The Scarletti Curse

by Christine Feehan

  The breath went out of her, and for a moment she was frozen in place, unable to think or move. Her every instinct told her to run, yet she couldn't, her gaze locked with his. Her pulse pounded loudly, like a drum beating at her temples. She couldn't look away from him no matter how hard she tried. She felt as if she were falling forward into the fathomless black depths of his eyes.

  The don did not command that Nicoletta be brought to him but, instead, began moving toward her. The crowd parted immediately, clearing his path, and he strode purposefully, looking neither right nor left but only at her.

  His prisoner. His prey. The thought beat in her head to the rhythm of her furiously pounding heart.

  He stopped directly in front of her, towering over her so that she had to tip back her head, her gaze still locked with his. At that moment her senses became so heightened, it was nearly unbearable. She was aware of everything: the wind tugging at her, moving over her skin with the coolness of a touch; Ketsia clutching at her skirts; the terrible trembling she couldn't seem to overcome; the blackness of the don's eyes, his perfectly sculpted lips; the way wisps of fog seemed to curl around his legs as if he were from another world.

  His dark, penetrating gaze traveled slowly over her, taking in every detail of her drab, urchin appearance. Faint, mocking amusement stole into his eyes, briefly dispelling the icy aloofness that was so much a part of him. He turned on the heel of one gleaming riding boot and strode back to his horse, his movement a mesmerizing display of graceful, gliding coordination.

  Like the proverbial cornered rabbit, Nicoletta watched him, terrified of what he might do. It was too much to hope he would get back on his horse, ride away, and leave her in peace. Stark possession marked his gaze when he looked at her, and Nicoletta was woman enough to recognize it. She could only wait helplessly, feeling foolish in her child's clothing.

  He walked back to her and stood directly in front of her a second time. Closer now. So close that she could feel the heat from his body seeping into her ice-cold skin. She couldn't look away from his black, black gaze to see what he held dangling from his fingertips. He raised his hand to her eye level so that her thin sandals swam into view, swaying at the end of their long thongs. "Perhaps if you were to put on your sandals, it would add an inch to your height and a year or two to your age, signorina," he suggested softly.

  Nicoletta stared at the shoes in horror. Her hands were trembling so badly, she didn't dare let go of her skirt. It was Ketsia who reached up and dragged the sandals out of his hands while he stared directly into Nicoletta's eyes with a faint, taunting smile.

  The don didn't even glance at the child, his dark gaze locked with Nicoletta's. "You are the one," he said softly, thoughtfully. His voice turned slightly self-mocking. "It is your honor to be chosen in the Bridal Covenant."

  Nicoletta stared up at him, still mesmerized. Both of them knew it was no honor; it was tantamount to a death sentence. The knowledge shimmered between them, unspoken. Involuntarily she nodded her head, her eyes wide and pleading.

  Abruptly Don Scarletti tore his gaze from hers and turned to the village elders. "The Bridal Covenant has been fulfilled. She is the one."

  For a moment there was complete silence. Even the wind stilled. Then chaos erupted. A sound of pure terror escaped Nicoletta's throat. Cristano, his face a mask of fury, burst into a fiery protest. Several of the prospective brides gave in to nerves and began to weep loudly. The elders protested in unison, and Maria Pia began to pray to the good Madonna. The don's men looked at one another, shocked at the villagers' reaction to the high compliment, but, unbidden to speak, remained stoically silent.

  But Cristano had captured the don's attention. Don Giovanni Scarletti looked from Nicoletta's white face to the young man's outraged expression. A dark shadow crossed the don's sensual features. He turned back to Nicoletta, moving close enough that she was trapped between his hard body and the solid tree trunk. His hand spanned her throat, his fingers curling around her neck as if he might strangle her, while his black gaze roamed over her upturned face to settle on her soft, trembling mouth.

  "I have chosen. Your young man must find another." There was soft menace in his voice. Hard finality.

  But that same voice managed to touch the core of strength and fire in Nicoletta. Her teeth came together with a snap. Her dark eyes flashed fire at him. "Choose another. There are many willing brides for you," she hissed, uncaring that he might think her disrespectful or defiant.

  "I have chosen, and my choice stands."

  "I will not go."

  All around them was the clamor of talking and arguing, but they might as well have been the only two people in the world. Nicoletta was deeply aware of his palm shaping her throat, his fingers on her bare skin. There was so much heat in him, he was burning his brand into her soul. Staring directly into her defiant eyes, he smiled, a slow, humorless curving of his perfect mouth. "The marriage will take place as soon as the Holy Church is satisfied."

  His hand slipped slowly, reluctantly off her skin, and he turned around and walked calmly back to the group of elders. The heat lingered on Nicoletta's skin where his palm had been. Maria Pia rushed to her side, slipping her shawl around the young woman's head and shoulders to give her a semblance of privacy as she escorted her through the crowd to their hut. Nicoletta could hear the elders protesting, but she knew they would have to give in. The Don didn't argue with them; he simply waited until they had talked themselves out. Then he advised them of his plans in his soft, commanding voice.

  Once behind the closed door, Nicoletta flung herself across the room. "I will not become his bride. I will not! I -do not care what the elders say. I do not care if he threatens to have me burned at the stake. I will not! He cannot just take me from my home to that horrible, horrible palazzo and rip my world apart!"

  Maria Pia remained silent, allowing Nicoletta her angry outburst in the safety of their home. She watched the young woman pace back and forth across the room, far too upset to stay in one spot. "Any of the other girls would have been happy to marry him. He knows he could have chosen any of them! Well, I will not do it. He cannot make me." Nicoletta wrung her hands. "Do you think the elders will talk him out of it? Perhaps they will convince him I am a half-wit. Only a half-wit would dress as I did today. Surely he does not want to marry a dolt!"

  "Nicoletta, did you see his face when Cristano protested his choice?" Maria Pia asked quietly. "Don Scarletti is not a man who will give you up."

  "Well, he is just going to have to." Nicoletta flung the shawl and scarf onto the bed, yanked the shapeless dress over her head, and tossed it aside. She pried at the cloth binding her aching breasts. The disguise had been a silly idea from the beginning. She threw the cloth after the shawl in protest. "I am not an object, Maria Pia. No one owns me! I will go to the holy father and protest immediately. The don cannot do this." Nicoletta pulled on her skirt and blouse with quick, angry movements. She was breathing fast to keep from weeping like a babe.

  Maria Pia bowed her head, fighting back tears. She had known all along this day would come. The Church would not help Nicoletta; the priest would insist she marry the don. Scarletti was too powerful for the priest to alienate. He had ties to all the great political leaders, and his army was a strong one. If Don Giovanni Scarletti wanted Nicoletta, no one would stand against him. The village elders couldn't risk his wrath; they needed his land and his good will and protection. With a bride chosen from their villaggio, their status would rise considerably. No one would save Nicoletta from her fate. No one could save Nicoletta, not even Maria Pia.

  Nicoletta stood in the middle of the room pulling the knot out of her hair, letting the thick mass fall in waves down her back. That she was still shaking added fuel to her anger. It infuriated her that a man had the power to take control of her life. Maria Pia didn't have to point out that she was helpless against the don; she knew she was ranting and railing against an inevitable fate.

  She made herself breathe slowly,
deeply, in and out. No one else could extricate her from this situation. "The elders will ask the priest to perform the ceremony as soon as the don wishes," Nicoletta said heavily. She glanced through the window at the crowd outside. The fog was thickening, and the air was chilly, but the throng was as dense as ever. Nicoletta knew the don was still in the villaggio. Negotiating. The eloquent, arrogant Don Scarletti would eventually ensure that the elders were more than satisfied with the match, though most likely he had not expected any opposition whatsoever.

  "They are selling me to him!" she burst out tearfully, unable to contain her fear. She would have to leave her beloved home, her mountain, everything and everyone she knew and loved. She would have to leave it all behind.

  "Piccola,"--Maria Pia tried to console her--"the tradition has been in existence for many, many generations. Most girls would be happy to marry an aristocratico. You must not blame the elders. They tried to talk him out of it. I heard them."

  Nicoletta was nodding, but tears were streaming down her face. The fog was a thick blanket now, and the gossips were finally driven indoors. Night had fallen quickly as it did in the hills, shadows stretching, the wind howling mournfully through the trees. Her world. She belonged out there, free and wild, like the bears and wolves. She should not be imprisoned in an evil, hideous palazzo with people who would never understand or love her.

  "The elders will be here soon," Maria Pia warned softly. "You must calm yourself, bambina. They cannot know your defiance."

  Nicoletta nodded, oddly grateful that Maria Pia didn't refer to her having to leave soon. She didn't think she could bear it. She gathered up her pitiful disguise and carefully put it out of sight. Taking refuge in work, she pushed all thoughts of escape aside until after the coming ordeal. She built a fire and brewed a hot herbal tea. She lit several candles for their soothing aroma and added a few more to the Madonna's shrine at Maria Pia's suggestion, refraining from pointing out the that Madonna must have been doing good works elsewhere while the don was choosing her.

  Although she stiffened when the knock came at the door, she stood quietly with her head bowed as Maria Pia let the dignitaries into their hut. The elders avoided looking at Nicoletta, unable to face her without shame, but she felt the weight of Don Scarletti's stare. He was willing her to look at him, but she steadfastly continued staring at the floor.

  Giovanni bowed low to Maria Pia. "Naturally, Signorina Sigmora, I will provide generously for my bride. I have already sent for the dressmakers to see to her wedding garments and the proper attire she will need as my wife. They will be here quickly. We will be married in the cathedral as soon as it can be arranged."

  Maria Pia thanked him. What else could she do?

  Nicoletta smoldered with anger. How dare he come into their home and dictate to them! He had already sent for dressmakers! The nerve of him! The don sauntered across the room to stand in front of her, setting her teeth on edge. She could tell by his mocking air of amusement that he was aware of her irritation. His presence alone filled the small hut, taking all the air so that she felt as if she couldn't breathe, would never be able to breathe again. She thrust her hands behind her back, twisting her fingers together so she didn't do anything crazy, such as slap the smug look right off his face.

  "I believe you left these behind again." The Don sounded amused as he dangled her sandals in front of her.

  Nicoletta took them from him, careful to avoid touching him. "Thank you, signore." Deliberately she didn't give him the more respectful title, her voice barely audible, an obedient child reluctantly thanking a well-meaning adult.

  "Come, bambina." An elder held out a hand to her. "Let me introduce you formally to our don. He will provide all that is needed for the festivities. Don Scarletti, this is our beloved Nicoletta."

  She made the mistake of looking at Giovanni Scarletti then, lifting her lashes so that her dark eyes met his briefly. He glimpsed the fierce flame burning in their depths, betraying her defiance and smoldering anger. One black brow arched, and a faint, mocking amusement curved his mouth and touched his eyes, making them glitter wickedly. "I do not want you to worry." He addressed Maria Pia, although his gaze remained on Nicoletta. "I know there is always the danger of an enemy trying to kidnap my bride-to-be until I have her in the safety of my palazzo. To ensure that she is safe at all times, my men will be stationed here day and night." The merest hint of humor laced his voice.

  Nicoletta had hastily averted her gaze as he regarded her, but now her chin went up, her eyes blazing at him. He was not protecting her; she was his prisoner! Let the others believe his preposterous explanation--she knew the truth! She wanted to throw something at his handsome, smiling face.

  Maria Pia gasped, clasping her hands to her breast. "Surely such a thing is not necessary, Don Scarletti." A small villaggio, they could not afford to feed and shelter his troops. And what of the other young women, with handsome soldiers about? It was a dangerous situation. No one had expected the don to leave behind a regiment of guards.

  "Do not worry. I will provide all their rations and supplies, and my men will have strict orders. Still, it may be prudent to keep the young women close to their homes," Giovanni suggested silkily, a clear warning that he would not be thwarted.

  Nicoletta moved away from him, unashamedly retreating behind Maria Pia. She listened to Don Scarletti's voice, its note of authority fanning the embers of resistance deep within her into a full-fledged fire. His guards would not hold her. She would not go to the terrible Palazzo delta Morte. The elders might ignore the long line of mysterious deaths there, but she would not. She would never forget that terrible day they had returned her mother's body. She stayed very still in the corner of the room, all the while plotting her escape.

  Long after the officials and Don Scarletti had gone, Nicoletta remained standing by the window, peering out at the blanket of fog. Maria Pia thrust a cup of steaming hot tea into her hands. "You look as if you might collapse," she said gently. "You should go to bed and rest. Things will look better when you are not so tired."

  "Will they?" Nicoletta asked bitterly. "He has changed my life for all time."

  Maria Pia patted her shoulder gently. "He is no heathen. He is marrying you in the Holy Church," she tried to reassure her young charge.

  "I do not see him as a good or holy man, Maria Pia. He is following the dictates of the Church, but for diplomacy, not for any other reason. But you are correct--I am very tired, and I need to rest." She placed the cup down carefully and began to rummage through cupboards.

  Maria Pia watched her in silence as she stuffed a worn shawl and blanket into her medical satchel, adding bread and cheese as if preparing for a long journey. Nicoletta kissed the older woman gently and wrapped her arms around her, clinging for a long time in silence. They blew out the candles together and lay down in their beds. Maria Pia fell asleep with tears running down her face, knowing that when she awoke, Nicoletta would be gone. She didn't try to talk the young woman out of it--she knew her admonitions would be useless--but the penalty for such defiance would be death. If Nicoletta made good her escape, Maria Pia would never see her again. And if she were caught... Either way, she would never see her beloved Nicoletta again.

  Nicoletta lay quietly, her mind working on her plans. If she moved around too much, she would be more easily followed. It would be better to find a hiding place and stay quiet for a few days until the initial furor over her departure died down. At first, everyone would be out looking, and she would hardly escape notice if she was on the move. Better to hide and wait awhile. She had complete faith that she could slip past the guards. They would never expect her to run, and certainly not at night, when wild animals hunted their supper. Not when the superstitious feared the dark shadows and the legendary monsters roaming the hills. She could only pray to the good Madonna that her desperate act would bring no harm to the faithful and innocent Maria Pia.

  Nicoletta lay in the warmth of the hut while the wind howled and moaned outside a
nd the fog thickened into a heavy soup. She waited until Maria Pia was in a deep sleep. The guards would be warming themselves by their campfires, perhaps looking directly into the flames, temporarily dimming their vision. She took care to dress in dark gray. Not so dark the fog would reveal her, nor so light the darkness would give her up. She deftly braided her hair and wrapped her traveling shawl tightly around her. Clutching her bag, she slipped out the door, a slim shadow merging quickly with the night. At once she melted into the fog.

  Nicoletta moved swiftly and silently through the village, carefully avoiding the clusters of soldiers hunkering by their fires. Her bare feet unerringly found the narrow trail leading higher up into the mountains. She would go up the coastline before heading for the far side of the hills, away from the palazzo. There, she knew about a network of caves that curved deep down into the earth. Few people were aware of their existence, and fewer still had the nerve to enter them.

  An owl hooted, the sound distorted in the heavy fog. She heard a rush of wings quite near her. Branches swayed and danced, clicking together in a macabre stick-figure dance, the sound loud in the darkness. She saw the glowing eyes of a night predator watching her through the trees. There was a strange feel to the air, it was thick, like quicksand, and her legs soon tired, her muscles cramping. Nothing on her beloved mountain seemed the same. Even the sheep seemed hostile, strange white apparitions appearing in the mist.

  The wind suddenly stilled. The leaves ceased to rustle. The night seemed unusually quiet. Nicoletta froze, simply waiting, not daring to move in the unexpected pocket of silence. A gentle breeze started up again, a soft tugging at her skirts, a ruffling at her hair. But the wind brought with it that murmuring voice, brushing in her mind like the gossamer wings of butterflies. The voice seemed clearer now, she could almost distinguish the words. It was the don's voice, no question she would recognize it anywhere. Soft yet commanding, its steady, persistent tone making it difficult to concentrate.