by Tina Donahue
With Dominico seated on her right and Enrique on her left, she endured Luscinda’s relentless scrutiny from across the table. Although the young woman kept up her end of converse with the men on either side of her, even toying with them shamelessly, her attention never left Sancha for long. Whenever Sancha spoke, Luscinda seemed particularly interested.
For the most part Sancha kept her tongue, concerned Luscinda might use whatever she said to put doubt back into the other’s minds, destroying the hope and work Enrique had accomplished this night.
There was enough food to feed a sizeable village for a week. Two harpists and three men with lutes played a melody no one paid attention to and few probably heard given the din. Wine flowed freely.
The older men were the first to succumb to drink and their gluttony, sagging in their chairs with sleep or bending over the tables, arms pillowing their heads as they napped. A few ladies followed, lids closed, mouths slack.
Even Dominico grew sleepy. Although Sancha had seen him out-drink and out-eat Tomás, Pedro, and Enrique combined on the night of her wedding, he’d apparently reached his limit at this gathering.
“You should help him to his chamber,” Luscinda suddenly said.
Sancha glanced at those who surrounded them, all busy with their own enjoyment, even Enrique, who had the duke laughing loudly at his tale. “Who do you mean?”
“Your priest.”
“Enrique’s boyhood friend?” She’d spoken louder than usual should anyone be listening. To claim Dominico was hers would be the first step to saying she’d corrupted his soul. The religious were favorite targets of demons. If she’d truly had the Devil’s power, she would have made Luscinda burst into flames rather than having to endure her icy smile.
“Dear Sancha, call him whatever you want. He does seem ready to fall off his chair.”
He swayed, jerked, and swayed once more, bumping Sancha again.
She helped him rest his head on the table.
Luscinda pursed her lips. “How uncomfortable he must be.”
“No more than the others.”
“Are you refusing to take him to his chamber because you fear being alone with a holy man?”
Her question shouldn’t have shocked Sancha but did. If she didn’t help Dominico to his room, Luscinda could claim she was afraid to be alone with him because he’d unmask her as a witch. If she did take him upstairs, speculation would arise concerning their time together and whether she’d tried to corrupt him carnally or he’d done so with her.
Sancha gestured for the servant behind Dominico’s chair. “Help padre to his chamber. See he has everything he needs.”
Unable to handle the priest alone, the young man called upon an older fellow next to him for help.
Luscinda stroked her goblet. “How clever of you.”
Sancha stood. No one noticed, not the young nobles on either side of Luscinda who now spoke to others, nor Enrique who was telling his tale. She rounded the table to the other side and leaned down to the young woman.
With her cheek close to Luscinda’s, Sancha whispered, “How sorry I feel for you. Wanting a man who will never share your desire, him having found you lacking even before he met me. Nothing has changed with Enrique in regards to you. Continue on your course and chance his reprisal at your own peril.”
Sancha left the room.
Chapter 14
The duke’s tale of an old romance had Enrique laughing so hard his throat grew parched. He reached blindly for his wine, misjudged the distance, and knocked over the beaker.
He shifted around to see if the drink had spattered Sancha. With his sudden movement, dizziness hit. After taking a moment to breathe deeply, clear his head, and curse himself for imbibing too much, he turned to Sancha once more.
Her chair and Dominico’s were empty. Confused, he craned his neck to see if they were in another part of the dining hall visiting with others. There was no flash of her auburn hair, her gold gown, or Dominico’s balding head.
Odd, unless…
His stomach twisted at the possibility of Sancha having fallen ill because of her condition.
His worry drove away the effects of his drinking, while good sense told him she wouldn’t have left without telling him she was ill. She’d always come to him first, not Dominico, even if she believed his friend’s prayers and blessings would help save the coming babe.
Enrique searched until a servant girl blocked his view, moving plates aside, mopping up the mess he’d made.
“Leave it.” He scanned empty chairs, guests who still enjoyed themselves, those who had fallen asleep or had swooned, and finally came upon Luscinda across the table, staring at him.
His skin crawled. Never had he seen a woman’s expression as intense and determined. The men on either side of her didn’t seem to notice. Drunk, they talked loudly, each vying for her attention. To Luscinda, they seemed not to exist, as absent from her thoughts as Sancha was.
Enrique glared at her. “Where is she?”
She looked at him coldly. “Who?”
“My wife.”
“Gone.” She glanced at Dominico’s empty chair, her expression knowing and accusatory as to what his wife and friend were doing alone together.
How dare she consider such a thing in regards to Sancha. He wanted to have it out with her but held back and cursed himself for paying more attention to enjoyment than safeguarding his wife. For those few moments of foolish pleasure, Luscinda had effortlessly forced him into a corner.
If he left to search for Sancha, as he should, Luscinda would likely point out his absence to the others, claiming he’d gone to find his wife and friend the moment he became aware of their absence. Luscinda wouldn’t have to accuse Sancha of outright adultery or witchcraft. Spreading innuendo, then allowing others to come to their own conclusions would be enough. If he were to stay here, she could claim Sancha’s absence had weakened the spell she’d cast on him, the one that had forced him to the altar. With Sancha’s hold on him no longer firm, Luscinda might suggest he clearly preferred to be with her.
Whatever he did had no good outcome, a confrontation between them unwinnable for him. She could say anything to defend herself and would. Only a direct threat against Sancha would convince the other nobles of Luscinda’s jealousy and avarice, causing them to dismiss anything else she said concerning his wife.
Luscinda had warned him not to spurn her and kept making good on her words.
More worried about Sancha than gossip, he left the room and sprinted down the hall toward his study. She might have taken refuge there. They’d shared many good moments in the room, her on his lap, keeping him from work.
At his approach, a viscount and a baron’s young wife jumped apart, lips still wet from their impassioned kiss. Upon reaching his study, he opened the door and closed it quickly on the couple inside, both naked, their backs to him, the man prepared to mount the woman, who was on her hands and knees.
He climbed the stairs three at a time, reached the landing quickly, and raced down the hall to his and Sancha’s bedchamber, his panting nearly as loud as his footfalls. Not caring how much noise he made, he threw open the door to the room. The handle struck the wall.
Sancha flinched, Rosa yipped, both on the mattress.
He kicked the door closed and dropped to one knee at Sancha’s side. Her fingers were surprisingly warm, not icy as he’d expected. She didn’t look upset either. Certainly nowhere near the rage tearing through him. “She said nothing to you?”
“Who?”
He frowned. “Who else? Luscinda.”
“Oh her.” She shrugged.
“Why did you leave the table without telling me where you were going? I thought something had happened to you and the infant.”
Now, she frowned. “Without me telling you?”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“Fine. Tomorrow morning will surely be a different matter.”
“What happened to bring you up here?”
“I missed Rosa.”
He pressed his fingers to the inside of his eyes. “Must you always talk around things as though you have no idea what I mean when you most certainly do?”
“Forgive me. I want only to keep you from getting angrier.”
“Too late.” He lowered his hand. “What did Luscinda say to you this time?”
“The usual. She twisted my words to make them seem suspicious. In turn, I told her your feelings for her, or lack of them, would never change even if I were gone. I then warned her of your reprisal if she should continue her current course. I made no threats in public, whispering to her instead.”
He nodded, proud she’d defended herself, though she’d done little to change Luscinda’s mind. He’d seen her hatred at the table. For the first time, he realized the matter between them had gone beyond Luscinda wanting what his position and wealth could bring her. She meant to hurt him through Sancha, revenge her true goal.
Fury shot through him, burning his skin. He wanted to destroy her no matter the consequences.
“Are you all right?” Sancha gripped his arm.
He took a deep breath. The worry in her voice, her frantic touch, shook him back to good sense. “I am. Avoid the wretch as much as possible. Give her no chance to speak to you. Win over the other women, making them your allies.”
“Must I go back down now?”
She looked so disheartened, tenderness welled in him. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, stuck out like a little girl who pouted. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. Tonight, most everyone is too drunk or well on the way to notice your absence.”
“The same as Dominico.”
“I wondered where he went. Did he stagger away by himself?”
“Two servants dragged him from his chair at my request. I told them to put him in his bedchamber.”
“How did I miss so much?”
She smiled gently. “You and the duke were enjoying yourselves, trying to outdo each other with tales of when you first became men, and the women who helped you reach those lofty goals.”
His face stung. “How much did you hear?” He couldn’t recall details of what he’d said.
“Enough for me to brag to Isabella regarding your indiscretions since she always goes on about Fernando’s earlier adventures—no—stop.”
He would not. He tickled Sancha until she sprawled on the bed, trembling with laughter, Rosa yipping at her side. He stroked the galgo’s head to quiet her.
Sancha’s giggles turned to contented sighs. “I love you, you know.”
“For tickling you?”
“For not suggesting I go back to the gathering. I know you would never demand.” She laced her fingers through his. “Will you stay here too?”
He shook his head. “I want to keep an eye on Luscinda. Turn over so I can undo your buttons.”
Once she was naked, as he liked, he kissed her longingly, then hugged her in farewell.
When he reached their chamber door, she called out, “She will never win.”
“Never.” He’d see to Luscinda’s ruin first, proving how ruthless he could be when it came to his beloved wife.
* * * *
He didn’t return to the bedchamber until dawn and fell onto the mattress fully clothed.
Sancha hated to bother him, but she’d spent the night wondering and worrying what went on at the celebration. “Do you have anything to tell me?”
He finished his yawn. “Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the wretch staring at me. Not once did I glance her way, as though she was no longer at the table. At last, she gave up and went to her room.”
“Are you certain she headed there?”
“I had a servant follow her and linger to make sure she remained, which he did and she did.”
Good thing. She easily pictured Luscinda scouring the castle for something to use against them.
“Enough talk of her,” he said. “Time for us to…to…” He fell asleep without finishing.
She followed him into slumber. Neither woke until nearly midday.
* * * *
He went off with the men to ride, fish, or hunt. Stuck with the women, she led the group to the area surrounding the pond. After servants had laid blankets over the grass and brought out chairs for the older women, they provided baskets of cheese, bread, grapes, olives, pork, boiled eggs, and wine.
Rosa couldn’t seem to get enough eggs. She licked yolk off Sancha’s fingertips, making her laugh.
Despite the month, the afternoon grew unexpectedly warm and lazy, the women still too tired or sated from food to speak much. Many sank to their blankets and slept beneath olive trees. Sancha smiled at Katia, the elderly countess who’d said she recalled being young and in love.
“Can I get you anything?” Sancha asked.
Katia’s smile created a fan of wrinkles on the corners of her eyes. Otherwise, her skin was as fresh and fair as a young woman’s. “I have already eaten far too much.” She regarded the surroundings. “This area is lovely. Do you and Enrique come here often?”
“As much as we can. His work with the estates keeps him occupied.”
“What keeps you occupied?” Luscinda asked from the next blanket. Seated beside her was the baroness who’d offered naught but frowns and insinuations since her arrival.
Pretending she hadn’t heard the question, Sancha lifted the pup and presented her to the countess. “Have you met Rosa yet?”
“Bring her here.” The galgo licked Katia’s chin. She laughed gaily.
Luscinda and the baroness didn’t join in, their attention on Sancha.
Whenever she said anything, one or the other would comment, trying to force her into a corner. She ignored them and followed Enrique’s advice on making allies of the other women. Some she’d known for years, seeing them at countless gatherings, though they’d never spoken to her for long nor she to them.
Today, she forced herself to converse and finally asked mothers in the group for advice on enduring childbirth, tending to an infant, making certain her son or daughter would grow up healthy and strong.
Information she already knew, but pretended ignorance.
The change in the women’s attitudes toward her was nearly magical. They surrounded her protectively and offered advice on what she shouldn’t eat to avoid sickness in the mornings. One marquesa, who’d had seven children and was carrying her eighth, told her to ride every day, even when she was heavy with child, claiming the activity would make birthing far easier.
“And kill the horse from the weight,” one young woman said.
Everyone laughed, save for Luscinda and the baroness.
Before long, Sancha forgot about them and genuinely enjoyed herself. She and a few women her age dipped their feet in the pond to cool off from the unseasonable heat, making certain they were always in the shade to avoid ruining their complexions.
“Men are so fortunate,” a señorita with light brown hair said. “No matter how horrible they look, they can always find a wife.”
“But not her tender regard,” the young woman next to her said.
Somehow, the subject changed from love to wedding nights with tales more fantastic than what Sancha had heard the duke and Enrique discuss. She laughed heartily with the women.
A servant approached. “Señora?”
Still smiling, she turned to the young man.
He offered a small bow. “You have a visitor.”
Surprised, she looked at him dumbly. “Me?”
“Sí. In the patrón’s study.” He offered another small bow and left without saying more, as though full disclosure wasn’t his place in front of so many others, or perhaps such a thing wasn’t allowed.
She suddenly thought of Isabella coming here, wanting to surprise her. Hoping for that, she pushed to her feet. “Please excuse me. I think my sister has made the gathering after all.”
�
�Have her come out and join us,” the one with the brown hair said. “Is she wed?”
Sancha nodded. “And with child.”
“Wonderful. She can tell us even more tales about wedding nights.”
“I warn you, hers are more outrageous than any of yours.” With her words bringing on new laughter, Sancha left.
Barefoot, she ran into the castle and Enrique’s study, stopping just inside the door. Pedro, not Isabella, stood inside.
“What are you doing here? Oh my, forgive me.” Sancha felt horrible. “I meant to say, I was expecting Isabella, not you. Are you looking for Enrique? Is everything all right?” She inhaled sharply. “Has something happened to him? Had he been hunting? Is he hurt?”
“I have no idea where he is. I came to speak to both of you.”
Her insides churned. The earlier worry she’d had about rumors and the inquisitors came back with a vengeance, making her dizzy and ill. “Why do you need to speak to us?”
Pedro strode past her and closed the door. “Tomás is ill.”
“Ill?” She didn’t understand. “In what way? How badly?”
He lifted his hand, grief and worry flooding his features.
“Tell me please.”
“The surgeon doesn’t expect him to survive.”
“What? Enrique and I saw you and Tomás a short while ago. He was fine.”
“He had a cough and a fever like so many are getting lately. The others recovered. For some reason he keeps getting worse. He asked me to write the letter for why we were unable to attend your gathering.”
“You never wrote that he was ill.”
“He told me not to. He feared ruining your and Enrique’s gathering with worry. I argued if he came here, you could help him. He said no, refusing to endanger you because of your healing. The surgeon has bled him twice with him only growing worse. A third time will surely kill him. Something else must be done.”
“I need to gather my things. Find Enrique. He and the men left hours ago. They should be on their way back by now.”
