He laughed, and it felt like absolution. He was suddenly Lazarus, raised from the dead.
And it hadn’t happened all of a moment, either. It had started when God urged him to hide behind a rood screen and then reminded him what it had once been like to have a beating heart. And since then, how his heart had pounded.
How long had it been since he’d been swamped by anything but fear? For a decade at least, he’d known only fear on behalf of those wrongly condemned, and disgust for those guilty ones who were wrongly exonerated. Of course, he’d also been fearful for his own soul and took great care with it. But the highest emotion he’d enjoyed, for as long as he’d labored in The Republic, had been an abeyance of that fear. No joy. No peace. Just fear, or lack of fear. Disgust and lack of disgust.
But no more. His spirits tumbled and laughed in the waves, no longer afraid of drowning. And he would not bid them cease.
She is already my salvation!
The least he could do in return, was to be hers. And the first step toward that end was to win her trust. He was able to do good things with trust. His superiors trusted him to go out among the people and judge them, trusting that his judgment reflected their own. But he was also gifted with the ability to see guilt where it truly lay. His superiors were not always given a clear view of such things.
Isobella Ross had condemned him for his office, but she did not understand it. Not yet. But so be it. It had no bearing. He would still save her, whether or not she wished to be saved.
He composed himself, hid his giddy heart under a familiar sober façade, and headed back inside.
The hour refusedto pass by more than one minute at a time, which was just as well, for it allowed Gaspar’s excitement to quiet. He was unable to calm his breathing when he entered her chamber, but he hoped she would attribute his breathlessness to the climb of so many steps.
For a moment, she rebelliously sat upon the bed. He simply waited for her to move to the window, neither chiding her nor urging her to comply before she was ready. He was the picture of patience.
Finally, she huffed out a breath and did as she was expected. He tried not to breathe too heavily in her ear as he stood behind her and waited for Icarus to remove the tray. But the servant was forgotten while the sunset caressed the left side of her mane, bringing the dark red to life in a brilliant show of orange and yellow. And his heart pounded like the heavy tail of a contented puppy when he realized the event would repeat itself each evening while she remained in his care. He would make note of the sunset before coming to collect her tray on the morrow.
Impatient feet shuffled near the door, drawing his attention from the woman standing before him. Icarus would be anxious to head for home, and it was hardly fair to make the little man wait while he stood listening to the woman breathe in and out and watched the orange light fade.
He wrenched himself away and locked the gate behind him, and without a word, he followed Icarus down the steps. At the bottom, the man turned.
“Mio signore, am I still to take the key home with me?”
Gaspar frowned. “You suppose I have changed my mind simply because the woman is beautiful?”
Icarus blushed and shook his head nervously. “No, signore. I… I…”
Gaspar smiled, which made the little man even more nervous than before. “Be at ease, Icarus. My plans are the same. The woman tries my patience, but I expected as much.” He took the key from his pocket and put the string around Icarus’ neck. “This key must never be left on the island at night. I will not leave such destructive power lying about for Satan’s use. Is that understood?”
Icarus relaxed. “Si, mio signore. Si.”
Gaspar waited another hour before he took a candle up the stairs, stopping to light other candles placed in small alcoves that were once meant to store weapons. As he climbed, he looked out the small arrow slits and glimpsed the first of the night’s stars taking up their places in the sky.
He was glad he’d allowed the woman an aperture, especially after he’d come to believe she had, indeed, been sealed in a tomb for twelve days. It was cruel to lock her up now, with or without a window, but he feared it was too dangerous not to do so. Once she understood, perhaps she would forgive him.
He knocked on the open door, not wanting to interrupt her ablutions.
She made him wait, but that was no surprise. Eventually, she bid him come.
He’d already spent far too much time gazing upon her that day, so after he handed her the candle, he sat on the bench, content to sit in the near darkness. Through the small holes, he watched the light of the candle dance on the outer wall.
“You wish to know what will happen while you are here,” he said softly. “I’ve come three times to explain. Perhaps this time I can do so before I…” He shrugged.
“Before I provoke you again?”
He smiled. “Precisely.”
“Weel, dinna let me stop ye then. I’ll just bite my tongue, shall I?”
“It may help.” He cleared his throat and made an attempt to sound more sober. “As you know, I overheard your conversation with your cousin in the abbey.”
She made no comment. Perhaps she truly was biting her tongue.
“And in my office, as you can imagine, I have investigated many a headstrong woman who could not manage to watch her words.”
