Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (22 page)

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.

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 flashed 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.