The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2)

by Pamela DuMond

  “Of course,” I bowed my head. “Thank you for your kindness, my lady.”

  She guffawed and passed me. “ A Lady now, am I? The help nowadays…”

  ~ ~ ~

  I passed through the kitchen where servants chopped up roasted chickens and heaped pig’s knuckles next to slices of beef, pork, and potatoes onto enormous platters.

  “I need to find Inêz de Castro,” I said. “Is she here?” I asked a sweaty, middle-aged man, wielding a large carving knife.

  He regarded me oddly. “No. Lady Inêz hardly ever attends these events.” He dropped his cleaver and handed me two pitchers filled with dark amber liquid. “Hurry up! They are an unruly bunch tonight. The quicker we help get them drunk as sows, the better.” He returned to carving the pig.

  “Do you know where I can find Inêz?”

  He paused—holding the large, bloody knife in the air. “Why don’t you go ask the King, or a few of his advisors,” he said. “She is so very popular with them.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I lugged the enormous pitchers as I entered the grand hall which was, indeed, pretty grand. It was the size of a small ballroom at a decent hotel in downtown Chicago. Thick stone columns supported its towering domed ceiling.

  A few musicians played old-fashioned music with fancy string instruments in a corner of the room. There were dozens of long, narrow, wooden tables filled with dishes of food. Men of all ages and a few women dressed in clothes much finer than mine laughed, chatted, and flirted. They raised glasses, devoured the food, and seemed to be enjoying the party. Servants—such as myself—brought them platters of food including roasted pigs with their heads still attached to their bodies.

  I’d figured out who I was in this time period: a gypsy servant girl in a medieval palace, with a king who supposedly wanted to kill some Lady named Inêz. Hurrah for me, I’d already passed a few hurdles: I time-traveled—although not very consciously, I’d woken up next to a guy who was dying, and yet minutes later I was still functioning. At least I wasn’t collapsed on the ground, a freaking basket case, like the first time I traveled. Heck, if I was back in present day Chicago, either Ryan, Aaron, or Chaka would be giving me high fives and fist bumps right about now as they congratulated me on my success.

  I made my way around tables refilling goblets and tankards. A few folks appeared friendly and asked me how my evening was. I bowed my head slightly, attempted to curtsey, made small talk, and then asked them if they knew where I could find Inêz: I had a message for her. But each time I inquired about her—everyone looked away, and either ignored, or dismissed me.

  Until one slightly tipsy nobleman dressed in a colored ruffled shirt took me by the arm, pulled me to him and whispered into my ear. “The more you inquire about Inêz de Castro, the more unwanted attention you bring to yourself. The Lady is not a welcome guest in this palace. She is tolerated only when Prince Pedro accompanies her. Since the Prince is away on a hunting trip, I suspect Inêz stays with their children, like she always does, at their home.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “How far is their home from here?”

  He regarded me oddly. “A half hour.”

  “By foot or by horse?” I whispered.

  “By horse. You know how to ride?” He arched an eyebrow.

  “I’m not very good at it.”

  “You are a gypsy, yes?”

  I nodded.

  “Gypsies are magical, when they are not being accused of stealing or witchcraft. If I were you, I would dress your pretty face with a smile, return to serving the nobles, and hope that none of them remembered you were the servant girl who was inquiring about Inêz.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Thanks. What’s your name, kind sir?”

  He winked at me. “Your knight who is barely able to fit into his armor. Lord Geoffrey of Oporto.”

  “Thank you, Lord Geoffrey of Oporto.”

  “Be gone with you, pretty. Serve more ale to the drunken nobles.” He winked at me and sighed. “God help me, I remember when I was as pretty as you.”

  I hoisted my pitchers, turned around, and regarded the crowd. This was basically my first gig as a waitress. How could I better serve? More importantly—how could I get out of here and find Inêz—especially now that I knew she was simply a half hour ride away.

  A large, sweaty guy with a scruffy beard wearing a stained shirt that strained over his potbelly gestured to me from a table several yards away. “I’m thirsty, girl. Come here. Now.”

  I edged my way through the crowd toward him. “More ale, sir?”

  He nodded.

  I leaned down to refill his glass but he yanked me onto his lap. “Hey!” I dropped my pitchers and they clattered off the floor spilling the liquor onto my clothes and soaking the hem of my dress.

  His corpulent hands pinched and groped me, and he stuck his fat, soggy tongue in my mouth.

  “Ew!” I sputtered and tried to push him away.

  “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

  I smacked him, but he just held me tighter, and twisted one hand around a clump of my hair. “I think I have just discovered the best part of tonight’s celebration,” he said. “Is it possible there is a virgin left in our fair land?” The men at his table roared with laughter.

  I took the opportunity to bite his forearm and he growled, but only tightened his grip on me. “Let me go!”

  Suddenly, someone dumped a tankard of ale on his head that unfortunately doused me as well.

  “Let the girl go, Lord Martim.”

  Oh, God. A familiar voice. A voice that belonged to someone I longed for. Someone I loved.

  Samuel.

  ~ eight ~

  I looked up into Samuel’s face and almost lost it. “Samuel!” His strong cheekbones, his hazel eyes with a glint of gold, his very black hair that curled in unruly forms down his neck and brushed his shirt—he was my Samuel and I would remember him in any lifetime.

  His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head and peered at me. “Do we know each other?”

  “Of course we do,” I hissed. “1675—King Philip’s War—I mean present day Chicago. You go to Loyola and I go to Preston Academy…It’s me, Madeline…”

  “What do you think you are doing, you slippery weasel,” Lord Martim shook ale from his head like a wet dog, and then threw a sloppy punch at Samuel’s face.

  He ducked. “I am sorry, my Lord. I noticed that your wife, the Lady of Coimbra, watches your antics from her table, not that many yards away. I fear she does not appear pleased.”

  Furrows creased the Lady of Coimbra’s middle-aged forehead and red blotches erupted onto her cheeks. If looks could kill, I as well as her husband would most likely be dead on that drenched palace floor right about now.

  Lord Martim harrumphed. “Well, then I must thank you, Lord De Rocha. That woman’s wrath could turn me to stone.” He turned away from us.

  “Have we been introduced?” Samuel cocked his head and peered at me strangely. “What is your name?”

  I gazed into his eyes as I realized he had no idea who I was. None. I might have been a wadded up napkin that he just rescued from being gulped down by a mongrel dog. Tears welled and I tried to blink them back.

  “My name is… Nadja. Yes, we’ve met before: at parties and places—so very similar to this.” I waved my hand at the festivities unfolding around me.

  “Leave!” Lord Martim grunted. “My wife, Her Lady of Sublime Happiness is headed in our direction.”

  “Come on, Nadja.” Samuel beckoned.

  ~ ~ ~

  I followed him out of the grand hall into a corridor that was beautiful, but not as grand. And we were alone. Great, ’cause I could no longer hold back my tears.

  “Why are you crying? Did that arrogant swine hurt you worse than what I witnessed?” he asked and wiped my tears away with his fingers.

  How could I tell him why I was really crying? How could I tell him that just a few months ago, he was declaring his eternal love for me, “Madeline Blackfo
rd.” But now I was simply a stranger in his eyes, and even worse—a gypsy, a servant—a person considered far beneath his status. “No,” I said. “It was simply what you witnessed. Is he that foul with every girl?”

  Samuel laughed. “Yes. I heard whispers you were asking about Inêz de Castro. Why?”

  And, I remembered my message, and why I was really here: wherever here was. I wondered for a moment if I could trust Samuel, and then made the calculated decision that if I couldn’t trust Samuel in any lifetime, who could I trust?

  “What year is it?” I asked.

  “Odd question.”

  “Just tell me.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “1355.”

  “What do you call this place?”

  “You are beginning to worry me,” he said.

  “Just tell me!”

  “King Afonso the Fourth’s castle in Coimbra.”

  I shook my head. “Where’s Coimbra?”

  “Have you gone daft?”

  “No! Where’s Coimbra?”

  “The Kingdom of Portugal.”

  “Who’s Inêz de Castro and why does the King want to kill her?” I asked.

  He inhaled sharply. “You can never speak of such things to anyone. You will be hung or imprisoned in a dungeon for the rest of your life.”

  “Considering I was just poisoned and lived—but my friend died? I call myself lucky. I need to find Inêz and give her a message. And I need to do that now. Are you going to help me?”

  He paced up and down the hall.

  “Answer me or I’ll go on my own,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Yes. Yes, I will help you. But you cannot tell anyone. Anyone—or it will be our heads. Agree?”

  “I promise.”

  We turned and raced down a chilly stone corridor in the year 1355 in King Afonso the Fourth’s castle in Coimbra, Portugal.

  And I reminded myself that my real name is Madeline Blackford. I’m sixteen years old from present day Chicago, Illinois. I’d just traveled over six hundred years back in time, survived being poisoned, discovered I was a gypsy, re-met my soul mate Samuel, and now I was going to try and deliver a message to save a woman’s life.

  I’d say that I definitely accomplished a lot today. But a lot wasn’t enough for a Messenger. A lot only scratched the surface.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Your groom has taken your steed to be shoed. And I apologize, but the King and his men took most of the other horses, my Lord,” the head groom at King Afonso’s royal stables informed Samuel.

  “We only need one horse,” Samuel said. “And we need him now.” He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and handed it to the man.

  He pocketed it. “I have just the beast for you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The groom placed the saddle on the horse’s swayed back as I attempted to pet his long snout. But the animal pulled back his lips in a huff and nipped at me with his enormous yellow teeth.

  I yanked my hand away. “Ow! I’m not loving you right now.”

  “I am sorry?” Samuel hopped on top of him and held his hand out to me.

  “The horse. Not you. I mean—let’s just go!” This time I knew what to do. I took his hand, and jumped off the ground, as he pulled me up behind him onto the back of the horse. I gingerly wrapped my hands around Samuel’s waist as the horse trotted off.

  ~ ~ ~

  We rode through the black of night over hills and valleys dotted with farmland and crossed with forest trails. At times, I closed my eyes and remembered what it felt like when Samuel and I raced to the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean in the dead of night in 1675 during King Philip’s War in Rhode Island. The night Samuel first told me that he loved me.

  Hooray for treasured moments that will never be forgotten—at least not by me.

  We approached a river: its waters tumbling softly over small rocks. The horse slowed down, stopped in its tracks, whinnied, shook his head, and shied away from the riverbank.

  I totally understood. Ever since a Hunter nearly drowned me in the year 1675, I’ve developed a fear of water. Then I thought about my message for Inêz, realized we were running out of time, and that the King and his advisors had left well before us. “Hurry up!” I said.

  “We’re going as fast as this bag of bones can carry us.” Samuel kicked his heels into the horse’s side.

  ~ ~ ~

  Samuel tied Bag-of-Bones to a tree a hundred yards or so behind a picturesque one-story medieval villa encircled by a high stone wall.

  We crept low to the ground as we approached the estate. “I don’t see any guards,” Samuel whispered. “Where are Prince Pedro’s guards? He would never leave his beloved Inêz and their children unprotected while he is away.”

  Then I saw it—a hand on the ground—sticking out of a bush. I hurried toward it, shoved back a branch, and revealed to whom the hand was attached—a large guy whose throat had been sliced down to the front of his vertebra. I recoiled and shoved back a scream. “Samuel! Come here!” I hissed.

  He was by my side in a second. “Dear God, I know this man,” he said. “He was dutiful and honorable. They are killing Prince Pedro’s guards. Everyone they discover here who is not a member of their killing party is fair game to be assassinated. Including us.”

  “I have to warn Inêz.” I lifted my long skirts and ran toward the wall separating us from the villa. I jumped high, and grasped the top of the stone ledge that was cold and slippery from the moist night air.

  “This was not a good idea,” Samuel snapped his fingers at me like I was a naughty puppy. “We must leave this place—now!”

  My heart raced. “No.” I pulled myself up the wall but I felt so much weaker than normal—it had to be the poison. When he latched onto my foot. “Let me go!”

  “No,” he said. “I do not know what got into me at the King’s gathering; probably too much ale and gazing at you, a pretty maiden who needed rescuing. But we are departing—now.”

  “Leave if you don’t want to be here.” I said. “I’m staying.”

  “I am not going without you.” He tugged harder on my leg.

  “Stop it!”

  “No!”

  I kicked him with the back of my heel. Hard. I felt it connect with his face and he grunted in pain and released me. I felt terrible, but then reminded myself to get a grip. I had a job and it was important. And I shouldn’t have to be distracted because the boy I loved for an eternity didn’t remember me for a heartbeat.

  “I think you just broke my nose.” He clutched his face. “I should never have agreed to this insanity!”

  “Just go. I promised I would deliver a message to Inêz, and I don’t break my promises.” I climbed to the top of the wall, peered down at the other side, and jumped.

  ~ nine ~

  I careened down the bumpy, misaligned stone edges and landed in a thicket of bushes. The shrubbery broke my fall, but a few thorns pricked my skin, and I tried not to wince.

  Shouts and child-like screams came from the house that was now merely a dozen or so yards away. I snuck through the small courtyard filled with painted tiles, fountains, and greenery until I reached the rear of the villa. I backed against its walls and despite my racing heart, struggled to quiet my breath. I peeked inside the doors that were flung wide open.

  A thirty-something pretty woman wearing a modest, long dress stood in the middle of the room, a defiant thrust to her chin. Three young children surrounded her: two held tight to her sleeves, and one little boy wrapped both arms around her waist, his head tucked under her arm.

  A group of men stood across from her. Some were young and looked tough like guards; others appeared older and were dressed like noblemen.

  A tall, old man dressed in a fine, rich black cloak stood a few feet from the woman and stared down at them, mildly perplexed. “What do you expect of me, Inêz? I have warned my son Pedro time and again about the dangers of aligning with your brothers and their disruptive Galician politics.”

 
“Your ties with the kingdom of Castile still remain strong, King Afonso,” Inêz said. “The power stays with Portugal and Castile. Taking my life will not solve any political, or other problems, that stem from vicious gossip delivered by jealous nobles.”

  “Founded in jealousy or reality, the problem is already here, Inêz, because even though I exiled you multiple times, you always come back. You have been here for over ten years. You seduced Pedro away from his true wife, Lady Constanza of Castile, who most likely died of heartbreak. Their son, Prince Ferdinand, the legitimate heir to my throne, is sickly, and weakens daily.”

  “That is not my fault, Your Highness,” Inêz said.

  “Unfortunately, most people do not believe that,” said a skinny, older man draped in a rich velvet cape.

  “Sir Flaín is correct.” King Afonso sighed. “Come here, Denis.” He reached a hand out to the young boy holding tight to his mother’s arm. “Come to your Grandpapa.”

  Inêz gently pushed her son who reluctantly made his way toward the King.

  He took Denis’s hand, drew the child toward him and hoisted him in the air. “You’re growing into such a big, strong boy.” King Afonso placed Denis back on the ground and smiled as he tore back to his mother. “You bewitched my son, Inêz. What if you cursed my legitimate grandchild? Your children with Pedro are simply royal bastards, but they multiply, scurry around, and flourish like mice in the cellars.” He moved a few feet toward Inêz, reached for her face, and ran his thumb down her cheek.

  She flinched and blinked back tears. “Please spare my life, honorable King Afonso, father of my beloved Pedro. If not for your son, then for the sake of our children, your grandchildren, whom we all deeply love. I humbly remind you that your blood runs through their veins.” She dropped to her knees and quietly sobbed. “Spare me. I beg you.”

  “Unfortunately, my advisors have convinced me that it is simply too late.”

  “It is too late,” Flaín said. “King Afonso needs to give our Castilian friends a definitive sign we are united in solidarity with them.”

  “Your brothers’ politics have no place here,” King Afonso said, “and yet, they are embedded like worms in the future corpses of the Portuguese people they conspire to rule. I will not tolerate this treachery one day longer!”