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

by Pamela DuMond

  Prince Pedro shook his head and closed his bloodshot eyes for a few moments.

  “Thank you, Your Highness, for such an entertaining afternoon.” Sister Cecilia shot me a look and then bowed her head to Prince Pedro. “I must return to the monastery. I will take Nadja with me.”

  Samuel eyed her suspiciously.

  “And Lord De Rocha will accompany us to ensure our safe travel,” I said. “Thanks so very much for the food, and the bath, and the beautiful dress. Can I keep it?”

  Jorge laughed out loud.

  “Be quiet!” Fernando said.

  The three of us edged toward the door. Sister Cecilia passed through it first. I was next, and Samuel behind me when Prince Pedro roared. “Guard! Detain them.”

  The man clamped a meaty hand on my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks. He squeezed my shoulder like a WWE wrestler and I yelped in pain. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Take your hands off her!” Samuel strode toward him, but the soldier didn’t flinch.

  Sister Cecilia Hail Maryed herself and slid back in the room. “Everyone calm down.” She made the sign of the cross. “Soon it will grow dark and we must return to the monastery to look after your children, Your Highness. Now that Nadja has been baptized, I am certain she will want to become a Sister at the Monastery of Santa Clara a Vel-ha as soon as possible. In the meantime, she can help us around the cloister. Cook, clean, and serve.”

  Please dear God, save me. Nothing against organized religion, but I did not want to be forced to become a nun in any lifetime.

  “In a moment,” Prince Pedro said. “First, I pick the people who will hunt down the assassins and bring them to justice. Jorge, you will be the search party’s leader. You are honest and I trust you. Choose five of your most skilled and trustworthy soldiers to accompany you. If you have to decide between skilled and trustworthy—err on the side of trustworthy.

  “I volunteer, Your Highness,” Samuel said.

  I swiveled and stared at him. He didn’t seem like the volunteering type.

  “Thank you, Lord De Rocha,” Prince Pedro said. “I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to.”

  “No, Your Highness, I do not,” Samuel said. “I, too, was at your house that horrible night. I too guarded your children. I need to see this through, for Lady Inêz, for you, and for Portugal.”

  “I take it I am allowed to leave?” Jorge asked.

  Prince Pedro gestured to the door.

  Jorge winked at me as he slipped past me out the door. “Keep the gown,” he said. “It suits you.”

  My eyes widened and I couldn’t think of a snappy retort. Samuel covered a frown.

  “Should I accompany Jorge, Your Highness?”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  Sister Cecilia bowed her head to the Prince. “It grows late. Unless Your Highness requires our attendance, I humbly request that we be allowed to leave as well.”

  “I need a few words with the girl.” He beckoned to me.

  My glance swiveled between Samuel and the nun. Samuel grimaced while Sister Cecilia bit her lip.

  “Now,” Prince Pedro said.

  I walked the few yards toward him but they felt like a mile. I bent my head and curtseyed. “Yes, Your Highness. How might I be of service?”

  He took my hand. “Walk with me,” he said.

  ~ nineteen ~

  We entered a royal courtyard shaped like a rectangle. A thin, shallow reflecting pool was situated in its center. Prince Pedro paced maniacally and I tried my best to keep up with him.

  A guard stood to the side and pretended not to watch our every move.

  “I need a few moments or lifetimes away from these people, away from the craziness,” Prince Pedro said. “I need respite from my mess of a life.”

  My heart went out to the man; his eyes were red, his hair needed to be combed, and his face was ashen. He looked about as terrible as I probably did, when I woke up on the cellar floor.

  “The first time I laid eyes on Inêz was almost fifteen years ago at my betrothal celebration to my former wife, Lady Constanza of Castile. I entered the grand hall, heard the music, saw the brilliant gowns, the guards on alert, and the magnificent festivities. My parents looked happy and content for the first time in years. And I thought I could make this work. After all, the majority of princes are required to marry for political purposes.”

  “I read about that in Euro History Class,” I said and immediately cringed.

  “What?”

  “It’s common knowledge amongst historians from your various classes. My great uncle was Romani, yet fancied himself to be a historian,” I said and peered at my feet.

  “Interesting. I have heard similar tales from several of my gypsy servants,” he said.

  “Please continue, Your Highness,” I said. “Tell me more about when you met Inêz.”

  His face softened. “My eyes lit on all the beautiful ladies, the ones in the most ornate gowns, the richest jewelry, until they came to rest on one woman who was rather simply attired but would always stand out from the crowd—Inêz de Castro. I fear I was smitten, and did not even notice Princess Constanza of Castile until Jorge shoved his elbow in my ribs and whispered that I was eyeing a lady-in-waiting, not a princess.”

  “If you knew you had to marry Constanza, why did you pursue Inêz?” I asked.

  “I had no choice. We had a kind of crazy love that poets wrote about. She called it ‘Até o fim do mundo... Until the end of the world’ kind of love. My father banished Inêz and sent her back to Galicia. I married Constanza, but longed for Inêz every moment of my existence. I had her brought back. Constanza conspired against her. I don’t blame her really. And yet, we couldn’t help but be together. I felt terrible when Constanza died so shortly after giving birth to our son. I truly did. But in a way, I was relieved. Now I could be with Inêz, marry her. Except my father would not allow it. She wanted to marry in secret. We were together for fifteen years before these jackals took her from me.”

  “I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. It was my honor to help your children and give you a reading,” I said. “I wish I had gotten to your beloved in time. I wish I could have saved her.”

  “When I finally find sleep, it’s fitful and she calls to me. Every corner I turn, I think I might see her. Every day without her is torture.”

  “You need to rest,” I said.

  “I cannot until justice has been served. You are old enough to know the relationships between gypsies and nobility, yes?” He asked.

  The dying gypsy man in the cellar had said something similar to this. “Absolutely,” I said. “We are the keeper of your secrets, your couriers—”

  “And on occasion, our spies. I could command you,” Prince Pedro said. “I could force you to be on my side, commit treason against my father, and coerce you with threats or blackmail to spy for me. But you helped, you saved my children, and I believe you will be loyal to me in my quest. So, instead, I’m asking you, Nadja, to be my spy.”

  The problem was I didn’t really know how to spy. I also wasn’t very good at being a Messenger but that didn’t stop me.

  I nodded. “Yes, Your Highness,” I said. “I would do that for you.”

  “I want you to accompany my hunting party,” he said.

  All the little hairs on the back of my arms stood up. “Hunting party?” I asked.

  “The group I’m sending to track down Inêz’s assassins. Blend in as a servant and send messages back to me.”

  “What kind of messages?”

  “Who you find, and where you find them, as well as the secrets and intimacies of the group’s members.”

  I shook my head. “Why would you send someone you didn’t trust?”

  “I spent fifteen years loving Inêz de Castro, even having children with her, in direct opposition to the most powerful man in the Kingdom of Portugal, my father. We survived with the help of my spies.”

  “How will I send messages to you?�
�� I asked.

  “Through your gypsy network. Pass your information to another Romani on your trip and it will get back to me. I pay my loyal servants with silver, land, and other royal favors.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” I nodded knowing that I’d give all my earnings to Miri.

  “You survived the night Inêz was butchered because you pretended to be our servant. But why did Lord Samuel De Rocha live? He met with the assassins after the deed was done. He reported Inêz’s death and John’s absence to a healer as well as the sisters at Monastery of Santa Clara a Vel-ha. What was he doing before that?”

  “He was with me,” I said. “He guarded Beatrice and Denis.”

  “That was simply a small part of the night. Not all of it. Young Lord Samuel has a secret and I need to know what it is.”

  Prince Pedro looked forlorn and wild-eyed crazy all at the same time. Perhaps I shouldn’t have talked him into this road trip.

  “I know our code names.” He smiled. “You, Nadja are a gypsy. So I believe it is fitting that your code name is Messenger.”

  My hand flew to my heart. Oh crap! I really didn’t need a more obvious code name? “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. You are Messenger,” he said. “And I am The Cruel.”

  ~ ~ ~

  A party of five saw us off the next morning. A handsome, twenty-something peasant man lifted a young boy into the air, squeezed him tight, ruffled his hair, and handed him back to an older woman wearing a drab dress. “You mind Avó until I return, Dario. Be a good boy while Papa is away.”

  “Papa, it moves,” Dario opened his mouth wide and jiggled a tooth.

  “Aha!” He said. “I think that tooth will be gone by the next time I see you.” The boy squealed in excitement and ran off.

  “Return to us soon, Tomasis.” The woman leaned upward, kissed the man quickly on his cheek, turned, and ran after the boy.

  “Always, Mother. Thank you for helping.” He climbed onto the cart’s driver’s seat.

  “Be careful, Miri,” an older, portly man wagged his finger in her face. “It is bad enough you went to work in the castle, but now you cannot even help with the family business during your free time.”

  Miri shoved back a smile. “It is so terrible, Father. I will say prayers every night that you survive.”

  That was the extent of our going away festivities. Prince Pedro’s unassuming caravan departed Coimbra and the relative ‘safety’ of King Afonso’s castle at dawn to travel across Portugal and hunt down Inêz de Castro’s assassins.

  Captain Jorge Cortez led our small but efficient group comprised of nobles, guardsmen, and peasants. The guards and noblemen rode horseback, but did not wear royal colors or armor. Their intent was to fly a little under the radar and not raise suspicion.

  Miri, Sister Ana, and I bumped along the rough dirt roads in the cart driven by Tomasis, the hearty young peasant man who had an infectious laugh and smile. He swiveled on more than a few occasions and gazed slyly at us until we hit an extra large pothole and the cart dipped precariously to one side. Pens filled with squawking chickens and bags of food tumbled across the floorboards. Sister Ana yelped. A large burlap sack knocked me down, and split open, covering me in a sea of onions.

  Miri frowned at Tomasis as she plucked vegetables off me. “Were you raised in a monastery, boy? Have you never seen a woman before? Stop peeking at us and watch the road.”

  “Which one of you ladies is the nun?” he asked.

  Sister Ana was dressed in peasant attire, just like Miri and me, and she sighed. “God forbid that I am recognized for anything other than being a Sister.” She muttered, and then crossed herself. “Bless me Father if I spoke out of turn.”

  “Not me.” Miri harrumphed. “I am definitely not the nun.”

  “Thank the gods!” Tomasis smiled, and threw a kiss to the heavens. “My prayers have been answered!” He grinned and snapped the reins on the two mules pulling our cart.

  I elbowed Miri. “Someone has a crush on you.”

  “I do believe you were the one nearly crushed,” she said. “Not I.”

  “I mean, you don’t understand, it’s like…” No she didn’t understand and I couldn’t explain everything to her or she’d think I was a freak. I needed to keep my one loyal friend.

  Jorge had received word that the killers were headed northeast to the Castilian part of Spain, most likely on their way to France. We settled into a routine; driving forward through rural towns and villages and stopping at estates in between. Jorge and his soldiers questioned the locals hoping to discover if anyone had heard news, gossip, or encountered one of the assassins.

  The guards and noblemen had time to kill when they weren’t actively searching for the assassins. Jorge was like a rock star on tour; he seemed to find multitudes of admirers and groupies along the way, and was more than happy to spend time with the ladies.

  Gaspar, Jorge’s trusted right-hand-man, appeared to have a huge, unrequited crush on Jorge. He settled instead for the attentions of beautiful peasant boys and noblemen in whatever town we landed in.

  I heard the soldiers gossiping amongst themselves, as men frequently did, that Samuel was hard working, but for the most part seemed to be a bit distracted.

  Sister Ana kept pretty much to herself except for conducting daily brief Christian prayer services. Miri made me laugh with all her jokes and we became tighter friends every day. Tomasis was bound and determined to wear her down with his flirtatious commentary and generous grins. It was like watching two really cute puppies meet and realize that soon they might be wrestling on the floor and chewing on each other’s ears.

  I was starting to lose track of time and I grew homesick. I missed Chaka’s fashion and school gossip updates. I longed to chat with Aaron. I missed my dad, my stepmom Sophie, my brat sister Jane, and I hoped that I hadn’t missed the birth of my new brother. I even missed Ryan and all of his lessons.

  I hadn’t saved Inêz and I didn’t know what my purpose as a Messenger was in medieval Portugal. As far as impressing the love of my many lifetimes, Samuel, that didn’t seem to be happening either.

  At mealtimes, Miri and I would serve Jorge and the men their food, and then take ours with Tomasis and Sister Ana.

  Jorge continued to flirt with me, albeit in a non-pervy manner. “Enjoying the rabbit stew tonight, Nadja?” He sopped up his meal with some bread. “Very tasty.”

  “Thank Miri, not me.”

  “Thank you, Miri,” Jorge said.

  I poured another goblet for Samuel who wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You can’t even mumble ‘thank you?’”

  “What does it matter?” He shrugged. “Someone more important than I commands your attention.”

  “Jorge?” I asked. “He flirts with every woman. I think he flirts with me to toy with you.”

  “Do you return his affections?”

  I blinked. “He’s almost twice my age.”

  “Do you return his affections?” he asked.

  “He’s funny. I like him as a friend.”

  “I think he wants you as more than simply a friend,” Samuel said and turned his back to me.

  ~ twenty ~

  So far our journey was not a ‘pillaging’ mission. I’d read about those crusades in history class and they sounded brutal. I prayed to my non-denominational gods and goddesses that our purpose wasn’t meant to conquer or torture people, but simply help Prince Pedro find justice before he completely lost his mind.

  Because seriously, who in their right mind picks “The Cruel” to be their secret code name?

  Samuel continued to ignore me. After about three days on the road, I’d pretty much decided he was just a jerk in this lifetime. Even though he was still incredibly hot, and I was still attracted to him, I did my best not to take it personally; therefore I ignored him in return.

  Now that it was spring, the temperatures were fickle, and the weather changed from one day to the next. At night we made camp in the woods under the moonlight,
or huddled beneath makeshift tents that leaked when pelted with rain. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the assassins had found shelter with Rat-face’s supporters, and had cushier lodgings than us; hidden away in an attic, a cellar, or a barn.

  We traversed meadows that sprouted patches of green grass that poked out of the mild winter’s muddy landscape. We crossed rivers that ranged from trickling streams to deeper, more tumultuous waters.

  Just a few days into our mission, we approached the widest river yet. Rocks jutted out as white waters poured over them.

  “This doesn’t look like the best place to cross,” I stood a few yards back from the waters’ edge and pulled my wrap tighter around my shoulders.

  “It is winter run off,” Gaspar said from high atop his chestnut mare. “The snow melts from higher up and feeds the waterways. Streams can swell to torrents in the spring. This is the best place to cross unless we veer south, too distant from our current path.”

  Jorge pulled up on his stallion and scrutinized the river. “We would lose a day,” he said. “We cross here.”

  Miri held her hand out to me from the back of the car. “Come on, Nadja. Climb aboard, close your eyes, and pretend you are falling asleep. I will even sing you sweet lullabies.”

  I took her hand and scrambled onto the cart. “I hear your dulcet tones every night. No lullabies right now, I beg you.”

  Tomasis cracked the reins on the back of the mules. “Sing them for me, Miri. Better yet, let me sing them for you.” He launched into a song as she giggled.

  I covered my ears and bit back a smile. “This isn’t relaxing!”

  Every couple of minutes I’d open my eyes only to see that we were still in the middle of the frigging river. How long did it take to cross a stupid river? I hugged myself and tried not to appear frightened.

  Samuel rode up on his horse next to the cart. “The water is not that deep,” he said. “Ride with me.” He held out his hand. “Come on! You have done this before. I think you appear afraid because this cart looks like it will disintegrate into soggy splinters at any moment.”