Lair of the Lion

by Christine Feehan

  Francesca bounced on the bed, laughing softly. "Oh, that is too rich. Wait until the others hear what you said. 'Exhilarating'! That is too perfect!"

  In spite of the strangeness of the conversation, Isabella found herself smiling, because Francesca's laughter was so infectious.

  A ferocious roar shook the palazzo. A hideous, high-pitched scream of agony mingled with the terrible sound. It echoed throughout the vast castello, reaching to the highest vaulted ceiling and the deepest hidden dungeons and caverns the castello guarded. Isabella clutched the robe to her, staring in frozen horror at her closed door. The scream was cut off abruptly, but a terrible din followed. From every direction wild animals bellowed, and she covered her ears to block out the sounds. Her heart was pounding so loudly it sounded like thunder, mixing with the chaos. She turned her head toward Francesca.

  The woman was gone. The bed was smooth, the quilt without a crease where she had been sitting. Isabella swung her gaze wildly around the room, searching out every corner, trying desperately to pierce the darkness. As abruptly as the terrible noise had started, it stopped, and there was only silence. Isabella sat very still, afraid to move.

  Chapter Two

  Isabella sat quietly in the bed, the robe wrapped securely around her, staring at the door until dawn streaked rays of light through the long row of stained-glass windows. She watched the sun begin to rise, watched the colors leap to life and bring a certain animation to the images portrayed in the windows.

  She stood up and wandered across the room, drawn to the colorful panels. She had been in many of the great castelli when she was a child, and all of them were awe-inspiring. But this one was more ornate, more intricate, more everything. In her room alone, a mere guest room, was a small fortune in art and gold. It was no wonder the armies of the Spanish and Austrian kings and those who came before had sought entrance into this valley.

  Isabella found the small chamber reserved for morning ablutions and took her time, going over in her mind each argument she would use to persuade Don DeMarco to aid her in saving her brother. Don DeMarco. His name was whispered by powerful men. It was said he had the ear of the most influential rulers in the world and that those who did not listen or heed him ended up disappearing or dead. Few saw him, but it was rumored that he was half man, half beast and that within his valley strange, demonic apparitions aided him. The gossip included everything from ghosts to an army of wild beasts under his command. Isabella remembered her brother, Lucca, telling her every story and laughing with her over the absurd rumors people were so willing to believe.

  She looked around her room carefully. Crosses were hung on either side of her door. She moved closer to examine the door itself. The carvings on it were of angels, beautiful, winged creatures guarding the bedchamber. Isabella smiled. She was being fanciful, but the rumors of demonic creatures and an army of wild animals she had laughed over with her brother seemed far closer to reality now, and she was grateful for the plethora of angels standing guard at her door.

  The room itself was large and rife with ornate carvings. Several small etchings of winged lions hung on the walls, but most appeared to be of angels. Two stone lions guarded the great fireplace, but they looked rather kindly, so she patted their heads to make friends with them.

  Isabella could not find her clothes anywhere and with a sigh of frustration opened the enormous wardrobe. It was packed with beautiful gowns, gowns that looked as if they were new, made just for her. She pulled one out, her hand trembling as she smoothed the full skirt. The frocks looked as if her favorite dressmaker had sewn them. Each one, everyday wear and fancy ball, was her size and made with lace and soft, flowing material. She had never had such fine dresses, not even when her father was alive. Her fingers caressed the fabric, touching the tiny seams in reverence.

  In the bureau she discovered intimate items carefully folded, with flower petals strewn throughout each drawer to keep them freshly scented. Isabella sat on the edge of her bed, holding the garments in her hands. Had they been made for her? How could such a thing be? Perhaps she had been given another young woman's room. She looked around the enormous bedchamber once more.

  It didn't contain the personal accessories she would expect to find in someone's private chambers. She found herself shivering. All at once the beautiful gowns seemed a bit sinister, as if Don DeMarco, knowing she was coming, had devised his own disreputable plans for her. Francesca said the news of her imminent arrival had traveled well ahead of her, yet the elusive don had not sent out an escort. None of it made sense to her.

  How had Francesca managed to come into her room despite the locked door? Mulling over the puzzle, Isabella dressed slowly in the plainest gown she could find, feeling she had no choice. She couldn't very well go to meet the don without a stitch of clothing on. She knew that many castelli and the great palazzi had secret passageways and hidden rooms. That had to be the answer to Francesca's abrupt arrival and departure. She took a few minutes to examine the marble walls. She could find no evidence of an opening in any of them. She even examined the large hearth, but it seemed solid enough.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she heard a key turn in the lock of her door and it was pushed open. Sarina smiled at her. She was carrying a tray. "I thought you would be awake and quite hungry by now, signorina. You didn't eat at all last night."

  Isabella glared at her. "You put something in the tea." She backed away from the older woman until a wall brought her up short.

  "The Master wanted you to sleep through the night. His pets can be frightening if you are not used to their noise. Besides, you were so tired from your journey, I think you would have fallen asleep even without aid. And I explained last night that you could not roam freely throughout the palazzo. It's not always safe," Sarina said, repeating her warning of the night before. She didn't seem in the least remorseful.

  The food smelled wonderful, and Isabella's empty stomach rumbled, but she stared at the tray suspiciously. "I told you last night that my errand is urgent. I must see the don immediately. Has he agreed to an audience?"

  "Later today. He is nocturnal and rarely sees anyone in the morning hours unless it is a dire emergency," Sarina answered calmly. She placed the tray on the small table in front of the fire.

  "But it is an emergency," Isabella said desperately. Nocturnal? She turned the strange concept over and over in her mind, trying to make sense of it.

  "It isn't to him," Sarina pointed out. "He will not change his mind, signorina, so you may as well eat now while you have the chance. The food is excellent and without any herb to aid you to sleep." When Isabella continued to stare at her, she sighed softly. "Come, piccola, you'll need your strength for what lies ahead."

  Isabella crossed the room reluctantly to stand beside the chair. "I couldn't find my clothes, so I put on one of the gowns I found in the wardrobe, signora. I trust I did not do anything wrong."

  "No, the Master provided clothes for you, as he knew yours had been ruined on your journey. Sit, signorina, and eat. I'll tend your hair for you. You have such beautiful hair. My daughter would have been about your age. We lost her in an accident." There was a tightness to her voice, and although the older woman was behind the chair where Isabella had seated herself, she knew the housekeeper had made the sign of the cross.

  At least they all weren't devil-worshipers in this valley. Isabella sighed with relief. "I'm so sorry for your loss, signora. I can only imagine how terrible it would be to lose a child, but mia madre died of the fever when I was but six, and mio padre was carried home from a hunting accident. I only have mio fratello now. And I do not wish to lose him, too." She didn't add that both she and Lucca believed her father's hunting accident, which subsequently caused his death, had been no accident but a serious bid by their neighbor, Don Rivellio, to begin the takeover of their lands.

  "You met mio sposo, Betto, last night on your arrival. He stabled your horse for you. The animal was very tired. He is a good man, and should you need an
ything, he will aid you." Sarina lowered her voice, almost as if she thought the walls had ears. As if she were a conspirator.

  Isabella wrapped her hands around the hot cup of tea. She inhaled deeply but found no trace of any herb she could identify as medicinal. "He seemed very nice, and he was kind to me." She looked up at Sarina. "Did Don DeMarco enter my room last night while I slept?"

  Sarina stiffened, her hands stilling as she was placing the dishes closer to Isabella's chair. "Why do you ask such a thing?"

  "I had strange dreams, that you were here in my room and he came in."

  "Are you certain? What did he look like?" Sarina turned to tidy the bed, keeping her back to the younger woman.

  Isabella thought the housekeeper's hands were trembling. She took a cautious sip of tea. It was sweet and hot and tasted perfect. "I couldn't see his face. But he seemed...large. Is he a big man?"

  Sarina fluffed the quilt, then smoothed it carefully. "He is tall and enormously strong. But he moves..." She trailed off.

  "In silence," Isabella supplied thoughtfully, almost to herself. "He was here last night, in this room, wasn't he?"

  "He wished to make certain you had suffered no injury on your journey." Sarina prompted her to eat, pushing the plate toward her. "Our cook becomes very upset when we don't eat what she provides. Already we sent back your meal last night. She has prepared this especially for you. Please try it."

  Isabella hadn't eaten a real meal in so long, she was almost afraid to take a bite. Her stomach protested at first, but then the strange, honeyed cake simply melted in her mouth, and she found she was quite hungry. "It is good," she praised in answer to Sarina's expectant expression. "What was that terrible scream I heard? That was no dream but someone mortally wounded." She was reluctant to tell even Sarina about Francesca's visit, uncertain whether it would make trouble for the young woman. She liked Francesca and needed at least one ally in the castello. Sarina was sweet, and very good to her, but her loyalty was definitely to Don DeMarco. Everything Isabella said, everything she did, would be dutifully reported. Isabella accepted that as Sarina's duty. Her father had been don over his people. She knew what loyalty the title commanded.

  "These things happen. Someone was incautious." Sarina shrugged her thin shoulders almost carelessly, but as she turned away, Isabella saw that her face was pale and her lips were trembling. "I must go. I will return for you when it is time." She was already halfway to the door, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation. Before Isabella could protest, the door was firmly closed, and she heard the key turn in the lock.

  Isabella spent a good portion of the morning napping. She was still tired and drained from the exhausting journey, and every muscle in her body seemed to ache. She had studied every inch of the room and the stained glass and again searched for hidden passageways, then finally threw herself onto the bed. She was fast asleep when Sarina returned, and they had to hurry, Isabella taking care of her rumpled appearance, Sarina dressing her hair and clucking at her like a hen.

  "You must hurry, signorina. You do not wish to keep him waiting too long. He has many appointments. You are but one."

  "I didn't mean to fall asleep," Isabella apologized. The older woman opened the door for her, but Isabella was suddenly reluctant to step into the corridor, remembering the terrible, overwhelming cloud of evil she had encountered the previous evening.

  Isabella was "different." Lucca told her to keep her strange premonitions and oddities to herself, never to allow anyone to know that she was "sensitive" to things beyond what the eye could see. But Lucca and her father had relied on her feelings when they were looking for allies, when they sought others to join their secret societies to protect their lands from continual assaults by outside rulers.

  "Signorina," Sarina said softly. "We cannot take a chance on being late for your appointment. He will not grant you another."

  Isabella took a deep breath and followed Sarina out the door, patting the angels for good luck as she slipped past. She looked up just as a young serving girl threw water from a golden goblet into her face. The water splashed down her cheeks to drip into the neckline of her dress. Isabella stopped dead in her tracks, staring in numbed shock at the girl standing in front of her.

  A sudden silence fell as all work ceased and servants gaped in horrified fascination. The water continued to drip down Isabella's gown, running between her breasts like beads of sweat.

  "Alberita!" Sarina chastised the girl, frowning severely, although laughter was evident in her sparkling eyes. "The holy water is sprinkled on one's person, not thrown in one's face! Scusi, Signorina Isabella, she is young and impulsive and does not always listen well. The holy water was for your protection, not your bath."

  Alberita dropped a slight curtsey in Isabella's direction, gaping up at her in horror, her face ashen, tears in her eyes. "Scusi, scusi! La prego do not tell the Master."

  "I am most grateful for the protection, Alberita. I shall go to meet my destiny with no trepidation in my heart. Assuredly I have extra protection from any who would seek to harm me." Isabella had to struggle to keep from laughing.

  Sarina shook her head and carefully wiped Isabella's face. "It's good of you to be so understanding. Most others would have demanded she be flogged."

  "I have no more status than you, signora," Isabella confessed, unashamed. "And I do not believe in flogging. Well," she muttered under her breath, "perhaps Don Rivellio could use a good flogging."

  Sarina's mouth twitched, but she didn't smile. "Come, we mustn't be late. Don DeMarco has a busy schedule. Be certain you are properly respectful."

  Isabella glanced at her, certain the older woman was laughing at her, but Sarina was leading the way through the wide corridors and archways. They hurried past several servants working. She noticed that they all looked at her with solemn faces, some of them with tight smiles. All of them made the sign of the cross toward her as if blessing her.

  Holy water and blessings from the servants. Isabella cleared her throat. "Signora, is Don DeMarco a member of the Holy Church?" Her voice wavered a little, but Isabella was proud of the fact that she had managed to get the words out without stuttering. She had a sinking feeling that maybe all the rumors about the don were true after all. She sent up a quick, silent prayer that Don DeMarco and God were on good terms.

  Sarina Sincini did not answer but walked quickly ahead of her, leading the way into a large open court with winding staircases rising off it in several directions. In the center of the court was a fountain that soared nearly to the second story. It provided Isabella with a measure of relief to see that each cutaway section of the fountain was topped with a cross. At the base of each circular column, however, was the inevitable lion, broad and muscular, with a tawny mane tipped in black. Still, the sound of water splashing was soothing, and the intricate carvings of kindly figures around the top of the fountain provided more assurance.

  Isabella wanted to linger and examine the large sculpture, but Sarina was halfway up one of the winding staircases. As Isabella hurried up the seemingly endless stairs, she gazed at the array of portraits on the wall. One, the face of a man, was so beautiful it made her ache inside. His eyes held pain, deep sorrow. She was mesmerized by his eyes, wanting to hold him close and comfort him. The feeling was strong in her that she knew him, that she recognized those eyes. Isabella looked past the portrait to the next one. She recognized that face immediately. Francesca's laughing eyes gazed back at her, mischievous and happy. The painting must have been done fairly recently, as Francesca seemed nearly the same age as she was now. Who, exactly, was she, Isabella wondered. A young cousin of the don? The artist had captured the essence of her, her warmth and sunny disposition. Isabella took courage just looking at the sweet face. She squared her shoulders and hurried after Sarina.

  They took many twists and turns through numerous hallways and darkened alcoves, passing more stained-glass windows and intricately carved arches. Isabella wanted to explore everything. The cas
tello in the daylight seemed more open and airy and far less of a threat than it had the night before. She no longer sensed the thick, oily impression of evil.

  Finally they reached the far end of the palazzo, a distance from the main rooms. She caught glimpses of rooms filled with books and sculptures and all sorts of intriguing things she would have liked to examine, but Sarina continued to hurry through the maze of corridors. Isabella was truly lost as they made their way up a third flight of wide, curving steps to a balcony and a double door straight ahead. Isabella stopped abruptly in front of it, not needing Sarina to tell her she was in Don DeMarco's private lair.

  "This entire wing of the house is the Master's. No one is allowed entrance unless he has issued an invitation."

  "What of the servants?" Isabella asked, curious. She was staring at the huge, intricately carved double door graced with a lion's head complete with shaggy mane and piercing eyes. The muzzle seemed to come right out of the carving, open mouth displaying sharpened teeth. But there was something different about this lion, something very different from the others. This lion looked intelligent, cunning, menacing. It was almost as if the portrait of a man had been made into the carving of a lion. She could almost see the human beneath the frightful mask.

  "You must go in," Sarina prompted.

  Isabella continued to stare at the carving, scarcely hearing the older woman. She reached out and touched the ferocious muzzle with a gentle fingertip, almost caressing it, something inside her responding to the look in those eyes.

  "Signorina, take hold of the handle and go inside," Sarina urged her in a soft hiss.