"You will do exactly as I say, Nicoletta. No one will be allowed to murder you unless I decide to indulge in such a pleasure myself." It was a decree, a threat.
Nicoletta swallowed her retort, determined not to participate in a direct confrontation with the don in the darkness of his lair. That was how she thought of it--his lair, a fitting place for a hunter such as Don Scarletti. He stopped in front of a door a few paces down from the nursery. Instead of thrusting it open, he knocked lightly, one hand on her shoulder, holding her still, as if he feared she might attempt to flee.
At once the door was flung open, and Maria Pia stood there. Nicoletta uttered a glad cry and burst into tears, flinging herself into the older woman's outstretched arms. Mortified that Don Scarletti was witness to her breakdown, she clung to Maria Pia and refused to look at him.
"You asked to be brought to Signorina Sigmora, and I have done so," he pointed out with a grim smile. "I will have two guards stationed outside this door at all times. If you wish to explore the house or grounds, they will accompany you. Nicoletta..." There was iron in his voice. "Should you attempt to flee again, these men will suffer for allowing you to slip past them. I will hold them responsible should anything happen to you, or should you manage to find your way back into the hills."
Anger flashed through her, and she lifted her head to glare at him through the tears swimming in her eyes.
His hard features were an implacable mask. "I can find you anywhere, at any time. There is no way you can escape me. You know it is so."
She swiped at her tears. "There is no need to threaten others." Her chin was up in challenge. "It is beneath you."
His eyebrows shot up. "A compliment at last? A favorable comment on my character?"
Maria Pia gripped Nicoletta's arm hard to stop her from retorting.
"Signorina Sigmora, I trust you remembered to bring Nicoletta's shoes. It seems she cannot keep them on. She has injured her feet tonight. You will, of course, see to the cuts and bruises. Her leg is also still painful to her, so you must attend to that injury as well," commanded Don Giovanni Scarletti.
"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.
"I know you," Portia said, letting her breath out slowly, her gaze narrowing slightly as she took in the man's elegant coat wrapped so tightly around the visitor. "You are the apprentice to the village healer. What in the world are you doing here?" There was a wealth of contempt in her voice. Her fingers were clutching Vincente's arm so hard, her knuckles were white.
Nicoletta lifted her chin, her dark eyes flashing. "I believe the don can answer that better than I can, Donna Scarletti." She kept her voice low and even but not subservient. "Perhaps you should address the question to him." She avoided looking at the guards or at the don's brother.
The older woman's face hardened perceptibly. "How dare you?" she hissed. "The d
on shall hear of your insubordination and have you flogged! You will be thrown out of the palazzo along with this oaf of a guard!" She looked up at Vincente. "They are obviously lovers, these two. This guard has no such orders. He is hiding and protecting the girl because he does not want to be discovered." She turned back to Nicoletta. "Is that it? Are you two lovers? I do not think Don Scarletti will allow such behavior in his home. Vincente, make them tell the truth."
"I am very tired, Donna Scarletti. If your inquisition is finished, I should like to return to my bed," Nicoletta announced, hoping the don would have her thrown out of the palazzo. It would be the answer to her prayers.
Portia turned crimson at being dismissed by a lowly peasant in front of the guards. "I will have you flogged myself!" she announced, reaching for Nicoletta's arm with every intention of pulling her out of the room.
The second guard stepped quickly between the two women. "I am sorry, Donna Scarletti, but I must ask you not to touch the signorina. I cannot allow you to harm her. Our orders are quite clear." He spoke softly, his posture was firm and protective, his face a mask of determination.
"Portia, have a care," Vincente cautioned. "I owe this woman much for helping little Sophie. And, it is obvious Giovanni has brought her here. Perhaps he is ill again."
"We would know if he was." Portia dropped her arm to her side, then stepped back with a little cry of dismay. She stared at Nicoletta incredulously, the truth suddenly dawning on her. She backed up farther, her cry rising even louder. "You must tell me that Giovanni did not go through with that ridiculous threat to take a bride from the villaggi. It was only a jest, a dare, if you like. He cannot have taken the wager this far." The last turned into a dramatic wail of despair. "Oh, this is so like him to punish us for imagined indiscretions."