Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (4 page)

Maria Pia answered the old man respectfully but on the steadier ground her
role as the healer provided her. Unlike Nicoletta, she had much practice
through the years in dealing with the
aristocratici
and their tyrannical
ways, and obviously she had encountered this horrid old man before.
"Signore Scarletti, we have suffered a terrible accident. We were nearly
killed!" she said indignantly.

"Stupid woman, I can see what has been going on here!" the elder
Scarletti snapped, clearly angrier than ever that anyone should contradict him,
and a lowly woman from the village, at that.

A darker shadow fell across them all, blocking the light from the candles in
the hall, bringing instant silence to the exchange between the healer and the
old man. Even Sophie stopped crying to hiccup sorrowfully. Simultaneously they
turned their heads to see the don standing in the doorway. "Nonno, what
have you done? I left this chamber but a short time ago to return to my own
room, as the healer had things well in hand."

The elderly man erupted into a barrage of Latin and Italian and another
dialect, but Nicoletta had the distinct feelings that the don's grandfather
wasn't praying. With his gnarled hands waving his cane around wildly, and his
face nearly turning purple, he seemed to be threatening everyone in sight. Once
he leaned over and spat on the floor near the door, his fierce gaze fixed
spitefully on the little girl.

At his tirade Sophie clung all the harder to Nicoletta, not daring to look
up at the old man. He accused the child of everything from being bad luck to
being a witch. Nicoletta glanced quickly at Maria Pia. The older woman was
devoutly crossing herself and piously kissing the crucifix that hung around her
neck.

The don looked completely exasperated, so much so that Nicoletta almost felt
sorry for him. He was still feeling the ill effects of the poisoning; she could
see it in his eyes and the slight way he hunched his body to bring relief to
the painful knots twisting in his abdomen. He waved his grandfather out of the
room, his voice quiet yet stern as he followed him into the corridor.

The two men spoke briefly before the don returned to the women, eyeing the
disaster in the room. "What happened here?" he asked quietly.

Sophie peeked out at him from the safety of Nicoletta's arms.
"They
did it." She pointed at the silent, watching creatures on the ceiling.

Don Scarletti's gaze settled on the little girl. "Do not start that
silliness again, Sophie." His voice was mild but delivered a reprimand.

The child flinched burying her face once more against Nicoletta's neck.
Nicoletta's dark eyes, a hint of fire in their depths, jumped to the don's
face. Maria Pia deliberately kicked at a piece of the fallen chandelier to draw
attention away from the younger woman. "Clearly the thing fell,"
Maria Pia pointed out. "It was only by the grace of the good Madonna we
were not killed."

The don moved closer to inspect the debris. "There is blood on the
coverlet. Was Sophie injured?"

Nicoletta quickly averted her eyes from the don, and it was left to Maria
Pia to shake her head and answer. "She was untouched. The fever has gone
down, too. Our vigilance has paid off," she declared, touching her
crucifix for forgiveness for the small lie, since she had fallen asleep even
before the don left the room.

Don Scarletti's penetrating gaze settled thoughtfully on Nicoletta's face.
"So you were the one injured. Let me see." He crossed the floor in
his long, fluid strides and bent to examine her.

Shocked, Nicoletta drew her legs under the skirt and silently shook her
head, feeling like a frightened, wayward child, butterflies brushing at her
stomach.

"Dio! Piccola,
I am out of patience." He circled her bare
ankle with his long fingers and straightened her leg out for his inspection. It
was a curiously intimate gesture. Nicoletta had never been touched by a man
before, and certainly not on her bare skin. Color crept up her neck and flooded
her delicate features. He was enormously strong, and she had no way of
combating his strength or his hard authority.

Nicoletta made a soft sound of distress and looked desperately to Maria Pia
for help. Don Scarletti was turning her leg to inspect her calf. His hands were
surprisingly gentle. "This cut is deep." He glanced briefly at the
older woman. "Hand me a rag." There was authority in his voice.

"I will attend her, signore," Maria Pia said firmly, clutching the
rag, her shock mirrored on her face. It wasn't decent that the don should touch
Nicoletta that way; worse, it was dangerous.

The don reached up, took the rag out of Maria Pia's hands, and gently wiped
the blood from Nicoletta's leg so that he could see the extent of the injury.
Nicoletta winced as the laceration burned, pulsing with pain. She tried not to
notice the way the don's hair curled around his ears and rippled in unruly
waves down his nape. "Light a candle, woman. This wound is deep and must
be dressed, or it may putrefy."

Once again Maria Pia made a desperate attempt to shield Nicoletta from the
don. "I am the healer, Don Scarletti. You should not trouble yourself with
such."

"I have attended many battle wounds," the don answered absently,
thoughtfully inspecting the shapely leg he held in his hands.

Nicoletta was mortified to have the don kneeling at her feet, her ankle in
his hands. She was acutely aware of the heat emanating from his body. In her
arms, Sophie began to squirm, the beginnings of a whimper starting.

The don caught the little girl, pulled her out of Nicoletta's arms, and
thrust her at Maria Pia in one smooth motion. "See to her needs," he
ordered abruptly, his voice as mild as ever. He was clearly distracted by
Nicoletta's injuries, not really looking at the child or the older woman. His
fingertips moved over her skin, leaving a strange tingling sensation behind.
Nicoletta held herself very still, afraid to move.

Her teeth tugged nervously at her lower lip, drawing his unwanted attention
to her face. He reached for a clean cloth on the nightstand to use for a
bandage. "Are you training as an apprentice to the healer?" he asked
casually as he wound the bandage around her legs. One hand was still circling
her ankle, so it was easy enough to feel her trembling.

Nicoletta looked desperately for help from Maria Pia, but her mentor was
attending the child, who needed to use the chamber pot in an alcove at the far
end of the room. Nicoletta shrank away from the don, hoping the candlelight
wouldn't reach her face. She had trained herself to be extremely careful of
contact with others, yet she was in an impossible position. One didn't
deliberately incur the wrath of the don Giovanni Scarletti. That was dangerous
and foolhardy. Nervously she swept a hand through her thick, hair, horrified to
discover her head scarf had slipped off. It was too far away for her to grab it
and cover her abundance of hair, but at least the strands were still drawn back
in a severe knot.

"You can talk—I have heard you," Don Scarletti pointed out.
"What was the melody you sang to Sophie? It was somehow familiar to
me." He asked it casually, idly, as if it didn't matter at all and he was
simply making conversation. But Nicoletta wasn't fooled. His black eyes were on
her face, sharp like a hawk's.

She felt the breath explode out of her as if he had hit her with his fist.
Unexpectedly she was struggling not to cry. Sorrow welled up out of nowhere, so
deep that her throat closed, and tears burned behind her eyes. It had been her
mother's favorite song. Nicoletta still held those precious memories, of her
mother's soft, beautiful voice, the warmth of her arms. Her mother had worked
at the palazzo, and twelve years earlier they had brought her body home from
this place of death. Involuntarily Nicoletta averted her face, once again
attempting to draw her leg away from the don.

His fingers tightened like a shackle around her ankle. "Be still."

Nicoletta was feeling desperate. She did her best to look doltish. Under the
circumstances, it wasn't that difficult. She was feeling entirely off balance.
She mumbled something unintelligible, knowing instinctively he would have no
patience for evasion, and covered her face as best she could. Alas, the don had
sharp eyes and likely had missed nothing at all. Something in his voice,
something nameless, something undefined, gave Nicoletta the uneasy impression
that he no longer regarded her as an ageless, nameless, nondescript servant. He
spoke as if he were talking to a young maiden or frightened child. He had even
called her
piccola
—little one.

"Send for the servants," he ordered Maria Pia, confirming
Nicoletta's suspicions that he no longer thought of
her
as a servant.
The older woman had returned silently, but he was aware of her presence
immediately. "Your apprentice cannot remain in this room this night."

Sophie was struggling to gain her freedom, wrenching her hand free of Maria
Pia to run to Nicoletta and crawl into her lap. Nicoletta gratefully wrapped
her arms around the child, unashamedly hiding behind the little girl.

Maria Pia hastily tugged the bell pull and hovered anxiously close to Nicoletta.
"She is invaluable to me, don." Love and concern etched deep lines
into her face, naked, transparent, and easy for someone as sharp as Don
Scarletti to read.

"The wound is deep, but I have cleansed and bandaged it. Where are her
shoes?" He stood abruptly, easily, flowing power and coordination
combined, lifting Nicoletta and Sophie into his arms in one smooth motion.
"I do not want further injuries caused by bare feet on the debris. Gather
her things, and we will go to the nursery."

Where the child should have been all along! Why had Sophie been in that
monstrous room?
Nicoletta bit back the questions clamoring inside her. It
seemed that no one paid much attention to Sophie. If anything, the child
appeared to be in the way. Had the soup been intentionally poisoned? Or had it,
perhaps, been intended for the don?
Pud darsi.
He had numerous enemies.
Although his people were loyal to him—they were well fed, protected, and cared
for—they also feared him, and fear was often a dangerous emotion. It was known,
too, that the King of Spain had made an uneasy treaty with the don. The king
had conquered other cities and states but had been unsuccessful in taking over
Don Scarletti's lands. Could there be a traitor at the palazzo? Few would dare
challenge the don outright, but perhaps they sought other ways to defeat him.

She couldn't believe the selfsame don was holding her so close to him,
almost protectively, cradling her in his arms, against his wide chest. Much
like a frightened rabbit, she dared not move or speak. In any case, she knew
with certainty that struggling wouldn't do her any good. Don Scarletti was a
man who got his way.

The manservant who had shown them in arrived a little out of breath. His clothes
were a trifle disheveled, as if he had dressed on the run. His eyes widened at
the sight of Nicoletta and Sophie in his master's arms, but he was discreet
enough not to comment.

"See to the debris, Gostanz," Don Scarletti ordered, moving past
the man without so much as looking at him.

Nicoletta held her breath, still not daring to move or speak. The don's body
was hard and hot and unspeakably male. As he carried her and Sophie through the
massive halls, she noted ribbed archways and domes, automatically attempting to
remember the way, but he was moving very quickly. Maria Pia was nearly running
to keep up. The spiral staircase they ascended was wide and ornate, the
banister shaped like a golden snake curled around a long, twisting, golden
branch. Maria Pia was afraid to touch it, muttering a multitude of prayers as
she climbed. Ordinarily Nicoletta would have found Maria Pia's superstitions
amusing, but being in the don's arms, tight against his chest, unnerved her.

The nursery was along another long, vaulted hallway, but the room had a
smaller, less intricate interior. No sculptures of mythical creatures, no
sinister gargoyles preparing to do battle threatened here. However, dark, heavy
tapestries covered the wall from ceiling to floor behind the bedstead, and the
room was cold, with no logs on the hearth. The don placed Nicoletta and her
tiny charge carefully on the bed. He patted Sophie's head rather absently, his
attention still centered on Nicoletta.

"Look at me." He said the words very softly. His voice was a
weapon, seductive, tempting, an invitation to something beyond her
comprehension.

She was uncomfortably aware of her own body, how soft and curved it had felt
against the hard strength of his. And then there was that strange current that
ran between them, arcing and crackling with a life she didn't understand. She
only knew that his voice was soft and could move over her skin like the touch
of his fingers, and that if she dared look into his eyes, she might be trapped
there for all time.

Nicoletta stubbornly shook her head, her eyes averted, looking resolutely
down. The don, clearly exasperated with her defiance, caught her chin in firm
fingers and forced her head up so that her dark eyes met his gaze. For a moment
they stared at one another. His eyes were beautiful, black as obsidian,
glittering like gems. Hypnotic. Fathomless. She felt a curious sensation, as if
she might be falling. The feeling was so real, her fingers curled around the
coverlet to anchor her to safety.

She felt a stirring in her mind, a warmth. She was losing her resistance,
helplessly drowning in the seduction of his eyes. In her lap, Sophie squirmed,
already worn out by the brief activity. From somewhere down the hall, Nicoletta
heard a door close with a soft thud. For some reason the sound seemed sinister
in the gloom of the nursery. It was enough to break the spell. With a supreme
effort she pulled her gaze away from his and looked around the chamber,
blinking rapidly to bring the room into focus. It felt as if she were waking
from a dream. The flame from one small candle gave off so little light, every
corner seemed filled with shadows.