"Let her sleep, Nicolai," Francesca advised. "What have you found out?"
"My men are bringing the woman and the servants. We'll have our answers when they arrive." He touched Isabella's hair, a tender caress, then resumed his pacing.
"She was attacked by the cats. There are deep scratches on her arm." Francesca inhaled at his murderous expression and tried to explain hastily. "The cats take refuge in the storehouse to keep from being eaten by the lions. They keep the rodents down. We need them, Nicolai. You can't destroy them. The poor creatures are hungry and were only protecting their territory. They have nowhere else to shelter. Everyone knows that." Her words trailed off as the import sank in. She raised her eyes to her brother's "Nicolai." She breathed his name in horror.
Flames burned in his eyes, orange-red, a reflection of his inner turmoil. He continued to stare down at her.
"Nicolai, you can't still persist in thinking I would want harm to come to her." There was pain in her face, in her eyes.
"I don't know what to think, only that her life is in danger from something other than what lives within me."
"What would I have to gain by her death? What would be my reason? I'm the one person you can trust with her life. The only person. You're mio fratello. My loyalty has always been to you." She lifted her chin. "Isabella has given me a task. I've given her my word of honor, and I intend to keep it. If you'll excuse me..." She squared her shoulders and walked toward the door.
Nicolai raked a restless hand through his thick mane of hair. "Francesca." His voice stopped her, but she didn't turn around. "I don't even trust myself," he admitted in a low voice.
She nodded, looking over her shoulder sadly. "Nor should you. She's in more danger from you than from any traitor living in our holding. We both know that. And she knows it, too. The difference is, Isabella is willing to take a chance on us, live with us, make a life for herself and those around her. We chose to lock ourselves away, watching life and love pass us by. Without Isabella, neither of us has much of a chance at a life."
"And with us," he answered, "what chance does she have at living?"
Francesca shrugged. "As with every bride before her, the beast will wait until an heir is secured. She has those years, Nicolai. Make her happy. Make her sacrifice count for something. Or decide to break the curse."
"You sound as if I have a choice." His hands knotted into fists, and, with the intensity of his emotion, needles punctured his palms. "How?" There was rage in his voice, hopelessness. "Does anyone know how it is done?"
Francesca shook her head. "I know only that it can be done."
Nicolai watched his sister leave the room. He paced restlessly, padding in silence, his mind working furiously. From the moment Isabella had come to the valley, a killer had stalked her. He had to find the traitor and dispose of him...or her.
Isabella stirred, shadows creeping into the peace of her expression. At once he went to her, sliding his large frame onto the bed to stretch out beside her. He gathered her close to him, his arms circling her, drawing her against his heart. Nicolai rested his chin on top of her head, rubbing his jaw gently along her hair in a gesture meant to soothe. He wasn't entirely certain whether he was soothing Isabella or himself.
"Nicolai?" She whispered his name uncertainly, caught between a dream and a nightmare.
"I'm here, cara mia," he assured her. The intensity of his emotions gripped him, tears welling up, choking him. "Think only of happiness, Isabella. Tuo fratello is safe within the walls of the palazzo. You are safe in your bedchamber, and I'm with you." He pressed a series of kisses along her throat. Gently. Tenderly. "Ti amo, and I swear to you, I'll find a way to keep you safe."
"When you're with me, Nicolai, I feel safe," she murmured. "I wish you would feel safe when you were with me," she added wistfully. "I want peace for you. Just accept what you are, Nicolai. Accept who you are. My heart. That's what you've become. My heart." Her lashes fluttered, her soft mouth curving. "Be with me, and let the rest take care of itself."
"I can't protect you from the traitor in our home," he said in despair. "How can I protect you from what I am?"
She rubbed her face against his chest. "I don't need protection from a man who loves me. I'll never need protection." She sounded drowsy, sexy, her voice so soft it crept under his skin and wound around his heart. "I'm so tired, Nicolai. Maybe we can talk later. I saw Theresa and Violante. Keep them safe, and Francesca, too. I should have warned them."
He looked down at her face, her long lashes two thick crescents. Duty was ingrained deeply in her. "The captains and their wives will be spending the night here in the palazzo. I intend to find out exactly what happened." He kissed her temple. "Sleep now, piccola. Just rest, and be assured the others are safe."
As he watched her sleep, he realized there were no chains rattling, no wailing in the halls. Even the ghosts and spirits were reluctant to disturb her. When he was certain she was in a deep sleep, he left her to conduct his investigation.
Isabella didn't sleep for long. Nightmares assailed her, jerking her awake despite her terrible fatigue. She needed company. She needed to see her brother.
Isabella pushed open the door to her brother's room and was surprised to see Francesca jerk away from Lucca's bedside, two bright spots of color in her cheeks. Her eyes were over-bright. Isabella looked from her brother to the don's sister. "Is everything all right? Is Lucca better?"
"He's doing very well," Francesca assured her, pacing a short distance from the bed.
"Grazie, Francesca. I appreciate your seeing Lucca through the night for me. He looks better." Isabella brushed at the waves of hair framing her brother's face. "Has he been resting?"
"I'm right here, Isabella," Lucca reminded her. "Don't talk as if I'm a bambino with no sense."
"You act like a bambino," Francesca accused. "He refuses to take his medicine without first knowing every single herb in the mixture." She rolled her eyes. "He doesn't have a clue what herb treats what ailment, but he insists just to test my knowledge." She glared at him.
Lucca took Isabella's hand, looking as pathetic as possible. "Who is this bambina you have watching over me? She's power-hungry."
"Bambina?" Francesca spluttered, her eyes hot. "You are the bambino, afraid of every little drink or ointment. You think because you're a man you can question my authority, but, in truth, you're weak as a babe, and without me you can't manage to hold a cup in your hands."
Lucca shook his head and looked up at Isabella. "She likes to put her arms around me. She uses my illness as an excuse to stay near me." He shrugged carelessly. "But I'm used to attention from females. I can put up with it."
Francesca sucked in her breath. "You...you arrogant beast! If you think your ridiculous delusions will get rid of me, you are sadly mistaken. And I won't be driven off by your bad temper, either. I've given tua sorella my word that I'll attend to you, and the word of a DeMarco is gold."
Lucca lifted an arrogant eyebrow at her furious face. "Instead of chattering uselessly so much, you might help me to sit up."
Francesca hissed between her teeth. "I'll help you to sit up all right, but you may find yourself on the floor."
His laughing eyes assessed her small frame. "A little thing like you? I doubt you can assist me to sit. Isabella is much sturdier. I think I'll need her."
"Stop teasing her, Lucca," Isabella ordered, trying not to smile at the evidence of her brother returning to his old self. "It's his odd way of showing appreciation," she told Francesca, who looked as if she might fling herself on Lucca and assault him. She stepped closer to aid her brother.
"Don't you dare." Francesca bit out the words. "It's my job to see to him, and I'll sit His Majesty up." She smiled with feigned sweetness at Isabella. "You won't mind if I bind a scarf around his mouth so he ceases his endless prattle, will you?" She caught at Lucca's arms to help him up.
His body was instantly wracked with coughing. Lucca turned his head from them and waved Francesca away. S
he ignored him and held a handkerchief to his mouth. Her hand pounded a rhythm on his back, bringing more spasms of coughing until he spit into the handkerchief.
Francesca nodded approvingly. "The healer said all of that must be gotten out of you, and you will once again be strong."
Lucca glared at her. "You don't know when to give a man his privacy, woman."
She raised an eyebrow. "At least I've become a woman. That's something. You need to eat more broth. You can't expect to recover unless you eat."
Isabella looked from one to the other. "You two sound like adversaries." She wanted them to like one another. Francesca already felt like a sister to her. And Lucca was her family. Francesca had to like Lucca.
Francesca smiled at her. "We spent most of our time talking of pleasant things," Francesca reassured her. "He's just feeling out of sorts at the moment. It makes him grumpy." She waved a careless hand. "It's of no importance."
Lucca raised an eyebrow at his keeper. "A Vernaducci is never grumpy. Or out of sorts. I can scarcely make it to the alcove on my own, and she refuses, refuses, to call a male servant. The next thing you know, she'll ask to assist me." He sounded outraged.
Francesca attempted to look blase. "If you're embarrassed about what you look like, I suppose I can provide a cover."
"Have you no shame?" Lucca nearly roared. That brought on another spasm of coughing. Francesca dutifully held him. "Do you spend much time looking at the naked bodies of men?" His hot gaze should have seared her. "I intend to have a word with tuo fratello. He has much to answer for."
Francesca hid a grin behind her hand. "I'm not your concern, signore."
"Lucca, she's teasing you," Isabella explained, hiding her own smile. Lucca looked weak and thin, but he was always a forceful personality, and she was happy to see him chafing under the restraints of his illness. "You make a terrible patient."
"Isabella?" Sarina opened the door after a perfunctory knock. "Don DeMarco wishes an audience immediately in his wing." She beckoned her young charge into the hall, lowering her voice to keep Lucca from hearing. "The servants have arrived from the farm along with Widow Bertroni."
Francesca followed them into the hall. "He has the man who locked you in the storehouse. Nicolai will have him put to death."
Isabella's breath caught in her throat. She glanced toward her brother through the open door. Lucca attempted to prop himself up. "What is it, Isabella? Is something wrong?"
She shook her head. "I must go to Don DeMarco. Just rest, Lucca. Francesca will look after you."
"I'm not a bambino, Isabella," he snapped, looking mutinous. "I don't need a nursemaid."
Francesca assumed her haughtiest look. "Yes, you do. You're just too arrogant and stubborn to admit it." She waved at Isabella. "Don't worry. No matter what he says, I'll see to it that he takes his medicaments." Firmly she closed the door.
Isabella found herself smiling in spite of the grimness of the situation. She followed Sarina up the long, winding staircases to the huge wing of the palazzo reserved for Don DeMarco. She had no idea what to think or feel, facing the person who had locked her in with the feral cats and the freezing cold. He had gone off to the widow's farm and never thought to send word back to have someone let her out. It must have occurred to him that she might not survive the night, yet he hadn't turned back to free her.
With some apprehension she entered the don's apartments. His two captains, Sergio Drannacia and Rolando Bartolmei, were there along with the two kitchen servants and the widow. Isabella swept across the room to Nicolai's side, taking his hand as he seated her in a high-backed chair. She could smell fear in the room. She could smell death. It had an ugly, pungent odor, and it sickened her.
She felt Nicolai's hands on her shoulders, bringing her a feeling of safety and comfort despite her trepidation. When she looked directly at the man who had locked her in the storehouse, she saw he was sweating profusely.
"Isabella, please tell us what happened," Nicolai prompted gently.
She reached up to entwine her fingers with his. "What are you going to do, Nicolai?" Her voice was steady, but she was shaking inside.
"Just tell us what happened, cara, and I will decide what needs to be done, as I've been doing for most of my life," he reassured her.
"I don't understand what this is all about," the widow began.
Don DeMarco made a soft, menacing sound, cutting off any further speculation. His eyes burned with fury. The servants squirmed visibly, and the widow blanched.
"Brigita asked me to help Signora Bertroni, because her storage shed had burned to the ground and her man died recently," Isabella said. "The family needed to be seen through the winter. You were busy, as were Betto and Sarina. I took her to the storehouse, within the walls of the castello." She glanced up at Nicolai. "I kept my promise to you."
"We are here to find the one guilty of attempted murder, cara, not to accuse you of anything." Nicolai brushed his lips against her ear. He wanted to make it abundantly clear to all present that Isabella was his lady, his heart, and his life. The good Madonna could have mercy on the soul of any who attempted to harm her; they would find none from him. "Continue with what happened, Isabella."
"I had two servants sent to aid us." She indicated the two men. "Those two there. The wagon was loaded, very heavy, and night had fallen. I was afraid for Signora Bertroni and her bambini. I ordered the two men to accompany the wagon to the farm." She nodded toward the older man. "He agreed without dissent, but that one"--she looked at the younger man--"became angry. He knocked into me as he left the storehouse. I remained to extinguish the torches. The door was closed and locked behind me. He must have taken the key from my skirt."
At her words Nicolai's features went carefully blank, only his eyes alive. The flames seemed to have disappeared, to be replaced with sheer ice. There was a sudden chill in the room. Isabella's voice was barely audible. "He deliberately shut me in." In spite of her resolve to remain calm, she shuddered at the memory.
"No! Dio, help me! It wasn't me! I don't know what happened! I don't!" the servant burst out. He jumped to his feet, but Sergio caught his shoulders and slammed him back into the chair.
"I didn't know what he'd done, Don DeMarco," the older servant, Carlie, cried, obviously horrified. "I didn't see the signorina once she sent us away."
"Nor I," the widow added, wringing her hands. "May the good Madonna strike me dead if I lie. I would never have left her there. She was an angel to me. An angel. You must believe me, Don DeMarco."
Rolando gestured to the widow and the other kitchen servant, beckoning them to follow him to the door. "Grazie for your time. Signora Bertroni, you'll be escorted back to your farm." He gestured toward the guards outside the door to take the widow and servant from the don's wing.
Nicolai moved around in front of Isabella's chair, blocking her view of the groveling servant. He lifted her fingers to his mouth. "Go back to your bedchamber, piccola. It is finished here." His voice was gentle, even tender, completely at odds with his ice-cold eyes.
Isabella shivered. "What are you going to do?"
"Don't concern yourself with this any longer, Isabella. There's no need." He brushed a kiss on top of her silken head.
The servant broke into a torrent of weeping, of pleading. Isabella flinched. She wrapped her fingers around Nicolai's wrist. "But I'm a part of this, Nicolai. You haven't heard everything. We weren't alone in the storehouse. I felt the presence of evil." She whispered the words, afraid to allow any other to hear. "It isn't over."
Nicolai swung around to stare at the servant, his eyes flat and cold. "It is over. I'm looking at a dead man."
His voice chilled her. The servant shrieked a protest, throwing himself on Isabella's mercy, apologizing profusely, denying he had known what he was doing.
"Nicolai, please, hear him out," she said, holding the don's gaze with her own. She felt the energy in the room, the subtle influence of evil feeding the anger and disgust. It fed the servant's f
ear right along with her own. She glanced at the two captains, noting they were watching the servant with the same loathing as their don.
"This is no longer your concern." Nicolai was staring over her head, his gaze locked on the hapless servant, a hunter eyeing its prey.
"I want to hear him speak," she answered, her tone gentle but insistent. She didn't dare allow the entity to influence her or give it more of an opening to the men.
"Grazie, grazie!" the man cried. "I don't know what happened, signorina. One moment I was thinking of the journey and how best to unload the supplies when we reached the farm, whether to wait until morn or just take care of it immediately. All of a sudden I was so angry I couldn't think. My head hurt and buzzed with a noise. I don't remember taking the key from you. I know I did because I had it, but I don't remember taking it. I sat in the wagon, and my head hurt so much I was sick. Carlie can tell you, I leapt down and was sick." His eyes pleaded with her for mercy. "In truth I don't remember locking you in, just that closing the door and turning the lock seemed the most important thing in the world."
"You knew she was in there," Nicolai said, his voice purring with menace. "You left her to freeze to death or to be torn to shreds by the feral cats."
"Signorina, I swear I don't know what happened to me. Save me. Don't let them kill me."
Isabella turned to Nicolai. "Allow me to speak with you alone. There is more at work here than what we can see. Please trust me."
"Take him out," Nicolai ordered.
His two captains looked as if they wanted to protest, but they did as Nicolai commanded. Neither was very gentle with the servant.
Nicolai began to pace. "You can't ask me to let this man go."
"Please, Nicolai. I think there's truth in the legend of your valley. I think that when its magic was tampered with, it did become twisted, and something evil was let loose here. I think it preys on human weakness. Our failings. It feeds anger and jealousy. It feeds our own fears. There have been so many incidents, and each person tells the same story. They don't know what happened; they acted differently than they normally would have."
A growl rumbled deep in his throat. "You want me to let him go," he repeated, his amber eyes gleaming with menace.
Lair of the Lion Page 31