The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2) (17 page)

“What kind of messages?”

“Who you find, and where you find them, as well as the secrets and intimacies of the group’s members.”

I shook my head. “Why would you send someone you didn’t trust?”

“I spent fifteen years loving Inêz de Castro, even having children with her, in direct opposition to the most powerful man in the Kingdom of Portugal, my father. We survived with the help of my spies.”

“How will I send messages to you?” I asked.

“Through your gypsy network. Pass your information to another Romani on your trip and it will get back to me. I pay my loyal servants with silver, land, and other royal favors.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” I nodded knowing that I’d give all my earnings to Miri.

“You survived the night Inêz was butchered because you pretended to be our servant. But why did Lord Samuel De Rocha live? He met with the assassins after the deed was done. He reported Inêz’s death and John’s absence to a healer as well as the sisters at Monastery of Santa Clara a Vel-ha. What was he doing before that?”

“He was with me,” I said. “He guarded Beatrice and Denis.”

“That was simply a small part of the night. Not all of it. Young Lord Samuel has a secret and I need to know what it is.”

Prince Pedro looked forlorn and wild-eyed crazy all at the same time. Perhaps I shouldn’t have talked him into this road trip.
 

“I know our code names.” He smiled. “You, Nadja are a gypsy. So I believe it is fitting that your code name is
Messenger.”

My hand flew to my heart. Oh crap! I really didn’t need a more obvious code name? “Are you sure?”
 

“Yes. You are
Messenger
,” he said. “And I am
The Cruel.”

~ ~ ~

A party of five saw us off the next morning. A handsome, twenty-something peasant man lifted a young boy into the air, squeezed him tight, ruffled his hair, and handed him back to an older woman wearing a drab dress. “You mind Avó until I return, Dario. Be a good boy while Papa is away.”

“Papa, it moves,” Dario opened his mouth wide and jiggled a tooth.

“Aha!” He said. “I think that tooth will be gone by the next time I see you.” The boy squealed in excitement and ran off.

“Return to us soon, Tomasis.” The woman leaned upward, kissed the man quickly on his cheek, turned, and ran after the boy.

“Always, Mother. Thank you for helping.” He climbed onto the cart’s driver’s seat.

“Be careful, Miri,” an older, portly man wagged his finger in her face. “It is bad enough you went to work in the castle, but now you cannot even help with the family business during your free time.”

Miri shoved back a smile. “It is so terrible, Father. I will say prayers every night that you survive.”

That was the extent of our going away festivities. Prince Pedro’s unassuming caravan departed Coimbra and the relative ‘safety’ of King Afonso’s castle at dawn to travel across Portugal and hunt down Inêz de Castro’s assassins.
 

Captain Jorge Cortez led our small but efficient group comprised of nobles, guardsmen, and peasants. The guards and noblemen rode horseback, but did not wear royal colors or armor. Their intent was to fly a little under the radar and not raise suspicion.
 

Miri, Sister Ana, and I bumped along the rough dirt roads in the cart driven by Tomasis, the hearty young peasant man who had an infectious laugh and smile. He swiveled on more than a few occasions and gazed slyly at us until we hit an extra large pothole and the cart dipped precariously to one side. Pens filled with squawking chickens and bags of food tumbled across the floorboards. Sister Ana yelped. A large burlap sack knocked me down, and split open, covering me in a sea of onions.

Miri frowned at Tomasis as she plucked vegetables off me. “Were you raised in a monastery, boy? Have you never seen a woman before? Stop peeking at us and watch the road.”

“Which one of you ladies is the nun?” he asked.

Sister Ana was dressed in peasant attire, just like Miri and me, and she sighed. “God forbid that I am recognized for anything other than being a Sister.” She muttered, and then crossed herself. “Bless me Father if I spoke out of turn.”

“Not me.” Miri harrumphed. “I am definitely not the nun.”

“Thank the gods!” Tomasis smiled, and threw a kiss to the heavens. “My prayers have been answered!”
 
He grinned and snapped the reins on the two mules pulling our cart.

I elbowed Miri. “Someone has a crush on you.”

“I do believe you were the one nearly crushed,” she said. “Not I.”

“I mean, you don’t understand, it’s like…” No she
didn’t
understand and I
couldn’t
explain everything to her or she’d think I was a freak. I needed to keep my one loyal friend.

Jorge had received word that the killers were headed northeast to the Castilian part of Spain, most likely on their way to France. We settled into a routine; driving forward through rural towns and villages and stopping at estates in between. Jorge and his soldiers questioned the locals hoping to discover if anyone had heard news, gossip, or encountered one of the assassins.
 

The guards and noblemen had time to kill when they weren’t actively searching for the assassins. Jorge was like a rock star on tour; he seemed to find multitudes of admirers and groupies along the way, and was more than happy to spend time with the ladies.

Gaspar, Jorge’s trusted right-hand-man, appeared to have a huge, unrequited crush on Jorge. He settled instead for the attentions of beautiful peasant boys and noblemen in whatever town we landed in.

I heard the soldiers gossiping amongst themselves, as men frequently did, that Samuel was hard working, but for the most part seemed to be a bit distracted.
 

Sister Ana kept pretty much to herself except for conducting daily brief Christian prayer services. Miri made me laugh with all her jokes and we became tighter friends every day. Tomasis was bound and determined to wear her down with his flirtatious commentary and generous grins. It was like watching two really cute puppies meet and realize that soon they might be wrestling on the floor and chewing on each other’s ears.

I was starting to lose track of time and I grew homesick. I missed Chaka’s fashion and school gossip updates. I longed to chat with Aaron. I missed my dad, my stepmom Sophie, my brat sister Jane, and I hoped that I hadn’t missed the birth of my new brother. I even missed Ryan and all of his lessons.

I hadn’t saved Inêz and I didn’t know what my purpose as a Messenger was in medieval Portugal. As far as impressing the love of my many lifetimes, Samuel, that didn’t seem to be happening either.

At mealtimes, Miri and I would serve Jorge and the men their food, and then take ours with Tomasis and Sister Ana.
 

Jorge continued to flirt with me, albeit in a non-pervy manner. “Enjoying the rabbit stew tonight, Nadja?” He sopped up his meal with some bread. “Very tasty.”

“Thank Miri, not me.”
 

“Thank you, Miri,” Jorge said.

I poured another goblet for Samuel who wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You can’t even mumble ‘thank you?’”

“What does it matter?” He shrugged. “Someone more important than I commands your attention.”

“Jorge?” I asked. “He flirts with every woman. I think he flirts with me to toy with you.”

“Do you return his affections?”

I blinked. “He’s almost twice my age.”

“Do you return his affections?” he asked.

“He’s funny. I like him as a friend.”

“I think he wants you as more than simply a friend,” Samuel said and turned his back to me.

~ twenty ~

So far our journey was not a ‘pillaging’ mission. I’d read about those crusades in history class and they sounded brutal. I prayed to my non-denominational gods and goddesses that our purpose wasn’t meant to conquer or torture people, but simply help Prince Pedro find justice before he completely lost his mind.
 

Because seriously, who in their right mind picks “The Cruel” to be their secret code name?

Samuel continued to ignore me. After about three days on the road, I’d pretty much decided he was just a jerk in this lifetime. Even though he was still incredibly hot, and I was still attracted to him, I did my best not to take it personally; therefore I ignored him in return.

Now that it was spring, the temperatures were fickle, and the weather changed from one day to the next. At night we made camp in the woods under the moonlight, or huddled beneath makeshift tents that leaked when pelted with rain. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the assassins had found shelter with Rat-face’s supporters, and had cushier lodgings than us; hidden away in an attic, a cellar, or a barn.

We traversed meadows that sprouted patches of green grass that poked out of the mild winter’s muddy landscape. We crossed rivers that ranged from trickling streams to deeper, more tumultuous waters.

Just a few days into our mission, we approached the widest river yet. Rocks jutted out as white waters poured over them.
 

“This doesn’t look like the best place to cross,” I stood a few yards back from the waters’ edge and pulled my wrap tighter around my shoulders.
 

“It is winter run off,” Gaspar said from high atop his chestnut mare. “The snow melts from higher up and feeds the waterways. Streams can swell to torrents in the spring. This is the best place to cross unless we veer south, too distant from our current path.”

Jorge pulled up on his stallion and scrutinized the river. “We would lose a day,” he said. “We cross here.”

Miri held her hand out to me from the back of the car. “Come on, Nadja. Climb aboard, close your eyes, and pretend you are falling asleep. I will even sing you sweet lullabies.”

I took her hand and scrambled onto the cart. “I hear your dulcet tones every night. No lullabies right now, I beg you.”

Tomasis cracked the reins on the back of the mules. “Sing them for me, Miri. Better yet, let me sing them for you.” He launched into a song as she giggled.

I covered my ears and bit back a smile. “This isn’t relaxing!”
 

Every couple of minutes I’d open my eyes only to see that we were still in the middle of the frigging river. How long did it take to cross a stupid river? I hugged myself and tried not to appear frightened.

Samuel rode up on his horse next to the cart. “The water is not that deep,” he said. “Ride with me.” He held out his hand. “Come on! You have done this before. I think you appear afraid because this cart looks like it will disintegrate into soggy splinters at any moment.”

“Hello, Nadi!” Jorge rode his stallion on the opposite side of the wagon. “You are looking a little pale, my sweets. Anything you desire to tell me?”

“No,” I said. “I’m just fine. No desires whatsoever.”
 

Samuel glared at me. If looks could kill, I’d be as dead as one of those chickens whose necks Miri enthusiastically twisted. “He has a pet name for you?” He frowned, dug his heels into to his horse’s sides and rode off.

“I’m fine, Captain. Absolutely fine,” I said as the cart jolted forward. I peered down at the wheels that sunk lower into the riverbed and shuddered.
 

“You are lying to me, Nadi,” Jorge said as the water splashed the bottom of his feet and spilled onto the floorboards.
 

“I would never lie to you.” I winced.

He laughed. “You’re lying to me right now,” Jorge said. “Water frightens you. Tell me why.”

“You’re mistaken.” I scooted backward.

“Something bad happened to you involving water. Now your fear stays quiet and buried deep in your heart and mind, just like your other secrets. It only breaks out of you when the fear resurfaces. Like now.”
 

“I, I…” I broke out into a sweat and felt my heart race.

“Captain Cortez,” Miri said. “Do not be picking scabs from Nadja’s wounds. Besides you, too, are performing many manly deeds of ‘burying deep’ as we make our way from town to town.”

“Miri!” Sister Ana exclaimed.

Jorge burst into laughter, flicked the reins onto the back of his horse, and surged forward, waves cresting around him.
 

Our cart creaked through shallower waters and arrived at the other side of the river. We pulled up onto the ground; I hopped out, swayed for a few seconds, and fought the urge to kiss the earth.

“I told you there was nothing to worry about.” Jorge winked and rode off to join the rest of the men including Samuel, who seemed to be in the lead.

~ ~ ~

Lucky for me, Miri was not only our group’s cook but the overall supervisor of peasant-assigned chores. I helped her pitch tents toward the end of the days, prepared meals, and shared a little gossip.
 

“Can you believe Sister Ana initially turned down Prince Pedro’s offer to be our spiritual advisor?” Miri asked as she quickly skinned a rabbit.
 

I frowned at the stray mutt who’d followed us from the small town we visited today, held out my hand to him, and beckoned. “Scout, come.” He bounded over toward me and I pushed him behind my skirts, away from Miri. I glanced up at her seconds later and she was already flaying the next.
 

“I hear rumors that Sister Ana balked at taking this position because she did not want to leave Prince Pedro and Inêz’s son, John,” she said.
 

“She was nursing him back to health,” I said. “I can totally understand why she wouldn’t want to leave. Where are the vegetables? I’ll clean them.”

“Vegetables?” Miri deftly cut the rabbit into pieces.

“Um…” I thought, “Herbs?”

She nodded to a burlap bag lying on the ground. “Ana has only been a Sister at the Monastery of Santa Clara a Vel-ha for a few months.” She tossed meaty pieces into a water filled pot and placed it on top of a small smoky grill. “Why does she have such a strong attachment to their son?”

Because she was probably a Healer, and Healers just couldn’t let it go; they had to help.

“I don’t know.” I scrubbed beets with a wet rag. “Because she’s lonely? Because she bonded with John like a mother to a child?”