Sarina gathered Isabella into her arms, then led her quickly through the halls and up the stairs to her room. “You have had such trouble, bambina. I am sorry. It was good that Captain Bartolmei and Signor Drannacia were with you.”
“The one they call Sergio?” Isabella asked, struggling to get everyone’s name straight. The men had been very nice to her, but neither would yield to her pleas to turn back and aid the don. “They left him there alone, in the storm, with no mount and no help should the lions attack him. He was completely alone, Sarina. How could they do such a thing to their don?”
She was shivering uncontrollably, cold and wet from the storm, shaken from the approach of the rogue lion, but most of all, fearful for Nicolai DeMarco’s safety. “They should have stayed and protected him. It was their duty to protect him first, above all others. I don’t understand what is going on in this place. What good are these men if they are disloyal? I wanted to go back to him, but they wouldn’t let me.” She was furious, furious, that the men had prevented her from staying with Don DeMarco.
“They were protecting their don,” Sarina answered softly, and she made the sign of the cross twice as they hurried through the spacious palazzo.
“You don’t understand. He was alone, surrounded by those huge beasts.” Isabella was shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. “They left him there. I left him there.” That was worse, to think that she had been so frightened by the size and ferocity of the lion that she had chosen the coward’s way out. She had scarcely even resisted the soldiers.
“You are not thinking clearly, signorina,” Sarina said gently, soothingly. “You would never have been allowed to stay behind. The captains had their orders to see you safely home, and they would have forced your obedience. You are in shock, cold, and hungry. You’ll feel much better when you are warm.”
As they moved swiftly through the halls of the castello, several servants smiled and nodded at them, open relief on their faces. Isabella tried to acknowledge them graciously, not understanding their reaction to her return. Nothing in this place made sense—not the people, not the animals. “Lions don’t live up in the mountains. How did they come to be here? Shouldn’t someone go out and look for the don?”
Sarina remained silent except for her little, soothing, clucking noises. Isabella’s room was ready, with a fire burning and a tea tray. The housekeeper helped remove Isabella’s cape, gasping as she spotted blood on it. “Are you injured? Where are you injured?”
Isabella stared in dismay at the red smears. She took the cape from Sarina, crushing the material in her hands. Don DeMarco had wrapped her in his own cloak. It had lain over hers, smearing her cape with blood. It was the don who had been injured. She had shook her head, denying the possibility. He must have gotten blood on his cloak when he knelt beside the fallen lion.
“I am unhurt, signora,” Isabella murmured. “Well, my back is painful. I think I will swallow my pride and ask you to apply the numbing salve.” She attempted a weak smile as she allowed Sarina to open her gown and expose the wounds on her back.
Isabella lay on the bed on her stomach, her fingers curling around the coverlet as Sarina carefully prepared the mixture of herbs. “Tell me about the lions, signora, and why the don’s men would leave him alone in a snowstorm with wild beasts surrounding him. There is no alarm in the palazzo. I sense unease but not fear. Why is that?”
“Hush, bambina. Lie still while I apply this to your poor back. And you must call me Sarina. You will be mistress here now.”
“I have not agreed to such a thing. He threw me out once and may very well do so again. I’m not ready to forgive him.” Through half-open eyes, Isabella caught Sarina’s quick, appreciative smile, but she had no idea what to make of it.
“I think you’re just what Don DeMarco needs.” Very gently Sarina began to apply the numbing potion to Isabella’s ravaged back. “You would like to hear the story of the lions, would you? It is an interesting one to tell around the fire at night to frighten the children. It must have a few grains of truth in it, as lions should not be in these mountains. Yet they are here.” She sighed. “They are a curse and blessing to our people.”
Isabella opened her eyes to look fully at Sarina. “That is a strange thing to say. I saw the don’s face when he knelt beside the rogue lion and touched it so…” She searched for the right description. “Reverently, sadly. He was sad that it was dead. My heart ached for him.” Suddenly aware she had revealed too much of her confused feelings for the don, Isabella frowned. “Just for that moment, until I remembered how he had ordered me to leave without so much as a reason. He is fickle and prone to changing his mind, obviously not someone to count on.” She managed to sound disdainful even while lying on her stomach with her gown pulled down to her waist. A true Vernaducci could manage under the worst circumstances, and Isabella was proud of herself. The world didn’t have to know she melted every time the don looked her way. “Tell me the story, Sarina. I find it a most interesting topic.” And it would keep her from running out into the storm in an attempt to hunt for the don.
Sarina began to pat the melting snowflakes from Isabella’s hair. “Many, many years ago, in the old times, back when magick ruled the world, when gods and goddesses were called upon to aid the people, three houses of power resided here in this mountain valley. The houses were DeMarco, Bartolmei, and Drannacia. They were of ancient and sacred lineage, well favored and much loved by the gods. At that time, the houses practiced the old ways, worshiping Mother Earth. It is said it was a time of great power. There was powerful magick in the houses. Priests and priestesses, wizards and sorcerers. Some even say witches.”
Isabella sat up, intrigued. Carefully she held the front of her gown over her generous breasts. “Magick, Sarina?”
Sarina looked pleased that her tale was chasing the shadows from Isabella’s eyes. “Magick.” She nodded firmly. “There was peace in the valley, and prosperity. The crops grew, and the houses were happy places. Le famiglie were allied, and they often intermarried to maintain the balance of power and defend against all outsiders.”
“Sounds sensible,” Isabella approved. She could breathe again without the pain in her back. The room was warm and finally thawing out the ice in her blood. She reached for the tea and had to make a hasty grab for her gown.
Sarina smiled at her. “You may as well take that off and wear one of the garments Don DeMarco had made for you.”
Isabella would have argued, but she wanted to hear the story. “Where do the lions come in?” Obediently she peeled off the dress and stepped out of it. As she opened the wardrobe door and dragged out another gown, she glanced over her shoulder at the housekeeper. “They can’t have been here in the mountains all along.”
“You are so impatient.” Sarina took the dress and carefully eased it over Isabella. “No, there were no lions back then. Let me tell the story the way it is said to have happened. For hundreds of years—maybe even more—the valley was safe from invaders, and although the world changed around them, the people managed to live peaceful and happy lives, practicing their faith wisely.”
Sitting on the bed, Isabella drew her legs up beneath her long skirt and hugged herself. “That must have been an interesting time. There’s much sense in the workings of nature.”
Sarina glared at her, made the sign of the cross, and tapped Isabella’s head. “Are you going to listen to me or risk angering the holy Madonna with your nonsense?”
“Does she get angry? I can’t imagine her angry.” Isabella saw Sarina’s expression and quickly hid her smile. “I’m sorry. Tell the story.”
“You do not deserve it, but I will,” Sarina complied, clearly gratified that her young charge was growing rosy and warm and relaxed after her frightening ordeal. “There came a time when the people became more adept and more daring in their magick. Where once the people were as one, small divisions began to form. Oh, not all at once. It happened over the years.”
Isabella took a sip of tea, savoring the taste and heat. She poured a second cup and handed it carefully to Sarina.
Surprised and pleased, Sarina beamed at her, cradling the warm cup in her hands. “No one knows in which house it started, but someone began dabbling in things best left alone. The beauty of the people’s beliefs was corrupted, twisted, and something was let loose in the valley. Something that seemed to creep and spread until it reached every house. The magick became tainted, and once evil entered, it began to take shape and grow. It is said the howling of ghosts was often heard, as the dead could no longer find rest. Things began to happen. Accidents affecting each of the houses. The houses began to grow distant from one another. As the accidents increased and people were injured, they began to blame one another, and a great rift formed between the families. Since the houses were intermarried, it was a terrible thing. Brother against sister and cousin against cousin.”
Isabella wrapped her hands around the warmth of her own teacup. She was shivering again. She had felt the presence of something evil in the castello, yet this was merely a frightening story for children. “That doesn’t sound so much different than times are now. Our lands were stolen right out from under us. No one can be trusted, Sarina, not when power is involved.”
Sarina nodded in agreement. “There is no changing what is true—not a hundred years ago, and not now. There was the whisper of conspiracy, of evil. The magick was used for things other than good. Crops failed regularly, and one house would have food while another didn’t. Where they had shared before, now each tried to keep their treasures in their own holdings.”
Sarina took a sip of her tea. The wind was howling outside the walls of the palazzo, rattling the windows so the images in the stained-glass windows seemed to move under the onslaught. Outside, despite the early hour, shadows lengthened and grew. A low moan arose, and tree branches waved wildly and scraped against the thick marble walls in protest.
Sarina looked out the colored glass and sighed. “This place does not like talk of the old days. I think remnants of that ancient magick still remain.” She laughed nervously. “I’m grateful it is not yet night. Things happen in this place at night, Signorina Isabella. We laugh at the old ways and say they are tales made to frighten children and entertain us, but, in truth, strange things happen in this place, and, at times, the walls seem to have ears.”
Isabella immediately placed her hand over the housekeeper’s in a gesture meant to comfort. “You cannot truly be afraid, Sarina. This room is protected by angels.” She laughed softly, reassuringly. “And my guards.” She pointed to the stone lions sitting on the hearth. “They are very friendly. They would never allow anything in this room that shouldn’t be here.”
Sarina forced an answering laugh. “You must think me old and foolish.”
Isabella took time to study the housekeeper’s face. It was lined but gave the appearance of age rather than worry. But deep in Sarina’s eyes was that hint of desperation Isabella had perceived in Betto and in a few other servants in the palazzo.
Fear clawed at Isabella, swirling deep in her stomach, a subtle warning. It wasn’t all her wild imagination and the aftermath of facing wild beasts. There was something more in the castello, an underlying fear the people all seemed to share. But maybe it was just that the story Sarina was telling her went with the wind lashing at the windows and the snow falling relentlessly, trapping them indoors.
“Not old and foolish, Sarina,” Isabella corrected softly, “but kind to a stranger. I couldn’t ask for more courtesy than you have shown me. It is greatly appreciated, and if telling me this story is upsetting to you, it isn’t necessary. I thought it interesting and harmless, a way to pass the time and take my mind off the worry of Don DeMarco’s being left alone in the storm. But truly, if this is uncomfortable for you, we can speak of other things.”
Sarina was silent a moment. Then she shook her head. “No, it’s just that I’ve never liked storms. They seem so ferocious when they move through the mountains. Even as a young girl they made me fanciful. There’s no need to worry about Don DeMarco. He is well able to take care of himself. But it is good you are concerned for him.” Before Isabella could protest, Sarina hastily took up the story. “Where were we?”
Isabella grinned at her. “We hadn’t gotten to the lions yet.” She attempted to look innocent but failed miserably.
“You are obsessed with the lions,” Sarina chastised. “The magick had become twisted into something dark and ugly. Husbands suspected wives of infidelities. The penalty for such a sin was beheading. Jealousies became dangerous. The valley became a place of darkness. Storms ravaged the mountains. Beasts carried off young children. Some began to sacrifice animals and worship things best left alone. The years continued to go by, and the sacrifices worsened. Children were stolen from houses and sacrificed to demons. No one knew who was responsible, and each house looked upon the other with terrible suspicion.”
Wind rushed down the fireplace with a wail of derision. Orange flames blazed and leapt high, taking the shape of shaggy-maned beasts with open mouths and glowing eyes. Sarina jumped, turning to look at the flash of fiery shapes, cringing visibly.
Isabella stared into the fireplace for a long moment, watching the wild flames die back down. Quite calmly she persisted, “How barbaric. Is it true? I know people did do such things in some places.”
“According to the old tales, it was so. Who is to say what is the truth and what is legend?” Sarina’s gaze strayed to the fire often, but the flames were small, and it burned cheerfully, filling the room with much-needed warmth. “The story has been handed down for hundreds of years. Many things have been added. No one knows if there is any truth to them. It is said that the very weather could be controlled, that such powers were commonplace. Who is to know?”
Isabella was watching the housekeeper closely. Sarina certainly believed the tale of twisted magick, of a religion, a way of life, corrupted into something dark and malignant.
“There came a time when the Christian beliefs began to spread. At that time, the don of the DeMarco house was named Alexander. He was married to a beautiful woman, one very powerful in the ways of magick. She was considered a true sorceress. There was much jealousy of her powers by the other houses, and much jealousy of her beauty. Still, she met someone who spoke to her of this new belief, and she listened. And Don DeMarco’s wife became a Christian.”
Sarina seemed to breathe the word into the room, and, outside the windows, the howling wind stilled, leaving a hush of expectancy. “She became popular with the people, as she continually cared for the sick and worked tirelessly to feed those in need—not just those in her own holding but also the people in the other two holdings. But the more the people loved and followed her, the more jealous the other wives became.
“The wives of the other dons, Drannacia and Bartolmei, conspired to get rid of her. Sophia DeMarco was her name. They began to gossip about her and complain to their husbands that they had seen her with other men, that she was flitting about the countryside with the soldiers, fornicating and holding secret rituals of sacrifice. No one really knew much about Christianity, so it wasn’t that difficult to frighten the people. They were willing to believe the worst, and the whispers and accusations were finally carried to her husband. It was Don Bartolmei and Don Drannacia who formally accused Sophia of infidelity and human sacrifices.”
Isabella gasped. “How awful! Why would they do that?”
“Their wives had convinced them, whispering continually that they were doing a service to Don DeMarco, that it would go a long way to healing the rift between the houses if they had the courage to tell the powerful man just what his unfaithful wife was doing. They said she was making him look foolish and went so far as to accuse her of plotting the death of Don DeMarco. The two jealous women paid several soldiers to confess to bedding her. The dons believed her guilty and went to Alexander.”
“Surely he didn’t believe them?”
Sarina sighed softly. “Unfortunately, the evidence seemed overwhelming. It became a witch hunt, with more and more people coming forward, telling tales of devil worship and betrayal. They demanded her death. Sophia pleaded with Alexander, begged him to believe in her innocence. She swore to him that she had never betrayed their love. But Alexander’s heart had turned to stone. He was angry and jealous and bitter, thinking she had made a fool of him. It is said he went berserk and ranted and raved and publicly condemned her.” She glanced around the room as if afraid of being overheard. “It happened here in the palazzo, in the small courtyard in the center of the three towers.”
Isabella shook her head. “What a terrible thing, to have your own husband turn on you.” A chill went down her spine at the thought of truly incurring Don DeMarco’s displeasure.
“She threw herself on his mercy, wrapped her arms around his knees, and begged him to believe her, swearing again and again to him that she loved him and had been faithful. She was sobbing, begging him to soften his heart and see her through the eyes of their love, but he would not listen.” Sarina paused. “Once he uttered the words to condemn her, all was lost to the DeMarco famiglia. The sky darkened, and lightning flashed across the sky. Sophia stopped crying and grew silent, her head bowed as she realized there was no hope; Alexander had sentenced her to death. She rose to her feet and looked at him with great contempt. She seemed to grow in stature, and she raised her arms to the sky. Lightning flashed from her fingers. She began to speak, saying words the don could not understand at first. Then she looked him directly in the eye.
“No one spoke, no one moved. Then Sophia uttered these words. ‘You do not look upon your own wife with the eyes of compassion and love. You are incapable of mercy, no better than the beasts in the deserts and mountains. I curse you, Alexander DeMarco. I curse you and all your descendants to walk the earth with the beasts, to be seen as the beast, to be one with the beast, to rip the heart from the ones you love, as you have done to me.’ Her face looked cold and was set as stone. She looked at the other two dons, and she cursed them, also, that their children would repeat the betrayal of their fathers. As she knelt in front of the executioner, she seemed to soften. ‘I will give you this much, Alexander,’ she said, ‘for my love for you, which has always remained steadfast, and to show you what mercy and compassion are. If one should come along who will see DeMarco as a man and not a beast, one who will tame what is untamable, who will love the unlovable, she will be able to break the curse and save your children’s children and all who remain loyal to your house.’”
Isabella twisted her fingers into the heavy coverlet on her bed in protest of what was coming. She almost stopped Sarina, but it was too late. The housekeeper continued.
“Before Sophia could utter another word, she was beheaded. Don DeMarco could never take back his angry words. His wife was dead. Nothing would bring her back. Her blood seeped into the ground, and to this day, nothing grows in that courtyard. He buried her, and she remains deep beneath the palazzo. But burying her did not free him from his dark deed. He could not sleep or eat. The conditions in the valley worsened. Don Alexander grew thin and weary. What he had done to his wife preyed on him. He quietly began to investigate the charges against his wife, as he should have before he condemned her. He became convinced that Sophia was truly innocent, and he had committed a terrible sin, a terrible crime. He had not only allowed his enemies to murder his wife, but he had aided them to do so. He went to the other dons and laid before them the horrendous deed they had participated in. And they, too, realized their wives had betrayed them through jealousies.”
Isabella jumped up and paced restlessly across the room. “Now you have me feeling bad for all of them, while they all deserved to be unhappy. Alexander most of all.”
“He suffered greatly, Isabella. Terrible things happened, and he was helpless to do anything but witness the dissolution of the three houses. He decided to go to Rome. He wanted to find someone to talk to him about the Christian beliefs. He was looking for redemption, for some way to right the wrong he had committed. In the end, he did not undertake the journey alone. The heads of the other two houses accompanied him. They went into the city to find that the Christians had been rounded up and torn apart by lions for the amusement of the crowds. It was an ugly and terrifying scene, watching the animals tear men, women, and children to pieces.
“Alexander went a little crazy and vowed to destroy the lions. He found his way below ground, where they kept the lions. They were in cages, chained, without food, taunted and teased. It was said each lion was confined in a space so small the animal could not even turn around. The guards tormented the beasts, slicing their skin to make them hate all that was human. Alexander went up to a cage with his sword, wanting to sink it into the creature, but instead, he took pity on it. The pity he had not had for his own beloved wife. He could not force himself to kill when he was so guilty. The others tried to convince him, but he would not listen. He insisted the other dons get to safety, and he freed the lions from the cages, fully expecting to be torn apart.”
Sarina sighed and placed her teacup on the tray. “It is said that when the three dons returned to the valley, DeMarco wore scars on his face, and the lions paced beside him. Still, it was not redemption. He could find no happiness, and neither would his children or their children. When they returned, they found the other two houses in ruins. DeMarco pulled the houses together under one holding and sealed the valley from intruders. The three famiglie have remained together since, their lives interwoven in prosperity and in hardship. From that time until this time, DeMarco has held dominion over the lions and kept the valley safe from invaders. Some say a great veil, a shroud of mist and magick, covers the valley and hides it from all who would seek to conquer. But from that time to this, no DeMarco has loved without pain, betrayal, and death.” Sarina shrugged. “Who knows what is truth and what is story?”
“Well, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, but it can’t possibly be true. Surely there have been happy marriages in the DeMarco house,” Isabella said, struggling to remember what she had heard of the DeMarco name. Lucca had often told her tales of the mountain holdings. The stories to scare the children of a lion man who fought entire armies and led a legion of beasts into battle. Stories of betrayal and savage deaths.
“Happy marriages do not always last,” Sarina replied sadly. “Come, let us speak of other things. I’ll show you around the palazzo.”
Isabella tried a few times to pry more information out of the housekeeper, but the woman refused to say another word on the subject of lions and myths. Throughout the day Isabella thought often of Don DeMarco, alone, out in the snow. No one spoke of him or alluded to him. The castello was bustling, the servants working to keep the great halls and multitude of enormous rooms cleaned and polished. She had never seen such magnificence, such richness in a holding, and she wondered anew at the don’s ability to retain his lands when so many invaders had, time and again, managed to take other holdings.
She ate a quiet dinner with Sarina and Betto, although Sarina was clearly uncomfortable with her insistence that she dine with them. Betto said little, but he was courteous and charming when he spoke. Isabella retired to her room in the evening, drank the required cup of tea, and allowed Sarina to once again apply the numbing salve to her back. The housekeeper spent a great deal of time combing out and rebraiding Isabella’s hair, most likely waiting for her to become sleepy. Isabella deliberately yawned several times and made no protest when the door to her bedchamber was locked from the outside. She lay in bed waiting for Francesca, hoping the girl would visit her once the household settled down.
The wailing started an hour or so later, along with low moans and the rattling of chains. The noises seemed to be in the hall outside her room, and Isabella was frowning at the door when Francesca flounced happily onto the end of her bed. Startled, Isabella began laughing. “You must tell me where the secret entrance is,” she greeted. “It would come in quite handy, I’m sure.”
“There is more than one,” Francesca said. “Why did you go away like that? I was afraid you would leave and I would never see you again.” For the first time the young woman looked vexed and sulky.
“It certainly was not my choice to go off in a snowstorm,” Isabella defended. “I’d never even seen snow until I came here.”
“Really?” Francesca turned her head, her dark eyes leaping with interest. “Do you like it?”
“It’s cold,” Isabella said decidedly. “Very, very cold. I was shaking so much my teeth were chattering.”
Francesca laughed. “My teeth always chatter, too. But sometimes, when I was little, I used to slide down the hills on a skin. It was fun. You should try it.”
“I’m not so little, Francesca, and I’m not certain of the fun. When my horse threw me off, and I landed in the snow, it was not soft, as I thought it would be. When the snow falls, it seems fluffy, but on the ground it is much like the water of a pond becoming ice.”
“I tied skins to my shoes once and tried to slide, but I fell very hard.” Francesca laughed at the memory. “I didn’t tell anyone, but my legs were black and blue for a week.”
“Who makes all that noise?” Isabella asked, curious. The wailing and moaning seemed to be louder than usual. “Doesn’t it bother anybody?”
“I think everyone ignores them out of politeness. I tell them to stop, that no one is impressed with such nonsense, but they won’t listen to me.” She looked indignant. “They think I’m a child. But, in truth, I think it makes them feel important.” She looked at Isabella, her dark eyes guileless. “Have you ever taken a lover? I’ve never had a lover, and I’ve always wanted one. I think I’m pretty, don’t you?”
Isabella sat up, careful of her back, drawing the coverlet over her knees. Francesca was such a mixture of woman and child. “You’re beautiful, Francesca,” she assured her, feeling older and maternal. “You have no need to worry. A handsome man will come along and insist on marrying you. How could any man resist you?”
At once the shadows cleared from Francesca’s face, and she beamed at Isabella. “Will Nicolai be your lover?”
Isabella took a sudden interest in plucking at the stitching on the quilt. “I know nothing of lovers, never having had one. I do have a fratello, a very handsome one Don DeMarco said he would come here. His name is Lucca.”
“I have always liked that name,” Francesca conceded. “Is he very handsome?”
“Oh, yes. And when he rides on a horse, he is dashing. All the women say so. I can’t wait for you to meet him.” Isabella smiled at the thought. Francesca might be just the person to get Lucca through the coming months. She was beautiful and funny and sweet. “He is ill, and he has been imprisoned in the dungeons of Don Rivellio. Have you ever met the don?”
Francesca shook her head solemnly. “No, and I don’t think I would want to. Is Nicolai going to rescue your brother?”
Isabella nodded, but deep within, her heart twisted. She had left Nicolai DeMarco standing alone in the storm. The wind had howled and blown sheets of white flakes over him, and all she had done was fling his cloak to him. She never should have left him.
“You look so sad, Isabella,” Francesca said. “There is no need to worry. If Don DeMarco has said he will have Lucca brought here to you, he will do so. He is a man of his word. Truly. He lives by his word. I have never known him to break it.”
“Do you know him well?” Isabella asked, curiously, suddenly realizing she knew nothing of the DeMarco family. Francesca gave every appearance of being an aristicratica, and she certainly knew all the intrigues of the castello. Isabella had presumed she was family, most likely a cousin.
Francesca shrugged. “Who can know the don? He rules, and he provides protection, but one does not eat with him or speak with him.”
“Well, of course they do.” Isabella was horrified at the total lack of concern in Francesca’s voice. “Mio padre was the don, and he certainly ate with us and conversed with us. No one wants to be alone, not even the don.”
Francesca was silent for a time. “But it has always been so. He’s in his rooms until night, and then all within the palazzo are confined so he is free to go anywhere, inside or out. He sees no one. His visitors are taken to his rooms to speak with him, but he is never seen. And he certainly does not take food in the presence of others.” The young woman sounded shocked.
“Why? He had tea with me.”
Francesca leapt to her feet. “That cannot be so. He doesn’t eat with others. It isn’t done.”
Francesca seemed so upset, Isabella chose her words more carefully. “Is it a law of the holding that the don cannot eat with others? I don’t understand. What of his madre? Surely the famiglia eats together.”
“No, no, never.” Francesca was adamant. “It isn’t done.” She began to pace the length of the room, clearly agitated.
The ghostly wails grew louder, and the moans seemed to rise and fall with the outside wind. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Francesca,” Isabella apologized gently. “The rules are different where I’m from. I’ll learn yours.”
“It isn’t done,” the younger woman repeated. “It is never done.”
“I’m sorry.” Isabella stirred, meaning to slide off the bed. The coverlet slipped precariously, and she looked around hastily for her dressing gown. Francesca was upset, and, although Isabella didn’t know why, she wanted to comfort her. She located the garment in the darkness and turned back to the young woman. Her heart sank, and she dropped the robe back onto the chair where she had found it.
That quickly, Francesca had taken the opportunity to escape. Isabella called softly to her, but there was no reply, only the irritating sound of the ghostly wails. She thought about trying to find the secret passageway, but it seemed too much of an effort when she was worried about other matters. She slipped back into bed and lay quietly thinking of the don. It made no sense that he was not allowed to dine with another, but then, nothing in the valley made much sense to her.
Isabella lay staring at the wall, unable to sleep despite the darkness. She tried not to worry about Nicolai DeMarco. No one else seemed to feel he was in danger from the terrible storm or from the wild beasts roaming the valley. Isabella sighed and turned over to stare up at the ceiling. After a time she became aware of a sound, a deep sound, almost cavernous. Air rushing through lungs. She had heard that sound before, and it chilled her. Beneath the coverlet, her fingers curled into fists, and her breath nearly stopped.
Slowly, inch by inch, she turned her head toward the door. It had been locked; now it was open. Something was in the room with her. She strained to see into the darkest recesses of the room. At first she saw nothing, but as she stared, she finally made out a huge bulk crouched a few scant feet from her. The head was enormous, the eyes glowing at her. Watching her.
Isabella watched the beast right back. Now her heart was pounding so loudly, she was certain it could hear. She looked only at the eyes. They stared at one another for endless moments, and then the eleven-foot lion simply padded silently out of her room. She watched the door close. Isabella sat up gingerly and stared at the closed door. It hadn’t been her imagination; the lion had been in the room with her. Perhaps someone had deliberately opened the door to allow it in, hoping it would kill her as its ancestors had killed the Christians.
The wailing was driving her crazy; the sound of chains rattling seemed to fill the hall outside her room. The noise went on and on until Isabella jumped out of bed in exasperation and dragged on her dressing gown. She was annoyed enough at her wayward imagination without the continuous howling of ghosts and ghouls or whatever was making such a fuss. Even the thought of lions prowling the halls of the palazzo was not enough to keep her a prisoner in her room. If the beast had wanted to devour her, it had already had a perfect opportunity. She stalked across the room and jerked at the door. To her shock, it was locked again.
Isabella stood there for a long moment, puzzled. A lion could not have locked the door, and surely Sarina hadn’t crept back to lock it a second time. She had no idea how late it was, but she set about picking the lock, suddenly furious at having been locked in her room like a naughty child…or a prisoner.
Once she had the door unlocked, she flung it open defiantly and stepped out into the hall. She knew the way to the library, and, carefully lighting a taper, she began to retrace the route. The din in the hall was awful. Wailing and moaning and rattling of chains. Totally exasperated, Isabella paused at the entrance to the great study. “Enough! All of you will stop that silly noise this instant! I want no more of it tonight.”
At once there was total silence. Isabella waited a moment. “Good!” She flounced into the library, allowing the door to swing closed behind her. Searching the shelves and cubicles, she thought of Don DeMarco alone in the snow. Inspecting a painting, she thought of him hunkered down beside the dead lion, sorrow in his eyes. Seating herself in a high-backed chair at the long marble table, she thought of him taking her hand in his. Staring at the ornate script of the thick tome she had chosen, she could think of no one, of nothing, else. He filled her mind and her heart until her very soul seemed bursting with fear for him.