The Scarletti Curse

by Christine Feehan

  Nicoletta heard her own involuntary scream faintly as the wind whipped it back into her face. She dodged the lunging figure and was nearly thrown against the cliff face as Giovanni literally shoved her aside. She saw the two men come together amid the raining rocks and the swirling fog. Off balance, she fell against the cliff, scraping her arm but fortunately missing being crushed by a boulder that fell mere inches to her left. She heard Giovanni moan in pain and saw his attacker's arm rise to stab him again. The man shouted his triumph.

  Nicoletta recognized the voice. Aljandro. He had come out of the night to exact his revenge, waiting, stiletto in hand, someone starting the rockslide from above to aid him. She flung herself at him from the side, leaping with enough force that she knocked into him and spoiled his aim. The sharp stiletto had found Giovanni once but not the second time.

  Aljandro threw her away from him, and she landed heavily on the rocks, the wind knocked from her lungs. For a moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Giovanni was on him again, two combatants fighting fiercely to the death. She could hear their blows, but their figures were obscured by the swirling mist and a fresh shower of stones. The missiles fell from above, bouncing off the cliffs to hit the trail and roll in all directions. One of the men was hit; she heard his grunt of pain. And then another sound echoed, rivaling the howling wind. A rolling thunder, deep and cavernous, a terrible grinding noise that heralded unprecedented danger.

  Run! Giovanni's command was in her mind, sharp and vehement. "Run!" he shouted aloud, the wind carrying his voice away from her.

  Huge boulders were crashing to earth, so many of them, they were burying the narrow pass. Aljandro and Giovanni still struggled. Run! he commanded again. Finally, she turned and ran toward the palazzo, and help, with the sound of the world coming to an end in her ears. The pass was now blocked off behind her by the tumbled boulders, and Giovanni, on the other side of the barricade, was in grave danger. He faced Aljandro and another killer, above, who had sprung the trap.

  The rockslide stopped as abruptly as it had started, plunging the night into eerie silence. Fine grains of dust mixed with the swirling mist, turning the white fog a dull gray. Nicoletta stopped and turned back, now in the open, staring at the great pile of boulders blocking the narrow pass. She could not get back to Giovanni from this side. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from weeping uselessly. She had to get help, summon soldiers to go to the aid of their don. She did not believe he was dead. She would not believe it. There was a shadow darkening her soul, but she would not believe he was gone from her.

  Nicoletta turned and ran. She knew the path, had used it hundreds of times, roaming the hills day and night in her childhood. She had often gazed at the palazzo, awed by the great statues and gargoyles that guarded its eaves and turrets, the long ramparts where legends and rumors were born. She ran until her lungs were burning and she was gasping for breath. She ran until she could no longer feel the pain in her bare feet.

  The wind coming off the sea became more ferocious than ever. It nearly knocked her over, pushing her along the cliffs to the shortcut leading down to the palazzo grounds. She lifted her hands to the flying, blinding mass of her hair, twisting it as she hurried down the steep, slippery slope. It took two attempts to the knot her hair in place. She was exhausted, frightened, nearly spent from her race along the cliffs. Her heart and lungs felt as though they might burst, and her face was wet with tears. She stumbled several times as she ran, limping now, to the immaculate grounds of the palazzo, calling out to the guards.

  From out of the shrubbery forming the maze an owl swooped low, rushing right at her face. Nicoletta screamed, throwing up her hands to protect her eyes. She felt the powerful draft from the wings as the bird of prey veered off, the tip of a wing feather brushing her cheek. The terrible knot in her stomach grew, and she stopped moving and held herself very still, taking in a deep breath of clear, cool air in an attempt to calm herself and read all necessary signs.

  "Nicoletta! Nicoletta!" Portia's voice rose eerily out of the maze, a wail of terror, a plea for help. "Help! You must help us! Can you hear me? Nicoletta! We need you now. Margerita is dying. I cannot stop the bleeding. Per l'amore di Dio, help us before it is too late."

  The dark shadow in her lengthened and grew until Nicoletta was consumed by it. She hesitated, pulled in two directions, the need to get aid for Giovanni paramount, but the terror and desperation in Portia's voice dragging her reluctantly toward the woman. The owl glided in front of her, silent now that it had her attention. She quickened her pace, racing for the maze, calling out to the guards for help, to anyone who might hear her. The wind whipped the sound of her voice back into her face. "Portia, what is it? Giovanni needs help. Tell me quickly." She yelled the words at the top of her lungs, hoping anyone might hear.

  "Oh, Nicoletta, thank the good Lord, please help my angel, my daughter. Help her, she is dying." The voice sounded thin and reedy, filled with tears, with sorrow.

  Her heart pounding, Nicoletta followed the bird, felt the premonition of danger, of trouble, growing stronger with every step. When she rounded a corner she found Portia lying in her path, her body covering her daughter's. There was blood on Portia's temple streaks of it trickling down her face like red tears. Blood on her dress and on her hands where they were pressed to Margerita's body. "I cannot stop it. He did this to her. He did this to my daughter!" Portia sobbed.

  Nicoletta sank onto the ground beside the two women, lifting Portia's hands away to see her daughter's wound. "Who did such a thing?" she asked, horrified by the sight. Margerita looked little more than a child, pale and helpless, her eyes wide open and staring in terror and pain. Her breath was coming in painful, whimpering gasps. "Portia, go for help. I will do what I can for her, but I need Maria Pia and my satchel, and you must send the soldiers after Giovanni. He is injured and under attack in the pass." Nicoletta's orders were crisp and firm.

  Portia tried to rise, nodding, then sank back to lie facedown on the path, her eyes staring into her daughter's. Nicoletta looked down to see the stab wounds in Portia's back. "Portia," she whispered softly. "Who did this to you?" Quickly she tried to press her hands to the wounds, to stem the flow of blood.

  "Save my daughter. May God forgive me, I let him do this. I let him put his filthy hands on her and use her the way he used me. But she is not like me. Not like him. She believed in his pretty words. Save her for me, Nicoletta. Save my child, as I did not save your madre." Her voice was very thin, a thread of sound only.

  Nicoletta stiffened at the mention of her mother, but she obediently went back to tending Margerita. There was nothing she could do for Portia; she had suffered too many wounds, lost too much blood. She had a chance of saving Margerita if the dagger had not penetrated too deep. She summoned every ounce of strength she possessed, looked up to the wildly waving canopy above her head, and yelled at the top of her lungs for Francesco, for Dominic, for any within hearing to come to her aid.

  Bending low, she put her mouth to Portia's ear. "I will not fail you, Portia. Do you hear me? I will save your child."

  Portia's desperate gaze locked onto her face, although she didn't lift her head. Tears welled up and fell to mingle with the blood pooling on the ground. Her lips trembled for a moment as if she might say something. She lay there staring at Nicoletta as death overtook her.

  Nicoletta blocked out the sight of Portia lying still in death, the thought of Giovanni desperately needing her aid, and turned her complete attention to stopping the flow of blood from Margerita's wound. She worked steadily, doing her best not to hurt the girl further with her ministrations.

  "Madre saved my life," Margerita said softly in wonder. "She really loved me after all."

  "You need to stay quiet, close your eyes, and do not move at all," Nicoletta cautioned. "I have done what I can, but now I need to get aid. I must leave you for a few minutes, but what I have done will hold if you keep very still. I promise I will come back for you."

 
She had taken only a few steps when she heard voices. Antonello's. Vincente's. Francesco's. They were calling her name. Someone had heard her cries. At once Margerita appeared agitated, her eyes wide with terror. Nicoletta put a finger to her lips and hurried away from the girl.

  "Francesco!" She called for her personal guard, the man Giovanni had trusted with his bride's safety. "Francesco, someone has murdered Portia here in the maze, and Margerita is severely injured. Giovanni is in the pass, wounded. We were attacked, and he was stabbed. Send soldiers to aid him. Send soldiers for Margerita, too, and trust no one but Giovanni. Do you hear me? No one else. Not even his brothers."

  She heard his instant response, the roar of his orders to the soldiers. "Donna Nicoletta, call out to me. I will follow the sound of your voice."

  "Hurry, Francesco. Margerita needs aid swiftly." Nicoletta rushed around another bend, afraid to draw the wrong people with the sound of her voice. She trusted none of them. The roughhewn, mysterious Antonello was certainly suspect, and Portia had been in a violently passionate relationship with Vincente.

  Nicoletta thought about Margerita slapping her, seeing the strange marks on her wrist, the dark bruises just like the ones Beatrice, the maid, had on her wrist. Nicoletta rounded the next bend, trying to put all the pieces together. Could it be Antonello? But somehow he didn't fit. Margerita's wrists. Beatrice's wrists. I let him put his filthy hands on her and use her the way he used me.

  Hard, hurting hands caught at the knot of her long hair and yanked her backward so that her eyes flooded with tears and her feet went out from under her. She fell to the ground, staring up at the dark, handsome face. Vincente. It couldn't be. He had a child, a beautiful little girl Nicoletta already loved. He smiled down at her and put a finger to his lips, ordering her to remain silent. I let him put his filthy hands on her and use her the way he used me. Of course it was Vincente.

  Nicoletta stared at the sharp point of the dagger he clutched tightly in his fist. It was covered in fresh blood. Her heart nearly stopped, then began to beat very fast. He caught at her shoulders, lifting her easily to her feet. "You are going to tell me how to read the maps," he said softly, his mouth close to her ear. "He has taken the treasures and hidden them inside the passageway, but with the key to the maps, I will be able to align with the king of Spain." Vincente leaned closer so that his lips touched her jaw. "Your skin is soft but cold. Like ice." His tongue stroked a monstrous caress along her cheek.

  "What maps?" Tears were running down her face, her scalp hurting from the yanking on her hair. "Vincente, I do not know about any maps other than those in your nonno's study."

  He began dragging her through the maze, finding his way quickly, with deadly efficiency, away from the sounds of the searching soldiers. Away from Antonello and Francesco. Away from Margerita. "I know about the maps," he hissed at her. "I searched for so long, but I found them at last. They are on the walls of the upstairs room where the boat is, and the one exactly like it downstairs. They are there in the carvings. I know I am right. Too clever to be fooled. The maps are in plain sight, yet no one has ever discerned that until now. Until I solved the puzzle." He was bragging as they ran, uncaring that branches were hitting her in the face as they raced along.

  "It was you throwing your voice so that we could hear it. Were you trying to drive poor little Sophie mad?" Nicoletta did her best to hang back, to slow him down. "What purpose would that serve? Giovanni already was taking the responsibility for her."

  "Giovanni!" He spat the name at her, infuriated at the mere mention of his oldest brother. "Portia, the imbecile, had her moved downstairs, right into the very room I wanted to search. She was tired of the nightmares. Sophie would wake up screaming, and Portia did not want to attend her, so she sent her where she would not be heard. I could not have her in that room. I knew I was close to finding the maps. I knew the key must be the boats, the golden boats. Giovanni left them out, while the rest of our riches, my riches, were hidden."

  They were at the edge of the maze, near the path leading down toward the sea. Vincente hesitated, looking back toward the palazzo that loomed out of the mist like a giant. The dark windows stared at them blankly. "So you used your voice to frighten her so you could have an excuse to move her? Why didn't you simply insist she stay in the nursery?"

  Vincente smiled at her, his teeth white in the darkness. "I did not want to draw attention to myself. Better the role of the long-suffering padre than the ogre. She was moved exactly as I knew she would be. There was an entrance to the passageway in both rooms and also one in the nursery."

  "So you dumped the scorpions to persuade them to move rooms again when you wanted to inspect the walls." Nicoletta was inching away from him, all too conscious of the dagger he held by his side.

  He turned his attention from the palazzo, its lights growing brighter as the searchers lit more torches. The wind blew sparks across the courtyard until it looked as if it were raining fire. Vincente cursed, furious that they could not return unseen to the palazzo. His fingers bit into her arm. "You know how to read the maps. I know you do. That is why you were always going to those rooms."

  She knew then, knew the answer. She had seen it one sunny morning when the light spilled through the strange stained glass to mark the walls with color. The key to the map was the morning sun. It couldn't be read at night. She shook her head. "I was looking for clues to the voices, Vincente. I did not know about the maps on the wall." She changed tactics, smiling up at him. "This is so wrong. We should go to the palazzo, find Giovanni together, talk to him. You are his fratello."

  "You changed everything," Vincente spat at her, a low, vicious sound filled with hatred. "The moment he laid eyes on you, everything changed. Giovanni began to care about living; he became more cautious. There was no chance of an... accident. And once he wed you, you would soon produce his heirs."

  Nicoletta could feel her heart pounding in alarm, beating out a rhythm of fear. Her mouth was almost too dry to attempt speech. His hold on her arm was so tight, it was beginning to go numb. She was also very aware of the dagger he held in his fist, now close to her throat. Vincente began to drag her toward the cliffs. He was trembling with his rage, toward her, toward Giovanni.

  Giovanni. She couldn't think of him, couldn't allow her mind to dwell on the possibility that he was seriously injured or worse. She could only pray that Francesco was not in the payment of Vincente, that he was loyal to his don and would heed her orders.

  "Do you know what the Scarletti curse really is? Have you guessed yet what the truth is? It is said none of us can escape it, no matter how hard we try." Vincente's voice was soft, almost gentle. It made her blood run cold. "Mio padre did what he could to protect us, but he soon realized Antonello and Giovanni were not strong enough. Only I was. Night after night he would come to my room and whisper to me that I was the only Scarletti strong enough to conquer the curse."

  He shook her viciously, as if she were a doll, yet rather absently, as if perhaps he had forgotten she was at the other end of his hand. The action pushed her dangerously close to the edge of the crumbling cliffs. "You see? I know I am the one destined to rule. I am the strongest. The Scarletti men are cursed to love only once, with our hearts and our minds and our souls. That one woman consumes us, becomes our life, until we are no longer real men. But I was the one padre trained to conquer the curse. I can lure women to me, make them my slaves. They lie for me. They even beg me to hurt them, to do anything to them that gives me pleasure. They are willing to sell their souls for me! I am the strong one, and I deserve to rule, not Giovanni. He was never meant to be don."

  His words were making her ill. His debauchery had led him to terrible depravities. He was looking at her with his sickness evident in his eyes. "So many women--they are nothing to me, you know. Nothing at all. The ones who look at me as you do, with that mixture of contempt and pity, those are the ones I like the most. They have spirit; they put up a fight before they crumble like dust in my hands. Your
mother was very like you." His voice turned cunning. "None of them knew I did it. They thought it was Nonno. Even Nonno thought he might have done it. I did it!" he gloated. "Just as I strangled mia nonna."

  Nicoletta went rigid, her stomach churning and protesting her proximity with a man so sick. "You killed your own nonna?" Her voice was a whisper of sound, a shocked gasp. She could believe his baseness with women, but to murder his own grandmother, and allow his grandfather and everyone else to believe the elder Scarletti guilty, was the worst kind of sin.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hold on, bambina, I will get to you. Keep him talking. Giovanni's voice came to her. Gentle. Reassuring. Very calm.

  Nicoletta dared not breathe a sigh of relief. Giovanni! He was alive, then. And he had heard her as he always did when she was agitated, in trouble, when she desperately needed him. Her heart sang and the terrible weight pressing on her chest lifted. "Why would you do such a thing?" Nicoletta felt the revival of her determination. She held the knowledge to her tightly, protectively, that Giovanni lived.

  "Mia nonna saw me that evening. Your mother would not come to my bed, and she threatened to go to mio fratello. Giovanni would have protected her. Mio padre would have given her to me, and I think she knew it, but she would have told Giovanni, not mio padre. I lured her out to the ramparts." He pushed Nicoletta to the crumbling steps that led down to the cove. Without the protection of the mountains or trees, the wind was battering at them, the cold numbing.

  "How?" Nicoletta tasted fear and anger in her mouth. "How did you get her out there on such a terrible day?" Her foot slipped out from under her, and she nearly fell to her death. Like her mother. Vincente yanked her closer to him.