The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (26 page)

Carina preceded Quillan, catching the look of pure hatred in Flavio’s eyes as her husband passed. What had she done? She had forgiven Flavio, forgiven Divina. She had put her trust in the Lord and put the past behind her. But there was no forgiveness in Flavio’s face. And he had not married Divina. Why?

She passed into the stately villa. What would Quillan think of it? But he had more on his mind than that. Another rejection. This time by her family. Had she thought it would be otherwise? She had fooled herself. The little voice inside had warned her, but her need to see her family had hushed it.

Mamma led them up to Carina’s old room, then passed it and brought them to a guest room. “You’ll have more space here.” By that she meant a bigger bed. It was a room for married guests, and of course it made sense, but Carina felt strange going in. She was a guest now? Not family?

Mamma wouldn’t look at Quillan. With her hand covering her mouth, she passed by him into the small room in back that held a maple commode and drain sink. She took the pitcher from the bowl and said, “Tia Marta will bring you water. The boys can bring your bags.” The boys. Mamma thought of them all as children, though Angelo was thirty-four this spring.

Carina nodded. When the door closed, she turned to Quillan. He wore his rascal’s smile. He could smile? “What?” She threw wide her hands.

He shrugged. “What did you expect, bringing home a rogue pirate?”

She stomped across the room and back. “My brothers are fools! I could have handled it better if they hadn’t interfered.”

“They were protecting you.”

She stopped and looked at her husband. Did he look so disreputable? He wore his yoked shirt, having shed his buckskin coat on the drive. His pants were worn, his boots scuffed. Yet for all that, to her eye he looked strong and wonderful. Was it because she knew him to be? Couldn’t they see him as he was, accept him as he was?

She threw her arms down at her sides. “They treat me like a child. I could have explained. Then Papa—”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. He’s right.”

She knew it. From the very start. That was why she couldn’t write, couldn’t tell them. She had violated a trust deeply ingrained for generations, maybe forever. Though Papa would never have forced her to marry someone, he had the right, the privilege, of permitting or denying her choice. It was an affront to deeply ingrained traditions to show up with Quillan as she had. But what if she had written and they had told her not to come home? Could she have borne it?

She went to the window and looked over the hills stitched with grapevines in long straight rows. They had been pruned of their twisted arms and tangled manes and stood starkly against the wooden crosses that held each stalk. The sky hung misty blue, not brilliant as the mountain sky. Fuzzy green and frothy yellow filled the spaces between. The land was awakening, but not yet the vines.

Quillan joined her there, his palm warm against the small of her back. Carina couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Her own feelings overwhelmed her. What had she done? How had it come to this? She thought of that day when Quillan had suggested they marry. So much fear had driven her, she never stopped to think of consequences outside of Crystal. In Crystal one lived by the edge of one’s teeth. Here . . .

The door opened behind them. Tia Marta carried the pitcher to the washstand and placed it in the bowl. Then she came out of the anteroom. She did not avoid Quillan but stared pointedly. He gave a slight nod, which she returned, then rushed to Carina and held her. “Ah, Carina, ever the tiger. I told your Mamma . . .” She shook her head. “Ah, but you’re back, eh? She’s crying her eyes out in the kitchen. But she’ll see.”

Carina felt bleak. Mamma crying in the kitchen? Why? Because her daughter made a poor match? How could she tell? She knew nothing of Quillan. Nothing of what they’d shared, suffered, accomplished. Nothing of his own battles. But there was no reasoning with Mamma. “Where’s Nonna?”

Tia’s face jerked up, tears shining. She gripped her hands. “Oh, Carina. Nonna’s in the grave, God rest her soul.”

“No!” Carina’s legs gave way, but Quillan caught her waist and kept her upright. Tears stung her eyes. This was the punishment she’d dreaded.

Tia Marta swiped at her eyes. “She passed two months after you left. In her sleep.” She crossed herself.

Carina’s chest heaved. She sagged against Quillan as Tia Marta went out and closed the door behind her. Nonna gone? Carina gasped for breath. And she hadn’t said good-bye, hadn’t prayed for Nonna’s passing, hadn’t even been there to ease her final hours. She spun and gripped Quillan’s chest. “It’s my fault. She was so worried, so—”

Quillan caught her hands. “It’s not your fault.” He circled her in his arms.

But it was, just as it had been with her baby. If she hadn’t provoked the men, they would not have beaten her child to death inside her. And Nonna had been overwrought at her leaving. She’d seen more than Mamma had.
You’ll regret it, Carina. It’s yourself you’ll punish, not Flavio
. But she hadn’t listened, and now Nonna was gone.

“Why didn’t they tell me? How could they not tell me?” She poured her tears onto Quillan’s chest.

His voice stayed low, gentle. “What good would it have done? You were too far to do anything.”

“Don’t tell me that!” She cried harder. It didn’t matter that it was true. Nonna had died while she was gone. And it was her fault. She knew Nonna’s heart was not strong, and she had broken it. This loss brought back the other, and Carina cried for the baby and Nonna together. Oh, why had she gone away?

Quillan held her in silence. He stroked her back and let her beat against his chest. This was not how she’d imagined it, not the way she’d wanted it. Had she thought they would welcome her with smiles and laughter, taking Quillan to their breasts and kissing his cheeks? Had she thought Nonna would be standing there, arms wide to welcome her home? She cried harder, shaking with sobs.

Now her whole family resented her, resented Quillan. She had come home, but it was not the refuge she had sought.
Oh, Signore
. She sniffed painfully. “What will I do? How can I face them?”

“They can’t blame you, Carina. It’s not your fault.”

But he didn’t know how it was, how their lives were intertwined like the very vines in their fields. If something killed one, the others sickened. What weakened one threatened the rest. She was like the insect destroying vineyard after vineyard while Papa worked furiously to keep it from his own vines.

There was a tap on the door, and Tony poked his head inside. “Giuseppe is asking for you, Carina.”

She pushed back from Quillan. Giuseppe. Oh yes, she must see him, now especially. Tony glanced at Quillan, then shut the door without another word. Carina hurried into the anteroom and poured water from the pitcher into the sink. She plunged her hands into the warm, lemon-scented water and splashed it over her tear-streaked cheeks.

Quillan held the towel, and she pressed it to her face, slowing her breath and containing the awful emotion.
Help me, Signore!
As she prayed, she had a clear vision of Nonna rocking a baby in her arms. Carina gasped and opened her eyes. “She’s in heaven with the baby.”

Quillan furrowed his brow.

Dropping the towel, Carina grasped his hands. “Our baby, Quillan. Our baby’s with Nonna. Maybe she knew, maybe God knew they must be together.”

His expression showed he was not certain she was in her right mind, but she didn’t care. She hurried out to the bedroom. “Come with me.” She tugged him through the door and down the stairs. Women’s voices came from the kitchen, some loud and angry, others trying to hush. Carina ignored them.

Outside they crossed the courtyard where their wagon stood unattended. Quillan hesitated. Carina knew he wanted to see to the horses. But she tugged him by the hand. “It’s over here. By the barn.” She took him through the courtyard gate and over across the yard. The mules would be out to pasture, though the winter grasses were thin. She passed the barn to the cottage beside it, a small whitened structure with a clay tile roof.

She didn’t knock, just burst through the door and found Ti’Giuseppe sitting by his fire. No stove for Giuseppe. He filled the alcove with wood each morning and poked at it through the day. He turned in time to catch her, and she clung to his bony shoulders, kissing his cheeks with tears again streaking her own. He had shrunk. She felt his bones through his shirt, gathered and tied at the neck. “Tio?”

His lips parted on bare gums as his cheeks pulled into myriad lines, forming the smile she loved so dearly. “Bella Carina.” His tongue formed the words, but it was his eyes that spoke them.

Carina knelt at his side. “Tio, this is Quillan.”

Ti’Giuseppe squinted and reached out his hand.

Quillan gripped it, then covered it with his other.
“Il piacere È il
mio.”
The pleasure is mine. Quillan said it with perfect pronunciation, and she could see Ti’Giuseppe appreciated it.

She pulled up a chair beside Giuseppe for Quillan, then settled at his feet. “How are you, Tio?” She had to know he was well.

“I am better now to have you home.” He cradled her shoulder.

Voice shaking, she said, “Tell me about Nonna,” and covered his hand with hers.

His eyes stared away. “Nonna went with the angels. Very peaceful.”

“Was she ill?”

He shook his head. “Only age. And there’s no cure for that. Not even your papa, the dottore, can claim one.”

Her throat tightened. “She had no pain, no suffering?”

Giuseppe’s face softened. “There is always pain when you’re old. She has none now.”

Carina sighed. “I wasn’t here.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You are now. And you’ve brought this man.”

“My husband, Tio.”

“I heard. You caused a fuss?”

Carina nodded.

“Your mamma?”

“Papa, too.” She sank back against Quillan’s legs.

“And Flavio.” Giuseppe spread his papery hands.

She shrugged. “What do I care?” But she felt Quillan stiffen.

Giuseppe shook his head. “He will not take it lightly. The insult.”

“The insult was his,” she snapped.

Giuseppe looked at Quillan. “You watch your back, eh? They will avenge an affront to Flavio’s honor.”

Carina jerked up. “Flavio? With all his peace talk?” Did he not argue the evils of violence, decry physical force? It was his banner, yet underneath . . . No, Flavio would not—surely he would not . . .

Giuseppe spread his hands. “Talk is easy until it touches here.” He tapped a finger to his chest.

Quillan rested his hand on Carina’s shoulder. “Is Carina in danger?”

Old Giuseppe shook his head. “No. But you . . .” He pointed one finger at Quillan’s face. “You have enemies. Not only her
fidanzato
, but her brothers, as well.”

Carina knew that was true. Nevermind Flavio’s unfaithfulness. They were blood brothers inside. Still she couldn’t believe it would come to violence. “What can they do? Quillan is my husband. Will they make me a widow?”

Giuseppe sat back without answering. She looked up at Quillan. He met her gaze, defiant. She wet her lips. “We shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s your home.”

She shook her head. “Not if they’re going to be ugly.”

Quillan rested his hand on her head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But you heard Tio.”

“I heard.” He stood up. “Now I need to see about my horses.” He went out.

Carina knelt before Ti’Giuseppe. “What do I do?”

He spread his hands. “Pray for God’s will.”

S
IXTEEN

What lies a man believes to guard his feeble pride; illusions fill his mind to succor him inside.

—Quillan

Q
UILLAN HAD UNHARNESSED
the horses and led them to the trough by the time old Giuseppe came out with an oat bag. As he walked around the swan fountain trickling water from its upraised beak, Quillan gauged him older than Alan Tavish by a decade perhaps. He was bent but not gnarled, stiff though not arthritic. Life was kinder to some.

But there was a tremor in the old man’s hand as Quillan handed the reins over, and he had lost all his teeth. Maybe the calamity of time just manifested differently. As Giuseppe led the horses to the barn, Carina came and stood at the gate; she looked lovely and exotic even with her features drawn in grief. Had he seen her in this environment, Quillan would never have dared to love her. Now that he saw what she was, what she came from, what she stood to lose—he would never have dared. But since he did, he was not going to back down because of any threats from her brothers. Or Flavio.

He hadn’t arrived with any mental picture of the man. In fact, he’d forgotten him until this morning when Carina’s face grew fierce. Flavio had wounded her, sent her running to Crystal with the hope he would come after her, prove his love, his regret. One look and Quillan knew that would never happen. Flavio was not that kind of man.

He had that melancholic beauty women gasped over, and probably the changeable nature to match. But he was not one to lose face gracefully. Quillan believed Giuseppe’s warning. His stomach twisted, but not with fear. He had thought he was through with the dragon, but what he’d felt for Alex Makepeace was nothing to this.

And he’d seen Carina’s face. She might deny caring with all the bravado she could muster, but there was something between them still. Fine. Let Flavio come. He would release the wrath of Wolf ’s son. Quillan felt a check in his spirit. He looked up. What did God expect?

Then he thought of Carina’s own words.
“Family is the most important
thing.”
Quillan’s chest tightened painfully. He couldn’t be an agent of destruction in her family, couldn’t threaten what Carina held most dear.

What then? Leave? Never. He’d given his word. He watched her wander now over to the fountain and sit on the stone rim of the base. Her grief was apparent, but not eruptive at the moment. He untied and pulled the tarp from the back of the wagon. The furniture would need to be stored as long as they stayed in her father’s house. But how long would that be? Anyway, there were things they would need now. Quillan opened the back, climbed up, and slid the trunk to the end of the bed. The sooner they found a place of their own, the better.