The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2) (26 page)

~ ~ ~

King Pedro stood and raised his chalice to the cheering crowd. “A toast,” he said, “To the glorious Kingdom of Portugal and its fiercely loyal subjects!”

“Here, here,” Gaspar raised his cup. “To His Royal Highness King Pedro the First, ruler of the sacred Kingdom of Portugal!”

Guests pounded their cups on the wooden tables and toasted in unison. “To His Royal Highness King Pedro the First, ruler of the sacred Kingdom of Portugal!”

I chimed in but could not raise a cup, as I was too busy filling the half empty ones on the King’s table.

“To surviving difficult days!” King Pedro lifted his goblet.

“To surviving difficult days!” The nobles and merchants cheerfully toasted and drank.

“To true love,” King Pedro said. “May you be lucky to find it and blessed to keep it. But if the heart of your heart is torn from you—may you find the courage to honor its essence. I toast to courage.” He lifted his glass as the entire room followed suit.
 

“To courage!” They toasted and tossed back drinks.

“There are so many reasons for our celebration tonight. My beloved, Inêz de Castro, met her untimely death at the hands of three assassins. I heard rumors that those men were hired by royal advisors for my father, King Afonso the Fourth, the former ruler of Portugal, God rest his soul.” King Pedro crossed himself.

The dead king’s advisors ducked their heads and whispered to each other.

I lifted a pitcher and refilled more goblets.

“But of course we know these could only have been gossip.” King Pedro continued. “A few of my loyal subjects have tracked down two of Inêz’s assassins. They are incarcerated in the palace dungeon waiting judgment.”

The room erupted in heated murmurs and a smattering of applause.
 

“But one assassin eluded my grasp. A man I hunt with sent word that Diogo Pacheco was spotted crossing into France. It is likely that he will walk free; that he will not be brought to justice for his vicious crime. And so I asked myself—how is it that we captured two killers, but the third escaped?”

The guests leaned forward toward the new King and held their collective breath. Ladies fanned their faces and a few folks sniffed the air as their noses crinkled.

Memories of that gruesome night at Pedro and Inêz’s villa flooded my brain. I remembered Diogo Pacheco; he was the handsome man with the melodic voice. That sweet scent in the air grew more pungent and I remembered the stench of Pero and Alvaro caged in the prison cart as they threatened that Diogo would come for me because he didn’t like loose ends. And then they teased Samuel, saying he looked so familiar.
 

I flashed to Samuel’s embarrassment when he told me about his real father who abandoned him and his mother. His father who became a mercenary and was rumored to have become an assassin for kings, rulers, and devious men with money and power. My mind skipped that moment just a few days ago when I crouched behind a tree and overheard Samuel arguing with a man whose face I only saw for a moment.
 

I broke out in a sweat, swiveled, and stared at Samuel at the same time King Pedro did.
 

And I understood why Diogo looked so familiar.
 

He resembled an older version of Samuel. They shared the same beautiful eyes and those striking high cheekbones. My heart plummeted as I realized Diogo Pacheco, Inêz de Castro’s third assassin, was Samuel’s father.

“Let the festivities begin.” King Pedro guzzled his wine and slammed the goblet on the table. “Guards. Arrest Lord Samuel De Rocha and take him into custody.”

“No!” I said, my protest unheard because Giulia screamed the word at the same time. She jumped up and shoved her fists into the waistline of her perfect gown.
 

Samuel rose, put a hand on her shoulder, and pushed her to sitting. He faced King Pedro. “I assure you, Your Royal Highness, I not only did my best to save Lady Inêz, but I stayed to guard your children the night she so unjustly was taken from this earthly realm.”

Three uniformed guards stomped toward Samuel’s table as partygoers in their path moved quickly out of their way.

Giulia swatted Samuel’s arm. “Leave!” she hissed.

King Pedro eyed me oddly and cocked his head to one side. “You. Servant girl. Pour me another drink.”

‘Servant girl?’
He didn’t even remember my name?
I did as he asked.

 
King Pedro drank. “You have done so much, Lord De Rocha,” he said. “Or should we use your birth name—
Lord Samuel Pacheco.
Because your real father was one of the assassins who killed my beloved Inêz, Queen of Portugal.”

Samuel turned and gazed at me as his jaw muscles clenched.

Gasps rose from the crowd. King Afonso’s advisors quietly stood and headed toward an exit.

King Pedro spotted them. “Guards! Escort my guests back to their table. My party is not over until I say it is. I have so much planned for the evening!” He sighed and drank some more. “Unfortunately, young Lord Pacheco, I do not know if you had prior knowledge of your real father’s involvement, and I most likely will never know. That does not mean that justice will not be served.”

“Madeline,” Samuel said to me. “I am so incredibly sorry.”

“If I cannot punish the man who killed my beloved,” King Pedro pulled a dagger from its sheath and pointed it, his hands shaking at Samuel. “I will punish his seed! Take Lord Samuel Pachecho to the dungeons. Perhaps his father will come for him, perhaps he will not. And bring me the other two vermin, God help me, I cannot even remember their names.” He sat down and dropped his head into his hands. “What’s to become of me, my dearest Inêz? What’s to become of us?” He asked. “Right, my love. Right.” He shuffled toward the curtain that hid the thrones.

Giulia and I watched horrified as two guards grabbed Samuel by his arms and hauled him away.
 

Samuel swiveled his head back toward me. “Madeline, I believe you. I believe everything that you told me. So I beg you just listen to me. Do simply one thing for me. Nod if you agree.”

I nodded.
 

“Travel, Madeline!” Samuel hollered as the guards pulled him from the grand hall. “I want you to travel, now!”

~ thirty-three ~

But I couldn’t travel. I didn’t even try. King Pedro had lost his mind, Samuel was being dragged to the dungeons, and the last thing I was going to do was leave him high and dry in this nightmare.
 

Alvaro and Pero were shackled and no longer appeared powerful as they stumbled toward the curtains. Instead they sweated and sniveled, as did the recently departed King Afonso’s advisors who had also been escorted front and center against their will.

“Gentlemen!” King Pedro said. “Sir Flaín! Welcome!” He slapped his father’s former advisor on his back like they were at a Memorial Day BBQ. “You are my honored guests tonight. We would not even be here if it was not for you.”

The crowd grew increasingly fidgety and more than a few folks edged toward the exits. But the guards stopped and turned them around with a glare or a ‘reminder’ tap on their swords. Lord Martim de Coimbra and his crabby wife were physically escorted back to their seats.

“Loving Inêz de Castro was not easy.” King Pedro fumbled with the thick silken cords that secured the curtains against each other. “I fought endless battles to be with her. My father deported her back to Galicia but I brought her back.” He tugged on the cords’ ties. “Princess Constanza, my former wife, spread vicious gossip that if I left her for Inêz, we would be committing incest, a crime against the Holy Church for which we could be severely punished.” He eased the tip of his dagger in the knot and coaxed the cords apart. “And when Constanza passed away, God rest her weary soul, I was finally able to be with Queen Inêz. But my father forbid me to marry her.”

“Your Highness,” Sir Flaín said. “Only because you never married the beautiful Inêz de Castro, do I humbly mention that she will never actually be Portugal’s Queen.”

“You are mistaken,” Pedro tugged on the curtains. “I am the King. Why am I doing all this work by myself? Sir Flaín, you and your friends always helped my father. Please help me now.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Flaín bowed and nodded to his cronies. They pulled on the curtains revealing the first throne.

“Thank you!” Pedro exclaimed and plunked back on the ornate chair and ground the dagger into its arm. “I married Inêz de Castro several years ago. We wed in a secret ceremony performed at Monastery of Santa Clara a Vel-ha by a Catholic priest. Therefore, Inêz was Princess of Portugal and next in line to become Queen after the death of my father.”

 
Flaín paused, clutched his throat, gagged, and bent forward.

“Oh, please. It is just a curtain. It is not as if I am asking for your undying loyalty.” King Pedro hopped up and pulled the drape the rest of the way back. “Look upon my beloved, Queen Inêz de Castro. Is she not beautiful?” He leaned in and tenderly kissed Inêz’s dead cheek. “Tonight is her coronation. Tonight her loyal subjects will pay her homage and pledge their allegiance.”

The crowd gasped and cringed. And I recognized the sweet tinge mixed in with the musky scent of the forest pine needles: it was the scent of decay.

Inêz de Castro was propped on the other throne, her rotting corpse dressed in a beautiful gown, silk ribbons wrapped around her, securing her body to the chair. A bejeweled crown rested on her head, expensive rings sparkled on her fingers, and gold bracelets hung from her wrists that were positioned and tied to the throne’s arms.
 

“My love.” Pedro knelt in front of her. “At last you are crowned the Queen of the Kingdom of Portugal. This is all for you.” He stood up and gestured to his guests. “You will pay homage to Portugal’s new Queen. I know she would like that.” He turned to Flaín. “You first.”

Flaín walked the few steps toward Inêz’s corpse and sunk to one knee. “All my respect, Queen Inêz de Castro.” He grimaced and rose quickly.

“That is not respect!” Pedro said. “Kiss her hand. She is Queen of the sacred Kingdom of Portugal. Where are your manners?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Flaín bent forward, lowered his lips to Inêz’s rotting hand, and shuddered as he kissed it.

I glanced over toward the kitchen and spotted Miri whose eyes were round as saucers, her hand clamped over her mouth.

“Much better, Sir Flaín,” King Pedro said. “Guards! Assist my guests to line up to pay their respects to Queen Inêz. It is such a special night.”

~ ~ ~

I kept my eyes open when I kissed Inêz de Castro’s hand. I saw the deep slash in her throat in spite of the attempt to cover it with her high neckline. I smelled the decay of her flesh—all the pine needles in Portugal’s forests couldn’t hide it. I kept my eyes open because in life or death, Inêz deserved respect. She was fierce, a vibrant mother, as well as a woman who adored her husband. She bargained for her life with a King but settled for saving two of her children more heartache than could possibly be imagined.
 

I kissed Inêz de Castro’s decaying hand because I wanted to acknowledge her—not as a victim—but as a heroine.

I thought about life’s fragility. People you loved could disappear in a heartbeat. One day you’re talking with them and planning your next visit. Hours later they’re dead. Life was strange. My journey as a time traveler might have seemed more extraordinary than most—but in reality, it wasn’t. We were all travelers on our own journeys in whatever year, whatever life number played out on The Maker’s roulette wheel.

Miri and I huddled at the entrance to the kitchen as the last of the partygoers paid their respects to Queen Inêz. The assassins, Alvaro and Pero were the last in line to pledge their ‘allegiance.’ Tonight had been grueling. I needed to clear my head so I could find a way to help Samuel escape. “Miri, I need to get out of here!”

“Tell me about it. Look. The guards are circling the thrones. No one is securing the kitchen entrance. We can go!” She tugged on my arm.

But that’s when the finale commenced, and as much as I wanted to leave, I couldn’t.

King Pedro paced in front the hall and pointed his dagger at Alvaro and Pero who were shackled together and trembling. “I quote Biblical verses that say, ‘An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.’” King Pedro stopped in his tracks. “You ripped my heart out when you took Inêz from me.”

I shivered and remembered Inêz’s words just moments before she was assassinated.
 

“…even from beyond the grave,” Inêz said to King Afonso. “I will seek revenge on you and your… advisors. It will be in tears, it will be in blood, and… it will not be a secret. Because I swear I will find a way to make sure everyone knows about it.”

“Hold them,” Pedro instructed the guards who grabbed the two assassins and restrained them. “I do not do this lightly. I do not do this easily like you slaughtered Inêz. But I do this because it is right and because it is fair. You took my heart. Now I will take yours.” Pedro raised his dagger and plunged it into Alvaro’s chest.
 

Miri and I tore down corridors but the screams didn’t diminish until we burst outside the castle and raced through the nearly deserted streets.

~ ~ ~

I lay next to Miri on a simple pallet in her sleeping area that shared space with a pantry at her father’s house. For a change, she didn’t snore. Instead she sweated, her hands twitching as she cried out in her sleep.
 

“Shh. Shh.” I smoothed her damp hair off her forehead. “Sleep, Miri,” I whispered. “All will be better in the morning.”
 

The door creaked open and her father poked his head inside the room. “There is a Lady here who wishes to speak with you, Nadja,” he said. “I think she wants to employ you.”

I sat up. “In the middle of the night?”

“She said it is very urgent. She seeks the services of a messenger.”

~ ~ ~

A guard held a lit torch overhead and led Giulia and me down a narrow stone staircase inside the castle. A dim square of light peeked through the bars covering a small window cut into the stone passageway.