Loving Lucianna

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

            Sir Balduin nearly collided with Triston as they rounded the curve in the stair from opposite directions.

            “I was coming to look for you,” Triston said. “What is this about Lucianna leaving with her brother?”

            Sir Balduin struggled to steady the angry breaths heaving his chest. “Where heard you that?”

            “From Serafino. He asked me if he might take some food for their journey. He is in the kitchen gathering some now.”

            Sir Balduin wondered if this reddish haze at the edges of his vision was how the world looked when Triston fell into one of his volatile bouts of temper. He did not even realize he had brushed past his young master until he heard Triston call out after him, “Where are you going?”

            Sir Balduin did not answer. Too many curses hovered on his tongue to be certain one of them might not slip out at any delay that Triston caused him.

            Serafino was alone in the kitchen, and it looked like food was not the only thing on his mind. While a basket sat on a table, spilling over with loaves of bread, fruit, pasties, tarts, and other easily transportable foodstuffs, he held a canvas(?) bag into which Sir Balduin saw him drop a slotted spoon that clanged against some metal object already inside, followed by a small iron pot he plucked from the cold stove.

            Serafino had a frying pan in his hand when Sir Balduin said, “You’ll break your teeth on that. Iron makes a poor dinner, sir.”

            Serafino started and turned from the stove, but recovered quickly from his surprise. “Don Triston gave me leave—”

            “—to depart with some food from our kitchen,” Sir Balduin finished. He crossed the floor with his limping gait and swiped the bag from Serafino’s hand, opening the neck to gaze inside. “None of these items look edible to me. They might earn you several handfuls of silver, though.” He looked back at Serafino, silently villifying the eyes so near in shade to Lucianna’s. “I suppose this should not surprise me?”

            “You mistake, signore,” Serafino said, politely but firmly retrieving the bag. “I borrow these, merely. I am not a rich man and I refuse to beg for, how do you say? Carità?”

            “Charité,” Sir Balduin growled. “It is not so different from your own tongue, sir.” Unlike that blasted word for patience he could not recall how to pronounce. Italian’s odd and inconsistent Cs, their rolling Rs, their inexplicable Zs—he could hardly be blamed for his confusion. But this word was perfectly understandable in both their languages.

            Serafino smiled, as though Sir Balduin did not know he spoke French almost as neatly as Lucianna did. “Si. Charity. I will not beg it of Don Triston after my sister has so wickedly deceived him. Our journey is long, and it may be that I will not be able to afford the cost of an inn for us both every night. Should necessity confine us to more humble refuge, I take these items merely that we may prepare a few simple meals. As soon as we are back in Venice I will resume my wool(?) trade, and at the first opportunity I will pay a trustworthy messenger to return these.”

            “Liar.” The smile faded from Serafino’s face as the bald word burst from Sir Balduin. “You intend to sell those to indulge the vices Lucianna has refused any longer to support. Likely you will drag her home in rags—if you do not simply abandon her. I would not put it past your black heart.”