by Carrie Lofty
Her opponent had regained his feet. Face bare, enraged, he carried her sword, too. A jagged scar marred the skin between his forehead and jaw, just missing his left eyeball. The eyelid drooped and the slightest haze covered that iris. He stalked toward her with deliberate slowness, but the crowd no longer supported his deadly intent They began to jeer and toss items into the arena: first old produce and mud clods, then stones and ever more insults.
Ada noticed his pronounced limp and offered a sweet smile. She raised empty, blistered palms. "I don't suppose we could call this a draw? Maybe these folks would forgive a blind man his foibles."
"You will die for this affront," he said.
"Hardly just." She backed toward the platform and stooped to pick up a fist-sized rock. Its jagged edges gnawed at her palm, sharp and reassuring. "But then, little of this experience has been fair."
His lip curled into a sneer, knotting the scarred skin. "Kneel and die quickly."
"No."
He sheathed his weapon and hefted her short sword. "Then you will die slowly by your own dull blade. You cannot escape this place. I've never been bested."
She smiled again, her stare raking over his face. "Seems someone came right close. And I intend to do him one better."
A bellow from above grabbed her attention. Where Gavriel had been doing battle, his opponent lay on his back, perched halfway over the edge. Two body lengths separated the man's right arm from where his hand and sword landed on the ground. Blood rained down on a dozen upturned feces.
The warrior grabbed her from behind, her windpipe wedged in the crook of his elbow. His armor pinched her skin. The tip of the sword poked into her lower back. "I'll not be humiliated by a woman."
"Too late, seems to me. Or did everyone here know about your eye?"
The sword gouged into her flesh. Hot blood seeped beneath her kirtle and dripped down her spine, buttocks, thighs. Pain like an afterthought slid between her nerves and dove into her brain. A scream shredded her throat.
She slammed her rock up and back. The man's nose exploded in a crack of bone and gore. She wrenched his arm from around her neck, rolling free.
"Ada! Take this!"
She whipped her head up to the wooden platform where Blanca stood The girl tossed a glittering sheath to the ground. Her jeweled dagger.
Ada snatched up the beautiful, lethal weapon, her lower back a riot of pain and disobedient muscles. She pulled the dagger free of its sheath. Although she shouted up to Blanca, she kept her eyes on the injured warrior who had dropped to the ground, clutching his ruined face. "Where's Gavriel?"
"Here."
She spun and found Gavriel within an arm's distance, the glimmering sword he held streaked over with blood. But reflexes and the persistent blaze of fear dragged her arm up, ready to strike. She stood there, poised, limbs frozen and mouth agape.
"Inglesa," he said, his smile thin. "Mi inglesa."
The dagger dipped. She lowered her hand, carefully, slowly, and sheathed the weapon. Then she dove into the safety of his arms. "Miamo."
Hard muscles garnered her close. She flinched.
Gavriel pulled away. "What?"
"My back." He tried to turn her around but she resisted. "Not now."
With the warrior felled, soldiers who had encircled the arena closed in. From all sides they approached, fully armored and armed. The bailiff, the judge—they were nowhere to be seen. She did not know if they were city pedones or members of de Silva's personal guard.
"Who calls it off?" She looked around but found no one but soldiers and anxious citizens. The jeers and applause had faded to tense silence. "Who comes to say I've been pardoned?"
"I know not," he said quietly. "Although my guess is that the ordinary means have been corrupted."
Side by side, she took Gavriel's hand. He gave her fingers a quick squeeze. "What was your plan?" she asked.
"What plan?"
"Your plan! You—your face. In the cell. You were wearing your chess expression, when you're ready to win."
"You're mistaken, inglesa," he said with a grin. 'That's how I look when I'm ready to bluff."
His smile broadened. Hardened warrior, stoic servant of God—they transformed into a teasing man who stole her breath. She wanted to slap him, but instead she threw her arms around his neck and held on. Tight. She found the soft hollow behind his ear and kissed him.
As Gavriel raised his sword, she tucked her face into the crook of his neck. They might die, but they would die together.
"Halt!"
Up on the wooden scaffold, Jacob and Dona Valdedrona stood over the man whose hand Gavriel had severed. They looked like angels of mercy, ready to offer calm justice. Jacob nodded to them when Ada called his name. Although his face remained impassive, he winked.
"I'd wager he has a plan," Gavriel whispered.
"Good that one of you does."
He rubbed a playful hand over her bobbed hair, their bodies still clinging. "I've been imprisoned with you. You're very distracting, inglesa."
"I demand that every soldier stands down," said Jacob. "Detain de Silva's men."
"By what authority?" asked one of the soldiers.
King Alfonso, dressed in layers of silk and fur, distinguished by his fine lineage and decades of authority, stepped into view on the platform. "By mine."
Gavriel kept Ada's body close to his, their fingers interlaced, hers growing colder by the minute as men cleared the arena of curious spectators. Soldiers remained at the ready as the king and his attendants descended. They bowed to the monarch, Ada managing awkwardly despite the blood seeping through the back of her dress.
"Your Majesty, you are not safe," Jacob said, rising from his bow.
Alfonso looked Jacob up and down, then passed his keen eyes over the crowd. Those who met his gaze dropped their eyes in deference. "I will not be intimidated by traitors in my realm."
Searching among the prisoners, Gavriel could not find his wounded father. "Jacob, where is de Silva?"
"On the platform with two soldiers and a physic." The young man struggled to hide a grin but failed. "We found Blanca and Fernan sitting on him." He turned to Ada. "Are you well?"
"I'm alive," she said tightly. Gavriel needed to get her to safety and tend whatever wounds she had sustained. "The judge who oversaw my hearing is in de Silva's pocket."
"No, the judge is in a cell." A young noblewoman with dark hair and flawless skin stepped through the line of soldiers and took her place between Jacob and the king. "I do not appreciate being disobeyed," she said.
"That's Her Excellency," Ada whispered.
The noblewoman's displeasure ebbed from her in frosty waves. "This woman, Ada of Keyworth, was to be cleared of charges and remanded to my custody. That she has been made to fight for her life like an animal in a baiting pen is reprehensible." She glided toward Ada and inclined her head. "I am pleased you fared as well as you did. My apologies, senora"
The word senora lingered in the air. Jacob had been standing tall, imbued with the authority of his connections, but now he studied the toes of his boots. Yes, Ada was a married woman. She had married him, Gavriel de Marqueda, a slave and a bastard and a man struggling to find a better way. That Dona Valdedrona acknowledged it in public made it real.
Ada squeezed his hand. Her face shone with a private smile, so much like the soft smile of peace he had first seen on her face. But this one was natural, unclouded. A smile for him.
But the moment escaped him as two soldiers pulled them apart. Ada stumbled. Jacob kept her from falling, but she swirled free of his reach, eyes ablaze. "What are you doing? Not him! Jacob, tell them!"
The sheepish look of a little boy had gone. Jacob stared only at Gavriel. 'ordered all members of the de Silva family to be detained. That includes Gavriel."
"No!" Another pair of the king's guard held Ada back. She hissed in pain but did not relent "Let go of me!"
"Please, I won't resist Just let her be." Gavriel went still, his arms sl
ack beneath the soldiers' restraining hands, but inside he raged. "Inglesa! Stop! You'll do your injury worse."
"What injury?" Jacob took charge of her and gently turned her around. At her lower back, blood stained her gown. "Saints be! Where is the physic?"
"Let him go, Jacob," Ada said. "He’s not one of them. He was their slave. Even in the scrolls, they doubted whether they could count on him to do their treachery. You read it just as I did. Do not insist on thinking the worst of him."
Her words thrilled Gavriel, even as he wanted to go to her. She had never distrusted him. She had believed his violence a part of his old life, and so had the men aligning against them. He was not that killer. Even in sparing de Silva's life, he had proven as much.
Ada sagged against Jacob and slid to the ground. Gavriel surged again, but the guards held fast
"Jacob, you must get her to my palace," the condesa said, kneeling.
Ada's face had gone sickly pale. "No! I won't leave without my husband!"
"Milady! Please, milady," said Gavriel. "Let me talk to her."
Dona Valdedrona looked to the guards and nodded. They kept sword points at his back, but they let him approach his huddled wife. He rolled his shoulders once as he took the condesa's place, with Ada's hand cool and trembling in his.
"Go with them, mi ama," he whispered, petting streaks of saltwater from her face. "I'll be treated fairly now. You know that."
Wide blue eyes fixed at a point over his shoulder.
"Ada? Ada, talk to me."
"Pacheco," she whispered. "Check mate."
He froze. He had known as much. Pacheco had slipped through. Whether or not Ada lived, whether Gavriel died as a final punishment for Sancho's long-ago death—none of it had mattered to de Silva.
He had only wanted the diversion.
Gavriel held Ada's gaze and blinked once. Between their bodies, she pushed her dagger into his hands. He kissed her forehead with all of the strange, beautiful love he possessed.
"Time to end this," he said.
He jumped to his feet and swiveled to face the king. Alfonso and his attendants gasped, their wide eyes pinned to the bared dagger. Gavriel moved fester than their startled thoughts, thrusting past shocked bodies to where Pacheco lurked. Sword at the ready, there steps from Alfonso, Pacheco wore an expression Gavriel knew well—one of desperation.
"Drop the sword!"
Pacheco laughed, a sound just short of madness. Jacob pushed onlookers away from the impending duel and caught the condesa around the waist, pivoting his body in front of hers. Armed guards locked into place around the king.
"You are the weakest sort of traitor, Gavriel," said Pacheco with a snarl. "You could not kill your father or the king. Is it possible you still hope to be redeemed? I know the truth you are too ignorant to understand."
Gavriel circled warily. He kept his back to the small entourage, his body between Pacheco and the king. "And what truth is that?"
"God does not want men like us with Him. We were better off making our way down here. A good life of comfort." He jerked his head to the wooden platform where a physician still tended de Silva's grievous wound. "You have ruined that chance for both of us."
"You should've considered that before your plans threatened Ada."
"That drug-addled girl. You were supposed to fail her just as you fail everything!"
"I haven't. And I won't. None of us foresaw that. Now put down your weapon."
Pacheco parried. His sword glazed off Gavriel's dagger and sent it flying. Agile and determined, Pacheco lunged toward King Alfonso but Gavriel spun forward. The condesa screamed. Pain burst to life in his gut where Pacheco's sword imbedded below his ribs.
Ada shrieked his name. "Help him!"
He staggered back, his shoulders supported by unseen hands as he collapsed to the ground. Half a dozen men pounced on Pacheco, the man's enraged shouts suddenly silenced.
Alfonso's voice boomed over the shocked group, demanding the return of his physician. "This man's loyalty is no longer in question. Is that understood? Now offer him aid!"
Gavriel found no strength, no vigor left. He slumped back.
The world swam in mottled colors as if he had opened his eyes under water.
But then Ada's face appeared over him. Tears bathed her face. "Gavriel!"
"Mi inglesa." He wanted to kiss her, but she seemed so far away, her face at the end of a long tunnel. "Is he dead?"
"Yes," she whispered. 'Stay with me. The doctor is coming."
He forced his eyes wide, trying to focus. "Last night, I gave you everything I am. I would not kill for them, not even for the promise of your safety. Couldn't trust them. Had to fight."
"Oh, God. Is that what you promised de Silva?"
"Please, Ada." She leaned closer. He could barely hear his own voice. "Please, don't go back: Don't go back to that darkness. Promise me."
"No! You cannot leave me."
He tried to smile and wondered if it worked. His body was floating. "Promise me, because I won't be there to drag you free again."
"I promise, mi amo, but don't leave me. Please. Do you hear me, Gavriel? I'm asking please.""
Chapter 35
Jacob waited in a sitting room at Dona Valdedrona's palace. The sun angled across the thick tapestries as afternoon began its long, bright fade into evening. Dust motes clung to each slanting ray. Two serving girls talked in hushed voices outside in the corridor, but otherwise Jacob was left with his thoughts.
Three weeks had passed since the day Gavriel de Marqueda saved the king's life. Jacob split his days between answering questions, translating documents with Daniel of Morley's aid, consulting with the authorities, and spending hours by Ada's side. She, in turn, held Gavriel's hands, her lips always moving around some prayer or whisper, stubbornly ignoring Jacob's pleas that she rest or eat.
His body ached from the fatigue of it all. Ada had never been his, and too much time had passed since he had last entertained the thought She belonged to Gavriel. The only thing Jacob could ask for her sake was that her husband wholly recovered. Other wants and other daydreams no longer had any place.
He turned to find Dona Valdedrona standing in the doorway. Lovely as ever, draped in finery, her elaborately plaited black hair accentuated the pale perfection of her skin. She whisked into the room and proffered her hand. He bowed at the waist and brushed a gentle kiss atop her knuckles.
"Milady," he greeted in Norman. He escorted her to a settee and took the opposite seat. "What news? That is, if you're at liberty."
"For you, I am," she said. "His Majesty has reached an accord of sorts with his cousin. Ferdinand has admitted no wrongdoing, but he agreed to exile the remaining members of the de Silva family. With Lord de Silva dead of his wounds, the clan is quietly preparing to leave for Morocco. For good."
Impotent anger burned beneath his skin. "Then the Leonese get away with their scheme? We broke their alliance with the Almohads, but they may find another renegade family. Any of the ricos hombres with funds enough to equip an army can threaten us."
"The kings are meeting in Segovia to negotiate a renewed truce. Another five years of peace." She looked down at her clasped hands and shook her head slowly. Sunlight blazed against her inky hair. "I know it isn't ideal, but at least Alfonso is safe. For now. We have you to thank for that."
His mind jumped to the small room where Ada still sat with Gavriel. She had suffered. They both had. Jacob thought himself young and floundering when compared to their sacrifices. But at least he had seen the truth before it was too late. Ada had been right; the scrolls implicated Pacheco. Jacob had played a ruse of his own on that day of combat, allowing the king to venture into the crowd as he had, allowing everyone to believe Gavriel would be arrested.
Yes, his plan had worked—but the cost had nearly been two innocent lives.
"I... I did so little."
"Nonsense," the condesa said, her smile widening. "You did all I could ever ask from one in my employ. An
d King Alfonso agrees with me."
"Oh?"
"You've been awarded ajuderia in the north."
His mouth gaped wide. Manners dictated that he should mask his surprise, but he could not find the resources. "You're in earnest, milady? My own estate?"
Her smile eased into a gentle laugh. "Your very own. And you'll have use of my men and materiel until you become established." She hesitated, a blush fanning across her cheeks. "Some resist the idea of awarding parcels to Jewish courtiers, but I cannot think of a reason why you don't deserve this. And my thanks."
He choked back the throb of emotion in his throat "I am... milady, I—"
"I know, Jacob." She reached over and squeezed his hand. But for reasons he could not discern, her smile dimmed.
"What is it?" he asked.
"His Majesty has offered one other reward: a position with his guard. He values your skill and shrewdness and would like you with him at court. The opportunity is a marvelous one."
He frowned. "You're sending me away?"
"The choice was not mine," she said, heir voice catching. "In truth, I had hoped you might remain in my employ. My trusted advisors have been killed. Those who remain are more loyal to my late husband than to me." She appeared young and strong, yes, but also tired. Her honeyed eyes never left his face. "And yes, His Majesty has asked it of you, Jacob ben Asher. Would you refuse him?"
Jacob had always wanted to be a warrior, a man to be respected among brave, skilled peers. Now he would have his chance, serving at the court of the most powerful king in Iberia. But he would have to leave the condesa's service...
"And what of you?" he asked.
"I'll fare as I always have, except I'll have Blanca to keep me company." She sighed quietly and forced a wan smile.
King Alfonso would never need him. Not this much.
In a rueful humor, he shook his head. Maybe he would never learn. These years with Ada should have taught him hard, irrevocable lessons about wanting what could never be. Yet faced with Dona Valdedrona's faltering bravery, her tense shoulders and nervous fingers, Jacob made his decision— one as reckless and needful as any Ada had ever made.