The Promise

by TJ Bennett

  He stared up at her from the embrace of the bed, his gaze speculative when she pushed his shoulders to the mattress. If he desired, he could overpower her; they both knew it. Instead, with a cocky grin, he allowed her to grasp his wrists and place his hands on either side of his head, the muscles in his arms bulging with the strength it took to hold a great sword—or a woman.

  “No,” she admonished. “Tonight, you will submit to me.”

  His nostrils flared. “Then command me, and I will obey.”

  She cocked her head, leaning over him to lick his nipple. It hardened in response to her wet touch, and he drew a sharp breath.

  She lifted her head. “You swear it? You will allow me to do anything I desire?”

  His eyes glowed, and he seemed to speak with great difficulty. “Anything, wife. There will be no boundaries tonight. Whatever you wish, whatever you desire, do to me.” He lifted one hand, trailed it across the plumpness of her breasts. “I am yours to employ as you will.” He stroked his hand down between their bodies, seeking her warmth. His fingers slipped into her heat. “Wring me dry. Leave nothing but an empty husk behind.” He stroked, and she rocked against his hard hand with a soft moan. “Use me,” he implored.

  “Sí,” she whispered, and rode his fingers to a rolling climax. She hung her head over him, her back arched, her hands braced against his shoulders as the waves of pleasure moved through her. Finally, panting, she gazed at him and blinked the gathering wetness from her eyes. “You are mine for tonight. If only for tonight, you are mine.”

  The need to possess him consumed her, and pulling her chemise off, she slid down his body, her fingers touching every part of him, memorizing him, learning his desire. Where her hands went, her mouth followed, and she tasted the salt of his skin, smoothed the ridged textures of his stomach, fondled the velvet steel of his staff. “A mighty blade,” she murmured before she took him into her mouth, and he laughed quietly, the sound abruptly cut off by a muffled groan when she began to suckle firmly.

  His hand went to her head and he threaded his fingers through her hair, gripping and guiding her motions. She had never done this for anyone, but she had glimpsed it done by the whores who trailed the baggage train and serviced the bachelor men. She did not know if doing it for Günter made her a whore, too; she only knew she must taste him for her own sake. She knew also he desired it when his hips lifted in rhythm to her sucking, when he groaned and shook and begged for more as she paused to catch her breath. She knew he called her name, no one else’s, and he would never forget this night as long as he lived.

  She would ensure it.

  She drove him to the edge, and when she knew he could bear no more, she lifted up and impaled herself on his strength, riding him until he pulled her beneath him and slammed her hips into the bed with his own again and again, bringing them both to a violent, raging release. She scored his back with her nails, wrapped her legs around his waist, and met his need with her own, taking, giving, remembering with her body what her heart could never possess. And after it was done, when he dropped into wordless sleep, his body splayed across the bed, one arm wrapped in ownership around her waist, she let her tears fall unhindered and sobbed quietly into the pillow while he slept on, oblivious.

  While the night moved toward dawn, she roused him and took him again, pressed him down beneath her while he used his mouth in service to her and she rose above him as glorious and imperious as a goddess. As promised, she commanded his passion until, exhausted, they crawled beneath the blankets and slept.

  When they had napped but an hour or two, he reached for her again and made hot love to her until the morning sun crested the golden hills above Federigo’s slumberous inn.

  Tomorrow they made for Genoa, but for now, he was hers.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “WELL, THERE IT IS,” GüNTER MURMURED, STANDING beside her as the ocean breeze teased Alonsa’s head scarf and a tendril of her hair escaped. “Genoa.”

  She gazed at him. The wind lifted his hair from his broad forehead and laid it gently down again. Below their vantage point on the hillside, the ship port of Genoa teemed with activity. Redolent with the smell of the sea, it spread out in a vast maze of narrow streets and stinking canals.

  “Yes,” she said, and avoided his penetrating gaze when he turned to her. Whenever she looked at him, she could think only of the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed to hers, of the way he had taken her with ever deepening passion the night before. And how, with their arrival in Genoa, all of it must soon end.

  She looked at Robert, who had dismounted beside them and thoughtfully stroked his horse’s muzzle before giving it a reassuring pat. Inés and Fritz chattered excitedly behind them, pointing out the tall ships and low barges competing for space in the narrow canals.

  “So, mes amis, this is where we say farewell.” Robert faced their little group with a regretful air.

  Alonsa wryly noted how Günter and Robert had become fast friends in the two days since they had decided not to cut each other to bits in front of the inn. Feeling indebted to Günter, Robert had insisted on accompanying them to Genoa to ensure their party’s safety. Günter had objected, of course, quite certain he could provide adequate protection for his wife and companions. Still, as Robert had pointed out, two swords were better than one.

  Now Günter held out his hand. Robert took it.

  “Take care on your return trip to … wherever it is you are going.” Günter’s mouth twitched as though he suppressed a grin.

  Robert still had not seen fit to reveal any more of himself than his forename, but it was clear he had not come to the Italian city-states for pleasure, but for war. Still, for whatever reason, the two supposed enemies had decided to ignore their differing loyalties and become friends instead.

  Alonsa supposed, in many ways, Robert reminded Günter of the friendship he missed after the death of Martin. The realization he might be lonely for his old friend had surprised and touched Alonsa, and she had not the heart to discourage it. Still, this friendship could not survive the gap in their stations. Robert must return to his life among the nobility, and Günter to his among soldiers.

  She smiled when, ever the gentleman, Robert bowed over her hand before taking his leave of her.

  “I regret our ways must now part. I must meet my man before returning to … my original destination. It has been my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He turned to Günter. “I will remain here for a day or two, should you need my assistance. I may be reached at the Inn of the Four Ships.”

  Günter murmured a farewell, and after a brief goodbye to Fritz and Inés, Robert mounted his horse and rode away.

  “Well.” Günter turned to face her. “I suppose we had better go see to booking your passage.”

  His statement seemed almost a question to her.

  The moment she had dreaded was upon them. She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. Günter’s jaw tightened, and he turned away. His movements abrupt, he mounted his horse and led the way down to the port.

  They soon arrived at the edge of the wharf, and after consulting with the wharf master, Günter was able to get the names of three reputable captains of sailing vessels due to leave port for the Spanish trade routes with the next high tide.

  It was not until Günter found an inn where they might wait out the negotiations for the passage that Inés, shamefaced, pulled her aside.

  She took a deep breath. “Señora, forgive me, but I cannot go.”

  “What?” Alonsa’s heart sank. She had counted on Inés’ companionship during the journey home. “Why not?”

  Inés glanced at Fritz, who stood talking quietly with Günter nearby.

  “I cannot leave him. He wishes to marry me, and I—I have agreed.”

  Despite her sorrow at the loss of Inés’ companionship, Alonsa became overjoyed for her friend’s newfound happiness. She clasped Inés’ hands in hers.

  “Oh, how wonderful! You belong together. It is obv
ious.”

  Inés flushed but smiled. “Yes. Finally, I believe we do. However, he has sworn to stay at Günter’s side, at least until this campaign is over, and I must stay at his. Forgive me.”

  Alonsa shook her head. “No forgiveness is needed. Of course you must stay with the man you love.”

  Inés looked at her shrewdly. “And you, Señora? Will you stay with the man you love?”

  Alonsa could not meet her eyes.

  “You know that is not possible. To do so would condemn him to death.” Alonsa shook her head. “Sometimes I think he might be nearly in love with me already, but then … at other times, he does not behave like a man in love.” She shrugged. “Still, I will not stay with him, no matter what my heart wishes or dreams. It is over for us.” She blinked stinging tears from her eyes. “The only thing I can do for him now is to set him free.”

  Inés stared at her. “How can you let evil conquer you in this way? How can you let it rule you?” She gripped Alonsa’s shoulders hard. “Look at me.”

  Alonsa faced her. Inés’ gaze burned into hers as she spoke.

  “I have learned something. I have learned love is not a curse, but a blessing. It is a gift from God to be shared, however brief. Until you accept that, you will never be free of your fear.”

  “But—”

  “Just listen. If you give up this man, then that devil Miguel will have won.” Inés gazed over at Fritz, and turned her eyes back to Alonsa. “Perhaps, to truly defeat evil, we must choose to love in spite of it, in spite of fear, in spite of fate. Perhaps it is what God wants from you to break this curse forever. To trust Him, not Miguel. Trust Him, and choose to love and to be loved. Until you do, you might never be free of it.”

  Fear and hope struggled within Alonsa at Inés’ words. She turned away. Could it be true? Was the choice as simple as that? And was she willing to risk Günter’s life to find out? Or did her desire to hold him rule her wisdom and prove her merely selfish and possessive?

  Just then, Günter looked up, and their eyes met. All her love for him welled inside her, struggling to be free, to reach out to him and never let him go. Still a kernel of fear whispered in her heart: You will condemn him.

  Though she tried to root it out, it would not let go. And when she looked into Günter’s eyes, the whisper grew stronger and threatened to drown out her own thoughts.

  What if she chose wrong? Could she bear being the instrument of this man’s death? He would die, someday—she knew that. Could she stand to be the cause?

  No. She could not. She quickly turned from him, a sob nearly escaping her throat. Inés watched her with disappointed eyes, and went to stand at Fritz’s side.

  Günter came to her. She could feel his strong presence at her back. “Alonsa, what is it?”

  She sniffed. “Nada. Something in my eye. Are we ready to meet the captains?”

  He turned her to him and searched her face. “Nay, I’ll go alone. The wharf is no place for women to be wandering about this late in the evening. I’ll book passage for you on the next available ship.” He touched her cheek in a brief gesture and dropped his hand. “I’ll need to ask for the money you have set aside. I have enough for a bribe, if need be, but not enough for the passage itself.”

  “Sí. I will get the coins out of the strongbox.” She did so, handing him the money pouch.

  “Did you already know that Inés would not come?” she asked.

  He nodded while he counted out the money and handed the pouch back. “I suspected as much. Fritz just confirmed it.” He ran a hand through his hair in consternation.

  “It creates a dilemma. I do not feel comfortable sending you alone on such a voyage. Sailors are not known for their morals, paying customers or not, and a woman alone is considered fair game. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  He looked at her. “Will you be fine here while I am gone? I can leave Fritz with you.”

  She nodded.

  “Then I should go.”

  She nodded her head again, afraid to speak.

  He looked down the road, shifted his feet. “The sooner I book your passage, the sooner you can get home to your father. You will be safe there.”

  Yet he delayed.

  She put a hand on his arm, and he looked at her. “How did you know Inés would not leave Fritz?”

  His eyes glittered green in the fading light of dusk while he stared at her. “Because she loves him.”

  Did she hear an accusing note in his voice? What did he want from her? To offer to stay? How could it matter to him? He had implied she was only a haven for the moment, a warm plaything to kiss and caress and then put aside, fondly perhaps, but still put aside.

  She knew he would not forget her. That, at least, was something. Still, she loved him too much to risk the affection he felt for her now becoming something more.

  “Günter, you are not being fair. You know why I must go.”

  He hesitated. “Alonsa, we need to talk. There are things we have left unsaid, things that—”

  She put a hand over his mouth. “No. Do not. I cannot be persuaded, and it only makes the parting more difficult. Please, go. Do what must be done, for both our sakes.”

  He pressed his lips together, nodded his head curtly, and turned on his heel. In a moment, he was gone.

  Alonsa felt a great emptiness engulf her, and a dark shadow passed over her heart. She nearly called him back, but stopped herself at the last moment.

  What good would it do? Fate held him hostage, and the price of his freedom was her love. She had to let him go. Even if her heart died in the doing, she had to let him go.

  She turned away, determined she would cry no more.

  Günter stared up at the gold-lettered sign over the small but respectable inn: L’Albergo delle Quattro Navi: The Inn of the Four Ships. He knew he would find Robert inside, and yet a part of him did not want to enter.

  He had hoped Alonsa would change her mind; that in the end, she would choose to stay with him. It seemed it wouldn’t happen. So, as promised, he had to let her go.

  For now, at least.

  When his contract ended next month, rather than renew he would leave the military life forever and join her in Toledo. He had a little coin saved, and there was the small inheritance from his grandfather. It would be enough to purchase a property on which to start a family, in either Toledo or Wittenberg; he did not care which. He wouldn’t leave her again.

  He had spoken with Robert on the ride to Genoa, and Robert had pointed out that Günter had skills many traveling merchants would value highly. He could protect their merchant trains from the bandits along the trade routes. They would pay handsomely for the service, and the daily danger would be far less than his current profession, though not without some risk. Still, an added bonus was that the merchant season only lasted for a few months out of each year; Alonsa could accompany him, and the remainder of the time he would spend at home with her. Mayhap it would be enough to ease her fears about the blasted curse.

  He had worked it all out. For the first time in his life, he had intentionally made plans for the future instead of trusting his fate to the winds. Now, because of her, the idea of home and hearth appealed to him. Martin, as usual, had been right. He had only been waiting for the right woman.

  Time grew short. He had made the trip to Genoa longer than it should have been, to spend more time with Alonsa. Now he had to return to Pavia and let his woman flee. And that is what had brought him to Robert: to claim the favor promised, one greater than Robert may have intended. Nevertheless, he knew as a gentleman and a knight, Robert would honor his promise or die trying. They had that, at least, in common.

  Reluctant still, Günter pushed open the door of the inn and stepped inside.

  Alonsa pressed the new straw stuffing deeper into the clean ticking she had insisted the innkeeper provide. She had no intention of spending her last nights with Günter on a bed infested with the vermin of the previous guests.

  Satisfied, she d
usted her hands off and looked over to where he sat contemplating the small fire in the grate and strumming his cittern. He hummed the haunting melody of the song she had heard him singing in the forest.

  She sat back on her heels and listened, her heart thrumming in tune with the strings. A deep melancholy engulfed her while she watched him in the firelight, his freshly washed hair shining like molten bronze, his strong, gentle hands calling forth the music of the angels, his eyes half-closed as though he listened to the muses in his head.

  She would always remember him this way, she realized, and felt the time they had left together slipping through her fingers like the white sands on the beaches of Toledo. She wanted to squeeze tight, to hold every grain, but of course that would only make them slip faster away.

  “Günter,” she called softly, and he looked at her.

  “Will you sing it for me now?”

  He nodded. “I will.”

  She went to him, sat at his feet as he began.

  He had chosen the fluid, melancholy rhythms of her homeland instead of the set tunes of the madrigal for his song. His clear voice and evocative lyrics wove a spell about them while he sang of a warrior and the woman he adored, of giving and receiving. Finally, he sang of a love that would not end, either in this life or the next. As he strummed the last note, he looked beyond her, beholding a vision no other could see.

  Silence reigned for a long time. She wiped away the tears trembling on her lashes, and she at last gathered the courage to speak. “You wrote this?”

  He nodded and flicked a glance at her.

  “Yes.” His gaze moved away, and she had the same odd feeling that had whispered to her the day he said he would never love her.

  He set the cittern down carefully. “What are you thinking?”

  “I love—” she stopped.

  His head jerked up.

  “—it,” she finished weakly.

  She had nearly blurted out the truth.