by Carrie Lofty
What a strange novice. And what a strange thing, to think of trusting him.
Ten feet from the exit, he tapped her on her calf. She gulped down a startled noise. He held a finger to his lips to indicate silence, then crooked that finger to beckon her closer. Slowly, quietly, she angled her ear nearer to his mourn. He smelled of sulfur and blood
"Fast as you can," he whispered. "Get clear of the opening and find cover. I'll be right behind you with my sword."
She silently agreed. The anticipation of danger melded with his warm breath, speeding through her veins.
"But inglesa, do not try to help me. I need to know you'll be out of the way."
She pulled away just enough to see him. A man of shadows. But the intensity of his eyes burned bright and hot. Something had let loose inside Gavriel, something bleak and far more threatening than she could have imagined.
Ada nodded before pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his roughened cheek. He blinked. His intensity did not dim, but she felt released from its spell. She smiled, uncertain how much of her face he could see. "I'll only obey because I feel sorry for you."
"Oh?"
"No chance for a bath. You would've enjoyed the hot spring."
"Too hot now," he said. "Ready?"
He jumped free of the opening and landed in a defensive stance, his sword at the ready. But the room was empty, entirely empty save Ada and Blanca huddled low to the ground, just to his left. No soldiers, no furnishings. Only a single window and a waist-high door. Moonlight illuminated the steady stream of smoke flying free of the window casing, lending a dreamlike quality to their newest place of refuge.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Another hiding place for people who don't want to be found," Blanca said.
He moved to the window and looked outside. "On the top story?"
Blanca nodded. "Yes, at the rear of the building. The door leads down to the main baths. This used to be a place to store belongings for wealthy patrons, but they must have found more benefit in this secret arrangement."
He stood and watched the dark smoke funneling out of the secret room and into the night Anyone who yet wished to find them, no matter the reason, would only have to follow that dark, billowing line. "We must leave this place," he said. "Gather your things."
Sword in hand, he slid the blade between a strap hinge and the wall. Two quick jerks later and his sword sliced through the leather. He repeated it with the lower strap, opening the door. He grabbed the torch and glanced back. The women stood at the ready—a most unlikely complement of warriors. Ada held her dagger and satchel. Smoke and the filth inside that narrow passageway had stained her kirtle. Blanca used both hands to lift the bloody mace.
"You cannot use that," he said.
"No, but I can carry it until you need it"
He nodded and ducked through the small doorway. The corridor extended to his left, empty and lit only by the torch he carried. Dense curtains of cobwebs shuddered as the flames moved stagnant air laden with dust Low, bare crossbeams jutted from the ceiling to either wall like ribs, making the narrow space feel even more confined. His instincts demanded freedom and hasty movements, but he fought those impulses. They would need calm in order to escape.
The women soon followed him into the corridor. Ada pushed her back against the half-sized door, which blended almost entirely with the surrounding wood. Despite what Blanca had said about the room's original purpose, he suspected it had always been used for subterfuge.
They-encountered no one as they descended two flights of stairs, silent save the rustling burn of the torch. Gavriel focused on his breathing lest he become complacent His senses sharp, he listened for any noise, any threat. But even as they reached the rear exit on the ground floor, they remained alone.
The focus and intensity he had summoned to confront even more combatants found no release. Hours of overwhelming impulses and sickening violence festered in his gut. He should have been thankful that the necessity for killing had passed. Instead, he wanted to hurl the sword and beat the bricks.
The image of that last man and his twisted, ruined leg pricked his mind's eye like a thorn. Then, layering atop the fresh carnage came the long-buried memory of another killing, that of his half-brother. He remembered a severed head and the screams of horses. So long ago. Sancho. Dead by Gavriel's hand.
Without preface or ceremony, he doubled over and retched. His tolerance for any more temptation or murderous excitement spilled across the hallway floor. Legs trembling and lungs straining for air, he dropped to his knees. The sword clattered and the torch fizzled against the flagstones.
Ada was at his side before he could tell her to keep way. "Are you injured?"
He wiped his mouth. "Leave me be. This I ask of you."
Her indecision became a tangible thing, the shimmering tension of a body locked between staying and going. "I will not," she said. "I must know if you've been wounded."
Gavriel exhaled, his head bowed low. She refused even his one small request. He needed a moment of solitude to better contend with his fresh failures. But still she did not obey. Violence he had thought exhausted rekindled beneath his skin— violence toward this woman and his hateful fate as her guardian. Those dark urges were easier to understand than lust, tenderness, admiration.
Tentative fingers rested on his shoulder. "Gavriel?"
"I'm not injured."
"Thank you," she whispered, almost too. softly to hear. "You saved our lives."
He should have shied from her touch, but he wanted to lean deeper into her offer of comfort He held still, compromising between desire and his best intentions. "You said thank you, inglesa, and your head did not melt."
Chapter 13
"I should have pushed you in the fire," she said, pulling away.
"Perhaps." Gavriel stood, his legs aching. "Instead you charged upon two warriors in the midst of a sword fight, distracting me and putting yourself in danger."
"Warriors? And here I thought you were a humble novice from the Order of Santiago."
Madre de Dios.
He had not thought of himself as a warrior in a twelvemonth. To no avail, he wiped sticky hands along his hips. Blood had fused to his skin like metal to metal.
"Inglesa, any of the guardias could have taken the opportunity to gut me. You behaved rashly."
"Forgive me. I hadn't time to inform you of my plan. I took a chance, one that worked out for the best. And unlike my offer of thanks, I've heard nothing of the sort from you. Only mockery."
"How can I thank you if I don't even know what happened?" The thunder of his voice in that small corridor made Blanca gasp. He had completely forgotten about the young woman's presence. "You set the pool on fire? Intentionally?'
She nodded toward their wide-eyed companion. "I told Blanca to do it My task was to see if you might want to join us in a fortuitous escape."
"But what happened down there? How does water catch fire?"
Ada crossed her arms. "Are you asking because you want to know or because you want another chance to mock me?"
"Because I want to know."
This time she wore an unexpected smile. She could be laughing at him and he would not care. That smile was simply too beautiful. "My sister would've noticed the oil in that pool long before I did. With enough of it, even water can burn— just like an oil wick."
"How did you know?"
Ada lifted her forearm and pushed back the sleeve. "Smell," she said, raising bare skin to within inches of his nose. "That smell like rotten eggs?"
Gavriel looked not at her arm but into her eyes. With one inhale, he detected the earthy stench of sulfur beneath the pungent residue of smoke. "Yes."
"And do you see how my arm glistens? That's what burned, not the water."
Only then did he drop his gaze. Indeed her skin shimmered in the weak moonlight
"You do this on purpose," he said, cursing the rough thickness of his voice. "Why? To taunt me?"
'To see what y
ou'll do next Unpredictable men are entertaining men."
"We're vulnerable here," he said. "Out now, toward the eastern gate."
Ada peered over his shoulder toward the abandoned courtyard. Although fleet of guards, the city's nighttime defenses would stand between them and the freedom of La Mancha.
They may as well have been walking through a market at midday for what cover could be found.
Blanca nodded to the north. "If we want horses, we should try the archbishop's stables. A line of shrubs decorating the perimeter should provide cover beyond the courtyard, and a low stone wall beyond that."
Ada and Gavriel turned to look at her, men at each other. She had been so unobtrusive; hearing her speak was like a statue coming to life or a cat showing an aptitude for language.
Ada smiled at the girl's resourcefulness, but Gavriel shook his head. "Skulking amongst bushes just before dawn," he said. "I don't like it."
"Which part of you objects—warrior or novice?" Ada asked
"If it means escaping Yepes without further bloodshed, I don't object at all. But we should leave the horses. We can walk to Ucles if need be."
"Wait." Ada dropped her satchel and rummaged through it until she found the long, dark cloak. She wrapped it around her shoulders and said, "I do not make a habit of wearing solely my kirtle, especially when the white cloth will shine like a beacon."
"Good," he said, his gaze burning through the thick garment as if she wore nothing at all. Her kirtle had been all that separated her flesh from his eyes, his hands.
Yes, the cloak was a very good idea.
"But what about you?" She scowled, taking in the sight of his bloodied tunic. "If guards stop us, they'll want to know what happened."
"Then we cannot let them stop us. Blanca, can you lead us?"
The girl stepped out from the shadows and passed her gaze between Ada's face and his. A tiny smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "Can either of you be led? Truly?"
Ada grinned. "I told you she was clever."
"I need fewer clever females and more peace," he said. "Blanca, go now."
The trio skirted the edge of the courtyard, moving silently as they had down the bathhouse stairwell. Ada fixed her eyes on Blanca's tiara headdress, but her thoughts hardly strayed from the man who took up the rear. Heightened senses tracked the rhythmic touch of his sandals on the soft ground and the heat of his body, a contrast to the cool night air. She wanted to shake her head, pull her hair—anything to regain her footing with regard to Gavriel. But nothing changed. Her fascination had blossomed.
Blanca held up her hand. They stopped where the line of courtyard shrubs ended. The flat expanse of the darkened street, lined with a low stone wall, stretched between them and the eastern edge of the village. That distance seemed impossibly far, and trouble awaited them. Eight men wearing the uniform of the town's guardias stood careful watch. They carried crossbows, wore scabbards, and flanked each side of the closed doors. Behind one gate made of crisscrossing iron bars awaited another hewn of wood.
"We would've been naive to hope for an easy exit," Ada whispered.
"But eight men is more than I expected," Gavriel said. "The uproar at the bath has them on alert."
He leveled his dark eyes, his face a grim mask. Ada had seen that lack of expression before, during that handful of moments before they had been attacked in the bathing room. The air fairly sparkled around him, energy and purpose and power, as he made the transformation from novice to warrior. But why did he insist on denying this, the most potent and natural part of him?
"The gate itself is straightforward," he said. "Two doors, both on pulleys. No embrasures in the wall. No tower or moat Another few minutes without fighting and the men will relax."
Ada made herself assess that scene, to see what he saw. But she only found eight armed men standing between them and a way clear of the village. "Simple, then?"
"Not simple. Merely possible."
"Look," Blanca said. She nodded toward an alcove in the defensive walls where two horses waited. A lone squire stood holding their reins, swaying on his feet, eyes closed. "That boy lives on a farm outside the town gate."
"They must have brought more men in from the countryside," Ada said.
"No," Gavriel said. He wore the stains of battle from top to toe and carried two deadly weapons. So different now. "The boy may be from nearby, but those guards are from Toledo. Look at their weaponry—made of steel."
Blanca nodded. "He's right. I don't recognize any of them."
"Blanca and I can get those horses," Ada said. "Gavriel, you subdue the guards."
"Absolutely not."
"We can," Blanca said, thrusting the mace into Gavriel's hands. "I know the young squire. If I can speak to him, I can convince him to let the horses go in exchange for gold."
Gavriel scowled, but he clenched the mace without hesitation. "And he won't think of the punishment he'll receive once horses have gone missing?"
A smile rounded Blanca's cheeks all the more. "He's not the sort of boy to think much of the future. Can you ride, Ada?"
She matched Blanca's grin. "You really want out of this village,"
"More than you know."
"Yes, I can ride."
Ada made ready to cross the road, but Gavriel caught her arm. "I don't trust you. Last time you sat a horse, you challenged bandits for me right to make for Toledo."
"That's before I knew better of your charming personality."
His grip on her arm tightened through the heavy cloak. "You'll ride off on your own and find the nearest apothecary."
She wrenched free of his hand, but not from his eyes. "Push a woman toward her vice too often and she'll succumb."
Blanca cleared her throat. "I appreciate your concern, senior, but she'll stay with me."
"How do you know? You have no notion of what she's capable."
"No, but she'll not leave her hombre."
Ada found no words. The thought of Gavriel being hers numbed her tongue. But his face had hardened. Neither warrior nor novice, at that moment he seemed another man altogether, one surrounded by stone and steel.
She forced herself to look at Blanca, tearing away from Gavriel's sharp profile and hard expression. "Gavriel is my captor, although he might claim otherwise."
"You both argue with great passion." Blanca shook her head softly. "Forgive me."
Gavriel exhaled sharply. "We waste time. Blanca, you get the horses. Ada, be ready at the gate. Be prepared to move quickly."
Ada tried for an easy grin but failed. "Does that mean you trust me now?"
"No," he said. "But none of us will be free of Yepes if we don't work together. Do you want act rashly and risk capture?"
She met Blanca's hopeful, eager eyes. "I'll do nothing rash," Ada said softly. "We leave Yepes tonight All of us."
Gavriel crouched low, behind the shrubs, as the two women crept farther from the gate and across the street He strained to see through the deep night, as if watching their retreating backs could ensure safe passage. Ada blended almost entirely, her cloak transforming her into as much shadow as substance.
Only their pale faces escaped the gloom, two bobbing white ovals pushing deeper into the dark.
He shifted from one foot to the other where he squatted, easing the tension out of each leg. They would have horses. And they would be safe.
With the women out of sight, he shuffled along the line of shrubs bordering the courtyard. One step beyond that protective cover and he would stand within full view of the men guarding the gate.
His heart beat at a moderate pace and his breathing was neither labored nor accelerated. So different now, compared to the bandit raid or the attack in the bathhouse. Aside from the blisters lining each finger, rubbed raw by the weapons he had not held in so long, his body had acclimated to battle. He heard every noise. He saw every line and angle of pale light. Nothing escaped his attention, especially not the vows he had broken or the odds against his success. Eight to
one.
She'll not leave her hombre.
Blanca's simple statement rang through his head until it threatened to drown out the crickets, the soft, lonely wind, and the low murmurs from the guards. He had only ever belonged to one person: his father and master, Joaquin de Silva. The idea of belonging to a woman, to Ada, was more man he could comprehend. He might try contemplating the divine or the stars scattered against the sky with more certainty. Although he carried a mace and a sword, he could not feel the metal in his hands. He was too numb, stunned, turned upside-down.
Faint moonlight glinted off the deadly metal he held, dulled by dried blood. If he stopped too long to consider his deeds—those in his past, those yet awaiting him—he would never survive. Madness would claim him. God would forsake him, if He had not already. And the eight guards at the gate would sever his head from his rebellious body.
What had Ada said? But then I might have an end to all this.
He had not been the sort of man to wish for them, not for years. But the closer he came to the warrior he had been, the more comforting oblivion sounded.
He snarled at himself, out of patience but no closer to relief.
Do the deed. Seek forgiveness come morning. If ever.
Chapter 14
Blanca crept among the shadows. Overhead and all around, the night was just beginning to give way to dawn. Stars no longer sparkled with the same brilliance, their brightness tamed by a faint but gathering glow. She imagined that when they breached the wall, the far eastern horizon would reveal the first streaks of blue before sunrise. Moisture gathered along her hem, the dew serving as another reminder that dawn approached like a swift horse.
She briefly wondered if they would escape the village. But with a quick glance to her left, to the pale woman with the strange accent, Blanca suppressed her doubts. She had fallen in with a dangerous and amusing pair, a welcome relief from crushing years spent as La Senora's only companion. When— not if—they escaped Yepes, those years would seem small payment for a life of her own.