Carefully setting the lantern on the floor, Isabella tried to push the heavy door open. It was locked, the mystery of the missing key solved. The servant must have been adept at picking pockets and had cleverly extracted it when he slammed into her. She stood very still, shivering in the cold air, aware of how wet her shoes were. Her toes were freezing. She rested her head against the door, closing her eyes briefly in dismay. The light from the lantern cast a dim circle around her but didn’t extend more than a scant few inches beyond the hemline of her gown.
She was afraid to move deeper into the storage house. She wanted to be able to shout for help should she hear anyone nearby. The cold had crept into her bones, and she was unable to stop her helpless shivering. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms generated the illusion of warmth but little else. She stomped her feet, paced back and forth, and pumped her arms, but her toes were so cold she thought they might shatter.
Isabella refused to entertain the idea that she might freeze to death. Nicolai would come looking for her. The moment he found her brother with Francesca, the moment he saw her bed empty, he would turn the hold upside down looking for her, and he would find her. She held that knowledge close to her.
Deliberately she avoided looking into the black, empty maw of the darkened building. It had taken on a disturbing feel, as if hundreds of eyes stared at her from the shadowed interior. Each time her gaze was inadvertently pulled in that direction, shadows moved alarmingly, and she looked away. Only silence stretched endlessly before her. She detested the lack of sound, far too aware of her teeth chattering and how alone she was.
A whisper of movement caught her attention, and her heart stilled. She turned to peer into the darkness. The noise came again. A scurry of tiny feet. Her heart began to pound out a rhythm of terror. She inched her hand toward the lantern. When her fingers closed around it, she lifted the light higher, hoping to cast the circle of illumination wider.
She saw them then, a flash of furry bodies running along the shelves. Her entire body shuddered in horror. She detested rats. She could see their beady eyes staring at her. The rats should have turned away from the lantern, but they continued running toward her.
She realized they were agitated, dashing away from a predator. As terrified as she was of rats, whatever was scaring them frightened her even more. The rats rushed around her feet, scuttling toward a hole she couldn’t see. She cried out as she felt them brush against her shoes, her ankles, in their hasty exodus. Isabella clutched the lantern and stared into the cavernous interior, trying to pierce the veil of darkness to see what had sent the rats dashing for safety.
Only then did it occur to her. As much as she detested rats, with grain and food items in the storage house, she had seen only a handful of them. There should have been many, many more. Where were they? She raised the light higher, her mouth dry with fear. Why weren’t there more rats and mice? Where could they all be? And what had frightened them more than her lantern, more than a human?
A cat yowled. A high-pitched scream like that of a woman in terror. Another cat answered it. Then another. So many that Isabella feared the building was overrun with felines. She clapped her free hand over one ear to drown out the increasing volume of the cats’ cries. The lantern swung precariously, flickering and sputtering, and she held her breath, afraid the flame would go out. As she carefully righted the lamps, fights broke out, cats clawing at one another, a continuous yowling of starving animals desperate for food.
The cats prowled, eyes glowing in the darkness. One leapt onto the shelves above her head, hissing and clawing at the air.
Terrified, Isabella pressed herself against the door, trying to stay out of the animal’s way. Ears flat against its head, the cat snarled at her, exposing long, sharp claws and needle-sharp teeth. Though pitifully small in comparison with a lion, the animal was still dangerous. The cat hissed and spit, its eyes feral. Without warning, it launched itself into the air, claws extended toward her face. Isabella screamed. She swung the lantern at the cat, connecting solidly and flinging the animal away from her. For one heart-stopping moment the light dimmed, flickered, the liquid wax-splattering across the floor. She held her breath, praying, until the flame steadied.
The cat screeched, landed on its feet, and turned to snarl, crouching low as it watched her. The other cats hissed and yowled, the din frightful. Isabella didn’t dare take her eyes from the cat stalking her. It was small, but it was wild and hungry. It could do much damage. She knew that if she stayed as she was, cowering against the door, others would join the bold one in attacking her. Summoning up every bit of courage she possessed, Isabella began to inch her way toward the nearest torch.
At her movement, the cats became agitated, raking the air with their claws, spitting, hissing, the hair on their backs and tails rising. Some of them attacked one another. Two somersaulted from a shelf and landed with a thud at her feet. One struck out at her, raking across her shoes before leaping away. As she reached for the torch anchored to the shelving, one of the cats swiped at her arm, ripping the sleeve and laying open a long scratch.
She lit the torch from the lantern’s flame and held it high. At once the cats screamed in protest, most slipping back into the shadows. But a few of the bolder cats advanced on her, hissing their defiance. She swung the torch in a semicircle, retreating toward the door. After she made a few whirling passes, even the most aggressive animals stayed back. Only when she placed the lantern on the floor did she realize she was still screaming.
Isabella slid down the door to sit on the floor, clapping a hand over her mouth, ashamed of her inability to stay calm. Loss of control was never allowed. She repeated the words in her mind, using her father’s voice. Silent, she huddled on the floor, shaking from the cold, her hands and feet numb. She held the torch like a weapon, terrified it would burn out before Nicolai came for her.
She had no idea how long she was actually in the storehouse; it seemed as if most of the night had passed. The lantern’s candle had burned down to the size of her thumbnail, the flame sputtering. The torch was reduced to a glowing ember. Occasionally the cats ventured close to her, but for the most part they kept a respectful distance from the circle of light. She was too cold, too frightened to move when the door finally began to creak open.
“Signorina Vernaducci?” Captain Bartolmei’s tall frame filled the doorway, his eyes narrowing when he spotted Isabella.
Isabella lifted her head, fearing she was hearing things. Her muscles were locked in place, and she couldn’t find enough strength to get to her feet.
Captain Bartolmei uttered a startled imprecation when his light spilled over her. At once he stepped inside, crouching beside her. “Everyone is looking for you. Don DeMarco sent a party out to the farm to find the woman Brigita said you aided. He is searching for you in the nearby forest while others scour the city.”
Isabella just looked up at him, afraid he was going to ask her to stand. It was physically impossible.
“You’re freezing, signorina.” Captain Bartolmei removed his coat and put it around her shoulders, drawing her close to him to share his body heat.
“I seem to be collecting your coats, signore.” Isabella made a weak attempt at humor, but her shaking didn’t stop.
Bartolmei had to lift her, a most unseemly and humiliating moment in her young life. She couldn’t manage more than circling his neck with her arms to hold on. “Found!” Captain Bartolmei shouted. “Light the signal fire atop the battlements. Signorina Vernaducci has been found.”
Isabella could hear the cry, carried from man to man, telling the seekers of her rescue, alerting the servants to prepare for her arrival. Word spread fast, a wildfire of gossip. Rolando Bartolmei hurried across the uneven, snow-covered ground. The lantern swung crazily as he carried her.
They neared the entrance to the huge palazzo. White clouds of vapor streamed from their mouths. Fog swirled around their feet. Without warning a huge lion leapt onto the top stair, the shaggy mane wild, eyes fiery red in the night, mouth snarling. Rolando froze in place, then slowly lowered Isabella to her feet and thrust her behind him, a small protection for her should the beast attack.
“I thought all lions were to be kept out of sight in case Don Rivellio’s men should be sneaking about,” Isabella whispered close to Rolando’s ear. She was clutching at him, her legs too unsteady to hold her up on their own.
“Evidently it’s a faster means of travel,” Captain Bartolmei responded, clearly recognizing the animal.
Isabella peeked around his shoulder, but the lion took a second gargantuan leap, disappearing into the swirling mists. “It’s safe now,” she said, her teeth chattering so hard she could scarcely get the words out.
Rolando swung her back into his arms and almost ran straight into Don DeMarco. He loomed over them, tall and powerful, his expression grim. Nicolai reached out and wordlessly plucked Isabella out of the captain’s arms, securing her against the protection of his chest. Captain Bartolmei’s coat fell unnoticed to the ground.
Isabella caught a brief glimpse of Theresa and Violante standing together, clutching hands as they watched Nicolai carry her into the house. Theresa caught her husband’s arm. Violante reached down to retrieve the coat from the snow, handing it to Sergio to return to Rolando.
Isabella burrowed closer to Nicolai in a futile attempt to get warm. She buried her face against his neck. He carried her swiftly through the castello, straight to her bedchamber. Sarina was already there, wringing her hands, distress plain on her face.
“She’s freezing, Sarina. We must warm her immediately.” Nicolai’s voice was tight with control, but a fine tremor ran through his body, the only indication of the volcanic emotions roiling deep in his belly.
“She’s injured!” Sarina gasped.
“We have to warm her before we attend to anything else,” Nicolai insisted. “The underground baths will be too hot.”
“I’ve asked for the small tub. They are heating the water.”
Sarina and Nicolai talked as if Isabella weren’t present, but she couldn’t seem to summon the energy to take offense. She was so tired, wanting only to sleep.
Nicolai looked down at her tear-stained face. The thought of what could have happened to her had they not found her when they did tore at his soul, turned his blood to ice. Questions clamored in his mind, but he kept quiet. He had never seen Isabella look so vulnerable, so fragile. His arms tightened around her, and he held her to him.
There was a knock on the door, and Francesca swept in. “Sarina, I’ve summoned the healer.” She turned to her brother. “I will care for Isabella while you find the one responsible for this, Nicolai. I’ll send for you the instant she’s in her bed.”
Nicolai hesitated, for the first time indecisive. His gaze locked with his sister’s.
Her eyes remained steady on his. “I’ll see to her myself, mio fratello. I won’t leave her side until you are once more with her. I give you my word of honor, the word of a DeMarco. Leave her to us, Nicolai.”
He didn’t want to leave Isabella, not for even a few minutes. But he intended to know what had transpired. His men would bring the widow and the two kitchen servants to him. Nicolai bent his head to brush a kiss along Isabella’s temple. “I’m putting my heart in your hands, Francesca,” he said softly, his voice rumbling with menace.
“I’m well aware of that,” she answered.
Nicolai reluctantly placed Isabella on the bed. The healer had entered the room. Nicolai stood there, looking at the three women. “See to it that she recovers quickly.” Something unfamiliar clogged his throat, and he spun away from them, his fingers curling into fists. This would stop. It had to stop. It was bad enough that Isabella faced a very real threat from him, but to have these accidents occurring so regularly whispered of a conspiracy.
Francesca closed the door behind her brother and turned to the healer. “Tell us what to do.”
The three women stripped Isabella and put her in the bath. Even the lukewarm water was painful to her, and she cried out and tried to squirm away from them as they gently rubbed life back into her limbs. The healer attended the wicked scratch, even as Sarina called for steaming water to make the bath hotter. Tears streamed down Isabella’s face as her body began to warm. The shaking persisted, the remnants of horror in the depths of her eyes. Francesca rocked her gently, while the healer poured strong, honeyed tea down her throat.
When Isabella was finally dressed in her warmest nightgown and tucked beneath the coverlets, Francesca sat beside her, stroking back her hair.
She waited until the healer and Sarina had bustled out of the room, taking their supplies with them. “You frightened me, sorella mia. You can’t disappear like that.” She leaned close, whispering words of encouragement. “I held watch over tuo fratello for you. He is sleeping peacefully. Nicolai loves you very much. You have become his life, you know. His heart.” She took Isabella’s hand in hers and leaned closer still. “You’re the only friend I have, the only one who can lead me back from a dark, empty place. I don’t want to live there anymore, Isabella. Stay with us. Stay with mio fratello. Stay with me. We live in a world you can’t hope to understand, but we need your courage.”
Isabella’s fingers tightened around Francesca’s just for a moment, then went slack. Francesca sighed and tucked Isabella’s hand beneath the coverlets. Nicolai was waiting impatiently, nearly growling at his sister as he prowled into the room like the restless lion he was.
“Let her sleep, Nicolai,” Francesca advised. “What have you found out?”
“My men are bringing the woman and the servants. We’ll have our answers when they arrive.” He touched Isabella’s hair, a tender caress, then resumed his pacing.
“She was attacked by the cats. There are deep scratches on her arm.” Francesca inhaled at his murderous expression and tried to explain hastily. “The cats take refuge in the storehouse to keep from being eaten by the lions. They keep the rodents down. We need them, Nicolai. You can’t destroy them. The poor creatures are hungry and were only protecting their territory. They have nowhere else to shelter. Everyone knows that.” Her words trailed off as the import sank in. She raised her eyes to her brother’s “Nicolai.” She breathed his name in horror.
Flames burned in his eyes, orange-red, a reflection of his inner turmoil. He continued to stare down at her.
“Nicolai, you can’t still persist in thinking I would want harm to come to her.” There was pain in her face, in her eyes.
“I don’t know what to think, only that her life is in danger from something other than what lives within me.”
“What would I have to gain by her death? What would be my reason? I’m the one person you can trust with her life. The only person. You’re mio fratello. My loyalty has always been to you.” She lifted her chin. “Isabella has given me a task. I’ve given her my word of honor, and I intend to keep it. If you’ll excuse me…” She squared her shoulders and walked toward the door.
Nicolai raked a restless hand through his thick mane of hair. “Francesca.” His voice stopped her, but she didn’t turn around. “I don’t even trust myself,” he admitted in a low voice.
She nodded, looking over her shoulder sadly. “Nor should you. She’s in more danger from you than from any traitor living in our holding. We both know that. And she knows it, too. The difference is, Isabella is willing to take a chance on us, live with us, make a life for herself and those around her. We chose to lock ourselves away, watching life and love pass us by. Without Isabella, neither of us has much of a chance at a life.”
“And with us,” he answered, “what chance does she have at living?”
Francesca shrugged. “As with every bride before her, the beast will wait until an heir is secured. She has those years, Nicolai. Make her happy. Make her sacrifice count for something. Or decide to break the curse.”
“You sound as if I have a choice.” His hands knotted into fists, and, with the intensity of his emotion, needles punctured his palms. “How?” There was rage in his voice, hopelessness. “Does anyone know how it is done?”
Francesca shook her head. “I know only that it can be done.”
Nicolai watched his sister leave the room. He paced restlessly, padding in silence, his mind working furiously. From the moment Isabella had come to the valley, a killer had stalked her. He had to find the traitor and dispose of him…or her.
Isabella stirred, shadows creeping into the peace of her expression. At once he went to her, sliding his large frame onto the bed to stretch out beside her. He gathered her close to him, his arms circling her, drawing her against his heart. Nicolai rested his chin on top of her head, rubbing his jaw gently along her hair in a gesture meant to soothe. He wasn’t entirely certain whether he was soothing Isabella or himself.
“Nicolai?” She whispered his name uncertainly, caught between a dream and a nightmare.
“I’m here, cara mia,” he assured her. The intensity of his emotions gripped him, tears welling up, choking him. “Think only of happiness, Isabella. Tuo fratello is safe within the walls of the palazzo. You are safe in your bedchamber, and I’m with you.” He pressed a series of kisses along her throat. Gently. Tenderly. “Ti amo, and I swear to you, I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”
“When you’re with me, Nicolai, I feel safe,” she murmured. “I wish you would feel safe when you were with me,” she added wistfully. “I want peace for you. Just accept what you are, Nicolai. Accept who you are. My heart. That’s what you’ve become. My heart.” Her lashes fluttered, her soft mouth curving. “Be with me, and let the rest take care of itself.”
“I can’t protect you from the traitor in our home,” he said in despair. “How can I protect you from what I am?”
She rubbed her face against his chest. “I don’t need protection from a man who loves me. I’ll never need protection.” She sounded drowsy, sexy, her voice so soft it crept under his skin and wound around his heart. “I’m so tired, Nicolai. Maybe we can talk later. I saw Theresa and Violante. Keep them safe, and Francesca, too. I should have warned them.”
He looked down at her face, her long lashes two thick crescents. Duty was ingrained deeply in her. “The captains and their wives will be spending the night here in the palazzo. I intend to find out exactly what happened.” He kissed her temple. “Sleep now, piccola. Just rest, and be assured the others are safe.”
As he watched her sleep, he realized there were no chains rattling, no wailing in the halls. Even the ghosts and spirits were reluctant to disturb her. When he was certain she was in a deep sleep, he left her to conduct his investigation.
Isabella didn’t sleep for long. Nightmares assailed her, jerking her awake despite her terrible fatigue. She needed company. She needed to see her brother.
Isabella pushed open the door to her brother’s room and was surprised to see Francesca jerk away from Lucca’s bedside, two bright spots of color in her cheeks. Her eyes were over-bright. Isabella looked from her brother to the don’s sister. “Is everything all right? Is Lucca better?”
“He’s doing very well,” Francesca assured her, pacing a short distance from the bed.
“Grazie, Francesca. I appreciate your seeing Lucca through the night for me. He looks better.” Isabella brushed at the waves of hair framing her brother’s face. “Has he been resting?”
“I’m right here, Isabella,” Lucca reminded her. “Don’t talk as if I’m a bambino with no sense.”
“You act like a bambino,” Francesca accused. “He refuses to take his medicine without first knowing every single herb in the mixture.” She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t have a clue what herb treats what ailment, but he insists just to test my knowledge.” She glared at him.
Lucca took Isabella’s hand, looking as pathetic as possible. “Who is this bambina you have watching over me? She’s power-hungry.”
“Bambina?” Francesca spluttered, her eyes hot. “You are the bambino, afraid of every little drink or ointment. You think because you’re a man you can question my authority, but, in truth, you’re weak as a babe, and without me you can’t manage to hold a cup in your hands.”
Lucca shook his head and looked up at Isabella. “She likes to put her arms around me. She uses my illness as an excuse to stay near me.” He shrugged carelessly. “But I’m used to attention from females. I can put up with it.”
Francesca sucked in her breath. “You…you arrogant beast! If you think your ridiculous delusions will get rid of me, you are sadly mistaken. And I won’t be driven off by your bad temper, either. I’ve given tua sorella my word that I’ll attend to you, and the word of a DeMarco is gold.”
Lucca lifted an arrogant eyebrow at her furious face. “Instead of chattering uselessly so much, you might help me to sit up.”
Francesca hissed between her teeth. “I’ll help you to sit up all right, but you may find yourself on the floor.”
His laughing eyes assessed her small frame. “A little thing like you? I doubt you can assist me to sit. Isabella is much sturdier. I think I’ll need her.”
“Stop teasing her, Lucca,” Isabella ordered, trying not to smile at the evidence of her brother returning to his old self. “It’s his odd way of showing appreciation,” she told Francesca, who looked as if she might fling herself on Lucca and assault him. She stepped closer to aid her brother.
“Don’t you dare.” Francesca bit out the words. “It’s my job to see to him, and I’ll sit His Majesty up.” She smiled with feigned sweetness at Isabella. “You won’t mind if I bind a scarf around his mouth so he ceases his endless prattle, will you?” She caught at Lucca’s arms to help him up.
His body was instantly wracked with coughing. Lucca turned his head from them and waved Francesca away. She ignored him and held a handkerchief to his mouth. Her hand pounded a rhythm on his back, bringing more spasms of coughing until he spit into the handkerchief.
Francesca nodded approvingly. “The healer said all of that must be gotten out of you, and you will once again be strong.”
Lucca glared at her. “You don’t know when to give a man his privacy, woman.”
She raised an eyebrow. “At least I’ve become a woman. That’s something. You need to eat more broth. You can’t expect to recover unless you eat.”
Isabella looked from one to the other. “You two sound like adversaries.” She wanted them to like one another. Francesca already felt like a sister to her. And Lucca was her family. Francesca had to like Lucca.
Francesca smiled at her. “We spent most of our time talking of pleasant things,” Francesca reassured her. “He’s just feeling out of sorts at the moment. It makes him grumpy.” She waved a careless hand. “It’s of no importance.”
Lucca raised an eyebrow at his keeper. “A Vernaducci is never grumpy. Or out of sorts. I can scarcely make it to the alcove on my own, and she refuses, refuses, to call a male servant. The next thing you know, she’ll ask to assist me.” He sounded outraged.
Francesca attempted to look blasé. “If you’re embarrassed about what you look like, I suppose I can provide a cover.”
“Have you no shame?” Lucca nearly roared. That brought on another spasm of coughing. Francesca dutifully held him. “Do you spend much time looking at the naked bodies of men?” His hot gaze should have seared her. “I intend to have a word with tuo fratello. He has much to answer for.”
Francesca hid a grin behind her hand. “I’m not your concern, signore.”
“Lucca, she’s teasing you,” Isabella explained, hiding her own smile. Lucca looked weak and thin, but he was always a forceful personality, and she was happy to see him chafing under the restraints of his illness. “You make a terrible patient.”
“Isabella?” Sarina opened the door after a perfunctory knock. “Don DeMarco wishes an audience immediately in his wing.” She beckoned her young charge into the hall, lowering her voice to keep Lucca from hearing. “The servants have arrived from the farm along with Widow Bertroni.”
Francesca followed them into the hall. “He has the man who locked you in the storehouse. Nicolai will have him put to death.”
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced toward her brother through the open door. Lucca attempted to prop himself up. “What is it, Isabella? Is something wrong?”
She shook her head. “I must go to Don DeMarco. Just rest, Lucca. Francesca will look after you.”
“I’m not a bambino, Isabella,” he snapped, looking mutinous. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”
Francesca assumed her haughtiest look. “Yes, you do. You’re just too arrogant and stubborn to admit it.” She waved at Isabella. “Don’t worry. No matter what he says, I’ll see to it that he takes his medicaments.” Firmly she closed the door.
Isabella found herself smiling in spite of the grimness of the situation. She followed Sarina up the long, winding staircases to the huge wing of the palazzo reserved for Don DeMarco. She had no idea what to think or feel, facing the person who had locked her in with the feral cats and the freezing cold. He had gone off to the widow’s farm and never thought to send word back to have someone let her out. It must have occurred to him that she might not survive the night, yet he hadn’t turned back to free her.
With some apprehension she entered the don’s apartments. His two captains, Sergio Drannacia and Rolando Bartolmei, were there along with the two kitchen servants and the widow. Isabella swept across the room to Nicolai’s side, taking his hand as he seated her in a high-backed chair. She could smell fear in the room. She could smell death. It had an ugly, pungent odor, and it sickened her.
She felt Nicolai’s hands on her shoulders, bringing her a feeling of safety and comfort despite her trepidation. When she looked directly at the man who had locked her in the storehouse, she saw he was sweating profusely.
“Isabella, please tell us what happened,” Nicolai prompted gently.
She reached up to entwine her fingers with his. “What are you going to do, Nicolai?” Her voice was steady, but she was shaking inside.
“Just tell us what happened, cara, and I will decide what needs to be done, as I’ve been doing for most of my life,” he reassured her.
“I don’t understand what this is all about,” the widow began.
Don DeMarco made a soft, menacing sound, cutting off any further speculation. His eyes burned with fury. The servants squirmed visibly, and the widow blanched.
“Brigita asked me to help Signora Bertroni, because her storage shed had burned to the ground and her man died recently,” Isabella said. “The family needed to be seen through the winter. You were busy, as were Betto and Sarina. I took her to the storehouse, within the walls of the castello.” She glanced up at Nicolai. “I kept my promise to you.”
“We are here to find the one guilty of attempted murder, cara, not to accuse you of anything.” Nicolai brushed his lips against her ear. He wanted to make it abundantly clear to all present that Isabella was his lady, his heart, and his life. The good Madonna could have mercy on the soul of any who attempted to harm her; they would find none from him. “Continue with what happened, Isabella.”
“I had two servants sent to aid us.” She indicated the two men. “Those two there. The wagon was loaded, very heavy, and night had fallen. I was afraid for Signora Bertroni and her bambini. I ordered the two men to accompany the wagon to the farm.” She nodded toward the older man. “He agreed without dissent, but that one”—she looked at the younger man—“became angry. He knocked into me as he left the storehouse. I remained to extinguish the torches. The door was closed and locked behind me. He must have taken the key from my skirt.”
At her words Nicolai’s features went carefully blank, only his eyes alive. The flames seemed to have disappeared, to be replaced with sheer ice. There was a sudden chill in the room. Isabella’s voice was barely audible. “He deliberately shut me in.” In spite of her resolve to remain calm, she shuddered at the memory.
“No! Dio, help me! It wasn’t me! I don’t know what happened! I don’t!” the servant burst out. He jumped to his feet, but Sergio caught his shoulders and slammed him back into the chair.
“I didn’t know what he’d done, Don DeMarco,” the older servant, Carlie, cried, obviously horrified. “I didn’t see the signorina once she sent us away.”
“Nor I,” the widow added, wringing her hands. “May the good Madonna strike me dead if I lie. I would never have left her there. She was an angel to me. An angel. You must believe me, Don DeMarco.”
Rolando gestured to the widow and the other kitchen servant, beckoning them to follow him to the door. “Grazie for your time. Signora Bertroni, you’ll be escorted back to your farm.” He gestured toward the guards outside the door to take the widow and servant from the don’s wing.
Nicolai moved around in front of Isabella’s chair, blocking her view of the groveling servant. He lifted her fingers to his mouth. “Go back to your bedchamber, piccola. It is finished here.” His voice was gentle, even tender, completely at odds with his ice-cold eyes.
Isabella shivered. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t concern yourself with this any longer, Isabella. There’s no need.” He brushed a kiss on top of her silken head.
The servant broke into a torrent of weeping, of pleading. Isabella flinched. She wrapped her fingers around Nicolai’s wrist. “But I’m a part of this, Nicolai. You haven’t heard everything. We weren’t alone in the storehouse. I felt the presence of evil.” She whispered the words, afraid to allow any other to hear. “It isn’t over.”
Nicolai swung around to stare at the servant, his eyes flat and cold. “It is over. I’m looking at a dead man.”
His voice chilled her. The servant shrieked a protest, throwing himself on Isabella’s mercy, apologizing profusely, denying he had known what he was doing.
“Nicolai, please, hear him out,” she said, holding the don’s gaze with her own. She felt the energy in the room, the subtle influence of evil feeding the anger and disgust. It fed the servant’s fear right along with her own. She glanced at the two captains, noting they were watching the servant with the same loathing as their don.
“This is no longer your concern.” Nicolai was staring over her head, his gaze locked on the hapless servant, a hunter eyeing its prey.
“I want to hear him speak,” she answered, her tone gentle but insistent. She didn’t dare allow the entity to influence her or give it more of an opening to the men.
“Grazie, grazie!” the man cried. “I don’t know what happened, signorina. One moment I was thinking of the journey and how best to unload the supplies when we reached the farm, whether to wait until morn or just take care of it immediately. All of a sudden I was so angry I couldn’t think. My head hurt and buzzed with a noise. I don’t remember taking the key from you. I know I did because I had it, but I don’t remember taking it. I sat in the wagon, and my head hurt so much I was sick. Carlie can tell you, I leapt down and was sick.” His eyes pleaded with her for mercy. “In truth I don’t remember locking you in, just that closing the door and turning the lock seemed the most important thing in the world.”
“You knew she was in there,” Nicolai said, his voice purring with menace. “You left her to freeze to death or to be torn to shreds by the feral cats.”
“Signorina, I swear I don’t know what happened to me. Save me. Don’t let them kill me.”
Isabella turned to Nicolai. “Allow me to speak with you alone. There is more at work here than what we can see. Please trust me.”
“Take him out,” Nicolai ordered.
His two captains looked as if they wanted to protest, but they did as Nicolai commanded. Neither was very gentle with the servant.
Nicolai began to pace. “You can’t ask me to let this man go.”
“Please, Nicolai. I think there’s truth in the legend of your valley. I think that when its magic was tampered with, it did become twisted, and something evil was let loose here. I think it preys on human weakness. Our failings. It feeds anger and jealousy. It feeds our own fears. There have been so many incidents, and each person tells the same story. They don’t know what happened; they acted differently than they normally would have.”
A growl rumbled deep in his throat. “You want me to let him go,” he repeated, his amber eyes gleaming with menace.
She nodded. “That’s exactly what I want you to do. I believe there is an entity loose, and it is responsible, not the man.”
“If this thing influences what a man is capable of, then this man has a sickness that he would dare risk your life.”
“Nicolai.” She breathed his name, a gentle persuader.
He muttered an imprecation, flames flowing in his eyes. “For you, cara mia, only for you. But I believe this man has forfeited his right to live. I should banish him from the valley.”
She crossed to his side and stood on tiptoes to press a kiss along his set jaw. “You will give him his job back. Send him home. Your mercy will earn his loyalty tenfold.”
“Your mercy,” he corrected. “To me he is already dead.” When she continued to look at him, he sighed. “As you wish, Isabella. I’ll give the order.”
“Grazie, amore mio.” Smiling, she kissed him again and left him to his pacing.