Scoundrel's Kiss (40 page)

Her head light and unburdened, her
hands bound by steel, she walked from the cell without a look back, her lips
curved into a tiny smile.

Yes, Gavriel had been a remarkably
quick study at chess.

Chapter 32

Gavriel paced his cell, alone, his mind
with Ada. If he stopped, he would break in two. With every movement, he felt
the tender ache of the muscles he had used to move with her through the night.
He smelled like her. He still tasted her.

His plan was honed by a madman, he
knew. But his choices had been whittled until only one remained: he would fight
He was long past submitting to Lord de Silva again, doing his bidding—not
that he trusted his father's promise that he would be reinstated among the
family's elite.

When the guards returned, he brought
his aim into focus. Matters of revenge and right and wrong no longer mattered.
His tasks lined up like chairs along a dining table—neat, ordered, one
after the other. Accomplish one, move on to the next At the end, God willing,
he would hold Ada again.

Manacles around his wrists, he followed
the guards past a dozen locked cells. De Silva waited at the end of the
corridor, tall, strong, and dangerous.

"Gavriel," he said, his smile
smooth and cunning. "I hope you enjoyed your night"

"I did, Master. She is a
serviceable woman." He looked to the pair of men standing behind his
father. "I thought you would greet this morning with a smile, relishing
the prospect of seeing me in chains once again."

De Silva laughed without mirth. "I
never tire of that sight,
mihijo."

"Your son? I'm no more your son
than you are my father."

"You cannot deny your lineage,
Gavriel. Neither could I, much as I wanted to." He motioned for the guards
to unlock the manacles. Blood rushed back to Gavriel's hands. De Silva stepped
closer and caught him by the chin, their eyes level. "Don't forget what I
know of you. You hate me, without a doubt, but tell me your body doesn't thrill
at the thought of the de Silva family—our power and potential."

Gavriel closed his eyes, demons clawing
deep in his gut He had lived and thrived and rode amidst barbarous men, all of
whom shared his capacity for brutality. The call of that old life sang a
careless, murderous song. His mind swam, breathless, as if he had slipped below
the surface of a lake. A shiver chased over his skin.

When he opened his eyes, he found de
Silva smiling again. "Good,
mi hijo.
Very good."

The sick appreciation Gavriel found on
the man's face jerked him free of his moment of weakness. Ada faced the fight
of her life. The sickening, hypnotic way his father spoke of violence and
freedom seemed like the Devil’s own tongue, weaving tales of disgusting
temptations. What was Gavriel doing, his mind sweeping over La Mancha with old
and brutal memories?

He was saving his own life. The only
chance he had was in convincing de Silva that his slave had returned to him,
all without truly succumbing. And then he might be able to save Ada.

"I see you've not lost that stony
expression," de Silva said. They strode side by side down the corridor and
out of the justice building. Eight guards fell into step around them.
"Good to see you have your defenses about you. I shouldn't like to think
I've missed the chance to break you, once and for all."

"Pacheco tried."

"Yes, but Pacheco is a fool. He
believed he could control you with his little games, but I never believed it.
He is, however, a very good killer. Not so good as you—or myself, for
that matter."

But he'll suit your aim. I know your
plan, Father.

"You failed to kill the
king," de Silva said. "Tell me, does it still burn in you,
Gavriel?"

"My life would be very different,
Master, had I succeeded." Sunlight stung Gavriel's eyes. The ease with
which he fell into calling him
master
set his confidence off balance.
The man brimmed with influence.

De Silva grinned. He slapped Gavriel on
the shoulder and pulled him into a rough embrace. "See, my boy? It's as if
you never left"

Gavriel looked down. His father pressed
a palm-sized dagger against his ribs. A single push and the blade would pierce
his shuddering heart.

"Are you listening, Gavriel?"

I am."

De Silva's eyes burned like blue
flames. "I don't trust you and never have."

"You do not truly expect me to
kill the king."

"Of course not," de Silva
said with a twisted smile. "You agreed last night because you sought
pleasure between the legs of that English harlot."

"Then why give me the
privilege?"

"So that her death will ruin you.
This morning, you will watch her die—a small compensation for the son you
took from me."

No!

Gavriel swallowed a quick surge of
nausea.

"That is my pleasure," de
Silva snarled. He pushed the dagger deeper, just enough to draw blood.
"The king will die anyway, and then I will end your life myself."

But Gavriel surprised them both by
smiling; it was like practicing a new maneuver. The shock of it registered on
de Silva's narrow, lined face. "The move is yours, Father."

Fernan sat on the top of the wooden
barricade surrounding the tiny arena. A ripe orange in his hand, he sucked the
juices from each segment and looked across the citizens assembled for the
combat trials. Sunshine, always more dratted sunshine, baked the tops of a few
bare heads and pulsed from the packed clay floor of the arena. Sweat leaked
from his temples and made a wet mess of his cropped hair. He ran his fingers
through it, hoping for a breeze. But hundreds of bodies meant no relief, even
from his elevated vantage.

Two days of searching had revealed
Abez's whereabouts, safe in the southern quarter of the city with his son and
her parents. They had escaped that hideous sort of captivity in Ucles, free of
Pacheco's threats. Happy as he was—eating an orange and there days from
fleeing south with Abez—the poor bastards ready to die in the arena
seemed particularly pathetic.

But, strangely enough, he spotted
Gavriel in the crowd. The former novice was hard to miss. There was no
mistaking that stern face. But his stride had been stunted. Gavriel's shoulders
dipped slightly, the muscles stiff around his neck. Such a change from when
Fernan had last seen him on the day Ada was detained. Another man, equally tall
and even more arrogant, walked alongside. Just what the world needed.

And still another familiar face peeked
through the crowd: Blanca, her eyes like those of an owl. He looked side to
side, as if the peasants gathered around him could explain the coincidence.
Having worked to blend into the dregs of Toledo, he did not relish the idea of
falling in with such familiar and dangerous company. Any minute, Ada and
Pacheco would reveal themselves and Fernan would be as poorly off as ever.

But at least Abez was safe.

He stood, intent on fleeing the scene
and getting back to his family. No blood sport was worth the chance of being
seen. But Blanca spotted him. That strange girl—was she, in fact, related
to an owl?

He motioned for her to join him and,
minutes later, dragged her through the crowd to an empty alleyway. The last
thing he needed was for Gavriel to see them again. Fernan's face still throbbed
from the healing bruises.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

At their backs, the crowd surged to
life as the first trial began. Blanca flinched and went pale. "Ada."

"What do you mean, Ada?"

"Ada was sentenced to trial by
combat."

"Surely no." But he chewed on
his lower lip as Blanca related the story of Ada's hearing, from the corrupted
judge to Gavriel's imprisonment. "But what is he doing here? He's with
another man, under guard although he wears no restraints."

"No notion. But Pacheco's here
too. I saw him this morning when I arrived, first thing. He's lurking about and
wearing all black."

Fernan held up his hands and waved her
away. "No, no, no. I cannot be here with that man about."

"But I need your help."

"You don't," he said,
smoothing his sleeves. He wore no Jacobean robes and held fast to that happy
fact. "You look well and safe and good. Now keep it that way. Go
home."

She checked the alley for relative
privacy and leaned close. "Very well,
they
need our help."

Fernan rubbed the back of his head,
sweating and uncomfortable. "Surely the young Jew and those knives would
be better suited to a rescue? Where is he?"

"At Dona Valdedrona's palace. He's
to present evidence to King Alfonso against the de Silva family."

He tried to muster a bit of callousness
for Jacob but found none. Only envy. The boy was far too heroic, making
everyone else look foppish and careless by comparison. Not that Fernan offered
much of a challenge on that score.

"With that excess of daring, the
boy wants his head to dance separately from his body."

Blanca narrowed her eyes as the crowd
chanted for the first combatant. "Ada's turn will come soon."

"Only a madman would come to watch
his woman be slaughtered. The only reason I would watch Abez killed... no,
that's not possible."

"What?"

Blanca's cheeks had flushed pink, lips
parted. He might have considered her a very pretty girl under different
circumstances. He shook his head again.

"I'd have to be forced," he
said.

"Then perhaps Gavriel is being
forced? But he must have a strategy."

. Fernan exhaled sharply. "He
must. Even if forced, I'd be watching for any opportunity to fight
back—and me, I'm a coward."

Her face, already soft and youthful,
eased into one of sympathy. "You're not a coward."

"I am," he said.
"Gavriel de Marqueda may be out in that crowd right now, awaiting Ada's
execution. He may die in some foolhardy attempt to save her life. And
Ada—she'll fight You know her chances are slim, but she'll fight to the
end." He slumped against the nearest wall, the air pushing from his lungs.
"But I'll go home to Abez."

"You won't."

He looked up, curious as to Blanca's
certainty. Arms folded across her youthful breasts, feet planted firmly in the
dirt, she stared at him with the serene expression of a woman having just
received absolution. Clear. Certain. Strong.

"You hardly know me, and what you
know is highly unflattering," he said. "Do you really believe in me
so much? How can that be?"

Blanca raised her chin and offered an
unexpectedly cold smile. "Because I know where Abez lives. Help me find
Gavriel or she won't be in hiding much longer."

On shaking legs, he stood and looked
the diminutive rustic in the eye. "You're cruder man you appear."

Chapter 33

Outside Dona Valdedrona's private
audience chamber, Jacob twisted and untwisted the tunic laces at his neck. He
waited although so little time remained. As the sun neared its zenith, Ada
would be facing the trial of her life. If he left for the arena, he would only
arrive in time to watch her die. No, his best chance to expose the treachery
aligning against Castile was to wait for his patroness. And, as much as it
pained him to admit, his duty was to the greater security of the kingdom.
Gavriel would take care of Ada.

The anteroom door opened to welcome
Cilia, Condesa de Valdedrona. His thoughts slapped to a stop and he interlaced
his hands behind his back. Standing before him, the midday sun flowing behind
her like the aura of an angel, her brief welcoming smile collapsed.

"Jacob, you're here."

She greeted him in Norman, a language
shared by her Sicilian family and the English nobility. Jacob's father had
taught him the courtly language, hoping he might grow to become a royal
physician or tutor. He found it none so difficult as Castilian. Their shared
secret

"Your Excellency," he said
with a bow. "Where are your guards?"

"I sent them away. You have much
to say, I know, and I want no curious ears."

She rested against the closed door, her
creamy skin drawn tight, eyeing him with a directness he admired. Resplendent
in a gown made of pale blue silk and the finest teaseled wool, her shining,
honey-colored eyes revealed far more experience than her twenty years. Jacob
felt a swell of admiration for the young mother of two, the widow who had given
him his first opportunity in Castile.

"I thank you for seeing me,"
he said softly. "And for keeping my visit a secret from His Majesty and
his guests."

"He doesn't need to know all that
occurs in my household." Her smile was swift and bittersweet. She walked
to a table and poured two mugs of wine. "Now tell me everything."

"I intercepted scrolls on my last
assignment before you left for Segovia." He smiled and accepted a mug of
wine. He was no longer sweating, and his hands were steady. Always the same.
The thought of speaking to her sent him to shivers, but the act itself was
simple.