The Promise

by TJ Bennett

  Fritz looked both startled and pleased. He leaned forward eagerly. “May I?”

  She scooted away. “Certainly not. I only wondered what was wrong with my lips that made you wish to forsake them for my hand.”

  He smiled and sat back.

  “To kiss a lady on the hand is to pay homage to her beauty, and to show her the proper courtly respect.” He recited the words as though he recalled them from a book. “When a lady allows it, she is granting the gentleman a special favor. When a gentleman asks for a lady’s hand to kiss, it is an important step in their courtship ritual.”

  He shifted his legs beside her and managed to bring himself even closer. “I would normally make my suit to your father first—”

  “If you find him, you will have to introduce us, since I have never met him myself.” She watched his eyebrows shoot skyward, but he pressed on.

  “Since he is not here, I am instead making my suit directly to you.”

  She shook her head again. “Why would I wed you? I am going home with the Señora to take employment, not to become some man’s slave.”

  “Is that what you think marriage is? Servitude?” The contours of her ear seemed to fascinate him. He stroked one with a long finger.

  She all but jumped out of her skin before she stopped herself and swatted his hand away.

  “Stop that. And, in answer to your question, yes. I have served men long enough to know when it is time to serve myself.”

  “When we marry, it will be I who serves you.” He frowned. “You should wear your hair down,” he pronounced. “Your ears are far too tempting for other men to see.”

  She allowed her eyebrows to dip into a scowl.

  “Listen to him,” she said to the stars. “Not even married yet and already he tries to tell me what to do.”

  He grinned. “You said ‘yet.’ Does that mean you agree?”

  She sputtered. “Of course not!”

  He studied her for a long moment, and then boldly reached behind her and pulled a hairpin from the coiled hair at her nape. She gasped in surprise as it came loose. He pulled another, spilling the heavy mass over her shoulders.

  “Stop that!” She seemed to be repeating herself. She tried to seize the pins from him, but he pocketed them.

  “You do not need them. Or that ugly head scarf, either, which you wear for a reason I am sure only other women must understand.”

  She crossed her arms and huffed at him.

  “I wear it because it is the custom. Only maidens wear their hair unbound in public.” She stared hard at him. “I am no maiden. I have not been one since … well, for far too long. Do you understand me when I speak of such things?”

  He thought for a moment and then nodded.

  “You are saying I will not be the first.”

  She nearly choked. “I have not yet said you will be any number!”

  “There is that word again.” His expression was just a bit smug. “However—and forgive me for speaking so plainly, but I can see it is necessary—I will be your last.”

  Inés gaped at him, astounded to her core. Finally, she rolled her eyes and flung her hands up in disgust.

  “You have been taking lessons from Günter, I see.”

  She stood up with as much dignity as she could manage, though her heart pounded inside her chest like a drum. “I will go stir the soup. If you wish it to be cooked, you will gather more firewood before the remainder has burned out.”

  She turned away, but he caught her hand and stared up at her, his gaze questioning.

  She looked down at him and sighed.

  “Oh, very well,” she said irritably, and allowed him to draw her hand to his mouth.

  He pressed a soft, warm kiss just below the knuckle of her middle finger, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and stood up with a ridiculously pleased smile.

  “I will go gather the wood.” He strode off, whistling a lighthearted tune.

  Inés started to shake her head again, then stopped herself. She touched her hand where it still tingled from his kiss, and pressed it against her lips.

  How could she be expected to resist someone whose devotion seemed so simple, yet so utterly sincere?

  “Foolishness,” she sighed, and went to stir the soup.

  It was the kiss of Günter’s dreams. Better, in fact. Alonsa had relaxed into it after only a few moments of persuasion and now returned his eager exploration of her mouth and her body with a passionate embrace of her own. Her arms curved around his neck, her hips pressed into his, and her sweet lips tried to taste every part of his face she could reach.

  He nearly laughed from the pure pleasure of it. He knew then what he had suspected after their first kiss: Alonsa, once given, would hold nothing back. The possibilities dazzled him, and he lifted her high in a joyous embrace, whirling her around in sheer delight.

  Mine. Now. Forever.

  She squealed and gripped his shoulders, her eyes round with surprise.

  “Günter! Let me go!”

  He stared up at her, his pulse dancing a mad rhythm in his veins.

  “Never,” he growled, and brought her down for another kiss, covering her mouth hungrily with his own.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and let her slide over him as he lowered her slowly to the ground. Their bodies rubbed against each other, the sweet friction both easing and spreading the flames within. He heard the pleasured sigh from deep inside her, and answered it with one of his own.

  “Never,” Günter repeated against her mouth.

  He delved in, the rhythm in his veins mimicked by his tongue tangling with hers while he probed and stroked the inside of her soft mouth. He groaned, nearly driven mad by her taste. He knew he should stop himself before he no longer could. He knew it. Instead, he kissed her more deeply, bending her over his arm and molding her hips to his.

  She dragged her fingers through his hair, twisted her body against his in frustration. He wrapped a handful of her silky dark mane around his fingers and slid it with his open palm over the sensitive skin just below her collarbone. He followed its path with his mouth. She gasped and pressed her hips even harder into his. The gesture sent an unmistakable message straight to his loins, and he groaned again. He sought her lips and she opened to him, nearly frantic in her haste to kiss him.

  A part of him wanted to satisfy her, here and now, yet even he knew it was neither the time nor the place for it. With a woman like Alonsa in his arms, a man wanted to go slow and fast all at the same time … to have her stretched beneath him for hours and yet have the thing done quickly so he could do it all over again.

  He needed to regain some measure of control. He gripped her head in his hands, broke the kiss, and pulled back just a little, staring down into her passion-glazed eyes.

  He took a deep breath. “I am beginning to be grateful we did not wait to marry in Wittenberg. I do not think I would have survived the weeks before I could bed you.”

  She grew very still. The smoky haze of her eyes cleared slowly, as though she came out of a trance. “What?”

  Unease drifted through him at the stunned expression on her face, but he went on. “Without special permission from the Wittenberg Marriage Council, we’d have to wait for the banns to be read, but here any friar will marry us if we cross his palm with enough guilders. There is something to be said for the decadence of the Catholic Church, I suppose.”

  Alonsa licked her lips, which were still red and swollen from his kisses. He noted the gesture with a touch of desperation and distracted himself by reminding himself to shave at the first opportunity. He ran a hand over his beard. Though it was soft, it must have rasped her delicate skin.

  “I promise I’ll remove this before our wedding night. I plan to kiss you thoroughly in … a number of places, and I’d hate to chafe you raw.”

  She blanched and pulled away from him, and would have fled from him altogether if he had not grasped her arms in an attempt to keep her near.

  “Wedding
night?” Her brows drew together as though she were in pain. Her full lower lip quivered, her next words forced from her lips. “Günter, how can we have a wedding night when we cannot have a wedding?”

  His happiness shattered, replaced by a stab of distress so strong it made him grip her arms harder.

  “I told you. We are getting married. I thought this—” his look encompassed her trembling body, her reddened lips, “was your way of telling me you had finally agreed.”

  She shook her head. Her hair drifted over his hands, caressing them as if in silent sympathy. Sadness clouded her eyes instead of passion.

  “Nothing has changed. I cannot wed you. I thought you understood that.”

  She looked down at his hands still gripping her slender arms, and then back up at him. “Please release me.” She spoke softly, but he heard the firm resolve in her voice.

  He hauled her against him, bent down to kiss her once more. She turned her head away.

  “Nay,” he rasped. “You cannot deny me. You belong to me.”

  She simply gazed at him, her steady resolve reflected in the black gems of her eyes.

  Panic made his voice harsh. He shook her slightly. “Dammit, woman, don’t look at me that way.”

  She winced. “Günter, you are hurting me.”

  He released her at once and stepped back, struggling to bring himself under control. What had he been thinking? Of course, it wouldn’t be so easy. Nothing he truly wanted ever came easy. Precious little though he had, he’d worked hard for every bit of it. Why should she be any different, just because of one earth-shattering, life-changing kiss?

  He felt like a fool. Again. “Forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you. I … it will not happen again.”

  She stood before him and nodded her head once as she ran her hands over her arms. She lowered her eyes, but not before he saw the glitter of tears in them.

  He lifted her chin, alarmed. “Did I truly hurt you?”

  “No,” she whispered, and turned away from him.

  He had never felt so confused in his life.

  “What is it, then? Why do you cry?” When she remained silent, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “If you do not want me, why do you respond to me the way you do?” He held his hand out to her in a wordless plea. “What is it you expect from me, Alonsa? Tell me.”

  Still she said nothing, simply shaking her head. He moved to her side, tried to embrace her small, unyielding frame. She wouldn’t allow it. So different from a few moments ago … a lifetime ago.

  He caressed her hair, her cheek. He leaned his head against hers and spoke softly.

  “Tell me, so I can make it all better. So I can give you what you want.”

  Her voice came out in a choked cry. “I cannot have what I want! Oh, leave me be. Please!” She leaned against the nearest tree and sobbed as though her heart would break. The sound of her weeping echoed in the night, borne by the approaching mist across the forest floor.

  Günter stood helpless, unsure of what to do. She had feelings for him. He’d be blind not to see it. Still, she denied him repeatedly, even tried to flee from him. There had to be a reason she wouldn’t marry him, even though she so obviously wanted him.

  He clenched his jaw. Enough, by God. He would find out what disturbed her if it was the last thing he ever did. He waited for the storm of her tears to abate before he spoke again.

  “Alonsa.” He touched her shoulder. She turned, and even in the moonlit dark, he saw the misery on her face. “This must end. We will go no farther with this journey until I know why you refuse to marry me.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, and he stilled her with a finger over her lips. “Nay. The truth. All of it.”

  She sniffled and ran a hand over her wet face. “You will not believe me.”

  “It matters not. Take the chance. It cannot be any worse than this torment you are putting us both through.”

  She shook her head. “You will laugh at me.” And then softer, so that he almost did not hear, “Or hate me.” She stared at the ground.

  He smiled faintly. “Not possible. I think you already know that.” He saw the debate going on inside of her. “Tell me, or you will not see Genoa this week.”

  She drew her sleeve across her cheeks to wipe them dry and swung away from him. Twisting her hands together, she paced in silent circles for a time. Günter waited, determined to have the truth.

  Finally, she turned to him. “I’ll tell you everything, but when I am finished, you must swear to take me on to Genoa.”

  “Nay.” Günter shook his head. “No more promises until I know what I am dealing with.”

  She tilted her head in confusion. “No more promises?”

  He avoided her curious gaze. “We’ll talk about that later.” He leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, prepared to wait the night out if needed. “Your story first.”

  Alonsa sighed. “Very well.”

  Her words came slowly and haltingly at first, and then more rapidly as she told him of the Gypsy Miguel, of a curse, and of the men who had loved her and died. When she spoke of Martin, however, her words faltered.

  She hung her head. “I blame myself for his death. I was selfish. I should have known better. I should have protected him. But I thought he was safe.”

  “Why?” Günter did not believe a word about this ridiculous curse, but it would help him to understand her reasoning.

  “He did not love me. That alone should have protected him from it.”

  “He did, you know.” Günter said it without thinking of the consequences, which he realized as soon as he saw her face go white. Of course, with her belief that this curse killed men who loved her, he should have thought better of it.

  “What?” she asked, and her eyes filled with despair.

  He moved his hand as though to brush her question aside. “Never mind. Continue with your tale.”

  She grabbed his sleeve. “If we are speaking truths, you must tell me yours as well.”

  Günter sighed, knowing he couldn’t avoid what came next. She needed to know how Martin felt about her, because it would help her to understand what Martin had done.

  “He loved you very much. Enough to ask me to look after you when he realized he was dying. Enough to hand your future over to me when he knew I wanted you and he wouldn’t be there to take care of you.”

  She shivered. Her hand crept to her mouth. “So the curse claims another. It still holds its power over my life.”

  Günter blew out a breath. “This is ridiculous. I don’t believe in that nonsense for one moment.”

  She lifted her chin, one brow arching haughtily. “Your belief in it is not necessary for its power to prevail.” She frowned. “But what did you mean, he handed my future over to you?”

  Günter pondered whether to tell her anything more. It would be better, mayhap, if she did not know. He considered it only for a moment. Nay, she needed to know the truth.

  When he finally spoke, his tone was cautious. “I promised Martin I would make you my wife. When he called me back into the tent the morning before he died, he asked it of me, and I agreed.”

  She stared at him, openmouthed. “How could you have agreed to such a thing? How could Martin have asked it of you?”

  “I was glad to do it.” He stroked a finger down her cheek and smiled. “You are not such a hardship.”

  She jerked away from his touch, and he flinched.

  She ran a trembling hand through her hair.

  “Was I not to be given a choice? Am I some broodmare to be passed along from man to man as though I have no mind of my own? Por Dios, what were you thinking?”

  He clenched his jaw. “Of you. And … yes, of myself, as well. Let us admit something. I have wanted you since the day I first set eyes on you. You must have realized it. Somehow Martin knew it, too, but he understood.” He took her hands in his. “Nothing has changed. I still want you. I think I’ve proven it. I intend to marry you, Alonsa, and nothing—n
o curse, no superstitious nonsense—can make me change my mind.”

  Her hands were cool as marble beneath his touch. They shook, and she pulled away. She looked up at him, her eyes round and afraid.

  “Are you mad? Do you not understand the danger you are in?” She swirled away from him, looking around her as though she sought escape. “They sometimes go mad before …” She stopped. “No. Not yet. Perhaps it is not too late.”

  He caught her arm before she could flee. He had to convince her. “It was Martin’s last wish. I couldn’t deny him. I have a duty to him, to you. That is all.”

  “Then I release you from the burden of your obligations.” She snapped her fingers in his face. “There!”

  He looked at her, resolute. “You haven’t the power to free me from this particular obligation, Alonsa. I promised Martin, not you, and I keep my promises.”

  She shook her arm free and stared up at him with defiance. “When your promises include me, then I should have a say, should I not?”

  Günter sighed. “If you would only consider what I have said, we—” he stopped, frowned, tilted his head to listen.

  He’d heard something. A sound that did not belong out here. He stared intently over her shoulder into the dark wood surrounding them.

  “Günter—” she began, but she, too, stopped. She turned her eyes slowly in the same direction.

  “Don’t make another sound,” he whispered. To his great relief, she obeyed.

  Mist shifted in pale gray tendrils across the ground, and silvery points of starlight peeked through the trees overhead. Nothing else revealed itself. Still, some shared intuition must have warned them to remain silent.

  He heard it then: the sound of soft whispers and movement through the undergrowth.

  “We have visitors,” he murmured. He pushed her toward a wide tree whose base was nearly hidden by branches and trailing undergrowth. He picked up his sword from the ground where he had laid it while he kissed her earlier.

  “No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, do not reveal yourself.” Without waiting for a response, he thrust her behind the tree and quickly but quietly dragged the foliage around her.

  Günter stepped back, intent on drawing the attention of whatever predator lurked in the wood, preparing to defend Alonsa with his life.