Scoundrel's Kiss (24 page)

So he left without a backward glance.
To look back and contemplate anything about their time together would cripple
whatever pride or resolve he yet retained.

He strode through the narrow halls of
the monastery and to his quarters, its four unadorned walls as austere as a
dungeon.
 
He stripped bare. His
skin smelled of Ada, of their shared musk. After a quick, brutal wash, he
dressed and pulled a second set of robes over his fresh clothes.   
                     
                     
   

White enveloped him. The red cross
glared from the left side of his chest.

A sham, all of it.

Rosary in hand, he knelt and began to
pray. But somewhere between his mind, his mouth, and his soul—a divide.
He prayed to God for guidance, not forgiveness. But he could not concentrate.
Soft whispers of Ada overlaid with images of blood to become a black curtain,
barring him from the certainty he craved. Or perhaps God refused to hear him.

He set aside the rosary and took a deep
breath. Although he had likely decided on his course some hours ago, he finally
admitted it to himself. He would lie to Pacheco. He would say whatever he must
in order to remain at the monastery. And he would spend the rest of his life
atoning for his sins.

He returned the rosary to the small
chest at the foot of his sleeping cot. Inside, beneath a piece of wool, laid a
long strip of learner. Seven braided cords dangled from a sturdy leather
handle, the ends of those cords tipped with tiny iron barbs. He removed the
wool and touched the handle. He trailed two fingers down to the shining metal.
Memories of pain burned along his back, but so did the echo of Ada's touch.

He dropped wearily onto his cot and
faded toward sleep, caught between those contrasting sensations.

Come morning, with the resignation of a
prisoner awaiting execution, he departed for Pacheco's common room. Walking
through the stone halls held none of its previous familiarity and reassurance.
The monastery did not welcome; it confined. Men followed his progress with
their eyes as he passed, despite strict rules in the Order's edicts against
gossip. A group of canonesses skittered aside. One crossed herself. The robes
he had missed for those first few days after the bandit raid twirled
conspicuously about his feet as he strode past, head high, but he was the worst
sort of deceiver.

A knock on Pacheco's door and the
novice master permitted him entry. Gavriel stood at the threshold, then stepped
inside the dark, tastefully appointed room. Tapestries from Morocco to the Holy
Land lined the cool walls. Plush horsehair cushions circled a woven Sicilian
rug, its colors still bright despite the dim illumination of a torch in its
sconce. To the left, an onion top archway connected the sitting room to
Pacheco's sleeping chamber.

His novice master sat behind a writing
desk on a squat three-legged stool at the center of the room. Silver hair and
robes of spotless white accentuated his tanned skin, still handsome although
touched with wrinkles.

"Gavriel," he said, setting
aside a quill. "I am glad to see you safely returned. Did you find success
with the girl?"

He remembered Ada's cries of pleasure
beneath his hand, her softness clenched around his need. The skin between his
shoulder blades itched, burned. "I did, Master. She is well and clear of
her sickness, awaiting the opportunity to demonstrate as much."

Black eyes scrutinized his face, but
Pacheco did not move. "I heard that you arrived with another woman. A
girl?"

The gossips' tales had moved quickly.
"She was the niece of the
covigera
you recommended us for quarter.
Blanca is her name. When the old woman ran afoul of the law, Blanca came with
us. I saw no harm in bringing her to the canonesses, especially because the
Englishwoman and I were left without a chaperone."

"Of course," Pacheco said,
his eyes fixed on Gavriel's face. "You sought to do everything properly...
didn't you?"

Inhaling slowly, Gavriel did not lower
his gaze. He could do this. He would save his place with the Order and await
the day when Ada left. For good.

"Master," he said quietly.
"Are you asking if I have sinned?"

Pacheco relaxed as well as he could on
his uncomfortable stool. He missed the creature comforts of his appointments in
Toledo, those he had enjoyed while working on behalf of the exiled de Silvas.
Forgoing those comforts for the sake of appearances at the monastery had long
ago lost its appeal.

Soon, however. Soon he would return to
the city. Lord de Silva would honor Pacheco success in returning this wayward
bastard for the punishment Gavriel deserved

Tall and proud and thoroughly confused,
Gavriel needed to be turned from his chosen path of redemption, back toward the
life for which he was destined. The de Silvas needed his strength, but they
also needed him beaten. Soulless. And Pacheco, a man of the cloth, had been
given the task of stripping away that soul.

He smiled at the irony.

And if Gavriel refused to take up arms
for his family, he would be killed. Lord de Silva would have his slave, one of
muscle and depravity, or he would have his revenge for young Sancho's death.
The choice would be Gavriel's to make. His days of hiding were nearing an end.

"This is not confession,
Gavriel," he said at last. He arose from the stool and resisted the urge
to massage stiff muscles in his lower back, never at ease with showing his age
in front of his subordinates. "These wild rumors aside, we both know I
gave you authority over that young woman's condition and care. Just as with
your vows, your progression toward becoming a clergyman is the business of no
one else."

"Gramercy, Master."

Pacheco walked around his desk to stand
toe to toe with the taller man. Gavriel's height was irrelevant Sometimes power
was a matter of internal perspective, and at that moment, Gavriel had lost his
entirely. Pacheco would have put gold toward a wager that not one of Gavriel's
vows remained unbroken—if anyone in this hole of a monastery would
accommodate such a bet.

Fernan would, poor fellow. But his
trial would come soon enough.

"I hope your journey from Yepes
fared well," he said. "Did you face any trouble?"

"Yes," Gavriel said, eyes
fixed and unblinking.

Pressing a fist to his lips to keep
from smiling, he knew very well that the men who tangled with Gavriel were
hired
pedones.
Gavriel would know it, too. That he was willing to lie
showed how far he had fallen, how near Pacheco was to completing his objective.

"But you survived, and with two
women in tow?"

No reply, at least with no words.
Gavriel dropped his eyes and closed them.

Pacheco raised an eyebrow and glanced
down to Gavriel's hands, but he kept them clasped behind his back and out of
view. "Does she intend to stay, or will she return to Toledo?"

"That boy Jacob will come for her
at the end of the month."

He returned to his desk. "Then by
all means," Pacheco said, "you should be the one to acquaint her with
our rules."

Those dark brown eyes remained fixed on
an unknown point in the middle distance. "Master, I'd hoped my
responsibility to her has been discharged."

"Is there a reason why you wish to
relinquish this obligation?"

Life returned to Gavriel's eyes,
aggression to his posture. Then the quietest sigh. "No, Master"

"Good. You are free to leave.
Inform me should you require anything."

Gavriel turned to leave. At the sight
of his pupil's hands still clasped behind his back, Pacheco said,
"Gramercy, please take these documents to Brother Ualard."

He offered a bundle of scrolls. Gavriel
returned to the desk and held out his hands, palms mangled and blistered. The corrosion
of combat. Red-faced, jaw tight, Gavriel only stood there and awaited his
verdict Pacheco handed him the documents and affixed a weighty stare.
"You've broken one vow, at least. But we both know how you can make this
right"

"Yes, Master." That uncomfortable
wooden stool held more life than did Gavriel's voice.

Good.

As the door closed, Pacheco wondered if
pride and vanity should prevent him from celebrating this latest success. Not
everyday did a slave return voluntarily to captivity, so well trained as to
conduct his own flogging. And if Gavriel had actually succumbed to the
Englishwoman's charms, the punishment he inflicted on himself would probably be
far worse than even Pacheco imagined.

And that made him smile.

Ada untwined her arm from Fernan's for
the fourth time and passed him another useless warning look. The strange clown
of a man knew no bounds of propriety. He was amiable enough, however, and kept
her distracted from the persistent turn of her thoughts. He had also proved
perfectly willing to assist her and Blanca in acclimating to their new
surroundings, the entire time handing out smiles like alms for the poor.

But that did not mean she wanted to
take his arm.

"And this is the entryway to the
cathedral," he said with flippant disregard. "I don't know why some
of the holier brothers ever bother to leave. They spend so much of their day
here."

"You ridicule the faithful,"
Blanca said. "Why?"

"Because they ridicule me."

"Then why join a monastery at
all?"

He grinned at Ada. "Your new
friend is brazen. I like her."

Ada exchanged a bemused glance with
Blanca, finding curiosity in the young girl's face but no censure. She seemed
to have the patience for all manner of people, no matter their faults. "I
like her, too, but likely for differing reasons."

Fernan shrugged, his face turned up to
the elaborately carved archway leading to the cathedral. "I came to this
place as you do, forced by circumstances and without a pleasing alternative.
Fourth sons in noble houses cause their parents endless dilemmas. After all, we
are not needed at home but have no titles "or professions to sustain
us." An uncharacteristic harshness tainted his voice. "And as for
siblings, they hold us in no regard. Our entrance into the world merely divides
an estate from thirds into quarters."

"So you came to the church even
though you don't believe?" Blanca asked.

Fernan laughed and tried to retake
their arms. Both women slipped carefully out of reach. "I never said I
don't believe. I simply have a different idea of how to spend my waking and,
well, my
sleeping
hours. A body cannot live by study and prayer
alone."

As they walked back through the
cloister, Ada considered the differences between Fernan and Gavriel. That they
both occupied the same space, maintained the same profession, and struggled
with the same duties seemed almost absurd. The distance between them was too
great for her mind to bridge.

"Senor,
do
you find it a challenge to keep your vows, especially since this is not your
chosen calling?" she asked.

He laughed again. "In that, at
least, my father was kind to me. He could've assigned me to the Order of
Alcantara or some other Benedictine nightmare. At least here my vows are easy
to keep."

Ada stopped in a courtyard full of
spring blossoms and herbs. "Your vows are easy?"

"Obedience, the first, is the one
I find most taxing. As for the vow of poverty," he said, opening his arms
to the lush greenery. "I live nearly as well here as I did on my father's
estate. The vow only applies to personal property, which the monastery keeps in
trust for the first year. Upon confirmation, the property is returned to us,
but we are expected to behave judiciously."

Even Blanca frowned. "What a
strange order," she said.

"Singular, in fact, but not merely
for these reasons."

Whether he realized it or not, Fernan
sounded almost proud. "All of the orders have leeway in determining such
matters, but Santiago takes pious autonomy to its extreme." He leaned in
close like a conspirator. Ada and Blanca eyed each other only once before
joining him in the loose huddle. He certainly had a gift for the dramatic.
"Knights of Santiago only take a vow
of conjugal
chastity."

Ada's jaw dropped. "Conjugal? They
can get married?"

"Can and do, my dear," Fernan
said, wearing a leering grin. "Which is why I'm constantly on the lookout
for a woman to become Senora Fernan Garza. Unmarried men are confined to
abstinence, I'm afraid, but since we share the monastery with an equal number of
women—the canonesses who tend to the pilgrims—my chances are
good."

His expression turned mock serious.
"Well come to think of it, I suppose chastity is the hardest vow to
maintain. But the sooner I find a wife, the sooner I can devote all of my
energies to flouting authority."

Finding a nearby bench in the
courtyard, Ada sat down. She looked to Fernan for answers in the hopes he would
be serious, if only for a moment. "The brothers can marry, is that right?
And there is no vow to abstain from violence? Not even for the clergy?"