She took her leave, her heart pounding out a rhythm of fear. Nicolai had led his soldiers to victory many times; she had to believe that nothing would happen to him now. As she closed the door, she heard Rolando Bartolmei's voice. A note of accusation caught her attention, and she lingered to hear him speak.
"Before we go into battle, Don DeMarco, let me ask if I've done something to offend you or make you question my loyalty."
There was a brief silence. Isabella could well imagine the look on Nicolai's face, his eyebrows raised, the censure he conveyed so silently. "Why would you ask me such a thing, Rolando?"
"I was out patrolling this morn, long before the sun was up, and I was followed. I never saw the lion, but the tracks in the snow followed my mount everywhere I went. There are no lions loose at this time, yet those same tracks were found near the body this morning, too."
Isabella pressed a hand against her mouth, her breath catching in her throat. The memory of Rolando Bartolmei's shredded coat rose up to haunt her. She waited for Nicolai's answer. It was a long time in coming.
"I have no reason to doubt your loyalty, Rolando. If you know of such a matter, feel free to confess it to me now, that we might lay the matter to rest."
"I have always served you loyally." Bartolmei sounded stiff with outrage. "I've never given you cause to doubt me."
"Nor I you," Nicolai returned softly.
Isabella closed her eyes briefly, hoping Rolando could hear the sincerity in Nicolai's voice. She was afraid he wouldn't, afraid that small surge of power she felt was subtly influencing the emotions of the men. There was little she could do but trust in Nicolai and the loyalty of his people. Isabella moved slowly down the long, curving staircase. She had duties to perform. She called Sarina and Betto to her, preparing them for the invasion by Don DeMarco's people who lived outside the safety of the walls of the castello.
Theresa and Violante were everywhere, Violante, well trained and in her element, directing the food preparations and locating supplies. Theresa worked closely and efficiently with both Isabella and Violante, following all instructions so things went smoothly.
Isabella took a short break the moment she had a chance, hastening to her brother's bedchamber to check on his progress and apologize to Francesca for leaving her so long without anyone to relieve her.
Francesca glanced up and gestured for hushed voices, a small smile curving her mouth. "I just got him back to sleep. His cough is still very bad, but the healer was here and said he looked stronger. I think sleep will help. He's been coughing so much he can't rest." She smoothed back the tangle of hair from Lucca's face with gentle fingertips.
"I told him everything, Francesca," Isabella confessed. "I should have warned you that he knows about the DeMarco legacy."
To Isabella's surprise, Francesca blushed. "We talked about it. He's just so..." She broke off, at a loss for words. "We talked all night long. I could listen to his voice forever. Most of the time he's funny and makes me laugh. He always says nice things about the way I look. He said he thought I would be an invaluable asset in destroying the curse. I think he meant it, too." Her eyes were shining as she looked at Isabella.
"Lucca rarely makes mistakes in his assessments, Francesca. I'm counting on you helping us to destroy the curse." She patted Francesca's arm. "Just bear in mind, we no longer have lands, so Lucca has nothing to offer a wife. Certainly not enough to offer the sister of a don."
Francesca's elegant eyebrows arched. "I've never allowed others to dictate my actions. I doubt I would start now." She suddenly seemed to become aware of the unusually bustle of activity outside the room. She went very still, knowledge seeping in. "It's begun, hasn't it?" Francesca said. "Rivellio is invading our valley."
Isabella swallowed her fear and nodded. "Nicolai's gone out to meet him."
"I know you're afraid for Nicolai, Isabella, but he is a master at warfare. He plans every battle carefully. His men will watch his back, and should he call forth the lions, it will be over swiftly," Francesca reassured her.
A soft knock on the door heralded Theresa's arrival. She beckoned to Isabella, summoning her into the hall.
"Go ahead, Isabella. I'll watch over Lucca," Francesca assured her.
Isabella slipped out of her brother's room to face Theresa. "What is it?"
"Rolando has sent a request that we bring the men bandages and salves and also the mixtures for poultices. They want to treat the wounded quickly and then transport them back to the castello. The healer must stay here. I have some knowledge of wounds but very little. Sarina said you had some knowledge of treating injuries. Will you come with me?" She looked very anxious, visibly upset, wringing her hands.
Isabella nodded immediately. "I've treated wounds many times. I'm certain we can manage, Theresa." She had set up temporary camps for the wounded when needed at her father's holding. "Have you heard if many are injured?" She tried to keep the fear out of her voice.
Theresa shook her head. "A runner went out but has not returned. I had horses saddled for us, and the supplies are on a packhorse. I hope that was all right. I would have asked Sarina to accompany me--she's good with wounds--but she's too old to weather the trip easily. I thought it would be better to go ourselves."
"We'll be fine," Isabella concurred. "We'll leave word to be relieved as soon as possible. I'll meet you in a few minutes."
Isabella hurried to her bedchamber to retrieve her cloak and gloves. Theresa met her at the side entrance closest to the stables. A packhorse was tethered alongside two mounts.
The day was shrouded in gray, the mist nearly impenetrable. The world seemed closed in, a dark veil draped over the castello. The animals seemed nervous, eyes rolling, heads tossing, hooves shifting and dancing in agitation. Isabella paused, her hand resting on her horse. Her stomach was rolling gently, a subtle warning. "I've forgotten something, Theresa." She kept her voice calm. The swelling triumph, the surge of power, thickened and grew around her. She knew it was too late. Far too late.
The blow had hard, passionate hatred behind it. Isabella crumpled to the ground, darkness claiming her.
She woke, upside down, her stomach heaving, her head throbbing. The horse raced through the mist at Theresa's urging. With her hands tied together and Theresa holding her face down as she rode, Isabella was sick, horribly so, twice, before Theresa halted the sweating animal and dismounted. Isabella slid from the back of the horse and fell, her legs too rubbery to support her. With her bound hands tied in front of her, she wiped at her mouth as best she could while she looked carefully around her. She was somewhere near the pass.
Theresa paced back and forth, her anger growing with every step. She whipped around to glare at Isabella. "You won't be so calm when he gets here."
"By he, I presume you mean Don Rivellio." Isabella kept her voice low. "You're the traitor who's been feeding him information."
Theresa lifted her chin, eyes glittering dangerously. "Call me whatever you like. You're the perfect bait to get him into the valley. He's such a coward, sending his men to certain death, but even with all the information I gave him, I couldn't lure him inside until I promised to deliver you. He knows that if he has you, Don DeMarco will trade his own life for yours." There was a sneer in her voice.
"How would he know such a thing?" Isabella asked softly.
Theresa shrugged. "I would do anything to get Don Rivellio into this valley. He thinks he has all the plans, but he knows nothing of the lions. His men will be defeated, and I'll kill him myself." Her voice held a wealth of satisfaction. "He deserves death after what he did to my sister." She turned her head to look at Isabella. "And you deserve it for stealing my husband."
Isabella stared up at Theresa in shock. Her head was throbbing so hard, for a moment she thought she hadn't heard correctly. She hastily bit back words of denial. Theresa was in no mood to listen to reason, nor would she believe protests of innocence. It would only serve to anger her further.
"Theresa, did you kill the s
ervant who locked me in the storehouse?"
"I didn't kill him," she denied. "He overheard me giving information to one of Rivellio's men. They killed him. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't allow anyone to know, so I erased the footprints around the body."
"I can understand your wanting to kill Don Rivellio, but it's impossible. He'll have guards, Theresa, even if he comes. How could you possibly think you would be able..." She trailed off as it all began to fit together like pieces of a puzzle in her mind. The shredded coat and gown in her closet. The female voice calling to her, luring her up the stairs to the balcony. A voice like Francesca DeMarco's. The woman in the marketplace with long black hair, with DeMarco features. Like Francesca, only not Francesca. The lion following her through the narrow streets and staring at her with hate-filled eyes. The lion tracks in the snow surrounding the servant's body. The lion pacing after Rolando Bartolmei. Francesca DeMarco could become the beast. And Theresa was a first cousin to Nicolai and Francesca.
Isabella shook her head. "Theresa, think what you're doing."
"I'm doing what should have been done when he took my little sister against her will and used her the way he did. Nicolai should have sent out assassins to kill him." Theresa's voice hissed with hatred. "She was a bambina! Rivellio destroyed her. She's an empty shell now. It's hideous that he could get away with such a thing."
"He had mio padre murdered," Isabella said softly. "He tortured mio fratello and would have executed him." She lifted her tied hands and pushed at the hair tumbling around her face. When she looked up, her stomach did another somersault, her heart began to pound loudly, and she tasted fear in her mouth.
Through the gray mist she could see soldiers riding in tight formation around a single imposing figure. "Go, Theresa. You can still get away before he gets his hands on you," Isabella whispered, the blood draining from her face. She struggled to her feet. She would never meet an enemy cowed and shrinking. Without conscious thought, she placed her body protectively in front of the other woman. "They haven't seen you yet. Run. You can get away."
Isabella kept her eyes fixed on the man riding in the middle of the group. He looked a devil to her. He was evil incarnate, every bit as twisted as the entity feeding the hatred and jealousies in the valley. Isabella felt the rush of cold, felt a strange disorientation as the malevolent being eagerly reached out to embrace Don Rivellio, deserting all others now that it had an evil mind to control.
Behind her, Theresa moaned softly. "What have I done? What's happened to me? Rolando will never forgive what I've done." She reached around Isabella, a sharp blade slicing cleanly through the ropes. The stiletto was pressed into Isabella's palm. "When I allow the beast free reign, you run, escape into the woods. It's all I can give you." A sob welled up, but Theresa held it back, fighting for control.
The soldiers had spotted them. Several kicked their horses into action, rushing toward the two women. Isabella didn't bother to run. She lifted her chin and assumed her haughtiest expression.
"I'm sorry," Theresa whispered. "You had no right to lie with my husband, but this was wrong of me."
"If we both die here today, Theresa, I want you to know, Rolando has never given me any indication that he wanted more than courtesy between us," Isabella said sincerely.
The soldiers scouted the area surrounding the two women, leery of finding the two alone so far from the protection of the castello. Don Rivellio sat astride his horse, his eyes crafty and greedy as he looked at Isabella. The mist turned to a fine drizzle of sleet, the clouds darkening the skies overhead.
"I can't do it," Theresa murmured in fear. "I can't bring forth the beast. I've tried, but it's gone."
Isabella's heart was so loud, it was matching the throbbing in her head. She kept the stiletto hidden in the folds of her skirt.
"You look a bit the worse for wear, Signorina Vernaducci." Don Rivellio smirked at her, his lecherous gaze running deliberately over her. "Has Don DeMarco already sampled the goods? I do hate seconds." His eyes narrowed. "If I find it's so, I shall punish you severely. That can be quite delicious...for me."
The surrounding guards laughed aloud, leering at the two women. Isabella lifted her chin a little higher. She kept Theresa behind her by holding her in place with her free hand, not liking the look on Don Rivellio's face.
Somewhere in the distance came the screams of men in the throes of death, of terror. The sounds cut through the dismal sleet to send a chill through all of them. The men looked at one another in sudden anxiety. Don Rivellio smiled pleasantly. "That is the sound of my men killing any poor dolts who would stand in my way. My men have taken the valley. I have you, Signorina Vernaducci, as I was always meant to. If DeMarco should escape, he will no doubt attempt a rescue and place himself in my hands. I have such wonderful plans for you."
The don leaned forward on his horse, staring directly into her eyes, allowing her a glimpse of pure evil. "Pain is very close to pleasure, my dear. We shall see if you enjoy my little diversions as much as I do." His gaze moved from her face to Theresa's. "And you--how well you've served me. DeMarco has never learned a woman's place in his holding. You will learn it well in mine. I have a room right off the stables where you will be stripped naked, tied spread-eagled, and left for my soldiers to do with as they please. Your sister learned her lesson in that room--so tedious with her constant tears, her begging to go home." He laughed, sharing his amusement with his men. "They always enjoy my little gifts to them."
Isabella felt fear mixing with fury rushing through her bloodstream, felt the answering tremor run through Theresa. She gripped Theresa's arm. "Stay silent. Make no sound at all. Nicolai is here. Look at the horses," she whispered.
Her words were so low Theresa almost didn't catch them. She was reaching for the beast within, trying to recapture her hatred and rage now, when she needed it the most, when the disgusting creature who had dishonored and raped her sister was standing in front of her, threatening her with his vileness. The horses were indeed beginning to show signs of nervousness. Moving restlessly, tossing heads, some rearing until the soldiers were forced to dismount to calm them.
Isabella allowed herself a brief glimpse of the surrounding countryside. Through the gray sleet and gloom she caught the glow of feral eyes, the whisper of movement among the trees and boulders. More than one beast stalked the group of soldiers.
"I detest this place," Don Rivellio snapped. "Get the women, and let's get out of here." The agitation of the horses increased even as he spoke. The animals plunged and bucked, whirling to dislodge their riders. The soldiers fought with their mounts to stay astride. None of them were able to obey Rivellio's orders.
The lion came out of the gray veil, huge, nearly eleven feet of solid muscle, exploding through the sleet to hit the don solidly in the chest. Horses squealed in terror. Men screamed, faces blanching in horror as the world erupted into madness. The lead lion was not alone, a pack having surrounded the column of men. Sprays of crimson shot across the snow, trees, and bushes.
Theresa drove Isabella to the ground, wrapping her arms around Isabella's head to prevent her from seeing the horror. "Don't look! Don't look at this!"
Isabella had no way to see, but she couldn't drown out the sounds of terror. Of the crunch of bones and the sound of flesh being stripped from limbs. It went on and on, the terrible screams of men dying, the heavy breathing of the lions, the fierce growls that were spine-chilling, the horses shrieking in fear.
Theresa held her down, shaking as badly as Isabella. It seemed an eternity. Don Rivellio howled with pain, his pleading cries mingled with the sounds of flesh tearing and great teeth chomping through bone and muscle. Eventually his screams died away. And then it was eerily silent.
Isabella felt Theresa move off her, but she couldn't stand, didn't want to look. She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Nicolai had done this. Intelligence had been behind the attack. It had been well thought out, the lions moving into position, holding off their amb
ush until directed to strike hard and fast. They had virtually shredded the enemy. Even now she could hear the sounds of lions feasting. Warning growls rumbled in the night, reverberating through her own body.
Her fate. This would be her fate. Unbidden, unwanted, the thought took hold.
"Isabella." He said her name as if reading her thoughts, denying the truth.
She was sobbing when he lifted her from the ground, her face ravaged with tears, streaked with spattered blood. Her hair was disheveled, falling from its intricate arrangement to cascade down her back and frame her face. Nicolai dragged her against him and held her tightly while he glared over the top of her head at Theresa.
"Fortunately, I had two of my most trusted guards watching over my betrothed." His eyes burned with fury. "We heard every condemning word you spoke." His hands were gentle in Isabella's hair, completely at odds with the lash of his voice as he spoke to his cousin. "Take her to the castello. She is charged with treason and attempted murder. Gather my council at once. Captain Bartolmei, if you can't do your part of the job, you are excused and can await the outcome." Nicolai's voice was as cold as ice.
Bartolmei didn't so much as glance at Theresa. "I have never failed to do my duty, Don DeMarco, and my wife's treachery changes nothing."
Isabella clung to Nicolai, holding him tightly, smelling the wildness still rising from his skin and hair. "Take me home," she pleaded. She pressed her hands over her ears, trying desperately to muffle the sounds of the lions feasting on human flesh. She kept her eyes tightly shut, her breath coming in shuddering sobs.
Hatred and malevolence, blood and violence swirled in the air around them. She would never be able to forget the sounds of death, the cries and pleas of the soldiers for mercy. The sheer savagery of the night, of the beasts, of Don DeMarco, would haunt her for all time.
"Isabella." He said her name softly, whispered it over her skin, calling her back to him, needing to comfort her almost as much as she needed to be comforted.
Nicolai caught her chin in one palm, tilting her head to the side to give him a view of her face. Above her eye was a bump, a trickle of blood, the skin already turning black and blue. Flames leapt into his eyes. His thumb removed the blood from her temple, and he pulled her once again into his chest to prevent her from seeing the killing fury burning in his eyes. She could feel him trembling, could feel him solid and real, could feel the volcano threatening to erupt. He held on to his rage with tenacious control.
Lair of the Lion Page 34
