Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
With one arm wrapped about her waist and the other across her back, he slowly moved his hand up beneath her glorious tresses, but only for a more secure hold, not to enjoy the feel of the heavy strands against the flesh of his hand.
Yes, he knew better than to touch her. But her safety had to come before all else or his preparations were for naught.
She struggled against him, but beneath her grunts of frustration he felt her barely concealed sobs, and he suddenly understood. She would rather fight to the death than allow him to see her weakness.
He almost laughed in relief but knew the woman would take insult.
Pride.
Her pride had very nearly killed them both. And perhaps her pride was the source of her previous woes as well. But Gaspar took heart, for pride was an affliction he could cure. He only needed to get her safely inside her cell, and he could begin.
He pressed the side of his face to hers and whispered in her ear. “My lady, do you wish to live?”
She lifted a boot and kicked his shin in answer.
He reached up and put his hand at the back of her head, rotated with her, and crushed her body against the wall, knocking the wind from her and pressing so firmly she was unable to breathe deeply.
She panted in his ear while he waited for her to appreciate the power he held over her.
If nothing else, she wouldn’t have the strength to fight her way out.
He tried not to dwell upon what any other man would do with that power, especially with a woman who felt as if she were designed to fit perfectly against him.
To say nothing of the taste of her. He had no need to put his lips to her in order to know her flavor.
Just the smell of her hair woke his senses more easily than any woman from his youth.
If he were ever to taste her in earnest, his soul would be lost to the devil in the blinking of an eye.
The knowledge was as certain as the scar across his face.
Isobelle Ross was the embodiment of his salvation. It was one of the two reasons he’d brought her to his island. But the body he was pressed against could just as easily be his destruction. So he would tread carefully—just as carefully as he must tread those steps beyond the door.
“Please…” she whispered.
He stopped pressing, but did not step back. “You wish to live?” he asked into her ear.
“Aye.” Her word was little more than a breath, and chills raced up his back and into his hair where that breath had burrowed itself.
“I wish you to live as well, woman. So I suggest you trust me.” He leaned back to look her in the eye.
She shook her head. “Trust is earned, not freely given for any who would demand it.”
He sighed. “You must step inside your…room.”
Her head shook faster.
“Hear me, my lady. This was fashioned for your safety. Can you not look upon it as such?”
“I canna,” she whispered. “Ye doona mean to keep me safe, but only to keep me. And when ye’ve wearied of me, ye’ll make a fire at me feet.”
Her fingers moved slightly between his hands and the wall against which he pressed them, and he realized it would be much easier for her to trust him if he weren’t poised to ravish her. So, still holding her hands, he lowered them, warily, while looking into her eyes, willing her not to fear him.
“I vow, Isobella Ross, I have brought you to this tower to save you from such fires.”
Her gaze dropped to his lips. He licked them without thinking, and her eyes widened. Without realizing it, he’d begun to lean toward her, and her panic threatened to return. He took one step back and released her hands, then turned so his body remained between her and the door.
He smiled and gestured to the open gate. “Perhaps, then, you can think of it as the only place you will be safe…from me.”
She straightened away from the wall and when he tensed, she very nearly smiled. “Aye, my lord. I will try to see it as a sanctuary, but only if I alone hold the key.”
Gaspar shook his head. “Perhaps we can begin again.” He bowed slightly. “Welcome to my island and to my home. This room has been prepared especially for your visit.”
One of her brows rose sardonically. “Only a visit, then? Such implies ye dinna expect me to stay long.”
He smiled. “We shall see.”
She gave a single nod, then turned to examine the ironwork. Her next step faltered and she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide.
“My, my,” she breathed. “Does the Pope come to visit much? I expect you allow him his key.” She stepped forward and caressed the intricate pattern in the screen that was worthy of any artist in Venice.
Small fleur de lis covered the lower three quarters of the screen, while the top quarter was arrayed with holes in the same pattern.
Here and there, one of the small symbols was turned on its head, drawing the observer forward, drawing in the eye, demanding attention as one tried to discern the true pattern.
The closer one moved, the more brilliant the pattern. Not unlike the woman herself.
Gaspar resisted the draw of the screen and forced his eyes to remain upon his new guest. Her gaze scanned the room even as she closely examined the screen.
She’d missed nothing. Not the fact that the screen ran down the middle of the floor and turned at an angle near the end.
The cell ran from the far half of the stone room to the front.
The screen was anchored to walls and floor, just as the bars were to each side of a section of screen that acted as a gate.
Another solid section of screen hung from the ceiling and attached to the top of the more intricate section.
For the prisoner, there would be no escaping over the metal walls.
Neither could there come any threat from outside them.
Of course, there was no such threat. Gaspar himself would be the only person to see her, and he posed no danger to her, though she would not believe it for a while.
But he’d made special arrangements for her to be perfectly safe from himself, even if he were tempted to touch her a second time, which would never happen.
It might seem unfortunate that the little holes allowed only a modicum of light to pass through them, thus leaving the inner half of the room in shadow, but Gaspar had designed the room with just that in mind, so he might watch her at times without her knowledge, to assess her progress.
Curious as a child, but still wary, she stood to the side of the gate and peeked into the cell. She would have noted the narrow bed and stool. The chamber pot. The small table and single candle.
“More than they allowed me in my tomb,” she murmured.
The sudden wave of sympathy caught him off guard. She was lying, of course. He needed to remember to trust nothing she said. Nothing. But it would explain why she was so terrified of being locked away.
He resisted the urge to order her inside and bit his tongue while he waited for her first step. He would maintain his position until the gate was securely closed. Isobella Ross was no simpleton, and he had to remain on his guard lest she think of a clever way past him.
She paused and glanced his way, noting his stance. “Ye demand my trust, but ye canna seem to give it in return, aye?”
He laughed. “You, my lady, are far too clever to trust. I admit it freely.”
She snorted delicately and walked to the barred window, as if stepping into the cell was of no consequence. He was certain she was taking the tower’s measure, guessing her chances of escaping.
“Dare I ask,” she said, still looking out the window, “the true reason ye’ve brought me to yer little paradise? Ye’ve promised no fire. And if ye would see me drowned, ye could have left me to the sharks. So. Do tell.”
He waited for her to face him before he answered, hoping to witness her perfect understanding when it finally came.
“My lady, I have brought you here to save your soul, to take you back from Satan’s ranks.”
“Oh, is that all?” She grinned. “Then I should be back in my cottage by breakfast, I reckon.”
He allowed himself to smile at her jest, though inside he was disappointed indeed. She did not understand anything. Yet. But he was going to help her, even if it killed him to do it.
She kept her gaze on the blue waters outside the window and started only slightly when he swung the gate shut. The click of the lock was both satisfying and sad, knowing she was finally in his care, but that there would ever be a solid wall between them.
She would need a few moments alone to allow her new situation to settle in her mind, and then they could begin. But first, he needed to refresh himself…
…with the coldest water he could find.