There seemed a hidden meaning in his words, and Isabella sensed an understanding passing between the two, but she couldn't catch the drift. Her back was throbbing and burning, and she just wanted them both to leave her alone.
"Of course, Don DeMarco," Sarina said softly, compassion in her voice. "I will watch over her. You must meet with those waiting. I will see to Signorina Vernaducci personally."
Don DeMarco bent so that his mouth was next to Isabella's ear, so that the warmth of his breath stirred tendrils of her hair and whispered over her skin. "I will set in motion the plans to fulfill our bargain at once. Do not worry, cara mia. It will be done."
Isabella closed her eyes, her fingers curling into two tight fists as Sarina began to work on the ragged wounds on her back. The pain was excruciating, and she didn't want Don DeMarco to feel it with her. He was already in enough pain. She sensed the torment buried deep within his soul, and she hated that she was adding to his burdens, burdens she had no hope of understanding but knew instinctively were on his broad shoulders.
Whatever Sarina was doing drove the breath from Isabella's body, so she couldn't form an answer to the don. Small beads of sweat broke out on her brow. She thought she felt his lips brush her skin, right over the scratch on her temple.
A sound of distress rumbled in his throat. "I did this," he stated somberly.
Isabella felt that the small scratch was the least of her worries, yet it seemed enormously upsetting to the don. "You saved us from a lion, Don DeMarco. I'm scarcely worried about such a trivial mark."
A small silence followed, and she felt the sudden tension in the room.
"You saw a lion?" Sarina asked softly, her hands still on Isabella's shoulder.
"Don DeMarco, I was not mistaken, was I?" Isabella asked. "Although I admit I have never seen such a creature before. Do you truly keep them as pets? Aren't you afraid of accidents?"
The silence stretched out endlessly until Isabella stirred, determined to look at the don. With an oath, Don DeMarco spun on his heel and in his usual silent way stalked from the room.
"I did see such a beast in the room with us, Signora Sincini. I am telling the truth. Didn't you see it?" Isabella asked.
"I did not see anything. I was looking at the floor, terrified the bird would rip out my eyes. Falcons are trained to attack the eyes, you know."
Isabella felt tears welling up again. "I made the don angry, and I don't even know why." She couldn't bear to think about the implications of a bird deliberately being trained to attack humans. Or about lions wandering inside the palazzo. Or about the don stalking away, disgusted with her behavior. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, her tears leaking onto the quilt, her head turned away from the housekeeper.
"Don DeMarco has much on his mind. He was not angry with you. He was worried, piccola, truly. I have known him many years, since he was a babe."
The lump in her throat prevented Isabella from answering. She had traded herself to the man in return for her brother's life. She had no idea what was expected of her, no idea how to act or how he would treat her. She knew nothing of him but dreadful rumors, yet she had tied her life to his.
"I'm so sorry this happened, signorina." Sarina's voice held a wealth of compassion. "I feel it's my fault that you were injured."
"Call me Isabella," she whispered. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to sleep, wishing Sarina would offer her the tea with herbs in it. She thought about suggesting it, but her back was on fire, and she couldn't seem to find enough air to breathe and talk at the same time. "Of course it was not your fault. It was an accident, nothing more. The bird became upset. I saw it flying at you, and I leapt upon you. In truth, I was afraid I might have injured you when I drove you to the floor." She didn't mention the terrible sensation of evil entering the room, that black, choking entity that had been all too real to ignore.
Sarina touched the angry scratch on Isabella's temple. "How did this happen?"
Isabella fought to keep her voice steady. Her back throbbed and burned. "The don was being very sweet, but his ring caught my skin. It was an accident, certainly not important." She clenched her teeth to keep from blurting out how badly her back hurt.
Sarina turned to answer a knock at the door, then closed it quickly against prying eyes. She mixed the herbs she had sent for and carefully applied the poultice to the long lacerations. Isabella nearly screamed, sweat breaking out on her body, but then the cuts went blissfully numb, and she could breathe again. But she was still trembling in shock and reaction. There was another knock on the door, and this time a servant handed Sarina a cup of the blessed tea.
Isabella had to be helped into a sitting position, surprisingly weak from the experience. She smiled wanly at Sarina. "Next time, let's ask Alberita to pour a bucket of holy water over my head before I leave my room." She cupped her hands around the warmth of the teacup, trying to absorb the heat.
Sarina laughed shakily in relief. "You are a good girl, signorina. Your madre is no doubt smiling down upon you from heaven. I thank you for what you are giving the don. He is good and deserving."
Isabella took a sip of the tea gratefully. It immediately eased her terrible tremors. "I hope you still say that when he finds me running wild in the hills and scowls fiercely because I do not arrive to dinner on time."
"You will make him a good wife." Sarina patted her leg gently. "As soon as you drink the tea, I will help you undress. You will sleep peacefully, bambina."
Isabella hoped it was the truth. She wanted desperately to close her eyes and escape into the enfolding darkness. The relief she felt that Don DeMarco had agreed to rescue her brother was tremendous. She would put aside her concerns about his strange pets and hope that she could persuade him to rid the castello of the creatures at a later date.
Isabella drank the sweet, medicinal tea and did her best to help Sarina remove the tattered gown. Then she lay on her stomach on the soft mattress and allowed her eyelashes to drift down. Sarina bustled around the room, removing all evidence of the terrible incident and lighting several aromatic candles to dispel the gathering shadows and provide a soothing fragrance. She stroked Isabella's hair until the don's betrothed was drowsy, and then she left, locking the door carefully.
Isabella awoke to soft whispers. A gentle feminine voice was calling to her. The room was dark, and the flickering candles were nearly burned down completely, the wax in oily pools and the flames sputtering and smoking.
She turned her head and saw Francesca sitting on her bed, anxiously wringing her hands and peering at her. Isabella smiled sleepily. "What's wrong, Francesca?" she asked, her voice as reassuring as she could make it under the circumstances.
"He hurt you. I never thought he would hurt you. I would have told you to run away, Isabella, really. I like you. I would have warned you away if I thought for even a moment that--" There was childlike quality to Francesca's voice, as if she spoke the simple, guileless truth.
The medicine from the tea was still in Isabella's body, making her feel dreamy and weightless. "Who do you think hurt me, Francesca? No one hurt me. It was an accident. Not important at all."
There was a small silence. "But everyone is saying he struck you, slashed terrible gashes in your body, and would have devoured you if Sarina had not stopped him by entering the room." Tears welled up in Francesca's eyes, and she folded her arms across her chest and rocked back and forth as if to comfort herself.
"Surely you do not mean Don DeMarco," Isabella said drowsily.
Francesca nodded. "I have heard many such stories of his cruelty."
"Who would say such terrible things? I can assure you, Francesca, Don DeMarco was a perfect gentleman, and he saved my life. Sarina's life, too. Surely his people do not hate him enough to tell such tales. That's cruelty itself. They should live under the rule of a man such as Don Rivellio if they wish to learn the difference." Isabella sought to reassure the young woman, but the conversation disturbed her. She had heard all the whispered warnings; even the
don's own servants had attempted to bless her as she sought an audience with him. Perhaps there were things she didn't know. "Have you ever found him to be unjust or cruel? A man who would slash a woman to ribbons and devour her?"
"Oh, no!" Francesca hastily shook her head. "Never! But I pulled down the quilt while you were sleeping, and I saw your back. Surely it will scar. How could this have happened?"
"The falcon became frightened and attempted to attack Sarina. I was in the way. It looks much worse than it really is." Isabella was beginning to wake up despite the medicine. She felt stiff and uncomfortable and needed to visit the alcove. It was a struggle to sit up. Francesca, watching her with great interest, moved aside to give her more room to maneuver.
Isabella raised an eyebrow at her and glanced down at the quilt wrapped around her bare skin. Francesca grinned impishly at the show of modesty and looked up at the ornate ceiling. That quickly her mood changed, and she was beaming.
Isabella moved slowly, catching up the robe Sarina had thoughtfully laid out for her. Like all the other garments provided for her, it was made of a soft fabric that clung to her curves. Thankfully, her back was still numb enough that the material didn't aggravate her wounds.
She became aware of the same moaning and wailing she had heard the previous night, coming from the hallways of the castello. She also heard that strange, grunting cough. "What kind of animal makes that sound?" she asked Francesca, already fairly certain of the answer.
Francesca hopped to her feet restlessly and shrugged. "A lion, of course. They are everywhere in the valley, in the palazzo. They are the guardians of our famiglia. Our guardians and our keepers." She sighed, obviously bored with the subject. "Tell me of life outside this valley. Down the great mountains. What is it like? I have never been anywhere other than this place."
More and more Isabella believed that Francesca was younger than she appeared. Whose truant child was she that she wouldn't reveal her full identity? Recalling her own wayward childhood, Isabella decided not to press the point and frighten off her new friend. "I have never been in mountains such as these," Isabella told her. "The palazzi in other places I have been are much like this one but not as ornate."
"Have you ever been to a ball?" Francesca asked wistfully.
Isabella returned from the alcove to stand by the chair in front of the hearth. The fire had burned down, leaving smoldering embers. The faint light cast an eerie glow on the wall behind her. She turned her head to look at her own shadow, her thick braid falling past the curve of her bottom in the flowing robe. She did a slow pirouette, watching her shadow on the wall, wincing as her back protested. "Yes, more than one. I do love to dance."
Francesca tried a spin, holding her arms out as if she were dancing with a partner. Isabella laughed, turning to look at Francesca's shadow, but the glowing embers weren't strong enough to cast the young woman's silhouette on the wall alongside Isabella's.
"It will be fun having you here," Francesca said. "You can teach me all the proper steps. I've had to make up my own."
"It will have to be another night, when my back doesn't hurt, but I'd love to teach you to dance. Does Don DeMarco dance, Francesca?"
Francesca swayed this way and that, turning one way and the other as she danced around the room. "There has been no music in the palazzo for a long time. I love music and plays and dance and all the young men in their finery. I have never seen such things, mind you, but I have heard tales. We do not entertain here."
"Why is that?" Isabella asked, trying not to smile at Francesca's exuberance.
"The lions, of course. They would not tolerate such activities. They rule here, and we obey. They would not accept so many visitors, although they are quiet tonight. They must be accepting you, or they would be roaring in protest as they did last night. When you stuck your hand into the lion's mouth, he judged you, friend or foe. Those seeking Nicolai's favor must first stick their fingers inside the lion's mouth. If he bites, Nicolai knows they are the enemy, and they cannot enter."
Isabella stared into the embers of the smoldering fire, frowning as she did so. Francesca must be mistaken. She was a young woman, unbridled in her thoughts and actions. She must be making up stories or repeating gossip as she had earlier, when she believed the don had slashed Isabella. "Ruled by lions? How can humans be ruled by a lion? The beasts are wild and dangerous, and they were used by barbarians to kill people of faith. But, those in power commanded the lions, not the opposite." She shivered when Francesca did not reply. "How many lions are in this valley?" she asked.
There was no answer. Isabella turned her head, and Francesca was once more gone from the bedchamber. Isabella sighed. She would be certain to ask the girl the next time she saw her just where the secret passageway was. It would most likely to be a useful piece of information to have.
Chapter Four
"Isabella." Sarina shook her shoulder gently but insistently. "Come, bambina, you must wake now. Hurry, Isabella, wake now."
Isabella lifted her lashes and stared up into Sarina's kind face. "What is it? It's not yet light." She moved carefully, the lacerations on her back more painful now that the medicine had worn off. She tried to keep from wincing. "Is something wrong, Sarina?"
"You have been ordered to leave this place. The supplies are packed, and your escort is waiting with your horse." Sarina refused to meet Isabella's eyes. "He will not relent, signorina. Hurry now. He has said you must leave immediately. I must tend to your back."
Isabella tilted her chin defiantly. "We have a bargain. The don is a man of his word, and I insist that he keep it. I will not leave this place. And he will rescue mio fratello, Lucca."
"The messengers have been sent to secure your brother's freedom," Sarina assured her. She was pulling clothes out of the wardrobe.
"There is the matter of our marriage. I believe he offered for me. He ordered our marriage. He cannot go back on his word."
"It was not announced." Sarina still wouldn't meet her gaze. "I must put salve on your wounds. Then you must dress quickly, Isabella, and do as Don DeMarco has ordered."
"I don't understand. I must see him. Why is he sending me away? What have I done to displease him?" Isabella had a sudden inspiration. "The lions were quiet last night. Doesn't that mean they are coming to accept my presence?"
"He will not see you, and he will not change his mind."
Sarina tried to hide her distress, making Isabella wonder what consequences of the don's decision she feared. She had no doubt that Sarina was well versed in all the legends about the don and his palazzo.
Isabella took a deep, calming breath. Well, if Don DeMarco didn't want her as his bride, then perhaps both of them had made a lucky escape. She had no intention of ever conforming to a husband's wishes. Not now. Not ever. "My back is fine this morning, grazie. I do not need medicine."
She rose stiffly and deliberately took her time washing, hoping the don was pacing in his rooms, anxious for her departure. Let him be anxious and have to wait on her pleasure. Ignoring the clothes Sarina had laid out for her, she dressed in her old, worn clothing. She needed nothing from Don DeMarco other than that he keep his word and rescue her brother.
"Please understand, he wishes you to have the clothes. He is providing a full escort to the pass, supplies, and several men to take you on to your home." Sarina tried hard to be encouraging.
Isabella's eyes flashed fire. She had no home. Don Rivellio had confiscated her lands and all things of value, other than her mother's jewels. But she dared not use her last treasures except as a final resort to try to bribe the guards holding Lucca. Still, she was far too proud to point out the obvious to Sarina. Isabella had come to Don DeMarco expecting to become a servant in his castello. If he wished to throw her out, she certainly wasn't going to beg him to take her as his bride, or even for sanctuary. She had been born the daughter of a don. She may have run wild at times, but the blood of her parents ran deep in her veins. She had plenty of pride and dignity, and she wrapped
both around her like a cloak.
"I have no need of anything the don has offered. I made my way to the palazzo alone, and I can certainly find my way back. As for the clothes, please see to it that those in need receive them." She met Sarina's eyes steadily, every bit as proud as the don. "I am ready."
"Signorina...." Sarina's heart clearly ached for the young woman.
Isabella's chin rose higher. "There is nothing to say, signora. I thank you for your kindness to me, but I must obey the orders of your don and leave immediately." She had to leave quickly or she might humiliate herself by bursting into tears. She had elicited a promise from Don DeMarco to save her brother, and that, after all, was the only reason she had come. She would think of nothing else.
Not his broad shoulders. Not the intensity of his amber gaze. Not the sound of his voice. She would not think of him as a man. Isabella glanced at the door, her features set and determined.
Sarina opened the door, and Isabella swept through it. At once the cold hit her, piercing and deep and unnatural. It was there again--that sense of something malignant watching her, this time in gloating triumph. Her heart began to pound. The hatred was so strong, so thick in the air, it took her breath away. She felt the weight of its ugly presence.
But Isabella could not worry any longer about those living with something evil in the castello. If the don and his people didn't know or care what was dwelling within their walls, it was none of her business. Looking neither right nor left, not waiting to see if the housekeeper followed, Isabella hurried through the maze of halls, relying on her memory to find her way out. She was terrified of leaving yet equally terrified of staying.
The unnatural cold air followed her as she made her way through the wide halls. It stabbed at her as if to run her through with an ice-cold sword. It clawed at the wounds on her back, seeking entrance to her soul. She couldn't prevent a shudder of fear, and she imagined she heard the echo of taunting laughter. As she walked down the long, twisting stairs, a ripple of movement followed her, and she could have sworn the portraits on the walls stared at her. The burning tapers in the halls flared from strange wind gusts and splattered waxy, macabre apparitions onto the floor, as if her adversary were maliciously celebrating her departure with gleeful delight.
Lair of the Lion Page 6