Wicked Whispers
Page 1
Cover Copy
Follow the heart through darkness . . .
As the Inquisition gains force, even the faintest rumor can brand one a heretic. In this world it is Sancha’s gift—or curse—to be blessed with the gift of healing. But the villagers are in need of her arts more than ever, and she feels it is her duty to help them at the risk of losing her life. And at the sacrifice of her heart . . .
Enrique has never wanted a woman as he does Sancha. Determined to have her love, he woos her with exquisite passion, giving her refuge to pursue her healing in secret. But their very desire and escape from the ruthless forces of the world may be their undoing. And together, they must pit themselves against a jealous rival and archaic tradition to secure their place in a hopeful new dawn . . .
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Books by Tina Donahue
Dangerous Desires Series
Loving Lies
Wicked Whispers
Passionate Pursuit
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Wicked Whispers
Dangerous Desires
Tina Donahue
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Tina Donahue
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First Electronic Edition: May 2016
eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-589-5
eISBN-10: 1-60183-589-2
First Print Edition: May 2016
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-590-1
ISBN-10: 1-60183-590-6
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To the Book Escape Authors – you guys rock!
Author’s Foreword
Ah, Spain. Warm, vibrant, enchanting. The first time I researched this wonderful country, I fell in love. The late fifteenth century was an especially volatile time for Spain with the battle against the Moors and the establishment of the Inquisition. A period that continues to fascinate me.
Acknowledgements
To Penny Barber for her wise and always accurate suggestions.
Chapter 1
Andalucía, Spain—1488
The castle of Don Fernando de Zayas
Of all the perils a man might face, Enrique de Zayas figured the worst was unending desire for a woman. Especially one whose heart he hadn’t yet claimed, because the lady in question was being remarkably difficult. Heat had burned in Sancha’s eyes the few times she’d deigned to meet his gaze. Of course, she had been busy tending to his brother Fernando’s grave injuries, sparing him death and life as a cripple.
Isabella would never have forgiven her sister if Sancha had chopped off Fernando’s arm and leg to save his life. He was a warrior knight and had proved his bravery by falling in love with and wedding Isabella, one of the Lopéz de Lara sisters, who appeared to be delicate Spanish flowers but were as hard as any man.
Steeling himself for whatever happened tonight, Enrique joined the other nobles in his brother’s grand dining hall. Exotic spices, garlic, and onions scented the cavernous space. Rich tapestries depicting country life hung on the walls below ornate Moorish designs in gold and silver. The metal glinted from the flickering candlelight and oil lamps. A harpist, flutist, and a man playing a lute sat in the center area on red chairs. The musicians’ vibrant Spanish melody was scarcely audible beneath too much converse and loud laughter from hundreds of guests, all dressed in their finest.
He spotted Isabella, regally attired in a gold silk gown that complemented her auburn hair and milky complexion. She saw him too and threaded through the crowd, heading his way. Numerous señoritas also edged close, eyeing him as the main fare for this evening’s feast. Being a rich man in need of a wife was the second greatest peril a man could face. Isabella stood only as close as etiquette allowed to quell wagging tongues. Spaniards loved intrigue whether it involved the Crown or one of Spain’s wealthy subjects. Her earlier abduction and near sale as a concubine for the Sultan’s harem had certainly fueled enough gossip.
She turned into him, the top of her head reaching his shoulder. “Take heart. Sancha is here tonight.”
His pulse pounded. Warmth rushed to his groin.
Isabella glanced around the opulent, red-walled room. “This time she promised not to take too long with the servant.”
“Too long doing what?”
Isabella paled then shrugged. “Whatever one does with servants. Trust me, she will not keep you waiting.”
She already had, repeatedly, in the few weeks since they’d met. To him the time seemed longer than most of his life. He wasn’t a man who needed decades to determine his feelings for a woman. With Sancha, he’d fallen in an instant. Each day without her added to his torment.
He frowned.
“Oh no.” Isabella regarded him closely. “Have you lost interest in her already?”
She’d made him sound like the worst sort of beast when he was the one in pain. “It would appear your sister has never shared my passion.”
She flicked her hand dismissively. “You need to woo her as Fernando wooed me.”
“When he believed you were Sancha, his betrothed, or after he learned your true identity?”
“Both.” She grinned despite the hell she’d put him, Fernando, and two of their other brothers through. “Everything worked out as it should.”
Indeed. Sancha had never wanted to wed Fernando. With Isabella taking her place, she remained blissfully unattached in order to torture Enrique with his endless yearning. “Where is my brother?”
“Resting before the meal. I insisted he do so until his strength returns.”
“Fernando allows you to order him about?”
Her slender eyebrows lifted slightly. “You believe I or anyone could make demands of a warrior-knight? Never. I request and woo. Something for you to keep in mind with my sister.” She searched the crowd and inclined her head. “There she is.”
God help him, Enrique couldn’t resist staring.
Bathed in the light of candles and oil lamps, she seemed unearthly, an angel sent to visit mere mortals, her complexion creamy and flawless, streaks of gold highlighting her auburn hair, a shimmering mass of temptation.
He locked his knees to steady himself, lost in her allure.
She stepped deeper into the room, emerald skirt swaying, her gown cut modestly, though still providing a hint of her ripe breasts and narrow waist. Unlike t
he other women here, she wore no jewels to prove her wealth, which was considerable. She was sole heir to her late parents’ estate, her holdings as vast as his.
Caballeros watched as she passed.
She didn’t glance at any of them.
Enrique wasn’t about to suffer such treatment for himself any longer. Tonight he would change everything between them. First though, she had to look at him. To see him.
She stared into the distance, lost in her own world. A server passed too close and brushed her arm. Despite his heavy tray, he stopped and inclined his head in apology. She offered a gentle smile and stepped back to give him more room, her gaze touching Enrique.
He stilled, unable to draw a full breath. Pleasure registered on her lovely face, followed by the same longing he’d seen during their previous encounters, her dark eyes luminous with unmasked desire.
They wouldn’t satisfy their craving for each other easily. She may have believed she was independent and even enjoyed playing a role more suited to a male. However, she still had a woman’s need for a man to thrill and protect her within his strong embrace.
He fully intended to be that man. His inertia broke. He stepped toward her.
Her passion instantly turned to caution.
Fearing she might bolt, he prepared to give chase.
Isabella dug her fingers into his sleeve. “Give me a moment with her. My sister is shy.”
Sancha’s impassioned expression upon seeing him had said otherwise. Hunger had burned deep within her, simply waiting to be free.
“Stay here.” Isabella patted his sleeve and brushed past the others.
Enrique waited a moment, lost patience, and followed. Another hand clamped on his arm. He gritted his teeth and turned.
Luscinda de Cortés held onto him, her strength surprising, her expression too eager. He would have expected such desperation from a homely woman, not her. She was remarkably beautiful, her snowy skin, long black hair, and dark eyes enhancing her sultry features. Her full lips had surely given many caballeros pleasant dreams. The scandalous cut of her red silk gown barely covered her ample breasts, quivering with each breath she took. Numerous pearl necklaces studded with diamonds graced her long throat.
From the rumors he’d heard, her clothing and gems represented the full sum of her family’s wealth. A matter her mamá, Señora de Cortés, seemed determined to change, allowing her daughter to dress as she had tonight to catch a rich husband. The older woman stood to the side, watching closely.
He regarded Luscinda’s hand on his arm.
A painfully long moment passed before she finally released him. “So good to see you here, Enrique.”
Where else would he be with Fernando celebrating his and Isabella’s union? Given how their wedding had come about, he’d suspected his brother might need help defending against any unkind comments or gossip.
He, on the other hand, needed to keep Luscinda and her grasping family away from himself. Rather than address him as Don Enrique, as good manners required, she’d addressed him as a betrothed or a man who was already her husband. He’d willingly face death before wedding her or anyone other than Sancha. Rather than explain the obvious, he bowed his head slightly. “Doña Luscinda.”
Señora de Cortés snapped her fan and beat the air with the thing. He pretended not to notice the woman’s outrage at his failure to add señorita to his greeting, affording her daughter even greater respect.
Luscinda’s expression remained inviting and seductive. Color stained her cheeks, her pupils dilating unnaturally, possibly the result of using belladonna in her eyes and on her face. The poison was supposed to enhance a woman’s beauty, if it didn’t kill her first.
He hardly wished her harm, wanting only to have her bother someone else. Perhaps if he simply ignored her, she’d drift away. He glanced at Sancha. She neared one of the tables, speaking to Isabella as if no one else in the room existed, not even him.
He huffed.
“Poor Sancha.” Luscinda looked to where he had and inched closer to him, her fragrance heavy and cloyingly sweet. “We must understand what she goes through and pity her.”
His chest tightened with indignation, fury heating his face. “What did you say?”
She stepped back, her smile faltering. “I meant no harm. Everyone feels quite badly for her. Any woman would be shamed at having lost her betrothed to a younger sister, leaving her alone and unwanted at such an advanced age. Fernando surely had his reasons for spurning her and the great wealth she could have brought to their union. However, she has no recourse now except to enter the order and remain at the convent. As soon as she returns there, of course. Perhaps she prefers such a sad fate rather than fulfilling her duty as a wife and mother as the rest of us long for.”
Señora de Cortés stopped working her fan despite perspiration dotting her fleshy cheeks and stout throat. “Our women have always carried out their duty in birthing the finest heirs. Nothing has stopped them.”
Not even a man’s disinterest. Poor Luscinda. She might have been a nice girl if not for her greedy mamá.
“Excuse me.” He turned on his heel and left before her mother suggested he offer his future to Luscinda or threatened him if he refused to comply.
Sancha sat at a long table laden with tonight’s feast. Isabella stood behind her sister, motioning frantically for him to fill the empty chair next to hers.
Was there any doubt?
He reached the spot. Another man put his hand on the back of the chair to make his claim. Isabella scowled, warning him away. Good thing. Enrique was ready to push the fool aside. He offered a slight bow to Isabella, acknowledging her assistance.
She grinned.
Once seated, he warned himself to give Sancha a chance to meet him halfway. He considered clearing his throat to capture her attention or asking her to pass the olives and boiled eggs, both slightly out of his reach. Of course, the servants who stood behind the chairs were well prepared to see to every need, except what he wanted most. Her in his arms.
She wore the same fragrance he’d come to identify with her. Her delicate rose scent brought to mind soft, heated breezes, a night sky in summer, threads of moonlight piercing the velvety dark, the silvery glow glittering off countless stars.
Perhaps a simple greeting would encourage her to look at him.
Before he could open his mouth, Luscinda took the seat to his other side with her mamá directly across from them. Both women regarded him intently. No different from beasts in the wild before those animals pounced on their prey.
He ignored them and filled himself with Sancha. No one else mattered. “Buenas noches.”
She looked at him without pause, her expression guileless and wanting.
He smiled helplessly. Her eyes were more beautiful than he recalled, lushly lashed and expressive, the dark brown color unbearably warm. His brother had always boasted about Isabella’s blue-green eyes as the most beautiful on earth.
Unique, yes, but more exquisite than Sancha’s? Never.
Her cheeks grew rosy as they always did whenever he was near. If that wasn’t proof of her attraction, what was?
He had much he wanted to teach her. The delights of their carnal play, the pleasure of wedding him, bearing their many children, their future filled with enough joy to last a lifetime. She only had to agree to his plan.
She inclined her head. “Buenas noches, Señor Don Enrique.”
His stomach sank. Such formality when she’d already claimed his heart. She should take lessons from Luscinda, whose leg brushed his. He shifted in his seat to get away from her. She controlled herself for a moment, then slid her foot toward his. Their shoes touched.
Enough of this. He leaned toward Sancha to keep the others from hearing. “We must have a word after we eat. I insist.”
Rather than acquiesce or demurely turn away, she studied him without reserve, her inner strength and resolve showing through. “Why must we?”
Expressing himself when they were alone would prove difficult enough. Doing so in front of this crowd would be impossible. He lifted one eyebrow. “The matter is not one I intend to speak of here.”
Her cheeks darkened, but she didn’t draw back, apologize, or try to change the subject as another woman might have. He liked her bravery in facing him even though her spirit rankled at times. Like now.
She straightened even more. “You know a chaperone has to accompany us if we speak alone.”
If there were anyone else around, they would hardly be alone.
Isabella leaned down between them. “I will chaperone willingly.”
Enrique had forgotten she was behind them. He gave her a hard stare, wanting her to go to her husband.
Fernando had arrived finally, thinner than he’d been before his brush with death, but his complexion matched Enrique’s healthy bronze shade. They resembled each other closely, both tall with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. Only Enrique’s white forelock set them apart.
Fernando waved away his guests’ cheers and a servant’s assistance, but he did take Isabella’s arm. She led him to his chair at the head of the longest table. Rather than sitting at the other end, as custom dictated, she took the seat at his side, her full attention on her husband, father to the child she’d recently conceived.
Enrique wanted Sancha to treat him the same way and let him fill her with their babes.
After eating a bite of roasted pork, she peeked at him. A pearl of juice clung to the corner of her mouth. He longed to lick it away, then run his tongue over the seam of her lips, coaxing them to part.