Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (6 page)

Nicoletta allowed her long lashes to drift down as Vincente took Portia
Scarletti from the room. She held herself very still, not daring to move a
muscle. Silence stretched out so long, she wanted to scream. There wasn't a
sound, not the rustling of clothes or a hint of movement. Not knowing what the
don was doing was worse than facing him. She lay there with her heart pounding,
hardly breathing. Waiting. Listening. There was no sound.

Nicoletta began to relax. No one could be that quiet. She sighed with
relief. He must have followed the others out of the room. Snuggling deeper into
the coverlet, she took a chance and peeked. He was standing over her, as still
as the mountains, waiting, his dark eyes fixed on her face. He had known all
along that she wasn't asleep and that she would eventually look. For a moment
she couldn't breathe, trapped in the intensity of his black gaze. The flames
from the hearth seemed to be reflected there, or perhaps it was the volcano
seething inside him, deep, hot, and dangerous.

"I am not fooled so easily as you and the old woman might think."
He said it quietly, a soft, ominous statement of fact. Indeed, the words were
so soft, she wasn't certain he had actually murmured them. He turned with his
peculiar flowing grace and left the room, closing the door behind him with finality.

"Nicoletta! You left your shoes by the stream again." The childish
voice was giggling, bubbling over with laughter. "Maria Pia said to watch
you. You left your real sandals at the palazzo. She said—"

"You are never going to let me forget that, are you, Ketsia,"
Nicoletta interrupted, laughing. She placed a garland of flowers on the little
girl's head. "I cannot believe she told everyone. That was so mean!"
But her dark eyes were dancing with shared merriment.

Ketsia giggled again. "You are so funny, Nicoletta." The little
girl danced around, spinning in circles, her arms held out wide to embrace the
crisp mountain air. Wild flowers exploded in a riot of color, and overhead,
birds sang out, each attempting to outdo the other with trilling melodies.

Nicoletta whirled and swayed beside Ketsia, her wide skirts flaring, her
long hair flying in all directions, her bare feet tapping out a rhythm in the
grasses. She began to sing softly, her voice melodious as she danced, limping
just a little. Her leg was still sore, but the swelling had gone down. She
bathed it daily in the cold stream, applying poultices to speed the healing.

It had been several days since she had been called to the palazzo. The
memory of the don hadn't faded at all. Instead, she found herself uneasy, often
thinking of him. At night she dreamed of him. A tall, solitary man with dark,
hypnotic eyes. He whispered to her, called to her, his soft voice insistent,
aching. She dreamed erotic dreams, things she knew nothing about; she dreamed
of love and death. Lately, the only time she had felt at peace was when she was
far from the village, surrounded by the peace of the mountains. Young Ketsia
often accompanied her into the hills while the girl's mother worked at her
weaving. The
villagio
women were renowned for the weaving of beautiful
cloth, much in demand by the
aristocrazia
and surrounding settlements.

When the wild dance was ended, the pair collapsed together, laughing at
their silliness, Ketsia putting an arm around Nicoletta. "I love to be
with you," she admitted in the guileless way of children.

"I am so glad, Ketsia, because I love spending time with you."
Nicoletta had been mixing flower petals together in an attempt to come up with
a new dye for the cloth of the village. The weavers depended on her experiments
to produce things unique enough to please those in the palazzo and to barter in
the neighboring towns. Ketsia proved helpful in gathering the flowers for her.
The child liked being the assistant, remembering where Nicoletta had left her
shoes and seeing to it that she remembered to eat the bread and cheese she
carried but often forgot.

"Cristano was looking at you again, Nicoletta," Ketsia pointed out
slyly.

Nicoletta shrugged her slender shoulders. "Though he vows to wed me one
day, I do not have the shape he is looking for. He has told me my waist is too
small, as are my hips. I would not make
buoni bambini."

Ketsia was outraged. "He said that to you?"

Nicoletta nodded, hiding her smile at the child's indignation. "Yes, he
did, and he also said I was too wild and he would insist on taming me and
making me cover my hair and wear shoes at all times. Now, in truth, Ketsia,
should I even consider marrying a man who would expect me to remember where my
shoes are?"

Ketsia thought about it solemnly. "Cristano is very handsome,
Nicoletta. And I think he likes you very much. He is always looking at you when
he thinks you are not aware of it."

"He is handsome," Nicoletta conceded, "but it is more
important that a man likes a woman as a person, Ketsia. And I should like
him
as a person, not just how he looks. Cristano will make some girl a good
husband, but not me. He will want me to cook and clean for him and stay all day
inside. I would wither and die. I belong here." Nicoletta spread her arms
wide to encompass the mountains. "I shall not marry but stay free to do
what I was born to do."

The little girl looked up at her, puzzled. "You do not want to have
bambini
and a husband, a
famiglia?"
she asked. "You will be all
alone."

"I will not be alone, Ketsia. Do not look so sad," Nicoletta
assured her, affectionately ruffling her hair. "I will always have you and
your children, and Maria Pia, and your mother, and all the others in the
villaggio.
You all are my
famiglia.
I have all of you and my plants and the
outdoors. I could not ask for anything else to make me happy."

The wind rustled, a mere whisper of sound, but Nicoletta instantly spun
around. "Where did you say my shoes were?" She looked around the
ground strewn with flowers of every description, pushing a hand through her
hair in agitation.
"Subito,
Ketsia, we must find them at
once."

Ketsia laughed again, the childish sound joyful. "Maria Pia is coming
up the trail," she guessed sagely. No one else could get Nicoletta to be
concerned over her lack of footwear. Her present shoes didn't even fit
properly. Ketsia's mother had donated an old, worn pair to Nicoletta when she
returned shoeless from the palazzo. Ketsia didn't question that Nicoletta
sensed Maria Pia nearing them; Nicoletta knew things others did not, though no
one spoke of it. When she had tried to tell her mother of the wondrous things
Nicoletta could do, her mother shushed her severely.

"Yes, you little imp, it is Maria Pia coming. Now where along the stream
are those shoes?" Nicoletta was torn between desperation and laughter. If
Maria Pia caught her barefoot again after the incident at the palazzo, which
everyone thought terribly amusing, Nicoletta was certain to get a long lecture
on growing up and becoming a lady.

Ketsia quickly ran downstream several paces and snatched up the footwear
just as Maria Pia came into view down on the trail. The older woman stopped to
catch her breath, waiting for them to come to her, clearly out of breath, as if
she had been hurrying to reach them.

Nicoletta took the shoes from Ketsia almost absently, her face lifted to the
wind. She opened her arms to the earth, and turned in the four
directions—north, south, east and west—seeking information. She glanced
skyward, searching for the raven, studying the birds, listening to the insects.
Puzzled, she turned once again toward Maria Pia.

"Do not stand there gawking,
piccola.
Don Scarletti has summoned
the healer once again. You did not come. I waited, but you did not answer the
call." Maria Pia sounded impatient.

Nicoletta began walking slowly, thoughtfully, toward her, swinging her shoes
absently. 'There was no call, Maria Pia. There is no one sick at the
palazzo."

"You must be mistaken. He sent word that he wanted the healer and her
assistant to return." Maria Pia put her hands on her hips, scowling
fiercely at Nicoletta. "Why are you carrying, not wearing those
shoes?"

Nicoletta didn't appear to hear her. "There is no illness, Maria Pia,
and no injury. I do not know why the don has summoned the healer, but it is not
to attend the sick."

The color drained from Maria Pia's face. "Are you certain? You
know?"

"I know. There are no disturbances. I feel nothing of consequence. I
would know. I have never been wrong, not even as a
bambina,
and I have
grown much in the last few years."

Maria Pia cleared her throat noisily and made several not-so-subtle gestures
toward Ketsia with her chin to remind Nicoletta they were not alone. "I
was there when his servant arrived. He said to come at the first
opportunity."

Nicoletta whistled softly, a sound that had Maria Pia gasping anew at the
young woman's wild, unbridled ways.

"You do not see?" Nicoletta asked. "Look at his order. 'At
the first opportunity.' He did not command the healer's presence as he would if
a member of his household was ill. He sent for the healer in such a way that
she could complete her work should she be aiding some other who is ill. He has
not summoned the healer because her skills are needed. He has another motive."

Maria Pia devoutly crossed herself repeatedly. "He has found us
out!" she wailed. "He knows we deceived him. Our lives will be
forfeit."

"He could not know." Nicoletta pointed out calmly. "He may
suspect, but he cannot know. It's possible this is a test."

"Your disguise did not work." Maria Pia sounded fearful, and for
the first time she looked her every decade.

"Not with Don Scarletti," Nicoletta agreed, unruffled. "But
we made no false claims outright. He cannot condemn us. There was no dangerous
deception. I altered my appearance, that is true, and praised you as a healer
but how can he prove peril or malice in such things?"

"Don Scarletti does not need proof, Nicoletta," Maria Pia said
hopelessly. "Remember who he is."

"I do not think he has called the healer to condemn her and her young
assistant to death. What does it matter to him if we use the illusion of
servitude to protect me?"

"You are the one who heals, Nicoletta. Even as a mere
bambina,
you had the gift. I can aid you, and I have some experience, but I am not able
to cure as you can. I do not even understand what it is you do or how you do
it."

"The don does not know that I am the healer, Maria Pia," Nicoletta
said firmly. "He cannot know. Perhaps this is a test. He may be suspicious
and is hoping we will do something to give away our secret."

"He has set a trap for us." Maria Pia let out her breath slowly.
The thought of her and her precious Nicoletta coming under the close scrutiny
of a man as powerful as Don Scarletti was terrifying. "Perhaps it is time
to send you away from here," Maria Pia ventured reluctantly. "We knew
this could happen."

Nicoletta stood very still, recognizing the faint hint of resolve in Maria
Pia's voice. She rarely used that inflection, but when she did, she meant
business. "We do not know yet, and I will not let him drive me away from
my home without even knowing. Perhaps we should turn the test back on
him," she said thoughtfully.

"Nicoletta!" Maria Pia was used to Nicoletta's defiance of
convention, but defying a man as powerful as Don Scarletti was suicide.

"We know there is no one sick enough at the palazzo that you cannot
care for alone. Take our neighbor, old Mirella, with you. She will enjoy being
frightened by and later gossiping about the experience. Besides, she has
accompanied you many times in the past delivering
bambini
in the
villaggi.
You can easily claim to have more than one assistant. The don did not say which
of your assistants you were to bring. Should he ask about me and why I did not
accompany you, tell him you wished me to rest my leg another day or two."
Nicoletta suddenly began to laugh. "Don Scarletti left us a way to slip
out of his noose. He thought mere women would be easy to trap."

Maria Pia took her time thinking over Nicoletta's plan. The branches
overhead swayed gently, making the leaves glint silver in the sunlight. They
could smell the ocean, fresh and salty. The breeze was beginning to pick up,
bringing a fine spray of mist with it.

Ketsia stayed very quiet, but her fingers were wound tightly in Nicoletta's
skirt. Her eyes were wide, and her lower lip was trembling. "Nicoletta
cannot go far from us, Maria Pia," she said. "What would we do
without her?"

"It will work, Maria Pia. It will allay his suspicions," Nicoletta
said. "A man such as the don will not continue to waste his time on
something so insignificant. He will accept you as the healer, believe you have
several assistants, and soon his busy life will continue, and—poof!—we will be
gone from his thoughts." Nicoletta's dark eyes were twinkling in
anticipation. "I know it will work. He had curiosity, that is all, but it
is fleeting, soon to be lost amidst more important matters of state."

Ketsia was nodding in agreement. "Do not make Nicoletta go away, Maria
Pia. I do not want her to go."

"Neither do I,
piccola.
I will go to the palazzo with Mirella
while Nicoletta rests her leg. You will watch over her and make certain she
does not dance around. I do not wish to utter a lie, may the good Madonna watch
over me." She made the sign of the cross. "Nicoletta must rest her
leg," she decided piously. "She is really not nearly as healed as I
would like." She fixed Nicoletta with a stern eye. "I will take no
nonsense from you,
bambina.
You must rest while I am gone. I will not
get on the bad side of the good Madonna."