Chapter Two
Suzana Baldovinević peered from the balcony into the garden below and recognized the man she’d seen yesterday, Župan Đurad Lukarević. He’d been speaking to her father then about her marriage to the man’s grandson. She’d been forced to leave before the conversation had ended, but it had sounded as if the deal had been settled already through letters and messengers. The tie to nobility would suit her father’s pride. Having a daughter like her out of his sight would suit his indigestion.
Today, the grandfather stood with a different man. Rumors of the bridegroom’s arrival had flown around the villa that morning. If the man below was the grandson, he was young, much younger than the middle-aged bridegroom she’d expected prior to yesterday. His deferential posture could be because he spoke with his grandfather . . . or he could be a man-at-arms reporting to a master.
The walls of the villa surrounded three sides of the garden. Suzana watched from the upper-level balcony on the east, and the men stood on the west. Their voices did not carry over the sounds of the river. She pulled back from the balcony to make her way around the villa to where the men stood, but then she hesitated. Whatever they said to each other, it wasn’t meant for her. Her father would not approve of eavesdropping. She did not wish to earn his wrath, but she would soon leave his household and join her husband’s. Learning to survive in a household was no easy task—and she was tired of merely surviving. Perhaps with the right knowledge, she might not only survive but also find contentment.
Which was the greater risk? Going ignorant into a marriage or learning more and angering her father or her husband-to-be if she were caught?
Suzana tiptoed around the north side of the garden and stayed near the inner wall, where shadows would make her nearly invisible. The men passed out of sight as she rounded the corner and walked along the west side of the covered hallway, but their voices became clear. They spoke Slavonic, so at least she and her husband-to-be would have a common language.
“Is it lawful to use her dowry that way? Dowries are supposed to provide security for the bride, not pay off the husband’s debts.” That voice was new to her. The bridegroom?
“It’s not a debt; it’s a tribute to the sultan.” The grandfather’s voice, with a deep timbre and words clipped in strict precision. “Baldovin knows your situation and expects you to do exactly as I advise. He has no qualms. He doesn’t want his daughter married to a deposed noble. He wants her married to a župan, so it’s in his interests that you keep Rivak.”
“But will she mind?”
Suzana held her breath. Did he ask because he genuinely cared about her wishes? Doubtful. He probably wished to ensure he did nothing unlawful.
“She’s seventeen. I doubt she knows what she wants.”
Suzana bristled but remained quiet in the shadows.
“Seventeen is not so very young.” The other voice again.
“Not for you, perhaps. Your destiny called you early. And your brother’s destiny calls him. Aleksander reports he is in good health.”
“His health comes and goes. Aunt Zorica works miracles with him.”
A grunt from the grandfather. “Sivi Gora has a physician trained at the University of Salerno.”
“Ivan is too young to be parted from his family.”
“I am also his family. How is he to learn his role if he does not grow up in the land he will rule?”
“He can go when he is older.” Silence ran for several long moments, then the younger voice spoke again. “When is the betrothal to take place?”
“Today.”
“But I haven’t even met her!”
“Will that matter? You can marry and use your wife’s dowry to save your lands, or you can reject the offer and lose everything. We’ve been over all this. You ought to be pleased. Wealth and youth—what more do you want in a wife?”
“I am not displeased. I am grateful to you for arranging it. The timing just feels . . . rushed.”
Suzana agreed with the young voice—it was rushed, but if their marriage was inevitable, postponement offered no benefit to her. The bridegroom couldn’t be any worse than the men she already knew, so maybe a new start would offer an improvement.
“The timing is not negotiable, I’m afraid,” the grandfather said. “Baldovin insists on the betrothal taking place at once. A previous betrothal was canceled, but if a betrothal still occurs at the planned time, Baldovin hopes to escape any hint of scandal.”
Suzana felt her face heat. The pain in her past was not of her making, but in her father’s eyes, the slight over the canceled betrothal was all Suzana’s fault. Best to marry her off as soon as possible, and if the marriage could bring him a bit of prestige, so much the better.
“Was there a scandal?” The young voice again. She wanted to see him. Her view from across the courtyard hadn’t been close enough to determine eye color or if his face showed any hint of kindness.
“It doesn’t matter. This is your only viable option if you wish to remain župan of Rivak.”
“So, I’m trapped?”
Suzana felt the sting of those words and tucked her hand into a fist to keep it from trembling. She had no choice save to marry the man her father picked for her, but if he, too, felt forced into the marriage, would that frustration turn against her?
The grandfather’s voice changed so it was softer, less stern. “Marriage can be a source of joy, Konstantin.”
“Was it like that between you and Grandmother?”
“It took some time to find our way together, but yes, we had joy. While she lived. Losing a wife and six children to plague changes a person. No doubt the losses in your family have changed you. But tragedy does not make happiness impossible. You’re at the beginning of your story, Konstantin. The beginning of your reign, the beginning of your marriage. Don’t be so gloomy.”
Footsteps sounded on the paving stones, and Suzana crept closer to the edge of the upper walkway, hoping for a glimpse of her soon-to-be betrothed. Would his worry over scandal taint their marriage, or would he follow his grandfather’s advice?
The older župan walked around a corner and disappeared behind a fountain and a wall of vines. She scanned the garden for the younger župan, and when she located him, she froze.
He stood below and to the left of her, and his eyes had found her. His face was pleasant. A short, well-tended beard, not yet full, sad gray eyes, dark-brown hair.
She hadn’t meant to be caught, and the jeweled circlet atop her hair veil was too fine for her to be mistaken for a servant. Maybe he’d think she was only passing through rather than intentionally listening to his conversation with his grandfather. He wore mail under a lamellar corselet, with a sword strapped about his waist—a shorter Greek-style spathion rather than the longer swords the Italians favored. Her father’s keen eyes had shown her the value of observing and discerning what a group of people might be interested in trading for. She evaluated clothing and weapons out of habit, but trade was not her concern now. She searched his face for signs of anger or signs of forgiveness, signs of surprise or signs of interest. Whatever emotions he felt, they were hidden away, unreadable.
His eyes held her, and she stood unmoving, unsure what to do. Speaking first would be too bold, at least for a woman. Even if she were brave enough to speak, what would she say? Offer greeting or apology? Express her hope that the marriage soon to be forced on them would not turn to misery?
His lips parted, and his head tilted, as if he had a question. “A fair morning to you, lady.”
She managed a nod, and then someone called from across the garden to Konstantin, and the moment his attention was diverted, Suzana ducked into the shadows.
Grigorii was invaluable when it came to protecting Rivak and offering counsel, but Konstantin wished he wouldn’t have interrupted. Something about that woman had mesmerized him. “What is it?”
“I saw your grandfather leave and thought you might wish to know that Perun has settled well.”
Of course Perun had settled. It was Svarog that didn’t like unfamiliar stables, but Konstantin had left his warhorse at home. He glanced at the upper level again. The woman had disappeared. “Do you know what Suzana looks like?” The woman he’d seen was either Suzana or one of the legendary vila, because he felt an unexplained connection with her. He’d been praying for years for ways to save Rivak. He’d been praying for days that he would be able to love the woman he was to marry. God seemed to be granting both pleas at exactly the same time through the same person. He couldn’t call it love, what he’d felt when he’d seen the woman with the large eyes and exquisite mouth. It was more a hope that love was possible and this marriage was part of God’s plan.
“I hear she is seventeen and plain.”
Disappointment bore into Konstantin’s chest. The woman he’d seen had been the correct age, but he would not call her plain. He would use words like intriguing and superb. Or perhaps he wouldn’t, if the woman weren’t Suzana. But why would God allow such an intense longing for a woman other than the one he was to marry when he’d been praying so hard to become a good husband?
Only a while ago, he’d wanted to delay the betrothal ceremony as long as he reasonably could. Now he wanted it to happen at once because he needed to know if the woman in the garden was Suzana. “My grandfather said something about a previous betrothal, one that was broken, I assume, before any vows were made. Will you ask around, discreetly, and tell me what you find?” Konstantin meant to leave it in the past, whatever it was, but he wanted to know what he was leaving in the past. Probably a misunderstanding over the dowry. “I don’t plan on avoiding the marriage . . .”
Grigorii plucked a dead leaf from one of the vines. “But all the same, you’d rather know than be blindsided. Arranged marriages are difficult enough without unpleasant surprises.”
“Yes.” Konstantin had felt occasional mirth at some of the stories Grigorii and Čučimir had told on the ride from Rivak about arranged marriages that had gone poorly, but mostly, he’d felt dread.
“I’ll make a few inquiries, lord.”
“Thank you.”
They left the garden, and Miladin joined Konstantin as Grigorii left. Miladin, as always, scanned the area around them, on the lookout for danger, even in a villa. Seven years ago, Konstantin’s father had tasked Miladin with Konstantin’s safety, and he’d never completely given up his role as bodyguard. The constant proximity had led to an easiness Konstantin felt with few other men. “I know your situation with Magdalena was far different from mine with Suzana, but have you any advice for a soon-to-be bridegroom?”
Miladin focused his gaze on Konstantin and smiled. “Help her be happy, lord, and then she will help you be happy too. Few people deserve a bit of joy as much as you do.”
“And how do I help her be happy?”
“That depends on the woman.” Miladin looked as if he might say more, but Aleksander Igorević approached them.
“It’s time to prepare for the ceremony,” Aleksander said.
Konstantin went to his assigned rooms in the villa. Risto, his manservant, waited there to help him change into a tunic of wool and a dalmatica of silk patterned after one seen in a painting from Constantinople. The rich embroidery made the dalmatica stiffer and heavier than most silk garments, but compared to his armor, it was light and flexible. Risto added an embroidered cape and fastened it with a bronze fibula.
Konstantin’s hand went to his side, and Risto chuckled. Risto had once been a warrior, but age and injury had prompted a change from garrison duties. “You won’t need your sword at the betrothal ceremony, lord.”
“I suppose not.” Konstantin ran a hand along the fine fabric of the dalmatica, a gift from his grandfather. Sturdy walls surrounded the villa, and Konstantin’s most trusted men would be nearby, some armed outside the church. But he knew little of the villa—nothing of its hiding places, only a cursory glimpse of its strengths. Konstantin had enemies, as did his grandfather. The villa’s owner probably did as well, the man who would soon be Konstantin’s father-by-marriage.
A pair of shoes had been laid out for Konstantin, thin things that didn’t reach to his ankles. He kicked them off and pulled his boots back on, then slipped a knife into the right one. It wouldn’t do to go into unknown places unarmed.
Risto stared pointedly.
“No one will see what I have on my feet in a tunic this long.” The hemline touched the floor.
The manservant’s expression didn’t change. “I know you’ve faced danger before, lord, but Cedozar and his assassins were slain. I don’t think your future bride will be a threat.”
Konstantin thought of the woman in the garden. “It’s not her I’m worried about.” That wasn’t completely true. He was anxious about whether they would like each other, whether she would be pleased with Rivak, whether she would really ease the burden of his responsibility the way Aunt Zorica had said. “We’re surrounded by strangers here.”
Risto nodded. It wasn’t approval, not exactly. More a commitment to say nothing more on the matter of Konstantin’s footwear and hidden blade.
Miladin and Aleksander accompanied Konstantin to the villa’s chapel. Upon arrival, Konstantin followed the instructions given by the priest, kneeling in the narthex and holding the candle handed to him. But he had trouble concentrating as the priest droned on about the Apostle Paul’s admonitions to husbands and wives and about the wedding feast in Cana, when Christ had performed His first miracle. Because the woman kneeling next to him was the woman from the garden.
Suzana’s knees began to ache midway through the betrothal ceremony. Finally, the priest said, “The servant of God Konstantin Miroslavević is betrothed to the servant of God Suzana Baldovinević in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” He repeated it, then added, “Let Thine angel go before them all the days of their life,” and in that moment, Suzana was sworn to marry a man she had yet to say a word to. A man who would marry her only because he needed her dowry.
When the service ended, Konstantin stood and reached out to help her to her feet. His hand was firm, the pressure adequate for the purpose but not overly forceful. If he was polite in public, that could work to her benefit. Perhaps he wouldn’t beat his wife in front of others, and her survival would simply be a matter of ensuring most of their interactions were not in seclusion.
He led her down the stairs of the church, then left her side for a moment to speak with one of his men. He returned soon after and gave her a respectful bow. “I have a gift.” His hands, no longer steady, presented her with an apple and a ring, traditional symbols of betrothal. The rich red skin of the apple was polished and unblemished, and the smooth gold of the ring caught the afternoon sunlight.
Her father and a dozen others watched, though they were not near enough to hear any words spoken. Still, her face heated under the scrutiny. She avoided Konstantin’s eyes and reached out to accept the gifts. “I thank you, my lord.”
“May I put the ring on your finger?”
“You may.” She tried to hold her hand still, but she was nervous and couldn’t stop the tremble. His left hand supported hers while his right slipped the simple but flawless band of gold past her knuckle. He tried the fourth finger of her right hand, and when the ring was too loose, he tried the third. There the fit was comfortable and secure.
His touch surprised her. The gentle movements were not what she expected from hands lined with a few small scars, numerous calluses, and several scabs—hands that looked like they would be at home holding sword, ax, or halberd.
He lowered his voice. “I hoped it would be you when I saw you in the garden.”
Suzana’s gaze had been firmly on their hands rather than on his face, but now she met his eyes. She ought to say something, but all that came out was a simple question. “Why?”
Something in the set of his jaw softened ever so slightly. “It felt right. I could picture you in Rivak. And your face . . . I see beauty there, and thoughtfulness. A man is blessed to have a wife who is pretty and wise.”
Pretty and wise? Her mind flashed to the time her father had introduced her to the son of a trading associate. He’d thought her plain and had said so—not in her hearing, but when her father had repeated the claim, she’d sensed he’d barely refrained from striking her. Another glass of wine and he would have. Her insufficient beauty had lost him what would have been a favorable arrangement.
And wisdom? She had little of that. Whenever she made an error in her father’s ledgers, he cursed her stupidity and struck her, even without the aid of alcohol.
Thus far, Konstantin was not threatening, but good behavior was expected at a betrothal ceremony. It was later that men revealed cruelty and violence. Her father said a man had the right to hit his daughter or his wife. The villa’s priest had concurred but had added that violence should not be without reason. She would try to give her husband no reason to hit her, but what would happen when he realized she was neither beautiful nor intelligent when that was what he expected?
When she said nothing, Konstantin continued, though the hint of warmth no longer touched his lips. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to leave your home, but I hope you will be happy in Rivakgrad. I look forward to knowing you better.”
What would it be like to be happy? Thus far, she could not read her betrothed’s face, but perhaps she could learn to read his moods, learn how she could please him, when she should avoid him, and what he expected of her. Perhaps he would not beat her too much while she adapted.
He released her hand. “What can I do to make the journey more comfortable for you? We can make it in one day, though it would require many hours on the road. Or we can divide the journey into two days. There isn’t an inn on the way, but we have tents.”
“Whatever you arrange will be fine.” That was the best answer. If she picked the wrong choice, the one that didn’t match what he wanted, he might hold it against her.
“Would you like to travel in a carriage, or do you prefer to ride? Dama Isidora reported that some stretches were a bit jarring in the carriage. So, you are also welcome to switch off.”
All his words were respectful, considerate, kind. If he was always like this, life with him would be a vast improvement over life with her father. But it was probably an act, a display of concern before the new betrothed and her family. Once married, he’d turn out just like all the other men she knew. “Spending a portion of the time in the carriage and a portion on a horse would be most agreeable, thank you.”
“And would you prefer an early start and a long day of travel with a comfortable room at the end of it or two days of less rigorous travel but a less comfortable night?”
“I have no preference, my lord.” He’d asked her much the same thing before, and she still had no desire to force his hand and suffer his displeasure should her choice disappoint him.
He hesitated. “How long would you like to prepare for the journey? I imagine you have things to pack and goodbyes to say.”
Goodbyes? No friendship existed between her and any of those who lived in the villa—her father wouldn’t allow familiarity between the family and the servants, and his friends and advisers were all male. Friendship with them would have been improper, even if she’d desired it. Perhaps if her mother had lived, she would be sorry to leave her, but she’d never known her mother, and her father had never forgiven Suzana for killing her in childbirth. “I can be ready to leave as soon as tomorrow, my lord.”
One of Konstantin’s eyebrows quirked upward. “You wouldn’t mind leaving so soon?”
“No, my lord.”
“Please, call me Konstantin. We are betrothed, after all, and I hope we will soon become friends.” More hesitation. “If you do not mind leaving tomorrow, there are things in Rivak that would benefit from my attention sooner rather than later, and leaving then would let us arrive before the Sabbath, even if Dama Isidora prefers we divide the trip into two days. If you really have no objections, I’ll escort you to your father and see if he balks at our leaving so soon.”
“I have no objections, my—” She caught herself before calling him my lord again. “Konstantin.” She said his name before realizing it would come out as my Konstantin, and that sounded far too intimate for the circumstances.
His lips parted, and the mask of hidden emotion cracked for a moment, showing amusement. “I suppose I am yours now.” He held out his arm for her. She rested her hand on his forearm while the heat of embarrassment crept up her neck. She kept her eyes downcast as they walked. She had blundered, but he didn’t seem to mind—yet. His arm was hard beneath her hand. He wore an embroidered dalmatica rather than his armor, but the firmness of his muscles reminded her of who he was. A noble. To nobles fell the task of waging war, and waging war led men to cruelty.
Suzana did not participate in the discussion that ensued. Konstantin politely asked her father if he would mind if they set out on the morrow. Her father did not mind and sent his steward to see that Suzana’s things were readied. Then her father, Konstantin’s grandfather, and Konstantin discussed when the marriage would take place. Konstantin suggested after the harvest. Her father suggested it take place sooner. Konstantin’s grandfather took her betrothed’s view.
Konstantin leaned his head toward her ear. “You haven’t said when you wish the marriage to take place. I’ve much to do before harvest, but if it would please you the way it would please your father, we can manage it before then. We can also put it off a while, but for my part, I greatly desire it to happen before Lent.”
The church did not allow marriages during Lent, so Suzana took his request to mean he needed access to the dowry before Easter.
Her father kept pushing for an early marriage. The grandfather insisted that a proper wedding with the right guests would best occur after harvest time. That did not seem so very far off. The betrothal ceremony bound her to Konstantin like rope bound her father’s cargo to a ship. The marriage ceremony would change the binding from rope to chain, but regardless, her future was tied to Konstantin’s from this point on. She’d spent her whole life trying to please her father and avoid his wrath. Now it was Konstantin who would determine how many bruises would line her arms, Konstantin whom she must learn how to please and not provoke. “Please set the time as is most agreeable to you, my—” She caught herself again before calling him my lord. “Konstantin.”
What almost looked like a smile pulled at his lips. “My lady, may I call you Suzana?”
He oughtn’t call her a lady, not yet at least, but she nodded her agreement. It didn’t matter what he called her as long as he didn’t hit her.