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Lucinda had not meant to sail to the island. It was a foolish trick to play, and she was far too old for it. She would not have done it if the stableman's son had not taunted her that morning. But he said that now that Lucinda was a lady, she would not dare take her cousin-at-law's yacht and sail it alone for three hours. Of course Lucinda, who had been the best boater among the “boys” of Illyria before she had been sent away to finishing school, could not let the challenge stand unanswered. And then there was such a storm, and she had been blown quite five leagues from shore, and had been violently ill besides. Where she had been driven, Lucinda did not know. But seeing land, she could do nothing but make her sodden way to it, poking rather a large hole in the hull of the poor Duchess Sophia. Nevertheless Lucinda climbed on land with no further injury than a few scratches, a torn and muddied hem, and a dozen lost hairpins.

A light shining through the rain came from what seemed to be, as Lucinda approached, a sort of castle, all Gothic crenellations against the heavy clouds and lightning bolts in the sky. She gritted her teeth and walked towards it in the drenching rain. At least, Lucinda decided, she was no longer at sea.

At last, Lucinda knocked upon the heavy wooden door. A footman opened it for her and led her to a small sitting room with a rollicking fire and a prepared tea tray. Lucinda wiped her face and hands as best as she could with the hot towel the footman offered her, but she was uncomfortably aware that nothing short of a long bath and a launderer's assistance would fix her tangled hair and her muddy skirt.

A long wait followed, during which time Lucinda drank her tea, ate her scones, and reasoned that the owner of such a castle might be quite kind indeed. Lucinda could shelter here and borrow a small rowboat to get herself home in the morning. She had just convinced herself of this, when a great door creaked open, and a man walked into the room.

When she saw his eyebrows, unmistakable, Satanic, Lucinda knew her error. He was—he must be—Lord Ugolino!

Lucinda stood at once. "I will be going now," she declared, faintly but with resolution.

"You will not."

Lucinda had expected him to sound like a rageful monster. Only such a one would have been able to kidnap her poor, innocent cousin. Ugolino only sounded bored. His very boredom was dictatorial, Lucinda decided.

Ugolino spoke again, in that dull voice of his. "You will stay here. There is nowhere for you to go. My servants report that your ship is not seaworthy, and there is no other transportation from this island."

"Of course," Lucinda answered shakily. "You are..." She caught herself before she said exiled on a small island without a ship, as I am. "You are the master of this island. I am merely a guest. You will not, I imagine, forget the courtesy that is due to a guest of quality." It was all she could say to protect herself. She was in this man's power utterly, and she had heard such terrible stories from her cousin Matilda and the servants at Leighcrest.

But Maximilian, who after all was seven years old and quite enjoyed adventure, had said that Ugolino was a capital fellow.

"Are you a guest of quality, or are you a hoyden who should never have come here?" Ugolino raised a sharp, black eyebrow, pointedly taking in the rips in Lucinda's skirts and the disarray of her hair. "No, I beg your pardon, I spoke too soon. There is," Ugolino continued with withering courtesy, "one other choice. If you would prefer to die of exposure rather than to endure my dubious hospitality, you are welcome to the grounds."

Flushing red, Lucinda pushed aside her chair and rose. Lost to all manner of dignity, she slapped the wicked ex-Count.

"Oh ho," Lord Ugolino said softly, catching her wrist with one surprisingly gentle hand. "You are in my own house, with only my servants around. Do you know what I have done? Do you know what I could do?"

Lucinda pulled her hand free with a jerk. Shakily, but clearly, she replied, "I know what you have done to my cousin Matilda."

Ugolino fixed Lucinda with a very sharp gaze indeed. She was reminded of an eagle choosing its prey. Then he rose and rang a heavy bellrope. A footman arrived with suspicious haste and a wooden expression. Lucinda wondered if the footman had been listening at the door.

"Show Miss Montmorency to her room," Ugolino commanded in that bored, dictatorial voice. "She will be staying quite some time. She informs us that she is a guest of quality and due all courtesy."

The footman mouthed, Montmorency? but said nothing aloud, and led Lucinda to an elegant bedroom with a key that the inhabitant of the room could turn in the lock herself.

---

Lucinda had not met him before, having been too young to attend her beloved aunt's nuptials, and then having been sent to finishing school thereafter. It was Matilda who had first encountered Ugolino then, and had told her young cousin all about it. ("And he loomed so during the ceremony! On my mother's wedding day! We should all have known then what an ill omen his presence was, for he looked very much like my new stepfather the Count, except that his expression was quite disagreeable, and his black, black eyebrows hung over his face like the very stormclouds of Jupiter. If we had known then what he would do, I might have cried and begged her not to marry him, however good a match it was, and however dear my brother Maximilian is to me now.") The Leighcrest servants had added to this tale, describing the ghoulish cruelty that could kidnap an innocent young boy and attack his virtuous sister in order to possess an estate which Ugolino, deprived of the firstborn's inheritance by a brother a mere year older, had long coveted. Lucinda had listened to these stories with suitably appreciative cries of horror.

Having now encountered this monster of legend, Lucinda decided that she was, on the whole, not impressed. His manners were quite poor. Better men than you have called me a hoyden, and even they have lived to regret it. She thought, with a momentary qualm, of Ugolino's predatory stare, and put the memory aside.

I will not stay in your power, Lord Ugolino. In the morning I will repair my ship, and then I will be free of you. Bastard, Lucinda added mentally, since no one was there to hear the impropriety, and she had not spoken the word aloud in any case. But thinking it was quite satisfying.

---

In the morning, the storm had vanished as if it had never been. Lucinda dressed herself with the help of a needle and thread she begged from a housemaid. Her clothes might be damaged, but she would not have them ragged, not before him. She pinned her hair up carefully, ate the excellent breakfast the housemaid left for her, and went out to seek her ship.

The shore of the island must, she decided, be past the garden walk, and if she was caught in the gardens on her way to the yacht, she could always explain her movements by saying she was only taking a stroll through the grounds.

Her attention was caught by a very fine fountain, with a statue of ... Oh. She supposed it must be two nymphs and a satyr, all of whom were intimately known to one another. What could one expect at the home-in-exile of a wicked ex-Count? Lucinda walked on quickly, and was fortunately examining a much less exceptionable tableau containing two armoured and mounted knights, each cast in bronze, facing each other over a patch of green meadow, when Lord Ugolino himself appeared.

"What," her host enquired, “do you make of my island?"

"Full of noises, sounds and sweet airs," Lucinda answered promptly.

"That is flattering if I am to be Prospero," said Ugolino, "but I rather expect you to have cast me as Caliban."

In the bright sunlight, Lucinda realized, Lord Ugolino hardly resembled a Caliban. He must have been thirty-five, at least, with weather-beaten skin and elegant hands, but there was nothing hideous about him except those unforgettable eyebrows. But she said only, “Prospero kept captives, after a storm and a shipwreck.”

"While Caliban was himself a captive," parried Ugolino. "You have joined me in my dungeon, Miss Montmorency. Am I correct in guessing that your personal name is Lucinda?"

As there was no point in denying it, Lucinda acknowledged Ugolino's guess with a curtsy. "The same."

"Maximilian spoke fondly of you," Ugolino answered.

Lucinda bristled. How can he speak so of a child he carried off against his only sister's will? But she said nothing.

After a time, her captor and fellow-prisoner added, "Perhaps you would like to walk to the shore with me, to examine the yacht that you so unfortunately damaged last evening?"

"At least I brought her safe to land!" Lucinda answered indignantly. She thought of denying all interest in the Duchess Sophia, but Ugolino was watching her skeptically, and she could hardly go alone if she were under his servants' eyes. So Lucinda only added an ungracious "If you wish," and accompanied Lord Ugolino without accepting his proffered arm.

When Lucinda and Ugolino reached the shore, they found a pair of footmen industriously hammering out pieces of steel left from the wreckage. Lucinda attempted to conceal her surprise.

"Did you think," Ugolino enquired, dark eyes glinting, "that you would be permitted to repair your ship without me? I wish to leave this island nearly as much as you do, you realize. If you behave yourself very well, I may let you share the departing journey. Your reputation will be ruined, of course, but at least you'll be able to go home."

"You—you—" Lucinda loosed her control over her tongue, and finished the sentence, "You bastard!" It was even more satisfying to say it out loud than it was to think it, she decided, as she raised her chin, lifted her damaged skirts off the sands, and walked away from her odious host.

---

By the second night, Lucinda's mood had begun to improve. She had bathed in a marble tub adjoining her bedroom. The housemaid had found or sewn a more suitable gown for Lucinda, and pinned her hair up again for her. When Lucinda descended to the main hall for supper, she felt herself quite able to face the company at table. Over the soup course, Lord Ugolino spoke of well-known artists, and when the main dishes were brought in, he asked Lucinda to tell him about recent developments in theatre. Lucinda met these conversational gambits with some relief; at least, whatever else he might be, Lord Ugolino was capable of civilized discourse.

But during the cheese course, when Ugolino took Lucinda's hand and asked her to marry him, she tossed her wine in his face.

--

At midday on the third day, Lucinda was examining the estate’s collection of ornamental topiaries.

"Do you admire them?" asked Lord Ugolino, who had stepped up silently behind her.

Lucinda refused to show her startlement. "I am sure they are very fine, as topiaries on isolated islands go."

"Thank you," Ugolino answered, with some irony. "I care for them myself. One must have something to fill one’s days."

Lucinda quailed inwardly at the thought of Lord Ugolino wielding a pair of pruning shears. "The top of that bush is quite rounded. Well done, sir. But are you sure you would not rather craft it in the shape of a ravening wolf?"

Ugolino laughed outright. The laugh quite changed the shape of his face, Lucinda thought. "Beyond my skill," he answered. "Although I would like to live up to your fearsome image of me. I may," he added, "have the moral fiber of a ravening wolf, but I lack the talent to display it in greenery."

"Perhaps you should cast it in bronze instead?" offered Lucinda. "Or paint it in watercolors."

"Watercolors!" exclaimed Lord Ugolino. "Do you think my governess taught me accomplishments, as yours undoubtedly did?"

"She should have taught you better manners," retorted Lucinda.

"She would certainly despair of me," agreed Ugolino. "But she taught me to have a conscience, however deeply I have buried it since. I have been thinking about your situation."

Lucinda felt herself stiffening. She answered, "I beg your pardon?"

"I am sure it has not escaped you." Lord Ugolino was neither sneering nor mocking. Lucinda shuddered; she found his quiet voice and serious demeanor more chilling than any other behavior she had yet seen in him. "You have been, Miss Montmorency, alone on my island, with no other company but myself and my servants, for two nights and two days. You will need assistance to protect your reputation."

Hot blood rushed to Lucinda’s face. She wiped her forehead angrily. "No gentleman would ever say such a thing."

Ugolino turned a little away from Lucinda. "As you have noted, I am no gentleman. But I am offering you my hand, and my protection with it."

Lucinda looked around the garden. There was no wine here to toss. If she had one, she thought, she’d throw the glass along with it. "An easy choice, then," Lucinda managed. "My reputation or my honor. I will never marry you."

Ugolino bowed and absented himself from the garden, leaving Lucinda staring at his ridiculous topiaries.

---

Lucinda took her meals in her room for the next several days. In the mornings she walked in the sculpture gardens and by the shore. She visited the Duchess Sophia, whose repair was proceeding at an excellent pace. But she did not go again to the topiaries, and she did not see Lord Ugolino. She could only conclude, with gratitude, that he was purposefully avoiding her.

By the sixth day, she realized that she was bored. Her maid was quite friendly, and willing to talk of small matters like curtain repair and chimney maintenance, but conversations with her tended to end with "The master prefers the fires lit on cold days" and 'The master is such a clever gentleman." The footmen were taciturn. The view of the sea from Lucinda’s bedroom window did not change. Matilda and Maximilian and Florian were so very far away.

What I need, thought Lucinda with resolution, is a book to read. 'Is there,' Lucinda asked the maid, "a library in the castle?"

"Oh, yes, miss," said the maid, rattling off a long list of directions. Accordingly, Lucinda made her way down the west corridor, up the spiral staircase to the Old Tower, where she found a large and promising, but previously occupied, library.

"I beg your pardon," said Lucinda Montmorency to Lord Ugolino. "I'll go."

Ugolino rose unsteadily. The tumbler at his desk was half-full, and the flask beside it nearly empty. "No. Please make yourself at home," he said. "I will excuse myself from your presence." He was, Lucinda noticed, unshaven, and there were shadows under his eyes.

"You are not well," said Lucinda firmly. "Sit down."

"If my lady asks," Ugolino answered, obediently seating himself.

"You are drunk," Lucinda realized. "And I am not, nor ever shall I be, your lady."

"So you informed me. Miss Montmorency."

The conversation, Lucinda decided, was insupportable. "What have you been reading, Lord Ugolino?"

Ugolino raised a book bound in red morocco. "The Tempest, Lady Miranda."

"Oh, honestly! You are completely insufferable." Lucinda selected another book at random from the nearest shelf and stalked out of the library. Let the housemaid care for him. Lady Miranda indeed.

But for hours afterwards, as she turned the pages of Marlowe’s Faustus, Lucinda remembered the haunted expression in Lord Ugolino's eyes.

--

At supper on the seventh night, Lucinda and Ugolino were courteous and distant to each other. Neither said anything of any importance. Lucinda was thinking, Your eyebrows are beautiful, after all, and trying to hide her blush with a spoonful of soup. What Ugolino was thinking, Lucinda mercifully did not know.

But after supper, Lucinda lay herself down to rest, and at midnight, she rose again. She dressed herself in her ragged clothes, purloined a sack of food and drink from the kitchen, and borrowed a sword from one of the suits of armor. By the light of the full moon, she crept down to the Duchess Sophia.

Ugolino was waiting alone by the shore. "Will you take me with you?" he said.

"I'm surprised that you bother to ask," replied Lucinda tartly. "You aren't going to force your way onto the Duchess with two swords and an army of minions?"

"I wouldn't dare," he said. Lucinda could not read his expression in the darkness. "I tried keeping members of your family from escaping by sea before. I have discovered it to be a lost cause. But marry me and take me with you."

Lucinda stepped onto the gangplank of the yacht and lifted it up behind her. "You kidnapped my cousin Maximilian," she replied. "You held a sword to my cousin Matilda's neck." Her governesses would never have approved of the volume of her voice, but now that she was on the ship and he was on land, how was Ugolino to hear her otherwise? "How could you imagine that I would ever marry you, even if your eyebrows are devastatingly attractive?"

In the darkness, Lucinda could barely see Ugolino raising his beautiful eyebrows, and then she was gone, and the silent waters surrounded Lord Ugolino's island home.

Only the servants at Leighcrest ever knew that Lucinda had been missing for a full week, and no one ever told. In due time, Lucinda married some kind person with a sharp mind and an excellent sense of humour, who had never personally kidnapped a young boy for his fortune and title.

Lord Ugolino remained on his island. Some years later, when a ship full of adventurers discovered him there, they found, as well, the face of Lucinda Montmorency, sculpted in topiary.