by Kris Tualla
Living in the Barcelona was even more restrictive than living in London, because the Spanish town was hemmed in by hills. The ride to find level land where their horses could exercise took the knights far afield—and they only discovered this delta because they asked the Spanish knights for advice.
“Follow the coast south about four or five miles to the river Llobregat.” Diego told them. “The land levels out there. Good hunting, as well.”
Jakob gave Warrior his head and the stallion broke into a joyous, leg-lengthening gallop. Bethington rode close behind, his whoop of glee nearly blown away in the wind.
The destrier gradually slowed his pace and Jakob took control once more, reining the horse around. Bethington trotted to his side, his broad, ruddy face split with a panting grin.
“Huzzah! That was marvelous!”
Jakob agreed. “We must come out here three times a week. These poor animals cannot be happy in their courtyard any more than we are.”
Percy took his bow from his shoulder. “What sort of game do you think might live in those trees?”
Jakob removed his bow as well and pulled an arrow from his quiver. “Let us go and find out.”
The copse was about a quarter of a mile upriver. As the men rode forward, rabbits scampered from their path in all directions.
“If nothing else, we’ll have rabbits for stew,” Percy observed. “As much as I love fish, I do like meat now and again.”
Jakob smiled. “Living on the edge of the sea does dictate the menu.”
Percy’s brow wrinkled. “Denmark is on the sea, is it not?’”
“Yes.” Jakob winked. “And we eat a lot of fish.”
A rustle in the brush signaled some sort of animal ahead.
“Please let it be a pig or a deer.” Percy crossed himself. “Not a wolf or a bear.”
Jakob was surprised by his words. “Do wolves and bears live here?”
Percy shrugged. “I do not know. But it does not hurt to pray in any case.”
The disturbance proved to be a small herd of deer. Having dogs to flush them into the open would have been helpful, but lacking that the knights were forced to ride into the forest.
As Warrior dodged through the trees, Jakob shot six arrows without hitting his target. The seventh arrow, however, landed true. Warrior skidded to a stop and Jakob slid from the saddle, pulling his hunting knife from his belt. He grasped the small antlers of the struggling buck and slit its throat.
He heard Bethington call out his own success from several yards away. Jakob smiled. They would eat well this season.
Jakob hefted the young buck onto Warrior’s back and led the stallion in the direction of Percy’s shout, meeting the English knight as he was lifting a small doe onto his horse’s back.
“My mouth waters already,” Percy said as he tied the carcass to his saddle. He looked at Jakob. “You’ve torn your tunic. Are you hurt?”
Jakob looked at his arm, surprised. He stuck his fingers into the rip, fished for the wound, and then pulled them out once he explored the damage. His fingers were bloody, but not overly so.
“I suppose the servants at the palazzo might mend both me and my clothing.” He shrugged his lack of concern. “Shall we make our way back?”
*****
Once again, Avery dressed somberly, though her engagement that evening was of a social nature. While the dinner was intended to celebrate Advent and the nativity season, she felt that to dress in one of her English gowns would go too far beyond commonly held conventions regarding her fresh widowhood.
She had only recently regained a measure of respect in the city, and thankfully was now wholly separated from her dead husband’s scandalous misbehaviors. Avery had no desire to risk damaging her repaired reputation before it had a chance to solidify.
Her carriage stopped in front of a palazzo which was close enough to hers that she might have walked the distance in a quarter of an hour—but the Vizcondesa de Catalonya must not stoop to such menial behavior.
Living up to a title was tiring at times, yet it was the only life she had ever known. When she observed how the poor people lived, she thanked God for every convention that must be adhered to; they were an infinitesimal price to pay for her comfort and safety.
A liveried servant stepped forward to hand her down and, with her chin high and shoulders squared, Lady Averia de Mendoza walked into the courtyard of Señor Xavier Medina, Earl of Valencia, her pride at long last intact.
*****
The palazzo’s resident majordomo, Señor Esparza, made a face when he saw the rip in Jakob’s tunic. Clearly he felt that the Norseman had somehow deported himself in an unseemly manner.
“Maria will assist you, my lord. Allow me to escort you.” He turned and walked away. Jakob shot Percival a crooked grin before hurrying after the servant.
Maria made a tsking sound when she saw the damage. “Are you hurt as well?”
Jakob turned to Señor Esparza and dismissed him. “Thank you. I shall be well cared for.”
Once the man was gone, Jakob returned his attention to the little grey bird of a woman whose bright dark eyes were fixed on his. “Yes, but not badly, I do not believe.”
Another tsk. “I shall judge that, my lord. Please remove your tunic.”
Jakob did so, revealing the torn shirt beneath, and the red stain which surrounded the tear. “Shall I remove my shirt?”
Maria used two fingers to spread the fabric and examine the wound beneath. “Yes. I will need to bandage your arm, but I do not believe it needs stitching.”
Jakob complied, pulling the garment over his head. “My valet can repair the shirt. He needs something to occupy his time.”
“Askel? Such a nice young man.” Maria smiled. “I suppose he knows how to remove bloodstains as well?”
Jakob had never really thought about it, but he nodded anyway.
“Please sit over here by the fire.” Maria moved a wooden chair. “The light is better, and warm water is at hand.”
Jakob settled his long frame into a chair that was a bit too low for him, causing his knees to rise above his lap.
Maria prodded his arm. “I was wrong, sir. I do believe a stitch or two might do best.”
Jakob sighed. No man liked having needles thrust through his skin—but having a wound that did not heal properly was worse, as he well knew.
“Do it then.” He looked up at her from his little perch. “But talk to me, so I have something else to concentrate on.”
Maria was already preparing her implements. “What shall I say?”
“I have not seen you here at the palazzo,” Jakob began. “Have you recently come?”
Maria smiled. “Oh no, I have been here for years. I am the chief lady’s maid when ladies are in attendance, and head of the housekeeping staff otherwise.”
She washed his wound with warm water, continuing her distracting tale. “And since only you two gentlemen have leased the house, I took a small trip to visit my aging parents. They live in a town called Terrassa, about ten miles to the northwest, over the mountains.”
Jakob eyed the steel needle, the light from the fire sliding along its length like shining snakeskin. “And were they well?”
“No, not very, I am afraid. Would you care to look elsewhere?”
Jakob’s gaze jumped to hers. “What?”
“I am about to stitch. Do you wish to watch?”
“No.” Jakob turned away and looked at the flames. “Where were you employed before you came to work here?”
“I worked for a rather unpleasant man by the name of Paolo de Mendoza.”
Jakob wasn’t certain whether he jumped at the stab of the needle or the equally disconcerting stab of the familiar name.
“Hold still, my lord. I shall finish more quickly if you do,” Maria chastised.
“I am sorry.” Jakob heaved a deep breath. “You were lady’s maid for Vizcondesa Averia de Mendoza?”
“Yes. Until she disappeared, of course, and
then I was released from that horrid place.” Another stab of the needle was followed by the discomfiting slide of silk thread through his skin. “Are you acquainted with the lady?”
Jakob wondered how to answer that—should he confess more than the already revealed truth about Avery’s nine-year sanctuary?
“Yes, I am well acquainted with the lady. We met in London, at the court of Henry the Eighth.”
Maria’s hands stilled. “She went to England? To Catherine?”
“Yes.” Jakob looked up at her again. Maria’s face had gone pale with the news. “Do you know she has returned?”
Maria slowly eased herself onto a stool, needle in hand and thread extending from Jakob’s arm. “No! Why would she go back to him? He is poxed!”
Jakob leaned closer so the thread went slack. “More than that. He is dead.”
Maria noticed his movement. “Oh! I had not heard this while I was in Terrassa.” She stood carefully and peered at the wound. “One more stitch. And you must tell me about the lady as your distraction.”
Jakob chuckled at the irony of her words. Avery was far more to him than a distraction. “I shall start at the beginning, then.”
As Jakob described Avery’s escape to England, her life there, and how he came to know her, he made the decision to tell Maria his part of the story as well. Something about the slightly older woman inspired his trust—and judging by her questions she had always been very fond of Avery.
“So you still think of her as Avery then?” Maria tied a bandage over his stitches.
“I do,” Jakob admitted. “It is special between us.”
Maria tilted her head, her hands now folded at her waist. “What else is special between you?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
This time Maria fell soundly onto the stool, eyes wide. “What did she say?”
“Nothing. Once she was told Paolo was dying, she fled England without a word to me.” Jakob flexed his arm gingerly, testing the limits of its motion. “It was not until I discovered her here in Barcelona, that I found out she was already married.”
“Oh, my.” Maria stared at the floor as she considered his story. After a several moments, she lifted her eyes to his. “How do things stand with you now?”
Jakob wagged his head. “I still wish to marry her. But there are too many situations which she must sort out first. She has asked for my help, and I have agreed.”
Maria nodded. “She has accepted your proposal, then?”
“No.” Jakob gave the maid a sly smile. “I told her that once her affairs were set in order, I would decide if I still wanted to marry her.”
The woman’s jaw dropped and her brow lowered. “Do you love her?” she demanded.
Jakob placed a fist over his heart. “She is the only woman I will ever love. If I do not marry her, then I shall continue my solitary life as a loyal knight of King Christian the Second.”
Maria folded her arms over her chest. Clearly she was calculating his worthiness for her beloved Averia. With a slow nod, her decision was made.
“You will help her, sir. And she will be grateful.” Maria chewed her lower lip. “And I shall help her understand the happy answer she should give you.”
Jakob frowned. “How?”
She leaned forward, smiling, and wordlessly patted his knee.
Chapter Nine
The guests that evening numbered no more than two dozen, by Avery’s estimation. Given the small size of the gathering, she was even more surprised to have been counted among them. Accepting a crystal goblet of wine, she let her gaze roam over the rim of her glass, hoping to see at least one familiar face among Señor Xavier Medina’s guests.
“Vizcondesa de Mendoza?”
Avery turned toward the voice. A well-dressed gentleman, certainly no older than thirty-five, smiled at her, his even white teeth peeking through a neatly trimmed, white frosted beard.
Interesting grey eyes met hers. “Please allow me, under these intimate circumstances, to introduce myself. I am Señor Gustavo Salazar, and I was acquainted with your husband.”
“Good evening, señor.” She wondered briefly if Señor Gustavo realized that the stated acquaintance was most definitely not a desired recommendation. “Forgive me, but how, exactly, were you acquainted with the Vizconde?”
“We had some business dealings.” He waved a hand. “It was some time ago, obviously. Two years, I believe.”
“And what sort of business was that?” Avery pressed.
Señor Salazar looked at her differently of a sudden. “Exports, mostly. Spanish products. Why do you ask?”
Avery drew a bracing breath. “I ask because at the moment I am trying to piece together the far-flung products of my ill husband’s irrational decision-making, and am encountering some substantial trouble in doing so.”
“I see.” The grey eyes narrowed. “Might I be of assistance in any way?”
“You might, yes, if you have any helpful information for me. Otherwise—” Avery finished her wine and handed him the goblet. “Please get me another glass of wine and let us speak of something less dire.”
Señor Salazar laughed, a rich baritone staccato which emanated effortlessly from his chest. He accepted the glass with a little bow. “I am off to do your bidding, my lady. I shall return presently.”
He did return presently, as promised, and he handed Avery her refilled goblet. “I do, I believe, have information which may be useful to you.”
A pinprick of hope focused her attention. “Please tell me.”
He shook his head. “Not here. Not tonight.”
The wisdom of his caution made her wonder why she had not considered their rather public setting herself. “Of course. I understand.”
“This is what I propose.” Señor Salazar leaned closer. “Tonight, you allow me to charm and enchant you with my witty banter.”
Avery laughed at that. “Yes, I might do so.”
“And by the end of the evening, I shall invite you to call me Gustavo.”
She lifted one brow. “Am I to suppose that you will wish to call me by my Christian name as well?”
His smile softened. “Averia is a very beautiful name. I love the way it rolls off my tongue.”
Avery’s jaw slackened. For the moment, she could not think of how to respond.
“And then…” He raised one stiffened finger, silencing any response or objection that she might conjure. “On the morrow I shall call upon you at a reasonable hour, and tell you absolutely everything I know about the business dealings of the departed Vizconde Paolo de Mendoza.”
Avery swallowed a gulp of wine. What Señor—Gustavo was offering her now was more information than she had yet received from Señores Garcia and Montenegro.
“I agree to your terms, señor.” She accepted his offered arm as the wide doors to the dining room swung open. “But be warned—I do expect a bounteous amount of charm and wit in the coming hours.”
Señor Salazar laughed again and Avery smiled. Accepting this dinner invitation was proving quite profitable.
She glanced around the crowd of strangers. “I am becoming quite glad I came this evening, but I must admit, I have no idea why I was invited.”
Señor Salazar laid his palm over her hand as they entered the dining room. “You were invited, Lady de Mendoza, because I requested that my friend, the Earl of Valencia, include you in his guest list.”
Avery regarded him with a surprised gaze. “Why?”
His cheeks flushed adorably. “Because of my past connection with your husband, I wanted to discern what sort of woman you might be.”
That was more than a little disconcerting. “And what sort of woman might I be?”
“Surprising.” He handed her into a chair, then took the seat besides hers. “I was not expecting a woman so interested in business.”
“I must see to my own circumstances,” Avery scoffed. “That old scoundrel had no care for my future, I can promise you that.”
&n
bsp; “And escaping to England assured that you had a future to care for.” He gave her a significant look.
Avery glanced around the table; none of the other guests seemed to be paying any attention to her conversation.
Even so, she lowered her voice. “Does everyone believe that Paolo had a hand in his first two wives’ demise?”
Señor Salazar shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “I have heard the idea mentioned on several occasions.”
To hear those words spoken aloud by a stranger sent a cold shiver of dread up her spine.
“I had wondered if I was verging on lunacy to have those thoughts,” she admitted. “And I am not certain whether I am more relieved to have the idea confirmed, or horrified of the exigent possibilities.”
“Either way, what is in the past is done with. And this is enough of that unsavory subject.” Señor Salazar clapped his hands together and grinned at her. “The time has come for me to commence with the charm and wit.”
Avery lifted her wine in silent toast and, finally, relaxed.
December 2, 1518
After providing her with a charming and witty experience the night before, Gustavo kept true to his promise once again. He arrived at the de Mendoza palazzo at one hour before noon, armed with a leather folder filled with a variety of documents. Esteban showed him into the large drawing room where Avery waited.
“Welcome, señor.” She extended her hand and he kissed the back of it. “What sort of refreshment would you prefer?”
Gustavo glanced at Esteban. “I am not hungry at the moment, only thirsty. Ale, if you have it.”
Esteban bowed and left the room.
“We shall work here.” Avery crossed to the largest table. She had paper, a quill, and ink at the ready.
“Excellent.” Gustavo laid the folder down and opened it. “I brought everything that I have regarding your husband.”
“Dead husband,” Avery murmured. “Let’s not mistake ourselves that he has anything to say in this.”
Gustavo dipped his chin. “I am suitably corrected, my Lady Averia.”
Avery settled into her chair and Gustavo sat across from her. The door opened, and Esteban re-entered with a pitcher of ale and a mug.
