Her life was over, and all the dreams she had would end with her as she plummeted to a watery grave, beneath tumultuous swells of freezing black water.
She was a lapsed Catholic, but even the most agnostic could not help but turn to prayer in the face of such a paralyzing unknown. Gaby closed her eyes and whispered the Lord’s Prayer, and then the Ave Maria just to be on the safe side.
In that instant caught between fear and overwhelming anticipation, she knew that nothing would ever be the same…
Chapter Two
Tuscany, Italy
October 16, 1902
Gabriella opened hereyes. She was lying on the grass. The scent of the sea filled her nostrils, and the sound of waves crashing on the shore seemed only a few feet away. A misty fog floated around her. Either she was dreaming or she’d died and ascended to heaven, because this was not Manhattan. The cells in her body were still vibrating from being hurled through the dark tunnel.
She turned onto her side and sat up, looking around her to get her bearings. She was on a stretch of grass, but in the distance, she could make out the edge of a cliff.
Things could be worse. I could have landed at the edge of the cliff.
Gaby eased up onto her knees and stood. Her legs felt a bit wobbly, but nothing seemed to be sprained or broken.
A pounding sound resonated in the distance. She turned in a circle, trying to ascertain where it was coming from, and more importantly, where she was. It sounded like the thundering of hooves. Her heart began to hammer in her chest, matching the rhythm of the horse or horses. At least, shethoughtthey were horses. Whatever the source, it was getting louder and therefore closer.
Adrenaline raced through her veins, and she squinted into the fog that had enveloped her, trying to see. She whipped her head around, looking for somewhere she might hide from whoever or whatever was coming toward her.
Too late!
From the mist emerged a black-cloaked figure astride a black stallion. Frightened out of her wits, she froze. At the last second, the horse reared, and Gabriella saw the beast’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. He was as frightened as she was. The horse’s hooves clawed the air, and the madman who rode it yelled at her to get out of the way.
Reclaiming her senses, she stumbled back, but her heel caught on something, and she lost her footing. She tumbled over the side of the bluff, her screams echoed in the wind that roared around her, and she felt herself fly. Gabriella flailed her hands, trying to find something to hold on to. She heard the rip of her blouse as it caught and felt a searing pain slice across her abdomen. It was all she could do to hold on to consciousness. Angry curses assaulted her ears, and if she’d had the wherewithal, she’d have hurled back her own set of colorful expletives, but given that she was trying not to die, she focused on grabbing something to hang on to.
There!Her hand latched on to some sort of root growing out from the side of the bluff. Gaby held on for dear life. She dared not look down, but the sound of waves crashing on rocks told her that if she let go, she was doomed.
“Give me your hand, damn it!” a harsh voice demanded from above her.
She looked up and saw the man in the black cloak leaning down toward her, his hand outstretched.
“Why should I trust you? You almost ran me down with your horse. You might take my hand and then let go of me.”
He gave a brief chuckle. “Given the situation, I daresay you have no choice in the matter.”
Whoever he was, he had an English accent, which brought her an infinitesimal bit of comfort. Emily was English, and despite the abandonment by her friends at the museum, Gabriella still trusted her friends and hoped she could somehow get back home from wherever this place was. Given his accent, she assumed she was in England.
The mist had begun to turn into rain and the sky had darkened. Her fingers had gone numb, and she would not be able to hold on to the branch much longer. She tried to see his face, but given the situation, she could barely see anything. If she could only see his eyes, she would know whether to trust him.
“Your hand, signorina.” She could make out a gritted set of gleaming white teeth, as if patience did not come easy. He had switched to Italian, and she had no idea why he would switch to a language other than English. Did he somehow know she was of Italian background and was trying to get her to trust him?
The rain made her grip on the branch slip, and she gasped as she tried to hang on.
She was going to die, and no one would ever know.That is, except for this exasperating man.
“Maledetto!This is your fault!” she cursed at him.
“I can assure you it isn’t,” he rasped out. “Now, will you let me save your life?”
She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the anger in his voice, which seemed more threatening than the sea.
“I can’t. I’m too scared to let go.” She had a ridiculous thought. Thank God her personal trainer had made her do all those push-ups and pull-ups at the gym. Then she had another outrageous thought:What if I’m too heavy for him to pull up? But what other chance do I have?“Okay, okay. Please help me.”
She heard a deep exhalation of breath, followed by more grunting and cursing in both English and Italian. A moment later, a large hand clamped around her wrist, and she felt herself hurtling through the air once more—but this time she was going up, not down. She screamed in shock and fear and scrunched her eyes closed. “Don’t let go! Please don’t let go!”
