Scoundrel's Kiss (34 page)

Ada abandoned those flickering beacons
and stole into the black, edging around the stone foundation toward the
stables. There she waited until the two men standing guard drifted away from
their posts to investigate the ruckus at the cathedral. Her dark cloak blending
her body with the night, she kept a ready hand near the hilt of her dagger,
just in case, and slipped inside.

Memories of darkness, old fears, old
pains, threatened to steal the air from her lungs. She stopped and pressed flat
against the nearest wall, closing her eyes as dizziness soaked her senses.
Fingers behind her back, she pressed her palms into stones that held the
faintest heat of daylight.

Even more fearful of the guards'
return, she forced her body off that wall. A search of the stalls revealed a
pair of accessible horses. The heavy saddles would not budge from their hooks,
not without risking a noisy collapse should she drop one. Instead, she threaded
the bits and reins, convinced that bareback would suit them.

Except, perhaps, for Fernan. And
Blanca.

Saints be.

She draped an armful of blankets over
one animal. Mounting the other, she clutched the reins and tossed a quick
prayer into the darkness overhead. With a sharp click of her tongue, she urged
both horses to a canter and fled the stables. If the guards noticed her flight,
they did not pursue, for soon she had circled around the cathedral. Ada spun
her horse in a circle and passed her gaze over the crowd. Gavriel, Blanca, even
Fernan— nowhere to be seen.

A tickling idea at the back of her mind
urged flight. She would ride away to safety, abandoning the people who asked
her to make good choices and selfless sacrifices.

No. That was too much to ask, and the
rewards would not be nearly as easy as they had once been. She had smacked the
opium away from Gavriel's mouth because she cared for him. Denying their
elemental bond was an impossible task. And more than Gavriel, she cared for her
own future for the first time in more than a year. By force and by pure
stubbornness, he had returned that awareness to her. To relinquish it now, on
the cusp of escaping altogether, would be an act of hopeless cowardice.

Tucking her heels into the horse's
flank, she edged into line with the villagers descending to Ucles. A glimpse of
movement caught her eye. A man on horseback turned, a curving blade glinting in
the wan moonlight The metal of a crossbow jutted from behind his back.

She hissed his name. "Jacob!"

Jacob blinked once, believing first in
a trick of the night. But a second blink and the sound of his name from her
mouth made her real. Ada.

Only when they were clear of
people—down a slight rise and out of sight of the monastery's defensive
wall—did they dismount Jacob shrugged out of his weapons and opened his
arms to Ada's embrace, the feel of her body like a long draft of ale on a
blistering day. He squeezed tight and relished the soft, strong woman he held.
The hair pressed against his nose smelled of plain lye soap and candle smoke.

"Jacob, I cannot believe it,"
she said in English. "You've returned at last."

"I have, though sooner than we
planned. Why are you out here at night, and with the whole village in a lather?
What happened?"

Ada stepped back, only enough to see
his face. "Much, I'm afraid."

Jacob inhaled deeply. The previous year
had seen her slip from steadfast companion to a woman ruled by unshakable
desires. Her eyes, although clear, were still ringed by circles of fatigue.
"How are you, Ada?"

"I'm well," she said, her
words a mere breath. "I have much to say to you. An apology first, I
think. And then my thanks."

He smiled. Her keen expression and the
natural set of her limbs revealed no addiction. None of the despairing
agitation between doses. None of the incoherent bliss of a high.

Relief washed through him. "We'll
save that for a safer hour, I think."

"Yes." She untangled their
arms and began to pace, restless, her gaze constantly flickering to the top of
the rise. "We're in danger from one of the masters here at the
Order."

"Pacheco?"

"You knew?"

"I've learned much in these
weeks."

"The scrolls," she said.
"You hid scrolls with Daniel didn't you?"

He frowned. "I did."

"I have them." She waved a
quieting hand. "Don't bother asking how. I'll explain later when the
thought of what I did doesn't turn my stomach. Just know that I've read
them."

"Pacheco's a bad seed," he
said, eyeing her, wondering how far he could trust her. "When I was in
Segovia, I learned Dona Valdedrona's spies had discovered his connection to the
exiled Lord de Silva. He works for him in secret—has done for years,
hiding here, awaiting their return to prominence."

"At the end of the truce."

"Yes. He and Gavriel, both."

"What do you believe Gavriel had
to do with this?"

"He's not safe," Jacob said.
"Believe me on this score. He's not to be trusted."

"Don't tell me that. I read the
scrolls."

"He's dangerous. That's why I came
back."

"I won't believe it. I'll believe
it of Pacheco, but not Gavriel." Her pacing grew more agitated. "And
Pacheco had control of him the entire time. The bastard. I'll see him dead for
what he did."

"I mislike when I cannot
understand your English words," said a voice out of the darkness. "

"Gavriel!"

She propelled herself into the arms of
the tall, angular man. Behind him, the buffoon Fernan and a petite young woman
walked over the rise.

His eyes prickling, Jacob watched the
embrace between Ada and Gavriel. Stripped of his robes, the novice appeared
nothing short of a hardened warrior, just as Jacob had suspected and feared.
Gavriel, like Pacheco, had been in waiting. And now that the de Silvas set
their sights on military action at the conclusion of the truce, they would want
their most esteemed assassin returned to them.

And that assassin had been ordered to
kill the King of Castile.

At that moment, Jacob did not care
about plots, intrigues, and broken truces. He hardly cared that the woman he
loved had been freed of the drug that warped her personality and claimed her
soul. He only cared that she held onto Gavriel de Marqueda as if her life
depended on it And that he held her in return.

Chapter 27

They traveled a wide path around Yepes,
with Fernan and Blanca on foot. Sunshine toasted the grasses and released a
scent midway between hay and fresh bread. A flock of birds took to the
brilliant blue sky as the horses pushed on, moving them father away from the
monastery. Gavriel traced the arc of their flight and squinted as they flew in
front of the sun.

Obligations and doubt tightened the
muscles that bound his chest, constricting, while the wild landscape and the
exuberance of those fleeing birds called to him, offering the promise of
negligent freedom. What would it take to simply cast off the reins he held?
Nothing. A flick of his wrist. But he wrapped his hands all the tighter and
glanced back.

Ada sat astride her saddle with
accomplished grace. She rode alongside him, at times even ahead of him, but
never challenged him for control of their progress. Her back straight yet
relaxed, her body flowed and her legs absorbed the horse's every movement. She
rode well, she fought well, and she was argumentative to a fault. With every
accumulated detail, he tried to balance what he knew against the relentless
memories of the sick woman he had shielded and nursed through grueling
nights—and the naked woman he had touched, kissed.

When Ada caught his eye and offered the
tiniest smile, he sat taller on the saddle.

But he also had Jacob to consider. With
his crossbow and his curved knives, the young man watched them with a sharp,
narrow-eyed look. If he knew about Pacheco's connection to the de Silva family,
he would know about Gavriel's past as well.

More than the knowledge Jacob must be
privy to, the possessiveness in his eyes stoked an uncomfortable jealousy in
Gavriel's chest. Ada was cured, or as cured as she might ever be. The need for
opium would scratch under her skin and in her blood for the rest of her life,
like a cough that would never quite clear. Jacob had not been strong enough to
complete her treatment. Now he had returned, his expression one of hope and
happy reunions—except when he looked at Gavriel. Daggers were none so
sharp.

They stopped to rest along the Tagus.
The horses needed water, but Gavriel would have given one of his hands to keep
from returning to that place. Ada would not meet his eyes, not even when he
found the mettle to seek hers. Memories of her body, her kiss, her sweet
passion grated against his defenses, leaving him exposed to base desires.

"What plan have you, Jacob?"

Ada's voice sent a shiver up his
backbone, no matter that she addressed another man and spoke of strategy. Only
when he had reined in his need did he take a seat apart from the others. He was
lying to himself. He wanted her more now than he ever had. Impossible,
ridiculous—he did not care.

"We need to take the scrolls to
King Alfonso," Jacob said. "They can implicate the guilty parties,
not only for current plans but for the conspiracy at Alarcos."

Ada flashed her eyes to Gavriel. She
seemed skittish, as she had when bent low over those scrolls.

"We should camp here for the
night," he said quietly, wondering just what Ada had read.

* * *

At dawn they followed the lowlands
along the Tagus, through the eastern mountains, and arrived in Toledo as the
sun dipped low to the west. Gavriel followed Jacob across the river on a wide
stone bridge, the others trailing behind as they approached the city gates. As
much as his pride rankled, he recognized that Jacob held the most authority of
any in their small group. Gavriel had no intention of challenging him now,
weary and short-tempered as they all were. No one had slept well. Blanca could
have been walking with her eyes closed for how alert she appeared.

Far below the bridge, moss covered the
craggy rocks that stepped down to the rushing waters, while prickly junipers,
crude mud shelters, and fleet-footed goats clung to the jagged cliff face. The
city, by contrast, brimmed with art and splendid architecture, that uneasy mix
of cultures.

But no sooner had they dismounted, just
inside the defensive wall, did a dozen armed
pedones
circle their tired
little band.

"Halt!"

The guards surrounded them in a quick
clatter of metal. The horses shied. Fernan and Blanca huddled close. Before
Jacob could draw his knives, one of the men sighted him with a loaded crossbow.
Jacob raised empty hands above his shoulders.

Gavriel angled his body between Ada and
danger. She clung to his left bicep with tense fingers, an unspoken pledge of
faith in his strength and skill. But any move to draw his sword would put
everyone at risk. He could buy them only an instant of chaos, hardly worth the
danger of unleashing the belligerence painted across the guards' faces.

"The girl comes with us,"
said one, a thick-set man.

Blanca gasped and drained of color.
Fernan and Jacob supported her body as it dripped toward the street

"Not that peasant." The guard
never took his hawk's eyes from Ada.
"Lainglesa."

Jacob snarled at the guards, his temper
bared and blunt. Gavriel admired the young man's protective reflexes, but his
mind cautioned calm. They would be dead in the street if Jacob pushed too
quickly. Armed hordes obeying orders did not respond well to reason, and even
less so to aggression.

Amidst the tense silence, Ada inhaled
and spoke in her strange language. The frowning guards puzzled over the foreign
words, but Jacob shook his head. They argued briefly in English before the lead
guard raised his sword. "Enough! You will speak the language of His
Majesty, the King of Castile," he said. "You must be the woman we
seek."

"I am," Ada said, smiling.
"May I have the pleasance of knowing why you wish to detain me?"

Gavriel recognized her playful tone. He
would have chewed wood to break his fast before wishing to have that
infuriating cadence directed at him again. But he also felt the slender fingers
clutching his arm tremble.

"By Castilian law, you must reveal
the nature of her detention," Jacob said, looking up from where Blanca sat
heavily on the dew-damp cobblestones. "She is a member of Dona
Valdedrona's court and lives in Toledo under her protection."

The lead guard exchanged an uncertain
glance with his second but did not lower his sword. "No matter her patron,
the woman has been charged with defaulting on numerous debts, breaking a
contract of sale, and inciting a riot. She will stand trial for her crimes and
be punished accordingly."

Ada's eyes darted to Gavriel's with the
speed of a rabbit. The opium. The debts. The slaver who had lost his lovely
stock. Her past had caught up to her, and her pale, stretched expression
admitted to every fault and flaw. No matter her command of languages, she could
not have spoken about shame as eloquently as did her face.