Wicked Whispers

by Tina Donahue

  For the moment, she remained undetected and alone.

  Always alone.

  She slumped against the wall, its surface rough beneath her palms, the scent faintly stale.

  Without wanting to, she recalled Enrique’s clean fragrance. His freshly shaved cheeks had been smooth and hot beneath her fingers, breath sweet, mouth searching. His body hard and strong.

  No. She shouldn’t dwell on her memories of him and pushed them away.

  The images returned, swift and sure, tempting her beyond reason. His broad shoulders beneath his dark blue robe and doublet, his sinewy thighs and calves clad in hose of a black-and-white striped design. He’d towered over her, his height imposing but never dangerous.

  She’d been comfortable with him, wanting more of the man he was. Despite his obvious strength, he’d treated her with respect and gentleness, his male beauty impossible to resist. She’d longed to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair, the locks tumbling over his forehead and curling around his ears. His white forelock had mesmerized, begging for her touch, the same as his mouth.

  While they’d been together, she’d kept thinking about stroking his bottom lip, damp from their kiss. In the moonlight, his eyes had seemed quite pale in contrast to his dark brows and tawny complexion. He was a magnificent man whose heat and strength had undone her too easily.

  Even before agreeing to meet with him, she’d understood the folly of her actions, yet had persisted. Telling herself she would only speak with him, explain how his pursuit was hopeless and she’d never be his.

  She’d forgotten her firm speech the moment she’d seen him on the balcony, his smile promising wanton delights and protection against the ills of the world.

  She huddled closer to the wall, curling her fingers into fists, not caring how the gritty stone scraped her skin. The ache in her soul was far worse for desiring a man she would never have. Surrendering to Enrique would bring her carnal pleasure, an end to her terrible loneliness, and a lifetime of duty where she needed permission to indulge in whatever interested her. Tradition would reduce her to a childlike state again, where she’d have to wait for a man, a husband, Enrique, to make a decision on her life that met with his desires first, without considering her needs.

  Never.

  She beat her fists against the wall, frustration and sorrow battling within her. Resolve won. Refusing to weep, she brushed tears away and held her breath before she opened the door.

  The hall was empty and shadowed, the candles in this part of the castle, where the servants resided, spaced far apart. Recalling the route back to her chamber, she hurried down the corridor and jerked to a stop before she ran into a maid.

  The young girl jumped back, eyes rounded. “Forgive me for nearly harming you, Señorita Doña Lopéz de Lara.” She took Sancha in and gasped. “Your fingers.”

  Blood ran down them from when she’d hit the passage wall.

  The girl stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

  “I am.” She hurried past.

  “Wait, please,” the girl called. “I was coming for you. I just left the dining hall, thinking you were there.”

  Uneasy, Sancha turned, worried Enrique had asked the servant to search for her once he realized she hadn’t returned to the celebration. “Who asked you to fetch me?”

  “Juanita.” She joined Sancha and scanned the hall in both directions. Although they were alone, the girl huddled close. “She has news of her niece. The child has taken a turn for the worse.”

  Sancha pressed her hand to her throat. She’d spoken to Juanita earlier on the matter. “Has she arranged for my travel to the village?”

  “Sí. The child’s uncles will accompany you. Forgive them for bringing a mule for you to ride. They lack the funds to own a horse.”

  “A mule is fine. Fetch me a male servant’s clothing. Not what he wears during his duties here but his personal garments. Shirt, braies, hose, hat, and ankle boots. Clothing close to my size.”

  The girl’s plain face slackened in apparent bewilderment.

  “Go and do as I say.” Sancha gestured to get her moving. “Return here.”

  She nodded and bolted down the hall.

  Sancha paced as she waited. Every sound made her flinch. Repeatedly, she peered down the hall to see if Enrique approached.

  He did not.

  At last, the girl returned, arms wrapped around the garments.

  Sancha took them. “Tell the men to wait for me in the olive grove.”

  The girl ran in one direction, Sancha the other, the journey to her chamber longer than she’d hoped. There were so many passages here, too many halls and rooms.

  Once inside her own, she sagged against the door to catch her breath but didn’t allow herself more than a moment. After dropping the clothing on the bed, she frowned at her silk gown. The garment had no end of buttons she might not be able to reach, the farthingale and kirtle each bore laces that were difficult to undo on her own.

  She strained to reach the buttons on the back of her gown, her fingers falling short no matter how hard she tried. Growling, she grabbed both sides, prepared to rip the garment from her.

  The door to her chamber flew open.

  She froze. So did Isabella.

  Sancha leaned over to see if Enrique had accompanied her sister.

  Isabella was alone. She closed the door and frowned at the peasant wear on Sancha’s bed. “What are you doing?”

  “I need your help.” After lifting her hair, Sancha turned her back to her sister. “Unbutton me.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can remove my gown.”

  “Why?”

  Sancha stormed away. “Never mind.” She grabbed the back of her garment and tugged as hard as she could.

  “Wait.” Isabella grabbed her wrists. “What did you do to your fingers?”

  “I scraped them on a wall in a secret passage.”

  “Why? What were you doing there?”

  “Trying to find my way here.” She shook off Isabella’s hands and tugged on her gown once more.

  Isabella clucked her tongue. “You ruin your hands and now you intend to rip your clothes to get them off?”

  “I have no choice if you refuse to help me.” She spoke quietly. “A child lies wounded, possibly dying, in the village.”

  “Wounded how?”

  “Older children found a sword. While they were playing with the weapon, the little girl came too near and the tip slashed her leg. I need to go to her without delay.”

  “Of course you do.” Isabella glanced at the other garments. “But dressed as a man?”

  “I learned the trick from you. The deception served you well after your rescue when you traveled with Fernando.”

  “Exactly. I was with him, not alone.”

  “The girl’s uncles will accompany me. I have no time to discuss this. I must hurry.”

  “Keep still so I can help.” Isabella’s fingers fairly flew over the buttons and laces.

  With her sister’s assistance, Sancha pushed the gown, farthingale, kirtle, and chemise off. Naked, she padded to the servant’s clothing.

  Isabella joined her. “Does Enrique know about this? Did you and he argue over your plans to help the little girl?”

  “He knows nothing of her.” She pulled on the braies. “I learned of her worsening condition after I left his side.”

  “Did you enjoy each other?”

  Isabella’s expression was so hopeful, Sancha warned herself not to encourage any romantic dreams. However, she couldn’t be dishonest. “Far too much.”

  “Wonderful.” She clapped her hands, stopping quickly. “Why did you two argue? I know you did. When Enrique came to me, he was quite concerned about you.”

  “Did he say what we discussed?”

  “No. He left to find you.”

  Sancha stopped pulling up the hose. “Will he come here?”

  “Not right away. H
e has no idea which room is yours. Tell me what happened.”

  Too much. Losing herself in Enrique’s arms wasn’t like her. All her life, Sancha had been the demure one, dismissing passion in favor of books and knowledge. Love was for other women who wanted nothing more than a man to rule their days. “I told him his hope for our union was impossible and to woo another woman.”

  “What? Since when do you find him as repulsive as you did Fernando? Is it because they resemble each other so closely?”

  “No. I find Enrique too thrilling. We kissed and I wanted more.”

  Isabella laughed gaily, turning a fast circle only to stop. “You said you wanted more. Why then are you denying him and yourself?”

  “To save others, as I did Fernando. If he had been anyone else’s husband save yours, and I had wed a man who refused to allow my healing, Fernando would have died. How can I permit such a thing? How can anyone, and for no other reason than I happen to be a woman?”

  “Sancha.” Isabella embraced her. “I fear for your safety. The Inquisition has spies everywhere. Many of them are probably here tonight, eating my husband’s food and enjoying his drink.”

  “Those spies have always been around, even when I tended Fernando.”

  “You had me to protect you.”

  Fighting a smile, she cradled Isabella’s cheek. Her little sister was more warrior than she, both of them battling the constraints of their sex. “Protect me during my absence. Tell anyone who inquires that I felt ill and took to my bed. Surely, no one will come in here to see proof of my sickness.”

  “Enrique might.”

  Enrique would. He was not a man to let anyone deny him.

  She should have been disturbed at the prospect of them in this room alone, both bared to each other’s sight and touch, him wanting, seeking, demanding everything she could give.

  Warmth coursed through her. She recalled their kiss, his thickened shaft pressing against her mound. A dull ache had filled her then, her channel growing increasingly congested, needy of a man to fill and possess that part of her. Even now, moisture lingered on the soft folds between her legs, proof of her desire for love and physical pleasure despite what good sense told her.

  This had to stop. “If Enrique does come here, send him away.” If he refused to be strong in this matter, she’d have to be for both of them.

  Isabella sighed. “You have no hope of a future with him?”

  Sadly, no. “I explained my position and he refused to see matters as I do. He would stand in the way of my healing anyone except him, our children, and the rest of the family.”

  “He wants to protect you. In time, you may change his mind on the matter.”

  “How many will die as I wait for his decision? No man, even a good one, has a right to ask such a thing of me.” She pressed Isabella’s hand to her cheek. “I trust you with my secret and life, little sister.”

  Isabella hugged her fiercely. “I will never fail you.”

  * * * *

  Enrique checked dozens of bedchambers, each empty of guests though filled with their clothing and other personal articles. A quick search told him none of the items belonged to Sancha. The silks and gems were garish, nothing like her.

  She had to be somewhere in the castle, no doubt with Isabella, who’d left the dining hall never to return. Hopefully, she was trying to change Sancha’s mind about what she and Enrique had fought over.

  He closed the last door, sensing even the most impassioned speech or his kisses and ardent lovemaking wouldn’t change Sancha’s mind on anything for long. She was as stubborn as Isabella, perhaps more so, her willfulness nearly as bad as his.

  He’d never acquiesce to her plans to save the world. The danger she faced was incomprehensible, his determination as great. Whatever it took, he’d keep her from harm.

  He bolted down the hall and checked balconies this time. He hadn’t expected her to return to the one where they’d met, though there was always hope.

  She wasn’t there.

  He slammed the doors and searched five more balconies, each seeming to be a league away from the others. On the last at this level, he leaned against the stone railing, gulping air. The hour was late. He was tired and wanted naught but comfort in her arms.

  Ha. Her loving embrace wasn’t likely to happen this evening.

  He pushed away. A slapping noise sounded below. He scanned the grounds but found nothing amiss in the olive grove. Moonlight had turned the green leaves ashy. Twisted trunks left long shadows across the grass.

  Something moved in the corner of his eye.

  A peasant rode a mule on the grounds, his back to Enrique, hair hidden by an acorn hat. How curious that the guards had allowed the man this close to the castle.

  Enrique leaned over the railing again for a closer look at the next peasant, also on a mule and departing this place. This individual was the size of a boy fourteen years old or so and wearing a sack hat. He carried something in a cloth bag tethered to his mule. From this distance, Enrique couldn’t make out the contours of whatever was inside. Another peasant came into the scene, as large as the first fellow.

  Enrique studied the bag, guessing that Fernando might have given food to those in need. If so, one of the men, not the boy, should have carried the items. Given their superior age, they’d be in charge, distributing any meal to others in the village. If that was their destination.

  The first in line stopped, his hand lifted to signal the others. Their mules also came to a halt. The fellow in front turned to the boy and said something Enrique couldn’t hear. The boy in turn twisted around to speak to the man behind him.

  Enrique blinked then stared. Moonlight touched the boy’s face, which was decidedly female and quite beautiful with dark eyes, delicate features, and a mouth he’d never forget.

  Sancha.

  Despite the odd scene that should have had him questioning his eyes, he recognized the way she gestured when speaking, how she glanced to the side while gathering her thoughts, then met the other person’s gaze once she knew what to say.

  Enrique opened his mouth to call out but didn’t, sensing she and the others would flee. He raced from the balcony and down the great stairs to the castle entrance, intent on following her the moment he gained his horse.

  Upon arriving here, the stable boy had taken the steed, presumably to the stables. Enrique had no idea where they might be. Isabella hadn’t given him a tour of them.

  He rushed to the dining hall and Isabella’s side. At his fast approach, she and Fernando looked up. The others were busy getting happily drunk and fat to pay him any heed. Save for Luscinda and her mother. Both waved.

  Enrique bent down to Isabella, so those surrounding them couldn’t overhear. “Where is she going?”

  Fernando frowned. “Where is who going?”

  “Sancha.” He spoke to Isabella. “Tell me. I saw her outside, dressed as a boy, leaving with two men.”

  She leaned away from him and Fernando, whose frown had deepened. He pressed closer. “What have you helped Sancha to do?”

  “Nothing. If she dressed as a boy, she gained the clothing on her own.”

  “You know her destination and what she intends to do there.” Enrique planted his hands on his hips. “Admit it.”

  “Why?” She lifted her chin. “Do you intend to stop her?”

  “My goal is to protect her.”

  Fernando narrowed his eyes. “From what? Who?”

  Enrique gestured helplessly to Isabella. “Tell me. Please. I promise no harm will come to her from me or anyone else.”

  “Do as he asks.” Fernando rested his hand on Isabella’s arm. “If you refuse and anything untoward happens to Sancha, will you be able to forgive yourself?”

  “Nothing untoward will happen. It never does.”

  “Never?” Enrique’s gut cramped. “How often does she do things like this?”

  Isabella averted her gaze. “How would I know?
”

  He growled.

  She sniffed. “Quit hounding me.”

  “Not until you tell me what Sancha is—”

  “Tonight, she goes to the village at the edge of the estate to help the peasants.” She grabbed Enrique’s sleeve even though he hadn’t budged. “Follow her if you must, but do nothing to stop her. She will fight you. If you win, Sancha will hate you for all time.”

  He wanted to bellow his frustration at her and Sancha but simply nodded. Any argument on his part would take time he didn’t have. “Where are your stables? I need my horse.”

  Isabella called a servant over, instructing the young man to assist Enrique in gaining his steed and to give him directions to the village.

  Fernando shook his head at Enrique. “Perhaps you should forget about Sancha.”

  He frowned at the notion, the same as Isabella had, and followed the servant.

  The boy who tended the horses saddled the Arabian as quickly as he could. Even with Enrique’s help, the task seemed to take them an interminable amount of time. Mounted, he wheeled his horse around and rode hard until the moon ducked behind a thick cloud cover.

  He was some distance from the castle, unwilling to return for a torch, and cursed himself for not taking one. The same as Sancha and her companions had failed to secure any for themselves. If they hadn’t arrived at the village yet, they were travelling as blindly as him. A dangerous venture. Something could alarm her mule and make the sorry creature throw her. Thieves could lie in wait. A snake might strike.

  Swearing, he waited for the moonlight to return before prodding his horse to a faster pace. If he were to have an accident during his heated pursuit, his injuries would keep him from protecting her. As Isabella had warned, he couldn’t stop Sancha, rail at her, or try to talk reason. If he dared do so, she’d hate him for eternity.