Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (36 page)

Maria Pia was silent a moment. Then she put her arms around Nicoletta and
hugged her as if she were still a child. "They are still people," she
reminded her gently. "Just people."

Nicoletta shook her head. "They are different. They do not value one
another as we do. Portia struck her own daughter, Margerita. It was a horrible
thing."

"
I
often wish to strike that young woman," Maria Pia
admitted. "If you had the chance, Nicoletta, you might give her a good
clout yourself. She is a vain, wicked girl who thinks of no one but herself.
Surely you are not upset that a long-needed slap was delivered to that girl.
Look at the things she says to poor Sophie." Already Maria Pia's loyalty
had swung solidly to the lonely little girl.

Sudden tears swam in Nicoletta's eyes. "Portia said terrible things to
Margerita. It is no wonder Margerita passes the vileness along to Sophie. Her
madre
called her names and condemned her when Margerita professed to love
someone." Nicoletta looked helplessly at Maria Pia. "In truth, she is
simply young, immature, a year younger even than I."

"Portia Scarletti lives at the generosity of her cousin, the don.
Unless Margerita marries well, they could end up with nothing. Portia Scarletti
must be counting on a good marriage for her daughter," Maria Pia explained
tactfully. "If this young man is a soldier or commoner, naturally Donna
Scarletti would object to the match."

"And then Vincente heard them fighting and came to help,"
Nicoletta said in a low voice, averting her face. "Margerita ran away, but
he and Portia…"

There was a small silence. "I see," Maria Pia said softly. "I
suspected there was something between those two, although they keep it well hidden.
She looks upon him with a kind of greedy possession."

"It felt wrong to me," Nicoletta admitted reluctantly. "I did
not feel happy for them, as if they were in love. Rather it felt like…"
She trailed off. "Desperation? Lust? A battle, even. I cannot say for
certain. But it was distasteful." It was more than distasteful; they had
looked to be at war, grasping and clawing at each other's bodies. Was that how
she looked with Giovanni? A faint scarlet crept up her neck and into her face.

Maria Pia squeezed her hand gently. "When your husband looks at you, it
is with tenderness in his gaze. It is the only reason I can bear your union
with such a man. I still believe he is a heathen, and this castle has earned
the name
Palazzo della Morte,
But, Nicoletta, the don's need of you is
not mere lust."

Nicoletta leaned over to kiss Maria Pia's cheek.
"Grazie.
I know
that was not easy for you to say. I do not know exactly how I feel about
Giovanni. When I am with him it is one way, and then, when we are separated, I
am not so sure of anything. I look to the hills, and they beckon me, but if I
attempted to follow my heart, in truth, I would not know which way to go."
Ashamed, she studiously surveyed the courtyard, not wanting to look directly at
the woman who knew her so well.

"He could have refused to allow me to return to the palazzo and kept us
separated, but he did not," Maria Pia conceded. "He knows I do not
trust him, yet he cares that you are happy,
piccola."

"Yet he is secretive." Nicoletta voiced her concerns, feeling a
traitor.

Shivering, Maria Pia glanced at the long row of windows that covered the
side of the palazzo. They seemed to be great, wide, empty, malevolent eyes
staring at them with glassy hatred. "Do you feel it, Nicoletta, the way
they are always staring at us? Watching us all the time? The palazzo has
secrets, evil secrets, and it doesn't want us to find them out."

Maria Pia didn't have a sixth sense, she wasn't "different" in any
way, yet the sensation of being watched was so strong, she felt it, too.
Nicoletta didn't need any other warning to realize the danger was very real.
She felt compelled to look up at those windows, too. She could make out the
figure of the don pacing back and forth in his study. She could see the shadowy
figures grouped around his desk, looking down at something, studying it. What
was he so involved in that he would leave his marriage bed in the middle of the
night?

"I think they are all mad," Maria Pia ventured. "Antonello
slinks around in silence, secretive and strange, his clothes often torn and
dirty. Vincente pays no attention to his own child, and Giovanni could be
il
—"

"Do not call him that!" Nicoletta said sharply. She then swung
around and marched back toward the palazzo. "I must begin to learn the
workings of this house, or I will be of no use to my husband. I think it is
time for young Sophie, too, to begin her education. She has no knowledge of art
or reading or anything she will need later in her life. No one pays her any
attention, Maria Pia, and she is sorely lacking."

"You do not wish to walk with me?" Maria Pia raised her eyebrows
in speculation.

"I have no time this day. Perhaps tomorrow." Nicoletta hurried
back into the palazzo. She felt guilty for leaving Maria Pia so abruptly, but,
in truth, she already had doubts about her husband, and she didn't want the
older woman to witness or add to them. She moved through the great halls
slowly, taking her time to examine the exquisite artwork, furnishings,
tapestries, and strange carvings. Behind her, in silence, the two guards
shadowed her every move.

It was Francesco who alerted her to the presence of the old man. The eldest
Scarletti watched from the doorway of a small room as she approached. He glared
at her guards. 'Tell Giovanni your guards are useless. Thievery is rampant in
the palazzo. Someone has rifled my maps again. They cannot even guard a little
room."

Nicoletta offered him a tentative smile as she neared him. "Has
something upset you, Nonno? I shall speak to Don Giovanni at once."

He waved her concern aside. "Pay no attention. I shall tell him myself.
We should talk about you. I think you are not the happy bride," he
observed. The voice was low, almost rusty, as if, without yelling, he was
unsure how to speak.

She stopped walking and glanced back at her guards. They were clearly uneasy
with her proximity to the old man. "There is much here I do not
understand, signore, much that frightens me. I look to the hills for solace. Do
you ever walk the hills?" Nicoletta stepped away from the door to gesture
toward the windows.

"Not since I was a young man." His faded eyes took on a far-off
look. "I do not venture far from Giovanni's protection. There is much
hatred toward me." His world-weary gaze fixed on her face. "Tell me,
why are you not afraid of me? Do you not think I will wrap my hands around your
throat and strangle you as I strangled my wife?" He was ramrod stiff, a
fierce pride in his carriage.

"I think, signore, it is much more likely that Maria Pia Sigmora will
do such a thing, or perhaps the don, if I do not soon remember to wear the
shoes he thinks so important." Nicoletta laughed softly and lifted the hem
of her skirt to show him her offending bare toes. She then took the old man's
arm. "If you wish to walk in the hills, Nonno, I will be glad of the
company. I have planted many wonderful healing herbs that need tending. I must
see to them very soon." She yearned for the hills and their solace with
every fiber of her being.

The old man patted her hand gently. "Stay close to your guards,
Nicoletta—if I have your permission to address you as such."

She smiled up at him. "I did not ask your permission to call you Nonno.
I hope that we become good friends. You are my
famiglia
now."

"Giovanni may wish it otherwise," the don's grandfather said
tightly.

"Tell me your story, Nonno. I do not wish to hear gossip from those who
can only make up tales," she encouraged. "I am not afraid of the
truth."

He looked back toward the guards, then down at her upturned face. "You
are either a very brave girl or a very foolish one. I do not know the
truth." Ashamed, he dropped her arm and turned away from her. "They
think I killed her. My beloved Tessa. That I could do such an evil thing. I
think of her every moment, a torment I can never be free of. I cannot speak of
such a vile thing." He shook his head again, walking heavily back into the
room, his shoulders rounded with a terrible weight.

Nicoletta followed him into what looked like a small study. The furnishings
were heavy, the colors dark, but windows lightened the room so that it seemed
airy. There were no carvings, no monstrous sculptures here. Parchments and
several well-worn maps lay on the desk. She glanced at them as she followed the
old man to the wide row of windows. It looked as though Signore Scarletti was
drawing new maps of the don's lands and the surrounding areas. The lines were
neat and precise. She could see that some of the older maps were thin and worn
from use.

"Perhaps you
should
speak of it," Nicoletta said bravely.
She was very aware of the open door, the two guards positioned uneasily just
outside, ready to rush in should there be need.

"I cannot." Tears ran down his worn face. "Leave me
now." It was a fierce whisper, a plea of sheer torment.

Nicoletta went to him, putting her arms around him in an attempt to comfort.
"I cannot leave you like this. It is madness to hold such a terrible thing
inside. Do you think me so weak that I would condemn you? Run from you?"

He put her from him, his body shaking with some terrible truth. His fists
knotted at his sides. "She was like you. Sunshine followed her wherever
she went. Her laughter filled my heart. She was so beautiful. Like a rare
gem." He looked at her. "Like you. She was very like you. Giovanni was
insane to bring you to this place." His voice abruptly swung out of
control, ranting in Latin, condemning his grandson to the fires of hell.

Nicoletta crossed herself even as she shook her head at the clearly agitated
guards. They consulted together briefly, and one quickly moved away. She
hastily lay a calming hand on the eldest Scarletti's arm. "Do you believe
in the Scarletti curse? Is that why you think I am in danger? I am very strong,
Nonno, and I am not afraid to face danger." Deliberately she named him
grandfather to aid his attempt to regain control.

He looked down at her with sorrow-filled eyes. "My Tessa was not afraid
either. Giovanni is much like I was. I see the way he looks upon you. With his
heart. His soul. Yet he sees much. Sunshine follows you, and so do other men's
eyes." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Do you understand what
it is like to be consumed by another being? To live for only that purpose, that
smile, those eyes, to need so much that you cannot breathe if she is not with
you? It is a fire in the blood that cannot be quenched. You watch her every
movement, the slightest gesture." He closed his eyes tightly against the
memories haunting him.

Nicoletta went very still, yet she held onto his arm even as he was confirming
her worst fears of the Scarletti curse. Black-hearted jealousy. It ran deep in
their veins. It created monsters where gentlemen had once stood.

The eldest Scarletti touched her silken hair. "Giovanni is like that
with you. He cannot take his eyes off you. He has seen the others watching you.
Il demonio
is in Giovanni, just as it dwelled in my own boy. Just as it
dwells in me. There were many men who desired Tessa; they could not hide it. I
could not blame them for what I, myself, could not control. But there was one,
a visitor who came often over the years. She smiled upon him. I was mad with
hatred, felt the hot rage and evil in me. It spread until I could not see other
than her smiling at him. I dragged her to our bedchamber. I was rough with her.
I saw that I hurt her, but I could not stop myself. I had drunk spirits, much
of the spirits, more than ever before, trying to drown
il demonio."

The old man sank into a chair and buried his face in his trembling hands.
"I could not drown it. I struck her as she pleaded with me to believe her
innocent. I knew she was innocent. I
knew
it. I had wronged her, yet I
was angry that I needed her so much, that one of her smiles to another man
could bring forth such evil." He looked at Nicoletta. "I am a monster.
I pushed her away from me. I remember how her delicate body fell against the
wall, hard. I left her on the floor while I went to order the visitor from the
palazzo." A sob shook his voice. "I woke in my bed the next morn. My
head pounded as if it would come apart. Tessa lay beside me, very still. I was
so ashamed, I did not want to face her, but I turned my head to look upon her.
I knew she would not condemn me; it was not her way. But her eyes were open,
staring in horror. There were finger marks, great black bruises on her neck.
She lay dead beside me, strangled by the monster that lives in me." He
broke off as sobs tore at his throat.

Nicoletta stroked back his wild, silvery hair, murmuring soothing words to
him. Whatever crime he had committed against his wife, he paid for every moment
of his existence. "You cannot remember? You truly do not remember?"

He shook his head. "I try. Each night I go over and over the argument
in my mind, but there is a blank. I do not remember chasing off the visitor. I
do not remember anything after I left the bedchamber."

"Did anyone see you?"

"My son told me I roared into his study and berated our visitor, but he
escorted me back to our room and put me to bed. He did not see his
madre.
She must have gone up to the ramparts. She liked to walk up there when she was
troubled, to be outdoors, where she could think."

Nicoletta stiffened. The ramparts. Her mother had met her death there, too,
that very night. Someone had used her brutally and thrown her body off the
height. It could not be a coincidence. It could not be. Two women dead.
Murdered. Both had been at the ramparts. She stared at the old man. Had he gone
to find his wife and, in his rage, raped and killed Nicoletta's mother? She
pressed a hand hard against her mouth to keep any sound from escaping.