Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (12 page)

"That is so, Don Scarletti, but she is quite young… in her way."
Maria Pia's hands twitched with the effort to prevent herself from making the
sign of the cross and clutching at her crucifix as she deliberately sought to
mislead him.

Don Scarletti's dark features went very still, his glittering eyes
thoughtful as they rested on the older woman's face. He bowed slightly. "I
wish to see the girl. Have her brought to me immediately."

Involuntarily, several of the young women turned to look at Nicoletta with a
mixture of fear and disappointment on their faces. At once the don alertly
followed their telltale gestures, his probing gaze settling instantly, unerringly
on her face like the point of a rapier.

The breath went out of her, and for a moment she was frozen in place, unable
to think or move. Her every instinct told her to run, yet she couldn't, her
gaze locked with his. Her pulse pounded loudly, like a drum beating at her
temples. She couldn't look away from him no matter how hard she tried. She felt
as if she were falling forward into the fathomless black depths of his eyes.

The don did not command that Nicoletta be brought to him but, instead, began
moving toward her. The crowd parted immediately, clearing his path, and he
strode purposefully, looking neither right nor left but only at her.

His prisoner. His prey. The thought beat in her head to the rhythm of her
furiously pounding heart.

He stopped directly in front of her, towering over her so that she had to
tip back her head, her gaze still locked with his. At that moment her senses
became so heightened, it was nearly unbearable. She was aware of everything:
the wind tugging at her, moving over her skin with the coolness of a touch;
Ketsia clutching at her skirts; the terrible trembling she couldn't seem to
overcome; the blackness of the don's eyes, his perfectly sculpted lips; the way
wisps of fog seemed to curl around his legs as if he were from another world.

His dark, penetrating gaze traveled slowly over her, taking in every detail
of her drab, urchin appearance. Faint, mocking amusement stole into his eyes,
briefly dispelling the icy aloofness that was so much a part of him. He turned
on the heel of one gleaming riding boot and strode back to his horse, his
movement a mesmerizing display of graceful, gliding coordination.

Like the proverbial cornered rabbit, Nicoletta watched him, terrified of
what he might do. It was too much to hope he would get back on his horse, ride
away, and leave her in peace. Stark possession marked his gaze when he looked
at her, and Nicoletta was woman enough to recognize it. She could only wait
helplessly, feeling foolish in her child's clothing.

He walked back to her and stood directly in front of her a second time.
Closer now. So close that she could feel the heat from his body seeping into
her ice-cold skin. She couldn't look away from his black, black gaze to see
what he held dangling from his fingertips. He raised his hand to her eye level
so that her thin sandals swam into view, swaying at the end of their long
thongs. "Perhaps if you were to put on your sandals, it would add an inch
to your height and a year or two to your age, signorina," he suggested
softly.

Nicoletta stared at the shoes in horror. Her hands were trembling so badly,
she didn't dare let go of her skirt. It was Ketsia who reached up and dragged
the sandals out of his hands while he stared directly into Nicoletta's eyes
with a faint, taunting smile.

The don didn't even glance at the child, his dark gaze locked with
Nicoletta's. "You are the one," he said softly, thoughtfully. His
voice turned slightly self-mocking. "It is your honor to be chosen in the
Bridal Covenant."

Nicoletta stared up at him, still mesmerized. Both of them knew it was no
honor; it was tantamount to a death sentence. The knowledge shimmered between
them, unspoken. Involuntarily she nodded her head, her eyes wide and pleading.

Abruptly Don Scarletti tore his gaze from hers and turned to the village
elders. "The Bridal Covenant has been fulfilled. She is the one."

For a moment there was complete silence. Even the wind stilled. Then chaos
erupted. A sound of pure terror escaped Nicoletta's throat. Cristano, his face
a mask of fury, burst into a fiery protest. Several of the prospective brides
gave in to nerves and began to weep loudly. The elders protested in unison, and
Maria Pia began to pray to the good Madonna. The don's men looked at one
another, shocked at the villagers' reaction to the high compliment, but,
unbidden to speak, remained stoically silent.

But Cristano had captured the don's attention. Don Giovanni Scarletti looked
from Nicoletta's white face to the young man's outraged expression. A dark
shadow crossed the don's sensual features. He turned back to Nicoletta, moving
close enough that she was trapped between his hard body and the solid tree
trunk. His hand spanned her throat, his fingers curling around her neck as if
he might strangle her, while his black gaze roamed over her upturned face to
settle on her soft, trembling mouth.

"I have chosen. Your young man must find another." There was soft
menace in his voice. Hard finality.

But that same voice managed to touch the core of strength and fire in
Nicoletta. Her teeth came together with a snap. Her dark eyes flashed fire at
him. "Choose another. There are many willing brides for you," she
hissed, uncaring that he might think her disrespectful or defiant.

"I have chosen, and my choice stands."

"I will not go."

All around them was the clamor of talking and arguing, but they might as
well have been the only two people in the world. Nicoletta was deeply aware of
his palm shaping her throat, his fingers on her bare skin. There was so much
heat in him, he was burning his brand into her soul. Staring directly into her
defiant eyes, he smiled, a slow, humorless curving of his perfect mouth.
"The marriage will take place as soon as the Holy Church is
satisfied."

His hand slipped slowly, reluctantly off her skin, and he turned around and
walked calmly back to the group of elders. The heat lingered on Nicoletta's
skin where his palm had been. Maria Pia rushed to her side, slipping her shawl
around the young woman's head and shoulders to give her a semblance of privacy
as she escorted her through the crowd to their hut. Nicoletta could hear the
elders protesting, but she knew they would have to give in. The Don didn't
argue with them; he simply waited until they had talked themselves out. Then he
advised them of his plans in his soft, commanding voice.

Once behind the closed door, Nicoletta flung herself across the room.
"I will not become his bride. I will not! I -do not care what the elders
say. I do not care if he threatens to have me burned at the stake. I will not!
He cannot just take me from my home to that horrible, horrible palazzo and rip
my world apart!"

Maria Pia remained silent, allowing Nicoletta her angry outburst in the
safety of their home. She watched the young woman pace back and forth across
the room, far too upset to stay in one spot. "Any of the other girls would
have been happy to marry him. He knows he could have chosen any of them! Well,
I will not do it. He cannot make me." Nicoletta wrung her hands. "Do
you think the elders will talk him out of it? Perhaps they will convince him I
am a half-wit. Only a half-wit would dress as I did today. Surely he does not
want to marry a dolt!"

"Nicoletta, did you see his face when Cristano protested his
choice?" Maria Pia asked quietly. "Don Scarletti is not a man who
will give you up."

"Well, he is just going to have to." Nicoletta flung the shawl and
scarf onto the bed, yanked the shapeless dress over her head, and tossed it
aside. She pried at the cloth binding her aching breasts. The disguise had been
a silly idea from the beginning. She threw the cloth after the shawl in
protest. "I am not an object, Maria Pia. No one
owns
me! I will go
to the holy father and protest immediately. The don cannot do this."
Nicoletta pulled on her skirt and blouse with quick, angry movements. She was
breathing fast to keep from weeping like a babe.

Maria Pia bowed her head, fighting back tears. She had known all along this
day would come. The Church would not help Nicoletta; the priest would insist
she marry the don. Scarletti was too powerful for the priest to alienate. He
had ties to all the great political leaders, and his army was a strong one. If
Don Giovanni Scarletti wanted Nicoletta, no one would stand against him. The
village elders couldn't risk his wrath; they needed his land and his good will
and protection. With a bride chosen from their
villaggio,
their status
would rise considerably. No one would save Nicoletta from her fate. No one
could
save Nicoletta, not even Maria Pia.

Nicoletta stood in the middle of the room pulling the knot out of her hair,
letting the thick mass fall in waves down her back. That she was still shaking
added fuel to her anger. It infuriated her that a man had the power to take
control of her life. Maria Pia didn't have to point out that she was helpless
against the don; she knew she was ranting and railing against an inevitable
fate.

She made herself breathe slowly, deeply, in and out. No one else could
extricate her from this situation. "The elders will ask the priest to
perform the ceremony as soon as the don wishes," Nicoletta said heavily.
She glanced through the window at the crowd outside. The fog was thickening,
and the air was chilly, but the throng was as dense as ever. Nicoletta knew the
don was still in the
villaggio.
Negotiating. The eloquent, arrogant Don
Scarletti would eventually ensure that the elders were more than satisfied with
the match, though most likely he had not expected any opposition whatsoever.

"They are selling me to him!" she burst out tearfully, unable to
contain her fear. She would have to leave her beloved home, her mountain,
everything and everyone she knew and loved. She would have to leave it all
behind.

"Piccola,"
—Maria Pia tried to console her—"the
tradition has been in existence for many, many generations. Most girls would be
happy to marry an
aristocratico.
You must not blame the elders. They
tried to talk him out of it. I heard them."

Nicoletta was nodding, but tears were streaming down her face. The fog was a
thick blanket now, and the gossips were finally driven indoors. Night had
fallen quickly as it did in the hills, shadows stretching, the wind howling
mournfully through the trees. Her world. She belonged out there, free and wild,
like the bears and wolves. She should not be imprisoned in an evil, hideous
palazzo with people who would never understand or love her.

"The elders will be here soon," Maria Pia warned softly. "You
must calm yourself,
bambina.
They cannot know your defiance."

Nicoletta nodded, oddly grateful that Maria Pia didn't refer to her having
to leave soon. She didn't think she could bear it. She gathered up her pitiful
disguise and carefully put it out of sight. Taking refuge in work, she pushed
all thoughts of escape aside until after the coming ordeal. She built a fire
and brewed a hot herbal tea. She lit several candles for their soothing aroma
and added a few more to the Madonna's shrine at Maria Pia's suggestion,
refraining from pointing out the that Madonna must have been doing good works
elsewhere while the don was choosing her.

Although she stiffened when the knock came at the door, she stood quietly
with her head bowed as Maria Pia let the dignitaries into their hut. The elders
avoided looking at Nicoletta, unable to face her without shame, but she felt
the weight of Don Scarletti's stare. He was willing her to look at him, but she
steadfastly continued staring at the floor.

Giovanni bowed low to Maria Pia. "Naturally, Signorina Sigmora, I will
provide generously for my bride. I have already sent for the dressmakers to see
to her wedding garments and the proper attire she will need as my wife. They
will be here quickly. We will be married in the cathedral as soon as it can be
arranged."

Maria Pia thanked him. What else could she do?

Nicoletta smoldered with anger. How dare he come into their home and dictate
to them! He had already sent for dressmakers! The nerve of him! The don
sauntered across the room to stand in front of her, setting her teeth on edge.
She could tell by his mocking air of amusement that he was aware of her
irritation. His presence alone filled the small hut, taking all the air so that
she felt as if she couldn't breathe, would never be able to breathe again. She
thrust her hands behind her back, twisting her fingers together so she didn't
do anything crazy, such as slap the smug look right off his face.

"I believe you left these behind again." The Don sounded amused as
he dangled her sandals in front of her.

Nicoletta took them from him, careful to avoid touching him. "Thank
you, signore." Deliberately she didn't give him the more respectful title,
her voice barely audible, an obedient child reluctantly thanking a well-meaning
adult.

"Come,
bambina."
An elder held out a hand to her. "Let
me introduce you formally to our don. He will provide all that is needed for
the festivities. Don Scarletti, this is our beloved Nicoletta."

She made the mistake of looking at Giovanni Scarletti then, lifting her
lashes so that her dark eyes met his briefly. He glimpsed the fierce flame
burning in their depths, betraying her defiance and smoldering anger. One black
brow arched, and a faint, mocking amusement curved his mouth and touched his
eyes, making them glitter wickedly. "I do not want you to worry." He
addressed Maria Pia, although his gaze remained on Nicoletta. "I know
there is always the danger of an enemy trying to kidnap my bride-to-be until I
have her in the safety of my palazzo. To ensure that she is safe at all times,
my men will be stationed here day and night." The merest hint of humor
laced his voice.