“And because you want me, it might want me as well?”
He shrugged helplessly. “Whatever the reason is, I’m sorry.” He grabbed the spare blanket the maid had brought up earlier. “I’ll let you sleep now,” he said quietly, stretching out on the floor near the hearth.
It was far enough across the room that she could see him from the bed.
“All right,” she whispered, wondering how in the world she was going to sleep with Matteo in the same room. Or any man for that matter.
As it turned out, her fears and concerns weren’t enough. The stress and long flight from Ford had depleted her reserves, and not even her instinct for self-preservation was enough to keep her awake.
Her sleep was devoid of dreams.
Chapter 14
Sounds in the hall woke Isobel early. There was a minute of confusion before the events of the previous day came back to her. She sat up abruptly.
Matteo was still on the floor, one arm thrown over his face. She relaxed slightly, then hurried to get dressed before he woke up. Once she was decent, she crept up to the sleeping man.
Mouth pursed, she examined what she could see of his face. His color looked fine. Tentatively, she bent down and pressed her fingers to his hand. He was still warm, but he was stirring now, his breathing changing. Hastily she withdrew a few steps until the back of her legs struck the bed.
Matteo’s arm fell, and he turned toward her. For a moment, he smiled at her as if he was confused and then his expression sobered.
“Bongiorno,” he rasped in a hoarse morning voice, sitting up with stiff movements. “Have you called for breakfast?”
“No. Not yet,” she said, sitting on the bed. “Are we staying here today?”
Matteo shook his head. “My father mentioned leaving this morning.”
“To go where?”
“He mentioned going home to Santa Fiora.”
Italy! Her stomach clenched. How would she get away from them in a foreign country? Her Italian was passable, but even if she managed to hang onto her widow’s disguise she would never be able to blend in long enough to escape. And though she knew the essentials of the language, her accent was terrible.
The chances of getting a second opportunity are remote, she told herself. Not with the guards watching her as well as Matteo now. There would have to be another way.
I’m going to have to try and cure him.
But she couldn’t do that alone. She needed her grandmother Helen’s help.
“We can’t. Not yet,” she said. “I have to go home first, to Carrbridge, in the Highlands.”
His brow creased. “Why?”
“My grandmother left me her books when she died. She knew my mother could never bring herself to destroy them, no matter what she said about magic. And my father was a very literary man who loved books. Grandmother knew they would be safe with him. They’re hidden near our home—our former home, I mean.”
His attention was caught. “And these are books on magic? On curses like mine?”
“Some deal with healing. They include recipes for tonics and poultices. But some of them do deal with spellcraft—I don’t know how many. I also have no idea if they mention anything like what is happening to you.”
Matteo stood and began to pace. “You said your education ended when you were a young girl.”
“Just after I turned twelve.”
“So you never had the opportunity to study these books?”
She shook her head. “For the most part they were too advanced for me. All that I learned, my grandmother taught me herself. But she was teaching me to be a scrupulous record keeper. Grandmother always said keeping careful records was one of the most important skills a witch could learn.”
“And so she wrote her spells down,” he said, his tone making it clear that it wasn’t a question.
“She wrote everything down. As did her mother before her and her mother before that. There are a number of volumes.”
Matteo stopped pacing, his eyes bright for the first time. “We must go get them. This is too important an opportunity to disregard. Are they really so many books?”
Isobel gave a tiny nod. “They fill two large trunks at least, although they might not all be related to magic. There would be books on the natural world, herbology, and animal husbandry as well.”
He blinked. “Animal husbandry?”
“My grandmother raised swine.”
“Swine?”
“Yes.”
“For food?”
She flushed slightly. “Yes. And because she enjoyed their company.”
His cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “I see,” he said with a carefully composed expression.
“They’re very intelligent.” She sniffed.
“Pigs?”
“Yes.”
His features smoothed. “I’ve never noticed. I should pay more attention when visiting our livestock farm. I’m going to go find my father and tell him about the change in plans. I’m certain he’ll want to leave without delay.”
He hurried out of the room.
***