“In truth?”
“Aye.”
“Why did you not tell me before?” He was almost hurt by the omission, like she’d been lying to him.
“My name was the only thing I still had that was mine alone.” She faced the window and clutched the bars. “I shouldn’t have told ye.” The last, she might not have intended to say aloud.
“Forgive me,Isobelle.” He took the edge of his long bench and dragged it toward him, then swung it around to face the gate. He gestured toward the end of her bed. “Sit. Please. Let usconverse for a while. Night is a while away yet. Will you pass the time with me?”
She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. Eventually, she gave a single nod, then moved to the far end of her bed. She sat sideways, facing him. He tried not to dwell on the arrangement of her legs beneath the white skirts. She caught him raising his eyes from those skirts and gave a slight shake of her head in warning.
There might not be another soul on the island of Venice who thought him capable of carnal thoughts, but she did. Of course, she could not have heard the rumors that he himself had started, that he was unable to perform as other men. But it was only a rumor, and a rumor he doubted she would have believed, especially after the look they’d exchanged in the boat, and those moments against the wall.
There was also a chance she had a talent for seeing people as clearly as he did, that she might also know when others were lying.
Such a talent would prove useful once she left the tower. She would need to know how to recognize those who would prove dangerous to her, so she could watch her tongue. But there was absolutely no one with whom she shouldnotguard her words, even when she was alone. For if she’d been that careful before, he would have never heard the wordswitchorspelltumble from her lips at the abbey.
That was all he sought to teach her, in the end. To stay her tongue, to control her temper, and to play the fool so no one would see her as a danger that wanted removing. But that was a discussion for tomorrow. Today, he wanted to hear her tale.
“Tell me of your home.” He folded his arms and waited, wondering if she would tell him anything at all. And if she did, he may or may not believe what she said.
She tilted her head and considered him with narrow eyes. He could almost hear the debate in her head. Was her home something else she might hold tight to her? To keep him from knowing all there was to know about her?
“The Highlands of Scotland.” She shook her head. “I’d rather not specify, aye?”
He nodded. She had no reason to trust him with the lives of people she loved after what he’d already done to her.
“My brother is the laird of a clan. Monty, we call him.”
“Is he one of these good men of whom you speak, the kind who have no need to have dominion over women?”
She smiled. “Auch, nay. Monty dominates all the other women in the clan.”
“Just not his sister?”
Her smile fled. “Just notthissister. He managed to force Morna into an unwanted marriage.”
“Ah. Not uncommon for a leader to need alliances.”
She sat forward. “It was not needed. It was a punishment.”
Gaspar propped an elbow on a crossbar in the gate, then rested his chin in his palm. “Tell me.”
Isobelle sat back again, rested against the wall behind her, then pulled her blanket into her lap. She took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. “Morna fell in love with Monty’s bosom friend, Ivar. He was from Clan—” She caught herself before completing the name. “From a clan to the west, say. They were close as brothers. And one day, Monty found Morna and Ivar together. It broke his heart. He banned Ivar from our lands and sent Morna to marry the son of another chieftain. But Ivar and Morna were destined for one another, like a rock broken in twain, then brought back together again. They fit perfectly in every manner, aye?”
He nodded, understanding too well how two people could fit together so well it made one wonder what God intended.
“I was desperate to aid them, aye? So I went to the witches for help.”
He could see the regret contorting her face and wished he could think of the perfect words to comfort her, but before he could, the regret was gone. Her chin rose, and when she looked his way again, there was a hardness in her eyes—a determined hardness—and he wondered if she were simply too proud to believe she’d made a mistake. It was a look he was getting used to, a look she would need to learn away before she could safely be released back into the world again.
“I went to Mhairi and Margot,” she continued. “Their clan is steeped in witches, aye? But mostly when they come in pairs. Sometimes not. But those old sisters visited our clan more often than my brother would like, and I was nay afraid of them.” She smiled. “They were pleased as puddin’ to help me. Said I needed only to create a token, a necklace or a brooch of metal, affixed with a bone from our clan and a bone from Ivar’s. I had the smithy’s young son help me and we ended with a torque. I spoke of it to no one else. There was no danger.”
Gaspar bit his tongue. Obviously, there had been danger, but to point it out would be to disrupt the moment.
Isobelle glanced at the window and closed her eyes, and he couldn’t resist doing the same, to listen for a moment to the tide rolling onto his modest shore. Sometimes he felt a bit guilty for enjoying the sound as much as he did. He tried to disregard the fact that Isobelle’s voice was equally as pleasurable.
“I took the torque to the sisters.” Her eyes were open again, her voice dreamy—an indulgence to which he would limit himself. “They cast a spell on it, that one day a faery would come and claim the piece, and this faery would bring Morna and Ivar together again. I only hope it comes soon, aye? While they’re still young and… and can enjoy…” She shrugged and took greatinterest in her fingers, and after a long silence, he worried she had decided to end the tale there.
