The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2) (15 page)

As if on cue—almost everyone in the room followed his lead and laughed. Jorge threw back his head, held his stomach with one hand, and roared. Sister Cecilia snorted. Fernando coughed as he covered a smile. Sister Ana giggled.
 

The exceptions were Samuel and I; we just stared at each other, our eyes locked.
‘Be careful,’
he mouthed.

‘Of what?’
I mouthed back.
 

He shook his head slightly and looked away.

“You can have the girl, Lord De Rocha,” Jorge said. “Once Prince Pedro is finished questioning her.”

“To war, or not to war, Prince Pedro,” Fernando said. “That is the bigger uncertainty. Ask the servant the questions you need in order to make your decision. Most importantly, did she witness you father, King Afonso, murder Inêz?”

And with that query on the table, I sunk back deeply into the bed and prayed to the gods to please, please, allow me to descend deep into its feathers and disappear—or—if I was super lucky? Perhaps Time’s Maker would intervene, call this trip a done deal, a failed mission, and transport me back to present day—
immediately
.
 

Unfortunately, the powers that be didn’t have this in mind, and everything grew serious, again, in a heartbeat.
 

“Tell me truthfully, Nadja,” Prince Pedro said. “Did you witness my father murder Inêz?”

I shook my head and honestly replied, “No.”
Because I really hadn’t.

“Why did you protect my children the night Inêz was assassinated?”

“Because no one else seemed to be stepping up to the plate. Because your children appeared terrified. Because I know what it feels like to be that young and feel that frightened.”

“I see,” Prince Pedro said. “You risked your own life to protect my children.”

“I don’t think so, Your Highness,” I said. “I just did my job. No one in that room really saw me. No one in that room cared about me. I’m simply a peasant girl; we are invisible to people like you.”

“So—people like us?” Jorge asked. “
People like us
—killed Inêz?
Were they royalty? Nobles?
Answer me!”

“I…I… I don’t know their stations or their titles.” I pulled the bed covers closer to my face.

With the exception of King Afonso.

“Remember that Nadja is a gypsy,” Samuel said.

“How can I forget?” Jorge asked. “She’s pretty, but obviously not a Lady. Her hair is long and braided. Her dress is simple in design and cloth, and she smells of pork.”
 

“That’s so unfair!” I said. “I have been slaving in that kitchen and dining room being groped by fat men, who also spill their drinks on me. Of course I smell of pork and chicken, wine, and herbs. I’m
so sorry
I can’t afford a more expensive and cleaner dress, but you, Captain.” I couldn’t help but point my finger at Jorge. “You’re an
asshat
for calling attention to that!”

Prince Pedro started coughing or laughing, again—I couldn’t quite figure out which—and he bent forward and clutched his ribs. “I have been telling you for years, Jorge, that you are a donkey’s ass. I never heard the term ‘asshat,’ but it seems very appropriate. Nadja is definitely opinionated and not scared to speak her mind. Which makes me think she is credible and honest.”

“Of course, she is a gypsy,” Jorge said. “Unless she is a ‘Lady’ who is visiting us from another country, or another time, and has no idea how to dress.”
 

I swallowed, hard.

Jorge stared at me and I couldn’t help but glare back at him. What an incredibly strange remark to fall from his lips. Could… he be a Messenger as well? Or was he a Hunter, determined to kill me My thoughts were interrupted by—

“Do not many gypsy women have the gift of fortune telling? They are able to predict the future?” Samuel gazed at me with his gorgeous, hazel eyes and then turned back to Jorge and Fernando, and finally strode a few feet toward Prince Pedro, his glance direct, seeking his attention. “Perhaps you should ask Nadja for a fortune telling reading, your Highness. Maybe that would help you decide your course of action when it comes to revenge.”

Sister Cecilia shook her head. “No-no. That is a terrible crime against the Holy Catholic Church. Besides, Nadja has not been baptized. Should she conjure spirits from other worlds, her soul will be in danger, and she could be lost to the darkness.”

“I really
do
believe that I have been baptized,” I said. “I remember the photos in my mama’s handbook.”

Sister Cecilia raised an eyebrow. “Do you see what I mean?” she asked. “Foe-Toes?
What are Foe-Toes?
I fear she already has been dabbling with the darkness.”

“Can you predict the future, Nadja?” Prince Pedro asked. “Can you commune with spirits and give advice to those who still remain on this earthly plain?”

“Yes.” I met his look.
Oh crap, I meant ‘No!’
I knew the Sa-Ta-Na-Ma
chant, I followed my horoscope, and kept track of when Mercury turned Retrograde. But Ryan had never covered fortune telling in his time travel tutorials.

“Fetch a priest,” Prince Pedro said. “I need this girl baptized, immediately. I want her to read my future. I need to know my best course of action.”

Sister Cecilia sniffed. “You have endured great duress, Your Highness. With all due respect, your best course of actions should be determined through consultation with your advisors. Not the pagan readings of a gypsy girl.”
 

Sister Ana bowed her head. “Your Highness. A gentle reminder that today is the feast of Our Lady of Oliveira. The streets are filled with—”

“Partiers,” I said.
 

“Worshippers,” Sister Ana said.

“Devout Christians,” Sister Cecilia said. “If you insist Nadja give you a reading, you need to take her to a proper church, find an ordained priest, and have her baptized.”

Prince Pedro stood in front of Sister Cecilia and glared at her. “I am the Crowned Prince of Portugal. Dispense with the baptism. She gives me my reading,
now
.”

Sister Cecilia stared him square in his bloodshot eyes. “I am a bride of Christ. There will be no reading until the girl is baptized.”

Prince Pedro glared at her, then turned his determined gaze onto Jorge and Fernando, and snapped his fingers. “She will be baptized in the palace chapel. Find a priest. Make it happen.”

“It will be done, Your Highness.” Fernando pushed his way past the guard at the door and left the room.

I glanced down at my hideous dress and wrinkled my nose. “Aren’t you supposed to dress up for a baptism? Perhaps you could arrange to draw me a bath and lend me a clean gown.”

Jorge eyed me. “Guard!”

“Yes, Captain?” a guard asked and stepped forward.

“Call the chambermaids and have them draw a bath. And find a gown. I’m sure a lady of not-such-pure-repute may have left behind one or two somewhere in this humble abode.”

“Yes, Captain!” He turned on his heel and strode out the door.

“What are you doing?” Samuel hissed.

“You told me to give him a reading,” I whispered.

“I told you to give him a reading so we could be done with this nonsense, I could get you out of here, and take you someplace safe.”

A young servant woman approached the bed. “Miss, come with me please.” She bowed her head.

“Thank you.” I pulled the covers back, hopped out of the bed, and followed her. “I’m dying for a real bath. I’ve never been this dirty in my entire life.”
 

Samuel grabbed my arm and swung me around. “Do you know this servant?”

We were face to face. I looked up into his frowning face and his complex green eyes. Took in his black hair that curled in onto his white shirt. Breathed in his delicious scent. Reminded myself that I was in a precarious situation, which was totally not the right time to be getting flustered about some guy, even if it was Samuel.
 

Note to self: get a grip, Madeline!

“No, I do not ‘know’ this servant,” I said. “Why? Is there a servants’ networking group? Am I supposed to know every domestic in Coimbra? Leave me alone. I just want to scrub off. Feel normal again.”
 

“I heard a rumor from a reliable source that the King’s advisors suspect you know the truth about what really happened to Inêz. I heard they are debating whether or not to assassinate you, as well,” he whispered. “Who better to do that than a simple servant girl?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “It’s just a bath.” I shrugged him off.

“Don’t let her trick you and push you under the water,” Samuel said. “Should I accompany you?”

“Like that would go over so very well. Do you really want to feed the gossip mill?” I asked. “‘Look at the gypsy whore who allows a young nobleman to gaze at her naked in the tub,’” I said “Nope. That’s exactly the kind of attention I don’t want. Thanks for the heads up, Samuel. I’ll watch my own back.”

~ seventeen ~

I wore my new gown that was an upgrade from my filthy dress. It was made of red silk, too big for me, a bit frayed and worn in the elbows, and along the skirt’s hem, it had seen better days.
 

I stared up at the chapel’s vaulted domed ceiling. Arches framed windows that were cut high into the walls circling the room. The ceiling was covered in brilliant frescoes of angels and saints, God and the Virgin Mary, and what the heck did I know about any of these beings? My parents didn’t raise me Catholic, Jewish, or Protestant, and yet every year, they took me to a place of worship on a holiday to expose me to different faiths and traditions.
 

We sang carols on Christmas Eve at All Saints Episcopalian Church on Michigan Avenue. “Silent Night” will forever be on my holiday playlist. Dad’s friend Marty Rubenstein included us at his Passover Seder. That was one long dinner, but I loved that the ceremony celebrated the Jews’ departure from slavery in Egypt, and I got the chills when they left the chair for the prophet Elijah. One year my folks took me to the Hindu Temple of Greater Chicago during the celebration of Deepavali, the festival of lights that celebrated the victory of good over evil. Dad snapped a picture of me standing next to the Sri Rama Temple and Mama pasted it into my handbook.

Now I stood next to an intricately carved stone baptismal font in front of the palace chapel. Sister Cecilia and Prince Pedro flanked me while a bleary-eyed priest wearing black robes stood in front of me and chanted, “
Oremus: Preces nostras, quaesumus, Domine, clementer exaudi; et hunc electum tuum… Per Christum Dominum nostrum.” He made the sign of the cross.

Everyone except for me recited, “Amen.”

“
Receive the salt of wisdom; let it be a token of mercy to your everlasting life. May it make your way easy to eternal life.” The priest leaned in,
breathed on me, put his thumb onto my forehead, and touched my breastbone with scented oil. “Open your mouth.”
 

I frowned but did as he asked.

He placed a pinch of salt on my tongue and then laid his hand on my head. He guided my head toward the bowl as he scooped water and drizzled it on my hair. “In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, I now pronounce your soul, Nadja, is claimed for the only God—the Christian God.”

I lifted my head, blinked, and wiped back a few drops from my hair and face. “Thank you, Father,” I said as my stomach rumbled loudly.

Sister Cecilia reached out and squeezed my hand. “It is official. Should any harm befall you, Nadja, you will go to Eternal Life.”

“Now that the Foe Toes can no longer claim her soul,” Prince Pedro said. “I want my reading.”

My hands started to tremble—from hypoglycemia, or nerves, or both.
Yeah—this was going so well.
“I’m so very sorry. But I don’t give good readings when I’m hungry. Can I get a little bite to eat first?”

“Bring Nadja whatever she wants.” Prince Pedro gestured at Jorge.
 

“Are you talking to me?” Jorge asked.

“Yes, I am talking to you. The Sisters and the good Father here just handled her baptism. You have to do something to earn your keep.”

“Kidnapping was not enough?”

“No!” Prince Pedro shook his head as Fernando covered a smile.

“No pork, please,” I said. “And something non-alcoholic to drink.”

“She loved that delicious herbal tea,” Sister Cecilia called after him and her stomach growled. “I, too, seem to be hungry.”

“Could you bring some food for everyone?” I asked. “Not a good thing-I-mean-omen to give or receive a reading on empty stomachs. You know that old saying, ‘An apple a day keeps the… bad spirits away.’”

Fernando nodded. “Yes, yes, everyone’s heard of that.”

~ ~ ~

We were back in Prince Pedro’s quarters and noshed on roasted rabbits, sausages, and vegetables. The guys drank wine and ale. The nuns and I drank tea.

Samuel sat next to me. “We need to leave. King Afonso’s assassins could be searching for you right now. I do not even know how we will navigate the crowds in these streets.”

“We will blend in, Samuel. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again,” I said.
 

He leaned in close to me and whispered, “Do you know what happens to gypsies that give psychic readings that do not favor the nobles?”

“I’m assuming they get sent back to kitchen duty,” I said.

“They get condemned and punished for witchcraft.”

“But I’ve been baptized,” I said. “They can’t do that to me.”

“Perhaps your pretty wet hair will be the last part of you that burns,” Samuel said.

“You did not just say that!”

“You need to be careful,” he said. “Can you really tell fortunes?” He gazed at me with hope in his hazel eyes.

I swallowed, vowing yet again not to get lost in those eyes. “A girl can do a lot of things when she’s motivated.”

He looked away and sighed. “Make this reading convincing. Tell Prince Pedro what he wants to hear. Remember, he wants revenge. Advise him on how best to do that.”

I choked a little on my roasted rabbit, felt my throat getting tight, and I slugged back my cup of bitter tea. When I remembered Ryan’s advice.