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.”
SIXTEEN
What lies a man believes to guard his feeble pride; illusions fill his mind to succor him inside.
—Quillan
QUILLAN 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.
Quillan looked out through the courtyard gate to the land beyond— terraced and lined with vines, smelling of damp earth and sunshine . . . Something stirred again like a tug inside his chest. He slid the trunk down and laid it on the cobblestones. Carina sighed. “What now?”
He straightened. “I don’t know.”
Carina’s brother Lorenzo, he thought, came into the yard and stood, arms crossed. Quillan gave him a nod. “Lend a hand?” He took one trunk handle.
Lorenzo just stood. Quillan couldn’t manage the trunk up the stairs by himself, so he set his end down and climbed into the wagon. He filled his arms with smaller bundles and bags, then jumped down. He passed Lorenzo near enough to sense the combative aura. Ignoring it, Quillan carried the bundles to the room, then returned.
Another brother had joined Lorenzo. Quillan wasn’t sure which one; Tony, he guessed, the youngest. Together they carried Carina’s trunk past him and up the stairs. Quillan took a crate that held books and met the two brothers coming down the stairs. They neither turned nor retreated, so he backed down and let them pass, then started up again, every tendon tense. He hoped Carina appreciated his restraint. But then he realized that wasn’t why he did it. Not for her approbation, but just because it was right.
She was still sitting at the fountain when he went back out. Both Tony and Lorenzo went up with a crate of books. Between Carina’s collection and his own, there were several trips’ worth. Quillan followed them up with another. They worked silently, emptying the wagon of all but the furniture—Carina’s bed, lamp, washstand, and table.
“Bring the mules, Vittorio,” Lorenzo called.
Quillan noted which brother that was and waited while he brought a pair of mules to pull the wagon. Quillan covered the bed again with the tarp, then tied it securely. He didn’t want any moisture to damage the wooden furnishings. He felt as protective of Carina’s things now as he’d been careless before. She didn’t seem to care. Her tears had left her listless.
When Vittorio led the mules and wagon to the barn, Quillan sat down beside her at the fountain. Even that much made Lorenzo bristle. Couldn’t a man sit beside his wife? Not if the man didn’t belong, was a usurper, an outsider. That was what Lorenzo’s glare said.
“Is all this land your father’s?” Quillan spoke as naturally as he could manage.
Carina stood up. “Come. I’ll show you.” She walked stiffly toward the gate.
Angelo materialized there. “The ground is wet.”
“We won’t go into the vineyard.”
“Go into the house. See what Mamma needs.”
Carina drew herself up. “Get out of my way. I want to show my husband our land.”
“It’s not his land.”
Carina’s hands tightened at her sides. Though he had enjoyed seeing her kick Lorenzo, Quillan touched her shoulder now. “Another time, Carina.”
“No.” She stamped her foot. “This is my home. I will go where I please.”
Angelo moved aside enough that Carina could pass if she wished, but Quillan was blocked. She turned and stalked to the house. Quillan held Angelo’s gaze a full ten seconds before following. He found Carina in their room. She had opened the trunk and thrown her clothing over the bed. “They are insufferable! They think—”
“I’m after what you have.”