The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7)

by Irina Shapiro

  “So, I do what, exactly?”

  “Play dumb.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Play dumb, son.”

  “I’m sorry, Mum, but I don’t follow.”

  “You’re doing a fine job of it right now,” Phoebe replied, chuckling to herself.

  “Mum!”

  “Gabe, just as you instinctively know Jo wants you, she instinctively knows you know, and as long as there’s that secret knowledge between you, the problem will persist. Pretend you don’t notice. Don’t take the bait. Treat her as you would one of your more forward female students.”

  “You mean, look through her?”

  “Exactly. She will do one of two things. Either she will get the hint and transfer her affections elsewhere, or she will feel compelled to step up her game.”

  “I can’t believe you just said, ‘step up her game.’”

  “I’m not a dinosaur, you know. I watch television.”

  “So, what do I do if that happens?”

  “You tell her off, is what you do, and let her know, in no uncertain terms, that you’re not interested.” There was pause on the other end before Phoebe spoke again. “Gabe, are you interested? It can be flattering, I know, but you love Quinn. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, I love Quinn, and no, I’m not flattered. I feel angry and frustrated, and afraid that Jo will come between us. Quinn is so enamored of her twin that she can’t see the wood for the trees. She thinks Jo is perfect.”

  Phoebe sighed. “You mustn’t say anything to Quinn. This is one lesson she must learn for herself. She’s got the right of it when it comes to Sylvia and Seth, and her brothers. She’ll see Jo’s true colors as well, but it will take time. They have a special bond, those two, so it will be more difficult for Quinn to separate fact from fiction when it comes to Jo, but she will, Gabe. She will. Quinn is a smart woman, and an intuitive one. She’ll know soon enough if someone’s after her man, and she won’t take it lying down. Quinn will fight for you.”

  “And suddenly, I have a vision of Quinn and Jo mud wrestling,” Gabe joked.

  “All jokes aside—she loves you. Remember that, and don’t do anything to jeopardize your marriage.”

  “I won’t. Thanks, Mum.”

  “Anytime, son. Don’t forget to send me that photo,” Phoebe said. “I think I’ll go over to Cecily’s for a bit. I’m in the mood for company.”

  “Tell her I said hello.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  Gabe disconnected the call and turned toward the park. Alex would be waking up soon. His afternoon naps lasted about a half hour. Gabe took a deep breath. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, flowers, and that lovely spring smell that always lifted the spirits. He felt better after talking to his mother. Perhaps playing dumb wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Chapter 44

  “How was your sleepover, Em?” Quinn asked.

  Emma walked alongside her, head bowed, her gait sluggish. “It was okay,” she mumbled.

  “Just okay?” She’d expected Emma to be full of glee and begging to schedule the next sleepover immediately, but Emma seemed oddly subdued.

  “I’m tired. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Were you too nervous to fall asleep?”

  “No. I fell asleep, but then I woke up when I heard shouting.”

  “Who was shouting?”

  “Maya’s parents. They were having a row.”

  “I see. I’m sure they didn’t mean to wake you,” Quinn said, annoyed that the Carters hadn’t bothered to keep their voices down. Emma was a light sleeper, and it was only natural that she’d feel a little uncomfortable in an unfamiliar place. Hearing grownups shouting at each other would be unsettling for any child, let alone one as sensitive as Emma.

  “Mum, do you love Daddy?” Emma asked. She’d stopped walking and looked up at Quinn, her little face creased with anxiety.

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Will you love him always?” Emma persisted.

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “Promise me you’ll never get divorced,” Emma said. Her thick lashes shimmered with unshed tears and her mouth was turned down at the corners, her expression heartbreakingly tragic.

  “Darling, what did Maya’s parents argue about?” Quinn asked as she squatted in front of Emma so the little girl wouldn’t have to look up at her.

  Emma sighed deeply. “Mrs. Carter called Mr. Carter a wanker. I don’t know what that means, but it’s a funny kind of word, so I think it must mean something bad. She said he’s useless in bed. I guess he couldn’t sleep either. She said that she’s in love with someone else, and wishes she’d never married him. She said she wants a divorce.”

  “I see. Darling, sometimes marriages don’t work out, but that doesn’t mean Maya’s parents don’t love her and her brother. They will always be their parents, no matter what.”

  “But they won’t be together, living in the same house. Maya might have a new father, and a new mother. I don’t want you and Daddy to be with other people. I want you to be together, always.”

  Quinn stood and pulled Emma into an embrace. Emma’s arms went around her waist as Emma buried her face in Quinn’s midriff. “Emma, Daddy and I love each other, and we love you. We are a family, and we will always be a family, no matter what happens.”

  “But you and Jo weren’t always a family,” Emma mumbled. “You were given to different parents. Family doesn’t always stay together.”

  “The situation with Jo is very different. Our parents weren’t married when Jo and I were born. We were given up for adoption.”

  “Why weren’t they married? Don’t you have to be married to have babies?” Emma asked. She seemed to have forgotten that Jenna and Gabe hadn’t been married and that she hadn’t met her father until after her mother’s untimely death.

  “It’s preferable,” Quinn replied, realizing she’d just entered a minefield. She had to be very careful about how she explained things and what she promised. Emma was right; families didn’t always stay together, and although she hoped she’d never have to consider divorce, unexpected things happened all the time and children got caught in the crossfire of their parents’ animosity.

  “What’s a wanker?” Emma demanded as they continued home.

  “Oh, dear,” Quinn muttered to herself. “It’s an insult. Like if I say someone is a dummy. It’s not a nice thing to say.”

  “Is Daddy a wanker?”

  “He most certainly isn’t.”

  “That’s good,” Emma replied, somewhat mollified. “If he’s not a wanker then you won’t be angry with him and fall in love with someone else. Is he useful in bed?” Emma asked, looking up at Quinn, her eyes wide with childish curiosity.

  “Very. He makes me feel safe, so I don’t have bad dreams. Now, how about we go home and you have a little lie-down before lunch? I think a nap will greatly improve your mood.”

  “Can we have pizza for lunch?” Emma whined.

  “Sure. We can have pizza. We’ll order one once you wake up.”

  “Mum, I’d like to have another sleepover with Maya, but I want it to be at our house. Okay?”

  “Okay. But how about we wait a few weeks? I think one sleepover per month is more than enough.”

  “I think so too,” Emma replied and slid her hand into Quinn’s. “Let’s go home, Mum.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  Chapter 45

  November 1588

  Leitrim, Ireland

  No one was surprised when a call from the sentries announced the arrival of the English. The troops came fast and thick, their numbers swelling from a few dozen to hundreds within a few hours. Within a day, the castle was besieged. The English set up their camp a safe distance from the wall to keep their men from being picked off by musket fire from the battlements, but it was close enough for the Spaniards to see their tents and smell their cooking fires. Hundreds of smoke columns curled into the overcast sky, and the pale peaks of canva
s tents dotted the forest like giant mushrooms that had sprung up overnight. Kieran O’Rourke had predicted there’d be no cannon, and he was right. The terrain was too boggy in some spots and too densely wooded in others, but that didn’t prevent the English from being armed to the teeth. Every soldier appeared to possess a musket as well as a sword.

  Once the English dug in, fed their men, and grew tired of cleaning their muskets and polishing their swords, boredom set in, and the taunts began. They jeered at the Spaniards watching them from the battlements, calling them ugly names and describing in detail what they’d do to them once they were captured. Since most of the Spaniards didn’t understand a word, they were spared the gruesome details, but the bluster of the past few days quickly abated, leaving the men silent and guarded in the face of impossible odds.

  “It was very considerate of Sir Brian to leave us something to play with,” Julio Fernández said loudly when he saw Aisling crossing the bailey on her way from the barn. She was carrying a bucket of milk, her attention fixed on not upsetting the contents. “I mean to have a go, lads.”

  “She’s not your plaything,” Rafael growled, furious that Julio would speak of Aisling, or any woman, in that way.

  “Nor is she yours, from what I hear. You failed where a real man would have succeeded.”

  “If by success you mean overpowering a young girl and forcing her to submit to your advances, then you must be the definition of masculine prowess,” Rafael retorted. “Besides, I’m not trying to seduce her,” he added, deeply embarrassed that his longing for Aisling was so obvious to the others.

  “Maybe you should be. Having a woman might finally make a man out of you, you sniveling milksop,” Julio snapped.

  “Doesn’t seem to have done you any favors, Fernández. You’re still the same vicious bastard you must have been when you were a boy. I wager you tore the wings off butterflies and threw stones at dogs just to show how brave you are. Or did you throw stones at people?”

  “Yeah, I threw stones at Jews, but they’re not people.” Julio smirked, admirably rising to the bait. “And neither are women. God only created them for the pleasure of men.”

  “And yet, you still have to force yourself on them to get what you think is your divine right. Why don’t you tell the others how you tried to rape a thirteen-year-old in the woods? You were very brave; you showed her what it means to be a real man.”

  The blow knocked Rafael to the ground. Blood gushed from his nose and the ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing the insults Julio hurled at him in his fury, but his murderous expression told Rafael everything he needed to know. He managed to get to his feet, but his assailant kicked him in the stomach, making him double over with pain. Stars exploded behind Rafael’s eyes, breathing was agony, and his head pounded like a drum, but he kept his balance and braced himself for the next blow.

  Julio looked like a bull who was about to charge the torero when Captain de Cuéllar came running from the direction of the privy and ordered the men who stood around watching the fight to restrain Julio. Groans of disappointment were silenced by the captain’s thunderous expression.

  “You’re a disgrace to Spain and to your king,” the captain roared. “I should have you flogged, Fernández.”

  “It’d be worth it just for the sheer pleasure of beating this piece of dog shit to a pulp,” Julio snapped. His blood still up, he was trying to shake off the men who were holding him by the arms.

  “Go to your bedchamber,” Captain de Cuéllar ordered. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  I’m not a child, Julio’s furious gaze seemed to say, but he knew when he was beaten and strode off in a huff.

  “Are you all right, mi amigo?” Alfonso asked as he put an arm around Rafael to steady him. “Why do you bother getting into it with him? You know what he’s like. He likes to goad people, and earnest fools like you make for easy targets.”

  “I am supposed to just ignore his insults?” Rafael asked. “If I do, everyone will think me a coward.”

  “No one thinks you’re a coward, Rafael. They know Julio is a bully and humor him rather than stand up to him. We have enough to deal with without fighting amongst ourselves.”

  Alfonso escorted Rafael inside and brought him to the kitchen, where Aisling was elbow deep in dough. Three other women were in the kitchen, but they paid little attention to the Spaniards, going about their business as if the men weren’t even there.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Aisling exclaimed. “What happened to ye?”

  “He defend your honor,” Alfonso said in his broken English. “He hero. Almost,” he amended, making Rafael chuckle. “Julio got in a few good ones,” Alfonso added in Spanish.

  Aisling wiped her hands on her apron and came toward Rafael, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Ye fought that man because of me, ye daft eejit?”

  “I fought him because he has no honor.”

  Aisling shook her head. “’Tis about time someone stood up to that vicious turd.”

  “I’ll stand up to him as many times as it takes to make sure you’re treated with the respect you deserve.”

  Aisling smiled warmly and patted Rafael on the shoulder before going to fetch water and a cloth to clean his face. He wiped his nose angrily, smearing blood on his hand. His nose was throbbing, and a blinding headache was building up behind his eyes. He’d never been in a fight before and hoped he’d acquitted himself well. Now that the rage was subsiding, he felt a bit shaky and tearful.

  The warm water Aisling used to clean his face felt good. Her movements were gentle and sure, cleaning away the blood and dabbing at his split lip until the blood began to clot. But the pain in his head grew worse, forcing Rafael to shut his eyes against the light streaming through the window set high in the wall.

  “Ye need to lie down,” Aisling said. “Help him to his room, please,” she said to Alfonso, who nodded.

  “Thank you,” Rafael muttered in Aisling’s direction as Alfonso placed an arm protectively around his shoulders and led him from the kitchen.

  “No, thank ye,” Aisling replied under her breath. “Ye’re a foolish lad, but no one can accuse ye of cowardice. I just hope yer foolishness doesn’t get ye killed.”

  “Go to sleep,” Alfonso said once he deposited Rafael on the bed. “You look like hell.”

  “I feel like hell.”

  Rafael closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the pain in his head. It didn’t help. His nose was most likely broken. He could barely breathe through the swollen nostrils, his open mouth the only source of air. Alfonso and Aisling were right, he was a fool to rise to Julio’s taunts. Now that he had a moment to think about it, he realized Julio had baited him on purpose. He knew how Rafael felt about Aisling and had hoped for exactly the reaction he got. Rafael had played right into Julio’s hands and allowed him to show the other men that he’d knock down anyone who stood up to him. Had Captain de Cuéllar not come on the scene when he had, Julio would have beaten Rafael senseless. They weren’t evenly matched, and Julio clearly had more experience with fighting than Rafael, who’d spent his youth hunched over his father’s books rather than brawling in taverns.

  He hated bullies, but there were always a few in every group. They tended to band together, instinctively realizing there was strength in numbers. Unfortunately, their victims never seemed to do the same, and got pummeled time and again because their friends were too cowardly to stand up for them. Alfonso had been quick to offer his aid, but only after the captain had broken up the fight. For all his talk, he was too afraid to challenge Julio.

  Rafael turned away from the light and discovered that it was easier to breathe when he lay on his side. I’ll have to be more careful of Julio Fernández, he thought drowsily. He hadn’t made any enemies in the past, but he’d made an enemy of Julio the moment he came upon him in the woods with Eilis. Julio Fernández did not strike Rafael as someone who’d ever turn the other cheek.

  Chapter 46

&
nbsp; The first few days of the siege passed in strained anticipation as the defenders of the castle watched and wondered if the English had a strategy or simply planned to starve them out. Since the inhabitants of the castle had been preparing for winter, supplies were plentiful, but the English seemed to be just as well provisioned and in surprisingly good spirits. Snatches of songs could be heard in the evening as the soldiers sat around their fires, warming themselves and passing the time.

  “Her Heretic Majesty must have troops to spare if she can send this many men to wait out a few dozen Spaniards,” Pedro said as they sat down to their midday meal on the third day. “She must really fear us.”

  “Or she simply wants to finish what she started,” José Méndez replied.

  José, who’d already been at the castle when they’d arrived, seemed to have struck up a friendship with Pedro and they spent much of their time together. Julio, who’d been released from his room after a stern talking-to from the captain, sat next to Pedro but said nothing. A few others nodded in agreement. The mood was grim, an overwhelming sense of foreboding hanging over the assembled men. No one believed the English would do nothing and simply sit outside the castle walls, eating through their supplies and singing endless songs. They had to have something up their sleeves, as they always did.

  They were just finishing their meals when Mary erupted into the hall. She scanned the men until her eyes settled on Captain de Cuéllar. “Come. Quick,” she cried, and gestured with her hand in case the captain didn’t take her meaning.

  Benches scraped against the stone floor as the men rose in unison and hurried outside. Two Spaniards had been assigned to patrol the battlements, but there was no sign of them, leaving the battlements unmanned. The Irishmen, who’d been practicing their sword skills on the other side of the yard, came running as well, their swords still drawn.

  “Mary, what happened?” Rafael asked. “What did you see?”