The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2) (22 page)

“I will destroy you,” a woman screeched.

“Not without a fight!” The man hollered.

Oh my God. Oh my God!
My only comfort was that the man’s voice didn’t sound like Samuel’s.
Or did it?
Something or someone slammed onto the floor. I heard the clash of metal upon metal; it sounded like the clanging of swords. The woman grunted, the man hollered. There was a loud thud followed by more screaming, their voices intertwined.

I edged forward in the darkness using the wall on my right as a touchstone. Its surface abruptly shifted from stones that were cold and flat to a curvier surface. It was still chilly, but now brittle and bumpy with uneven rounds, dips, and small holes that my trembling fingers fell into more than once. I even pulled a pebble out of one and transferred it to my other palm, holding it tight for good luck.

I grew closer to the source of the screams and prayed that Samuel was in one piece. I rounded a bend and the glow deepened.

Samuel hollered, “No!” and there was a loud crashing noise.

“I live to fight another day, Messenger,” a woman hissed. “Too bad the same cannot be said for you.”

A man screamed, grunted, and then sighed. “Bitch,” he moaned. “You still do not know. Anvesaka shall live.”
 

I started hyperventilating. The light grew brighter and the wall I clutched slowly illuminated row upon row of hundreds and hundreds of human skulls. I gasped and my hand flew off it like I’d touched a lit burner on a stove.

“Run, bitch,” the man gurgled. “Anvesaka is not yours tonight.”

Panic rose in my chest, my throat began closing off, and I broke out into a sweat. I clutched the pebble and rolled it manically back and forth across my palm like a worry bead.
 

Samuel, Samuel. Was the dying man, Samuel? No, I prayed. No.
 

My worry bead didn’t feel like your average small stone; it had too many edges. I opened my fist and stared at the pebble. But it wasn’t a pebble; it was a tooth. I shuddered, dropped it, and watched in horror as it bounced off the stone floor, and rolled toward a body collapsed a few yards away in a dimly lit corner.
 

“Nadja,” Samuel groaned.

“Samuel!” I ran to him and dropped to my knees. “Are you okay?”
 

He put fingers to his head and winced.
 

I gingerly touched the spot and felt a warm wet lump.
 

“Someone hit you?” I asked.
 

“Smashed my head is more like it. One minute I was making my way toward the fighting. The next I was on the ground.”

“What’s your name?” I whispered.
 

“You knew my name when I was kissing you just minutes ago,” he said.

“Tell me your frigging name!” I said.

“Lord Samuel Pacheco,” he said.

“Wrong! Your last name is De Rocha,” I said.

“Right,” he said. “Lord Samuel De Rocha.”

“Nadja!” the wounded man gasped.
 

My heart sunk and I rose to my feet because I finally realized to whom the voice belonged.
 

Samuel snagged my hand in his. “It is not safe. Do not go,” he said.

“I have to go,” I said and dropped his hand. “He’s my friend.”

~ ~ ~

Captain Jorge Cortez lay on his back, bloody and beaten, on top of a stone tomb, rasping for breath as what remained of his life drained out of him.
 

I leaned over him and stared at his handsome face that was so very pale and the wounds in his thigh and stomach that were pumping blood. I started to cry. “Tell me who did this to you, Jorge? Was it Inêz’s assassins?” I took his hand and interwove my fingers between his. “Tell me! I’ll find a way to make them pay!”

“Not Inêz’s assassins.” He coughed up blood. “
Your
assassin; a Hunter who is bent on killing you. She is just taking her time, toying with you like a cat does with a mouse. She only waits until she has more information.”

“A Hunter? What information?” I asked. “I have no information.”

“You’re not a simple gypsy girl,” he said. “You’re a Messenger, just like me, albeit not as experienced. Right, Madeline?”

“You’re a Messenger?” I asked. “You know? How long have you known?”

“Yes. I swore a vow to protect you, but now look at me; bloody and weak. A whole lot of protection I will offer when I am dead.” The blood gushed from the wounds in his stomach and his thigh.
 

I couldn’t stop myself from pressing my palms to them.“Why did you look out for me?” I asked. “I never wanted you, or anyone else, to be hurt because of me.”

“I’ve been a Messenger for years. I’ve traveled to many lifetimes and places, delivered messages to kings, queens, mystics, missionaries. I’ve lived in palaces, jungles, ghettos and suburbs. I did not choose this calling,” Jorge wheezed, “but I embraced it. Before I leave this beautiful earth for my next adventure, I need to give you, Madeline Blackford, my last message.” He reached for a satchel tied to his hip, but his fingers
 
were trembling.

My friend was dying but he still had a message for me. My feelings swung all over the map from scared and devastated, to intrigued, and back to heartbroken. I wondered for a moment if Samuel could help heal him. Then I looked down at my hands; they were dripping in blood. No one could save him. “Jorge,” I said. “Don’t worry about my message. Just relax.”

“No!” he said. “I will not die until I give you this. I cannot feel my hands, Madeline. A purse lies in my satchel. Fetch it.”

I pulled it out, was stunned by the raw crimson silk with gold and silver threads; it looked so very similar to the fabrics wrapped around my handbook. I held it up in front of him. “This?”

“Yes,” he slurred. “Your message. Tell the others that I tried. Tell them, for now, Anvesaka is safe.” His hand dropped.

“Thank you, Jorge, for looking out for me. Thank you for being such a fierce friend.” A thousand thoughts and feelings tore through me leaving emotional wounds that felt more like bullet holes. And I looked back at him.

Captain Jorge Cortez lay still on the marble slab, his eyes lifeless. I sunk to my knees and cried tears for his sweetness, friendship, bravery, and sacrifices. I thrust one fist in the air and railed at the gods. “You took him too soon!” I hollered. “He is good and kind, and deserves the same in return. I ask you now,
whoever you are, wherever you are,
to hear my prayers. Take the soul of Captain Jorge Cortez, a Messenger, a warrior, a loyal, strong, and loving man, and welcome him to whatever Afterlife he wants to travel to. Guide and guard him the same way he guided and guarded so many people, in so many lifetimes on earth. What’s fair is fair. What’s just is just.”

Loud male voices made their way toward us and I shoved the bag down the front of my dress.
 

Gaspar entered the chamber first, followed by several guards. They froze when they saw Jorge. Gaspar grimaced, bent on one knee, bowed his head, and crossed himself. He stood back up and beckoned. “We need to leave here, Nadja. Come with us. Now.”

“Your friend has just been murdered. Do you not have the decency to mourn and give him a respectable burial?” I asked.

“We do not have the luxury. Our men captured two of Inêz de Castro’s assassins. We transport them back to Coimbra at first light.”

“Who did they capture?” Samuel asked and clung to the doorframe.
 

“Pero Coelho and Alvaro Gonçalves,” Gaspar said. “
I will request that your father, Lord De Rocha, give Captain Jorge Castro a proper Christian burial. And we will mourn him, or at least I will, when this whole insane mess has ended.”

~ twenty-seven ~

I stayed at Samuel’s side, my arm circled firmly around his waist, until we reached the De Rocha estate, and stumbled through the gate. His mother was outside. She cried out when she saw him and ran toward us. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Lady De Rocha,” I said and bent my knee in a slight curtsey. “Someone hit him on the head.”

“Bring me the medicinals!” She instructed one of her servants, put her arm around him, and said, “Thank you, Miss.”

I nodded and let Samuel go.
 

“I do not know where they are, my Lady,” the servant woman said. “Lord Samuel was using them on Matilda’s boy. The young one with the high fever.”

“I returned them to the kitchen,” Samuel said.
 

“I’m not a Healer, Lady De Rocha,” I said. “But I think you need to keep Samuel awake for a while to make sure he knows who he is and where he is. If he loses consciousness, you need to call for a doctor, immediately.”

“Call for?” She asked.

“Summon… fetch,” I said.

“A
doctor?”
She frowned.

“A, a… physician,” I said.

“Perhaps the barber can perform blood letting,” Lady De Rocha said.

Giulia rushed out of their home and tried to put her arm around Samuel.
 

“Leave me alone!” He shrugged her off.
 

His mom appeared worried. Giulia simply looked pissed.
 

“Mother,” he said. “Nadja has helped me so much. After her accident today, she should sleep inside with warm blankets. Send for her friend, Miri, so she is comfortable. And please feed them.” He looked at me, his gaze sliding from my face down my body and back up again. I bit my lip and reminded myself that he had an excuse—a head injury. I had no explanation for the flush in my cheeks or the tingle that zipped down my spine. Our friend had just died; this wasn’t the time to have feelings for someone.

This was a time to mourn.

Now, if I could only get the rest of my body on board.

“A splendid idea, Samuel,” his mother said and shot me a nervous smile.

“I will see to that,” Giulia said. “Have no worries. I will take care of everything.

~ ~ ~

The servant hurried out of the kitchen clutching the medicinals. Giulia handed me a threadbare blanket. “You and Samuel have grown close on this journey,” she said.

I clutched the blanket in my hands. “Thank you.”
 

She had a thing for her stepbrother, which was kind of creepy. But maybe, outside of that, she was okay. Maybe, I was wrong about her.
 

 
“That is so sweet that you believe that.” She opened the door and the chilly night air seeped into the room. “Time for you to leave.”

And, maybe I wasn’t.

“So sorry I cannot sleep inside your lovely home tonight. I know you’re dying to ask me, but I’d just have to say no,” I said. “I’ve grown quite fond of camping.”

“Your kind is so very rough around the edges,” Giulia said. “Like a bedraggled, flea-bitten, mongrel dog that whimpers to be fed, have its belly scratched, and be rescued from its hard life. It’s bewitching, really. I could almost see what Samuel is attracted to.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lady Giulia.” I patted the blanket. “Thank you for your kindness. I’m sure I will sleep soundly tonight under its soothing cover.”

That probably hadn’t been washed in one thousand years.

My hand itched to slap her, but I turned and started making my way back toward our camping area.

“You think he genuinely likes you.” Giulia called after me. “You picture yourself rescued, swept up into a fairytale filled with beautiful gowns, sparkling jewelry, delicious food, and enjoying all the perks of having a lover who is nobility. You know who else believed in the fairytale? Inêz de Castro.”

I swiveled and eyed her. “Don’t presume to know what I think. Besides, Inêz and King Pedro were married.”

“He never married her. She was always his mistress, below him in ranking
,
a few steps above being a common whore. And if you want to keep your simple, gypsy head, do not presume that I am stupid.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “They
were
married. And King Pedro will love her forever.”

“There is very little I am wrong about,” she said. “Dalliances formed in battle or grief never last. Alliances formed over time win the day in the long haul. Enjoy your dreams, Nadja. They shall not be visiting your simple head much longer.” She slammed the villa’s kitchen door in my face.

~ ~ ~

By the time I got back to our camp, word of Jorge’s bloody death had already reached our support crew. Captain Jorge was loved by just about everyone and there were a lot of tears.
 

I missed the short prayer service Sister Ana conducted. I shared my ‘safe version’ of tonight’s events with Miri and Tomasis, who now unconsciously rubbed each other’s arms like they finally realized they were a ‘couple.’
 

“How did they find the assassins?” I asked.

Tomasis placed his arm around Miri’s waist and she leaned back against his broad chest. “They offered silver to anyone who would do the King’s work. A woman from a nearby brothel approached Jorge and told him the assassins were hiding in the rooms above a tavern in the next town. Jorge instructed the guards to leave the De Rocha estate one by one to avoid gossip that might find its way to the killers and warn them ahead of time. A few of the guardsmen ‘dined’ at the watering hole while others stationed themselves outside its exits.”

“Tomasis went with them,” Miri said. “I have never been so frightened.”

“You should not have been frightened. I know how to fight,” he said.

“Well, of course I was frightened,” she said. “You kiss me, declare your affections, and then immediately run off to join a fight?”

Sounded familiar.

“Jorge gave the pre-arranged signal,” Tomasis said. “The guards raced upstairs and found P
ero Coelho
hiding under the bed of a frightened, half-naked whore, and Alvaro Goncalves tucked away in a room as big as a closet sleeping off a bad hangover.”

“Where are they now?” I asked.

“Chained in the barn and under constant surveillance,” Miri said. “I made their suppers.”
 

I knew the word would spread from town to town through the gypsy network, as well its more proper military equivalent, that two of Inêz de Castro’s assassins had been captured. King Pedro would most likely know by the morning. I asked why we didn’t continue to search for the third assassin. Tomasis shared that the guards were under the King’s orders to return as soon as a majority had been found.