Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

may help."
    The woman whirled around, her face tear-streaked, her eyes bright red. When she saw Nicoletta, she looked terrified, the color draining from her face. "I… I am not hurt, Donna Scarletti. You are mistaken. I am doing my job." Her eyes were darting from side to side, looking around the room and then at the door fearfully, reminding Nicoletta of a wild animal trapped in a corner.
    The shadow in her grew stronger. She looked out the wide window. From the walkway, a large, grotesque gargoyle watched her with silent, staring eyes. "Tell me your name." It was her first order as the new mistress of the palazzo.
    The woman paled even more. "Please, Donna Scarletti, I need the work here. I have three bambini. I cannot feed them without working." When Nicoletta continued to look at her, the woman stared at the tiled floor. "I am called Beatrice. My husband was the captain of Don Scarletti's personal guards." She said the latter with pride. "He was killed in the last battle. The don has been kind enough to allow me to work here since."
    Something twisted tight in Nicoletta's stomach. There were faint bruises on Beatrice's neck and shoulder.
    When she saw Nicoletta inspecting her, the maid tugged her sleeves lower over her wrists, but not before Nicoletta could see the strange black-and-blue circle around her skin like a bracelet.
    "I wish to see," Nicoletta said. She used the hypnotic voice of the healer.
    "Please, no," Beatrice said softly even as she slowly tugged at the drawstring of her blouse. The material fell open to reveal her skin, mottled with bruises and several strange burn marks. Nicoletta moved closer, trying not to look as shocked as she felt. Beatrice appeared to have been tortured.
    Nicoletta reached out with gentle fingers and touched the worst bruise along the woman's ribs. There was also a distinct bite mark on her skin. The moment she touched the woman, she felt the aftermath of violence. Someone had attacked Beatrice, used her badly, deliberately hurting her. The maid refused to look at her, shaking with fear of discovery.
    "Who did such a thing to you?" Nicoletta asked, so outraged she could barely catch her breath. "You should not be working in this condition. You need to rest to recover."

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    The woman backed away from her, a fresh flood of tears running down her face. "Please, I beg of you, Donna Scarletti, please do not tell anyone. Please do not let anyone know what you have seen."
    Nicoletta pushed up the maid's sleeve. "He tied you up." It made her feel sick inside. Who was so evil and depraved as to do such a thing to a woman?
    The woman began to pray loudly to the Madonna, her sobs louder than ever. "It is my life if he finds out that you know, that you have seen me. My life! I can work. I will work. Please signora, I am no whore.
    But I do what I must to survive and care for my bambini."
    "Tell me who did this. We must go to my husband," Nicoletta said.
    Beatrice threw herself onto her knees, wrapping her arms around Nicoletta's legs, wildly weeping. "You cannot! For the love of God, you cannot! It is my very life. I have the bambini. You cannot tell him."
    Nicoletta pressed a hand to her suddenly churning stomach. What did Beatrice mean? Surely Beatrice wasn't afraid Giovanni would punish her for what some coarse soldier had done to her. She looked down at the maid's bent head, at her bruised body, and suddenly she went very still inside. Her heart began to pound in alarm. Not some soldier. Surely not. As widow of the captain of the guard, surely Beatrice would go to the don and ask that the soldier be punished. Whoever had used Beatrice in such a depraved manner had been a member of the aristocrazia. Who else could so ill use another human, thinking it his right. Yet Beatrice was terrified to go to Giovanni. What did that mean? Unbidden, the memory of Nicoletta's wedding night returned to haunt her. The don had left her, and when he returned, there had been a fresh scratch across his chest.
    The memory was vivid in her mind. She was untutored, an innocent; she had not known how to please him. Yet surely he wasn't capable of such an act. Nicoletta looked again at the bruises. Giovanni's father had sent women to his sons to be used, uncaring of the feelings or wishes of the women. No! Nicoletta wouldn't believe such a thing of Giovanni. He was not a man to torture a woman for pleasure. He might be fierce in