Scoundrel's Kiss (28 page)

That Sancho would retaliate all the
more at the next opportunity never stayed Gavriel's hand. Perhaps such
knowledge had pushed him to fight all the harder that day. He had charged at
full speed, sword drawn. Nothing held in reserve. No mercy for his own kin.

Ada stood at his side. She had crossed
the floor without his noticing, the fresh warmth of her scent pulling him back
from blood and death. Sunshine from the window slits above the archery targets
slanted across her face, shadow and light.

"I became my father's greatest
enemy and his strongest ally," he said. "He did not prosecute me or
do me harm, nor did he turn me from his house, as was within his right. Instead
he bound me to his family even more surely than my indenture."

"And you agreed?" She shook
her head. "Of course you agreed. What choice did you have? You had no
other perspective, growing up as you did and harnessed with the responsibility
of your own brother's death."

"It makes me ill how quickly you
defend me."

"Would you prefer that I condemn
you?"

Yes. Condemn me and hate me. Go back to
Toledo and leave me be.

But he found only open curiosity in her
expression. He had not succeeded in driving her away. He would have to dig
deeper and bear more of the memories.

"Six years ago at the Battle of
Alarcos, the de Silvas sided with the Almohads to the south—all the
better to conclude an old blood feud with King Alfonso. I rode with them,
blending in with my dark skin and barbarism. Our victory ... our victory was
unparalleled."

Images of that day would not disperse.
Every angle of sunlight and every scream had been engraved on the surface of
his brain. Although those memories were supposed to repulse him, he could not
suppress how proud and triumphant he had been. The height of that battle had
been the highpoint of his life. No restraints. No scruples. No mercy. Only a
warrior in his element, unfettered and victorious.

His stomach crumpled. Now he paid
dearly for that freedom.

"How many I killed that day I
cannot know—Castilians, even members of this Order who defended their
kingdom. Afterward, I rode with Moorish raiders for a number of years, until
the death of their chieftain meant the end of my protection."

He held onto shreds of the tram, those
secrets he could not reveal. De Silva hunted him, wanting him dead—not
because of young Sancho, but because Gavriel had failed to kill King Alfonso.
Fear of his father and fear of the reckoning that awaited him kept the truth
buried

"And you came here," she
said. "Why? Why this place?"

"Simply another place of refuge.
But from what I've learned here, I'd have been better served staying ignorant
and barbaric, hiding in exile as a raider."

"Without thought or soul, yes. But
you didn't. You came here, to this place of learning and spirituality. It must
have opened your eyes to the world you missed."

"Yes." Customary anger shot
through his limbs. "I learned, for example, that I was kept a slave
illegally. For my entire youth I was told that my mother's fate was my own.
Servitude. But I was
baptized,
Ada. I was not instructed in the ways of
the Church, but I am Christian."

Ada gasped as understanding dawned.
"But slaves are freed if they convert. Isn't that true?" He masked
his anger well, just as he masked his loneliness and lust—every human
thing about himself his forearm had turned to rock beneath her hands, muscles
rigid and taut.

He might refuse to voice his outrage,
but she could not keep silent "You should have been raised a free
man!"

"Yes, but I was not" His grim
resolution scarred her nerves. "Now I fear being free of this place. I
would rejoin their ranks as a warrior, or I would kill the father who bound
me."

Her head jerked as if slapped. These
dark secrets and the need for revenge had burned within him, but he used the
Order as a shield between his lethal hands and his enemies. And she threatened
his acceptance into that sanctuary, not only her stubborn resistance to the aid
he offered, but by putting them in situations that required violence.

And she had lain with him. She wanted
to still.

She tightened her fingers on his
forearm, the only physical contact he had permitted in days. "But if you
want to stay, why do you make it so difficult on yourself? Don't these vows
pinch and bind? Don't they make you all the more eager to run free?"

"Yes!" Gavriel flung his
hands. "Have you listened? Do you know what I've done?"

"You did so at the behest of
despicable men. You punish yourself for their wickedness."

One step, then another, he allowed her
approach. She reached out to stroke his face. The rough grain of his cheek,
freshly shorn but still masculine and course, intriguing, scraped the delicate
skin of her palm. "You punish us both," she whispered. "There is
such a thing as forgiveness, Gavriel. You've been here long enough to see that,
I should hope—to read it to understand for yourself."

He closed his eyes. "I cannot
read."

"No?" Their bodies whispered
to each other, so near now. "You've been here for more than a year."

"We say our prayers, keep our
vigils and routines."

"As a substitute for
thought?"

Dark eyes open, he watched with such
care and thoroughness that he might be touching her, yet his arms hung like
lances at his side, hard, deadly, and unmoving. "Pacheco thought me more
apt to respond to lessons of the flesh. To purge myself."

His voice caught on the word 'purge,'
and the image of his scarred back blazed in her brain. A quiver warped her
chin, near to tears. "He told you... to hurt yourself? Is
that—?"

"Yes. My back."

She could see it happening again,
Gavriel transforming to stone. In his face and in the hollow deadness of his
voice, he was withdrawing. Even his body felt colder. Is that how he dealt with
the hardship and abuse of being raised a slave? He banked his body and mind
like, a fire, saving only enough to survive. Never enough to feel.

"Aren't you curious?" she
asked. "Isn't there a void inside you needing to be filled with
information? Questions that need answers? You may not be a man of letters, but
you could read if you studied."

"No one has ever..." His.
eyebrows pulled together, a quizzical expression, nearly hopeful, but his body
remained tense. "You believe me capable?"

She smiled. "Think how easily you
bested me at chess. You have a quick mind and the stubbornness that cannot be
matched."

"You are my match," he said
roughly.

His kiss was sudden and unexpected.
Warm lips covered hers and his strong arms garnered her near. His tongue thrust
into her mouth. Sensation burrowed-into her core. Her body had been whispering
to his, but now it cried out:
closer, tighter, never let go.

Relying on his strength to keep her
from falling, she met his questing tongue and sparred. The rough stubble along
his upper lip abraded hers. His low moan set her alight She poured every drop
of her desire and sympathy and confusion into that kiss. She memorized his
cinnamon taste and the spiky softness of his hair, uncertain as to whether she
would ever touch him again.

A sigh mingled with frustration as they
reached the limit of the kiss. She could have kissed him forever. But stretched
between
yes
and
no,
his indecision cooled her desire. She would
not lie with him again, not when he permitted so little. Bodily desires had
ruled her for too long, and from this man—this mystery and
temptation—she wanted more. Or nothing at all.

His hand still held the curve of her
backside. Mouths parted, panting, she found his eyes blackened with desire.
"Are you content with being miserable?"

He swallowed in that compulsive way he
used when trying to regain control. "I deserve this life," he said.

"And yet here you are living,
breathing, and with what looks to be a second chance," she whispered.
"But you refuse it. I've never met anyone as stubborn as you. If you knew
my sister, you'd understand that to be a remarkable statement."

His face darkened. "What are you
suggesting? That I laugh? Will that banish my cares?"

"It might... but no." With
her forefinger, she traced the curves of his upper lip. Even now, so close,
touching him, she could not imagine him smiling. "I don't recommend
anything of the sort. It would be akin to running when you've not learned to
crawl. Perhaps you should start with a tiny grin, work up to a smile. As for
laughing, I wouldn't want you to fail right at the start."

He stared at her with those unnerving
eyes. "And I suppose you think I should fall in love with you."

She ignored the sudden leap of her
heart He was a man at sea, looking for any piece of flotsam to cling to, and
she was steadily replacing one craving with another. Her anger returned in
force, knowing she could no longer trust her own judgment

"You can if you want" she
said, pushing free of his embrace. The cool air of the training room sliced
between their bodies. Later, alone, she would have time to mourn the loss of
his heat "I have no intention of reciprocating."

"No?"

"No. There are so many good men in
the world. Why would I want you?"

He flinched.

"Did my words hurt?" she
asked. "Did they make you wish circumstances were different?"

Gavriel stood straight arms at his side
once again. "I wish you would listen to me. Enough of this, Ada. It ends
now."

Chapter 22

"Ada, you are distressed."

Fernan smiled down to where the
Englishwoman sat alone on a stone bench outside the monastery. From the slope
of her shoulders to the wrinkles pinching the skin around her eyes, she
appeared deep in thought. Sunset illuminated her fair skin, her hair concealed
by a white linen veil similar to those worn by the canonesses. That Ada would
begin to take on the dour and stern-faced behavior of Jacobean women seemed an
affront. She was a far more frank and worldly sort Life in the Order would only
see her dissolve away.

But perhaps, considering the task
Pacheco had assigned, Fernan only tried to convince himself of as much.

Ada offered a cursory smile. "I
wish to be left alone, please."

"Come, come—none of
that," he said, sitting despite her lack of an invitation. He turned his
eyes to the sun where it dipped behind the defensive wall at the western edge
of the grounds. "Your dear Blanca is quite a girl."

She shot him a look midway between
assessing and warning. "Did she enjoy herself in town today? I haven't
seen her since the morn."

"Of course," he said.
"She's quite the inquisitive type, all smiles and conversation with the
locals."                 
           

When Ada smiled too, he breathed a
silent sigh of relief, In truth, he had spent no more than a few moments with
the girl from Yepes. She seemed quite at home among the doting canonesses and
their quiet hierarchy, merely content to be included.

Fernan, however, had abandoned the
group upon reaching the outer walls, as was his wont. He had found Abez, held
her, stood with her as they watched young Najih sleep. And as always, he had
said goodbye, leaving the woman he loved with little more than a lingering kiss
and the last of his morabetins.

Let the gossips believe him a
philanderer and a spineless buffoon. A hateful man with a bawdy tongue. Any
such assumption kept them from the truth.   

But Pacheco knew, curse him. He
collected tasty morsel about nearly everyone in the monastery, the better to
bend his subordinates and blackmail his rivals. That Fernan had been
 
careless enough to fall into the man's
trap still rankled. If his father discovered the truth...

He fiddled with the alms bag at his
waist. His father would I
not
find out. No one would.

"And how is our mutual
friend?" he asked.

Ada released a breath, her eyes never
leaving the far wall. Beyond its boundary, two days to the west, Toledo awaited
sunset. "He's no one's friend," she said softly.     
                 

"Alas, I believe you may be right
What a difficult character, him. Been here a year and no one knows who he
is."

"A year. Ten years. No
difference." She sat straighter on the bench. "I've given up trying
to know who he is."

"Probably for the best, wouldn't
you think? Considering his vows and his commitment to this place, that
is." He nodded toward the west "You'll be leaving come the end of me
month?"

"Si."

"Take care, Ada," he said
with a laugh. "Don't let his foul temper rub off on you. Quite unbecoming
anybody, let alone a body as fine as yours."

"I'm in no mood for your humor,
Fernan."

He placed a hand over his heart and
affected his most earnest expression. "I see I've offended you. My
apologies."