Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (13 page)

Nicoletta had hastily averted her gaze as he regarded her, but now her chin
went up, her eyes blazing at him. He was not protecting her; she was his
prisoner! Let the others believe his preposterous explanation—she knew the
truth! She wanted to throw something at his handsome, smiling face.

Maria Pia gasped, clasping her hands to her breast. "Surely such a
thing is not necessary, Don Scarletti." A small
villaggio,
they
could not afford to feed and shelter his troops. And what of the other young
women, with handsome soldiers about? It was a dangerous situation. No one had
expected the don to leave behind a regiment of guards.

"Do not worry. I will provide all their rations and supplies, and my
men will have strict orders. Still, it may be prudent to keep the young women
close to their homes," Giovanni suggested silkily, a clear warning that he
would not be thwarted.

Nicoletta moved away from him, unashamedly retreating behind Maria Pia. She
listened to Don Scarletti's voice, its note of authority fanning the embers of
resistance deep within her into a full-fledged fire. His guards would not hold
her. She would not go to the terrible
Palazzo delta Morte.
The elders
might ignore the long line of mysterious deaths there, but she would not. She
would never forget that terrible day they had returned her mother's body. She
stayed very still in the corner of the room, all the while plotting her escape.

Long after the officials and Don Scarletti had gone, Nicoletta remained
standing by the window, peering out at the blanket of fog. Maria Pia thrust a
cup of steaming hot tea into her hands. "You look as if you might
collapse," she said gently. "You should go to bed and rest. Things
will look better when you are not so tired."

"Will they?" Nicoletta asked bitterly. "He has changed my
life for all time."

Maria Pia patted her shoulder gently. "He is no heathen. He is marrying
you in the Holy Church," she tried to reassure her young charge.

"I do not see him as a good or holy man, Maria Pia. He is following the
dictates of the Church, but for diplomacy, not for any other reason. But you
are correct—I am very tired, and I need to rest." She placed the cup down
carefully and began to rummage through cupboards.

Maria Pia watched her in silence as she stuffed a worn shawl and blanket
into her medical satchel, adding bread and cheese as if preparing for a long
journey. Nicoletta kissed the older woman gently and wrapped her arms around
her, clinging for a long time in silence. They blew out the candles together
and lay down in their beds. Maria Pia fell asleep with tears running down her
face, knowing that when she awoke, Nicoletta would be gone. She didn't try to
talk the young woman out of it—she knew her admonitions would be useless—but
the penalty for such defiance would be death. If Nicoletta made good her
escape, Maria Pia would never see her again. And if she were caught… Either
way, she would never see her beloved Nicoletta again.

Nicoletta lay quietly, her mind working on her plans. If she moved around
too much, she would be more easily followed. It would be better to find a
hiding place and stay quiet for a few days until the initial furor over her
departure died down. At first, everyone would be out looking, and she would
hardly escape notice if she was on the move. Better to hide and wait awhile.
She had complete faith that she could slip past the guards. They would never
expect her to run, and certainly not at night, when wild animals hunted their
supper. Not when the superstitious feared the dark shadows and the legendary
monsters roaming the hills. She could only pray to the good Madonna that her
desperate act would bring no harm to the faithful and innocent Maria Pia.

Nicoletta lay in the warmth of the hut while the wind howled and moaned
outside and the fog thickened into a heavy soup. She waited until Maria Pia was
in a deep sleep. The guards would be warming themselves by their campfires,
perhaps looking directly into the flames, temporarily dimming their vision. She
took care to dress in dark gray. Not so dark the fog would reveal her, nor so
light the darkness would give her up. She deftly braided her hair and wrapped
her traveling shawl tightly around her. Clutching her bag, she slipped out the
door, a slim shadow merging quickly with the night. At once she melted into the
fog.

Nicoletta moved swiftly and silently through the village, carefully avoiding
the clusters of soldiers hunkering by their fires. Her bare feet unerringly
found the narrow trail leading higher up into the mountains. She would go up
the coastline before heading for the far side of the hills, away from the
palazzo. There, she knew about a network of caves that curved deep down into
the earth. Few people were aware of their existence, and fewer still had the
nerve to enter them.

An owl hooted, the sound distorted in the heavy fog. She heard a rush of
wings quite near her. Branches swayed and danced, clicking together in a
macabre stick-figure dance, the sound loud in the darkness. She saw the glowing
eyes of a night predator watching her through the trees. There was a strange
feel to the air, it was thick, like quicksand, and her legs soon tired, her
muscles cramping. Nothing on her beloved mountain seemed the same. Even the
sheep seemed hostile, strange white apparitions appearing in the mist.

The wind suddenly stilled. The leaves ceased to rustle. The night seemed
unusually quiet. Nicoletta froze, simply waiting, not daring to move in the
unexpected pocket of silence. A gentle breeze started up again, a soft tugging
at her skirts, a ruffling at her hair. But the wind brought with it that
murmuring voice, brushing in her mind like the gossamer wings of butterflies.
The voice seemed clearer now, she could almost distinguish the words. It was the
don's voice, no question she would recognize it anywhere. Soft yet commanding,
its steady, persistent tone making it difficult to concentrate.

Nicoletta pressed her hands to her ears, attempting to shut him out and keep
walking. But the voice in her mind was whispering, enticing, nibbling away at
her confidence, slowing her down, so that she felt as if she were moving in a
dream, unable to distinguish reality from fantasy. She was partially up the
mountain when she realized that the don was well aware she was fleeing, and he
was using his hypnotic voice to slow her progress. No coincidence, this voice
whispering on the wind; but a deliberate attempt to hold her to him.

She clung to a tree to steady herself. "Stop it," she whispered to
the night. He had to stop, or she might go mad. Was this what had happened to
his great-great-grandmother, the woman who had thrown herself off the
wide-winged gargoyle crouching atop the tower overlooking the violent sea? A
guardian of the palazzo, they claimed, yet a horrible creature to her. Had the
poor girl been forced to marry a Scarletti? Had she been a victim of the Bridal
Covenant, too? Ripped from her home and family and given in a loveless marriage
to a ruthless heathen of a man? Had her husband driven her to insanity with his
commanding murmuring in her mind? "Stop it," she whispered again, her
voice inaudible in the blanket of fog.

Nicoletta turned along a thin ribbon of a trail that led to the more jagged
cliffs. The rocky ledge was slippery from the mist, and the slime on the smooth
walls caused her hands to slip when she reached for purchase. She clung there,
her bare feet scraped and bleeding from the sharp rocks. The voice never let
up, not for a moment. She could make out some of the words now.
I will not
let you leave me. I am coming for you. You cannot escape me.

Nicoletta shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the voice from inside her
head. There was no pleading or begging. He was as arrogant as ever, demanding
her return, demanding she comply with his wishes, his orders. There was no
gentleness in him, only a hard, ruthless authority. He would find her. She
couldn't escape him. How would it be possible, when he shared her mind? And if
he caught her now? She didn't want to think about the consequences she might
suffer at his hands.

Would he wrap his strong fingers around her neck and strangle her? Would he
squeeze the breath out of her slowly, lifting her off her feet with his
superior strength and height? Is that what his grandfather had done to his
grandmother? Had a legacy of hatred and madness been passed down through the
generations? Was that the terrible curse that hung over the Scarletti family?
Was that the fate awaiting her? It was easy to imagine it was so, there in the
strange, heavy fog with his voice whispering to her continually. She touched
her throat with trembling fingers. She could still feel the imprint of his hand
hot against her bare skin.

I am no longer amused,
cara.
The night has a bite to it. Come back
before I lose patience with your foolishness.

Now his words were very clear. How could it be that he could talk to her in
her mind? Surely, as Maria Pia had once suggested, he was in league with the
devil. He possessed great magic, and most likely his was not a gift from the
good Madonna, as hers was. She bit at her fingernails nervously, unable to move
on the slippery ledge with her legs shaking so badly. "Go away," she
whispered to him. "Go away!"

He was stalking her, very close, a silent predator hunting beneath the cover
of darkness, as lethal as any wolf. Nicoletta felt along the cliff edge for a
firm hold. Without warning, strong fingers circled her slender wrist like a
shackle. Don Giovanni Scarletti simply pulled her straight up, so that for one
terrifying moment her legs dangled over the cliff, her entire weight supported
by his one hand. She cried out, clutched at his arm, her feet digging for solid
purchase of any kind.

He set her on the ground beside him. Nicoletta lashed out blindly, furious
at him for frightening her. Furious at him for catching up with her. Furious at
him for choosing her. He caught her fist in midair and simply stood there
looking down at her. They stared at one another, his black eyes unblinking,
like those of a large mountain lion.

He had every right to throw her off the cliff if he so desired. No one would
question the don. Nicoletta couldn't believe this was happening. She flung up
her head in challenge. "Why are you insisting on a bride? And why
me?" With the sudden insight that often flooded her in moments of high
emotion, she added, "You did not even want a wife." She studied his
face. "You never intended on taking a bride, not even to provide you with
an heir."

He slipped his arms out of his coat. "You are shivering again,
piccola.
Is it from your fear of me, or is it from the cold?"

He enfolded her small frame in the large coat, pulling the edges together so
that she felt as if she were in the warmth of his arms, surrounded by the heat
of his body. She looked around them. "Where are the others? Your soldiers?"

He raised one elegant eyebrow. "Warming their hands by their camp
fires, no doubt. I did not want them to realize that my bride feared me so
much, she ran away in the night at the first opportunity." He sounded more
sardonic than perturbed. He shrugged his wide shoulders casually. "Better
to collect you myself. It would not do for my men to know that my bride
preferred the company of wolves to mine." His hand brushed a stray strand
of inky black hair from her face, his touch lingering on her skin. "I should
not have left temptation open to you. I knew what was in your mind."

"Reading my mind?" She dared him to admit it and condemn himself
as a servant of the devil.

"Your face is transparent,
piccola.
I do not find you in the least
difficult to read. You did slip past me," he conceded, bowing slightly in
salute. "But I think our adventures are over for this night."

Nicoletta reluctantly walked beside him. "Why would you suddenly want a
bride?"

Giovanni was silent so long, she was certain he would not answer her.
"I have recently discovered my great need of a… mate." His voice was
a deliberate seduction, suggestive and so intimate that she blushed wildly.

Nicoletta found she was shivering again despite the warmth of his coat.
"I just want to go home." In spite of her every resolve, she sounded
like a forlorn child.

"That is where I am taking you—and where we will be wed immediately. It
may be diverting to some men to chase young women around in the hills at night,
but it is, after all, a rather chilly business."

"Don Scarletti, there are so many women who would be honored to be your
bride. Any one of them would make you a wonderful wife, much more fitting to
your station than I." Nicoletta attempted to make him see reason.

"But then, I am not looking for a wife who is 'fitting to my station.'
The needs I have only you can meet." He reached out absently and pushed
back another stray tendril of hair curling on her forehead. His fingertips
lingered, as if he couldn't help himself, as if he couldn't stop touching the
softness of her skin. It was almost a caress, sending a shiver of awareness
rushing through her with the heat of a flame. She saw the gleam of the heavy
ring bearing his family crest.

"You chose me because of what I saw on the cliff," she accused,
frightened by her own body's reaction to him. "I did not tell anyone. I
knew you killed only in self-defense."

"Do not speak of it again." His voice was a whip of command.

She walked for a distance in silence, turning over his words in her mind,
not understanding him at all. Afraid to understand him. "We are going the
wrong way," she suddenly noticed. "We will miss the
villaggio
if we continue in this direction."

"I am escorting you to
my
home, where you will remain under
guard until we are wed. I have neither the time nor the inclination to go on
nightly hunts for my errant bride." A note of mocking amusement crept into
his voice.