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

by Pamela DuMond

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  Ryan had advised me over and over to “pick your fights, Madeline.”

  So I did. “I would love that,” I said.

  “Based on what I heard, you did God’s will, Nadja. You helped Lady Inêz pass more peacefully knowing that two of her children would be shielded from witnessing her death, let alone be murdered as a precautionary after-thought.”

  I peered down at my feet. “Thank you. But, I feel strongly that I let her down. I received information a few hours prior that King Afonso meant to do Inêz harm. I tried to help—”

  Sister Cecilia pressed her fingers so firmly against my lips she practically shoved them into my teeth. “King Afonso would never do anything harmful to Inêz,” she whispered. “You heard wrong. You must never speak of this. Ever. Again.” She removed her hand. “Swear to me.”

  “But I wasn’t on time—”

  She pinched my cheeks so hard my lips formed a figure eight shape and I couldn’t open my mouth wide enough to squeak.

  “Swear to me, Nadja.” She arched one eyebrow. “Swear to me on God’s name, or I will declare you have been mentally damaged by what you endured. The sisters and I will bind and gag you, then cart you back to the Monastery with Inêz’s children for your own well-being, until you are healed and capable of living in society once again. Swear to me, now.” She released my face from her tough, bony fingers.

  “Fine! I swear on God’s name! But I know what I know.” I brushed the back of my hand over my mouth to make sure my lips were still intact.

  “Many persons know what they know,” Sister Cecilia clucked. “And yet they keep that information to themselves because they choose to live another day instead of needing to be right.”

  I heard a whip crack.

  A hunchbacked monk dressed in drab robes flicked it again onto the back of a small horse harnessed to the front of the Sisters’ cart. The animal lurched forward, tugging the wagon occupied by Beatrice and Denis, a few nuns who sat next to them, and Inêz’s trunks.

  Sister Cecilia watched as the cart creaked down the path leading away from Inêz and Prince Pedro’s estate. She leaned in close to me and whispered, “How many people try? Most people just walk away and say to themselves, ‘This is a fight that belongs to another person—it is not mine.’ And yet, you and Lord De Rocha made it your fight. Remind yourself of that, Nadja. You tried.”

  I couldn’t help but tear up a bit. “But what does that matter if she’s dead?” I asked. “She died because of me.”

  “I doubt that. Inêz is smiling down on you from the heavens. I have known her almost since the day she came to this land. She did not plan on falling in love with Prince Pedro. Trust me, dead or alive, Inêz knows who was on her side and who was not. You did deliver your message. The outcome you hope for is not always the answer to your prayers.” She squeezed my arm, then strode toward the cart and hopped on the back of it. “Come visit us at the Monastery sooner than later, so you can be properly baptized,” she hollered.

  I waved to Beatrice and Denis. “Be good!” I said.

  Beatrice half-heartedly waved back.

  “I changed my mind, Beatrice,” I yelled. “I think you and Denis should be exceptionally naughty while you stay at the monastery. I think the Sisters would like that!”

  Denis giggled. Beatrice cracked a small smile. Sister Cecilia winked at me as the cart rumbled away.

  ~ ~ ~

  I thanked my lucky stars that, at last, all the visitors were gone. I was starving, but I was also dying for a shower. I chose hygiene over hunger. There were no showers so I filled a large wooden bucket with cool water and lugged it to a small patio outside the pantry surrounded by foliage that appeared relatively private. I peered around, didn’t see anyone, and pulled off my dress. Took note of my medieval undergarments—hideous—but instead of stripping bare, I decided to work around them.

  I dipped a rag in the water, wiped my face, and then sponged off the rest of my body. I shook the dress out vigorously, pulled it close to my face, sniffed, and crinkled my nose in disgust. But I could do nothing about my dirty, soon-to-be-stinking dress, unless I wanted to plunder Inêz’s closet.

  I might have been a rotten Messenger but I would not steal a dead woman’s clothes. I’d borrowed Angeni’s clothes when I traveled to the year 1675, and look how well that turned out. The colonists found her necklace on a Hunter boy’s dead body and they hanged her. It didn’t matter that she was innocent—because Samuel and I had killed Tobias. Samuel might never remember what happened when we first met during King Philip’s War in Rhode Island, but I would never forget.

  So I yanked the tangy-smelling dress back on, laced up my bodice, and hiked up my boobs, as that was apparently the fashion trend fitting the year I’d landed in. I raked my fingers through my long hair and hoped this would suffice for basic ‘cleanliness’ in medieval Portugal.

  I found my way back to the dining room and overheard snippets of hushed male voices. Samuel and I were no longer alone. He was seated at the main dining table conversing with several well-dressed, older men. I approached them.

  “In answer to your questions, the servant girl and I are leaving here shortly,” Samuel looked up at me; well actually, his eyes lingered on my barely visible cleavage.

  “Hello,” I said to the men and pulled out a chair to take a seat.

  Samuel’s eyes widened in horror, and he yanked it from my grasp. “Nadja! Thank you for your kindness in remembering my ankle is injured.”

  He lifted his leg somewhat awkwardly and rested it on the chair. He glared at me, and I blinked. “Refresh our drinks. And bring us something to eat. These men have ridden many miles to be here. They are hungry and thirsty.”

  I performed a slight curtsey. “Of course, Lord De Rocha.” I lifted a pitcher and refilled the men’s glasses, then trundled off toward the kitchen to find something to feed them.

  Samuel had covered up my almost glaring mistake. Why? I pulled open pantry doors quickly and quietly, searching for something edible that I wouldn’t have to cook, as I couldn’t cook to save my life. I eavesdropped on the conversation in the adjoining room.

  “I attended a gathering last night at King Afonso’s castle and I overheard a rumor,” Samuel said. “A vicious rumor that someone powerful not only wished Inêz dead, but had already planned it, and hired assassins.”

  I found a few loaves of bread and another jar of honey. I grabbed a large tray, plopped the food onto it, and wondered about plates and napkins? I made my way back into the dining area.

  “Knowing Prince Pedro and the depth of his love for his common-law wife and children,” Samuel said, “I traveled here on a whim to make sure all was well. But I arrived too late—only to discover Inêz was already brutally slain—her body collapsed on the patio. I found the servant girl huddled inside with Prince Pedro’s children. She was protecting them. She actually threatened me with a knife until she realized I was here to help them.”

  The men grunted.

  I returned to the table and set the tray down. “I hope this pleases you and your guests.” I bowed my head.

  The middle-aged guards drank from their goblets, tore off hunks of bread, and took turns dipping them in the honey. “Delicious!” One younger man winked at me. “Is the servant girl this sweet?”

  Samuel eyed him coolly. “She is spoken for.”

  “Ooh, cavorting with the help, are you?” the man asked as his two friends chuckled.

  “The girl and I stayed to look after Prince Pedro’s children until the Sisters from the Monastery of Santa Clara arrived. You most likely passed them on the road here. They will shepherd Beatrice, Denis, and John, and keep them safe until Prince Pedro returns. Now it is my turn to ask questions. Why are you and your friends here?”

  A stout man with a ruddy complexion eyed Samuel. “To guard his estate until he returns. Bad news spreads quicker than the plague. By tonight, there will be looters a plenty to fend off. Prince Pedro is our
friend and has been good to us for many years. We are allegiant to our future king, and we respectfully offer him our loyalty.”

  Prince Pedro’s friends had come to guard his home. Nice. I didn’t want to tell them they were a little too late to protect the most important part of his life—save his beloved Inêz from being butchered and his children from witnessing the horrific act. They, like myself, were a little too late to guard Prince Pedro’s heart. I feared that when Portugal’s Prince learned of what happened, his heart would forever be destroyed.

  ~ twelve ~

  The guards patrolled the property as I deposited more food and wine on the table and started to take a seat across from Samuel.

  “What are you doing?” He asked.

  “Eating breakfast,” I said.

  “The help does not dine with nobility.” He frowned.

  “They do where I come from.” I sat down.

  We ate our meal across from each other in silence, which I finally broke. “Is it dangerous that we’re still here?”

  He drank his goblet of wine while I downed my second glass of briny water and prayed I wouldn’t get some water borne stomach bug.

  “The guards will protect the villa and whoever is here until the Prince returns,” he said.

  “So we’re safe?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “The King and his advisors will want to know who lingers at Prince Pedro’s estate and for what reason.” Samuel downed his wine and pointed to a pitcher. “Another, please.”

  “I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “Have you lost the use of your hands? You seriously want me to pour that for you?”

  “Is that not what you do?” He asked. “You work at the castle of King Afonso as a servant. Why can you not perform these simple functions when we are away from the palace?”

  “Oh, but of course, Lord Samuel.” I leaned over the table, picked up the pitcher, and refilled his glass. “Thank you for reminding me of my lowly station in life. You are so much more important than me.” I plunked it back on the table with a thud.

  He guzzled his wine. “We leave now.” He pushed back his chair, stood up from the table, and swayed a little.

  “You’re kidding me, right? You’re drinking and driving?”

  “What?” He asked. “Are you simple?”

  “Are you drunk?” I asked.

  “You did not seem to mind that we journeyed here last night when I was half in the sauce. But today, a few glasses of wine seem to upset you. Why?”

  “Because you’re downing them during breakfast?” I asked. “Whatever. Let’s go.” I brushed any remaining crumbs from my mouth with my fingers, pushed back my chair, and stood up. “No worries. I doubt they have police here, let alone Breathalyzers. Just try not to ride off the path and kill us, okay?”

  “I know you are a gypsy, but you are an exceptionally odd girl,” he said.

  I tossed my long hair over my shoulders, turned, and walked away from him onto the villa’s patio. “And you’re an exceptionally rude guy for someone who claims to be a nobleman.”

  “I cannot believe you said that.”

  “Whatever. This place gives me the creeps. Let’s leave.”

  “At least we agree on something,” Samuel said.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was daylight as Samuel and I rode back toward King Afonso’s castle in Portugal’s capitol, Coimbra. Last night when we hurtled over these trails in our desperate attempt to warn Inêz, it was so dark that I hadn’t actually seen the land.

  While my heart ached for Inêz and her children, I also knew from my lessons with Ryan that it was important I learn about the place and time to which I’d traveled. I needed to acclimate, fit in, and discover to whom I was supposed to deliver messages.

  Samuel and I rode on steep, narrow paths through ancient, hilly forests. Our trail wound around twisted trees and stones sticking out of the ground that could be ruins or grave markers—I wasn’t sure. The ground appeared so far below us and I tried not to shudder. As much as I bragged that I was over my fear of heights, I still freaked out a bit when I felt too high off the ground.

  Bag-of-Bones stumbled, we jolted, and the three of us slipped for a long moment off the path. The horse squealed, I squeezed my eyes shut, and wrapped my arms tighter around Samuel’s waist. We wouldn’t survive a tumble down a rocky incline with a horse bouncing on top of us.

  Samuel clucked, leaned down, and murmured next to Bag’s ears. The horse snorted, righted itself, and just like that, we were back on solid ground. I sighed in relief.

  “You thought I had too much wine and could not even ride a horse. Well you are wrong, Nadja, and I just proved it,” Samuel said. “You might want to trust me a bit more.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “As much as I enjoy feeling you pushed up tight against me, perhaps you could release your death grip on my stomach?” He asked. “I am not sure I will have any blood in my legs by the time we reach Coimbra. It would be a shame if I could not properly dismount. Everyone would laugh if I fell off the horse into a pathetic heap on the ground.”

  I swallowed a giggle and lightened my grip. “Yes, Lord Samuel. As always, your wish is my command.”

  He laughed, which made me smile. And I realized this was the first time I heard him laugh in this lifetime. The funny thing was, his laughter sounded the same from when I first met him during King Philip’s War. My heart flip-flopped because this felt so very bittersweet.

  At last we exited the torturous forest and rode at a gentler pace across farmland. I took in the rolling hills with tendrils of green grass that poked through brown scrub covering the ground as spring spread its loveliness throughout Portugal.

  I’d glossed over studying this time period in history. I didn’t know the people or their habits. Yes, I watched “Game of Thrones” which was ‘kind of’ set in medieval times. But that story also had dragons and I didn’t think there were dragons here in Portugal. In their place were assassins, liars, betrayers, and perverts. Perhaps I should wish for dragons.

  All these images and feelings danced around in my head, but in their center was the elephant in the room; how different Samuel was in this lifetime than the other times I’d met him.

  He seemed to be a bit of an entitled jerk in medieval Portugal. Perhaps it was a ruse to hide his true job as a Healer from those who might be out to get him: people who might believe that a Healer meant they were a witch, a warlock, or demonically possessed. Ignorant or simply fearful people might seek to punish or kill Samuel for the ‘crime’ of being a Healer.

  That had to be it: Samuel just didn’t trust me enough yet to reveal his true nature. I hoped that the passing of hours and days would change that, but then again, that would probably depend on how much time I was to spend here. And frankly, I wasn’t skilled enough yet as a Messenger to know, let alone control this.

  Ryan had instructed me in our ‘lessons’ that the more frequently I time traveled—the more I’d be able to control my visits: how to recognize the real messages I was supposed to give, as well as how to leave with volition when things got too dicey.

  But Ryan and I both knew that I just wasn’t there yet. I was new to slipping through time’s fabric and traveling hundreds of years to strange places. I was not an expert. The mini trips I took during our training exercises were nothing compared to this.

  Samuel and I crossed a few small streams. The horse flinched at each one—as did I—before he gingerly placed his enormous hooves into the water. But when we approached a medium-sized river with rolling waters and wicked looking stones that jutted out from the riverbed, Bag neighed and backed away from the waters’ edge, practically dug his hooves into the earth, and I swear he harrumphed as he refused to move on the sloped riverbank.

  “Can’t we cross the river where it is more narrow?” I asked as the memories of me almost drowning popped into my head, and my throat tightened from my anxiety and made me a little lightheaded.

  Xanax, Xanax—where was my spare stas
h of Xanax?

  I dug into my skirts but found only a few breadcrumbs from breakfast. My heart raced, my breath a little ragged and numbness poured down through my body like I’d been doused with a bucket of chilly water. I clung even tighter to Samuel.

  “Nadja.” He sighed. “This is the best place to cross. It might appear dangerous, but except for a few riptides and sinkholes, it is not. The horse is scared for reasons we cannot fathom.”

  “I agree with the horse,” I said. “This place looks scary to me as well.”

  “I have to return to the castle soon, or my absence will be noted.” Samuel prodded Bag-of-Bones with his heels. “I do not desire extra attention right now.”

  Finally, Bag just picked up his feet and trotted across the river as quickly as he could. I squeezed my eyes shut and reminded myself: water does not always have to kill you, Madeline. Just like heights don’t always have to kill you. Fear just seemed to transfer to those folks who suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Fear of heights became fear of water that turned into—what was next?

  What if Samuel and I returned to Coimbra and King Afonso or Ratface identified me from last night? Would they want to kill me as well? Actually, the better question would be—why wouldn’t they? Someone had already poisoned the older gypsy man as well as the girl named Nadja.

  King Afonso’s castle was obviously a place filled with deception and treachery. All it would take would be one idiot with a knife, in a poorly lit corner in a medieval hallway, and I would be history. When it dawned on me, I might stay alive for a while longer if I stayed close to Samuel—like super close.

  Hmm. He had been sweet to me even though he wasn’t the sweetest of guys. I wasn’t about to trade sex for favors. That just wasn’t me, but I could be his servant. I could… do his laundry? Pour his goblets of wine. In return he could protect me. He would keep me alive. He was, after all, still my Samuel.

  I spotted a small city in the distance. “Coimbra?” I asked.