The rumors of Marcello's return to Maella Abbey were just that: rumors. Oh, he'd been there, probably, perhaps, at some point in the recent but indeterminate past, but he most certainly wasn't there now. And in this instance, Angelo--unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed, but absolutely positive he couldn't bear another minute inside the Abbey's walls talking to people who despised him--was more than happy to follow his half-brother's example.
A biting wind whipped his hair into his face, and storm clouds threatened from the east. The idea of returning to Simpleton and waiting out the storm was dismissed almost before it was fully formed. He'd already stayed longer than he'd intended; Jessica was going to flay him alive.
The streets of Peregrine Quay were less crowded than the last time she'd visited, and after the ferry's harrowing encounter with the weather Jessica was grateful for that small favor. She took the most direct course toward the inn—always the best source of information, doubly so with the street vendors mostly concerned with resuming business in the storm's wake—only to be frustrated halfway there by a knot of people gawking at something in the street.
Too impatient to back-track, she began shoving rudely past people. Between moving, jostling bodies she caught the shape of someone passed out on the cobblestones.
Probably a drunk, she thought, rolling her eyes. As if that's worth blocking...
A glimpse of dirty silver hair caught her attention, and she gasped, shoving through the last row of people between her and the motionless form.
Angelo, blood and dirt streaking his hair and clothing. She dropped to her knees beside him, just long enough to make sure he was still breathing, then she took charge.
"You," she pointed to the strongest looking man in the first row of gawkers, "help me get him to the inn. And you," this one a boy who looked quick on his feet, "fetch a healer. Now."
No one argued.
Angelo woke with the memory of a headache pressing behind his eyes, and a warm shape pressed against his side. He smiled, even before he opened his eyes to see Jessica, propped on her elbow and frowning down at him.
"You scared me half to death when you didn't come home," she scolded, her voice shaking. "So I had to come looking for you."
"What?" Goddess, he'd lost days...a week, at least.
You can stay until the storm passes.
Her fingers stroked his scalp, light over the lingering tenderness. "You're just lucky you were actually hurt when I found you, and not dawdling over drinks and poker." Her voice broke. "Do you remember what happened?"
Angelo closed his eyes. He remembered the crack of splintering wood, almost lost in the downpour and roaring wind; impact, sending him to his knees; lurching up and seeking shelter amidst trees which swirled and doubled around him; seeing, in flashes of lightning, a cleared path which he had been sure was the road, only to discover in a shock of icy cold that what his addled senses had perceived as solid was, in fact, a stream.
A one room shack, with no windows and wind seeping through walls that threatened to give in to the storm at any moment.
He realized Jessica was still waiting for an answer. "A tree happened." He opened his eyes and smiled up at her. "Which, frankly, is rather embarrassing."
She tried to smile back, but still looked worried. "They said another man brought you to the inn, but didn't come inside with you."
...tell them you need a room and a healer. You can manage that, can't you?
Angelo shrugged. "I don't really remember."
"The man they described sounded like Marcello."
Green eyes staring into his, hands pulling him none too gently from where he'd fallen.
"That assumes he's even in the area."
You're getting worse. I suppose there's nothing to do but take you to town. Goddess! Will there never be a time you don't cause me trouble?
"You didn't learn anything at Maella, then?"
If Marcello came here, we'd have to turn him over to the Church for punishment, wouldn't we?
"Just that nobody's opinion of me has improved since I left." He felt her fingers comb through his hair, and let his eyes drift shut again. "Of course, they probably wouldn't have told me if he was in the next room."
"I'm sorry."
The life of a fugitive doesn't suit you, brother.
And whose fault is it I survived to become one?
I'm not sorry I didn't let you die.
No. Neither am I.
"It's all right." Angelo sighed and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her down so he could kiss her. "He wouldn't have wanted me to find him, anyway."