Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (15 page)

"Of course, Don Scarletti, do not worry yourself," the older woman
hastily assured him.

"Nicoletta's injuries are not trifles, Signorina. I shall expect a full
report on her condition on the morrow. The dressmakers will arrive at midday. I
suggest you both get some sleep, as the night is nigh gone." He bowed low,
that slightly mocking smile on his face as he closed the door.

Nicoletta hugged Maria Pia to her again, then quickly examined her for
injury. "His soldiers did not hurt you, did they? They must have terrified
you when they woke you. I am sorry, Maria Pia. I should have considered the
possible consequences to you of my flight, but I selfishly thought only that I
could get away from him. Now we are both prisoners."

"His men woke me and insisted I pack your things and mine, and they
brought me here without harm. I realized then that the don had gone after you,
and naturally, he would not allow you to be alone with him. It would be
unseemly."

"Naturally," Nicoletta echoed softly, fighting back tears. Maria
Pia's comment on the don's decency seemed almost a betrayal.

Nicoletta pulled the don's coat closer around her, trying to absorb some
warmth, though flames were dancing in the hearth, throwing off heat and helping
to light the room. She looked around carefully. The room was large and ornate.
The eaves were covered in carvings, and scenes from the Scriptures were painted
on the walls, but she also saw depictions of the seas drowning poor souls,
scaled sea serpents, coiled around the bodies as they sank beneath the water.
In a niche in the wall was small golden replica of a boat with wide sails,
detailed and very beautiful. The piece was unlike anything she had ever seen.
It didn't seem to belong in the room with its plethora of tormented souls and
the demons rushing to drag them to their deaths.

"So, we are back in the palazzo," Nicoletta said softly. "I
am sorry, Maria Pia, that I have managed to make both of us prisoners."
She paced restlessly across the room. "But I could not make him change his
mind. The don is determined to wed me. It is no mistake or terrible prank. He
is insisting that I am suited to his needs." She sighed heavily. "I
am not in the least suitable, and he knows it."

"You must not defy him again,
bambina"
Maria Pia cautioned.
"Did he strike you or punish you in any way?" Her voice shook with
fear.

Nicoletta immediately helped her into a chair. "No, no, Maria Pia, he
was gentle with me." She paced the room again restlessly, back and forth
like a caged cougar. "I do not think I can escape him. He… has a way of
reaching out to me." She still couldn't bring herself to tell Maria

Pia the complete truth about the don and his unique ability. "I think
he could find me anywhere." She turned in circles, staring up at the
apparitions covering the walls and ceilings. "We are in this hated house
where some terrible, nameless evil lies in wait to devour me."

Maria Pia stood and shuffled over to the young woman and gently pushed
her
into a chair. "You have had a shock. Sit quietly,
bambino,
and let
me take care of your feet."

"The house was staring at me when we walked up to it. All those hideous
creatures perched atop it." Nicoletta rubbed her forehead tiredly.
"How can he live here with all those terrible eyes staring at him,
watching everything he does and says…" She trailed off, suddenly thoughtful.

Maria Pia poured water into a bowl from the pitcher on the washstand and
carried it to Nicoletta. It was lukewarm from being next to the hearth.
"This house is a monument to many gods," the older woman observed.
"At some time at least the Scarlettis must have paid tribute to the Holy
Church, though the house does not seem to support such offerings." She
devoutly crossed herself to ward off evil as she knelt to examine Nicoletta's
feet.

"I will tend my cuts," Nicoletta protested, ashamed to have Maria
Pia at her feet.

"Let me do it, Nicoletta," Maria Pia said, dabbing at the
lacerations to get a better look. "Your leg is a little swollen again. You
have overused it. You must be more careful."

Nicoletta took a deep breath. "When Don Scarletti touches me, I feel
funny inside," she announced abruptly.

Maria Pia nearly dropped the bowl of water. "He touched you? What do
you mean he touched you? How did he touch you?" The older woman was
outraged. "Touching you! A young girl like you! You should not have been alone
with him. Nicoletta, you must show better sense," she scolded, clucking
her tongue softly in agitation.

In spite of herself, Nicoletta began to smile. "If I marry Don
Scarletti, Maria Pia, I expect there will be many times when I am alone with
him."

Maria Pia glared at her. "That is different, and well you know it,
young lady. This is no laughing matter. Men can take advantage of young
girls."

"That is what I am asking you about," Nicoletta replied,
wide-eyed. "What is that like? Why is it different when he touches me? I
do not feel the same way around Cristano or any other male." She certainly
knew the mechanics of mating; she had grown up around farm animals and had
attended more than one girl who had been badly used. But she didn't know what was
expected of her, and no one seemed willing to tell her.

Maria Pia worked steadfastly on Nicoletta's cuts, refusing to look up.
"I am not a married woman, Nicoletta. I do not know about these things
other than that you do as your husband wishes. He will direct you in such
matters."

"What if I hate it?" Nicoletta persisted. "What if it is
horrible?"

"It is horrible if a man touches you when he should not," Maria
Pia grumbled, "but when it is your husband, it is not bad and must be
tolerated."

Nicoletta mulled that over. "How can that be, if it is the same
act?" she asked, curious, her hand moving to her throat where the warmth
of Don Scarletti's fingers still lingered. She touched her earlobe, stroking a
small caress where his teeth had nipped her. The strange sensations were not
only memories in her mind but in her body as well. She could feel the rush of
heat moving through her, an aching need she didn't understand.

"Nicoletta!" Maria Pia threw the rag into the bowl hard enough
that water splashed in every direction. "That is enough! We will talk no
more of this. This heathen place has confused your good sense. Such things are
best left between a husband and his wife."

Nicoletta raised a small black eyebrow at her but refrained from speaking.
Maria Pia certainly hadn't answered any of her questions, and she wasn't about
to ask the don. The mere thought of that made her blush. When they married, he
would have certain rights over her. He was a large man; she was small. Did that
make a difference? No one would tell her. She sighed aloud. "He was not
nearly as angry as I thought he would be."

"You took a terrible chance, Nicoletta. He could have ruined you or
worse."

"As I do not much care to be married to anyone, being 'ruined' does not
worry me."

Maria Pia squawked her outrage, the noise much like that of a chicken. She
soundly slapped Nicoletta's knee, so shocked that for a moment she couldn't
speak. "That is enough. You go to bed, and do not speak such scandalous
words again! I will not hear such talk!"

Nicoletta suppressed a sudden desire to laugh, afraid it might sound a
trifle hysterical. She was on the verge of hysteria anyway. The entire day
seemed a nightmare. Somewhere deep inside her, Nicoletta had known from the
moment Don Giovanni Scarletti emerged from the shadows of Sophie's sickroom
that her life was entangled with his.

Slowly, with infinite weariness, she prepared for bed. She was aching and
sore, her calf tender from the demands she had made on it. Her feet did hurt. Everything
seemed to hurt. She lay down in the too-large bed. It was on a raised dais, a
huge, heavy piece that did nothing to dispel the general gloom of the room. On
the ceiling above the bed were more carvings of sea serpents. She studied them
as the firelight danced and played in the drafty room.

"Why do you think they put all these strange carvings on the walls and
ceilings like this, Maria Pia?" she asked, looking at a particularly
scaly, eel-like creature with fangs. "Who would want such things in a room
where people sleep?"

"You sound like Ketsia, with all her questions," Maria Pia
answered grumpily. "Go to sleep, Nicoletta. In this place they are
heathens, and their rooms are designed for heathens. Say your prayers, and
thank the good Madonna for watching over you."

Nicoletta sighed and continued to stare up at the strange carvings. She
wished she could touch them. "Do you think she
was
watching over
me? I thought perhaps the good Madonna was answering prayers in a distant land,
as she did not answer mine. Or perhaps she answered the don's. Perhaps he lit
more candles than I did," she said sardonically.

"Nicoletta!" This time Maria Pia meant business, her outrage
spilling into her voice so that Nicoletta muffled her laughter and apologized
instantly.

"I did not mean that the Madonna would take a bribe, like an elder
might," she tried to explain. The creatures above her head were
fascinating, coiling in the water. If one looked at them long enough, they
appeared to move, slithering through the waves, shimmering down the wall into
the hideous mural of the sea closing around the unfortunate drowning souls. The
art was cleverly done, creating an optical illusion that the shadows from the
flames helped to enhance.

"Maria Pia, this is all truly is a work of art," she announced a
few moments later in the silence of the room, "if you do not allow your
imagination to take over." Her imagination was vivid and very capable of
terrifying her; she wanted the comfort of Maria Pia's voice scolding her.

Only the crackling of the flames answered her. Nicoletta sighed softly. The
wall directly at the head of the bed was covered in carvings, too. She turned
over to study it. The entire theme of the room seemed to be of damned souls
drowning or being devoured in a sea boiling with serpents and other monsters of
the deep. Here, at the head of the bed, strange panels of flowing, scaly
creatures were carved into the marble, seeming to ripple with life. She stared
at the room's paintings and carvings, trying to be objective, trying to see how
the artist had woven the painted mural and the marble carvings together.

She curled up beneath the coverlet, listening to the sounds of the house.
The palazzo was enormous, several stories high with wide, vaulted ceilings.
Sounds echoed eerily yet were muffled by the thickness of the walls. Could an
outside source have created the strange whisperings in Sophie's sickroom? Was
the don capable of making all in his household hear the strange murmur of his
voice at will? That thought came unbidden to Nicoletta.

She thumped the mattress hard, half wishing she had done so to the don. She
had no desire to meet the other members of the household again, and certainly
not in the capacity of a captured, guarded bride-to-be. It was intolerable! She
plucked at the coverlet. Don Scarletti had made certain she was on the second
floor, too high to escape through a window. She was stuck, and the dressmaker
was coming at midday. Determined to go to sleep, she breathed deeply and
evenly. She was beginning to drift off when a strident voice in the corridor
outside her room roused her. The woman's voice was clearly demanding entry into
Nicoletta's bedchamber.

Nicoletta sat up quickly, drawing the nearest thing—the don's coat—around
her to cover her nightshift as she hurried to the door. She unlocked it quickly
and opened it a tiny crack to peer out.

Portia Scarletti was raging at the guards. "How dare you defy me! I
demand you tell me who is in that room. Open the door at once!" Her voice
was shrill and shaking with fury. "What manner of prisoner does Don
Scarletti bring into our home that his elite personal guard must watch day and
night! Are we to be murdered in our own beds?" She was breathing fast and
deeply, her bosom heaving, straining at the low neckline of her fashionable
gown.

Nicoletta could see that one guard was having a difficult time tearing his
gaze from the expanse of creamy flesh spilling from the daring neckline.
"I am sorry, Donna Scarletti, but we have our orders, and no one can
change them but the don. It is our lives if we do not obey." There was
deference in the guard's voice, but he did not yield.

"We shall see about that. I will call Vincente. He will get to the
bottom of this nonsense, and I will see that you never return to the
palazzo!"

"Very good, Donna," the guard agreed, his face a mask of calm.

"You think I will not?" Portia demanded. She raised her voice.
"Vincente! Vincente!"

The youngest Scarletti brother hurried down the hall, obviously coming from
the nursery. "What is it. Portia, my dear? What is wrong?" He flung
an arm around the woman to comfort her.

"This horrible man has refused me entrance into this room. He claims
Giovanni has given orders that we do not enter. I can scarcely believe he would
bring a prisoner so dangerous under our very roof." Her voice shook with
rage. "This man has rudely refused my orders to open the door."

Vincente pinned the man with a stern gaze. "Surely there is no harm in
accommodating Donna Scarletti. Please open the door immediately."

"I am sorry Signore Scarletti, but I have my orders, and I cannot
disobey them. You must speak to Don Scarletti." The guard was resolute.

Vincente's face darkened with disapproval. "Certainly you can tell us
who is in that chamber."

Nicoletta cleared her throat to announce her presence, although she was
certain the guards had been aware the moment she cracked the door open. She
snuggled deeper into the comfort of the don's coat as Portia and Vincente
turned at her sound. The three of them stared at one another for a long moment
in silence.