“Come on,” Jamie muttered, and caught Ian by the arm. They hastened after the newly wedded pair, Ian demanding to know what the devil Jamie thought he was doing. “I want to talk to her—alone. You stop him, keep him talking for as long as ye can.”
“I—how?”
“How would I know? Ye’ll think of something.”
They had reached the house, and ducking in close upon Pierre’s heels, Jamie saw that by good luck the man had stopped to say something to a servant. Rebekah was just vanishing down a long hallway; he saw her put her hand to a door.
“The best of luck to ye, man!” Jamie said, clapping Pierre so heartily on the shoulder that the groom staggered.
Before Pierre could recover, Ian, very obviously commending his soul to God, stepped up and seized him by the hand, which he wrung vigorously, meanwhile giving Jamie a private “Hurry the bloody hell up!” sort of look.
Grinning, Jamie ran down the short hallway to the door where he’d seen Rebekah disappear. The grin faded as his hand touched the doorknob, though, and the face he presented to her as he entered was as grim as he could make it.
Her eyes widened in shock and indignation at sight of him.
“What are you doing here? No one is supposed to come in here but my husband and me!”
“He’s on his way,” Jamie assured her. “The question is—will he get here?”
Her little fist curled up in a way that would have been comical if he didn’t know as much about her as he did.
“Is that a threat?” she said, in a tone as incredulous as it was menacing. “Here? You dare threaten me here?”
“Aye, I do. I want that scroll.”
“Well, you’re not getting it,” she snapped. He saw her glance flicker over the table, probably in search of either a bell to summon help or something to bash him on the head with, but the table held nothing but a platter of stuffed rolls and exotic sweeties. There was a bottle of wine, and he saw her eye light on that with calculation, but he stretched out a long arm and got hold of it before she could.
“I dinna want it for myself,” he said. “I mean to take it back to your grandfather.”
“Him?” Her face hardened. “No. It’s worth more to him than I am,” she added bitterly, “but at least that means I can use it for protection. As long as I have it, he won’t try to hurt Pierre or drag me back, for fear I might damage it. I’m keeping it.”
“I think he’d be a great deal better off without ye, and doubtless he kens that fine,” Jamie informed her, and had to harden himself against the sudden look of hurt in her eyes. He supposed even spiders might have feelings, but that was neither here nor there.
“Where’s Pierre?” she demanded. “If you’ve harmed a hair on his head, I’ll—”
“I wouldna touch the poor gomerel, and neither would Ian—Juan, I mean. When I said the question was whether he got to ye or not, I meant whether he thinks better of his bargain.”
“What?” He thought she paled a little, but it was hard to tell.
“You give me the scroll to take back to your grandfather—a wee letter of apology to go with it wouldna come amiss, but I willna insist on that—or Ian and I take Pierre out back and have a frank word regarding his new wife.”
“Tell him what you like!” she snapped. “He wouldn’t believe any of your made-up tales!”
“Oh, aye? And if I tell him exactly what happened to Ephraim bar-Sefer? And why?”
“Who?” she said, but now she really had gone pale to the lips and put out a hand to the table to steady herself.
“Do ye ken yourself what happened to him? No? Well, I’ll tell ye, lass.” And he did so, with a terse brutality that made her sit down suddenly, tiny pearls of sweat appearing round the gold medallions that hung across her forehead.
“Pierre already kens at least a bit about your wee gang, I think—but maybe not what a ruthless, grasping wee besom ye really are.”
“It wasn’t me! I didn’t kill Ephraim!”
“If not for you, he’d no be dead, and I reckon Pierre would see that. I can tell him where the body is,” he added, more delicately. “I buried the man myself.”
Her lips were pressed so hard together that nothing showed but a straight white line.
“Ye havena got long,” he said, quietly now, but keeping his eyes on hers. “Ian canna hold him off much longer, and if he comes in—then I tell him everything, in front of you, and ye do what ye can then to persuade him I’m a liar.”
She stood up abruptly, her chains and bracelets all a-jangle, and stamped to the door of the inner room. She flung it open, and Marie jerked back, shocked.
Rebekah said something to her in Ladino, sharp, and with a small gasp the maid scurried off.
“All right,” Rebekah said through gritted teeth, turning back to him. “Take it and be damned, you dog.”
“Indeed I will, ye bloody wee bitch,” he replied with great politeness.
Her hand closed round a stuffed roll, but instead of throwing it at him, she merely squeezed it into paste and crumbs, slapping the remains back on the tray with a small exclamation of fury.
The sweet chiming of the Torah scroll presaged Marie’s hasty arrival, the precious thing clasped in her arms. She glanced at her mistress and, at Rebekah’s curt nod, delivered it with great reluctance into the arms of the Christian dog.
Jamie bowed, first to maid and then mistress, and backed toward the door.
“Shalom,” he said, and closed the door an instant before the silver platter hit it with a ringing thud.
—
“Did it hurt a lot?” Ian was asking Pierre with interest, when Jamie came up to them.
“My God, you have no idea,” Pierre replied fervently. “But it was worth it.” He divided a beaming smile between Ian and Jamie and bowed to them, not even noticing the canvas-wrapped bundle in Jamie’s arms. “You must excuse me, gentlemen; my bride awaits me!”
“Did what hurt a lot?” Jamie inquired, leading the way hastily out through a side door. No point in attracting attention, after all.
“Ye ken he was born a Christian but converted in order to marry the wee besom,” Ian said. “So he had to be circumcised.” He crossed himself at the thought, and Jamie laughed.
“What is it they call the stick-insect things where the female one bites off the head of the male one after he’s got the business started?” Jamie asked, nudging the door open with his bum.
Ian’s brow creased for an instant. “Praying mantis, I think. Why?”
“I think our wee friend Pierre may have a more interesting wedding night than he expects. Come on.”
—
BORDEAUX
It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had to do, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. Jamie paused outside the gate of Dr. Hasdi’s house, the Torah scroll in its wrappings in his arms. Ian was looking a bit worm-eaten, and Jamie reckoned he kent why. Having to tell the doctor what had happened to his granddaughter was one thing; telling him to his face with the knowledge of what said granddaughter’s nipples felt like fresh in the mind…or the hand…