Lair of the Lion

pathetic heap and weep for the loss of her family, for the terrible burdens that had fallen onto her slim shoulders. Instead, she clutched at one beautifully carved post of the giant bed until her knuckles turned white. "My parents died a long time ago, signora." Her voice was tight, unemotional, but the hand gripping the post tightened even more. "I have to speak to him.
    Please, if you have any way to get word to him, it is very urgent, and my time is very short."
    The servant moved back into the room, firmly closing the door behind her. At once the terrible, oily thickness that permeated the air of the palazzo seemed to be gone. Isabella found she could breathe more freely, and the tightness in her chest eased. She noticed a strange scent rising from the surface of the hot water in the tub prepared for her, a clean, fresh, floral fragrance she had never before encountered. She inhaled deeply and was grateful for the cup of tea the serving woman pressed into her trembling hand.
    "You must drink this immediately," Sarina encouraged. "You are so cold, it will help to warm you up. Drink every drop—there's a good girl."
    The tea did help warm her insides, but Isabella was afraid nothing would ever warm her thoroughly again. She was shaking uncontrollably. She looked up at Sarina. "I really can manage. I do not want you to go to any trouble. The room is lovely, and I have everything I could possibly want. By the way, I am Isabella Vernaducci." The bed looked comfortable, the fire cheerful and warm. Despite the inviting, steaming water in the tub, the moment the serving woman left her alone, Isabella intended to fall onto the bed, completely clothed, and just go to sleep. Her eyelids drooped no matter how hard she tried to stay awake.
    "The Master would want me to help you. You are swaying with weariness. If my daughter was far from home, I would want someone to aid her. Please do me the honor of allowing me to assist you." Sarina was already pulling Isabella's cape from her shoulders.
    "Come, signorina, the bath is hot and will warm you much more quickly. You are still shivering."
    "I'm so tired." The words slipped out before Isabella could stop them. "I just want to sleep." She sounded young and defenseless even to her own ears.
    Sarina helped her undress and urged her into the hot water. As Isabella slid into the steaming tub, Sarina loosened the silken braids and fanned the younger woman's hair out.
    Very gently she massaged Isabella's scalp with her fingertips, rubbing in the homemade soap that smelled of flowers. Gradually, as the heat of the water seeped into Isabella, her terrible shaking began to lessen.

    Isabella was so tired, she knew she was drifting as the servant rinsed her hair and wrapped her in a heavy robe. She stumbled to the bed as if in a dream world, half aware of her surroundings and half asleep. The feel of Sarina working at the knots in her hair, smoothing the long tresses, then replaiting the heavy mass as Isabella lay quietly was comforting, something her mother had done when she was very young. Her long lashes drifted down, and she lay passively on the bed, the robe around her naked body soaking up the excess dampness from her bath.
    A knock on the door failed to rouse her interest. Even the aroma of food couldn't capture her attention. She wanted to go to sleep, exhaustion taking over and pushing out all worries and fear. Sarina murmured something she couldn't quite catch. She just wanted to sleep.
    The food was taken away, and Isabella continued to drift, the beauty of the room, the comforting crackle of the fire, and Sarina's hands in her hair lulling her into a sense of well-being.
    From far away, insulated in her dreamlike state, Isabella heard Sarina gasp. She tried to open her eyes and managed to peek out from beneath her lashes. The shadows in the room had lengthened alarmingly. The rows of tapers on the wall had been snuffed out, and the flames in the fireplace had died down, leaving the corners of the bedchamber dark and unfamiliar. In one corner she made out the shadowy figure of man. At least she thought him human.
    He was tall, broad-shouldered, with long hair and slashing eyes. Flames from the fire seemed to blaze red-orange in his hot gaze. She could feel the weight of his burning gaze on her exposed skin. His hair was strange, a tawny color that darkened into black as it fell to his shoulders and down his broad back. He was watching her from the shadows, blending in so she