She stretched out on the blanket and practiced rolling off, found the best position from which to start, then settled in to wait. The waves below her window grew louder. Her heart beat harder. Tears rolled unchecked down her face, but she could not understand why. It wasn’t as if she would miss the tyrant. She certainly wouldn’t miss her frighteningly secure cell.
She’d already cried her tears for Ossian. She’d cried for her little cottage, for the knowledge she would never see little Britta again. Even for Signora Crescento and her motley parade of men. Were they tears of joy, then? Once she was away from there and beyond the dragon’s reach, would she truly head for home?
At the moment, she wanted to do nothing more than cry on her sister’s shoulder and have Monty assure her that he would make it all right again. He’d tell her Gaspar Dragotti was a monster fit for killing, let alone escaping. She should be happy to leave him behind.
Warm tears joined with the cooled ones and she couldn’t lie to herself any longer. She’d grown to enjoy and crave his company as much as, or more than, she’d first enjoyed andcraved the look of him. And even though he was her captor, he believed he was saving her, and she could at least forgive him for trying.
Neither man came to collect her tray. As far as she knew, Gaspar never came to sleep on the other side of the iron wall, as he usually did. Neither did he whisper those strange words, as he had each night after he thought she slumbered. She worried she might not be able to sleep until she heard them.
Say agga po poli.One day, she would discover what they meant.
Eventually, the tears dried and the sound of the waves faded as she fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The following day, there were only meals. No lectures. No arguments. And there was no chance for escape. For both the morning and the nooning meal, the gate would not open until she’d moved to the windows, and each time she did, Gaspar came to stand close behind her, nearly pressing her to the window bars and holding firmly to her waist!
Since she’d entered the cell, he’d never touched her. Why would he suddenly do so—unless he knew of her knife and suspected her plans?
Her heart bounced hard in her chest when another thought presented itself. No lessons. No lectures. No prayers.Perhaps he has given up on me.Perhaps he was touching her while he still could…
That evening, the gate opened, and again, Gaspar stood close and put his hands on her. There was pressure enough to tell her he expected something. She moved slightly, to test him, and his grip tightened. He pulled her back against him as if in warning, and then he was gone.
Isobelle stood silent and still for a moment, then turned away from the window just as Gaspar disappeared through the door.
“Wait. Gaspar. Will you sit with me, until nightfall? No use going below stairs when you’ll just have to climb them again, for Compline, aye?”
She thought he would decline her invitation, he took such a long time to answer. Slowly, he walked to the gate without looking at her, pulled his bench before it, and wearily sat down.
“What shall we discuss tonight, Isobelle? How to resist temptation?”
She tried to overlook how intriguing that discussion might be, for it would only lead her thoughts to temptations, and not resisting them.
“Please. Let us speak of pleasanter things than the likelihood I’ll be burned as soon as I step foot off this island.”
Still distracted, he nodded and shrugged. “What then?”
“I told ye what drove me from my home. Perhaps ye will tell me what drove ye from England?”
He snorted. “I thought you wished to speak of pleasanter things.”
“My tale was none too pleasant. I doona suppose yers will be either, for I cannot imagine staying away from home if ye’re not forced away. And yet, ye do.”
“Ah. Well, it is not possible for me to return to England any more than you can return to the Highlands.”
Isobelle pulled her stool over to the gate and sat down opposite him. The way he clenched his jaw led her to believe her proximity bothered him, so she scooted it back a foot. “So. Ye would like to return, but canna?”
“No. I wouldn’t return, even if I could.” His nose curled to one side. “The thought of returning sickens me.”
“Did ye commit some crime then?”
He laughed. “No, my lady. Not crimes. Though a great crime was committed against me.” He shook his head and rose to his feet. “I have business to attend.”
He waved toward the doorway, but his feet remained where they were, and Isobelle understood he didn’t really want to leave. Perhaps he was hungry for a little company too.
“Dinna go, my lord. This tower has been far too quiet of late. Even if ye simply breathe loudly, I’d welcome the sound.”
He grimaced, then nodded in understanding.
