Passionate Pursuit

by Tina Donahue

  A chorus of “No” rose through the crowd.

  Rufio kept his tongue, docile as a lamb between the two guards gripping his arms.

  “Talk.” Tomás drew blood from Serrano’s throat. “Or die. Your choice.” Killing him would be a privilege for what he’d put Beatriz and her mamá through.

  As the sun dipped below the trees and hills, the puto told his hideous tale of greed. Every time he tried to make himself sound like a victim, Beatriz stopped him. “Again, he lies.”

  Repeatedly, Tomás flicked his blade on the swine’s throat for not telling the truth. Soon there were enough nicks to bleed him as the surgeon had done to Tomás when he’d fallen ill.

  The lies finally stopped, naught but truth came out. The alguacil led Serrano away.

  Beatriz slumped against Tomás.

  He sheathed his blade and took her into his arms. “Did he hurt you?”

  “A few bruises.”

  “Swine. I should run him through.”

  “No.” She tightened her arms around him. “Stay with me.”

  “Always.”

  “Take me home,” she cried.

  Gladly.

  Epilogue

  A month later…

  Beatriz crossed her bedchamber, a room she’d grown to love. After today, she’d never sleep here again.

  Yolanda leaned out the window, face raised to the sky. “Not a cloud anywhere, just the sun. No one could ask for better.” She pushed back inside and bounced on her heels. “Lovely afternoon for a wedding.”

  Indeed. With people Beatriz loved in attendance. Besides Yolanda, Isabella was here. Sancha had arrived days before. She was as beautiful as her sister, her auburn tresses threaded with gold, eyes a rich brown rather than blue-green. Both women took Beatriz’s bright yellow gown from the wardrobe, the silk adorned with pearls and glittery beads. She and Tomás had chosen the dress as their favorite among those he’d commissioned for her. Today, she’d wear their choice as they finally joined as man and wife forever.

  “I just thought of something.” Isabella draped a chemise over her arm. “Beatriz is the first to wed a de Zayas brother after posting banns.”

  With Serrano held by the authorities for his crimes, and Don Larnaz eagerly bowing out, there wasn’t any need to hide the impending union.

  “True,” Sancha said. “At last, one of us did this the right way.”

  Isabella nodded. “None too soon, either. How many sacerdotes are there, especially ones willing to wed a couple in secret because of friendship, like what happened with you and Enrique? Not a lot I would wager. Which only leaves holy men susceptible to bribes or those easily fooled like the one who wed Fernando and me when I—”

  Beatriz cleared her throat loudly and inclined her head to Yolanda. The girl was all eyes and ears.

  “Right.” Isabella looked sternly at the child. “Tell me the rule about what you hear within these walls.”

  “Never repeat a word to another soul and forget everything promptly.”

  “Such a treasure. Turning into quite the beauty too.”

  Yolanda blushed. Her new clothes had arrived. The child’s gowns were in silk or velvet, simply designed yet elegant. Today, she wore the light blue frock, her favorite. With her dark hair in a braid adorned with flowers, she hinted at the exquisite woman she’d be someday. Bright too.

  “May I show everyone what you gave me earlier?” Beatriz asked.

  Yolanda’s rosy cheeks bloomed red. “Long as no one laughs.”

  “Never,” Isabella said.

  Sancha smiled gently. “You can trust us to be kind.”

  “Go on then.” Yolanda still wrapped her arms around herself, bracing for cruel judgment.

  Not a chance. Beatriz adored the child. She gave her a tender look and unfolded the paper Yolanda had offered as a wedding gift. At the top was the alphabet, drawn much smaller now than during her first lesson, though her hand was still unsteady. Beneath the letters, she’d printed Good Wishes.

  Happy tears rolled down Beatriz’s cheeks.

  Yolanda slumped. “Is it so awful?”

  “Beautiful. The most wondrous thing I have ever seen.” She hugged the girl.

  Sancha looked next and applauded the effort.

  Isabella winked at Yolanda. “Well done.”

  She blushed hotly. “Don Tomás helped me over several days, until I got the words right.”

  Such a good man. Beatriz marveled at her luck in finding him. “I intend to have this framed to hang on the wall.”

  “Oh no.” Yolanda laughed self-consciously but looked pleased too, proud of what she’d accomplished.

  Isabella shook out the chemise. “Best we get Beatriz ready before Tomás and the other men storm this room, asking when, or if, the ceremony will start.”

  They were getting married on the lawn just as Beatriz had fantasized. Tomás’s papá had traveled from the north to attend. He was outside now with his sons, except for Pedro, who was still fighting for the Crown. Their sister, Catarina, was on her way with husband and son.

  Yolanda leaned out the window again. “Looks to me like the men are having a grand time. Some of them are playing dice on a blanket. My guess is they have wine in their goblets, not milk.”

  Beatriz joined her.

  Fernando, Gabriello, and Enrique played dice, Enrique’s white forelock a startling contrast to his dark hair. Back from battle he’d found distasteful, Dominico stood nearby to officiate. Alfonso and the brothers’ papá each held a goblet, sipping their drinks and conversing.

  Tomás stood apart from the others, face tipped to Beatriz. He smiled.

  She sagged against the window frame, warmth gliding through her. The tenderness and heat in his gaze promised a future she never believed existed and couldn’t resist. Grinning, Beatriz held up her forefinger, asking for a moment.

  He mouthed, “Hurry,” or “harem.” Either way, she wasn’t about to keep him waiting.

  She ducked back into the room. “Ladies, we have no time to waste.”

  Juana and Bartolomé gurgled, both infants on the bed.

  With three sets of hands helping her, Beatriz was soon ready, her gown buttoned and laced, hair free, except for two long braids to hold a garland on her head. Long yellow ribbons dangled from the back of the flowers.

  Hardly a proper style for a Spanish noblewoman, but Beatriz didn’t care. Pleasing Tomás and herself mattered most.

  Yolanda clapped. Isabella grinned. Sancha pressed her hands to her chest, her eyes glittering.

  Laughing, Beatriz ran outside.

  Nuncio smiled at her before she passed.

  She grinned in return and quickly reached Tomás’s side. The breeze stirred his blond locks, his deep purple doublet, and robe. The right leg of his hose was gold, the left leg brown.

  Dazzling.

  Despite the others here, Beatriz leaned into him, savoring his clean scent, her hand on his chest. “How handsome you are.”

  “I have to be. You are beyond compare.”

  She beamed, waiting for more praise. He offered naught but silence. She pushed out her bottom lip. “Is that all you have to say about me?”

  “You want more?” He seemed surprised. “Very well. You make the finest jewel weep with envy, the breeze dance with delight, the sun shine on you alone, forgetting everyone else.”

  She never tired of how he went on. “Tonight, I have a surprise for you.”

  Tomás looked intrigued and amused. “You had better.”

  “Not that.”

  He regarded her belly.

  “I think…that is, I hope… I need a few more weeks to be certain.” She pressed her mouth to his ear. “Will we go to the harem for our first evening as husband and wife?”

  “Where else?”

  “I like how you think.”

  “Is that your surprise, agreeing with me?”

  Better. Over these last weeks, Beatriz had wr
itten an epic poem about him as they’d discussed when first becoming friends. She told of his bravery in rescuing her from Serrano and Don Larnaz, Tomás’s skill with a blade, his honor, and good heart.

  El Cid had nothing on this man.

  Tonight, she’d read the poem to him while he rested before taking her again.

  She stroked his chest. “Perhaps my newly docile manner is my surprise. Then again, perhaps not. To find out, you need to wed me first.”

  “I like how you think.” He offered his arm, prepared to give Beatriz his future.

  As she would with him, offering Tomás her heart for eternity.

  Their passionate pursuit of each other had only begun.

  Be sure not to miss the second book in Tina’s erotic Dangerous Desires series.

  WICKED WHISPERS

  Follow the heart through darkness…

  As the Inquisition gains force, even the faintest rumor can brand one a heretic. In this world it is Sancha’s gift—or curse—to be blessed with the gift of healing. But the villagers are in need of her arts more than ever, and she feels it is her duty to help them at the risk of losing her life. And at the sacrifice of her heart…

  Enrique has never wanted a woman as he does Sancha. Determined to have her love, he woos her with exquisite passion, giving her refuge to pursue her healing in secret. But their very desire and escape from the ruthless forces of the world may be their undoing. And together, they must pit themselves against a jealous rival and archaic tradition to secure their place in a hopeful new world…

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  Chapter 1

  Andalucía, Spain—1488

  The castle of Don Fernando de Zayas

  Of all the perils a man might face, Enrique de Zayas figured the worst was unending desire for a woman. Especially one whose heart he hadn’t yet claimed, because the lady in question was being remarkably difficult. Heat had burned in Sancha’s eyes the few times she’d deigned to meet his gaze. Of course, she had been busy tending to his brother Fernando’s grave injuries, sparing him death and life as a cripple.

  Isabella would never have forgiven her sister if Sancha had chopped off Fernando’s arm and leg to save his life. He was a warrior knight and had proved his bravery by falling in love with and wedding Isabella, one of the Lopéz de Lara sisters, who appeared to be delicate Spanish flowers but were as hard as any man.

  Steeling himself for whatever happened tonight, Enrique joined the other nobles in his brother’s grand dining hall. Exotic spices, garlic, and onions scented the cavernous space. Rich tapestries depicting country life hung on the walls below ornate Moorish designs in gold and silver. The metal glinted from the flickering candlelight and oil lamps. A harpist, flutist, and a man playing a lute sat in the center area on red chairs. The musicians’ vibrant Spanish melody was scarcely audible beneath too much converse and loud laughter from hundreds of guests, all dressed in their finest.

  He spotted Isabella, regally attired in a gold silk gown that complemented her auburn hair and milky complexion. She saw him too and threaded through the crowd, heading his way. Numerous señoritas also edged close, eyeing him as the main fare for this evening’s feast. Being a rich man in need of a wife was the second greatest peril a man could face. Isabella stood only as close as etiquette allowed to quell wagging tongues. Spaniards loved intrigue whether it involved the Crown or one of Spain’s wealthy subjects. Her earlier abduction and near sale as a concubine for the Sultan’s harem had certainly fueled enough gossip.

  She turned into him, the top of her head reaching his shoulder. “Take heart. Sancha is here tonight.”

  His pulse pounded. Warmth rushed to his groin.

  Isabella glanced around the opulent, red-walled room. “This time she promised not to take too long with the servant.”

  “Too long doing what?”

  Isabella paled then shrugged. “Whatever one does with servants. Trust me, she will not keep you waiting.”

  She already had, repeatedly, in the few weeks since they’d met. To him the time seemed longer than most of his life. He wasn’t a man who needed decades to determine his feelings for a woman. With Sancha, he’d fallen in an instant. Each day without her added to his torment.

  He frowned.

  “Oh no.” Isabella regarded him closely. “Have you lost interest in her already?”

  She’d made him sound like the worst sort of beast when he was the one in pain. “It would appear your sister has never shared my passion.”

  She flicked her hand dismissively. “You need to woo her as Fernando wooed me.”

  “When he believed you were Sancha, his betrothed, or after he learned your true identity?”

  “Both.” She grinned despite the hell she’d put him, Fernando, and two of their other brothers through. “Everything worked out as it should.”

  Indeed. Sancha had never wanted to wed Fernando. With Isabella taking her place, she remained blissfully unattached in order to torture Enrique with his endless yearning. “Where is my brother?”

  “Resting before the meal. I insisted he do so until his strength returns.”

  “Fernando allows you to order him about?”

  Her slender eyebrows lifted slightly. “You believe I or anyone could make demands of a warrior-knight? Never. I request and woo. Something for you to keep in mind with my sister.” She searched the crowd and inclined her head. “There she is.”

  God help him, Enrique couldn’t resist staring.

  Bathed in the light of candles and oil lamps, she seemed unearthly, an angel sent to visit mere mortals, her complexion creamy and flawless, streaks of gold highlighting her auburn hair, a shimmering mass of temptation.

  He locked his knees to steady himself, lost in her allure.

  She stepped deeper into the room, emerald skirt swaying, her gown cut modestly, though still providing a hint of her ripe breasts and narrow waist. Unlike the other women here, she wore no jewels to prove her wealth, which was considerable. She was sole heir to her late parents’ estate, her holdings as vast as his.

  Caballeros watched as she passed.

  She didn’t glance at any of them.

  Enrique wasn’t about to suffer such treatment for himself any longer. Tonight he would change everything between them. First though, she had to look at him. To see him.

  She stared into the distance, lost in her own world. A server passed too close and brushed her arm. Despite his heavy tray, he stopped and inclined his head in apology. She offered a gentle smile and stepped back to give him more room, her gaze touching Enrique.

  He stilled, unable to draw a full breath. Pleasure registered on her lovely face, followed by the same longing he’d seen during their previous encounters, her dark eyes luminous with unmasked desire.

  They wouldn’t satisfy their craving for each other easily. She may have believed she was independent and even enjoyed playing a role more suited to a male. However, she still had a woman’s need for a man to thrill and protect her within his strong embrace.

  He fully intended to be that man. His inertia broke. He stepped toward her.

  Her passion instantly turned to caution.

  Fearing she might bolt, he prepared to give chase.

  Isabella dug her fingers into his sleeve. “Give me a moment with her. My sister is shy.”

  Sancha’s impassioned expression upon seeing him had said otherwise. Hunger had burned deep within her, simply waiting to be free.

  “Stay here.” Isabella patted his sleeve and brushed past the others.

  Enrique waited a moment, lost patience, and followed. Another hand clamped on his arm. He gritted his teeth and turned.

  Luscinda de Cortés held onto him, her strength surprising, her expression too eager. He would have expected such desperation from a homely woman, not her. She was remarkably beautiful
, her snowy skin, long black hair, and dark eyes enhancing her sultry features. Her full lips had surely given many caballeros pleasant dreams. The scandalous cut of her red silk gown barely covered her ample breasts, quivering with each breath she took. Numerous pearl necklaces studded with diamonds graced her long throat.

  From the rumors he’d heard, her clothing and gems represented the full sum of her family’s wealth. A matter her mamá, Señora de Cortés, seemed determined to change, allowing her daughter to dress as she had tonight to catch a rich husband. The older woman stood to the side, watching closely.

  He regarded Luscinda’s hand on his arm.

  A painfully long moment passed before she finally released him. “So good to see you here, Enrique.”

  Where else would he be with Fernando celebrating his and Isabella’s union? Given how their wedding had come about, he’d suspected his brother might need help defending against any unkind comments or gossip.

  He, on the other hand, needed to keep Luscinda and her grasping family away from himself. Rather than address him as Don Enrique, as good manners required, she’d addressed him as a betrothed or a man who was already her husband. He’d willingly face death before wedding her or anyone other than Sancha. Rather than explain the obvious, he bowed his head slightly. “Doña Luscinda.”

  Señora de Cortés snapped her fan and beat the air with the thing. He pretended not to notice the woman’s outrage at his failure to add señorita to his greeting, affording her daughter even greater respect.

  Luscinda’s expression remained inviting and seductive. Color stained her cheeks, her pupils dilating unnaturally, possibly the result of using belladonna in her eyes and on her face. The poison was supposed to enhance a woman’s beauty, if it didn’t kill her first.

  He hardly wished her harm, wanting only to have her bother someone else. Perhaps if he simply ignored her, she’d drift away. He glanced at Sancha. She neared one of the tables, speaking to Isabella as if no one else in the room existed, not even him.