Prima Ranieri, heroine of Surrender to Honor by Jannine Corti-Petska

Please introduce yourself, Ms. Ranieri.

“I am Prima Ranieri from Palermo.”

Society labels you as unconventional. Why?

Prima stared at the terribly thin woman. No doubt her false blonde hair weighed more than she. “Unconventional?”

            “Different.”

“Why did you not say so?” She frowned. “I am not like other women. I wear armor when necessary, and I handle a bow and arrow better than most men. The sword is also my weapon, but in battle the bow and arrow is the first I would choose.

You certainly are unconventional. Have you ever wanted to fit in?

“Fit in where?” Surely the woman didn’t mean the time she got stuck in a narrow window just before her marriage to Antonio?

“Be accepted by others.”

“No.” Prima looked around the grassy field, a forest of trees nearby. There were close to100 men on horseback, their clothes an oddity. She glanced at poles and the metal boxes atop them, wondering how they balanced. And what were all those black, squiggly things on the ground?

The interviewer followed her line of vision. “Those are wires. They send electricity to the cameras.”

Faith, did she read her mind? Prima shrugged off the woman’s comment and drew a deep breath. “I care not if I am accepted by others. My husband, his men and the entire household accept me as I am.” They had no choice.

Who is your role model and why? 

            “Che cosa role model?”

            “I’m assuming you’re asking for a meaning?”

            Prima nodded, all the while thinking the woman had lost control of her mind.

            “Was there anyone who you wished to be—”

            “I do not wish to be anyone. I am Prima.” She dug her fingertips into the wood arm rests.

            “Was there anyone you admired?”

            Prima’s brows rose in question as her frustration mounted. “I know not what you mean.”

            “Never mind. We’ll skip that question.”

If you could do anything without concern for consequences, what would it be?

            “Thanks be to God Antonio is not here to answer that question. It is my nature not to think before I act upon my desires. At first, my husband did not understand my need to train with weapons.” Like the time her husband’s close friend Nando got in trouble because she wanted to train with her sword and none of Antonio’s men would oblige. So Nando stepped in. Antonio caught them touching swords. “There is naught anyone can do about my quick reactions.”

             

Is your husband as unconven— ah, different as you?

            “Mayhap. He does not cherish carrying a weapon. I have saved his hide many a time. His fool notion that words not weapons settles a fight does not go well for him.”

Have you dark desires you'd like to share? 

            “I do,” a male voice responded.

            Prima glared at a grinning Antonio. “What are you doing here?”

            “I missed my beautiful wife.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

            She flushed. “Were you not taking the children to the puppet show?”

            His dark eyes delved deep into her senses. He had that look of a man needing carnal pleasure. Pray he didn’t give in to his desires before they returned home.

            Reclaiming her senses, Prima told him bluntly, “She is not interested in your dark desires. And she oft speaks in a different language, so take care with what you say.” One glance at the woman, and Prima wanted to rip the ogling harlot’s eyes out. “I believe she has conjured up your dark desires.”

            Antonio slid his gaze to the stranger, his smile seducing. She hated when he did that. He could charm the leggings off a stout knight. And the woman… Prima fumed at her flirtatious behavior. She dabbed at her brow then unbuttoned her shirt and fanned herself.

            “Your questions are over,” Prima announced.

            Tearing her gaze away from Antonio, the woman pulled herself together. “Just one more thing.”

Please provide a bit of your story that showcases you at your best. 

            “Tell her about how you welcomed me back to Palermo,” Antonio suggested.

            The twinkle in his eyes disturbed Prima. She’d think he wouldn’t want to tell another of that particular incident.

            She nodded. “He was atop his horse on a hill overlooking a funeral procession…….”

Antonio squeezed his eyes closed against the roiling memories, but he couldn’t ignore the depressing tone of the mourners. The combined din of the old woman’s wails, the creaking and clanking of the cart, the murmur of grieving voices—all collided in his head with forceful commotion. As he gripped the reins, eager to escape the noise, a high-pitched war cry rent the air, and something struck his horse’s flank.

Shocked, Antonio gaped at the small warrior clinging to his saddle, struggling to climb astride. He turned his horse in a tight circle and attempted to shake off his attacker, but the man clung like a dog to a juicy bone. Antonio gripped the horse’s barrel as the soldier gained leverage and caught him off guard with the flat side of a broadsword. Antonio tumbled to the ground. The little bastard stood between his spread thighs, one booted foot on his manhood. The sword’s sharp point poked the hollow of his throat.

“Identify yourself,” the soldier commanded.

“I have no quarrel with you.”

“Be you Massaro or Falcone?”

“Mayhap I am neither.”

“Mayhap I should run my blade through your throat and see what color blood pours from your veins.”

The soldier pressed on Antonio’s groin, and he sucked in his breath. “I have recently come to Palermo and have had little time to acquire enemies. If you will explain your reason for attacking me, I may better explain my intentions upon this land you guard with your life.”

“I guard against the horrible misdeeds of the families Massaro and Falcone. Were you called upon by either?”

Antonio’s eyes darted over the youth. There was no bulk to him, neither was his voice that of a grown man. He sounded as if he purposely deepened his voice. It mattered not, though. At the moment, the lad held the advantage, and another move of his small boot spread painful pressure through Antonio’s veins.

“No,” he rasped.

“Cooperate, stranger, or you shall not live to see the sun set.”

“Thank you for your time,” the woman said, but her eyes were undressing Antonio.

Prima yanked on his shirt sleeve and pulled him away from the lecherous woman, else Prima would be forced to demonstrate her expertise with a sword. Her husband gripped her wrist and brought her into him, trapping her in his embrace. Her exasperation with his outward display of affection boiled up her chest.

“Not here,” she scolded him.

“Then we best get home soon.”

“Can you not control yourself?” She pulled out of his arms and started off. “I cannot believe I married a man whose lust knows no bounds.”

He caught up to her. “I have never heard you complain.”

It was true. How could she fault him when she was just as hot to share his bed. She picked up speed. “Then we best get home soon.”