Francesca (16 page)

“Don’t scream,” Carlo said in his now-familiar deep, rough voice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she scolded, but already her nipples were tingling with excitement.

“I love you,” he said simply.

“A seducer’s words,” Francesca replied.

“No!” He sat on the bed next to her. “A lover’s words. The words of a man who loves, needs, and wants you.”

“For how long?” she taunted him. “Until you return to your forest lair in a few more days, Carlo? What do you need me for? To satisfy your lust? How many women have you spoken those three words to in order to have your way with them?”

“I have never spoken those words before to anyone else except my mother,” he told her.

He stunned her into momentary silence. Oddly she believed him. “I am afraid,” she admitted to him, sitting up.

His eyes filled with the beauty of her breasts, which he could see beneath the thin fabric of her chemise. He put an arm about her shoulders. “What do you fear,
amore mia
?” he asked her.

“How I feel about you,” she half whispered. “I should feel nothing, and yet I do.”

“You love me,” he told her without any sense of conceit.

“I think I do,” Francesca admitted shyly, and felt heat suffuse her cheeks.

“This cot you sleep upon is too small for us both, and I would lie by your side,” he said. “Let me put your coverlet upon the floor so we may be together.”

She nodded. She wanted to lie fully in his arms, and she could feel the bed suffering beneath his weight. If it broke they would surely be discovered.

He pulled the down coverlet off her and spread it upon the floor, where it touched the wall, for the room was not large. Then removing his boots, he drew her down to join him, and wrapped his arms tightly about her so that they were almost fused from chest to thighs. Her soft body against him was the most comforting yet arousing sensation he had ever known. He undid the ribbon holding her plait and spread out her hair, burying his face in the red-gold curls, becoming dizzy with the fragrance of it. “I adore you!” he whispered into her ear.

“And I you, though I should not,” Francesca confessed, wondering how this could feel so right and yet be wrong.

“Why should you not love me?”

“Because I have an obligation to my family to return to them unsullied so they may make another match for me if they can. I foolishly ran away from the last arrangement they had settled. I was wrong to do so. He was a good man.”

“Ahh,” he said. “So that is why you were lost in the forest.”

“Yes, that is why,” Francesca admitted.

“If he was a good man, why did you flee him?” Carlo asked her, curious.

She thought a moment before she answered him. “With the example of my elder sister before me, I decided I wanted what she had. It is not the usual way to make a marriage among our kind, I know. But I wanted love. He did not love me. He barely knew me. He was ready to wed me because there was no other choice for him,” Francesca said. “Bianca’s behavior cost her everything but the man she loved. She has no family but him and no country to call her own. But that is not really what I want. I want my family. I want to have babies. I want to gather together with them when it is possible and see my parents delight in the children I have given my husband and his family.

“But I spoiled all that with my arrogance and my ignorance, Carlo. Now I will creep home and beg their forgiveness. I pray they will not disown me, and that they are able to find another good man I may wed when the scandal of my latest offense dies away. If they do not, I do not know what I will do, for I shall truly be lost then.”

“Marry me,” he said simply.

Francesca was very surprised by his suggestion, but she shook her head. “Nay. I am not who you believe me to be. Marriage to me could easily cost you your life. Ask me no more, I beg of you, for I have already said too much. I must leave Terreno Boscoso.”

He was stunned by all she had told him. “And tonight?”

She lay back, looking up at him so she might speak more directly to him. “Tonight I will belong to you because I love you. You will have my special gift.” Francesca then kissed him passionately and let him take the lead in their love play.

He actually debated with himself for a long moment as they kissed. He could have her now, all of her, as he had dreamed for many nights. But she was really so innocent of passion that it seemed better to him that he introduce her slowly to the delights of true love. There would be time for them now that she had confessed to him of her love. He had always believed that beneath her pride there was a warm and loving heart beating within Francesca.

She quivered with anticipation as his rough hand began to caress her full, round breast. His touch was so tender, so gentle, yet it set her afire with longings she had never before experienced. And she wanted more. She nuzzled his neck, nipping at his ear. He growled low against her warm flesh, and then his mouth fastened upon a nipple.

Francesca gasped with the sensation, then gasped again as he began to suckle on her. Unable to help herself, she reached up to tangle her fingers in his dark hair, holding him close against her as his tongue and lips awoke her newborn lust.

When he raised his head from her breast she whispered frantically, “No! Don’t stop, my love. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he transferred his attentions to her other breast and she pressed herself up against him. There was absolutely no space between them. She could feel every inch of his lean body against hers. She fumbled to loosen his leather breeches, but he stopped her, taking her hands in his, holding them firmly so she might not use them. “Carlo!” she protested.
Madre di Dios!
She could feel the hard ridge of his manhood pressing itself against her through the fabric of his clothing.

“So eager. So eager,” he groaned against her ear. And he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him, but he would not take her now, tonight, without the benefit of a marriage between them. She just wasn’t some servant to be used and discarded. She was the woman he loved. He fought down his own raging needs.

“Yes!” she whispered back. Her tongue licked his ear provocatively. “Yes!”

“I want you more than I have words to tell you, Cara, my love, but I must be true to the lesson my mother—may God have mercy on her sweet soul—taught me. I will not give myself the full pleasure of your body until our wedding night,” he explained.

“But such a thing cannot be!” she cried out to him, and those beautiful green eyes of hers began to sparkle with tears.

“Then I shall never have you, Cara. You are simply not a woman to be taken and then discarded, even by so rough a fellow as I am.” Jesu! She could have no idea of what this gallantry was costing him, but with a final caress to her breast he forced himself to his feet. His male member was aching with his need for her, but his mind was made up. He did not imagine she expected her huntsman to play the gallant.

She began to weep as she lay curled upon the floor. She had wanted him. She had offered herself to him freely without conditions, and now suddenly he was refusing her generosity. She swallowed back her sobs. She would not let him know how much he had hurt her by crying with her disappointment. Perhaps it was better this way. Francesca scrambled to her feet, pulling her chemise closed and about her. “Get out!” she said to him, but he was already half-gone, slipping out the window through which he had earlier entered her small chamber.

Bending down, she gathered up the quilt that had been spread upon the floor, wrapping it about her as she lay back down again upon her small cot. She could smell the woodland fragrance he always had about him on the fabric. Certain she was alone once more, Francesca wept. So this was how it felt to be scorned and refused by the man you loved. Only now did she really understand the cruelty she had demonstrated to her many suitors over the past two years. She was alone and bereft.

Francesca suddenly realized that it didn’t matter to her at all if she ever married. Now that she knew what love was, how could she give herself to just any man? But when she managed to find her way back to Florence and her parents’ house, there would no longer be any choice left to her at all. If they could find a man to wed her, she would be wed. At least her husband would have the gift of her virginity. But even that was not her doing. Her virginity remained intact because a rough huntsman had had more honor than she had. How shameful was that? But it was a shame she would keep to herself.

Her eyes burned from her tears. There was no more time left to her. The summer was almost upon them. She could not linger here with Alonza at the inn in the forest. She had kept her part of the bargain she had made with the innkeeper. Francesca knew that once she told Alonza she was ready to leave, the older woman would keep the rest of the bargain, for she was every bit as honorable in her own way as was Francesca Pietro d’Angelo. It was time to face the consequences of her own foolish actions.

Chapter 8

M
aking certain that Alonza’s health was fully restored, Francesca broached the subject of her departure several days later. She had discovered the morning after Carlo’s visit that he and the other huntsmen had gone in the early light even before the dawn. The inn was empty now, and would remain so until the autumn came, when the duke’s huntsmen would once again come in from the cold weather of winter.

For the next few days the two women cleaned the inn from top to bottom. The chambers where the men had slept were emptied, their floors and windows scrubbed before the rough furniture was returned to be stacked against the walls until it was time again for them to be occupied. Alonza announced as they cleaned the kitchens that she would be spending the summer with her sister near the city.

“My nephew, Alonzo, will be here in a few days to take us out of the forest, my girl. I hope you’ll return with me next autumn, for you have been the best serving girl I have ever had, Cara.”

“I cannot,” the younger girl said, truly touched by Alonza’s words. “I must go home to my family, and make my amends for running away.”

Alonza nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I understand, child. But I will miss you.”

“And I you,” Francesca said, unable to help herself as she hugged Alonza. “You have taught me so much, and I am grateful.”

Alonza shook her off but she was smiling. “Well, you were quick to learn, which is more than most of them are. Perhaps I’ll bring back my sister’s ugly daughter with me. They’ll never find the poor girl a husband, so if she enjoys the inn perhaps the duke will allow her to have it when I have grown too old for all this hard work.”

Alonza’s nephew arrived two days later just after dawn. He was a good-natured lad about fifteen years in age. “I know you, Auntie, and you are eager to go, but first you must feed me. I left my mother’s after supper last evening, and traveled by moonlight most of the way. Hello! And who is this pretty maid?”

“I’m Cara, your auntie’s servant, and you are much too young for me to flirt with, boy,” she told him, laughing.

“A pity,” he said. “I’m in the market for a wife, and if your work pleased my auntie, then you would probably make me a good wife.” He grinned winningly at her.

“Give him a wife, now,” Alonza said laughing, “and he’d wear the poor lass out before he was seventeen. The food is on the table. Eat quickly, for Cara and I are ready to be quit of the forest for now. I’ve packed food for our journey, but we should reach our destination by sundown if you hurry.”

The boy gobbled down the loaf of fresh bread, the half-dozen hard-boiled eggs, and half a cooked chicken. Francesca washed the few dishes quickly, looked about the inn a final time, and joined Alonza. The innkeeper carefully locked the front door of the inn, hanging the key on a large decorative hook by the door.

“Will you not take it?” Francesca asked the older woman, surprised.

“It’s unlikely anyone will disturb the inn before I return in late summer,” Alonza said. “It is hardly on the beaten path, but someone like yourself, child, might find themselves lost in the forest, and could shelter here. Best they have the key and not break in. There is little to steal. The livestock comes with us now.”

“The duke doesn’t mind?” Francesca said.

“He is a kind man,” Alonza told her.

Aye, Francesca thought to herself, he was a kind man. She remembered him well and hoped he did not think too badly of her. Well, it doesn’t matter any now, she thought.

The little party departed the inn yard, and, riding upon the mules Alonzo had brought with him, they followed him through the forest. Francesca could not clearly see the path they traversed, but it was obviously there, for the boy and his beast moved along at a brisk pace, undeterred, as they followed along behind him. Gradually the way became more obvious, but Francesca realized that she would have never found her way out of the woodlands without their guide. And then in late afternoon they emerged from the trees onto a more obvious narrow roadway that finally led to a larger road, which was crowded with people.

“Where are they all going?” Francesca asked Alonzo.

“To Castellocitta. The duke’s son is being married tomorrow, and everyone wants to go to the wedding. There will be wine and food for everyone. None in Terreno Boscoso will miss this wonderful event,” Alonzo explained to them.

“Oh, how exciting!” Alonza said. “You would think your mother would have sent me word of such an event.”

“She knew you would be home in time,” the boy said.

Francesca was silent. So Duke Titus’s son, Rafaello, would finally take a bride. She wondered who the girl was. Her mother was really going to be furious at her for the dreadful mess she had made of what had been a marvelous opportunity.

“How exciting!” Alonza said again, enthusiastically. “We’ll get to see the spectacular event all of Terreno Boscoso has been awaiting. By this time next year, God willing, we will have another heir! You will come with us, Cara!”

“No, no!” the younger woman said. That was all she needed to do. Stand in a crowd of happy citizens and cheer Rafaello and his new bride. “I must find my friend if she is still in the town, and then we must be on the road south as quickly as we can.”

“Well,” Alonza said, “you’ll miss a wonderful day, but I can understand your need to return to your native city and your family. I’m sure they will be happy to see you.”

Francesca almost laughed aloud at Alonza’s words. If she hadn’t already been disowned, her mother would probably kill her where she stood when she was announced at Palazzo Pietro d’Angelo.

They arrived at Alonza’s sister’s cottage in early evening. Both older women insisted that Francesca remain the night, and the girl was too tired, if truth be told, to argue.

But when the morning came she was prepared to depart into the city. With the crowds still filling the road, she wondered if she might make her way to the castle. Would Terza still be there? Or had she been sent back to Florence with the priest and two nuns who had accompanied Francesca last year? As she considered what to do there came a loud knocking at the door of the cottage.

Alonza went to answer and found herself facing a small contingent of the duke’s guardsmen. “Good morning,” Alonza said. “What is it you want?”

“We’ve come for the girl who calls herself Cara,” the spokesman for the group said. They wore red uniforms with fine gold-colored buttons decorating the jackets.

“What?” Alonza was very surprised. “What has she done? She is a good girl who worked hard for me all winter in the duke’s forest inn. Why do you want her?”

“If you are employed by our master, the duke, I will not chastise you for questioning me,” the guardsman said. “Is the girl here? If not, where has she gone?”

Alonza’s sister, Barbetta, now hurried forward. “Cara is here,” she said.

Then she called, “Come, girl, you are wanted by the duke’s guard. Come quickly! I’ll have no trouble in my house this happy day.”

Young Alonzo half dragged Francesca forward. “Here is the girl who calls herself Cara,” he said. “Is there a reward?”

Alonza cuffed her nephew upon his head.

“I have done nothing,” Francesca said, frightened.

“I have orders that you are to come with us,” the head guardsman said. “I want no trouble. Just come quietly.”

“You don’t have to go with them!” Alonza said. “I’ll speak with the duke myself. They cannot just come to our door and demand to take you away without cause.”

“My orders come from Duke Titus himself,” the guardsman said. “Just come with us, girl, and do not place these good people who have sheltered you in jeopardy.”

“I’m coming with her!” Alonza said in a firm voice, her hands on her hips.

“If you wish,” the guardsman said. “No harm is meant the girl, mistress. I have simply been instructed to bring her to her people at the castle.”

“It’s all right, dear Alonza,” Francesca told her protector. “I believe they mean me no harm. Stay here with your family.” The girl turned to the guardsman. “I will come with you,” she said quietly. Her fear had suddenly evaporated as she absorbed the man’s words. He had come to bring her to
her people
at the castle. Somehow the duke had learned she was in the city, but how? Francesca shrugged to herself. Does it matter?

She gave Alonza a quick hug and then followed the guardsman outside. He mounted his horse and then, holding out a hand to her, pulled her up before him on the saddle. The mounted party moved away from Barbetta’s cottage and into the traffic on the road, where the guardsmen urged their mounts at a brisk speed into the town itself and then onto the road leading up to the castle.

Francesca remembered her entry into the duke’s home a year past when she had come dressed in a beautiful gown, her jewelry sparkling in the summer sunshine, her great and impressive train causing immediate jealousy on the part of the arrogant Aceline du Barry. Had the duke recalled her to wed Rafaello? No. Rafaello would have never married Aceline under any circumstances. She thought suddenly of Louisa. Had her father, the duke of Genoa, given his permission for her to wed her beloved Valiant? They would hardly recognize the proud and beautiful Francesca Pietro d’Angelo in the girl she had become. The servant with tangled hair, and her hands with their broken nails, rough from doing laundry.

Francesca felt a tiny surge of her old pride, and kept her head low so that no one would recognize her. She had hoped to reenter the castle quietly, pretending to be a serving wench hired for the day. Then she might have sought out news of her own servants and departed quietly amid the excitement of the celebration for Rafaello’s wedding. They crossed the oak drawbridge and Francesca was shocked to see Terza standing with Sister Maria Annunziata and Sister Maria Benigna. Her tiring woman’s face lit first with joy and then distress seeing the condition her young mistress was in.

“What was done to you?” she exclaimed as the guardsman lifted Francesca down from his horse. “Mother of all mercies, come quickly! I need to get you at least in a tub before your
madre
sees you.” She grasped Francesca’s hand, and, almost running, the two nuns by her side, hurried the surprised girl from the courtyard and into the castle.

“Where are we going?” Francesca asked Terza. “And are you telling me that my mother is here in Terreno Boscoso? How? Oh,
Madre di Dios
, are my parents forced to pay the duke an indemnity for my bad behavior? I just want to go home, Terza!”

“You are home,” her serving woman said in a stern voice as they entered what Francesca remembered was her old apartment. “You certainly took your time returning from the forest, and everyone was terrified when your horse returned to the stables without you. They thought you might have been eaten by wolves, but no sign of remains could be found. Roza! Here she is, and not a moment too soon. Is the tub ready for her?”

“Yes, Mistress Terza,” the servant girl said. “Welcome back, my lady.”

If Francesca had been confused before, she was even more confused now. They practically tore off her clothing and hustled her into the large steaming tub. The hot scented water brought tears to her eyes as it covered her from neck to toes. The warmth seeped into her, and without even realizing it she sighed gustily. It had been months since she had had a decent wash. She could hardly move, it felt so good.

Terza was fussing with her hair, undoing the thick plait, searching through her tresses, and finally pronouncing in a satisfied tone, “No nits! Praise the blessed Mother for small favors!”

Francesca gasped as a pitcher of hot water was dumped over her head. Then Terza began scrubbing the girl’s head vigorously. “You’ve not had your hair properly washed in months. Have you?” she said, not waiting for an answer. “It will have to be clean considering the work I must do to make you look respectable today.”

“I just want to go home,” Francesca said. “I only came back for you on the chance you had not already been sent home.”

“Foolish girl!” Terza said fondly. “Why would I go back to Florence when you are here?” She rinsed her mistress’s hair, washed it again, rinsed it a second time, and then wrapped it in a hot towel to begin drying. “Roza, see to her fingernails, dearie, will you? Her hands look like that of a common servant wench.”