by Tina Donahue
He eased away to look at her. “If someone needs you, I can always bring them here for you to treat.”
“The journey could kill them as it nearly did Fernando, and he was only a short distance from the convent when you brought him to me.”
“Let me think on the matter. You should too. We can come to an agreement on the safest way to proceed.”
“Do you want to do so now?”
He laughed softly. “I beg of you, let me rest.” On a weary yawn, he sagged to the mattress. “We can consider the matter in the morning, to prepare ourselves when someone in the village will need your skills.”
* * * *
Brave words Enrique had forced himself to speak. However, he’d given his oath not to stand in the way of her healing and had to abide by what he’d promised.
Repeatedly they discussed the issue and considered the perils involved, including her dressing as a boy during travel.
He rejected the idea. “Your garments would cause as much talk as your healing. Most people would consider you odd for disguising yourself as a male.”
“Isabella did the same when Fernando escorted her from Granada to Papá’s castle.”
“He wanted to protect her against being raped. Neither of them made their presence known to others unless they absolutely had to for food or shelter. Isabella never strode into a village and healed anyone.”
“I never stride. I walk demurely.”
He smiled, pleased at her banter despite the troubling subject. “You know what I mean.”
“What if I dress as a nun? Surely, we can get our hands on a habit. Who would question my intent if I resemble a sister?”
“The Church. A sacerdote. The inquisitors.”
With each of his answers, more color drained from her face.
He couldn’t stop. Too much was at stake. “To heal as you have been is one thing. To do so while pretending to serve God would be as bad in the eyes of the Church as a converso claiming fealty to Christianity while clinging to his former religion in private.”
She sighed loudly. “What then? If I had the power to become invisible and walk around unnoticed I would, but I cannot.”
Pity. Her going around unseen would make matters much easier for both of them. In fact, there was the answer. He frowned at an idea suddenly forming.
She leaned toward him. “Have I angered you?”
“No. You found the solution.”
“I did? How? What?”
“Being a woman, you need to heal without being seen. Being a man, I have no such problem. I can visit the villages, especially those under my authority, without anyone questioning me. I have every right to be there to see what goes on.”
She stared. “Are you saying you intend to heal?”
“No. Never.” He made a face at having to deal with strangers’ injuries and sickness as she had. In that, she was far braver than he was. “You can heal through me. When someone needs your skill, I could go to the villages with your materials and instructions on how to use them. After the raid, you taught the village women how to stitch a wound. I can read what you write, telling others what to do.”
“How would I know what any of the people need in way of healing unless I saw them first?”
“By whatever physical complaints they have. You can ask whoever requests your help—one of the servants is my guess—if their ill relative or friend has the fever, is coughing, broke a limb, whatever the problem may be. The solution might not be perfect, but my idea is better than nothing, no?”
She looked past him, gaze absorbed.
“Sancha?”
Her expression remained pained. “Are circumstances truly so unsafe I have to do this through you?”
“Would I have offered to take time from my obligations to see to this if I thought the way was clear for you to heal?”
“Of course not.” She melted into his arms. “How kind of you to help until I can do this on my own again.”
“With luck, you should be able to do so shortly.”
“How shortly?”
He wished she’d stop asking things he couldn’t answer. “We need to take matters slowly. No one has even requested your help. Months may pass before anyone does.”
* * * *
The matter came up little over a week later. Hortensia approached Sancha, since she knew of her healing.
Enrique cursed himself for allowing anyone other than his brothers to know of Sancha’s gift, fearful she’d take off for the village before he could stop her.
To his surprise and relief, she discussed the matter calmly.
“The young woman Hortensia told me about is sister to one of the house servants.” She paged through her largest volume as she spoke. “She resides in a village past the one the Moors raided, nearly a day’s ride from here. For weeks, a cough has weakened her, producing small amounts of greenish phlegm with most of the matter remaining in her lungs. Unable to breathe well, she has no appetite and has wasted away, no longer the buxom woman she was.”
Sancha paused on a page and ran her finger down the text, reading as she talked. “This book seems to mention such an illness. It may tell me what herbs and other materials to mix for a potion.”
She read quietly, nodded, then jabbed her finger into the page. “Here it is. I shall write down every word for you to convey to the young woman and her family. If all goes well, she should slowly produce more phlegm when she coughs, in time expelling the vile substance.”
He shuddered at the image she’d painted.
She caught his distaste before he could hide his feelings. “How brave you are to be doing this for the young woman.”
“I do this for you, no one else. Not even for Hortensia, who had no right to go past me to get to you.”
“She only asked my opinion on whether the young woman would survive. Not once did she request my help. I made the promise on my own. Rail at me, not her.”
“Would you listen to me if I did?”
“I prefer a request.”
He laughed, despite having to leave her for days on end. “How long will you need to prepare your materials? I want this done with quickly so I can return to you.”
“I shall hurry.” She didn’t move.
“What now?”
“Will anyone question you suddenly going to that particular village?”
“Why would they? To ease your mind, I can check the other communities along the way, as I have in the past, to see if everything goes well.”
“Even the one the Moors raided? Can you find out about Guillermo’s cousin?”
“Who?”
“The man with the burned face.”
He remembered and suppressed another shudder. “My first stop will be to see the poor man.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “I ask too much of you. Most husbands would have murdered me by now.”
He ran his hands down her narrow back and cupped her buttocks, loving their womanly shape. “Will you reward me greatly for my good deeds the moment I return?”
“I will be your devoted slave forever.”
“You had better.” He swatted her buttocks playfully. “See to what you must as I give my men their orders. They will assure your protection.”
She pulled back and searched his face. “What of yours? Surely, you have no intention of travelling alone.”
“Guards will ride with me as they always do, with others staying here for you.”
Worry pinched her features. “Do you expect trouble?”
He didn’t have to ask what kind. “I have kept an ear out for problems. Nothing is about, no worry about the Inquisition as long as you keep from fueling new rumors.”
“I promise not to do anything to bring either of us grief. How could I? My days are spent here with you.”
“Pleasantly, I hope.”
“What else?” She leaned into him. “I have no need for parties, celebrations, or other p
omp as you like to call those gatherings. The only person I do miss is Isabella.”
“Upon my return we can make plans to have her come here or travel to see her.”
“Two Lopéz de Lara sisters in the same castle? You are a good and brave man.”
Laughing, he swung her around, kissed her deeply, and left to settle matters before his departure. The beginning of at least three days without her. A journey he would never have considered making for another woman.
Love certainly changed a man.
As passion did a woman. When the time came for him to leave, she kissed him farewell in their bedchamber, at the castle entrance, and again when he prepared to mount his gelding.
The guards looked off into the distance, pretending not to notice how she clung to him.
“You will take care?” she asked.
“Always. I have no desire to meet injury, illness, or death.”
“No. Stop.” She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Never say that word again in relation to you. I forbid it.”
He pulled her farther away from his men, lest they hear her giving more orders to her husband. “The longer we take to say farewell, the longer my return to you will be.”
She hugged him hard enough to impede his breathing, her face pressed to his shoulder. “I miss you already.”
As he did her, though finally they had to part.
His last image of Sancha was her running down the path leading to the castle gate, hair and skirt flying as she tried to keep him in view.
* * * *
She missed him immediately and chided herself for having put him in such an awful position. If he’d refused to help, he would have broken his promise to her. By agreeing, he was possibly putting himself in danger from thieves, Moors, or the Inquisition if they learned what he’d done.
She wanted to shout or throw something to quell her anger at herself. She snatched a small volume but couldn’t hurl it across the space. Even in her turmoil, the book was too precious. At last, she pounded her fist into her palm and tried to think of a solution so Enrique wouldn’t have to act in her stead again.
Hours passed without an answer. She couldn’t eat, study, or sleep, and spent an endless night in their bed. The sheets were too cool without him, the space too large. Every noise made her jump, not out of fear but her hope he’d returned to tell her all had gone well and they could move on with their lives.
Good sense told her he hadn’t been gone long enough to have come back.
The following day, she ate eggs, bread, and cheese at Hortensia’s urging. Although Sancha had ample nourishment, her mind suffered, her experiments and study going nowhere since she couldn’t concentrate on anything for long. At last, she gave up and took Rosa outside, hoping play with the pup might relax her enough so she could think clearly again.
The galgo was initially timid at having so much to explore, though she soon bounded across the grass, sniffed flowers, and ran away from bees that buzzed near. Sancha threw numerous twigs for her to retrieve. Rosa ran to each, sniffed the wood then returned without a one.
Reclined on a blanket, Sancha fed the pup orange slices, boiled eggs, olives, and plenty of water, then ate her cheese, bread, and grapes, finishing with sweet wine.
The sun was heavier than before, while she was sluggish from food and lack of sleep. With her tension finally drained away, she cuddled next to Rosa and encircled the pup with her arm, content to have them nap.
* * * *
Something snapped. Sancha stirred, picturing Rosa chewing a twig, curious about its flavor.
A quick look told her the pup lay nearby, still asleep.
Another twig snapped. She wasn’t alone.
On her feet hurriedly, she turned so fast she nearly lost her balance. One of Enrique’s men, a short fellow with more fat on him than muscle, took a quick step back as if she’d alarmed him or he didn’t want to startle her further.
“What is it?” She immediately thought of Enrique, fearing something untoward had happened. “Where is my husband?”
“With his men, señora. He left yesterday.”
“You have word of him?” She advanced. “Something has happened?”
“No.” He kept backing away. “A retinue waits at the gate requesting entrance.”
Her pulse jumped. She knew of no one who would come here with servants, unless it was Isabella.
Sancha’s hope surged until she considered the unlikelihood of her sister travelling. Fernando would advise against any unnecessary trip this early in her condition, the most likely time for a woman to lose an infant.
Rupert wouldn’t have come either. He would have sent a missive to tell her if someone needed healing, which left no one except inquisitors. Did they travel with attendants?
She was afraid to know but had no other choice except to inquire. “Whose retinue?”
“Forgive me, I have no idea. The woman refused to say. She gave me this for you to read.” He extended a missive.
Sancha turned from him, her hands shaking so badly she could barely lift the seal she didn’t recognize. One from a woman. Wait.
She read the signature again. Luscinda.
Dizzy with apprehension, Sancha had to lock her knees to keep standing. Never had she needed Enrique as much as she did now, longing for his strong arms and assurances even though she was grateful he wasn’t here. At least with him away, he wouldn’t come to harm.
Bracing herself, she read the missive.
Dear Sancha, or should I say Señora de Zayas!
What a surprise you gave us by wedding Enrique. None of our friends or acquaintances suspected what you were up to. Few could believe, given your somber ways. We thought news of your marriage was a trick to make everyone laugh.
Isabella has assured us your and Enrique’s union is one made in paradise.
How wonderful for you.
I offer you my heartiest good wishes on your sudden good fortune, and beg you to invite me inside your new home so we may visit.
As you offered none of us a chance to help you celebrate, I do hope you and I can do so now.
Señorita Doña Luscinda
Sancha read the note twice more, clenching her jaw harder each time. What she was up to? Sudden good fortune? As though she’d threatened Enrique into marriage with him begging for his freedom.
The loathsome woman still wanted him despite his wedded state. What did Luscinda mean to do, murder Sancha in her own home?
She crushed the missive, ready to toss the vile thing into the pond and tell the guard to run the woman off the estate, but didn’t. If she were to refuse Luscinda entrance, the wretch might claim Sancha had denied the visit because she wanted to continue her celebration with the Devil.
After smoothing the missive, she tucked the note in her sleeve. “Please escort the señorita to the castle entrance. I shall meet her there.”
“Sí, señora.”
Sancha brought Rosa inside and gave her to Hortensia. “Can you watch the pup for me?”
“Of course.” The older woman regarded her closely. “Has something happened?”
“I have a guest.”
“Oh. Would you like me to tell cook to prepare something special for—”
“No. The guest will not be staying. Wait. Perhaps she will.” If she threw Luscinda out without food or drink, the next rumors might be that no meal was safe in the de Zayas castle, all tainted by spells and witchcraft. “Have her prepare our best.”
“Sí, señora.”
She smoothed her gown and hair, pulling a leaf from her tresses. Her shoulders sagged at how she must look, not that her taking time to bathe and put on fresh clothing would have changed Luscinda’s mind. She already thought every woman was ugly compared to her.
Sancha tramped to the entrance, ordering herself to remain calm and dignified. Her throat tightened and her stomach rolled.
Luscinda’s carriage pulled up, drawn by the
finest horses, constructed of the best materials, with four footmen in immaculate livery. The tallest man jumped off his platform and opened the door.
Luscinda exited like a queen, a jeweled fan in one hand. Her dark rose gown shimmered in the sunlight, its tint matching the caul she wore. She raised her face to take in the castle’s height, which exposed her long throat. The neckline of her gown was indecently low, the same as the one she’d worn to Isabella and Fernando’s celebration. Her beauty undeniable.
She regarded the breathtaking grounds to the exclusion of everything else, staring especially at the lake and the sheer vastness of the land.
A flash of what appeared to be jealousy, or hatred, crossed her face before she turned to Sancha and blinked. “It is you. I thought…” She smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me. Dressed as you are, I thought you were one of the servants. How foolish of me to think so when you have never bothered with anything pretty. How good it is to see you. I was afraid you might turn me away.”
She threw her arms around Sancha as one would a dear friend, rather than an acquaintance she’d just dismissed as plain and unworthy.
Sancha bared her teeth but patted Luscinda’s back gently instead of kicking her for those insulting words. If Enrique had been here, he might have tossed the woman over the hill, smiling as she rolled to the lake.
“Are we to stay out here?” Luscinda shielded her face with her fan. “I fear the sun will damage my complexion. Being unwed, I must take care with my appearance. You, of course, have no need for concern as you now have Enrique. Is he inside? Does he know I come to visit?”
If he had, she would never have made it past the gate. Not wanting to discuss him in front of his servants, Sancha gestured to the castle. “We can speak inside.”
The middle-aged servant opened the imposing door that was taller than two men standing on each other’s shoulders, the carved wood depicting Moorish designs.
Luscinda regarded the grandeur longingly.
Sancha preferred her and Enrique’s bedchamber, her study, and the pond, in that order.
