A Murder Most Spanish (Domingo Armada Historical Mystery Book 1) by Jefferson Bonar

Author:Jefferson Bonar [Bonar, Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-03T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

Miguel was in the middle of a dream when the shouting started. A woman, with long blond hair, tied back with a scarf and wearing a blue and grey dress, had slipped through the cane. She was less a vision, and more a glimpse from the corner of his eye. And he tried to hold on to that image as his sleep became interrupted and he was dragged back to reality.

This took a while, as Miguel found he had been sleeping quite deeply. After a few nights in the stable, he had moved the hay around until it made a sort of bed in the corner. The mule, after some initial nervousness, had gotten used to his presence and had actually formed a bond, preferring to kneel down at night and sleep on its side in order to be closer to Miguel.

It had been a quiet few days like this. Miguel subsisted on whatever he could steal at night from the nearby orchards, and occasionally sneaking into town for a bucket of water. Then he spent much of his time locked away in the stable, waiting for news that the case was over and he could go home. Although he felt badly that Armada didn’t know his whereabouts, Miguel also felt safe, and that was the most important right now. He would check in with Armada soon, and see if it was all right to return home.

It was sometime before sunrise when he was awakened by the sound of approaching footsteps, crunching over the loose soil and pebbles toward the stable door. Something deep within Miguel knew he should quickly hide himself, but it was too late. A moment later, he was discovered by a startled old farmer, who began shouting at him.

Miguel and the mule both scrambled to their feet while the farmer found a large stick and waved it at Miguel. Miguel made his way out of the stable to the sound of the old farmer’s shouts of morisco and ladron. Miguel couldn’t understand why the farmer thought he was a ladron; he hadn’t stolen anything.

Once Miguel was out of earshot of the man, he realised he was hungry. He had no money and no way of getting any. He considered begging, but thought of his father, who was a very proud man and had taught Miguel never to beg, it being beneath a man’s dignity. There was always a way to eat if one was hungry. Then Miguel thought of Armada and his page Lucas, who seemed like decent people. Perhaps they could spare a bit of bread.

Miguel began making his way up the hill back toward town. He kept his head down, not wanting to catch the gazes of the farmers who were just starting to come down the hill, their shoulders loaded with farming implements and large cutting knives, ready for another day’s harvest.

Instead he kept his focus on the weeds that lined his path. They grew just on the edge of where the path had been worn into a smooth, hard crust by years of farmers walking it every day.

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