“Isabella.” Sarina shook her shoulder gently but insistently. “Come, bambina, you must wake now. Hurry, Isabella, wake now.”
Isabella lifted her lashes and stared up into Sarina’s kind face. “What is it? It’s not yet light.” She moved carefully, the lacerations on her back more painful now that the medicine had worn off. She tried to keep from wincing. “Is something wrong, Sarina?”
“You have been ordered to leave this place. The supplies are packed, and your escort is waiting with your horse.” Sarina refused to meet Isabella’s eyes. “He will not relent, signorina. Hurry now. He has said you must leave immediately. I must tend to your back.”
Isabella tilted her chin defiantly. “We have a bargain. The don is a man of his word, and I insist that he keep it. I will not leave this place. And he will rescue mio fratello, Lucca.”
“The messengers have been sent to secure your brother’s freedom,” Sarina assured her. She was pulling clothes out of the wardrobe.
“There is the matter of our marriage. I believe he offered for me. He ordered our marriage. He cannot go back on his word.”
“It was not announced.” Sarina still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I must put salve on your wounds. Then you must dress quickly, Isabella, and do as Don DeMarco has ordered.”
“I don’t understand. I must see him. Why is he sending me away? What have I done to displease him?” Isabella had a sudden inspiration. “The lions were quiet last night. Doesn’t that mean they are coming to accept my presence?”
“He will not see you, and he will not change his mind.”
Sarina tried to hide her distress, making Isabella wonder what consequences of the don’s decision she feared. She had no doubt that Sarina was well versed in all the legends about the don and his palazzo.
Isabella took a deep, calming breath. Well, if Don DeMarco didn’t want her as his bride, then perhaps both of them had made a lucky escape. She had no intention of ever conforming to a husband’s wishes. Not now. Not ever. “My back is fine this morning, grazie. I do not need medicine.”
She rose stiffly and deliberately took her time washing, hoping the don was pacing in his rooms, anxious for her departure. Let him be anxious and have to wait on her pleasure. Ignoring the clothes Sarina had laid out for her, she dressed in her old, worn clothing. She needed nothing from Don DeMarco other than that he keep his word and rescue her brother.
“Please understand, he wishes you to have the clothes. He is providing a full escort to the pass, supplies, and several men to take you on to your home.” Sarina tried hard to be encouraging.
Isabella’s eyes flashed fire. She had no home. Don Rivellio had confiscated her lands and all things of value, other than her mother’s jewels. But she dared not use her last treasures except as a final resort to try to bribe the guards holding Lucca. Still, she was far too proud to point out the obvious to Sarina. Isabella had come to Don DeMarco expecting to become a servant in his castello. If he wished to throw her out, she certainly wasn’t going to beg him to take her as his bride, or even for sanctuary. She had been born the daughter of a don. She may have run wild at times, but the blood of her parents ran deep in her veins. She had plenty of pride and dignity, and she wrapped both around her like a cloak.
“I have no need of anything the don has offered. I made my way to the palazzo alone, and I can certainly find my way back. As for the clothes, please see to it that those in need receive them.” She met Sarina’s eyes steadily, every bit as proud as the don. “I am ready.”
“Signorina….” Sarina’s heart clearly ached for the young woman.
Isabella’s chin rose higher. “There is nothing to say, signora. I thank you for your kindness to me, but I must obey the orders of your don and leave immediately.” She had to leave quickly or she might humiliate herself by bursting into tears. She had elicited a promise from Don DeMarco to save her brother, and that, after all, was the only reason she had come. She would think of nothing else.
Not his broad shoulders. Not the intensity of his amber gaze. Not the sound of his voice. She would not think of him as a man. Isabella glanced at the door, her features set and determined.
Sarina opened the door, and Isabella swept through it. At once the cold hit her, piercing and deep and unnatural. It was there again—that sense of something malignant watching her, this time in gloating triumph. Her heart began to pound. The hatred was so strong, so thick in the air, it took her breath away. She felt the weight of its ugly presence.
But Isabella could not worry any longer about those living with something evil in the castello. If the don and his people didn’t know or care what was dwelling within their walls, it was none of her business. Looking neither right nor left, not waiting to see if the housekeeper followed, Isabella hurried through the maze of halls, relying on her memory to find her way out. She was terrified of leaving yet equally terrified of staying.
The unnatural cold air followed her as she made her way through the wide halls. It stabbed at her as if to run her through with an ice-cold sword. It clawed at the wounds on her back, seeking entrance to her soul. She couldn’t prevent a shudder of fear, and she imagined she heard the echo of taunting laughter. As she walked down the long, twisting stairs, a ripple of movement followed her, and she could have sworn the portraits on the walls stared at her. The burning tapers in the halls flared from strange wind gusts and splattered waxy, macabre apparitions onto the floor, as if her adversary were maliciously celebrating her departure with gleeful delight.
She felt a wrenching sensation in the region of her heart as she walked out of the castello into the biting wind of the Alps. She took a breath of the clean, fresh air. At least the horrifying feeling of something evil watching her was gone once she was outdoors. Men and horses were waiting for her to join them. Without warning, the lions began to roar, from every direction—the mountains, the valley, the courtyard, and the bowels of the palazzo—creating a frightful din. The sound was hideous and terrifying, filling the air and reverberating through the very ground. It was nearly worse than the black feeling inside the castello.
The horses panicked, fighting the riders, bucking and snorting, heads tossing warily, eyes rolling with fear. The men murmured to the animals in an attempt to calm them. Snow fell in steady sheets, turning everyone into ghostlike mummies.
“You have plenty of food,” Sarina assured her, quickly hiding her shaking hands behind her back. “And I put salve in the pack.”
“Thank you again for your kindness,” Isabella said without looking at her. She would not cry. There was no reason to cry. She cared nothing for the don. Still, it was humiliating to be sent away as though she mattered not at all. Which was true, Isabella supposed. She no longer had lands or a title. She had less than did the servants in the castello. And she had nowhere to take her sick brother.
Isabella ignored Betto’s helping hand and swung into the saddle by herself. Her back protested alarmingly, but the pain around her heart was more intense. She kept her face averted from the others, even grateful for the snow that would hide the tears glittering in her eyes. Her throat burned with regret and anger. With sorrow.
Determinedly she dug her heels into her horse and set the pace, wanting to put the palazzo and the don far behind her. She didn’t look at the escorts, pretending they weren’t present. The lions continued roaring a protest, but the snow, falling faster, helped to muffle the sound. She was aware that the men and horses were extremely nervous. Lions hunted in packs, didn’t they? The breath left Isabella’s lungs in a sudden rush.
Unless that was the terrible secret the valley guarded so well. So many of those men loyal to the Vernaducci name had been sent out to find this valley within the Alps, yet they had never returned. It was whispered Don DeMarco had an army of beasts to guard his lair. Were they hunting her now? The horses gave every indication that predators were near. Isabella’s heart began to pound.
Don DeMarco had acted strangely, but surely he wouldn’t be so upset with her that he would want her dead. What had she done that warranted her removal from the castello? She hadn’t asked the don to marry her; he had been the one to insist on it. She had been willing to work for him, had offered her loyalty to him. If he had simply changed his mind about taking a wife, would he want her dead?
Isabella glanced over to the captain of the guard, attempting to gauge his level of anxiety. His features were hard, stony, yet he urged the riders to greater speed, and it was apparent that all the men were heavily armed. Isabella had seen men like the captain before. Lucca was one such man. His eyes moved restlessly over their surroundings, and he rode easily in the saddle. But he rode like a man expecting trouble.
“Are we hunted?” Isabella asked, her horse falling into step with the captain’s mount. She was feigning calm, but she would never completely forget the sight of that lion, its hungry stare fixed on her.
“You are safe, Signorina Vernaducci. Don DeMarco has insisted upon your safety above all else. It is our lives should we fail him.”
And then the lions fell silent. The quiet was eerie and frightening, worse than the terrible roars. Isabella’s heart pounded, and she tasted terror in her mouth. The snow swept down, turning the world a startling white and muffling the chink of the horses’ hooves on the rocks. In truth, Isabella had never seen snow until she came into these mountains. It was icy cold and wet against her face, hanging on her eyelashes and turning men and mounts into strange, pale creatures.
“What is your name?” Isabella needed to hear a voice. The silence was eating away at her courage. Something paced silently alongside them with every step the horses took. She thought she caught glimpses every now and then of movement, but she couldn’t make out what it might be. The men had closed ranks, riding in tight formation.
“I am Rolando Bartolmei.” He waved at the second man riding close by. “That is Sergio Drannacia. We’ve been with Don DeMarco all our lives. We were boys together, childhood friends. He is a good man, signorina.” He glanced at her as if trying to make a point.
Isabella sighed. “I am sure he is, signore.”
“Must you leave so quickly? The storm will pass soon enough. I can assure you, our valley is quite beautiful if you would but give it a chance.” Captain Bartolmei glanced again to the rider on his left. Sergio Drannacia was taking in every word. Clearly, neither understood why she was leaving so abruptly, and they were trying to persuade her to stay.
“Don DeMarco ordered me from the valley, Signor Bartolmei. It is not by choice that I am leaving in such a storm.” Her chin was up, her face proud.
The captain exchanged a long look with Sergio, almost in disbelief. “You were allowed into the valley, signorina—a true miracle. I would have hoped you would be able to see more of this great land. Our people are prosperous and happy.”
That the people could be happy under the circumstances was difficult to believe. Isabella took a deep breath. “The night I arrived, I heard a terrible scream, and the lions roared. Someone was killed that night. What happened?” She wanted to appear calm, as if she knew more of the mystery than she actually did.
The captain exchanged another quick look with Drannacia, who shrugged his broad shoulders. “It was an accident,” the captain said. “One of the men became careless. We must remember that lions are not tame. They are wild animals and must be respected as such.”
Isabella listened to the tone of his voice. It was tight and clipped. She had learned much from her father and brother by thus listening for the small nuances in a voice. The captain did not fully believe his own explanation. He was uneasy with the beasts pacing silently, unseen, beside them, and talking of accidents did nothing to ease the tension. It stretched out endlessly until nerves were screaming.
They rode for perhaps an hour, the storm slowing them down. Visibility was poor, and the wind began to howl and moan, filling the ghostly silence left by the ceasing of the lion’s roars. Isabella pulled her cape tightly around her in an attempt to ward off the relentless cold. It seemed to invade her body and turn her blood to ice, and she shivered continually. Wet and miserable, her hands numb with cold despite her gloves, she was nearly thrown when her mount stopped without warning, rearing halfheartedly. Trying to calm her horse, she peered through the heavy veil of snow.
Isabella’s heart nearly stopped. She caught a glimpse of something large, covered in snow, but still showing patches of golden tan and black. Eyes glowed through the white, icy crystals, eyes full of wicked intelligence. Her breath caught in her throat, and she froze, her hands falling to her sides as the horse sidestepped and began backing up nervously.
The captain leaned over, caught the reins of her mount, and swung both horses around. “The animals are guarding the pass!” he shouted. “They’re not going to allow you to leave.”
There was something very sinister about the way the large beast stood on the narrow ledge at the entrance to the pass, its eyes fixed on her. Its gaze was intent, targeting her, recognizing her. It was mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time.
“It isn’t the single beast you can see that you must worry about. Lions are pack hunters. Where there is one, there are many. We must take you back.” The captain was still leading her mount. His voice jolted Isabella out from under the spell of the predator, and she reached forward hastily to retake control of her horse. The captain needed his hands free; his own horse was plunging and snorting nervously.
It was nerve-wracking to ride nearly blind through the heavily falling snow, with her mount trembling and sweating in fear and the other animals bucking and snorting, blowing out great clouds of vapor in their terror. That peculiar, coughlike grunt would sound to their left, then a few minutes later to their right, then behind and ahead of them. Her escort was unnaturally quiet, eyes straining through the snow to catch glimpses of the elusive hunters.
Isabella was just starting to breathe again when she felt the disturbance in the air. She looked up at the sky, expecting to see something predatory overhead, but only the white flakes floated down. All the same, she and the men were not alone. Something other than a pride of lions had followed them from the palazzo, and it was angry that they had turned back, heading away from the pass. She could feel intense hatred and rage directed at her, a black wall of evil bent on her destruction. Isabella couldn’t identify what it was, but she felt it all the way to her bones.
She began to shake, her body reacting to the intensity of that animosity. It was personal—she felt it. And something terrible was going to happen. She was helpless to prevent it, but she knew it was coming.
Almost at once the lions began to roar again. The beasts were very close, and the sound was deafening. The horses panicked, bucking and plunging, rearing and spinning, and chaos reigned. The slope was icy, and the animals slid and crashed into one another, trumpeting in fear. Men fell into the snow and covered their heads to protect themselves from the slashing hooves. Isabella’s mount whirled around and slipped on the steep grade, sliding dangerously and ultimately toppling over. She tried to kick herself free, but it was impossible with the folds of her skirts, and she hit the ground hard, the thrashing, fallen horse pinning her leg beneath it.
The pain in her back was excruciating, driving the breath from her body and overriding any harm that may have been done to her leg. For a moment she couldn’t think or breathe; she could only lie helplessly while her horse thrashed desperately, trying to regain its footing.
The captain leapt from the back of his plunging mount and caught Isabella’s horse’s reins, yanking the animal up. The horse stood trembling, head down. The captain jerked Isabella up out of the snow, ignoring her inadvertent cry of pain, shoving her behind him, his sword drawn out of his scabbard. Pandemonium surrounded them, but the captain issued orders, and his men caught the horses that had not run free into the storm, and they stood, shoulder to shoulder, a solid wall of protection around Isabella.
“What is it, Rolando?” Sergio asked, his eyes straining to see through the blinding snow. “Why are they attacking us? I don’t understand. Why would he send her away, his only chance at salvation? If she wasn’t the one, they never would have allowed her alive through the pass.”
“I don’t know, Sergio,” the captain said. “They allowed her through, then prevented her from leaving. We are doing as they wish, taking her back to the castello, yet they are hunting us.”
Isabella shook her head. “They are not hunting you. It is hunting me, and it is using the animals to do its bidding.” Just as it had directed the falcon to target Sarina. Isabella knew she was right. Something wanted her out of the valley. Whether it was the don or something else, the hatred was directed at her.
The captain swung his head around to stare at her, his features very still, his eyes alive with curiosity. He was silent for so long, Isabella was afraid he thought her crazy. She pressed a hand to her rolling stomach but stepped to his side, her chin high.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded, a man in command, a man determined to do his duty and needing all information available to him. “What is hunting you? I don’t understand.”
She had no way of explaining what it was, because she didn’t know. She only knew that it was real and malignant. “I felt it earlier when the don’s falcon attacked Sarina. Something is driving these attacks. That’s why I asked about the death that night. I thought it was possible that something similar had happened.”
“I know of no such thing,” the captain denied, but he was looking around him warily. His fingers abruptly bit into Isabella’s arm, thrusting her farther away from him, her only warning. He stepped squarely in front of her so she was forced to peek around his solid bulk. Her breath left her lungs in one continuous rush.
She saw the huge lion through the snow. All stealth and power, head lowered, shoulder blades protruding, its blazing eyes focused directly on her. The lion seemed to flow over the ground, stalking her in slow motion. Although men and horses surrounded her, it looked only at her, staring with deadly intent.
The horses were rearing and plunging, dragging their riders with them in all directions as they tried to escape. The men were forced to abandon their mounts in order to protect themselves and Isabella. The odor of fear was pungent. Sweat broke out on their bodies, but to a man they stood frozen in place while the storm raged around them.
The lion suddenly exploded into a dead run, its speed unbelievable, smashing into the circle of men, swiping with razor-tipped claws, so that they ran for their lives, leaving a clear path to Captain Bartolmei, Sergio Drannacia, who stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and Isabella. The beast leapt, hundreds of pounds of solid muscle, going straight for Isabella. Sheer terror found a home in her heart, in her soul. She stood frozen, watching death come to her.
A second lion emerged from the storm, a great shaggy beast with a thick golden and black mane. Larger and even more heavily muscled, it roared a challenge as it intercepted the first lion, distracting it from reaching its prey. The two lions slammed into each other in midair, crashing together so hard that the ground shook. At once the fight became a frenzied battle of teeth and claws. Ferocious and mesmerizing, the roars reverberated through the air, drawing other lions. Blazing eyes burned brightly through the snowflakes.
Isabella watched the second lion closely. It was well muscled, in its prime, and obviously intelligent. She could see it driving in again and again for the weakened areas where blood already marked the other male. The sound of bones crunching chilled her, horrified her. In the end, the large predator held the smaller lion helpless in its grip, teeth buried in the throat until the fallen animal strangled.
Captain Bartolmei signaled to Sergio. “Now!” They both leapt toward the victorious lion, swords ready.
“No!” Isabella shouted, brushing past the two men to place her body between them and the lion. “Get away from him.”
The men stopped abruptly. Silence fell, leaving the world white and dazzling, and nature held its breath. The lion swung its great head around, its muzzle still bloody. The eyes fixed on her, blazed at her, a peculiar amber that seemed to glow with knowledge and intelligence. With sorrow. “No,” she said again very softly, her gaze trapped in the lion’s. “He saved us.”
As she stared at the great cat, the wind gusted and blew snow all around them, momentarily blinding her. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. The wind blew the snow aside, and she found herself staring into wild amber eyes. But the victorious lion was gone. The amber eyes belonged to a human predator. She was no longer seeing a lion standing over the fallen beast, but Don Nicolai DeMarco. He stood tall and straight, his long hair blowing in the wind, snow falling on his broad shoulders and elegant clothes.
Isabella’s stomach somersaulted, and her heart melted. She blinked to remove the snowflakes from her lashes. The don’s tall frame blurred and wavered so that his long hair seemed a golden, flowing mane around his head and shoulders, deepening in color from tawny to black as it cascaded down his back. His hands moved, drawing her attention, and the illusion had her looking at two huge paws. Then the don moved, and the strange, wavering mirage disappeared, and she was once more looking at a man.
He glanced down at the body of the defeated lion, and she saw the shadows in his eyes. He hunkered down beside the great cat and buried one gloved hand in the thick fur, his head bowed for a moment in regret. Behind him was a small army of men on horseback. Don DeMarco rose to his feet and signaled the riders to hunt for the runaway horses.
He walked right up to Isabella and took her hand in his. “Are you injured, my lady?” he asked softly, gently, his amber eyes capturing hers, holding her prisoner, setting butterfly wings fluttering deep inside her.
Mutely Isabella shook her head as she looked down at her hand in the palm of his, almost afraid she would see a great paw. His fingers closed around hers, and he pulled her close to the warmth of his body. Her body was trembling in reaction, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop herself. Don DeMarco removed his cape and swirled it around her shoulders, enfolding her with his body warmth. He reached back toward the line of men, and his horse responded to the silent signal, trotting to him instantly.
His hands spanned her waist and lifted her easily onto the saddle. “What happened here, Rolando?” he asked, and that strange growl rumbled, a distinct threat, deep in his throat.
Isabella shivered and snuggled deeper into the heavy cloak. It was no wonder the don occasionally looked like a lion, with his long hair and shaggy cloak. It was made of the pelt of a lion. The don’s mount smelled the beasts surrounding them, but it was steady, not in the least nervous. Isabella wondered if it was used to the wild scent because of the cloak.
“The pass was guarded, Don DeMarco,” the captain explained. He stared past the don, not quite meeting his eyes. “We turned back, and this one attacked us. A rogue, no doubt.” He indicated the lifeless lion in the blood-soaked snow. “In the blinding snow, we could have made a terrible mistake, Nicolai.”
Isabella had no idea what he meant, but the captain’s voice shook with emotion.
Nicolai DeMarco easily swung onto the back of the horse, settling Isabella close to his chest, his arms sliding around her while he grasped the reins. “Would it have been so terrible, my friend?” He turned the animal back toward the castello, obviously not wanting an answer. Isabella stirred in his arms, a restless movement that brought her body right into his.
She tilted her head and looked into his eyes. “You’re going the wrong way.” Her tone was every bit Vernaducci, as haughty as the expression on her face. “My sense of direction is quite good, and the pass is in the opposite direction.”
He stared down into her face for so long she didn’t think he would answer. She became aware of the movement of the horse as it rocked their bodies together. There was strength in his arms, and his hair brushed her face like silk. She wanted to tangle her fingers in the mass, but, instead, she curled her hands into two fists to prevent such folly. His mouth, beautifully sculpted and sinfully inviting, drew her gaze. She decided it was a mistake to look at him, but she was already caught in the heat of his stare and couldn’t look away.
Nicolai touched her face gently, but Isabella felt the stroke through her entire body. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I found I’m not nearly as noble as I would like to think. I cannot give you up.”
“Well, I just want you to know that I’ve completely changed my opinion of you.” She ducked beneath the thick cloak to get out of the biting wind. “And it isn’t for the good.”
His laughter was soft, almost too low for her to catch. “I will have to do my best to change it back.”
When she looked up at him, there was no sign of humor in his face. He looked sad and weighted down. Lines were etched into the angles and planes, and he appeared older than she had first thought. Isabella couldn’t prevent her hand from creeping upward to touch his face, to brush gently at the harsh lines. “I’m sorry about the lion. I know you have some connection to them, and you felt the loss greatly.”
“It is my duty to control them,” he answered without inflection.
Her eyebrows shot up. “How can you possibly be responsible for controlling wild animals?”
“Suffice to say, I can and I do,” he said tersely, dismissing the subject.
Isabella’s teeth came together in protest. Was she going to have to get used to being summarily ignored? In her home she had done much as she pleased, taken part in heated discussions, even political ones. Now her life had changed not once, but twice, on the whim of the same man. It would have been far easier if he hadn’t been so attractive to her. Beneath her long lashes, her eyes flashed at him, a flare of temper she struggled to control. “You aren’t getting off to a very good start, Signor DeMarco, if changing my opinion of you is your intent.”
He looked startled for a moment, as if no one had ever voiced displeasure with him before. Captain Bartolmei, riding close to his don, turned his head away, but not before Nicolai caught the sudden grin. Sergio, on the other side, went into a spasm of coughing. The don swung his head in the soldier’s direction, and the chortling sound immediately ceased. Nicolai tightened his arms around Isabella.
Isabella was drifting, safe and secure in the warmth of the don’s arms. But she became aware of tension among the three men. Truly, it was more than the three men. It extended to the columns of men, as if they were all waiting for something to happen. Isabella closed her eyes and allowed her head to find a niche on Don DeMarco’s chest. She didn’t want to see or hear anything more. She pulled the cloak over her head.
The feeling of dread persisted anyway. It grew with each step the horses took. It wasn’t a feeling of evil, but more of anticipation, of expectation. It seemed that each of the riders knew something she did not. With a sigh of resignation she threw off the hood and glared up at the don.
“What is it? What is wrong?” He looked more distant than ever. Isabella pushed down the temper that always got her into trouble. Don DeMarco was the one making all the decisions. If he was already regretting his little whim of returning her to the palazzo, that was his problem, and he could look as grim as he wanted, but she wasn’t going to feel guilty.
Nicolai did not answer her. Isabella studied his face and realized he was concentrating completely on something else. She noticed the captain and Sergio riding closer to their don, protectively. She turned her attention to his hands, so steady on the reins as he guided the horse through the snow. Isabella sat up straighter. Don DeMarco was not guiding the horse. Sergio and the captain were doing so with their own mounts. The don’s total attention was centered deep within himself, and he didn’t seem to be fully aware of anything around him. Not even Isabella.
His expression caught her interest. He was struggling internally—she sensed it—yet his face was a mask of indifference. Isabella knew things. She had always known them, and right now she was very aware that Nicolai DeMarco was fighting a terrible battle.
She knew the lions were still pacing alongside the two columns of riders, much farther away than before but still there. Was the don controlling their behavior in some way? Did he truly have such an ability? The idea was terrifying. No one in the outside world would ever accept such a feat. He would be condemned and sentenced to death. Rumors were one thing—people loved gossip, loved to be deliciously frightened—but it would be an altogether different proposition if Don DeMarco could actually control an army of beasts.
Isabella became aware of the horse beneath them. Where the animal had been steady before, it was becoming increasingly nervous, dancing, tossing its head. The cloak enfolding her in its warmth seemed almost to have come alive, so that she smelled the wild lion, felt the brush of its mane against her cheek.
Don DeMarco reined in his mount, halting the columns of riders. She could feel the change in his breathing, the air moving through his lungs in a rush, his breath warm on her neck. Then the captain signaled the two columns of riders to continue to move forward toward the palazzo. The storm effectively muffled the sounds of the horses and riders as they disappeared into the white, swirling world.
Nicolai touched Isabella’s hair, his hand heavy and large as it ran down her head and back. The stroke was incredibly sensual, and Isabella shivered. He leaned into her so that his mouth was close to her ear. “I regret I cannot escort you all the way back to the palazzo, but Rolando will see to it that you arrive safely. I have other pressing duties.” That peculiar growling note rumbled deep within his throat, sensual and frightening at the same time. Easily, fluidly, he swung down from the horse, one hand lingering on her ankle.
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. She was wearing boots, but she felt that intimate touch right through her body. “There are lions, Signor DeMarco. I feel them around us. You can’t be out here on foot,” she pointed out anxiously. “Nothing can be so important.”
“Captain Bartolmei will see you back to the castello. Sarina is waiting for you, and she’ll be sure you are well cared for in my absence. I’ll return as soon as possible.” The wind was blowing hard. The don’s hair flared around his face, thick and shaggy, gold at his crown, darkening to almost black as it cascaded down his back. “Isabella, stay close to the captain until you are safe within the walls of my home. And listen to Sarina. She wants only to protect you.”
“Don DeMarco,” Captain Bartolmei interrupted. “You must hurry.”
All the horses were snorting and dancing nervously. Isabella’s mount was rolling its eyes in fear, tossing its head up and trying to back away.
Isabella reached out and caught Nicolai’s shoulder. “You have no cloak, and it’s freezing out here. Please come with us. Or at least take back your cloak.”
Don DeMarco looked at the small gloved hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, my lady. Look at my face.”
She heard the swift intake of breath, of fear, by the two men guarding them. She didn’t spare them a glance, looking only at Nicolai. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, he was breaking her heart. He looked so aloof, so utterly alone. She boldly framed his scarred face with her palms. “I am looking at you, mio don. Tell me what I am to look for.” Her gaze drifted over his face, taking in the handsome, sculpted lines, the deep scars, the blazing intensity of his amber eyes.
“Tell me what you see,” he commanded for the second time, his expression wary.
“I see you, Don Nicolai DeMarco. A very mysterious man, but one some would call handsome.” Her thumb stroked a lingering caress over his shadowed jaw. Isabella found she couldn’t look away from his hot gaze.
“Would you be one of those calling Don Nicolai DeMarco handsome?” he asked, his voice even lower than before, so that the wind whipped it away almost before she caught the words. His hand moved up to his jaw, covering the exact spot where her thumb had caressed him, holding her touch in the warmth of his palm.
A slow smile curved Isabella’s mouth, but before she could answer him, her mount reared back, forcing her to grab at the reins.
Don DeMarco stepped hastily away from the animal, slipping quickly into the shadow of the trees. “Go now, Rolando. Get her home safely.” It was an order.
“Your cloak,” Isabella called to him desperately as the captain caught at the reins of her horse. Already the horse was in motion, Sergio and the captain urging the animal toward the palazzo. She struggled to remove the heavy lion pelt, quickly tossing it back toward where she had last seen the don. “Take your cloak, Don DeMarco,” she pleaded, afraid for him, a lonely figure impossible to see in the whirling storm of white.
Isabella nearly turned completely around on the back of her mount. She actually considered leaping off the horse. There was a desperation in her, a fear that if she took her eyes off the don, she would lose him. But as hard as she tried, she could not make out his figure in the snow. She had merely the impression of something large and powerful flowing with fluid grace across the snow. He stooped to pick up the cloak and slowly straightened to watch her go. His frame wavered, became indistinct, as he slipped on the heavy cloak, suddenly taking on the appearance of an untamed beast. She found herself staring into glowing eyes, eyes blazing with fire, with intelligence. Wild eyes.
Her heart stopped, then began to pound in alarm.