The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(68)

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.