WITH A PASSION FOR HISTORY
My original idea for Blanca was to make her a maid for Archbishop and rather ethereal, to the point where characters mistook her for a simpleton. I cut this scene and rewrote others when she proved stubborn and feisty instead.
Gavriel jerked awake and tumbled out of his chair. The haze of a difficult sleep evaporated when he landed like a rock dropped from a tower. Scattered rushes did little to cushion where his right hip met marble. He looked up to find Pacheco standing over him, a young, olive-skinned nun at his side. Ada remained unconscious on her pallet like a sleeping beast gathering its strength.
"Who's this?" he asked as he righted himself, briefly rubbing his hip. "Our chaperon?"
"Yes."
"What's your name?"
The nun, no more than a girl, in truth, watched him as would a faithful but simple hunting dog. Deep green eyes that were nearly black stayed wide, her expression easy and her mouth in a child's half-smile.
Gavriel exchanged a look with the novice master, his dark and Pacheco's contrite. "Can she talk?"
"Yes," Pacheco said, nodding his silver hair once for emphasis. "Or so Latorre tells me. I have yet to hear her voice. Her name is Blanca."
"What ails her?"
"She is simple, I believe. You can speak with Latorre in the morning, if you wish." He swallowed a small yawn. "Me, I'm returning to bed."
Gavriel raised an eyebrow. "Now that your conscience is clear?"
"Exactly."
Gavriel eyed the young nun with suspicion and more than a little pity. Her habit fit closely around her face, accentuating those wide eyes and her round, olive face. "Was there no one else?"
"After how you treated Señor Latorre's assistant, and after hours of Ada's cries--yes, Blanca was the only one."
Pacheco glanced around the small room, looking on the altered accommodations with an expression of disapproval. The rushes bunched in uneven clumps along the floor. The shattered earthenware basin lay in a pile in the corner. And the only other chair leaned against a wall, propped on three legs.
"Between Ada and that boy Jacob, no inn or residence in the kingdom will rest easily," Pacheco said.
Gavriel exhaled and bit his back teeth together. The girl Blanca had yet to alter her expression. Her eyes moved, however, taking in the same scene of chaos, but she did not scowl or ask questions. She remained placid until she saw Ada. Her eyebrows steepled together and she sucked on her top lip. She did not leave Pacheco's side, but something in her dark green eyes asked permission to see the insensate patient.
Simple or no, her manners were a welcome improvement over the villa's previous attempt at offering aid.
He moved to stand at Ada's side and motioned for Blanca to follow. She did, walking with such smooth precision that her head hardly bobbed with each step. She was perfectly contained within herself, apparently oblivious to what others might say or think. And as he had upon seeing Ada for the first time, haloed by an artificial peace, Gavriel felt a twinge of envy--a feeling, he suspected, Ada would share.
"This is Ada," he said quietly. "She is sick. Will you sit with us until she is well?"
Blanca did not answer, but her soft gaze flowed over Ada. She may have been reluctant to talk, but she did not miss the scars on Ada's bare feet. Her hand reached out from beneath the long, wide sleeves of her habit, hovering just over the pale paths of healed skin.
She returned to the head of the pallet and settled unceremoniously on the floor, cross-legged. "Ada."
Gavriel caught Pacheco's eye and raised an eyebrow. The novice master only shrugged and returned to his room.
Settling back into the chair, Gavriel let out a weary breath. Another pair of eyes to watch over the Englishwoman. Considering the fiery reaction he had experienced when she sucked the water from the cloth, or when she burrowed into his arms for safety, a chaperon might be for the best--someone to tell him no while he drilled the notion into Ada's mangled sense of morals.
As his eyelids drifted shut, watching aid asleep until the room went dark, he prayed for sleep free of dreams.
My initial idea was for Gavriel to plan to return to his father's service. His stay in the monastery would only be a temporary ruse as the family regained power. I changed this considerably because I wanted Gavriel's work toward redemption to be genuine.
Ada flinched. She wanted denials and more masculine posturing. This was only Jacob's possessiveness speaking, surely. But she found nothing but resignation and a brittle hardness icing over Gavriel's features.
"He worked for de Silvas as the family's most trusted combatant." Jacob's voice was as cold as the dread circling her heart. He stood tall at her side, the damning finality of his every word slashing to the bone, but she never moved her gaze from Gavriel. She would find the truth--see it for herself--no matter how painful.
"During the Battle of Alarcos," Jacob said, "he was to fulfill his lifelong purpose and kill King Alfonso. But he failed. His father was exiled for the plot. He rode with Almohad bandits until the death of their caliph left him without a champion. So he begged a favor and was awarded a place as novice with the Order of Santiago. On one condition."
Ada felt dizzy and expelled a breath. "What was that?"
Gavriel swallowed, that old sign of nervousness--the only sign that Jacob's narrative affected him. "On the condition that, when needed, I would return to their service."
"You've read the scrolls, Ada," Jacob said. "You've seen with your own eyes that they intend to resume hostilities with the Almohads against King Alfonso. Do you believe they would pursue such a course without the dozens, possible hundreds of warriors in hiding?"
The muscles beneath her ribs tightened. "Yes, I've had read the scrolls. And you're telling me that the Christian kingdoms have in their midst so many traitors?"
"Neither king is well loved," Jacob said. "Especially not among the nobility who vie for positions at court. That the de Silvas hold a generations-long grudge against them should be no surprise." He turned sharp eyes to Gavriel. "Or that they would raise the very best warriors to aid in their ambitions."
Ada saw no change in the man she loved. He did not even glare at Jacob, the man who accused him of treachery. She wanted to jump on Gavriel's back and pummel him--anything to drag a response from his mute lips. After all that had passed between them, she deserved more than these half-truths and shades of the past.
"Say something," she said.
He blinked and lowered his cold eyes.
"Do you hear me? Say anything!"
Ada closed the scant distance between them, her steps as sure as her blood was quick, hot, enraged. Fernán edged Blanca away from their small circle. Jacob still held his crossbow at the ready and lowered a free hand to the hilt of one of his curving blades. But Ada ignored them, looking up to the stoic man who stood more than a hand taller. He swallowed again.
"Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me something true."
He finally met her gaze, his eyes black like two fig pits. "I have no intention of rejoining the de Silvas. And you know why."
No matter their audience, Ada stepped nearer and took hold of his forearm. She turned his palm up, tracing the pad of her forefinger across the new blisters and roughened calluses he had developed in their weeks together--fighting her, defending her, nursing her through the worst of her sickness. She had found herself again, thanks to Gavriel. The prospect of abandoning him to Jacob's accusations sat like spoiled meat in her stomach.
"I know," she said. "And I will believe that you are done with the de Silvas and their treason if you tell me so."
He frowned. "Why? Why would you believe me?"
"Because I want to. Because I love you."
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January 5, 2010
Zebra
ISBN: 1420104764
$5.99 US / $7.99 CA
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At your local independent bookstore: IndieBound
Or get free international shipping: Book Depository
Below are the books I consulted for this project.
Ransoming Captives in Crusader Spain by James Broadman
Daughters of Reconquest by Heath Dillard
Moorish Spain by Richard Fletcher
Arab Women in the Middle Ages: Private Lives and Public Roles by Shirley Guthrie
Story of the Moors in Spain by Stanley Lane-Poole
Vanished Worlds: Medieval Spain’s Golden Age of Enlightenment by Chris Lowney
Women, Jews and Muslims in the Texts of Reconquest Castile by Louise Mirren
El Cid and Reconquista 1050-1492 by David Noelle
The Moors: The Islamic West 7th-15th Centuries by David Nicolle
Reconquest and Crusade in Medieval Spain by Joseph F. O’Callaghan
The Medieval Spains by Bernard F. Reilly
Christians & Moors in Spain by Colin Smith
Knights of Christ by Terence Wise
In the original draft, Ada awakened when she and Jacob took shelter in Toledo. I cut this argument because her callousness seemed too unlikeable, and I wanted to get on with the action!
Ada gasped and cried out, sitting upright on a cot. Night cradled the room. And then Jacob was kneeling beside her. Always Jacob. He placed a lit oil wick on a nearby table, its tiny flame casting his handsome face in ghoulish shadows.
"Ada, can you hear me?" he asked in English. She smiled. Their secret language in that unfathomable kingdom.
"You've returned," she said, settling back on the cot. She was lying down, yes, but floating too. Ghouls could not catch her, not among the clouds. "All done with the mission for your darling condesa?"
"Ada, quiet."
"Why?" Slender hands that looked like hers fluttered in the air above her face. The skin was nearly translucent. Blue veins. Tendons and bones. Yes, her hands. "Oh, oh--you're afraid of the truth, I know."
Jacob smoothed the hair away from her face and she leaned into his touch. "What truth is that?"
She laughed, a loud gulping sound that jumped into her ears. "They don't want us. A woman with her head full of languages, and a boy Jew in search of adventure. A warrior. We are abominations."
"That's not true," he said. "Doña Valdedona values us both. She's been very good to us."
She smiled at him, hoping to banish the shadows from his dark eyes. Always so somber, her Jacob. She would have liked to see him smile more often, but he never heard the same music. A shame. Such beautiful music.
"Ada, these men," he said. "They're going to take you from Toledo."
"Take me? What are you talking about?" She stretched and raised her arms above her head, but Jacob's ominous expression did not change. "I'm quite comfortable right here."
"They can help you."
"I've no need of help," she said, sitting up. Her head felt huge and spongy. "You test my nerves, Jacob dear. I'm not going anywhere with anyone."
"Ada, you have no choice."
"No choice?" He tried to take her hand but she slapped him away.
"You couldn't keep your promise," he said softly. "Could you?"
"I decided not to." She sneered, enjoying how he recoiled and blanched. Served him right for taking away the music. "You've prattled on about helping me since we left Nottingham. I'm sick of the sound of you."
"This is for the best, for your own good."
He could have punched her in the stomach with more kindness. Voice firm, body stiff--he was in earnest.
"You traitor! You disloyal horror of a boy! You think to turn on me like Meg did?"
"Meg?" He frowned. Dark curls shivered as he shook his head. "What has this to do with your sister? I'm trying to help you."
The pleasant fog in her head was clearing. She wanted to hit him, but her body felt distant and numb. "Help me? By sending me away with strangers?"
Jacob glanced away, whether out of shame or embarrassment she could not tell. "Accept this please. You'll only make it worse."
"Worse!" She stood and stumbled and fell to her knees, her legs turning traitor. "Worse than what? Can you imagine more than what I've endured? No--you want to send me back to captivity!"
"Not an hour ago, you were willing to sell yourself into slavery."
"For what I wanted, it seemed a fair trade."
Jacob took a knee, looking more pitiful than he sounded. A false friend. "Forgive me, Ada. I hope...."
He took hold of her upper arms, but she wrenched free of his pity and pathetic sadness.
"Get away from me! You think you've looked after me, that you have something to offer me. You're nothing but a delusional boy!"
Much stronger arms banded her upper body and hauled her off the ground. Panic followed surprise when she realized these arms would not be shrugged away. Her legs kicked nothing but air, a scream building like an approaching storm.
A deep, humorless voice rumbled near her ear. "I think the lad's heard quite enough out of you." She tried to scratch him, but he adjusted his hold to immobilize her arms. "And I have no desire for you to take another chunk out of me."
"Who are you?"
And then she was on the floor. Pain shot from her backside to her scalp. The glowering rock of a man had dropped her! He stood tall like a tree over the ground, his face chiseled and impassive. Outrage and fear bubbled beneath her skin.
"I am Gavriel de Marqueda. And you are my responsibility."
I cut this scene, in which Ada and Gavriel tussle on the way to Uclés, because it too greatly resembled a fight between Meg and Will in What a Scoundrel Wants.
She tried to scramble away, but he grabbed fat handfuls of embroidered linen and hauled like a sailor at the ropes. Then she was beneath him. Or he was over her. He pinned her arms at her side. Legs tied in knots, they breathed in ragged harmony. Ada's breasts pushed against his chest in the rhythm that threatened to steal his mind.
He could not subdue her and his own errant impulses, not at the same time. Merciful saints, he had not been so close to a woman, body to body, in more than a year. Ragged and tired and filthy as they both were, he could not fight the hard clench of lust. Breathing became a challenge. Not kissing her became a torture.
A cat's grin spread slowly across her lips. "I knew you where a man."
He swallowed a groan. No. She had to hear the word no and accept it. Just as he did. Somehow.
"Submit, Ada."
She flexed her hips. "Saying it again will not change my mind, no matter how you restrain me."
"You believe that?"
"Yes, because no matter your threats, you've made vows that prevent you from carrying them out. That's why you won't kiss me, no matter how much your body wants it." She smiled. Such a lovely smile on such a foul little creature. "That's why I'll win. You play by the rules."
"I stand by my vows, inglesa. And in this, I will not fail."
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