Lair of the Lion

pain was excruciating, and she didn't want Don DeMarco to feel it with her. He was already in enough pain. She sensed the torment buried deep within his soul, and she hated that she was adding to his burdens, burdens she had no hope of understanding but knew instinctively were on his broad shoulders.
    Whatever Sarina was doing drove the breath from Isabella's body, so she couldn't form an answer to the don. Small beads of sweat broke out on her brow. She thought she felt his lips brush her skin, right over the scratch on her temple.
    A sound of distress rumbled in his throat. "I did this," he stated somberly.
    Isabella felt that the small scratch was the least of her worries, yet it seemed enormously upsetting to the don. "You saved us from a lion, Don DeMarco. I'm scarcely worried about such a trivial mark."
    A small silence followed, and she felt the sudden tension in the room.
    "You saw a lion?" Sarina asked softly, her hands still on Isabella's shoulder.
    "Don DeMarco, I was not mistaken, was I?" Isabella asked. "Although I admit I have never seen such a creature before. Do you truly keep them as pets? Aren't you afraid of accidents?"
    The silence stretched out endlessly until Isabella stirred, determined to look at the don.
    With an oath, Don DeMarco spun on his heel and in his usual silent way stalked from the room.
    "I did see such a beast in the room with us, Signora Sincini. I am telling the truth. Didn't you see it?" Isabella asked.
    "I did not see anything. I was looking at the floor, terrified the bird would rip out my eyes. Falcons are trained to attack the eyes, you know."
    Isabella felt tears welling up again. "I made the don angry, and I don't even know why."
    She couldn't bear to think about the implications of a bird deliberately being trained to attack humans. Or about lions wandering inside the palazzo. Or about the don stalking away, disgusted with her behavior. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, her tears leaking onto the quilt, her head turned away from the housekeeper.
    "Don DeMarco has much on his mind. He was not angry with you. He was worried, piccola, truly. I have known him many years, since he was a babe."
    The lump in her throat prevented Isabella from answering. She had traded herself to the man in return for her brother's life. She had no idea what was expected of her, no idea how to act or how he would treat her. She knew nothing of him but dreadful rumors, yet she had tied her life to his.

    "I'm so sorry this happened, signorina." Sarina's voice held a wealth of compassion. "I feel it's my fault that you were injured."
    "Call me Isabella," she whispered. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to sleep, wishing Sarina would offer her the tea with herbs in it. She thought about suggesting it, but her back was on fire, and she couldn't seem to find enough air to breathe and talk at the same time.
    "Of course it was not your fault. It was an accident, nothing more. The bird became upset. I saw it flying at you, and I leapt upon you. In truth, I was afraid I might have injured you when I drove you to the floor." She didn't mention the terrible sensation of evil entering the room, that black, choking entity that had been all too real to ignore.
    Sarina touched the angry scratch on Isabella's temple. "How did this happen?"
    Isabella fought to keep her voice steady. Her back throbbed and burned. "The don was being very sweet, but his ring caught my skin. It was an accident, certainly not important."
    She clenched her teeth to keep from blurting out how badly her back hurt.
    Sarina turned to answer a knock at the door, then closed it quickly against prying eyes.
    She mixed the herbs she had sent for and carefully applied the poultice to the long lacerations. Isabella nearly screamed, sweat breaking out on her body, but then the cuts went blissfully numb, and she could breathe again. But she was still trembling in shock and reaction. There was another knock on the door, and this time a servant handed Sarina a cup of the blessed tea.
    Isabella had to be helped into a sitting position, surprisingly weak from the experience.
    She smiled wanly at Sarina. "Next time, let's ask Alberita to pour a bucket of holy water over my head before I leave my room." She cupped her hands around the warmth of the teacup, trying to absorb the heat.
    Sarina laughed shakily in relief. "You are a good girl, signorina. Your madre is no doubt smiling down upon you from heaven. I thank you for what you are giving the don.