"Why didn't you tell me about Francesca?" She sounded forlorn, vulnerable. She buried her face against his neck, her tears dampening his skin, tugging at his heartstrings.
"Francesca is different. No one speaks of her. They don't talk of their don and the way he is seen as a lion any more than we speak of my sister and her strange behavior. I should have told you, though it's ingrained in me not to. In all honesty, I felt you had enough to contend with when your betrothed was a beast a great deal of the time. You didn't need to worry about my half-mad sister."
She lifted her face to examine his golden eyes, her long lashes spiky from her tears. "You, signore," she said haughtily, "are no longer my betrothed. And I've spoken with Francesca nearly every night since my arrival, yet I saw no signs of madness. She's different, young, and obviously in need of guidance, but what makes you believe she is mad? Her ability to speak with the 'others'? Because, frankly, Nicolai, I don't think that's any more difficult to believe than your appearing as a beast."
The shift of her hips in his lap caused a pulsing ache, his body hardening despite his every resolve. "Stop moving, bellezza. You're not entirely safe from me with nothing between us but that gown."
She felt his body's reaction, the way he grew thick and hard, pressing tightly against her buttocks. Her heart jumped, her breath hitching in her lungs. Desire began to pool low, a sweet ache that caused her breasts, pressed tightly into his heavy muscles, to tingle with anticipation. Determinedly she looked away from the hunger flaring in his eyes.
"You should have told me about Francesca, Nicolai."
His hand began to make slow, lazy circles over the small of her back. "Yes, I should have, cara, but it never occurred to me that she might be dangerous to you." Heat flared between them, burning through the lace of her gown. "Francesca was only a babe, five summers, when mia madre was killed." His hand sank lower, rubbing her buttocks, his fingers kneading her flesh.
"She was there, too, wasn't she?" Isabella guessed, her heart immediately going out to Francesca. "She saw it. She saw her padre kill her madre." She held him close, wanting to comfort him, needing to ease the memory of that terrible afternoon. Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers tangling in the thick silk of his hair.
Nicolai nodded. "It was Francesca who called the lions to save my life. And she was changed just as I was." He touched the jagged scars on his face. "She was scarred on the inside, where no one could see. She didn't talk, didn't cry or make a sound for years. She wouldn't go near any of us, not even me. She would sit in a room with me, but she wouldn't let me touch her." Pain laced his voice. His hand slid up her back to her nape.
"And you think it's because she's afraid you'll kill her, just as your padre killed your madre?" Isabella found herself seeking to comfort him. "You don't understand Francesca at all, Nicolai. She loves you more than anyone, anything in the world. It's in her voice when she talks of you. If she did what you said and followed me, it isn't because she wanted to hurt you--or me. We had talked of jealousy. Perhaps she was trying to tell me something."
He pressed his lips to her eyelids; then his mouth drifted over her temple and down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. "What would she have to be jealous of? She's never wanted her place in the holding. She would no more run the palazzo or help Sarina with the details of everyday duties than she would become a soldier. She's refused to even consider marriage. She runs wild, and I should have put a stop to it some time ago."
His mouth was scattering her thoughts, nibbling gently on her chin, tightening her nipples into hard pebbles and causing her breasts to ache. His tongue stroked a caress over her chin, stroking a flame that raced along her nerve endings. Isabella squirmed, inciting him to harden more, to push tightly against her. His mouth wandered unhurriedly along the slender column of her neck, her throat.
"You can't know what it's like to touch you, Isabella, to be able to lose myself in your body. To know I can bring you such pleasure in return." He pushed the robe from her shoulders, then slid his fingers over the lace of her nightgown, making the bodice slither down to bunch at her waist.
She felt his gaze on her breasts, and immediately her body responded with a wave of heat. He didn't touch her, simply looked at her, watching her breathe in and out.
"You're so beautiful." He lowered his head and suckled her aching flesh.
Isabella nearly exploded, liquid dampening her thighs, her body clenching tighter and tighter. His hands bit into her waist as he bent her backward so that her breast thrust more fully into his mouth. She closed her eyes, threw her head back, and allowed the sensations to wash over her. She could feel him, so hard and hot now against her buttocks that she thought they both might go up in flames.
When he released her breast to run kisses up her neck, she carefully stood, bravely removing the shirt from his wide shoulders. He sucked in his breath and leaned back to allow her to unhook his breeches. Her fingers brushed over his hardened body, sending lightning streaking through him, shaking him to the very core of his being. He lifted his hips as she hooked her thumbs into the waist and tugged his clothes down to the tops of his boots. Nicolai bent, finding it somewhat painful, and pulled off his boots so he could rid himself of his clothing.
When Isabella would have turned to the bed, Nicolai caught her hand and brought her back around to stand in front of him. He seated himself in the chair and urged her closer. "Part your legs, cara." His hand went between her thighs, gently encouraging her to do as he bid.
Color swept her face, but Isabella obediently widened her stance. Nicolai watched the way the firelight cast loving shadows over her body. His erection was a hard, thick spear, the head glistening, pulsing with anticipation. He rubbed his fingers across her mound, finding her damp and ready for him. "I left you wanting me, didn't I," he murmured, his gaze on her face as his long fingers slid deeply into her body.
Pleasure heightened her beauty, put a sheen in her dark eyes. Nicolai pushed deeper, wanting her on fire, wanting this night to make a memory for both of them. His other hand caressed the curve of her buttocks, urging her to move, to find a rhythm with him. Then she was crying out, her body gripping his fingers tightly, squeezing so that his erection throbbed and pulsed.
Deliberately he brought his fingers to his mouth to taste her. The hand on her buttocks brought her forward, forcing her to straddle him. "I want you to ride me, cara, just as you ride that horse of yours, only I'll be deep inside you, and each time you slide your body over mine..." His voice trailed off wickedly, his hands biting into her waist, positioning her body directly over his. Very slowly he began to lower her body until the thick knob of his erection was pushing into her hot, wet core.
Her eyes widened in shocked surprise. He was stretching her, spearing her, his body so thick and hard he took her breath away. Isabella hesitated, gasping as he entered her, waiting breathlessly for her body to adjust to his size. Slowly, inch by inch, she lowered her hips, taking him deeper and deeper inside her.
Isabella was tight and hot, surrounding him like a silken sheath. She settled onto his lap, wiggling into a comfortable position, the action sending fire racing through his bloodstream. He bent to find her mouth with his, to taste her pleasure, to feed it. When she began to move, the breath left his lungs until he was burning for air, struggling for control. He wanted this time to be leisurely, tender, a joining she would cherish, but he was uncertain if his body could take the ecstasy of hers without going up in flames.
Isabella found she could experiment. She took her time to learn what felt best, starting with a slow, languorous ride, tightening her muscles and watching his face as she slid over him, back up, nearly breaking contact, then back down so that he filled her completely. She could feel his body's reaction, the trembling of his muscles, the shudders of pleasure, his eyes hot with desire.
He made a single sound as she began to pick up the pace, moving her hips faster, creating a fiery friction that left little beads of sweat on his forehead and a
glow on her jutting breasts. His hands caught her hips, and he began to work with her, thrusting upward to bury himself deeply as her body came down to meet his, driving the breath from both of them. He was growing thicker and harder, filling every space, stretching her even as her body clenched and gripped, spinning them both into a mindless vortex of exploding colors and flames. They soared in perfect rhythm, bodies shuddering with pleasure so intense she didn't know where he started and she left off.
They clung together, unable to catch their breath, unable to move. Her head on his shoulder, they remained locked together while the earth rocked and the room spun around them. Their hearts were pounding, skin hot and damp, so sensitive that if either moved, it sent ripples of pleasure spiraling through both of them.
Isabella closed her eyes and savored being in his arms, his body deep inside hers. She felt boneless, floating, waves of delight washing over her. When he stirred, she tightened her arms around him. "Don't move," she murmured. "I don't want it to be over yet." There was no fear in her mind, no sorrow. No sense of betrayal. No danger. When they were alone together, when he was touching her body, everything they did seemed right and perfect. She wanted to simply stay where she was, locked with him, burning cleanly in the fire together. Without thought. In total peace.
"I think I can make it to the bed with you," he said, his hands stroking caresses along the line of her back and down the curve of her hip. "Keep your arms around my neck."
"I don't want to get up," she protested, her voice husky and sated.
"You don't need to. Lock your legs around my waist." With enormous strength he got out of the chair and made it to the bed, Isabella locked around him. The action sent her body over the edge again, so that she tightened around him, rocking with heat and sensation.
He lay over her, his arms tightly around her, kissing her face, her throat. His voice was tender, loving, whispering to her as she drifted to a place, half awake, half asleep. She dreamed of him, moving in her, his mouth and hands exploring every inch of her, over and over, his mouth drifting over her body so that her sleep was a sea filled with erotic images and waves of lust and love.
Chapter Sixteen
Far in advance of the soldiers escorting Lucca Vernaducci toward the pass, word reached the castello that they were on their way. A party of guards was instantly dispatched to ride to meet them and see Don Rivellio's men safely into the valley. No hint, no whisper, not the slightest murmur of lions was to be heard. The palazzo was teaming with activity. Servants prepared food in the kitchens, and the visitors' barracks were cleaned and made ready for the outsiders.
Understanding the way the household gossips worked, Nicolai knew Isabella would have been informed of these developments the moment she opened her eyes. He entered her bedchamber and found her already dressed to ride out to meet her brother. She flashed him a radiant smile, nearly knocking him over as she rushed into his arms. "I heard! I'm going to meet Lucca! I asked Betto to have my mare saddled."
Nicolai's hands framed her face with exquisite gentleness. "Wait another hour or so. I know you're eager to see him, but it isn't safe. Those are Don Rivellio's men with him. If the soldiers were purely an escort, they would have turned back the moment they sighted the pass. I've word that a larger party of soldiers have been gathering a few miles outside the pass, and another is coming up along the entrance to the cliffs."
Her eyes widened. "You knew Rivellio was using Lucca as a shield to gain entrance to the valley? And you let him?"
"Of course. It was the only way to make certain tuo fratello was truly safe. If Rivellio had no further use for Lucca he would not likely trouble himself to keep him alive."
"I thought you were letting in spies, not an entire army," she said in alarm.
"An army could not enter the pass without my knowledge. And once it's in, it's trapped."
"Are the cliffs safe? They can't invade us from that direction, can they?" She was wringing her hands with such agitation that he covered them with his own long fingers, stroking soothing caresses over her knuckles.
"I'm assuming they have a spy in the valley already, or they wouldn't have tried that direction. There's an entrance, a tunnel that winds its way through the mountain. It's a maze deep beneath the earth, but if they have an ally, they may have a map of sorts."
"If they have a spy, they know about the lions and have probably prepared for them, too," Isabella pointed out anxiously.
She was frowning, her face so apprehensive Nicolai rubbed at the line between her dark brows with the pad of his thumb. "One cannot prepare for the sight of a lion, and certainly not in the heat of battle." His voice was gentle. "Don Rivellio only imagines he can sneak into my domain." There was a predator's gleam in his eyes. "I'll worry about Don Rivellio and what he may be up to, and you concentrate on tuo fratello's homecoming. He is safe now, though very ill. I have been told to prepare you for a vast difference in his appearance, but he is alive and therein lies hope. I will take care of Don Rivellio and his intended invasion."
Nicolai actually sounded as if he was looking forward to it, and Isabella gave him a quelling glance.
He reached out casually and caught the nape of her neck. "I must require you to remain within the walls of the castello at all times. I insist on your word."
She nodded immediately. "Of course, Nicolai. But I'd like to go up on the battlements and watch for Lucca's approach."
"I can't be with you--I'm needed to control the lions in the presence of strangers--but don't venture too close to the edge." He bent his head and kissed her. Slowly. Gently. Leisurely. His kiss held heat and promise, his tongue sliding along her bottom lip, tasting, prompting, until she opened her mouth to him.
She shivered with pleasure. It blossomed in her abdomen and spread, molten heat that began a slow burn. Nicolai lifted his head reluctantly and stared down with evident satisfaction at her half-closed eyes.
"I mean what I say, cara. No more accidents. I must turn my attention now to the don and his plans."
"I'll be careful," she promised him solemnly, finding it difficult to catch her breath when he seemed to have robbed her of the very air around her.
He bent to take one last, lingering kiss before he turned and strode away. Isabella watched him go, thinking him a man born to rule, born to battle. Power and responsibility sat well on his broad shoulders. The moment she heard Don Rivellio's name, a shiver of apprehension had gone down her spine, but Nicolai inspired confidence. He looked utterly, almost arrogantly, sure of himself, and she found herself smiling again, able to feel the joy of her impending reunion with her brother.
Isabella rushed up to the battlements, vaguely aware of the two men shadowing her. She paced back and forth, impatiently waiting. Sometimes she would stop long enough to stare down the valley, praying to the good Madonna for a glimpse of the riders. Other times she couldn't stand still.
A single rider came into view in the distance, nearly stilling her heart. She strained to identify him as he came nearer. He was riding fast, his horse covering the ground in long strides, the rider low over its neck. Her breath caught in her throat in anticipation. This was the forward runner, coming to alert them. He swept through the open archway of the outer wall, calling out to the guards and people waiting. At once commotion reigned, everyone scurrying to finish preparations for the visitors.
Isabella hurried down the steps and through the palazzo, uncaring of propriety, her heart singing at the thought of seeing her brother once again. She could barely contain her excitement, tears of joy sparkling in her eyes. She made her way into the courtyard, remaining within the walls, conscious of her promise to Nicolai. She saw them then: a long row of soldiers, a travois and a guard of four men on either side of it.
She jammed a fist to her lips and locked her muscles to keep from running forward. Sarina slipped up beside her to give her comfort.
The last few yards before the men entered the outer walls seemed a lifetime to Isabella, but she held her groun
d, having seen Rivellio's soldiers straining to catch glimpses inside the DeMarco holding. They were being led away from the massive structure to the barracks, used for visiting soldiers.
As the party made it through the archway, Isabella rushed to her brother's side, nearly knocking over his guards. Lucca attempted to rise from the travois to reach her, and then she had him in her arms, hugging him close, appalled at how thin he was. His dark hair, was streaked with gray, his face lined and pale, sweat dampening his skin, although he was shaking with fever chills.
"Ti amo, Lucca. Ti amo. I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered against his ear, tears clogging her throat.
His body was thin and trembling, but his arms held her tightly, and he buried his face in her hair. "Isabella," he said. Only that. But she heard his choking sob, the love in his voice, and it was enough--worth every peril she had faced.
As a cough wracked his body, she pulled back to look at him. She saw the tears swimming in his eyes and hugged him close again before gently helping him to lie back on the stretcher. "Please be careful with him," she instructed the guards. Then she turned toward the housekeeper. "I want him put in a room near mine, Sarina." Isabella clutched her brother's hand, and he gripped hers just as tightly.
"Don DeMarco has said he is to have the room right next to yours," Sarina agreed, patting Isabella gently. "It is already prepared for him."
Tears in her eyes, Isabella walked beside the stretcher, her fingers entwined with Lucca's.
The room they carried him to was more masculine than hers. A fire crackled on the hearth, and soothing, aromatic candles also lit the chambers.