But she wasn’t alone. Gaspar stood inside the cell with her, looking out the window.
“They saw you dancing on the sand, Isobelle. Nothing for it now. They’ll try to burn us both, but the flames won’t harm me.”
She laughed. “Are ye a witch, then?”
He laughed too, then his eyes began to glow. “Not a witch, my sweet. A dragon.”
But a dragon had wings. He could take her away if only he would.
The flames whooshed up the side of the tower and she stuck her head between the wide bars to see it. When she stepped back, Gaspar the dragon was gone.
She should never have danced.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Never, since that first week he’d spent writhing in pain from his burns, had Gaspar known such abject torment. He’d choked on it with each step as he’d descended the tower, feeling an immeasurable and irreversible form of distance grow between them. Then, when he’d reached his private rooms, he’d released that torment with enough force to bring the dark stones down around him had he not buried his howling in the bedclothes.
He was both monster and man, the halves of two animals fused together. There would be no separating them. He loved her, but more than that, he needed her. Without her company, he would wither and die like a flower with no sun. He’d turn into a dead and colorless creature—the very creature that had stepped behind the rood screen in the abbey and waited for his life to be saved.
The moment he’d stepped back into His Beatitude’s presence, he’d lost his color in spite of the extravagant emerald raiment’s he’d been ordered to wear, to mark him as part ofthe patriarch’s retinue. His mind had slipped back to familiar, emotionless thoughts. Heaven help him, his voice had even changed into something cold and ugly.
But he didn’t wish to be ugly anymore. The world wasn’t ugly anymore. And he wanted to be part of that fresh and appealing world again. But he would lose that chance if he lost Isobelle. And so, Gaspar the man and Gaspar the monster would keep her against her will, even if she hated him for it.
The next daypassed slowly for Isobelle with nary a breeze to cool the sweat on her brow. The only thought that kept her from going mad was the hope of dipping herself in a dark sea.
The scuff of two pairs of boots on the steps told Isobelle it was time for her supper. Her heart leapt with her, propelling her off the stool. With shaking hands, she moved the seat away from the window, then turned back to take hold of the bars. Each scratch of sole against stone brought him closer. When those boots entered the room she nearly squealed with anticipation. But was it anticipation of her escape? Or was it the anticipation of Gaspar standing at her back for a moment?
Perhaps it was both.
Perhaps she did feel too much for a man who would hold her captive forever if no one stopped him. Perhaps she could love him, if only a little, for what he had done for her. When he’d held her in his arms and kissed her, she thought she loved him in spite of his madness. But he’d been unable to return that love—at least not enough to release her.
She would go home, then. Perhaps she’d make her place in Ireland first where she might blend in a bit with other red-headed women. Perhaps she’d send a letter. Perhaps someonecould come visit her. And if Ireland was not the place for her, she would go home...
The key scraped inside the lock. For the first time, the gate groaned in protest as if it would warn the men of her plans. The air heated at her back. She turned her face to the right, away from the intense orange sunset glaring at her from the left. And from the corner of her eye, she saw Icarus pausing, watching his master, then scurrying away.
“Icarus, hold a moment.” Gaspar’s voice was deep and ragged, revealing as much emotion as she felt herself. “Leave the key with me tonight.”
“B...but Master,” the little man stammered. “You made me vow?—”
“Rest easy, Icarus. A woman will be coming tonight, to...inspect her. She will need the key.”
“Would you like me to stay?”
“Icarus. No. This will be no place for a man.”
“And her tray?”
“She can slip it through the bars. Neither of us needs to return.”
“Yes, Master.”
The air behind her cooled. God willing, for the last time.
For an hour,she sat on the stool and stared at the food. Cheese, bread, and a plum. She considered eating the plum, but her stomach clenched at the thought. If she had to swim, she would wish to have an empty stomach.
Icarus had left the island long ago and yet Gaspar had not come. Had he changed his mind? Or did he consider the sky too light still? The Quarter Moon would lend enough of a glow forstrolling across the sand, but would it be light enough to row a boat in a constant direction? Or provide enough light to swim by?
She’d gone over the possibilities many times, but she didn’t know how badly she might need to harm Gaspar in order to get away from him. She would need time to find another boat and get it off the shore before he was able to come after her.
