Violante crowded close to her, and Isabella carefully made swirling marks along a piece of parchment.
Violante inhaled sharply. "That's me? That's my name?"
Isabella nodded. "Doesn't it look beautiful? I remember the first time Lucca showed me my name." She wrote her own name on the bottom of the parchment with a flourish. She studied it for a moment with a critical eye.
"What would you say in a letter to your brother if you were to write to him?" Violante asked, curious. "How would you write it?"
Isabella smoothed the parchment with one fingertip. "I'd write his name here, just below where yours is." She did so and added a couple of sample lines. "This says that I miss him and wish he would hurry and join me. I'm not really good at all the letters. I don't practice enough. You see where some of the lines waver." She blew on the wet dye to dry it, pleased she had found a way to begin a friendship with Sergio Drannacia's wife.
"That seems many marks for those words," Violante observed.
Isabella swallowed hard. "I added that I love him--silly, when he'll never see it."
"You said your brother was being held in the dungeons of Don Rivellio," Violante remembered. "I'm so glad he was released. Theresa dislikes him intensely. The don has a reputation of being difficult."
"A nice word to describe him, Signora Drannacia," Isabella said dryly. "How in the world did Signora Bartolmei have dealings with Don Rivellio?" Isabella was curious, despite her dislike of gossip.
"You must call me Violante," the older woman implored. "Theresa is, of course, a cousin to Don DeMarco. She was raised on a farm, nowhere near the palazzo, yet she is an aristocratica." There was a hint of envy, of frustration, in Violante's tone. "She wed Rolando Bartolmei, who, like Sergio, also carries a great name. Naturally, she and her kin are invited to all the celebrations in the other holdings."
Isabella sat down at the table and studied Violante's face. The mixture of jealousy and relief she saw there was nearly humorous. But Violante's expression was serious. "Theresa and Rolando took Chanise, her younger sister, with them to a festival. Don Rivellio was there. He paid particular attention to Chanise, although she was but eleven summers."
Isabella's heart jumped. Very deliberately she folded her hands in her lap to keep from betraying her agitation. A child's fear was blossoming in her stomach and spreading rapidly.
"Theresa said the don was gallant and charming. They were all impressed with his attentions. Chanise seemed very enamored of him. But she disappeared. They were frantic and looked everywhere for her, but to no avail." Violante sighed. "Chanise was a beautiful child, very much loved. I used to wish I had a little bambina just like her."
Isabella rubbed at her suddenly throbbing temples. "Did they ever find her?"
Violante nodded. "After much time passed, Don Rivellio sent word that Chanise had hidden in his carriage and insisted on staying with him. She had a bambino but was very ill. There is a sickness the people of this valley get if we are away too long. If we don't return, we wither and die. Theresa and Rolando brought her home. She doesn't speak. Not to anyone at all." Violante sighed softly. "I go to see her often, but she won't speak to me. She stares at the floor. She has scars on her wrists and ankles. Theresa told me there are stripe marks on her back. The bambino is the only one she responds to. I think she would take her own life if she didn't have him. Rolando and Theresa loathe Don Rivellio, and I can't blame them."
"Does Don DeMarco know about this?" Of course he knew. He knew everything that went on inside and outside his valley. Isabella couldn't imagine Nicolai's allowing such an atrocity to go unpunished. She didn't believe for one moment that the child had chosen to go with Rivellio.
"He arranged for safe passage for Chanise and bargained with Don Rivellio for her release when the don pretended to be reluctant to let her and the bambino go. He claimed he wasn't certain, but the bambino might be one of his." Violante gave an inelegant sniff. "If Chanise was ever with any other man, it was because the don gave her to them. Don DeMarco paid a great deal of money to get her back--at least that was the rumor. Theresa doesn't talk about it at all. I think she feels guilty because she gave in to her sister's pleas to attend the celebration."
Violante shook her head. "In truth, no one could resist Chanise. She was like sunshine dancing on water. Theresa never speaks of it anymore, but the sadness and guilt will always be with her, and she deserves better."
"You feel sorrow, too," Isabella observed. "You must be very close to Theresa and her famiglia."
"Enough talk of sadness. I came to cheer you up." Determinedly Violante stood and looked around for her gloves. "We really should be going if I'm to show you around. Darkness falls quickly here in the mountains."
Isabella stood, too, pulling on her gloves distractedly. Along with Violante's story of Don Rivellio's debauchery and depravity came that sense of evil. It crept into the room, dark and malignant, as if the very name of Rivellio summoned what was already twisted. Isabella shivered and looked around her, wanting to be out in the open where she could see any enemy approaching. At times, she had discovered, she felt surrounded by enemies.
Violante shivered visibly, as if she, too, were affected by the very name of Rivellio. In her haste to leave the room, she moved too quickly and knocked a massive tome from the edge of a shelf. It slammed to the floor with a thud. Violante turned crimson and gave a mortified squeak.
"I've done it more than once," Isabella said hastily, knowing how chagrined Violante became over the slightest social error. She stooped to retrieve the large book. It was heavier than she had anticipated, and it slipped from her fingers to land with a second loud thud. She laughed softly, wanting to dispel the tension in the room, but it swirled in her stomach persistently.
She was more than happy to follow Violante out of the palazzo into the fresh, crisp air. Isabella inhaled deeply. The wind rustled through the trees, and the leaves glittered a beautiful silver. Branches swayed gently. The world seemed a dazzling place of silver and white. They followed the well-worn path that led from the large castello, a nearly impregnable fortress, past the outer walls to the city of houses and shops. The marketplace felt familiar--the smells and sights, the stalls, the narrow steps and small courtyards where people gathered to talk and to trade items of interest. Rows of buildings sprawled in every direction, creating a tight-knit community of people who lived and worked in or near the castello.
Isabella wistfully watched some children playing, throwing snow at one another. She had never done such a thing, and it looked like great fun. She stood a moment watching. "Where I grew up, we didn't have snow. Did you play like that, Violante, when you were a child?"
"Sometimes. Mostly mia madre refused to let me go outside with the others. It was important to her to choose my friends." She, too, was watching the children, a look of longing on her face.
Isabella looked around carefully to ensure no adults stood nearby. Then she stooped and gathered some icy crystals into her hand, shaping and packing them as she had seen the children do.
Violante backed away from Isabella, shaking her head in warning. "Don't you dare! We're hardly little ragamuffins to play at such things."
"Why should they have all the fun?" Isabella asked with a wicked grin.
A snowball landed on the back of Isabella's neck, splattering down the back of her dress. She squealed, whirling around, expecting to face the children. Theresa, a few feet away from her, was gathering more snow quickly, laughing as she did so. She looked quite at ease with the game, packing the ice crystals with swift, efficient movements.
Isabella hastily flung her snowball at Theresa, laughing so hard she nearly slipped and fell. Theresa was just straightening up, and the snowball hit her shoulder, the ice clinging to her sleeve. She hurled her compacted sphere back at Isabella, who leapt sideways, ducking as she did so, already reaching to scoop up more snow.
Violante screamed as snow splattered over her shoulder and neck. She stumbled backward and fe
ll, landing in the wet flakes. "Ooh!" She spluttered for a moment, as if she couldn't make her mind up whether to laugh, be angry, or cry.
Theresa and Isabella were in an all-out war, hurling snowballs back and forth fast and furiously. Violante determinedly formed several spheres and threw them with unexpected accuracy at the other two women.
Both tried to retaliate, their gloved hands bringing up fistfuls of snow and flinging it back at Violante, their carefree laughter rising without inhibition to be carried on the wind.
"What is going on here, ladies?" The voice was low, amused. Male.
"Theresa!" The name was hissed in a stunned, embarrassed voice, stiff with disapproval and reprimand.
"Violante?" The third voice was more shocked than embarrassed.
All three women ceased instantly, turning to face the speakers. Violante's and Theresa's laughter died, replaced by horror and shame. Isabella's gaze danced with merriment and a hint of mischief as she looked at the don.
Sergio Drannacia and Rolando Bartolmei stood gaping at their wives in a kind of astounded silence.
Nicolai spoke first. "Ladies?" He managed a courtly bow, but he couldn't keep the trace of amusement from his voice.
"A battle, signore," Isabella answered, deliberately packing the snow in her hand tighter. "I fear it is unfortunate for you and your captains that you walked into the middle of it." Without hesitation she threw her missile straight at Don DeMarco. "You may get hit in the heavy action."
Nicolai deflected the projectile in midair, preventing it from hitting his head. Ignoring his shocked companions, he bent to scoop up handfuls of snow. "You just made a mistake, signorina. No one is better than I at this type of warfare," he declared.
Isabella took Violante's hand and began backing up, laughing. Violante caught at Theresa, who remained stiffly staring at the ground.
"With your permission to disagree, Don DeMarco," Sergio said, reaching for some snow. "I believe I used to be the champion." He fired off two snowballs at Nicolai, both hitting their target, then lobbed a third projectile playfully at his wife.
Violante lifted her skirts to run, but the ice crystals hit her shoulder before she could move. Without hesitation she caught up handfuls of the flakes and tossed them at her husband, running backward as she did so.
Isabella hit Rolando square in the middle of his forehead and doubled over laughing at his expression. Nicolai took advantage of her merriment, pelting her with snow until she was nearly covered in white flakes.
Rolando began to laugh, suddenly stooping to shape the snow into weapons of his own. He threw two at Isabella, who was laughing so hard she couldn't retaliate.
"Theresa! Help!" Isabella pleaded as Nicolai dove at her. Violante clearly had her hands full warding off her husband.
Isabella's pleas roused Theresa to action, and she proved to be the best of the women at the warfare, accurate and swift. Isabella loved the sound of Nicolai's laughter. More than anything else, she loved that the others saw him as she did. A man. He seemed young and carefree, the battle fast and heated, his worries set aside for the childhood game. She loved the feel of his arms around her waist as he rushed upon her, tipping them both into the snow. She felt the brush of his lips in her hair as he kissed her temple before firing off a flurry of snowballs at Sergio and Rolando.
It was all over much too soon, the men helping the women out of the snow and dusting off their clothes. Children had crowded around to cheer them on, most staring in awe at Don DeMarco, shocked and happy that they saw him out and about.
Nicolai brushed the snow from Isabella's hair and shoulders, his hand lingering against the nape of her neck. She looked happy, her eyes sparkling with joy. Everything in him melted as it always did when she was near. Isabella. His world. "Where were you going, Isabella?" he asked, his gaze scanning the crowds restlessly as if something or someone might harm her. "I wasn't informed you were going out."
"How dreadful." She reached up and brushed snow from his wild hair with her gloved fingertips. "You really must talk to those spies of yours. They aren't doing their job." Her gown was wet, and she was beginning to shiver despite her warm cloak.
He caught her chin firmly and forced her to meet his gaze. "You need to get warm. Go back to the palazzo," he ordered.
"You have incredibly beautiful eyes." She flashed a sassy grin. "Very unusual." She loved the color, gold with nearly translucent irises, loved his long, almost feminine lashes.
"You told me the truth when you said you did not understand the meaning of the word obey. You do not obey even the dictates of your don." He leaned close, so that his lips were against her ear, so that his body brushed hers, sending little whips of lightning dancing through her bloodstream. "Do not think to distract me with your pretty words."
"Never, signore. I would never consider such a thing." Her mouth curved in a tempting smile. "I believe you men have much to do, so we will, of course, excuse you to your more serious duties."
Nicolai couldn't resist the temptation of her smiling lips. He simply bent his head and fastened his mouth to hers. Just like that he created magic, fanning a fire from smoldering embers so that flames raced through her bloodstream and her body throbbed and pulsed in reaction. Energy crackled around them, and the very air seemed alive. He lifted his head slowly, regretfully, oblivious of the children giggling and the four grown-ups staring in shock at him. His hands framed her face, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "It grows dark quickly in the mountains. Return home soon."
A bit bemused, Isabella nodded, touching her mouth, where she could still feel him, still taste him.
Nicolai clapped his hands, and the children scattered in alarm as he waved them off. Sergio and Rolando followed him as he strode away from the city and toward the dense forest. Isabella stood staring after the three men.
Violante and Theresa were grinning at her. Isabella's body was aching with need, with a hunger that was fast becoming familiar to her. Finally she blinked at the two women, as if she were astonished to see them standing there. "What?" she asked. But she knew what. Nicolai had rocked the world for her, set it on fire, and she would never feel the same, never be the same again.
"How is it I could see him?" Theresa asked, wonder in her voice.
Isabella pressed a hand to her stomach. "He's a man, Theresa. Why wouldn't you see him?" She felt strange, shaky. The feeling crept over her, and she shivered, drawing her cloak closer around her. "You should always see him as a man."
"I didn't mean to offend you," Theresa said stiffly. "I was amazed, that's all. He rarely makes appearances."
"I'm hoping to change that," Isabella answered with a small smile, trying to recapture the camaraderie of their game. She knew she had snapped at Theresa, knew the people in the holding rarely looked at Nicolai, afraid they would see the illusion of the lion. Isabella hadn't meant to snap, but she felt unsettled. It bothered her that no one seemed to consider the loneliness of Nicolai's existence, and that the way they all treated him might contribute to the illusion itself.
"The game was fun," Violante said, "but cold." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. "I couldn't believe it when Sergio began to throw snow at us." She attempted to pat her hair back into place, aware of her disheveled appearance. "I don't suppose I look very beautiful all mussed." Her gaze moved over Isabella and Theresa critically, enviously, the laughter fading from her eyes. "Theresa, your hair has fallen on one side, and your face is red. I guess it's impossible for us to look as good as Isabella does."
"But I'm a mess," Isabella said, surveying her wet cloak and gown. Her stomach was knotting, and she clenched her teeth.
"I noticed Rolando enjoyed the game while he was playing with you, Isabella," Violante chattered on. "If you hadn't thrown snow at him, he might have given poor Theresa another one of his lessons on how to behave."
"Well, there's no doubt Theresa's the best at our little war." Isabella beamed determinedly at her. "You hit your target every time."
"I have two younger brothers," Theresa admitted. "I've had lots of practice. I must go. I was visiting a friend but must get back." She lifted a hand and moved off, following the pathway that led to the rows of buildings.
Isabella watched her until she was out of sight. "I didn't know she had two brothers. She didn't mention them before."
"They're under Rolando's command," Violante said. "Theresa is lucky that her famiglia is so close. I would have thought being raised on a farm would keep one from being able to fit in at court, but her famiglia does it easily."
Violante's voice was so wistful, Isabella wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her gently as they began walking. "I don't think any of us have your grace and presence, Violante, I grew up running mia famiglia's palazzo, and I still can't manage to look as confident and fashionable as you. I'm always saying and doing the wrong thing."
Violante looked down at her wet gloves. "I saw the way Don DeMarco held you and kissed you. I saw the love on his face. You have something I'll never have."
Isabella stopped walking to face the other woman. "I've seen your husband when he looks at you," she said softly. "You have no reason to fear he cares for any woman other than you."
Violante pressed a trembling hand to her lips, blinking rapidly to prevent tears from spilling over. "Grazie, Isabella. You are a true friend to say such a thing."
"I only tell you what I see."
"I just want you to be prepared, Isabella. Nicolai is a powerful man, a man other women will want. Once they see him, they will gaze upon him with lustful, greedy eyes. You will be unable to know what woman is friend or foe. A man can be weak when females throw themselves at him."
"Has this happened to you?" Isabella could not reconcile the man who had played with such glee in the snow with a man capable of betraying his wife.
Violante shrugged. "I see the way women flirt with him. And they think me old and barren."
"It matters little what other women think," Isabella said softly, "only what your husband thinks. And he sees you with the eyes of love. You must know you are beautiful." Isabella sensed that Violante was becoming uncomfortable with the private disclosures, so she searched for a distraction. "Oh, look! The marketplace."