Loving Lies

by Tina Donahue

  Content with the scenario, Isabella washed. She’d finish as quickly as possible, dress, build a fire, and see to their meal. Thinking of her coming duties, she stopped listening to the other sounds.

  * * * *

  As he slept, Fernando was vaguely aware of leaves stirring and twigs cracking, though his slumbering mind interpreted the sounds as someone, or something, feasting on bones. He pictured the galgo devouring a rabbit it had killed. Ever since the dog had joined them, it had repeatedly delayed their journey in an endless search for food. Never had Fernando known such a hungry dog, or one that complained so frequently. Diego was suddenly grunting and whining quite loudly. Expecting his papá to hunt rabbits for him?

  Not likely. Fernando remained where he was, quite content to spend the rest of the day and night sleeping.

  Before long Diego’s whining stopped, and Fernando relaxed until another part of his mind warned him of something. What? He searched his weary thoughts, breathed deeply at the effort and paused.

  He was sleeping when he shouldn’t be. He’d stopped to wait for Isabella and had nearly collapsed from his own fatigue. Had she arrived? Was she safe? Had the galgo protected her, or was the infernal dog hunting another meal for itself?

  Instinctively, Fernando reached for his sword. He couldn’t find it. Alarmed, he sought his dagger. At the same moment, something pressed hard on his fingers imprisoning them.

  His eyes flew opened. A sword’s blade rested on the base of his throat. Two fingers were gone from the hand wrapped around the hilt. Blood covered the rest.

  Not Isabella’s. Never hers.

  Without thinking, Fernando pushed to a sitting position and might have made it to his feet if not for the blade piercing his flesh. He felt the flow of his own blood, sticky and hot, before searing pain stole his breath.

  The man he’d humiliated last night seemed more than pleased. “You dare fight me? Beg for mercy. Speak the words loudly so all can hear.”

  Fernando’s heart slammed against his chest. He didn’t dare look away, concentrating on movement in the corners of his vision. No one else approached. If the puto’s companions were following, they hadn’t arrived as yet, nor did Fernando detect their advance. Who else could hear him begging for mercy? Had the puto been referring to Isabella?

  Fernando behaved as humbly as he could. “I beg of you, leave my companion out of this. He is only a boy who—”

  “Liar.” The man smiled showing his rotted teeth. “Before I came to you, I found your whore bathing in the stream. Her body is as smooth as a child’s. Did you force her to make herself so? Pity. Each time my hand went between her legs I felt cheated, until I buried myself within—you dare move?”

  Fernando breathed hard. His muscles coiled as the man’s sword again pierced his flesh. He felt nothing this time, worried about this beast assaulting Isabella.

  Fernando refused to believe or accept such a thing. The puto hadn’t harmed her. She was still alive. She had to be. “I beg of you—”

  “You ask for mercy? Did you show me such consideration? Or is this what you had in mind?”

  The blade nicked Fernando’s jaw. He gritted his teeth, his mind racing. How many fingers would he lose if he grabbed the sword? Could he wrest it from this madman if his palms were sliced? If he were unable to save himself, what would become of Isabella?

  The man offered an ugly smile. “You grow so quiet and troubled. Do you fear your whore is dead? For the moment, she is quite alive. I intend to use her well and long in the coming days before I finish her off.”

  Fernando’s throat tightened. He glanced at the man’s hands as he again considered whose blood covered them.

  * * * *

  Isabella broke through the water’s surface, thinking she heard Diego whine. The galgo wasn’t on the bank or at the edge of the stand, nor was Fernando. She stared at the trees and shivered, feeling unbearably chilled, though it had nothing to do with the breeze caressing her wet flesh.

  Something was amiss, urging her to hurry from the water. On the bank, she yanked on her garments and ran to the stand, only then remembering the sack hat and Fernando’s sword. She was inclined to leave both but considered how angry Fernando would be if she did.

  With sword in hand and the hat stuffed inside her hose, she ran through the trees. Her foot hit an obstacle. She pitched forward. Her mouth opened on a startled cry, arms jerking up to stop her fall. She slammed against a trunk. White-hot pain radiated from her bruised shoulder to her wrist. Even so, she held on to the sword. Clenching her teeth, she looked down to see what she’d fallen over.

  Within the leaves’ greenish tint, she spotted what seemed like a mound of dirt yet was actually the carcass of a small animal. Breathing hard, Isabella leaned over to see what lay beside it. A scream caught in her throat. She dropped the sword and sagged next to Diego's lifeless body.

  “Oh, dog.”

  The galgo’s eyes, still gentle in death, seemed to touch hers.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. Someone had stabbed Diego repeatedly, slit his throat, and cut his belly open, exposing his entrails. She lowered her head and sobbed. Who could do such a thing? What kind of fiend could harm a poor animal like this?

  Who else?

  The puto was here. He’d followed them and had used the carcass to lure and kill Diego. Fernando had to be his next target.

  With his sword in hand, Isabella pushed to her feet and tore through the trees, telling herself Fernando was still alive. Tears blurred her vision. Her mind cried his name repeatedly.

  At the end of the trees, she stopped and stared in horror. The puto’s back was to her as the tip of his sword remained on Fernando’s throat. Numerous wounds marred it. The fiend flicked the blade, drawing more blood.

  Despite his injuries, Fernando didn’t plead. His attention remained locked on his tormentor, his hand searching the ground to his side, seeking a sword no longer there.

  The puto laughed and quickly lifted his weapon with both hands, the tip of its blade poised over Fernando’s heart.

  A scream caught in her throat.

  She bolted toward them and drove Fernando’s sword deep into the man’s back. The blade sliced effortlessly through clothing and flesh. Upon hitting bone, the weapon jerked in her hand. The man stiffened, dropped his blade and turned.

  Isabella’s hands fell away from the sword. She jumped back.

  When the man saw her, he lifted his eyebrows in surprise. His mouth moved, though he said nothing. Frothy bubbles, tinted pink then red, oozed past the corners of his lips. Fernando pushed to his feet and drew his dagger across the man’s throat, slicing it from ear to ear.

  Blood gushed out of the gaping wound. Never had Isabella seen so much blood. Even after Fernando released him, the man remained on his feet for a long moment before dropping to the ground.

  She stepped back.

  The man’s legs and arms convulsed in the last throes of death. A fate that might have been Fernando’s.

  “Isabella.”

  Tears dripped from her chin. She’d taken his sword and had nearly cost him his life. She’d caused him great pain and was leading him toward equally grave circumstances.

  “Isabella.”

  She shivered violently.

  * * * *

  Fernando’s chest tightened. Although he murmured her name again, she kept her face down. He recalled what the puto had said about raping her. “Were you harmed?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself.

  Fernando held back a cry of pain and rage. He stepped around the man to go to her, stopping when she looked at him. She stared at his neck and shirt, both drenched with blood.

  Her shirt was the same. Was the blood the puto’s alone?

  “What did he do to you?” Fernando searched her clothes. “He said he came upon you as you bathed in the stream. He claimed to have—”

  “He lied…he never touched me.”

  Her voic
e was haunted, the same as her eyes. Fernando wanted to pull Isabella into his arms and comfort her, but he feared causing her more distress.

  He pulled the sword from the man’s back and wiped the blood off it and his dagger. “The puto left his mount within the trees to the right.” Fernando glanced at the ground, then the horizon. “Only one set of tracks leads here. It appears he acted alone, unless his companions have yet to catch up.” He looked over his shoulder at the stream. “Once we wash his blood from our garments we have his gelding to use.” Again, he glanced around. “Where is Diego?”

  She glanced past him at the stand of trees she’d run through.

  Fernando managed another shallow breath. “The galgo will return when he sees us leaving. Come.” He strode toward the stream.

  She didn’t follow.

  Fernando returned to her. “We must quit this place as quickly as we can. We cannot wait for Diego nor can we call to him. The puto’s companions might hear us.”

  She looked from the edge of the stand to him, her face ashy, mouth trembling. “Diego is beyond hearing.”

  “What do you mean? Where did you last see him? Isabella.” Fernando wanted to shake her to get an answer but thought better of it. “Where did you last see our son?”

  “He is not our son! You and I will never have a son! He will see to your death! He—” She pressed her hands to her mouth, stopping her words.

  Fernando’s belly clenched at the anguish in her voice and eyes. “The puto is dead.” Didn’t she realize he was no longer a threat? “Neither you nor I will come to harm from him. Even so, we must quit this place. Tell me where Diego is. We have no time left for coaxing the beast.”

  “We have no need.” Her voice shook. “Diego’s throat and belly were slit.”

  Surprise and sorrow stole Fernando’s breath. “For that alone the puto deserved to die. However, we cannot linger.” He hesitated then sighed. “Not even to bury Diego.”

  She stared, saying nothing.

  “The puto’s companions may be following.” He glanced behind them. “We have no choice except to leave. As it is, we have scarce time to wash. Come.”

  He took her hand and led her to the stream.

  * * * *

  Her fire was gone. Even her grief had vanished. In its place were a haunted stare and a silence so profound Fernando didn’t know what to say or how to comfort.

  She’d lost a galgo she loved deeply. She’d struck a mortal blow killing a man. She’d bravely faced the death of her parents and an abduction only to have today’s events destroy her.

  As Fernando rode behind her on the gelding, he tightened his arm around her waist so she felt protected.

  She shivered.

  With his attention on the surrounding area, he untied the woolen blanket behind the saddle and draped it over her damp clothes. Despite its warmth and the sun’s heat beating mercilessly on them, her teeth chattered.

  He considered whether a fire would help, but was loath to stop so close to where the puto had attacked them. Fernando had no way of knowing if the man’s companions were using the same route and would soon be here. His only choice was to ride until he and Isabella reached a posada or venta.

  Despite the passage of time and the many leagues they covered, there wasn’t an inn. He feared they wouldn’t find any on this route.

  As the hour grew late and the gelding weary of the burden it carried, Fernando finally reined in the horse so he might walk as she rode.

  The moment his feet hit the ground, she reached for him. “Where are you going?”

  He narrowed his eyes at the sun setting behind her. “Only here, beside the gelding. It can no longer carry us both.”

  Face down, shoulders slumped, she turned back to the path.

  When the moon appeared, gauzy clouds shrouded it, muting the light. The dead man’s companions would be hard-pressed to mount an attack in this gloom, unless Fernando built a fire, which was unlikely to change Isabella’s state. Her garments had dried hours earlier. The night breeze was balmy. The cold she experienced was in her soul.

  He searched for the right words to say or the correct action to take to ease her pain, but he was at a loss. She reminded him of his sister, Catarina, when their beloved mamá had died. No words, no efforts were able to console her.

  She’d been a little girl at the time. Fernando was only twelve. Of course, twelve-year-old boys were on their way to becoming men, and men showed no weakness, especially when surrounded by brothers and a father who demanded courage and strength.

  Fernando recalled the first Moor he’d killed. He hadn’t permitted himself to feel grief or horror, yet he hadn’t felt joy either. To this day, all he could remember was overwhelming relief to have survived, and then he killed even more of Spain’s enemies. After the battle, he and the other knights drank until they were senseless to keep themselves from uncomfortable dreams.

  Perhaps wine could do the same for Isabella. In his haste to leave the area, he’d failed to check what the gelding carried. As he searched the shadowed landscape for anything untoward, he reached into the leather alforjas. Inside the saddlebags were a bota of wine, a small wheel of cheese, and bread, a veritable feast. Now all they needed was a protected area in order to stop.

  He turned to Isabella. Her expression remained haunted. He smiled gently. “We have food.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him.

  Glancing past her, Fernando caught the outline of a structure in the distance. Closer, it proved no more than a mud hut, seemingly abandoned. The pens were empty, the well most likely dry, the surrounding trees overgrown. Even so, it offered shelter and protection. He directed the gelding to it.

  Isabella stared at the hut. Fernando placed the reins and the hilt of his sword in her hand. Her fingers remained limp, dropping both.

  He frowned but stayed as quiet as he could. “Before we use this hut I need to make certain no one is inside. You need to protect yourself in my absence.” He retrieved the sword and reins, slapping both in her palm. “I shall return in a moment.”

  “No. Take your sword. Please. You cannot go in there unarmed.”

  “I have our attacker’s sword and my dagger. From the looks of it, this farm has been abandoned for some time.” Before she could respond, Fernando ran to the hut.

  Deserted. The scant moonlight revealed oddly discarded items—a worn shoe, a broken dagger, a forgotten real. Clearly, other travelers had also used this place.

  Fernando hurried outside to look around, running squarely into Isabella. He caught her before she fell to the ground.

  She fisted her fingers in his shirt. “Have you been harmed?”

  “Only by you.” He rubbed his shoulder where her chin had hit him. “Why are you here?”

  “You need your sword.”

  It was in the dry grass where she’d dropped it. “Did you tether the horse?” He looked past her. She hadn’t. He bolted to the animal before it escaped. Once he’d secured the gelding within a stand of trees to hide it from view, he gave the beast some grain and untied the alforjas.

  He turned and nearly ran into her again.

  She stared at him, still shivering.

  Fernando rested his hand on her shoulder. “Come. You need a fire.”

  * * * *

  The small blaze was in a corner of the hut with stones surrounding it so little of the light was obvious outside.

  Isabella didn’t seem to notice or care. She stared at him.

  Fernando tasted the wine. Finding it acceptable, he offered her the bota. She remained silent and watchful.

  “Isabella, you need something to warm yourself.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears.

  He tried to reason with her. “Although you miss Diego, you gave him love no one else had. He died to protect you, and you avenged his death by killing the puto. What you did was no different from one of Spain’s knights fighting an enemy. At times, we must all spill bloo
d in order to—”

  “I might have lost you.”

  “—ensure the safety of—” Fernando paused finally and shook his head. “What did you say?”

  Tears dripped from her jaw, landing on the back of her hand. “I might have lost you.”

  Her shivering and haunted stares weren’t because Diego had died or she’d killed a man, but because she was worried about him?

  He shook his head. “I was barely injured. A few cuts, nothing more. Before you came upon the scene, I was searching for a way to best him. And I would have even without your help.”

  She regarded the wounds on his neck and jaw. “I might have lost you. You might have…” She leaned toward him, gently pressing her lips to his injuries and his cheek. She cupped his face in her palms and covered his mouth with her own, slipping her tongue inside. Her kiss was briefly tender, quickly greedy.

  Even when he deepened the kiss and pulled her against him, his passion didn’t seem to be enough for her. She slipped her hands past his shoulders to his back before wrapping her arms around his torso, holding him tightly.

  After tearing her mouth free, she pressed her face to his shoulder. “I might have lost you.”

  “All is well.”

  “No. I took your sword to prepare the rabbits I thought Diego would—” She stopped, an anguished moan rushing from her.

  Fernando stroked her back. “Our son is at peace, well past harm and pain.”

  She shook her head.

  “He had your love.”

  “My only thought was to let you rest until I awakened you with the scent of cooked meat, but I took your sword, leaving you defenseless.”

  “The matter is over. We need not speak of it.”

  She eased back to see his face. “Never again will you be without your sword. Promise me you won’t.”

  “Only if you promise not to take it.”

  “Give me your pledge you will never be without it.”

  “You have my word.”