Lair of the Lion

contain something to send her back to sleep. Her fingers twisted in the covers. She thought carefully about her trip, how difficult it had been, how she had felt as she overcame each obstacle. "It was exhilarating and at the same time frightening," she answered truthfully. Now that she knew the don had been aware of her plight all along, she was even more pleased that she had done what so many others had failed to do.
    Francesca bounced on the bed, laughing softly. "Oh, that is too rich. Wait until the others hear what you said. 'Exhilarating'! That is too perfect!"
    In spite of the strangeness of the conversation, Isabella found herself smiling, because Francesca's laughter was so infectious.
    A ferocious roar shook the palazzo. A hideous, high-pitched scream of agony mingled with the terrible sound. It echoed throughout the vast castello, reaching to the highest vaulted ceiling and the deepest hidden dungeons and caverns the castello guarded. Isabella clutched the robe to her, staring in frozen horror at her closed door. The scream was cut off abruptly, but a terrible din followed. From every direction wild animals bellowed, and she covered her ears to block out the sounds. Her heart was pounding so loudly it sounded like thunder, mixing with the chaos. She turned her head toward Francesca.
    The woman was gone. The bed was smooth, the quilt without a crease where she had been sitting. Isabella swung her gaze wildly around the room, searching out every corner, trying desperately to pierce the darkness. As abruptly as the terrible noise had started, it stopped, and there was only silence. Isabella sat very still, afraid to move.

Chapter Two
    Isabella sat quietly in the bed, the robe wrapped securely around her, staring at the door until dawn streaked rays of light through the long row of stained-glass windows. She watched the sun begin to rise, watched the colors leap to life and bring a certain animation to the images portrayed in the windows.
    She stood up and wandered across the room, drawn to the colorful panels. She had been in many of the great castelli when she was a child, and all of them were awe-inspiring. But this one was more ornate, more intricate, more everything. In her room alone, a mere guest room, was a small fortune in art and gold. It was no wonder the armies of the Spanish and Austrian kings and those who came before had sought entrance into this valley.
    Isabella found the small chamber reserved for morning ablutions and took her time, going over in her mind each argument she would use to persuade Don DeMarco to aid her in saving her brother. Don DeMarco. His name was whispered by powerful men. It was said he had the ear of the most influential rulers in the world and that those who did not listen or heed him ended up disappearing or dead. Few saw him, but it was rumored that he was half man, half beast and that within his valley strange, demonic apparitions aided him. The gossip included everything from ghosts to an army of wild beasts under his command.
    Isabella remembered her brother, Lucca, telling her every story and laughing with her over the absurd rumors people were so willing to believe.
    She looked around her room carefully. Crosses were hung on either side of her door. She moved closer to examine the door itself. The carvings on it were of angels, beautiful, winged creatures guarding the bedchamber. Isabella smiled. She was being fanciful, but the rumors of demonic creatures and an army of wild animals she had laughed over with her brother seemed far closer to reality now, and she was grateful for the plethora of angels standing guard at her door.
    The room itself was large and rife with ornate carvings. Several small etchings of winged lions hung on the walls, but most appeared to be of angels. Two stone lions guarded the great fireplace, but they looked rather kindly, so she patted their heads to make friends with them.
    Isabella could not find her clothes anywhere and with a sigh of frustration opened the enormous wardrobe. It was packed with beautiful gowns, gowns that looked as if they were new, made just for her. She pulled one out, her hand trembling as she smoothed the full skirt. The frocks looked as if her favorite dressmaker had sewn them. Each one, everyday wear and fancy ball, was her size and made with lace and soft, flowing material. She had never had such fine dresses, not even when her father was alive. Her fingers caressed the fabric, touching the tiny seams in