She paid no attention to him after that, boiling up eggs for the meal and taking the bread from the ovens. As it was New Year's Day, she took a small ham from the larder, sliced it, and lay the slices upon a platter. A pot over the hearth cooked a grain cereal. When it was done she added bits of chopped apple and stirred honey into the pot, setting it in the coals to keep warm.

Bernardo came into the kitchen. "Shall I fill the cups with ale now?" he asked her.

Francesca nodded, adding, "Then fetch the men to the hall."

As he went off to follow her instructions, she began bringing the food into the trestles. She added crocks of b.u.t.ter and cheese to each table. Bernardo had quickly filled the mugs and gone off to rouse his companions. They began to straggle into the hall, sleepy-eyed, but smelling her good meal they became more awake. Francesca came from the kitchen, managing to hold on to the pot of hot grain. She filled each trencher full as the benches at the trestles quickly filled. Bernardo had explained that Alonza was very sick and still abed. They had hardly expected the bounty they received from the serving wench, and were therefore both surprised and grateful. The food was consumed quickly and they thanked her.

"We'll have to help today as Cara's duties include nursing the old woman, and seeing that we are fed again will take all of her time," Bernardo told his huntsmen. Then he turned to Francesca. "What will you need done?"

"We'll need a path shoveled from the kitchen door to the barn and the henhouse. The animals in the barn will need feeding. Break the ice on their water. The two goats and the cow will need milking. The chickens need food too. They can hardly go out to scratch in their yard in all this snow. Scatter grain for them on the henhouse floor. I'll need firewood brought into the hearths, and charcoal for the braziers in the sleeping chambers. And several buckets of water for the kitchen from the well. If it is frozen hit the ice with the bucket until it breaks. And the trestles must be cleared so I can wash the mugs, spoons, and dishes. I cannot think of anything else now," Francesca concluded.

She was relieved that having heard her instructions Bernardo now began a.s.signing the required tasks to his men. She returned to the kitchen and went upstairs to check on Alonza. She found her awake but still filled with fever. "I've fed the men," she said, giving the innkeeper her menu.

Alonza nodded, pleased. "When I took you in, child, I honestly did not believe you could be of much help to me, but even an inept servant is better than none. But you have learned quickly and become most valuable to me. You did well."

"I've set the men to most of my ch.o.r.es so I can cook and see to your care." And Francesca explained what she had asked of them, concluding, "Have I forgotten anything? If I have you must tell me, and I will see to it."

Alonza listened and then shook her head. "You have forgotten nothing."

"What can I do to ease your fever?" Francesca asked. "I do not know the herbal arts. If you will tell me, I will do it."

"Go into the cold larder," Alonza began. "You will find a supply of marrows. Take a fat one, mash it well and smooth, removing its seeds. Then mix it with olive oil and honey. Warm it slightly, and bring me some in a dish. This will help my fever. A cup of mint tea with honey will soothe my belly cramps, child."

Francesca left the innkeeper briefly to follow her instructions. When she returned with the required items, she spoon-fed the weak woman the paste of marrow, oil, and honey, then held the cup of mint tea to her dried lips. Then she settled her back in her comfortable bed, for she could see Alonza was going to fall asleep again. "I'll keep your brazier lit," she told her, gathering up the dish with the marrow but leaving the tea and creeping from the bedchamber.

Back in the kitchens she found Carlo bringing in wood, which he piled carefully by the large hearth where she cooked. He then brought her several buckets of water. "How is the old woman?" he asked Francesca.

"Sick, but I don't believe in any serious danger," Francesca said.

Bernardo came in with the mugs and spoons. There were no plates, as most of their morning meal had been eaten out of the trenchers. She gave him some heated water and he quickly washed the items in question. "The taproom and the hall need more wood," he said to Carlo, who with a nod left the kitchen.

"Is that young villain bothering you, Cara? Tell me and I will deal with him," the big man growled.

"He is most respectful and courteous," Francesca told him. And his kisses are almost too delicious to bear, she thought.

"Good! Good! I'll go help with the wood, then." And Bernardo stomped out.

She mixed more bread dough and set it aside to rise. She considered what she would feed the men later. Foraging in the dry pantry, she found a surprisingly large supply of spaghetti. She decided to cook it up and serve it with vegetables, the leftover ham, cheese, and oil. Enough of it would fill their bellies until tomorrow morning. She sauteed the onions, which she had finely cut. She washed and thinly sliced the carrots. There had been peas until the great snowfall. She found them in a bowl in the cold pantry, and a wedge of Parmesan cheese. She quickly cooked the vegetables, then minced some drying basil and parsley that had been hanging in the dry pantry. That along with more bread, b.u.t.ter, and a hard cheese would make a satisfying meal. Because it was the new year she stewed some pears and set them in a large bowl of sweet wine.

Francesca kept checking on Alonza during the day. She attempted to feed her some chicken broth, but the innkeeper was not quite ready for nourishment. Alonza listened intently as her servant girl explained what she would feed the men for their main meal that day. She nodded her approval.

"We do not eat as much pasta here in the north," she remarked, "but they will enjoy it because it is different and you have made it festive. I had quite forgotten about that pasta. I never quite know what to do with it. You have obviously been raised farther south than Terreno Boscoso. And the sweet is a good touch. 'Twill soothe any of our lads who are disappointed at not getting a haunch of venison to chew upon." Then she gave a weak cackle. "You have learned quickly in my kitchen, Cara. I hope you will consider remaining with me come spring."

Francesca shook her head in the negative. "You are good to me," she said, "but I must go, Alonza, and you did promise me I could."

"I will keep my promise," the old lady told her, "for you have certainly kept yours, my child." She gave her young companion a weak smile. "I need to rest again," she said.

Francesca left her, first emptying the chamber pot, which was filled with a noxious substance. The rest of her day remained busy, and only when everyone was fed and the hall emptied did she feel at ease. Her trenchers were baked for the morning; the bowls that had contained the food washed and stacked. Alonza was settled, hopefully for the night, her fever much abated. Finally Francesca was able to creep into the taproom, dark but for its blazing hearth.

"I will not remain long," she told him, knowing he was there in the shadows. "I understand now why it takes more than one to manage this inn."

He chuckled. "You were not used to hard work before coming here, were you?"

"Nay, I was not," she answered without thinking, and then said nothing more. Those four words had already revealed too much.

"I am astounded by all you and Alonza accomplish together," he told her, and now he came to sit by her side on the little settle.

"Most of it you and the lads accomplished today. All I did was cook and tend to the old woman," Francesca told him. Without thinking again, she lay her head on his shoulder and he slipped his arm about her waist, drawing her closer.

He had never believed that she could be this vulnerable, but in her exhaustion she seemed to let down her barriers. So easy, he thought. It would be so easy to seduce her right now here by the fire. He sensed she would resist initially, but then would yield herself to him in all her innocence. He felt his c.o.c.k begin to tighten with his need for her. With effort he said to her, "You must go to bed, Cara. Tomorrow will be no easier for you." Standing up, he gently pushed her away. "Buona notte."

"Buona notte," she responded, surprised by his thoughtfulness.

For the next ten days she managed the inn by herself and cared for Alonza. Carlo no longer met her clandestinely in the taproom when everyone else slept. She dared not ask him why. Now and again when he was certain no one would see them, he would catch her unexpectedly in a pantry or the kitchen and kiss her most soundly.

Once, as she stood kneading bread dough, he pressed himself against her, his large hands cupping and fondling her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. When he did that she could not think, or rather her thoughts took a lascivious direction. She wondered what it would be like to lie naked with him, touching him as he did her. She felt her b.u.t.tocks, unbidden, grind themselves into his groin, and flushed bright red with the realization of what she was doing.

He laughed softly. "I see that you have the potential to be very wicked," he said.

He pressed his lower body hard against her.

Francesca felt a sticky wetness coming from her most private place. It was a sensation she had never before experienced. Her legs felt weak. "Oh, stop!" she begged him. "I don't really understand what is happening."

"You are feeling desire," Carlo explained. "Pa.s.sion can be stoked at any time or in any place, Cara." He pinched her nipples lightly.

"I do not understand," she said low, shuddering slightly.

His hot lips touched the nape of her neck. "I know," was all he said.

Francesca was relieved when Alonza was finally able to leave her sickbed, even if at first it was only for a few hours of the day. There was less opportunity for Carlo to be near her. She was puzzled by her reaction to him. No man, not even the man she had imagined Enzo Ziani to be, had spoken to her so freely and directly. He did not treat her as if she were a delicate flower, a witless fool, or a child who needed to be indulged. Many times Francesca thought they spoke together as her parents did, with respect for one another.

As for his gentle lovemaking, the truth was she had never permitted any man to really court her with kisses and tender touches. She could not help but consider what it would be like if she allowed him more liberties. She wasn't even certain she knew what those liberties would consist of, but she realized she wanted to know. Was this the kind of thing a respectable maiden asked a man? Again she did not know.

The snow was finally gone, though patches of it remained on the hillsides and along the deeper forest paths. The huntsmen were becoming restless to return into the forest but it was still too chill and damp. They bided their time, however. She had locked up the inn for the evening. Alonza was already snoring as Francesca entered her bedchamber.

"Do not scream," she heard his voice say.

"What are you doing here? Alonza will surely hear you," Francesca said calmly.

"Alonza is well enough to have entertained Bernardo in her bed," he said.

"What?" She was startled by this bit of information.

"They have been lovers for years," Carlo told her. "He'll remain until you have gone downstairs. He'll sneak down when you go to the henhouse. It is their habit."

"Oh, my!" was all she could manage to say.

"I want you," he told Francesca suddenly.

She was stunned by his frank speech. "I don't know what to say, Carlo."

"Say you'll allow me the privilege of your bed, the gift of your innocence!" His voice was almost hoa.r.s.e with his longing, his need.

"I cannot," she told him. "My virginity is the only pure gift I can give the man I wed one day. I cannot squander it, although these feelings that you engender in me are surely borne of my need for you and tempt me greatly."

"I have fallen in love with you," he surprised her by saying.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what that sort of love is," she responded.

In response he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding into her mouth to stroke her tongue sensuously. His hands held her heart-shaped face. Lifting his lips from hers he said, "What do you feel, Cara?"

"Joy!" she answered without hesitation. "Utter joy!"

"Then you love me too," he told her triumphantly.

"You say it because you want your own way," Francesca accused him.

"Aye, I want my own way! I want you naked and in my arms. I want to kiss every bit of your beautiful body. I want to hear you cry out in pleasure each time when I fill you full of myself." He looked deep into her eyes, and Francesca struggled with herself.

"No," she said. "You must go. Now!" And she pulled from his embrace.

With a groan he quickly departed her chamber, leaving her considerably shaken.

Sitting heavily upon her bed, Francesca wept. She hadn't wanted to send him away. She longed for the warmth of his arms, for his body, for that mysterious joining she had never experienced but suddenly desired. What had happened to her? She had been courted by men of power and wealth but had scorned them all. Yet she was drawn to a simple huntsman. A lowborn man who set her heart thundering and her pulse racing. What was the matter with her?

You are in love, the voice in her head said.

I will not even acknowledge such a possibility, Francesca considered. I cannot be in love with him. I don't even know what love is. This must be what they call l.u.s.t. She quickly undressed and climbed into her bed, but she did not find sleep easily.

The winter was waning away and signs of spring were beginning to appear. The birds now sang in the mornings. The buds on the deciduous trees began to slowly swell.

Tufts of greenery began to emerge from the dark earth, and Carlo's eyes followed her everywhere. Francesca began to contemplate departing the forest, but she could not quite yet leave Alonza, who was still weak from her winter flux.

The days began to linger longer. In mid-April some of the huntsmen began to depart for their own places in the forest. The hall now sat eight men at mealtimes. It was easier taking care of eight as opposed to twenty. Three came to her one morning and politely asked if she would wash their garments. One of the men was Pippino.

"We would leave in a day or two," he said.

"And your clothing will not be washed until you return next autumn," Francesca said, laughing. "Very well. You shall begin the summer months free of fleas and the other vermin who manage to attach themselves to you during the winter."

He grinned at her. "I'll wash my clothing once or twice before I return to my shelter by the lake," Pippino protested.

"You'll be wearing them into that lake, I have not a doubt. 'Tis not the same as a good scrubbing," she told him, and as she laundered their rough garments, Francesca chuckled. A year ago as she prepared to come to Terreno Boscoso as a candidate for the hand of Rafaello Cesare, she would not have imagined herself playing the serving wench over a tub of hot water, scrubbing someone else's garments. She didn't know whether to laugh at herself or weep at the position in which her own foolishness had placed her.

She thought about Rafaello, and wondered if they had obtained another bride for him and if he had been quickly married to cover the embarra.s.sment of her desertion. She had treated him badly. She had treated all her suitors badly. Until recent events she had not thought seriously that courting was not a game. Every time she had been cruel to one of the young men who sought to marry her, she realized now that she had been striking out at Enzo Ziani and his refusal to have her for his wife. How childish and how silly she had been. She had probably ruined her chances of ever marrying at all. And the truth was, Francesca now understood that she did want to marry. Marry and have children and be with her family once again. Family was all, and she had been too selfish to realize it.

She climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, entered, and prepared quickly for rest.

Outside a full April moon filled the little room with silver light. With a sigh Francesca closed her eyes and slept. It was the sound of boots. .h.i.tting her floor that awakened her. A dark shadow loomed, the window behind it.

"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 l.u.s.t? 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s, 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."