by Carrie Lofty
He came.
His body, warm and solid beside hers, offered strength when she had wondered if all of hers was gone. Fresh-washed, with sunlight sparkling on the tips of his damp hair, he smelled of soap and warm wool. His hair had grown, she noticed. No longer cropped short as a member of the Order, it curled slightly around his ears, a little wild at the nape of his neck.
He looked down at her. Although he did not smile, he offered an unfamiliar expression. One of.. expectation? Hope? His sharp, hard features had softened. For her. She gripped his blunt, rough fingers and stood straighten
"And who are you?" Natalez asked. Sweat gathered in earnest at his temples and dotted the thick cluster of hair along his upper lip.
"Gavriel de Marqueda. With the Order of Santiago, I was responsible for this woman's wellbeing. Her craving for opium has been cured, and she stands ready to make good all of her debts with the help of her patron, Cilia, Condesa de Valdedrona."
Her name charged the assembly with excited whispers, but the judge paid them no heed. He stared at Gavriel, his glassy eyes direct.
"No matter that you stand for her, senor, or that you claim she is cured," Natalez said. "I have read the testimony and heard the applicable witnesses. This woman will face trial by combat to determine her guilt or innocence."
Combat?
Ada's ears filled with the murmuring delight of the crowd. She thought her knees would have weakened. Or maybe she would vomit But she remained upright, receiving the judge's sentence as if he had condemned some other prisoner. Only the sharp cut of Gavriel's voice penetrated the protective numbness.
"I demand an explanation, senor," he said. "Dona Valdedrona herself paid the debts this morning."
Natalez curled the edge of one document between his thumb and forefinger. "I received no such notification from Her Excellency, and I resent the implication that I would thwart a noble decree."
"I resent that you call yourself a judge," Gavriel said. "This is a mockery!"
Natalez pointed at him. "You will stand down!"
"Aayaaldiablo!"
Gavriel surged, but Ada caught him around both shoulders. She held him with all her strength, wanting him safe from the guards who stood ready to pierce her unarmed protector.
Natalez edged backward until the stool tottered, then tipped. Hundreds of voices lifted in laughter as he landed hard on the wooden platform. His fat face purpled. "Restrain that man!"
Long minutes passed as the guards restored order. They pinned Gavriel and Ada from all sides, circling with drawn swords. One helped return the rotund judge to his place on the stool. She clung to Gavriel's arm, finding the entire scene bizarre and comical, like the performance of a minstrel troupe.
She hiccupped, a sound suspiciously close to laughter— mad, helpless laughter.
Gavriel raised an eyebrow. "Are you well?"
"Of course not," she said for him alone. "Everything has become decidedly absurd. I used to enjoy it."
He covered her hand with his. "Ada, Her Excellency promised your release. Jacob saw her personally last night And he would have no reason to lie to us, would he?"
"No, not Jacob. But this judge?"
"Are you suggesting that men in positions of power may be manipulating us again?"
"Are you on the verge of smiling?"
"The only alternative to madness with a bruja like you."
He did smile then, his face breaking into a wide, boyish grin. The hard angles of his face softened around full, curving lips stretched wide. Beautiful white teeth shone from the dusky hue of his skin. Lines bending around his mouth revealed the slightest of dimples, and delicate feathers crinkled at the corners of his dark eyes. Those lips, dimples, eyes— they conspired to start a wicked fluttering behind her breastbone, one that had naught to do with the danger they faced.
"Enough!" All eyes returned to Natalez, his face still colored like lavender in bloom. His thick, unkempt beard shook. "I have decided on the correct course," he said. "My word as a judge of Toledo makes it so. You!" He pointed to Ada with a pudgy finger. Jewels from a pair of rings glinted in the morning sun. "Stand before me!"
Although reluctant to leave Gavriel's side, Ada unknotted their hands and wove between the swords to stand before the judge.
"Hear this," he said. "You will face trial by combat tomorrow at midday."
"Judge Natalez," Gavriel said, his temper threatening to burst through his skin. "She is a woman. Trial by combat is no just gauge of guilt. The measure is too harsh."
"I deem it appropriate. Be thankful that, considering the evidence against her, I do not declare her guilty this moment"
Gavriel stared at the judge, looking past the fat, officious face and the tiny eyes. First Pacheco, then Fernan—he had learned that public faces rarely matched the souls beneath. Ada, too, had taught him that lesson. He had first seen a woman dragged through life by her own weakness. At that moment, as she stood in quiet defiance of the judge and her own past, she demonstrated the strength he had come to expect of her.
But this judge.
He was as corrupt as his ruling. Women did not stand trial by combat. It was unseemly and unjust.
He inhaled. 'Then I claim the right to take her place."
Natalez frowned. "Right? What right?"
"She is my wife."
Chapter 29
Ada inhaled sharply.
Natalez glanced at his bailiff, the purple rage fading to a sickly paleness. He seemed to maintain his bearing by force of will alone. "What proof do you have?"
Threatened as they were by unknown forces, Gavriel set aside caution. She eased hurts that had been so much a part of him, like bones and blood and breath. That she caused a deeper sort of pain at the thought of her suffering loosened the worry in his chest.
"What proof is needed?" he asked. "We're both Christian, having lived on the edge of the reconquista frontier where neither banns nor priest are required." Gavriel found Ada's blue eyes and did not look away. Swords and men in armor separated them, but he spoke to her in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "You need only my word. And hers."
She looked at him as if the crowd, the judge, the verdict— none of it mattered. Only him. Only the words he had said in an effort to save her life.
He knew better. And by me way a smile began to change her face—first the light in her eyes, then the gentle curve of her lip—she did, too. He had made the claim of their marriage because he wanted it.
Tell them. Tell them we are married.
The words pounded against the inside of his forehead. Noise from the throng of onlookers faded, or else he had ceased to hear them. He only waited for Ada's reply to his most unconventional proposal.
Natalez's rumbling voice cut between them. "What say you?"
Ada turned to the hundreds of people in the courtyard. Considering the unjust nature of the judge's ruling, appealing to him seemed of little consequence. "Yes," she said. "He is my husband."
Applause and laughter jumped from the crowd Dressed in green, her hair whipping free in the morning breeze, Ada tossed Gavriel a carefree smile. He drank in her vigor, her beauty. Tingling warmth flooded his veins when she blushed. He would not take his eyes off her, but he knew if he closed them now, images of his future would be filled with her. Them. Together. If he proved strong enough.
This is Ada. And this is me in love with her.
"Silence!" Natalez jumped from this stool. Soldiers began to string along the perimeter of the courtyard, subduing those who heckled the proceedings. "You've made a mockery of this court. Ada of Keyworth will stand trial by combat, and if you disagree with me again, senor, you will be imprisoned too."
Gavriel lunged, breaking through the distracted circle of guards to attack Natalez. His knuckles met jowls, then ribs, then kidneys. He whirled the battered judge. With fingers pinching around Natalez's windpipe, his other arm ready to break the man's neck, Gavriel used him as a shield against guards who had quickly gathered their wits.
<
br /> "Who bought your ruling?" he asked near the judge's ear.
"You're mad."
"Do you fear their reprisal?" He pinched his fingers deeper, grinding the bones together. Natalez gagged. "Because at present, you should fear only me."
"Then kill me. I'll admit no disgrace."
"Your behavior has been disgrace enough."
Natalez's hulking body began to sway, his face resuming its sickly purple shade—this time from lack of air rather than rage. “You'll die for this," he sputtered.
"Without her, I'm already dead."
"Guards," Natalez gasped. "If he kills me, run the girl through. And turn the soldiers on the crowd."
The bailiff frowned, the sword he held ready dipping slightly. "Senor?"
"I will be obeyed!"
When Gavriel hesitated, the lead guard grabbed Ada. She screamed and struggled until he raised his sword to her throat, one arm looped around beneath her ribcage. A glitter of red rubies shone on his forefinger. The de Silva eagle.
That same shepherd.
"You are beaten," he said. "Surrender now or there will be no second chance. For either of you."
Even Natalez seemed nonplussed by the man's words. Ada's eyes were wide and terrified, her face an ill shade of gray. Bright sunshine reflecting off the sword made the contrast between steel and skin appear all the more deadly. The man wearing the de Silva signet stood ready to end her life.
Gavriel pushed the judge away like flinging refuse to the ground, the stink of hair grease clinging inside his nose. The remaining guards surrounded him. Ropes burned his skin from wrist to elbow, bound behind his back. Rough hands pulled him from the platform.
Through the confusion and the powerlessness that followed, yanked as he was across the courtyard toward the justice building, he tried to find Ada. A glimpse. One more look at her face. Some assurance she would be safe.
He found none. But the idea of being his wife had made her smile.
An hour later, Gavriel lay flat on his back in his cell. No window. No light. Only the sound of the crowd below as each new verdict made them shout or applaud. Perhaps they thrilled to the sight of two men stretching from paired nooses, just as they had when Gavriel defied the judge and Ada had affirmed their marriage—nothing more than a moment of entertainment before the people of Toledo went about their day.
The darkness and the close space did not affect him. He appreciated the solitude if only to find his own mind Instances of confinement were scattered through memories of his youth, but physical punishment had been far more common. Starvation. Exposure to the elements. The lash. Pacheco had known exactly how to reach into Gavriel's deepest fears and exploit them. The clarity of his motives and techniques aligned like eyes finally working together to focus.
The darkness would have tortured Ada, though. His stomach tensed against the knowledge that he had failed her. He should have fought to his last breath, chancing that the hundreds of people in the square would rally to their cause. He had seen it happen before, when mobs determined the verdict and brought powerful men low.
But that glint of ruby had stayed his hand. If Lord de Silva had orchestrated Ada's charade of a hearing, he would not let a little mob justice stand in the way.
Surrender now or there will be no second chance.
The words of the false shepherd wormed into his brain. Was it a promise or a taunt? He could only wait and hope that Ada was safe, at least until the following midday. But what would he do then? He could not think of her pain without suffering himself.
A key turned in the rusty lock. Gavriel jerked upright and scrambled to the back wall. The feeling like a cornered beast needled his pride. Torchlight illuminated the corridor, behind a man silhouetted in the doorway. Tall and silent, no aggression stiffened his posture. But Gavriel's skin prickled.
"Who are you?"
The man accepted a torch from a guard, then turned to face Gavriel. Flickering, golden light sprinkled over his face. Too many summers spent beneath the powerful Moroccan sun had cured his skin to a color of a roasted nut, stretched taut over pointed cheekbones. Hair a shade lighter had been cropped close around his head and shaped into a neat beard. A qamis draped over his spare body, shapeless and billowing, but an ornate wishah circled his waist, the jewels of that double belt seeming to move in the shifting torchlight.
"Do you recognize me, Gavriel?"
The voice was rougher, as if scrapped by busted stones. Different. Foreign in both accent and cadence. But Gavriel still shivered.
"You're Joaquin de Silva."
"I am," he said, stepping into the cell. "And it is time you finally kill King Alfonso."
Ada sat with her knees drawn to her chest and watched the slow, steady journey of a splinter of moonlight across the cell floor. Shivers of cold and fear passed over her skin like shadows, hardly felt, blending into a monotony of waiting. Sleep was as impossible as it had been the night before, a distant dream, like breathing without fear or looking with gladness to what the next day held.
On the previous morn, she had waited for sunrise with a sense of expectation. Faith had buoyed her hopes. Faith in Gavriel. In herself. For all of their misguided weeks together, he had jeopardized her heart but never her life.
She is my wife.
But no one waited to rescue her come morning. Her debts and Gavriel's past had come together, like strong hands to tear them apart. She would do combat and she would die. Of that she had no doubt.
Ada had needed to be free of the opium because it threatened to take her life, slowly, certainly, with every taste. She had done so reluctantly, fighting first Jacob, then Gavriel, and always fighting herself. Her freedom had been a second birth. She knew she was better for the struggle. Better for being free.
But there was no good to be found in losing Gavriel. He had pulled her from the darkness, held her, kissed her. She loved him with a stubborn possessiveness that had terrified her until that moment in the dark, caged and alone, when he was gone. Her life would end at midday, and she would die regretting the time they had spent fighting and resisting.
He is my husband.
And I love him.
The sound of his voice came as no surprise, her thoughts bathed in him. Memories and regrets. But the cold air rushing over her tears was real. The door had opened, and Gavriel found her in the darkness before she could find her voice.
Powerful arms gathered her close, his voice a murmur against her neck. She had sat huddled and alone, but now she held fast to Gavriel. His strength. His scent and heat.
Real. All real.
"What are you doing here?"
"I asked to see you," he said.
"And they consented? How?"
"Don't ask questions, Ada."
"All I have are questions," she said, tugging at his hair, stripping his tunic. She could not get close enough. Only the need to kiss him remained.
Trembling fingers found his mouth in the near-darkness, her lips quickly taking their place. Wide hands threaded into her unbound hair and angled her head, bringing their mourns together fully. She parted her lips and moaned as his tongue pushed inside. He tasted of copper—blood or thirst, maybe. She kissed deeper, his primal taste more ambrosial man any wine or spice. Just him. Only him. Blood swirled through her ears, burned at her cheeks, and gathered low and heavy in her belly, a deep rhythm she had only found with Gavriel.
She hugged his powerful body. Nothing felt as strong and steadfast as he did, his long bones and wiry, dense cords of muscle. Beneath her fingertips, she felt the ridges of flesh crisscrossing his shoulder blades. Her wounded warrior, the man who was as much his own enemy as she was to herself. Only together had they found a measure of quiet and sanity, of peace and forgiveness.
He tugged at the hair he held and tipped her head back, exposing her throat and scattering the tormenting thoughts. He tapped tiny kisses along her jaw, across, down. She missed his mouth on hers, but she gasped at the fiery touch of his tongue against the pulsin
g place where her neck met her shoulder. He did not nip or play but sucked deeply, marring her skin with his impatience.
"You don't believe we have much time," she whispered.
Motionless now, his lips still touched her skin. "No: Not much time at all."
"You said no questions, but there's something I must ask."
He loosened his grip on her hair and dropped his head to her shoulder. Tension made stiff branches of his limbs, his back bowed at an exhausted angle. "Very well. Ask it."
Chapter 30
At first she could not form the words. She said them in English in her mind, once and again, playing with the absurdity of that moment. Their bodies wanted each other. That much was plain. But it took another try before she could voice what she desperately needed to know.
"Why did you say that I am your wife?"
"I thought it might change the judge's ruling," he said. "I thought I could protect you."
"Is that all?" She pushed his chest until he sat back. A quiet hysteria filled her lungs. She forced more words into the air. "Is that all, Gavriel? Truly? I'm apt to die tomorrow and would like to hear the truth from you." She reached out to cup the side of his face, two days' worth of stubble scratching her palm. "Please, the truth shouldn't be so difficult"
"I wish circumstances were ... no, this is useless." He shook his head, but the fatigue she felt arching through his body stole his vigor. "This wishing for change. Useless. A waste. I won't burden us both. Let me hold you, inglesa. That I can do for you, at least."
'Try. You were willing to do battle for me. Try now. For me."
"I don't know how!" His hoarse frustration bounced around the cell. She flinched and jerked her hand away. "I don't know how to wish for what I cannot have."
"Because dreams make demands of you." So many sleepless nights had worn holes in her emotions, but she banked the tears that threatened. "If you want something, you must take risks or hope or sacrifice. You take the chance of being disappointed."
The sliver of moonlight angled across his shoulders, the resilient, smooth curves of his chest "Have you no notion of my life? I would have gone mad years ago, wishing for freedom."