The words, and knowing he’d been saying them for nearly the whole of their time together, took her breath away. But now that she knew their meaning, she couldn’t resist attempting the phrase one more time.
This time, he didn’t laugh. His breathing had stopped, his chest went quite still beneath her fingers. Then suddenly, he rolled her onto her back. For a long moment, he gazed into her eyes in wonder. Then slowly, his head lowered, closer with each heartbeat, until his lips touched hers.
A long, lovely moment later, when she was allowed a breath, she whispered,“Troppo perfetto,”
Isobelle wokewith a sudden pain in her mouth. Then her hair was pulled as a gag was tied around her head! When she tried to remove it, she found that her hands were tied to either side of her bed. She was back inside her cell!
She couldn’t have imagined it all! It couldn’t have been a dream!
The ceiling confused her until she realized she was lying with her head nearest the gate, not the way she usually slept. Gaspar stood over her. Thankfully, his face showed no trace of satisfaction.
He put a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Isobelle, you must stay silent. I had to act quickly. His Beatitude, The Patriarch of Venice comes with Icarus. Even now, they are at the dock. I would have asked you to hide, but I could not trust that you would believe me. And if the man demands to see you, you have to be here, in your cell. You cannot tell me you would have come back inside willingly, that you would trust last night was not a trick.”
She tried to argue as clearly as possible, but he pushed another scrap of cloth into her mouth. She could hardly hear the thoughts in her head after that.
“I must go. Please, lie still. Be patient. Say your rosary and I shall kiss you once for every bead. After you forgive me, of course.” He left her side, closed the gate, and turned the key. He gave her one last desperate look. “I will do whatever I can to make him leave quickly. Trust me, I beg you. Either I or Icarus will be up to release you when it is safe. The dragon is dead, Isobelle. I swear it.”
Isobelle screamed, but the sound never made it beyond the room.
Gaspar pressed his face between the bars. “You have seen the island, Isobelle. There is nowhere to hide. If he insists on seeing the tower, the only safe place for you is here. I must go! Keep still and pray he will not have energy enough for the steps!”
And then he was gone.
Isobelle lay on her back and stared at nothing. Fully awake now, she wondered if the night before had been real at all. The cold sea, her dress slowing her progress, the panic of the darkness. And then his voice, calling her back to the lights. Promising her freedom. Promising life away from the tower.
Something had happened to him between the nooning meal and the moment he’d come to open the gate, to release her. She might have saved herself a hard swim if she’d have comprehended sooner. He was no longer God’s Dragon, the sword-arm of the church. He was just a man, offering his open arms in exchange for a prison.
Or was he?
The alarm had been sounded. God’s Dragon had been called back to his duty. And the first thing he’d done was tie her up and place her back in that prison.
For her safety? Truly? Why not introduce her to the patriarch as his servant, as his cousin, his...anything. Why allow the man to see her as a prisoner, guilty of some sin?
If Gaspar was right and she was lucky, the man would go away and never know.
If Gaspar was wrong, and the man came looking, he would not take kindly to Gaspar keeping her alive. What was he thinking? To find her here would mean her death! He should have sent her out into the sea. At least she would have a chance.
Nonsense. It was all nonsense. She needed to calm herself and think clearly. She took a few deep breaths and it helped instantly.
Can it truly be the patriarch he cannot trust?
Voices floated in through the bars of the window. Italian. She could understand nothing but the fact they were moving closer. Then she heard Gaspar’s deep voice booming out in greeting.
She refused to lie still and wait for luck to determine her destiny, so she tugged at the ties that bound her hands. Not painfully tight. She pulled firmly on her right wrist, closest to the wall. The knot tightened, but it allowed for more room between that knot and her wrist. She lifted her elbow and pulled against the restraint. Halfway up her hand, it ceased sliding. She tried folding her hand in on itself. It slid a little more. If she continued to pull, she might pull her bones apart!
She relaxed, rested. Then she tested the slack on her left wrist. It was much tighter. And if she pulled on it, the knot might prove too hard to open if she managed to get the right hand free.
What other option did she have? She’d tucked her skean duh inside her boot in the kitchen!
Oh, Gaspar! Gaspar! Help me!
She continued to pull her right hand. The skin began to give, then burn, then bleed. Tears sprang to her eyes, not from thepain, but from the hopelessness she felt. So cruel, the twist her life had taken in a matter of hours.
At the sound of voices in the stairwell, dread rested on her chest with the delicacy of an anvil. In a fit of defiance, she gave one last, desperate pull and the tie, now wet with blood, slid up to her knuckles, then over! One hand was free!
She reached up and wrenched off her gag, pulling hair, ripping the thing away. She tossed it aside.
But the footsteps were halfway up the stairs at least!
