Lair of the Lion

work ceased and servants gaped in horrified fascination. The water continued to drip down Isabella's gown, running between her breasts like beads of sweat.
    "Alberita!" Sarina chastised the girl, frowning severely, although laughter was evident in her sparkling eyes. "The holy water is sprinkled on one's person, not thrown in one's face!
    Scusi, Signorina Isabella, she is young and impulsive and does not always listen well. The holy water was for your protection, not your bath."
    Alberita dropped a slight curtsey in Isabella's direction, gaping up at her in horror, her face ashen, tears in her eyes. "Scusi, scusi! La prego do not tell the Master."
    "I am most grateful for the protection, Alberita. I shall go to meet my destiny with no trepidation in my heart. Assuredly I have extra protection from any who would seek to harm me." Isabella had to struggle to keep from laughing.
    Sarina shook her head and carefully wiped Isabella's face.
    "It's good of you to be so understanding. Most others would have demanded she be flogged."
    "I have no more status than you, signora," Isabella confessed, unashamed. "And I do not believe in flogging. Well," she muttered under her breath, "perhaps Don Rivellio could use a good flogging."
    Sarina's mouth twitched, but she didn't smile. "Come, we mustn't be late. Don DeMarco has a busy schedule. Be certain you are properly respectful."
    Isabella glanced at her, certain the older woman was laughing at her, but Sarina was leading the way through the wide corridors and archways. They hurried past several servants working. She noticed that they all looked at her with solemn faces, some of them with tight smiles. All of them made the sign of the cross toward her as if blessing her.
    Holy water and blessings from the servants. Isabella cleared her throat. "Signora, is Don DeMarco a member of the Holy Church?" Her voice wavered a little, but Isabella was proud of the fact that she had managed to get the words out without stuttering. She had a sinking feeling that maybe all the rumors about the don were true after all. She sent up a quick, silent prayer that Don DeMarco and God were on good terms.

    Sarina Sincini did not answer but walked quickly ahead of her, leading the way into a large open court with winding staircases rising off it in several directions. In the center of the court was a fountain that soared nearly to the second story. It provided Isabella with a measure of relief to see that each cutaway section of the fountain was topped with a cross.
    At the base of each circular column, however, was the inevitable lion, broad and muscular, with a tawny mane tipped in black. Still, the sound of water splashing was soothing, and the intricate carvings of kindly figures around the top of the fountain provided more assurance.
    Isabella wanted to linger and examine the large sculpture, but Sarina was halfway up one of the winding staircases. As Isabella hurried up the seemingly endless stairs, she gazed at the array of portraits on the wall. One, the face of a man, was so beautiful it made her ache inside. His eyes held pain, deep sorrow. She was mesmerized by his eyes, wanting to hold him close and comfort him. The feeling was strong in her that she knew him, that she recognized those eyes. Isabella looked past the portrait to the next one. She recognized that face immediately. Francesca's laughing eyes gazed back at her, mischievous and happy. The painting must have been done fairly recently, as Francesca seemed nearly the same age as she was now. Who, exactly, was she, Isabella wondered. A young cousin of the don? The artist had captured the essence of her, her warmth and sunny disposition. Isabella took courage just looking at the sweet face. She squared her shoulders and hurried after Sarina.
    They took many twists and turns through numerous hallways and darkened alcoves, passing more stained-glass windows and intricately carved arches. Isabella wanted to explore everything. The castello in the daylight seemed more open and airy and far less of a threat than it had the night before. She no longer sensed the thick, oily impression of evil.
    Finally they reached the far end of the palazzo, a distance from the main rooms. She caught glimpses of rooms filled with books and sculptures and all sorts of intriguing things she would have liked to examine, but Sarina continued to hurry through the maze of corridors. Isabella was truly lost as they made their way up a third flight of wide, curving