Pat-pat, pat-pat,said her boots. But she heard no others. Still, she would not look back.
She reached the water, felt the shock of the cold lagoon fill her boots and reach through her sleeping gown. Fighting the folds of wet cloth, she pressed forward into the sea. The enormous lagoon was dotted with fishing boats. She only needed to reach one of them and plead to be taken aboard. She would be free!
There was no splashing behind her. No shouts for her to come back, in any language. And just as the water reached her chin, she twisted the toes of her boots into the sea floor and turned, to know why they’d stopped chasing her.
The dark tyrant stood on the sand with his arms folded, two guards to each side of him. He appeared quite calm as if he were certain she’d return on her own. Did he not suppose a woman could swim?
Fool.
The guards, however, were nodding and pointing out to sea, hopefully at a vessel or two that might be her salvation. The dark one suddenly unfolded his arms and started toward her. The cape on his tunic billowed behind him as he began to run. Grey sand flew from the heels of his boots with every stride.
She turned her shoulders and looked behind her, but the triangles cutting through the waves were not the sails of small boats. They were the fins of sharks. Three, at least.
Calm. Stay calm, she told herself as she backed toward the beach, her toes barely able to find purchase on the sandy sea floor.Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear.
The guards fanned out and began shouting at the sharks as if they were puppies to be called home. For a moment, Isobelle panicked, thinking they meant to taunt the sharks in her direction. But her breathing eased when the fins moved to the side, the sharks reacting to those taunts instead of coming for her.
Then, as if they’d reconsidered, or sensed her fear, those fins turned as one in her direction.
She was still waist deep.
She jumped back, but her skirt was beneath her feet and she stumbled, landing on her backside. The water swamped her shoulders, then her face. She took hold of her skirts and pulled them higher. Her boots found the sand, and she stood once more.
One fin sliced between two others and sped forward.
Isobelle ran backward, but again, her skirts washed beneath her steps and tripped her again. Her head remained above water this time, but it was too late. She turned to the side, hoping to save her face from the attack. But strong hands gripped her beneath her arms and hauled her water-laden body into the air. The world spun away from her, her boots escaped the pull of the water, and she landed on her bottom once more, only this time, it was on wet sand. A pair of legs supported her back and remained even after the hands disappeared from beneath her arms.
She was surrounded by four excited Italians who spoke slowly and dramatically to her as if they thought she mightunderstand their language more easily if they did so. She could only laugh. Eventually, that was all anyone was doing, except for the man at her back.
Once the guards sobered, the dark one stepped away from her. She leaned forward quickly, lest he think her too weak to sit on her own. Then she wondered if simpering like a frightened maiden might have suited her better. It was clear the guards thought her a lucky woman to have escaped the sharks all of a piece, but what was also clear was their change in attitude toward her. If she swooned, would the dark one then treat her differently? Would he consider her less apt to be a witch if she were a more delicate lass?
Somehow, she doubted it—even if she thought he might soften toward her, it was unlikely she could simper in a believable manner. Then her stomach turned on a thought.
Perhaps coming out of the sea, neither drowned nor damaged, has just sealed my fate.
CHAPTER TEN
Gaspar worried his heart might never return to its original rhythm or its original location in his chest. He’d not removed the woman more than a furlong from her house and his body was already crying peace.
First, he’d been stunned the moment she’d opened the door. All disheveled and defiant, standing in little more than her shift and wrapped in her Scottish heritage, she’d been even more breathtaking than she had in the dimly lit abbey.
He’d been caught unawares when she’d called himtoo perfect. For a moment, he’d believed her far too perfect as well. He’d soon realized, however, she was a clever enchantress who would say anything to distract him, to see to her own ends.
Next, she’d led him to believe she would come along willingly, even though she denied the charges against her. Then she’d fled. If she was the devil’s own, she could have summoned those sharks in order to win the sympathies of both him and the guards. Luckily, it had only worked on the guards.
She’d plunged herself into the water, knowing when she emerged her wet gown would cling to her form and tempt the most righteous of men. And since he was far from the most righteous… Yes, he was tempted. And he’d looked. And he would pay dearly for it, would be tormented by the memory of her lying on the sand at his feet, struggling for breath.
Perhaps not the devil’s enchantress, but an enchantress just the same.
He sent one guard to collect the woman’s length of plaid, and after she was covered once more, they led her to that small boat with only enough room for himself, Icarus, and their charge. For all the men knew, he intended to row her out into the lagoon and toss her overboard.
With her hands and feet tied, she’d not be able to swim, so it would mean certain death if she were to jump, but he doubted the woman would take her own life, even though she had to know a charge of witchcraft brought a sentence of death.
He’d noted how quickly she’d retreated from the sharks, however. A woman determined to live, to survive. It was a good sign.
No. This woman would not be jumping into the Laguna Viva. She would fight…until he taught her fighting was futile.
Isobelle wasgrateful for the warm morning sun that quickly dried her nightdress and warmed her bones. Her plaid had been draped over her shoulders after her hands had been tied and she hadn’t imagined the young man’s quick pat of comfort before he’d snatched his hands away. All four of the guards had been so relieved she’d escaped the sharks that they’d softened towardher. If they were to travel long enough, at least one of them could be persuaded to turn a blind eye and allow her to escape. She knew it.
