Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
With Icarus in tow, Gaspar raced up the steps as fast as his legs would take him.
After years of ascending them, he could have climbed his own steps with a hood over his head and still been in no danger.
He did pause as he neared the landing, however, in case his racing feet took him over the edge.
There was no time for stumbling. The woman was bleeding and he knew not how badly!
Had someone come to his island secretly in the night?
For surely, the woman had no blade or she would have used it to escape!
He hurried through the doorway and over to the gate, his hand already extended behind him for the key.
Thankfully, Icarus was close on his heels.
Gaspar couldn’t see her at first, splitting his attention between the seemingly empty cell and the keyhole.
The stool lay on its side beneath the window.
The floor was a smattering of bloody footprints.
And though he was loathe to do it, he raised his eyes and searched for a white gown that might be hanging from the rafters.
Suddenly, the key was wrenched from his hands and he found Icarus unlocking the gate for him. He pushed past the little man and glanced up again, but there were only morning shadows there.
Where had she gone?
He heard her sniff and turned.
There. She was under the bed.
“Go away,” she growled.
Gaspar’s heart recovered itself with her coherent words. Icarus hurried out the gate and locked Gaspar inside.
“You see?” He bent down to take a look at her. Her gown was smeared with blood, her face was in shadow. “My man has locked me inside so I am unable to leave you.” He gave her a stern frown. “Will you come out, or shall I overturn the bed?”
She made no move, so he lifted the end of the bed and gave it a shove.
It hit the back wall and stayed. Her blankets and plaid slid to the ground and it disturbed him to see the colorful plaid there.
Whenever she’d been anxious, she’d held the length of wool tight around her.
If she had no need of comfort while she lay wounded on the floor…
He scooped her into his arms and braced himself for a fight, but she only hit his chest with her fist, and that, only once.
With his foot, he pulled on the edge of the bed and it crashed back into place, the stuffed mattress with it.
But instead of laying her upon it, he turned and sat, holding her to him.
Finally, he was able to look into her tearstained, blood-smeared face.
If there was much damage there, he could not tell.
“You were jealous. I see that now.” He noted the cut across her nose that mirrored his scar. “You wished to have some noble scars of your own. But I am relieved to see you were not nearly as successful.”
She put a hand over her nose and ducked against him.
But with the majority of her hair scattered to the winds and the waves, her high cheeks were visible, along with a lovely pink ear bearing an odd cut in the shape of a V.
Such a wound, along with the shallow cut on the bridge of her nose, could account for all the blood in the room as wounds to the head tended to bleed freely.
He checked her over carefully, just to be sure, holding her gently as a bird, turning her arms this way and that. He looked for fresh blood and felt for…injuries.
He’d forgotten that women were so much softer than men.
When his thoughts slipped beyond his control, he concluded there were no other damages to be found and hugged her close so she might not see the grin on his face. He couldn’t help it. He was that relieved.
Satisfied that he had regained his composure, he rolled her away from him a bit. A sad but pink face looked up at him. Her hair had been cut to the breadth of a hand. Some places longer. The left side of her head was matted with blood.
Her green eyes were startling. Her nose was a bit red from crying, and her lips were as smooth and perfect as the petals of a pale rose. He was completely powerless to look away from them.
“Isobelle. Isobelle,” he whispered. “What am I to do with you?”
Those jeweled eyes rolled. “Ye let me go, ye daft dragon.” Then she whispered, “Ye let me go, or ye let me burn.”
“I would like nothing better than to make you burn, my sweet, but not the way you have in mind.” He lifted her head to his and pressed his lips against those perfect rose petals before she had a chance to misunderstand him.
Her arms rose tentatively around his neck and he hoped it was not only for balance that they did so.
But to be sure, he ended the kiss and retreated only slightly.
To his joy, she pulled him back to her and demanded more.
All other such embraces from his past were melted from his memory—like so many dusty candles turned to an indiscernible puddle of wax—by the heat of what he felt for Isobelle.
Kissing her felt like coming home to the only destiny he would ever need, and he was determined to show her the same, worshipping her mouth with his.
When he paused for breath, she pushed him away and looked into his eyes.
A little fold of worry twisted her brows while she took his measure.
Then she shook her head and kissed him again, her hands searching his hair, his face, his arms as if she were trying to convince herself he was real.
“Gaspar,” she breathed. “My dragon.” She kissed his mouth, his cheek, then his ear. “What am I to do with you?”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck, ignoring the blood, searching for the taste of her flesh. “You let me—”
Burn, he was going to say, but his whisper was interrupted by the click of the lock. He closed his eyes and took her scent deep into his lungs for fear of never knowing another chance to do so. Then he looked up, while he still hovered over her, like a predator interrupted mid-meal.
Icarus stood against the open gate as if prepared to defend it from being closed again, his chin held high, his eyes on the ceiling. Gaspar thought him both foolish and stout of heart…and far too loyal to the man he used to be.
The little man cleared his throat. “Mi perdoni,” he said in a small voice, his eyes never lowering.
“No, please.” Her whisper was warm against his neck. “Take me with you.”
Gaspar knew that if he carried the woman out of the tower, he’d continue on to his bedchamber. He was that untrustworthy at the moment, but could not find the words to explain.
She kissed him again, to plead her case. It might have been one of the most difficult things he’d done in all his years, but finally, he turned his lips away and gasped for breath.
“I am not the man who brought you here, Isobelle. You have changed me to my soul, truly. But you must give me time to consider what this new man must do.”
He laid his hand gently against her cheek and waited for her complete attention. Finally, she raised her gaze from his lips.
“When I attended the commencement ceremony for the Regatta, I so easily slipped back into that other man, and it frightened me. Will I always do so? I am a man torn in twain. One very much alive. One very much…apart. You brought me to life, Isobelle. I must be certain I will yet live if you are no longer within my reach. Do you understand?”
“Ye are too quick to worry, my love. Ye returned to yer duty and felt familiar with it, ‘tis all. Ye’re the same man now as the one before ye left, are ye not?”
“I am. But the moment I returned to the patriarch’s presence, I saw you differently.” He hung his head, ashamed. But he would not keep the truth from her. “I thought of you as a temptress come to ruin me. When I returned, I tried to stay away from you until I knew what to do with you.”
She tried to climb from his lap, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Don’t you see? I left this island and I became dead again. One touch from your hand and my foolishness dissolved. My heart beat again.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his chest. “You see? The man lives.” He shook his head sadly. “But does the dragon merely sleep?”
Her struggles resumed, so he set her off his lap. He refused to release her hand.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll tell ye true, I am not flattered to be thought a temptress.”
“I do not—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “You must release me, Gaspar. Send the temptations away and slay this dragon if that is what you truly wish. And if the man survives, find me.”
Gaspar released her hand and stood. He paced to the window and back, looking for an argument to offer, but he found nothing. Removing her from his island, however, felt as foolish as removing his heart from his breast. She could not expect it of him!
He stomped to the gate and Icarus scurried out of his way. He ignored her gasp as he stepped out of the cell and pulled the gate closed again.
“I will consider it, Isobelle. But I must have time to examine how much of me is the man, and how much the dragon. And if I can survive the separation…” He locked the gate and turned away. This time, walking down the steps was no easier than walking into a dark, incoming tide.
Her voice trailed him into the stairwell.
“Ye only use the beast to excuse yerself, Gaspar. Dinna offer me hope when ye’ll only recant. I know ye now. Through and through. I will not be fooled again…Dragon.”