In the shadows of the trees two men watched the couple, their horses tethered some distance away in the dark silence of the forest. The taller of the two, a lean man with a deep scar on his right cheek, made an angry noise when he saw that the two were leaving together, the man's horse tethered to the back of the trap.
'Perhaps you were right: we should have brought a gun. It would have been an easy shot.'
The shorter of the two, a stocky, blunt-featured man with an oily complexion who had eyes only for the girl, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 'The old man did say that I could have her, right?'
'To do with as you please,' Scarface said grimly. 'Dishonour for dishonour.'
'Why do we not take them now?' Slaverer said impatiently.
'It would take the both of us to deal with that man!' Scarface replied shortly. 'In the meantime, the girl might escape, greatly lessening a second opportunity. No, we will wait. The old man doesn't arrive for weeks yet; there is still plenty of time.'
Kara took a deep breath as she approached the rear door to the Casa, Roman at her side, his arm warm around her shoulders. The door opened, and there stood the Señora Castellan holding a lantern above the level of her eyes. Maria and Guiseppe stood behind her framed in the doorway.
'She did the sensible thing and accepted, of course,' the Señora said stiffly to Roman, as though continuing a former discussion.
'Yes, Madre fecundo.'
'I give him good advice and he gives me double entendre!' she said to Kara with fond ire. 'Come, let's celebrate with a little wine, before Maria and Guiseppe can no longer contain themselves.'
For the first time the household made its way to the dining room, and Kara saw that huge logs were blazing in the fireplace that seemed large enough a stone alcove to house a cot. Candles burned on the mirror-backed mantle and on the table, and she gaped when she saw that the table had been laid out in preparation for this moment.
'Yes,' Señora Castellan told her with an amused quirk, 'we all knew this moment would come, and were well-prepared. I would say that Maria has outdone herself, si? Now, brush away your tears, dear little one, before you entirely soak the front of poor Roman's shirt! And sit, both of you! The time has come for wine and song, to celebrate the happy day when there will be a host of noisy little Castellans underfoot.'