Scoundrel's Kiss (16 page)

"What will you use?" she
asked.

"We'll find out."

"Open this door!" shouted a
man on the other side.

"Not likely," Gavriel
muttered.

The sound of a mace or a small
battering ram replaced the metal fists. With the rhythmic strength of at least
two men behind it, the ram made short work of the door. Splinters and hunks of
wood burst into the bathing room, as did stray flickers of torchlight. Gavriel
thrust out his hands and grabbed the shaft of the mace. He pulled it free of
the surprised attackers, their grips momentarily slack when the wood gave way.
Heavy and crafted of iron, the weapon was clumsier than he was used to. But
holding any weapon felt
right.

Two of the
guandias,
perhaps the
same men who had just held the mace, used armored elbows and shoulders to bust
through what remained of the door. Gavriel reared to the side and swung the
spiked end of the mace across the nearest one's face. The nose guard sank into
bone and flesh. The man screamed through a gurgle of blood.

Gavriel yanked the mace free of his
first victim and turned to the second. He hoisted the heavy iron shaft,
wielding it like a simple club.

"Surrender," the guard said.

"No."

"You are encircled."

.Gavriel freed a cold smile.
"You'll be dead before that matters."

He spun and slammed the head of the
mace into the other man's forearm. Bone cracked beneath the armor, his sword
clattering to the ground. Gavriel kicked it out of play, hearing it splash into
the hot spring as he swung the mace in a downward arc. He caught the guard
across his right kneecap. The other man crumpled in a whimpering heap beside
his fallen colleague.

Another two shouting guards pushed
through the ruined door, their swords catching the scant torchlight from the
hallway. Ada rolled in front of the rear man and curled into a ball at his
feet, tripping him and stabbing him in the neck, while Gavriel dispatched his
half of the duo.

Ada stayed low and peeked into the
hallway. She snatched up one of the fallen torches, then scrambled away as more
guards pushed into the bathing room.

Although the thrilling violence of
battle infused him with energy, Gavriel resented his lack of coordination. His
muscles had lost their reflexive training. The instinct he relied upon for most
of his life had dulled, leaving him to consider each attack. He felt sluggish
and ineffective despite the gathering pile of bodies at his feet.

"Where's Blanca?" Ada asked
from behind him.

He nodded and pushed forward, stepping over
the fallen. When he reached the doorway, he looked to the left and stopped
short. Blanca was there, motionless and terrified. One of the same shepherds
who had attacked them on the road stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her
neck and a knife pressed to her windpipe. Another six guards loomed to their
rear.

Had they followed all the way from
Toledo? Because of Ada and her debts?

"I want the scrolls," the
supposed shepherd said.

His rough, salty appearance may have
frightened some, but his cultured voice sent chills down Gavriel's spine. The
accent was unmistakable.

He tightened his grip on the shaft of
the mace. Only stunned curiosity kept him from attacking. "What
scrolls?"

The man pushed Blanca forward. A
trickle of blood seeped from the skin at her neck. She whimpered, but her
captor paid no notice. "I want the scrolls that Jew stole."

"Then perhaps you should find the
Jew."

The man hurled Blanca to the floor and
leapt forward. Gavriel lost his balance trying to avoid the fallen woman and
stumbled over pieces of the ruined door. The mace proved useless for attack; on
his back, he could not swing it with much force. Instead, he used it to defend
against a downward cut from his opponent's blade. And if the accent had not
been convincing enough, the red ruby eagle on the man's signet ring confirmed
it.

He was no common brute sent to collect
a debt. He was a member of the de Silva family.

Blanca had found her feet and jammed a
ragged piece of timber into the back of their attacker's neck. He howled and
reared back, flailing to retrieve the barb. Gavriel grabbed Blanca's hand and
pulled her into the bathing room.

The other six guards were quick behind
them.

Ada watched, amazed, as Gavriel
continued to defend them. He had retrieved a sword from one of the fallen. In
the other hand, he hiked his grip on the handle of the mace, using it
defensively. His natural grace and eye for the weaknesses of his opponents, the
grim, unflinching way he confronted each new challenge—just who was he?

Blanca stumbled to her side, clutching
her throat Gavriel's satchel tangled about her shoulders. "We have to get
free of here," she said.

"Not until Gavriel clears the
guards, I'm afraid."

"No, this way."

Before Ada could even ask a question,
the other woman had dropped to her knees on the far side of the hot spring. She
searched the walls until she found a slim crevice. A chunk of rock gave way to
reveal a shaft just wide enough to accommodate a person.

Ada joined her and pushed the tip of
the lit torch inside. "Where does it lead?"

"Up."

"Oh, truly?"

Blanca grinned. "I've never had to
use it. The guards shouldn't know of its existence."

"No, but they could follow us. We
need..." She searched the bathing room. "We need a diversion."

Although plenty of weaponry littered
the floor, in and around the fallen bodies, Ada could think of no way to escape
through the shaft without being pursued—unless Gavriel killed every man
who made his way downstairs. But even he could not remain stalwart and flawless
forever. Soon he would tire. He would make a mistake, possibly a fatal one.

She rubbed her arms, up and down and
again, remembering how soft her skin had felt upon emerging from the bath, how
it smelled slightly of rotten eggs.
Sulfane.

She skittered away from the secret
passage and knelt at the lip of the hot spring pool. She dipped her hand and
brought a few drops to her mouth. The water was slippery and tasted brackish.
Some sort of oil. The perfect diversion.

Gramercy, Meg.

"Gavriel! Here!"

He shook his head and continued to
fight "Keep down and out of sight," he bellowed over the sound of
clashing metal.

Ada ran to Blanca. She thrust the torch
and her satchel into the girl's hands. "When I say, count to five and
touch the flame to the surface of the hot spring. Don't let the fire go out
because we'll need it, but don't let it singe your brows either."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you question me as well!
Please, do as I ask. Take our things when you make the climb. I have to ensure
Gavriel will follow us." She caught the girl's panicked gaze.
"Comprendes?"

"Si."

Ada had to trust as well. She had to
trust that Blanca's wide-eyed stare was not a sign of her mental collapse. And
she had to trust that Gavriel wanted to live to see the morning, because he
fought like a man who held no expectation of surviving an endless onslaught. He
held nothing in reserve.

"Ready, Blanca? Go!"

Counting to five in her mind, Ada ran
forward and into the fray. Gavriel's opponent, a skinny man with a dark red
tunic, swung his sword in a truncated arc. The blade wedged in the nearby wall
of moist stone. Gavriel raised the mace to strike the man down, but Ada caught
his forearm. She pulled with all her might, yanking him in an awkward circle.

"Down!"

Blanca's timing was perfect. Just as
Gavriel opened his mouth to protest, the hot springs went up in flames. A fat
cloud of fire burst upward as the water ignited. Ada dropped to the ground in a
tight ball and covered her neck with her hands. When the initial burst
subsided, she found Gavriel on the ground beside her.

He was staring at the flaming pool.
"How?"

"No time."

Chapter 12

"No! Ada, wait!"

But Gavriel's shout did not change her
course. He followed Ada as she scrambled on hands and knees around the pool.
With floor-to-ceiling flames between them and the dazzled guards, he grabbed
her ankle.

She twisted at the waist "We have
to go!"

Where she intended to go he had no
notion. Instead he concentrated on smacking her on the backside and along her
spine. "Be still."

"What are you doing?"

"You're on fire,
bruja,"
he
said.

Tm no witch—ah!"

Flames raced up her kirtle and jumped
into her hair. She yelped again but her expression changed from brief panic to
determination. She wiggled on her back, crushing the burning cloth into the
stone floor worn smooth by countless sandals and bare feet.

Gavriel straddled her and extinguished
the fires in her hair with his fingertips. The pain was nothing, and the smell
of singed hair and linen hardly registered beneath the overwhelming stink of
the flaming spring. He simply worked. Working was easier than thinking about
what he had just done. No matter how out of practice, his talent for killing
never failed him, unlike thought and patience and best intentions.

Fires out, Ada wasted no time heaving
him off her lithe body. That he had been the one to linger irked him.

"Blanca's already gone," she
hissed. "Quickly, before they see."

"Out? Out where?"

She disappeared into the smoke at the
rear of the bathing room. The stirrings of a violent cough tickled deep in his
lungs, but he refused to give in to the sensation. Not now. Not when they were
still in danger. He caught up to Ada and crouched with her. She pointed to the
back wall, tears running free from her reddened eyes. He turned to see smoke
climbing up a narrow rock passageway, funneled to places unknown by the upward
draft.

"Blanca?"

Ada only nodded and made to enter the
passageway.

"Wait," he said, a hand on
her ankle again. The image of her bare legs in his hands, there amidst the
smoke and fire and armed guards, reminded him of her bath. But at least some
part of his mind was working properly as he asked, "Dagger?"

She wore a dubious expression but did
not hesitate. Dagger in hand, Gavriel sliced two lengths from the hem of her
kirtle and handed back the graceful weapon. She still frowned but knew enough
to keep her mouth closed against the billowing smoke. The only advantage to
their location was that, guarded by flames and a poisonous cloud, none of the
guards had advanced.

He only hoped that Blanca's familiarity
with the bathhouse's secrets was unique. .

Taking in as little air as possible,
still fighting that unspent cough, he looped the strip of Ada's kirtle around
her mouth and nose, tying it at the back of her head. She snatched the second
piece from his hands and repeated the process for him. The filtered air
nourished his brain.

A popping flame pulled his attention to
the right, just in time to defend against the downward arc of a sword. He swung
the mace up to protect his face. The jolt of impact sent shocks of pain down
his forearms. Metal grated on metal and whined over the low roar of the fire.
The guard reared back and hacked again, the force of it opening one of
Gavriel's hands. The heavier end of the mace dropped to the stone floor with a
hard clang. He spun away from the passage but not as far as he would have
liked, trapped at the lip of the pool.

A sliver of white flickered behind the
swordsman.

Ada.

She had been his burden for days now,
insensate and helpless. This new, resourceful woman took some getting used to.
For a brief and shining moment, he hoped she would behave sensibly. Up the
passageway. Out of danger. Instead, she slid Gavriel's sword along the smooth
stone floor, right between the guard's legs. Hilt in hand and muttering his
appreciation for her resourcefulness, Gavriel flared to the offensive.

One jump found him on his feet and
chest-to-chest with his opponent, their swords crossed and squealing. He stared
down through the guard's visor and into his watering eyes. Muscles along
Gavriel's back and arms—muscles for fighting and killing, long
quelled—burned in protest, but he did not relent The first to give way
would find a sword in his gullet.

While Gavriel's roughened leather
sandals found purchase, the man's mail-covered feet slid. They edged toward the
fire in a slow and gruesome dance. With every step, the other man lost ground
and weakened Did that same violent cough lodge in his lungs, aching to burst
free?

Enough of this.

With a last burst of strength, Gavriel
shoved his blade. Mail scraped on stone. The guard landed hard and screamed,
his ankle jutting at an odd angle from beneath his body. Of all the blood he
had seen in those brief and brutal moments, Gavriel's stomach pitched at the
sight of that ruined limb.