The Flesh and the Devil (31 page)

         
'Say rather I did not prevent him killing himself. He was
playing King-ofthe-Castle on top of one of the wine-casks, and he slipped and
fell in head-first. I could have saved him, but I did not I thought you would
prefer him dead.'

         
Now, finally, she understood what had kindled that secret
excitement behind his cold facade. It blazed from him now in every line of his
arrogant stance, head thrown back and feet wide apart, the hands that had
wrenched life from the Duque de Valenzuela disposed as elegantly as any
courtier's. The flame in his eyes seemed to reach out and touch her.

         
'I — oh, God!' She shook her head helplessly, unaware even
of her own blasphemy. 'I should be sorry, but I cannot. I detested him, and I
could not bear the thought of— of—'

         
'Of giving yourself to him?' Tristán glanced down at the
corpse, and there was an odd hardness about his mouth. 'It was not a fit match.'

         
With an effort Juana dragged her gaze from the dead,
suffused face.

         
'You dare not stay here now — if you are found you will be
taken and killed. The law says —'

         
'I know what value your law sets upon a Spanish life if it
should be lost at the hands of a foreigner. But you forget, I did not so much
as touch him.'

         
`So much more reason for you to go at once, before he is
found! They will never believe that you did not harm him. Go now — take another
name and make a new life in another country, and I shall not betray you.' To be
rid of him, she was thinking feverishly, she would perjure her very soul.

         
'You misconstrue everything.' There was a note of mocking
indulgence in his detached voice that brought an angry flush to her cheeks.
'Although the manner of his death was an accident, the fact of it was not. I
brought him here to kill him, last night, after I had had to watch your maid
die.' A sway of his hips presented the hilt of the rapier that hung half-hidden
by his side, and his fingers stroked the chased hilt caressingly. 'For six
years I have washed that ape, dressed it, fed it and ministered to its
pleasures, and seen what becomes of the creatures it has had for living toys.
Birds, animals — even some wretched women they gave him when he would not be
fobbed off with aught else. I had to use my sword on one or two when they could
not scream any more and did not amuse him any longer.'

         
Juana shivered. 'But why kill him now? If you have borne
with him for so long -'

         
'Say that my patience was exhausted. And then, I knew that
I could get a rich reward by his death.'

         
'A reward? Who -'

         
'Who else but you? You wanted him dead - or will you deny
it now?'

         
CHAPTER 8

         
Juana started to protest, then fell silent. Her mind seethed
with denial, with frightened repudiation of Tristan‘s calm assumption, but
somehow he indignant words would not rise to her tongue; even if her brain had
not consciously shaped the thought, she realized, she had wished Bartolome
dead. But for this inhuman, cold-blooded man to go beyond the reach of her
basest thought and make it reality… She stared up into those enigmatic eyes
with a mixture of anger, fright and shame.

         
‗I would never have bidden you do this.‘

         
‗True, but you might not have bidden me to hasten to
his rescue.‘ His watchful look did not alter. ‗Would you rather I had
left your handsome ehevalier to stop your marriage-the one who cares so much
for the continuance of your honour?‘

         
So he had heard after all, she thought; her anguish,
Jaime‘s appalled evasions had probably caused a faint stir of amusement – no
more – in that icy composure. The thought made her wince. But if she granted
his request, rewarded him for the service he had done her – solely for his own
gain, she did not doubt –

         
perhaps he would go; go anywhere, so that she no longer saw
him and was reminded… It would have to be a rich reward, the richest she could
contrive. With a steadiness she did not feel, she answered at last, her words
seeming to echo unnaturally in the death-filled silence.

         
‗I admit the justice of your… claim, senor; you have
done me a fair service.‘ She kept her eyes averted from the thing on the floor
as she spoke. ‗In return for my freedom from this marriage, I will give
you half the dowry that my father sent with me to the Duque. I shall say that
his family would not render it back again. On condition,‘ she added more
quickly, ‗that you leave this place at once and do not return. I will
give you my oath to send the money after you.‘

         
A sound like a sharp sigh escaped him, but his reply was
level and measured. ‗That would draw suspicion on me sooner than anything
else – had you thought of that? Or did you think I would not?‘ When she was
silent, honestly dumbfounded, he continued, ‗If I stay and help with the
search, I shall be less suspected.‘ He sounded like a patient tutor instructing
a dull pupil. ‗Besides, you cannot pay a blood-debt so. It is not your
father who ewes it.‘

         
‗How can I pay you else? All I possess is what was my
father‘s, or else what the – the Duque has given me.‘

         
‗You have a short memory, Juana.‘

         
The silence between the pulsed, and her hands crept up as
though to fend him off. Tristan did not move

        
‗You never wanted me!‘ The raw sound of her own voice
startled her. ‗You took me only to keep me here for him, because they
paid you to do it. You said as much, that night! Why lose the chance of riches
now, just for the sake of – of vindictiveness?‘

         
‗Call it that if you will-‘his big shoulders moved
negligently after a moment

         
– ‗but I do not propose to take money for this deed.
A killer is entitled to name his own price, even one who kills by accident; I
did not enjoy the deed.‘

         
‗You cannot force me to pay you anything.‘ Her
frightened mind was retreating now, searching for ways of escape from the trap
into which she had walked so confidently. ‗If I were to tell how you –‗

         
‗The whole castillo knows how you hated poor
Bartolome,‘ he interrupted,

         
‗though I warned you to hide it; and I have been his
faithful servant for six full years. If I were to be accused of killing him, I
should have to confess how you wrought me to it against my judgement and
offered me more than a poor servant could withstand.‘

         
She returned away sharply, but his arm was a link of steel
about her waist, drawing her back against him. With helpless fascination she
watched his hands caress her, sliding smoothly upwards to cup her breasts.

         
‗What would you say then – if I told how you offered
me anything in the world if I would kill him?‘

         
‗I would tell them the truth – that I knew nothing.‘
The words sounded like a sob.

         
‗And they would not believe it. What if they made
trial of your virginity to disprove my tale?‘

         
She gave a cry of sheer torment, trying vainly to twist
free from his caressing fingers, but his strength compelled her to stillness.
For an instant his chin rested on the top of her head, and then he said as he
had before, ‗Look at me.‘

        
It was so crisp and unemotional that she obeyed him without
thinking, arching her neck so that her black head rested against the griffin
badge on his shoulder. Slowly, as though he relished the action as he performed
it, he bent his head and laid his scarred mouth on her trembling one. For a
brief instant she could not move: it was impossible, her brain was saying; she
could not be here in Felipe Tristan‘s arms with her betrothed husband lying
newly dead nearby. In a moment she would wake, she must…

         
The kiss deepened, probing her parted lips and stirring the
unwanted memory of another, more profound violation. At first she scarcely
noticed the insidious touch that stroked the smooth skin of her breasts; then,
as her blood quickened, she stood acquiescent and shivering in his arms. She was
panting with quick, shallow breaths when he raised his head, and then he freed
her so abruptly that she swayed.

         
‗An earnest of your debt – your honour for my
honour,‘ he said dryly, and she stared almost incredulously into his eyes.

         
There was no trace of desire in the calmly implacable mask
that confronted her; nothing in his steady, almost critical scrutiny that bore
any relation to the ruthless hunger she had felt in his touch. For one wild
moment Juana wondered whether her own fevered mind had invented all that she
thought he had said to her, but then she glimpsed the sprawled shape on the
floor near the casks and knew that it was all a bitter reality. Bartolome was
dead indeed, and his death had put her in debt to the man she hated most in the
world.

         
‗What will happen when they find his body?‘ she
demanded, and he shrugged again.

         
‗They will not discover it until I choose to let
them. I am not so green as to leave it here for the first cellarman who ranges
from his usual toping haunts – the longer he is missing, the better. I shall
hide him until I can contrive him some natural end, to befall him when both you
and I are in other company. Until then, your noble betrothed –‗the
downward glance was expressionless – ‗will be strangely absent – that is
all you need to know.‘

         
‗Where will you hide him?‘ Juana saw the red head
turn slightly towards one of the casks. ‗Oh, no….‘

         
‗Where better? No one is likely to drink the cellars
dry within this month, and before that time I can contrive him a less
suspicious end.‘