Scoundrel's Kiss (42 page)

Blanca slid across the platform and
pressed Ada's dagger to de Silva's neck. "Go!"

Fernan jumped forward, guarding de
Silva with his sword— a sword he held with convincing authority.
"She's right! We have him!""

Gavriel nodded once and, weapon in
hand, he flew through the crowd to the arena floor. His vision narrowed, his
limbs shook, and his heart pounded only for Ada.

Chapter 34

Ada ducked behind haystacks, gasping
for air. Onlookers shouted and whistled. They were clearly on the side of her
attacker, their jeers forming a wave of disapproval when she ran.

Her arms ached. Her calves throbbed and
her lungs burned. The constant taste of rancid fear coated her tongue like
black tar. The short sword she held felt as nimble and useful as timber. She
gathered her wits and assessed her surroundings. Running had served her well,
but her opponent had already battled and bested three men in that
space—if not others on previous days. He knew the arena. He was skilled
and strong.

He would find her.

She shook her head and inhaled,
swallowing the tar taste. Calm. She needed to be calm. She needed to stop
mocking the idea of ever being calm again.

The warrior's sword stabbed through the
crisscrossed hay, narrowly missing Ada's head. She yelped and jumped clear. He
lunged after her, swatting at her head, but his glove slipped off her hair.
Long tresses would have been a trap. Even as she ran, she grinned. She had
nothing left but small victories.

In an open clearing, her entire world
defined by the circling, shouting crowd and a barrage of soldiers, she sought
cover. Cover and weapons. Near the eastern edge of the arena, she found a
scattering of egg-sized rocks. But what could rocks do against armor and a
sword?

Her opponent barreled across the
clearing, sword at the ready, charging her like an angered bull. She backed,
backed away. When he strode across the loosened rocks, he stumbled just enough
to upset his attack. The downward arc of his blade wobbled wide.

Ada skittered to the side and around
his back. She turned and, using both hands, swung her sword with every bit of
strength. Dull and rusted from lack of proper care, the blade only slapped the
warrior's thigh. He spun to the right—always to the right

She dipped around his left side and,
when he pivoted to follow her escape, she stayed in his blind spot. Using the
blunted sword as a club, she aimed for the backs of his knees. The man sagged
to the ground with a grunt. The force of the blow radiated up her arms. She
abandoned the sword and ran behind him, yanked off his helmet, and tossed it
into the crowd. They responded with an unexpected cheer in her favor.

From overhead, two soldiers fell off
the wooden observation platform, their armor rattling like an empty bucket.
Women screamed and men pulled them away from where the fallen soldiers lay
immobile. Ada spotted Gavriel on the platform where he fought a sword duel with
another man. She cried out in surprise, in giddy joy. Although he did not look
down to see her, he was alive and fighting. She only had to survive another few
moments.

Her opponent had regained his feet.
Face bare, enraged, he carried her sword, too. A jagged scar marred the skin
between his forehead and jaw, just missing his left eyeball. The eyelid drooped
and the slightest haze covered that iris. He stalked toward her with deliberate
slowness, but the crowd no longer supported his deadly intent They began to
jeer and toss items into the arena: first old produce and mud clods, then
stones and ever more insults.

Ada noticed his pronounced limp and
offered a sweet smile. She raised empty, blistered palms. "I don't suppose
we could call this a draw? Maybe these folks would forgive a blind man his
foibles."

"You will die for this
affront," he said.

"Hardly just." She backed
toward the platform and stooped to pick up a fist-sized rock. Its jagged edges
gnawed at her palm, sharp and reassuring. "But then, little of this
experience has been fair."

His lip curled into a sneer, knotting
the scarred skin. "Kneel and die quickly."

"No."

He sheathed his weapon and hefted her
short sword. "Then you will die slowly by your own dull blade. You cannot
escape this place. I've never been bested."

She smiled again, her stare raking over
his face. "Seems someone came right close. And I intend to do him one
better."

A bellow from above grabbed her
attention. Where Gavriel had been doing battle, his opponent lay on his back,
perched halfway over the edge. Two body lengths separated the man's right arm
from where his hand and sword landed on the ground. Blood rained down on a
dozen upturned feces.

The warrior grabbed her from behind,
her windpipe wedged in the crook of his elbow. His armor pinched her skin. The
tip of the sword poked into her lower back. "I'll not be humiliated by a
woman."

"Too late, seems to me. Or did
everyone here know about your eye?"

The sword gouged into her flesh. Hot
blood seeped beneath her kirtle and dripped down her spine, buttocks, thighs.
Pain like an afterthought slid between her nerves and dove into her brain. A
scream shredded her throat.

She slammed her rock up and back. The
man's nose exploded in a crack of bone and gore. She wrenched his arm from
around her neck, rolling free.

"Ada! Take this!"

She whipped her head up to the wooden
platform where Blanca stood The girl tossed a glittering sheath to the ground.
Her jeweled dagger.

Ada snatched up the beautiful, lethal
weapon, her lower back a riot of pain and disobedient muscles. She pulled the
dagger free of its sheath. Although she shouted up to Blanca, she kept her eyes
on the injured warrior who had dropped to the ground, clutching his ruined
face. "Where's Gavriel?"

"Here."

She spun and found Gavriel within an
arm's distance, the glimmering sword he held streaked over with blood. But
reflexes and the persistent blaze of fear dragged her arm up, ready to strike.
She stood there, poised, limbs frozen and mouth agape.

"Inglesa,"
he
said, his smile thin.
"Mi inglesa."

The dagger dipped. She lowered her
hand, carefully, slowly, and sheathed the weapon. Then she dove into the safety
of his arms.
"Miamo."

Hard muscles garnered her close. She
flinched.

Gavriel pulled away. "What?"

"My back." He tried to turn
her around but she resisted. "Not now."

With the warrior felled, soldiers who
had encircled the arena closed in. From all sides they approached, fully
armored and armed. The bailiff, the judge—they were nowhere to be seen.
She did not know if they were city
pedones
or members of de Silva's
personal guard.

"Who calls it off?" She
looked around but found no one but soldiers and anxious citizens. The jeers and
applause had faded to tense silence. "Who comes to say I've been
pardoned?"

"I know not," he said
quietly. "Although my guess is that the ordinary means have been
corrupted."

Side by side, she took Gavriel's hand.
He gave her fingers a quick squeeze. "What was your plan?" she asked.

"What plan?"

"Your plan! You—your face.
In the cell. You were wearing your chess expression, when you're ready to
win."

"You're mistaken,
inglesa,"
he said with a grin. 'That's how I look when I'm ready to bluff."

His smile broadened. Hardened warrior,
stoic servant of God—they transformed into a teasing man who stole her
breath. She wanted to slap him, but instead she threw her arms around his neck
and held on. Tight. She found the soft hollow behind his ear and kissed him.

As Gavriel raised his sword, she tucked
her face into the crook of his neck. They might die, but they would die
together.

"Halt!"

Up on the wooden scaffold, Jacob and
Dona Valdedrona stood over the man whose hand Gavriel had severed. They looked
like angels of mercy, ready to offer calm justice. Jacob nodded to them when
Ada called his name. Although his face remained impassive, he winked.

"I'd wager
he
has a
plan," Gavriel whispered.

"Good that one of you does."

He rubbed a playful hand over her
bobbed hair, their bodies still clinging. "I've been imprisoned with you.
You're very distracting,
inglesa."

"I demand that every soldier
stands down," said Jacob. "Detain de Silva's men."

"By what authority?" asked
one of the soldiers.

King Alfonso, dressed in layers of silk
and fur, distinguished by his fine lineage and decades of authority, stepped
into view on the platform. "By mine."

Gavriel kept Ada's body close to his,
their fingers interlaced, hers growing colder by the minute as men cleared the
arena of curious spectators. Soldiers remained at the ready as the king and his
attendants descended. They bowed to the monarch, Ada managing awkwardly despite
the blood seeping through the back of her dress.

"Your Majesty, you are not
safe," Jacob said, rising from his bow.

Alfonso looked Jacob up and down, then
passed his keen eyes over the crowd. Those who met his gaze dropped their eyes
in deference. "I will not be intimidated by traitors in my realm."

Searching among the prisoners, Gavriel
could not find his wounded father. "Jacob, where is de Silva?"

"On the platform with two soldiers
and a physic." The young man struggled to hide a grin but failed. "We
found Blanca and Fernan sitting on him." He turned to Ada. "Are you well?"

"I'm alive," she said
tightly. Gavriel needed to get her to safety and tend whatever wounds she had
sustained. "The judge who oversaw my hearing is in de Silva's
pocket."

"No, the judge is in a cell."
A young noblewoman with dark hair and flawless skin stepped through the line of
soldiers and took her place between Jacob and the king. "I do not
appreciate being disobeyed," she said.

"That's Her Excellency," Ada
whispered.

The noblewoman's displeasure ebbed from
her in frosty waves. "This woman, Ada of Keyworth, was to be cleared of
charges and remanded to my custody. That she has been made to fight for her
life like an animal in a baiting pen is reprehensible." She glided toward
Ada and inclined her head. "I am pleased you fared as well as you did. My apologies,
senora"

The word
senora
lingered in the
air. Jacob had been standing tall, imbued with the authority of his
connections, but now he studied the toes of his boots. Yes, Ada was a married
woman. She had married him, Gavriel de Marqueda, a slave and a bastard and a
man struggling to find a better way. That Dona Valdedrona acknowledged it in
public made it real.

Ada squeezed his hand. Her face shone
with a private smile, so much like the soft smile of peace he had first seen on
her face. But this one was natural, unclouded. A smile for him.

But the moment escaped him as two
soldiers pulled them apart. Ada stumbled. Jacob kept her from falling, but she
swirled free of his reach, eyes ablaze. "What are you doing? Not him!
Jacob, tell them!"

The sheepish look of a little boy had
gone. Jacob stared only at Gavriel. 'ordered all members of the de Silva family
to be detained. That includes Gavriel."

"No!" Another pair of the
king's guard held Ada back. She hissed in pain but did not relent "Let go
of me!"

"Please, I won't resist Just let
her be." Gavriel went still, his arms slack beneath the soldiers'
restraining hands, but inside he raged.
"Inglesa!
Stop! You'll do
your injury worse."

"What injury?" Jacob took
charge of her and gently turned her around. At her lower back, blood stained
her gown. "Saints be! Where is the physic?"

"Let him go, Jacob," Ada
said. "He’s not one of them. He was their slave. Even in the scrolls, they
doubted whether they could count on him to do their treachery. You read it just
as I did. Do not insist on thinking the worst of him."

Her words thrilled Gavriel, even as he
wanted to go to her. She had never distrusted him. She had believed his
violence a part of his old life, and so had the men aligning against them. He
was not that killer. Even in sparing de Silva's life, he had proven as much.

Ada sagged against Jacob and slid to
the ground. Gavriel surged again, but the guards held fast

"Jacob, you must get her to my
palace," the condesa said, kneeling.

Ada's face had gone sickly pale.
"No! I won't leave without my husband!"

"Milady! Please, milady,"
said Gavriel. "Let me talk to her."

Dona Valdedrona looked to the guards
and nodded. They kept sword points at his back, but they let him approach his
huddled wife. He rolled his shoulders once as he took the condesa's place, with
Ada's hand cool and trembling in his.