Lair of the Lion

that she might not survive the night, yet he hadn't turned back to free her.
    With some apprehension she entered the don's apartments. His two captains, Sergio Drannacia and Rolando Bartolmei, were there along with the two kitchen servants and the widow. Isabella swept across the room to Nicolai's side, taking his hand as he seated her in a high-backed chair. She could smell fear in the room. She could smell death. It had an ugly, pungent odor, and it sickened her.
    She felt Nicolai's hands on her shoulders, bringing her a feeling of safety and comfort despite her trepidation. When she looked directly at the man who had locked her in the storehouse, she saw he was sweating profusely.
    "Isabella, please tell us what happened," Nicolai prompted gently.
    She reached up to entwine her fingers with his. "What are you going to do, Nicolai?" Her voice was steady, but she was shaking inside.
    "Just tell us what happened, cara, and I will decide what needs to be done, as I've been doing for most of my life," he reassured her.

    "I don't understand what this is all about," the widow began.
    Don DeMarco made a soft, menacing sound, cutting off any further speculation. His eyes burned with fury. The servants squirmed visibly, and the widow blanched.
    "Brigita asked me to help Signora Bertroni, because her storage shed had burned to the ground and her man died recently," Isabella said. "The family needed to be seen through the winter. You were busy, as were Betto and Sarina. I took her to the storehouse, within the walls of the castello." She glanced up at Nicolai. "I kept my promise to you."
    "We are here to find the one guilty of attempted murder, cara, not to accuse you of anything." Nicolai brushed his lips against her ear. He wanted to make it abundantly clear to all present that Isabella was his lady, his heart, and his life. The good Madonna could have mercy on the soul of any who attempted to harm her—they would find none from him.
    "Continue with what happened, Isabella."
    "I had two servants sent to aid us." She indicated the two men. "Those two there. The wagon was loaded, very heavy, and night had fallen. I was afraid for Signora Bertroni and her bambini. I ordered the two men to accompany the wagon to the farm." She nodded toward the older man. "He agreed without dissent, but that one"—she looked at the younger man—"became angry. He knocked into me as he left the storehouse. I remained to extinguish the torches. The door was closed and locked behind me. He must have taken the key from my skirt."
    At her words Nicolai's features went carefully blank, only his eyes alive. The flames seemed to have disappeared, to be replaced with sheer ice. There was a sudden chill in the room. Isabella's voice was barely audible. "He deliberately shut me in." In spite of her resolve to remain calm, she shuddered at the memory.
    "No! Dio, help me! It wasn't me! I don't know what happened! I don't!" the servant burst out. He jumped to his feet, but Sergio caught his shoulders and slammed him back into the chair.
    "I didn't know what he'd done, Don DeMarco," the older servant, Carlie, cried, obviously horrified. "I didn't see the signorina once she sent us away."
    "Nor I," the widow added, wringing her hands. "May the good Madonna strike me dead if I lie. I would never have left her there. She was an angel to me. An angel. You must believe me, Don DeMarco."
    Rolando gestured to the widow and the other kitchen servant, beckoning them to follow him to the door. "Grazie for your time. Signora Bertroni, you'll be escorted back to your farm." He gestured toward the guards outside the door to take the widow and servant from the don's wing.
    Nicolai moved around in front of Isabella's chair, blocking her view of the groveling servant. He lifted her fingers to his mouth. "Go back to your bedchamber, piccola. It is finished here." His voice was gentle, even tender, completely at odds with his ice-cold eyes.
    Isabella shivered. "What are you going to do?"
    "Don't concern yourself with this any longer, Isabella. There's no need." He brushed a kiss on top of her silken head.
    The servant broke into a torrent of weeping, of pleading. Isabella flinched. She wrapped her fingers around Nicolai's wrist. "But I'm a part of this, Nicolai. You haven't heard everything. We weren't alone in the storehouse. I felt the presence of evil." She whispered the words, afraid to allow any other to hear. "It isn't over."
    Nicolai swung around to stare at the