Scoundrel's Kiss

by Carrie Lofty

  He closed his eyes to the assembling congregation and saw only blackness behind his lids. No clear path. No certain future. Terrifying as that was, he breathed easier than he had in a year. Perhaps the time had come to imagine and fill that black void with a new future.

  He opened his eyes, disoriented by the sight of several hundred parishioners gathered from the village below. The vast cathedral ceiling arched high above, adding strength to the echo of voices. His loneliness among all those people crushed into his chest, but Ada was there. From the pews where the canonesses sat, she had turned to look across the aisle. She smiled when she found him, tentatively, as if asking permission for the liberty.

  Where had she gone, the woman who had stripped bare before him in the bathhouse? He knew little of people, less of women, and barely a thing about Ada. The closer they drew together, the more hesitant she became. Shedding the unnatural freedom of her drug had made her a different woman. Or was it his constant rejection?

  Blanca tugged Ada's sleeve, and he caught sight of where she subtly pointed: Fernan sat four rows up from Gavriel, his white robes and shaven head nearly anonymous. Only when he turned his head did Fernan display the array of purple and blue bruises on his face.

  Gavriel did not like or trust the thin clown of a man, and he did not find any shred of forgiveness within him for what Fernan had done to Ada. But the sight of those bruises made him ill, even as his knuckles ached from the beating he had dispensed.

  The Mass began with a sermon aimed squarely at Gavriel, extolling the necessity of love and gentleness toward one's brethren. Countless eyes touched his face and flickered away, likely bouncing between him and Fernan. Smoke from torches and candles stung his nostrils, and the shuffle of hundreds of bodies murmured in his ears.

  As the congregants moved toward the altar to receive communion, one pew at a time, he saw Blanca slip away from the canonesses. Ada kept her eyes forward, her face serene. Row by row, the ceremony dragged deeper into the night—until a shout and a scream whipped heads to the back of the cathedral.

  Gavriel and Ada took Blanca's cue and shuffled in opposite directions away from the scattering throng. Another scream, not Blanca this time. The sudden confusion intensified the villagers' frightened rush for the exits. Gavriel elbowed past wide-eyed congregants and caught up with Fernan. He pushed him into a confessional.

  With a hand over the man's mouth, Gavriel stared into startled, fearful eyes. "Why did you do it?"

  Fernan glanced down at the hand muffling his reply. Gavriel crooked his knee and wedged it between his captive's legs. "Words only, understand? If you cry out or call for help, you'll be less of a man for it"

  Fernan's eyes widened slightly, then he nodded. Gavriel loosened his hand but pinned his forearm over his windpipe.

  "Talk."

  "Now you demand details," Fernan said. "You wanted nothing but the bare facts before turning me into a walking bruise. Do you know how hard it will be to find a decent harlot now?"

  "You'll heal, unless you continue these jests." He pressed deeper. Fernan grasped at the unyielding forearm at his throat "Why did you do it? What does Pacheco know about you?"

  Fernan inhaled through his nose, a wheezing draw of breath. "I have a son."

  "What?"

  "A son," he said, gasping. "I fell in love with a Moorish girl last spring, just after I arrived here."

  "And you bedded her? Relations between a Christian and a Moor—that's not legal."

  "You should have been a scholar, Gavriel. Such a wit. And so quick."

  Gavriel shifted, pressing more of his body weight against Fernan's groin. "And you confessed to Pacheco?"

  Sweat beaded across Fernan's scalp. "I did. He threatened to tell my father if I did not do as he asks. I stand to inherit one quarter of my family's estate, just as my brothers will, and my father would never permit me to name a half-Moorish heir to those lands." He grunted, the bones in his throat pushing against Gavriel's skin. "I did it to protect them."

  "Where are they now?"

  "On my last trip to market, I gave her money enough to flee to Toledo with her family. I'd hoped to meet them there when... when—"

  "When?"

  "When you had gone. That's why Pacheco wanted me to hurt Ada, so that you would leave the Order."

  Gavriel restrained the need to use his fists. He relinquished his grip and stepped away.

  Blood flooded back to Fernan's face and he gasped, massaging his throat. "I speak the truth," he said.

  "Why? What does Pacheco want?"

  "I have no notion."

  Gavriel watched his wide eyes, reading both fear and resolution. The man who had defied the law to fall in love with a Moorish woman pressed against the back wall of a confessional in the midst of a mob scene, but he did not cower.

  "Come away with us," Gavriel said at last. "Ada and Blanca are securing horses. We can get you to safety outside of Ucles."

  "As long as you keep various body parts to yourself. Even if I don't see Abez again, I'd rather do without your knee between my legs."

  "Abez?"

  Fernan inhaled, standing straighter. "Yes. I'll make her my wife if I can."

  Knocked aback by the unexpected strength in Fernan's posture, in his voice, Gavriel merely nodded. From bawdy buffoon to sacrificing family man—the change was too much to be borne.

  "Strip your robes then, brother. Our tenure at the Order of Santiago is at an end."

  Fernan crossed himself and ducked free of the white linen. "At last."

  * * *

  Like a boat riding a wild, cresting wave toward shore, Ada moved with the maddened crowd toward the arched double doors on the cathedral's eastern side. Blanca's single scream had been enough to excite the entire congregation to senseless action and reaction. Bodies crushed and pressed against hers. She breathed through her nose, deliberately, slowly, to help stem the rising panic.

  Nearer the exit, she found space enough between the villagers to breathe easier. She pushed into the clear, crisp night, the cool darkness whipping her frayed senses. Men led their wives and children down the steep path toward Ucles, moving hastily but without the same mindless fright of escaping the cathedral. Torches held aloft lighted the way for the river of people returning home.

  Ada abandoned those flickering beacons and stole into the black, edging around the stone foundation toward the stables. There she waited until the two men standing guard drifted away from their posts to investigate the ruckus at the cathedral. Her dark cloak blending her body with the night, she kept a ready hand near the hilt of her dagger, just in case, and slipped inside.

  Memories of darkness, old fears, old pains, threatened to steal the air from her lungs. She stopped and pressed flat against the nearest wall, closing her eyes as dizziness soaked her senses. Fingers behind her back, she pressed her palms into stones that held the faintest heat of daylight.

  Even more fearful of the guards' return, she forced her body off that wall. A search of the stalls revealed a pair of accessible horses. The heavy saddles would not budge from their hooks, not without risking a noisy collapse should she drop one. Instead, she threaded the bits and reins, convinced that bareback would suit them.

  Except, perhaps, for Fernan. And Blanca.

  Saints be.

  She draped an armful of blankets over one animal. Mounting the other, she clutched the reins and tossed a quick prayer into the darkness overhead. With a sharp click of her tongue, she urged both horses to a canter and fled the stables. If the guards noticed her flight, they did not pursue, for soon she had circled around the cathedral. Ada spun her horse in a circle and passed her gaze over the crowd. Gavriel, Blanca, even Fernan— nowhere to be seen.

  A tickling idea at the back of her mind urged flight. She would ride away to safety, abandoning the people who asked her to make good choices and selfless sacrifices.

  No. That was too much to ask, and the rewards would not be nearly as easy as they had once been. She had smacked th
e opium away from Gavriel's mouth because she cared for him. Denying their elemental bond was an impossible task. And more than Gavriel, she cared for her own future for the first time in more than a year. By force and by pure stubbornness, he had returned that awareness to her. To relinquish it now, on the cusp of escaping altogether, would be an act of hopeless cowardice.

  Tucking her heels into the horse's flank, she edged into line with the villagers descending to Ucles. A glimpse of movement caught her eye. A man on horseback turned, a curving blade glinting in the wan moonlight The metal of a crossbow jutted from behind his back.

  She hissed his name. "Jacob!"

  Jacob blinked once, believing first in a trick of the night. But a second blink and the sound of his name from her mouth made her real. Ada.

  Only when they were clear of people—down a slight rise and out of sight of the monastery's defensive wall—did they dismount Jacob shrugged out of his weapons and opened his arms to Ada's embrace, the feel of her body like a long draft of ale on a blistering day. He squeezed tight and relished the soft, strong woman he held. The hair pressed against his nose smelled of plain lye soap and candle smoke.

  "Jacob, I cannot believe it," she said in English. "You've returned at last."

  "I have, though sooner than we planned. Why are you out here at night, and with the whole village in a lather? What happened?"

  Ada stepped back, only enough to see his face. "Much, I'm afraid."

  Jacob inhaled deeply. The previous year had seen her slip from steadfast companion to a woman ruled by unshakable desires. Her eyes, although clear, were still ringed by circles of fatigue. "How are you, Ada?"

  "I'm well," she said, her words a mere breath. "I have much to say to you. An apology first, I think. And then my thanks."

  He smiled. Her keen expression and the natural set of her limbs revealed no addiction. None of the despairing agitation between doses. None of the incoherent bliss of a high.

  Relief washed through him. "We'll save that for a safer hour, I think."

  "Yes." She untangled their arms and began to pace, restless, her gaze constantly flickering to the top of the rise. "We're in danger from one of the masters here at the Order."

  "Pacheco?"

  "You knew?"

  "I've learned much in these weeks."

  "The scrolls," she said. "You hid scrolls with Daniel didn't you?"

  He frowned. "I did."

  "I have them." She waved a quieting hand. "Don't bother asking how. I'll explain later when the thought of what I did doesn't turn my stomach. Just know that I've read them."

  "Pacheco's a bad seed," he said, eyeing her, wondering how far he could trust her. "When I was in Segovia, I learned Dona Valdedrona's spies had discovered his connection to the exiled Lord de Silva. He works for him in secret—has done for years, hiding here, awaiting their return to prominence."

  "At the end of the truce."

  "Yes. He and Gavriel, both."

  "What do you believe Gavriel had to do with this?"

  "He's not safe," Jacob said. "Believe me on this score. He's not to be trusted."

  "Don't tell me that. I read the scrolls."

  "He's dangerous. That's why I came back."

  "I won't believe it. I'll believe it of Pacheco, but not Gavriel." Her pacing grew more agitated. "And Pacheco had control of him the entire time. The bastard. I'll see him dead for what he did."

  "I mislike when I cannot understand your English words," said a voice out of the darkness. "

  "Gavriel!"

  She propelled herself into the arms of the tall, angular man. Behind him, the buffoon Fernan and a petite young woman walked over the rise.

  His eyes prickling, Jacob watched the embrace between Ada and Gavriel. Stripped of his robes, the novice appeared nothing short of a hardened warrior, just as Jacob had suspected and feared. Gavriel, like Pacheco, had been in waiting. And now that the de Silvas set their sights on military action at the conclusion of the truce, they would want their most esteemed assassin returned to them.

  And that assassin had been ordered to kill the King of Castile.

  At that moment, Jacob did not care about plots, intrigues, and broken truces. He hardly cared that the woman he loved had been freed of the drug that warped her personality and claimed her soul. He only cared that she held onto Gavriel de Marqueda as if her life depended on it And that he held her in return.

  Chapter 27

  They traveled a wide path around Yepes, with Fernan and Blanca on foot. Sunshine toasted the grasses and released a scent midway between hay and fresh bread. A flock of birds took to the brilliant blue sky as the horses pushed on, moving them father away from the monastery. Gavriel traced the arc of their flight and squinted as they flew in front of the sun.

  Obligations and doubt tightened the muscles that bound his chest, constricting, while the wild landscape and the exuberance of those fleeing birds called to him, offering the promise of negligent freedom. What would it take to simply cast off the reins he held? Nothing. A flick of his wrist. But he wrapped his hands all the tighter and glanced back.

  Ada sat astride her saddle with accomplished grace. She rode alongside him, at times even ahead of him, but never challenged him for control of their progress. Her back straight yet relaxed, her body flowed and her legs absorbed the horse's every movement. She rode well, she fought well, and she was argumentative to a fault. With every accumulated detail, he tried to balance what he knew against the relentless memories of the sick woman he had shielded and nursed through grueling nights—and the naked woman he had touched, kissed.

  When Ada caught his eye and offered the tiniest smile, he sat taller on the saddle.

  But he also had Jacob to consider. With his crossbow and his curved knives, the young man watched them with a sharp, narrow-eyed look. If he knew about Pacheco's connection to the de Silva family, he would know about Gavriel's past as well.

  More than the knowledge Jacob must be privy to, the possessiveness in his eyes stoked an uncomfortable jealousy in Gavriel's chest. Ada was cured, or as cured as she might ever be. The need for opium would scratch under her skin and in her blood for the rest of her life, like a cough that would never quite clear. Jacob had not been strong enough to complete her treatment. Now he had returned, his expression one of hope and happy reunions—except when he looked at Gavriel. Daggers were none so sharp.

  They stopped to rest along the Tagus. The horses needed water, but Gavriel would have given one of his hands to keep from returning to that place. Ada would not meet his eyes, not even when he found the mettle to seek hers. Memories of her body, her kiss, her sweet passion grated against his defenses, leaving him exposed to base desires.

  "What plan have you, Jacob?"

  Ada's voice sent a shiver up his backbone, no matter that she addressed another man and spoke of strategy. Only when he had reined in his need did he take a seat apart from the others. He was lying to himself. He wanted her more now than he ever had. Impossible, ridiculous—he did not care.

  "We need to take the scrolls to King Alfonso," Jacob said. "They can implicate the guilty parties, not only for current plans but for the conspiracy at Alarcos."

  Ada flashed her eyes to Gavriel. She seemed skittish, as she had when bent low over those scrolls.

  "We should camp here for the night," he said quietly, wondering just what Ada had read.

  * * *

  At dawn they followed the lowlands along the Tagus, through the eastern mountains, and arrived in Toledo as the sun dipped low to the west. Gavriel followed Jacob across the river on a wide stone bridge, the others trailing behind as they approached the city gates. As much as his pride rankled, he recognized that Jacob held the most authority of any in their small group. Gavriel had no intention of challenging him now, weary and short-tempered as they all were. No one had slept well. Blanca could have been walking with her eyes closed for how alert she appeared.

  Far below the bridge, moss covered the craggy rocks that
stepped down to the rushing waters, while prickly junipers, crude mud shelters, and fleet-footed goats clung to the jagged cliff face. The city, by contrast, brimmed with art and splendid architecture, that uneasy mix of cultures.

  But no sooner had they dismounted, just inside the defensive wall, did a dozen armed pedones circle their tired little band.

  "Halt!"

  The guards surrounded them in a quick clatter of metal. The horses shied. Fernan and Blanca huddled close. Before Jacob could draw his knives, one of the men sighted him with a loaded crossbow. Jacob raised empty hands above his shoulders.

  Gavriel angled his body between Ada and danger. She clung to his left bicep with tense fingers, an unspoken pledge of faith in his strength and skill. But any move to draw his sword would put everyone at risk. He could buy them only an instant of chaos, hardly worth the danger of unleashing the belligerence painted across the guards' faces.

  "The girl comes with us," said one, a thick-set man.

  Blanca gasped and drained of color. Fernan and Jacob supported her body as it dripped toward the street

  "Not that peasant." The guard never took his hawk's eyes from Ada. "Lainglesa."

  Jacob snarled at the guards, his temper bared and blunt. Gavriel admired the young man's protective reflexes, but his mind cautioned calm. They would be dead in the street if Jacob pushed too quickly. Armed hordes obeying orders did not respond well to reason, and even less so to aggression.

  Amidst the tense silence, Ada inhaled and spoke in her strange language. The frowning guards puzzled over the foreign words, but Jacob shook his head. They argued briefly in English before the lead guard raised his sword. "Enough! You will speak the language of His Majesty, the King of Castile," he said. "You must be the woman we seek."

  "I am," Ada said, smiling. "May I have the pleasance of knowing why you wish to detain me?"

  Gavriel recognized her playful tone. He would have chewed wood to break his fast before wishing to have that infuriating cadence directed at him again. But he also felt the slender fingers clutching his arm tremble.

  "By Castilian law, you must reveal the nature of her detention," Jacob said, looking up from where Blanca sat heavily on the dew-damp cobblestones. "She is a member of Dona Valdedrona's court and lives in Toledo under her protection."