Lair of the Lion

her mind. But he had said he loved her.
    She wrapped herself up in those words, in the sound of his voice, armor to shield her from her own fears.
    A small sound alerted her, and she glanced toward the passageway, frowning, certain he couldn't have returned so quickly.

    Francesca peeked around the doorway of the passage, one eyebrow raised, her impish grin engaging. "I thought he'd never leave. I've been shivering in the passage. It's freezing in there. I had to hide around the corner when he came out. I was waiting to speak with you." In the flickering of the fireplace, she looked a young, fey woman-child. She tiptoed into the center of the room. "So where did he go?"
    "I think he heard someone prowling around and went to inspect the premises," Isabella improvised, certain Nicolai wouldn't want her repeating the truth. She sat up, drawing the coverlet up over her, a smile on her face. "You disappear so fast, Francesca, and I can never find you."
    "You've had company," Francesca pointed out. "And I'll have to listen carefully from now on, or he'll catch me in here."
    "I've missed you. I went out today and had my very first snow fight. In the city. And yesterday I saw the horses being trained." She plucked at the quilts for a moment. "And a lion chased me."
    "What?" Francesca swung around, her dark eyes sparkling with unexpected fury. Isabella had never seen even a flash of temper in the young woman. "That isn't possible. All the lions know you are the one."
    "At least one of the lions doesn't want me to be the one," Isabella said wryly.
    An expression of anger crossed Francesca's face, but then it was gone, the fury melting away as if it had been merely an illusion. Francesca smiled at her. "You've lain with Nicolai, haven't you? What's it like? I've thought about seducing one of the visitors—a young, handsome one who would tell no one and would go away quickly—just to see what's its like, but the thought of someone touching me so intimately has always been too disconcerting. Does it hurt? Do you like having him touch you? Is it worth having a dictator take over your entire life?"
    Isabella supposed she should have been shocked. Francesca asked the most improper questions. "Nicolai isn't my dictator, Francesca. What a thing to say."
    "He will be. All husbands rule their wives. And once their wives lie with them, the woman becomes silly and jealous and simpers around her husband to keep all the other women away. Her husband can lie with many women, but if she does such a thing, he will beat her or behead her. So the woman becomes a ninny. Is lying with a man worth such a fate?"
    "You have a terrible view of marriage, and I doubt most women are that jealous."
    Francesca shrugged and grinned. "Violante is jealous of any woman who looks at Sergio, but in truth, she is not alone. I watch people, Isabella. You choose to see the good in people, and you ignore the bad. Most women don't like others looking at their man. Rolando never looks at other women, yet Theresa is very jealous. She is certain he has found another woman."
    Isabella looked up. "How do you know that?"
    "Her brothers were talking about it. They didn't see me. They stopped by the falls to eat, and I stayed hidden from them. I guess they found her crying a few days ago, and she admitted it to them. They told her it couldn't be so—they're often with him—but she seemed certain." Francesca shook her head, sending her long hair flying. "If I had a man, I would never worry about such a foolish thing. If he wanted another, then he could go to her, but I would never take him back to my bed." She studied her nails. "What is the point of being with a man and then never enjoying it because you're angry or hurt all the time? I think it's silly. Theresa Bartolmei is perfectly silly."
    "You don't believe Rolando has another woman."
    Francesca's expression was faintly haughty, aristocratic, superior. Isabella found herself smiling, recognizing the DeMarco features. Was she one of Nicolai's cousins, like Theresa?
    She was so fey and imaginative. There was something magical about her. Isabella felt warm in her presence. "I see and hear all kinds of things. I would know. She worries for nothing."
    "Sergio?" Isabella asked, curious, knowing she shouldn't persist in gossiping.
    Francesca shook her head. "He looks, but that's all. I think he'd kill for Violante. She's just too silly to see it. I'm telling you, women lose their minds once they're married. I wouldn't want