Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse

by The Scarletti Curse (v1. 5)

  "My thoughts exactly," Nicoletta agreed. She smiled at Bernado and accepted the bread fresh from the oven, trying to act as natural as possible, her gaze avoiding contact with his. The bread was warm and delicious. She ignored the fact that one of her guards had eaten a chunk of it before a share was given to her. She was uneasy, her body slightly but deliciously sore, her mind nervously skittering away from and back to the things she had done in the privacy of the bedchamber with the don. There was no sense in asking Maria Pia about the things that properly went on between a husband and wife; doubtless she would make Nicoletta go to confession and light a dozen candles.

  Long after her morning meal, Nicoletta could still feel the shadows in her mind, a growing uneasiness that chipped away at her natural happiness. She went through the motions of meeting some of the workers in the palazzo, managed to laugh and jest with them even though Gostanz obviously didn't approve of such intimacies with his staff. She tried not to think about the gossip and speculation. That the don's new bride was an innocent and didn't know how to please such a man. That that was why he had left her their very first night together. Or worse, that they all knew she had wanted to do the forbidden, sinful things she had done. By late afternoon the shadows within her began to lengthen and grow so much that she sought refuge in the alcove with the shrine to the Madonna.

  The small alcove was dimly lit, and Nicoletta waved the guards away to give herself some much-needed privacy. Kneeling, she lit several candles, praying silently to the Madonna and her own madre for guidance with her new husband. His personality so overwhelmed hers. He could make her want him so easily, removing her inhibitions and all sane thoughts until she could only feel, think only of him, of pleasing him. He made her feel things she had never dreamed of, never imagined, made her want to do things she had never once considered. Nicoletta longed for her mother's counsel and comfort.

  Somewhere behind her she heard Portia's voice raised in anger. A softer voice answered in an indistinct murmur but with enough of a jarring note that Nicoletta was pulled out of her reverie. She turned her head and saw that a door only a short distance from her was ajar. The two women arguing must have sought refuge from prying eyes behind it. Nicoletta knelt uncertainly in the alcove with her head bowed reverently. The candles she had lit in memory of her mother were flickering, throwing dancing light onto the walls. She had no thought of eavesdropping, but she felt cornered, afraid that if she walked away now her presence might prove humiliating to the two women.

  She could hear Portia's voice, shrill and angry, much more distinctly now. "I do not care what you think. You are a callow, selfish girl and far too young and silly to hold the attention of a man like him! What were you thinking of, Margerita? I raised you to marry well, not ruin yourself trying to entrap a man like him." Scorn and contempt laced Portia's voice, so much so that Nicoletta found herself wincing under its cutting whip. "He beds silly cows like you, little innocents who have no hope of keeping him happy, but you are mere sport for him. Do you not realize he would laugh at one such as you with the figure of a man and the face of a dull ewe? You have nothing to offer but your innocence. Have you no sense? How do you expect to marry well if you are so stupid as to sully yourself with him?" There was a loud crack as Portia obviously slapped her daughter hard.

  Nicoletta hunched over, attempting to make herself smaller. Fortunately, she had never known harsh words and physical punishment. Her mother and Maria Pia had always been gentle and kind and understanding. Her father, known also as a good man, was dead and gone before she was even of an age to remember him. Maria Pia had slapped her hand now and again, but always in gentle reprimand, a threat, not a real blow. Nicoletta's heart went out to Margerita.

  "He loves me!" Margerita cried out, her young voice filled with pain. "You do not know. Ask him. Ask him. He wants to be with me. He will marry me."

  "He will never marry you." Portia spat the words at her daughter, filled with a venomous fury. There was the sound of another blow. "Have you lain with him?" The voice rose higher, poisonous and angry. "Tell me, you ungrateful little whore!" Portia was obviously shaking her daughter in her fury. "I should throw you out, tell the world what you are. You have been with him—I see it in your face." Her voice rose into a strangled scream.

  "He wanted me!" Margerita shouted back, a defensive child trying to convince an adult of something she didn't believe herself. "He will marry me! He will!"

  "Stupid, stupid girl." Portia sounded as if she was grieving now, her voice cracked and broken, a bitter, sad tone that soon turned to weeping. "Go away from me. Get out where I can no longer see you. Get out!"

  "Madre," Margerita tried again, "he will offer for me, and Zio Giovanni will give me a generous dowry and allow the match. It will come right."

  "Get out!" Portia snapped.

  Nicoletta remained quite still as she heard heavy footsteps hurry toward the room where the two women argued.

  "What is going on in here?" It was Vincente's voice this time.

  There was a rustle of material as Margerita evidently rushed at him, bursting into tears. "Go now, Margerita," he instructed softly. "I will talk with Portia."

  The girl fled the room, running past Nicoletta, her sobs of shame filling the corridor. Portia howled in anguish, her fury and sorrow so great she couldn't speak. Vincente caught her flying figure as she lashed out at him, unable to contain her anger. She was weeping hard.

  Nicoletta rose in silence, turning to make her way quietly out of the alcove. She saw Vincente and Portia struggling ferociously, and then Vincente wrapped his arms around Portia, locking her to him, his mouth descending on hers almost like an assault.

  Shocked and embarrassed, Nicoletta shrank back into the shadows. She should have guessed they had more than a cousinly relationship. Portia always clung to Vincente, and he seemed to rely on her for advice. Portia was only five or six years older than Vincente. It had never occurred to Nicoletta that cold, confident Portia could be so passionate about anyone, yet she seemed to be devouring Vincente. Vincente kicked the door shut with his foot even as his hands were roughly roaming over Portia's body with a brutal, frenzied grasping.

  Nicoletta stared at the closed door for a moment, frozen in place, too shocked to move. The unmistakable sound of cloth ripping galvanized her into action. She retreated quickly down the corridor, rushing silently past the door, wishing she knew why she had such a bad taste in her mouth. Vincente and Portia looked more angry and raw than like two people in love. She was slightly sickened by the display and suddenly terrified at the power Don Scarletti wielded over her own body.

  Maria Pia was waiting for her in the large courtyard, ready for their daily walk. "What is it, piccola! You look as if you have seen a ghost."

  Nicoletta glanced at the two soldiers who were her constant shadows. Their faces were carefully blank. For the first time she wondered just how much they knew of the intrigues in the palazzo. They were loyal to the don. Did they tell him of the things they saw, when the aristocrazia and even the servants treated them as part of the furnishings? Most likely they did. She felt off-balance and strangely close to tears. Now more than ever she wanted to run away. She was out of her depth in this place.

  Maria Pia reached for her hand. "What is it, bambina? It is unlike you to be unhappy. Did the don hurt you? What is the cause of that look? Ah, is it that I did not prepare you adequately for your wedding night?" She spoke quietly, deliberately turning away from the guards so that she and Nicoletta faced the abundance of shrubbery.

  "I do not belong in this place," Nicoletta whispered. "I do not understand the people here, and I do not care to understand them. I want to go home, back to the hills, where I know what to expect and on whom I can rely."

  Maria Pia was silent a moment. Then she put her arms around Nicoletta and hugged her as if she were still a child. "They are still people," she reminded her gently. "Just people."

  Nicoletta shook her head. "They are different. They do not value on
e another as we do. Portia struck her own daughter, Margerita. It was a horrible thing."

  "I often wish to strike that young woman," Maria Pia admitted. "If you had the chance, Nicoletta, you might give her a good clout yourself. She is a vain, wicked girl who thinks of no one but herself. Surely you are not upset that a long-needed slap was delivered to that girl. Look at the things she says to poor Sophie." Already Maria Pia's loyalty had swung solidly to the lonely little girl.

  Sudden tears swam in Nicoletta's eyes. "Portia said terrible things to Margerita. It is no wonder Margerita passes the vileness along to Sophie. Her madre called her names and condemned her when Margerita professed to love someone." Nicoletta looked helplessly at Maria Pia. "In truth, she is simply young, immature, a year younger even than I."

  "Portia Scarletti lives at the generosity of her cousin, the don. Unless Margerita marries well, they could end up with nothing. Portia Scarletti must be counting on a good marriage for her daughter," Maria Pia explained tactfully. "If this young man is a soldier or commoner, naturally Donna Scarletti would object to the match."

  "And then Vincente heard them fighting and came to help," Nicoletta said in a low voice, averting her face. "Margerita ran away, but he and Portia…"

  There was a small silence. "I see," Maria Pia said softly. "I suspected there was something between those two, although they keep it well hidden. She looks upon him with a kind of greedy possession."

  "It felt wrong to me," Nicoletta admitted reluctantly. "I did not feel happy for them, as if they were in love. Rather it felt like…" She trailed off. "Desperation? Lust? A battle, even. I cannot say for certain. But it was distasteful." It was more than distasteful; they had looked to be at war, grasping and clawing at each other's bodies. Was that how she looked with Giovanni? A faint scarlet crept up her neck and into her face.

  Maria Pia squeezed her hand gently. "When your husband looks at you, it is with tenderness in his gaze. It is the only reason I can bear your union with such a man. I still believe he is a heathen, and this castle has earned the name Palazzo della Morte, But, Nicoletta, the don's need of you is not mere lust."

  Nicoletta leaned over to kiss Maria Pia's cheek. "Grazie. I know that was not easy for you to say. I do not know exactly how I feel about Giovanni. When I am with him it is one way, and then, when we are separated, I am not so sure of anything. I look to the hills, and they beckon me, but if I attempted to follow my heart, in truth, I would not know which way to go." Ashamed, she studiously surveyed the courtyard, not wanting to look directly at the woman who knew her so well.

  "He could have refused to allow me to return to the palazzo and kept us separated, but he did not," Maria Pia conceded. "He knows I do not trust him, yet he cares that you are happy, piccola."

  "Yet he is secretive." Nicoletta voiced her concerns, feeling a traitor.

  Shivering, Maria Pia glanced at the long row of windows that covered the side of the palazzo. They seemed to be great, wide, empty, malevolent eyes staring at them with glassy hatred. "Do you feel it, Nicoletta, the way they are always staring at us? Watching us all the time? The palazzo has secrets, evil secrets, and it doesn't want us to find them out."

  Maria Pia didn't have a sixth sense, she wasn't "different" in any way, yet the sensation of being watched was so strong, she felt it, too. Nicoletta didn't need any other warning to realize the danger was very real. She felt compelled to look up at those windows, too. She could make out the figure of the don pacing back and forth in his study. She could see the shadowy figures grouped around his desk, looking down at something, studying it. What was he so involved in that he would leave his marriage bed in the middle of the night?

  "I think they are all mad," Maria Pia ventured. "Antonello slinks around in silence, secretive and strange, his clothes often torn and dirty. Vincente pays no attention to his own child, and Giovanni could be il—"

  "Do not call him that!" Nicoletta said sharply. She then swung around and marched back toward the palazzo. "I must begin to learn the workings of this house, or I will be of no use to my husband. I think it is time for young Sophie, too, to begin her education. She has no knowledge of art or reading or anything she will need later in her life. No one pays her any attention, Maria Pia, and she is sorely lacking."

  "You do not wish to walk with me?" Maria Pia raised her eyebrows in speculation.

  "I have no time this day. Perhaps tomorrow." Nicoletta hurried back into the palazzo. She felt guilty for leaving Maria Pia so abruptly, but, in truth, she already had doubts about her husband, and she didn't want the older woman to witness or add to them. She moved through the great halls slowly, taking her time to examine the exquisite artwork, furnishings, tapestries, and strange carvings. Behind her, in silence, the two guards shadowed her every move.

  It was Francesco who alerted her to the presence of the old man. The eldest Scarletti watched from the doorway of a small room as she approached. He glared at her guards. 'Tell Giovanni your guards are useless. Thievery is rampant in the palazzo. Someone has rifled my maps again. They cannot even guard a little room."

  Nicoletta offered him a tentative smile as she neared him. "Has something upset you, Nonno? I shall speak to Don Giovanni at once."

  He waved her concern aside. "Pay no attention. I shall tell him myself. We should talk about you. I think you are not the happy bride," he observed. The voice was low, almost rusty, as if, without yelling, he was unsure how to speak.

  She stopped walking and glanced back at her guards. They were clearly uneasy with her proximity to the old man. "There is much here I do not understand, signore, much that frightens me. I look to the hills for solace. Do you ever walk the hills?" Nicoletta stepped away from the door to gesture toward the windows.

  "Not since I was a young man." His faded eyes took on a far-off look. "I do not venture far from Giovanni's protection. There is much hatred toward me." His world-weary gaze fixed on her face. "Tell me, why are you not afraid of me? Do you not think I will wrap my hands around your throat and strangle you as I strangled my wife?" He was ramrod stiff, a fierce pride in his carriage.

  "I think, signore, it is much more likely that Maria Pia Sigmora will do such a thing, or perhaps the don, if I do not soon remember to wear the shoes he thinks so important." Nicoletta laughed softly and lifted the hem of her skirt to show him her offending bare toes. She then took the old man's arm. "If you wish to walk in the hills, Nonno, I will be glad of the company. I have planted many wonderful healing herbs that need tending. I must see to them very soon." She yearned for the hills and their solace with every fiber of her being.

  The old man patted her hand gently. "Stay close to your guards, Nicoletta—if I have your permission to address you as such."

  She smiled up at him. "I did not ask your permission to call you Nonno. I hope that we become good friends. You are my famiglia now."

  "Giovanni may wish it otherwise," the don's grandfather said tightly.

  "Tell me your story, Nonno. I do not wish to hear gossip from those who can only make up tales," she encouraged. "I am not afraid of the truth."

  He looked back toward the guards, then down at her upturned face. "You are either a very brave girl or a very foolish one. I do not know the truth." Ashamed, he dropped her arm and turned away from her. "They think I killed her. My beloved Tessa. That I could do such an evil thing. I think of her every moment, a torment I can never be free of. I cannot speak of such a vile thing." He shook his head again, walking heavily back into the room, his shoulders rounded with a terrible weight.

  Nicoletta followed him into what looked like a small study. The furnishings were heavy, the colors dark, but windows lightened the room so that it seemed airy. There were no carvings, no monstrous sculptures here. Parchments and several well-worn maps lay on the desk. She glanced at them as she followed the old man to the wide row of windows. It looked as though Signore Scarletti was drawing new maps of the don's lands and the surrounding areas. The lines were neat and precise. She could
see that some of the older maps were thin and worn from use.

  "Perhaps you should speak of it," Nicoletta said bravely. She was very aware of the open door, the two guards positioned uneasily just outside, ready to rush in should there be need.

  "I cannot." Tears ran down his worn face. "Leave me now." It was a fierce whisper, a plea of sheer torment.

  Nicoletta went to him, putting her arms around him in an attempt to comfort. "I cannot leave you like this. It is madness to hold such a terrible thing inside. Do you think me so weak that I would condemn you? Run from you?"

  He put her from him, his body shaking with some terrible truth. His fists knotted at his sides. "She was like you. Sunshine followed her wherever she went. Her laughter filled my heart. She was so beautiful. Like a rare gem." He looked at her. "Like you. She was very like you. Giovanni was insane to bring you to this place." His voice abruptly swung out of control, ranting in Latin, condemning his grandson to the fires of hell.

  Nicoletta crossed herself even as she shook her head at the clearly agitated guards. They consulted together briefly, and one quickly moved away. She hastily lay a calming hand on the eldest Scarletti's arm. "Do you believe in the Scarletti curse? Is that why you think I am in danger? I am very strong, Nonno, and I am not afraid to face danger." Deliberately she named him grandfather to aid his attempt to regain control.

  He looked down at her with sorrow-filled eyes. "My Tessa was not afraid either. Giovanni is much like I was. I see the way he looks upon you. With his heart. His soul. Yet he sees much. Sunshine follows you, and so do other men's eyes." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Do you understand what it is like to be consumed by another being? To live for only that purpose, that smile, those eyes, to need so much that you cannot breathe if she is not with you? It is a fire in the blood that cannot be quenched. You watch her every movement, the slightest gesture." He closed his eyes tightly against the memories haunting him.