Wicked Whispers

by Tina Donahue

  Tomás smiled. “I can take care of myself.” He sobered. “I refuse to settle for less than what Enrique and Fernando have.”

  “You mean the families they started.”

  Not entirely. However, Isabella had given birth to her and Fernando’s first child, a daughter. They named her Juana after Isabella’s late mother. Sancha hadn’t yet delivered. Given what Enrique had repeatedly said, he didn’t care whether she bore him a son or a daughter. He simply wanted her and the child’s health and happiness.

  Nuncio cleared his throat delicately. “If I may be so bold…”

  “You will be anyway. Get on with it.”

  “Very well. If you seek children, I advise you wed first as your brothers had.”

  “They fought for the women they wanted. Neither let convention get in his way.”

  “Your brothers wed women from their own backgrounds.”

  “They fell in love with them first and overcame numerous obstacles to be at their sides, even though none were originally meant to be together. Have you forgotten Fernando’s betrothal to Sancha was long before she married Enrique instead? What about Isabella pretending to be Sancha and wedding Fernando before he knew the difference between the two sisters? Despite such chaos, all are blissfully happy now.”

  “Miracles do happen at times, though in your case you best not hope for one.”

  Tomás shoved his hair back from where the wind had blown it. “As the youngest son, who I end up with, or if I end up with anyone, is of no consequence. Enrique inherits everything from Papá. Building upon the family dynasty is his duty. I can do as I please.”

  Nuncio looked off into the distance, his expression suddenly a mask, though the lines in his face seemed to have deepened. Clearly, the man should have been riding, running, or walking through the fields rather than being here bothering him.

  He turned back to Tomás. “Is this about Beatriz?”

  His heart slammed into his chest. Lightheaded, he rested his hand on the stone for support and pretended to drink from his empty goblet. A ruse to buy time, since he was unable and unwilling to answer Nuncio. Above, a bird cried out, its wings outstretched to catch a gust. Below, wheels rattled against stone, announcing more guests. This time, several carriages drew near.

  He wanted to run. His legs were too leaden to move. “Where is she?”

  Nuncio shook his head.

  Tomás frowned. Frustration oiled his limbs, allowing him to move as he couldn’t seconds earlier. Fists clenched, he approached the older man, prepared to thrash him to get an answer.

  Nuncio stood his ground and kept his tongue, clearly not cowed.

  Tomás glared. “Answer me. Where is she?”

  “Seeing to her tasks as the other servants are doing.”

  And would most likely finish her work before Nuncio offered anything more than he had. “Inform my guests I shall be delayed slightly.”

  Before the manservant could respond, Tomás slapped his goblet into Nuncio’s hand and hurried down the steps, his shoes ringing on the stone. On the next level, he rushed through the castle once owned by a Moor, the same as Fernando’s castle had been. Their service to the Crown had won them the re-conquered estates. Although Tomás’s home was far smaller than Fernando’s and certainly Enrique’s, he still had to search numerous halls and countless rooms for Beatriz.

  He wanted to see her. No. He needed to. A compulsion he couldn’t seem to resist despite her being a servant. A matter obviously important to Nuncio, Enrique, and Sancha, with them advising him not to take advantage of his position and Beatriz since a dalliance between them could lead nowhere.

  He was well aware of the perils and hadn’t done anything except watch her whenever he could.

  She was remarkably different from his other servants, her air, manner, and speech refined. Intelligence shone in her eyes. She even seemed able to read. Weeks ago, he’d come upon her tidying his study. She’d regarded the book spines at length, the way one would when reading titles. Remarkable and odd. If she were educated, he couldn’t imagine why she’d willingly spend her days here in endless drudgery.

  When he’d asked his housekeeper about her, Señora Cisneros said Beatriz came from one of the many villages Tomás owned and that she needed work to support her ailing mother. He hadn’t bothered to check out the story, sensing Beatriz might have an ill parent, which drove her to seek work here. As to the other part of her background…deep inside, he sensed she hadn’t come from any village.

  Not that he cared whether he was right or not.

  Seeing her again, settling his overwhelming desire was his only goal. Today, he could compare Beatriz to the other women and determine if his desire for her was only a passing whim. Once he’d had another look at her, he might be able to dismiss his feelings as mere fantasy and have peace at last.

  Where had she gone?

  He strode toward the first hall and the bedchambers, this area open and airy. Sun spilled through arched windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Several rays shone on intricate mosaics in blue, yellow, green, and red, decorations beloved by the Moors. In the brilliant light, the stone columns and floors were white as milk.

  Upon reaching the chambers, he checked room after room, each filled with rich wall hangings and Spanish furniture, the dark wood and leather carved with ornate designs. Every chamber was spotless and duly aired to smell quite fresh. Also empty. With only two more rooms to go, he sensed Beatriz might be in another part of the castle, tending to those rooms.

  No matter. He’d run her down in time.

  After a quick check of the remaining chambers, he turned.

  Beatriz stood several feet away, a basket of linens in her hands, her gaze on him.

  His mouth went dry.

  Despite her red gown, white tunic, and linen cap, the same livery his other female servants wore, she might as well have been a queen.

  She was certainly beautiful enough. Her skin was paler than most, the color of a fine pearl, features delicate, eyes lushly lashed and softened with what appeared to be need.

  His chest tightened, breathing became difficult, the air suddenly too thick.

  Her lips parted in what seemed to be an invitation.

  Everything grew quiet. Colors and the surrounding area faded into the background, leaving nothing except her to feast on. Dewy skin, sensuous mouth, full breasts, lush hips.

  His shaft thickened and grew hard, craving her heated sheath damp with moisture, proof of her excitement.

  She was no more than a few feet away. His for the taking. He merely had to cross the small space separating them.

  The distance seemed wider than the ocean with too many warnings bombarding him. Sancha’s advice that he not ruin Beatriz, leaving her few options for marriage to a respectable man. Enrique warning about the child Tomás would eventually sire with her. Nuncio’s repeated admonitions about her peasant background, which wouldn’t allow them a future together no matter how much Tomás may have wanted one.

  He shouldn’t have sought her out. His plan to dismiss any feelings he’d had failed miserably. He wanted her far more than he had earlier even though a liaison between them was impossible.

  He should have run from the hall and not looked back. He couldn’t move. His longing for these few moments with her were far too compelling, even though they’d never amount to anything.

  He tipped his head. “Buenas tardes.”

  Color rose to her cheeks, and her eyes cleared, no longer dreamy or aroused. She stepped back.

  Pity. The distance between them was already too great, she didn’t need to add to it. Although he understood her prudence, he hated that they had to resist their desire.

  “Buenas tardes, patrón.” She propped the basket on her hip and retreated two steps this time.

  In another moment, she might bolt, leaving him.

  He prayed not yet. “Are the linens too heavy?” He gestured to them. “Do
you need help?”

  She shook her head, making her tendrils dance around her cheeks.

  The bobbing tresses captivated him. He imagined winding the dark, silky strands around his fingers, using the locks to ease her closer. “Are you quite certain?”

  He wanted to help, needed to be near.

  She gripped the basket so hard her knuckles turned white. “I can see to my work. I can work all day and night if need be.”

  Such dedication. “Have you ever needed to do so in order to finish?”

  His housekeeper better not be working her too hard.

  “No.” Beatriz frowned slightly, then made her face a mask again, the kind servants show a master, leaving the poor fool with no way to know what they thought. “I finish my tasks quickly. Without problems.”

  “How wonderful.” He stepped in her way before she could get around him. “How is your mother doing? Does she need a potion or poultice?”

  She stared.

  He grew quite somber. “Señora Cisneros mentioned your mamá’s troubles in passing. How sad I am for you and her. However, I know a physician who may be able to help. Tell me the symptoms and I can bring you what she needs.”

  No matter what ailed the woman, Sancha could prepare a remedy. She was a healer. When Tomás had fallen ill at the fortaleza, she’d saved his life. A dangerous matter for her because of the Inquisition, which led to accusations of her being a witch. Thankfully, he, Enrique, and their brothers had handled the matter, leaving her free to practice healing in secret.

  Beatriz hefted the basket again and settled the thing more firmly on her hip.

  “Those linens are too heavy for you.” He grabbed the basket.

  She held on to it.

  Surely, she didn’t think she’d win against him. He was a head taller than her, nearly twice her weight, and far stronger.

  He tugged.

  She let go.

  He locked his knees to keep from staggering back at the weight. Far too cumbersome for such a delicate flower as her. He’d have to talk with Señora Cisneros about Beatriz’s future duties.

  Rather than offering a sweet smile for his help, she bit her lip.

  Tenderness welled within him, along with unruly desire. “No reason to be afraid. Your position is safe. I merely want to help. Tell me what ails your mamá.”

  “Nothing at the moment. She recovered fully from her latest illness. I must get back to work.” She reached for the basket.

  Tomás didn’t hand the linens over. “Is my housekeeper demanding too much, even with you willing to work day and night?”

  “Señora Cisneros is a lovely woman.”

  She had a mustache, hairs on her chin, the girth of two women combined, and a high-pitched voice that set his teeth on edge. However, she did keep the castle running smoothly without being too overbearing. “I find her efficient in a slightly masculine way. Is that what you meant?”

  The corners of Beatriz’s mouth lifted slightly with his teasing, though she didn’t allow herself to smile.

  Making her laugh meant everything to Tomás without him understanding why. “Do you promise not to tell her I said such a thing?”

  More color stained her cheeks. “She and I rarely speak. Work keeps us busy.”

  “So you do promise. Wonderful.” He grinned and lifted the basket. “Where did you plan to take this? I can bring the linens to whatever room you—”

  Loud throat clearing flowed down the hall.

  Either Señora Cisneros or Nuncio had just entered from behind. Hard to tell which, since they both made the same noises when displeased with the help. He looked over.

  Nuncio.

  Beatriz pulled the basket from Tomás with surprisingly strength, though she did totter from the weight.

  “Careful.” He reached for her before she fell into the wall.

  She twisted away seconds before he could touch her sleeve or any other part of her.

  Nuncio cleared his throat once more.

  Tomás frowned at the man. “Did you inform the guests of my delay?”

  “Several times. They still await your presence. Every one of them in the same room.”

  Surely without knives if Nuncio had anything to say. Tomás turned to her. “If your mamá should fall ill again, please tell me. I can help.”

  Her attention remained on Nuncio.

  Wanting to speak softly to her, Tomás leaned closer and caught her scent…the fragrance of freshly washed clothes and clean skin. His head swam, unbridled desire coursing through him again. For a moment, he found speech difficult. “If Nuncio rails at you for keeping me here, let me know. I shall thrash him soundly.”

  Laughter bubbled from her, which she quelled without pause.

  Her joy, no matter how brief, was a balm for everything wrong with today. How marvelous if they, at least, became friends, speaking freely, laughing, enjoying themselves. An odd notion for any man when faced with such a delectable woman. However, he didn’t see many other options at this point.

  Holding back a sigh, he left her side and strode to Nuncio. “Shall we go?” Halfway down the hall, Tomás spoke first. “Make certain the ladies’ carriages, drivers, and footmen are ready to depart. I trust no one will be staying long once I give them my speech.”

  “As you wish. Whatever you wish. Whenever you wish.”

  Tomás rolled his eyes. If wishes were his for the asking, he’d still be speaking to Beatriz, inviting her to ride the grounds with him, having a late supper with her on the hillside overlooking his estate, finally carrying her into his chamber for some much-needed passion with both of them discovering wondrous things about the other.

  He surely wouldn’t be facing a group of women who might want to harm him once they knew he had no intention of wedding anyone.

  Meet the Author

  Tina Donahue is an Amazon and international bestselling romance author in historical, contemporary, paranormal, fantasy and sci-fi. She's received numerous industry writing awards and is featured in the Novel and Short Story Writer's Market. She lives in California.