He smiled and gestured to the open gate. “Perhaps, then, you can think of it as the only place you will be safe…from me.”
She straightened away from the wall and when he tensed, she very nearly smiled. “Aye, my lord. I will try to see it as a sanctuary, but only if I alone hold the key.”
Gaspar shook his head. “Perhaps we can begin again.” He bowed slightly. “Welcome to my island and to my home. This room has been prepared especially for your visit.”
One of her brows rose sardonically. “Only a visit, then? Such implies ye dinna expect me to stay long.”
He smiled. “We shall see.”
She gave a single nod, then turned to examine the ironwork. Her next step faltered and she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide.
“My, my,” she breathed. “Does the Pope come to visit much? I expect you allow himhiskey.” She stepped forward and caressed the intricate pattern in the screen that was worthy of any artist in Venice. Smallfleur de liscovered the lower three quarters of the screen, while the top quarter was arrayed with holes in the same pattern. Here and there, one of the small symbols was turned on its head, drawing the observer forward, drawing in the eye, demanding attention as one tried to discern the true pattern. The closer one moved, the more brilliant the pattern. Not unlike the woman herself.
Gaspar resisted the draw of the screen and forced his eyes to remain upon his new guest. Her gaze scanned the room even as she closely examined the screen. She’d missed nothing. Not the fact that the screen ran down the middle of the floor and turned at an angle near the end. The cell ran from the far half of the stone room to the front. The screen was anchored to walls and floor, just as the bars were to each side of a section of screen that acted as a gate. Another solid section of screen hung from the ceiling and attached to the top of the more intricate section. For the prisoner, there would be no escaping over the metal walls. Neither could there come any threat from outside them.
Of course, there was no such threat. Gaspar himself would be the only person to see her, and he posed no danger to her, though she would not believe it for a while. But he’d made special arrangements for her to be perfectly safe from himself, even if he were tempted to touch her a second time, which would never happen.
It might seem unfortunate that the little holes allowed only a modicum of light to pass through them, thus leaving the inner half of the room in shadow, but Gaspar had designed the room with just that in mind, so he might watch her at times without her knowledge, to assess her progress.
Curious as a child, but still wary, she stood to the side of the gate and peeked into the cell. She would have noted the narrow bed and stool. The chamber pot. The small table and single candle.
“More than they allowed me in my tomb,” she murmured.
The sudden wave of sympathy caught him off guard. She was lying, of course. He needed to remember to trust nothing she said.Nothing.But it would explain why she was so terrified of being locked away.
He resisted the urge to order her inside and bit his tongue while he waited for her first step. He would maintain his position until the gate was securely closed. Isobella Ross was no simpleton, and he had to remain on his guard lest she think of a clever way past him.
She paused and glanced his way, noting his stance. “Ye demand my trust, but ye canna seem to give it in return, aye?”
He laughed. “You, my lady, are far too clever to trust. I admit it freely.”
She snorted delicately and walked to the barred window, as if stepping into the cell was of no consequence. He was certain she was taking the tower’s measure, guessing her chances of escaping.
“Dare I ask,” she said, still looking out the window, “the true reason ye’ve brought me to yer little paradise? Ye’ve promised no fire. And if ye would see me drowned, ye could have left me to the sharks. So. Do tell.”
He waited for her to face him before he answered, hoping to witness her perfect understanding when it finally came.
“My lady, I have brought you here to save your soul, to take you back from Satan’s ranks.”
“Oh, is that all?” She grinned. “Then I should be back in my cottage by breakfast, I reckon.”
He allowed himself to smile at her jest, though inside he was disappointed indeed. She did not understand anything. Yet. But he was going to help her, even if it killed him to do it.
She kept her gaze on the blue waters outside the window and started only slightly when he swung the gate shut. The click of the lock was both satisfying and sad, knowing she was finally in his care, but that there would ever be a solid wall between them.
She would need a few moments alone to allow her new situation to settle in her mind, and then they could begin. But first, he needed to refresh himself…
…with the coldest water he could find.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Isobelle stood at the window and waited for the madman to leave. She would not greet while he watched, though it was plain to see he was waiting for her to do just that.
Fabric swished. Footfalls moved out the door and down the steps. Though she was alone, the feel of him lingered in the room and sent a fissure of fear through her.
How could one man raise so many emotions in her in only a morning?
His eyes were beguiling. To spend time looking into them would be any woman’s downfall. And to have the man pressed against her…
