Gaspar looked back at Isobelle.
“Doona be looking sidelong at me, Dragon. I only said what he told me to say.”
“Don’t worry,” James said cheerfully. “Where ye’re going, there will be many things more impressive than a gun.”
Gaspar tried not to worry what that meant for them. “I assume you’re taking us to her brother? This Monty?”
James shook his head and grinned. “Oh, nay. I’m taking ye to the Muir witches. They can get ye to Monty.” He looked out over the Laguna Vida and closed his eyes to the warmth of the morning sun. “Hopefully,” he muttered.
There was no time to ask what he’d meant, for Isobelle pulled his face to her and kissed him.
A short while later, they’d crossed the Laguna Vida and were headed toward the mainland. Gaspar no longer had to dig so deep with his oar. He let the Scot steer them as he fell into a rhythm and looked his fill at the woman who had awakened him from a long, deep sleep. She was the most shockingly beautiful woman he’d ever known, but now it had nothing to do with her hair, or those incredible lips. It didn’t matter where their boat was headed, as long as they were together.
He could not help but hold onto one worry, however.
He was God’s Dragon, slayer of witches, soon to be placed into the care of his former prey. The worry was, how far beyond the Republic of Venice had his reputation extended?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The little party of four headed back to the island of Venice, which no doubt put both Jappot and the patriarch at ease—escaped prisoners running back toward their prison. But Gaspar and his companions bypassed the main harbor and continued on to the island of Murano. Once the patriarch sent word across Venice Island and The Republic, they would be hunted. But until that word spread, Gaspar held considerable power and intended to use it.
They floated up to the quay. His arms and back were knotted with fire by the time he stowed his misused oar—his penance, he supposed, for all those years of allowing Icarus to do most of the rowing. He’d been concerned with appearances, even when he and the little man were on the island alone, and now he was sufficiently ashamed.
While he and James had rowed, he’d tried to apologize to his servant and assure the man he would be well compensated for the fact he could never return to his sister’s home.
But Icarus laughed. “My sister cannot be angry with me now, yes?” He raised his brows a number of times in succession. “And she treated me like the slave I am, Signore, when you never did.”
Gaspar pulled a folded parchment from his waist and handed it to the Greek. “I planned to leave this for you, but I could never think of where to put it, where you might know what it was.” He smiled. “Your freedom, Icarus. And a bit of gold as thanks. You may go where you wish, though I would go as far from Venice and the patriarch as possible.”
Icarus was unable to speak, but his ability to cry was impressive for such a quiet, usually stoic man.
The flag of Venice swayed happily in the morning sun as if trouble would never step upon the shores of Murano, the little island famous for its production of glass. Gaspar climbed out of the dark boat, which seemed darker still sitting upon such bright blue water, and stretched into the skin of his former self. It was necessary, but abhorrent to him now, like pulling on filthy clothes after one had bathed.
But he had to admit, it also felt like strapping on an impressive suit of armor.
James lifted the small and haggard chest that, thanks to a dangling strap, looked like a poor container for anything of value. No one would guess the amount of gold coins filling the bottom. “I assume ye have a plan,” the big Scot said, and handed the chest to Gaspar. He then picked up Isobelle by the waist and sat her on the dock while Gaspar’s hands were occupied.
She squeaked in surprise, but did not fall. When she had her balance, she let go of the man’s hands and wrapped her colorful plaid tighter around her head and shoulders. Other than the locks hanging about her face, there was little of her red hair to be seen. It made Gaspar a little sad, but he was grateful she would draw less notice.
“You there!” A man stood in the middle of the dock and waved them forward.
Gaspar gestured for Isobelle to walk behind him. Icarus followed James. But as they approached the quay’s official, the man’s eyes lit, and Gaspar’s stomach tightened.
Had the patriarch spread the word the day before, as soon as he’d first leftIsola del Silenzio?
“Signore Dragotti! Forgive me! I did not recognize the boat.” The official’s waving grew desperate. “Come! Come. Let me offer you a seat in the shade. My name is Spini. I am at your service.” He glanced briefly behind Gaspar while he bowed, then straightened, his expression showing none of the curiosity that was surely eating at him.
Gaspar’s painful shoulders dropped in relief. The man simply recognized him and wished to please him. “I have urgent business,” he barked in his usual manner—usual until recently. “I need a fast ship. A small crew. And I need them within the hour. Can this be done?”
The man’s eyes bulged. “Si, Signore. Anything His Beatitude might need.” He ran off the dock to another man who stood shuffling papers and arguing with a ship’s captain. After a few gestures and even fewer words, the arguing ceased and the red-faced captain headed down the gangway.
Long painful fingers of dread started working their way into Gaspar’s stomach and he thought to shore up his courage with the sight of Isobelle. So he glanced over his shoulder, to give her a quick but private smile, only to find her tucked beneath the arm of the big Scotsman, the chest of gold sitting all but forgotten at the man’s feet. While Gaspar wished James could protect the woman without the need to touch her, he took some comfort in the fact that even James chose not to hold the heavy chest over long. He was no Hercules then. Nothing so godlike to easily steal away Isobelle’s attention.
She’s mine!
James sent him a wink as if he’d read at least one of his thoughts, and Gaspar faced forward just as the captain arrived. He recognized the man.
“Captain Ermacora,” he said in greeting before the man could speak.
