The Spanish Exile (Islands of the Crown Book 1)

by Allen, Jewel

  Don Busco could walk about, from the looks of it. His rescue would be so much easier. But first, Raúl needed to get closer and catch his attention somehow.

  Raúl picked his way among the rocks, grateful for the moonlight. A few times, his hands or feet would knock loose some pebbles, which made him pause, fearful, until he was sure no one from camp had noticed.

  He reached the edge of the clearing and hid behind a pile of firewood. Not daring to go further, lest he alert them of his presence, he craned his neck over the wood. The smell of coffee filled his nostrils, and for one crazy moment, he thought about covering most of his head with a filthy rag and walking boldly in for a mugful. As long as he was dirty, he was sure they wouldn’t even notice. He dismissed the crazy notion and focused on his mission: to rescue his instructor.

  Raúl waited for several minutes. Thankfully, Don Busco didn’t move from the spot. His profile faced Raúl.

  Look this way, he willed the man, but he continued to stare at the fire.

  Above Don Busco hung a huge cedar tree bough. The tree’s trunk spanned a man’s arm-length, spiked with stout branches, making it a good climbing tree. Raúl felt certain he could scale it easily. Pocketing some pebbles, he moved noiselessly from firewood pile to tree. He climbed the lower branches until he reached a flat spot.

  Raúl sat directly above Don Busco’s head. He took a pebble from his pocket and dropped it.

  He missed.

  Trying again, he hit his target. Don Busco looked behind him, then up, staring right at Raúl. Raúl smiled but the older man did not return the gesture. His eyes widened, then closed slowly. Someone walked to his side. Samonte and his mangy head. Raúl wished he had a boulder to drop on him.

  “Good news, my friend,” Samonte said, putting an arm over Don Busco’s shoulders. “I have a new family for you to victimize.”

  The words rang in Raúl’s head.

  A new family. Victimize. What did that mean? And why didn’t Don Busco shrug off the man’s filthy paw?

  “They are looking for a fencing tutor...”

  Raúl didn’t want to believe what he heard, it was too outlandish to even consider. Don Busco worked with these thieves?

  Raúl shouldn’t have come. He should have stayed in his home, safe and unaware. With trembling body, he made his way off the tree, on the side away from the fire. He couldn’t think.

  Get away!

  The next branch he stepped on was a green sapling, too fragile to take his weight.

  The fall seemed to take forever before he landed on his back with a thud. He lay there, the wind knocked out of him. A sense of doom pressed on his chest.

  He looked up at the sound of a footfall. His former tutor stood over him, Samonte and Gargoyle close behind.

  “You are one of them,” Raúl accused Don Busco, surprising himself with the calm way he spoke the words, even as rage tightened his throat.

  19

  “I’m getting tired of tying him up,” Gargoyle whined, as he tightened the ropes around Raúl’s wrists.

  Raúl kept his head down, even as his mind whirled. Don Busco works with these criminals? I trusted him.

  “How about you shut up?” Samonte slapped Gargoyle on the head.

  Don Busco interjected in a cold voice Raúl didn’t recognize. “Quiet.”

  The two stopped squabbling immediately.

  Calculating eyes above that grotesque nose turned to Raúl. “Foolish boy. Did you think you could take on these bandits?”

  I just wanted to save you, Raúl almost said, but decided not to. Don Busco didn’t deserve to know that. Not if he was colluding with the others.

  “I don’t understand,” Raúl said.

  Everyone fell silent.

  “Permit me to introduce myself.” Don Busco bowed. “My parents christened me Alfonso Bustamante. I was, at one time, a scholar and fencing master. You know how I fell in with a bad crowd, who hurt my nose? When I came to, vultures circled me overhead. And so did Samonte’s ugly face.”

  “You are the ugly one,” Samonte said, grunting. But he was no longer Don Busco’s enemy. The change made Raúl shiver. It was like watching a play with a preposterous plot.

  “We saved his family a burial,” Samonte said. “The others wanted to kill him. But I thought, ‘No. Maybe he’ll be useful someday.’ Oh, he was delirious. He talked in his sleep. Talked crazy. How he was so good with a sword. I didn’t believe him, at first. But someone gave him a sword. Oh, he was good, all right.”

  Samonte smiled, slowly, like a feral dog with those rotting teeth. “I offered him a deal. I told him I would go after the animals who mangled his nose, if he would work for me. Brilliant, ain’t it?”

  Raúl glanced at Don Busco, who simply listened, without emotion in those eyes.

  “Oh, he didn’t want to,” Samonte said. “But then my men found the boys and dragged them over. I asked Alfonso what he wanted done to them. He said, ‘Like they hurt me.’”Don Busco put the pistol to Raúl’s temple.

  The man who once taught him to use the sword wisely gave Raúl a wry smile. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Raúl’s eyes bore into Don Busco’s. “I still don’t understand why you pretended to be our friend.”

  “Then you are more noble than me,” Don Busco said. “Samonte’s men did petty thefts, here and there. Ambushes on the road for a mere purseful of coins. I hatched this scheme with them: they would try to rob travelers. I would come and chase them away, earning the travelers’ gratitude. I come to their residence, set up as their fence tutor. When I am not teaching, I case out the house, find where the valuables are. When the master of the house is away, I send for the others. The poor tutor is kidnapped, never to be seen again.”

  “You’re deplorable,” Raúl spat out.

  Don Busco shrugged. “And you are unlucky. If only you hadn’t followed us. Now you leave me no choice but to kill you.” He motioned to someone, who brought him a pistol. “Prop him up.”

  Raúl raised his eyes to the villain, determined to not cower, even as he was glad to be kneeling. His legs shook so badly he nearly fell over. Don Busco pointed the pistol at Raúl’s temple. Raúl closed his eyes, but the shot never came. When he opened them, cold, gray eyes assessed him.

  “Gag him and get him on a horse,” Don Busco said, lowering the pistol.

  Samonte’s head whipped ‘round. “But...”

  “You heard me. He’ll travel with us.”

  Samonte’s expression soured. “What do you plan to do with him?”

  Those lying eyes assessed Raúl. “We’ll demand a ransom.”

  20

  In the morning, Gargoyle gagged and hoisted a bound Raúl, face-down, onto a swaybacked gelding. The camp was on the move. Everyone either rode or walked alongside horses, some of which Raúl recognized from the Calderón stables.

  They walked on for what felt like hours. Raúl’s neck ached from having to raise it once in a while, or the blood rushing to his head made him sick.

  “Can we stop?” Samonte whined.

  “It’s not safe to stay on,” Don Busco said, glancing at Raúl.

  “Why don’t you just kill him?” Samonte suggested.

  “He’s worth more in ransom alive.”

  They traveled above the plains, sticking to the forest. Along the sides, rock canyon walls pressed in on them. Below, a bright green river snaked around the mountain. Whenever the bandits sighted others, nearly all but a dozen people hid in the trees. The unsuspecting people would talk to the bandits, only to be robbed.

  How Raúl hated Don Busco and his men.

  They stopped occasionally, sometimes for some seemingly random reasons. Like Samonte wanting to open a looted cask of wine, eating a snack, or singing a bawdy song. They left Raúl on the horse, forgotten, while everyone stopped to eat or drink. Don Busco acted like he was blind and deaf to what was going on, just keeping to himself and largely ignoring Raúl.

  At the next stop, next to a rocky outcropping, Gargoyle un
gagged Raúl and dumped him onto the side of a ditch. He didn’t do anything to get Raúl’s head closer to the water, nor did he undo the ropes. About all Raúl could do was to contort and writhe closer, until his cheek lay on the muddy bank. Exhausted, he felt like giving up. But then Gargoyle’s grin inflamed him. When Raúl managed to get a few mouthfuls of water, Gargoyle quickly pulled him away. Raúl spat on Gargoyle. Gargoyle slapped him several times and gagged him roughly.

  Back Raúl went on the saddle, his bones aching with the gelding’s ungraceful progress, his face throbbing with pain, stiff and caked with blood and dirt.

  “Faugh,” Gargoyle said on the next stop, “what a mess you are.” He unceremoniously dunked Raúl into a river, and left him on the bank dripping wet.

  Raúl lay on his side watching the thieves set up camp for the night in a clearing with a tiny cottage. He observed with begrudging admiration as the mess of horses and wagons transformed within minutes into a somewhat organized camp; a blazing fire, sturdy tents, horses fed and tethered for the night. It probably helped that Samonte threatened to kill anyone who dawdled.

  The cottage door opened and a broad-hipped woman came out, bellowing, “Did I say you could stay?”

  Samonte approached her. “You are looking finer every day, Alicia.”

  “And you are a worse liar as you age,” she retorted.

  Samonte buried his face into the crook of her neck. “There’s nothing like the smell of onions to whet a man’s appetite.” The men guffawed.

  “At least I bathe.” Alicia shoved him away. “Pack your camp before I shoot you all.”

  “Come on, woman,” Samonte said. “We came all the way for some of your stew, and you treat us thus.”

  She crossed her arms. “As I recall, you have yet to settle a debt. I have not seen a single peseta since the last time I saw you.”

  “Oh, that!” Samonte smiled. “As it happens, I have a present for you.” He pointed at Raúl, who lay on the river bank.

  Wrinkling her nose, she said, “How old is he?”

  “Seventeen.”

  She looked perplexed. “What am I to do with him?”

  “He’s not just anybody,” Samonte explained. “He’s the heir to a wealthy man. Have you heard of Pedro Calderón?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “The man’s rich. His son will fetch a lot of money. I’ll split it with you.”

  “I know you are no saint,” she said, “but kidnapping a boy? I didn’t think you resorted to such low tricks.”

  “Don’t go all preachy on me, now,” Samonte said, sneering. “You’re not exactly an innocent.”

  “What do you mean?” Her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “For one, killing your babe.”

  “How dare you?” she shouted. “How dare you? You know very well it was an accident.”

  “At least that’s what you told me.”

  She glowered. “I hate you!”

  Samonte turned his back on her. “Get us food, woman.”

  Alicia glared at the men, then at Raúl. Without another word, she stomped back to the cottage.

  “Good job teaching that wench her manners, Samonte,” Gargoyle said.

  Samonte shrugged. “Someone has to.”

  Throughout all the commotion, Raúl caught glimpses of Don Busco, conferring with other men. He wondered why he let Samonte run roughshod over their camp.

  After a while, Raúl smelled something delicious. The men began to settle themselves into a circle around the fire. Alicia brought out a pot and threw it onto the ground, spilling some of its contents. The men elbowed each other and fought over the stew until Samonte stepped in and threatened them. He doled out a big portion and let his men fight over the rest.

  Raúl’s stomach growled but he wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of begging for food. He heard the soft crunching of sandals and looked up. Alicia walked over with a bowl. Steam curled over it. She knelt down and undid his gag.

  “What are you doing?” Samonte growled.

  She held a spoon aloft. “The child has to eat.”

  “He can starve for all I care.”

  “Not if you want a ransom for him. He has to return alive, after all.”

  Samonte harrumphed and glowered over the edge of his bowl as he shoveled stew into his loud mouth.

  “What a brute,” Alicia muttered. “Well?” she said impatiently as Raúl merely stared at the spoonful of stew she offered.

  “It’s too far for me to reach,” Raúl said.

  She made an impatient noise, but offered the spoon closer. It tasted like goat stew, a little burnt, but it was so delicious he wanted to cry. After a few spoonfuls, someone pulled her up and away from Raúl.

  “Mariano will do that,” Don Busco said. “From now on, stay away from him.”

  “It’s your prisoner, what do I care?” she said, wrenching out of his grasp. She shoved the bowl into his hands, spilling some of the stew onto his shirt. He cursed and called Gargoyle over.

  Gargoyle delighted in tormenting Raúl by hovering with the spoon, almost within Raúl’s reach, but eating the spoonful himself. Or he would cram spoonful after spoonful into his mouth until Raúl felt like gagging.

  Gargoyle untied his feet just for a few minutes of privacy in the woods, then it was back into the ropes for Raúl, but this time he was shoved into a dark tent that smelled vilely of unwashed garments.

  Raúl closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the sounds of men carousing kept him up. He wondered about Alicia, if he could find an ally in her. He also thought about Don Busco. For a while there, hope burned that maybe, just maybe, Don Busco was still a friend. But Raúl knew that was a lost cause.

  The irony of the situation hit him. Raúl had come to rescue Don Busco, and now Raúl was his prisoner.

  21

  “Get up.” Don Busco’s eyes bore into his. “Get up,” he repeated.

  Was this some sort of a joke? Raúl looked down at his legs. To his surprise, he was no longer bound.

  He was, however, still gagged and his hands tied behind him. Was it dawn? It seemed awfully dark still, from inside the tent. Cool air poured in as Don Busco pulled the flap back and gestured for Raúl to get out. The sun was just barely rising.

  Raúl rocked himself to a kneeling position, then stood up, unsteady. Before he could take another step, Don Busco put a finger to his lips and ungagged him.

  Confused, Raúl just stared.

  Don Busco motioned for Raúl to follow him to the trees, where two horses stood tethered together, a beautiful mottled gray and a smaller bay.

  “Get on,” the older man said, pointing to the bay.

  Raúl indicated his tied wrists by twisting around. He heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed, the slashing of air, then his hands came free. The forest was just a few steps to freedom.

  Don Busco held something at his neck. “Don’t bother running. I only have to blow this whistle, and my men will surround you.”

  Disappointment settled in his gut. For a moment, he thought he was free. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Get on, and you’ll see.”

  Giving his captor a skeptical glance, Raúl mounted the gray horse. His muscles protested as he did so, and his stomach made a rumbling noise.

  “We’ll get there in time for breakfast,” Don Busco said.

  Raúl wondered where “there” was.

  They traversed a river, passed a thick screen of trees, and crossed a valley. Several minutes later, they reached a clearing with what looked like six cottages. Smoke curled from the chimneys. The smell of bacon filled the air. They approached a cottage at the far end of the area, abutting the forest. Three children ran out.

  “Papa, Papa!” they cried.

  Don Busco’s face relaxed. He dismounted his horse and scooped up two of the children. The tallest one clung to his leg. They looked at Raúl curiously, giving him tentative smiles.

  “Where’s your mother?” Don Busco asked.<
br />
  Two of the children ran into the cottage, leaving the door open. The smallest child stayed in Don Busco’s arms.

  A woman emerged from the cottage. A soiled apron couldn’t mask the fact that she was heavy with child. She was pretty. Shiny black curls spilled out of her cap, brushing against her rosy cheeks.

  “Alfonso,” she said, then walked up to accept a kiss from Don Busco. She glanced at Raúl curiously.

  “Can you feed us?” Don Busco asked.

  She looked once again, towards Raúl’s direction, nodded, then disappeared into the cottage.

  “Carmen’s my wife,” Don Busco said. “Samonte’s daughter.”

  Raúl stared, unbelieving. She, the daughter of that vulgar excuse of a man! “She’s nothing like him.”

  “She’s not,” Don Busco agreed.

  “She’s your wife?” Raúl couldn’t believe it.

  Don Busco nodded. “We fell in love. Samonte threw a tantrum and threatened me. We married anyway.”

  Carmen came out with two bowls filled with creamy oats and water. She smiled when Raúl thanked her. She went off to sit on a bench darning a shirt, alternating glances towards the two men and her children who played nearby.

  Raúl didn’t know what to say. His mind was a-whirl. Don Busco continued to surprise him. This girl was nothing like Samonte. “Why did you bring me here?” Raúl asked, savoring a spoonful of the warm and honeyed oats.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Raúl asked, taking a spoonful of the warm and honeyed oats.

  “I wanted you to understand why I am helping Samonte. It’s not just gratitude. Or the perverse satisfaction that he wreaked revenge on my attackers. I am family now.”

  Raúl took another spoonful and swallowed. “You can always take her away from here. She seems nice enough. Choose another life.”

  Don Busco shrugged. “Why should I? The people we rob are rich. They can spare the change.”

  “Surely you don’t need me to tell you why robbing people is wrong!” Raúl retorted hotly. “Now you’re kidnapping, too.”

  Don Busco’s eyes narrowed. “You’re no child. What you are is trouble. I wouldn’t have had to capture you had you just stayed home and minded your business.”