Monday: Lucianna stared at Serafino and the wooden plate in his hands, heaped with roast venison in a sauce that smelled of pepper, a chicken pasty, and a pork tart, all topped with a kidney stew that was surely soaking the pasty and tart shells to mush.
Tuesday: The abbess herself had christened the babe Lucianna for she had been discovered on the bitter cold morn of Saint Lucia’s Day.
Thursday: Lucianna had called Sir Balduin many things in an attempt to drive a wedge between them, but she had never called him that! “Did he say I called him a buffoon?”
Friday: She, Lucianna, who had always been called tigress, fury, spitfire, even once by an overawed suitor in her youth, an Amazon for her bold, fiery ways, had in truth been a pathetic, selfish, frightened child to have allowed Serafino to manipulate her so shamefully for nearly thirty years.