Page 64 of The Truth About Myths
Pedro poised the sword above Canastra’s head. "Awake, vermin, or be forever falling."
A quote from Milton'sParadise Lost? Clever touch, Henrique thought.
"Now."
Pedro’s voice commanded—a general haranguing a lazy corporal. Canastra's eyelids shot open and then rounded with terror.
Clutching the sheets, the duke scrambled backward until the bed rail curtailed his escape. "I'm not ready to die."
"Prepare for the final judgment."
The duke scrunched his face as if readying for a blow. "No, no! So much to do. She… she needs me."
Pedro touched the duke's chin with the steel. "Say your last prayers."
"Please, not yet, my lord." The duke placed both his palms in front of his chest. "Spain needs me."
“Does she now?” Pedro sheathed the saber. “Never say the Devil is not a patriot.”
The scent of hanging game and anchovies permeated the crowded tavern. A Flamenco musician, his bald head reflecting the crude gas lights, played his guitar while a dancer clapped her castanets. Henrique clinked his glass with Pedro's. Canastra had revealed the letters' location, and now the proof of Dom Luis' indiscretion lay inside Henrique's pocket. Not bad for a clandestine night’s work.
If the king had been coerced to send Isabel here, they eliminated Canastra's leverage. Henrique had half a mind to haul Isabel and take her back to Lisbon tomorrow. Canastra's face when he spoke about his plans for Spain had been too devious for Henrique's peace of mind.
Dio clapped his hands when the couple finished their performance, his eyes admiring the woman's legs. On cue, a trio of doxies approached the table.
Pedro waved tersely, dismissing the company. Henrique smiled at the heavily painted girl but shook his head in denial. His hands had only yesterday touched a princess… He wondered if they would ever settle for anyone else.
Eyeing Henrique with shock, Dio rose. "Ignore my friends' rudeness.” After flinging his arms over the girl’s shoulders, he steered them to the private rooms in the back. "I'm enough to entertain a crowd."
Henrique cleared his throat. "Santiago should have been there. And Gabriel. They would’ve enjoyed your Lucifer impression. Your Latin is still top form."
“I had the best tutor.” A shadow fell over Pedro's features, and he extended his hand. “The letters.”
Henrique opened his coat but hesitated. What would Pedro do with them? More blackmail? Would it somehow threaten Isabel? "You are making a lot of effort for Dom Luis. I did not know you were close to him." As far as Henrique knew, Pedro had been Fernando's best friend, the king's deceased younger brother.
"I'm not." Pedro kept his arm extended, waiting.
Henrique closed his jacket and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why the hurry? The night is still young."
Pedro narrowed his eyes. "These letters are a threat to the country's political stability. People don't realize how close we could be to the turmoil lived by the Spanish."
"You are curtailing your summer holidays with Anne for patriotism? Tell me another tale. I know you too well."
Pedro's jaw locked, and his gaze flicked to the saber. The same that had hovered over Canastra's head and forced the man to spill his secrets. Henrique wasn't surprised. The Pedro he knew considered all options to get what he wanted, including violence.
The castanets resumed, their incessant clatter pounding on his skull.
Henrique would not back down, damn it. Either Pedro told him why he wanted the letters, or he would burn them. He tensed to stand.
Pedro clasped his shoulder, and their gazes locked. A second passed, two. The murderous glint left Pedro’s gaze. Whatever battle he had raged inside his head, the peaceful side won.
"Anne loves Portugal," Pedro said between gritted teeth.
And Pedro Daun loved the British girl. “So naturally, you will save it for her.” Henrique leaned back in the chair.
"I will do that and much more." Pedro's eyes hardened, and the grip on the glass turned his knuckles white. "She placed a knife against her own throat for me. In the arena last year, she thought my life was worthier than hers. She was wrong. But I won’t let her change her mind."
Pedro would wear the shiny armor, not because he cared about old Portugal, with its rugged cliffs and rustic vineyards, but because of one person who lived in it. Wordlessly, Henrique removed the sheath of letters from his breast pocket. They still smelled of cheap perfume. Before, Luis's peccadilloes would have entertained him. Now he felt disgusted.
