Carina felt a quaking inside. Now it came to it. She turned. “Papa, this is my husband, Quillan Shepard.”
He stood very still as his face darkened; his blue eyes hardened to rocks. “What do you mean?” His voice was flat and still.
She swallowed her fear. “We were married in Crystal, Papa.”
“Impossible. Married without courting? Who chaperoned? Who gave his blessing in place of your papa?”
Mamma wrung her hands. “What have you done, Carina?” She gripped her cheeks. “Oh, I knew you should never have gone. You were only a baby. How could I have let you go?”
“I was not a baby. And I’m not now. I’m a grown woman, and this man is my husband.” Carina saw Quillan’s jaw tighten, as though someone took a winch and drew the tendons taut. She stomped her foot. “Where is your hospitality?”
It was a valid reprimand, but Papa wasn’t swayed. “I’ll give no hospitality to a thief.” He looked directly at Quillan, drew himself up to a height with him, arms stiffening. “Who do you think you are, to marry my daughter without my permission?”
Before Quillan could answer, Carina blurted, “It was my choice, Papa.”
“Your choice? Who are you to choose?” He threw up his hands. “Bene. You have no need of a papa.” He turned for the house.
“Stop it, Papa. You dishonor me.”
He stopped and stiffened. “I . . . dishonor you? You have taken away my right, my privilege. You married without my blessing.”
“What of Flavio?” Mamma started to cry. “You were promised to him. A good match. A fine match. You love him.”
Carina quailed. This was not the time for that, not in front of Quillan and Flavio both. Not with the way Flavio had shamed her, hurt her. How could it hurt still? But it did. She looked up defiantly. “I don’t want to talk about that now.”
“You don’t want.” Papa shook his head.
Carina’s heart ached. She had disappointed him, wounded him. If he would just hear her! “Listen, Papa. I bring you a son, and you act as though someone has died.” She waved her arm to include them all. “I bring you a brother.”
“Were you married by a priest?” Mamma gripped her shawl beneath her throat.
“Yes.” What did Mamma think? But at the time Carina had been so dazed it could have been a judge or anyone else.
Mamma was mumbling. “Then it’s done.” She pressed her hands to her face.
Carina caught Flavio’s fiery gaze. What right had he to be angry? “Where is Divina?”
Mamma wrapped herself in her arms. “Married. Four months now. And expecting.”
“Married?” Then what was the fuss?
Nicolo stood straighter. “To me.”
Carina’s mouth fell open. Nicolo had married Divina? She had never shown the least interest in Nicolo. And what about Flavio? Carina pictured them together as she’d seen them in the barn. Flavio had not married Divina? Her breath suspended as things came clear. Divina married to Nicolo and expecting . . . She looked again at Flavio, his face insolent and furious. She knew that mood. She knew all his moods.
Heart pounding, she walked to Quillan’s side. “We’ve come a long way. Do you have room for us or not?”
Mamma bit her knuckles, crying.
Papa straightened slowly. “There is room.” But his tone was far from warm.
“Come in, come in.” Mamma waved them through the door. “You can unpack later. Come in.”
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 . . .