Scoundrel's Kiss

by Carrie Lofty

  She retreated one step, then two. "You know what I need. The alternative is going without, and that I cannot do. Not again."

  "You're a coward."

  "And what would you know of bravery, hiding away from the world?"

  The image of a battlefield dotted with corpses and fallen horses appeared in his mind's eye. Alarcos. That heady victory. He had been as brave as ten men on that long day, slaying enemies with glee and impunity. His bravery had bordered on bloodlust, devoid of thought or humanity. But to what end? He had been on the winning side, but those who had fallen under his sword had been Castilians.

  He was a better man now, denying that barbaric part of him.

  "I'm a student, learning to submit As must you."

  "I will not—"

  Before Ada had a chance to finish, he grabbed her forearm and spun her. Their bodies came together, her bare back against his chest.

  "I asked you before," he rasped. "Now I'll have that answer. Do you want to die?"

  "Release me!"

  "Submit, inglesa." Closer now, he pulled up on her arm. She winced.

  "I will not."

  Her dagger flashed in the sunlight and sliced through his sleeve and skin. Blood welled red and fast. Tensing against the pain, he snatched the blade and slung it to the ground.

  The memory of her agonized voice punched into his mind, through the pain and past his frustrations. I will not be held captive again.

  Gavriel had known captivity, and the very idea of returning to the service of his former master chilled him. He would rather die. Whatever this woman had suffered backed her toward the same conclusion. Death was better than captivity. And while Gavriel tried to find comfort in submission, she only saw. it as weakness. Another trap.

  "You don't want to die, but you cannot live with the fear." He turned her to face him. Their eyes met across an ocean of anger. "That's why you fight, isn't it? Likely, it's how you've learned what you know of combat."

  She nodded, just barely.

  "Then let me help you."

  Chapter 5

  Help. This was his idea of help?

  Ada glared at the back of Gavriel's head. He rode high on his steed, keeping company with his morals, while she walked behind the horses, tethered like a criminal. The harder she fought against the ropes binding her wrists, the tighter the knots became. A second, shorter piece of rope laced the back of her gown shut She would have sworn his hands shook as he had worked in quiet diligence to make her decent.

  The caravan merchants had crawled from beneath their wagon hiding places to assess the damage. Two of the guards still lived, as did Pacheco and Fernan. The latter appeared an unbecoming shade of green. Streaks of vomit sullied his white robes.

  Down from his horse, Gavriel stalked from wagon to wagon and appraised the scene with a quick, intense gaze. She watched as he checked each corpse. He moved as if he had often patrolled the aftermath of a battle, wary of continued threats.

  "This one yet lives," he said to a guard.

  "For but a moment longer." The guard performed his duty with an unsteady hand.

  "What happened to the others?" Gavriel asked, his face grim but composed. "There are only seven dead here."

  The guard pointed to the south. "They fled."

  Their conversation faded for Ada as she suffered another bout of trembling. Limbs and bone became a quivering mass. The ground did not feel as hard as it should when she melted into the thorny grass. Cold. Thirst. Violent dizziness. She shivered, the sky moving in sickening circles.

  "What ails her?" asked the guard.

  "She's unwell. Nothing more."

  Pacheco hovered nearby. "What happened? Why is she bound?"

  Gavriel hesitated. She watched with detached amusement as he grappled for a response. But the mocking laughter in her head found no voice.

  "For her own good, Master." Gavriel knelt beside her and pushed the hair from her face. With a quick move, he untied the knots at her wrists. "Get her a blanket, Fernan "

  "I don't want your blanket," she said past chattering teeth.

  He exhaled, looking more than a little lost. "Will you walk to Yepes?"

  "I cannot."

  "You will, if you do not relent And you'll say 'please'."

  "I'll not beg."

  "Then you have a long road ahead of you." He accepted the blanket from Fernan and held it out to her. "What say you, inglesa?"

  She slumped back and dug her fingers into the dirt and grass. "Fiend."

  He stood, his face carved of stone. She closed her eyes and remembered lying on the pallet she had once shared with Meg, at home in England. Ada had dried wildflowers in colorful bunches and hung them from the ceiling beams. As night fell, she would watch the shadows they cast in the flickering firelight. When daylight returned, their muted, subtle colors offered places of brightness in the forest and in the life she had resented.

  But what she would give to have that life returned to her. And rain. She missed the rain.

  She had not been home for more than a year, having burned bridges with terrible and bitter efficiency. And now Jacob was gone too. She had no one and nothing, plagued by a bizarre novice and his strange determination to see her cured.

  Part of her wanted to relent. He would help her through the worst of the withdrawal. Despite his temper, he was motivated by an unknown need to win their battle of wills, not by an impulse to do her harm.

  But the part of her that wanted help was not as noisy or brutal as her craving. If Gavriel stood between her and the opium she needed, he was her enemy. He was her captor. The monastery at Ucles could be like heaven on earth and she would still regard it as a prison.

  "Gavriel, help her." Pacheco was not so tall, and despite his age and position of authority, he seemed to be asking the novice to comply.

  Tell him. Make him help me.

  Gavriel seemed to have heard her silent demand. She forced her uncooperative limbs to work, to stand. Strong arms offered support, banding her lower back and pulling her close. Heat from his body soothed her chills. She ached to push closer, hold tighter—any relief from the gathering storm inside her.

  "Come now." The deep, quiet timbre of his voice, so near to kindness, threatened to start her crying. "Stand for me. Good. Now keep your feet." He forced a scant distance between their bodies and met her unfocused gaze. "You'll need to be strong. Yepes is quite a distance to walk."

  She stumbled. "You're a monster!"

  "I'm helping you, whether you see that or not"

  "How? By making a sick woman walk?"

  "By curing the sickness you've brought on yourself." His wide and muscular chest blocked the sun, blocked thought "I told you, in this I will not be deterred."

  Reflexively, she touched the petite sheath at her hip. She needed to feel the reassurance of its cold metal. Safety. But it was empty.

  "Where's my dagger?"

  "I have it."

  "You cannot keep it!"

  "I won't let you cut me again." He lifted his forearm and pinned her with an excruciating glare.

  Ada blanched at the damage she had done. A clean slice scored half the length of his forearm, crusted with drying blood. She touched it with wobbling fingers, gently. He hissed but did not flinch. Tendons flexed on the inside of his wrist

  He deserved what she had done, or so she tried to believe. But all hard flesh and power, doing him harm seemed an affront to nature.

  "I've yet to hear an apology."

  Ada swallowed. "You never will."

  "We must continue," said Pacheco. "Nightfall approaches."

  Gavriel nodded. "Master, has anyone retrieved the cart?"

  "It was burned and the donkey taken." He handed Gavriel a canvas sack and Ada's satchel. "But we've protected most of our belongings."

  Fernan, pale except for the dark circles below his eyes, I raised his brows. "And where will she ride? Perhaps I could make room on my saddle."

  "She'll walk. Seems the lady prefers it that
way." Gavriel stalked to his horse and climbed up. He stared at her, unrelenting and cold. "And if you refuse, I'll not hesitate to bind your wrists again."

  Pacheco shook his head. "Gavriel, you—"

  "Master, please. If this is my obligation, allow me to proceed as I see fit—as long as I act within the bounds of the Order. Trust that I can do this." He waited. They waited Even the merchants and the remaining guards watched the contest. "Do I have your permission to proceed, Master?"

  "Yes, Gavriel. Do as you see fit"

  Gavriel turned to Ada, his face without emotion. "Will you come to Yepes or stay here with the caravan?"

  The beast had the nerve to abduct her under the guise of a clergyman's goodwill, wrenching her from of the pleasures she had enjoyed. So be it He would offer diversion until she was free to return to Toledo. Then she would wring Jacob's idealistic neck.

  "Yepes it is," she said, smiling sweetly. The flicker of panic on his face assuagedier ragged pride. "Lead the way, novice."

  Yes, she would enjoy pulling him down to the ground. He was not who he longed to be, and she would prove it She would make Gavriel de Marqueda break each of his precious vows.

  They came to Yepes an hour before nightfall. Long shadows stretched behind each squat building, the western faces burnished by fading gold. Never had Gavriel been so relieved to see a day come to an end. Any more surprises and he would lose his footing completely.

  He glanced back, a gesture he had repeated often enough to cramp the right side of his neck. Ada still followed. Head bowed, her hair like a curtain over her pale face, she trudged with the resignation of an animal to slaughter. The fact she walked at all was proof of her continued defiance. Her feet dropped heavily with each step, her arms dangling uselessly at her sides. Perhaps she would collapse into sleep without another confrontation.

  He should be so lucky.

  But the question of where she would sleep had nettled him for three hours. Sleeping alone was not an option for the unpredictable trickster. No, she was predictable. She would try to escape.

  "Gavriel!"

  He turned. Pacheco and Fernan both looked back to where Ada lay crumpled on the road. Gavriel jumped from the horse and chewed the scant distance between them, anger adding speed to his long strides. Another trick. Her insufferable antics tested his patience nearly as much as her—well, all of her. Almost.

  But it was no trick. Cold and pale, her skin shimmered with sweat. Irregular breaths jerked her chest. Her whole body shook. Fine tremors, full shudders—even this black sleep could not keep her still. A trickle of blood oozed from the base of her skull. She must have hit her head when she collapsed.

  Gavriel choked on a mouthful of bitter guilt. He had been certain of his course. But what did he know of opium or of women? As for medicine, he had only ever tended war wounded, patching holes and gashes, not invisible hurts. She brought out the stubborn worst in him, leading him to think in terms of combat, not compassion. An enemy. Someone keeping him from his objective. How could he save her, thinking that way?

  The thought of touching her was no less worrying. Having been raised knowing only fists and swords, the shock of touch—his skin against the skin of another—still had the power to shake him to the core. He missed his isolation. The certainty of it.

  But she needed someone.

  Cradling Ada's head, he lifted her trembling body and fought the tremor of disquiet at holding her. He returned to the horse and shoved their satchels out of the way. Pacheco assisted in settling them both onto the saddle. Her body pulsed with an unnatural heat and her head flopped back. She cried out as the muscles in her belly convulsed. Gavriel pulled her closer to his chest and began to pray, not for himself but for this woman who had strayed so far.

  Upon reaching the walls surrounding the small city of Yepes, Pacheco consulted with the guards and secured their entry. They proceeded through the darkening streets. Merchants concluded their business for the day, packing their stands and closing modest shops. As with most towns on the plateau, once governed by the Moorish regimes of the south, its citizens comprised an uneasy mix of cultures. Cormvencia, the subtle art of living and prospering among diverse peoples. On that evening, beneath a clear, cool sky, it seemed both easy and right.

  Pacheco led the way to the villa owned by the Archbishop of Toledo. Constructed in the style of the Mudejar, a square tower decorated with intricate brickwork and glazed ceramics looked over the wide residence. Beyond its walls, fields of wine grapes were just beginning to bear fruit They passed through a series of arched entrances to where a dozen attendants waited.

  "Greetings, Brother Pacheco." Short and round, the archbishop's majordomo, Miguel Latorre, wore dark, billowing robes trimmed in red. He compulsively stroked a full and well-groomed beard. A reading stone dangled from a gold chain at his waist. "The archbishop is not in residence this evening, but permit me to offer our hospitality on his behalf."

  Pacheco smiled and bowed as groomsmen led the horses to adjoining stables. "We seek another night's shelter on our return to the monastery."

  "Of course."

  Although he spoke to Pacheco, Latorre's deeply set eyes flicked to where Ada draped in Gavriel's arms. Gavriel had never liked the officious little toad, a sentiment that did not alter as he stood there, desiring only a place to ease Ada through the night.

  Pacheco noticed the man's curiosity. "Ah, yes. This is our new slave. She is unwell, and we should like a private room for her."

  Latorre covered his mouth and nose and peered closer. "Unwell? Is it catching?"

  "No, we would not dream of bringing a contagion into your midst," Pacheco said, his voice nearly bare of politeness. "But we should like to get her settled."

  Latorre turned his small black eyes to Gavriel, assessing him as he would a horse for sale. "Has she a chaperone?"

  Pacheco colored red. Gavriel held Ada as his shield against mounting frustrations. Fernan pressed his back to the nearest wall, his eyes lifted to the high woodwork and painted plaster ceiling. A smile graced his thin face, the first he had worn since the Almohad raid.

  "No," said Pacheco with a sigh. "She has no chaperone."

  "On the road from Toledo, we were attacked by those intent on kidnapping. Local shepherds aided them in setting the trap." Gavriel shot his novice master a dark look, willing him to keep quiet. "Her chaperone... well, you understand."

  "I see. Pardon my disrespect." Latorre cleared his throat. "But you are a novice, are you not? Where are your robes?"

  Arms aching, he glared at the squat man. "I believe I mentioned we were attacked. If you should like to see the injury on my arm, I'll be glad to offer proof."

  The majordomo paled but did not put his fussy manners aside. "All for the sake of propriety, I assure you. I shall have our personal physic see to her, just to be certain."

  "She needs no doctor, only rest," Gavriel said.

  Ada moaned. Latorre skittered back. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe you," he said.

  "Tis not my place to forgive you."

  Pacheco stepped between them, a look of warning on his aged face. "We appreciate your kindness. Please, send for your doctor and have your people show us to our rooms."

  Latorre bowed and departed through a nearby archway, his gaggle of attendants close behind. Pacheco said under his breath, "You lied to him."

  "No. I said, we were attacked. He made his own assumptions."

  "This isn't right, Gavriel."

  Fernan, always climbing out of the shadows when the confrontation had passed, stepped away from the wall. "Let him say what he will, Master. Tis that or sleep in the stables. I prefer a pallet to hay myself, but I cannot speak for everyone. What say you, Gavriel?"

  "I say you talk too much."

  Pacheco held up a hand to silence them both. "Latorre is right to wonder where she will sleep. None of us can stay with her."

  Gavriel knelt and gently stretched Ada along the polished marble floor. His arms shook from the ex
ertion. But his trembling was nothing to hers.

  "She. is a danger to herself," Gavriel said. "Would you rather have her sick, on her own? Or have her recover before dawn and try to escape again?"

  "What would you suggest?" Pacheco asked.

  "Perhaps this physician might recommend a woman who can stay with her."

  Pacheco nodded and exhaled. "Good."

  Rolling his shoulders, Gavriel caught sight of the bloody gash on his forearm. It burned with a slow and persistent ache. "What did you expect, Master? That I would stay with her myself?"

  Fernan grinned. "I was about to offer my services, actually. I'm a renowned nursemaid."

  "Cavorting with nursemaids doesn't qualify you as one," Gavriel said.

  "You know nothing of the mystic arts of healing."

  Pacheco looked heavenward and mumbled quick prayer. "I'm going to find whatever slothful attendant is to show us to our rooms."

  He turned and strode along the wide corridor. Fernan knelt next to Ada, his face momentarily composed and somber. "She's in a terrible way. Can you do this, man?"

  Ada thrashed once and moaned again. She needed cool water and a soft place to rest, not delays and intrusive questions. Gavriel looked at Fernan, almost wishing for the return of his wretched sense of humor. At least that would be normal. And he desperately craved normal.

  "I must, Fernan. This is my duty."

  God help me.

  Chapter 6

  Fernan Garza stretched on his pallet. The sight of those bloody and limp corpses on the roadside danced in his brain, no matter how many times he rubbed his eyes. He should have fainted.

  Pacheco, however, seemed untroubled by the surprising bout of violence. The novice master smoothed his robes, checking here and there, picking lint from one sleeve before sitting on his pallet No concern marred his wrinkled skin and neutral expression. Fernan continued to watch his easy demeanor, all the while staunching the need to vomit again.

  "Sleep now, Fernan. All will be well come morning."

  Fernan thought maybe, perhaps, on some deep level, he should take offense that a man of advanced years such as Pacheco would feel the need to coddle him. But no, the offense never came. Being coddled was far preferable to the time-honored notions of strength, nobility—or God forbid— making one's own way.