The Curse of Clan Ross (84 page)

“Auch, now. Did I say I mind?” She couldn’t help but smile wide with the sudden rightness settling in her chest. “Though Isobella sounds too pretty a name for someone with questionable hair.”

He sighed. His brows knit together while he touched the odd locks on her head. “Your hair makes no matter to me. But I do love to see your eyes so easily. How long will it take to grow again? A year? Two?”

She frowned. “I dinna ken. Me head feels a bit lighter. I may need a pillow now, like I’ve ne’er needed one before. But I doona mind the cool air blowin’ on me neck now and again. Though, in Scotland I would freeze.”

“With the whole of the world to choose from, where shall we go?”

She considered it a moment. She’d been so desperate to go home, to where she was dearly loved, she could think of nothing else. But that desperation was gone. Did she long for the sights and sounds and smells of the Highlands? She did. But now she had a longing of another sort. She’d been alone in the world—excepting a cousin who had been unable to stay with her much. But she was no longer alone, if the look in her dragon’s eyes was to be believed.

“How far must we go to be beyond the patriarch’s reach? I doona expect the man will be overly pleased when he finds us gone.”

His brow lowered like that of a pensive dragon and she could not resist the impulse to kiss him there.

He looked up and gave her a wink. “We would be safe in France. Word will spread throughout the Church States, but with Charles VI trying to steal Naples, the patriarch will not be reaching beyond Milan.”

He freed his fingers from hers, kissed her hands, and released them. Then he braced his arms behind him, allowing her to leave his lap if she wished. But she kept her seat.

“It is likely I will be a hunted man, Isobelle. There will be a price on my head and many a man will try to search me out. Are you certain you’d like to spend your life with a dragon who was once capable of locking you in his tower and demanding your submission? It is a frightening tale for any woman to have endured.”

She thought he might go on, but he left it at that. She’d told him she wanted no more apologies, but that was what he was giving her. One last plea for forgiveness.

“I havena seen that scaly monster for quite some time. I am fair to certain he’ll not be back. Misguided beast. I believe his replacement is a well-meaning lad.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I vow I will never hold you against your will again.”

“Auch, well, the question is, do ye wish to hold me against yer heart? As I wish to hold ye against mine?”

His arms wrapped around her once more. “Do you mean it, Isobelle?” His whisper made her shiver.

“Aye, I do. Over, and over, and over again.”

~ ~ ~

Taking any gold in their pockets would weigh them down and drown them if they had to swim from the island. But since Isobelle didn’t want Gaspar to leave her often in order to sustain them, wherever they decided to go, she thought they should take a little something along. And that thought led to another, which led them to test the large bench in the water, to see if it might float with both of them and a little bit of coin as well.

It did not. The water seeping between the planks was the problem. So they tried wrapping her Ross plaid around the bench. The wool was woven so closely, it was a great improvement. They assumed the worst, that it would not hold indefinitely, but they decided it was worth the risk. After all, if the odd boat began to sink, they could let the coins go and rely on their ability to swim, a talent Isobelle assured him she possessed when she was not hampered by skirts.

They decided to wait for the tide, which was due to hit the island on the south side in the early morning, and thus push them north, toward the mainland. If they were not pulled onto a boat, they could hope the plaid would hold until they reached the distant shore.

By the time the sun set in the west, they were exhausted. They bathed in the drinking water they’d be leaving behind, dressed for their journey, then ate their suppers on a blanket on the beach. If they slept indoors, they might sleep past the tide, especially with as weary as they were.

Isobelle sat facing the water with Gaspar at her back trying to work a brush through her clean but wet hair. Though the water glowed a lovely pink from the dying sunset, her attention was not on the water, but on a small black speck that appeared and disappeared behind distant waves.

“Do ye see that black bit, on the horizon?” She leaned to the side and pointed.

Gaspar peered over her shoulder and chills bubbled up her spine and spread to the back of her ears. She never wished to be farther away from him than she was at that moment.

“Yes. I see it,” he said. “It is a boat.” He tossed the brush on the blanket and hurried to his feet. “I’ll get a torch. Hopefully, they’ll see it. We may get off the island without getting wet!”

Isobelle strained to keep the black bit in sight as if her concentration might keep it from disappearing. She was pleased when it was still visible when Gaspar reappeared with the burning brand. He carefully waved the fire over his head in a wide arc and she shielded her eyes so the light wouldn’t blind her from seeing the boat.

Then the little spot stopped disappearing behind waves. It remained steady, though it no longer moved to the side.

“It’s coming,” Gaspar said. But there was no celebration in his voice. And he’d stopped waving the torch.

“Are you disappointed we will no longer be alone?” she said with a laugh.

He shook his head, unsmiling. “No, my love. I worry who is coming to our door.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Perhaps it is Icarus?” Isobelle tried to sound more hopeful than she felt.

“It is no boat of mine.”

The dark spot grew into a wide bottomed boat, a smaller rendition of a Viking’s vessel with one oar working at each side. She’d seen a dozen of the same once the carrack had entered the Mediterranean with Ossian and her on board, though she’d never seen one so sparsely manned. This one appeared to be empty if not for those oars dipping into the water over and over again.

A shiver ran through her. “I see no one,” she whispered. She was frightened. Someone should have hailed by now.

Gaspar came to stand beside her and wrapped his free hand around hers, but he offered no assistance as the boat neared his dock. Suddenly, the oars were tucked in and a great beast rose up and lunged out of the center of the vessel, landing smoothly and silently on the wooden planks. It stood on its hind legs and pulled the boat close, then wrapped a single rope around one of the dragon heads carved on the top of a pylon.

Not a beast, but a beast of a man covered in fine furs despite the warm climate, who would have stood head and shoulders, and more, above the guards who had walked those planks earlier that day.

A healthy mane of hair draped from his head in disarray, not unlike Isobelle’s own. When his boots crunched onto the sand, he drew a long-sword as easily as he would an eating knife. He stopped ten feet away and rested the sword on his protected right shoulder. Then he grinned.

Gaspar tensed.

Isobelle could not resist grinning back. He seemed a cheerful sort. Nothing like the sober party that visited that morning.
Surely not the enemy
.
 

“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 he returned.” 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. “
My
Monty?”
 

“
His
Isobelle?” Gaspar’s voice sounded coarse, as if he’d swallowed a bit of sand.
 

“His
sister
,” 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 thought they might both feel better if she wrapped herself around his arm and stood against him.

“No. Er, yes,” Gaspar said. “I’m 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’m not to 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 kill
you
in 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.

Isobelle 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 you 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 a’ 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 around her.

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.

Isobelle hardly dared ask, knowing the man at her side would not take the question well. But Gaspar’s comfort would have to wait.

“Do you know, James? The faery, did it come?”

James gave her a wink, then a slight nod. “All tales yer brother and sister are anxious to tell ye.”

“But what of Ivar?”

Gaspar tensed again. “Ivar?”

“Easy mon. He’s marrit to Morna, Isobelle’s sister.”

Isobelle jumped and wrapped her arms around Gaspar’s neck. No news could have made her happier. She could stand to wait a wee while for other details. The important thing was that Morna and Ivar had been reunited. All her suffering had not been for naught. And if she hadn’t suffered as she had, been chased out of a town or two, she might never have met Gaspar.

Her dragon held her close until the big Scot cleared his throat. “Here now. Shall we all rest a bit on the beach, and away with the tide? I must admit, my rowing muscles could use a bit of recovery time.”

“Indeed,” Gaspar said. “It will come in on the south of the island, and roll north. We can reach the channel with little effort.”

Isobelle did have one more question that could not wait to be asked.

“Tell me, whom did my brother marry?”

James was suddenly uncomfortable again, but she was not about to show him mercy. Who knew how long it might be before she was able to ask her brother anything?

The big man looked at Gaspar, then at the sea. Finally, he turned back. “It seems as though yer brother… uh, Monty…” He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. “Monty married the faery, lass.”

“The faery?”
She and Gaspar said in unison.
 

She looked at her poor confused dragon and wondered if returning to Scotland with him might not be a good idea. Of course she did not fear he would change his views and begin executing witches, but she did worry all the talk of the wee folk, and selkies, and loch monsters might be too much of a strain on his mind.

“Well,” her dragon said with horribly false cheer, “I cannot wait to meet a real faery.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Gaspar woke to the cry of a gull. The eastern horizon was still blue, but a light blue. He hadn’t slept well, what with Isobelle in his arms and the big Scot snoring at their backs like a scornful chaperone who only pretended to sleep, snorting each time either of them shifted position. But considering how anxious he was to be away, he wouldn’t have slept well, James’ snoring notwithstanding. They’d already loaded their things in the boat, including Isobelle’s damp plaid, so there was little left to do but climb aboard. And it was high time they did.