Page 26 of Betrothal Between Enemies

‘It’s nothing,’ she assured Alistair, transferring her own panic to concern for him. There’d been a series of small earthquakes since they’d gotten back from the climb. The tremors had rattled Monticelli’s dishes. ‘I’m fine, too.’ She took a deep breath. She liked the safety of his embrace, the swift reaction of his protection a little too much. She would have to learn to live without it.

He guided her to a chair on the terrace. ‘Even so, sit for a bit, Iz. There’s no rush. Tell me about these attacks. You mentioned that you’ve not always had them. When did they start?’

She looked down at her hands. ‘It’s embarrassing and silly. I don’t want to discuss it.’ His hands moved into her view, covering hers.

‘I’m afraid of heights. That’s silly, too, and embarrassing. I’ve told you my fear so now you need to tell me yours.’ He peered up at her with a grin, and she laughed.

‘All right, I’ll tell you,’ she said, relenting. He was far too irresistible. ‘They started after Edward broke the engagement. They just come out of the blue.’

Alistair’s brow scrunched. ‘Do you really believe that? Because I don’t think that’s true. Every time we talk about long-term commitment, you panic. The afternoon after the science lecture, you were afraid I’d not keep my word about breaking the engagement, and you panicked. The other times, too. But you didn’t panic when I fell off the mountain.’

‘You don’t like long-term relationships either.’

‘That’s not the point. The point is that your attacks have a source.’ She felt him squeeze her hand. ‘I don’t want you panicking over me, Iz. My word is good.’

She offered a tremulous smile and said softly, ‘I know.’ Sometimes that worried her, too. What did she fear most? That Alistair would leave and break her heart, or that he would stay and she would break his? Disappoint him as she’d disappointed Edward and her parents?

The mountain trembled again, providing distraction. ‘I think your friend, Monticelli, is a brave man to live on the very slopes that bore the brunt of the 79 AD eruption. Or he is less intelligent than I gave him credit for.’

‘He should be worried. I have discussed it with him and encouraged him to think about relocating for the time being. The mountain is up to something, although to be fair, it’s been erupting steadily for the better part of the century. But these tremors are different. If we could study them, measure them, track them, I think they would offer insight into the state of the volcano. They could act as an early warning system.’ She shielded her eyes and looked up the slopes. She’d like to get up there again in daylight and have a real look around.

‘Is that what your paper was about?’ Alistair appeared genuinely interested, but that was one of his gifts, making someone, anyone, feel as if they had the sum of his attentions.

‘Yes. Professor Loughty said it was too hypothetical, fantastical even, because we have no way to track or study earthquakes with any precision. The tools simply don’t exist.’

‘Yet.’ Alistair’s smile warmed her, or maybe it was the confidence behind that one word. ‘You could invent them.’

‘Build my own experiment from the ground up?’

‘If you must.’ The ground shook again, and Alistair’s grip on her tightened. ‘Would Monticelli come home with us? I don’t like the idea of leaving him here.’

‘He has a place in town if he so desires. He’s just being stubborn. He says San Gennaro will protect him.’

Alistair raised a brow. ‘The scientist is superstitious? Does he understand that combination makes no sense?’

She laughed at the reaction. ‘Well, he was a monk first. At their cores, faith and science aren’t all that different. Both of them seek answers to the unknown.’

‘How does he think San Gennaro will protect him?’ Alistair was still trying to piece the dichotomy together.

‘By liquefying his dried blood, of course,’ she replied with a straight face just to watch Alistair’s disbelief. ‘December sixteenth is the next liquefaction.’ She wished she hadn’t added the last. Alistair wouldn’t be here by then. She didn’t need the reminder.

‘You will have to explain that to me on the way home. Shall we say farewell to our host? I think I’ve had enough of Mount Vesuvius up close for a while.’

* * *

Alistair had had enough of Mount Vesuvius but not enough of Ismay, and now it seemed that was about to come to an end, whether he was ready for it or not. She’d saved him twice now. Once from the boar and again on the mountain. Her bravery in the face of very real danger was unmatched as was her tenacity in the pursuit of living life on her own terms. He could respect that. He envied it in fact, even if she had little to show for that tenacity.

In the confines of the carriage, he cocked his head, giving every appearance of listening intently as she regaled him with the rather fantastical story of the martyred San Gennaro. He was listening. How could one not listen to Ismay in full animation? But he was also thinking. What would become of her when he left? What would become of her dreams? He wished there was some gift he could leave behind that would help her protect those dreams from the likes of Professor Loughty and her well-meaning parents. Perhaps the journal?

‘Ever since, he’s been the city’s patron saint, protecting us from the volcano,’ Ismay concluded, drawing Alistair’s thoughts back.

‘Do people really believe that?’ Alistair found the story hyperbolic in the extreme—dried blood that liquefied three times a year and also on special occasions to show the saint’s approval of the city’s choice. ‘Has anyone stopped to consider the improbability of centuries-old dried blood spontaneously turning to liquid?’ He’d never heard of such a thing. It defied logical thought. Liquid could dry, but once something dried, it did not become wet again. Everyone knew this.

‘San Gennaro isn’t the only saint’s blood that liquefies around here,’ Ismay argued in earnest. ‘There’s Saint Patricia, Saint Pantelemone, even the blood of Saint John the Baptist.’

‘It doesn’t strike anyone as odd that such a supposed miracle occurs nowhere else in the world, just here?’

‘That’s why we’re the City of Blood,’ Ismay insisted.