The Scarletti Curse

by Christine Feehan

  Nicoletta hunched over, attempting to make herself smaller. Fortunately, she had never known harsh words and physical punishment. Her mother and Maria Pia had always been gentle and kind and understanding. Her father, known also as a good man, was dead and gone before she was even of an age to remember him. Maria Pia had slapped her hand now and again, but always in gentle reprimand, a threat, not a real blow. Nicoletta's heart went out to Margerita.

  "He loves me!" Margerita cried out, her young voice filled with pain. "You do not know. Ask him. Ask him. He wants to be with me. He will marry me."

  "He will never marry you." Portia spat the words at her daughter, filled with a venomous fury. There was the sound of another blow. "Have you lain with him?" The voice rose higher, poisonous and angry. "Tell me, you ungrateful little whore!" Portia was obviously shaking her daughter in her fury. "I should throw you out, tell the world what you are. You have been with him--I see it in your face." Her voice rose into a strangled scream.

  "He wanted me!" Margerita shouted back, a defensive child trying to convince an adult of something she didn't believe herself. "He will marry me! He will!"

  "Stupid, stupid girl." Portia sounded as if she was grieving now, her voice cracked and broken, a bitter, sad tone that soon turned to weeping. "Go away from me. Get out where I can no longer see you. Get out!"

  "Madre," Margerita tried again, "he will offer for me, and Zio Giovanni will give me a generous dowry and allow the match. It will come right."

  "Get out!" Portia snapped.

  Nicoletta remained quite still as she heard heavy footsteps hurry toward the room where the two women argued.

  "What is going on in here?" It was Vincente's voice this time.

  There was a rustle of material as Margerita evidently rushed at him, bursting into tears. "Go now, Margerita," he instructed softly. "I will talk with Portia."

  The girl fled the room, running past Nicoletta, her sobs of shame filling the corridor. Portia howled in anguish, her fury and sorrow so great she couldn't speak. Vincente caught her flying figure as she lashed out at him, unable to contain her anger. She was weeping hard.

  Nicoletta rose in silence, turning to make her way quietly out of the alcove. She saw Vincente and Portia struggling ferociously, and then Vincente wrapped his arms around Portia, locking her to him, his mouth descending on hers almost like an assault.

  Shocked and embarrassed, Nicoletta shrank back into the shadows. She should have guessed they had more than a cousinly relationship. Portia always clung to Vincente, and he seemed to rely on her for advice. Portia was only five or six years older than Vincente. It had never occurred to Nicoletta that cold, confident Portia could be so passionate about anyone, yet she seemed to be devouring Vincente. Vincente kicked the door shut with his foot even as his hands were roughly roaming over Portia's body with a brutal, frenzied grasping.

  Nicoletta stared at the closed door for a moment, frozen in place, too shocked to move. The unmistakable sound of cloth ripping galvanized her into action. She retreated quickly down the corridor, rushing silently past the door, wishing she knew why she had such a bad taste in her mouth. Vincente and Portia looked more angry and raw than like two people in love. She was slightly sickened by the display and suddenly terrified at the power Don Scarletti wielded over her own body.

  Maria Pia was waiting for her in the large courtyard, ready for their daily walk. "What is it, piccola! You look as if you have seen a ghost."

  Nicoletta glanced at the two soldiers who were her constant shadows. Their faces were carefully blank. For the first time she wondered just how much they knew of the intrigues in the palazzo. They were loyal to the don. Did they tell him of the things they saw, when the aristocrazia and even the servants treated them as part of the furnishings? Most likely they did. She felt off-balance and strangely close to tears. Now more than ever she wanted to run away. She was out of her depth in this place.

  Maria Pia reached for her hand. "What is it, bambina? It is unlike you to be unhappy. Did the don hurt you? What is the cause of that look? Ah, is it that I did not prepare you adequately for your wedding night?" She spoke quietly, deliberately turning away from the guards so that she and Nicoletta faced the abundance of shrubbery.

  "I do not belong in this place," Nicoletta whispered. "I do not understand the people here, and I do not care to understand them. I want to go home, back to the hills, where I know what to expect and on whom I can rely."

  Maria Pia was silent a moment. Then she put her arms around Nicoletta and hugged her as if she were still a child. "They are still people," she reminded her gently. "Just people."

  Nicoletta shook her head. "They are different. They do not value one another as we do. Portia struck her own daughter, Margerita. It was a horrible thing."

  "I often wish to strike that young woman," Maria Pia admitted. "If you had the chance, Nicoletta, you might give her a good clout yourself. She is a vain, wicked girl who thinks of no one but herself. Surely you are not upset that a long-needed slap was delivered to that girl. Look at the things she says to poor Sophie." Already Maria Pia's loyalty had swung solidly to the lonely little girl.

  Sudden tears swam in Nicoletta's eyes. "Portia said terrible things to Margerita. It is no wonder Margerita passes the vileness along to Sophie. Her madre called her names and condemned her when Margerita professed to love someone." Nicoletta looked helplessly at Maria Pia. "In truth, she is simply young, immature, a year younger even than I."

  "Portia Scarletti lives at the generosity of her cousin, the don. Unless Margerita marries well, they could end up with nothing. Portia Scarletti must be counting on a good marriage for her daughter," Maria Pia explained tactfully. "If this young man is a soldier or commoner, naturally Donna Scarletti would object to the match."

  "And then Vincente heard them fighting and came to help," Nicoletta said in a low voice, averting her face. "Margerita ran away, but he and Portia..."

  There was a small silence. "I see," Maria Pia said softly. "I suspected there was something between those two, although they keep it well hidden. She looks upon him with a kind of greedy possession."

  "It felt wrong to me," Nicoletta admitted reluctantly. "I did not feel happy for them, as if they were in love. Rather it felt like..." She trailed off. "Desperation? Lust? A battle, even. I cannot say for certain. But it was distasteful." It was more than distasteful; they had looked to be at war, grasping and clawing at each other's bodies. Was that how she looked with Giovanni? A faint scarlet crept up her neck and into her face.

  Maria Pia squeezed her hand gently. "When your husband looks at you, it is with tenderness in his gaze. It is the only reason I can bear your union with such a man. I still believe he is a heathen, and this castle has earned the name Palazzo della Morte, But, Nicoletta, the don's need of you is not mere lust."

  Nicoletta leaned over to kiss Maria Pia's cheek. "Grazie. I know that was not easy for you to say. I do not know exactly how I feel about Giovanni. When I am with him it is one way, and then, when we are separated, I am not so sure of anything. I look to the hills, and they beckon me, but if I attempted to follow my heart, in truth, I would not know which way to go." Ashamed, she studiously surveyed the courtyard, not wanting to look directly at the woman who knew her so well.

  "He could have refused to allow me to return to the palazzo and kept us separated, but he did not," Maria Pia conceded. "He knows I do not trust him, yet he cares that you are happy, piccola."

  "Yet he is secretive." Nicoletta voiced her concerns, feeling a traitor.

  Shivering, Maria Pia glanced at the long row of windows that covered the side of the palazzo. They seemed to be great, wide, empty, malevolent eyes staring at them with glassy hatred. "Do you feel it, Nicoletta, the way they are always staring at us? Watching us all the time? The palazzo has secrets, evil secrets, and it doesn't want us to find them out."

  Maria Pia didn't have a sixth sense, she wasn't "different" in any way, yet the sensation of being watched was s
o strong, she felt it, too. Nicoletta didn't need any other warning to realize the danger was very real. She felt compelled to look up at those windows, too. She could make out the figure of the don pacing back and forth in his study. She could see the shadowy figures grouped around his desk, looking down at something, studying it. What was he so involved in that he would leave his marriage bed in the middle of the night?

  "I think they are all mad," Maria Pia ventured. "Antonello slinks around in silence, secretive and strange, his clothes often torn and dirty. Vincente pays no attention to his own child, and Giovanni could be il--"

  "Do not call him that!" Nicoletta said sharply. She then swung around and marched back toward the palazzo. "I must begin to learn the workings of this house, or I will be of no use to my husband. I think it is time for young Sophie, too, to begin her education. She has no knowledge of art or reading or anything she will need later in her life. No one pays her any attention, Maria Pia, and she is sorely lacking."

  "You do not wish to walk with me?" Maria Pia raised her eyebrows in speculation.

  "I have no time this day. Perhaps tomorrow." Nicoletta hurried back into the palazzo. She felt guilty for leaving Maria Pia so abruptly, but, in truth, she already had doubts about her husband, and she didn't want the older woman to witness or add to them. She moved through the great halls slowly, taking her time to examine the exquisite artwork, furnishings, tapestries, and strange carvings. Behind her, in silence, the two guards shadowed her every move.

  It was Francesco who alerted her to the presence of the old man. The eldest Scarletti watched from the doorway of a small room as she approached. He glared at her guards. 'Tell Giovanni your guards are useless. Thievery is rampant in the palazzo. Someone has rifled my maps again. They cannot even guard a little room."

  Nicoletta offered him a tentative smile as she neared him. "Has something upset you, Nonno? I shall speak to Don Giovanni at once."

  He waved her concern aside. "Pay no attention. I shall tell him myself. We should talk about you. I think you are not the happy bride," he observed. The voice was low, almost rusty, as if, without yelling, he was unsure how to speak.

  She stopped walking and glanced back at her guards. They were clearly uneasy with her proximity to the old man. "There is much here I do not understand, signore, much that frightens me. I look to the hills for solace. Do you ever walk the hills?" Nicoletta stepped away from the door to gesture toward the windows.

  "Not since I was a young man." His faded eyes took on a far-off look. "I do not venture far from Giovanni's protection. There is much hatred toward me." His world-weary gaze fixed on her face. "Tell me, why are you not afraid of me? Do you not think I will wrap my hands around your throat and strangle you as I strangled my wife?" He was ramrod stiff, a fierce pride in his carriage.

  "I think, signore, it is much more likely that Maria Pia Sigmora will do such a thing, or perhaps the don, if I do not soon remember to wear the shoes he thinks so important." Nicoletta laughed softly and lifted the hem of her skirt to show him her offending bare toes. She then took the old man's arm. "If you wish to walk in the hills, Nonno, I will be glad of the company. I have planted many wonderful healing herbs that need tending. I must see to them very soon." She yearned for the hills and their solace with every fiber of her being.

  The old man patted her hand gently. "Stay close to your guards, Nicoletta--if I have your permission to address you as such."

  She smiled up at him. "I did not ask your permission to call you Nonno. I hope that we become good friends. You are my famiglia now."

  "Giovanni may wish it otherwise," the don's grandfather said tightly.

  "Tell me your story, Nonno. I do not wish to hear gossip from those who can only make up tales," she encouraged. "I am not afraid of the truth."

  He looked back toward the guards, then down at her upturned face. "You are either a very brave girl or a very foolish one. I do not know the truth." Ashamed, he dropped her arm and turned away from her. "They think I killed her. My beloved Tessa. That I could do such an evil thing. I think of her every moment, a torment I can never be free of. I cannot speak of such a vile thing." He shook his head again, walking heavily back into the room, his shoulders rounded with a terrible weight.

  Nicoletta followed him into what looked like a small study. The furnishings were heavy, the colors dark, but windows lightened the room so that it seemed airy. There were no carvings, no monstrous sculptures here. Parchments and several well-worn maps lay on the desk. She glanced at them as she followed the old man to the wide row of windows. It looked as though Signore Scarletti was drawing new maps of the don's lands and the surrounding areas. The lines were neat and precise. She could see that some of the older maps were thin and worn from use.

  "Perhaps you should speak of it," Nicoletta said bravely. She was very aware of the open door, the two guards positioned uneasily just outside, ready to rush in should there be need.

  "I cannot." Tears ran down his worn face. "Leave me now." It was a fierce whisper, a plea of sheer torment.

  Nicoletta went to him, putting her arms around him in an attempt to comfort. "I cannot leave you like this. It is madness to hold such a terrible thing inside. Do you think me so weak that I would condemn you? Run from you?"

  He put her from him, his body shaking with some terrible truth. His fists knotted at his sides. "She was like you. Sunshine followed her wherever she went. Her laughter filled my heart. She was so beautiful. Like a rare gem." He looked at her. "Like you. She was very like you. Giovanni was insane to bring you to this place." His voice abruptly swung out of control, ranting in Latin, condemning his grandson to the fires of hell.

  Nicoletta crossed herself even as she shook her head at the clearly agitated guards. They consulted together briefly, and one quickly moved away. She hastily lay a calming hand on the eldest Scarletti's arm. "Do you believe in the Scarletti curse? Is that why you think I am in danger? I am very strong, Nonno, and I am not afraid to face danger." Deliberately she named him grandfather to aid his attempt to regain control.

  He looked down at her with sorrow-filled eyes. "My Tessa was not afraid either. Giovanni is much like I was. I see the way he looks upon you. With his heart. His soul. Yet he sees much. Sunshine follows you, and so do other men's eyes." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Do you understand what it is like to be consumed by another being? To live for only that purpose, that smile, those eyes, to need so much that you cannot breathe if she is not with you? It is a fire in the blood that cannot be quenched. You watch her every movement, the slightest gesture." He closed his eyes tightly against the memories haunting him.

  Nicoletta went very still, yet she held onto his arm even as he was confirming her worst fears of the Scarletti curse. Black-hearted jealousy. It ran deep in their veins. It created monsters where gentlemen had once stood.

  The eldest Scarletti touched her silken hair. "Giovanni is like that with you. He cannot take his eyes off you. He has seen the others watching you. Il demonio is in Giovanni, just as it dwelled in my own boy. Just as it dwells in me. There were many men who desired Tessa; they could not hide it. I could not blame them for what I, myself, could not control. But there was one, a visitor who came often over the years. She smiled upon him. I was mad with hatred, felt the hot rage and evil in me. It spread until I could not see other than her smiling at him. I dragged her to our bedchamber. I was rough with her. I saw that I hurt her, but I could not stop myself. I had drunk spirits, much of the spirits, more than ever before, trying to drown il demonio."

  The old man sank into a chair and buried his face in his trembling hands. "I could not drown it. I struck her as she pleaded with me to believe her innocent. I knew she was innocent. I knew it. I had wronged her, yet I was angry that I needed her so much, that one of her smiles to another man could bring forth such evil." He looked at Nicoletta. "I am a monster. I pushed her away from me. I remember how her delicate body fell against the wall, hard. I left her on the floor while I went
to order the visitor from the palazzo." A sob shook his voice. "I woke in my bed the next morn. My head pounded as if it would come apart. Tessa lay beside me, very still. I was so ashamed, I did not want to face her, but I turned my head to look upon her. I knew she would not condemn me; it was not her way. But her eyes were open, staring in horror. There were finger marks, great black bruises on her neck. She lay dead beside me, strangled by the monster that lives in me." He broke off as sobs tore at his throat.

  Nicoletta stroked back his wild, silvery hair, murmuring soothing words to him. Whatever crime he had committed against his wife, he paid for every moment of his existence. "You cannot remember? You truly do not remember?"

  He shook his head. "I try. Each night I go over and over the argument in my mind, but there is a blank. I do not remember chasing off the visitor. I do not remember anything after I left the bedchamber."

  "Did anyone see you?"

  "My son told me I roared into his study and berated our visitor, but he escorted me back to our room and put me to bed. He did not see his madre. She must have gone up to the ramparts. She liked to walk up there when she was troubled, to be outdoors, where she could think."

  Nicoletta stiffened. The ramparts. Her mother had met her death there, too, that very night. Someone had used her brutally and thrown her body off the height. It could not be a coincidence. It could not be. Two women dead. Murdered. Both had been at the ramparts. She stared at the old man. Had he gone to find his wife and, in his rage, raped and killed Nicoletta's mother? She pressed a hand hard against her mouth to keep any sound from escaping.

  The old man suddenly rose and stepped toward her aggressively. "I could not have done such a thing! I would remember if I had killed my beloved wife! I cannot be that much a monster. Do you see, Nicoletta? Do you see the danger to you? Heed me in this. You must leave this place. You must go while you still can!" He sounded wild, once more spinning out of control.