Loving Lucianna

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

            “You have always been uncommonly stubborn,” Serafino said from where he lay sprawled on his back in the sweet-scented flowery mead of Siri’s garden, hands linked behind his head while he watched the lazy movement of the clouds across the mid-morning sky.

            Lucianna tried to ignore him, along with the sluggish flow of her bronze needle through her linen cloth. She had never forgotten the sweet glide of the silver needle Siri had given her one Epiphany morn in Venice. Lucianna had imagined the angels who embroidered the holy altar cloths in the celestial city must all employ needles so divine for their sacred, joyous work. Lucianna’s heart had rejoiced, as well, in the few, short days she had embroidered her own humbler patterns with Siri’s gift, until Serafino had made her sell the needle to pay off another of his debts and keep his tongue quiet and his existence a secret from the people Lucianna loved. She had had to tell Siri she’d lost it. So many lies, when Lucianna’s nature rebelled painfully against dishonesty.

            At least this time she had managed to spite Serafino by slapping the needles back into Sir Balduin’s hands. But she could not stop her heart from aching for the loss of both the gift and the giver.

            Serafino gave a soft snort. Lucianna hoped he had fallen asleep in the sun, but from the way he cursed and scrubbed at his nose, she discerned a gnat had merely flown into one of his nostrils. He sat up, sufficiently annoyed by the insect’s assault to glare at his sister.

            “Your lover returned this morning.”

            “He is not my lover.” Lucianna dragged the red thread through her cloth. “Nor is he longer my affianced husband. As soon as Siri’s bambino is born, I am returning to Venice. You may come with me, or if you fear you are no longer welcome there, you may stay here to gamble and swill(?) and otherwise squander your misbegotten life among people who do not yet know what a scoundrel you are.”

            Serafino lifted one of his ruddy brows. Lucianna bit her lip as heat flowed into her cheeks. He did not need to say it for her to know the silent threat her words had roused on his tongue.

            He plucked some periwinkle petels from his sleeve. “Those needles would have set me up for months, that ring for more than a year. A man who can afford to lavish such gifts upon you would never notice if a needle or two went missing. The ring might be more difficult to explain, but you were ever a careless wench. You could say you misplaced it—”

            “Careless only when you were near. There will be no more lies for you, Serafino. Sir Balduin is not rich, but even if he were, I would not marry such an insensitive brute, and not even you can make me.”

            “Not rich? Then how did he afford those gifts?”

            Lucianna did not know the answer so she had no reply. It did not matter anyway. She would not let Serafino use her in so shameful a way again.

            “Does he really think you are a lady?” Serafino asked.

            Lucianna tugged through another thread. “It is merely a habit they all fell into calling me when I came. I have never pretended to be a donna. Siri knows the truth and has surely told Sir Triston . . . ”

            But had Triston told Sir Balduin? Lucianna had never thought to wonder before. What if he did believe her nobly born? She reminded herself that Triston had wanted to marry Siri before he had known she was more than a mere craftsman’s daughter. Surely Sir Balduin would not have shunned Lucianna for being the daughter of an Italian merchant—had it been the truth.