by TJ Bennett
He shook his head. How did he get himself into these situations?
The distance they must cover lay in friendly territory, with the exception of Genoa itself. The city was still in French hands, but its greedy citizens tended to look the other way for well-paying pilgrims and foreign merchants going on to the ports. Still, these regions had changed hands so many times that it paid to be cautious. Even now, while he mulled in silence, his eyes scanned the landscape around them for unwelcome visitors, and he kept his Zweihänder close at hand.
Fritz slowed his horse and came alongside him.
“You are very quiet.”
Günter glanced at him but said nothing. Obviously, Fritz had something on his mind.
“You are not still … angry I invited myself along?”
Before Günter could respond, Inés turned toward them and reached behind her to the tarp covering the cart. She hiked one leg over the bench seat and a very shapely calf exposed itself. As she leaned over, her skirts rode up more and the bodice of her dress sagged, revealing two plump mounds and a generous cleavage between.
Günter watched with amusement as Fritz’s mouth dropped open at the display and he stared, agog. Günter suspected a mace to the forehead couldn’t have distracted Fritz from the sight of Inés’ bosom.
“Ah, here it is,” Inés declared, retrieving a small sewing basket from the cart. She looked up just in time to catch Fritz’s rapt gaze focused on her ample breasts.
Caught in the act of adoration, Fritz instantly turned as red as a ripe strawberry, a shade that deepened further when Inés merely winked and turned back to her conversation with Alonsa.
Fritz groaned and closed his eyes, shifting in the saddle. Günter felt some kinship with him in his agony and smiled.
“If you are trying to be chivalrous to her,” he observed, “you are doing a poor job of it.”
Fritz opened his eyes and stared at Günter mournfully.
“I know it, but my loins do not.” He shifted again. “What am I to do? She will not take me seriously because I am younger than she. I thought mayhap to get her alone someplace, prove to her it does not matter, but…”
His voice trailed off as he stared at the back of Inés’ head with longing in his gaze.
“Ah,” Günter answered, enlightened. “So that is why you intruded on my little seduction, er, abduction scene.”
Fritz hung his head. “Forgive me. I was desperate.”
Alonsa chose that moment to laugh at something Inés said, and Günter winced at the shooting desire attacking his loins. If the boy endured half of what he did, Günter had nothing but sympathy for him.
He clenched his teeth. “I know the feeling.”
Then it occurred to him: he and Fritz shared the same predicament. Why not work together to solve it? He scanned the landscape around them. Tufts of poplars dotted the flat land covered with mossy rocks.
“Nay.” He muttered and shook his head. “We will need more concealment. I do not wish to get us killed or robbed by any who might see us from the road. We will go farther down, where the trees are thicker and clutched together.”
Fritz stared at him with curiosity. “What are your plans?”
“To get some time alone with our women. Do you object?”
“Nay!” Fritz bobbed in the saddle. “Only tell me how it may be done, and I will be your most abject servant forever.”
Günter shushed him, not wishing to draw the women’s attention.
“That will not be necessary. Pay attention, son, and let me show you how the master does it.” He grinned, and the Devil was in it.
“What do you mean, we must stop? There are no lodgings here,” Alonsa complained with some frustration.
She did not mean to whine, but the journey in the cart had been bumpy and uncomfortable. She had looked forward to the comfort of a public inn, but now Günter instructed her that after crossing the wide stone bridge stretching over the river, they must cease their journey for the day.
“Yes, what is the meaning of this delay?” Inés twisted on the seat. “Do you intend to kidnap us and have your way with us in the brush?” She aimed a coquettish smile at the men.
Fritz made a choking sound and coughed violently into his hand as though he had swallowed his own tongue. Günter sat still as a falcon atop a perch, slanting his protégé a glance rife with barely concealed impatience.
Inés peered at Fritz with concern.
“You had best take care of that cough, sparrow. Do you require a hot poultice for your chest?”
Günter stared thoughtfully at Fritz, who still tried to catch his breath. “Aye. He was just complaining of an approaching … ague. Weren’t you, Fritz?”
Fritz managed a hesitant nod and a wan smile.
Günter’s eyes glinted. “We should stop now to give him a chance to recover. A chest cold could be dangerous in this sort of weather.”
Inés nodded with concern. “I will mix the Señora’s healing herbs tonight. If needed, we will raise the tent for you, to capture the steam from the boiling mixture. I will lay the herbs on your chest myself.”
Fritz, who had been looking disconcerted, seemed to brighten at the prospect. He coughed once more—with great drama, it seemed to Alonsa—and directed a pitiful gaze at Inés.
“I would be so grateful, my lady,” he said in a reedy voice. Inés beamed back at him.
Alonsa stared at Fritz with suspicion. She transferred her gaze to Günter, who looked impassively back.
What can they be planning?
She had no doubt in her mind they were planning something. She gestured with the reins down the road. “Will it take much longer to reach Broni? Surely the night air cannot be better for his cough than enclosed walls and doors.”
Günter shrugged, shifted in the saddle, and shook back a lock of golden hair playing with his broad forehead in the wind. “Mayhap. However, it is unlikely we will arrive before nightfall. Do you wish to risk his health in the attempt?”
“Not before nightfall?” Alonsa asked, startled. “But I thought our progress better than that.”
Günter said nothing, only offered his inexpressive shrug again.
When she still hesitated, he sighed.
“It is your decision, Señora. Of course, we will abide by your wishes. I am sure Fritz will not mind the risk.” He said this with an oblique glance at Fritz. “After all, he has no one left to depend upon him—what does it matter if he catches a deadly ague and dies in some forgotten village outside his own country? I understand many think it an honorable goal, to die in the service of a lady. Do you agree, Fritz?”
Fritz’s eyes widened. “Er, yes. It is every knight’s most chivalrous dream. Of course,” he said, casting his gaze downward with great dejection, “I am not a knight. Though I had once hoped to be a squire.” He peeped first at Alonsa, then Inés, and coughed again.
“Oh, no,” Inés cried, clasping her hands together. “We must take care of the poor sparrow, Señora. I would never forgive myself if, in our haste to be gone from this place, we caused the death of this gentle soul.”
Alonsa slid a glance to Inés at her affected behavior, raising a questioning brow at her. Inés winked and smiled sweetly.
Had Inés lost her mind? Could she not see the men were playing them for fools?
Still, the day had grown late. Perhaps Alonsa had underestimated the amount of time it would take to travel today. Günter knew the routes in these places much better than she.
She gazed around her. Beside the road, massive poplars swayed golden and pale in the afternoon sun. The day-
light, barely reaching the forest floor, drifted and sighed in wispy beams streaming between top-heavy branches. Though alluring, at night the sameness of each smooth-barked tree might make finding one’s way around very difficult. A feeling of unease settled over her.
She turned back to Günter.
“Where would we camp? I think there is nothing here at all.”
“It
will be secure for the night. No one will see us from the road if we camp deep in the woods.” He grabbed the burro’s reins and tugged. It followed obediently over the bridge, the wheels of the cart creaking. “I believe we can even safely light a small fire to cook our evening meal.”
After they had cleared the bridge, Günter directed the group away from the path on the other side. The wheels of the cart lurched for a moment and then left the road.
Alonsa tugged back on the reins.
“But we cannot take the cart off the road! It will mire in the mud should a storm arise again.”
He gestured at the overhanging rock.
“We will hide the cart beneath one of these outcroppings. That should protect it. We will take what we need from it for the night. It will be quite safe.”
“Well, I do not know…” Alonsa wavered in her resolve to continue. Günter seemed so certain …
Fritz coughed again, even more piteously, and Inés sent her an insistent look.
“Señora, we must show kindness for the poor soul,”
she admonished.
Alonsa sighed in defeat.
“Oh, very well.” She allowed Günter to direct the cart where he willed.
An hour later, Günter had hidden the cart and installed their gear in a small clearing out of sight from the road. The horses and the burro had been cared for and tied to a nearby tree. Inés worked over by a stream, within view of where they camped, skinning a plump hare Günter had caught. Tired and worn, the women removed their headgear for comfort. Inés’ auburn tresses coiled at the base of her neck, while Alonsa’s dark locks swung free.
Fritz seemed to have recovered from his ague. He hovered near Inés while he chewed on a heel of dark bread she had given him to allay his ever-present hunger until supper.
Alonsa found herself with nothing to do but admire Günter while he sat at the edge of the impromptu camp awaiting their meal. He leaned against the peeling trunk of an umbrella pine, strumming his cittern and humming softly. His sword lay on the ground beside him.
Sitting on a flat rock near him, she watched his fingers pluck the strings of the pear-shaped instrument and noted for the first time how much the smooth curves of the cittern resembled those of a woman. Such instruments often had the image of a female carved into the head, and for this reason men referred to them as “barbers’ sluts,” because they could be found in the window of any barbershop and played with ease by any waiting man.
She watched Günter’s long fingers move with assurance, amazed at how he seemed to coax the music from the very heart of the cittern with little effort. Her mind drifted.
What would it be like to be played by Günter? She found herself amused at the notion that she was envious even of this inanimate wooden instrument.
“You are smiling.” Günter strummed a haunting melody while he spoke. “Do you find this song amusing? Or is it just me?”
Alonsa raised her eyes from the transfixing sight of his long, agile fingers plucking the courses. She met his speculative gaze. Loath to admit the wayward direction of her thoughts, she replied, “Never you, Günter. You are not a man to be laughed at.”
“You laughed at me today.”
The way he said the words made her believe the memory was not unpleasant.
“No, not at you, exactly. Simply …” She shrugged. “Account it to a woman’s secret thoughts.”
Günter ceased to play, resting his fingers lightly over the humming strings for a moment. His eyes held hers, their warmth banishing the chill of the approaching night from her bones.
“Tell me I am a part of your most secret thoughts, Señora, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Alonsa swallowed hard.
“You already are.” At the lift of his eyebrows, she added, “Following me everywhere.”
“Ah.” He pursed his lips in mock disappointment and returned to his playing. “Tsk. I thought you were confessing I had invaded your fantasies.”
Alonsa stood, trying to rid herself of the intimacy of his knowing gaze. The chill returned, and she moved restlessly about the little camp. She pulled her mantle tighter around her shoulders.
“I do not indulge in such fantasies. They are for maidens, and I have not been one in many a year.”
“Maidens are highly overrated. I prefer a woman with … experience.” She heard the smile in his voice.
She gave him a sharp glance, annoyed he mocked her. “Then Inés must be quite to your liking.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
“That comment does neither me, Inés, nor you any justice.” He lowered his gaze to the cittern and tested one of the strings, then adjusted its tension.
Alonsa felt a flush pass over her face, and she glanced at Inés to ensure she had not heard her unworthy comment. She need not have feared; both Fritz and the hare occupied Inés’ attentions, and she was too far away to hear their softly spoken conversation.
“Of course you are right.” Alonsa sighed. “Forgive me. I am simply … anxious.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“And cold, too, by the looks of it.” Günter put down the cittern and picked up his sword, balancing it casually over one shoulder. He rose and held out his hand to her.
“Come and walk with me.” His voice held a smoky edge to it, rough and yet inviting at the same time. It might have been the very voice the serpent used in the Garden of Eden to tempt Eve toward her downfall.
Alonsa only resisted its pull with a supreme effort of will. She took a step back. “Where?”
One corner of his mouth lifted, and those fascinating green eyes crinkled in a subtle display of humor. Oh, his eyes … She might resist his voice, but she could never resist his eyes.
He still held out his hand to her.
“We need more wood to cook the hare and warm you as well. You can help me gather it.” He gestured to their companions. “It would take more effort to pry Fritz away from Inés’ side than to gather the wood ourselves. Unless you would prefer to warm yourself in the circle of my arms …”
“I will help you gather the wood,” she said quickly.
This time both corners of his mouth lifted in amusement.
“Pity, though I suppose you are right. We still need the wood for cooking. Come.”
She glanced up at the darkening sky. Purple and orange streaks decorated the edges of the heavens. Night approached.
“Can we gather it here? It grows dark soon.”
“The wood here is too wet.” He pointed to a softly sloping hillside. “The wood on higher ground will not smoke as much. A smoky fire can reveal our position to passersby. Besides, I have an innate sense of direction. I can find my way around quite well in the dark.” His smile turned playful. “You’d be surprised how well.”
She put her hands on her hips.
“Must everything be a jest to you?”
He grew still, suddenly intense.
“Not everything. Some things I am quite serious about. Would you like to know what they are? Or would you prefer to gather the wood?”
She sighed and rubbed her temples. This constant banter wearied her—she never knew what she might say that would cause him to tease her. Resisting the urge to tease back grew increasingly harder.
“Let us gather the wood, please.”
“Wise choice.”
She let him take her hand in a gesture of familiarity that surprised her. He enveloped it with his own and smoothed his thumb over the tender hills of her palm. Not once did he take his eyes off her as he called to Inés and Fritz that they were leaving.
They turned and climbed the sloping hillside together into the gathering dusk.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WHAT IS THAT SONG YOU SING?” ALONSA ASKED Günter as they trudged through dead leaves and kicked aside pebbles in search of the best kindling wood. “It is beautiful. Do I know it?”
Günter’s hand still lightly clasped hers. She tried to ignore the warmth of his big palm;
tried to forget the last time she had felt it upon her body.
He glanced at her and leaned down to retrieve a fat stick of wood.
“It is nothing. A little tune I am composing.” He handed the wood to her.
She took it without thinking.
“You have time to compose your own music?”
His eyes flickered, then went blank.
“Aye, between hacking men to death and bedding every wench in sight, I manage to write a lyric or two.” He dropped her hand and turned away.
Realizing she had annoyed him, she hurried to his side.
“Günter …”
“That is what you meant to imply by your question, isn’t it?” In profile, his clenched jaw said more than his words ever would.
She tugged on his arm, forcing him to stop.
He turned to look at her. “What?”
“I meant to imply no such thing.” She stared at him and realized he was not annoyed but hurt, and not for the first time, by her words. In a moment of clarity, she also realized Günter might be one of the biggest, fiercest warriors in the company, but he had a tender heart.
She wondered if any of the other women of his acquaintance had comprehended it, or if by his jesting and careless attitude he had fooled them into believing he thought of little other than his beer and his blades. Deep inside, she already knew the answer.
“Who was she?” she asked softly.
His gaze narrowed. “Who was who?”
“The woman who hurt you.”
He remained silent for so long that she thought he might deny it, might refuse to speak. Then he sighed.
“She is—was my brother’s wife.”
Shocked, Alonsa dropped her hand and simply stared.
He looked back at her with a self-mocking smile.
“She was my betrothed first.” He picked up another short branch, rubbed it between his palms, and gazed at it as though it might reveal its wooded secrets to him.
“I had known Beth since we were children,” he went on. “There was an affinity between us. Our parents betrothed us as soon as we came of age.”
He stared off into the forest, but she suspected he did not see the landscape before them.
