Lair of the Lion

He is good and deserving."
    Isabella took a sip of the tea gratefully. It immediately eased her terrible tremors. "I hope you still say that when he finds me running wild in the hills and scowls fiercely because I do not arrive to dinner on time."
    "You will make him a good wife." Sarina patted her leg gently. "As soon as you drink the tea, I will help you undress. You will sleep peacefully, bambina."
    Isabella hoped it was the truth. She wanted desperately to close her eyes and escape into the enfolding darkness. The relief she felt that Don DeMarco had agreed to rescue her brother was tremendous. She would put aside her concerns about his strange pets and hope that she could persuade him to rid the castello of the creatures at a later date.
    Isabella drank the sweet, medicinal tea and did her best to help Sarina remove the tattered gown. Then she lay on her stomach on the soft mattress and allowed her eyelashes to drift down. Sarina bustled around the room, removing all evidence of the terrible incident and lighting several aromatic candles to dispel the gathering shadows and provide a soothing fragrance. She stroked Isabella's hair until the don's betrothed was drowsy, and then she left, locking the door carefully.
    Isabella awoke to soft whispers. A gentle feminine voice was calling to her. The room was dark, and the flickering candles were nearly burned down completely, the wax in oily pools and the flames sputtering and smoking.
    She turned her head and saw Francesca sitting on her bed, anxiously wringing her hands and peering at her. Isabella smiled sleepily. "What's wrong, Francesca?" she asked, her voice as reassuring as she could make it under the circumstances.
    "He hurt you. I never thought he would hurt you. I would have told you to run away, Isabella, really. I like you. I would have warned you away if I thought for even a moment that—" There was childlike quality to Francesca's voice, as if she spoke the simple, guileless truth.
    The medicine from the tea was still in Isabella's body, making her feel dreamy and weightless. "Who do you think hurt me, Francesca? No one hurt me. It was an accident. Not important at all."
    There was a small silence. "But everyone is saying he struck you, slashed terrible gashes in your body, and would have devoured you if Sarina had not stopped him by entering the room." Tears welled up in Francesca's eyes, and she folded her arms across her chest and rocked back and forth as if to comfort herself.
    "Surely you do not mean Don DeMarco," Isabella said drowsily.
    Francesca nodded. "I have heard many such stories of his cruelty."
    "Who would say such terrible things? I can assure you, Francesca, Don DeMarco was a perfect gentleman, and he saved my life. Sarina's life, too. Surely his people do not hate him enough to tell such tales. That's cruelty itself. They should live under the rule of a man such as Don Rivellio if they wish to learn the difference." Isabella sought to reassure the young woman, but the conversation disturbed her. She had heard all the whispered warnings—
    even the don's own servants had attempted to bless her as she sought an audience with him.
    Perhaps there were things she didn't know. "Have you ever found him to be unjust or cruel?
    A man who would slash a woman to ribbons and devour her?"
    "Oh, no!" Francesca hastily shook her head. "Never! But I pulled down the quilt while you were sleeping, and I saw your back. Surely it will scar. How could this have happened?"
    "The falcon became frightened and attempted to attack Sarina. I was in the way. It looks much worse than it really is." Isabella was beginning to wake up despite the medicine. She felt stiff and uncomfortable and needed to visit the alcove. It was a struggle to sit up.
    Francesca, watching her with great interest, moved aside to give her more room to maneuver.
    Isabella raised an eyebrow at her and glanced down at the quilt wrapped around her bare skin. Francesca grinned impishly at the show of modesty and looked up at the ornate ceiling. That quickly her mood changed, and she was beaming.
    Isabella moved slowly, catching up the robe Sarina had thoughtfully laid out for her.
    Like all the other garments provided for her, it was made of a soft fabric that clung to her curves. Thankfully, her back was still numb enough that the material didn't aggravate her wounds.
    She became aware of the same moaning and wailing she had heard the previous night, coming from the hallways of the castello.