Raine: The Lords of Satyr (12 page)

R
aine led her through his house, along complicated walkways and moody passages. There were lovely, quiet rooms for contemplation and larger more lavish salons meant for entertaining. Their sparse decoration and refined elegance held great appeal for Jordan after having suffered the decorating schemes of her mother’s fantasies all of her life.

When they delved deeply enough beneath the living quarters, they came to a cavernous labyrinth, which he informed her was the wine cellar. He spent some time checking various aspects of the barrels and the slowly fermenting grape juice they contained before leading her up another set of stairs more rustic than the others he’d shown her. The steps ended at an exterior door through which they passed and which led them outside into the garden at the rear of his home.

Horses were summoned, and Jordan was somewhat dismayed when hers arrived bearing a sidesaddle. The central lands of the triangular-shaped estate rose upward from his castello, so the trail would take them higher. But she was a good rider and had faith she would manage the distance to his vineyard without mishap.

She loosened her collar, fanning herself as they rode. “The day is warm for September.”

His eyes drifted over the slight cleavage she’d exposed, and his hands tightened on his reins. “You’ll find the climate within our compound is temperate year-round compared to that outside its walls.”

“Why is that?”

He only shrugged and urged his mount ahead. “It requires a lengthy explanation.”

“I’m willing to hear it,” said Jordan, catching up.

“Suffice it to say that the precise combination of vegetation and terrain here bring about a fairly constant climate. It’s neither too hot in summer nor too cold in winter. My ancestors located the estate on this hillside and walled the grounds for defense reasons. You’ll have them to thank when winter sets in and you’ve no need for a coat.”

“Amazing! There’s that much moderation in temperature here?” she asked.

He nodded.

They rounded a rise, and she caught a glimpse of the gleaming towers of a second estate in one direction and the dark towers of a third one in the other.

“From this approach you can see the homes of my brothers,” he informed her.

She shaded her eyes, surveying one, then the other. “Which is which?”

“That’s Lyon’s, my youngest brother’s,” Raine told her, pointing at the former. “And the darker one belongs to Nick, my eldest brother.”

“How distant are they? It’s difficult to measure by sight in a forested area as vast as this.”

“Each is a half hour’s journey along the exterior wall on horseback.”

“And are they like yours?”

“Similar I suppose, though they differ in architectural style as you can see even at this distance. At the center of each estate is a main home with extensive gardens and grounds, which meet and mingle with the trees of the old growth forest. The forest in turn rings the base of the sloping hills of the vineyards, which forms the central core of our lands.”

He didn’t tell her the rest. That this ancient ground had been chosen by their ancestors for a special purpose—to serve as a sacred joining place for ElseWorld and EarthWorld. That a gate between those worlds was secreted on the grounds. Or that in centuries past, many Satyr had dwelled here, protecting the portal that led between worlds. Now there were but three.

“So you say you make wine?” Jordan prompted as they drew close to the vineyard itself.

“Mm-hmm.”

“How does one make wine exactly?” she asked, waving away a buzzing bee.

He shot her such a confounded look that she laughed and leaped to defend herself. “I’m from the city. I know nothing of this business.”

“You’ll learn soon enough. The business of the grapes is inseparable from our lives here.”

They dismounted at a pergola formed by a network of gnarled wisteria vines, which sheltered a stone walkway leading into the vineyard. Raine pointed to the various workers they encountered there and explained the tasks in which each was engaged as the two of them explored on foot.

When they paused at the crest of a slope, she shielded her eyes to take in the endless stretch of patchworked rows of vines below.

“The outer wall of our estate encircles two thousand acres of forest as well as fruit and olive groves. We have eight hundred tilled acres, though less than four hundred are currently under cultivation,” Raine offered. “Of those, only three hundred are planted in grapes. The rest are in olives and fruit.”

“Can I sample a grape or two?” she asked. Already taking his assent for granted, she left him to wander halfway down a row of vines.

“I think we can spare them.” Raine’s voice was absent as he gazed toward the adjacent hillside, having scented the approach of his younger brother. Lyon was coming up the path on horseback accompanied by animals from his menagerie. Two of his prized panthers from the smell of them.

Soon his brother came into view and reined in to scowl down at him. “Why are you not still searching in Venice? Blast it, Raine. You know I cannot go to Paris for mine until you have found—”

“I’ve found her,” said Raine.

“What?” Lyon’s head snapped back in surprise. “You’ve found her? Then where is she?”

“Use your nose for once,” Raine said in exasperation. “Can you not scent her?”

From his superior height on horseback, Lyon located Jordan’s approaching figure. His golden eyes swept her, turning appreciative. “Very nice, brother.”

Raine gritted his teeth.

Oblivious, Lyon dismounted and tethered his horse by means of a sotto voce instruction to the animal. “Jane will be dying to visit you when she hears of your bride’s arrival,” he told his brother.

“Who’s Jane?” Jordan asked, reaching them.

“We’re not married,” Raine said at the same time.

“Not married?” Lyon’s brows rammed together.

“Stay out of it, brother,” Raine said, a warning in his tone. “Now, I’ll be on my way. I’ve only just returned and am anxious to check on the progress of the other vines.”

“
We’ll
be on our way,” Jordan revised, meaningfully.

Confident she’d fall in with his plans as had every other woman he’d ever met, Lyon shot her an engaging grin and took her arm. “I’ll come along with you on your first tour of our vineyards then, shall I, and we’ll make each other’s acquaintance?”

“Very well,” Jordan agreed, twitching her skirts away from the nuzzling noses of his oversized felines. “Then you can explain who Jane is. And which brother you are as well. And whether or not these animals of yours plan to have me for a snack.”

“Don’t you have another obligation that requires your attention, baby brother?” Raine inquired pointedly. “In Paris?”

“There’s time enough for that,” said Lyon, blithely fluttering his hand in a complete reversal of his earlier urgency.

Disgruntled, Raine followed them down the wide steps that led toward another field of vines, listening to Lyon charm Jordan. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been enjoying introducing her to the estate himself until his brother had usurped the job.

“Your four-footed locusts are enjoying the fruit again,” Raine groused when Lyon’s cats began to munch clusters of grapes. “Point them to their own yard, will you?”

“Liber! Ceres! These are not for you,” Lyon scolded, pushing his sleek animals’ black noses away from the vines. “You have your own. Now scoot.” With that, he ushered his panthers into an expansive, enclosed pen filled with fig trees and wild vines weighted and drooping with ripened grapes.

Petless now, the three of them wandered through a new plot of vines, then another, and still others beyond those. Along the way, Raine lifted, inspected, and tasted a myriad of grapes. He occasionally offered one to Lyon and they discussed its qualities at length, using terms such as astringent or smoky. He offered samples to Jordan as well and she tasted them, but the nuances of their flavors were too slight for her to comprehend.

Both brothers conferred with pruners, pickers, and other black-clad employees now and then as well. These were no gentlemen farmers, she realized. The workers obviously looked to them for direction.

At times, Raine became so involved in his work that he seemed to forget that she and Lyon still trailed him. It was obvious he was in his element and that he reveled in this contact with the land.

And she had to agree it was lovely here. Peaceful, fresh, and far from the noise and filth that was Venice.

“Picking has just begun. The crush will follow and continue for several weeks,” Lyon explained when he saw her gaze had fallen on a group of workers in the process of filling baskets with grapes.

“Which grapes ripen first? Or do they all ripen simultaneously?” she asked.

“The start of autumn often coincides with the maturity of the French Merlot in our earliest-ripening plots,” Lyon explained patiently. “The fruit is tasted at least once a day before deciding when to pick. The order in which sectors are harvested is updated daily as we continue to test.”

“Fascinating,” said Jordan, hardly noticing when Lyon handed her another grape to devour. Raine had just bent low to check the dry, volcanic soil at the base of a cane, and she was intent on admiring the breadth of his muscular back where it strained at his shirt. Her eyes followed the shallow groove down his spine to his narrow waist and the taut rear below. She bit into the juicy fruit. “Umm. Delicious.”

“The quintessential Tuscan grape we are known for is the Sangiovese, grown here since the time of the Etruscans,” Lyon went on. “But those are not ripe as of yet.”

A spurt of jealousy sprouted and flourished within Raine as he listened to his brother conversing so easily with Jordan. Lyon’s facile tongue and easy manner had always appealed to women. The fact that the female element swarmed to their younger brother like bees to honey was normally a source of amusement to Nick and him. But now, suddenly, it grated. Knowing he likely owed his uncharacteristic envy to the approach of Moonful did little to curb it.

“Let’s move on,” he said, abruptly standing and heading down another path.

Jordan saw the turbulent flash of silver come and go in Raine’s eyes. His face might be stern and haughty, even taciturn at times. But his eyes gave him away. If one searched them closely enough, it was easy to discern that they sizzled with suppressed emotion. That cloak of remoteness hid deep passions that he chose to keep leashed even as they fought for freedom. She made a promise to herself that before she left Tuscany, she would attempt to loose him from the suffocation of his self-imposed restraints.

“Careful sorting during the picking is essential for quality,” Lyon was explaining. He touched her arm to draw her attention to some workers on a hillside. Raine glared at his hand, wanting to knock it off her sleeve.

“You see the pickers there,” Lyon continued, oblivious to any undercurrents. “Their crates are small to avoid bruising. Our grapes will arrive in perfect condition in the vat rooms where they’ll be sorted on a special table. Only the best fruit goes into the vats for crushing.”

“I’ve never seen vines staked in such neat rows,” said Jordan, watching the workers nip clusters of fat grapes with sharp hand-shears. “Normally, they mix with other vegetation and grow up trees and fences across the countryside willy-nilly.”

“Raine likes things orderly, don’t you, brother?” Lyon teased.

Raine shrugged.

“When he was only seventeen,” Lyon went on, “he began organizing the vines on Satyr land as you see them now, into rows on stakes. Vintners in other areas of Tuscany have taken note, wondering if it is part of the recipe for the phenomenal success of our wine. But old customs are slow to change, and for now, they only watch and await the outcome of our experiment.”

“Why did you do that, Raine?” Jordan asked, trying to draw him into the conversation.

“If things are orderly, the nutrients the vines receive and their health can be more easily monitored. And the organization helps ensure the grapes in each section express the sort of character we intend.”

Suddenly his gaze narrowed on the empty path beyond her. “Yet another brother descends on us,” he muttered.

“Where?” asked Jordan, looking around but seeing no one approaching.

“I neglected to remark on Raine’s other formidable skill—that of anticipating new arrivals,” Lyon told her.

A moment later the sound of hoofbeats heralded the brother Raine had spoken of. Seeing them, he turned his mount their way.

“Jordan, meet Nick, our eldest brother,” said Lyon, as they watched him rein in. As Nick dismounted, his eyes were on Jordan, and hers on him.

All three brothers were tall, well muscled, and handsome beyond belief. And yet there were differences. Whereas the silver-eyed Raine was remote and stiffly polite, and his younger brother a gold-eyed, affable flirt, this eldest Satyr brother was almost too imposing with his blue-eyed, raven-haired good looks.

“Nick, this is Jordan,” Lyon informed him, with a gesture in her direction. “A new
acquaintance
of Raine’s, just brought here from
Venice
.”

She sensed some silent communication pass between the trio of massive males. His emphasis on the words
acquaintance
and
Venice
made her wonder at their significance.

Eyes sparkling, Nick took her hand in his and pressed a quick kiss to it. “Any new
acquaintance
of Raine’s from
Venice
is most welcome on Satyr land,” he teased. “I hope you plan to tarry with us for a lengthy stay?”

She blushed, tugging her hand back. “My plans are fluid.”

Raine’s brothers stared at him as though expecting him to refute her statement. When he didn’t speak, Nick stepped into the breach.

“Then we must endeavor to entertain you so well that you’ll decide to tarry with us for a very long time. A local festival to celebrate the beginning of the harvest occurs only two days from now on the hillside just outside our estates; did my brothers tell you?”

She shook her head no.

“It’s the first of many festa della vendemmias held during the season,” Lyon explained.