Wicked Whispers

by Tina Donahue

  “Dear Sancha.” Luscinda leaned over. “How wonderful to see you out and about despite what occurred. Are you feeling all right?”

  He turned to Luscinda and pulled back quickly at how close she was. “If you mean her health, as you must, she was never ill.”

  “Señor Don Enrique is correct.” Sancha remained composed as always. “I am quite well.”

  Luscinda gave him a sweet smile, then looked around him and spoke to Sancha. “When do you return to the convent?”

  “Tonight, surely.” Señora de Cortés heaped more mutton on her plate and took the last of the white bread near them. “Prayers are important and should never be put off.”

  He drummed his fingers against the table. “Can she finish her meal first?”

  “Of course.” Luscinda grew as serious as he had. “We want her to be happy.” She leaned past him again, her arm touching his, her breasts nearly falling out of her gown. “Eat, please. You have no reason to deny yourself now with your betrothal in the past. You can fatten up as widows do when they no longer have to worry about pleasing men.”

  Enrique shot Luscinda and her mother a warning look to say no more.

  Both women kept their tongues. Once they’d stuffed their mouths with food, not words, he ate a small portion of bread and cheese, his hunger hardly for tonight’s fare. He wanted what his brother had.

  Fernando and Isabella held hands during their meal, sharing comments and quiet laughter, shutting out the rest of the world. Having witnessed what they’d gone through to come this far, including rogues intent on their destruction, Isabella’s unfortunate deception, and a murderous uncle, Enrique was happy for them and sad for himself.

  Sighing, he reached for an orange. So did Sancha. Their hands touched.

  Bursts of heat raced up his arm, his skin tingling, throat constricting with desire. Before she could pull her hand from his, he folded his fingers around hers. Their softness and warmth stole his breath.

  Others laughed boisterously, leaned back in their chairs, or indulged in the food and drink. She stroked his thumb.

  His blood thickened with hard lust and aching tenderness. She wasn’t like Luscinda and the other young women who flirted shamelessly, pursuing a man until they ran him down. A touch from her meant something.

  He inclined closer to ensure no one heard them speak. “Will you join me after you sup? Please.”

  She stopped stroking his thumb.

  Crushed, he prepared to make his case, even if hundreds watched and heard. Words swirled in his mind, none perfect or even adequate to begin his pretty speech.

  She caressed his fingers again, much to his surprise. A faint sound poured from her.

  “What?”

  “Sí.”

  “To what?”

  “Meeting you.”

  The answer he’d waited a lifetime for. He had to keep himself from whooping in delight or hauling her onto his lap and kissing her senseless. Aware of how easily gossip could spread, he remained as close as protocol allowed to keep anyone from eavesdropping. “Are you familiar with the north balcony that faces the stand of olive trees?”

  Sancha nodded.

  “Meet me there as soon as you finish. But please, take the time you need for your meal.” Even if the wait killed him, he’d endure anything to be alone with her.

  He released her hand and ate faster than he ever had, far less too, neither tasting nor caring about his meal. The moment a bite of fig or beef stuck in his throat, he washed the offending morsel down with a gulp of wine.

  Sancha picked at her bread and mutton.

  “Can I get you anything?” He wanted to give her the world. “A slice of fowl or more honey?”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “I want nothing more.”

  How wrong she was. They needed each other. “Leave this room when you feel you can. Then come to me.”

  He was ready to signal Isabella, reminding her to chaperone Sancha, at least until they arrived at the balcony.

  Luscinda rested her hand on his arm. “You must try this.” She offered an orange slice. “Its sweetness will stun you.”

  “Thank you, no. I need air, not food.”

  “Luscinda will accompany you.” Señora de Cortés bit off another piece of cheese, her mouth crammed with it. “She could use some cooling air too.”

  The evening was as steamy as the room. “If she accompanies me, who will accompany her?”

  Señora de Cortés smiled. “Her mamá, of course.”

  How clever of her. If they claimed anything untoward happened, like stolen kisses or more, the matter would rest on their word against his, followed by a wedding and a life of misery with a woman he would never want. “Remain here. I neither need nor want company this evening.”

  Both women glanced at Sancha.

  Best he hide his interest in her. “I wish to remain alone unless my brother wants to visit with me. I should ask his lovely wife if she minds me stealing him away for a few minutes.”

  Señora de Cortés eyed him. “Indeed you should.”

  Ignoring her, he faced Sancha. “Excuse me.” He left the table.

  At his approach, Isabella smiled slyly.

  Fernando rolled his eyes. “What are you two plotting?”

  His and Sancha’s future hopefully. “Nothing.” He leaned down to Isabella and told her where he and Sancha would meet.

  “Never fear, she will be with you shortly.”

  Fernando regarded them. “Bound and gagged if need be, no?”

  Enrique clapped him on the shoulder. “She found you repulsive, dear brother, not me.”

  “We shall see.”

  Enrique turned to Isabella. “One last thing.”

  She held up her hand. “You have naught to worry about. She already knows how magnificent you are. Nearly as much as my dear Fernando.”

  Enrique smiled sweetly. “Keep an eye on Luscinda and her mother. If they make a move toward Sancha, fell them as you did the rogue who tried to take Fernando’s life.”

  Isabella spoke through her teeth. “The dirty puto.”

  “Wife.” Fernando pointed at her. “Must I keep warning you about your language?”

  “Only this once.”

  “And until next time,” Enrique said.

  Fernando exchanged a glance with him, then bumped her arm with his. “He knows you too well.”

  “Go.” She shooed Enrique away. “Sancha will come to no harm.”

  He left the dining hall, grateful for the cooler air and silence. Although Fernando’s castle was half the size of Enrique’s, the rooms were enormous, the halls long, candles and lamps everywhere, lighting his way. Soon, the only sounds were his shoes ringing against the stone floors. Colorful mosaics decorated many of the walls, the patterns breathtaking in their intricacy. Polished stone columns, as white as milk, flanked graceful archways.

  Fernando had done well as a warrior. The Crown had granted him this castle and conquered land for his many battles against the Moors and spying for Spain in Granada.

  As the firstborn son, Enrique never had to serve in battle, as he alone would inherit their papá’s great estate. In the past, he’d envied Fernando and their brothers for the adventures they’d known. Not any longer. Isabella’s anguish had been hard to witness when Fernando had nearly died to protect her and Sancha from their murderous uncle. Enrique never wanted to bring Sancha such pain. He simply needed her love and would make his case tonight.

  Upon reaching the balcony, he closed the doors and paced. A balmy breeze ruffled his hair, the scent of rich earth and vegetation surrounding him. An animal cried in the distance. The faint sound of horse hooves reached him, perhaps a late visitor arriving for the celebration.

  He stopped pacing and listened for footfalls. None yet. Muttering an oath, he stalked from one end of the balcony to the other repeatedly. After an eternity of waiting, the handles rattled.

  He strode forward, t
hen stared, worried suddenly about Luscinda, her mamá, or both being here.

  “Enrique,” Isabella called. “The doors are stuck.” She kicked the wood.

  He pulled hard on the handles, opening them for her.

  She stayed put. Although Sancha didn’t race to his side, she did join him on the balcony.

  “Fernando needs me.” Isabella rocked on her heels. “When you two return, please do so at separate times so no one notices or discusses what might have gone on out here.”

  Sancha colored in the moonlight.

  He spoke to Isabella. “Rest assured, I will protect her honor.”

  “You had better.” Isabella winked. “Enjoy yourselves.” She closed the doors and left.

  Sancha turned to him, hands folded in front.

  If he could have managed words, he would have told her how breathtaking she was, hair flaming in the gauzy light, skin looking softer than the finest velvet, her coloring as pale as a pearl. Her eyes filled with what he identified as wonder, the same as his.

  Unable to help himself, he eased into her, cupping her face.

  Her lips parted. She leaned into him rather than pull away.

  Surprised and delighted, he brushed his lips over hers, astounded at their silky heat. Her breath smelled sweetly of orange, her usual rose fragrance mingling with a hint of musk. Her excitement as a woman.

  He eased his tongue inside her mouth and waited for her response, praying she wouldn’t move away at his bold move.

  A soft, wanting sound poured from her. Sagged against him, she gripped his doublet and used his garment for support.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to him, his thickened shaft snug against her mound. She stilled for a moment, then suckled his tongue, her need of him obvious.

  This was heaven, the only reason to be alive. These moments would change everything between them. He’d claim her and she would be his for a lifetime.

  Dizzy with joy, he deepened the kiss, working his fingers past her dark green caul and through her hair, caressing tresses softer than fur.

  She clutched him more tightly, her mouth wanton and willing beneath his.

  Exactly how he’d hoped their first moments alone would be, though still falling short of what he had to have. He cupped her breast, testing its weight and warmth, savoring her nipple pebbled against his palm.

  She froze.

  He tempered his passion and caressed her more gently.

  She tore her mouth from his and pulled away.

  He’d frightened her. Fool. He should have known better and did now. Despite his arousal, he remained where he was and dropped his hand to his side.

  Sancha breathed as roughly as he did. She touched her mouth still damp from his lips on hers. He expected her to turn and run.

  She cupped his face and claimed his mouth, driving her tongue inside.

  He suckled her greedily. She returned his kiss, both of them pushing against each other to get closer. Unable to, Enrique wanted to howl in frustration. She moaned softly then pulled away again. This time she put out a shaky hand even though he hadn’t moved.

  He pulled in a deep breath. She stepped back again.

  Before she could leave the balcony altogether, he stopped breathing. “Are you all right?”

  “No. Enough of this.”

  Those weren’t the words he wanted to hear, though he had expected something unpleasant. “Enough of what?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You kissing me.”

  He risked a smile. “When I stopped, you moved back into my arms and began again without me having to ask.”

  Her face went slack, gaze turned inward. “Is this what you wanted to speak to me about?”

  “Our kissing and enjoying these moments? Not entirely.”

  “What then?” Fingers laced, she struck the same pose his mother had when he’d misbehaved as a child.

  This wasn’t how he’d envisioned the most important moments of his life. He’d imagined music playing, candles dancing in a gentle breeze, him holding her hands as she waited breathlessly for his words.

  Sancha, like Isabella, needed to learn how women behaved around men, accepting that males ruled, females obeyed, and everything was as God, nature, and men had always demanded.

  He lifted one eyebrow. “I would ask if you enjoyed our kiss, but I sense you did.”

  She opened her mouth then closed it.

  Just as well. He wouldn’t have accepted her denial. “Since you did enjoy our kiss and moved into me for another that I found even more delightful, I believe you and I were meant for each other. Much as Isabella and Fernando have found perfection in their union. Therefore, I want you to know I intend to woo, win, wed, and bed you.”

  Her face turned white.

  He would have expected that reaction if he’d threatened her with death, not everlasting love or a blissfully happy marriage.

  She stepped back. “No.”

  No? He crossed his arms. “Is it your habit to kiss men as though you have deep feelings for them, then say no to their offers of marriage?”

  “Of course not. Only with you.”

  “What?”

  She wrung her hands. “You, señor, are the first and the last man I ever intend to kiss.”

  How comforting, at least when it came to her not wanting to be with another man. “Then what part of my offer are you saying no to?”

  “All of it.”

  He stiffened. “Why? I know you find Fernando repulsive. Are you saying I am too?”

  “Never.” Her gesture took in his entire length. “I have never seen a more glorious man.”

  He puffed up with pride and offered his sweetest smile. “You are unbelievably lovely.”

  She stepped back.

  Unable to help himself, he approached.

  She lifted her hand to stop him. “Señor Don Enrique—”

  “Enough of such formality. We kissed. Call me by my Christian name or not at all.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Very well, Enrique. No matter what happened between us a few moments ago, I have no intention of wedding you or any man.”

  He didn’t believe her for a minute. “Then why did you agree to come out here with me?”

  “I suspected what you wanted to talk about and decided to tell you my feelings on the matter.”

  Not while they’d been kissing, she hadn’t. “You intend to enter the order and stay at the convent forever? An odd choice for a woman who enjoys a man as you did me.”

  Her throat flushed, the rosy tint matching her cheeks. “I have no intention of joining the order.”

  “What then? You plan to remain independent?”

  “Sí.”

  “Why?” A woman without a man to protect and guide her or the church to lead her through life was unnatural, unheard of.

  She straightened even more than before. “For the same reasons you have yet to wed.”

  “Me? I was waiting to meet you. Now I have. Who are you waiting for?”

  She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “No one.” She dropped her hand. “Tell me, do you enjoy your days with no one telling you what to do or how to behave?”

  “You make my life sound as though I have no duties whatsoever. I have countless obligations to the estate, my servants, the peasants, and more. I hardly spend my time doing precisely what I want.”

  “I never said you did. However, if you wished to study a subject, who would stop you? If you wanted to travel to a foreign land, would you need to take a chaperone? If you wished to run through the fields at night, would anyone dare tell you not to?”

  “They might question my sanity for running through fields in the dark.”

  “You make light of this, but you know what I mean.”

  Enrique did. He held up his hands in surrender but did approach so they could speak softly, lest anyone was on the grounds below or inside the room with an ear to the door.
“Does this concern your healing?”

  She turned away.

  “Sancha.” He hesitated, his hands hovering before he risked resting them on her upper arms.

  She tensed.

  He stroked her gently until she relaxed. “If you want to heal, you can do so with me and our children, keeping us in good health.”

  She pulled away. “Only if you allow me to do so.”

  “Why would I stop you? You saved Fernando. You were magnificent.”

  “What if I wanted to save others?”

  “My brothers, sister, and father? Your sisters?”

  “Anyone who needed my—”

  “No. Absolutely not. You know the Church targets women healers as witches. For you to expose yourself in such a way would put your freedom and life at risk.”

  “Both are mine to give, not yours. Unless you intend to tell the inquisitors what I do.”

  “You know I would never betray you. How dare you suggest otherwise.”

  Her frown hung on for a moment and then she slumped. “Forgive me. I never meant to wound you.”

  Of course, she hadn’t. He’d never had any doubt yet had spoken so foolishly, railing at her when she needed comfort. He opened his arms. “Sancha.”

  She regarded him longingly, but finally backed away on a quiet sigh. “I need to do what I must. You need to find a woman who can give her all to you. Adiós, Enrique.”

  “Sancha!”

  She flung open the doors, dashed through the room, and disappeared into the shadows.

  Certain he’d catch up, he tore after her, but when he reached the hall, all six passages were inexplicably empty.

  Chapter 2

  Sancha climbed the steps in the secret passage she’d found out about earlier, thanks to her sister. Isabella said she and Fernando played games where she’d run and hide with him chasing and trying to find her. Once he had…Sancha had stopped listening at that point, trying not to groan or laugh at how silly her sister and Fernando behaved.

  No different than her.

  She’d been a fool to have met with Enrique. Running had been her only recourse, taking her here. Blindly, she negotiated each step in the dark, hoping he wouldn’t hear her shoes tapping the stone, her rasping breaths.

  She groped the wall on both sides to steady herself. Her hand slid into a depression on the left, fingers hitting nothing suddenly, that part of the wall gone. Shocked, she snatched back her hand, twisted, and nearly lost her footing. Clinging to the other side, she inched up the steps. Upon reaching the landing, she looked over into blackness. No one had opened the hidden door below, letting the light from a candle or lamp spill inside.