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

by Pamela DuMond

  Unfortunately, his thoughts weren’t at all foolish.

  I stood on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Just kiss me,” I said. “Kiss me like we only have tonight.”

  And he did. His hands fisted my hair, twisting locks between his fingers as he pressed against me, and moaned my name. “Nadja, Nadja. I love you, truly I do. Do you love me? You said it once in passing. Say it again. I need you to say it again.”

  But my name wasn’t Nadja; it was Madeline and I was from the future. I couldn’t decide if I felt like the luckiest girl in the world or the biggest asshat. Whether I died in this life or traveled back to my real life in present day Chicago, I was still a liar. Another cheat, yet another deceiver in Samuel’s life who led him on, and eventually would leave him all alone.

  I couldn’t be that person anymore. I just couldn’t.

  My breath hitched in my chest, I pulled away from him, and I couldn’t even look him in his beautiful hazel eyes. “Samuel,” I said. “I have to tell you something important.”

  “I know, I know. I have to tell you something important as well.” He pulled me flush against him and kissed me again.

  I wanted his arms wrapped around me, his lips on mine. I wanted to laugh with him in any lifetime. I wanted to cry with him in happiness and sadness. I wanted him here and now—I wanted him forever. And yet this all felt so very fragile, like catching that snowflake. I was going to pull away from him again, I swear I was, but he beat me to it.

  “I apologize,” he said, breathing heavily. “I normally have restraint. You probably think I am an entitled noble, a brute—”

  “No I don’t,” I said. “Stop it. Just tell me.”

  “Nadja, I fear that when we go into that room that we do not exit being the same people,” he said. “I fear everything will change. You need to know—”

  “I love you, too,” I said. “Nothing you can tell me will change that.” I took his hand and kissed it once.

  He cradled my cheek with one hand and traced my face and then my lips with his finger. “I would petition King Pedro to allow us to be together,” he whispered. “He of all people understands what it is like to love someone you are not allowed to love. Or, you and I could just leave Portugal and journey to… Constantinople, or The Kingdom of Sicily. A place no one knows us, or cares about our backgrounds, or stations in life. A place we can be free.”

  My heart ached. As much as I wanted to follow Samuel to any world—how could I tell him that I already had? If I didn’t return to present day Chicago, thousands of hearts would not be broken, but the few that would were precious to me: my dad, Sophie, Chaka and Aaron, and my younger sister, Jane. Maybe even Ryan’s.

  And the bittersweet and crazy-making part of this story was that Lord Samuel De Rocha from medieval Portugal would miss me, but Samuel Delacroix from present day Chicago would not. I couldn’t even begin to try and make sense of that. I struggled to find a way to tell him and then decided to just go with the truth. I took a deep breath.

  “Do you remember the man in the meadow who was looking for a girl named Madeline?” I asked.

  “How could I forget?” he said. “You were so frightened. But I set him straight. I told him that you are Nadja and that he was mistaken.”

  “That’s what I need to tell you,” I said dreading my next words, wishing that I could keep them captured and hidden quiet inside me.

  “You can tell me anything as long as you breathe. I worry when you are not breathing,” he said.

  I inhaled. I exhaled.

  “Better,” he said.

  “Samuel, that man was not mistaken. I am not your ‘Nadja,’” I said. “I’ve never really been anyone’s ‘Nadja.’ My real name is Madeline Blackford.”

  He backed away from me so quickly I feared he’d bounce off a wall. “What do you mean, you are not Nadja? Who is Madeline Blackford?”

  “You were in the ruins and you were praying for guidance; probably just days before Inêz de Castro was assassinated.”

  “How do you know about that?” He glared at me confused.

  I looked away. “You knelt on the ground, gazed up at the night sky, and you asked, ‘Whatever your given name, I beg you, hear my requests. I do not know whom I should trust.’”

  “I repeat.” He strode the few steps toward me. “How do you know about that?”

  I wrung my hands. “You said, ‘Both choices are bloody…So much could be lost and so many lives could be changed. Please, just give me a sign. Send me a message.’” I blinked back tears.

  He paced. “How is that possible?” He frowned and raked his fingers through his thick black hair all the way to the ends that curled right where they brushed his shirt’s neckline.

  He was going to hate me. He was going to hate me, and then he was going to leave me, and I would never see him again.

  “Is this witchcraft?” he asked.

  “No! You know I faked the reading I gave King Pedro. I’m not a witch,” I said.

  “Then how can this be?”

  “Something bigger and more powerful than me pulled me to you, Samuel,” I said. “I was the one who heard your prayers.”

  “I don’t understand? How could you hear my prayers?” He asked. “You are not my Nadja?”

  I shook my head. “I am not anyone’s Nadja. I’m not a gypsy. I’m not from Portugal, Castile, or Galicia. And, the worst part is that I’m not from this time. You asked for a message. I’m from Chicago, Illinois hundreds of years in the future. I traveled back in time for you, Samuel. I journeyed across all these centuries to find you. My name is Madeline Blackford. And I’m your message.”

  ~ thirty-two ~

  “Lord De Rocha,” the guard who allowed me to leave the kitchen strode toward us. “By order of King Pedro, all guests as well as servants need to be inside the grand hall for the royal festivities.”

  “Of course,” Samuel said and stared at me as the man shepherded us back inside the ballroom. “How can it be possible?” He whispered. “I do not know what to believe?”

  “You said I reminded you of the girl from your dreams who comforted you. I see you in my dreams, too. But maybe they aren’t simply dreams or wishes. Maybe they are real,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I do not know what is real or not anymore. And still I have not told you…”

  “I know.”

  We were back in the grand hall and were engulfed by live music and the laughing, chatting, partying crowds. They separated us by feet and then yards. “We will talk after this is over,” he shouted over the top of a woman’s conical shaped, fancy hat.

  “Samuel!” Giulia waved at him. She was already seated at his table. How did she follow him everywhere? Did she have a lojack device planted on him?

  I maneuvered through the packed event and found my way to the kitchen where I grabbed more trays and pitchers and performed my duties as a waitress. But a gnawing sensation started digging a hole in the pit of my stomach. Something felt wrong. Something was off. I wondered if perhaps this was the last night that Samuel and I would spend together. Maybe Time’s Maker had decided no matter what the year that our time together was finally over.

  ~ ~ ~

  King Pedro stood and raised his chalice to the cheering crowd. “A toast,” he said, “To the glorious Kingdom of Portugal and its fiercely loyal subjects!”

  “Here, here,” Gaspar raised his cup. “To His Royal Highness King Pedro the First, ruler of the sacred Kingdom of Portugal!”

  Guests pounded their cups on the wooden tables and toasted in unison. “To His Royal Highness King Pedro the First, ruler of the sacred Kingdom of Portugal!”

  I chimed in but could not raise a cup, as I was too busy filling the half empty ones on the King’s table.

  “To surviving difficult days!” King Pedro lifted his goblet.

  “To surviving difficult days!” The nobles and merchants cheerfully toasted and drank.

  “To true love,” King Pedro said. “May you be
lucky to find it and blessed to keep it. But if the heart of your heart is torn from you—may you find the courage to honor its essence. I toast to courage.” He lifted his glass as the entire room followed suit.

  “To courage!” They toasted and tossed back drinks.

  “There are so many reasons for our celebration tonight. My beloved, Inêz de Castro, met her untimely death at the hands of three assassins. I heard rumors that those men were hired by royal advisors for my father, King Afonso the Fourth, the former ruler of Portugal, God rest his soul.” King Pedro crossed himself.

  The dead king’s advisors ducked their heads and whispered to each other.

  I lifted a pitcher and refilled more goblets.

  “But of course we know these could only have been gossip.” King Pedro continued. “A few of my loyal subjects have tracked down two of Inêz’s assassins. They are incarcerated in the palace dungeon waiting judgment.”

  The room erupted in heated murmurs and a smattering of applause.

  “But one assassin eluded my grasp. A man I hunt with sent word that Diogo Pacheco was spotted crossing into France. It is likely that he will walk free; that he will not be brought to justice for his vicious crime. And so I asked myself—how is it that we captured two killers, but the third escaped?”

  The guests leaned forward toward the new King and held their collective breath. Ladies fanned their faces and a few folks sniffed the air as their noses crinkled.

  Memories of that gruesome night at Pedro and Inêz’s villa flooded my brain. I remembered Diogo Pacheco; he was the handsome man with the melodic voice. That sweet scent in the air grew more pungent and I remembered the stench of Pero and Alvaro caged in the prison cart as they threatened that Diogo would come for me because he didn’t like loose ends. And then they teased Samuel, saying he looked so familiar.

  I flashed to Samuel’s embarrassment when he told me about his real father who abandoned him and his mother. His father who became a mercenary and was rumored to have become an assassin for kings, rulers, and devious men with money and power. My mind skipped that moment just a few days ago when I crouched behind a tree and overheard Samuel arguing with a man whose face I only saw for a moment.

  I broke out in a sweat, swiveled, and stared at Samuel at the same time King Pedro did.

  And I understood why Diogo looked so familiar.

  He resembled an older version of Samuel. They shared the same beautiful eyes and those striking high cheekbones. My heart plummeted as I realized Diogo Pacheco, Inêz de Castro’s third assassin, was Samuel’s father.

  “Let the festivities begin.” King Pedro guzzled his wine and slammed the goblet on the table. “Guards. Arrest Lord Samuel De Rocha and take him into custody.”

  “No!” I said, my protest unheard because Giulia screamed the word at the same time. She jumped up and shoved her fists into the waistline of her perfect gown.

  Samuel rose, put a hand on her shoulder, and pushed her to sitting. He faced King Pedro. “I assure you, Your Royal Highness, I not only did my best to save Lady Inêz, but I stayed to guard your children the night she so unjustly was taken from this earthly realm.”

  Three uniformed guards stomped toward Samuel’s table as partygoers in their path moved quickly out of their way.

  Giulia swatted Samuel’s arm. “Leave!” she hissed.

  King Pedro eyed me oddly and cocked his head to one side. “You. Servant girl. Pour me another drink.”

  ‘Servant girl?’ He didn’t even remember my name? I did as he asked.

  King Pedro drank. “You have done so much, Lord De Rocha,” he said. “Or should we use your birth name—Lord Samuel Pacheco. Because your real father was one of the assassins who killed my beloved Inêz, Queen of Portugal.”

  Samuel turned and gazed at me as his jaw muscles clenched.

  Gasps rose from the crowd. King Afonso’s advisors quietly stood and headed toward an exit.

  King Pedro spotted them. “Guards! Escort my guests back to their table. My party is not over until I say it is. I have so much planned for the evening!” He sighed and drank some more. “Unfortunately, young Lord Pacheco, I do not know if you had prior knowledge of your real father’s involvement, and I most likely will never know. That does not mean that justice will not be served.”

  “Madeline,” Samuel said to me. “I am so incredibly sorry.”

  “If I cannot punish the man who killed my beloved,” King Pedro pulled a dagger from its sheath and pointed it, his hands shaking at Samuel. “I will punish his seed! Take Lord Samuel Pachecho to the dungeons. Perhaps his father will come for him, perhaps he will not. And bring me the other two vermin, God help me, I cannot even remember their names.” He sat down and dropped his head into his hands. “What’s to become of me, my dearest Inêz? What’s to become of us?” He asked. “Right, my love. Right.” He shuffled toward the curtain that hid the thrones.

  Giulia and I watched horrified as two guards grabbed Samuel by his arms and hauled him away.

  Samuel swiveled his head back toward me. “Madeline, I believe you. I believe everything that you told me. So I beg you just listen to me. Do simply one thing for me. Nod if you agree.”

  I nodded.

  “Travel, Madeline!” Samuel hollered as the guards pulled him from the grand hall. “I want you to travel, now!”

  ~ thirty-three ~

  But I couldn’t travel. I didn’t even try. King Pedro had lost his mind, Samuel was being dragged to the dungeons, and the last thing I was going to do was leave him high and dry in this nightmare.

  Alvaro and Pero were shackled and no longer appeared powerful as they stumbled toward the curtains. Instead they sweated and sniveled, as did the recently departed King Afonso’s advisors who had also been escorted front and center against their will.

  “Gentlemen!” King Pedro said. “Sir Flaín! Welcome!” He slapped his father’s former advisor on his back like they were at a Memorial Day BBQ. “You are my honored guests tonight. We would not even be here if it was not for you.”

  The crowd grew increasingly fidgety and more than a few folks edged toward the exits. But the guards stopped and turned them around with a glare or a ‘reminder’ tap on their swords. Lord Martim de Coimbra and his crabby wife were physically escorted back to their seats.

  “Loving Inêz de Castro was not easy.” King Pedro fumbled with the thick silken cords that secured the curtains against each other. “I fought endless battles to be with her. My father deported her back to Galicia but I brought her back.” He tugged on the cords’ ties. “Princess Constanza, my former wife, spread vicious gossip that if I left her for Inêz, we would be committing incest, a crime against the Holy Church for which we could be severely punished.” He eased the tip of his dagger in the knot and coaxed the cords apart. “And when Constanza passed away, God rest her weary soul, I was finally able to be with Queen Inêz. But my father forbid me to marry her.”

  “Your Highness,” Sir Flaín said. “Only because you never married the beautiful Inêz de Castro, do I humbly mention that she will never actually be Portugal’s Queen.”

  “You are mistaken,” Pedro tugged on the curtains. “I am the King. Why am I doing all this work by myself? Sir Flaín, you and your friends always helped my father. Please help me now.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” Flaín bowed and nodded to his cronies. They pulled on the curtains revealing the first throne.

  “Thank you!” Pedro exclaimed and plunked back on the ornate chair and ground the dagger into its arm. “I married Inêz de Castro several years ago. We wed in a secret ceremony performed at Monastery of Santa Clara a Vel-ha by a Catholic priest. Therefore, Inêz was Princess of Portugal and next in line to become Queen after the death of my father.”

  Flaín paused, clutched his throat, gagged, and bent forward.

  “Oh, please. It is just a curtain. It is not as if I am asking for your undying loyalty.” King Pedro hopped up and pulled the drape the rest of the way back. “Look upon my
beloved, Queen Inêz de Castro. Is she not beautiful?” He leaned in and tenderly kissed Inêz’s dead cheek. “Tonight is her coronation. Tonight her loyal subjects will pay her homage and pledge their allegiance.”

  The crowd gasped and cringed. And I recognized the sweet tinge mixed in with the musky scent of the forest pine needles: it was the scent of decay.

  Inêz de Castro was propped on the other throne, her rotting corpse dressed in a beautiful gown, silk ribbons wrapped around her, securing her body to the chair. A bejeweled crown rested on her head, expensive rings sparkled on her fingers, and gold bracelets hung from her wrists that were positioned and tied to the throne’s arms.

  “My love.” Pedro knelt in front of her. “At last you are crowned the Queen of the Kingdom of Portugal. This is all for you.” He stood up and gestured to his guests. “You will pay homage to Portugal’s new Queen. I know she would like that.” He turned to Flaín. “You first.”

  Flaín walked the few steps toward Inêz’s corpse and sunk to one knee. “All my respect, Queen Inêz de Castro.” He grimaced and rose quickly.

  “That is not respect!” Pedro said. “Kiss her hand. She is Queen of the sacred Kingdom of Portugal. Where are your manners?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Flaín bent forward, lowered his lips to Inêz’s rotting hand, and shuddered as he kissed it.

  I glanced over toward the kitchen and spotted Miri whose eyes were round as saucers, her hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Much better, Sir Flaín,” King Pedro said. “Guards! Assist my guests to line up to pay their respects to Queen Inêz. It is such a special night.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I kept my eyes open when I kissed Inêz de Castro’s hand. I saw the deep slash in her throat in spite of the attempt to cover it with her high neckline. I smelled the decay of her flesh—all the pine needles in Portugal’s forests couldn’t hide it. I kept my eyes open because in life or death, Inêz deserved respect. She was fierce, a vibrant mother, as well as a woman who adored her husband. She bargained for her life with a King but settled for saving two of her children more heartache than could possibly be imagined.