Lair of the Lion

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