by Tina Donahue
Beatriz hefted the basket and settled the thing more firmly on her hip.
“Those linens are too heavy for you.” He grabbed them.
She held on.
Surely, she didn’t think she’d win against him. He was a head taller, nearly twice her weight, and far stronger.
He tugged.
She let go.
He locked his knees to keep from staggering back at the weight. Far too cumbersome for such a delicate flower as her. He’d have to talk with Señora Cisneros about Beatriz’s future duties.
Rather than offering a sweet smile for his help, she bit her lip.
Tenderness welled within him, along with unruly desire. “No reason to be afraid. Your position is safe. I merely want to help. Tell me what ails your mamá.”
“Nothing at the moment. She recovered fully from her latest illness. I must get back to work.” She reached for the linens.
He kept them away. “Is my housekeeper demanding too much even with you willing to work day and night?”
“Señora Cisneros is a lovely woman.”
She had a mustache, hairs on her chin, weighed more than two women combined, and owned a high-pitched voice that set his teeth on edge. However, she did keep the castle running smoothly without being too overbearing. “I find her efficient in a slightly masculine way. Is that what you meant?”
Beatriz’s mouth curled up, though she didn’t allow herself to smile.
Making her laugh meant everything to Tomás without him understanding why. “Do you promise not to tell her I said such a thing?”
She gripped her skirt. “We rarely speak. Work keeps us busy.”
“So you do promise. Wonderful.” He grinned and lifted the basket to his shoulder, showing off his strength. “Where did you plan to take this? I can bring the linens to whatever room you—”
Loud throat clearing flowed down the hall.
Either Señora Cisneros or Nuncio had just entered from behind. Hard to tell which, since they both made the same noises when displeased with the help. He looked over.
Nuncio.
Beatriz pulled the basket from Tomás with surprising strength, though she did totter.
“Careful.” He reached for her.
She twisted away.
Nuncio cleared his throat once more.
Tomás frowned at him. “Did you inform the guests of my delay?”
“Several times. They still await your presence. Every one of them in the same room.”
Surely without knives if Nuncio had anything to say. Tomás gentled his mood for Beatriz. “If your mamá should fall ill again, please tell me. I can help.”
Her attention remained on Nuncio.
Wanting to speak softly to her, Tomás leaned closer, catching her seductive fragrance, freshly washed clothes and clean skin. He reeled, finding speech difficult. “If Nuncio rails at you for keeping me here, let me know. I shall thrash him soundly.”
Laughter bubbled from her, which she quelled without pause.
Her joy, no matter how brief, was a balm for everything wrong with today. How marvelous if they, at least, became friends, speaking freely, laughing, enjoying themselves. An odd notion for any man when faced with such a delectable woman. However, he didn’t see many other options at this point.
He strode to Nuncio. “Shall we go?” Halfway down the hall, Tomás spoke. “Make certain the ladies’ carriages, drivers, and footmen are ready to depart. I trust no one will be staying long once I give my speech.”
“As you wish. Whatever you wish. Whenever you wish.”
Tomás rolled his eyes. If wishes were his for the asking, he’d still be speaking to Beatriz, inviting her to ride the grounds with him, having a late supper with her on the hillside overlooking his estate, finally carrying her into his chamber for some much-needed passion with them discovering wondrous things about each other.
He surely wouldn’t be facing women who might want to harm him once they understood he had no intention of wedding anyone.
* * * *
Beatriz González y Serrano sat on a guest bed when she shouldn’t have. She should bolt from the estate and Tomás.
Her legs wouldn’t support her. If she left, she might not be able to secure work at another estate. No one in the villages would hire a house servant to toil in the fields. Even the children would fare better than she at the backbreaking labor. The few merchants in town would do the work themselves or have family to help. Returning to the city was far too dangerous unless she wanted to live out her life imprisoned by a man she loathed who’d use her in the vilest ways possible.
Hopeless, she did the only thing she could, savoring the few moments she’d spent with Tomás. Magical and enticing snatches of time that shouldn’t have happened.
She hadn’t meant for him to see her, prepared to duck into a room so he’d never know she’d spied on him. His purpose in searching bedchambers hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been too taken with his size and promise of the warrior he was, all lean muscle and man. Too many nights she’d dreamed of her lips pressed to his rich mouth, fingers buried in his thick, blond hair, drowning in his heat and strength.
Her nipples tightened, the tips hard enough to sting. The soft folds between her legs were damp and ready for him. A nobleman with countless women who wanted to share his life and bed, each desiring his looks, wealth, and position.
She adored his gentle teasing. How easily he’d made her smile and laugh, despite her caution and lies.
She buried her face in her hands, ashamed at what she’d said about her mamá. When he’d brought up her supposed illness, Beatriz hadn’t recalled telling Señora Cisneros about an ailing mother in order to secure a position here.
Tomás seemed to believe her falsehood. Unless he’d pretended with her as she had with him.
Shoes slapped against stone. She pushed to her feet and froze.
Nuncio stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.
Quickly, she smoothed the bright red counterpane where she’d sat. “I was just finishing here.”
“You were sitting. I saw you.” He closed the door and approached.
Fearing the worst, she backed away. “I can work an extra hour or two to make up for the few seconds I sat on the bed. I can go without food for the rest of the day. I can—”
“Your silence is all I ask. And for you to listen to me. Do you think you can do such a thing?”
She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say but nodded readily.
Nuncio folded his hands behind his back and paced, his tapping shoes sounding horribly loud.
“Don Tomás is our master.” He stopped and glared. “He never carries linens.”
“No. I mean, I agree.”
“Then why was he holding your basket?”
“He wanted to help.”
“Were you bent over from the weight of the linens? Had you fallen because the basket was too heavy? Could you not breathe? Were you in danger of swooning or dying?”
“No. Of course not.” Forgetting herself, she frowned.
Nuncio narrowed his eyes.
She hid her feelings as any intimidated servant would. “I had no trouble with the work. I was merely standing in the hall when he came upon me and offered to assist.”
Nuncio inhaled deeply but didn’t argue the point as she’d expected. Surely that couldn’t mean Tomás was wont to help all servants when seeing them in hallways.
“You should have told him you were busy.” He straightened even more. “Then went on your way.”
“I tried. He blocked me.”
Nuncio frowned hard, making terrible dents in his face.
She wanted them gone. Him too. “Don Tomás merely asked about my mother’s health. I told him she recovered. Everything is fine.” She grabbed her basket. “I should go back to work.”
He approached more quickly than his age should have allowed and stood between her and the door. �
�You must stay away from our master. If you see him, go in the other direction. If he comes upon you, do not smile sweetly. I know you can as I saw the one you gave him. Forget that. Move to another area in the castle even if you have to leave your work. Never fear, I will have a word with Señora Cisneros, letting her know if you fail to finish your duties, the fault is not yours. Do you understand me?”
All too well. If she’d been in another position than the one she was currently in, she would have laughed in his face and gone after Tomás on her own. Given her precarious situation, she could only agree. “Sí.”
“About Rufio.”
He was also a house servant, close to her age. His duties took place in the kitchen or dining hall, not the chambers as hers did. “What about him?”
Nuncio observed her carefully. “I see how he is when the two of you are near. Make certain you never encourage him.”
She bristled. “I never have or will. I keep my distance from him and all the men.”
“Make certain you continue to do so, especially with our master.”
“Does Don Tomás behave with the other female servants as he has with me?”
Nuncio remained turned away but did look over. “His habits are not yours to know.”
“Did you tell those servants the same?” Did those women obey and stay away from him?
On a loud sigh, Nuncio faced her. “The monarchs granted Don Tomás this land quite recently. Before that, he was away for years fighting the Moors. I have no idea what he did at the fortaleza. This castle is my only concern.”
Then Tomás hadn’t behaved with the others as he had with her, or Nuncio would have said so, warning her what became of those women. Beatriz’s spirits soared until she recalled her and Tomás’s impossible situation. Hopeless because of their positions, as long as she remained a servant and never revealed her past. There was also Nuncio’s dogged determination to protect Tomás from himself.
Nuncio opened the door.
She joined him. “One last thing.”
He regarded her warily and closed the door. “What?”
“Even if I flee every time I see Don Tomás, what do I do if he follows and catches me?”
Nuncio gave her a cold stare. “If he does, your days at the castle are over. I should make you leave this second, seeing the trouble you could cause. However, I know Don Tomás far better than you ever will. If anyone stands in the way of what he believes he wants, he craves it even more, making everyone as miserable as he is. Long ago, I learned to let him reach the proper conclusion on his own, which he always does. Therefore, you may remain here unless you force my hand by making yourself available to him on purpose or accidentally. The burden to avoid any trouble is upon you. No one else.”
He left without a backward glance.
Chapter 2
Tomás entered the parlor, prepared to do battle. Ten señoritas, ten mamás rushed him. He backed up. Too late. Despite their silks gowns, cloying perfumes, and sparkling jewels, they surrounded him like hungry beasts in the wild, everyone speaking at once.
“How are you, dear Tomás?”
“Your color is excellent, but perhaps you should sit.”
“Here, take my arm. I can lead you to a bench.”
“No, take mine.”
“Why yours? I asked him first.”
He stood between the arguing young women before they came to blows. “Sit. Please. I have something to say once you do.”
The mamás hurried to the carved wooden benches and box chairs, tugging their daughters with them. The señoritas were young, most lovely, all educated, and trained to please a husband in every possible manner, to bear his sons willingly and with great frequency as duty demanded. To remain at his side for a lifetime whether he desired that or not.
Sweat trickled down his back. He wanted to flee. “As you know, I battled the Moors for many years.”
“How brave you are, dear Tomás.”
“No man has an equal.”
“You are a warrior among warriors.”
A stout countess worked her jeweled fan. “My daughter and I thank you for your kind service to God and Spain. Now, you must see to the rest of your life.”
He shifted his weight. “About that. Given my many battles and then my illness, I need to adjust to my role here.”
The women exchanged glances.
“I need to relax.” He strode to the right, the left, unable to keep still. “Marriage is a huge and sacred undertaking. As dear to everyone as the monarchs’ desire to conquer Granada and the Moors. No one should make such life decisions lightly. I cannot and will not. I need time to do things right. Solitude in the coming months, perhaps years, will give me a chance to think, plan, and eventually move forward with my life. Until then, I regret being unavailable.”
Finished, he steeled himself for shrieks, perhaps curses. Hopefully, they’d then leave his castle so he could find Beatriz again to tease and laugh.
The women stared, none railing or departing. Their sniffling soon filled the spacious parlor. More than one dissolved into tears.
They couldn’t be that desperate for a union with him. Surely, there were other victims for them to run down.
“You poor man.” A viscount’s wife pressed her hand between her ample breasts. “How greatly you suffered.”
The other mamás nodded and elbowed their daughters. The señoritas raced across the Persian rugs toward him. One touched his arm, the other his shoulder, another his wrist. All daubed their eyes with dainty pieces of linen decorated with lace and embroidered with flowers.
He edged away.
As one, the young women pursued until he ran into a large wall hanging. Trapped, he prayed for escape. The señoritas colorful gowns were too bright, the reds, blues, greens, yellows, making his head ache. Their faces swam before him, their eyes widened in worry, mouths trembling.
Zita glanced around the room. “Someone call a servant.”
As a boy, Tomás had run into Zita at numerous gatherings. When her parents and his had stopped keeping an eye on them to enjoy themselves, he and Zita had shared as many steamy kisses as they could.
Ines stroked his thumb.
He eased his hand away. “Why?”
Ines looked at him quizzically. “Why what?”
“Does Zita need a servant?”
“To pull a chair over for you. Unless you would prefer me to lead you to one.” Zita offered an indulgent smile. “So you may rest, poor man.” She stroked his other thumb and winked.
He cringed inwardly.
The young women chattered without pause about his health and need to rest. Each agreed with everything he’d told them earlier. Curiously, no one mentioned the months or years he’d require before wedding anyone. Their mamás watched closely, smiling or frowning at their daughters’ behavior.
A sharp rap on the door interrupted the scene, saving him. He hoped. He shouted above the others, “Come in.”
Nuncio slipped inside, his expression neutral, as a servant’s should be. His eyes however…
The old devil enjoyed Tomás’s pain.
“Forgive me for interrupting.”
He didn’t sound sorry in the least.
“Refreshments are served.” Nuncio threw open the door and gestured to the dining hall.
Inez placed her hand on Tomás’s left forearm for him to lead her to their meal. “You must eat well to keep up your strength.”
He prayed she wouldn’t feed him each bite to make certain he’d had enough.
Zita rested her hand on his right forearm. “Our family cook has many wonderful recipes, hearty dishes to keep a man strong, preparing him for anything.” She winked again. “I can share them with you later.”
Before he could decline, everyone spoke at once.
Tomás plodded toward the dining hall, a lamb going to slaughter. Trunks lined the castle entrance. Surely, these women hadn’t planned to spend the night, or
worse, the entire week. Staying until they’d worn him down, much like the monarchs’ battle plan against the Moors.
He would have given anything to be in an armed conflict now. Queen Isabella had relocated the Castilian court to Jaen on Granada’s border. There she’d wait, while Spain’s invading army pushed toward their enemy with a legion of fifteen thousand men on horseback and eighty thousand on foot, the force led by King Ferdinand.
That meet Tomás would readily enjoy.
This though…
Given what Cook had prepared, the meal might never end. Roasted fowl, pork, mutton, and beef filled one table in the cavernous dining hall, capable of accommodating a hundred men and certainly twenty women.
He dragged to his place at the head of the long table designed to seat thirty.
Inez directed a servant to pull out a chair for him, as one would for a man more decrepit than Nuncio.
Tomás wrested the chair from the female servant who was as broad as Señora Cisneros. “I need no assistance.”
“Strong men never do.” Zita waved away the aged servant she’d called over.
Tomás waited for the ladies to sit.
Galina, a duke’s third daughter, and Damaris, a count’s fifth child, glared at each other. They’d chosen the same chair, two down from his, with Zita and Ines having claimed those closest to where he would sit.
Before the young woman tore hair or clothing, Tomás gestured to the chair across from them. “Damaris, sit over there.”
She scowled. Her mother pinched her arm. Damaris’s frown transformed to a sweet smile. “Of course.”
She rammed her shoulder into Galina’s. The other señoritas knocked elbows and stepped on each other’s toes, accidentally or on purpose, while they gained their seats, then daintily allowed the servants to push them toward the table.
Nuncio marched to Tomás side and leaned in. “Is all well?”
