by Kris Tualla
Percy grinned at her. “That is excellent news, my lady!”
“Yes, it is.” Avery silently thanked Jakob for not saying more. Before he could, she added, “I must be on my way, now. I have many things to organize before the agent comes to the palazzo.”
She turned to Jakob. “Thank you for your kind hospitality.”
She left before he could say anything else.
Chapter Fourteen
December 14, 1518
Jakob and Percival sat in their carriage and watched the man they were following, who was identified to them as Gustavo Salazar, enter what they were told was his favorite tavern.
Jakob turned to Percy. “Are you ready?”
Percy touched his forehead in salute. “Thomas Windsor, Duke of Merthyr Tydfil, at your service.”
Jakob always chuckled when Percy pronounced that mouthful of Welsh words. “Go on then. I shall return in one hour.”
Percy climbed from the carriage with a broad grin; the beefy English knight was definitely enjoying his part in the plan. Their carriage driver, who received his instructions before the men left their palazzo, put the carriage in motion as soon as the door shut.
Before Lady Avery exited his home two days ago, Jakob had concocted a scheme.
“We need to investigate Gustavo Salazar,” he told Bethington as soon as she was gone.
Percy’s eyes brightened. “Who is he?”
“The man with the contracts, who was originally supposed to have built the ships with Paolo Mendoza.” Jakob sniffed his disdain for both men. “He is now pursuing the Lady Avery in a romantic manner.”
Bethington had the good sense to look horrified. “He must not succeed!”
Jakob met his friend’s eyes and spoke his worst fear. “Unless, he truly does love her, redeems the ships, marries her, and provides for her for the rest of her life.”
Percival’s jaw fell slack and he stared at Jakob as if snakes were slithering from his ears. “Good God, man! Is that what you have come to believe?”
Jakob’s emotions were in pitched battle, like cannons blasting through his chest. On the one hand, if he loved Avery, he would want what was best for her. On the other hand, he believed he was best for her.
She was certainly best for him. “I cannot answer that until we investigate the man and discern his situation.”
“Right. I see.” Percy jerked a nod. “I believe the Welsh duke may need to reappear.”
Jakob laughed then, relieved to have such a worthy knight on his side. “Indeed.”
Riding in the carriage through the hills north of Barcelona gave Jakob some time to consider his actions. He had not intended to tell Avery he was still in love with her, hoping that she would finally come to him with that same confession first.
Yet when she told him that Salazar was courting her, he was forced to reveal his heart. Even so, he intentionally made his statement casually, as matter of known fact, rather than a heartfelt declaration.
He wanted Avery to accept his love for her as fact; that it was common knowledge his feelings for her had not changed. In doing so, Jakob was staking a prior claim, for whatever weight that claim might hold.
When the hour was gone, Jakob was once again in front of Salazar’s favorite tavern. Percy wandered out casually, squinted and looked at the sky, clear as a blue glass bowl, and then glanced up and down the street for his carriage.
Jakob knew it was an act, as Bethington was far too savvy a knight to not have seen the carriage straightaway. He walked toward the conveyance purposefully, but not over-eagerly.
Once inside and facing Jakob, he clapped his hands together. His ruddy cheeks split in a grin. “We have got him!”
Jakob heaved a sigh of relief. “What does that mean?”
“I sat near him and ordered my wine. And, as you know, my Spanish is a bit wobbly.”
Jakob smiled at that. “Yes.”
“So I asked him if he spoke English, under the guise of needing help with Spanish, hoping that he did for more reasons than one.”
“Does he?”
Percy shook his head. “Latin. So we conversed in a mixture of the two.”
Jakob wished he could have been there in Bethington’s place, but the risk of being connected with Avery was too high. “And?”
“I bought him a drink and then introduced myself. I told him I was in Barcelona as a patron of the English knight who was attending the Order of the Golden Fleece on King Henry the Eighth of England’s behalf.” Percy’s bright green eyes twinkled. “At that point I had his complete attention.”
“Do you think he knows about your—the duke’s—interest in the ships?” Jakob asked.
Bethington nodded. “I would not be surprised. So I asked what occupied his time.”
Jakob was impressed. “I never thought to ask that.”
“Well you should have. The man is flailing.”
Jakob frowned. “Flailing?”
“He has made some investments which are not paying off as well as he hoped.” Percival shrugged one shoulder. “So I mentioned that I was looking for investments while I was here.”
“And?”
The knight grinned. “And he nearly jumped into my lap! He said he was hoping to invest in a pair of trade ships that were nearly completed. He wanted to know if I might be interested in joining him.”
“He met you moments before, he knows that you are only in Spain for a brief time, and he offered to go into business with you?”
Percival pointed a finger at Jakob. “I take that as proof that he knew about me. Or, the Welsh duke, that is.”
That was most likely true. “Did you ask him how much of an investment he was expecting to make?”
“I did. And he deflected the question, saying he was still negotiating with the shipbuilder.”
Jakob pounded on the roof of the carriage and it slowed to a halt.
“What are you doing?”
“We are going back to talk to the shipbuilder.” Jakob hopped out and gave the new instructions to the driver. When he climbed back in, he said, “You will ask if the price can be negotiated, because you assume that there have been no other interested parties at this time of year.”
Percival chuckled. “And then we shall know if Salazar is lying.”
Salazar, as it turned out was lying. “No other investors have come forward to speak with him,” Percy confirmed. “In fact, he came down to one hundred and fifty thousand maravedis each. Three hundred thousand for both.”
Jakob slapped his friend’s knee. “That might mean less for Avery as well.”
Bethington grinned. “So what shall we do next?”
“I would wager that Salazar has no idea how much it will cost to finish the ships.” Jakob dragged his fingers through his hair. “And from what you say, I doubt he has enough cash to hand to cover it.”
Percival nodded, suddenly solemn. “The perception in Barcelona is that Lady Averia Mendoza is well endowed. No one knows that she is down to her last maravedis.”
Jakob narrowed his gaze. “She is selling off her furniture, and word will certainly spread. But I do believe that it is important for her to maintain the façade of wealth.”
“So, she is refurbishing the palazzo,” Bethington stated. “She is purging Paolo’s unhappy presence from within its walls.”
Jakob snapped his fingers. “Yes! She might even take bids from various craftsmen for the transformation. That will support the masquerade, while delaying any decisions or contracts.”
Percival pointed at Jakob. “And the staff that were released were loyal to Paolo, not her.”
“She shall be seen as a strong woman, capable of caring for herself.” Jakob huffed a laugh. “Which, of course, she is.”
Percival gave him a hesitant look. “I assume you will say nothing to her about Salazar’s true situation as yet…”
“No. I cannot.” Jakob sighed. “She would see that as spite, and not believe anything I told her.”
“
I could tell her.”
“No, you could not either. You and I are the same person when it comes to something like this.” Jakob scuttled his fingers through his hair again. “I will visit her and suggest this today. In the event she needs to borrow funds, the bankers must believe her quite capable of repayment.”
“Because her investments are in England. The money is not at hand and readily available.”
Jakob gave Percival a look of pure admiration. “You are much wiser than you appear, Bethington, do you know that?”
“Of course I do.” The English knight leaned forward with a wink. “It is my greatest weapon.”
*****
In spite of an unsettled stomach, Avery walked through the palazzo with the selling agent, Señor Mechi, and the hovering Esteban. The majordomo stood just to the side, but never more than two or three yards from her elbow, assuring himself the ability to hear whatever she or the agent said.
Avery thought about sending him away, but realized that doing so might raise Señor Mechi’s suspicions. It made more sense for the man who ran the household to be present, in the event Mechi had questions that she could not readily answer.
The agent kept tapping his chin and grunting, but he otherwise did not express his reaction to the large volume of paintings, furniture, lamps, crockery, pewter, silver, linens, or glassware which she was offering for sale.
Luckily, he had not been overly inquisitive about her reason for selling off so much of the palazzo’s furnishings, because she did not wish to explain, especially in front of Esteban, lest word of her destitute state become common knowledge.
I shall tell him I am thinking about selling the estate, if he asks.
“Might I take a moment, Lady Mendoza?”
Avery startled at the agent’s deep gravelly voice, so suddenly emanating from his wiry frame. “Yes, of course.”
Truthfully, she appreciated the chance to sit and apply her lace fan to her face. The disruption in her belly caused a film of sweat over her skin on this otherwise cool day.
As Señor Mechi wandered to the other side of the dining room, Jacinda, her housekeeper, appeared at the door. “My lady, you have a visitor.”
Esteban looked like he wished to cut himself in half to be in both places at the same time. “Who is it?”
Jacinda’s glance bounced between Avery and the majordomo. With a bare-bones staff, the chain of authority had definite chinks. The housekeeper decided to address Avery. “Sir Hansen.”
Esteban drew a breath, but Avery forestalled him. “Show him up please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Avery swallowed thickly and turned away from Esteban. She could not risk the servant recognizing her discomfiture at the prospect of seeing Jakob again. If only she was feeling better physically, she might feel more prepared to face the knight.
Since Jakob’s casual comment about loving her, he had tormented her thoughts, waking and sleeping. But whatever else was in flux in her life, her one certainty was the importance of maintaining the perception of unity with the Norseman.
Señor Mechi still stood off to one side of the room, making notes, scratching them out, making more notes, and mumbling softly. Avery fanned herself and remained seated. Heart pounding, she waited for the arrival of the one man who meant more to her than any man ever had.
Jakob strode into the room, grinning, and arms outstretched. “Lady Averia, I am very sorry to be delayed.”
He bent down as she sat, took both her hands, and kissed the back of each.
“Delayed?” Had she forgotten some prearranged encounter?
Jakob smiled down into her eyes. He squeezed her hands. “You mentioned that you wanted my opinions on the value of your posessions.”
“Of course. Yes.” What game was he playing? “I am so glad you are here now.”
The Norseman let go of her hands and walked toward the agent. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Petter Hansen, knight of King Christian the Second of Norway and Denmark, and a member of the Order of the Golden Fleece.”
Avery noted that the Norseman did not use his first name. Considering the Spanish events of the last three decades, this was probably wise. Though no one would think by looking at the six-foot-four, rusty blond and blue-eyed Norseman that he might be Jewish, avoiding the name also avoided the questions.
Señor Mechi gave a small bow. “I am Señor Lorenzo Mechi, and the agent handling the sale of Lady Mendoza’s furnishings.”
Jakob clapped his hands together. “Excellent. I am quite happy for the lady.”
“Happy?” Avery rose slowly to her feet and approached the men, confused. Esteban was close on her heels. “Why do you say you are happy?”
Jakob dipped his chin in her direction and spoke with authority. “Because, my darling, you were unhappy for so long, saddled with your unfortunate husband. Emptying the palazzo of his memory will finally free you from his years of deceit and oppression.”
Avery did not know which stunned her more: Jakob’s public use of the shocking endearment, or the realization of what he was doing.
She gripped a chair back for support; her knees felt as if they were dissolving. “Yes. I—I shall be glad to see it all gone.”
“And then, you shall begin anew.” Jakob swung one arm wide. “This palazzo will glow once more, this time with your most beautiful presence.”
Esteban grunted.
Avery swung around to face him, and nearly vomited with the motion. “Did you wish to make a comment, Majordomo?”
Esteban glared at Jakob. “No, my lady.”
Avery addressed Señor Mechi, determined not to appear weakened. “Shall we speak of numbers Señor?”
*****
Jakob had no choice but to wait in the large drawing room for Avery to finish her appointment with Señor Mechi in private. He was worried because Avery appeared ill—her face was colorless and the sheen of a fever caught the light. Yet the woman was stubborn enough to continue with the appointment and try to hide her distress.
Powerlessly impatient, Jakob helped himself to wine from the sideboard and nibbled from the bowl of olives which Jacinda set in front of him.
“What are you about, Hansen?” Esteban challenged as the two men walked toward the drawing room, both of them banished from Lady Avery’s presence.
“Protecting the Lady Mendoza’s reputation, of course.” Jakob’s tone was intentionally harsh.
Esteban sneered at him. “By calling her ‘darling’ in the presence of a mere tradesman?”
“I want all of Barcelona to understand that she is not without protection.” Jakob turned his head toward Esteban. “And you?”
The majordomo bristled. “What are you suggesting, sir?”
Jakob gave an unconcerned shrug. “I believe you should be thanking me at this moment.”
“Thanking you?” Esteban scoffed. “Whatever for?”
“For presenting an easily explained situation for the sale of her goods, and not subjecting the Lady Averia to the humiliation of the truth.” Jakob stopped walking and faced the servant. “Something which you had not thought of to do.”
Esteban’s face blanched, then flooded red. “That is not my place, sir.”
“What is your place, Esteban?”
The man straightened his tunic. “To run this house as efficiently as possible and see to the lady’s comfort.”
Jakob leaned down to Esteban’s eye level. “And if you had done your job, she would not need to dismiss most of her staff, nor be forced to sell the very chairs on which she sat.”
“You, sir, are out of line!” he spat.
Jakob straightened and glared at the majordomo. “No, sir. You are.” He turned on a heel and strode into the drawing room by himself, shutting the door behind him.
In spite of his concern for Avery, Jakob chuckled at Esteban’s outrage. It felt very good to call the man out on his failings, though he had to restrain himself from revealing too much. Avery’s knowledge of the majordomo�
��s embezzling and building of the ships was still a secret and must remain so until she was able to redeem them out from under the unscrupulous man.
Jakob heard the door latch behind him and turned from the sideboard to see Avery slip into the room. She leaned back against the door, her expression gaunt.
“I do not know whether I should thank you, or slap your cheek until you bleed,” she grumbled. She walked stiffly across the room and poured a glass of sangria, her hands shaking.
Jakob took her elbow for support. “Thank me first. Afterward you may beat me bloody.”
He rescued the decanter from her unsteady grip, lifted her glass, and carried it to the low table in front of the couch. Avery pulled a deep breath and followed unsteadily.
She sank onto the couch, and reached for the filled goblet. “What were you thinking, using such an endearment?”
Jakob took his seat beside her. “Esteban asked me the same thing.”
Avery grunted. “That weasel.”
“Exactly.” Jakob leaned forward to catch her sullen gaze. “I wanted him—as well as Señor Mechi—to understand that you have friends who will protect your interests.”
“He will believe that we are lovers.”
Jakob tilted his head. “Love. Not lovers.”
Avery set her goblet down so hard that the wine sloshed over the edge. “Jakob, I do not understand you! You said you no longer wished to marry me!”
He shook his head. “No, I said even if I decided I no longer wished to marry you.”
Avery stared at him, her cheeks blooming unhealthily. “Do you still wish to marry me, then?”
Jakob hesitated; he knew that her unsettled situation made it too soon to examine that possibility. “Avery, are you unwell?”
He saw her throat ripple. “I—I am not certain.”
“What is amiss?”
She winced. “My stomach has taken offense at something I ate.”
Jakob laid the back of his hand on her forehead; though clammy, there was no sign of fever. “Is this the first time?”
