CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 38

The stone landed hard enough to crack the stone step.

Worshippers screamed. Holy people stood, horror-stricken.

I ducked and covered my face with my arms, and marble shards struck my arms and bounced off, but the knowledge could not be avoided; if I hadn't bounded up those stairs, I would have died, crushed beneath that stone.

Nurse screamed in fear and pain, and with that I turned and jumped off the pew and to the Montague box where she knelt, holding her cupped hand to her eye. Blood seeped between her fingers, and she demanded, "Get her!"

I tried to object, but she glared from her uncovered eye and upon that unspoken demand I came to my feet and raced toward the stairs on the right that led up to the altar. At the last moment, I realized I'd chosen the wrong stairs, for the black-clad figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs to the left and fled through the columns to the door that led to the abbey.

Pulling up my hood, I chased her out of the church, down the abbey's corridor, and out onto the street. She sprinted like a rabbit . . . a rabbit who cackled maniacally as she ran. I assumed she laughed so I'd know she wasn't sorry she dropped the stone, only sorry that she'd missed.

As I ran, I tossed my hood back to better see—and I heard a man's voice shriek, "That's Lady Rosaline Montague, the witch who stabbed Duke Stephano and poisoned Porcia!"

Suddenly I was surrounded by a crowd of Veronese citizens, silent, ominous, angry. In that instant, they had become a mob.

Where was Lysander? Where was he when I needed him? Did he not sense my desperation?

The woman in the widow's garb dodged onto a side street and vanished.

I knew better than to long for Lysander. Or the prince, for that matter. Men had their greater matters and women, if they were smart, stayed at home and minded their needles, thus ensuring their safety. Normally I scorned such sentiments. Now, in the face of such universal animosity, one understood the point of those safe prisons.

My peril grew with each rumbling of the hunting pack; it sounded as if it had cornered its prey.

I held up both hands as I backed toward the Basilica di San Zeno, afraid of the people I so loved. I spoke trippingly, "I'm Lady Rosaline, yes, but you know me as Rosie. Good citizens, I've killed no one. Good Prince Escalus himself testified to my innocence."

The same man's voice shouted, "You're a witch. You've enchanted him!"

Did he sound familiar?

More people gathered on the fringes of the crowd. Faces wore expressions of fanaticism, animosity . . . and a few cruel smiles from those who enjoyed to intimidate and terrorize. And kill?

"I am no witch, and I've enchanted no man." As I spoke, I searched for the speaker. "If I could, wouldn't I have done so before I became a withered old spinster?"

That halted their advance.

I took what felt like my first breath, but I dared not hope. Not yet, for I remembered tales of the wild mob ferocity that resulted in rape, disfigurement, fire, and death in the cruelest way possible.

Griselda Flowerseller, devoted to my kind mother, shouted, "How old are you, Rosie?"

"Nearly twenty years have passed since my birth. You know my parents. You know this to be true. Tell them!" I gestured toward the mob.

Griselda nudged her way through the crowd and faced them. "Lady Rosaline really is so old, and never once has she married."

"Get thee to a nunnery!" one of the men jeered.

Not the man who had originally shouted, and that irked me for I wanted to view the fellow whose voice sounded familiar. Where had he gone? A man had fled down the same side street as Miranda; was it him?

But I had to deal with this situation, so I looked this guy, Varrius Porkman, in the eyes and said, "Where I reside is for my father to decide, sir. I'm but a meek and gentle woman."

Varrius backed off . . . a little. "Humph. Yes. Meek and gentle. I wish my daughters thought as you do."

To play the meek and gentle part, I should lower my gaze, but none of his fellows had taken a step back. I stared at him boldly, keeping my chin up. "You know my father, I think. He is Lord Romeo, an honest wine merchant, a loving and guiding parent to me, a friend of your prince who walks among you daily—and a swordsman of much renown." I swept my gaze around, smiling as if I was proud of him. Which I am, but it was the threat I wanted them to hear. They could attack me, but they would suffer the wrath of Prince Escalus and Lord Romeo, and that double-edged blade made everyone take a step back.

Varrius turned to his fellows. "I've got work to do. You do, too. Get at it!" He waved an arm and they at once dispersed, leaving me shaking with relief, amazed at how speedily the menace had gathered and scattered.

Griselda watched to make sure they didn't return, then said to me, "Lady Rosaline, your mother is kind, although her flower choices are difficult to view. Now before they change their minds, scat!"

I pulled up my hood and ran toward the basilica, where I found Nurse storming out, holding her scarf to her eye.

"Are you blinded?" For if she was so wounded in my service, I'd know God had truly forsaken us.

She lifted the scarf and showed me the slice on her forehead that bled copiously. "I'll be scarred, but I will see again. Did you not catch her?"

I almost told Nurse what happened, but I knew she'd be upset that she'd sent me after the dropper of the stone, so all I said was, "Nurse, I beg your pardon, but I wasn't swift enough."

"I'm watching you. I'm protecting you."Nurse mimicked Miranda. "That bitch has been planning your death every moment."

I put my arm around my beloved nurse and walked with her toward Casa Montague. "We don't know it's her. As we observed, the clothes fit the description of every widow in Verona."

"It's her." Nurse lifted the scarf from her hand and glared balefully at the blood she'd shed thereon. "Who else has an interest in killing you?"