by Tina Donahue
When he’d been at Enrique’s castle, they’d heard from their other brother, Pedro, about the Crown’s advance on the Moors. Spain had already taken Cuxar, only two leagues from Baza, the next goal. Tomás’s destination after tonight.
He reached the back entrance. Light glowed in the kitchen, with a possible audience to his fury. He rounded the castle to enter from the front. Nuncio stood at the door, waiting for him.
Tomás frowned. “Go away.”
Nuncio took in Beatriz’s tear-streaked face, muddy clothing, and messy hair. “Don Tomás, you must listen to me.”
“Not now.”
Nuncio stood in his way. “You have a visitor.” He inclined his head to a carriage and men to the side, then glanced at Beatriz. “You need to speak with him.”
“I said, not now.”
For the first time in his service to Tomás, Nuncio wouldn’t retreat. He leaned close and whispered, “This is about her.”
Tomás grew cold. He looked over at Beatriz. “Go to your bed.”
“No.” Nuncio kept his voice low. “She needs to stay down here.”
Tomás went unsteady with foreboding. He waved her away. “Go to my study. Remain there until I say otherwise.”
She stared at him and Nuncio.
Tomás frowned. “Now.”
The moment she entered the castle, he crowded Nuncio. “Speak. Explain.”
“While you were gone, Señor Don Larnaz Telles arrived at the gate, demanding entrance.”
“And you let his carriage in? Tell him and his servants to go.”
“He awaits you in the parlor.”
“You let him in the castle?”
“I had no choice. The man is a marquis.”
“He could be king for all I care. I never heard of him. This has to be a mistake. Tell him to leave. Call the guards and have them throw him out if you must.”
“He demanded we bring Beatriz to him.”
Tomás’s belly clenched. “He spoke her name?”
“Quite clearly.”
“Beatriz, my servant? Surely, the man wants another woman called the same.”
“He expressly demanded her, Beatriz González y Serrano.”
“Have you lost all good sense? That is not her surname.”
“I told him as much. He gave me this to prove what he said and to show you.”
Nuncio handed him a portrait miniature, no larger than Tomás’s palm. He couldn’t look at the thing. Didn’t want to.
“The face is hers.” Nuncio pulled a torch from its holder and held the light closer to Tomás.
The artist must have painted Beatriz a few years earlier. She looked slightly younger. However, her features and hair were the same. He tried to understand this but couldn’t. “Was she in service to the marquis? Did she steal from him?”
“What servant has the means to have a portrait created?”
“How should I know? She might have tutored his children. Maybe she was an important part of the family. Nothing else makes sense.”
“You need to speak with him to find out.”
Squeezing the portrait, Tomás forced himself to go inside, and entered the parlor.
A corpulent man of perhaps sixty lumbered to his feet. Chin lifted, he glared at Tomás’s disheveled hair and soiled shirt, then wrinkled his nose. “I insisted on speaking to the master. Not a fool servant.”
Nuncio rushed up. “Allow me to introduce Don Tomás to you. He rules here.”
Don Larnaz’s florid cheeks went as dark as his wine-colored doublet and robe. He puffed out his chest, straining his already snug garments. “Don Tomás. We meet at last.”
“Why should we meet at all?”
Larnaz’s mouth fell open, making his sagging jowls more prominent. He frowned at Tomás’s fist. “You have my portrait. Return it at once.” He thrust out his hand.
Tomás ignored him, hating the man already for how he looked, behaved, and the way he’d said Beatriz’s portrait belonged to him. “How did you come to be here?” He stepped closer. “Who told you to barge in on my estate?”
The man’s shaggy eyebrows shot up. He recovered quickly, frowning. “I had no intention of requesting an audience with you. To answer your question, I believe the man’s name is Rufio.”
Tomás had to keep from reacting. Beatriz had warned him that Rufio would exact revenge. “How does he fit into this?”
“If you must know, I offered a reward for information leading to Beatriz’s whereabouts. I had her likeness posted at various areas in the city, even the ones where peasants gather, hoping for work. Rufio recognized her, had someone read what I had written, and appreciated the sum I offered for what he knew.”
“Beatriz worked for you? She stole money or property?”
His expression darkened. “She and I are betrothed.”
Nuncio gasped.
Tomás couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t possible. Yet her refusal finally made sense. If she’d accepted his marriage offer, the moment the banns were posted, Larnaz would have found out where she was and would have dragged her back.
Tomás curbed his outrage. “She ran from you.”
Larnaz sneered. “Beatriz and I had a quarrel, easily remedied. She adores her papá and wants what he does. He chose me for her. She agreed. I have the contract.”
Her father was alive? “He chose you? Are you saying Beatriz is noble born?”
He stroked his gray-streaked beard. “If only such a miracle were possible. Her beauty, however, does make up for her poor lineage to some degree. Her papá is one of the most prosperous merchants in the city. I agreed to take her off his hands.”
Tomás wanted to run the puto through. “Nuncio, ask Beatriz to come in here. Say I want to see her, not that the marquis has arrived.”
Nuncio backed away slowly.
Larnaz scowled. “Be quick about it.”
Nuncio wasn’t, but finally left the room.
Larnaz faced Tomás. “I have my men waiting outside should she try to slip away again. Beatriz can be quite headstrong at times. A lesson I learned too late. She needs a firm hand, which I intend to give until she learns to obey. Never again will she escape my reach.” He cleared his throat. “All this needless explanation is making me quite thirsty. I require a drop of wine.”
Tomás would die before giving him a sniff. “You can taste your own store once you leave.”
The man huffed.
Beatriz entered the parlor and stopped short. Her face deathly white, she stared at Larnaz as one would a demon.
Larnaz scowled. “What have you done to yourself? How dare you put me to such trouble only to have you look this way? Come here at once.”
She recoiled.
“Very well. I will go to you.” He stormed across the room.
Tomás stood between him and Beatriz. “Leave now. Never come here again.”
“As though we would. Once Beatriz and I take our leave from—”
“She stays.”
Deep red patches spread across Larnaz’s cheeks. “You have no say in this. She and I are betrothed. I have the contract.”
“If you had an order from the king, my answer would be the same. I asked for Beatriz’s hand. She accepted.”
* * * *
Beatriz’s vision dimmed. The room swayed.
Nuncio rushed to her side and took her hand. She gripped his fingers, surprised yet grateful for his comfort.
Shoulders squared, Don Larnaz faced Tomás. “The deal is done. Her dowry paid. She has no choice except to honor our contract.”
“So you can keep the money.” Tomás made a dismissive noise. “Or is the problem you have no means to pay the sum back?”
He clenched his fists and teeth. “The dowry is mine, given in good faith.”
“Then keep it. The money means nothing. I can settle matters with her father, pay him back what he gave you.”
She pulled her hand from
Nuncio’s. “Tomás, no.”
The men ignored her.
Sweat streamed down Don Larnaz’s face. “Her papá expects her to wed a marquis, not the son of a count. I know who you are and what you lack.”
“As does Beatriz. She can decide her own future.” Tomás looked over. “Do you want to wed this man?”
She’d rather die, but couldn’t let Don Larnaz or her father use Tomás for what they wanted. “I could never ask you to pay back my dowry.”
“I offered. Nothing you say will change my mind. Do you want to wed him?”
“Never.”
Don Larnaz stared at her as he would an animal he owned, his ugly smile promising hell on earth. “You have no choice.”
“She just made hers,” Tomás said. “Leave at once on your own or my guards will see you past the gate.
“Come.” Tomás cupped her elbow and led her from the room to the grand stairway.
Don Larnaz rushed after them. “This is not the end.”
Tomás squeezed her elbow. “Pay him no heed.”
He couldn’t be serious.
Don Larnaz followed them, shaking his fist and shouting, “I will have you as my wife.” He bellowed through the entryway, “You will never get away from me.”
Tomás and Beatriz mounted the stairs. She pressed closer to him. “Where are we going?”
“My bedchamber.”
“What?”
“Let me take care of things. All will be well.”
She had no idea how.
Nuncio kept flapping his hands and racing after Don Larnaz. “You must leave.”
“Get away from me, you old fool.” He lifted his face to Beatriz. “Whore.”
Tomás stopped and faced him.
Don Larnaz thrust out his belly. “Puto.” He spat.
Tomás stomped down the stairs, fists clenched, shoulders bunched. The marquis fled, slamming the door with such force its boom registered in her belly.
Tomás followed him.
“No, wait.” She ran after him.
Nuncio grabbed Tomás’s arm before he reached the door. “Violence will only make matters worse. You could end up answering charges.”
“Well worth it. Let go.”
“No.” Nuncio panted. “Think of Beatriz.”
She gripped Tomás’s other arm. “Please listen to us.”
He breathed hard. “I want to kill the puto.”
“I know.” She held fast. “But he ran so quickly he could very well have tripped and broke his neck saving you the trouble.”
Tomás laughed. “Let go of me.”
Neither she nor Nuncio did.
Tomás sighed. “I promise to behave.”
They released him.
“Come.” He led Beatriz up the stairs to the landing.
Señora Cisneros ran down the hall. “I heard shouting and the door slam. What happened?”
“Nothing,” Tomás took her candle. “Stay here and wait for my return.”
Once he and Beatriz were in his bedchamber, he lit several candles. After placing the holder to the side, he pulled her into his arms. “Why did you keep this from me?”
“I had no choice.” She pressed her palms against his broad back, and shuddered when she considered Don Larnaz holding her like this. “I was afraid.”
“You still are, trembling as though the swine had yet to leave.” He hugged her gently. “Did you think I would care what he said or let him take you away?”
“I never wanted to bring you trouble. I tried not to.”
“But I kept hounding you until you fell in love with me. Is that it? Are you sorry I behaved so badly?”
Beatriz laughed, surprised she could. “Never. What do we do now? What if he finds a way to fight you?”
“First, you need to take care of yourself. Stay in here until I return.”
She gripped his sleeve. “From where?”
“To speak to Señora Cisneros.”
“About what?”
“So many questions.” He cradled her cheek. “I have a surprise for you.”
“What? Where?”
“Take this.”
He handed her the miniature portrait her father had commissioned, claiming the practice was popular with elites. At the time, he hadn’t told Beatriz he’d planned to use her likeness to seek out a noble son-in-law. “This is your surprise? I want nothing of it.”
“I do, you look exquisite.” He put the piece on a cabinet. “However, my surprise has nothing to do with the painting. Stay here, please.”
He kissed her deeply, took Señora Cisneros’s candle, and left.
Beatriz wrung her hands and caught her reflection in a small mirror on the chest. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, hair pointed in every direction. Dirt smeared her face and clothes. She looked worse than Don Larnaz ever could, and he was a filthy swine.
She snickered, then laughed so hard she couldn’t draw a full breath. Her laughter grew to quick tears, then to giggles. What a sorry mess she was. Not wanting to make the bed or chairs dirty, she sank to the floor and propped her back against the cabinet.
A short while ago, losing the orange peel had devastated her. Arguing with Tomás about being his mistress, with him not wanting anything to do with her, had ended Beatriz’s world. Then to have Nuncio summon her to the parlor where Don Larnaz had waited had been her worst nightmare. For an instant, she’d believed he’d lead her away from the castle with Tomás closing the door on them, relieved she was gone.
She covered her face, hating that she’d doubted him in the least. He’d repeatedly admitted his love when she’d denied him any response or the truth. Upon learning who she was, he hadn’t quit her as any sane man would, but had protected her instead, offering his wealth to keep her free.
If only her mother had known a man like him.
Someone rushed past in the hall. Others followed.
Activity sounded in the next room. Scraping, a clang, and thud, sounds made when someone shifted furniture about. The last person to have slept there was Zita. She’d insisted on the bedchamber closest to Tomás’s, with her mamá claiming the one on the other side, trapping the poor man between them.
More footfalls sounded, numerous individuals passing. Servants, she guessed.
Nuncio called out, “Everyone departed. I watched from the parapet. Send for me if you require anything.”
Silence. Tomás must have nodded rather than spoken.
The footfalls finally retreated and relative quiet settled in, broken by the door opening. Tomás looked at the chairs and the bed, finally rounded the corner, and spotted her on the floor.
“I need to teach you to sit as a proper lady does.”
She giggled. “I warn you, some have called me a poor student.”
“Give me their names so I can run them through.”
She didn’t deserve him. No woman did. He was too good for this earth. “Gracias.”
“For threatening to murder putos who dare slander you? What else is a warrior for?”
“You stood by me.” No one else had except her mother. Beatriz extended her hand. “I can never repay you.”
He wrapped his fingers around hers. “No one said you have to. Come, your surprise awaits.”
He brought her to the next room, closing the door behind them. A servant had turned down the bed and lit enough candles to make the large room seem cozy. Someone else had brought in a metal tub. Steam rose from the water. A delicate rose fragrance filled the air from scented oil.
“You want me to take a bath?”
“I want you to relax. I can handle the rest, even washing your back and hair.”
She sagged against him, wrapping her arms around his middle. “Can I do nothing for you?”
“Promise to wed me.”
“I want to.” She hugged him with all her strength. “I always have.”
“And here Fernando and Enrique said
I had to wear you down.”
“What—who?”
“My brothers. I have five in all. Two are twins. I also have one sister, a father, two sisters-in-law, a niece, and a brand new nephew. The family also includes countless uncles, aunts, and cousins. Some we speak to. Others we try to ignore.”
She laughed. “What a family you have. Tell me more.”
“In time.” He leaned back enough to see her face. “I want to hear about you during your bath. Everything.”
He wanted the truth and certainly deserved to know what had brought her to this place in life. Tomás didn’t push, though, as other men might have. After helping her undress, he eased her into the warm fragrant water, and sank to one knee next to her.
She blew out a sigh. “How I missed this.”
“The bath or me tending you?”
“Both.” She ran her knuckles down his bristly cheek, loving how his whiskers scraped her skin. “You most, though, even with my aches.”
“You hurt? Where?”
“Every part of me.” She leaned back, letting water spill over her breasts. “Beating mattresses and draining pools is hard work.”
“Forgive me.” He turned her hand over and made a pained sound. “You have blisters. This is my fault.”
“Shh.” She silenced him with her fingertips on his lips. “You wanted me in the harem to remind me of our time there, no?”
“I thought if you recalled our love, you might change your mind about wedding me.”
“What a wonderful man you are, making me work until my skin nearly bled.”
He seemed torn between laughter and a sigh.
“Not once did I mind.” She trailed her fingers over his cheek. “I far preferred work here than my life in the city.”
“With your papá?”
She nodded. “He deals in the finest silks, velvets, and wools. Fabrics most nobles purchase from him.”
Tomás groaned. “I told you how to handle the harem silk when you already knew how, no?”
She nodded.
“Did you laugh at me afterward?”
“A little, while I was hauling heavy buckets of water to the courtyard.”
His cheeks reddened. “I should have been kinder to you.”
