Scoundrel's Kiss (25 page)

"We are a religious order, the
sole purpose of which is defending the kingdoms of Castile and Leon from the
Moorish threat. No one, not even the clergy, shuns violence. It is our
purpose." He smiled without mirth. Pale blue eyes fixed on hers. "I
wonder, Ada, who's been telling you such tales?"

Chapter 19

For the evening meal, Gavriel sat with
a dozen other men in the monastery's smaller dining hall. Pacheco and Fernan
ate quietly and kept their heads bowed, as all brothers of the Order did at
mealtime. His eyes itched from infrequent sleep, but he did not miss their
suspicion.

Ever since he used war spoils to secure
a place at Ucles, he had shunned excess attention. Wearing white robes, his
hair shorn, he blended in as just another aspirant Out in the world— and
with a screaming devil woman as his companion—those attentions had
returned to him. Their safe arrival in Ucles did nothing to erase that old,
nagging sensation of being watched

He kept his eyes on the bowl of talbina
before him, seeing the warped image of his fatigued face reflected in the
barley broth, and reminded himself of the truth: they were interested in Ada,
nothing more.

Pacheco observed him with the same
expression he had worn during their meeting, at once evaluating and suspicious.
Ever more suspicion. That the novice master had covertly issued instructions
for his punishment did not allay a terrible feeling that even more sacrifice
would be required of him.

"Good evening."

The soft female voice at his back sent
a shiver through his veins. A morning voice, honey and anise. Sweet, spicy, and
forbidden. But his reaction was not mirrored on the faces of the other men.
Some scowled. Others tugged clerical hoods lower over skittish expressions.
Only Fernan grinned openly, his glib mouth asking for the crack of Gavriel s
knuckles.

"She cannot be in here,"
Pacheco said quietly.

Gavriel harvested a fresh supply of
indignation. What did Ada know of laws and obeying the restrictions everyone
else embraced? Nothing. She knew only her own demands.

He stood and turned, looking Ada in the
face. His heart pumped hard, once, then galloped. She wore a plain green gown
and stood before him clean, neatly coiffed, and inexplicably angry. Only dark
smudges beneath her eyes and a slight waxen sheen to her skin hinted at the
hardships of her recent withdrawal.

She blinked once and cleared her
throat. "Don't you believe in common civilities?"

Her acidic tone, so different from that
honey sweet greeting, made him aware of dozens of eyes on them both.

As if I didn't feel conspicuous enough.

"You cannot be here," he
said, guiding her to the wide, arched entryway. A thick tapestry wobbled
stiffly as they passed. Blanca, who had been standing unobtrusively behind Ada,
stepped out of the way and followed them into the nearby courtyard.

Ada settled her expression into one of
boredom, making a mockery of his attempt to maintain an even temper. He caught
a hint of lemon. His mouth watered.

"And why not? Blanca and I are
hungry."

"Eating in the presence of a woman
is not permitted, not even with the canonesses. You're to dine with the women.
Didn't Fernan tell you that?"

"Perhaps it slipped his
mind." She pinned him with those clear, sharp eyes, making him long for
moments of incoherent rambling and pleas. "Do they fear being unable to
resist our charms? Perhaps the thought of fornicating over the dining table
hinders digestion?"

"It may have crossed their
minds."

"Did it cross yours?"

Thrusting aside the bowls and pitchers,
the plates and cups. Pushing her down on the scarred wooden table and yanking
up that gown. Burying himself in her willing flesh. He was almost ready this
time, letting those images invade his senses, like steeling himself against the
snap of leather and the bite of iron. Relax. Accept. And then the shock of it
was gone.

The temptation was not.

"Of course it did," she said.
"You're a hypocrite. I said as much—then proved it."

"No more than any man."

"Too much to be borne, then."
She turned to leave with Blanca. "I'll endure my stay within these walls.
You'll see. I have friends here, even if you refuse to be civil."

"Friends?"

She tipped her head. "Blanca and
Fernan."

"Fernan is no friend to you,
inglesa."

The smile she offered was far more
suggestive than the friendly amusement she had shared with Fernan.
"Blanca, you should find out where the canonesses eat," she said.
"I shall speak with Gavriel and join you shortly."

Blanca's smile was also sly, but with a
charming innocence— none of the threat and certainty hone of the damage
to Gavriel's self-control. He had believed arriving in Ucles would remind him
of the life he intended to lead, and that the vastness of the monastic grounds
would be able to keep his contact with Ada to a minimum.

Such a fool.

He took her upper arm and led her away
from the courtyard, toward an indoor training hall. A quick check revealed the
cavernous space empty. They each took a torch from the corridor and entered the
hall, pushing them into sconces inside. Swords of all types lined the walls, as
did armor, shields, maces, and crossbows. Four archery targets sat against the
far wall, just below four corresponding window slits. No light shone inside,
the black of nightfall nearly absolute, but flames made the lines of each
surface quiver among the shadows.

In that golden light, Ada appeared as a
goddess—an irritated goddess, all pale skin and flashing eyes. He should
be pleased her hair was up and coiffed properly, but he could not help but
remember it down, unbound, glorious.

His palms prickled. The healing
blisters, surely.

"And why shouldn't I count Fernan
among my paltry number of friends?"

"He spends far too much time in
the village. His dalliances with local girls are notorious." Gavriel
shrugged. "I only thought to save you or Blanca the difficulty of
discovering his character firsthand."

"His
character?
Interesting."

How had he looked into the face of his
enemies without blanching, when this woman's unnerving stare transformed him
into a chastened boy? But after his tense and nightmarish meeting with Pacheco,
he had lost the nerve for such frank confrontations.

"Yes," he said. "I
wouldn't want him to take advantage."

"Because you reserve that right
for yourself?"

"Ada, I did nothing you didn't
want as well."

"And have you considered what will
happen if I'm with child?"

The floor dropped from below his feet
Dizziness washed over him like burning tar, viscous and hot. A child. With Ada.
So intent had he been on her safety and the consequences of their tryst with
regard to his novitiate that the idea of a child had escaped him completely.

He closed his eyes but could not banish
the image of Ada cradling his son or a beautiful daughter, a daughter with hair
the same deep brown of her mother. Longing unlike any physical desire stabbed
at him. The regret that followed left him breathless, aching, and hollow.

"I suppose that means the answer
is no," she said quietly.

"Ada—"

"Fernan is acting more a friend to
me than you. You've decided to treat me like a contagion.
You
brought me
here." She stepped closer, her eyes like the center of a flame,
mesmerizing and fiery. Gavriel breathed deeply, dragging in her scent—
the only bit of her he could have without penalty. "I wonder what other selfish
purposes you have in mind."

"Stop."

"I don't think I will," she
whispered. "You wanted me here, Gavriel. You've taken great pains to make
me well, but I think you've lived to regret that."

The sweetness of her breath washed over
his face.
Dios,
how he wanted to kiss her again. How many hours had
passed? Only a day? And his body felt as starved for hers as if they had never
touched, as if he had never been joined with her.

But never again.

"You're not my only regret,"
he said.

Ada laughed quietly, melodious and
sinful. "But what is the use of passing your novitiate when you've broken
all of your vows in the process?"

He gnawed the inside of his cheek until
he tasted blood. "Master Pacheco determines the bounds of my novitiate. I've
discussed these previous weeks with him, and he offered me leave to stay."

Ada nodded slowly and turned to face
the wall of armaments. He slowly expelled the hot breath in his lungs, relieved
that she gave him space. She walked along the wall. Slivered glimpses of her
face reflected in the surface of every blade. Shards of silvery light dotted
her hair and the bodice of her gown. She stopped beneath the fleury Cross of
Santiago, eyes lifted to its stark red against a field of white.

"I never realized how different
Santiago is from the other orders."

"Yes." He frowned, wondering
at the darkness in her voice. "'Tis unique."

"Is that why you chose it?"

"I will not discuss that,
Ada."

She turned, her eyes narrowed.
"For example, you keep your own property. Isn't that true? There is no vow
of poverty."

Gavriel bit his teeth together.
Fernan.

"What a brother brings into the
Order, he keeps," he said. "When he dies, the Order is like his widow
and receives the inheritance."

"Interesting, too, that you
mention widows—the implication of marriage. Because there is no ban
against marriage, and neither is there a ban against violence." She closed
the distance between them. One moment, she was standing below the Order's
cross. The next, she was within an arm's length. That curiously blank
expression had given way to anger. White-hot anger. "Am I mistaken,
Gavriel?"

They sparred with their eyes as surely
as if they each held one of the deadly weapons lining the hall's chilled stone
walls. Gavriel remained as dominating as ever, tall and solid and dark, but she
had shaken him with the mention of a child.

A queer sort of betrayal burned at her
temples. He had lied to her about his vows and he had not considered the
consequences of their lovemaking. She had considered it, and as with every
other time she pursued pleasure at the expense of reason, she had chosen
pleasure. At least she had made the choice—as much as she could have
claim over that function of her brain.

No, I
chose
to be with him.

But his lies had betrayed every noble
intention he claimed.

His jaw tightened. If he knew that the
tic gave away his discomfort, he would probably strive to do away with it.
Jacob had said as much, that warriors spend their lives ferreting out
weaknesses and eliminating them.

"You're not mistaken," he
said, his impassive voice like a learned man at lecture—or like Meg
reciting scientific facts that the entire world should know as thoroughly as
she did.
"Los caballeros
can marry freely, having been given
dispensation from Pope Alexander. Once married, the knights can live with their
wives either within the bounds of the monastery or on their own estates."

So detached. And so deeply at odds with
the struggles he had presented. He had lied. He had talked about his vows as a
means of tricking her, not only with regard to her use of opium, but as a
seduction. The possibility seemed too despicable, yet she could not soothe the
anger burning at her temples.

"And even facing the temptation of
lying with a woman, chastity is not strict," she said, working to match
his cold tone. "A man can live with his mistress without censure or
strife. Isn't that right?"

"Obviously Fernan told you all of
this,
las barraganas
included?" His lips curled, not a smile and
not a sneer. "I would've thought a noblewoman's translator too detached to
care about our quaint local customs."

"I've not lived in a cave."

"Oh?" He arched his brows, a
penetrating look in his eyes. "The opium seemed quite good at keeping you
apart from the world."

Her tongue burned. The thought of opium
coupled with the distress over Gavriel's behavior only heightened her thirst.
It was always there, waiting, tempting. But then, so was the thought of
touching him again.

"In England,
barraganas
would
simply be another class of harlot, not sanctioned companions," she said.
"I hadn't paid them any regard while in Toledo. And I certainly hadn't
thought their relationships with
los caballems
might be condoned by the
Church."

"We are all that stand between the
Christian kings and the southern tribes. Rules have been ... altered for us.
Even if a man cannot bring himself to marry, knowledge that he has a mistress
to protect and provide for might temper his baser impulses."