltrate my oily, filthy hair. Then I reached for a chunk of the lavender-laced lard soap, scrubbing my head until I had a little layer of bubbles. If there was one thing the fourteenth century needed, it was some decent hair products. But it was what it was, so I continued the process of cleaning up my body, rinsing, and then I sat in the water while it cooled, which took only a few minutes. Decent hair products and hot running water. The Romans had had it…when did the Italians lose the technology? I smiled, imagining Dad coming up with the same thought. Yeah, he won’t be short of things to do.
    I rose and dried off with a rough towel, then wrapped it around me. I donned long underwear and had just begun to try to wrap my torso with a long cloth—the medieval version of a bra—when the maids gently knocked and then entered at my soft invitation.
    Giacinta batted away my hands and undid my clumsy start at the cloth. “Nay, you shall ruin it. You must have a smooth line under such a gown!”
    I