by L. L. Muir
The scuff of two pairs of boots on the steps told Isobelle it was time for her supper. Her heart leapt with her, propelling her off the stool. With shaking hands, she moved the seat away from the window, then turned back to take hold of the bars. Each scratch of sole against stone brought him closer. When those boots entered the room she nearly squealed with anticipation. But was it anticipation of her escape? Or was it the anticipation of Gaspar standing at her back for a moment?
Perhaps it was both.
Perhaps she did feel too much for a man who would hold her captive forever if no one stopped him. Perhaps she could love him, if only a little, for what he had done for her. When he’d held her in his arms and kissed her, she’d believed she loved him in spite of his madness. But he’d been unable to return that love—at least not enough to release her.
She would go home, then. Perhaps she’d make her place in Ireland first where she might blend in a bit with other red-headed women. Perhaps she’d send a letter. Perhaps someone could come visit her. And if Ireland was not the place for her, she would go home...
The key scraped inside the lock. The gate groaned in protest, a bit louder than it ever had before, as if it would warn the men of her plans. The air heated at her back. She turned her face to the right, away from the intense orange sunset glaring at her from the left. And from the corner of her eye, she saw Icarus pausing, watching his master, then scurrying away.
“Icarus, hold a moment.” Gaspar’s voice was deep and ragged, revealing as much emotion as she was feeling herself. “Leave the key with me tonight.”
“B...but Master,” the little man stammered. “You made me vow—”
“Rest easy, Icarus. A woman will be coming tonight, to...inspect her. She will need the key.”
“Would you like me to stay?”
“Icarus. No. This will be no place for a man.”
“And her tray?”
“She can slip it under the gate tonight. Neither of us needs to return.”
“Yes, Master.”
The air behind her cooled. God willing, for the last time.
~ ~ ~
For an hour, she sat on the stool and stared at the food on the tray. Cheese, bread, and a plum. She considered eating the plum, but her stomach clenched at the thought. If she had to swim, she would wish to have an empty stomach.
Icarus had left the island long ago and yet Gaspar had not come. Had he changed his mind? Or did he consider the sky too light still? The Quarter Moon would offer enough light for strolling across the sand, but would it be light enough to row a boat in a constant direction? Or lend enough light to swim by?
She’d gone over the possibilities many times, but she would not know how badly she might need to harm the man in order to get away from him, to find another boat, and to get it off the shore before he was able to come after her.
If it came to it, she did not know if she would be able to kill Gaspar Dragotti, even to save what was left of her life. But what if I have no other choice?
God help me.
Her thoughts plagued her so completely that Gaspar was standing before her without her noticing his footfalls. A glance at the floor revealed why; his feet were bare. Bare also were his arms. He wore no tunic, and there were no sleeves tied to his under tunic. His arms were thick with muscle and vein and she was sorely tempted to slide her hands along them.
In anticipation of walking on the beach, she’d removed her own boots and hose, then she’d tied the hose around her thigh so she could keep her skean duh close. The plaid would be a hindrance if she had to swim. She would leave it behind.
“I promised you a walk along the beach, my lady.”
She looked up into the shadows of his face. He appeared a bit ill, as he had each time he’d come to the tower that day. And he acted oddly, as if something between them had changed more than just his acquiescence to allow her outside.
He tilted his head to one side. “You haven’t changed your mind.”
She jumped to her feet in answer and his breath caught. They hadn’t stood so close or touched each other since they’d kissed. But this time, they were alone on the island. Icarus would not come to interrupt them if Gaspar took her in his arms now. She was ashamed to want him to do just that, but she wanted to leave that tower much more.
The air was warm between them. Hot even. Sweat trickled from the side of her neck to pool in the notch below her chin. His gaze followed the moisture’s progress. She sensed him itching to reach out and touch where it gathered at her throat. It was possibly his last chance for a tender touch.
But it was her last chance as well, her last chance to touch him.
Her left hand lifted and her fingers tangled with his as he reached toward her. Suddenly shy, she pulled back.
“Come,” he croaked, then took her firmly by the hand and walked backward, toward the open gate. “You must not release my hand. Is that clear?”
Speech was beyond her ability at the moment, so she nodded. He need never know how torn she was between obeying and disobeying that order. If they had met under simpler circumstances, she might have never let loose of his hand whether he wished it or not.
Her footsteps faltered, tripping over her thoughts. How long had it been since she’d come through that doorway, or glimpsed those steps? He made certain she was steady, then turned and led her down the steps, holding her hand behind his back so that she too could walk close to the outer wall.
A torch hung next to the landing. Another one waited beyond the curve in the stairway luring her with its promised light. But she needed no luring. She held tight to Gaspar’s tugging fingers as he unwittingly lead her to freedom.
They passed the second torch. Another beckoned. The excitement tempted her to giggle. The thought of leaving Gaspar behind, forever, tempted her to weep. She resisted both.
The last torch. The bottom step. The solid floor. The open archway led to the heavy warm night beyond.
He paused before the threshold and she worried he might have only been teasing her, to teach a lesson in patience. To teach her not to trust in the arm of man—any man, including him. Perhaps he would say it was time for prayers and haul her back up the stairs because it was time for prayers, and prayers were more important than the promise of a walk along the shore.
But he didn’t turn back—he simply removed the last torch and led her outside.
Outside! Heaven help her, she would never walk inside again. She would find a tree on a beach somewhere and make her home of it. Never again would a door close, a gate close, or a tomb seal behind her. Never, ever again!
Gaspar slowed, then stopped, pulling her next to him, their fingers entwined like lovers, their shoulders bumping until she stilled.
“Look.” He looked skyward. His torch swept up and over their heads in an arc, then hung low, out of the way so the stars could be seen. “The unimpeded sky.”
She drank in the utter glory of the lit heavens, but found she was thirstier for another sight entirely—Gaspar, standing with arms uncovered, as unfettered as the night sky. Just a man standing next to her, holding her hand as if he could not bear to let her go. A flood of tears blurred her vision of him, and she looked away before he could catch her staring.
It was her turn to tug him along. She knew just where she wished to go—the little pool of water visible from her window, where she’d wished she might dip her hot and dusty toes. Gaspar followed along happily.
The pool was larger than she’d expected. The rocks at the edge were wide enough to sit upon and keep her skirts from getting wet. But what did wet skirts matter?
Gaspar sat beside her so they had no need to let go of each other’s fingers while they dipped their toes.
“My favorite spot,” he confessed.
“Truly? Then why is it I’ve never seen ye here?”
“I’ve stayed away, knowing you were watching, not wishing to disrupt what peace you found.”
She made no reply so she might not sully the man’
s favorite spot with memories of what she was about to do.
“Come,” she said. “I want to see the rest of the island.”
“I regret there is not more for you to see, my lady. But when I purchased the island, I had need of privacy, not land.”
She suddenly wished to hear nothing further about his little island. She wanted no memories to add to the ones she would already carry with her. If he were to reveal anything more of his private life, she might not be able to bear what she meant to do.
And the first thing she needed to do was to find a boat.
She dragged him up to the ridge and around to the side of the tower, to see whatever had been hiding from her for weeks.
And there, behind his small fortress, was an extension of the beach she’d been staring at from her window. That and nothing more.
No boat.
No boat.
And no boat.
All her excitement drained from her in a single beat of her heart, then quickly welled again…with fury.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Gaspar resisted the urge to lift Isobelle into his arms. Her disappointment nearly dropped her to the ground, but she recovered quickly.
“Ah. I see you are more disappointed than I expected. Perhaps you were hoping to find some way of escaping my little idyll. But there is no escape, my sweet. If something were to happen to Icarus and he failed to return in the morning, we might well die here together if we ever tired of fish.”
It might have been the play of stars, but Isobelle seemed to be shaking—no doubt from the shock of finding nothing more interesting than a continuation of beach. She pulled her fingers from of his and he allowed it. If he were smart, he might consider moving out of her reach, but he did not feel particularly smart at the moment. In fact, he felt nearly as disappointed as she. Of course he had not wished her to escape, or to attempt it, but he had wished to see her happiness last a bit longer. They might have sat at the little pool for hours talking nonsense, but her impatience had stolen that bit of peace from them both.
“Leave me,” she whispered. “I beg ye, leave me in peace for a bit.”
If she were anyone but Isobelle, he might have granted such a request. But he knew her too well now to believe she might sit quietly and contemplate her fate, that she might not do something as foolish as to throw herself into the sea.
“I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot leave your side. Perhaps, on the morrow, you might have a different outlook on your time here. Perhaps you can find contentment…with me. And one day, we might leave this place…together.”
She dropped her chin to her chest, then collapsed to her knees in the sand, and the only thing visible, in the blue starlight, was that little cut across the bridge of her nose. His stomach turned at the thought of her feeling as hopeless as he’d once felt just before he’d slid that hot iron across his face.
Of course she had!
He’d taken away all hope when he’d warned her she may never leave. Hadn’t his mother done the same to him? Taken away all hope to escape the life she’d shaped for him?
Heaven help him, he’d tried to make her into himself. And she was right—letting her live or die by the sharpness of her own tongue would have been better. He should have never taken her. Never supposed his intervention would save her. He hadn’t saved her. He was the man from whom she needed saving!
He’d been lying to himself from the beginning. He’d stubbornly ignored the truth.
He had to let her go!
“I could convince ye I am content to stay with ye.” She whispered, but with the stillness of the sea, he heard, clearly, every word. “I could convince ye of anything, but it would be a lie.”
His chest caved in upon itself at the bursting of his heart, but he fought against the pain. Surely there were some things he had come to believe that were not a lie.
“Ye doona believe me? Here. Sit beside me. I will tell ye everything.”
Gaspar forced air and in out of his body and wondered which of her words might have been the truth. What of this world could he trust? The sea? The stars? Was his redemption now so out of reach? Could he be forgiven, as he refused to forgive his mother? The doctrine of forgiveness tried to flood his mind but he would hear none of it.
He remembered his first sight of her, through the rood screen. The way he felt about her then was nothing compared to his feelings for her now, but even so, they’d been strong enough to prod him on, to make her his own in the only way he would allow himself—as his possession.
And he’d given her nothing but pain.
As for himself, he felt more mortal than he’d felt for years. Mortal. Vulnerable. Alive. Wounded, but breathing deeply of the world around him. And now he felt it all simultaneously. Isobelle was to blame. Isobelle was to thank. She’d done this for him, brought him back to himself. The least he could do was return the favor.
But first, she wished to tell how she’d lied to him? So be it. If her confession caused him pain, it would be only too fair. His eyes were open. But after all he’d done to her, she would never believe that his heart was open as well.
He dropped to his knees beside her and sat back upon his heels.
“Isobelle, forgive me. Forgive—”
Her arm swung around. He felt the jarring impact of a large stone trying to force its way into his skull. Then it was gone. But the pain remained. The noise remained.
Isobelle stood over him as he fell onto his back. Her bottom lip tucked itself behind her teeth. She shook her head and tears dripped onto his face.
Then she too was gone. But there was nowhere for her to go—
Nowhere but the sea! And she could not swim!
“Nooo!”
He rolled. Found his feet, stumbled, searched the darkness for the whiteness of her gown. Saw nothing.
He turned.
There! Already so far into the water. How fast she moved! How anxious was she to run into the arms of death!
God help him, what had he done? He’d driven a beautiful creature out of her mind. But he could undo it. He could bring her back if only he could get to her before it was too late.
“Isobelle! Wait! Forgive me! You are free!”
He rushed into the water, blinking over and over, but the white was gone. His skull threatened to come undone beneath his hand, but he could not pause to recover. She was out there, drowning.
“Isobelle!” Waist-deep now.
As if rising to the sound of her name, the white gown surfaced. Twenty feet away!
He lunged, pulled his hand away from his head and swam as furiously as he could. He needed air. He had to pause. Had to breathe.
There. She was still there. Above water. Pushing the water out of her way.
“Isobelle! You are free! Come back!”
The vision turned and faced him, treading water.
She could swim?
He laughed. She could swim! Praise be, she’d lied to him!
“Isobelle, forgive me. Come back! The boat. In the morning. Forgive me!”
He stopped fighting the water, allowed it to cover him. The cool liquid soothed the ache in his head.
Air. He needed air. And he needed Isobelle’s forgiveness.
He kicked, over and over, until the water parted.
She’d come closer. She stayed above the water easily, but her breathing was labored. She could have never lasted long. Even if she could swim, she likely hadn’t done so often. Trying to swim from the island would have been suicide. And she’d nearly done it!
“Gaspar! Are ye badly hurt?”
She sounded so close, and yet, she was still beyond his reach.
Again, he allowed himself to sink. Ah, the relief. Like sleeping when one is tired. So tired. But he needed air again.
He kicked and fought his way to the surface once more and found Isobelle there, coming for him. He permitted her to pull him close, then with a furious kick, he rose above her in the water, wrapped his arm around her, across her chest, and
took a firm grasp beneath her arm. Then he began dragging her back to shore in spite of the screaming in his skull. After a few half-hearted struggles, she settled down and allowed him to take her.
When they reached the shallows, he stood and helped her to do the same. Then he took a step away from her.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I was wrong to take you from your home. I was wrong to expect you to change. If I’d have succeeded, I would have never forgiven myself. You may leave the island as soon as Icarus arrives with the boat, Isobelle. I vow it.”
She looked at him askance as she filled her lungs over and over again. “Then it wasn’t a lie, to lure me back to shore?”
“Yes. It was a lie that I was drowning. I swim like a Venetian fish. Even if I’ve been struck on the head.” He lifted a hand to his bleeding forehead in a bid for sympathy, but she came no closer. “But the other, your freedom, was no lie. You may return to the city, to your cottage, or wherever you wish. I only hope you will avoid Venice because of what I have done to your name there. And I can afford to send you anywhere in the world. You need only choose.”
Instantly, anywhere in the world, even if it were the next island, sounded much too far away from one particularly lonely dragon. But he bit his tongue to keep from sharing that sentiment. His eyes were open. But after all he’d done to her, she would never believe that his heart was open as well.
“You changed your mind because you thought I intended to drown.”
“You would have drowned, even if you could swim. Even I could not cross this channel without a boat.” He reached out and pushed her hair from her eyes, unable to go another minute without seeing them clearly. “But that was not why I changed my mind. You have transformed me, Isobella. You have made me see the dragon and I have chased it away, never to return, even if the Pope himself demanded I resume my office.”
She eyed him suspiciously while he helped her to the soft grasses where they both collapsed.
“I was attempting to change you as I had once changed myself. I had turned myself into a cold creature that had no place in the world, and I suppose I was trying to make you the same, that somehow you might feel the only place in the world for you was at my side.”