Lair of the Lion

of a DeMarco is gold."
    Lucca lifted an arrogant eyebrow at her furious face. "Instead of chattering uselessly so much, you might help me to sit up."
    Francesca hissed between her teeth. "I'll help you to sit up all right, but you may find yourself on the floor."
    His laughing eyes assessed her small frame. "A little thing like you? I doubt you can assist me to sit. Isabella is much sturdier. I think I'll need her."

    "Stop teasing her, Lucca," Isabella ordered, trying not to smile at the evidence of her brother returning to his old self. "It's his odd way of showing appreciation," she told Francesca, who looked as if she might fling herself on Lucca and assault him. She stepped closer to aid her brother.
    "Don't you dare." Francesca bit out the words. "It's my job to see to him, and I'll sit His Majesty up." She smiled with feigned sweetness at Isabella. "You won't mind if I bind a scarf around his mouth so he ceases his endless prattle, will you?" She caught at Lucca's arms to help him up.
    His body was instantly wracked with coughing. Lucca turned his head from them and waved Francesca away. She ignored him and held a handkerchief to his mouth. Her hand pounded a rhythm on his back, bringing more spasms of coughing until he spit into the handkerchief.
    Francesca nodded approvingly. "The healer said all of that must be gotten out of you, and you will once again be strong."
    Lucca glared at her. "You don't know when to give a man his privacy, woman."
    She raised an eyebrow. "At least I've become a woman. That's something. You need to eat more broth. You can't expect to recover unless you eat."
    Isabella looked from one to the other. "You two sound like adversaries." She wanted them to like one another. Francesca already felt like a sister to her. And Lucca was her family. Francesca had to like Lucca.
    Francesca smiled at her. "We spent most of our time talking of pleasant things,"
    Francesca reassured her. "He's just feeling out of sorts at the moment. It makes him grumpy." She waved a careless hand. "It's of no importance."
    Lucca raised an eyebrow at his keeper. "A Vernaducci is never grumpy. Or out of sorts. I can scarcely make it to the alcove on my own, and she refuses, refuses, to call a male servant. The next thing you know, she'll ask to assist me." He sounded outraged.
    Francesca attempted to look blasé. "If you're embarrassed about what you look like, I suppose I can provide a cover."
    "Have you no shame?" Lucca nearly roared. That brought on another spasm of coughing.
    Francesca dutifully held him. "Do you spend much time looking at the naked bodies of men?" His hot gaze should have seared her. "I intend to have a word with tuo fratello. He has much to answer for."
    Francesca hid a grin behind her hand. "I'm not your concern, signore. "
    "Lucca, she's teasing you," Isabella explained, hiding her own smile. Lucca looked weak and thin, but he was always a forceful personality, and she was happy to see him chafing under the restraints of his illness. "You make a terrible patient."
    "Isabella?" Sarina opened the door after a perfunctory knock. "Don DeMarco wishes an audience immediately in his wing." She beckoned her young charge into the hall, lowering her voice to keep Lucca from hearing. "The servants have arrived from the farm along with Widow Bertroni."
    Francesca followed them into the hall. "He has the man who locked you in the storehouse. Nicolai will have him put to death."
    Isabella's breath caught in her throat. She glanced toward her brother through the open door. Lucca attempted to prop himself up. "What is it, Isabella? Is something wrong?"
    She shook her head. "I must go to Don DeMarco. Just rest, Lucca. Francesca will look after you."
    "I'm not a bambino, Isabella," he snapped, looking mutinous. "I don't need a nursemaid."
    Francesca assumed her haughtiest look. "Yes, you do. You're just too arrogant and stubborn to admit it." She waved at Isabella. "Don't worry. No matter what he says, I'll see to it that he takes his medicaments." Firmly she closed the door.
    Isabella found herself smiling in spite of the grimness of the situation. She followed Sarina up the long, winding staircases to the huge wing of the palazzo reserved for Don DeMarco. She had no idea what to think or feel, facing the person who had locked her in with the feral cats and the freezing cold. He had gone off to the widow's farm and never thought to send word back to have someone let her out. It must have occurred to him