The Promise

by TJ Bennett

  I love you, and the song because it is yours.

  She would not say those words, would not make the parting any more difficult than it must be, would not ask for something he could not give and she could not accept.

  His jaw tightened, and he looked away again, into the fire. He laughed, the sound bitter and brief.

  “Well. Such praise. Consider it a wedding gift, since we had to give back the ring.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “I need no gifts from you. I thank you, even so. Never will I forget it.”

  He stood, reached for her, and pulled her to him. His eyes bored into hers, and she could feel anger in his firm grip.

  “Surely you can do better than that.” He smiled tightly. “A man doesn’t give a song like this one to his wife every day. A little more gratitude, I think, is in order.”

  He ground his mouth against hers.

  She did not understand his anger, or why he wished to punish her, but so desperate was she for his touch, she did not care. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself into him, and kissed him with all her soul. He groaned in response, swept her up in his arms, and carried her to the pallet.

  He lowered her down onto it, kissing her desperately, burying his hands in her hair. Pulling back, he gazed at her, the look filled with hunger, yet so troubled.

  “Alonsa, I—”

  She stopped his lips with a kiss.

  “No words,” she whispered. “No more words.”

  He stared at her for a long time, then slowly nodded his head.

  He touched her. With his hands, with his mouth, with his body. Their passion rose sweet and intense, desperate and searching. He tugged her clothing aside, and it seemed to melt away with his own. He pressed his length into her, penetrating her with little ceremony. She arched to meet him, fraught with need, silent with desire. Her thighs gripped him as he moved; his hips flexed in rhythm.

  She said with her body, with her caresses, what she could not say with words. He answered her thrust by thrust, kiss by kiss, searching, probing, stroking. He lifted up, pressed deep in a rhythmic crescendo …

  Her cry of release poured out. Still he did not stop, but drove more deeply, jaw clenching, his eyes burning bright as the sun. Finally, he closed his eyes, gripped her hips in his hands, and shuddered. He yielded, the surrender a reluctant one, his quaking strength subsiding only after long, hard moments.

  In the quiet that followed, while she felt his breath against her and heard his soft groan, Alonsa prayed for something she had never before wished: a child, with his eyes and gift for music. A child, so if the worst should happen, a part of him would live on in this world. Even if Günter survived, she would never see him again. A child was the least God could do for her in consolation. She sent the prayer heavenward in the futile hope it might be heard.

  Afterward, Günter rolled until he lay beside her. She rested her head on his chest, and they stayed that way, spent, perspiring, not speaking. His heartbeat slowed beneath her ear. The fire died in the grate, and the room became cool and dark. When she shivered, he tugged the blanket around her, and with one warm hand beneath it, stroked her skin. The other he curved under his head.

  Finally, into the darkness, he spoke. “I am leaving at first light.”

  They were not the words she had expected to hear. She stared up at the cameo of his face in the dark, stunned. “Why?”

  “I must go back. I have tarried too long. I am expected.”

  She rose up on one elbow, clutched the blanket to her bosom in despair, her hair spilling over her bare shoulder.

  “But the ship does not leave for a sennight. I thought—”

  She had thought she had days with him. Now it was mere hours. She could bear the parting if she had the time to store up memories, but this—this was a sudden sort of death.

  “Why?” she asked again.

  He looked at her. “Why not?”

  Why not, indeed?

  She turned from him, the sharp practicality of his question striking her like a slap in the face.

  He spoke to her back. “There are things to be done. Timetables. The men are counting on me. I must go back.”

  “Of course. I understand,” she mumbled. She refused to cry. She had sworn last night she would cry no more, even if the tears filled up her heart.

  “I brought you to Genoa safely, as I promised.” The blanket rustled beside her when he turned. “You do not need me anymore.”

  “No,” she lied.

  He remained silent for so long that she thought he had drifted off to sleep. Then he moved, and his staff pressed between the smooth curves of her thighs.

  “Except for this,” he said, shifting her, probing her, his voice dark and hard. “You still need this.”

  “Yes,” she choked out, and did not lie.

  His fingers moved down and settled between her thighs. She tried to resent him, tried not to want him again, but even in this, she could not succeed. He soon had her gasping and turning to him, frantic for release. She dug her nails into his back; her head thrashed on the pillow.

  Would she never be free of this desire? Must he prove to her over and over that she would remember him forever? Her emotions spiraled out of control, a confusing swirl of love, bitterness, and desperate desire. She gripped his hair in her hands, pulled his head down to hers, and bit his lower lip. She heard his sharp intake of breath, his passionate groan.

  “I hate you,” she hissed as she reached her peak, tears blurring her vision.

  “And I you,” he growled, and followed her over the edge.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WHEN GÜNTER ROSE IN THE WEE HOURS OF THE MORNING, he did not bother to wake her. What would be the use? Last night, they had refrained from saying that which needed to be said, and this morning would be no different. He dressed silently, opened the door, and turned to look at her one last time.

  Had she meant what she said to him, about hating him? Could it be she felt nothing in her heart for him, only her body? Could it be Beth all over again, his betrothed who had broken his heart too long ago even to remember? Compared to this, his feelings for Beth had been a paltry thing. How foolish he’d been then, how naive. How had he ever mistaken those green feelings for love?

  His hand gripped the doorframe; his knuckles went white with the strength of his desire to go to Alonsa, even now, to force her to acknowledge the truth.

  She loved him. She had to. He loved her far too much for it not to be true.

  He watched her while she slept, still and pale. Her rich brown hair spilled across the snow-white pillow; sleep smoothed out the little lines of worry she perpetually wore between her brows. Her sweet body made gentle peaks and valleys out of the blanket. She stirred a little, then licked her lips and fell still once more.

  He loved watching her sleep. He could look his fill and not have to hide his longing from her, not have to pretend he felt no love. He knew, like a miniature image worn close to his heart, even if he never saw her again, he would take this picture of her peaceful and dreaming with him to his grave.

  “I vow this day,” he whispered to her sleeping form, “we will see each other again. And when that day comes, you will know you are mine.”

  The words, though softly spoken, seemed to hang with great portent in the air before him. A promise, then. One he would fulfill, or die in the attempt.

  Still, time grew short, its steady flow pulling him away from her and toward his duty. He had to go. He turned and let the door shut quietly behind him as he made his way out of the inn.

  Inés and Fritz already awaited him beside their mounts, which they had brought from the tiny stable behind the inn. The gray donkey twitched its long ears and stared at him with big black eyes, the lids rimmed with thick, white eyelashes. Alonsa had given Inés the donkey as a wedding gift; the goods from the cart had been loaded on the sailing vessel the night before. Günter patted the donkey’s chest, while his own horse snuffled about in his pocket, l
ooking for a treat. He then checked the girth and inspected Fritz’s horse as well. Inés and Fritz must have sensed Günter’s need for a few moments to compose himself, because they did not disturb his unnecessary examination.

  Robert awaited him, a look of wry reluctance on his face.

  A pretty, brown-skinned dairymaid trudged by, hoisting canisters of sloshing milk on a bar slung across her wide, sturdy shoulders. She gave Robert and Günter a speculative glance and pulled back those shoulders to enhance her best features.

  “Milk today, Signori?” she asked, turning to them. “I have other wares, as well,” she added with an inviting smile. Robert allowed his gaze to linger on those wares for a moment before finally noticing the canisters at her side, and then he exchanged a rueful glance with Günter.

  “Not today, bella donna,” Robert sighed, smiling at her. “Another time, perhaps.”

  She dipped a curtsy and turned back toward the inn, where the pleasant, yeasty smell of baking bread had begun to drift from the kitchen’s ovens. Robert watched her swaying hips until she went around the side of the building to the back entrance.

  “Ah, the sacrifice,” he murmured in French, then turned to Günter and saluted him smartly. “Reporting as ordered,” he said with a grin.

  Günter allowed himself a slight smile. “I am sorry about this, but I cannot leave Alonsa to face the journey home by herself. She will need a protector, someone I can trust.”

  Deadly serious now, he leaned against the short stone wall surrounding the inn and squinted at Robert. “You are someone I can trust, aren’t you?”

  Robert held up his hands. “I am nothing if not honorable. Though the temptation to steal a kiss from the lady might be strong,” at this he winked, “I would say my debt to you is stronger. However, it will be fully repaid with this act, yes?”

  Günter nodded. “Yes, and then some. You are sure sailing with her will not put you in any serious trouble?”

  Robert lifted a shoulder. “I have no obligations other than my promise to serve my forty days of fealty, and that I have already done. I am now in a position to come and go as I please.” He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Besides, what is one more horse and knight to the king—ah, that is, I believe I will not be missed so sorely as all that.”

  Günter hid a smile behind his hand at Robert’s near admission of his service to the king of France. Günter preferred it this way. What he didn’t know, he wouldn’t have to explain to his captain should the necessity arise.

  Robert clapped his gloved hand over his heart and bowed, an extraordinary gesture from a noble to a base mercenary such as himself, but not so extraordinary from one friend to another.

  “I have promised I will see your wife safely home,” he continued, “and so I shall. I swear by my family name—”

  “Whatever that may be,” Günter interjected with dry humor.

  “Yes. Well. I swear she will return to the bosom of her family in one piece, or my name is not Robert. I have many long and pretentious names besides,” he said, forestalling any questions Günter might have had, “but that is what my avenged brother called me, and it is by this name I swear.”

  Günter stood and placed a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I know she will be safe with you.”

  Robert nodded, and glanced up at the brightening sky. “You had best make haste, I think.” He tilted his head in the direction of the inn, where Alonsa still slept. “Long goodbyes can be so troubling, can they not?”

  Günter glanced back at the gleaming whitewashed inn, staring for a moment at the squat bottle-glassed window beneath which he knew Alonsa still slept. A fierce loneliness pulled at his heart, squeezed it within his chest. He swallowed hard.

  His words came out gruff. “They can.” He turned to Robert and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  Robert clasped it, and waved him off with a smile.

  “Go, go. I will guard her as I would my own sister.”

  Günter turned to Fritz and Inés. “Ready?” he asked in German.

  Inés spoke up. “Yes, we said our goodbyes to the Señora last night, though she did not suspect it was so.”

  Fritz gestured to their few belongings tied to the animals’ saddles. “I packed provisions for the trip back.”

  “Good,” Günter answered. He turned to Inés. “You understand we will be pushing hard?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure about this? It will not be as easy a trip back as it was here.”

  She hitched up her skirts and arched a brow at him. “I am no pampered mistress. I have traveled hard before. I can do it again.”

  Günter nearly laughed. “Pampered is the last thing I would ever call you, Inés.” He glanced over at Fritz, who only had eyes for her as he slipped a proud arm about her waist. “Though I think that might be about to change.”

  Inés flushed prettily and slid a contented look at Fritz.

  They mounted their animals, and with a final wave at Robert, the traveling party, with one less member, headed back to Pavia.

  After reinspecting her belongings below decks in the prow of The Isabella—the three-masted bark ship carrying her home to Spain—Alonsa joined Robert above decks near the main sail. Beefy sailors hoisted cargo, pulled rigging, and tightened jibs in a whirlwind of activity Alonsa was certain only they understood.

  The Isabella would set sail with the high tide, less than one week after Alonsa’s traveling party had arrived in Genoa and Günter had left her behind. Her sojourn in Genoa would end in a matter of hours. Her dreams of a life filled with love and hope had ended long before.

  The handsome dark-haired noble who was to be her companion for the journey observed the activity on deck while occasionally nodding to the stiff-backed manservant who whispered in his ear. The manservant had not been pleased about the enforced detour from their plans. He stared at Alonsa with suspicious disapproval and did his best not to speak to the “Spanish woman” unless required by his duties to the knight. He melted away at her approach.

  Robert turned to her. “Everything is as it should be?”

  She nodded her head. “Oui.”

  Her French lacked the distinction of her German; they’d managed only stilted conversation in the time since Günter had returned to Pavia.

  She tried not to think of Günter now and, instead, focused on the journey ahead. She offered a silent prayer that God would protect him in his future battles as he had always done. She would like to have wished Günter farewell the morning of his departure, but acknowledged that perhaps his way had been the better one. Why prolong the inevitable?

  More difficult to accept had been the idea that Robert would be her companion on the voyage. She liked him, but he would serve as a constant reminder to her of the man she had left behind. She had been unable to persuade Robert to leave her, however. He’d promised Günter to escort her, and escort her he would.

  Inside her mind, she shook her head. Men and their promises.

  “How long?” she asked Robert as she pointed to the sun above.

  “Soon.” Robert gestured to the windward side of the ship. “The captain thinks the weather will hold for a few more days. The winds are fine—the journey to Marseilles should take but a day or two, a few hours more for the trip through the Straits.”

  He brushed back a lock of his hair that fluttered in the sea breeze. The unusual steel-gray color of his eyes struck her once more. The French noble was handsome; yet, when she looked at him, she could not help comparing those eyes to the warm emerald green of another’s.

  “Once we reach Seville,” he continued, “you can join the merchant caravans taking the overland route north.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, his stance wide as he adjusted to the sway of the ship.

  Alonsa sighed. “I wish the journey already complete.” She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “The movement of this ship does not agree with me.”

  He smiled. “Stay above decks until you grow accu
stomed to it. You will find the sea air does wonders for a rolling belly.”

  His gray gaze flicked over her for a moment. Though he was cordial to her, he had been careful to maintain his distance, and always the manservant chaperoned them. Alonsa smiled to herself. She could only imagine the sorts of promises Günter had wrung from him in this regard.

  At the thought of her husband, a sharp pang of loneliness throbbed through her. Would she never see him again? He would have returned to his men by now. Had he already forgotten her? Perhaps some other woman in the baggage train had already caught his eye, even as Alonsa had caught it not so long ago.

  She tried to resist the jealousy threatening to overwhelm her at the thought. Though they had married, she had no real hold over him. A man could choose whomever he wished, whenever he wished. It was expected. She, however, would always remain faithful to him. She knew at her core she would never find another to satisfy the need Günter had created in her for his touch. Though he may not love her, she would always love him. For that, there would be no cure.

  A commotion alongside the ship drew her out of her reverie. A man attempted to ride his horse down onto the docks, and several travelers dodged out of his way. The man shouted at them, whipping the lathered horse into a frenzy as he rode straight for The Isabella, his muddied cloak whirling out behind him in a crazed dance.

  “What is that madman doing?” Robert murmured while he raised a hand to block out the gleaming sunlight coming over the horizon.

  Alonsa moved closer to the quarter rails in order to see. Something about the rider struck her as familiar … the way he moved? The flaxen color of his hair?

  Dios mío. Could it be? She was already running.

  “Fritz!” She called out over the shouts and clatter of horse’s hooves against the wooden dock. “Fritz!”

  He looked up and saw her.

  “Señora!” he shouted over the heads of several men staring openmouthed at him while he urged his horse through the throng. “Please, you must come at once. Señora!”

  What could have happened to cause Fritz to return, and in such a state? A chill ran up Alonsa’s spine. She rushed toward the gangplank, pushing her way through the sailors on deck, desperate to reach him now.