The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2) (19 page)

“Shh!” I hissed at the dog as he wagged his tail.

“Hello, Nadi,” Jorge said. “Why don’t you and your furry friend join me for a quick bath.”

“I’m clean enough, thank you. Too bad the same can’t be said for you.” I resumed walking.

“But that is why I’m here in these awful waters. It seems like my latest adventures have nearly ruined my clothing.” Jorge held his dripping shirt up and regarded it like a six-year-old boy who had dropped his half-eaten ice cream cone onto the ground.
 

“I think what you really mean is that your latest conquest ruined your clothing,” I said.

“Am I to blame if I have certain charms that the ladies enjoy?” He splashed his face, ran water through his hair, and regarded me innocently.

“You’re a pig and an opportunist, Jorge,” I said.

“An opportunist, definitely. I would not be leading this mission if I did not make a habit of seizing opportunities,” he said. “I happen to like pigs so I will take that as a compliment.”

I coughed and covered a grin. I had to admit that if Jorge played a hero on one of my favorite medieval TV shows, I’d probably be alternating between shoving popcorn in my mouth and fanning my face.
 

“Whatever, Jorge,” I said. “Come on, Scout. Time to go.”

“Come here, Scout!” Jorge yelled, pulled a rotting stick from the river, held it in the air and waved it about. I knew from his first excited yip that my dog had turned traitor. He raced into the river, bounding, and then swimming after the stick Jorge threw into deeper waters.

“If you kill my dog, I will kill you,” I said, frowning as I nervously watched him dog paddling with the stupid stick in his mouth.

“I am entertaining your mongrel,” he said. “Giving him freedom. He is a creature of the streets. If you keep him too protected, he grows soft and weak.”

“He’ll grow much harder if he drowns.” I jammed my fists on my waist.

“Sitting next to your side and doing nothing but being fed and petted is not that enjoyable for him, either,” he said. “Wait. I retract those words. Perhaps the petting part would be pleasant.”

“Why are you wasting my time?” I asked. “You’re being an asshat. While your lady friends might think that’s charming, I don’t!”

“My dearest Nadi, I need your help. I have to clean the makeup and perfume from my shirt or the next lot of folks I interrogate will think I’m a minstrel, or God forbid, an actor.” He grinned. “I was hoping you might know more about this than I.”

“
Dipping your shirt
in dirty spring water is only going to give you a wet, smelly shirt.” I kicked off my shoes, held my skirt up a few inches, and waded a few feet toward him. I paused and peered down at the water for several seconds.
 

It’s just water, Madeline, Nothing can hurt you in this stupid stream unless a turtle bites you.

 
“I’ll clean it. Just promise me you’ll shut up and stop whining.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled and walked a few feet in my direction, and handed it to me. “I’ve liked you ever since I abducted you. I know Prince Pedro has employed you as his spy for this trip. You’re sending him secret messages and that makes me a little bit jealous. Do you have any messages for me?” He leaned in, placed a finger under my chin, and lifted my face up to meet his very blue, desirous eyes that locked onto mine.

“Um…” He was so handsome and my heart flip-flopped for a few seconds. But, he was not my Samuel.

“Jorge!” Gaspar hollered.

My gaze swiveled in Gaspar’s direction high on the hills above the river.
 

He frowned at the both of us, but his companion, Samuel
,
glared daggers into my brain.
 

“Samuel found a witness. He spoke to a woman from the village that claims she saw Pero and Alvaro at a gambling house last night just a few villages from here. She insists that they are not that far away. But we need to go,
now
.”

“A miracle!” Jorge grabbed his top from my hand and shrugged it on. He was drenched, but at least he was clothed. “I simply need dry clothes and we’ll be on our way.”

Samuel took a few steps toward me and then stopped in his tracks. His eyes were hard, and his jaw muscles clenched and popped.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you…?”

“Thank you, lovely,” Jorge grinned and chucked me under my chin. “I’ll pick up my message later.” He turned and jogged toward the men.
 

Samuel shook his head and turned away from me.

Jorge slapped him on the back. “Pray tell, Samuel. What do you know, how do you know it, and reassure me that we have enough time to finally track and capture these bastards.”

My heart plummeted into my stomach as the guy I loved for an eternity walked away from me in a heartbeat.
 

~ ~ ~

“In his defense, what was Samuel supposed to think?” Miri asked. “You were in the river washing the clothing of another very fine man who was half naked and flirting with you.” Miri sliced up a few ducks, throwing the meat into a pot.

“He looks after me. He’s just my friend,” I said.

“I do not think Lord Samuel knows that. Peel those quicker. The men should be back shortly.”
 

“Yes, Your Grace,” I curtseyed, holding a beet in one hand and a dull knife in the other. “Besides, Jorge’s too old for me. My dad would kill me if I dated a guy in his late twenties.”

“Your ‘dad’?” she asked.

I sighed. “Romani word for ‘father.’”

“I, too, am Romani and have never heard that endearment,” Miri said.

“Yes, but we are from different tribes,” I said. “My point is that I’m sixteen going on seventeen and Samuel shouldn’t be jealous.”

She sighed. “I am eighteen and I know why I am still unmarried. I am a peasant and hard working, but boys my age want someone prettier, and older men want someone prettier too.”

I felt my heart crumple a little. Miri was doing the whole stiff upper lip thing, but she wasn’t pulling it off very well. “Oh Miri,” I said. “You are far prettier than the stuffy ladies at court squeezed like sausages into their fine gowns. Your skin glows. Your hair is long, curly, and gorgeous. You have a figure I’ll never earn in a million years, like a young Kate Winslet. Don’t say you aren’t pretty enough to get married. You simply haven’t met the right guy yet.”
 

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You are a good friend, Nadja. A liar, an old unmarried maid like myself, but a good friend.”

“I am not old!”

Hooves pounded the ground—sounded like a single horse was approaching. A sweaty man wearing a royal military uniform rounded the grove of trees, his horse kicking up mud and bits of grass as he reined him in.

Tomasis’s hand dropped to his knife sheaf as he stood to greet him. “Can I help you, Officer?”

“I was told I would find Captain Jorge Cortez here,” the man said.

Jorge, Gaspar, Samuel rode up from the opposite direction.
 

“I am Captain Cortez,” Jorge said but remained seated on his horse as the others dismounted. “How can I be of service to you?”

“Captain Cortez!” the man slid off his stallion and walked wearily toward him, the sweat of his journey on the road stamped all over him. “I am Sergeant Luis Ramiric. I have news for you, straight from the royal palace in Coimbra.”

“Nothing awful, I hope?” Jorge asked.
 

“Unfortunately, it is very awful.” Luis crossed himself. “King Afonso the Fourth of the Kingdom of Portugal passed away three nights ago. He died peacefully in his sleep. God rest his soul.”

A collective gasp rose as everyone in our group crossed themselves.

“That means…” Miri muttered.

“Long live King Pedro the First of Portugal,” Jorge said.

“Long live King Pedro the First of Portugal,” we said in unison.

~ ~ ~

Jorge, Luis, and the rest of the men ate soup, sopped it up with the bread, and downed goblet after goblet of wine that I served them.

“Without doubt King Pedro is saddened by the unexpected death of his father. But he wants you to stay and continue your mission,” Luis said. “His Highness said that death has darkened his door too many times and his hands tremble with the desire to mete justice once and for all.”

“Of course,” Jorge said. “You are welcome to stay here and rest tonight. Tomorrow ride quickly back to the palace and inform King Pedro that we pray for the soul of his father and we will leave no stone unturned until we bring His Highness his heart’s desire.”

~ ~ ~

Unfortunately, Samuel’s tip didn’t pan out. While it shouldn’t have mattered that Pedro was now Portugal’s King instead of its Prince, somehow it did. The pressure to find Inêz’s assassins skyrocketed.
 

We drove ourselves working harder, logging more miles, interviewing, and I suspected, interrogating more townsfolk to find clues as to their whereabouts. We visited every noble estate, village and outpost looking for evidence. Along the way I met with more Romani ‘messengers’.
 

“There is nothing suspicious to report about Lord De Rocha,” I told the old woman with the very long silver braid at the market as she sold me a half dozen freshly killed pheasants.
 

 
A day later in a different town, a pretty young woman wearing too much makeup and a low cut dress stepped out of the back door of a small inn, eyed me, and quietly asked, “Messenger?”

I startled, glanced around, and saw no one looking in our direction. I nodded. “Long live the King.”

She shut the door, walked a few steps toward me and took my arm like we were old friends. “Long live the King.”

“I don’t have all that much,” I whispered. “A skirmish broke out a few villages back, but the merchant didn’t know anything and the matter was peacefully resolved.”

She looked away from me and nonchalantly asked. “No sign of those that you seek?”
 

“Not yet,” I said when the door banged open and we startled.
 

“Fawnie!” A tarted up woman who wore as much makeup as one of those “Real Housewives” stuck her head out and frowned. “Fawnie, we do not keep our customers waiting, or we will not remain in business.”
 

“Yes, Madam,” Fawnie said. “I just needed a quick word with my cousin who is visiting from out of town. A family matter.”

The Madam eyed me, and her frown changed to a sly smile. “Your cousin, you say. I can see the resemblance. You are a pretty girl.”
 

“Oh, thank you,” I said.
 

“Are you looking for work? You would be quite busy here, and the pay is better than what the average gypsy makes. I think you would be popular.”

“No, no—I mean—thank you for your generous offer. I have other employment.
 
Lovely to see you cousin Fawnie.” I waved and broke into a jog. “Say hi to your mother for me. Must run!”

I could just imagine the look on my Dad’s face...
‘You know that part-time job you bugged me to get? Bad news—I didn’t get the job as a barista. Good news—I was offered a position in the world’s oldest profession. I hear they’ve got great benefits!’

~ twenty-three ~

“Wake up, wake up!” Miri jostled my arm.
 

I blinked my eyes open to see the sun peeking over the sloping hills in the distance. “For the love of God, can’t I sleep in until at least predawn?” I glanced over at the men’s tents. Except for a few snores, all was quiet.

“Breakfast doesn’t make itself, you know. Besides, I overheard Lord De Rocha say something interesting last night.”

“So why didn’t you tell me last night?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
 

“You had already nodded off. Besides you stare at Lord Samuel half the time like a love-struck cow and the other half like you drank bad water. I do not know from minute to minute if you are going to kiss him or vomit.”

“Tell me before I kill you,” I said.

She grinned. “It turns out we are but a few hours ride from the De Rocha family estate. I can pretty much guarantee we will be sleeping pretty tonight with a roof over our heads.”

~ ~ ~

It was mid-afternoon and everyone in our party had been fed and tended leaving Miri, Tomasis, and me with a few minutes of downtime. We carried a picnic into the woods close to yet another rushing river filled with rapids and white waters that I really hoped we wouldn’t have to cross.
 

I picked a skinny branch up off the ground. “Okay, watch this. Scout!” I said, cocked my arm and threw the stick as hard as I could. My dog bounded after it, jumping over fallen tree trunks. “He’s a natural athlete!”
 

Scout fetched the stick, dropped it at my feet, wagged his tail, and looked up at me. I smiled. “If you were a dog at the shelter in Chicago you’d be going home with me right now,” I said. “I think he could be part Australian Shepherd-I-meant-mutt. Right?” I glanced back at Miri and Tomasis who were now making out.
 

And I sighed. Why was I surprised? I was totally happy for her, but the last thing I wanted was to be the third wheel.
 

I grabbed the branch from the ground and whistled for my dog. I hiked down toward the river as Scout weaved around me, stopping to lift his leg on trees and sniff suspicious looking piles on the forest floor. “I think it’s about time I get over my fear of water. What do you think?” I bent down to scratch his ears when I saw the strangest thing and simply froze.

Samuel was far away upstream on the riverbed talking with a man, who for the most part, was hidden by foliage. The roar of the waters drowned out their voices. I squatted low to the ground, hid behind a tree, and strained to hear their conversation.

“…dangerous,” Samuel said. “…the last thing I do for you…” He extended his arm, a small pouch in his palm. “I despise that you…”
 

The man stepped forward and took the small bag from Samuel’s hand. “I am sorry…”

I peered at him. He looked so familiar but I couldn’t place him…

When I heard my dog shriek.
Something was very wrong.