Lair of the Lion

by Christine Feehan

  He stared down into her face for so long she didn't think he would answer. She became aware of the movement of the horse as it rocked their bodies together. There was strength in his arms, and his hair brushed her face like silk. She wanted to tangle her fingers in the mass, but, instead, she curled her hands into two fists to prevent such folly. His mouth, beautifully sculpted and sinfully inviting, drew her gaze. She decided it was a mistake to look at him, but she was already caught in the heat of his stare and couldn't look away.

  Nicolai touched her face gently, but Isabella felt the stroke through her entire body. "I'm sorry, Isabella. I found I'm not nearly as noble as I would like to think. I cannot give you up."

  "Well, I just want you to know that I've completely changed my opinion of you." She ducked beneath the thick cloak to get out of the biting wind. "And it isn't for the good."

  His laughter was soft, almost too low for her to catch. "I will have to do my best to change it back."

  When she looked up at him, there was no sign of humor in his face. He looked sad and weighted down. Lines were etched into the angles and planes, and he appeared older than she had first thought. Isabella couldn't prevent her hand from creeping upward to touch his face, to brush gently at the harsh lines. "I'm sorry about the lion. I know you have some connection to them, and you felt the loss greatly."

  "It is my duty to control them," he answered without inflection.

  Her eyebrows shot up. "How can you possibly be responsible for controlling wild animals?"

  "Suffice to say, I can and I do," he said tersely, dismissing the subject.

  Isabella's teeth came together in protest. Was she going to have to get used to being summarily ignored? In her home she had done much as she pleased, taken part in heated discussions, even political ones. Now her life had changed not once, but twice, on the whim of the same man. It would have been far easier if he hadn't been so attractive to her. Beneath her long lashes, her eyes flashed at him, a flare of temper she struggled to control. "You aren't getting off to a very good start, Signor DeMarco, if changing my opinion of you is your intent."

  He looked startled for a moment, as if no one had ever voiced displeasure with him before. Captain Bartolmei, riding close to his don, turned his head away, but not before Nicolai caught the sudden grin. Sergio, on the other side, went into a spasm of coughing. The don swung his head in the soldier's direction, and the chortling sound immediately ceased. Nicolai tightened his arms around Isabella.

  Isabella was drifting, safe and secure in the warmth of the don's arms. But she became aware of tension among the three men. Truly, it was more than the three men. It extended to the columns of men, as if they were all waiting for something to happen. Isabella closed her eyes and allowed her head to find a niche on Don DeMarco's chest. She didn't want to see or hear anything more. She pulled the cloak over her head.

  The feeling of dread persisted anyway. It grew with each step the horses took. It wasn't a feeling of evil, but more of anticipation, of expectation. It seemed that each of the riders knew something she did not. With a sigh of resignation she threw off the hood and glared up at the don.

  "What is it? What is wrong?" He looked more distant than ever. Isabella pushed down the temper that always got her into trouble. Don DeMarco was the one making all the decisions. If he was already regretting his little whim of returning her to the palazzo, that was his problem, and he could look as grim as he wanted, but she wasn't going to feel guilty.

  Nicolai did not answer her. Isabella studied his face and realized he was concentrating completely on something else. She noticed the captain and Sergio riding closer to their don, protectively. She turned her attention to his hands, so steady on the reins as he guided the horse through the snow. Isabella sat up straighter. Don DeMarco was not guiding the horse. Sergio and the captain were doing so with their own mounts. The don's total attention was centered deep within himself, and he didn't seem to be fully aware of anything around him. Not even Isabella.

  His expression caught her interest. He was struggling internally--she sensed it--yet his face was a mask of indifference. Isabella knew things. She had always known them, and right now she was very aware that Nicolai DeMarco was fighting a terrible battle.

  She knew the lions were still pacing alongside the two columns of riders, much farther away than before but still there. Was the don controlling their behavior in some way? Did he truly have such an ability? The idea was terrifying. No one in the outside world would ever accept such a feat. He would be condemned and sentenced to death. Rumors were one thing--people loved gossip, loved to be deliciously frightened--but it would be an altogether different proposition if Don DeMarco could actually control an army of beasts.

  Isabella became aware of the horse beneath them. Where the animal had been steady before, it was becoming increasingly nervous, dancing, tossing its head. The cloak enfolding her in its warmth seemed almost to have come alive, so that she smelled the wild lion, felt the brush of its mane against her cheek.

  Don DeMarco reined in his mount, halting the columns of riders. She could feel the change in his breathing, the air moving through his lungs in a rush, his breath warm on her neck. Then the captain signaled the two columns of riders to continue to move forward toward the palazzo. The storm effectively muffled the sounds of the horses and riders as they disappeared into the white, swirling world.

  Nicolai touched Isabella's hair, his hand heavy and large as it ran down her head and back. The stroke was incredibly sensual, and Isabella shivered. He leaned into her so that his mouth was close to her ear. "I regret I cannot escort you all the way back to the palazzo, but Rolando will see to it that you arrive safely. I have other pressing duties." That peculiar growling note rumbled deep within his throat, sensual and frightening at the same time. Easily, fluidly, he swung down from the horse, one hand lingering on her ankle.

  Isabella's breath caught in her throat. She was wearing boots, but she felt that intimate touch right through her body. "There are lions, Signor DeMarco. I feel them around us. You can't be out here on foot," she pointed out anxiously. "Nothing can be so important."

  "Captain Bartolmei will see you back to the castello. Sarina is waiting for you, and she'll be sure you are well cared for in my absence. I'll return as soon as possible." The wind was blowing hard. The don's hair flared around his face, thick and shaggy, gold at his crown, darkening to almost black as it cascaded down his back. "Isabella, stay close to the captain until you are safe within the walls of my home. And listen to Sarina. She wants only to protect you."

  "Don DeMarco," Captain Bartolmei interrupted. "You must hurry."

  All the horses were snorting and dancing nervously. Isabella's mount was rolling its eyes in fear, tossing its head up and trying to back away.

  Isabella reached out and caught Nicolai's shoulder. "You have no cloak, and it's freezing out here. Please come with us. Or at least take back your cloak."

  Don DeMarco looked at the small gloved hand on his shoulder. "Look at me, my lady. Look at my face."

  She heard the swift intake of breath, of fear, by the two men guarding them. She didn't spare them a glance, looking only at Nicolai. For some reason she couldn't fathom, he was breaking her heart. He looked so aloof, so utterly alone. She boldly framed his scarred face with her palms. "I am looking at you, mio don. Tell me what I am to look for." Her gaze drifted over his face, taking in the handsome, sculpted lines, the deep scars, the blazing intensity of his amber eyes.

  "Tell me what you see," he commanded for the second time, his expression wary.

  "I see you, Don Nicolai DeMarco. A very mysterious man, but one some would call handsome." Her thumb stroked a lingering caress over his shadowed jaw. Isabella found she couldn't look away from his hot gaze.

  "Would you be one of those calling Don Nicolai DeMarco handsome?" he asked, his voice even lower than before, so that the wind whipped it away almost before she caught the words. His hand moved up to his jaw, covering the ex
act spot where her thumb had caressed him, holding her touch in the warmth of his palm.

  A slow smile curved Isabella's mouth, but before she could answer him, her mount reared back, forcing her to grab at the reins.

  Don DeMarco stepped hastily away from the animal, slipping quickly into the shadow of the trees. "Go now, Rolando. Get her home safely." It was an order.

  "Your cloak," Isabella called to him desperately as the captain caught at the reins of her horse. Already the horse was in motion, Sergio and the captain urging the animal toward the palazzo. She struggled to remove the heavy lion pelt, quickly tossing it back toward where she had last seen the don. "Take your cloak, Don DeMarco," she pleaded, afraid for him, a lonely figure impossible to see in the whirling storm of white.

  Isabella nearly turned completely around on the back of her mount. She actually considered leaping off the horse. There was a desperation in her, a fear that if she took her eyes off the don, she would lose him. But as hard as she tried, she could not make out his figure in the snow. She had merely the impression of something large and powerful flowing with fluid grace across the snow. He stooped to pick up the cloak and slowly straightened to watch her go. His frame wavered, became indistinct, as he slipped on the heavy cloak, suddenly taking on the appearance of an untamed beast. She found herself staring into glowing eyes, eyes blazing with fire, with intelligence. Wild eyes.

  Her heart stopped, then began to pound in alarm.

  Chapter Five

  Sarina gathered Isabella into her arms, then led her quickly through the halls and up the stairs to her room. "You have had such trouble, bambina. I am sorry. It was good that Captain Bartolmei and Signor Drannacia were with you."

  "The one they call Sergio?" Isabella asked, struggling to get everyone's name straight. The men had been very nice to her, but neither would yield to her pleas to turn back and aid the don. "They left him there alone, in the storm, with no mount and no help should the lions attack him. He was completely alone, Sarina. How could they do such a thing to their don?"

  She was shivering uncontrollably, cold and wet from the storm, shaken from the approach of the rogue lion, but most of all, fearful for Nicolai DeMarco's safety. "They should have stayed and protected him. It was their duty to protect him first, above all others. I don't understand what is going on in this place. What good are these men if they are disloyal? I wanted to go back to him, but they wouldn't let me." She was furious, furious, that the men had prevented her from staying with Don DeMarco.

  "They were protecting their don," Sarina answered softly, and she made the sign of the cross twice as they hurried through the spacious palazzo.

  "You don't understand. He was alone, surrounded by those huge beasts." Isabella was shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. "They left him there. I left him there." That was worse, to think that she had been so frightened by the size and ferocity of the lion that she had chosen the coward's way out. She had scarcely even resisted the soldiers.

  "You are not thinking clearly, signorina," Sarina said gently, soothingly. "You would never have been allowed to stay behind. The captains had their orders to see you safely home, and they would have forced your obedience. You are in shock, cold, and hungry. You'll feel much better when you are warm."

  As they moved swiftly through the halls of the castello, several servants smiled and nodded at them, open relief on their faces. Isabella tried to acknowledge them graciously, not understanding their reaction to her return. Nothing in this place made sense--not the people, not the animals. "Lions don't live up in the mountains. How did they come to be here? Shouldn't someone go out and look for the don?"

  Sarina remained silent except for her little, soothing, clucking noises. Isabella's room was ready, with a fire burning and a tea tray. The housekeeper helped remove Isabella's cape, gasping as she spotted blood on it. "Are you injured? Where are you injured?"

  Isabella stared in dismay at the red smears. She took the cape from Sarina, crushing the material in her hands. Don DeMarco had wrapped her in his own cloak. It had lain over hers, smearing her cape with blood. It was the don who had been injured. She had shook her head, denying the possibility. He must have gotten blood on his cloak when he knelt beside the fallen lion.

  "I am unhurt, signora," Isabella murmured. "Well, my back is painful. I think I will swallow my pride and ask you to apply the numbing salve." She attempted a weak smile as she allowed Sarina to open her gown and expose the wounds on her back.

  Isabella lay on the bed on her stomach, her fingers curling around the coverlet as Sarina carefully prepared the mixture of herbs. "Tell me about the lions, signora, and why the don's men would leave him alone in a snowstorm with wild beasts surrounding him. There is no alarm in the palazzo. I sense unease but not fear. Why is that?"

  "Hush, bambina. Lie still while I apply this to your poor back. And you must call me Sarina. You will be mistress here now."

  "I have not agreed to such a thing. He threw me out once and may very well do so again. I'm not ready to forgive him." Through half-open eyes, Isabella caught Sarina's quick, appreciative smile, but she had no idea what to make of it.

  "I think you're just what Don DeMarco needs." Very gently Sarina began to apply the numbing potion to Isabella's ravaged back. "You would like to hear the story of the lions, would you? It is an interesting one to tell around the fire at night to frighten the children. It must have a few grains of truth in it, as lions should not be in these mountains. Yet they are here." She sighed. "They are a curse and blessing to our people."

  Isabella opened her eyes to look fully at Sarina. "That is a strange thing to say. I saw the don's face when he knelt beside the rogue lion and touched it so..." She searched for the right description. "Reverently, sadly. He was sad that it was dead. My heart ached for him." Suddenly aware she had revealed too much of her confused feelings for the don, Isabella frowned. "Just for that moment, until I remembered how he had ordered me to leave without so much as a reason. He is fickle and prone to changing his mind, obviously not someone to count on." She managed to sound disdainful even while lying on her stomach with her gown pulled down to her waist. A true Vernaducci could manage under the worst circumstances, and Isabella was proud of herself. The world didn't have to know she melted every time the don looked her way. "Tell me the story, Sarina. I find it a most interesting topic." And it would keep her from running out into the storm in an attempt to hunt for the don.

  Sarina began to pat the melting snowflakes from Isabella's hair. "Many, many years ago, in the old times, back when magick ruled the world, when gods and goddesses were called upon to aid the people, three houses of power resided here in this mountain valley. The houses were DeMarco, Bartolmei, and Drannacia. They were of ancient and sacred lineage, well favored and much loved by the gods. At that time, the houses practiced the old ways, worshiping Mother Earth. It is said it was a time of great power. There was powerful magick in the houses. Priests and priestesses, wizards and sorcerers. Some even say witches."

  Isabella sat up, intrigued. Carefully she held the front of her gown over her generous breasts. "Magick, Sarina?"

  Sarina looked pleased that her tale was chasing the shadows from Isabella's eyes. "Magick." She nodded firmly. "There was peace in the valley, and prosperity. The crops grew, and the houses were happy places. Le famiglie were allied, and they often intermarried to maintain the balance of power and defend against all outsiders."

  "Sounds sensible," Isabella approved. She could breathe again without the pain in her back. The room was warm and finally thawing out the ice in her blood. She reached for the tea and had to make a hasty grab for her gown.

  Sarina smiled at her. "You may as well take that off and wear one of the garments Don DeMarco had made for you."

  Isabella would have argued, but she wanted to hear the story. "Where do the lions come in?" Obediently she peeled off the dress and stepped out of it. As she opened the wardrobe door and dragged out another gown, she glanced over her
shoulder at the housekeeper. "They can't have been here in the mountains all along."

  "You are so impatient." Sarina took the dress and carefully eased it over Isabella. "No, there were no lions back then. Let me tell the story the way it is said to have happened. For hundreds of years--maybe even more--the valley was safe from invaders, and although the world changed around them, the people managed to live peaceful and happy lives, practicing their faith wisely."

  Sitting on the bed, Isabella drew her legs up beneath her long skirt and hugged herself. "That must have been an interesting time. There's much sense in the workings of nature."

  Sarina glared at her, made the sign of the cross, and tapped Isabella's head. "Are you going to listen to me or risk angering the holy Madonna with your nonsense?"

  "Does she get angry? I can't imagine her angry." Isabella saw Sarina's expression and quickly hid her smile. "I'm sorry. Tell the story."

  "You do not deserve it, but I will," Sarina complied, clearly gratified that her young charge was growing rosy and warm and relaxed after her frightening ordeal. "There came a time when the people became more adept and more daring in their magick. Where once the people were as one, small divisions began to form. Oh, not all at once. It happened over the years."

  Isabella took a sip of tea, savoring the taste and heat. She poured a second cup and handed it carefully to Sarina.

  Surprised and pleased, Sarina beamed at her, cradling the warm cup in her hands. "No one knows in which house it started, but someone began dabbling in things best left alone. The beauty of the people's beliefs was corrupted, twisted, and something was let loose in the valley. Something that seemed to creep and spread until it reached every house. The magick became tainted, and once evil entered, it began to take shape and grow. It is said the howling of ghosts was often heard, as the dead could no longer find rest. Things began to happen. Accidents affecting each of the houses. The houses began to grow distant from one another. As the accidents increased and people were injured, they began to blame one another, and a great rift formed between the families. Since the houses were intermarried, it was a terrible thing. Brother against sister and cousin against cousin."