Maria Pia clucked her tongue to remind Don Scarletti that he was not wed yet and that his behavior was bordering on the unseemly. Giovanni let out his breath slowly, shaking his head ruefully. "You have your chaperone well trained."
"You are the one who decreed I was never to be alone," she pointed out. "You could have come to our hill and courted me properly."
He laughed softly, lightly rubbing a fingertip over her tempting mouth. "Properly? I do not think there would be anything proper about the way I would court you in the hills," he said wickedly.
His voice alone was scandalous, whispering over her skin until her body burned with need. Flames danced through her, and she shook her head, mesmerized into smiling in reply. How could she ever resist the dark intensity of his eyes, his perfect, sensuous mouth?
Maria Pia cleared her throat noisily. The don gave in to the pressure with a wry grin, taking Nicoletta's arm and Sophie's hand and walking down the corridor. "I think I have been reprimanded, Sophie," he confided in a whisper to the child, leading them toward his study.
Sophie laughed out loud, the sound carefree and unexpected. She was always such a solemn child, but right now she was giggling along with Nicoletta. "I am glad it was you being chastised, Zio Gino, and not me. She frowns like this." Sophie glanced back to ensure the older woman was still some distance behind, then made a face much like Maria Pia's.
"Zio Giovanni!" The strident voice carried down the long hall and seemed to echo up to the high, domed ceiling. Margerita emerged from the staircase leading from the ramparts and hurried toward them from the far end of the corridor. The last rays of the setting sun pierced the thickening fog and the stained-glass windows. Colors radiated over the walls and danced on the ceiling. Then, just as suddenly, a dark shadow swept over the palazzo as the sun sank into the sea.
Chapter Nine
Nicoletta's heart was suddenly pounding in alarm. Margerita had nearly reached the small group, bringing with her an ominous portent of danger. The impression was so strong, Nicoletta wrenched her arm away from Giovanni. The corridor seemed gray and sinister, dark and shadowed with violence.
"Zio Giovanni." Margerita pushed rudely past Nicoletta, her nose wrinkled delicately. "Who are these people? Sophie, stop looking like the village idiot clinging like a bambino, to that woman."
Nicoletta couldn't look at Margerita, with her venomous eyes and her haughty disdain. The darkness was spreading like a terrible stain over her soul. "Do you feel it? Something is wrong," she murmured. She pressed a hand to her stomach, the warning so strong it nearly paralyzed her with fear. "Someone is in peril..." She stepped away from the others to spread her arms, reaching for the feeling. Reaching to embrace the warning. Without looking at any of them, she raised her face to the vaulted ceiling. She needed to be outside, to feel the wind on her face, to smell and taste the salt spray riding in from the sea. She needed to read the tales the wind brought her.
Margerita stared at her in horrified fascination. "What in the world is wrong with her?" she demanded. "Has she gone mad? Zio Giovanni, you have brought a madwoman into our midst," she bluntly accused in her whining voice.
"Nicoletta!" Maria Pia said the name sharply in hopes of snapping her young ward out of what looked suspiciously like a trance. Terrified that someone would realize Nicoletta's "differences" and name her witch, Maria Pia called her name loudly a second time.
The color drained from Nicoletta's face. "Close by," she said softly to herself, her body beginning to tremble. "It is very close to us."
When Maria Pia would have grabbed Nicoletta to shake her out of transfixion, Giovanni gently pushed the older woman's hand away. "Leave her," he ordered. "What is it, cara?" His voice was incredibly calm but carried unmistakable authority and penetrated Nicoletta's terror-stricken state. "What is wrong, Nicoletta? Tell me, and I will help. What is close to us?"
Nicoletta glanced at him, her eyes wide with fear. "La morte," she whispered softly. Just outside the window a large, dark bird flew close, its shadow passing over them, its great wings fluttering against the glass. Its talons scraped at the glass, and its beak knocked against it twice. Nicoletta gasped aloud, staring in fascinated horror at the dark creature.
Margerita screamed loudly and flung herself into Giovanni's arms, hiding her face against his chest and weeping loudly. "It is going to break through and get me. I am afraid! So afraid!"
"Something terrible has happened," Nicoletta said, pushing past Giovanni in an attempt to get out of the palazzo. "I must go."
The manservant, Gostanz, appeared as if out of nowhere. "There is a young boy at the entrance to the kitchen. He seems quite distraught. He is asking for Signorina Nicoletta. He calls her the healer."
"I must go," Nicoletta said again, trying to inch past the don.
Putting Margerita firmly aside, Giovanni caught Nicoletta's arm, slowing her down but not stopping her. He went with her, easily matching her shorter stride. Maria Pia headed in the opposite direction, running for the medicine satchel, calling to Sophie to help her find her way. Margerita simply stopped wailing and stood still, shocked that no one was paying attention to her. Furious to be left in the middle of her dramatic moment, she glared venomously after Nicoletta, stamping her foot.
It was young Ricardo, Laurena's son, waiting for Nicoletta, his face tear-stained. "You have to come, Nicoletta. It's Zia Lissandra--she is very sick. Madre says to come right away. Aljandro tried to stop me"--he turned his head to show her a darkening bruise on the side of his face--"but I got away and ran as fast as I could. Please, Nicoletta, come with me."
"Of course I will come. But I need my medicaments." She was looking out into the swirling fog, her heart pounding with terror. "I have to go, Don Scarletti. I have to go."
Vincente appeared behind the young boy. His clothes were a bit disheveled, evidence of the wind picking up outside. "The palazzo certainly has livened up with you in it, Nicoletta." He looked unconcerned that she was acting strangely. "I will take her to her village, Giovanni, if you wish. She has her heart set on going. I am not doing a thing, and I can help out once in a while. I am already damp from the fog, and it is no trouble."
The don signaled his guards to bring horses. "Will you need Signorina Sigmora?" he asked Nicoletta calmly.
Nicoletta nodded mutely, her face so pale that Giovanni swept his arms around her. "Can you feel it?" she whispered. Her voice was muffled against his chest. "It is bad. Someone is in terrible danger." It was more than that. She felt the presence of evil as if it were a living entity.
"What is she saying?" Vincente demanded.
"Grazie, Vincente, for your offer. We will both go and see what the danger is. Ride with us," Giovanni said to his brother.
"I cannot wait," Nicoletta insisted, trying to pull free of the don's restraint.
His arms retained possession, refusing to allow her to get away from him. "They are bringing the horses, cara. Signorina Sigmora is here with your satchel. Grazie, Sophie, for bringing her so quickly through the palazzo. She would have gotten lost without you."
"What is wrong, Zio Gino?" Sophie asked bravely. "Will you bring Nicoletta back to me?" She was looking up at him with childlike trust.
It struck Giovanni that she had never looked at him or anyone else that way until Nicoletta had entered their household. "Yes, of course," he assured her as he took the bag and led Nicoletta to his horse. He swung up in one fluid motion, then reached down for her hand. He was enormously strong, easily pulling her up in front of him. "Bring the boy, Vincente. Signorina Sigmora will ride with the guards."
Nicoletta gripped Giovanni, grateful for his reassuring presence, tears burning behind her eyes. She felt the danger, knew that whatever she was facing was bad. Very bad. Aljandro had not sent for her despite the gravity of the situation, and perhaps it was all her fault, because she had allowed him to see her deep dislike, her contempt for him. And now Lissandra might pay for Nicoletta's careless show of temper with her life.
&nbs
p; The horse's hooves pounded the ground with a rhythm almost like a heartbeat. It drummed in her ears, an incantation. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. The hills were dark, the tree branches ominously still. The fog was thick, rolling in from the sea, a white veil that shrouded them in an eerie, disembodied world. She glanced back but could not see the other riders. The thudding hoofbeats were muffled by the fog and the constant roar of the waves crashing against the rocks below them. Nicoletta buried her face against Giovanni's neck, uncaring what he thought, uncaring that she had unmasked herself in front of him and his family and they might name her witch.
The urgency was strong in her, and somewhere, far off, she heard the terrible hoot of an owl. Once. Twice. Thrice. A portent of death. When the sound died away, a wolf gave a mournful howl, the sound rising and falling in the dead of the night. A second wolf answered. A third. Silence reigned once more. Her hands gripped the don's shirt. She was shivering but not from the cold mist or the night. Rather, from deep within her, an icy death knell was freezing her, and she felt she might never be warm again.
As if sensing the terrible urgency, the dread welling up inside her, the don leaned forward to urge his mount to greater speed, a dangerous undertaking when they were riding nearly blind in the thick fog. One misstep and the horse could break a leg. Nicoletta prayed to the good Madonna, but the feeling of death was so strong, she could not find a spark of hope in her.
The moment they arrived at Aljandro's farm, she was off the horse, her fingers clutching her bag of herbs and medicines, racing up the steps to tear open the door of the house. Laurena's white, tear-stained face was the first thing she saw.
"What happened?" Nicoletta demanded, hurrying past Laurena and into the bedroom where Lissandra lay. She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the pool of bright red blood on the floor beside the door and the trail of droplets leading to the bedstead. The coverlet, too, was wet with blood. "Lissandra," she whispered softly, forcing herself to the bedside.
Lissandra was so pale, she looked transparent, as if she was already gone from the world. Her eyes were wide open and fixed on Nicoletta's face in desperate, hopeless pleading. Nicoletta took her limp hand, stroked back her hair soothingly. Lissandra's eyes were sunken in, and there was a bluish color around her mouth. Dark bruises marred her face and neck, her bare arms.
"He was angry because the babe was crying," she said. "He called me lazy because I did not get up. I wanted to get up, Nicoletta, but I was so weak. Laurena left for only a short time to attend her famiglia. She was coming right back, but Aljandro would not tend the bambino. He flew into a rage and dragged me from the bed. He hit me and kicked me as I crawled to the babe, but he was still angry with me." Her expressive eyes mirrored her pain. "I am so cold. I cannot seem to get warm, Nicoletta. I cannot get warm."
"I know," Nicoletta murmured, her sorrow so heavy she thought her heart might break in two. She tucked warmer blankets around her friend. Lissandra was so young, only a few years older than Ketsia. But there was nothing Nicoletta could do for her; Lissandra was looking for a miracle.
"I do not want to die. I do not want someone else to raise my bambino. Do not let me die, Nicoletta."
Laurena, standing in the doorway, sobbed loudly and hastily turned away to bury her face in her hands. Nicoletta remained beside Lissandra, talking softly, stroking back her hair with gentle fingers, using her healing warmth to soothe Lissandra, to make her passage into the next life as easy as possible.
"He said I was bad, that I did not deserve to have his babe." Tears swam in her dark eyes, and there was no strength left in her fingers. "He was disgusted with me and left me on the floor. He went out to tend the animals."
"He was foolish in his anger, Lissandra. You know there could be no other mother like you," Nicoletta assured her gently. She bent to kiss the girl's brow. Lissandra's skin was already cold and clammy. "You are much loved--you know that you are."
"I cannot feel your hand," Lissandra said plaintively. "Do not leave me alone."
"You are not alone. I am here with you," Nicoletta said. But it was already too late. Lissandra had slipped away with the great volume of blood, and all that remained was the beaten shell of her body. Her face was turned toward Nicoletta, her eyes staring wide in fear and desperation and pleading. Nicoletta gently closed Lissandra's eyelids and sat with her head bowed, trying to pray.
Sorrow and rage swirled together inside her until she felt almost numb. It was a sobbing Laurena who performed the death rituals, covering her younger sister's face with a shawl and shrouding the mirror in a black veil. Nicoletta couldn't move, her grief so deep she couldn't even cry. It burned in her like a terrible brand, her throat convulsing, leaving her gasping for breath.
Aljandro stamped into the room, his face twisted into a mask of distaste. "What are you doing here?" he bellowed, his face red, his huge hands curled into fists, "I forbade them to send for you. I will not pay you. Get out of my home. The lazy cow can get up and fix my supper."
Nicoletta launched herself into the air, flying at his monstrous face, a volcanic rage seething in her. Aljandro swatted her out of his way, and she landed heavily against the wall. Then he roared like a wounded animal, rushing at her, his fists flailing. She closed her eyes, winced at the ugly sound of flesh meeting flesh, but Aljandro hadn't struck her. Cautiously Nicoletta opened her eyes.
Giovanni Scarletti stood between her and Aljandro's hulking frame, Aljandro's fist caught in Giovanni's palm.
The two men stood toe to toe, their eyes locked in mortal combat.
"You will never attempt to strike this woman again," the don said quietly, the very softness of his voice betraying his anger. "If I ever catch you doing such a thing, you will not live to see the next sunrise. Am I making myself clear? I am putting this incidente down to your obvious grief over the death of your wife."
Behind Aljandro were the two guards, their swords drawn and at the ready for their don and Nicoletta. Vincente stood in the doorway, cutting off Aljandro's escape and keeping Maria Pia at bay when she would have rushed to Nicoletta's side.
Aljandro nodded repeatedly, his face mirroring his terror. Then the don's last words penetrated his anger and fear. "My wife--dead?" He looked toward the bed. "Lissandra was well when I left." His gaze fell on Nicoletta. "She is bad luck to me. She broke my son's arm, and now she has killed my wife. She is a witch, and--"
The don backhanded Aljandro, his strength enormous, the slap nearly knocking the larger man off his feet. "That insult I will not overlook." Don Scarletti reached back to offer his hand to Nicoletta, lifting her effortlessly from the floor. Gently he moved her around Aljandro and past his brother into Maria Pia's waiting arms. "Signorina Sigmora, if you will be so good as to take Nicoletta away from this farm, I will be indebted to you." His hand moved down the back of Nicoletta's silky hair, a small, comforting gesture.
Nicoletta couldn't look at him, or at Aljandro. She was trembling, so many emotions swamping her that she wanted to run to the highest cliff and shout her anger at the gods. She hugged Maria Pia, more to comfort the older woman than herself, but she couldn't suppress the rage building in her until she thought she might burst if she didn't take physical action. She tore herself out of Maria Pia's arms and ran as she had run the night they brought her dead mother home.
There was no sound in the heavy fog, no sight as she ran blindly along the paths leading to the cliffs. She knew the trail as well as did any wild animal. She had roamed the hills her entire life, night or day; she knew every path, every trail. Behind her, the two soldiers did their best to keep up with her, but they didn't have her knowledge of the terrain, and the fog impeded their progress. They lost her in the bushes and groves of trees. They listened, trying to locate her through sound, but the fog muffled every noise. They had no chance of hearing her bare feet on the earthen path. But on the way back to Aljandro's to report their failure, they did hear the horse bearing down on them, steam flaring from the animal's nostrils as steed and rider fla
shed by them in the blinding mist.
Nicoletta ran along the top of the cliffs until she neared the very edge, heedless of the crumbling bluff. She hurtled her anger and defiance out over the raging seas as below her the waves pounded the rocks and foam sprayed high into the air. The wind howled at her, tugging at her clothing so that her skirt billowed out and her hair flew in all directions. Her fingers curled into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. She lifted her face to the tearing wind, and its howl blended with her own wild grief, carrying all sound away from her.
Below her the sea raged as her heart raged. Wildly. Passionately. Inconsolably. She couldn't contain her fury or her anguish. It exploded out of her like the turbulent waves crashing into high white plumes. She screamed her hatred of Aljandro and all men like him. She shouted her defiance of the deities that would allow a delicate, lonely young girl to die without a loving husband. She cried until she was hoarse, her throat as raw and ragged and torn as her heart.
Giovanni dismounted some distance from the small figure raging on the bluffs. His heart was in his throat. She was so close to the edge of the cliff, her grief so deep she couldn't bear it, and he was afraid for her. He didn't dare take his horse to the edge of the crumbling bluffs, so he tethered the animal to a tree and approached on foot, wary of startling her. She looked wild and untamed, an elusive, mysterious creature of the night.
Nicoletta was, indeed, not the type of woman to cast herself into the sea, but her grief ran deep, her passionate nature equal to the sea raging below them. She seemed unaware of the peril she had placed herself in. Heedless. Reckless. His heart ached for her. He fixed his black gaze on her, as if he could hold her with his will alone, keep her safe from the ferocity of the greedy waves reaching higher and higher toward her.
Giovanni slowly moved closer to her, silently stalking her, prepared to leap forward should there be need. She looked so passionate, there on the very edge of disaster with the foaming sea before her and the wind whipping her silken hair and the fog around her like gossamer veils. He had her then, his arms curling around her, dragging her back from the precipice.