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 ground, 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.
Two of the men carefully helped Lucca onto the bed. At the movement, he began coughing and held his chest as if he were in great pain. Isabella glanced anxiously up at Sarina, terrified that she might lose her brother when he had finally come back to her.
It had been nearly two years since she had last seen Lucca. Two years since he had helped her onto the back of her horse and sent her fleeing with their mother’s jewels and what treasures they could gather quickly. He had been warned Rivellio’s men were coming for him, that the powerful don meant to steal their lands and have Lucca assassinated or arrested and Isabella brought to him. Lucca had sent Isabella to a neighboring city, where friends watched over her while he was hunted. The moment she heard of his capture, she had begun the search to find the entrance to Don DeMarco’s land knowing he was the only one powerful enough to help her and Lucca.
She waited until the guards were gone and the door closed before falling to her knees beside the bed. Lucca wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her shoulder, unashamedly weeping. She held him tightly to her, tears streaming down her face. Never in all her years had she seen him cry.
It was Lucca who pulled himself together first. “How did you manage to do this, Isabella?” His voice was low and husky, his fingers tight around her arm, as if he couldn’t bear to lose contact with her. “When they came for me, I thought they were bringing me to the executioner. They said nothing. I saw Rivellio. He stood on the battlements and watched them take me away. He was sneering. I was certain he was up to some trick.” He pulled her closer. “Are you certain DeMarco is not in alliance with Rivellio?”
“No! No, never!” Isabella was horrified that her brother would come to such a conclusion. “Nicolai would never do such a thing. He despises Rivellio. You’re safe here. You really are.” She smoothed back the tangle of his hair. He was so thin, every bone protruding, his skin gray, stretched over his lanky frame as if it no longer fit. Isabella thought her heart was shattering. “All you have to do is eat and sleep and grow strong again. You owe your life to Don DeMarco—your life and your fidelity. He is wonderful, Lucca, truly a good man.”
Lucca lay back on the bed, his strength leaving him. “The rumors of him are untrue, then?” His lashes drifted down, though he strained to stare at his sister forever, afraid that if he closed his eyes he would wake up and find it all a dream. “Do you remember the stories of the DeMarco famiglia I used to tell to frighten you? Were they but gossip?” He closed his eyes, his body prevailing over his mind. “I owe you my life, little sister. My fidelity is to you.”
She smoothed his hair as if he were a child. “Sarina will bring you a hot drink, Lucca, if you can stay awake.” She didn’t want him to sleep, she wanted to hold him. She leaned close. “Don’t slip away, Lucca. Fight for your life. I need you. I need you here with me, in this world. I know you’re tired, but you’re safe here. All you have to do is rest.”
For a moment his fingers tightened around hers, but he was too weak to open his eyes or rouse himself enough to reassure her. She remained kneeling beside him, watching him force raspy breaths in and out, watching a choking cough convulse him before he could once more lie quietly.
Isabella was grateful when Sarina bustled in and took over, propping numerous pillows under Lucca’s shoulders and back, allowing him to breathe more easily. She directed Isabella to aid him as she pressed a hot drink of healing herbs to his mouth. He sipped, not attempting to hold the cup, his arms limp at his sides. He was asleep the moment they removed the cup from his lips.
Isabella clasped Sarina’s hand. “What does the healer say? He’s bad, isn’t he?”
“The good Madonna will watch over him.” Sarina’s voice held a wealth of compassion. “With a little help from us.” She patted Isabella’s shoulder.
The housekeeper left the room, closing the door, leaving Isabella alone with her brother. She knelt close to the bed to keep vigil. To look at him. To drink him in. She stared at him, afraid that if she took her eyes from him he would disappear.
“Isabella?” The soft voice made her stiffen. “Please, Isabella, just listen to me before you hate me.”
Isabella turned to look at Francesca, who was standing just inside the room. She appeared uncertain, even nervous, not her usual confident self. “I’m not angry with you, Francesca.” With a small sigh, Isabella tucked her brother’s hand beneath the coverlet and got to her feet to face the sister of the don. “I’m hurt and disappointed. I thought we were true friends. I let myself feel great affection for you, and I felt betrayed by your deceptions.”
Francesca nodded. “I know. I know that what I did was wrong. I should have told you immediately who I was. I didn’t want to admit I was the don’s crazy sister.” She looked down at her hands. “You didn’t know me. You didn’t know anything about me. When I suddenly appeared in your room, you just accepted me.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, a gesture curiously reminiscent of her brother. “With you I could be anyone I wanted to be, not the don’s half-mad sister. I’d grown tired of that role but had no way of changing it until you came into the valley.”
Isabella saw the raw pain in Francesca’s eyes, and it was impossible not to feel for her.
“You are the only friend I’ve ever had, the only person who ever talked to me as if what I said mattered.” Francesca walked across the room to gaze down at the man lying in the bed, his breathing harsh and ragged. “You even trusted me enough to ask me to care for your brother. I don’t want to lose our friendship. I’ve thought about it a lot, and my pride isn’t worth what you gave me.” She knelt beside the bed. “I didn’t do what Nicolai said I did. I don’t know why he would accuse of me of it, but I didn’t do it. I would never hurt you. But I don’t expect you to take my word over Nicolai’s.”
Isabella considered for a few moments. “Is it possible you don’t remember? Are you really aware of what you do when you’re the beast? Maybe without knowing, you don’t want to share your brother with anyone. He’s all you’ve ever had. Just as Lucca is all I’ve had.” Her voice was gentle, compassionate. She knelt beside Francesca and touched her brother’s hair.
Francesca shook her head stubbornly, a flicker of denial crossing her face. But when she opened her mouth to protest, she hesitated, and horror crept into her expression. “I don’t know, Isabella,” she whispered. “I honestly don’t know. But I don’t think so. I love having you here. I want you here.” Her defiant expression crumbled, and she buried her face in her hands. “If I did that, if I stalked you as Nicolai said I did, then you have to leave here. I believed Nicolai would be the one, with you, to free the valley. But the beast isn’t as strong in me; the voices are whispers, and the change rarely takes me. Nicolai is different; the beast is much stronger in him.”
Isabella couldn’t stand the sight of Francesca’s slender shoulders shaking as the girl wept. She wrapped comforting arms around her. “Francesca, you don’t know for certain. Maybe it wasn’t you. A rogue lion went after me in the valley and again here in the castello. Both times I felt the presence of the entity.”
Francesca stiffened, then slumped into Isabella’s arms. She cried as if her heart were breaking. Over Francesca’s head, Isabella saw her brother stir, his lashes fluttering open, his expression concerned. She shook her head in warning, and he closed his eyes again without protest. Holding Francesca, stroking her hair, she watched Lucca drift back to restless sleep.
“Shh, now, it’s all right, piccola,” she said when Francesca’s weeping showed no signs of slowing down.
“Everything will be all right.”
“Why would Nicolai speak to me like that? He sounded so cold.” She lifted her tear-ravaged face to look up at Isabella. “I know he thinks I’m mad, but to have him think I would want you dead…” She trailed off miserably.
“I’m sorry, Francesca,” Isabella murmured. “I know he wouldn’t want to hurt you. I think Nicolai is afraid of what he might do to me. It’s eating away at him, so he defends me all the more.”
“I see it every night,” Francesca whispered, casting a quick look toward the bed, making certain Lucca remained asleep. “Over and over I see mio padre ripping mia madre to shreds. There was so much blood. It was like a red river there in the courtyard.” Sobs shook her again.
Isabella tightened her hold, knowing Francesca was that five-year-old child reliving a horror that had forever changed her life.
“I was frozen. I couldn’t look away. Mio padre turned his head and looked at Nicolai. I knew he was going to kill him, too. He didn’t look at me; he didn’t see me there. Mio padre used to carry me around the palazzo, whirling me in circles.” Francesca covered her mouth as another sob emerged, heartrending, painful, torn from deep within her. “I loved him so much, but I couldn’t let him take Nicolai. So I called the lions, and they killed mio padre. I couldn’t let him have Nicolai.” The large dark eyes looked at Isabella for forgiveness. “You see that, don’t you? I couldn’t allow it.”
“I’m grateful to you, Francesca, as I’m certain your padre is grateful. You did the only thing you could do, a decision no child should have to make. Nicolai doesn’t sleep at night either. He doesn’t forget, and he blames himself for not saving your madre.”
“But how could he have saved her?” Francesca protested.
“And how could you not save your brother?” Isabella kissed the top of her head. “We’ll straighten this out, piccola. No more tears now.”
Francesca flashed a wan grin. “I can’t remember ever crying before.”
Isabella laughed softly. “You do things wholeheartedly,” she observed. “This, by the way, is mio fratello, Lucca.”
Francesca gratefully turned her attention to the sleeping man. He looked young and vulnerable in sleep, the lines etched into his face visible but soft in repose. Without conscious thought she touched the gray streak in his dark hair. “He’s suffered, hasn’t he? That despicable Rivellio had him tortured.”
Isabella sucked in her breath. Of course Lucca had been tortured. Rivellio would never have passed up the opportunity to inflict as much pain as possible on a Vernaducci. She hadn’t allowed herself to think too closely about the atrocities her brother would suffer at the hands of the don. She nodded, reaching to touch his arm, his face, just to reassure herself he was really there.
“Will you still trust me to watch over him?” Francesca’s fingertips caressed the ribbon of gray in his hair. “I swear to you, I’ll look after him.” She held herself very still, waiting anxiously for the reply.
Isabella didn’t make the mistake of hesitating. Every ounce of her was aware that Francesca was extremely fragile, and one wrong word would shatter her. “With all my heart, I’d be grateful to you if you would help me to bring his health back or make his last days more comfortable.”
The DeMarco mouth tightened stubbornly. “They won’t be his last days,” Francesca vowed. “I won’t allow anything to happen to him.”
“It’s in the hands of the Madonna,” Isabella reminded herself and Francesca.
Francesca hugged her again. “I have to go. I look awful, and I don’t want tuo fratello’s first glimpse of me to send him screaming from beneath the coverlet.”
“I doubt if that would happen—tu sei bella.” Isabella leaned to kiss her cheek as she assured Francesca she was beautiful. “But I understand the need to look just right when meeting a handsome man for the first time.” She touched her brother’s arm because she couldn’t stop reassuring herself he was with her.
“He will live,” Francesca promised. Jumping up, she retreated to the passageway, leaving silence behind.
Soft laughter escaped from beneath the coverlet. “You are the same, little sister, your compassionate heart unmistakable.” Lucca’s voice was dreamy, far away, as if the herbs in the tea had set him drifting. “Her tears were genuine. They tore at me until I wanted to hold her close. Who is she?”
“Francesca is Don DeMarco’s younger sister. I thought you were asleep.” Isabella tried to remember what had been said. She didn’t want Lucca anxious over her relationship with Nicolai.
“I was asleep, in and out, and most of what I heard made no sense to me. I think I mixed up my dreams with reality, but someone should watch over her. No woman should have such a sorrow to bear.”
“Sleep, mio fratello, you’re safe here, and no one is happier than tua sorella.” Isabella kissed his temple and stroked the hair from his face, grateful she could sit beside him and see for herself that he was alive. After a time, she laid her head down on the coverlet and, holding his hand, allowed herself to sleep.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand clasped her shoulder. Nicolai. She knew his touch. His scent. The warmth of his body. He bent to kiss the top of her head in greeting. His hand stroked a caress over her hair. “The healer says Lucca will need much care. More than you can provide alone. Sarina will help, but you will need another to stay with him during the night.” His voice evinced a quiet command. He pulled her to her feet and into the shelter of his tall, muscular body. “I know you would wish to stay by his side day and night to ensure his recovery, but you would make yourself ill, and your brother would not want that. You know I’m right, Isabella.”
Isabella was too grateful for her brother’s life to be upset that Nicolai was dictating the terms of Lucca’s care to her. “I have asked a friend for help. She will spend the nights watching over him for me.” Isabella slipped her arms around Nicolai’s waist. “Grazie, Nicolai. I don’t know how to thank you properly for what you’ve done. I don’t know how to repay you.” She laid her head on his chest, her ear over the steady beat of his heart. Love rose up, overwhelming her so that she felt weak with it. She knew in that moment that she loved Nicolai without reservation, unconditionally and completely.
“Lucca is all the family I have in the world, and you gave him back to me.” She tilted her head to look up at the don, this man whom she loved more than she had ever thought possible. This man who believed he might someday destroy her.
His arms tightened around her. “You have more than tuo fratello, cara mio. Never forget that.” His voice was gentle, a soft, rumbling sound that seemed to seep into her heart and soul.
The sheer force of her feelings for him shook her. She stared up into his strangely colored eyes, mesmerized by him, caught by the intensity she saw there. His words brought the memory of his hands on her body, his mouth taking possession of hers. More than that, the words brought the feeling of him curled around her, his arms holding her close as they drifted to sleep together. With Nicolai, she knew a sense of peace, of rightness. They belonged together, tangled and soaring or simply lying quietly together.
A knock on the door had Nicolai fading back into the shadows of the room. He smiled at her, indicating the door. Isabella, cautiously opened it, requesting that the men standing there keep their voices low. “What is it?” she asked the two servants Betto had ordered to guard her within the palazzo. “Surely I can be alone with mio fratello.”
“Signorina, Sarina is calling for all to help in the kitchen. With so many soldiers to feed and watch, she needs us there. But Betto has said we must stay to watch over you.”
Isabella glanced back for permission to Don DeMarco, who raised an aristocratic eyebrow at her, then grinned his quick, sardonic, little-boy smile that always tugged at her heart. She turned back to the guards. “I’ll be safe in this room with mio fratello. You help Sarina and then come back. I’ll be all right, I promise.”
“But, signorina,” one protested, clearly torn.
She smiled in reassurance. “I doubt if a lion will find its way in here with the door firmly closed. Let me know when you’ve returned.” She closed the door to prevent further conversation.
Nicolai reached for her, drawing her into the shadows with him. “But the lion’s already in the room with you,” he whispered against her ear. His tongue stroked a caress down her neck, sending a shiver of heat curling through her stomach. “You would not be safe if I had the time. But the lions are restless, and keeping them quiet is a full-time job. I will be most grateful when the trap is sprung, and our rabbit, Don Rivellio, is caught in our snare.”
“Go to work, then. I will sit here with Lucca and see that he sleeps without disturbance.” Isabella gave Nicolai a push toward the passageway.
He caught her face in his hands and kissed her soundly, leaving her breathless.
Isabella searched for the sewing Sarina had thoughtfully left for her, but she was unable to think straight. She dropped several stitches before she managed to get her breathing back under control. Then she heard someone at the door again. The knock was so soft she nearly missed it.
“Signorina Vernaducci?” Brigita was wringing her hands even as she curtseyed. “I can’t find Sarina or Betto, and there’s a problem. Would you come?”
“Of course. But I will need a maid to sit with mio fratello. Please find one at once. Signorina DeMarco will be along soon, but someone must sit with him until then.”
Brigita’s eyes widened in shock. Her face paled “Signorina DeMarco?”
“There is no need for a maid,” Francesca announced, moving out of the shadows, obviously having used the hidden passageway. “And you’ve no need to hurry, Isabella. I’ll watch over him.” She looked the young maid up and down, her expression haughty.
“Thank you, Francesca,” Isabella said with obvious relief.
“What is it?” she inquired as she followed the maid through the halls as the girl walked faster and faster, her shoulders stiff in silent disapproval.
“A woman has come from one of the farmhouses. Her husband died several days ago of fever, and she has four bambini, the oldest but nine summers. Their storehouse burned to the ground—a dreadful accident. She is asking for supplies to see her through until they can plant and bring in crops. Without a man I don’t know how she’ll manage to do that,” she added gloomily.
“Has this been brought to the attention of Don DeMarco? The woman will need workers to see her through.” Isabella was already calculating what help the widow would require for her family.
“He’s busy meeting with Don Rivellio’s men. Betto is at the barracks, and Sarina is in the kitchen helping Cook prepare meals for everyone. I didn’t know what else to do,” Brigita wailed. “You’ll help her, won’t you, signorina? I couldn’t send her away.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” Isabella said briskly.
Brigita led her to a small room off the servants’ entrance. The widow’s face still held stunned shock. She looked thin and tired and without hope. She curtseyed immediately and burst into tears at the sight of Isabella. “You must help me to see the don, signorina. I have no food for my bambini. I’m Signora Bertroni. You must help me. You must!” She clutched at Isabella, her cries growing louder.
“Brigita, tea at once, and please ask Cook to include honeyed biscuits. Have Sarina give you the key to the storehouse, and send two manservants to meet us there in a few minutes.” Isabella helped the woman into a chair.
Brigita bobbed a quick curtsey and hurried away from the wailing widow. Isabella murmured soothing condolences until Brigita returned with the tea. “Enough now, Signora Bertroni. We must get to work if we are to save your farm for your sons. Dry your eyes, and let us get to the planning of your future.”
Isabella’s calm words and tone brought an end to the woman’s wild, abandoned weeping. “Where is your eldest boy? Is he old enough to aid you?”
“He is waiting outside with the little ones.”
“Brigita will mind the little ones while I take you and your son to the storehouse for supplies. I have two men waiting to help us load your wagon. I’ll send workers to your farm to plant your crops when it is time, and your son can labor with them and learn.”
“Grazie, grazie, signorina.”
In her haste to complete her task, Isabella didn’t take time to throw on her cloak before braving the outdoors. Gray clouds were spreading across the sky and casting dark shadows across the land. The wind tugged at her thin gown, whipped at her hair, and numbed her fingers.
The storeroom was some distance from the palazzo but still within the outer wall. She glanced around for her two guards, then remembered she had sent them to help Sarina. Brigita had not come with her, so she had no one to send back to the kitchen for her guards or her cloak. Sighing, Isabella resigned herself to a cold journey and a lecture from Don DeMarco when her guards reported she had not stayed where she promised.
The storage house was enormous, a great, hulking building that loomed up very close to the outer wall. The two servants were waiting as Isabella and Signora Bertroni hurried up to them.
It took some time to find torches and lamps to adequately light the cavernous storehouse in order to find the supplies needed. Then Isabella directed the two men and Signora Bertroni’s young son to carry out grain and dried fruits in sufficient quantities to see the family through the cold season. She carefully noted each item on a parchment to give to Don DeMarco. The task took longer than she expected, and night had fallen by the time the wagon was loaded.
Isabella realized just how cold she really was as she turned back to extinguish the torches. It crept in then. Slow. Insidious. That terrible, stomach-churning knowledge that she was not alone. She looked around carefully, but she knew the entity had found her.
It seemed wrong to send the widow and her children alone to the farm without an escort when the wind was once again howling and the wagon heavily loaded. She feared for them in the darkness with the spiteful, malevolent being waiting to strike. “It is best if you go with Signora Bertroni,” she said to the two servants. “Escort the wagon to the farm, unload it, and remain for the night if necessary and report back in the morning.”
Annoyance crossed the face of the younger man. “I have a home to go to. A woman waiting for me. It’s cold and late. Let Carlie go.” He indicated the older man with a jerk of his thumb.
“Both of you must go,” Isabella said sternly, her expression every bit that of an aristocratica. “You cannot allow this woman and her children to travel unescorted in the darkness. I will hear no more about it.”
The man glared at her, his black eyes snapping with repressed fury. For a moment his mouth worked as though he might burst into a protest, but he set his lips in a hard line and brushed past her, knocking into her hard enough to send her staggering. He kept going without apology, not looking back.
Isabella stared after him, wondering if she had somehow put the widow in danger by supplying her with a bitter, reluctant escort. Shivering uncontrollably, she hastily snuffed out the remainder of the lights, with the exception of a lantern she needed to see her way back to the castello.
Through the open door she could see mist covering the ground. The fog was thick and swirled like a gray-white shroud in the darkness. “Just what I need,” she muttered aloud, feeling in her pocket for the key to the storehouse door. It wasn’t there.
She held the lantern high, looking around the floor, trying to locate the exact spot where the younger servant had bumped into her. The key must have slipped from her skirt when he sent her stumbling backward.
A torrent of expletives exploded from the doorway, hate-filled and frightening. Isabella’s heart jumped, and she swung around to see the young servant, his face twisted with malice, swinging the heavy door closed.
“No!” Isabella rushed toward him, her heart pounding with fear. The door clanged shut solidly, cutting her off from the outside world, imprisoning her within the huge storage room with no heat and no cloak.