Scoundrel's Kiss (4 page)

"Fernan." Pacheco's warning
tone silenced him, but Fernan’s smile remained fixed and
taunting—reminding Jacob that he had shed his weapons upon entering the
Jacobeans' house. Probably for the best "We'll offer what assistance we
can and deliver you both to Dona Valdedrona's residence here in Toledo."

"No, no—please," Jacob
said.

"Your pardon?"

Jacob stood and pulled on his tunic and
mail, his mind turning. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets,
feeling the ragged scratch of fatigue and grief pressing back. He was far too
tired to take care of her any longer.

The solution was a good one. She would
never forgive him, but perhaps she would live and grow strong and escape this
terrible half-life.

"I beg you," he said quietly.
"Take her with you."

Gavriel had been studying Ada's
peaceful face, revisiting the violence he had felt in the brothel—that
black and deadly surge. He had not held a sword in a year. He missed it, just
as he lamented the loss of power, status, and authority that had been his.

But young Jacob's request snatched him
from that picture of false peace. "What?"

"You are brothers of the Order of
Santiago." Jacob met each man's gaze in turn. "And your monastery is
to the east, in Ucles?”

Pacheco nodded. "That is
correct"

"Please, take her with you."

Old fears slithered over Gavriel's
skin. The girl was dangerous. "Absolutely not."

Jacob drew back his shoulders, a motion
that must have aggravated the wound at his collarbone. But he stood straight to
look Gavriel in the eye. "You owe me a debt of life."

"Your actions put us in danger in
the first place."

"I saved you," Jacob said.
"Pay me in return by saving her."

"You're not able?"

Those same proud shoulders slumped
forward. "I... I try. All that I can think and do—it falls
short." The boy no longer aimed his pleading gaze at Pacheco or Fernan.
Only at Gavriel. "I ask for her sake."

"No."

Jacob curled his hands into fists.
"You turn on a soul in need? What manner of man are you? What manner of
Christian servant are you?"

Fernan snorted. "More than you can
claim,
judio."

The boy leapt. Colliding with Fernan
and falling to the ground, the weight of their bodies broke a chair into a heap
of splintered timber. Jacob grunted and landed a solid punch before Gavriel and
Pacheco hauled him up.

Jacob sputtered and kicked, planting
his boot in Fernan's side. "I will kill him!"

Gavriel squeezed the back of Jacob's
neck until he calmed. "And I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that. The
magistrate would not take kindly to a Jew making such a threat."

Struggling to his feet, Fernan wiped
blood from his mouth. "I want him jailed."

Pacheco raised a restraining hand.
"Enough, Fernan. The boy is distressed, and you test the steadiest
souls."

Fernan spit and dabbed his lips with
shaking fingers, looking around to wipe them on something other than his robes.
"Oh, go ahead and take her, Gavriel. What's the worst that could happen?
She's a senseless, voluptuous, completely vulnerable woman who'll depend on
your care for all the hours of the day and night" He snickered, but his
body was still cowed. "That's hardly any challenge at all."

"I can let him finish what he
started," Gavriel said. "I doubt the outcome would be in your
favor."

Pacheco stepped between them. His age,
authority and a single cautionary look quelled the fight. "You behave like
squabbling children, not Jacobeans." He pointed to the adjoining room.
"Fernan, leave us."

Gavriel released Jacob and bowed his
head. The brief violence had only delayed their master's decision.

"I ask that you return to Dona
Valdedrona's estate," Pacheco said to Jacob. "I'll arrange an escort
of knights for you. Return with the girl's personal effects and we will discuss
her care in the morning, when tempers have cooled."

Jacob nodded, still flushed, his eyes
keen. He pulled on his boots and strapped a belt around his waist He left the
room after one last glance toward the woman on the cot.

"Master." Head still bowed,
Gavriel struggled for calm. "Master, tell me what to do."

"She will be your responsibility
now."

A judgment A sentence. Not for the
first time, he thought that exile would have been the wiser choice. This life
of sacrifice and restraint was far too grueling.

"And if I cannot?"

"You will," Pacheco said
firmly. "And we both know the consequences if you do not."

Chapter 3

Ada awoke in the back of a cart. Her
head rattled as fiercely as the rickety wheels. Her stomach tightened, that
place where hunger met nausea, but she thought she would never be able to use
her sticky, swollen tongue again. The side of her face ached with a bruise the
size of a fat, ripe olive.

She sat up, her joints and muscles
stiff. Squinting against the sun, she saw a gray donkey pulling the cart Two
men riding ahead on horseback wore white robes. The one holding the donkey's
tether might not have needed reins; he rode his animal with graceful ease. His
tall, lean body absorbed every movement of the horse's plodding steps. The
other man, however, fought his mount with stiff and jerking movements.

Toledo was nowhere to be seen. The
jagged mountains that bounded the city looked like pale blue teeth, far behind
her on the horizon. Limitless grasslands stretched wide, broken only by dots of
windmills, the occasional cluster of distant sheep, and the banks of the Tagus
River. Its waters ran quietly beneath the bright spring sun.

But where was Jacob? The previous
night's events were a blur of colors and melodies punctuated with bright
moments of fear and anger. More nightmares. They seeped into every breath, even
when she abandoned herself to the throes of the tincture. She would never
escape if they followed even to that otherworldly place.

But she distinctly remembered Jacob. He
would help her banish the headache that throbbed like goblet drums.

"Jacob?" His name stuck on
her tongue. She cleared her throat. "Jacob, where are you?"

Overly loud, her rusty voice croaked
across the wind-stirred mesa. The horse carrying the awkward man shied and
reared, casually tossing its rider.

"Fernan," said a third man,
also on horseback at the rear of the cart. "Other horses would ride your
mount better than you do."

Tired and disoriented, Ada worked to
keep up with his use of the Romance language. A Castilian dialect. Well
educated.

"But he's a gelding, Master,"
said the man called Fernan. "The beast should enjoy my slight imposition a
great deal more than that of a randy stud." He stood and dusted half the road
from his robes. With a hand pressed to his lower back, he walked toward the
spooked horse. It skittered a few steps clear. "Could you assist me,
please?"

The tall man, surely a knight, pulled
on the reins, bringing his horse and the donkey to a halt. He swung gracefully
to the ground. The flat, endless expanse of the Mesa de Ocana made whole towns
appear small and insignificant, but even against that inhospitable landscape,
he looked intimidating. White robes did nothing to soften the hard lines of his
face. Closely cropped hair as dark as kohl shone with highlights of red and
amber, burnished by the rising sun.

"You've been thrown three times
now," he said without sympathy. "Why don't you ride with the
woman?"

"In a cart? Pulled by a
donkey?" Fernan straightened his body with a jester's false dignity.
"I'm still a man."

"Then sit a horse like one."

"Spoken with the patience and
charity of a true man of God, Gavriel."

Gavriel. That man.

"Hello? Pardon me, but where is
Jacob?"

All three men turned quizzical looks
her way. She had used English. Few people on the Peninsula spoke English, and
these holy men showed no signs of comprehension. She tried the question again
in Romance, using their Castilian dialect.
"Donde esta
Jacob?"

Gavriel boosted Fernan back onto the
horse and tugged the reins, looping them around his own saddle's pommel. One
burden discharged—for that was how he stalked about, a man burdened by a
great weight—he turned to Ada. "Your friend Jacob is on his way to
the capital."

To make sense of the words, she pushed
aside the details of his body: the breadth of his muscled shoulders, the
intensity of his dark brown eyes, and the unexpected glint of anger she found
there. "To Segovia?" she asked.

"Dona Valdedrona is at court with
King Alfonso, and Jacob went there to meet her."

Betrayal like a shard of glass sliced
into her heart. Loyal, steadfast, and adoring, Jacob had been her only true
friend m Toledo. Most were suspicious of her education and talent for
languages, while others thought to use her for their ends. She had balanced
them all to gain favor with the widowed condesa, relying on Jacob as her
trustworthy confidant.

And when the thirst for another sip of
the tincture got the better of her, she could rely on his caring and
discretion.

That he could abandon her for the
beautiful young noblewoman, leaving Ada to these men, smacked of the treason
her sister had committed—Meg, who had chosen Will Scarlet over her own
flesh and blood.

But if Jacob thought to treat her so
cruelly, she would leave him behind as easily as they had England. She owed him
nothing.

"Now I know where Jacob is,"
she said tightly. "But where are we? And who are you?"

"We're clergy from the Order of
Santiago, on the road to Ucles," Gavriel said. "To your new
home."

"Are you mad?"

"Keep your voice down,
mujer"

The warm spring wind tossed hair in
front of her eyes. She swiped it back, her fingers catching in tangles and
snarls. "My home is at Her Excellency's residence in Toledo. My belongings
are there, and I demand to be returned at once."

"Your belongings are with you in
the cart," he said. "And we're not returning to Toledo."

"This is an outrage!"

He lifted a black brow. Some men would
have accompanied the move with a smile or smirk. But his face hardly shifted,
pinning her with a steady stare. "I wonder, where would 'home' be today
had Jacob not saved you from the auction?"

The auction. Memories and fears and
wants crowded back like a flood. Humiliation chilled her skin but ran hot
through her blood.

"Have none of you a shred of
kindness?"

Gavriel regarded her as would a statue.
The elderly man shook his head, a mask of pity shrouding his aging features.
"This is for your own good, child," he said.

"More like, she brought this on
herself." Gavriel stepped closer to the cart, his white robes snapping
like an unfurled sail. "Before the week is out, you'll bear much
worse."

"What do you mean?"

"Your boy Jacob will come for you
in a month. My task is to ensure that you are safe and free of the opium by the
time he returns."

No opium. No release. Only the terrible
pains of withdrawal and the desolation of failure when she succumbed again.
Always succumbing, because the alternative was simply too terrible.

More nightmares.

"You cannot do this!"

"I intend to," Gavriel said,
"with or without your cooperation."

"You would keep, me captive?"

"I'll be a kinder master than any
who would've had you last night."

She shot-to her feet in the cart, but
two hands as hard as iron clamped her shoulders. For the span of a lightening
flash, they were face to face. Like his hair, his eyes contained flecks of
other colors—colors of sunset and the high plateau. In those eyes, she
saw no glint of sympathy or kindness. Only more anger.

A looking glass. The reflection of a
rage as deep as her own.

She smoothed her expression to match
his and glanced to where fluttering white linen met the tanned skin of his
neck, She licked her lips.

And then she was back in the cart,
thrust down by powerful arms. Her backside met wood. She grimaced, but a grin
snuck over her mouth. He was not so impassive after all.'

"We should arrive at Yepes by
nightfall, halfway to Ucles. Sit in silence or be bound and gagged."
Gavriel stepped back and sketched a mocking bow, one at odds with his stoic
face. "Those are your choices."

Ada glared at each man in turn, resting
her scowl on the back of Gavriel's shorn head. He urged the horses to continue
an eastward trudge, and she gripped the hilt of her dagger.

He rode ahead of the others, back
straight and eyes on the endless horizon. His agitated mind, however, returned
to Ada like a thirsty animal to a stream. Queens regarded their subjects with
less hauteur than she did. But unlike a subject, Gavriel was not obliged to
lower his gaze or obey her dictates.