Francesca (12 page)

A single hand now slipped into her bodice and through the opening in her chemise to cup her breast.

“No!” Francesca gasped.

“Yes,” he said, his thumb beginning to rub over the nipple teasingly. “We will shortly be husband and wife,
cara mia
. These are innocent intimacies we now share, and you should be aware of them before we come together in the marriage bed. I suspected, and your actions confirm, that you are truly innocent.” He gently squeezed the small breast in his palm. “You are so tender and fresh, Francesca.” His lips touched her again as his big hand continued to fondle her.

Her head was spinning. She could hear the beat of her heart in her ears, but his hand and his lips were gentle, giving no indication of rough lust. They were like Rafaello.

Calm, measured in his actions. He wasn’t kissing or fondling her out of any need on his part. He was doing it to prepare her for the intimacies they must share after their wedding in order to produce heirs for his duchy. His actions were both dutiful and thoughtful of her own sensibilities. But no matter his reasons, it felt wonderful! But how cold he was to be able to kiss and touch her without any feeling for her at all. “Let me go,” she told him.

He immediately ceased his actions. “Have I frightened you, shocked you,
cara
?” he asked her as he withdrew his hand from her bodice.

“I have never been touched in so intimate a manner,” she answered him. “I must become used to it, Rafaello.”

“Did you like it?” he queried her.

She paused in her thought a moment and then said, “Yes.” Nothing more.

“Then we shall conclude tonight’s lesson,” he responded. “But I shall continue to make love to you, Francesca, at every opportunity I get.” And he did. Each night he would take her aside when they were alone.

Francesca found herself becoming more eager for his kisses and caresses. She was filled with a fevered longing as their kisses became more passionate, as she allowed him greater access to her breasts. But what was she longing for? She had yet to figure it out. The night he first took a nipple in his mouth, tonguing it, suckling it, she almost fainted with the exquisite sensation. But never did he admit to feeling any emotions for her.

I cannot marry a man who feels nothing for me. Especially now that he has shown me how delicious making love is. Would it not be even better if he loved me, and I him?
Francesca asked herself over and over again. The truth was, she couldn’t. But all was being arranged at a rapid clip. There was no other choice. She had to flee. She must depart Terreno Boscoso and find her way home to Florence. And she had to go alone, for Terza would certainly attempt to stop her flight.

Her parents would be furious, especially her mother, but Francesca couldn’t be controlled like Orianna, who chafed at her duty but nonetheless did it. And her father, she knew, had loved Orianna almost immediately, even though it took his wife many years to develop her small fondness for him.

Francesca thought of her older sister, Bianca, once hailed as the most beautiful girl in Florence. She thought of how after Bianca’s brutal and perverted first husband had died, her sister had defied their world to go with the man she loved. No matter the obstacles they had put in Bianca’s path she had prevailed. She had given up Florence, her family, her church to be with the man she adored.

The church had threatened her with excommunication. Francesca never knew if they had carried out that threat. What she did know was that for Bianca, heaven was in the arms of Prince Amir ibn Jem, grandson of the Turkish sultan. She preferred it to anything anyone else might offer.

Now Francesca wondered, could she be as bold and as brave as her elder sister? Could she flee this lovely prison and the handsome man who was to be her husband? Yes! She could. She had to go, because she could not remain. Accepting this marriage would have been so much easier if he had admitted any emotions towards her. But he had not, and so she must go now. Now, before it became any more difficult, she sent word to the hall that night that she was feeling unwell and would have her meal in her own apartments.

“What is the matter?” Terza asked. She did not think Francesca looked ill, and her appetite that evening had hardly been that of a sick girl.

“I am just feeling out of sorts,” Francesca admitted. “’Tis nothing. A quiet meal and a good night’s sleep will serve me well.”

Terza agreed, no longer concerned.

Later as she lay in her bed Francesca considered what she must do next. The month of October was almost over. In just five and a half weeks the wedding was scheduled to take place. She had to go quickly, but how would she get back to Florence? If she took the open road they would easily catch up with her. But if she hid in the forest for a few days and they didn’t find her on the road, they would certainly give her up for lost. Yes! That’s what she would do. She would hide in the forest.

The next morning she dressed in her riding clothes, and after her breakfast she sent the unsuspecting Roza to the kitchens for her. “Fetch me some bread, cheese, apples, and a few hard-cooked eggs, if you can find them. I am going to ride out by myself today. Tell no one. I’ll give you a silver piece in exchange for your silence when I return.”

“Should Terza know?” Roza asked.

Francesca giggled conspiratorially. “No, no,” she said. “She would fuss at me like the old woman she is becoming, and send me with two men-at-arms and a groom. Maybe that one you like,” Francesca teased Roza, who blushed but giggled too. “I just want some time by myself before I must take up my duties as a wife and your
duchessa
.”

“I understand, mistress,” Roza said.

“Meet me at the stables,” Francesca told the little maid. “Then you’ll get to see your friend and visit for a while.”

With another giggle Roza ran off.

Francesca picked up her gloves and her cape, for while the day was sunny and bright, the air was growing chillier as each morning dawned. She would have Ib saddle the bay. His color would blend in better within the forest than her showy white with its black mane and tail. She saw no one as she exited the
castello
. This was the morning that Duke Titus and Rafaello sat in the old man’s library and did the business of the duchy. They would not come out until late afternoon, and she would not be missed until the meal hour. She would be several hours away by then.

Reaching the stables she called softly to Ib. He came immediately, and with a nod quickly saddled the bay. Then he brought her a small skin of fresh water. “The sun is hot,” was all he said. He noted with curiosity Roza stuffing what appeared to be food into the saddlebags as he returned with the water. Francesca put a finger to her lips, and pressed a silver coin into his dark palm. Ib was suddenly uncomfortable, but this woman was his mistress. It was not his duty to question her, yet he sensed her actions would not be approved of by the duke or his son.

Francesca saw the look on his face. “Say nothing until you are asked,” was all she told him. “Since it is not your place to question me, you will not be blamed.”

Then Francesca mounted the bay and rode slowly from the stables, but not before Ib asked, “I go with you?”

“No,” Francesca replied. Then, seeing Roza still standing there, she said, “Go and find your friend. You have my permission.”

The bay moved gracefully across the open yard. Francesca smiled and gave the guards at the gates a jaunty wave as she passed beneath the portcullis. Once out on the drawbridge the horse moved into a trot, finally cantering onto the road. Francesca rode him out of sight of the
castello
and its men-at-arms before turning the animal’s head into and onto a forest path. She slowed the horse, then rode among the trees for a time. Now and again she would come to a meadow and give the horse its head.

She saw no human, no dwelling. She heard animals—rabbits, foxes, squirrels—in the brush. After several hours she stopped to rest her mount by a stream where it might water itself. Birds called to one another. She ate some bread, cheese, and an apple. Sometimes the birdsong would cease and the crisp air was silent. It was a quiet she had never before experienced in her life. She mounted and rode on until the shadows began to fill the forest. Finding a cairn of fallen stones, she decided to shelter there for the night. She let the bay loose to browse while she ate a supper of bread, eggs, and cheese.

She had sipped the water from the pouch over the course of the day. She heard a brook tumbling over rocks nearby. She had to remember to fill the pouch in the morning. Pouring almost all of the remaining water into a naturally formed stone basin, she led her horse to drink, then tied the beast for the night within her little enclosure. As the dark settled itself around her Francesca regretted that she had no fire and pulled her cloak around herself tightly. A half-moon rose over the forest, and just as she was finally dozing off she heard it.

Hoowlll. Hoowlll.

Could it be wolves? She drew the cloak tighter. The bay nickered nervously.

Hoowlll. Hoowlll.

Instinct told Francesca that they were safer where they were right now. The wolves hadn’t necessarily scented them, but they surely would if the horse moved through the forest with her upon its back. She sat straight and listened. But she heard no more howling. The wolves had apparently gone in a different direction, praise God. But she could not sleep again, dozing slightly now and again until the dawn finally lit up the forest, its red and gold rays bringing both warmth and relief.

Francesca slowly got to her feet. She was both stiff and cold. She stretched and moved her aching limbs until the circulation finally began to come back into them. She filled the water pouch at the nearby brook, drank, and then watered her horse. She took the remainder of the cheese and the bread, which was now quite stale, and ate. She would save the last egg and the apple for her evening meal. On the morrow she would leave the forest for the road again. Of course, she would have to find the road, but certainly if she just went back the way she came she would come to it.

She had let the horse off to graze again and now she went to get him. Reaching for his bridle, she was about to mount when a large bird flew out of the trees, startling the beast. The bay reared, whinnying, and, losing her grip, Francesca fell upon her back. For a moment she lay stunned, and then before she might rise the horse took off running. Stumbling to her feet she tried to chase it, but it was gone before she knew it, and so was the path she had been following.

For the first time in her life Francesca Pietro d’Angelo felt fear. She was alone in the forest. With the bay had gone her water, her remaining food, and her cloak, which she had laid across the pommel of her saddle. Even worse, there were wolves prowling the woods. She was going to have to find some way out, or at least an indoor place of safety, before it got dark again. She attempted to seek out the path again, but after an hour or more realized she had lost it. There was no other choice but to keep walking until she came upon shelter or another person who could get her to safety.

Chapter 6

F
rancesca walked all day. Her feet became swollen and hurt in her riding boots. And now it seemed as if the forest was even bereft of animals and birds. She was very relieved to see a doe eyeing her at one point from the brush. The shadows began to lengthen within the forest and she was fearful now of having to spend another night in the woodlands. She was thirsty and her head was aching.

Then suddenly Francesca noticed that the trees were thinning. She summoned what strength she had left and hurried along, finally coming out into a large clearing. And there, to her surprise, she saw a good-sized building, a sign hanging above its door indicating it was an inn. An inn in the midst of the woods? How could any traveler possibly find it? Was it even inhabited? The answer to her question came to the inn’s open door and, stepping outside and seeing Francesca, called to her.

“Come here, girl! You look lost.” The woman who spoke seemed ageless. She was short but stocky, yet not plump. Her hair was the gray of a storm cloud and it matched her eyes. “I am
Signora
Alonza, proprietor of this inn.”

“Oh, thank the blessed Mother I have found you,” Francesca said. “I spent the night in the forest and I heard wolves all about me. Can you help me?”

“I might. I can, if you will help me,” the innkeeper said bluntly.

“I have no silver with me, but if I can get home you will be greatly rewarded,” Francesca said to the woman.

“I do not need gold or silver, child,” Alonza answered her. “The serving wench I hired has run off. I need help in the inn. My busy season is just now beginning and will last until late spring. I need a strong young girl like you to help me cook, clean, and serve my patrons. I cannot do it alone. Help me until spring and I will have my nephew take you to the main road and put a few coppers in your pocket, and you will be cozy and warm for the next few months,” the innkeeper offered. “What is your name?”

Francesca paused. She must now reveal her identity. “I am called Cara,” she told Alonza. “But I cannot remain with you. I must get home.”

“Listen to me, girl, it is obvious to me from the look of you that you have not been out in the world much. You’re some lady’s maid, to be sure, and because you have a look of honesty about you I will wager you have fled your employer because her husband is behaving disrespectfully towards you. If your employer seeks after you and finds you, you will get a good beating and be forced to accept your master’s advances. Remain here and I will keep you safe. By spring you will be able to find your way home in safety.”

“But I know nothing of cooking, cleaning, and serving,” Francesca said.

“You look like you can learn, however, and I am in difficulty. This inn is not one that is open to passing travelers. This inn is here for the duke’s hunters. They eat and shelter with me once the winter sets in. Some will just eat, for they have other places to sleep, but about ten of them live here.”

“Perhaps one of these hunters would be willing to take me to the main road,” Francesca said hopefully.

Alonza laughed heartily. “Child, they would eat you up and enjoy every morsel of your sweet self. You would be unlikely to see that road, but you would see some good upstanding cocks eager to plant themselves in you.”

Francesca blushed a deep crimson at the innkeeper’s candid speech.

“Oh, ho!” Alonza said softly. “Cara, child, are you a virgin? Tell me the truth now, for I must know if you need to be protected from my ruffians.”

“Yes,” Francesca whispered.

The older woman nodded. “I will keep you from harm,” she said. “Now come into the inn and have a hot meal. You will watch me tonight as I serve, and learn. Are we agreed, then?”

She really had no choice at this point, but she would ask the hunters when she learned more about them. Certainly they were not as rough as Alonza said. She is just trying to frighten me so I will stay for now, she thought. “Yes,” she answered. “I will remain with you.”

“
Hola
, Alonza, you beautiful old wench!” Two rough-looking bearded men came out of the forest. They were dressed in leather pants, shirts that at one time were probably white, and sleeveless wool vests, and carried bows over their shoulders with quivers of arrows on their backs. They had rather fierce-looking knives in sheaths tucked into their belts. “Is our dinner almost ready for us? And who is this little flower?” Both men leered at Francesca, who shrank back behind the innkeeper.

“I have just hired her, as Serafina ran away, the bad wench. Now, you will keep your hands to yourself or there will be no supper for either of you. I don’t want you scaring this one off. Surely you can see she’s a good girl.”

The two huntsmen laughed uproariously. “She won’t be for long if she works for you, old woman,” one said.

Alonza pushed Francesca into the inn and immediately took her into the kitchens. “Sit down at the table,” she said. “I’ll feed those two first so they’ll not bother us. Then I’ll feed you. There will be more of my lads coming in soon enough.”

Francesca sat down. She realized how very fortunate she was not to have died in the forest. But she had to find her way to the main road. She wasn’t a serving girl. She was Francesca Pietro d’Angelo, daughter of a prestigious citizen of Florence. She knew she was intelligent enough to carry plates and mugs, but as for cleaning and cooking? She didn’t have the faintest idea how she would accomplish that. Her elegant little hands would be ruined. How Aceline du Barry would laugh to see her now. She put her head down on the table, and was suddenly asleep.

Poor maiden, Alonza thought, looking down at her. Cara. She doubted that was the girl’s name at all, but for whatever reason she did not choose to reveal her identity, and Cara was as good a name as any. The innkeeper could see the girl’s hands were as soft as butter, but she wasn’t stupid. She would learn her duties quickly enough, and when spring came Alonza would keep her promise and have her brought to the main road so she might be on her way. She filled a bowl with a thick soup, buttered a thick slice of bread, and woke her new servant. “Come and eat, dearie,” she said. “I’ve work to do, but when you’re through tell me. I have a cozy little room for you.”

“Thank you,” Francesca said, and she was grateful for the innkeeper’s kindness. At least she was safe this night from the wild creatures in the forest. She wondered if the bay had made it safely back to the duke’s stable and not fallen prey to the wolves. She hoped so.

Spooning up her soup, she found it delicious. She dipped some of the buttered bread in it and thought it the best thing she had ever eaten. When she had finished she knew enough, having eaten many a time in her family’s kitchen as a child too young for the table, to place her bowl and spoon in the big stone sink.

Alonza returned and, seeing her do it, smiled, pleased. This girl might be gently raised, for her delicate hands had attested to it, but she was not lazy. “Those two bears are eating and drinking to their hearts’ content,” she told Francesca. “Now, while I have a moment let me take you to where you will sleep. You are very fortunate, for the chamber has four walls and a door you may lock for your privacy. It is next to my own room.” Carrying a candle to light their way, the innkeeper led her new servant up a narrow flight of stairs from the kitchen. There in a private corridor, walled off from the guest quarters, were two chambers. Alonza opened the door of the first one. It was small, but there was a narrow bed with a little chest at its foot, and a candle stand at its side that held a taper. Next to the candle stand was a single window with a small table under it. It is hardly what I am used to, Francesca thought, but it will have to do until I can leave. And it is certainly better than the forest.

Stepping inside, Alonza lit the taper from her own candle as the light was almost gone. “I’ll get you a sheet for the bed,” she said. “I expect you are used to such finery. There is a down comforter for you in the trunk and a more suitable array of garments for tomorrow. Sleep well, my child.” She departed, returning with a sheet and a pitcher of water so Francesca might bathe. She set the pitcher on the table, which held a metal basin.

“Thank you,” Francesca said to the innkeeper as she closed the door behind her.

She could hear more guests coming into the inn from her little refuge. Putting the rough sheet over the straw mattress, she opened the trunk to find a pillow and the coverlet. To her relief there were also two chemises, along with a skirt and two blouses. She wondered if they belonged to the departed Serafina, and considered that servants had very little of their own. She had never before thought of it. Stripping off her clothing, she quickly bathed in the basin and drew one of the chemises over her. It was clean and it was warm, but it was hardly the fine silk she was used to wearing.

She then shook her riding pants out the window to rid them of the dirt and dust they had acquired. She had seen Terza do that. She packed them at the bottom of the trunk, along with the rest of her garments. For the interim Francesca Pietro d’Angelo was gone, and in her place was Cara, a serving girl. Kneeling by her bedside she said her prayers, thanking God for her temporary deliverance. Then she climbed beneath the coverlet and fell into a deep sleep.

Alonza did not spare her, waking Francesca well before the dawn. “Get up, girl. We have bread to get in the ovens,” she called, rapping at the girl’s door.

“It’s still dark,” Francesca protested, pulling her coverlet closer.

“I have more than a dozen hungry men to feed,” Alonza said. “The bread will not bake itself. Get up and come down to the kitchens.”

Francesca struggled reluctantly out of bed. Did Terza and Roza arise this early? Surely not! But she relieved herself in the chamber pot, dumped it out the window, rinsed it with some water, and dumped that too before shoving it beneath her bed. Then she washed her face and hands and pulled on a dark red wool skirt and a white shirt. Yanking on her boots and stockings, she ran her fingers through her beautiful hair before wisely binding it with a scrap of ribbon she found in the trunk. She shook the coverlet and set it to air in the window, as she had seen Terza do. Then leaving the room, she hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen.

“Ah, you’re here,” Alonza said. “Knead that dough on the board that I have just turned out.”

Francesca looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t know how,” she said.

“Ahh, you’ve never served in a kitchen. Well, no matter. I suspect you’ll learn quickly. Watch what I do, child, and then you’ll do it until I tell you to cease.” Rolling up her sleeves, the innkeeper demonstrated the art of kneading, then said, “Now you do it.”

Francesca followed Alonza’s lead, rolling up her sleeves, and began to press the dough over and over again.

“Good! Good,” she was told. “I’ll tell you when to cease.”

Francesca kneaded the dough for several minutes until her hands began to tire, but it wasn’t difficult. Finally Alonza bid her stop and spoke once more.

“Now, this is how you shape the loaves,” she said, demonstrating as she quickly formed two loaves. When they were done Alonza put them on a board with a handle. “You try,” she told Francesca, and hummed with approval as the girl managed to successfully duplicate her own efforts. “Excellent! You are a quick study,” she told her. “Now put them on the board. There is enough dough for two more loaves. When you have shaped them we’ll put them in the ovens for baking. Then you will do the dough in the other bowl, readying them for the oven too. We’ll mix the rest of the bread to bake after the men have eaten,” she told Francesca. “That way we’ll have enough for tonight.”

“Do you bake twenty-four loaves each day?” Francesca asked her.

“Some days more, for I can shelter twenty men if needs be. Some days less. At the height of the winter we’ll be doing forty loaves a day, two for each man. Now, when you’ve finished with the bread I’ll want you to go out to the henhouse and gather the eggs. I’ll give you the basket when you’re ready.”

Francesca went back to shaping the last two loaves from the first bowl. Then dumping out and kneading the second bowl of dough, she shaped the additional loaves and set them on a second wooden paddle. Alonza came, opened the oven doors, and showed her how to slide the bread loaves off the paddle and inside. Then she handed her new servant a willow basket.