Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (47 page)

From out of the shrubbery forming the maze an owl swooped low, rushing right
at her face. Nicoletta screamed, throwing up her hands to protect her eyes. She
felt the powerful draft from the wings as the bird of prey veered off, the tip
of a wing feather brushing her cheek. The terrible knot in her stomach grew,
and she stopped moving and held herself very still, taking in a deep breath of
clear, cool air in an attempt to calm herself and read all necessary signs.

"Nicoletta! Nicoletta!" Portia's voice rose eerily out of the
maze, a wail of terror, a plea for help. "Help! You must help us! Can you
hear me? Nicoletta! We need you now. Margerita is dying. I cannot stop the
bleeding.
Per l'amore di Dio,
help us before it is too late."

The dark shadow in her lengthened and grew until Nicoletta was consumed by
it. She hesitated, pulled in two directions, the need to get aid for Giovanni
paramount, but the terror and desperation in Portia's voice dragging her
reluctantly toward the woman. The owl glided in front of her, silent now that
it had her attention. She quickened her pace, racing for the maze, calling out
to the guards for help, to anyone who might hear her. The wind whipped the
sound of her voice back into her face. "Portia, what is it? Giovanni needs
help. Tell me quickly." She yelled the words at the top of her lungs,
hoping anyone might hear.

"Oh, Nicoletta, thank the good Lord, please help my angel, my daughter.
Help her, she is dying." The voice sounded thin and reedy, filled with
tears, with sorrow.

Her heart pounding, Nicoletta followed the bird, felt the premonition of
danger, of trouble, growing stronger with every step. When she rounded a corner
she found Portia lying in her path, her body covering her daughter's. There was
blood on Portia's temple streaks of it trickling down her face like red tears.
Blood on her dress and on her hands where they were pressed to Margerita's
body. "I cannot stop it. He did this to her. He did this to my
daughter!" Portia sobbed.

Nicoletta sank onto the ground beside the two women, lifting Portia's hands
away to see her daughter's wound. "Who did such a thing?" she asked,
horrified by the sight. Margerita looked little more than a child, pale and
helpless, her eyes wide open and staring in terror and pain. Her breath was
coming in painful, whimpering gasps. "Portia, go for help. I will do what
I can for her, but I need Maria Pia and my satchel, and you must send the soldiers
after Giovanni. He is injured and under attack in the pass." Nicoletta's
orders were crisp and firm.

Portia tried to rise, nodding, then sank back to lie facedown on the path,
her eyes staring into her daughter's. Nicoletta looked down to see the stab
wounds in Portia's back. "Portia," she whispered softly. "Who
did this to you?" Quickly she tried to press her hands to the wounds, to
stem the flow of blood.

"Save my daughter. May God forgive me, I let him do this. I let him put
his filthy hands on her and use her the way he used me. But she is not like me.
Not like him. She believed in his pretty words. Save her for me, Nicoletta.
Save my child, as I did not save your
madre."
Her voice was very
thin, a thread of sound only.

Nicoletta stiffened at the mention of her mother, but she obediently went
back to tending Margerita. There was nothing she could do for Portia; she had
suffered too many wounds, lost too much blood. She had a chance of saving
Margerita if the dagger had not penetrated too deep. She summoned every ounce
of strength she possessed, looked up to the wildly waving canopy above her
head, and yelled at the top of her lungs for Francesco, for Dominic, for any
within hearing to come to her aid.

Bending low, she put her mouth to Portia's ear. "I will not fail you,
Portia. Do you hear me? I will save your child."

Portia's desperate gaze locked onto her face, although she didn't lift her
head. Tears welled up and fell to mingle with the blood pooling on the ground.
Her lips trembled for a moment as if she might say something. She lay there
staring at Nicoletta as death overtook her.

Nicoletta blocked out the sight of Portia lying still in death, the thought
of Giovanni desperately needing her aid, and turned her complete attention to stopping
the flow of blood from Margerita's wound. She worked steadily, doing her best
not to hurt the girl further with her ministrations.

"Madre
saved my life," Margerita said softly in wonder.
"She really loved me after all."

"You need to stay quiet, close your eyes, and do not move at all,"
Nicoletta cautioned. "I have done what I can, but now I need to get aid. I
must leave you for a few minutes, but what I have done will hold if you keep
very still. I promise I will come back for you."

She had taken only a few steps when she heard voices. Antonello's.
Vincente's. Francesco's. They were calling her name. Someone had heard her
cries. At once Margerita appeared agitated, her eyes wide with terror.
Nicoletta put a finger to her lips and hurried away from the girl.

"Francesco!" She called for her personal guard, the man Giovanni
had trusted with his bride's safety. "Francesco, someone has murdered
Portia here in the maze, and Margerita is severely injured. Giovanni is in the
pass, wounded. We were attacked, and he was stabbed. Send soldiers to aid him.
Send soldiers for Margerita, too, and trust no one but Giovanni. Do you hear
me?
No one
else. Not even his brothers."

She heard his instant response, the roar of his orders to the soldiers.
"Donna Nicoletta, call out to me. I will follow the sound of your
voice."

"Hurry, Francesco. Margerita needs aid swiftly." Nicoletta rushed
around another bend, afraid to draw the wrong people with the sound of her
voice. She trusted none of them. The roughhewn, mysterious Antonello was
certainly suspect, and Portia had been in a violently passionate relationship
with Vincente.

Nicoletta thought about Margerita slapping her, seeing the strange marks on
her wrist, the dark bruises just like the ones Beatrice, the maid, had on her
wrist. Nicoletta rounded the next bend, trying to put all the pieces together.
Could it be Antonello? But somehow he didn't fit. Margerita's wrists.
Beatrice's wrists.
I let him put his filthy hands on her and use her
the way he used me.

Hard, hurting hands caught at the knot of her long hair and yanked her
backward so that her eyes flooded with tears and her feet went out from under
her. She fell to the ground, staring up at the dark, handsome face.
Vincente.
It couldn't be. He had a child, a beautiful little girl Nicoletta already
loved. He smiled down at her and put a finger to his lips, ordering her to
remain silent.
I let him put his filthy hands on her and use her the
way he used me.
Of course it was Vincente.

Nicoletta stared at the sharp point of the dagger he clutched tightly in his
fist. It was covered in fresh blood. Her heart nearly stopped, then began to
beat very fast. He caught at her shoulders, lifting her easily to her feet.
"You are going to tell me how to read the maps," he said softly, his
mouth close to her ear. "He has taken the treasures and hidden them inside
the passageway, but with the key to the maps, I will be able to align with the
king of Spain." Vincente leaned closer so that his lips touched her jaw.
"Your skin is soft but cold. Like ice." His tongue stroked a
monstrous caress along her cheek.

"What maps?" Tears were running down her face, her scalp hurting
from the yanking on her hair. "Vincente, I do not know about any maps
other than those in your
nonno's
study."

He began dragging her through the maze, finding his way quickly, with deadly
efficiency, away from the sounds of the searching soldiers. Away from Antonello
and Francesco. Away from Margerita. "
I
know about the maps,"
he hissed at her. "I searched for so long, but I found them at last. They
are on the walls of the upstairs room where the boat is, and the one exactly
like it downstairs. They are there in the carvings. I know I am right. Too
clever to be fooled. The maps are in plain sight, yet no one has ever discerned
that until now. Until
I
solved the puzzle." He was bragging as they
ran, uncaring that branches were hitting her in the face as they raced along.

"It was you throwing your voice so that we could hear it. Were you
trying to drive poor little Sophie mad?" Nicoletta did her best to hang
back, to slow him down. "What purpose would that serve? Giovanni already
was taking the responsibility for her."

"Giovanni!" He spat the name at her, infuriated at the mere
mention of his oldest brother. "Portia, the imbecile, had her moved
downstairs, right into the very room I wanted to search. She was tired of the
nightmares. Sophie would wake up screaming, and Portia did not want to attend
her, so she sent her where she would not be heard. I could not have her in that
room. I knew I was close to finding the maps. I knew the key must be the boats,
the golden boats. Giovanni left them out, while the rest of our riches,
my
riches, were hidden."

They were at the edge of the maze, near the path leading down toward the
sea. Vincente hesitated, looking back toward the palazzo that loomed out of the
mist like a giant. The dark windows stared at them blankly. "So you used
your voice to frighten her so you could have an excuse to move her? Why didn't
you simply insist she stay in the nursery?"

Vincente smiled at her, his teeth white in the darkness. "I did not
want to draw attention to myself. Better the role of the long-suffering
padre
than the ogre. She was moved exactly as I knew she would be. There was an
entrance to the passageway in both rooms and also one in the nursery."

"So you dumped the scorpions to persuade them to move rooms again when
you wanted to inspect the walls." Nicoletta was inching away from him, all
too conscious of the dagger he held by his side.

He turned his attention from the palazzo, its lights growing brighter as the
searchers lit more torches. The wind blew sparks across the courtyard until it
looked as if it were raining fire. Vincente cursed, furious that they could not
return unseen to the palazzo. His fingers bit into her arm. "You know how
to read the maps. I know you do. That is why you were always going to those
rooms."

She knew then, knew the answer. She had seen it one sunny morning when the
light spilled through the strange stained glass to mark the walls with color.
The key to the map was the morning sun. It couldn't be read at night. She shook
her head. "I was looking for clues to the voices, Vincente. I did not know
about the maps on the wall." She changed tactics, smiling up at him. "This
is so wrong. We should go to the palazzo, find Giovanni together, talk to him.
You are his
fratello."

"You changed everything," Vincente spat at her, a low, vicious
sound filled with hatred. "The moment he laid eyes on you, everything
changed. Giovanni began to care about living; he became more cautious. There
was no chance of an… accident. And once he wed you, you would soon produce his
heirs."

Nicoletta could feel her heart pounding in alarm, beating out a rhythm of
fear. Her mouth was almost too dry to attempt speech. His hold on her arm was
so tight, it was beginning to go numb. She was also very aware of the dagger he
held in his fist, now close to her throat. Vincente began to drag her toward
the cliffs. He was trembling with his rage, toward her, toward Giovanni.

Giovanni.
She couldn't think of him, couldn't allow her mind to dwell
on the possibility that he was seriously injured or worse. She could only pray
that Francesco was not in the payment of Vincente, that he was loyal to his don
and would heed her orders.

"Do you know what the Scarletti curse really is? Have you guessed yet
what the truth is? It is said none of us can escape it, no matter how hard we
try." Vincente's voice was soft, almost gentle. It made her blood run
cold. "
Mio padre
did what he could to protect us, but he
soon realized Antonello and Giovanni were not strong enough. Only I was. Night
after night he would come to my room and whisper to me that I was the only
Scarletti strong enough to conquer the curse."

He shook her viciously, as if she were a doll, yet rather absently, as if
perhaps he had forgotten she was at the other end of his hand. The action
pushed her dangerously close to the edge of the crumbling cliffs. "You
see? I know I am the one destined to rule. I am the strongest. The Scarletti
men are cursed to love only once, with our hearts and our minds and our souls.
That one woman consumes us, becomes our life, until we are no longer real men.
But I was the one padre trained to conquer the curse. I can lure women to me,
make them my slaves. They lie for me. They even beg me to hurt them, to do
anything to them that gives
me
pleasure. They are willing to sell their
souls for me! I am the strong one, and I deserve to rule, not Giovanni. He was
never meant to be don."

His words were making her ill. His debauchery had led him to terrible
depravities. He was looking at her with his sickness evident in his eyes.
"So many women—they are nothing to me, you know. Nothing at all. The ones
who look at me as you do, with that mixture of contempt and pity, those are the
ones I like the most. They have spirit; they put up a fight before they crumble
like dust in my hands. Your mother was very like you." His voice turned
cunning. "None of them knew I did it. They thought it was Nonno. Even
Nonno thought he might have done it. I did it!" he gloated. "Just as
I strangled
mia nonna."

Nicoletta went rigid, her stomach churning and protesting her proximity with
a man so sick. "You killed your own
nonna?"
Her voice was a
whisper of sound, a shocked gasp. She could believe his baseness with women,
but to murder his own grandmother, and allow his grandfather and everyone else
to believe the elder Scarletti guilty, was the worst kind of sin.