"He's in a foul mood because he thinks to send me away again for my own good. He's afraid he'll harm me."
Tears glittered in Sarina's eyes. "We all hoped you would be the one to help us. But it was wrong of us to sacrifice you. It's possible the don is right and you should go." Her hand brushed over Isabella's shoulder. "He is very dangerous. It's why he keeps to himself--to protect us all from the beast."
Isabella pulled away from Sarina in a fit of temper, her dark eyes stormy. "He is a man, and like any other man he needs companionship and love. Did it occur to any of you that had you treated him more like a man and less like a beast, you might have seen him as a man?" She paced the room in restless fury, then swung around to make her challenge. "He's sacrificed much for his people. Are you coming with me to look at his wounds?"
Sarina studied Isabella's furious face for a long moment. She sighed softly. "He'll not be happy to see us," she warned.
"Well, that's too bad. He'll have to live with it."
"And it's entirely improper for you to visit him in your nightclothes," Sarina pointed out, but she led Isabella out of the steamy room to the wide staircase leading to the upper stories.
Isabella's shoulders were stiff as she marched up the stairs, prepared for war. She was angry with the lot of them. And close to tears. That made her even angrier. She had fainted like a dolt. It was no wonder the don was ready to send her away. Her father had been right about her all along. She had never measured up, never had the courage to be sold into marriage to further the Vernaducci interests. Perhaps when Don Rivellio had first offered for her, had she accepted, her father would still be alive. Her brother would not have been imprisoned and their lands confiscated. She had been such a coward, not wanting to be touched by a grasping, greedy man with a sick, lustful smile and flat, cold eyes.
She had been twelve summers when Don Rivellio had visited their palazzo the first time, his gaze following her every move. He licked his lips often, and twice, beneath the table, she had seen him obscenely rubbing his crotch while he grinned at her. He had sickened her with his cold good looks and evil smile. After his visit, two of the maids had been found sobbing--raped, bruised, battered, and almost too frightened by his perverted tortures to tell their don what had taken place. Both claimed he had nearly killed them, deliberately strangling them to terrify them into silence. The bruising around their throats had convinced Isabella they were telling the truth.
A sob escaped, and she jammed a fist against her lips to choke it back. She knew she lived in a world where a woman was little more than a way to acquire property or heirs. But Lucca had valued her, had conversed with her as if she were a man. He had patiently taught her to read and write and speak more than one language. He taught her to ride a horse and, most of all, to believe in her own strength. What would Lucca think of her when she confessed to him she had fainted?
And Don DeMarco. He was so alone. So wonderful to her. A man like no other. Yet she had failed him as she had Lucca and her father. Nicolai needed her desperately, yet when it counted the most, she had let him down, taken the coward's way out. Fainted. She should have continued to call to him, to bring him back to her. She had had the strength to hold the other lion, yet she had fainted like a child when the don needed her.
"Isabella?" Sarina's voice was filled with compassion.
Isabella shook her head adamantly. "Don't. I don't want to cry, so don't be nice to me. I hope Nicolai is angry so I can be angry, too."
They were at the bottom of the staircase leading to the don's private wing. Sarina hesitated, glancing up fearfully, her hand on the head of a sculpted lion. "Are you certain you want to do this?"
Isabella went up the stairs quickly, staring down the guards in the hallway and defiantly knocking on the door.
She jumped when Nicolai flung the door open with a crash. A snarl was on his face, a mask of brooding anger. "I told you I did not wish to be disturbed for any reason!" he bit out before he focused fully on Isabella.
Sarina crossed herself and looked steadfastly at the floor. The guards turned away from the beastly sight.
Isabella stared directly, belligerently, into Nicolai's blazing eyes. "Scusi, Don DeMarco, but I must insist on your wounds being looked after properly. Growl all you want, it will do you no good." She lifted her chin defiantly at him.
Nicolai bit back the angry, bitter words welling up inside him. If he were any kind of a man, he would have the courage to send her away. He had sworn to himself he would get around the lions guarding the valley, even if it meant destroying them. Now, looking at her, he knew he wouldn't, couldn't send her away.
Without her he was lost. She took away the stark loneliness of his existence and replaced it with warmth and laughter, replaced his recurring nightmare with hot, erotic thoughts and the promise of a haven, a refuge in the pleasures of her body. Her mind intrigued him--the way she thought, how outspoken she was, not in the least coquettish but straightforward and genuine with her opinions. Where everyone feared and catered to him, she stood up to him with humor and bravado.
He needed her if he was to continue his own existence, if he was to continue protecting and guiding his people. He wanted to weep for her. For himself. He had prayed for the strength to send her away, but it wasn't there, and he found he loathed what and who he was.
She looked beautiful in her defiance, but beyond that, he saw her fear of rejection. A plea mixed with the storm in her gaze. A need to help him. A need for him to want her. Something hard and stony around his heart melted away. He reached out, right there in front of Sarina, in front of the guards, and caught Isabella by the nape of her neck, hauling her into the shelter of his body. Fastening his mouth to hers, he kissed her hard, deeply, with the intensity of his volcanic emotions. He poured his feelings into the kiss, fire and ice, love and regret, joy and bitterness. Everything he had to give her.
Isabella instantly went soft and pliant against him, completely accepting of his wild nature, returning kiss for kiss, demand for demand. Fire leapt between them, instant and hot, sizzling in the air and arcing from one to the other, not seen but certainly felt by the observers. They clung together, two drowning souls, lost in each other's arms, their own sanctuary, their only safe refuge.
A guard coughed delicately, and Sarina made a sound somewhere between outrage and approval. "Enough of that, young signorina. There is plenty of time after you are wed." The housekeeper feasted her gaze on her don while he was in Isabella's arms. Although she was beaming, she did her best to scowl at the couple.
Slowly, reluctantly, Nicolai lifted his head. "You may as well come in, as you are already here." He smiled at Sarina over the top of Isabella's head. "She tends to get into trouble quite a bit, doesn't she?"
"I had her safely locked in," Sarina reminded him.
Nicolai stepped back to allow them entry. "And we know that once we lock her door, she remains perfectly safe inside at all times." He flashed Isabella a shadow of his heartstoppingly boyish grin, but it was enough to earn him a small smile in return.
But Sarina took her role as Isabella's protector very seriously, and her amusement faded. Her scowl deepened, and she closed the door to Nicolai's room, shutting out the guard's interested expression. "She would have been perfectly safe if no one had crept into her chamber and taken her unaccompanied into the night," she said in reprimand. "You must wed immediately, before this night's misadventures come to light."
Nicolai nodded. "We will ask the priest to perform the ceremony as soon as it can be arranged. I, too, think it best."
"Mio fratello," Isabella reminded him. "He'll be upset if he isn't here to see me wed."
Sarina clucked her disapproval. "Take the don's hand," she directed. "I must see his wounds to know how to treat them."
"I have news of your brother," Nicolai said, his fingers tightening around Isabella's. "I sent one of my birds to Don Rivellio. The bird just came back with a message. The don has released your brother into my care. He is ill
but is traveling. I'm to be held responsible for his future behavior." A grim smile touched his mouth, then faded away, as if the thought of Don Rivellio's holding him responsible for anything set his teeth on edge and brought out every predatory instinct.
He flinched as Sarina put a mixture of herbs on one of his deepest wounds. Isabella tightened her fingers around his.
"Your brother will understand it is best we wed promptly. His journey will be slow, as his escorts must travel at a speed safe for him." Nicolai brought her hand to his heart and pressed it to his chest.
"Once we wed, Nicolai, you don't intend to send me away, do you?" Isabella dared to inquire, her expression shadowed.
He risked Sarina's displeasure by holding Isabella close to him. His lips brushed her ear. "I should. You know I should. But if you are willing to risk your life, I am willing to risk my soul." Eternal damnation would be what he deserved if he ever turned on her.
Sarina pretended not to notice the unwed couple cuddling as she examined the lacerations, spreading the salve she had made from a mixture of herbs.
While the housekeeper worked, Nicolai held Isabella tightly, resting his head on top of hers. She could feel his heart beating. She could feel each wince. It felt right to be in his arms. It felt as if she belonged there. She closed her eyes, tired from her adventures and warm with his body heat.
She jerked awake when Sarina made a clucking noise. "It is done. Say your good night, signorina. You are falling asleep where you stand."
The don dropped a kiss in her hair. "Sleep well, Isabella. We will soon sort out everything to our satisfaction." His fingertips brushed down her cheek before he dropped his hand and moved back into the shadows.
Sarina took Isabella's arm and dragged her out of the don's room the moment she had completed her work. "It may be best if you see Isabella only in my presence," the housekeeper recommended to her master in her most severe voice before firmly closing the door.
Isabella laughed as Sarina hurried her down the stairs and through the halls to her own bedchamber. She should have been terrified at the prospect of staying at the palazzo, but she felt nearly giddy with joy. Sarina opened the door for her and waved her inside. "Go straight to bed, young lady, and this time, stay there! I believe you are becoming unhinged from all these intrigues with the don."
"Grazie, Sarina, for helping Nicolai." Isabella leaned out of the room to kiss the housekeeper's lined cheek. "You are an amazing woman."
Smiling, Sarina shook her head before turning the key in the lock.
Isabella patted the door when she heard the key turn. Nicolai hadn't given her away. Sarina had no idea she could come and go at will.
"Where have you been?" Francesca demanded petulantly. She bounced on the bed, kicked her feet idly, and fingered the coverlet in nervous agitation. "I waited hours to talk with you."
Isabella whirled around. "I was hoping I'd see you. I finally know where the secret passage is!"
Francesca grinned at her, a quick, forgiving smile that emphasized her beautiful features. "Have you been out exploring? They said you wouldn't, but I knew you would. I love being right."
"Where are the interesting wails and rattling chains tonight? It seems rather quiet without them. I'm not even certain anyone will be able to go to sleep without their unique lullaby."
Francesca laughed happily. "Lullaby! Isabella, that's wonderful. They love that. A lullaby!" She clapped her hands. "You don't mind, then? They thought you might be angry with them. They like to rattle and wail but not if it bothers you. I think it's good for them. It gives them something to do for fun and makes them feel important."
"Well, then." Isabella turned in a circle in the middle of her bedchamber, her arms outstretched to embrace everything. "I rather like the music. Not all night, mind you, but for a little while. People--even spirits, I suppose--need something to keep them busy. I'm so happy, Francesca! Remember I told you about mio fratello, Lucca? He's on his way to the palazzo. He's traveling right now. You'll like him so much."
"Will I?" Francesca looked up eagerly. "Is he young?"
"A little older than I am, and very handsome. He's wonderful, Francesca." Isabella flashed a conspirator's grin. "He's not yet wed or promised."
"Does he know how to dance?"
Isabella nodded. "He knows how to do everything. And he tells the most marvelous stories."
"I might like him, although most men annoy me. They think they can tell women what to do all the time."
Isabella laughed as she dropped her robe on the chair. "I didn't say he wouldn't tell you what to do. He certainly told me all the time. But he's so much fun." She slipped into bed and pulled the quilts up to her chin, thankful to lie down. Her body instantly relaxed. "I met Sergio Drannacia's wife, Violante, today. She was interesting."
Francesca nodded wisely. "'Interesting' is one way to describe her. She likes being a Drannacia, that's for certain. When she was a girl, she used to tell her famiglia she would marry a Drannacia, and she did." Francesca flashed a mischievous grin. "She seduced him. She's way older than he is."
"She seems as if she could be quite nice, given the chance. I'm withholding judgment for the time being. I think she is more intimidated by the palazzo than she cares to admit. I felt a little sorry for her. She's afraid her husband doesn't look at her with the eyes of love."
"He probably doesn't!" Francesca sniffed, making her opinion known. "She's always ordering him around. She wants a grander home, to rebuild the Drannacia palazzo. She nags Sergio to ask permission from Nicolai, then mocks him that he needs the permission." She imitated Violante's strident voice. "'That it has come to this, the Drannacia name every bit as good as DeMarco, groveling for his permission to rebuild what is already yours.'" She flipped her hair around, primping continually. "She thinks she's so beautiful, but really, if she's not careful, she'll end up with lines all over her face from frowning at everybody."
"It must be difficult to be older than your husband. Sergio Drannacia is handsome and charming. She probably worries that many women are attracted to him and willing to bed him."
Francesca twisted her hair around one finger thoughtfully. "I didn't think of that. I have seen some of the women flirting with him." She sighed softly. "That would be difficult. But she isn't very nice, Isabella, so it's hard to feel sorry for her. She didn't love him, you know. She just wanted a title."
"How do you know she didn't love him?" Isabella asked, curious. She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.
"I heard her. She told her madre she would have her own palazzo, and she didn't care what she had to do to get it. She seduced Sergio and then pretended she feared she carried a babe. Of course he did the honorable thing and married her, but there was no child then, and there hasn't been since. I think she's afraid that if her belly grows round, he won't want her."
"If she wanted power, why didn't she go after Nicolai?" Isabella couldn't imagine looking at another man while Nicolai was free.
Francesca looked startled. "Everyone is terrified of Nicolai. And Nicolai isn't one to fall for a woman because she bares her breasts for him. Nor would he let a woman treat his people unfairly or berate them for accidents. He wouldn't stand for Violante's vanity. She keeps the dressmaker busy all the time, and she's never satisfied."
"How sad. I think it's possible she's fallen in love with her husband." Isabella sighed and curled up beneath the coverlet. "There's a sadness in her eyes. I wish I knew how to help her."
"She might try smiling once in a while," Francesca pointed out. "You're too nice, Isabella. She's not losing sleep over you."
"I also met Theresa Bartolmei, and our encounter was so embarrassing. Her husband had tried to save me from Alberita's wayward broom, and he gripped me by the wrist, so it looked as if we were holding hands." Isabella laughed softly. "You should have seen their faces, Francesca! Do you know Theresa?"
"I wish I had been there. That surely gave Violante food for gossip. No doubt she's still repeating the sto
ry to Sergio."
"He was there. And so was Nicolai."
Francesca looked shocked. "Nicolai?" she breathed in awe. "What did he do?"
"Laughed with me, of course, only not in front of the others. I felt sorry for Theresa, because the incident obviously shocked her."
Francesca tossed her head. "She's always crying and whining for her madre. And she isn't very good with the servants. She annoys them whenever she visits. And she's terrified of the don." Francesca said the last with satisfaction.
"Why would she be afraid of him?"
Francesca's gaze flicked away. "You know. Once, when he maintained his own visage, she was horrified by his scars. I heard her tell Rolando they made her feel ill." She rolled her eyes. "Nicolai shouldn't bother with the energy it takes to let her see him."
"You don't like her." Isabella wasn't feeling much disposed to like Theresa at that moment either.
Francesca shrugged. "She isn't that bad. She's terribly timid and not much fun. I don't know why Rolando chose her. Once they spent the night here in the castello, and when the wailing started, she shrieked so loudly that even the don in his wing heard her. She insisted on leaving the palazzo, but Rolando said no and made her stay." Francesca laughed. "Why would somebody be so afraid of a little noise?"
"That's unkind, Francesca," Isabella said gently. "You're used to the noise, but in truth, the first night I was here, I was afraid. Perhaps you should be a friend and help her get over her fears. She is young and obviously misses her famiglia. We should do what we can to aid her in feeling more comfortable."
"She's no younger than you are. What do you think she would have done if a lion had crawled toward her the way it did toward you when you saved Brigita and Dantel? Everyone is talking about your courage. Theresa would have fainted dead away." There was a sneer in Francesca's voice.
"What would you have done?" Isabella asked quietly. She couldn't very well admit she had fainted when Nicolai needed her the most.
Francesca had the grace to look ashamed. "I would have fainted dead away, too," she admitted. She flashed her impish smile, assuring she was instantly forgiven. "Why didn't you faint?"