Page 101 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
Barnadine glanced as if afraid I’d produced my betrothed into this field of battle.
No such luck.
He announced, “I’m not afraid of meeting him in combat. I stood at his back during the recent troubles and kept him from harm.”
“Why?” My mind leaped to the only conclusion. “Because Cal’s bodyguards would have evisceratedyou.”
Sulkily Barnadine said, “Marcellus suspects everyone.”
“Especially a man who fights with a hand so numb it should scarcely hold a sword?”
Barnadine flexed his fingers. “I’m perhaps not so unable as I portrayed.”
“A coward, a liar, and the villain who attacked an elderly woman in her bed. In pursuit of your own safety, you trod through rot and refuse, and carry with you the stench of betrayal.”
“My family name requires—”
“You already killed one good man for the stain he brought on your family, breaking your vow to defend your prince. Cal is another good man, who allows you honor despite your failure to Elder.” I lowered my voice to a menacing growl. “Tell me, Barnadine, how long have you watched Cal, hoping for an evil trait, a foolish failing, any excuse to do away with him? Yet he’s the podestà who’s brought honor and stability to your beloved Verona.”
“Youare his foolish failing.Youdistract him from his business. His sharp gaze no longer examines every aspect of his people, his city. He focuses onyouandyourcharms.”
I snapped, “According to Cal, I have only two charms and they both hold up my bodice!”
“What?” Barnadine looked merely confused.
I hastened to go back on the offensive. “It’s not the house of Leonardi that’s ultimately responsible for Lady Helena’s fall from grace. You know who is, do you not . . . Barnadine?” I advanced on him; a foolish move, perhaps, but I intended to take him by surprise with my aggression, and, indeed, he took a step backward. “The man responsible is the man who took her to the masquerade. Instead of being the brother who would resist her pleas and keep her safe within the family compound, you escorted your beautiful, innocent sister into a wild bacchanal. She had always sensed life beyond her walls, and rather than be what you and your family intended, she seized her moment and tasted freedom.”
As I spoke, a tide of red rose to stain his neck, his cheeks, his forehead. “You bitch!”
He’s lying to himself. Tell him the truth, but tell it more gently.“I’m sorry Helena is dead to the world, Barnadine, but your murderous intentions can’t bring her back.”
My gamble could produce two results: Barnadine could realize he couldn’t kill me, an innocent woman, and retreat again; or he could realize I was simply one more murder that paved his road to hell.
He chose hell.
CHAPTER55
Barnadine moved with the skill and speed of an experienced fighter, and the seething ferocity of a madman. He seized my throat and squeezed.
I tried to kick, strike out, but he was a beast with long arms. His lips pulled back from his black teeth. I couldn’t touch him. I couldn’t breathe. My knees buckled. Red stars exploded in front of my eyes. I heard screams, but it wasn’t me. I couldn’t scream.
Did the sounds come from the stairwell?
Before I could grasp hope, Barnadine’s grip loosened and I flew like a ragdoll.
I fell to the ground, panting, sucking in one breath, two breaths. But air was a luxury I couldn’t afford. My still-clouded vision saw two men wrestling above me, feet stumbling on the floor. I scooted back, and back, until I was huddled against the rail. I pulled the stiletto from my ankle sheath and gripped it in my trembling hand.
Friar Camillo had seized Barnadine and pulled him off me, but the untrained monk was no match for the seasoned warrior. He was losing, yet Barnadine didn’t grip him around the throat or pull a knife to end his life. In an awful tone, he whispered, “What are you doing here?” and grappled with the youth as if . . . as if he couldn’t bear to hurt him.
Absolute and final confirmation that I was right; Friar Camillo was Elder’s son with fair Helena—and Barnadine’s nephew.
“Stop, in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, I command you!” Friar Camillo shouted.
Barnadine still wrestled with the monk, his eyes narrowing, and I could see the intent in his gaze. He might not intend to kill a monk, but he could knock him out of the fight.
Friar Camillo could also see his determination, and as Barnadine pulled back his fist, Friar Camillo said, “Stop, Uncle!”
Barnadine froze. He stared. Every line of his body bespoke horror and rejection. “What did you call me?”
