Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse Read online

  The child had been sick repeatedly. The coverlet was wet and stained with the aftermath of her body attempting to rid itself of poisons. Nicoletta had to tamp down a swift surge of fury that adults would leave a child to suffer alone because they were afraid of possible contagion. She repressed the need to gag at the unholy stench and approached the bed. Behind her the door swung shut with a loud thud, but despite its thickness, it didn't drown out the useless, annoying wailing coming from the hall. The fireplace was roaring, generating tremendous heat and making the room seem to glow eerily orange from the flames.

  The child looked tiny in the heavy wooden bedstead. She was very young, perhaps seven, her dark hair in tangles, her clothes sweat-soaked and stained. Her face was beaded with perspiration and twisted in agony. Nicoletta approached her without hesitation, her dark eyes mirroring her compassion. She slipped a hand around the child's tiny wrist, her heart in her throat. "Why did they wait so long to summon us?" she whispered softly.

  Something large and menacing stirred in the far shadows of a recessed alcove near the large windows. Maria Pia cried out and leapt backward toward the door, crossing herself. Nicoletta protectively stepped between the shadows and the child, prepared to defend her from the specter of death. A man's large frame slowly emerged from the darkness. He was tall, powerfully built, his black hair long and damp with sweat. He swayed unsteadily for a moment, one hand pressed to his stomach. Pain etched deep lines into his face.

  Nicoletta moved swiftly toward him, but he shook his head, and his jet-black eyes narrowed in warning. "Do not come near me." His voice was faint but held an unmistakable command. He indicated the child with a gesture. "Is it the Black Death?" His gaze was on Maria Pia's wizened face.

  Both women froze in place for a moment. It was the don—Don Scarletti himself. Even ill as he was, wracked with fever and pain, he looked powerful and entirely capable of easily disposing of two peasant women. Much to Nicoletta's disgust, Maria Pia crossed herself a second time.

  "Dio! God, woman, answer me!" he demanded, his white teeth snapping together like those of a hungry wolf.

  "Signorina Sigmora, do we have the plague?"

  Maria Pia glanced very briefly at Nicoletta, who shook her head slightly and moved once more to the child, quickly resuming the demeanor of a frightened servant girl. She was well versed in the role, using it as often as needed. She didn't look again at the man, focusing her attention instead on the little girl. Saving her would be a fight; the child was nearly gone. Nicoletta stripped off the coverlet and bedding, taking grim pleasure in opening the door and hurtling the items into the hall where the haughty manservant and whimpering aristocrats lurked.

  "We need hot water," she said, without lifting her eyes to him. "Lots of hot water, clean rags, and fresh bedding at once. And send two servants to help wash this room immediately. The healer must have these things now if the bambina is to live." Her voice was thin and reedy, a quality also well practiced. Scurrying back inside, she ignored the man leaning against the wall and threw open the window. The wind howled into the room, making the curtains dance macabrely and the fire leap and roar. The cold sea air immediately rushed inside, and the temperature in the room dropped almost instantly while the mist pushed out the terrible odor.

  The child was shivering, sweat running down her body. Nicoletta stripped her of her soiled clothing, smoothing back her hair. Maria Pia leaned in close that they might consult. "Are you certain it is not the Black Death? He is ill also." The older woman whispered the words into Nicoletta's ear.

  "I need to know what food they shared." Nicoletta's lips barely moved. Her hands were gentle on the child's distended abdomen.

  "Good sir," Maria Pia asked, "did you and the child partake of a meal together? I must know if you two shared anything to eat or drink."

  The man was shivering almost uncontrollably. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. "You are certain of what you are doing, letting in the cold this way?"

  "We must bring the fever down quickly. Both of you are far too hot. And the room reeks of sickness. It is not good. Come, come, girl, hurry now." Maria Pia did not like the way the don's black, piercing eyes took in Nicoletta's graceful, soothing hands as they moved over the child. Deliberately she shoved herself in front of the younger woman, pretending to examine the patient. "Well, Don Scarletti? Did you two partake of the same comestibles?"

  "We shared a portion of soup. Sophie could not finish it. I helped her." The words revealed far more of the man than he might have thought.

  Nicoletta glanced at him; she couldn't help herself. He was il demonio, the demon, his family under a terrible curse. He was arrogant and aloof, cold and unyielding, his neighbors terrified of crossing him, yet he had shared a bowl of soup with a child, perhaps to prevent her from being punished for failing to finish her meal. It was the first nice thing she had ever heard about him, their dictator, their don, the man who held the power of life and death over her people.

  Maria Pia coughed to get her attention. Nicoletta quickly resumed her charade as shy, inconsequential apprentice to the healer Signora Sigmora, hunching as she closed the window and straightened the curtains. Two servants peeked in timidly with buckets of hot water and armloads of rags. The taller male servant behind them carried fresh coverlets folded in his arms. None of them entered the room but lingered out in the hall. Nicoletta had little patience with them and took the water and rags rather abruptly, setting them down before whisking the coverlets out of the third manservant's hands. With her foot she forcefully slammed the door closed on them, hoping it hit them right in their noses.

  Maria Pia hissed softly at her, scowling fiercely to remind her the don was watching. Nicoletta and Maria Pia went to work. While Maria Pia bathed the child to bring down her fever and clean her, Nicoletta scrubbed the room and the bed. Maria Pia consulted with her "assistant" in whispers quite often. Seemingly under the older woman's watchful eyes, Nicoletta combined various potions, ensuring the medicaments were mixed properly. It was Nicoletta who assisted the child, pulling the small body into her arms, rocking her gently while she fed her tiny sips, coaxing and soothing with whispers of encouragement as the devil in the corner watched them with a steady, relentless black stare.

  Only when the child made a feeble attempt to drink on her own did he finally stir, sagging against the wall as if his legs could no longer support his weight.

  Maria Pia went to him at once, helping to ease his large, muscular frame into a sitting position. "He is burning up," she said with a nervous glance at Nicoletta.

  Nicoletta lay the child carefully on the bed, drawing up the coverlet. The blanket caught her attention. Neat little stitches, beautiful workmanship, the pattern so dear and familiar. For a moment she could hardly breathe, her throat clogged with painful memories. She traded places with Maria Pia, as if the older woman needed to examine the child while her assistant took care of the basic needs of the second patient.

  Nicoletta used the excuse to run her hands over the don's hot skin, to examine him and "feel" his illness. Don Scarletti was all roped, sinewy muscle, as hard as a tree trunk beneath her gentle, exploring fingers. She skimmed over him lightly, soothing him with her touch.

  Suddenly his fingers circled her wrist like a vise, holding her still while he examined her hand. He stared down at it curiously.

  Those pain-filled eyes saw far too much. Nicoletta tugged to get her hand back, her heart slamming uncomfortably in her breast. She jerked away from him, moving out of range, back into the shadows, drawing her shawl more tightly around herself. There was danger in his close scrutiny. Maria Pia and Nicoletta had perfected their illusions, the reversal of roles that ensured Nicoletta's safety, guarding her "differences" successfully from the eyes of those who might suspect her a witch and call upon the Holy Church—or Don Scarletti himself—to have her investigated… or worse.

  Maria Pia clucked her sympathy as she bustled around looking busy. She conferred with her assistant, wat
ched closely to assure the younger woman mixed her drafts and powders correctly and insisted on helping the don swallow the liquid herself. "You must rest now," Maria Pia ordered. "We will see to the child through the night. Pray we did not arrive too late."

  Nicoletta signed with her hand discreetly as she once more went back to persuading the child to drink small sips of the medicine.

  "I must know if others are ill. Did others share the soup?" Maria Pia asked at Nicoletta's suggestion.

  The man shook his head, murmured. "No one else," and ignored the older woman's nervous gasp as he rose and staggered across the room to a large chair. "I will stay with the child." He said it firmly, closing his eyes and turning his head away from them.

  Maria Pia looked helplessly at Nicoletta, who shrugged. The room was as clean as they could make it in so short a time. The child's fever was down slightly, although she was still quite ill. But the fact that she was keeping down the potion Nicoletta had concocted, that her stomach was not rejecting it, was a good sign. The don was likely not nearly as sick as the child. He was much larger, stronger, and his body more capable of fighting off the ill effects of the soup they had both ingested.

  Maria Pia took several candles from Nicoletta's leather satchel and placed them around the room. Nicoletta had made them herself out of beeswax and various aromatic herbs. Their scent at once filled the room, dispelling the last remnants of the foul odor of sickness. The fragrance was also peaceful and soothing, aiding in further calming the little girl.

  "Mio fratello awaits news of his bambina." It was another order, delivered by a man accustomed to being obeyed.

  Nicoletta was outraged that the man's brother—the child's father—was outside the room, leaving his daughter to the care of her sick uncle and two strangers. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from making a sound. She would never understand the aristocrazia. Never.

  Maria Pia opened the door and delivered the news that the don would recover and that they would continue to battle for the child's life throughout the night. It was not the dreaded disease the household had thought, and the don wished them to know.

  Nicoletta wished they would all just go away and stop their useless wailing. What good did such a din create? None of them had come near the child, afraid they might catch her illness. Poor bambina, to matter so little that her own father refused to see to her! Nicoletta's heart went out to the child.

  As a hush finally fell over the household, Nicoletta settled down on the bed close to young Sophie. The child desperately needed more medicine in her to counteract the effects of the poisoning. Had it been accidental? Or deliberate? Nicoletta tried not to think about that as she quietly removed her sandals, settled against the strangely carved headboard, drew up her knees, and tucked her bare legs beneath her long skirt. With the glow from the stoked fire and the flickering candles, she had sufficient light to observe the room.

  Nicoletta couldn't understand why anyone would put a small child in such a chamber. It was far too large, and the carvings in the walls were demonic. Long, coiled, forked-tongued snakes and strange serpents with fangs and claws cavorted between the enormous windows. The marble reliefs and a particularly wicked-looking gargoyle seemed almost alive, as if they might leap off the walls and attack one. The curtains were heavy and dark, and the ceiling was far too high and carved with a plethora of winged animals with sharp beaks and talons. Nicoletta couldn't imagine a child of seven attempting to fall asleep with these creatures surrounding her in the darkness.

  Eventually, Maria Pia fell into a doze slumped in a small chair beside the fire. Nicoletta covered her with the spare coverlet and reluctantly checked on the don. He was very quiet, his breathing shallow enough that she could tell he continued to be in pain but was refusing to acknowledge it. Though almost afraid to touch the man, she laid a cooling hand on his forehead. A strange current suddenly ran between the two of them. She could feel it arcing and crackling beneath her skin, beneath his, and it made her distinctly uneasy. His fever was down but not entirely gone. With a little sigh, Nicoletta held the cup of liquid to his mouth. She didn't want to wake him, but he, too, needed the medicaments to ensure his recovery.

  His hand abruptly moved up to trap hers around the cup as he drank, making it impossible for her to let go. He was enormously strong for a man so ill. When he had drained the contents, he lowered the cup but retained possession of her hand. "I wonder how the healer knows which remedy to use. I have heard of her skills; the healer to your villagio is spoken of often with great respect."

  Nicoletta stiffened, her heart thundering in her ears. She tugged, a not-so-subtle reminder to release her, but this time he tightened his grip, not allowing her to escape back into the shadows. There was danger here; she sensed a threat to her. "I… I do not know, Don Scarletti. Her secrets are hers alone." Deliberately she stammered and hung her head, shrinking into herself like a not-so-bright servant.

  The don continued to hold her still, regarding her through half-closed eyes. In the firelight he looked a dark and dangerous devil, far too sensuous and powerful to be trifled with. Nicoletta didn't waver beneath the scrutiny, although she wanted to tear her hand free and run for her life. He was so much more dangerous to her than she had first thought. She felt it, as she did everything. Resolutely she stared at the floor.

  The don retained possession a few moments longer, then abruptly let her go, his eyes closing, clearly dismissing her. Nicoletta prevented her sigh of relief from escaping and moved swiftly to put a safe distance between them, curling up on the bed beside the child once more. She breathed slowly, calmly, watching the rise and fall of his chest until she was certain he slumbered once more.

  Several times she attended the child, washing her to keep the fever down, prompting her to drink fluids and the physic. The child seemed to be breathing more easily and each time Nicoletta rested her hand on the distended little abdomen, it seemed to be twisting less, the pain subsiding.

  She was finally drifting off to sleep herself when a movement at the far side of the chamber caught her eye. A bell pull seemed to sway, though there was no breeze. She shifted her gaze to the wall behind it, watching intently. The smooth, seamless panel seemed to waver, as if her eyes were out of focus. She sat up, staring intently. The wall was marble, a beautiful pink and white, yet it seemed to move in the flickering firelight. Shadows danced and stretched, and the flames and curtains leapt as if a draft had entered the room. She shivered as two of the candles suddenly went out.

  For one awful moment she though she saw the sheen of eyes staring at her malevolently from the shadows, but then the child beside her moved restlessly, breaking the spell. Instantly Nicoletta protectively gathered her close, her gaze once more straying to the wall. It was as unblemished as a sea-smoothed stone. The little girl began to cry in her sleep, a soft, pathetic sound.

  Nicoletta rocked her gently and began to hum, then quietly sang a soothing lullaby, a whispered melody for the child. The little girl began to relax in Nicoletta's arms, clinging to her tightly as if she might never let go. The words, thought long forgotten, emerged naturally, a ballad Nicoletta's mother had often sung to her when she was young. Nicoletta's heart went out to the lonely child, who had no one who cared enough to hold her in the darkness when the nightmares came.

  Nicoletta looked around the cavernous room, taking in the heavy curtains and hideous carvings, enough to give anyone nightmares. As she rocked, the little girl snuggled close to her, and they drifted to sleep together, neither noticing the man sitting in the chair observing Nicoletta through half-closed eyes.

  Chapter Two

  It was a whisper of movement that woke Nicoletta. She felt the disturbance in the air, the shifting of currents. She lay holding the child in her arms while her heart pounded and she attempted to get her bearings. The fire had died down to a soft orange glow. The last of the candles was spluttering into its own wax with a hiss, its aromatic scent drifting into the air with a thin tail of black smoke. The bed
chamber was situated on the ocean side of the palazzo, and despite the thick walls, she could hear the constant pounding and roaring of the waves as they crashed against the jagged rocks. In a way the steady, constant rhythm was a comfort.

  Nicoletta glanced toward the chair where Don Scarletti had been sleeping. The seat was empty. Maria Pia still slumbered in her chair, her small, frail body barely visible beneath the coverlet.

  The child in Nicoletta's arms moved, her little hand creeping along Nicoletta's arm until she clasped her hand tightly. Her rosebud mouth pressed against Nicoletta's ear. "Sometimes they whisper to each other all night." Her voice was a shaky thread of sound, her thin body trembling.

  Nicoletta tightened her arms around the child, offering comfort as they lay together in the massive bed. The ornate sculptures did seem to be whispering; she could hear the soft murmuring, which seemed to surround them, making it impossible to discern the exact source. The shadows moved and deepened so that the wings on the carved creatures appeared to spread in preparation for flight. The curved claws of the wicked-looking gargoyle lengthened and grew, stretching toward the bedstead, throwing a darker gray across the figures etched into the ceiling. One talon elongated across the eaves and rafters, a dark shape like the hand of death. It seemed to be reaching for something, and Nicoletta almost stopped breathing as the grotesque shadow hovered across the ceiling above the bed.

  Sophie sobbed quietly, the sound muffled against Nicoletta's neck.

  "Shh, bambina, I will not allow anything to harm you," Nicoletta promised in her softest, most reassuring voice. But she was frightened, watching the shadows play macabre games, hearing the hideous murmuring. The shadowy talon slowly passed overhead and reached the ornate chandelier with its heavily layered rows of tapers. The claw curved around the base, the sharpened talon digging at the fixture.

  Unexpectedly she saw the chandelier sway. Felt a ripple of motion much like the tremor that had passed through the ground up on their arrival at the palazzo. Nicoletta's heart leapt into her throat. Horrified, she stared up at the large, heavy circle of candles. It definitely trembled; it was not her imagination. This time the movement was more pronounced, a shudder that sent several half-burned tapers spilling to the floor. The waxy missiles failed to touch the bed, but they struck the chair where Maria Pia slept. The chandelier creaked and swayed alarmingly, sending more candles spiraling wildly in all directions through the air.