James stomped back down the dock. There was no question what he planned to do.
“Kiss me quickly, my love,” Gaspar whispered. “It is the only farewell you are likely to get.”
She noticed James too and grabbed Gaspar’s head. She nearly knocked out his teeth, so ferocious was her kiss, as if she were punishing him for sending her away.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, then suddenly those lips were gone.
She screamed in James’ arms but did not struggle, praise be. If she ran to him once more, Gaspar wasn’t certain he could let her go. Would he be able to stomach the killing of twelve young men who had served him well?
James placed her in the boat and gave the vessel a shove before hopping smoothly over the side and joining her. Her complaints ceased and the low rumble of the giant’s voice was the only thing to be heard.
Gaspar waited for the oars to hit the water before he intended to give up his weapon, but the big Scot must have been oblivious to the danger, for he seemed in no hurry to get underway. Did he not realize the patriarch could not be trusted? Had he not been paying attention? They’d even been speaking English!
“Seize him!”
Gaspar wrenched his attention away from the boat to find Jappot demanding his blade.
“Hold!” Isobelle’s command carried easily over the water, and they all turned to find her standing in the center of the boat with her arms raised. “You will allow Gaspar to depart with us, or with Satan’s aid, I shall cause the patriarch to bleed from the palm of his hand!”
What could she possibly be thinking? She was no witch. Despite what James had said, there were no witches, no faeries. And it didn’t appear as though Isobelle held a weapon of any kind, let alone a crossbow.
“Release him!” Her voice was calm and confident, revealing none of the emotion she’d displayed a moment before. But her demand was so preposterous, he nearly laughed in spite of the breaking of his own heart.
The patriarch was not amused, however. No doubt he was furious that a witch was about to slip his grasp—and one who had just confessed. But the soldiers laughed. One by one, they looked back at the old man’s white gloves, then laughed again.
The patriarch lifted both hands to show her the flawless white palms.
“So be it.” Her words were punctuated with a small but sharp explosion.
The old man screamed and clutched his right wrist. Red blood seeped from the center of his glove. The two lines of soldiers broke into chaos.
James stood tall in the center of the boat and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Move yer arse!”
Gaspar was relieved to know that his legs were prepared to carry him quickly to the dock, as his mind was busy trying to understand what had just happened. He tried not to worry over the fact that he’d promised to surrender, especially since he was about to be reunited, for the moment at least, with the woman to whom he’d just bid a final farewell. He also tried not to worry about getting in a boat with a true witch, since he loved that witch with all his soul.
He ran to the end of the dock and leapt, hoping he could land in the boat half as smoothly as James had. But alas, he knocked Isobelle onto her backside and sent Icarus flying as well. Luckily, he did not tumble out the far side.
Jappot was the only guard to pursue him and when the man reached the end of the dock, he threw his pike with all his might, but it banged against the hull to little effect and splashed into the water. The rest of the guards seemed torn between watching the departing boat and helping a wounded patriarch. A few of them lifted a finger or two in a discreet wave.
After a bit of fumbling, Gaspar and James coordinated their efforts with the oars and applied them more efficiently to the water while Isobelle tended to Icarus’ damaged face.
Gaspar leaned toward the big man and confided, “I keep waiting for the next catastrophe. I cannot believe we are in a boat, together, escaping. And successfully.”
James laughed. “Enjoy the moment. We’re nay home yet.”
Gaspar looked at Isobelle. James was wrong; he was already home. But he could see how they might face a few dangers getting to wherever her brother was. However, with an impressive man like James in their company, he had high hopes.
Once they caught the current, James manned the rudder and Gaspar was finally able to take Isobelle into his arms.
“Isobelle, my sweet. You must tell me. Are you, indeed, a witch?”
Her eyes widened in fright.
“Surely you can tell me,” he said with a squeeze to her shoulders. “You can’t believe it would matter to me now.”
She pointed to James. Gaspar hadn’t realized the man was laughing, but when their eyes met, the big man released the rudder and applied himself to holding his bouncing stomach. After a moment, he pulled something from behind his back. It was small, shiny, and black.
“This is a gun. It can shoot small bullets that can drill a hole through a man. If ye shoot him through certain body parts, it will kill him, of course.” He put the thing back. “Like a cannon. Onlymuch smaller, aye?” He put a hand back on the rudder. “Hmm,” he muttered. “I doona suppose guns have been invented yet.”
