“Gaspar Dragotti?” the man asked.
Gaspar hesitated for so long that Isobelle wondered if he would lie.
“I am,” he finally said.
“I wondered,” the man said in English, “since the lass there was supposed to be well and goodly secured in a tower, aye?”
A Scotsman?
Gaspar pulled her behind him and braced his legs apart. “Who are you?”
The man offered a little bow, not taking his eyes off Gaspar. “The newly appointed executioner…of The Patriarch of Venice.”
Isobelle’s head began to shake and she noted Gaspar’s head was doing the same.
“We were promised five days,” he said. “We will have our five days.” The last sounded like a threat to Isobelle. By the look on the big man’s face, he’d heard the same.
“Weel,” his brogue was thick but strange, “perhaps the patriarch decided ye couldna be trusted to be here when hereturned.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the bench wrapped in plaid, just beyond the reach of the waves. “Or perhaps it was me own suspicion. I’ve heard tell that Isobelle Ross canna be trusted to stay anywhere for long. And I thought I should come quickly, before she got away.” He took no step forward, but seemed content to stand where he was and visit a while, as if the heavy sword weighed nothing at all. “Icarus was kind enough to give me directions. Though I very nearly missed ye.” His grin broadened. “I do thank ye for the signal, aye?”
Gaspar’s head was shaking again. “Did my servant give you her name?”
The beast lowered the tip of his sword to the side and started forward. Gaspar lunged for the torch, then returned to stand before her.
“Easy, now, mate. My name is James. I’ve been sent by Montgomery Ross to collect his Isobelle and take her home again.”
“Monty?” Her hand flew to her breast. The sound of her brother’s name was like a gift of sweet heather. “MyMonty?”
“HisIsobelle?” Gaspar’s voice sounded coarse, as if he’d swallowed a bit of sand.
“Hissister,” James clarified, grinning. “I take it ye’re less than anxious to be rid of her, then? Ye’ve not taken her from her tower just to put the torch to her?”
Gaspar’s shoulders relaxed, as did his grip on her fingers. But she felt better only after she wrapped herself around his arm and held tight.
“No. Er, yes,” Gaspar said. “I am fond of her. Did you ask if I was fond of her?”
James laughed. “I suppose I did, in a way. Ye canna guess how relieved I am I doona have to kill ye in order to save her. I’ll not meddle with history. Killing a man meddles with history something fierce, as ye can imagine.”
Gaspar laughed. “I do not understand what you mean, in truth. But I assure you, I am equally relieved I have no need to killyouin order to save her. Your progeny be damned.”
James laughed again, obviously amused by the notion of anyone besting him. Gaspar laughed again, but warily. She remembered Monty and his friends laughing and posturing in much the same way, and she was overcome with hunger for any news of home. “Tell me, James. Is my brother well?”
The giant man considered the ground for a moment and she worried he had bad news to share. She clutched Gaspar’s arm tighter still, but he shrugged her off and wrapped his arm around her shoulder instead. In his other hand, the torch flagged, but she suspected he wouldn’t lower it so long as James held his sword.
James finally faced her again.
“Weel, first, let me tell ye that Monty is fine. He’s a happy mon, but for his worry over ye. The fact that Ewan is laird now doesna mean there is anything wrong with yer brother. It is just, he has...moved away, ye might say.”
“So we can join him?” Her heart soared. “But what of my sister, Morna? Do ye ken anything of her?”
“Oh, aye. I’ve heard plenty of her and her husband. Happily married. Expecting a bairn, I believe. As is Monty’s wife, or so the witches tell me.”
Gaspar tensed. Isobelle shook her head and patted his chest. “I’m certain they are only Muir witches, my love. The ones I told you about.”
Gaspar didn’t seem to take any comfort in that fact, but she was more worried for her sister at the moment. “But Morna. How can she be happy with her husband? I warned her to stay away from him.”
James nodded vigorously. “Oh, aye. The Curse of Clan Ross. ‘Tis over. Of course, they willna be telling the tourists the prophecy was fulfilled, but?—”
“Prophecy?” Gaspar’s head began shaking again.
