While they dressed her hair and body, Nicoletta stared at the beckoning hills, wanting desperately to run for safety. The hills were so close. It wouldn't take her long to visit her beautiful garden, to tend her plants for just an hour or two to escape the stares and the laughter and whispers while the women gossiped behind her back. She could hear two of the girls spitefully discussing the Scarletti curse and even speculating if Nicoletta would live out the year. Angry that they were not picked as the don's bride, they made certain Nicoletta overheard their remarks.
She knew they didn't really believe she was in danger. Giovanni Scarletti was handsome and rich and powerful. The money and position were all the women thought or cared about. But Nicoletta knew there was danger at the palazzo, an evil that would swallow her as it had so many before her if she did not discover its identity.
She held out her arms obediently as they clad her in the exquisite white gown the don's dressmakers had created. The girls gasped in admiration. None of them had ever seen such a magnificent garment. Nicoletta kept her mind on the hills. On freedom. On the wind and the sea.
My bride cannot run on our wedding day. The voice came out of nowhere. Soft, like a caress. The sound of Giovanni's voice brushed seductively at the walls of her mind, turning her heart over. It was frightening how he could do that. It was not simply his voice that disturbed her in her mind, although that was intimate and comforting at times. It was also the way he could so easily melt her bones and heat her blood and make her feel things she was terrified of feeling.
He made her vulnerable and out of control. Nicoletta twisted her fingers together nervously. His voice came again, inviting laughter this time. Are they teasing you about our wedding night? Deliberately trying to frighten you with the details? You are safe with me, cara, completely safe.
Was she safe with him? Would she ever be safe again once she was tied to him? Nicoletta didn't know. She could feel only the terrible dread in her heart, the foreboding, the sense of something malevolent crouching in wait like the gargoyles perched atop the palazzo. Waiting. Watching. Biding their time.
"Nicoletta, you have gone very pale," Maria Pia said. "Are you ill, bambina?"
Before Nicoletta could voice her fears, Ketsia rushed over to her, arms filled with crowns of flowers for the young women to don. "You look so beautiful, Nicoletta, the most beautiful bride ever!"
Nicoletta managed a small smile as she looked at the child. Ketsia's face was filled with joy and excitement, her eyes sparkling in anticipation. The women were all in their finest gowns, clean and fresh with flowers in their hair. Ketsia flung out her arms in her exuberance. "Everyone is so beautiful today."
Nicoletta's smile touched her eyes. Who could resist Ketsia's genuine joy?
Ketsia touched the wedding gown timidly. She had never seen anything like it. "You look like a princess, Nicoletta," she said in awe.
Nicoletta held up the long skirts of her dress to reveal her bare feet. "I have forgotten something important." Her delicate eyebrow arched, and her long lashes fluttered. "Do you think you could help me find my sandals?"
Ketsia giggled, her young voice lifting Nicoletta's spirits considerably. "You have beautiful shoes now, Nicoletta. You must wear them when you are wed to the Don."
"I was thinking that my gown is long enough that no one will know I am barefoot, Ketsia."
Ketsia shook her head decisively. "Don Scarletti will know. He told Sophie and me to make certain you remembered your shoes. I think he will inspect to make sure they are on your feet."
Nicoletta did her best to look serious. "So you think it will be of great importance to him?"
"Oh, yes, Nicoletta. The don pays attention to every detail. He would surely notice."
Nicoletta wanted the comfort of Giovanni's voice. It made her uneasy that she needed to hear him, to feel his touch brushing at the walls of her mind.
Maria Pia was watching her closely. Nicoletta made an effort to smile at her, to hide the uneasy feeling that once again gripped her. She glanced up at the sky, at the dark clouds drifting in from the sea, at the trees swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly she froze, her heart nearly stopping as she spotted the raven sitting high in the branches some distance away, its round, beady eyes watching her. Sunlight gleamed off the shiny feathers of its back, and when it saw it had her attention, it opened its beak and uttered a single squawk of warning.
Nicoletta's heart began to beat hard and fast. She had known, without the presence of the bird, that trouble was looming over her, a dark, sinister premonition she couldn't overcome. No matter how hard she tried to join in the merriment surrounding her, that shadow deep within her portended danger.
"He is coming, he is coming!" The announcement resounded from every corner of the villaggio. "Don Scarletti is coming!"
Laughter and voices were raised all around Nicoletta, a panic of excitement. The villagers rushed from all directions to join the wedding party as it began to make its way toward the cathedral.
Maria Pia gasped and tugged at Nicoletta's arm. "Presto bambina! He cannot see you. It is bad luck." She quickly crossed herself and blessed Nicoletta before dragging her toward the covered coach that would transport them to the cathedral.
Ketsia ran beside them. "Her shoes, Signorina Sigmora! She must have her shoes!"
"I have them, Ketsia," Maria Pia reassured the girl. "I was taking no chances this time. You look quite wonderful today in your new gown."
Nicoletta really looked at the child and was instantly ashamed of her own preoccupation. Ketsia wore a beautiful garment, one obviously made at the don's command. It must have been thrilling for young Ketsia to have been singled out for such special treatment. "You look absolutely beautiful, Ketsia," she said sincerely. Nicoletta reached out and adjusted the crown of flowers on the child's head. "I am honored that you are to aid me this day. Grazie."
Ketsia beamed at the compliment. "She must wear her veil so he cannot see her face before the ceremony," she said very solemnly in her most grown-up voice. "You will see to it, Signora Sigmora?"
Maria Pia nodded her agreement as Ketsia hurried on ahead and Nicoletta carefully dusted off her feet before slipping the shoes onto her feet. She arranged the veil over Nicoletta's face and dropped the heavy curtains to close off the interior of the coach to prying eyes.
Nicoletta entwined her fingers tightly in her lap as the driver shut the door, leaving her alone with Maria Pia. Her heart seemed to be beating loudly in her ears, like the warning rhythm of a drum. She sat quietly with her head bowed, trying desperately to pray, to reach for the good Madonna as Maria Pia so often instructed her to do in times of crisis. The air in the coach seemed to be swallowed up, leaving her nothing to breathe.
You are not riding to your doom, piccola, only to your husband. Am I so terrible that your fear must choke both of us? The masculine voice was husky, sensuous in her mind. She could feel a peculiar warmth seeping into the cold in the pit of her stomach. It moved through her like a drifting cloud, warming her bit by bit.
You are holding your breath again. Do you think your husband is as cursed as your friends are telling you? Cara mia--a note of amusement crept into the sensual timbre of his voice--if I was intending to strangle you, I would have done so when you forced me to chase you down in the hills in the cold of the night. He was blatantly inviting her to share his amusement at the rumors others whispered about him. About his family.
The motion of the coach jolted her thoughts, which stuck in her mind like a dagger. His family. Someone had strangled his grandmother. The woman was dead by a man's hand, and no one had been held accountable. Nicoletta's own mother and aunt had died brutally in the Palazzo delta Morte. And what of Vincente's young wife, Angelita? Almost no one spoke of her death. Portia's husband had died of a wasting illness, yet the healer had not been called to the palazzo. The wind seemed to increase a bit in vehemence as if reflecting her thoughts, buffeting the coach and whistling insistently.
Why hadn't Giovanni Scarletti fel
t the evil stalking his home? Even Maria Pia could feel it, and she did not have an ounce of "different" blood running in her veins.
Why would you think I have not felt it? There was no laughter this time in the voice, no sinful temptation. He sounded more serious than he ever had. I have felt it for more than half my life. It is something we have no choice but to endure.
Endure? Nicoletta was nearly thrown off her seat when the coach abruptly stopped. At once her heart began pounding again. She would have to endure whatever her husband commanded. Once she was bound to him, he owned her body and soul. Her hand flew to the door fastening of the coach, almost of its own volition.
Soft laughter echoed in her mind. I am right beside the coach atop my steed, piccola. Do you think to outrun us in your finery? I should have to carry you back in a most "unseemly" manner. Once again his voice was sensual, a teasing invitation to join him in the deliberate intimacy of his mind meld.
Nicoletta subsided against the seat. She would not be foolish enough to run like a rabbit and provide sport for his soldiers. She could just picture the members of his elite guard wagering on whether she would attempt to escape her fate. She closed her eyes and centered her thoughts on Giovanni, holding onto her memories of him like a boat to an anchor. He was gentle with her. He was kind to Sophie and Ketsia. She held onto those thoughts, held them close to her.
When the coach door was finally opened, she was helped down by a guard she recognized immediately as one of her usual escorts. She had heard him called Francesco. Nicoletta smiled wanly as he bowed courteously. He felt her trembling as he locked his fingers around hers. "It is a good day for it," he whispered in encouragement.
She had been waiting for some time locked in the confines of the coach, and it felt good to stand and stretch her legs. As she lifted her veiled face, through the lace she could see the dark clouds directly overhead. Although they had drifted in slowly, they were now gathering over the church, coming to a standstill there as if the wind had suddenly ceased. Nicoletta's fingers tightened around the guard's, a small sound of distress escaping her throat. Perched upon the very peak of the archway of the cathedral was the raven.
The guard looked at the gathering clouds, then leaned close to Nicoletta. "I have wagered my pay on your courage." His voice was barely audible over the soft stomping of the restless horses. "Some say you do not have the heart to walk beside our don, but I know that you do." Very carefully he helped her over the uneven ground and through the throng of waiting villagers toward the marble steps of the church.
Nicoletta was grateful for his support. It was difficult to think, even to breathe with the eyes of so many people on her, though most were well-wishers and friends. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. The entire villaggio was lining the walkway to the cathedral, the girls in their finery pressing close, the men waving and wishing her well. Some she didn't recognize, their faces blurring together, and she was afraid she might succumb to the vapors.
Once again Francesco saved her. "If you do not make it all the way through the ceremony, my famiglia will not eat for a long time. Courage."
Nicoletta wanted to laugh at his nonsense, but too many people surrounded them, and fear was choking her. Still, his words bolstered her enough to reach her waiting attendants. "We cannot have your family starve over your lost wagers," she murmured without looking at him. She was staring into the yawning cavern of the Holy Church, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid it would jump right out of her body. Ketsia was waiting, hand in hand with Sophie, to fall in behind her as she ascended the wide stairs.
Ahead of her, with the double doors of the cathedral wide open and the interior so deeply shadowed, the multitude seemed huge, indistinguishable as individuals. They were the aristocrazia, filling the pews while her people stood outside. Nicoletta walked as if in a dream, one foot in front of the other up the stairs toward a fate she had no hope of escaping.
She was in the cathedral now, yet she didn't see the ornate sculptures, the archways, the tall stained-glass windows. She saw him. Don Scarletti. He stood waiting at the altar, overwhelming the enormous church with his presence. He was turned toward her, and through the veil of lace, their gazes locked. He was tall and handsome dressed in his elegant clothes. His shoulders were wider than she remembered, his arms and chest thicker. The aura of power that clung to him seemed to fill the enormous cathedral so that there was only the don.
His implacable gaze compelled her forward. She had no choice. He was mesmerizing her into obedience. She walked toward him to the drumbeat of her terrified heart. There was a strange hush in the cathedral, as if a shroud of silence had descended, not in reverence but in horrified anticipation. The sound of the wind penetrated, a sudden slashing at the windows. Outside a wail arose from the crowd as the wind bit at them, an unexpected assault, piercing and cold. The wind rose in a mournful howl and rushed through the church, an icy, swirling omen of disaster.
The guards hastily closed the doors to shut out the violence of the storm now racing in from the ocean, shutting out Nicoletta's villagers as well. They couldn't shut out the sound, however, as the windows rattled and the building seemed to quiver under the attack. Giovanni remained still, his gaze fixed on Nicoletta's so that she could only stare back into his eyes, captured there, held prisoner. Even as nature protested their union, she was compelled to continue forward.
The earth rolled then, a wave beneath their feet, a ripple of protest felt throughout the church. A collective gasp went up, and several women began to cry. Nicoletta felt then as if the ground were striving to break the don's unholy spell over her. She faltered, but she couldn't look away from his gleaming black gaze. He did look a predator, intent on his prey, staring fixedly, with a demand as old as time.
Giovanni moved then, gliding in his deceptively casual way toward Nicoletta. That simple ripple of his power surged through the cathedral, controlled the crowd, and stopped the hysteria, a measure of his utter domination. His gaze never left Nicoletta's face; rather it intensified. He strode the short remaining distance to her side and took her ice-cold hand. Still holding her gaze, he brought her fingers to the warmth of his lips, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and walked her to the altar and the waiting priest.
The ceremony was long, the scents of the precious incense and the chant of ancient Latin reassuring. Nicoletta knelt with the don, bowing her head as the ritual continued. All the while the wind raged at the cathedral in a frenzy to get in. All the while she felt the venomous stares of her enemies boring into her back. She was in a holy place, yet something or someone was plotting unspeakable evil to punish her audacity for daring to join in marriage to the don.
The heavens opened and poured a savage fury of windswept rain over the cathedral as the holy father performed the vows binding her to Giovanni Scarletti. Wind howled and gnashed at the windows, and the deluge pounded the roof and sides of the building. The earth had ceased trembling, but lightning zigzagged across the sky, arcing from black cloud to black cloud, and thunder reverberated so loudly that the church shook.
As the cathedral shuddered under the storm's wild fury, the priest stammered, his voice trailing off, unable to proclaim the couple wed. His hands trembled visibly, and he glanced in fright at the rattling windows. The rain was pelting the stained glass in a pounding flood. The large crowd whispered of unholy practices, crossing themselves and kissing the crucifixes hanging around their necks. No one dared use the term Il Demonio, but that unspoken whisper was the loudest. Giovanni Scarletti stirred then--a ripple of movement, no more--but it was clearly a movement of aggression, of pure menace. The whispers ceased instantly, and the priest made the sign of the cross several times, sprinkling holy water over the couple for good measure.
Nicoletta kept her head bowed, forcing her breath in and out. No one could save her, not the good Madonna and not the holy father. Even the wind and rain protested their marriage, slashing at the church in rage. Nicoletta was acutely awar
e of the man beside her. His strength. His power. The heat of his body. The way his mind was so intimately bound to hers. Her fingers were tangled with his, his thumb feathering along her inner wrist, a silent encouragement with nature's fury shunning their union. She tried to pray, tried to ask for help to defeat the don's mesmerizing spell over her, but, in truth, she wasn't certain she wanted to be free of him.
The priest blessed the small gold ring lying in the middle of his open book of Scripture. He held it out to the don. Those in attendance saw the holy father's hand shake so badly that Don Scarletti had to steady it as he took the tiny golden circle. Nicoletta closed her eyes as the band of his ownership encircled her finger. Lightning struck, ricocheting down the tower so that for one terrible moment the sky seemed to rain fire. Again the priest froze, indecisive, his voice wavering. The don's black gaze gleamed almost eerily in the flashes of lightning.
Looking warily at the rain pelting the windows and then at the elite guards standing shoulder to shoulder at the rear of the church, the holy father pronounced them wed and raised his hand to bless their marriage. Lightning ripped the sky apart, lighting the cathedral, throwing strange, colored shadows to dance grotesquely across the wall. Thunder shook, drowning out anything the priest might be saying. Giovanni never faltered, lifting Nicoletta's veil and bending his head to hers.
"You are very brave, piccola" he whispered against her lips. Then he gently kissed her upturned mouth, a mere feathering of his lips over hers. He caught her firmly to him, pulling her beneath the protection of his shoulder. "At last you are my wife, Nicoletta Scarletti," he pronounced, a wealth of purring satisfaction in his voice.
Nicoletta remained silent, afraid of her own voice, afraid she would make a fool of herself if she attempted to speak. It seemed a dream, a nightmare she was trapped in. She went with Giovanni, moving down the aisle while the guards pushed open the doors and hastily erected a canopy to shelter the couple from the fury of the storm. The drenched, frightened villagers had long since fled, only a few stragglers glancing back over their shoulders as Giovanni swept her into his arms, striding with sure, long steps to the coach.