Scoundrel's Kiss (26 page)

"And what of the women? Are they
ruined?"

"No," he said. "There
aren't enough women on the frontier to be so strict."

"But you've vowed chastity?"
she asked, her breathless disbelief growing. "You've vowed to abstain from
violence? This place stands against all who would threaten Castile. These knights
would die to the man to defend Ucles. Yet you want me to believe you've sworn
the opposite."

"I never lied to you."

"Then what does this mean?"

"My vows are personal." He
stalked the two paces between them and grabbed her arms. He gave a little shake,
eyes fierce and wild. "My reasons are personal."

"They must be because they're also
abnormal."

She tried to twist her arms free, but
his grip intensified. Their faces close, she stared into his eyes and licked
her lips. She allowed her body to flag, just a bit, and wilted against him. As
soon as her breasts pushed against the hard wall of his chest, he flung her
away.

"Bruja."

"You call me names?" She spit
at the ground between his feet, his stance wide and arrogant. "You're the
one who's chosen to do what none of the other brothers have. Why? Would you
stand by and let this retreat be overrun? Would you leave a sword lying on the
ground and allow the people here to be killed?"

"No, and my actions these past few
days have proven that"

"Then why make a vow? You must
have known it would be impossible for a man like you to uphold."

He tipped his head to the side. "A
man like me?"

"A warrior. You're not a
clergyman, no matter your delusions"

"I
was,
do you understand?
No longer." His staccato shout bounced around the hall. Even the torches
seemed to flinch, the flames spiking ghastly streaks of color over his grim
face.

"And warriors do not marry? You
would deny yourself the comfort and security of a wife, for all your
years—when no one else denies you these things?"

He walked to the wall lined with swords
of all kinds, from simple broadswords to strange serrated blades from distant
lands. Hands behind his back, he looked on them with an unreadable expression.
Regret? Sadness? Resolve? He had looked at her naked body with similar
confusion.

"All knights under
reconquista
have
purpose," he said. "Every garrison must be turned into a town. The
easiest way to do that is to turn unmarried men into respectable citizens with
obligations, wives and children to protect. That's why they inhabit these
outpost towns and why
barraganas
are tolerated. 'Tis not marriage, but a
small step toward stability."

"But you stand apart from all of
it?"

"I must."

Ada walked to his side. They stood
shoulder to shoulder, much as they had in the bathhouse, ready to defend each
other against any enemy, no matter their quibbles and frustrations. What would
it be like to depend on such a man, really depend on him as a partner and a
friend? The idea was as foreign to her as was holding a child, but both
resonated in her soul with more power than she dared admit.

That power. He held it.

Kindling her sense of outrage, she
stepped in front of him, her body between his and the serrated blade hanging on
the wall. Tension bunched his strong shoulders, adding an uncharacteristic
slope to his tall, splendid physique.

"Most men only take vows when they
feel strongly," she said "They
believe.
They feel connected to
a higher idea. They feel compelled—obliged, even—to make a promise
to God. They do not use them as a prison or a punishment. You've hidden from
the world and put a cage around yourself?'

"You don't know me."

"You're right" Even in the
midst of her anger, her pride like a tattered sail, she could only stare at his
beautiful face. "I wonder what you would be like free, unfettered by this
place."

'.'Free of my responsibilities?"

"Free of these lies. I know I've
told my fair share." She stepped into his space, breathed his air, felt
his heat. "You walk apart from this place. Everyone sees how different you
are. You don't belong here."

"I..." His voice scraped raw.
"I belong here. You won't take that from me, no matter your body and your
words."

"And what would you be without the
Order?"

Dark eyes closed, a man defeated.
"A slave and a murderer. That's why I thought to bind myself with these
vows."

She shook her head. "I don't
believe—"

"It matters naught what you
believe, Ada."

"No. No! Only what you believe.
You fabricate restrictions that cause you pain. You cut yourself off from life.
For all I know, you're lying to me about this!" Tears pressed for freedom.
He was no monk—that much had been clear from the start. But she had
imagined him a warrior, someone powerful and strong. Someone stronger than
herself. "Will you tell me the truth? Will you trust me?"

But he did not answer. His eyes warned
her like the hiss of a fire. The man she had touched and loved was gone. And
she would do well to forget he had ever existed

Chapter 20

The torches had burned low, shimmering
softly at his back. Gavriel stayed in the weapons hall for half of the night,
unable to shake free of his confusion. If he returned to his room, he would be
alone with his thoughts, his mistakes, and his flogging whip. Never had he
considered himself a cowardly man, but he could not face his punishment that
evening. The wounds Ada had inflicted on him were vicious enough. Although
blood did not leak from his skin, he felt exhausted, shredded, and hopeless.

Tell her,
a
voice whispered in his mind.
She would understand.

No. Ada might come to understand why he
had chosen the monastic life, but she would never fathom what he had been
before Santiago. He had committed terrible deeds, all in the name of the de
Silvas and his own warped interests. No motivation justified what he had nearly
succeeded in doing.

An attempt on the king's life—how
could she forgive that?

Had the tide of battle at Alarcos moved
a little faster, a little slower, any number of events altered but slightly,
King Alfonso would have been at the mercy of Gavriel’s blade. But mercy was an
emotion for weaklings, men raised by soft hands. Six years ago, at Alarcos, he
had not known the meaning of the word.

He opened his eyes, standing before the
wall of swords. Choosing one from the wall, he hefted the perfectly balanced
weapon. The weight of the pommel offset the blade and gave it grace and power.
Simplicity. Only metal and man. The intentions behind the warrior who held it,
the culpability of the victim who received it—unimportant. In the heat of
battle, none of it mattered.

He missed that anonymity. He missed the
ease. The man who owned him and the man who sired him had been the same.
Gavriel had not been permitted a say in where he turned his blade, like a horse
who cannot contradict the knight on its back. A mere messenger, he had
delivered his father's deadly intent without thought or remorse.

And no matter the anonymity and the
ease he missed, those simple paths, he would not return to such an existence. Mindless
and soulless. Time away from Lord de Silva had taught him to account for his
misdeeds. Master Pacheco had instructed him on the steps he must take to become
whole and pure. Painful steps. And when Gavriel had failed, Pacheco saw fit to
offer him another chance. He would not fall again. Ada had to realize that.

He gripped the hilt of the sword, the
cool metal warmed by his hand. Raw blisters burned between his thumb and
forefinger. He would never again use a sword. He would never again kiss Ada,
touch her, lay with her. She had to understand that, as did he—really and
truly, until hearing her voice or smelling her soft skin no longer held sway.

And all he could use to convince her
was the truth.

Two days later, Blanca stared through a
window slit to the beautiful view of Ucles far below. The rising sun cast squat
white buildings in gold. Much the same in every respect to Yepes, houses
stretched across the shallow valley floor, filling every crevice. Although she
could not see individual people or animals, she imagined the quick vitality of
a morning in the Saturday market. She imagined it and she wanted it

But from that high outlook, she may as
well have been living among the clouds. No such vitality thrived in the
monastery, only quietness and stillness and routines enough to make her skin
itch. The need to be down in the center of the market and find its secrets
thudded beneath her breast.

"This place is not what you
expected, is it?"

She glanced at Ada where she sat on her
cot Dressed in that deep green gown—me one that made her skin appear even
more fair, her hair even darker—Ada watched with a tiny, teasing smile.
Her company, however moody and baffling, had been Blanca's only relief from the
tedium of their monastic shelter.

'Difficult to say," Blanca said,
forcing thoughtfulness into her words. "I've seen but one building, and
I've yet to see the town. To cast judgment now would be unfair."

Ada's smile widened. "But you have
already."

"Yes, I'm afraid." She turned
from the narrow window and its sunny, tempting view to settle onto her own cot,
stretched opposite Ada in their small quarters. "I worry my expectations
of life outside of Yepes will prove unreasonable. Perhaps any town is
essentially the same as another." She shrugged, trying to slough her
misgivings as easily. "Has that been your experience since leaving
England?"

Ada tipped her head to one side and
began plaiting her long, silken hair. Blanca touched her own hair—curly,
coarse, wound tightly atop her head—and suppressed a glimmer of envy.
"You're right in that many towns share much in common," Ada said.
"But variations of culture and thinking do exist. The interest is in
searching for the differences."

"And what of our escape from
Yepes?" Blanca sat on her cot, memories of their dashing escape hastening
her breath. "Can an ordinary life compete with such excitement? And would
I even want it to?"

Ada's nimble fingers slowed. Her face
darkened, the sun hidden by a cloud. "I've seen enough of such excitements
to want peace, nothing more. A peaceful mind."

Blanca studied her new companion, this
strange woman with the curious accent and flawless grasp of the Castilian
dialect. The circles beneath her eyes should have faded, and her body should
have shown the pleasant effects of regular meals and freedom from the opium.
But Ada had been suffering horrendous nightmares, fits of screaming and tears
that awakened Blanca several times before dawn. She had done her best to offer
comfort, yet nothing held the terror away for long.

That morning Ada appeared as beautiful,
as fragile, as lost as ever—in body and in mind—but with a strength
Blanca admired. She never spoke of the nightmares, only composed herself each
morning as if the evening had been restful and secure. She spent her time in
their shared room hunched over unfurled scrolls, mumbling in her rough
language.

"A peaceful mind." Blanca
smiled softly. "After your craving I should find that easy to
believe."

"You knew?"

"Of course," she said,
suddenly wondering if her words caused offense. "La Senora..."

"Ah, she told you."

Blanca stood and motioned for Ada to
turn. She lifted the woman's heavy plait and began to arrange it atop her head,
pinning and talking and enjoying the novel texture. "You should be proud
of yourself," she said. "Some people never escape. The withdrawal is
too difficult and they succumb, or so I've heard." She paused, peeking
over Ada's shoulder to get a better look at her expression. "He helped
you, did he not?"

"Yes," Ada whispered.

"He must care for you."

"No, I'm an obligation. Nothing
more."

Blanca stuck a hairpin between her
teeth and waved a dismissive hand. "Obligations are dispatched like
reluctant parishioners giving alms. I cannot believe what he did for you is
mere obligation, can you?"

"I've been told it doesn't matter
what I believe."

"Have patience," Blanca said.
"These days are a trial, and you are capable of much."

"Good and ill, both."

"As all of us are." Having
finished Ada's hair, a crown as elaborate and beautiful as any intended for a
monarch, Blanca returned to the window. "Fernan has offered to take me
into town, should I wish."

"Oh?"

"A number of the unmarried
freyles
and canonesses travel together, acting as chaperones—or not, I
suppose."

"Do you enjoy his company?"

She laughed, shaking her head.
"Not particularly. But it will be a way to see the town."

Ada arose from the cot and smoothed her
skirts before joining her at the window. "Be careful, Blanca. Fernan's
smile hides a great many things."