Lair of the Lion

should he call forth the lions, it will be over swiftly," Francesca reassured her.
    A soft knock on the door heralded Theresa's arrival. She beckoned to Isabella, summoning her into the hall.
    "Go ahead, Isabella. I'll watch over Lucca," Francesca assured her.
    Isabella slipped out of her brother's room to face Theresa. "What is it?"
    "Rolando has sent a request that we bring the men bandages and salves and also the mixtures for poultices. They want to treat the wounded quickly and then transport them back to the castello. The healer must stay here. I have some knowledge of wounds but very little. Sarina said you had some knowledge of treating injuries. Will you come with me?"
    She looked very anxious, visibly upset, wringing her hands.
    Isabella nodded immediately. "I've treated wounds many times. I'm certain we can manage, Theresa." She had set up temporary camps for the wounded when needed at her father's holding. "Have you heard if many are injured?" She tried to keep the fear out of her voice.
    Theresa shook her head. "A runner went out but has not returned. I had horses saddled for us, and the supplies are on a packhorse. I hope that was all right. I would have asked Sarina to accompany me—she's good with wounds—but she's too old to weather the trip easily. I thought it would be better to go ourselves."
    "We'll be fine," Isabella concurred. "We'll leave word to be relieved as soon as possible.
    I'll meet you in a few minutes."
    Isabella hurried to her bedchamber to retrieve her cloak and gloves. Theresa met her at the side entrance closest to the stables. A packhorse was tethered alongside two mounts.
    The day was shrouded in gray, the mist nearly impenetrable. The world seemed closed in, a dark veil draped over the castello. The animals seemed nervous, eyes rolling, heads tossing, hooves shifting and dancing in agitation. Isabella paused, her hand resting on her horse. Her stomach was rolling gently, a subtle warning. "I've forgotten something, Theresa." She kept her voice calm. The swelling triumph, the surge of power, thickened and grew around her. She knew it was too late. Far too late.
    The blow had hard, passionate hatred behind it. Isabella crumpled to the ground, darkness claiming her.
    She woke, upside down, her stomach heaving, her head throbbing. The horse raced through the mist at Theresa's urging. With her hands tied together and Theresa holding her face down as she rode, Isabella was sick, horribly so, twice, before Theresa halted the sweating animal and dismounted. Isabella slid from the back of the horse and fell, her legs too rubbery to support her. With her bound hands tied in front of her, she wiped at her mouth as best she could while she looked carefully around her. She was somewhere near the pass.
    Theresa paced back and forth, her anger growing with every step. She whipped around to glare at Isabella. "You won't be so calm when he gets here."
    "By he, I presume you mean Don Rivellio." Isabella kept her voice low. "You're the traitor who's been feeding him information."
    Theresa lifted her chin, eyes glittering dangerously. "Call me whatever you like. You're the perfect bait to get him into the valley. He's such a coward, sending his men to certain death, but even with all the information I gave him, I couldn't lure him inside until I promised to deliver you. He knows that if he has you, Don DeMarco will trade his own life for yours." There was a sneer in her voice.
    "How would he know such a thing?" Isabella asked softly.
    Theresa shrugged. "I would do anything to get Don Rivellio into this valley. He thinks he has all the plans, but he knows nothing of the lions. His men will be defeated, and I'll kill him myself." Her voice held a wealth of satisfaction. "He deserves death after what he did to my sister." She turned her head to look at Isabella. "And you deserve it for stealing my husband."
    Isabella stared up at Theresa in shock. Her head was throbbing so hard, for a moment she thought she hadn't heard correctly. She hastily bit back words of denial. Theresa was in no mood to listen to reason, nor would she believe protests of innocence. It would only serve to anger her further.
    "Theresa, did you kill the servant who locked me in the storehouse?"
    "I didn't kill him," she denied. "He overheard me giving information to one of Rivellio's men. They killed him. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't allow anyone to know, so I erased the footprints around the body."
    "I can