Scoundrel's Kiss (35 page)

"Comprendo,"
she
whispered. "I'll go with you. But please, do not hurt these people."

Her fingers loosened and she stepped
away from Gavriel. "Ada, don't," he said.

"I can do this. I'll see this
right, and then we can start again."

He wanted to drag her back to his side
and envelop her, tightly, as a shield against her fate. But the lead guard
nodded and lowered his weapon, taking her into his custody. There was no
resignation in her posture, only the stiff, proud acceptance of her
responsibility.

"Where are you taking her?"
he asked.

The lead guard ignored him. "Are
you wearing any weapons,
senorita?"

Ada silently knelt and retrieved the
sheathed dagger from her boot, tossing it behind her. The metal skittered to a
stop at Blanca's feet. "That is all."

Circling ropes around Ada's wrists, the
lead guard tossed a negligent look over the small band. "She'll be tried
on the morrow at the Court of Justice."

Gavriel's voice died in his throat.
Words sat there, unsaid, as he watched the cadre disperse into the city, Ada
with them. She never looked back. He watched until nothing of her
remained—no hint of brown cloth from her gown, no shimmer of her unbound
hair. His heart marred by bruises, he fought every impulse urging him to pursue
and strip those guards of their precious prisoner. But influence, not violence,
would be the tool to free Ada.

Gavriel had none.

He had to come to an accord with the
only of their number who did. Not that the task would be an easy one.

Jacob stood toe to toe with Gavriel.
"Is this how you keep her safe?"

"Safe?" Worry gathered in his
chest like floodwater as he snatched the crossbow off Jacob's shoulder. He
flung it across the mossy cobblestones.
"Safe?"
With another
quick motion, fingers steady, he stripped him the curving blades. Jacob
stumbled backward, dazed, his eyes wide. Gavriel towered over him, wanting to
release every drop of frustration on the young Jew. "As I recall, you left
her in my care."

Jacob rubbed one wrist, his eyes never
far from the crossbow. "I did, before I inquired among Dona Valdedrona's
informants and learned who you are, hiding like a coward in a religious order.
Such is why I traveled Ucles earlier than I planned."

Gavriel loosened his stance. The fresh
promise of combat raised the hairs on his forearms. "She would be with
you—
safe,
as you say—had you been stronger in the face of
her craving."

"I did what I thought best!"

Blanca pushed between them.
"Please, stop this! We're tired, all of us. Have you any notion of how few
allies we have? And you want to pound on each other like barbarians?" She
nodded to Gavriel's fists before turning her pleas to Jacob. "He would
kill you."

"He can try," Jacob said
harshly.

She knelt and retrieved Gavriel's sword
and one of Jacob's knives before returning to the square of neutral ground
between them. "He would kill you, Jacob, and Ada would be sorry for it.
Don't make me be the one to tell her you've each done murder."

She raised her arms, offering both the
weapons and a caustic look.

Gavriel eyed the hilt of his sword,
then Jacob, seeing the young man do the same. "I cannot harm you," he
said. "Ada would never forgive me. She thinks well of you."

"Do you agree with her?"

"When you behave beyond your
years." Gavriel put his sword away and crossed his arms. "Now what
can we do?"

Jacob took his weapon. He glanced once
more between Gavriel and the blade, its metal made dull gray by the evening
light, and sheathed it.

"Dona Valdedrona has returned to
Toledo," he said. "We shall speak with her."

Wide awake, Ada stared at the walls of
her cell as the sun changed the night from black to deep blue, then lighter
still. The stench of rats and excrement had long since muddled her senses,
until even the meager ale tasted foul. Or perhaps it was foul, having spoiled
in that hellish place. Somewhere beyond her confines, a steady drip, drip wore
away her patience, just as that water must wear away the stone. Although a tick
stuffed with relatively fresh straw lay along one wall, she had not slept.
Sleep would mean dreams—dreams even more terrifying than her wakeful
nightmare.

Gavriel. He would be there at sunrise.
Of course he would be.

But the darkness played tricks with all
she believed. What if he was not? She considered the possibility that Jacob's
warning held merit. Or perhaps Gavriel would decide that their erratic history
together was not worth his trouble. He would finally be rid of her.

She stood and stretched muscles weary
from worry and a lack of sleep, shaking free of those ominous thoughts. No
matter whether he appeared at the Court of Justice, she would stand for
herself.

But how she wanted him to be there.

She yearned for it because, for the
first time in a year, she had discovered a reason to keep opium at bay.
Gavriel, the man who had wanted her with unexpected fire and tenderness.
Gavriel, the man who broke impossible vows, scarred himself, and hid everything
but his concern for her well-being. And despite Jacob's suspicions, Gavriel was
no longer the brutal man he once was.

She hoped.

Hunger bit at her insides. Thirst
shriveled her tongue. The old need for a false escape only intensified as the
sun promised its slow ascent.

She stepped to the sliver of a window
and peered through with one eye. Below the fortifications of the Court of
Justice, the hangman had prepared nooses for those found guilty of the most
heinous crimes. Two ropes dangled, the harsh angle of the sun casting shadows
like snakes across the courtyard. Already, merchants and peasants who had
started their day— the merchants with carts full of goods bound for
market, and the peasants with empty baskets and sacks—began to gather
around the platform.

Ada shuddered. Morning had not yet
banished the chill of night, and contemplating her fate in that courtyard did
nothing to assuage her shivers.

I
brought this on myself.

She shook free of that old accusation.
Yes, she had. But she would get herself out as well.

The lock rattled at her back. She
turned to face the guard who entered her cell. Anonymous behind his helmet and
uniform, the man held out a rope just as Ada offered her wrists. She would not
struggle, not now. She would not cower. The decision to face the ordeal with as
much dignity as she possessed helped outweigh her humiliation. She had cried
and begged long enough.

She followed the guard through the
darkened halls. The metal adornments on his uniform caught bright chinks of sun
as they passed regular intervals of narrow windows. He walked with precision,
the metal of his armor clanking an even cadence. Ada swallowed her hunger and
buried it alongside her fear, but her knees did not stop shaking.

As they traversed the long corridor,
other guards brought prisoners out of their cells and tied them to Ada like
links in a chain. Soon they numbered seven, and she wondered which two faced
hanging. For her crimes, she would likely face trial by fire. She would be
forced to walk nine paces while holding a red-hot rod of iron. Her skin would
peel away, as skin tended to do, and her guilt would be decided three days
later when the wound festered. Only divine intervention—a pair of palms
miraculously healed—would proclaim her innocence.

But she was not innocent She glanced
down and flexed her fingers. The verdict would not matter when the burning rod
warped and ruined her hands.

She tripped. The guard roughly yanked
her up, barking a command. She puzzled at the unfamiliar words, her
understanding of Castilian suddenly as exhausted as her courage.

Chapter 28

Gavriel paced the small, stark room
they had let for the night Sunlight slowly spread across the tattered rushes
beneath his feet. He felt caged. Helpless. Blanca sat on a mattress jammed
along the outer wall. She could have been furniture for all the attention
Gavriel paid her. And Fernan—he had simply disappeared.

Had Ada been able to sleep? No, not
confined once again, probably surrounded by darkness and her old fears. His
arms shook. Reassuring her and pulling her through each moment of weakness had
become his only reprieve, slowly working to make him a better man. The thought
of losing her ripped a hole in his plans for the future. That he kept those
plans so near to his heart only proved what a fool he had become. For her.

When Jacob returned at daybreak,
Gavriel finally stopped his restless pacing. "Did you speak with Dona
Valdedrona?" he asked.

Jacob nodded. "Last night, she
wrote a missive that clears Ada's debts. Ada will work as her translator for a year,
but she will be free of the charges."

Blanca clapped her hands. Relief
flooded Gavriel. The air smelled sweeter, not the stench of that rotting room.
Sunlight shone brighter. Jacob's successful return assuaged the helplessness
Gavriel had felt, himself unable to offer a plea on her behalf.

"What will you do now?"
Gavriel asked.

"These must be delivered to His
Majesty," Jacob said, pulling the scrolls from Ada's satchel. "King
Alfonso moved court to Dona Valdedrona's palace, and he brings members of the
Leonese delegation. I must warn him that he dines with traitors."

Blanca offered Jacob a plain canvas
sack to carry the documents. "Do you think that's wise?" she asked.
"They may think to kill the messenger, so to speak."

"I trust discussing the matter with
Her Excellency," Jacob said. "She will proceed with King Alfonso as
she sees fit."

Gavriel frowned. "You're leaving
Ada?"

Jacob yanked his crossbow over his
shoulder. The quick, keen sparkle in his eyes had dimmed entirely. Grim lines
pinched the skin around his mouth. Where once had been a young fighter eager to
risk his life for the woman he loved, a much older man stood. "She needs
you there, not me," he said.

Panic mingled with a sensation akin to
victory, thrilling and hot Jacob loved Ada. That much he had known from the
first. But Ada's feelings toward her young guardian had always seemed
ambivalent. She never displayed toward Jacob the same fiery range of emotions
Gavriel had experienced. Her anger. Her teasing. Her passion.

Although Blanca stood near at hand,
watching the exchange in silence, she may have missed the deadly promise in
Jacob's eyes.

But Gavriel saw it.

If you hurt her, I will kill you.

Gavriel merely collected his weapons
and nodded in answer.
If I hurt her, I'll have no reason left to live.

* * *

Judge Herman Natalez looked up as a
distinguished Jacobean entered his chambers. Wrapped in white robes that
matched his silver hair, the older man paid no heed to Natalez's frown. No one
entered his chambers before the morning's trials, not even his mincing little
clerk. No one dared. Except this stranger.

"You mislike my being here, I can
see," the man said.

Without preamble or introduction. The
gall.

Natalez set his grooming comb aside and
stared with all the weight inherent in his position as judge. "An imbecile
could see that. Who are you and how dare you behave with such disrespect?"

"I am Gonzalo Pacheco, brother of
the Order of Santiago and servant of His Excellency, Lord Joaquin de
Silva." His black eyes glittered like those of a crow at feast. "You
are detaining a prisoner of interest to Lord de Silva, a prisoner whose
sentence he would like to, shall we say, influence."

Natalez snorted. "Influence.
Dictate, you mean. But that is out of the questions. My verdicts are not for
sale."

"And I respect that." Pacheco
smiled, deadly as any beast but with none of the wild impulse. Every movement
spoke of control, intelligence, and the firm expectation that he would be
obeyed. With the notorious exile de Silva as his employer, that might be the
case. But not that morning.

Natalez stood from his writing table
and turned his back, deliberately dismissing the wiry old Jacobean. He
stretched his robes across his bulky body, but Pacheco did not leave.

The patience Natalez had held to like a
greased rope slipped away. He turned, his voice a boom of thunder. "Why
are you still here?"

Pacheco did not flinch. His smile had
evaporated. In each hand he held an item: a lumpy leather pouch in his left and
short sword in his right.

"How did you get that sword past
my guards?"

The glitter in Pacheco's eyes turned to
fire, a man who had abandoned civility. "My men outnumber yours,
especially now that two of yours lie dead."

Natalez felt his authority drip through
his feet and into floor. "This is an outrage!"

"You are a judge,
senor"
said
Pacheco. "Weighing the relative merits of the evidence is your
responsibility. So let me present the evidence to you as I see it—and the
way I see it is the only option. Do you understand?"