Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse

by The Scarletti Curse (v1. 5)

  Nicoletta kept her head bowed, forcing her breath in and out. No one could save her, not the good Madonna and not the holy father. Even the wind and rain protested their marriage, slashing at the church in rage. Nicoletta was acutely aware of the man beside her. His strength. His power. The heat of his body. The way his mind was so intimately bound to hers. Her fingers were tangled with his, his thumb feathering along her inner wrist, a silent encouragement with nature's fury shunning their union. She tried to pray, tried to ask for help to defeat the don's mesmerizing spell over her, but, in truth, she wasn't certain she wanted to be free of him.

  The priest blessed the small gold ring lying in the middle of his open book of Scripture. He held it out to the don. Those in attendance saw the holy father's hand shake so badly that Don Scarletti had to steady it as he took the tiny golden circle. Nicoletta closed her eyes as the band of his ownership encircled her finger. Lightning struck, ricocheting down the tower so that for one terrible moment the sky seemed to rain fire. Again the priest froze, indecisive, his voice wavering. The don's black gaze gleamed almost eerily in the flashes of lightning.

  Looking warily at the rain pelting the windows and then at the elite guards standing shoulder to shoulder at the rear of the church, the holy father pronounced them wed and raised his hand to bless their marriage. Lightning ripped the sky apart, lighting the cathedral, throwing strange, colored shadows to dance grotesquely across the wall. Thunder shook, drowning out anything the priest might be saying. Giovanni never faltered, lifting Nicoletta's veil and bending his head to hers.

  "You are very brave, piccola" he whispered against her lips. Then he gently kissed her upturned mouth, a mere feathering of his lips over hers. He caught her firmly to him, pulling her beneath the protection of his shoulder. "At last you are my wife, Nicoletta Scarletti," he pronounced, a wealth of purring satisfaction in his voice.

  Nicoletta remained silent, afraid of her own voice, afraid she would make a fool of herself if she attempted to speak. It seemed a dream, a nightmare she was trapped in. She went with Giovanni, moving down the aisle while the guards pushed open the doors and hastily erected a canopy to shelter the couple from the fury of the storm. The drenched, frightened villagers had long since fled, only a few stragglers glancing back over their shoulders as Giovanni swept her into his arms, striding with sure, long steps to the coach.

  He placed her gently onto the seat and climbed up to sit beside her. The door closed, and they were alone. "Nicoletta"—his voice was low, a drawling caress—"are you ever going to look at me?"

  She could feel his voice whispering over her skin. Nicoletta stole a quick glance at him, then turned away from his brooding good looks. The storm was now sweeping away from the cathedral, moving inland to scatter over the mountains.

  "Nicoletta, look at me." His voice was quiet, even gentle, but it was a command nonetheless.

  She turned her head, long lashes sweeping upward, her dark eyes enormous in her face. "It has been much more difficult than I expected today." Her voice was a mere thread of sound, so low he could barely catch the words.

  "I do not know if I have the courage to face the revelers at the palazzo."

  "It is a storm, cara mia, a violent storm like all the others that come from the sea. The earth chose that moment to tremble, as it has done in the past. These things occur often. They are natural, not the superstitious nonsense of monsters arising from the seas to walk the land as some teach the children to believe. Or worse, that the heavens were protesting our union because either you are a witch or I il diavolo. I know you are not a witch, Nicoletta, although you have cast your spell over me as none other ever could. And surely you do not believe I am in league with il diavolo. How could I enter the cathedral unharmed? How could I take the crucifix into my hand, drink the sacramental wine, or have holy water splashed over me?" His voice was extremely gentle but with a slight edge of mocking amusement to it.

  Nicoletta glanced up again, a quick reprimand of his irreverence while she twisted at the unfamiliar band of gold circling her finger. "How is it you can talk to me in my mind?"

  "Is it so terrible a sin?" he countered.

  "I do not know if it is a sin. Everything else seems to be." The words slipped out, and she hastily bit down on her lower lip to prevent any further blasphemous statements.

  Giovanni burst out laughing. "You are right, according to Maria Pia Sigmora. But I do not think of my ability that way. I was simply born with it. Mia madre was a bit frightened by it and warned me never to reveal it to others. How is it you can heal the way you do? I felt the curative warmth in your touch; that's no ordinary talent, either."

  "I was born with it also," she said. A small smile found its way to her mouth.

  "Have no fear of the revelers, Nicoletta," he said softly, taking her hand in an effort stop her trembling. "I will not leave your side."

  "You frighten me much, good signore," she admitted, her irrepressible laughter bubbling to the surface.

  He caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. "You are such an innocent, piccola, and I may be damned for forcing my will upon you, but, in truth, I had no choice." This time the edge to his voice made her shiver. His black eyes were filled with a hungry intensity he didn't try to conceal from her.

  She wrenched her chin out of his palm, her own dark eyes smoldering. "I do not believe you, Don Scarletti. One such as you always has a choice. You are the law, life or death to those of us who live in the village. You took away my choice."

  "Better me than some rude peasant boy," he retaliated.

  The flames of battle leapt into her eyes. "It might have occurred to you that I wanted no man. That I was perfectly happy without one."

  His laughter was low and taunting. "You cannot be so naive that you would think some man would not eventually come along and take you."

  "I had learned to hide myself. My people did not speak of me to outsiders."

  "I heard of your beauty long before I ever laid eyes upon you." He stretched out his long legs, idly complaining, "These coaches are an uncomfortable means of transportation."

  "Did you hear that I was… different?" she asked.

  He glanced at her stiff face, her trembling mouth. With a soft sigh, he took her hand in his. "If you are'different,' cara mia, then so am I. I know we belong together. I have seen the welcome changes in my home already. Your stay has been short, yet your influence reaches wide. You say I had a choice. I say, if my people are to survive, I did not."

  "You made young Sophie and Ketsia very happy today," Nicoletta said, deciding on a truce. "Thank you for thinking to have a special gown made for Ketsia." She knew Portia had not seen to that particular detail.

  "I saw only you in the church," he admitted, "but I will make certain I give the girls my compliments at the festivities."

  "Do you know if any others have the ability to send their voices into people's minds?" Nicoletta asked, curious.

  "My brother Antonello is adept at it. My nonno, too, carries this talent, it is in our bloodline. Still, my padre could not do such a thing; indeed, he was angry that his sons could and thought it most blasphemous."

  "What of Vincente?"

  Giovanni nodded. "Of course. But he is not as adept as Antonello, and he rarely uses the ability. Antonello is my most valued emissary to foreign lands, and it is of great use to us to speak silently when no other can hear. And even over a great distance, I can feel if he is in danger. Vincente, on the other hand, is rarely in danger, unless it is from the overly avid attentions of some young lady. Since the death of his wife, there are many who hope to be chosen his new bride. I thought he might look to Portia—they are oft together—but he is still grieving."

  "Your brother once said that the Scarletti men love only once," Nicoletta said: trembling as she recalled the ominous sensation that had accompanied his pronouncement. Then she thought to add, "Little Sophie hears voices at night, and she is very afraid. She is not making it up, though Vin
cente and Portia and Margarita claim it is so, or that she is going mad. I have heard the voices, too. I believe she is in danger. She said her madre heard the voices, and some named her mad."

  Giovanni shook his head. "It is a sad tale, Nicoletta. Angelita was so in love with Vincente, they stared longingly at one another for hours when first they married. But she changed very quickly. She would stay in her room for days on end, not allowing anyone in but Vincente. He would care for her, bring her meals, and entertain her. She wanted only him. He worried for her, took her traveling, tried many things, but she became nearly a recluse. In desperation he decided they must have a child." He fell silent, and the coach swayed and jolted over the narrow passage toward the palazzo.

  "It did not help," she guessed.

  Giovanni sighed softly. "No, it did not help. Vincente devoted himself to Angelita, would almost never leave her side, but she refused to come out of her room and eventually would not see even Sophie, her child. I was afraid for my brother. The laughter had gone out of him. He rarely would look at his daughter, as if he might blame her for her madre's condition. I sent him on an errand, a small one. He was gone overnight, no more, but in Angelita's demented mind, she thought he had deserted her."

  Nicoletta stared up at him, horrified by the story.

  "She was found dead that evening when the maid took her supper. She had hanged herself. You are entrusted with this information as a member of the famiglia. Vincente would be beside himself if it got out. Once again the Scarletti curse held true." His black gaze moved broodingly over her face. "That is why you will have guards with you at all times. I will not find your dead body somewhere as nearly every male member of my famiglia has." He spoke the words sternly, a command she dared not contest. "They will taste your food and drink, and they will watch over you when I cannot. You will not have a separate bedchamber but share my own with me."

  Nicoletta gasped. "I must have my own bedchamber to retreat to at times."

  "You will not."

  "What of Sophie? I was going to allow her to share my bed."

  His white teeth flashed, and for one moment amusement lit the dark obsidian of his eyes so that they gleamed mischievously like those of a boy. "You will be much too busy sharing your bed with your husband, not a child."

  His voice was low and husky, and his gaze moved hotly over her body.

  "You look like a hungry wolf," she chastised. In truth, his bold gaze sent flames licking along her skin until she burned for him. Nicoletta looked away from him to hide her reaction. "What about the child? Perhaps Maria Pia could live at the palazzo and stay with Sophie at night."

  "That is what you wish, cara mia?"

  The sensual note in his voice melted her, and she leaned into him, boneless and pliant. She nodded helplessly, staring up at him with enormous eyes.

  His fingers spanned her throat, his palm brushing lower to lightly feather over her breasts through the material of her gown. She felt a jolt deep within her, and hot, molten liquid surged through her body in an unexpected ache. "You remember what I have said, piccola. I will not lose my wife to the Scarletti curse."

  The coach jolted to an abrupt stop, throwing Nicoletta hard against him. "I will not die by my own hand, if that is what you fear. Do you believe so much misfortune heaped upon one famiglia is fate, or do you think mortal hands are involved in such doings?"

  The guard opened the door to the coach, letting in light and rain. The don didn't move, his face carved from stone. He looked all at once menacing, invincible, implacable. "I do not know, Nicoletta, but I swear by all I hold holy, whatever it is, it shall not take you from me." He stepped out of the carriage with his easy grace and reached for her, not allowing her dress to touch the rain-wet walkway. Uncaring of propriety, he cradled her against his chest as he moved quickly up the steps and entered the great hall to join the revelers.

  Nicoletta passed the next few hours in a dreamlike manner. She was aware of the don keeping his word and sending for Maria Pia. He bowed low over Sophie's hand and murmured magnificent compliments to Ketsia. He remained always close to Nicoletta, his hand on her possessively so that it seemed to burn his brand into her skin right through her gown.

  At some point she became aware of the byplay between Antonello and her new husband, some political undertone in the room of dancers she did not understand. She knew few of those attending the celebration. Most were members of the other great houses and representatives from court. But something else was brewing, something that Giovanni often conversed mind-to-mind with his middle brother about. She knew they were talking often, the don giving orders to his brother.

  Giovanni took her onto the dance floor and whirled her close to him, yet even as their bodies touched, she knew his mind was with Antonello's. Something was amiss. Something they both were wary over. As hard as she tried, she couldn't touch Giovanni's mind and learn the truth.

  Vincente danced with her briefly, evidently a poignant moment for him, reminding him of his own wedding to his late, beloved Angelita, as he moved stiffly with her under his brother's watchful gaze. It was the first time since arriving at the palazzo that she seemed to command Giovanni's full attention, and immediately she was uncomfortably aware of Vincente's hands on her body, his hard frame occasionally brushing hers. It made her feel tense and awkward, but when she looked up at him, Vincente was staring over her shoulder, his mind far away, tears visible in his dark, haunted eyes.

  Giovanni rescued his youngest brother, gliding to his side and gently removing Nicoletta from his grasp. He put an arm around both of them and walked them back into the shadows, where Vincente could get his emotions under control.

  Giovanni bent close to Nicoletta, his mouth pressed close to her ear. "I think I have managed to do my duty by my guests. I now want only to be alone with my wife. Let us retire to the bedchamber, as they will continue here long into the night, and I have other, much more pleasurable pursuits in mind for us."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nicoletta stood in the middle of the huge bedchamber not certain exactly what to do. Her attendants had left her to face her bridegroom by herself. Her long hair was unbound and spilling down her back in waves of blue-black silk. Her nightshift was clinging to her every curve. She stood in her bare feet on the cold tile and looked in awe at the enormous room. She had never seen anything so amazing. The don's chamber was far larger than the entire hut she had shared with Maria Pia.

  Her belongings, including her new gowns, were in his huge wardrobe, along with several pairs of shoes that could only have been made for her. She noticed a number of heavy doors aside from the one leading to the corridor, but she was too nervous to explore. Nicoletta padded on her bare feet to the windows facing the sea. The room was warm with the flames roaring in the hearth, yet she shivered. Outside, the sun had long since given up its fight to light the sky, succumbing to dark clouds and ferocious rain. The thunder and lightning had passed inland but left behind the steady droplets drumming against the palazzo.

  The door behind her closed softly, and Nicoletta whirled around, her hand protectively flying to her throat.

  Giovanni stood watching her through half-closed eyes, leaning one hip lazily against the far wall. "Have you noticed that this room lacks most of the unappealing artwork?" he asked. Straightening slowly, he raked a hand through his wavy black hair, tousling it even more than usual. He pulled off his boots and stockings, then kicked them aside. It seemed more intimate than ever to see him with bare feet in their bedchamber.

  He looked almost weary, as though the facade he presented to the rest of the world did not hold up in the privacy of his inner sanctum. His face looked shadowed, lines etched around his mouth. Nicoletta had a sudden, inexplicable desire to smooth those tiny lines away. Instead, she nodded, thankful he was willing to wait a few moments before pouncing on her. "I did notice that. It's a bit of a relief." Afraid she may have inadvertently hurt his feelings, she smiled at him to take the sting out of her words. "But there i
s some wonderful artwork in the palazzo." She moved away from the windows and the view of the foaming sea to shrink back into the shadows.

  He came farther into the room, gliding in his silent way to the opposite side of the bedstead. Nicoletta relaxed visibly with the enormous width of the canopied bed between them, so big it almost looked like a separate room.

  Giovanni slid the jacket from his broad shoulders and slung it carelessly onto a chair. His black gaze slid over her again. She thought she saw raw hunger glittering deep in his eyes before he turned his attention to his shirt. Nicoletta swallowed hard and tried to look away from him, but his movements were mesmerizing. She watched as he shrugged out of his outer shirt to let it fall after his jacket onto the chair.

  Her fear tasted oddly like anticipation in her mouth. Her heart was beating hard, and butterflies were rampaging in her stomach. "I must ask you something." She lifted her chin slightly to give herself the necessary courage. "Did you know mia madre?" She held her breath then, pressing both hands to her somersaulting stomach, afraid of any answer he might utter. Afraid he would refuse to answer. Afraid she had destroyed any chance of acceptance between them.

  Giovanni looked across the room at her pale face, his hands stilling on his remaining shirt. "Who could not remember your madre, piccola? She was much like you. A ray of sunshine that brightened every room she entered. She had a voice like an angel, and she filled the palazzo with laughter, much as you do. Yes, I knew her."

  "Do you believe she was cleaning the walkway and fell from the ramparts to her death?" The words sounded strangled as they emerged from her throat.