The Curse of Clan Ross (86 page)

Although he could not help but hold onto one worry.

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

With Jappot and the patriarch noting their direction, the little party of four headed back to the island of Venice, which no doubt put both men at ease—an escaped prisoner running back toward his 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.

As they floated up to the quay his arms and back were knotted with fire by the time he stowed his misused oar. He supposed it was his penance to pay 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 assured the man he would try his best to compensate him 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 the little island famous for its production of glass. Gaspar climbed out of the dark boat that 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 half. “I assume you have a plan,” the big Scot said, and handed the chest to Gaspar. He 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 left
Isola 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.

“Signore Dragotti.” The captain offered a low bow. “I was just arguing with Spini and his brother over the fact that my ship is ready to depart with its glass for France, the tide will be leaving soon, but half of my crew is still in the city. Lying drunk between a woman’s—” Ermacora glanced over Gaspar’s shoulder and choked. “That is to say, they are the most slovenly of my men, and of little use. My error was in thinking one of the brothers could be spared to gather them up. But that hardly matters now.” He waved his hand as if to wave away everything he’d just said. “My ship and what men I have are at your disposal, Signore. I would be happy to act as captain, if you wish, and take you wherever the patriarch has ordered you. I have no fear allowing a woman aboard my ship as long as God’s Dragon is in attendance. The good luck of one will reverse the ill luck of the other, no?”

Gaspar watched the man closely, but there was no sign he thought much more than what came from his mouth. Ermacora’s greed was famous, but his loyalty to the church was unquestionable. He’d simply confirmed his own reputation.

“I appreciate your willingness to serve His Beatitude, Ermacora. Your leadership is appreciated. Let us make all haste.”

~ ~ ~

Each minute passed like her days in the tower while Isobelle waited for the ship to start moving. Every man who glanced Gaspar’s way added a weight to her stomach. Boats came and went, and more boats arrived at the quay. And any of them, from a distance, might have been carrying the patriarch’s men. Only there was no telling, without an eyeglass, until the boat grew close enough to see its occupants.

After a while, she couldn’t bear to watch any longer.

A few of Ermacora’s overdue men tried to climb aboard, but the theatrical captain pushed them back into the water as a lesson in punctuality. Eventually, the ship began moving and in her excitement, Isobelle glanced at Gaspar, hoping to share at least a silent bit of relief, perhaps even joy. But the handsome man was turned away, as he’d been each time she’d looked to him. In appearance at least, he’d turned back into the controlled, unapproachable man who had arrested her.

“Dinna worry so,” James whispered in her ear. “He has to wear the dragon mask for the now, aye? Dinna put words in his mouth, or guess his thoughts.” He chuckled. “But ye can take comfort in the fact he’s being eaten from the inside with jealousy, because I hold yer hand.”

She was ashamed by how much comfort the idea did give her. In fact, it brought a cheerful smile to her face, but she was careful to turn that smile on the waters, and not where anyone would see it. She’d kept her head down and her hair covered well, looking no one in the eye since they’d boarded. Ossian would not know her if he were standing right beside her, and not just because she was lighter an armful of hair. She was that changed. Her old self would have started frightening the sailors the moment she’d stepped on board.

~ ~ ~

The ship was a two-masted caravel that traveled much faster than the larger Spanish carrack, even when riding low in the water with a cargo of glass. There were only eight oars to each side, but there was much less ship to move. Another
few minutes and they would near the
Porto di Lido
and leave the islands and lagoon behind.
 

The captain barked an order and suddenly the oars lifted from the water and hovered above it. Isobelle willed them to lower and resume their work, but her will had no effect. The ship slowed quickly while the captain descended the few steps from the upper deck. He strode directly to Gaspar and leaned close.

“Two
lanchas
approach, Signore…filled with the patriarch’s guards. I wonder…if you would prefer to wait for them. They seem most anxious to stop us. Perhaps they are hoping to be of assistance to you.” The Italian captain’s eyes watched Gaspar closely. “But if your business is too urgent to delay…”
 

The side of Gaspar’s jaw jumped, the man unable to sit quietly within the beast. And Ermacora saw it. But there was no time for chess moves. They were about to be boarded, and he couldn’t allow that, for it would mean Isobelle’s death. Capitulation was vital.

“You are quite right.” Gaspar gave a nod. “My business is too urgent. I shall have to manage without their assistance.”

The captain turned and shouted for the oarsmen to resume, and the wood blades dug back into the water like the claws of a single animal. Grasp, release. Grasp, release. And the ship moved.

Another man called out from the bow. After a warning look to Gaspar, Ermacora ordered the oars up again. “It seems the patriarch’s guards are well motivated, Signore. They move to block our escape, risking their very lives.”

Gaspar was tempted to look, but since there was still a chance those in the small boats did not yet know Gaspar and his party were aboard. However, if the caravel was searched…

The captain moved closer still. “The damage to my ship will be minimal, but the damage to my soul might be expensive indeed.” The man glanced at the old trunk at James’ feet, then back to Gaspar.

He didn’t know if James spoke Italian or not, but the big man seemed to sense the danger and reached for something at his back. But Gaspar shook his head. James could not use his small black weapon now. Those young men in black uniforms would not die because of him. And it seemed the captain had not surrendered just yet.

Gapsar nodded again to Ermacora. “Unquestionable compensation, Captain.”

The man frowned, wasting precious time. “Is it your money, or does it belong to The Patriarch of Venice?”

“Mine.”

Ermacora smiled. “Then I shall have no qualms about taking it.” He strode quickly to the port side and shouted over the rail at the unseen boats. “Stay back, my friends, or we will send your
lanchas
to the bottom of the lagoon! I was warned
at Murano that the patriarch’s guards carry the Black Death. Even now, you come too close.”
 

A denial came from the distance along with a command to allow them to board.

Ermacora laughed. “You leave me no choice. I hope your men can swim.” He then ordered the oars back in the water and for the crew to brace themselves for impact.

Gaspar translated for James and Isobelle.

Ermacora walked back to them. “I suggest you and your friends go into my cabin immediately.” He gestured to a set of steps that led beneath the upper deck. “And decide how much I am to be compensated.”

Gaspar gave the captain a grateful bow and led the others away before they might be noticed. James brought the trunk and Gaspar took the opportunity to take Isobelle’s hand to pull her along. Icarus followed.

“And consider carefully, Dragon,” Ermacora said to their backs, “the worth of a soul.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Edinburgh, two weeks later…

Isobelle sat glaring at James and hoping the gash on his chin hurt him something fierce. He and Gaspar had been poking at each other for the past week and she was prepared to clunk their heads together if they went at it again.

They were seated around a corner table at the Black Hart Coaching Inn, but she kept her head covered with a dark hood in case the serving women might gossip. Anyone who caught sight of her unsettling hair would find it difficult to keep their tongues between their teeth, and if anyone recognized her from some visit to Castle Ross…

Of course, it was difficult not to draw attention to a party that consisted of scarred dragon with a black eye and a giant with hair the color of flame and a handsome, foreign look about him—though, when he opened his mouth he could be nothing but a Scot. His French accent was atrocious, but Icarus had proven the most talented with that language. In fact, the little man had decided that France was the best place for them to part company. He had his freedom, after all. And James had hesitated when asked if the little man might be welcomed when they met up with Monty.

“It isn’t that he won’t be welcomed, mind ye. More like he may wish he hadn’t gone. There would be no coming back.”

Icarus hadn’t liked the sound of that detail, so he’d disembarked in Cherbourg. Gaspar spent a good while thanking the man before Icarus disappeared, becoming part of the crowd moving along the docks.

Now, they were three, sitting in an inn, stuffing their gobs, as James put it, and waiting for horses.

Isobelle noticed that Gaspar grimaced and turned his head to the wall each time a well-dressed woman entered the Inn. And after he’d reacted the same way half a dozen times, she teased him about it.

“You will remember,” he said quietly, “that I have known a fair share of noble Scotswomen from my years at the English court. I merely prefer not to be recognized.”

She sat straight when she did, indeed, remember what he’d shared with her about his youth. And she suddenly understood why the man had been fighting with James. He was jealous. Fearful James might win her away from him. It was the same way she now felt about the better-dressed women in the room, as if each of them might have known her dragon, even if it was long, long ago.