“Ye understand why I am here?”
He nodded. “She has not been harmed,monsieur.”
The man smiled as wide as Icarus’ own head.
“Happy I am to hear it, my friend. Let us go inside and show yer sister that ye, too, are unharmed.”
The cruelest twistof all was that Isobelle’s window faced northwest. Toward home. Just so many mountain ranges between herself and East Burnshire, Scotland. Castle Ross and the clan would be rising to a fine mist, perhaps—a fine mist that would be such a relief from the warm Mediterranean nights here. Although she’d been given water for bathing and cleaning her wounds, the heat had long since dried her short hair and left her wishing she could bathe all over again.
Only once had the tyrant demanded to know what she’d used to cut her hair and face, but he’d quickly retreated without an answer. It seemed he was all dragon again, and the sight of a woman shedding her clothes was a temptation to which he refused to subject himself.
She smiled at the memory of his face just before he’d turned and fled. The dragon did not love her, but he wanted her, and she would use it against him.
She refused to think about the feel of his arms around her, or the taste of his mouth, his skin. For a few foolish moments, she’d forgotten that Gaspar could not truly love her. But she would never forget again.
Her gaze dropped to the surf below. There was a fine spray taunting her to come out and play, to cool herself at her leisure. A wee swim. Far and away the most immediate relief to hand. Far and away as likely as her tasting a bit of Scottish mist before nightfall.
Away, whispered the serf.Come. Away.
She listened for half an hour longer, while she formed a plan.
Later that night,long after the sun had set and the sea had grown black, she stood at the window again, gazing out upon the Quarter Moon seemingly shining down upon the mainland beyond.
And she waited.
Her thoughts lost themselves among her possible routes home—for she would be going home—and she nearly missed the shift in the air behind her. She might have waited, unmoving, for an hour more if not for the chill that ran up her spine.
He was there. Without so much as a toe skimming the floor, she knew. She always knew. It was simply a change…in the silence. An exchange of one emptiness for another. Her own breath joined by his.
“Gaspar,” she whispered out the window. “Gaspar,” she breathed to the moon. “Please.”
“Isobelle.”
He’d spoken so quietly, she wondered if he’d meant her to hear it. But she turned her back on the window, pretending surprise.
“Dragon?”
“Come, now, Isobelle. You knew I was here.”
She considered denial, but nodded.
“Gaspar will do, here in the darkness, do you not think?”
She shook her head. His name was an endearment she would use only when necessary, to control him.
She held on to the windowsill at her back, suddenly frightened to go on with her plan. Did she wish to leave him? To hurt him? To punish him for not loving her, even when she’d always known that for Isobelle Ross to be loved, and loved undeniably, was impossible? Just like many others before him, he wanted her. But now…
No! She had to stand strong. Gaspar Dragotti wanted her only as a pet. Something amusing to lighten his mood. It was madness.
She well might have ended in a witch’s fire if he hadn’t opened her eyes. Despite all of Ossian’s warnings, she’d never really understood, could never truly understand how immediate that danger was until God’s Dragon showed her. She supposed she owed him something for that. But he’d already taken something…
She was a habit for him now. And it was difficult for anyone to overcome a habit until they were forced to do so. The problem was, he had become a habit for her as well. She found it hard to sleep until she felt him stretched out on the other side of her wall, until the coolness of the metal faded with the warmth of his body. Did he press himself against it, as she often did, to feel less alone in the world?
Yes. Madness. And the madness must end. Better to end it quickly.
“Fine, then.Gaspar.Gaspar, I beg ye…”
“What is it, Isobelle?”
