If You Dare(29)
“If you don’t shut your mouth,” she snapped. “I’ll kill you myself.”
This he never expected. “I apologize if my wish for freedom—and my wish not to die—have disturbed your sleep.”
She shrugged. “I reside directly above you. You must cease knocking on the door.”
“Who are you?”
She frowned. “What purpose would it serve to tell you?”
“A dying man’s last wish?”
She shrugged again. “I am Olivia.”
She couldn’t be his daughter. “Olivia Pascal?” he asked in a low tone.
Her chin went up either proudly or defensively. “Sí.”
“I should take your threat more seriously then. If your blood is any indication, you are capable of any atrocity.”
Her smile was a cruel curve of her lips. “Very capable. I’m also capable of whistling for the guards to beat you again just on a whim.”
In a heartbeat he started for her. She took one step back, but coolly cocked the hammer, her hand steady. “Don’t be a fool.” Her voice was hard, her face like marble. “I’ll do it just so I sleep better.”
Assured she would, he moved to lean against the wall, arms crossed. “I’ve never heard of that. Someone who sleeps better at night because they killed someone.”
“Who said killed? I only have permission to maim you until your sister is wed.” She began closing the door. “But I promise to wish them well for you.”
Court’s hand shot out to wrench Vitale through the doorway. “What did you say?” he demanded as he slammed the door behind him.
The others raised their eyebrows when Court dragged Vitale to the parlor, then tossed him into a chair.
“I said you are a pig, an ingrate. My mistress saved your life—”
“You said something about a marriage.”
He refused to answer so Court jostled him until he said, “That’s where she’s gone!” He gestured heatedly. “To save her brother. The general was holding him to force her.”
“She’s gone to marry him?”
When Vitale nodded, Niall said, “Aye, Court, a real spoiled, calculating woman. Marrying Pascal to save her brother’s life. She’s chilling.”
“This canna be right. The rumors were that he was marrying some Spanish royal. Not Andorran nobility. How do you account for that?” Court recalled her snapping to him, I’m Castilian, but royal?
Vitale hesitated. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because if you do, I might just decide to go get her back.”
His eyes widened and he blurted, “She and her brother are the last direct descendants of the ancient House of Castile. They hold the last titles.”
“That’s impossible. Her father was no’ Castilian.”
“The titles passed through the mother.”
When Court still looked unconvinced, Niall added, “Some houses can pass down matrilineally.”
“This is insane. That would make her…. That would mean she’s…” Court could barely believe what he was hearing, even while thinking that this would handily explain her arrogance. “Why did she no’ plead for her family’s help?”
“She did. As I told you before, she and her brother are estranged from the family and shun that life, but she swallowed her pride and attempted to contact them. We think the message never made it out of Andorra.”
Niall whistled and said, “Pascal’s a clever bastard. He’s going after Isabella’s crown.”
“But that would mean Annalía’s useless to him while her brother’s still alive. The minute he has her, Llorente’s dead.”
“No, he won’t be,” Vitale declared emphatically. “Pascal will try to use Master Llorente as a figurehead.”
“Wrong.” Court shook his head, giving Vitale the same expression he knew his five men were giving him as well. “Your master’s going to be killed if he is no’ already.”
“And you just ensured she’d go,” Niall muttered from behind him. “Good on you, Court.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Damn it! Why did she no’ ask again or explain everything?”
Vitale cast him a black look. “She told me just before she rode for Pascal that she would rather be a murderer’s wife and possibly have access to free Llorente than be a mercenary’s whore and have to trust a fiend like you with her brother’s life. She said six or half a dozen—either way was unbearable.”
When Court pictured her alone and afraid in Pascal’s always darkened home, he had an off feeling in his chest, like a painful shifting. “Oh, bloody hell, Vitale. You might’ve mentioned this earlier.”