Loving Lies

by Tina Donahue

  Chapter 4

  With his refusal, Isabella didn’t know how to stop Fernando, only how to protect him. She’d have to reveal everything so he would oust Don Rodrigo before the beast did any harm. With the way clear, Fernando would claim Sancha.

  Isabella’s heart ached. She imagined her sister’s shock at his arrival, then Sancha’s inevitable resignation to duty no matter how many times she’d threatened to run away. She’d give in to a man’s authority, as all women did, and would pretend to be someone she was not. Feigning joy as she wed a man she didn’t love or want, masking despair as she bore Fernando’s son to protect their papá’s estate.

  How could it end in happiness for any of them? Sancha would fulfill her wifely mission, nothing more, while Fernando would recall how her younger sister had deceived, making him the fool. He’d wonder about her response to his kisses and intimate touch when they were in the stream. He’d think her wanton and base for betraying Sancha and misleading him. He’d surely hate her. In his mind, she’d be dead. Everyone would lose, and this journey would hold the last moments Isabella would have with a man who’d offered her naught but protection and respect.

  She kept her face lowered to keep him from knowing how ashamed and saddened she was. He led her past the wheat into a stand of cork trees. She’d passed the third one when Fernando suddenly shoved her against the trunk.

  Before she could make a sound, he clamped his hand over her mouth and pressed his lips to her ear.

  “Keep still. Others are ahead.” He eased back and inclined his head.

  Two rough-looking characters stood near a mule tethered to a tree, surely the animal Fernando had mentioned. One of the men was rawboned with hungry eyes, the other double Fernando’s weight. Although his girth was in fat, he looked equally dangerous. Each had a sword and dagger. Both were dressed in stained garments. With their faces raised, the louts approached a tree where they untied a sack from its hiding place within the branches.

  Fernando lowered his hand from her mouth. Fearing he might challenge them, she grabbed his arm. “Let them have it. No supplies are worth fighting for.”

  “I have no intention of fighting. I can approach from behind and ambush them.”

  “Leaving me here without your protection?”

  “Come with me and hide in the bushes.”

  “No. Please.” She gripped his arm as the thieves enjoyed the bota of wine. “Wait until they finish. If they nap, you can surprise them then.”

  Fernando muttered what sounded like an Arabic oath but remained. The thieves helped themselves to the food and drink. Within minutes, both had finished the wine in between bites of what looked to be crispy bread and smooth cheese. Her mouth watered. When her stomach growled, Fernando looked at her. She pressed her arm against her belly. The thieves gorged on grapes and oranges, juice pouring over their lips, glistening on their bristly chins.

  The rawboned thief used his filthy sleeve to clean his mouth while the stout one pulled another bundle out of the branches. After unknotting it, he and his companion held up simple, homespun garments meant for a boy. The clothes Fernando had promised her.

  The rawboned thief pressed her shirt to his chest. When it proved too small for him to wear, he wrapped it around his balding head in a makeshift turban.

  “And who would you be?” the stout one asked. “The Sultan Boabdil?”

  The gaunt one laughed and swaggered like a king until the stout one thrust out his fat leg, tripping him. His arms flailed. He crashed to the ground, rolled over, and unsheathed his dagger. “Filthy swine.”

  “Take care.” The stout one brandished his dagger. With his free hand, he used Isabella’s hose to wipe his mouth then tossed the garment aside. “Insult me again and I may cut you to pieces, leaving them for the jackdaws to eat.”

  The rawboned thief’s eyes glittered with hatred, yet he made no further move or threat.

  His companion rummaged through the items: a sack hat, ankle boots for a boy, an acorn hat and other garments, including another pair of ankle boots obviously meant for a man of Fernando’s size.

  The thief stared at the clothing. Birds suddenly flew through the trees as if someone’s approach had startled them. Frowning, he unsheathed his sword and stood then took a step toward where she and Fernando hid. His companion was also on his feet, dagger in hand. Isabella held her breath. Fernando drew his sword from its scabbard, the satiny whoosh of metal sounding too loud.

  The stout thief advanced another step, shoulders bunched to his ears, head pushed forward as he strained to see more.

  Fernando shoved Isabella to the side, blocking her with his body. She grabbed her hair, holding it to her throat so the thief couldn’t use its color to detect their hiding place. The sound of snapping twigs broke the silence, telling her the thief was advancing again. She couldn’t see him any longer with Fernando blocking her. His muscles tensed as he awaited the thief’s arrival and subsequent battle.

  “Swine!” the stout one shouted.

  Isabella sucked in a breath, expecting Fernando to lunge forward and run the man through.

  He didn’t move.

  The mule brayed.

  “Wait,” the rawboned thief cried.

  Isabella leaned over to see past the trunk. The stout thief thrust his sword at his companion, who had untied the mule and was leading it away.

  “You steal the animal from me?”

  “No, no, no.” The rawboned thief waved his hands. “We can both use the animal.”

  “We? The beast belongs to me, to do with as I see fit. You will have none of it.”

  Before the mule knew what was coming, he swung his sword at its neck. The hapless animal fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

  The rawboned thief watched in rapt fascination as blood poured from a gaping wound in the creature’s throat.

  “See what you made me do.” The stout one wielded his bloody sword.

  The other thief backed away. “The garments and food were left for others. Do you want to be here when the owners arrive?”

  The fleshy one’s face paled. He looked about “We must leave. Come.”

  They backed away quickly and fled.

  Fernando muttered one Arabic word after the other.

  “All is not lost.” Isabella touched his sleeve. “Neither of us was harmed.”

  “Remain here. Press yourself to the ground so no one sees you.”

  “Why? Where will you be?”

  Fernando pulled her hands from his arm. “Following them.”

  Isabella followed him. He muttered more Arabic as he pushed her back to the tree. “Do as I say. Remain here.”

  “The mule is gone. Killing those two proves nothing.”

  “I have no intention of killing them unless I have to. I want to follow them to the mules or horses they kept hidden so we can have them.”

  “The men have weapons. You could be mortally injured and for what, so we can ride rather than walk?”

  Again, he tried to leave her, and again she followed.

  He gripped her arm and was forcing her back to the tree when the sound of hooves striking the ground reached them, signaling the thieves riding away. Fernando glared at her.

  She wasn’t cowed. “I would always prefer to walk to assure your safety.”

  “And another delay. This will be your last.” He yanked her forward. “Gather your garments and be quick about it.”

  As she obeyed, he collected the items he wanted, circling the mule, glancing beneath its legs.

  “Poor creature.” She stroked the animal’s nose and ear with her free hand. Even though it was past help, it seemed to look at her with gratitude. If there had been time, she would have asked Fernando to bury the sweet thing and would have received his frown for such sentiment.

  “Come.” He pulled Isabella to her feet. “We have to use another route to make certain no one follows.”

  As they left the area with the
ir arms full, he looked over. “Keep pace.”

  She tried and soon fell behind. “I might have less difficulty following you if I could put on these boots.”

  “When I tell you to, understand? I want no more of your delays.”

  “As you wish, my lord, but if not for my delays those two might have happened upon us in the midst of our repast. They might have waylaid us when we were on the road or as we napped or when we bathed again.”

  He scoured their surroundings. “Your belly keeps rumbling because we have no food. I failed you.”

  “Fernando, no. You rescued me. And my belly is not rumbling.”

  He slowed down, allowing her to catch up. Once she had, he regarded her growling stomach.

  She pressed what she carried to it. “These garments are noisy, no?”

  He laughed softly. “What a liar you are and impossible.”

  “In addition to being disagreeable, difficult, and breathless?”

  He stopped. Isabella had already gone several steps beyond him before she was able to halt. Once she’d returned, he inclined his head to the right. “This way.”

  He led her through the trees until they reached a spot man and horse would find difficult to traverse. There, Fernando removed his weapons, high boots, and hose and dressed in the garments from the sack. The articles weren’t at all like the colorful clothing even peasants were wont to wear. These were deliberately drab, in muted grays and browns, to avoid calling too much attention to their owner.

  Hers were the same. She dropped what she carried, pulled off his shirt, and offered it to him. “Do you want this?”

  He regarded her tightened nipples and the cleft between her legs. “Later, my queen, I assure you.”

  She threw the shirt at him. The thing landed on his head. He laughed. She smiled until she considered what could happen later. “Will we sleep beneath the stars tonight?”

  “I intend to find us shelter.”

  “Of what sort?” Only trees, fields of wild wheat, and pasturage occupied the area.

  “Whatever we come upon.”

  Reluctant to ask more, she pulled the linen braies and woolen hose over her scraped knees, gritting her teeth at the pain. Recalling how the stout thief had used her hose to clean his face, she grimaced.

  Fernando smiled. “Why the scowl? I believe I like you as a boy.” He studied her naked breasts.

  She pulled the drab brown shirt over them, put on her belt and ankle boots but not the sack hat.

  “The hat, too.” Fernando gestured. “Your hair gives you away.”

  She pushed to her feet. “Give me your dagger.”

  “Why?”

  “To shear my hair.”

  He stood. “Never will you do so, do you hear me? Defy me on your hair or anything else and I will bind you hand and foot to our bed until you learn to obey me.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I thought you liked me as a boy.”

  “I like this.” He pressed his face against her hair, inhaling deeply of its scent. “And this.” He roughly fondled her left breast. “And this.” He claimed her mouth.

  His kiss was wet, noisy, hungry, his tongue dancing with hers, sweeping over her teeth. Excitement and yearning consumed Isabella. She matched his passion, giving him her all, her mouth loose and wanting beneath his, surrendering to whatever he desired. This could be the last kiss they shared. This would certainly be the only journey they would ever take. She wanted to prolong the time they had.

  Fernando used her well before he was sated. As he lifted his head, she slipped her arms around his torso and held tight, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Despite his pounding heart and stiffened member, he allowed her desperate caress for only a moment. “We must quit this place. Our newest route takes us farther than I had planned.”

  She rubbed her face against his shoulder, unwilling to move.

  He finally eased away and cupped her chin in his hand. “I know how weary you are, but we will have a place to stay tonight.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I promise you.”

  * * * *

  They walked with few pauses. Even when the moon hung heavy and bright in the sky, they came upon nothing except more fields and trees. Isabella wasn’t of a mind to complain. Fate, fortune, qisma, whatever one called it, had granted her a longer journey with Fernando. No matter the difficulty of their route, no matter her exhaustion, she was grateful for the added time and the possibility of resolving this in everyone’s favor.

  She kept pace as much as she could despite the sharp pains in her feet and legs. Fernando searched for danger until he glanced at her and stopped.

  She kept staggering. If she stopped now she’d fall to the ground, tempting him to return to the first, shorter route and get them to her papá’s castle before she had a plan.

  He called from behind, “You need to rest.”

  She pressed the heel of her hand to her aching side. “You were the one who stopped. It would seem you need to rest.”

  “You are such a liar.” He caught up with her. “Even the mortally wounded walk better than you.”

  Keeping her sorry pace, she regarded him. The ends of his dark hair gleamed silver in the moonlight. His face was startling in its male beauty. “Staggering is one of my embarrassing infirmities that has afflicted me since—”

  “I planned to bed you.”

  She looked at the moonlit path then him. “Fernando, get out of my way.”

  He didn’t, so she had to stop. As she drew in ragged breaths, he crouched in front of her. “Wrap your legs around my hips and your arms about my shoulders.”

  “You plan to carry me? No. I refuse.”

  “You have no choice, unless you want me to drag you by your hair.”

  “I should have sheared it when I had the chance.”

  His expression darkened, warning her she had better do as he’d commanded. How could she resist? She snuggled against him, his strength and warmth comfort she required.

  She pressed her lips to his ear. “Am I too heavy?”

  “Only a boulder would be worse.” Despite her alleged weight, he straightened with little trouble and walked.

  “Gracias.” She kissed his neck.

  When she eased back, he turned his face to hers. “Being a warrior seems to have its rewards.”

  Isabella smiled. He turned back to the path.

  “Have you always been a warrior?” she asked.

  He pulled in a deep breath and nodded. “Sharing a castle with my uncivilized brothers and a petulant younger sister required it.”

  “Ah…would your uncivilized brothers be as handsome as you?”

  “I am by far the most handsome of the lot.”

  “How fortunate for you, my most humble lord.”

  He turned his head to her and grinned. “The good fortune would be yours. For the rest of your days you have to look at my face.”

  She had the rest of this journey, no more. Even so, she wasn’t going to ruin this sweet moment with a sigh. “Do your brothers also have dark hair?”

  “All except for two.” After swallowing, he pulled in more air. Clearly, her weight was taxing him. “Enrique, the eldest, has a white forelock. He claims to have gotten it when an untried stallion nearly trampled him, which is nonsense. It happened when he discovered what effort it takes to run a great estate. The shock nearly killed him, turning a young man into an old one.”

  Isabella laughed. “Is he a lazy man?”

  “He was a lazy boy. As a man, he worries about his holdings to the exclusion of everything else, even taking a bride. You see, my queen, I shall be the first of my brothers to produce an heir. And trust me on this, there will be many sons after him.”

  Only if a miracle delivered them to her. She pressed her lips to Fernando’s cheek, needing the comfort his warmth brought.

  He made a contented sound. She hugged him in return. “You said two of your brothers have hair lighter than yours.
Who would the other one be?”

  “Tomás, the youngest. His hair resembles the color of wheat. Quite odd. Now what of your twenty sisters?”

  “I have three, as you well know, and all are more comely than I.”

  “Impossible, though you did say your sisters were far more demure and surely weigh less.”

  She loosened her arms. “I should walk on my own. You can scarcely breathe carrying me.”

  “Stay where you are.” He tightened his grip on her legs.

  Isabella softened against him. “How right you are about my sisters.”

  “All of them together weigh less than you?”

  She grinned at his teasing. “All are far more demure, though Concepcion and Carmen have been known to cause their own brand of mischief.”

  “Are they twins like my brothers Pedro and Alfonso?”

  “Not twins, though close enough in age to cause each other trouble. Carmen, the youngest, far prefers Concepcion’s gowns, combs, friends, even the food she eats. They fill their days with endless rivalry, tearing gowns off each other and fighting until one of them bleeds.”

  “And you consider them demure?”

  “My sisters have no choice now since arriving at court and being under the Queen’s tutelage.”

  “It appears I was wrong before. They, not you, are the ones who needed to be tamed.”

  “Not at all. The rivalry between Sancha and I was far worse, even though she readily acquiesced to my demands and schemes, but she prefers books to battles. She knows as much as a man, perhaps even more.”

  Although he panted from her weight, Fernando still managed to chuckle. “No woman can be so learned.”

  Isabella frowned. “Sancha is. She has a fine mind and should use it, much like Beatriz de Galindo, the woman who tutors the Queen’s children. Sancha can speak and read nearly any language. She knows the history of every land on earth, she can write stories, she knows the use of plants and herbs, she very nearly is the son our parents never had. But why not, as she is el—”

  Isabella stopped abruptly, realizing she’d been ready to say Sancha was the eldest. Her heart pounded as Fernando came to a halt.

  She bit her lip, fearing he’d guessed the truth and that her time with him was already at an end because she’d wanted to defend her sister.