Lair of the Lion

by Christine Feehan

  She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned against his warmth. Against his strength. It was the first time she felt so close to defeat. It was the first time she believed her husband might actually murder her.

  All at once she wanted to get away from him, away from the palazzo where all things led back to him. She needed her brother. She needed normalcy. She couldn't allow despair to entrap her. "You have duties, Nicolai, and I need fresh air. I haven't seen my mare, and I think I'll take her for a short ride."

  He stirred, a powerful man with too much knowledge in his amber eyes. "Riding her before she is trained to the scent of the lions would be dangerous, cara, and you will need an escort when you wish to travel these mountains and valleys. I'm certain your horse would welcome a visit in the stables, however. They are within the outer walls of the castello, and you should be perfectly safe."

  Perfectly safe. She would never be safe again. But she was too tired to argue, too tired to do anything but get wearily to her feet and try to straighten her clothing. She couldn't look at him as she stood by the fire repairing the damage to her hair. She heard him dressing, taming his own hair into a semblance of order. When she felt she could be seen by others without inviting speculation or comment, she turned to leave.

  Nicolai caught her at the door, all at once afraid of allowing her to leave his side, afraid he had lost her. He framed her face in his hands and kissed her soundly, kissed her until she kissed him back and sagged in defeat against him. When she was gone, he leaned against the door for a long time, his heart pounding in fear and his breath strangling in his throat.

  Isabella hurried to her bedchamber to change her clothes. Her appearance still revealed too much evidence of Nicolai's possession, although she feared it showed more in her eyes than in her clothes. When she was satisfied she had chosen garb that wouldn't arouse suspicion--her riding outfit--she made her way to the lower story to locate Betto. He immediately provided her with instructions on how to find the stables. He offered her an escort, which she politely declined, wanting some time to herself to be able to clear her head and think. The gloom of her sentence was beginning to weigh heavily on her shoulders, and she needed breathing room.

  Isabella inhaled the fresh, crisp air, grateful she was outdoors. The stables were inside the outer wall but some distance from the palazzo. She drew her cloak around her and stepped into the path, trodden by many servants and soldiers, leading toward the city. She followed the trail until it veered away from the direction she wanted to take. The thought of the city pulled at her, but she turned toward the stables. It had been too long since she had seen to her mare. The path to the stables had been tamped down by many feet, but it wasn't as wide or well traveled as the one leading toward the city, and the snow seemed to fall into her shoes no matter how carefully she walked.

  Before she could enter the long building housing the horses, she caught sight of men walking their steeds back and forth through the fields. Each of the animals had cloth tied around its eyes and hooves. Some were sidestepping nervously, and others were tossing their heads in a fractious manner. The men reassured them, talking quietly, patting them as they paced back and forth and circled the field continuously.

  Intrigued, Isabella wandered closer, careful to stay well back from the action. Someone shouted, waved a hand, and pointed toward a young horse that was rearing and snorting, its handler clearly having trouble coping with its fears. At the shouted instructions, the soldier took a firmer grip on the bridle, settling the animal, talking soothingly. Isabella recognized Sergio Drannacia directing the activities.

  She waited on the edge of the field until he noticed her. At once his face lit up. He said something to the man beside him and began to stride toward her.

  As he drew near, she smiled and waved. "Sergio! What is it you're doing with the horses? Why do you have wraps on their feet, and why do you cover their eyes so?"

  He hurried up to her. His handsome uniform accented his boyish good looks. "Isabella, what a wonderful surprise." Beaming at her, he took her hand and brought it gallantly to his lips. "What are you doing wandering around out here?"

  She withdrew her hand and moved around him to watch the horses being walked or ridden up and down the field. "I wanted to visit my mare in the stable. Betto assured me she was well cared for, but I missed her. Mio fratello, Lucca, gave her to me, and right now she's all I have left of mia famiglia." Her voice was sad as she gazed out over the fields.

  "Come watch," Sergio invited, taking her elbow to escort her. "We're training the horses for battle. We cannot have a beautiful woman feeling low on such a day as this."

  "Aren't the horses already trained? They were prepared when we attempted to leave the valley, were they not?"

  He shrugged. "It was a bad experience for them. We try to raise them with the scent and sounds of the lions to give us more of an advantage should we be attacked. It takes great patience on our part and great courage on the part of the horses; the lions are natural enemies to them, normally seeing them as prey. The incident near the pass was a setback to the horses, as one of the lions went rogue. If you noticed our mounts were nervous while we rode toward the pass, but they held steady. The lions were pacing alongside us just out of our sight."

  "But the horses panicked."

  "Only when the lions began taking up pack hunting positions. The horses were experienced enough to know the lions were warning us away from the pass. Now, however, it's imperative to retrain them and get them used to traveling with the lions close by."

  "And the wraps on their hooves?"

  "For silence. We cured and stretched skins. Times are uncertain, and our valley is rich with food and treasure. Although the cliffs and the narrow pass protect us, too many have looked upon our valley with greed. So we train hard and often. We've successfully fought off every enemy, but they will continue to try to take our lands."

  "Are you worried about something in particular?" She felt a sudden tightness in her chest, a sudden knowledge. She saw too many horses for this to be simply a training exercise. "Is this because Don Rivellio has sent his men along with mio fratello to the valley? Is the holding in danger because of us?"

  He smiled at her gently, a superior male smile meant to reassure her. "No enemy will get through the pass into the valley and live to talk of it. They will be buried here, and no one will go back and tell the tale. Thus we add to the legend of the valley."

  Isabella could see the wisdom of his words. She had grown up listening to the mysterious stories of the DeMarco valley. No one knew whether to believe the tales, but the power of the unknown gave the don and his soldiers a tremendous advantage. Most armies already feared attempting to take over the holding. "Does it slow the horses down to wrap their hooves?"

  He shook his head. "We take care to train them in the use of the wraps, and they become comfortable with them." He turned her around, leaning across her to point to the far side of the field. "Those are the younger, inexperienced horses. You can see they're having a harder time. Some are stumbling. The blinders are to keep them from balking at the sight of the lions."

  "I don't see any lions," she said, looking around. Her heart beat faster at his words. She didn't think she'd ever get used to seeing the beasts up close.

  "They're near enough that the horses pick up their scent, but we won't bring them closer until the younger horses settle down a bit," he explained.

  "How do you control the lions? How do you keep them from attacking men and horses? Surely they have the inclination to eat your trainers." She shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, remembering the utter terror of seeing one such beast up close, its eyes fixed on her.

  "Don DeMarco controls the lions. Their behavior is his responsibility."

  What a tremendous burden Nicolai had. And how terrible to live with a single failure. One misstep and a friend might die a death of pure horror.

  A wild yell distracted her thoughts. "Captain Drannacia!" Alberita waved wildly to ge
t his attention. She lifted her skirts and sprinted toward them, a flash of color, hair streaming wildly.

  Isabella heard Sergio Drannacia's involuntary sigh of exasperation, and a long-suffering expression of impatience crossed his face fleetingly. As the servant girl came close, however, he smiled, his white teeth gleaming, his gaze running quickly over Alberita's curves as she halted, her breasts heaving beneath her thin blouse.

  "What is it, young Alberita?" he asked kindly.

  Apparently the mere fact that he had remembered her name and looked at her with recognition and approval had her breathless and staring up at him with utter devotion.

  Isabella again saw clearly it was in Sergio's nature to respond gallantly to women no matter what their station or his interest. He flashed the exact same smile on anything female, though his gaze didn't trail after them as it did after his wife.

  "Betto said to give you this missive from Don DeMarco." Alberita dropped a curtsey toward Isabella and squared her shoulders, looking important. "Sorry, signorina, but it's secret, to the captain only." She drew a small piece of parchment from the folds of her skirt, started to hand it to the captain, drew it back to her as if she couldn't let it go, and then nearly threw it at him. It left her fingers before he could snatch it, and a gust of wind sent it spiraling away from them.

  Alberita shrieked in horror, a high-pitched sound that hurt Isabella's ears, and raced forward, plowing into Sergio as he turned in an attempt to catch the willful missive. He caught Alberita's arms to steady her while Isabella pounced on the fluttering parchment as it landed in a nearby bush.

  "Signorina!" Alberita wrung her hands, clearly distraught. "It's secret! It bears the DeMarco seal."

  "I've got it behind my back, so I can't possibly look," Isabella assured her. "Captain," she continued soberly, her eyes meeting Sergio's with shared laughter, "you'll have to walk around me to retrieve your wayward message, as it must be of great importance. Grazie, Alberita. I shall tell Don DeMarco of your loyalty to him and the service you performed. You must go to Betto at once and tell him it is done. The missive is safe in the hands of Captain Drannacia, and all is well with the holding."

  Sergio, seized by a sudden fit of coughing, courteously turned his back to them, his shoulders shaking. Alberita bowed and curtseyed, backing away until she tripped over the uneven ground. Then she caught up her skirts and ran toward the enormous palazzo.

  Isabella waited until the young maid was safely out of hearing distance, then tapped Sergio on the back, laughing softly. "It's safe, Captain. She's gone and can't knock you to the ground or douse you with holy water or clobber you with a broom."

  Sergio caught her shoulders, laughing so loudly she feared Alberita might hear all the way to castello. "Holy water? A broom? I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm certain that very frightening girl has something to do with it."

  "She never walks anywhere--she's always running. But she's very enthusiastic about her work," Isabella was compelled to point out. She glanced toward the battlements and caught sight of Nicolai staring out across the fields at them. "Don DeMarco must be pleased with the training today. Does he always have to be present, whether the lions are near or not?" She waved toward Nicolai, but he either didn't notice or didn't acknowledge her.

  Captain Drannacia dropped his hands from her shoulders the moment she called his attention to his don. He stiffened, nearly coming to attention. "He isn't watching the training, Isabella," he said thoughtfully, moving to put space between them. He opened the sealed parchment and scanned the contents, his jaw hardening. He stepped farther away from Isabella.

  "That missive has nothing to do with secrets of state, does it, Captain Drannacia?" Isabella asked quietly.

  "No, signorina, it doesn't," he answered.

  She glanced up at the battlements again. Nicolai seemed a lonely figure, his long hair blowing in the wind, a tall, powerful don apart from his people. "Do you see him as the man he is, Captain Drannacia?" she asked.

  "I see him as a dangerous predator at this moment," he replied gently. "In truth, signorina, more often lately I have seen the man, not the beast. I think he wants me to see the beast this time. As a warning, perhaps."

  Her mouth tightened. "I grow tired of the way men think. Of their unfortunate and unbecoming jealousies." She glared up toward the battlements fiercely, whereas before her heart had gone out to Nicolai's solitude.

  "Do you also grow tired of the unbecoming jealousies of women?"

  A certain note in his voice warned her, and Isabella turned to see Violante in the distance. She stood watching them, a faint frown on her face, suspicion in her eyes. The moment she saw them turn toward her, she began approaching them. Isabella felt sorry for her. There was a lack of confidence in her step as she neared her husband, a basket on her arm.

  Isabella waved a greeting. "I'm so glad you've come! I've been wanting to see you again."

  "Violante." Sergio said his wife's name tenderly, and his dark eyes lit up at her approach. "What have you done for me now?" He reached for the basket with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, bringing her close to him. "It is far for you to be walking without an escort," he said, as if they had discussed the subject many times.

  "You must have your dinner, Sergio," she said uncertainly. "Isabella, I hadn't thought to find you here."

  Isabella shrugged. "In truth, I needed the fresh air. I wanted to walk into the city, but Nicolai insisted I wait for an escort."

  "I'd be most pleased to go with you tomorrow if it is convenient," Violante offered.

  "I'd love that." Isabella could tell, as polite as both parties were being, that they wished her gone so they could be alone. "I'll take my leave and look forward to visiting with you on the morrow." She glanced up at Nicolai once more before walking toward the stables.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isabella was feeling out of sorts when Sarina announced that Violante had arrived and was waiting for her in the library. She had spent the morning, as usual, attempting to familiarize herself with the palazzo. It seemed a huge task, more rooms at every turn, some of which had not been used in years, and an abundance of sculptures and artwork, treasures she could only gape at in awe. Don DeMarco was wealthy beyond her imagining. She knew if Don Rivellio had an inkling of the worth of the lands and property, he would be pushing to find a way to get his greedy hands on it.

  She couldn't stop thinking of the despicable man who had condemned her brother to death. She knew he would always be a mortal enemy, one who would relentlessly seek her brother's demise. Lucca would have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering when Rivellio would send out an assassin. Mostly she feared that the men traveling with her brother would be instructed to kill him the moment he was on DeMarco land, perhaps with a poisonous herb.

  Isabella had hoped Francesca would visit, but she had waited in vain, finally drifting off to sleep. She had awakened several times, thinking Nicolai had entered the room, but if he had been there, he had only watched her from the shadows.

  "If you are not up to visitors," Sarina said gently, compassion in her eyes, "I will send Signora Drannacia away."

  Isabella hastily shook her head. "No, a visit is just the thing to cheer me up. She sent word earlier that she would escort me through the city and, if we had time, one of the many villaggi. I think the fresh air will do me good. It's stopped snowing, and the sun is out. It will be wonderful to be outdoors."

  Violante stood and spoke as Isabella entered the room. "It's a wonderful day out. I hope I haven't kept you waiting. Sergio needed his lunch, and I prefer to bring it to him myself." She blushed a bit and patted her hair, as though it must be disheveled from a recent romp.

  "Not at all, Violante," Isabella said. "I appreciate that you would want to take care of your husband. He's a very nice man, and he's lucky to have such an attentive wife." She blinked back tears that seemed to rise unexpectedly out of nowhere. Why hadn't Nicolai come to her in th
e night? Held her? She was badly in need of his reassurance.

  "You look sad, Isabella." Violante laid a gloved hand on Isabella's arm. "I know we haven't become friends yet, but you may talk to me of what concerns you."

  Isabella forced a smile. "Grazie. I can use a friend, Violante." She traced a finger along a smooth, polished table. "It's mio fratello, Lucca. He was traveling here, and I thought he'd arrive soon, but it seems he's much more ill than I knew. I can't go to him, and I don't even have a way of sending him a missive." Sorrow clawed at her, loneliness, and it was sharp and deep. Isabella turned away from the other woman to stare sightlessly at a painting on the wall.

  "You know how to read?" Violante's voice held awe, admiration, even envy. "You can write? Mia madre believed a woman had no need to know such things." She sighed. "Sergio often reads, and sometimes he reads aloud to me, but once, when he was very annoyed with me, he said he wished I could read so our children would learn." Her expression mirrored a deep sorrow. "So far, I am a great disappointment. No bambini, and I can't read." She forced a laugh, but it held no humor.

  "You'll have a bambino, Violante," Isabella said in an effort to console the woman. "Have you spoken with the healer? I know our healer offered much advice to the women in out villaggio when they wished to have a bambino."

  "Grazie, Isabella. I hope you're right. But I'm afraid I'm too old." She turned her head away, but not before Isabella saw tears glittering in her eyes.

  "Violante!" Isabella was shocked. "You're not that old. You can't be more than a couple of years older than I. You certainly are not too old to have a bambino. Speak to your healer, and if that doesn't help, I'll send word to my healer to see if she has any advice."

  "You would do that for me?" Violante's voice trembled.

  "Well, of course. I would like us to be friends and would hope our bambini would play together. Come, I'll show you how easy it is to make marks upon the page. I'll write your name for you." Isabella opened the great desk and searched until she found the small box containing dye and a quill.