Scoundrel's Kiss (18 page)

"Wait." Ada dropped her
satchel and rummaged through it until she found the long, dark cloak. She
wrapped it around her shoulders and said, "I do not make a habit of
wearing solely my kirtle, especially when the white cloth will shine like a
beacon."

"Good," he said, his gaze
burning through the thick garment as if she wore nothing at all. Her kirtle had
been all that separated her flesh from his eyes, his hands.

Yes, the cloak was a very good idea.

"But what about you?" She
scowled, taking in the sight of his bloodied tunic. "If guards stop us,
they'll want to know what happened."

"Then we cannot let them stop us.
Blanca, can you lead us?"

The girl stepped out from the shadows
and passed her gaze between Ada's face and his. A tiny smile tugged the corners
of her mouth. "Can either of you be led? Truly?"

Ada grinned. "I told you she was clever."

"I need fewer clever females and
more peace," he said. "Blanca, go now."

The trio skirted the edge of the
courtyard, moving silently as they had down the bathhouse stairwell. Ada fixed
her eyes on Blanca's tiara headdress, but her thoughts hardly strayed from the
man who took up the rear. Heightened senses tracked the rhythmic touch of his
sandals on the soft ground and the heat of his body, a contrast to the cool
night air. She wanted to shake her head, pull her hair—anything to regain
her footing with regard to Gavriel. But nothing changed. Her fascination had
blossomed.

Blanca held up her hand. They stopped
where the line of courtyard shrubs ended. The flat expanse of the darkened
street, lined with a low stone wall, stretched between them and the eastern
edge of the village. That distance seemed impossibly far, and trouble awaited
them. Eight men wearing the uniform of the town's
guardias
stood careful
watch. They carried crossbows, wore scabbards, and flanked each side of the
closed doors. Behind one gate made of crisscrossing iron bars awaited another
hewn of wood.

"We would've been naive to hope
for an easy exit," Ada whispered.

"But eight men is more than I
expected," Gavriel said. "The uproar at the bath has them on
alert."

He leveled his dark eyes, his face a
grim mask. Ada had seen that lack of expression before, during that handful of
moments before they had been attacked in the bathing room. The air fairly
sparkled around him, energy and purpose and power, as he made the transformation
from novice to warrior. But why did he insist on denying this, the most potent
and natural part of him?

"The gate itself is
straightforward," he said. "Two doors, both on pulleys. No embrasures
in the wall. No tower or moat Another few minutes without fighting and the men
will relax."

Ada made herself assess that scene, to
see what he saw. But she only found eight armed men standing between them and a
way clear of the village. "Simple, then?"

"Not simple. Merely
possible."

"Look," Blanca said. She
nodded toward an alcove in the defensive walls where two horses waited. A lone
squire stood holding their reins, swaying on his feet, eyes closed. "That
boy lives on a farm outside the town gate."

"They must have brought more men
in from the countryside," Ada said.

"No," Gavriel said. He wore
the stains of battle from top to toe and carried two deadly weapons. So
different now. "The boy may be from nearby, but those guards are from
Toledo. Look at their weaponry—made of steel."

Blanca nodded. "He's right. I
don't recognize any of them."

"Blanca and I can get those
horses," Ada said. "Gavriel, you subdue the guards."

"Absolutely not."

"We can," Blanca said,
thrusting the mace into Gavriel's hands. "I know the young squire. If I
can speak to him, I can convince him to let the horses go in exchange for
gold."

Gavriel scowled, but he clenched the
mace without hesitation. "And he won't think of the punishment he'll
receive once horses have gone missing?"

A smile rounded Blanca's cheeks all the
more. "He's not the sort of boy to think much of the future. Can you ride,
Ada?"

She matched Blanca's grin. "You
really want out of this village,"

"More than you know."

"Yes, I can ride."

Ada made ready to cross the road, but
Gavriel caught her arm. "I don't trust you. Last time you sat a horse, you
challenged bandits for me right to make for Toledo."

"That's before I knew better of
your charming personality."

His grip on her arm tightened through
the heavy cloak. "You'll ride off on your own and find the nearest apothecary."

She wrenched free of his hand, but not
from his eyes. "Push a woman toward her vice too often and she'll
succumb."

Blanca cleared her throat. "I
appreciate your concern,
senior,
but she'll stay with me."

"How do you know? You have no
notion of what she's capable."

"No, but she'll not leave her
hombre."

Ada found no words. The thought of
Gavriel being hers numbed her tongue. But his face had hardened. Neither
warrior nor novice, at that moment he seemed another man altogether, one
surrounded by stone and steel.

She forced herself to look at Blanca,
tearing away from Gavriel's sharp profile and hard expression. "Gavriel is
my captor, although he might claim otherwise."

"You both argue with great
passion." Blanca shook her head softly. "Forgive me."

Gavriel exhaled sharply. "We waste
time. Blanca, you get the horses. Ada, be ready at the gate. Be prepared to
move quickly."

Ada tried for an easy grin but failed.
"Does that mean you trust me now?"

"No," he said. "But none
of us will be free of Yepes if we don't work together. Do you want act rashly
and risk capture?"

She met Blanca's hopeful, eager eyes.
"I'll do nothing rash," Ada said softly. "We leave Yepes tonight
All of us."

Gavriel crouched low, behind the
shrubs, as the two women crept farther from the gate and across the street He
strained to see through the deep night, as if watching their retreating backs
could ensure safe passage. Ada blended almost entirely, her cloak transforming
her into as much shadow as substance.

Only their pale faces escaped the
gloom, two bobbing white ovals pushing deeper into the dark.

He shifted from one foot to the other
where he squatted, easing the tension out of each leg. They would have horses.
And they would be safe.

With the women out of sight, he
shuffled along the line of shrubs bordering the courtyard. One step beyond that
protective cover and he would stand within full view of the men guarding the
gate.

His heart beat at a moderate pace and
his breathing was neither labored nor accelerated. So different now, compared
to the bandit raid or the attack in the bathhouse. Aside from the blisters
lining each finger, rubbed raw by the weapons he had not held in so long, his
body had acclimated to battle. He heard every noise. He saw every line and
angle of pale light. Nothing escaped his attention, especially not the vows he
had broken or the odds against his success. Eight to one.

She'll not leave her
hombre.

Blanca's simple statement rang through
his head until it threatened to drown out the crickets, the soft, lonely wind,
and the low murmurs from the guards. He had only ever belonged to one person:
his father and master, Joaquin de Silva. The idea of belonging to a woman, to
Ada, was more man he could comprehend. He might try contemplating the divine or
the stars scattered against the sky with more certainty. Although he carried a
mace and a sword, he could not feel the metal in his hands. He was too numb,
stunned, turned upside-down.

Faint moonlight glinted off the deadly
metal he held, dulled by dried blood. If he stopped too long to consider his
deeds—those in his past, those yet awaiting him—he would never
survive. Madness would claim him. God would forsake him, if He had not already.
And the eight guards at the gate would sever his head from his rebellious body.

What had Ada said?
But then I might
have an end to all this.

He had not been the sort of man to wish
for them, not for years. But the closer he came to the warrior he had been, the
more comforting oblivion sounded.

He snarled at himself, out of patience but
no closer to relief.

Do the deed. Seek forgiveness come
morning. If ever.

Chapter 14

Blanca crept among the shadows.
Overhead and all around, the night was just beginning to give way to dawn.
Stars no longer sparkled with the same brilliance, their brightness tamed by a
faint but gathering glow. She imagined that when they breached the wall, the
far eastern horizon would reveal the first streaks of blue before sunrise.
Moisture gathered along her hem, the dew serving as another reminder that dawn
approached like a swift horse.

She briefly wondered if they would
escape the village. But with a quick glance to her left, to the pale woman with
the strange accent, Blanca suppressed her doubts. She had fallen in with a
dangerous and amusing pair, a welcome relief from crushing years spent as La
Senora's only companion. When— not if—they escaped Yepes, those
years would seem small payment for a life of her own.

"Ready?"

"I am," she said, nodding
once to the Englishwoman. "And you keep lookout for your warrior."

Ada rubbed her arms. "I told you,
he's not mine."

"So says you."

"And he's not a warrior."

"Oh?" Blanca craned her neck
to find Gavriel in the shadows but saw nothing. He was more phantom than man.
"What is he?"

"A novice to the clergy."

"So says he." She grinned.
"Now let me introduce you to Paco."

The young squire stood between the two
horses, apparently asleep, keeping himself upright from beyond the realm of
dream by gripping the reins of both animals. Slim, wiry, and perfectly
harmless, he had asked Blanca for a kiss the previous autumn. She had obliged,
unimpressed by the sloppy undertaking and his roving hands, but feeling brave
for having defied La Senora's strict rules. No money or ambitions of her own.
No suitors.

No longer.

With Ada behind her, the horses
standing between them and the guards at the gate, she approached the squire.
"Paco? Paco, wake up."

He jolted to wakefulness. The horses
neighed and shied, sounding unnaturally loud. Both women crouched deeper behind
the cover of those large bodies. Blanca crossed herself and tossed a prayer
skyward.

Keep them quiet Let me free of this
place.

When her breathing refused to slow, she
pressed on regardless. That evening was not a time to wait for calm.

"Paco, it's me. Blanca. Wake up,
nina"

"Nino?"
Indignant
and groggy, he pulled free of sleep and peeked around one horse's neck.
"Is that all I am to you?"

"Yes, but you could be more."
She gentry rattled a small bag of coins sitting heavy in her sweat-dampened
palm. Crooking a finger, she beckoned him into the alcove.

Paco followed, his head covered by the
hood of his short cape and his ambling gait that of a roused sleepwalker. He
flung back the hood in the alcove, eyes wide when he found Blanca and Ada
crouched there. "What is this, Blanca? Who is she?"   
                     
                     
         

"All we want are the horses."
Smiling, she held out the bag
 
of
coins.

Ada added spice to the deal by
brandishing her jeweled dagger. "And in exchange, you can have either gold
or trouble."

Gaining vigor, old reflexes assumed
control of his limbs. Gavriel jumped from his lowly cover and charged the
guards, wielding the mace against his nearest opponent. The man slumped to the
earth with nothing more than a gurgle, his skull collapsed. In the corner where
the shaft of the mace met its round, spiked head, he caught the second guard's
blade and twisted. The sword flew free. Metal met bone. Felled, the man's
unearthly scream split the still air, bringing all eyes to him, then to
Gavriel.                   
                     
             

Fatigue vanished in an explosion of
energy. He dropped the mace and concentrated on his swordplay. Numbness gave
way to the sharp clarity of battle. Mind and body quit their tiresome
 
struggles and worked as one, turning
and flexing against every
 
blow.
The sound of blood—rushing, flowing—filled his ears
 
with the heady gust of violence.

Another guard slashed forward, the
blade whistling near enough to Gavriel that air swished across his cheek. His
hands ached with each successive parry. The clang of metal on metal
reverberated through his bones and settled in his back teeth. A second man
joined their clash.