Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (46 page)

"I see that you give it power. As long as you believe in it, you
breathe life into it, Giovanni. You give it power. It lies in wait, watching
you for a moment of weakness. And we all have them, you know. Each of us. If
you believe you are cursed with murderous, uncontrollable jealousy, there will
come a time when I will smile in the direction of some young, handsome soldier,
and you will see me. The curse will be there, crouching like a wild beast,
lying in wait to take a hold of you. I will not give it life; you will have
already done so." She sounded sad.

Giovanni bent his head to hers at once, kissing her eyes, the corner of her
mouth. "Tell me how to break the curse,
angelo mio.
Tell me what to
do. I feel it clawing at me when I look out the window and see you laughing in
the courtyard with Francesco or Dominic or even
mio fratello.
You are so
beautiful, you take my breath away. I know without you there would be
emptiness. I have endured emptiness, and I do not want to go back. I would
rather die now, happy for once in my existence, than ever risk harming you in
some way as
mio nonno
did his wife. He adored
mia nonna,
yet she
is dead, and he is hollow. Better that I never took you as my wife than have
the fate of the
famiglia
catch up with us."

"Then you must believe in me, Giovanni," Nicoletta whispered
softly. She framed his face in her hands. "Believe in what you see in my
eyes when I look upon you. Believe in my body when you touch me. Believe in
yourself, in your strength and power, but most of all, believe in us. If you
can do that, the curse will be broken, useless. I could smile at a hundred
young, handsome men, and you would always know I see only your face, want only
your body. It is up to you." She allowed her hands to slip away from him,
but her eyes were steady on his.

"You think the Scarletti men have fashioned their own curse?" He
shoved a hand through his dark hair, tousling it even more than did the wind.
"Do you think our women have been driven insane or murdered for a
powerless curse?" His fingers tangled in her hair, the long, silken
strands sliding around his palm.

Dark color swept into her face. His voice was mild, yet he made her feel young
and foolish. Her gaze fell away from his. Who was she to try to explain away
something that his family had lived with for generations? Giovanni caught her
chin in his palm, forcing her to look at him. "Do you believe what you are
saying, Nicoletta?" he persisted. "Really believe it?"

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding. She did believe what she was
saying, but did she trust him enough to admit it? She was so much younger and
inexperienced than he, a woman and of much lower status.

"Nicoletta." He breathed her name out into the wind. His talisman.
His world. His arms enfolded her again, holding her tightly against his body.

She decided to speak and risk his derision. "Everyone has weaknesses,
Giovanni. Even the Scarlettis. Jealousy is just as wrong as telling an untruth.
It eats one from the inside out, destroys men and women. It is a weakness, not
a curse. You can stop it just as your
nonno
could have stopped it. You
should not give it merit, should not nurture it or feed it or allow it any
power over you at all. It is not really a curse, Giovanni. No legacy of love
gone wrong. In truth, it is something you must fight, like an enemy or an
illness. Be vigilant at all times, never lower your guard, and you will conquer
the 'curse.'"

"You believe it is that easy?" There was a grimness to his voice.

Nicoletta shook her head. "Not easy, and yet not so difficult. It is a
matter of trusting yourself and the one you love. You cannot simply
own
someone and expect her to love you in return," she pointed out bravely.

He stared down into the pounding, foaming water, the waves rushing at the
shore and crashing against the rocks. His fingers found the nape of her neck,
massaging gently to ease her fears. "Is that what Scarletti men do? Own
their women?"

"You tell me. You are the one afraid of the curse, Giovanni. I do not
fear the curse anymore, only one who believes so strongly in its power to
destroy us."

He was silent for a long time, giving her words the respect of thought.
"How did you get to be so wise at such a young age?"

"Each of us has our strengths to balance our weaknesses. I have many
weaknesses, Giovanni. Men are not one of them. I am loyal and truthful, and I
will be your faithful helpmate if you allow it." She ducked her head.
"Among my weaknesses are that I do things without thinking, and I need the
freedom of the hills." Her voice was becoming drowsy.

He laughed softly. "I never would have guessed such a thing,
piccola.
But you are weary, falling asleep. We must go home this night. You will have a
patient waiting. I would like to get there soon to ensure his identity is not
discovered."

Nicoletta groaned softly in protest but obediently stood and stretched to
ease the stiffness in her body. She rubbed her cheek along his broad shoulder.
"I do not care where we sleep, as long as we do it soon."

Giovanni swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "You
look like a
bambina
with your big eyes drooping, ready for sleep."
He bent his head to hers, his mouth drifting lazily over her face. "Thank
you for being my wife."

She smiled up at him, her long lashes sweeping down. "You are very
welcome." She was floating, half awake, half asleep, as he carried her
back to where he had left the horse. She welcomed sleep, but most of all she
welcomed the comfort of his arms. She had dared to tell him her thoughts, and
he wasn't angry with her, nor had he dismissed her ideas as silly and childish.
He had treated her as an equal. That meant more than any gift he could have
given her.

Far off, somewhere on the edge of a dream, she heard the cry of an owl. It
seemed to echo through the fog, a strange, distorted note that brought a shadow
to her dream. Nicoletta frowned and turned her face into the shelter of
Giovanni's chest, pressing close to the steady beat of his heart. The owl was
answered by another, this one much closer and louder. The inner shadow
lengthened and grew.

"Nicoletta." There was a clear warning in Giovanni's whisper. He
put her feet on the ground, his mouth against her ear. "There is trouble, someone
stalking us. The horse is gone." His arm swept her protectively behind his
solid frame.

"I am sorry, I was so sleepy," she murmured softly. It was a poor
excuse; she should have realized the danger immediately. The owl had warned her
twice, the shadow had grown deep within her, but she had been tired, drifting
in and out of sleep. Now they were in peril.

They heard a faint sound to their left, something moving stealthily through
the brush. Far off the owl hooted again. Some distance away, they could hear
the sound of hooves thudding on the ground. The fog was very thick, weaving in
and out of the trees, swirling madly. Giovanni reached behind him to take her
hand as they moved together along the narrow path in the general direction of
the palazzo.

Nicoletta knew the hills, even at night, but Giovanni would not allow her to
take the lead. He moved silently, so much so that she clutched at his hand to
ensure that he was still there. The white mist spread like a blanket, moving
through the trees and brush. Visibility was poor, but the shadow within her
grew until her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. Something was after
them, man or beast, stalking them in the darkness.

Men,
Giovanni whispered in her mind, obviously reading her intense
emotions. He squeezed her hand in reassurance. They made their way in silence,
with only their breathing and the loud beating of their hearts to betray their
presence. The path winding through the hills began its steep descent. They
would be entering the narrow mountain pass soon. The cliffs rose sharply on
both sides, and the trail was rocky.

Giovanni stopped so abruptly that she ran into him before she could halt.
"This is a perfect place for an ambush," he whispered.

The wind here tore at their clothing, biting cold, so ferocious that it
whistled through the mountain pass like the wailing of ghosts gathering for a
wake. Nicoletta clutched at Giovanni's arm. "We must go the long
way," she cautioned, tugging at his wrist. "This feels wrong. I know
you feel it, too. We are not supposed to enter this pass."

He swept her close to him, putting his lips to her ear so she could hear
him. "You are such a child of nature,
piccola.
The winds always
whip through here from the sea. It is no warning for us."

But she knew it was. She always knew. Yet Giovanni was already in motion,
daring the angry sea gods, a mortal unimpressed by their frightening display of
power. A Scarletti who boldly claimed his bride though he lived under a curse
that could soon see her killed. A don who dared to live a life of deadly
intrigue and political unrest while holding his people together. Nicoletta
tightened her grip on his hand, wanting to pull him to her, to keep him safe,
but she knew he would press onward. It was his nature to meet danger and conquer
it. And she loved him. The realization came at that awful moment, with her hair
whipping around in a frenzy and her body shivering with cold. With the wind
shrieking angrily at their defiance and with robbers or worse stalking them.
She loved Don Giovanni Scarletti, curse or no curse. And she would follow where
he led.

The trail was strewn with rocks, and Nicoletta's feet hurt as she dashed
blindly over them. She heard a rumbling sound, low at first, then louder,
coming from above them. Giovanni yelled something to her, but the wind whipped
it away. He thrust her in front of him, shoving her hard. Then she felt it, the
pelting stones coming from the cliffs looming over them. A rockslide. Her heart
in her throat, she began to run, her hand slipping out of Giovanni's. A figure
loomed up in front of her even as the shower of pebbles and rocks thundered
around her.

Nicoletta heard her own involuntary scream faintly as the wind whipped it
back into her face. She dodged the lunging figure and was nearly thrown against
the cliff face as Giovanni literally shoved her aside. She saw the two men come
together amid the raining rocks and the swirling fog. Off balance, she fell
against the cliff, scraping her arm but fortunately missing being crushed by a
boulder that fell mere inches to her left. She heard Giovanni moan in pain and
saw his attacker's arm rise to stab him again. The man shouted his triumph.

Nicoletta recognized the voice. Aljandro. He had come out of the night to
exact his revenge, waiting, stiletto in hand, someone starting the rockslide
from above to aid him. She flung herself at him from the side, leaping with
enough force that she knocked into him and spoiled his aim. The sharp stiletto
had found Giovanni once but not the second time.

Aljandro threw her away from him, and she landed heavily on the rocks, the
wind knocked from her lungs. For a moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
Giovanni was on him again, two combatants fighting fiercely to the death. She
could hear their blows, but their figures were obscured by the swirling mist
and a fresh shower of stones. The missiles fell from above, bouncing off the
cliffs to hit the trail and roll in all directions. One of the men was hit; she
heard his grunt of pain. And then another sound echoed, rivaling the howling
wind. A rolling thunder, deep and cavernous, a terrible grinding noise that
heralded unprecedented danger.

Run!
Giovanni's command was in her mind, sharp and vehement.
"Run!" he shouted aloud, the wind carrying his voice away from her.

Huge boulders were crashing to earth, so many of them, they were burying the
narrow pass. Aljandro and Giovanni still struggled.
Run!
he commanded
again. Finally, she turned and ran toward the
palazzo,
and help, with
the sound of the world coming to an end in her ears. The pass was now blocked
off behind her by the tumbled boulders, and Giovanni, on the other side of the
barricade, was in grave danger. He faced Aljandro and another killer, above,
who had sprung the trap.

The rockslide stopped as abruptly as it had started, plunging the night into
eerie silence. Fine grains of dust mixed with the swirling mist, turning the
white fog a dull gray. Nicoletta stopped and turned back, now in the open,
staring at the great pile of boulders blocking the narrow pass. She could not
get back to Giovanni from this side. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep
from weeping uselessly. She had to get help, summon soldiers to go to the aid
of their don. She did not believe he was dead. She would not believe it. There
was a shadow darkening her soul, but she would not believe he was gone from
her.

Nicoletta turned and ran. She knew the path, had used it hundreds of times,
roaming the hills day and night in her childhood. She had often gazed at the
palazzo, awed by the great statues and gargoyles that guarded its eaves and
turrets, the long ramparts where legends and rumors were born. She ran until
her lungs were burning and she was gasping for breath. She ran until she could
no longer feel the pain in her bare feet.

The wind coming off the sea became more ferocious than ever. It nearly
knocked her over, pushing her along the cliffs to the shortcut leading down to
the palazzo grounds. She lifted her hands to the flying, blinding mass of her
hair, twisting it as she hurried down the steep, slippery slope. It took two
attempts to the knot her hair in place. She was exhausted, frightened, nearly
spent from her race along the cliffs. Her heart and lungs felt as though they
might burst, and her face was wet with tears. She stumbled several times as she
ran, limping now, to the immaculate grounds of the palazzo, calling out to the
guards.