Scoundrel's Kiss (36 page)

He dropped the leather pouch laden with
coins. It landed on the writing table with a metallic thump, settling crookedly
like a decaying orange. That left the intruder free to wield his short sword
within those tight confines, unfettered by his other, more attractive offering.

Natalez glanced at the shadow behind
the door Pacheco had left ajar. His own sword waited there, but it was
sheathed. And the silver-haired man stood in the way.

Pacheco did not look behind him, but
his smile returned. "When was the last you took up arms,
senor?
Many
years I should think, judging by your girth. Now let us cease these games and
come to an accord."

Instead of returning to the weapon that
may as well have been in Rome for all its usefulness, Natalez let his eyes
travel between Pacheco's bright black stare, the short sword, and the fat bag
of coins. He slumped into his chair. "What accord?"

"There is a woman who will be
tried this morning, an Englishwoman named Ada."

"Si,"
he
said, rifling through a scant trio of documents he had been examining. "I
have word that she is under the protection of Dona Valdedrona."

"That Sicilian whore?"

"The Englishwoman's debts have
been paid, her contracts settled. She will be released."

Pacheco stepped forward once, twice,
and pressed the tip of the sword into the roll of fat beneath Natalez's chin.
"Unfortunately for you, my dear judge, that is not the verdict I
seek."

Sunlight burned her eyes, eyes
accustomed to the darkness of her confinement. Voices swirled like an unearthly
wind. Sound and scent melded together. Ada used to love the moment when the
world fell away, washed clean by opium. But stumbling again, tripping into the
square as the gathering crowd jeered, that riot of sensation—overlapping,
freeing her from language and thought—only heightened her terror.

She could not afford to lose her wits.
But she barely managed to keep her feet, focusing on the metal-clad heels of
the guard holding the rope.

She was first in line; the wait to know
her verdict would not be long. As the judge settled his hulking body onto his
stool, the bailiff read a proclamation of the court's authority according to
the charter of the Prelate of Toledo, sanctioned by the King of Castile,
Alfonso XIII. His deep voice blended the legal terminology of the edict into an
indistinct drone. Fatigue threatened to pull Ada's eyelids closed no matter the
rushing pulse of her blood.

"Bring the first prisoner
forward!"

She jerked upright and caught sight of
the bailiff motioning her toward the judge. The foremost guard untied the ropes
that bound her to the other prisoners and pushed her up three steps, his sword
at her back. Knees like clouds and her thighs trembling, she climbed.

Her mind flashed to the slave auction.
She had ascended those few steps without feeling her feet, high above the dingy
brothel, insensate to the bargain she had made for a single bottle. She had not
thought to want a rescue, but Jacob and Gavriel had saved her nonetheless. The
urge to look across the hostile crowd and find them nearly got the better of
her, although she needed every drop of concentration to keep her wayward,
nauseated body moving.

Judge Natalez was a grotesque man, full
of face and body, his nose a map of red veins. Open at the neck, his robes
revealed an expensive, ornate tunic woven through with gold and embroidered
with seed pearls. Greased black hair clung to his forehead in an ornate pattern
of stringy strands designed to cover his bald spot. His coarse beard needed a
trim.

A strange cross between vanity and
careless indulgence, he sat on the stool one step higher than Ada, looking down
at her. All around their central platform, the citizens of Toledo watched the
open-air court, awaiting each bloody verdict.

"State your name," Natalez
said, his voice loud and theatrical for the awaiting crowd

She cleared her throat and raised her
chin, meeting his small, deeply set eyes. "Ada of Keyworth."

"And where is Keyworth?"

"Inglaterra."

The crowd murmured its interest in her
answer, seeming to press closer to the judgment platform.

Natalez only raised an eyebrow, sweat
gathering at his temples. He glanced over a piece of parchment and said,
"This woman, Ada of Keyworth, stands accused of the following crimes:
failure to pay debts to Senor Alvarez in the amount of eight morabetins,
failure to pay debts to Senor Calavaras in the amount of nine morabetins, both
Christians of Toledo. She is also accused of breaking a contract of sale with
Salamo Fayat, a Jew residing in Toledo, originally from Cordoba, and inciting a
riot in his place of business."

Each additional charge brought back
unpleasant memories, the desperation she had felt while trapped in those
moments. Her tongue went dry.

"Will anyone stand for this woman
against her accusers?" Natalez asked with that theatrical voice.

"I will:'

Hundreds of eyes bounced from face to
face, searching for the man who had volunteered. Ada only closed hers, savoring
the blissful sound of Gavriel's voice. And then he was beside her, holding her
hand.

He came.

His body, warm and solid beside hers,
offered strength when she had wondered if all of hers was gone. Fresh-washed,
with sunlight sparkling on the tips of his damp hair, he smelled of soap and
warm wool. His hair had grown, she noticed. No longer cropped short as a member
of the Order, it curled slightly around his ears, a little wild at the nape of
his neck.

He looked down at her. Although he did
not smile, he offered an unfamiliar expression. One of.. expectation? Hope? His
sharp, hard features had softened. For her. She gripped his blunt, rough
fingers and stood straighten

"And who are you?" Natalez
asked. Sweat gathered in earnest at his temples and dotted the thick cluster of
hair along his upper lip.

"Gavriel de Marqueda. With the
Order of Santiago, I was responsible for this woman's wellbeing. Her craving
for opium has been cured, and she stands ready to make good all of her debts
with the help of her patron, Cilia, Condesa de Valdedrona."

Her name charged the assembly with
excited whispers, but the judge paid them no heed. He stared at Gavriel, his
glassy eyes direct.

"No matter that you stand for her,
senor,
or that you claim she is cured," Natalez said. "I have
read the testimony and heard the applicable witnesses. This woman will face
trial by combat to determine her guilt or innocence."

Combat?

Ada's ears filled with the murmuring
delight of the crowd. She thought her knees would have weakened. Or maybe she
would vomit But she remained upright, receiving the judge's sentence as if he
had condemned some other prisoner. Only the sharp cut of Gavriel's voice
penetrated the protective numbness.

"I demand an explanation,
senor,"
he said. "Dona Valdedrona herself paid the debts this morning."

Natalez curled the edge of one document
between his thumb and forefinger. "I received no such notification from
Her Excellency, and I resent the implication that I would thwart a noble
decree."

"I resent that you call yourself a
judge," Gavriel said. "This is a mockery!"

Natalez pointed at him. "You will
stand down!"

"Aayaaldiablo!"

Gavriel surged, but Ada caught him
around both shoulders. She held him with all her strength, wanting him safe
from the guards who stood ready to pierce her unarmed protector.

Natalez edged backward until the stool
tottered, then tipped. Hundreds of voices lifted in laughter as he landed hard
on the wooden platform. His fat face purpled. "Restrain that man!"

Long minutes passed as the guards
restored order. They pinned Gavriel and Ada from all sides, circling with drawn
swords. One helped return the rotund judge to his place on the stool. She clung
to Gavriel's arm, finding the entire scene bizarre and comical, like the
performance of a minstrel troupe.

She hiccupped, a sound suspiciously
close to laughter— mad, helpless laughter.

Gavriel raised an eyebrow. "Are
you well?"

"Of course not," she said for
him alone. "Everything has become decidedly absurd. I used to enjoy
it."

He covered her hand with his.
"Ada, Her Excellency promised your release. Jacob saw her personally last
night And he would have no reason to lie to us, would he?"

"No, not Jacob. But this
judge?"

"Are you suggesting that men in
positions of power may be manipulating us again?"

"Are you on the verge of
smiling?"

"The only alternative to madness
with a
bruja
like you."

He did smile then, his face breaking
into a wide, boyish grin. The hard angles of his face softened around full,
curving lips stretched wide. Beautiful white teeth shone from the dusky hue of
his skin. Lines bending around his mouth revealed the slightest of dimples, and
delicate feathers crinkled at the corners of his dark eyes. Those lips,
dimples, eyes— they conspired to start a wicked fluttering behind her
breastbone, one that had naught to do with the danger they faced.

"Enough!" All eyes returned
to Natalez, his face still colored like lavender in bloom. His thick, unkempt
beard shook. "I have decided on the correct course," he said.
"My word as a judge of Toledo makes it so. You!" He pointed to Ada
with a pudgy finger. Jewels from a pair of rings glinted in the morning sun.
"Stand before me!"

Although reluctant to leave Gavriel's
side, Ada unknotted their hands and wove between the swords to stand before the
judge.

"Hear this," he said.
"You will face trial by combat tomorrow at midday."

"Judge Natalez," Gavriel
said, his temper threatening to burst through his skin. "She is a woman.
Trial by combat is no just gauge of guilt. The measure is too harsh."

"I deem it appropriate. Be
thankful that, considering the evidence against her, I do not declare her
guilty this moment"

Gavriel stared at the judge, looking
past the fat, officious face and the tiny eyes. First Pacheco, then Fernan—he
had learned that public faces rarely matched the souls beneath. Ada, too, had
taught him that lesson. He had first seen a woman dragged through life by her
own weakness. At that moment, as she stood in quiet defiance of the judge and
her own past, she demonstrated the strength he had come to expect of her.

But this judge.

He was as corrupt as his ruling. Women
did not stand trial by combat. It was unseemly and unjust.

He inhaled. 'Then I claim the right to
take her place."

Natalez frowned. "Right? What
right?"

"She is my wife."

Chapter 29

Ada inhaled sharply.

Natalez glanced at his bailiff, the
purple rage fading to a sickly paleness. He seemed to maintain his bearing by
force of will alone. "What proof do you have?"

Threatened as they were by unknown
forces, Gavriel set aside caution. She eased hurts that had been so much a part
of him, like bones and blood and breath. That she caused a deeper sort of pain
at the thought of her suffering loosened the worry in his chest.

"What proof is needed?" he
asked. "We're both Christian, having lived on the edge of the
reconquista
frontier where neither banns nor priest are required." Gavriel found
Ada's blue eyes and did not look away. Swords and men in armor separated them,
but he spoke to her in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "You need
only my word. And hers."

She looked at him as if the crowd, the
judge, the verdict— none of it mattered. Only him. Only the words he had
said in an effort to save her life.

He knew better. And by me way a smile
began to change her face—first the light in her eyes, then the gentle
curve of her lip—she did, too. He had made the claim of their marriage
because he wanted it.

Tell them. Tell them we are married.

The words pounded against the inside of
his forehead. Noise from the throng of onlookers faded, or else he had ceased
to hear them. He only waited for Ada's reply to his most unconventional
proposal.

Natalez's rumbling voice cut between
them. "What say you?"

Ada turned to the hundreds of people in
the courtyard. Considering the unjust nature of the judge's ruling, appealing
to him seemed of little consequence. "Yes," she said. "He is my
husband."

Applause and laughter jumped from the
crowd Dressed in green, her hair whipping free in the morning breeze, Ada
tossed Gavriel a carefree smile. He drank in her vigor, her beauty. Tingling
warmth flooded his veins when she blushed. He would not take his eyes off her,
but he knew if he closed them now, images of his future would be filled with
her. Them. Together. If he proved strong enough.