Lair of the Lion

this valley?"
    "No DeMarco chooses a bride from within the valley." Sarina sounded faintly shocked.
    "It isn't done. And what famiglia would risk such a thing?"
    "Of course not, not when they believe the bridegroom might eat the bride." She made a small attempt at humor, but it came out bitter. "Better to bring in a girl from a holding who knows no such tale, who can't escape and is sold by her famiglia for profit." She squared her shoulders. "At least I choose my own fate, Sarina. I came here willingly, and he's told me what to expect."
    She looked sadly around the room with its plethora of winged guardians and crosses. "I was supposed to be safe here. I thought that somehow she would protect me if I was in this room."
    "I am certain the Madonna is watching over you, Isabella," Sarina assured her.
    "She must be," Isabella agreed, "as I'm still alive in spite of the curse. But I was thinking of Sophia. This was her room. I feel her presence sometimes. It must be terrible for her to see what her words have wrought. I wish I could help her in some way. I think she must have suffered greatly."
    "You are an unusual woman," Sarina said sincerely. "If Don DeMarco is so foolish as to allow you to slip through his fingers, then he doesn't deserve you."
    A small, humorless smile touched Isabella's mouth. "I don't think it's in his mind to allow me to go anywhere, just not to marry me. I will live as his mistress while he chooses another bride."
    "The curse is on Nicolai as the DeMarco heir, not on his bride. You are the one the lions have accepted. It won't matter how many other brides he chooses, nor how often he professes not to love you, he can't cheat his destiny," Sarina said sagely.
    Isabella suddenly leaned into her and circled Sarina's neck with her arms, burying her face on the housekeeper's shoulder. Sarina couldn't resist the silent plea and held her tightly.
    "I think you're right," Isabella said. "I feel you're right. Nicolai can't defeat the curse by tricking it." She sighed softly. "But there was no talking to him. He thinks to protect me. In truth, he will make it more difficult for me." Isabella allowed herself a few minutes of comfort before determinedly getting up. "I would appreciate your aid, Sarina. My hair is a mess. Would you mind helping me again?"
    Sarina was all business, choosing another gown for Isabella, carefully brushing out her hair in front of the fire to dry it before once more dressing it. Isabella lifted her chin and turned around to allow Sarina to look at her. "What do you think?"
    "I think you'll do," Sarina said softly.

Chapter Thirteen
    Isabella spent the remainder of the morning reading in the library. She knew she should be finding her way around the palazzo, familiarizing herself with the holding, but she needed to spend time alone, away from prying eyes.
    Betto stuck his head into the room and beckoned her. "Don DeMarco has said you must go to him immediately."
    She set her book carefully aside and rose with grace to follow Betto through the long halls and up the wide staircases. She moved without haste, making him wait for her several times. It was Betto who was forced to knock on the door of the don's inner sanctuary, as Isabella refused to do so.
    Nicolai beckoned her.
    She stood just inside the entryway, her chin up. "I believe you summoned me?" she said in her haughtiest voice. She kept her eyes fixed on the falcon standing on its perch in one of the recesses of the room. She didn't dare look at Nicolai, didn't want to feel that curious melting in the region of her heart, the butterfly wings brushing at her insides.
    "Sit down, Isabella. We have much to discuss."
    She tilted her chin at him. "I would rather stand, Don DeMarco, as I'm certain we have little to say to one another."
    He sighed heavily, his amber eyes glinting at her. "You are being particularly difficult, when all I'm asking is that you sit in a chair while I give you news of tuo fratello."
    He made her feel childish and silly and a little bit ashamed of herself. It wasn't his fault that she burned each time she looked at him. That after his possession, her body no longer seemed her own, but his. The craving for him was a terrible thing, and yet he looked upon her with his strange eyes and his mask of indifference. He wanted a mistress, not a wife.
    Her father had warned her never to give herself to a man without marriage, but once again she had chosen to go her own way, and disaster had followed. Isabella