by Carrie Lofty
"Come to the other side of me," he whispered.
Ada scrambled nearby, his body between her and the door. She wrestled with something, perhaps her kirtle. The scent of lemon snaked into his nose. The erection that had only just started to subside raged to life. Frustration beset him from all sides and stoked his temper. Blood and breath accelerated. He could not rid himself of how distracting she was; instead, he channeled his grinding desire into violence.
A scream echoed down the corridor, still bright and terrified despite the door's muffling wood.
"Blanca," Ada said softly.
"They'll not hurt her if they're looking for us."
"And if they're common thieves or men intent on rape? You're content to take that chance?"
"I’ll not endanger either one of us, if that's what you're suggesting."
Ada dug ragged fingernails into his forearm. "You cannot abandon her. She saved our lives."
"We don't know that," he said with more conviction man he felt "This could have been a plot to trap us down here."
"Ridiculous. Now give me my dagger, since you refuse to help her."
"No."
"And why not? I've seen how your vows hobble your ability to fight."
Gavriel shook his head in the darkness. Vows or best intentions aside, he would defend Ada. In that moment, in that place of danger, the primal impulse to defend his woman took precedent over every higher ideal—even if she could never be his woman. A few more minutes alone together and she would have been, no matter the consequences. He would not be distracted from keeping her safe.
He shrugged free of her talons and pinned her against the wall. She wore a kirtle at least, the gauzy linen beneath his hand made warm by the flesh of her hip. He squeezed until she let out a small yelp.
"Are you paying heed, inglesa?"
"Yes."
"You're not going anywhere. And I can fight"
"I've always suspected as much," she said. "Now use what you know to help her."
"Not if that means leaving you here and defenseless."
She laughed, a sound more like a sigh. "It pains me that you still believe me defenseless. Ill have to convince you otherwise."
"I take it back. But I'm not leaving you in the dark to scream your fool head off, not after all the trouble you've been."
"Is that all I am, Gavriel? Trouble?"
"Without question."
Metal-clad fists pummeled the door. Ada flinched but did not make a sound. There in the dark, she gave him room to adjust his stance—legs slightly spread, knees easy and ready. Again he wondered at the source of her training.
Finding her hand, he pressed the hilt of her dagger against her palm and curled her fingers.
"What will you use?" she asked.
"We'll find out."
"Open this door!" shouted a man on the other side.
"Not likely," Gavriel muttered.
The sound of a mace or a small battering ram replaced the metal fists. With the rhythmic strength of at least two men behind it, the ram made short work of the door. Splinters and hunks of wood burst into the bathing room, as did stray flickers of torchlight. Gavriel thrust out his hands and grabbed the shaft of the mace. He pulled it free of the surprised attackers, their grips momentarily slack when the wood gave way. Heavy and crafted of iron, the weapon was clumsier than he was used to. But holding any weapon felt right.
Two of the guandias, perhaps the same men who had just held the mace, used armored elbows and shoulders to bust through what remained of the door. Gavriel reared to the side and swung the spiked end of the mace across the nearest one's face. The nose guard sank into bone and flesh. The man screamed through a gurgle of blood.
Gavriel yanked the mace free of his first victim and turned to the second. He hoisted the heavy iron shaft, wielding it like a simple club.
"Surrender," the guard said.
"No."
"You are encircled."
.Gavriel freed a cold smile. "You'll be dead before that matters."
He spun and slammed the head of the mace into the other man's forearm. Bone cracked beneath the armor, his sword clattering to the ground. Gavriel kicked it out of play, hearing it splash into the hot spring as he swung the mace in a downward arc. He caught the guard across his right kneecap. The other man crumpled in a whimpering heap beside his fallen colleague.
Another two shouting guards pushed through the ruined door, their swords catching the scant torchlight from the hallway. Ada rolled in front of the rear man and curled into a ball at his feet, tripping him and stabbing him in the neck, while Gavriel dispatched his half of the duo.
Ada stayed low and peeked into the hallway. She snatched up one of the fallen torches, then scrambled away as more guards pushed into the bathing room.
Although the thrilling violence of battle infused him with energy, Gavriel resented his lack of coordination. His muscles had lost their reflexive training. The instinct he relied upon for most of his life had dulled, leaving him to consider each attack. He felt sluggish and ineffective despite the gathering pile of bodies at his feet.
"Where's Blanca?" Ada asked from behind him.
He nodded and pushed forward, stepping over the fallen. When he reached the doorway, he looked to the left and stopped short. Blanca was there, motionless and terrified. One of the same shepherds who had attacked them on the road stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her neck and a knife pressed to her windpipe. Another six guards loomed to their rear.
Had they followed all the way from Toledo? Because of Ada and her debts?
"I want the scrolls," the supposed shepherd said.
His rough, salty appearance may have frightened some, but his cultured voice sent chills down Gavriel's spine. The accent was unmistakable.
He tightened his grip on the shaft of the mace. Only stunned curiosity kept him from attacking. "What scrolls?"
The man pushed Blanca forward. A trickle of blood seeped from the skin at her neck. She whimpered, but her captor paid no notice. "I want the scrolls that Jew stole."
"Then perhaps you should find the Jew."
The man hurled Blanca to the floor and leapt forward. Gavriel lost his balance trying to avoid the fallen woman and stumbled over pieces of the ruined door. The mace proved useless for attack; on his back, he could not swing it with much force. Instead, he used it to defend against a downward cut from his opponent's blade. And if the accent had not been convincing enough, the red ruby eagle on the man's signet ring confirmed it.
He was no common brute sent to collect a debt. He was a member of the de Silva family.
Blanca had found her feet and jammed a ragged piece of timber into the back of their attacker's neck. He howled and reared back, flailing to retrieve the barb. Gavriel grabbed Blanca's hand and pulled her into the bathing room.
The other six guards were quick behind them.
Ada watched, amazed, as Gavriel continued to defend them. He had retrieved a sword from one of the fallen. In the other hand, he hiked his grip on the handle of the mace, using it defensively. His natural grace and eye for the weaknesses of his opponents, the grim, unflinching way he confronted each new challenge—just who was he?
Blanca stumbled to her side, clutching her throat Gavriel's satchel tangled about her shoulders. "We have to get free of here," she said.
"Not until Gavriel clears the guards, I'm afraid."
"No, this way."
Before Ada could even ask a question, the other woman had dropped to her knees on the far side of the hot spring. She searched the walls until she found a slim crevice. A chunk of rock gave way to reveal a shaft just wide enough to accommodate a person.
Ada joined her and pushed the tip of the lit torch inside. "Where does it lead?"
"Up."
"Oh, truly?"
Blanca grinned. "I've never had to use it. The guards shouldn't know of its existence."
"No, but they could follow us. We need..." She searched the bathing room. "We need a diversion."
<
br /> Although plenty of weaponry littered the floor, in and around the fallen bodies, Ada could think of no way to escape through the shaft without being pursued—unless Gavriel killed every man who made his way downstairs. But even he could not remain stalwart and flawless forever. Soon he would tire. He would make a mistake, possibly a fatal one.
She rubbed her arms, up and down and again, remembering how soft her skin had felt upon emerging from the bath, how it smelled slightly of rotten eggs. Sulfane.
She skittered away from the secret passage and knelt at the lip of the hot spring pool. She dipped her hand and brought a few drops to her mouth. The water was slippery and tasted brackish. Some sort of oil. The perfect diversion.
Gramercy, Meg.
"Gavriel! Here!"
He shook his head and continued to fight "Keep down and out of sight," he bellowed over the sound of clashing metal.
Ada ran to Blanca. She thrust the torch and her satchel into the girl's hands. "When I say, count to five and touch the flame to the surface of the hot spring. Don't let the fire go out because we'll need it, but don't let it singe your brows either."
"I don't understand."
"Don't you question me as well! Please, do as I ask. Take our things when you make the climb. I have to ensure Gavriel will follow us." She caught the girl's panicked gaze. "Comprendes?"
"Si."
Ada had to trust as well. She had to trust that Blanca's wide-eyed stare was not a sign of her mental collapse. And she had to trust that Gavriel wanted to live to see the morning, because he fought like a man who held no expectation of surviving an endless onslaught. He held nothing in reserve.
"Ready, Blanca? Go!"
Counting to five in her mind, Ada ran forward and into the fray. Gavriel's opponent, a skinny man with a dark red tunic, swung his sword in a truncated arc. The blade wedged in the nearby wall of moist stone. Gavriel raised the mace to strike the man down, but Ada caught his forearm. She pulled with all her might, yanking him in an awkward circle.
"Down!"
Blanca's timing was perfect. Just as Gavriel opened his mouth to protest, the hot springs went up in flames. A fat cloud of fire burst upward as the water ignited. Ada dropped to the ground in a tight ball and covered her neck with her hands. When the initial burst subsided, she found Gavriel on the ground beside her.
He was staring at the flaming pool. "How?"
"No time."
Chapter 12
"No! Ada, wait!"
But Gavriel's shout did not change her course. He followed Ada as she scrambled on hands and knees around the pool. With floor-to-ceiling flames between them and the dazzled guards, he grabbed her ankle.
She twisted at the waist "We have to go!"
Where she intended to go he had no notion. Instead he concentrated on smacking her on the backside and along her spine. "Be still."
"What are you doing?"
"You're on fire, bruja," he said.
Tm no witch—ah!"
Flames raced up her kirtle and jumped into her hair. She yelped again but her expression changed from brief panic to determination. She wiggled on her back, crushing the burning cloth into the stone floor worn smooth by countless sandals and bare feet.
Gavriel straddled her and extinguished the fires in her hair with his fingertips. The pain was nothing, and the smell of singed hair and linen hardly registered beneath the overwhelming stink of the flaming spring. He simply worked. Working was easier than thinking about what he had just done. No matter how out of practice, his talent for killing never failed him, unlike thought and patience and best intentions.
Fires out, Ada wasted no time heaving him off her lithe body. That he had been the one to linger irked him.
"Blanca's already gone," she hissed. "Quickly, before they see."
"Out? Out where?"
She disappeared into the smoke at the rear of the bathing room. The stirrings of a violent cough tickled deep in his lungs, but he refused to give in to the sensation. Not now. Not when they were still in danger. He caught up to Ada and crouched with her. She pointed to the back wall, tears running free from her reddened eyes. He turned to see smoke climbing up a narrow rock passageway, funneled to places unknown by the upward draft.
"Blanca?"
Ada only nodded and made to enter the passageway.
"Wait," he said, a hand on her ankle again. The image of her bare legs in his hands, there amidst the smoke and fire and armed guards, reminded him of her bath. But at least some part of his mind was working properly as he asked, "Dagger?"
She wore a dubious expression but did not hesitate. Dagger in hand, Gavriel sliced two lengths from the hem of her kirtle and handed back the graceful weapon. She still frowned but knew enough to keep her mouth closed against the billowing smoke. The only advantage to their location was that, guarded by flames and a poisonous cloud, none of the guards had advanced.
He only hoped that Blanca's familiarity with the bathhouse's secrets was unique. .
Taking in as little air as possible, still fighting that unspent cough, he looped the strip of Ada's kirtle around her mouth and nose, tying it at the back of her head. She snatched the second piece from his hands and repeated the process for him. The filtered air nourished his brain.
A popping flame pulled his attention to the right, just in time to defend against the downward arc of a sword. He swung the mace up to protect his face. The jolt of impact sent shocks of pain down his forearms. Metal grated on metal and whined over the low roar of the fire. The guard reared back and hacked again, the force of it opening one of Gavriel's hands. The heavier end of the mace dropped to the stone floor with a hard clang. He spun away from the passage but not as far as he would have liked, trapped at the lip of the pool.
A sliver of white flickered behind the swordsman.
Ada.
She had been his burden for days now, insensate and helpless. This new, resourceful woman took some getting used to. For a brief and shining moment, he hoped she would behave sensibly. Up the passageway. Out of danger. Instead, she slid Gavriel's sword along the smooth stone floor, right between the guard's legs. Hilt in hand and muttering his appreciation for her resourcefulness, Gavriel flared to the offensive.
One jump found him on his feet and chest-to-chest with his opponent, their swords crossed and squealing. He stared down through the guard's visor and into his watering eyes. Muscles along Gavriel's back and arms—muscles for fighting and killing, long quelled—burned in protest, but he did not relent The first to give way would find a sword in his gullet.
While Gavriel's roughened leather sandals found purchase, the man's mail-covered feet slid. They edged toward the fire in a slow and gruesome dance. With every step, the other man lost ground and weakened Did that same violent cough lodge in his lungs, aching to burst free?
Enough of this.
With a last burst of strength, Gavriel shoved his blade. Mail scraped on stone. The guard landed hard and screamed, his ankle jutting at an odd angle from beneath his body. Of all the blood he had seen in those brief and brutal moments, Gavriel's stomach pitched at the sight of that ruined limb.
Ada had already abandoned the bathing room, the last flash of her pale calves disappearing as she shimmied up the inclined passageway. He twirled the sword to readjust his grip, leaving the maimed man alive, and cast one last glance around the engulfed room. None of the other swordsmen remained. The man wearing the de Silva signet ring was nowhere to be seen, if he yet lived after Blanca's nasty assault.
Too many questions remained unanswered, making the necessity of that violence even more revolting. He had fought for their survival, but against what enemies? Why?
Dizziness returned, leaving him lightheaded after the close-quarters duel. He shook away the questions and focused on escape. Weapons in hand, he clambered after Ada.
The incline of the passageway became steeper and more difficult to climb as she neared the light at its end. Ada lifted her knees and hiked the kirtle up to
her thighs to keep it from tangling as she crawled. Darkness swallowed her courage. She tried not to anticipate what awaited her upon emerging from those tight, dark confines, hoping to find only Blanca at the top of the narrow shaft. Blanca, and a little light.
Behind the strip of linen Gavriel had tied in place, her nose burned and her throat scratched with every breath. She smelled nothing but smoke, that reeking scent of charred sulfur. No matter how she tried, she could not clear the thick taste from her mouth.
Wracking coughs overcame her. She stopped crawling and doubled over, burying her face in her skirts to muffle the sound. Pain gripped inside her ribs as spasm after spasm stole her breath. Tears dripped from her eyes. The sudden violence of that cough reminded her of the sickness she had endured for the past week. She had nearly forgotten its horrors. Those recent pains and humiliations already seemed distant, like someone else's struggle. She did not want to go back to being that pathetic creature.
Catching her breath, she heard the rustling and panting of a man climbing behind her. The bulk of his body blocked most of the light from the fire at the tunnel's base, and the light from a distant exit was not bright enough to illuminate his features. His shuffling advance was accompanied by a scraping echo from whatever weapons he dragged. Was it Gavriel? One of the swordsmen? In that dim half-light, she could not see.
She pulled the dagger from its sheath and struggled to turn around in the tight passageway, preparing to face that menacing male shadow. A full-length sword would be useless in there. If she could get one clean strike, she might have the advantage.
"Put that thing away, inglesa, and keep moving."
She crumpled. Days spent bedridden had left her fatigued and weak: But his rich voice reached out in the near-darkness and kept her from losing all fight. The ordeal of their time together made her eager to prove herself to him. But why? They owed each other nothing.
Yet she wanted to show him that the pathetic creature he had rescued was not her. Not truly. She was more. And she had not believed such a thing of herself in a very long time.
The dagger back in its sheath, she wiggled around to face the distant exit and continued to crawl. They shared the darkness, she and Gavriel, and the darkness did not seem so threatening. His even breathing followed close behind. The scraping metal that had been such a menace now offered comfort He was armed No matter what awaited them at the end of the passage, he would endeavor to protect her.