Lorenzo turned as if to stare at the spire of a distant village church, or study their surroundings whenever they approached the woods. In reality, he was stealing glances at Marco and Lucrezia. They’d begun their shared journey sitting on opposite sides of the back row of the sleigh, with the dog between them. But when it grew cold, they spread the dog across their laps and then covered both dog and hands with a blanket. They were sitting closer than strictly necessary. Lorenzo imagined their fingers entwining. Or what if she was stroking his thigh? “A hair shirt helps with those feelings,” Montguillon said in Latin, his voice low. Lorenzo was turned at that moment and caught a glance from Lucrezia as she looked up. Marco was whispering something that had her smiling. “What do you mean?” Lorenzo asked the prior as he turned back around. “That woman is a temptress.
