Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (7 page)

Nicoletta raised an eyebrow, her expression innocent.

"I did not know the good Madonna had a bad side, Maria Pia."

Outraged, Maria Pia erupted into a barrage of scolding, even going so far as
to deliver a rap to the young woman's behind. Ketsia backed away, frightened by
the unexpected display from Maria Pia, but Nicoletta stood her ground, smiling
and slipping her arms around the old woman.
"Scusa,
Maria Pia. I am
so ignorant, I am uncertain what is causing you distress." Her dark eyes
were alight with mischief.

Maria Pia firmly pushed her away, blessing her several times in the process.
"If I did not see you devoutly at your prayers, Nicoletta, I would fear
for your soul. You have more knowledge than is good for a woman. Go to your bed
and stay there while I attend the don."

"I can rest up here, Maria Pia," Nicoletta pointed out. "The
fresh air will aid my healing, and I can continue to do my work."

Maria Pia took in her disheveled appearance and sighed. "You were not
working, Nicoletta, but flitting around again. No good can come of your
continuing such behavior. I intend that you marry soon. I have noticed Cristano
looking at you often."

Ketsia giggled but kept her gaze resolutely on the ground, not daring to
glance up at Nicoletta, who had stiffened and was standing very still.

Nicoletta's dark eyes flashed with sudden fire. "I will not marry
Cristano or any other." She enunciated each word carefully. "I will
not, Maria Pia. Do not think you can change my mind. Such a match would be a
death sentence for me."

Maria Pia was silent while the wind tugged gently at their clothing. She
sighed softly.
"Piccola,
I have done you an injustice. When you
lost your madre, you were so inconsolable, you spent all your time in the
wilds. You were so little and sad, we were all afraid of losing
you.
Do
you remember those dark days? I would sit beneath the trees with you and up on
the cliffs, many times all night. You did not speak for weeks at a time. You
did not seem to feel the cold or the rain. I had to force you to eat. You took
risks with your life, climbing crumbling cliffs and exploring caves just before
the tide rushed inside. The wolves would howl, and you would not flinch. I
would see their glowing eyes and try to persuade you to return to the
villaggio,
but nothing frightened you, and nothing could assuage your grief. We allowed
you to mourn in your own way, but I am not certain it was for the best. You
were only five summers, but you were separate from us even then."

"I have always been separate," Nicoletta pointed out gently.
"I am ever aware I could bring
morte
to the entire
villaggio.
It is a terrible burden hanging over my head. I know the little ones are taught
never to speak of me to outsiders or if an outsider is near. It is a burden for
them also. I cannot change that I am different. I did not want to be different,
but I accept that I am. I try use my gifts for the good of others, and I light
candles to the Madonna that it is right to do so."

"You are a treasure to us, Nicoletta." Maria Pia laid a hand on
the younger woman's arm. "To me. You are a good girl, and the Madonna
knows that."

Ketsia clutched Nicoletta's skirt tighter. Nicoletta brought laughter and
love to the
villaggio.
The children adored her and followed her everywhere.
"Why are you afraid, Nicoletta?" She didn't understand the
conversation, but she could feel the intensity of emotion shimmering between
the two women.

Immediately Nicoletta smiled at the child, her dark eyes dancing with
mischief. "I have an idea, Ketsia. You should marry Cristano. He can wait
until you are sixteen. It is only a few more years, and by then he might have
made his fortune."

Ketsia thought it over. "He is handsome, but he is already old.
Probabilmente
he is already too old even for you, Nicoletta."

Maria Pia coughed delicately behind her hand. "I must go now to the
palazzo. It will not do to keep the don waiting too long. Mirella will come
with me, but you stay out of sight. The hills have spies, Nicoletta. The don is
a powerful man, and many wish to have his favor. If he has interest in you,
someone will answer his inquiries."

"You are right," Nicoletta agreed. Those who lived in the tiny
villaggio
depended on Nicoletta's strange gifts for a good portion of their livelihood.
But they lived on land owned by Don Scarletti, and he was a good and generous
protector and provider, though they were expected to work hard at their farms
and crafts and to be somewhat self-sufficient. Unlike other dons, Don Scarletti
did not take the lion's share of their profits, so the people were loyal to
him, but they loved Nicoletta. She healed their sick, determined the richness
of the earth for their crops, and she concocted the unique colors that kept the
aristocrazia
coming to them time and again for fine cloth.

Scattered over Don Scarletti's vast holdings were many other
villaggi
and farms, yet few of them held the importance to the don that theirs did.
Nicoletta's
villaggio
was tiny in comparison to many others, but they had
made a certain name for themselves and were the most prosperous of all. They
were a closed group, wary of outsiders. They were all aware that other children
much like Nicoletta had been born to different families throughout their
history. Each of them had ancestors who had been burned in the not-so-distant
past as witches or devil-worshipers, so they carefully maintained their image
as a devout, pious people completely loyal to their don.

"Be cautious, Maria Pia. The don is…" Nicoletta trailed off, unsure
how to put her feelings into words. She suspected the don was as
"different" as she was—not in the same manner but in ways far more
dangerous than the older woman could conceive.

"I have heard the rumors and have met his
famiglia.
I do not
speak unless spoken to, and Mirella will be too frightened to open her mouth.
She is much older and remembers the days gone by."

"What does she remember?" Nicoletta asked, curious. Among the
villagers it was very difficult to separate fact from fiction, rumor from the truth.
The Scarletti family history was shrouded in curses and dark mysteries spoken
of only in whispers.

"It is said that Don Scarletti's grandfather strangled his wife with
his bare hands." Maria Pia whispered the words softly so the wind could not
whisk them to other ears. "Mirella knew her well, served her faithfully.
She is convinced the crime was committed and the don's
padre
covered up
the evidence. Three murders in less than two years, all women, and no one did
anything."

Nicoletta had heard the dark whispers of the don's grandfather strangling
his wife yet never being punished. The woman had died around the same time as
Nicoletta's mother and aunt, and many believed the elder Scarletti had
committed more than one crime. But the
don's
family had closed ranks,
and no one was powerful enough to cross them. Nicoletta could almost believe
such things of the eldest Scarletti; he certainly seemed to despise females.
She could not imagine any woman being chained to such a terrible man.

'The good Madonna will look after us, Nicoletta, and you will stay out of
trouble and out of sight." Maria Pia made it a decree.

Nicoletta allowed her smile to reach her dark eyes, lighting her face.
"Ketsia will watch over me while I rest.'"

Ketsia nodded solemnly, pleased with the responsibility. She straightened
her shoulders and looked quite proud. Nicoletta and the little girl watched
Maria Pia begin the trek down the mountain.

Nicoletta put an arm around Ketsia's shoulders. "I wanted to look at a
patch of plants I moved from the far side of the mountain. Sometimes if I move
them from below, they struggle with the new elements, at first, and I must
instruct them how to grow."

Ketsia's small mouth formed an
O.
"You talk to plants?" She
looked around to make certain they were alone. Talking to plants didn't sound
like something Maria Pia would approve of.

"Of course. Some of them like me to sing to them." Nicoletta
winked at Ketsia. "Like this." She hummed softly, then tried to
yodel.

Ketsia dissolved into a fit of giggles. "I knew you did not really talk
to plants." She skipped to keep up with Nicoletta. She had to stop once to
pick up the shoes that slipped from Nicoletta's hands onto the path winding up
the hill.

The ocean came into view far below them. The deep blue sea was breaking on
the rocks in plumes of white foam. Nicoletta paused to look at the
breathtakingly beautiful vista. "You see this, Ketsia? This is what life
is about. Not being closed up inside, but free like the birds all around
us."

"Nicoletta, do not go too close to the edge," Ketsia scolded,
mimicking Maria Pia almost perfectly. "You could fall." She tugged at
the wide skirt until Nicoletta reluctantly moved away from the cliff's edge,
smiling at the little girl taking her job so seriously.

Nicoletta loved her life and loved the children who often followed her as
she roamed the mountains and valleys in search of the rare, precious plants she
needed. She had endless patience, finding the children to be great company on
her excursions. And her guardianship of the little ones aided the women in the
village while they were tending the sheep or weaving cloth.

Ketsia and Nicoletta spent the next couple of hours with their hands buried
deep in the rich soil. Nicoletta did talk to her plants, her soft, crooning,
murmurings often making

E

Ketsia laugh helplessly. She nurtured and encouraged the drooping stalks.
For some she added mixtures into the soil; others she left alone. Ketsia
observed her closely, unable to discern exactly what she was doing. Although they
both laughed about it, Ketsia was clever enough to know that something she
couldn't see or understand was happening. The plants really did seem to respond
to Nicoletta's voice and ministrations. And sometimes she did sing to them, her
beautiful voice rising on the wind.

Overhead a dark-winged bird swooped low over the pair. Nicoletta lifted her
head to look at the raven, a faint frown on her face. She stood up slowly,
moving away from the plants to turn her attention to the wind. It whispered
continually to those who could interpret it's murmurings. She stiffened
slightly and caught at Ketsia's shoulder. Very quietly she put a finger over
her lips to signal to the child to be quiet. "Stay right here,
piccola.
Do not move until I come back for you."

Ketsia's eyes widened, but she nodded dutifully. No one would ever really
want to defy Nicoletta. She could heal the sick; she could do things no one
talked openly about. Obediently, Ketsia sank into the bushes and remained as
still as a stone.

Nicoletta went back toward the cliffs, moving quickly, every sense alert.
Far below she could see the figure of man moving in a furtive manner, skulking
from bush to boulder, his body bent as if seeking to hide. She scanned the
cove, could see no other movement, but knew something was not right. Her heart
began to beat fast. The sun was beginning to set, staining the sky a pinkish
orange. The sea grew angry, the water dark, waves climbing higher as they
rushed at the shore and splashed at the rocks.

Her hand went to her throat protectively. Something terrible was about to
happen. She was too far away to prevent it; she could only stand on the cliff
watching helplessly as the drama unfolded on the beach far below her.

The wind rushed off the sea, a low, keening moan that seemed to rise into a
howl of warning. She couldn't take her eyes off the scene as the sea rose up,
pounding the rocks relentlessly in anticipation.

She saw him then, Don Giovanni Scarletti. He moved swiftly, fluidly, like a
powerful hunter, his shoulders straight, his head up. His body rippled with
sinewy muscles beneath his elegant clothing. The wind tugged at his wavy black
hair, leaving it tousled like that of a small boy. Yet he looked every inch a
man, ruthless and dangerous, far more powerful than any other she had ever
encountered.

Nicoletta turned her attention to the fellow now crouching behind a rock. He
hadn't moved at all. Don Scarletti glided unknowingly past the hiding place,
his attention fixed on something she couldn't see. From off to the right, where
she knew the caves were, another man emerged, calling out a greeting, a smile
on his face. Nicoletta couldn't hear him, but the two men seemed to be friends.
It was obvious that Don Scarletti trusted him.

She could barely breathe, and her heart was pounding so hard that she could
hear its frantic rhythm. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes, and by the
time she had captured it and held it back tightly, the two men were shaking
outstretched hands. It was then that the one hiding behind the rocks moved.
Slowly. Stealthily. He inched his way along until he was directly behind Don
Scarletti. She saw the last rays of the sun glint off the stiletto in his hand.
The sun plunged into the sea, and the sky went bloodred for a second time, the
terrible portent of death.

Nicoletta cried out a warning to the don, but the wind whipped her voice
from her, back into the mountains and away from the roaring sea. But even
though it was impossible that he could have heard, something alerted the don,
and he swung around to catch his assailant's wrist. He moved so fast, he seemed
a blur, somehow swinging the man around in front of him so that, when the one
he had been speaking to plunged
his
knife deep, it was buried in the
don's assailant instead of the don himself.

Don Scarletti allowed the man to crumple helplessly to the beach. Nicoletta
could see that the shocked assailant's mouth was wide open, as if he was
screaming, but she could hear nothing. His body writhed for a moment,
contorted, then lay still. The don looked from the dead man crumpled in a heap
at his feet to his betrayer. Nicoletta's heart went out to the don. She could
almost feel his sorrow, see it in the droop of his shoulders. For one awful
moment she thought he was going to open his arms and allow the other man to
kill him. Don Scarletti seemed to be speaking softly, shaking his head.