Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

Guarin had been aware that the priest had been watching him—had been following him around—since they had cleared the Mediterranean and were sailing up the Atlantic coast. Miguel had booked them on a ship going to France by this route rather than to a French Mediterranean port. He knew that the Church had eyes everywhere and that Archdeacon Valera would not be pleased that they had slipped through his fingers. He would have ships bound for French Mediterranean ports watched carefully.

Was this such a priest, Guarin wondered.

Seeing the priest nearby one day while Miguel was elsewhere on the ship, Guarin gave him a meaningful look and slipped into his cabin, leaving the door open. The ploy worked and the priest followed him in.

"You are Guarin, Countess Margaret's bard," the priest said. "I recognized you."

"Yes, I am," Guarin answered. "Or I was," he added.

"I am Ferdinand de Mena," the priest answered. He was perhaps in the middle of his years, tall and gaunt. His face was not ugly, but it wasn't handsome either. He was giving Guarin an intense look. "I am a friend of the court priest, Tomás de Mendoza. He keeps me well informed of the happenings at court."

He hasn't kept you well informed that he's dead, Guarin thought, but he realized it was a rather hysterical thought. His mind was racing. This man knew. He was going to denounce them. They'd both be taken back and broken on Valera's racks.

Unless Guarin did something. He smiled at the priest and began to unlace his doublet.

"Yes, Mendoza told me he you lay under him—and under the prince as well. He told me that you were a delight to cover. And that's not all he told me. He told me that your grandmother was Hebrew. It's something the Tribunal del Santo de la Inquisition in Barcelona would very much like to know, I'm sure."

"Unless?" Guarin asked, giving the priest a provocative smile and pulling his doublet open to show his bare chest.

"Yes, unless you lay under me too."

Stripping off the doublet, Guarin unfastened his belt, stripped off his breeches, lay back on the bed, and opened his legs and his arms. At the same time, the priest was unbuttoning his cassock. He sank to his knees and attacked Guarin's cock, balls, and hole with his mouth, as Guarin sighed and moaned for him.

The priest was crouched over him, between his legs, feeding a very nice cock in him, as Guarin clutched the man's shoulder blades, content to enjoy the fuck. And the priest was doing very well, not going for broke before pumping him, but going in a few inches, shallow pumping there, as Guarin moved with him, and then sinking in further and pumping some more.

He wasn't all the way in before he stiffened, gave Guarin a surprised look, and slipped over to the side and to the floor. As he slipped away, Miguel came into sight, holding a bloodied dagger in his hand.

"You killed him," Guarin croaked.

"Yes."

"You killed a priest. You'll go to hell."

"As will priests like this. I think you've learned by now that priests are the same as any other man. They lay you just as any other man does. They deceive and betray you as any other man does. And they bleed like any other man does."

Guarin didn't know how to respond to that, so he remained silent.

"Yes, he had to die. It was just Mendoza all over again. It had to be stopped before it began."

"But he wasn't finished. I didn't—"

Miguel laughed. "You are such a little whore," he said. "I can finish you. He can go over the side later."

And, with that, Miguel took up the priest's position, but sank all the way in before he started to pump. Moaning his satisfaction, Guarin clutched at the soldier's shoulder blades and started to move with the fuck.