The Flesh and the Devil (30 page)

         
Juana did not wait. As he moved, she flung herself off the
couch and sped towards the door, hands outstretched to touch the latch, taking
a quick, sobbing breath toscream. But she had misjudged her own strength, she
knew after the first step; the door seemed all at once to be an impossible
distance away, and she knew that she could never reach it before he caught her.
She screamed then, but his hand across her mouth cut the sound short.

         
There was utter silence. She could hear the echo of her own
brief, stifled cry, the thudding of her heart and a slower, deeper pounding
behind her head as Tristán drew her back against him and she heard his
heartbeat joining with her own. Then something cold and hard touched her breast
and she knew that it was the dagger, pricking subtly through the stuff of her
gown.

         
In that moment the latch began to move.

         
'Keep her out. Say that you were dreaming and cried out in
your sleep.'

         
Juana nodded, and he released her. She took a faltering
step to meet the Condesa on the threshold, clinging to the door so that it
could not swing wide, with an exhausted little gesture that looked bemused but
was actually a feverish clinging for physical support. She dared not look
behind her, hut she knew that Tristán was standing in the door's shadow,
watching her.

         
'Did you call out, Senorita de Arrclanos?' The Condesa's
glance was sharp. ‗I thought I heard a sound from this room.‘

         
'I must have fallen asleep and had a nightmare.' Juana's
mouth was dry.

         
'I— I dreamt I saw the devil.'

         
The Condesa crossed herself, taking an instinctive step
back. 'Never name them! It brings them to you more surely than any other means.
Do you want company now — would you feel more secure?'

         
‗No, I want no one's company, Condesa.' The
truthful-ness of her own answer tinged Juana's voice with bitterness. 'I think
I shall sleep again, so long as no one disturbs me, and you might all pray that
I meet with better dreams,‘ she finished on a desperate note.

         
The Condesa nodded, her dark eyes compassionate. 'We will,
I promise you. Lock the door if you feel safer so.' Juana forced her lips into
the semblance of a smile and nodded dismissal. As the Condesa backed away a
golden-skinned hand pushed the door closed, then deftly turned the key in the
lock.

         
'An excellent stratagem, since we have permission.' The
brilliant, unrevealing eyes lifted to her face. 'You flatter me,' he added
coldly.

         
'For sure I could not insult you! Have you changed
loyalties, then?' She glanced down at the dagger. `Will Torres pay more for me
dead than Eugenio would pay for me pregnant?'

         
For a moment he was silent, and she believed that her guess
had struck home; she found herself wishing wildly that he would murder her
quickly and have done. Even across the distance that separated them, she could
sense the power in his tall, lean frame, none the less dangerous for being
tightly leashed. She felt threatened, crowded, and backed a step away from him.

         
He replied as evenly as if she had not spoken, ‗I had
a curiosity to know why it is that you show that pretty whelp such favours and
smile when you are in his arms. Is he an old love of yours that you talk with
him so earnestly, or did you mean only to reward him for striking me?'

         
Her first thought was a flood of relief that he had not
heard what she said to Jaime, but she lifted her chin haughtily. 'I do not
account for my feelings to servants!'

         
'Nor paramours?' he enquired with icy mockery, and with a
quick, flashing movement the dagger was in its sheath. The scarred mouth curved
in a faint, disdainful smile as Tristán continued smoothly, 'You have too low
an opinion of my fidelity. I come to you on behalf of the Duque de Valenzuela,
to tell you that the troth you gave him is yours again — he will not now claim
you for his bride.'

         
He
 
studied her,
seeing the sudden tremor of her full lips and the flood of colour in her
cheeks. 'Does the news please you?'

         
'Yes. Yes, oh yes!'

         
'Then you are free of him.'

         
'I
 
cannot believe
it.' The sound of her own laughing words sobered her, and she stiffened. 'I
cannot
 
believe it, I dare not. This is some
trick, like — like his running away and hiding himself, and he will pretend to
change his mind again and claim me back. Where is he now? Have they found him?'

         
'No, and I hope they will not do so yet. But I promise you,
the matter was out of his hands at the last — he will never make you his wife
now.'

         
Juana was silent, her longing to believe him warring with
suspicion and doubt. At last she said imperiously, Ìf you know where he is,
then take me to him. I will hear these welcome tidings from his own lips.'

         
He shook his head. 'I cannot do that. He is not to be
spoken with.'

         
'Not even to have my gratitude for his clemency?' She had
seen the slight, indecisive stir of the thick gold lashes and knew with
sickening certainty that he was trying to trick her. 'You must give me leave
not to trust your assurances - I have little cause to think you are my friend.'
'It may prove that I am the best friend you have ever had.' His face was
completely enigmatic now, but she sensed that mysterious excitement beginning
to burn within hint again. 'Do you truly desire to see Bartotome?'

         
‗If it would confirm this tale of yours, I would
speak with the devil,'

         
she flashed back, and he bowed ironically. Turning, he
pocked up the lantern that he had covered as he entered the room, and unmasked
its light; the demonic shadows rapt up on to his face again, and Juana
moistened her lips.

         
'Follow me, then, and softly, lest your guardians out there
hear you. I had best go before — these passages can be treacherous if you do
not know your way.'

         
She made no answer, only gathered her spreading skirts as
closely about her as she could and followed him towards the panel, standing
alai-. Her brain was in tumult; she longed to believe what he had told her, but
she had hoped too many times. If Bartolomé regretted becoming betrothed to her,
why had he not told his uncle? It was childish folly to run away and hide from
what one disliked, but then Bariolome was childish — and foolish.

         
As she had been, she thought with sudden clarity, seeking
to rush into Jaime's arms and pretend that her unwelcome husband did not exist.
Seeing him again, her first thought had been that Jaime had altered; but more
likely her memory of him had been blurred, even in so short a time. A tall man
with a scarred face stood between them, blotting out the image of the boy she
had thought she loved— there was no room for lukewarm affection when her heart
was full of this tormenting furnace of hatred.

         
But for the light of the lamp the darkness in the passage
was total, and Juana had almost to feel her way down the flight of narrow,
irregular stairs that her feet encountered. She groped her way cautiously, her
skirts brushing the walls on either side, while motes of dirt and the dusty
strands of cobwebs floated softly into her face. They were making their way
down, she realized, deep down; she could feel the weight of the whole castillo
massing over her head, about to fall and crush her.

         
Fighting the urge to put out a hand and touch Tristán's
back for reassurance, she said harshly, ‗They told me that you entered
toy bedchamber last night, and no one knew how you came. Was this the way you
used?‘

         
‗Yes, there is a door hard by. Here -' he halted and
sigh, raised the lantern higher - this is where Bartolomé is lurking.

         
He reached out his free hand, and to the accompaniment of a
faint sighing noise, the blackness before them parted to reveal wide twilit
spaces and a flagged floor crowded with unrecognizable shapes of shadow. Juana
had been so sure that they would emerge somewhere near the Duque's chambers
that she drew back, bewildered; this cold, bleak place was like nothing she had
anticipated. Tristán ushered
her
 
through the panel and closed it behind them,
and when she looked back all she could see were rows of dusty bottles on wooden
racks. Her eyes lifted to his in startled enquiry.

         
'We are in the Benaventes wine-cellars,' he responded
dryly, 'and Bartolomé

         
is waiting for us yonder-if you will condescend to follow a
little further.'

         
She did not answer, and he led the way unhesitatingly
between interminable ranks of casks, some upright and some stacked. As her
sight became accustomed to the gloom, she could see the last vestiges of
daylight filtering under the cloistered arches that raised their apexes clear
of the ground to enable light and air to reach the cellars. It was quiet, she
thought suddenly - too quiet. Bartolomé de Benaventes y Rioja would not stay
quiet for so long, unless it was for some purpose; perhaps he was stalking them
now, making an idiot's game of it to startle her. She held her breath, listening
for the sound of his clumsy footsteps, knowing that if he burst upon her
suddenly she would scream.

         
But when she finally saw him, she did not scream. A soft,
unbelieving sound tore huskily from her throat and she stumbled, her fingers
unknowingly tight on the long, lean hand that came out to steady her.

         
Bartolomé, Duque de Valenzuela, was sprawled on the floor
in a dark puddle of wine that looked like blood. The fleshy mouth gaped wide,
and the empty blue eyes were sightless and staring. Wherever Juana looked there
was hideous purple, darkening the shoulders of the velvet doublet he had had on
the previous night, suffusing the blemished cheeks, matting the thin brown hair
in trails across the bony forehead.

         
'I told you he would not claim you as his wife.'

         
Tristán's incisive voice pierced her ebbing consciousness,
and she forced herself to take a slow, reviving breath. 'How did he die? What
killed him?'

         
She had watched him make a brief, discreet bow of
acknowledgement before she understood its meaning; then comprehension grew
slowly in her dark eyes, and her fingers peeled away from his like dying
petals.

         
`You. . . Her voice was choked.

         
'At your service, madam.'

         
Juana shook her head slowly. Her brain felt as if it were
bursting,
 
but she could only say in a voice
that did not sound like her own, 'I — I cannot believe

         
— you murdered him?'