by TJ Bennett
Alonsa thought of the way he had pressed so intimately against her, and she felt her cheeks burn again.
“I noticed,” she muttered.
“Then what possible reason could you have to object to such a one?” Inés huffed. “I do not understand your way of thinking.” Then she stopped, paled.
“Oh, but of course … you mourn for Martin. Forgive me.”
Alonsa sighed and dropped her gaze.
“I wish it were due to as honorable a reason as that. No, I had no thought of Martin when I refused Günter’s offer.” She turned away, drawing her arms around her. “At least, not in the way you mean.”
“Then why?” Inés asked, clearly confused.
Why, indeed?
Alonsa longed to tell Inés the truth. She had no one else to confide in. Inés had become the nearest thing to a friend she had in the camp.
As a matter of discipline and for her own protection, after Alonsa’s husband had died, it became necessary for her to hire a companion to reside in her tent on a nightly basis until Martin could escort her back home to Toledo. It violated camp regulations for a decent woman to stay alone. Otherwise, some soldier might be tempted to mistake her for a whore, force his attentions on her, and have to walk the gauntlet as a result.
Therefore, Alonsa had asked Inés, who had served Martin before their betrothal, and who had to find a new master or leave the camp, to move in with her as a chaperone. Alonsa wearied of having to constantly speak the guttural German tongue, and being with someone who spoke her own more melodic language reminded her of the home she longed to see once more. In addition to assisting her, Inés hired out her laundry and cooking skills to the bachelor soldiers who had no woman in the baggage train.
Despite the differences in their stations, Inés and Alonsa had developed a grudging respect for one another. Each recognized in the other a core of steel few men knew could exist in such fragile form. Why not confide in her? Inés could be trusted to keep her counsel.
Alonsa took the other woman’s work-worn hands in her own.
She stared into Inés’ soft gray eyes. “I will tell you. But you must swear never to speak of it to anyone else.”
Inés arched an eyebrow at Alonsa’s urgency, but she did not blink.
“I swear it. Now, tell me what secret blinds you to the charms of the most handsome man in camp?”
Alonsa nodded, took a deep breath, and told the market woman the tragic tale of Miguel.
Sometime later, Inés sat next to Alonsa on her pallet, legs tucked under her skirts, completely involved in Alonsa’s recollections. The dark summer night of death so long ago seemed to linger in the crisp morning air. It took Inés a moment to realize Alonsa had ceased to speak.
“Dear God.” Inés took a deep breath and shook her head to clear it from the visions Alonsa had created. “What happened then? What did your father do?”
Alonsa clasped her hands together in front of her, the purple shadows under her eyes making her appear even more fragile than usual.
“That was the worst of it. I expected to be punished, to be whipped even, for my disobedience. I had tempted a man, driven him to madness, and caused his very death.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her small frame. “I deserved every justice Papa had the right to administer, but he did nothing. He just … looked at me with those sad and weary eyes and turned away. The next day, the gypsies were all gone. They had left in the night, Papa later told me. I think they knew. They never returned.”
“What of the man you were to wed?” Inés asked.
Alonsa let out a sigh.
“Two days later, my intended broke the betrothal. Perhaps there were rumors … I do not know. I know only I felt relieved. I was afraid … afraid to be touched, afraid to be loved by another. If this emotion could do what it did to Miguel, I wanted nothing more to do with it.”
“But it was ten years ago. You married eventually,” Inés pointed out.
“Twice.” Alonsa gave another longsuffering sigh.
“Twice?” Inés responded, intrigued.
Alonsa nodded. “Yes. When I neared twenty, Papa felt I had mourned my sins long enough. He did not believe in this curse, you understand. We had gone to the priest, and when I completed my penance, he forgave me for disobeying my father and blessed me. The priest said we should not fear the mad ravings of a dying lunatic, and to trust in God, not pagan curses. Papa seemed more than ready to accept his pronouncement.”
“And you?” Inés asked.
Alonsa’s gaze shifted. “I wished only to forget. After a time I did. At any rate, I had no other siblings, and Papa wanted grandsons to whom he could pass along his skills. He selected a nice young man for me from a neighboring township and allowed him to court me.”
Something about the emptiness of her voice made Inés think Alonsa would have chosen differently, if even at all.
“Did you have no wish to wed?”
Alonsa lifted a shoulder eloquently.
“It did not matter. I had no intentions of disobeying my father again, after the last time.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, I … liked Eduardo well enough. He was handsome and charming. What had happened to me with Miguel seemed so very long ago. Perhaps, I thought, all would be well.” She massaged her brow with one delicate finger. “But on the wedding night …”
Inés began to unwind the damp braid trailing down Alonsa’s back to her waist. “What happened on the wedding night?”
“I felt nothing at his caresses. I had thought when we were wed, when I was his wife in the eyes of God, it would be different, but …”
She rocked gently on the pallet. “Even though he possessed my body, my heart felt as though it awaited another. He begged for my love, but I … I could not make such a thing happen against my will.”
Alonsa tugged absently at a lock of damp hair Inés had unbraided as she spoke.
“I promised to be a faithful and dutiful wife. I promised to obey him in all things.” She lifted a shoulder. “What more could I do? Still, he would become … angry. Frustrated when I did not respond as he felt I should. I feared he would become like Miguel.” She stared off into space, lost in her recollections.
Inés found a brush and began tugging out the tangles in Alonsa’s wavy tresses. “So,” she asked, “what happened then?”
Alonsa blinked, and quietly resumed her tale.
“We went on in this way for a while. He would leave for days on end, come home late at night, and sometimes he was … unkind when he took me.” She glanced at Inés. “He did not mean to be. He was just as miserable as I, I think.”
“You should not make excuses for such behavior,” Inés sputtered. “Unkindness in bed is sometimes even worse than a fist.”
Alonsa’s eyes widened and Inés saw a nearly imperceptible shudder pass over her. “Yes, I thought so, too. But I felt too ashamed to admit it.”
Inés rested a gentle hand on Alonsa’s shoulder.
“Is that why you refused to marry Günter? You fear the marriage bed? Because, if you do not mind me saying so, your desire for him a little while ago was quite … apparent. At least to me,” she added hastily when she saw Alonsa’s cheeks turn pink.
“To the entire camp, no doubt,” Alonsa murmured.
Inés smiled, and Alonsa, for the first time in days, smiled with her. Inés decided she liked the fact that this woman could laugh at her own folly, at least.
“No, it is definitely not an issue with Günter,” Alonsa admitted. “If it were not for you and your banging pots, who knows what might have happened here today?”
Inés sent her a woman-to-woman gaze. “I shall keep my pots silent if the opportunity arises again. However, I thought you might regret such a thing so soon after Martin’s burial. But how do these experiences relate to why you cannot marry Günter?”
“Let me finish my tale,” Alonsa begged. “You will understand soon enough.”
Inés nodded and returned to brushing Alonsa’s hair.<
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“Three months after we wed, a servant he had dismissed for thievery killed Eduardo.” Alonsa’s voice shook.
Inés’ hand flew to her mouth in shock. “When he loves, death will follow,” she whispered.
Alonsa nodded. “I could not disregard it. Not for the first time, the curse arose in my mind. I know in his way Eduardo loved me, though I never loved him. I asked myself, could it have been Miguel’s curse?”
Inés considered it as well. “Still, you say you married again.”
Alonsa hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin upon her knees like a young girl. Of the two, Inés felt older and wiser, though Alonsa preceded her by two years. “When I reached four-and-twenty, Papa arranged a marriage as a business alliance, nothing more.” Alonsa folded her legs beneath her. “Juan Carlos had many grown married sons already, several of whom had apprenticed with Papa. My father began making plans to leave one of this man’s younger sons the Toledo blade concern.”
Alonsa picked absently at the weave on the gray wool cloth covering her pallet. Inés stayed silent, listening with great interest.
“It … it went well, at first. Juan Carlos became like a second father to me. I told him my troubles, and he listened patiently. He taught me to play chess and to keep track of the receipts for the sales of my father’s blades. He took me on merchant trips and taught me to distinguish the quality of fine steel, how to match a blade to a man … everything Papa had never bothered to do because I was a woman.” She smiled faintly. “He even instructed me in the rudiments of sword fighting as a precaution, since I often traveled with him when he visited the yearly trade fairs and the military companies. He had a gentle soul. He was a good man.” She sniffed back tears.
“Did he also try to …” Inés probed delicately.
“Eventually, yes, though not as you might think.” Alonsa slid a sideways glance at Inés. “He … It was no longer possible for him to engage in marital relations,” she finally said.
Inés raised her eyebrows. “Ah.”
Alonsa stared down at the tips of her shoes poking out from beneath her hem. “Though otherwise healthy, and still handsome, he was older, no longer capable in that manner. Do you understand?”
“In other words, he could no longer raise the drawbridge?” Inés offered.
Alonsa almost smiled again. “Yes.”
“Then how …”
Alonsa shifted on her side of the pallet and blushed. She cleared her throat.
“He sensed my restlessness, I think. Certain … dreams disturbed my sleep. As a young woman, I still overflowed with the normal passions, yet remained unfulfilled. He could not bear for me to be unhappy.”
Alonsa looked quickly at Inés and then away. She lowered her voice, and Inés had to lean toward her to hear what came next.
“So one night, he offered to … to do certain things for me. He was, after all, my husband. I allowed it, for a time, and he came to love me not as the girl he had seen growing up before him, but as a woman. Still, no love existed in my heart for him. I felt guilty taking so much when I had nothing to give in return.”
“And the curse?” Inés asked.
“Several weeks later, bandits murdered Juan Carlos after we became separated from the military company.”
Inés sat up straight. She was no fool. She saw the same pattern Alonsa must have seen then.
“And that is how you met Martin.” This part of Alonsa’s story she knew.
Alonsa nodded.
“Yes. He saved my life, rescued me from those bandits before they could do any harm to me. On that day, I felt nothing but gratitude. I do not know what I would have done without him. All the men traveling with my husband were killed, but because of the profits involved, I had to represent my father’s blade concern until the merchant season ended. Martin understood my dilemma. When my father sent the letter of reward to the man who saw me safely through the season and home to my family, Martin offered his blade. Over time, he offered his name. I know he hoped for a healthy dowry so he might leave the mercenary life forever.”
Alonsa stretched out her fingers before her, stared at them as though she’d never seen them before. “I was still in mourning for my husband’s death when he offered for me. I became truly fearful for him. Two men who loved me had died, just as Miguel had predicted. Would Martin be the third? I asked myself.” She twisted her hands together in her lap. “I searched out the Fähnlein’s holy man, asked him what I should do.”
“And what did he say?” Inés placed her hand gently over Alonsa’s.
“He said that God would not allow a good Christian woman to be cursed in this way by a heathen. The fact that both of my husbands preceded me in death was simply God’s will. He said if I prayed about it, the Lord would protect me from Satan’s ploys.”
Inés snorted and said, “Did you believe his wise words of comfort?”
Alonsa nodded, guilt clouding her brow.
“I prayed for hours, for days on end before I finally said yes. I was … so lonely.” She glanced at Inés, pleading for understanding with her gaze. “Have you ever been so lonely you would do almost anything, believe almost anything, just to make the loneliness go away?”
“Yes,” Inés said softly, understanding as perhaps only another woman might.
“I let myself believe Martin would be safe because he did not love me. But now,” Alonsa went on, “he is dead, too, and I can no longer ignore the truth. Although there are things about his death I do not understand, the curse must be genuine.”
“What is it you do not understand?”
“Martin acted the gentleman throughout our entire courtship.” Alonsa bit her lip. “He treated me like a fragile flower. He never so much as kissed my lips. Not even once. I do not believe he loved me, and yet he is just as surely dead. It makes no sense.”
“Just because a man does not try to thrust his tongue down your throat does not mean he has no love for you,” Inés said hotly. “Martin was an honorable man. He would not have touched a woman he intended to wife before the wedding. He told me so himself the last time he bedded me—” Inés snapped her mouth shut.
Oh, Holy God, what have I done?
Alonsa gazed at her, a look of gentle understanding in her eyes.
“Inés, you knew Martin long before I did. I have known about you and him almost from the beginning. I decided some time ago if you did not mind that he chose me over you, how could I mind that he bedded you first?”
Inés stared back at her in astonishment. She’d had no idea. She cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject.
“About this so-called curse—if Martin did not love you, as you say, then shouldn’t he have lived?”
“I do not know.” Alonsa heaved a sigh. “Perhaps his death came merely as a coincidence of his profession. Perhaps not … but I am unwilling to risk Günter’s life on such a thin thread of hope.” She nibbled on her lower lip and slid Inés a shamefaced glance.
“He is too—” Alonsa waved a hand vaguely in the air. “If he kisses me that way again … surely love will follow.”
Inés raised an eyebrow at Alonsa’s innocence.
“For a twice-married woman, you know very little about men. Just because a man does thrust his tongue down your throat does not mean he loves you.”
Alonsa sighed. “I know, I know. Then why does he wish to marry me? For pity? Because he desires me? He could probably gain my favors easily enough, as he has so capably demonstrated. No doubt he could have the favors of half the women in this camp if he wished it.”
“Likely all,” Inés murmured and noted Alonsa’s sharp glance. That look clearly warned of dire consequences if Inés ever attempted to come near Günter in such a way.
Interesting. So she does not mind about Martin, but Günter is another matter. Inés decided to keep her speculations to herself.
“If he wishes to marry you for love, and if the curse is real, do you fear Günter’s attentions will mark him as the
next victim?” she asked.
Alonsa sighed again and nodded. “I cannot risk it.”
Inés stayed silent for a moment, contemplating. “Why do you not tell him the truth?”
“He would not believe me. They never do. It is like the ancient myth, the one of the woman Cassandra, who is cursed to prophesy the future but no one ever believes her.”
Inés blew out a breath.
“Alonsa, how can you believe in this nonsense?” Inés began re-braiding Alonsa’s hair. “Many women have lost more than one husband. There is a woman in this camp who has lost seven husbands, and yet she does not blame some pagan curse for it. If only in this case, I am inclined to agree with the holy men, fools though they can sometimes be.” Inés patted one last strand of hair into place. “I think it is coincidence. If you flee, you may actually be permitting the Devil to work more freely by denying God’s will in this matter.”
Alonsa turned to Inés and stared at her intently. “Whether you believe it or no, it is enough I believe it. You must help me to save him. You must help me to escape from this place before he knows I have gone.”
Inés stared at Alonsa, and wheels began to turn in her head. She would keep these thoughts to herself until she had a better chance to think them through. It would not do to give Alonsa false hope.
“Well, we will get nothing done today,” she said, fully intending to delay Alonsa from her flight. “The sun climbs high in the sky. If I do not make the meal ready, we will keep each other awake all night with our grumbling stomachs. Perhaps we can try tomorrow.” With that she rose.
Alonsa stopped her with a hand on her sleeve.
“Promise me you will not repeat this story to Günter. I am too ashamed about… Miguel.”
“I promise, I will not repeat this story to Günter.”
Relief flooded Alonsa’s face. Inés smiled serenely. Alonsa had yet to learn the many ways of making promises and still doing what one willed.
Flesh. Heat. Desire.
Günter moaned and tossed fitfully in his sleep.
The dream again. Only this time, he had reality with which to compare it to, with which to salt its flavor. Because he had kissed Alonsa, held her body against his, it made the dream more erotic, more intense.
