Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (30 page)

Maria Pia had only enough time to nod in agreement before they were engulfed
by the young, laughing women who bore them off to the community bath. The men
had the other side of the bathhouse, separated by the long meeting hall where
local festivities were often held. Thick stone formed the large communal tub
filled with collected rainwater. It was cold and invigorating, and the women
laughed and gossiped, teasing Nicoletta unmercifully.

The sky was a brilliant blue, the breeze coming off the sea steady and cool.
Dark clouds were drifting in from out over the bay, but the puffs were flowing
slowly, as if they were lazy and not certain they wanted to move inland. The
birds sang to one another cheerfully, and the trees swayed gently to the tune.

Nicoletta tried hard to join in the merriment, knowing it was all in her
honor, but a terrible dread was seizing her, shadowing what should have been
the most memorable occasion in her life. Her natural trepidation of what
happened between a husband and wife was not eased by the teasing; the sexual
innuendoes only heightened her fear of what was to come.

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 felt 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.