Scoundrel's Kiss

by Carrie Lofty

  She sat on the second pew in the cathedral for hours. Brothers came and went, praying, lighting candles, exchanging quiet instructions. Two young novices swept the central aisle, silent in their work. No one bothered Ada. She only noticed them as a buzz of insects behind her thoughts. The poppy pods pressed as heavy as lead in her hands. She had not even opened the linen wrap, but their scent—more pungent than smoke, dust, and the smell of cathedral's sun-baked stones— wove into her nose, tapping deeper memories.

  Freedom.

  She had spent the better part of a week contemplating her future, one that involved selling Daniel's scrolls and indulging once again, but now the moment was at hand. And she did not know what to do. She should fling temptation away like so much refuse and clutch her temperance with both hands. But the poppies waited. They called to her.

  She stood and quickly left the cathedral. Gavriel would help. They had parted on poor terms that morning in the weapons hall, but he would not turn away her pleas on this score. None of their hard work—his hard work and her suffering—would be sacrificed. She only had to ask for his aid, her pride an easy victim to the fear of falling again.

  Breath burned hot in her throat, and her pulse pumped" as quickly as her legs. Running. Through the maze of the monastery, the corridors repeated the sound of her boots slapping the flagstones. Two canonesses wearing matched habits and censorious looks pushed against a wall to avoid her. And with every step, Ada could have flung away the poppies.

  She would, just as soon as Gavriel told her to.

  Outside his chambers, she pressed her forehead against the wood and breathed. The erratic beat of her body would not be stilled. He would see her as a crazy woman at his threshold, hair whipped free of her headdress and eyes wild with need and fear. He would see her, this humiliating vulnerability, and he would not fail her. He could not.

  She knocked with her good hand and cradled the pods with the other. Waiting, panting, she heard a smack. Then another, like me slap of reins against a horse's neck. A third sent shivers up her back.

  His back „ "Gavriel?"

  She pounded the door this time, both hands, not caring about the pain shooting between her raw knuckles. A few kicks later and she shouted his name again, her face aflame. Frustration pinched at her temples. She placed the poppies on the ground and tried the handle, flying two steps forward when the door opened.

  Gavriel knelt wearing only breeches, his back to the door. Illuminated by a single tallow candle, he bowed his head low. Long streaks of flayed flesh angled from his right shoulder to his left hip. Rivulets of blood trickled down, nearly black in that pale light. Slightly older wounds, covered in scabs, crossed the opposite direction, the remnants of another recent torture session.

  He raised his arm and flogged himself again, apparently oblivious to her presence. The metal-tipped leather bit his skin once more, opening another furrow of flesh. His whole body convulsed around that pain but he made no sound. The arm may as well have been that of another man for how little mercy he showed. Every strike was more shattering, more powerful than the one before.

  The lash pulled a chain of whimpers from her throat. She covered her mouth. Tears rained over her fingers until she could stand no more.

  "Stop!"

  She rushed to him and grabbed the handle of the flogger. Even taking him by surprise, she was no match for his speed and strength. Gavriel shot to his feet and flung her away. She landed with a grunt against the wall.

  He stood over her, his handsome face contorted into a grotesque mask. "Why are you here?"

  She recoiled from his thunderous voice and smacked her head against the stone wall. Her every reason for coming to him had vanished into vapors of fear and shock. "I—I..."

  "Come to stare, inglesa?" He sneered and hefted the grim leather flogger, displaying it for her. "Come to see what punishment I endure for having kissed you?"

  Her heart twisted. "This is because of our kiss?"

  Blood dripped from the steel tips to the ground, dotting the floor. "Because I must make my body obey. My body—or you."

  He bared his teeth and lifted the flogger again, ready to strike. She screamed.

  Gavriel flinched, blinked. "Ada?"

  "I've never been afraid of you, not until this moment," she whispered, fingers clenched around the hilt of her dagger.

  A flicker of Gavriel the man she knew—returned to his eyes, as if trapped behind the mask he wore, fighting to break free. But for Ada, it was too late. She used his momentary confusion to find her feet and flee.

  Half a dozen paces down the corridor, she ran back and grabbed the poppies.

  Hours later, Gavriel finished washing the cuts on his back, content to have stopped the bleeding. A fresh tunic covered his skin. He rubbed the back of his neck, his hair still wet from washing, and he stared at the flogger where it lay on the floor. Having simply dropped it when Ada fled, the venomous tool lay in the blood—his blood—dried black on the stones.

  She had been afraid of him, truly afraid, just as he had been terrified of himself. Not at all the man he had hoped to become. And now, no matter the consequences, he would apologize. She deserved that much from him, if not abject begging for her forgiveness.

  Shame rolled through his body like a thunderstorm over the land. If he had hurt her...

  His gaze caught on the metal barbs at the ends of the flogger. They glittered with sinister purpose. The skin on his back twitched, but his body and mind remained unbowed. He could deliver as many lashes as there were stars and Ada would remain a part of him. Nothing he had done or could ever do would sever the connection strengthening between them, but he had nearly taken his anger and fear out on her.

  Grizzly images of Ada wearing scars to match his burned behind his eyes. He crossed the scant distance to the sword he had wrested from one of the guards in Yepes. Why had he kept it, when he thought never to use a sword again? Now he knew. He kept it because he might need it Picking up the flogger, a lifeless opponent that threatened his body and his mind, he wrapped the leather strips around the blade and sliced them from the handle. Tiny, excruciating metal barbs tinkled against the flagstones, harmless now except to bare feet.

  It was done. Never again.

  He quietly closed the door to his chamber and walked through the corridors to Ada's room. No one stirred at that late hour. Torches burned low, if at all, and shadows worked to get the better of his imagination. But what could the shadows—or his imagination, for that matter—conjure that he had not seen or done or thought?

  "Ada?" He knocked gently on the door. "Ada, I've come to apologize. Please, inglesa. Ada?"

  The latch sounded on the other side of the door and opened to reveal Blanca, her eyes two full moons. She would not open the door any wider. "Senior, she's not well."

  "I understand," he said, quelling his frustrations. "I'm responsible."

  Blanca frowned. "I should hope not."

  He pushed his hands together, the heels of his palms grinding bone on bone. "Yes, I am. I—I frightened her, and I should like the chance to apologize."

  "Oh, senor, no."

  She opened the door wide. Ada lay slumped on the floor at the foot of her cot. Her hair fell over her shoulders, half-concealing her face, strands plastered to her forehead. The gown she had worn lay in a heap beside an empty mortar and pestle.

  Air punched free of his lungs. Dizzy, hot, defeated, he slumped against the doorway.

  No!

  "Hello, Gavriel," she said, her voice as bleary as her addled eyes. He had seen that expression on her lovely face once before. "You're not supposed to be here."

  "Saints be, Blanca." He cornered the smaller woman, barely reigning in his temper. "How long has she been this way?"

  She passed a nervous glance between him and Ada. "I returned from midnight Mass and found her."

  "Did she ask for me?"

  "No, senor. She said I was not to bother you." Blanca hesitated, her cheeks heating with a pink blush.r />
  "There's more, si? What did she say?"

  "She said you were in a foul humor and she wanted to enjoy herself in peace."

  Gavriel nodded, slowly, as if the bones in his neck had rusted. She had come to see him, but why?

  Ada laughed behind him, the sound of madness. A shiver rolled down his arms. Blanca crossed herself and moved to join Ada.

  Gavriel put a hand to her shoulder. "Blanca, do you trust me?"

  She did not hesitate now, not like when she was protecting him from the truth of Ada's condition. She simply nodded.

  "I need to stay with her tonight," he said quietly. "Do you understand? No one can know."

  "Of course, senor" Her dark eyes held trust and fear in equal measure. "And you can make her well again?"

  "I can," he said.

  But the conviction in his voice belied the quivering apprehension in his gut. He had driven her to this, after all those days and horrid nights dragging her free. Why would anyone entrust him with her care after how he had behaved?

  Because she needs me.

  Blanca gathered her cloak and tied it around her neck. "I will sleep in the chapel. Find me there if you need anything."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Si. Take care of her tonight"

  With that she was gone. The latch clicked, shutting him in with Ada.

  "Where is it, what's left of it?"

  "Nothing left," she said, her face smooth and serene. "Just the mortar. So innocent now. Harmless. And now you can't hurt me, either."

  Gavriel knelt and pushed the hair from her brow, smoothing. "Who did this? Who gave this to you?"

  Eyes filled with stars met his. Nothing of Ada remained in that elated gaze. They had defeated this demon need once, but it had returned to steal her again.

  "A friend," she said. "One who likes me much more than you do."

  "Fernan."

  She smiled like sharing a secret. "Possibly."

  After a deep breath for patience, he garnered her in his arms and lifted her from the floor. A keen sense of helplessness stole the strength from his arms. He clutched tighter, suddenly afraid of dropping her. She snuggled against his chest, that secret smile still gracing her lips. Her face was sallow and waxen.

  Working to banish his doubts, or at least to lock them away for a few hours, he steeled himself for the task of sitting with her, vigilant, for her euphoria would not last forever. He settled with her on the cot, sitting propped against the wall despite the flames of pain across his back. She curled into his body at once, head on his chest and softly humming to herself.

  "I never wanted this for you." He kissed the top of her head. Her sweat smelled sticky sweet, not like her at all. "I am trapped, but I wanted you to be free."

  He had not expected a reply. The distance between their minds was too great—his writhing in regret, hers floating high above. Yet she sighed and whispered, "But you didn't want me for yourself."

  Gavriel pulled her closer and shut his eyes, but he did not sleep. The throbbing along his back was too insistent, and the storm in his mind would not quiet He needed to decide what to do about her lapse.

  And come dawn, he would kill Fernan.

  Chapter 23

  She returned to him just before sunrise, slowly and cloaked in anguish. The tears began ever before she opened her eyes, dampening the linen of his tunic and setting fire to every decision—even the ones he had been certain of. Her tears held that power. As he lay cradling her limp body, he felt stripped and defenseless when once he had been powerful, confident, unyielding.

  Ada sobbed against his chest "What have I done?"

  "Quiet now, inglesa," he said. "You made a mistake, nothing more."

  Her face crumpled and she rubbed fists over her red-rimmed eyes. "You must be furious with me. I am with myself."

  "Ada, be calm. We knew this journey would be a difficult one, filled with obstacles."

  Gavriel urged her to sit up and away from him. Relieved to come away from the wall and shift positions, he shook feeling back into his right arm. But the room was colder without her body pressed close. She shivered too, and he fetched her cloak to loop around her shoulders.

  "May I have water?" she asked.

  He handed her a mug filled from the clean water basin and resumed his place on the cot. Ada drank with greedy swallows. Even that small task left her winded and slumped against the wall. Her face shone with unnatural paleness, shrouded by the black wool cloak and streams of her dark hair. Her chapped lips were puffy, the deep pink of raw meat

  But her eyes. The snap of vitality and intelligence peeked out from behind those tired, tired eyes. Despite the fatigue, she was herself. She was Ada. And he wanted to keep her locked in that room until she swore never to leave him again.

  He froze. What right did he have to expect any such promises? He had behaved like a madman. Since arriving in Ucles, he had done everything possible to distance himself from her, from the temptation she represented.

  "Ada, why did you come to see me last night? Do you remember?"

  Her cloudy blue eyes opened wide and flicked around the room. "Where's Blanca?"

  "She went to the cathedral when I offered to see you through till dawn." He gently cupped her chin. "Please, Ada. I am as you see me now, not... not how I was last night. Why did you come to my chamber?"

  She scrutinized him, looking deep—just as he had looked for her, someone dear hiding deep beneath the terror. "You frightened me," she said. "Do you know that?"

  He closed his eyes but his temper stayed calm. She deserved his humility, not some false display of arrogance to conceal shame and injured pride. She had returned from that dark place, as he had. Simply seeing the life in her expression, not that numb and vacant pleasure, stripped him of pretense.

  "Yes, I frightened you," he said. "I know, and I apologize. I could have harmed you. Not because I was angry, but because I didn't want you to see me. Not like that"

  She bowed her head. "I didn't want you to see me either. Did Blanca tell you?"

  "She did."

  They sat facing each other on the cot. They were not strong enough for teasing and laughter, not when hurt and disappointment were easier to expect, easier to deliver. Her expression as lost as he felt, Gavriel pinched the bridge of his nose.

  "Why did you do it?" she asked.

  "Penance."

  "Surely, God has decreed nothing of the sort. He asks for prayer and pleas for forgiveness, good works—not mutilating your body. Did Pacheco command you to do this?"

  "Yes." His voice sounded as if he spoke from another room, distant and hollowed. "When we returned from Yepes, he instructed me to make amends for the violence I had done. He knew of my broken vows, perhaps even of you and I."

  "But Gavriel, you're no longer a slave."

  Raising his face to the ceiling, he released a shuddering breath. "Why did you come to me last night?"

  "I brought the poppy pods," she said, her words breathy. "I'd hoped you would help me discard them."

  Failure struck him in the chest. She had set aside her pride, seeking his help. He turned on the cot and knelt, taking her hands in his. The oil wick had burned low and cast deep shadows over her grief-stricken face.

  "Instead you found a monster, not an ally. Inglesa, forgive me. I don't—" His voice went hoarse. He shook his head. "I don't know how to make this right, for you or me."

  "Neither do I."

  She had asked if he would be gone long. No, inglesa. Not long.

  Gavriel strode through the corridors as sunlight frightened away the dreariness of the previous night. Never had darkness stretched across so many hours, but now the day fairly glowed with the vitality of spring.

  Ada had come to see him because she needed his help. The blunt truth of his failure knocked behind his eyes. He stepped out of the monastery and squinted against the sun. Nothing had changed, but as he strode around the training grounds to the distant fields, Gavriel could find no part of himself left
untouched by previous weeks' events. Untouched by Ada. He had breathed her in, there by the riverside, and now she invaded his thoughts and permeated his pores, intoxicating him like the drug she craved.

  The drug she would always crave.

  When she only had herself to harm, she would never find a reason to stop. He had learned as much about himself last night, clutching his flogger and standing over Ada's hunched body. He had nearly struck her, the shame and pain of his ritual taking control of his brain and his limbs. Only some deeper feeling had stayed his hand, one more frightening to consider.

  He found Fernan at the edge of the field, chatting with one of the young canonesses, a pretty girl of Blanca's age. She blushed and ducked her head. Her soft laughter eased across the newly planted fields like a breeze.

  "Fernan, I must speak with you."

  The canoness fled before another word was spoken. Fernan watched her go, his wistful face in profile and his shoulders tight. "I know why you're here," he said.

  Gavriel admired that much, at least; Fernan refused to take the coward's way.

  "Why did you give her that poison?"

  "I cannot say," Fernan said, facing him with the poise of a nobleman, one of authority and bearing. Every hint of his customary humor had disappeared.

  Gavriel narrowed his eyes, seeing the ridiculous buffoon as he never had. "What can you say?"

  "You'll never be permitted to join the Order, and if she remains here, Ada will not be permitted to recover. Her life is in danger."

  "From whom? I must know."

  Fernan assessed him with a calm, aloof gaze. A trace of his ironic smile twitched his lips. "You care for her."

  Gavriel hesitated but could not lie. "Yes."

  "Then get her free of this place."

  "And you? Shouldn't you leave as well?"

  "I have reasons to stay, the same reasons that prohibit me from revealing all." He looked into the morning sun and sighed, appearing suddenly older than his twenty years. "You came here to punish me, yes?"

  "Yes."

  "The penalty for beating a fellow Jacobean is harsh, and yet you would do this for her. I wish... well, if I had been—no matter now." Despite his strange calm, the younger, smaller man glanced at Gavriel's fists and blanched. "And now?"