The Promise

by TJ Bennett

  Inés hesitated for a moment, hearing the same sound as he. Apparently, Fritz had not the experience to recognize the faint cries of lovers in the throes of passion. She smiled bitterly and peered over the edge of the bed at him.

  “Someone’s having a dream. Go to sleep.”

  “Nay, there it is again. I should call one of the monks. It sounds as though they might need help.”

  He started to lever himself up off the floor and then groaned, clutching at his shoulder. Even in the dark, she could see his grimace of pain.

  Inés sat up and glared at him.

  “I tell you, someone is having a dream. You are in no condition to help regardless. Since you insist on using the floor as your bed, lie down on it and be still.”

  His eyes shifted to hers, and she saw their cool glitter. “Yes. What good could I possibly be to someone in need? Mayhap I should just lie down and ignore it,” he muttered.

  “Why do you say that?” she demanded. Her voice sounded strange in this darkness, as if it did not belong to her.

  He did not answer. Not for the first time, she noted his oblique reference to what had happened in the woods. Yet he would pursue the subject no further when she inquired. She wanted to talk about it. Needed to. But no one had asked, as if they were afraid to hear the answers, and she did not volunteer.

  Long minutes passed. She heard the blanket rustle while he shifted back and forth. She imagined he tried to find a comfortable place on the unyielding floor. She sat up and peered down at him once more.

  “I was right. You are a fool,” she accused.

  He did not even look up.

  “What are you talking about now?” His voice sounded weary.

  “Here there is a perfectly good bed in this chamber, and you refuse to take advantage of it. Why?”

  This time he did look up. “Mayhap because it is already occupied.”

  She gingerly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Every muscle in her body screamed from her ordeal. “I told you to take it. You are far more injured than I.”

  He snorted and glowered at her. “Oh, yes, which would say a great deal for me, wouldn’t it? You already think that I am a silly boy who needs his mama’s care.” He shook his finger at her. “Well, man or boy, I still know enough not to let a lady sleep on the floor while I snore comfortably in bed!”

  He rolled away from her but hissed when his injured shoulder struck the stone.

  Her anger flared. “I told you, I am no lady!”

  He rolled back.

  “By whose words?” he demanded.

  Her lower lip quivered, and for all the gold in the world, she could not have prevented the sob breaking forth.

  “Those men. They said I was a whore, and they were right. If I was a lady, maybe they would not have—maybe …”

  She turned toward the wall, too humiliated by her outburst to face him. How could she have admitted such a thing to him? She burned with shame and tried desperately to get her tears under control.

  She heard a pained grunt and felt the bed depress beside her. The next thing she knew, he had put his hand on her shoulder. He patted her awkwardly.

  “Hush. Nothing they said to you is true, you know that,” Fritz murmured. He seemed at a loss as to what else to say.

  She shook her head and bit down hard to prevent more sobs from escaping. After a moment, he put his good arm around her and gathered her to him. His warmth and kindness undid her. She could not resist resting her head on his chest or gripping his shirt in her fingers. Just for a moment.

  “They were animals,” he said, the sound of his voice against her ear. “Worse than dirt. Those kind of men only know how to destroy and cause pain.”

  He took her chin in his hand and tilted it up so she faced him. Those wonderful clear blue eyes of his stared at her, full of sympathy and … something else.

  “What do they know about the goodness in this world?” he asked. “What do they know about a woman like you? Do not waste your tears on them. They do not deserve it.”

  He smiled down at her—not the Fritz smile of old, but a new, more bittersweet one. “Those tears are worth a fortune, you know, to the right man.”

  She sniffled. “What do you mean?”

  He clasped her hand in his and brought it to her face, extending her finger and stroking it across her wet cheeks. Her skin captured a teardrop, and it glimmered in the moonlight.

  “Long ago and far away, in the desert kingdoms,” Fritz began, his voice enchantingly soft, “when a wealthy man had to go away to war and leave his lover behind, he would give her a precious glass vial, no bigger than two of your fingers put together.”

  At this, he extended two of her fingers with one of his own.

  “While he was away, the woman would decorate the vial with streaks of pure gold, inlay it with fine jewels, and fit it with a delicate stopper. Each day of his absence, she would trap her tears of loneliness inside the bottle until she completely filled it. Then she would seal the stopper and wait for the day when he returned, to prove to him how much she loved and missed him.”

  He turned her hand in the moonlight, and the moonbeams struck the teardrop. It glowed. Inés could almost envision each teardrop gathered together, shining like diamonds trapped in fragile glass, sparkling and waiting for the lover to return home.

  Fritz went on.

  “These great warriors esteemed the gift of tears so much that, once given, they would never part with them, not for all the riches in the kingdom. Not even if they lost all they had and could not afford to eat unless they sold the precious vial for food.”

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. Did such men exist who would value simple tears so highly because they came from the woman they loved? She had never known love like that; never would, she supposed.

  She sighed. “Do you speak the truth? Did this happen, or are you telling tales to raise my spirits?”

  His eyes widened in innocence. “My lady, I do not lie. I read it in a book, I swear.”

  “What would happen to the tears after her lover returned home?” she asked, fascinated, not really caring if he spoke the truth.

  He smiled. “It is said if he drank a draught of the potion, he would seal his fate to hers forever. They would never be parted again, not in this lifetime or the next.”

  He looked down at the tear still glimmering on her finger and then back up at her. She held her breath as slowly, carefully, he brought her finger to his mouth. He hesitated and looked up at her with a question in his gaze.

  Inés nodded, and he pressed the tear to his lips. She felt the smooth, wet warmth of his mouth envelop her, and she shivered in reaction.

  Another tear slipped down her cheek, over her lips. She reached up, pulled his head down, and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.

  “There. Now you are mine forever,” she whispered.

  He smiled, but his eyes searched her face, noting the bruises there, and he cast his gaze down. He shook his head and pulled back with a heavy sigh.

  “Why would you want me? I could not protect you from those men. I was useless to you.” He released her. “A woman needs a man who can take care of her, and what am I? Just a boy playing at being a man. A coward.”

  She shook her head and cupped his face in her hands.

  “I saw no coward tonight. I saw only a man prepared to rush in against overwhelming odds to rescue someone he cared for. I have never seen such courage. No one has ever been so brave for me before.”

  “But I fell.”

  “Because you were wounded.” She gently touched his shoulder.

  “I hit my head.”

  “An accident,” she sighed. “Just an accident. Most important is you delayed them long enough for Günter to arrive, and you saved me from being … defiled.”

  He stared at her intently. His eyes flickered, the doubt in them slowly shifting to hope.

  “Did I? I wondered …” His voice trailed off, his gaze uncertain.

  “Th
ey did not succeed in doing what they wished,” she whispered, “because of you.”

  She pressed her lips to his mouth again, and this time he responded. His lips were warm, and fine, and tasted even better than his smile looked. Artless but eager, in just a few tries he mastered the way she enjoyed being kissed.

  She lifted her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair, and pressed closer. At that moment, they both gasped—not in pleasure, but in pain.

  “Ow!” they cried simultaneously. He grabbed at his shoulder and she pressed a hand to her split lip. They looked at one another and burst out laughing.

  “Mayhap,” he said, as he carefully removed her arms, “this will have to wait until we are both healed.”

  She smiled as best she could and nodded. “Yes. But, will you lie here with me on the bed, at least? It is very cold tonight, and I could not sleep for thinking of you on the floor.”

  He hesitated for only a moment. “Very well. I will only hold you, though, and we will share our warmth. Nothing more,” he admonished her with a shake of his finger. “I will not have you devaluing your virtue, not even with me. We will wed first, then … enjoy each other’s favors.”

  “‘Enjoy each other’s favors’?” She snickered, but nonetheless scooted down next to him. “Where did you hear such language?”

  “I read it in one of my father’s books.” His voice held a smile. He seemed willing to be teased by her. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

  “Does everything you know come from your father’s books?” she asked, while she snuggled up next to him and flirted with him outrageously. Now that they had confessed the depth of their feelings for one another, it seemed natural.

  He lay quiet for a long moment, remembering the scholar father who no longer lived, but whom he must have greatly admired.

  “Much of it.”

  She sat up and stared at him, struck by a new insecurity.

  “I cannot read,” she blurted out. “Is that important to you?”

  He smiled and pulled her close, adjusting her with care for his injured shoulder. “I will teach you all I know.”

  She looked up at him and gave him a feline smile.

  “And I will teach you all I know,” she purred, laying her head upon his chest. She had the satisfaction of hearing his heartbeat knock wildly against his ribs before she closed her eyes to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GüNTER STARED DOWN AT ALONSA WHILE SHE slept with one arm draped across her bare belly and the other flung above her head. Her ripe lips parted slightly; the lower one, fuller than the top, enticed him to nibble. He restrained himself; he did not wish for her to awaken just yet.

  In the first pale light of dawn, he could see a slight flush touching her mouth and cheeks, the skin on her rosy breasts glowing pink. He rubbed a hand over his beard and realized he was responsible for that; he’d never had the chance to shave. He resolved to remedy it at the first opportunity. For now, he continued his leisurely study of her as though she were an exquisite painting in repose.

  Her dark-brown hair fanned out over the pillow where he had draped it in an idle whimsy. He lightly traced a finger over her full, delicately arched brows. The dark shadows beneath her eyes and the deep nature of her sleep testified to the intensity of their lovemaking throughout the night.

  It had been as lush and lavish as the woman who lay beside him. She had given him all she had, and in doing so, had tempted him to new heights of staggering passion. There were times when he’d buried himself so deep inside of her he could have sworn he’d entered the gates of heaven before the angels themselves. Nonetheless, soon the dawn would begin to creep into the room from the high window in the cloister cell, the door would be unlocked, and she would awaken. Then, he knew, the recriminations would begin.

  He tried not to dwell on the irony of where they had spent this past night: a solitary cell fit for religious contemplation and sensual denial. He stared up at the suffering effigy of the Lord above the bed and winced. Mayhap he should have taken it down before he’d ravished her, but at the time, he’d had other things on his mind.

  “I am going to marry her, you know,” he promised the graven image in a soft voice. “We are nearly betrothed. Will you forgive us this one little sin?”

  The wooden Christ’s face, occupied with the sins of the world, did not respond.

  Alonsa stirred in her sleep and sighed, a smile curving her lips. Günter wondered what she dreamed of that was so pleasant. Him, he hoped. The few hours he had managed to sleep, he had dreamt of her. The smell and taste of her had followed him into slumber, sharpened his lust for her, made him crave her even more. He’d woken up fully aroused, so much so he had nudged her awake, slipped inside her, and made swift love to her all over again.

  He smiled ruefully; at least he hoped she’d been awake.

  No matter. She would indeed arise soon, and he needed to be ready. He had thought a great deal about how to approach their first moment, and though his heart ached at the very thought of what he must now do, he knew there was no other way. Not if he wanted to keep her by his side. And he did.

  God, how he did.

  She stirred, stretched, and slowly awoke. Her dark eyes drifted to his and the sleepy, appreciative look in them made him hot all over. He recognized the moment memory returned, however. Her eyelids snapped open and she clutched the blanket, which he had moved down in order to better admire her, to her breasts.

  He took a deep breath, smiled casually, and began the charade.

  “Good morrow, Alonsa. Feeling better?”

  Her gaze darted from side to side even as her head remained still. She barely breathed. He hoped she would think to do so soon, or she might swoon.

  Finally she spoke, or rather stammered, a reply. “G-good morrow. Günter. I am … fine.” She bit her lip as though she couldn’t remember whether she was supposed to have been ill or not. “How are … you?”

  He smiled a self-satisfied smile that was actually quite real.

  “Never better.” He yawned and stretched like a big cat. “Nothing like a bit of bed play to loosen up the muscles, hmmm?”

  She frowned. “Yes, I suppose so …”

  Günter allowed his fingers to trail gently over the delicate skin of her shoulders. He ignored her instinctive retreat. “Yours are feeling better now, I hope?”

  She stared at him, a blank expression on her face.

  “I noticed your shoulders were as tight as coiled springs last night,” he reminded her. “A night of bed play is always my preferred remedy when that happens to me.”

  She sat straight up, and her eyes widened with astonishment. He hardly noticed because when she moved, her light musk scent—now mixed with his earthier one—drifted up from her skin to tantalize his nose. It reminded him of their night of untamed passion and fairly screamed “possess me once more.”

  He needed to get out of this bed before he threw her flat on her back and did just that. No matter how badly he wanted her, it wouldn’t fit with his long-term strategy for her. Instead, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, flipped his side of the blanket back, and leapt out of bed.

  She gasped.

  He followed her gaze down to the prominent erection he already displayed, and smiled unapologetically. “Sorry, but it will have to wait for another time, much as I would like to oblige you.”

  She ripped her gaze from his nether parts and blushed furiously. “I was not… that is, I did not mean …”

  “I fear Father Andrew will appear any moment now,” he said, overriding her stumbling objections. He indicated the sunlight coming through the windows. “We will have to hurry and get dressed. Would you like to wash now, or would you prefer I go first?”

  She eyed the basin of water on the small table, glanced down at her own obvious nakedness beneath the blanket, and looked back at him.

  “Er … you may precede me,” she mumbled.

  He shrugged and picked up one of the
washing cloths. “Suit yourself.”

  He turned his back on her, dipped the cloth in the water, and rubbed it over his face and neck. Water slowly trickled down his chest and back. Goose bumps rose on his flesh and his nipples pebbled as cool air met cooler water on his skin. He could feel Alonsa’s eyes on him like hands upon his flesh, and he smiled to himself.

  He turned to give her a better view while he rubbed the cloth slowly over his chest and stomach. Lifting his arm, he dipped the cloth in the water again and poured a little stream down the length of his limb. He slid the cloth up and down, then repeated the procedure on the other side, taking his time. Next, he lowered his hands and began to leisurely wash below his waist. He heard her sharp intake of breath.

  Touching himself while she was watching did nothing to ease his arousal, but if he was going to be uncomfortable this morning, she may as well be, too. He slid his hand slowly up and down and his length glistened and thickened. He stole a look at her rapt expression and hardened even more. He admitted to himself, however, that he was preening, and if he continued in this manner, he would reveal how much he wanted her even now. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he reluctantly moved on, hastily completing his bath.

  When he finished, he turned to fully face her. He caught her staring at him, a libidinous expression worthy of a wood nymph on her face. She seemed frozen in place, too overcome to even pretend not to be gawking.

  He held the cloth out to her.

  “Your turn,” he said softly, an unspoken challenge in his voice.

  Her eyes narrowed with hunger, then widened in alarm. He tried not to laugh while he tossed the cloth to her. She made no move to catch it, so it landed with a splat against the wall and then fell onto the bed. He turned away.

  “I’m finished,” he said, over his shoulder, dried himself quickly, and began to pull on his clothes before he had a chance to change his mind.

  He heard her breath come out in a rush of air, then a mad scramble behind him while she hurried to bathe and dress before he turned back. He took extra time with his outer garments in order to give her a sense of privacy. Besides, if he saw her wet and naked, he could guarantee Father Andrew would receive the shock of his aged life when he unlocked the door.