Francesca (24 page)

“She is on her way to a convent outside of Florence. Her father is escorting her, and her child is with her. My own
madre
is a patron of Santa Maria del Fiore, and the superior is her own kinswoman. Aceline du Barry and her child will be safe there and well treated. Perhaps one day her sanity will return.”

“I hope not,” Oriel said. “If it did she would remember what happened, and I do not think she could bear to relive it.” The Frenchwoman’s eyes filled with tears, which spilled down her cheeks.

Terza and Roza looked uncomfortable.

“What happened?” Francesca asked once again.

Oriel sighed deeply as she wiped her tears with her hand. “Two days into our journey our little caravan was attacked by bandits. They were fierce, and slew everyone in our party but for my mistress and me. Those killed were the lucky ones. They were delighted with the horses and all the rich gifts that Duke Titus had given Aceline. We were brought back to their encampment high in the hills.

“My mistress, once she managed to recover from her initial shock, immediately began telling their leader who she was and how important she was, and how unless they returned her and her belongings to her father, she would have them executed. She had no thought for those in our party left dead on the road for the crows. As always she thought only of herself. I tried to get her to be silent. I could see immediately the kind of men these were. They were desperate fellows with no care for anything except the moment in which they were living.

“But my mistress would not stop talking. She told their leader how she would have been the new
duchessa
of Terreno Boscoso had it not been for a Florentine bitch—your pardon, my lady—who had stolen the duke’s son from her. She babbled on about how important she was until their leader, a brute who called himself Bruno, hit her across her face. Then he told her he intended fucking her because he had never fucked a lady before. He said he wanted to know if fucking a lady was different from just fucking any other woman.”

“
Madre di Dios!
” Francesca whispered.

“Must I continue, my lady?” Oriel asked. “It is not a happy tale I have to tell.”

“Continue,” the
duchessa
said. “I would hear it all.”

“He raped her,” Oriel said tersely. “He had his men hold her down while he used her. When he discovered that she was a virgin he decided to keep her for himself and not let his men have her. He gave me to the others. And every time he mounted her he would say to her, ‘It is the lord of Terreno Boscoso fucking you, bitch.’ Then he would laugh uproariously. She quickly lost her senses after that, but Bruno did not care. He was a vicious man who enjoyed despoiling a lady, and there was hardly a day he did not use her several times. I was not surprised when I realized she was with child.

“That knowledge briefly brought her back to herself. She suddenly said she had to escape and return home. Her father would want to know she carried the heir to Terreno Boscoso. When I attempted to explain to her that her child was that of a bandit, she hit me. How stupid I was, she said. She knew it was the lord of Terreno Boscoso who lay with her each night. He told her so.

“The bandits had grown used to leaving us in their camp whenever they went off. There were only a few other women. Two old women who cooked for them, and three farm girls they had taken for their pleasure. Bruno told one of the old women whom he particularly trusted that they would be gone for several days. I had always been pleasant to her, and so she would gossip with me. When I learned what Bruno had told her I took the opportunity to help my mistress escape.”

“How were you able to manage to get her back to her father?” Francesca asked.

“I learned that our camp was actually just over the border in France. I had learned from the men who used me that there was a path just a short distance from the camp. As soon as Bruno and his men had gone we left. I got my mistress to the path and started walking. We reached the High Road a day later, when I begged help from the first party of travelers we met. They were grateful of our warning about the bandits and took my mistress to her father via a less-traveled road nearby,” Oriel finished.

Francesca nodded. “Were you with her when the child was born?” she asked.

Oriel nodded. “Once the infant was birthed its origins were obvious. When she insisted upon telling her sire and his wife that this was the young duke’s son they wanted to believe her. I told the comte’s wife it was not possible, and she told me to keep my mouth shut or she would have my tongue pulled out. It was then my mistress looked at me and said that I had a choice. To remain and wait for my death, or to go. I did not linger, my lady. I fled the house of du Barry that same day and hour. Not knowing where to go, I begged for work from the egg farmer. His wife had just died and he needed my help, as they were childless.”

“Do you want to go back to him?” Francesca asked her.

“What else is there for me?” Oriel asked bleakly.

“You are a house servant, not a farmer’s woman,” Francesca said. “I will employ you if you will be loyal to me.”

Oriel nodded. “I am a lady’s servant,” she said. “You have two women to serve you. What would I do?”

“The castle’s majordomo will find a place for you,” Francesca told her. “Or you may return to the farmer or go wherever you please. I will give you a few coins to ease your way. The story you told me is tragic, but I shall be able to ease my husband’s mind and the old duke’s now that I have learned it.”

“I’ll stay,” Oriel said. “I’m a hard worker, and here I know that I am safe.”

“Very well, then. I thank you, and you are welcome to Terreno Boscoso. Roza, take Oriel to Matteo. Tell him I would have him find a place for her.”

“Yes, my lady,” Roza said, and escorted Oriel from the
duchessa
’s dayroom.

Terza shuddered when the woman was gone. “What a terrible fate for the Frenchwoman,” she said, and crossed herself. “As unpleasant as she was to you, I should not have wished it on her. And what will happen to her poor child?”

“If he can be taught he will probably end up in the priesthood. If not he will be a soldier,” Francesca said. “That is the usual fate of male convent bastards.”

“I hope when the young duke catches this bandit, Bruno, and his evil crew, he shows them no mercy at all,” Terza said angrily. “No woman deserves to be mistreated as those wicked men did to the Frenchwoman and her servant.”

“I will send a messenger to my lord telling him that we found Oriel by chance,” Francesca said. “He need have no worries over her. All he need do is punish the bandits.”

But catching the marauders was not as easy as Rafaello had anticipated. Bruno was not a fool. There was nothing the young duke and his men had that he wanted. They were robbers, plain and simple. They did not engage soldiers by choice. Once he understood that the duke wanted him dead, Bruno and his men, like hunted animals, went to ground, hiding in the uninhabited hills, moving daily so that they could not be caught.

Rafaello didn’t want to just drive the bandit chief from his territory. Why force the problem on Milan or Savoy, who were his nearest neighbors? No, better to rid the world of the monster who had tortured and raped poor Aceline du Barry, causing her to retreat into madness.

After a few weeks of playing cat and mouse Rafaello and his men withdrew to the inn where they had been headquartering to formulate a better plan of attack. “We need to lure him out,” the duke told his captain, a man who went by the name of Arnaldo.

“As long as we are anywhere in the vicinity he won’t be fooled,” Arnaldo responded. “This innkeeper, for all his complaints, is playing both sides, my lord. We cannot trust him.”

“What if we withdrew back to the town and then sent what would appear to be a wealthy wedding party onto the High Road? I think it might be too rich a prize for Bruno to resist,” the duke suggested as he walked across the chamber to yank open the door into the hall. “Ah-ha! What have we here?” he asked as a serving man fell into the room. He looked to Arnaldo. “Take him out and cut his throat,” the duke ordered.

“My lord! No! Please, I beg of you, do not slay me,” the servant said.

“You were spying,” the duke said quietly. “For whom?”

“My master, the innkeeper,” the man babbled without hesitation.

“Why? Did your master not ask me to rid the area of these bandits?” the duke asked the frightened man.

“My master is a careful man,” the servant responded. “He expected you would come, and quickly catch Bruno and his men. When you did not he grew frightened that the bandit king might punish him for bringing you here and sheltering you. He planned to send to Bruno word of your latest plans in hopes of saving himself.”

Captain Arnaldo shrugged. “This is what you can expect of these peasants, my lord. We must return to the town, I fear, and leave the High Road to the bandits.”

“I think I am inclined to agree,” Rafaello said, “which means I will spare your life,” he told the serving man. “Tell your master all you heard was that we will depart back to the town tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, and with a bow almost ran from the room, while behind him the two men laughed heartily.

Chapter 12

F
rancesca was surprised to see her husband return so quickly. A few weeks were hardly time enough to rid an area of bandits, she thought. “I wanted you to be able to tell the Comte du Barry that you had rid the High Road of these robbers and avenged his daughter’s mistreatment.”

“Bruno is a far cleverer fellow than I anticipated,” Rafaello told his wife. “Come and kiss me, damnit! This is hardly a warm welcome, Francesca.”

They had not been wed so long that she was yet comfortable with him. “Not before the servants, my lord,” she said.

“Why not before the servants?” he half teased. “I think it would reassure them to see their master and mistress showing affection for each other. Come here!”

“My parents never made a display before their servants,” Francesca insisted.

Rafaello chuckled. “Perhaps if your father had been more determined handling your mother, you would have had a better example,” he told her, reaching out for her.

Francesca sidestepped him.
Handle my mother?
“How old fashioned you are, husband. My parents respect one another, and we must follow their good example and do the same. A marriage cannot be happy if a wife does not support her husband’s strengths and safeguard his weaknesses. And a husband must do the same for his wife.”

“Do you think I have any weaknesses?” he asked her, offended.

“I do not know you well enough to answer that,” Francesca said.

“Did Carlo have any weakness?” he demanded of her. “Other than, of course, for another man’s betrothed.” The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. What was the matter with him? How could he be jealous of himself? But what was it about Carlo that had attracted her love when Rafaello could not?

Francesca drew herself up to her full height, saying coldly, “’Twas you who insisted upon this marriage, my lord. I should have been happy to return to Florence, but no sooner had I come from the forest where I had been hiding from you than you rushed me to the altar that very day. Yet I was honest with you in every way. ’Twas obviously a mistake to be so, for you will never allow me to forget my girlish sin. Will you?”

“Francesca!” He was very contrite. “I apologize, wife. I do.”

“You need have no fear, my lord,” she answered him. “I will be a good wife to you, and bear your children without complaint. I hope you will honor me with the knowledge of your plans for the bandits, if you intend to go back to the High Road and rid it of that scurrilous plague so people may travel in safety. It is worrisome for a woman not to know when her husband would put himself into danger.”

“Will you never forgive me?” he asked her.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. You have your manner, and I have mine.”

“I am a great fool,” he admitted.

“Yes, you are,” Francesca answered him, but a small smile touched her lips.

“Come and kiss me,” he cajoled her. “I have returned from a dangerous mission and need a warm greeting from my wife to sustain me.”

Now Francesca laughed, but she slipped into his embrace, sliding her arms about his neck. “How can I resist such charm?” she said, offering him her lips.

He kissed her slowly, his mouth exploring and tasting her. There was yet a shyness in her kiss that reminded him of his days in the forest with her. His kiss deepened with the memory. He had come to know and love her as Carlo, the huntsman. He knew that she had been falling in love with that persona. How could he tell her they were one and the same without engaging her outrage for having deceived her? Lifting his mouth from hers he said to her, “I could love you, Francesca, if you would just let me. Is not a loving marriage better than just a respectful one?”

“We are only newly wed, my lord. I have not the answer to your question,” she replied slowly. “I wonder if love lasts. Do you know? From the way he speaks of her, I can tell how much your father loved your mother. Perhaps we should ask him, husband.”

“I was a party to that love,” Rafaello told her, kissing her brow lightly, his arms still about her. “I think their love deepened and changed with time. Nothing, Francesca, ever remains the same. They were happy together, and that’s what I would have us be.”

She kissed him softly. “Welcome home, my lord,” she said sweetly. She had to resign herself to her fate, Francesca thought to herself. He wasn’t Carlo, but she believed him to be a good man, and he was her husband until death.

“It is good to see you two so affectionate,” Duke Titus said with a smile as he rose from his place by the family hall hearth, where he had been dozing. It seemed that ever since he had resigned his responsibilities he had grown frailer.

“Rafaello tells me the bandits on the High Road are clever, my lord. He has come home to formulate a plan to rid us of them,” Francesca told her father-in-law.

The old man perked up at this. “What do you intend to do?” he asked his son.

“I haven’t quite decided yet, sir, and when I speak to you I think it would be better in a more secluded setting. I don’t want my plans trumpeted about. This Bruno is a clever fellow. For tonight, however, I would be content for a good meal and the company of my bride in our bed.”

The old duke chortled. “If I were your age, my son, I think I should prefer my wife’s company first and then a good meal. Passion is good for the appetite,” he told his son with a broad wink.

Francesca blushed, then she laughed. “You are a wicked old man,” she told her father-in-law.

“I simply wish to see my grandchildren before I die,” he told her.

“We will do our best, Father,” the young duke replied, looking at his wife.

With only the family and their retainers about them, they ate a simple meal as the day began to wane. There was broiled trout from a stream in the forest; a roasted capon stuffed with little green onions, bread, and sage; a dish of small pasta dressed with butter and a local Parmesan cheese that was grated over it right at the high board; peas; and a green salad. The wine came from the vineyard owned by Francesca’s family in Tuscany.

When the meal had concluded Duke Titus settled down by the fire once again to play a game of chess with Piero, the castle’s majordomo.

Francesca excused herself from the hall and retired to her bedchamber, where Terza was waiting. A tub had been set up, and to Francesca’s surprise Rafaello said he would join her. She had never shared her tub with him before, but she also knew it was her duty to bathe him, and it was easier to do so in the tub itself. First, however, she dismissed Terza, who smiled as she went, catching Roza by the arm as she was about to reenter the chamber.

“We are dismissed for the evening,” Terza told the younger maidservant. “Our mistress is bathing several days of travel from the young master.”

Roza nodded. Such intimacy as bathing could lead to a passionate encounter, and as a loyal citizen of Terreno Boscoso, Roza was as anxious as the old duke for another heir. “Well,” she said, “if she doesn’t need us I’ll take this time to visit my mother in the town. Would that be all right, Terza?”

“Go along,” the
duchessa
’s senior serving woman told the younger woman. Then she hurried to her own chamber, where she knew a pile of mending awaited her attention.

Francesca had turned her head away when her husband casually shed his clothing and climbed into what was to have been her tub. She had seen him naked in their bed, but not like this. He was so big and bold, standing straight and then climbing into the tall oak tub. She retained her chemise as she slipped into the water to join him, picking up the washing cloth and soaping it as she prepared to bathe him.

“Take off that silly garment,” Rafaello said. “Wet, it clings to your body in a most suggestive manner. If you thought to be modest, you are not.” He leered wickedly at her.

“The nuns who chaperoned me last year bathed with their chemises on,” she told him as she rubbed the soapy cloth over his broad smooth chest.

“You are not a nun, Francesca,” he replied to her logic. Her nipples were more visible, it seemed, beneath the thin wet cloth. Reaching out, he rolled up the chemise. “Either you help me get this off of you, or I will be forced to rip it,” he told her.

“You cannot wantonly destroy this garment, my lord,” she responded to him.

“I cannot?” He pulled it tighter.

“It is wasteful!” she cried to him, raising her arms so he might draw the garment over her head.

“Your frugality is pleasing,” he remarked as he squeezed the garment free of excess water and tossed it on the floor. “Now, madam, you may continue washing me. When you are finished I will bathe you.”

He makes me nervous, Francesca thought. Then she wondered if her own mother and father had ever shared a tub. She couldn’t imagine Orianna doing so. She was far too fastidious. Had Rafaello’s parents bathed together? She doubted if he would know the answer to that question even if she asked it. She continued to wash him. His chest and arms. His handsome face. She turned him about and scrubbed his back.

“There is more of me beneath the water,” he said mischievously.

Francesca handed him the washing cloth. “Then you must bathe those parts yourself, for I cannot dive beneath the water and do it,” she said sweetly.

Laughing, he took the cloth from her and finished his cleansing ritual. Then he looked to his wife. “I will now bathe you,” he told her.

“I am capable of washing myself,” Francesca said quickly. “You must leave the tub and dry yourself. The water is growing cold, and I do not want you to take a chill.”

“Your concern is touching, wife. Stand still now so I may serve you as nicely as you did me.” Turning her about he used his hands to soap her breasts slowly, rubbing her nipples teasingly, making her squirm. Her buttocks brushed against his groin. His manhood stirred strongly. Unable to help himself he bent and kissed the tender spot between her neck and her shoulder. He licked her shoulder, but his hands never left her breasts. Instead his thumbs began to stroke her nipples, causing her to shiver. “Are you cold?” he purred wickedly in her ear.

“You are distracting me,” Francesca complained. “You are not washing me. You are teasing me. A tub is for bathing, my lord.”

“I should obviously not go away from you, for you have grown shy in my absence,” he said, releasing her breasts and scrubbing her back with the soapy cloth.

“I never imagined a tub could be used for any other purpose than bathing,” she responded.

He chuckled. “Lovers can make love anywhere and at any time,” he assured her.

“Lacking practical experience, I must take your word on it,” Francesca told him.

He rinsed her back and then, turning her about, gave her a slow sensuous kiss. “I’m glad you can accept my word on such matters,” he said, his hands sliding beneath her buttocks to lift her up. Their lips met again as his hard length slipped into her warm body and he began to move himself back and forth.

Francesca’s head spun with the deliciousness of his tender assault. “Ohh, my!” she gasped. “Ohh, Rafaello, it is so good!”

His hands crushed the plump flesh of her bottom in his passion. He had known enough women in his life to understand passion, but never had he felt with any woman the way he felt with Francesca. With every stroke of his cock he felt fulfilled. Her little cries of pleasure, her whimpers of delight sent a thrill through him. Could his alter ego, Carlo, have wrung those sweet sounds from her had he taken his pleasure there in the forest inn? No! No! He couldn’t have. Francesca was his and his alone!

“Rafaello!
Ohh, Rafaello
!” She cried his name in her passion. Her arms tightened about him. Her legs squeezed his torso hard. She felt a fierce stirring within that threatened to overwhelm her entirely. “Oh! Oh!
Ohhh
!” She shuddered as the pleasure rose to overwhelm her entirely.

He cried out, feeling her completeness in the act, his own lust releasing itself so that they shared each other totally.

Her legs fell away from him, but Francesca continued to cling to his neck because she knew if she let go she would collapse and sink beneath the water of the tall oak tub. They held each other tightly, until finally Rafaello asked her, “Can you stand if I leave the tub? Or shall I help you out first, my love?” His lips brushed her brow.