CHAPTER 2

Sir Balduin limped across the bailey, frowning at the handsome, auburn-haired man boldly embracing the woman he loved. “Lucianna?” he queried as he came abreast of them standing with Triston.

The stranger turned, his arm still draped around Lucianna’s waist, but it was Triston who answered with a reassuring clap to Sir Balduin’s shoulder. “It is only her brother, old friend.”

Sir Balduin felt his cheeks warm. Had his jealousy been so obvious? But he shot a surprised look at Lucianna. “Brother?” She had never mentioned any kin to him before.

The auburn-haired man finally released her and gave Sir Balduin a graceful and courteous bow. “I am Serafino Fabio, at your service, milord. And you?”

Triston laughed. “This is the bridegroom, Sir Balduin de Soler.”

“But no!” Lucianna exclaimed. “We are not to marry. It is over! Serafino, you must take me back to Venice. Now!”

Sir Balduin’s heart gave a panicked lurch. Though her previous threats had alarmed him, he had always found a way to soothe whatever feathers he had inadvertently ruffled on this lovely, temperamental woman because thus far, as Triston had pointed out, she had no resources to carry out her threats. But a brother to escort her safely along the highways back to the lands she still called home?

“Lucianna, please, I beg you—” Sir Balduin had never plead for mercy from any man, not even the one who had shattered his hip with a sword blow, and then stood with steel aimed over his heart before Triston had cut the villain down. But it seemed since Lucianna had crossed the threshold of Vere Castle, he had done little else than beg her pardon, and never more frequently than over the last fortnight as their wedding at last drew near. He had spoken the words so many times now, they no longer felt awkward on his tongue, but they fell more urgent than they ever had before. “Just let me speak to you alone.”

“There is nothing left to say. Serafino, come!”

Even Triston looked dismayed when she took Serafino’s arm and sought to drag him off to the stables.

But Serafino withstood her with a laugh Sir Balduin suspected had charmed many a woman. “What, cara, would you break this gentleman’s heart? Look at the way he gazes on you.”

Sir Balduin prayed she would do just that and read the heart she would, indeed, break if she left. But Lucianna only stuck her nose in the air and looked pointedly over Sir Balduin’s shoulder.

“He adores you, cara,” Serafino said with the insight Lucianna continued to snub. “No, no, I cannot allow you to walk away from love again.”

Again?

Serafino pried something from Lucianna’s clenched fist—Sir Balduin’s ring!—and slid it back onto her finger.

Serafino flashed a smile as beautiful as an angel at Sir Balduin. “She is a stubborn, volatile woman, signore, but you will never be bored with her. Signor Triston says I arrived in time for a wedding, and a wedding we will have.”

“You will, of course, be our guest,” Triston said. “Lucianna, take your brother inside. See that he is refreshed from his journey and have the servants prepare my brother’s room for his stay.” Triston glanced at the bay horse with the white blaze down its nose that Serafino had left near the stable. A single saddlebag draped the mount’s hindquarters. “Surely you traveled with more than this?”

“My packhorse lost a shoe a few villages down the road, but with my destination so nigh, I did not wish to tarry so much as an hour to embrace my sister again. I left orders for my things to be sent after me.”

Sir Balduin saw a fresh pucker appear between Lucianna’s dark, gracefully arched brows, but almost immediately his gaze dipped to his ring again. Why had she been holding rather than carrying it? The other times they’d quarreled, she had left it on her finger until he had coaxed himself back into her favor. Had he truly overstepped some irreparable bound by mispronouncing the Italian she insisted on trying to teach him? He was quite certain he had not called her fat. Grassa was too near the French grasse for him to have made that mistake. There were other words he could not make heads or tails of, though. Her brother was right, her temperament was volatile, to say the least, but that was what made Sir Balduin feel so alive when he was with her.

Serafino thanked Triston in his charming way, then nudged Lucianna towards the keep. After a moment of clear hesitance—Sir Balduin held his breath, fearful of her refusal to stay—she gave one of the sniffs that betrayed her vexation, but led her brother inside.

Sir Balduin’s gaze lingered on her retreating form until she vanished within the walls of the keep. Then Triston laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not take this question amiss,” Triston said. “But the Lady Lucianna is a—” he paused, appearing to weigh his words, finally settling on “—complicated woman. Are you sure you will be happy with her?”

Sir Balduin studied his master with his formidable height, impressive(?) shoulders, wildly handsome looks, and most of all, his youth.

“I served your father for thirty years,” Sir Balduin said, “as a knight of his household. He housed me, fed me, paid me enough to clothe myself and enjoy a roll of the dice now and then, but not enough to support a wife. I was content with that, or thought I was. Then you succeeded your father, placed your trust in me by raising me to sergeant of his men-at-arm, and for the first time in my life, I had money beyond my immediate needs. I thought myself too old by then to think of marriage, but Lucianna came with Lady Siri and after a time, she smiled on me, and sir—” He paused. He did not think a man of twenty-eight could understand, but he said it anyway. “She made me feel young again. Now you have offered to make me castellan of one of Lady Siri’s new castles, and there is no woman I would rather have by my side than the Lady Lucianna while I serve you there.”

Triston nodded, more supportively, Sir Balduin feared, than approvingly. A misunderstanding on the day Lady Siri had arrived at Vere Castle had cast Triston in Lucianna’s fiery disfavor until he had redeemed himself by rescuing Lady Siri from a villain who had sought to abduct her and force her into an unwanted marriage. Because Lucianna claimed to have forgiven all had not, however, turned her former suspicions into fawning benevolence of Triston, and Sir Balduin still sometimes caught Triston gazing at her a bit dubiously. Sir Balduin suspected Triston would be relieved to have Sir Balduin marry her and carry her off to Siri’s castle.

“But she has broken off the wedding for the third time,” Sir Balduin added, with a sigh. “Sir, you have a wife. How do you manage to please her?”

Triston looked thoughtful. “Well,” he said at last, “Siri likes it when I pluck her flowers from the garden and tie them into a cluster with a ribbon.”

“I made up to Lucianna with flowers after I was late to dinner one day last week. But she was so very cross after I called her—well, I am not sure what I called her in Italian, though I am certain it was not what she says I said. But she is enraged with me anyway, and this time she took off my ring. Her brother made her put it back on, but I fear it will take more than blossoms to keep it there.”

Triston reflected again, then snapped his fingers and pointed, almost at Sir Balduin’s nose. “Paint.”

“Paint?” Had his young master gone addled?

“When I told Siri that I did not care what her grandfather’s name was, I refused to consider Cosimo as a name for our son, should she bear a boy, she stayed cross with me for days. I went to Normandy, to the scriptorium where her father learned to illuminate, and consulted with the monks. For a generous donation, they gave me a brilliant red paint called vermillion which they told me was almost as expensive as gold. I believe Siri is using some of it in the prayer book she’s illuminating for Lucianna’s wedding gift. Siri has been nothing but smiles and laughter since.”

“And your son’s name?” Sir Balduin asked curiously.

“She agreed she could be quite content with Simon.”

The name of Siri’s late brother. Triston had already bestowed his own parental grandfather’s name on his first son, Pierre, though they all called the lad Perrin.

Sir Balduin smiled slowly. “I see. I do not think paint is my answer, but I take your point and believe I know something that may gratify Lucianna nearly as well. May I have your leave to visit Poitiers, sir? I should not be gone above a week.”

Triston readily granted permission for his absence. Sir Balduin limped back to the keep, wondering just how much a set of fine needles might cost.