Wicked Whispers

by Tina Donahue

  Once they were inside and the servant had closed the door, she faced the woman. “Enrique is away on business.”

  Luscinda nodded absently and regarded the grand staircase, wide enough for twelve men to stand shoulder-to-shoulder without crowding each other. Silver candleholders stood on the engraved cabinet and tables. There were more holders secured to the stone walls.

  Light poured through arched windows, sun flooding the area, turning the stone a dazzling white.

  Luscinda looked over. “What business?”

  Sancha froze, her mind racing to Enrique’s visit to the villages, him helping her heal. A pulse ticked hard in her throat. She warned herself to calm down and think, not react. The woman was a menace, but couldn’t read minds, and surely knew nothing of Enrique’s actions. “I have no idea. I never involve myself in my husband’s affairs.”

  Luscinda closed her fan and tapped the side gently against her cheek. “I marvel at a man who can leave his bride so quickly after wedding her. One would think passion could never allow such a thing. Oh well.” She shrugged and smiled. “Enrique’s home is more than I imagined. You must give me a tour.”

  She wanted her out of here yet feared any resistance to her request. Who knew what she would say or do. “Of course. Would you like something to eat and drink before we begin?”

  “Food can wait. I long to see all you have.”

  Holding back a sigh, Sancha escorted her to the chapel first. Earlier, she’d lit every candle, praying for Enrique’s safe return.

  Luscinda stared at the flickering flames as Dominico had. “How fervently you pray. Or would Enrique be the one?”

  “The dining area is this way.” She showed her the grand room. Again, Luscinda’s eyes brightened.

  Once in the hall, Sancha passed Enrique’s study.

  Luscinda stopped and touched the metal handle. “What do you have in here?”

  “Enrique’s work on his holdings.” She eased Luscinda’s hand from the handle. “No one goes in there except my husband.”

  “Does he keep secrets from you? Do you keep them from him?”

  “What are you saying?” She glared. “You come into my home to offend me? To accuse my husband and me of lying to each other?”

  Luscinda rested her hand on her throat, her smile wilting. “Never to each other. I was merely playing with you. How serious you are.” She tapped Sancha’s hand with her fan. “You need to relax.”

  She stopped clenching her jaw, though only so she could speak. “Would you care to see the grounds?”

  “No.”

  “The kitchen?”

  Luscinda laughed. “I have never entered one in my entire life and have no intention of doing so now. Take me to the upper floors. I saw those lovely arched windows on the ride up the hill and long to see sun pouring into the rooms.”

  “Those are private chambers.”

  “I have no need to see Enrique’s bedchamber or yours.”

  “We share the same one.”

  “Of course you do. How silly of me to believe otherwise. I was referring to the chambers you reserve for your guests.”

  Had she planned to stay the night? Appalled, Sancha wanted to refuse but wasn’t certain she should. “Very well.”

  Despite Luscinda’s insistence on touring the rooms, she took a brief look at each, leaving so quickly Sancha had to keep catching up with her. At last, she stopped at the door to Sancha and Enrique’s bedchamber. “Is this where your husband sleeps?”

  “Where we both do.”

  “Of course.” She pointed her fan at the stairway across the hall, leading to the third level, the study room. “Where do the steps lead?”

  Sancha grabbed Luscinda’s arm to keep her from climbing the stairs. “We use the area for storage. Items from Enrique’s boyhood, furnishings his family has had for generations but we no longer use.”

  “I adore old objects. Some of them can be quite beautiful. Show them to me. We may find a treasure.”

  She tightened her grip. “The items belong to Enrique, not me. I have no say in who sees them. Besides, the area is quite dusty. You would ruin your beautiful gown.”

  “If you hold my arm any harder, you will surely rip my sleeve.”

  Sancha released her. “We should go to the dining hall. I asked Enrique’s cook to prepare something special in honor of your visit.”

  “No need.” Luscinda swept past her. Upon reaching the grand stairway, she looked over. “I have others to see in this area. I shall take my leave of you now.”

  Within minutes, she’d left as mysteriously as she had arrived.

  Chapter 12

  The journey began with failure.

  As Enrique had promised Sancha, he’d spoken to Guillermo’s father. The peasant was a worn man with bent shoulders, showing a lifetime of hard labor, his hands still reddened from the fire that had taken his nephew’s life.

  “I saw to Vincente’s face as much as I could,” he’d told Enrique. “He was a good man, a hard worker who helped me greatly. He was in such pain because of the burns. During the raid, I shouted at him not to enter the hut again. The fire was too bad. He wanted to save what little we had and he…”

  Enrique had squeezed the man’s shoulder. Although Sancha had done what she could, she couldn’t give Vincente the will to live in horrible pain with a disfigured face. Days after she’d left, the young man had ended his misery.

  His uncle and Enrique had stood at Vincente’s grave, new vegetation already growing over the dirt, life continuing. Being a practical man, Enrique accepted that one had to let loved ones go at times. No matter how skilled Sancha’s healing was, some people deserved the relief death could bring, their terrible struggles over.

  A sentiment he should have voiced to Vincente’s uncle but couldn’t. What words had ever eased the pain of those who’d lost a family member? The thought of ever losing Sancha wasn’t something he could endure.

  After making certain the man and the other peasants had what they needed, Enrique and his men had headed to the next community.

  Upon arrival, he spoke with the village elders who greeted his group cordially, offering simple food and drink for the men, grain for their horses. Within a short time, Enrique and his guards had returned to the road.

  They’d spent the night at a third village. In addition to the horses needing rest, a thick cloud cover hid the moon, casting everything into an inky blackness. They could have used torches to continue their journey, if they hadn’t minded the light making their trip obvious to thieves. He didn’t want a battle to keep him from the last village or Sancha longer than necessary. To return to his wife injured would be a cruel outcome for her good deeds.

  Late the next afternoon, his group entered the village with the ill young woman. The men in charge directed Enrique to her hut. Despite the beautiful day, the hovel was stuffy and stank of illness. The young woman looked older than her years, body racked with brutal coughs followed by wheezing sounds as she struggled to breathe.

  After introducing himself to the girl’s mother, he explained that her other daughter, his servant, had mentioned the illness.

  “I brought medicine for your girl.” He handed over Sancha’s mixture. With her note in hand, he read how often the daughter should drink the potion and what else she needed to do in order to treat her illness.

  Her mother held up the large vial. “This will cure her immediately?”

  Sancha hadn’t told him when the remedy would start working. Wishing she had, he read her notes again and determined how long the potion would last. “The medicine is for five days. Within that time, your daughter should be able to expel the material in her lungs, making her breathing easier. You must also make certain she gets enough nourishment. San—ah, the physician said so here.”

  He showed the woman Sancha’s note even though he figured she couldn’t read.

  She looked at the words then him, her expression questionin
g.

  He called a guard in. The man left ample bread, cheese, figs, and oranges that Hortensia had packed for the woman and her daughter.

  “Make certain your girl takes the medicine and eats,” Enrique said.

  She kissed his hand. “Gracias, patrón.”

  He hoped the outcome here would be better than Vincente’s.

  With the task finished, he visited with the other peasants who offered his group food and shelter for the evening.

  Early the following morning, he checked on the girl. She was asleep finally, her color a bit better, cough not so pronounced.

  The mother beamed. “She had a good night, the first in too long. I made her take the potion as you told me even though she said it tasted too foul.” The woman clucked her tongue. “I even got some bread and cheese into her.”

  Enrique smiled. “Wonderful. Make certain she takes all the medicine. Every drop.”

  “You have my promise.”

  Finished with what he’d set out to do, he left for home. Sancha.

  * * * *

  No servant stood at the castle entrance. Sancha had sent him to his bed hours before. She waited alone for Enrique, the wind, moon, and stars her only companions. After pacing until her legs ached, she sat at the edge of the hill, peering at the road below.

  Her eyes and mind kept playing tricks, showing her specks of light in the distance that she hoped were torches, Enrique and his men returning.

  Twice, she pushed to her feet to see better. The cool breeze whipped her gown against her legs and tugged at her cloak and hair. Each time, the light proved no more than her foolish desire.

  Back on the ground, she drew her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

  Sounds pressed in, the hard thump of her pulse, bushes rustling from an animal’s exploration, a creature’s shrill wail, tree limbs and leaves stirring in the wind.

  She rocked in time with the noise.

  Pinpoints of brightness flashed in the distance. Squinting, she concentrated on them. Rather than disappearing as the others had, these grew larger and more brilliant.

  She jumped to her feet.

  The lights neared, showing a vague outline of what she suspected were men and horses. The procession passed fields and vineyards. Instead of turning to the left, where another road led away from the castle, the group approached the gate.

  She dashed down the path, heart pounding. After a brief distance, she had to stop and catch a bit of breath. With her palm pressed against her aching side, she tore toward the gate once more.

  The horses approached so fast, Enrique reined in his gelding abruptly. He lifted his hand to his men and shouted, “Halt!”

  Dismounted, he bolted toward her and embraced her as she did him. “What is it?” He hugged her fiercely. “What happened?”

  Panting too hard to speak, she kissed his cheeks, chin, the tip of his nose, then fit her mouth over his, thrusting her tongue inside, cutting off his words.

  He accepted her kiss for a moment then tore his mouth free. “Why are you breathing so hard and holding your side?”

  “Hurts.” She gasped for more air in order to speak. “From running.”

  “Why were you running?” He looked past her. “Was something chasing you?”

  “No. Running to you.” She cupped his face and kissed him harder this time, never wanting to let him go. Anything could have happened on his journey. He might not have returned to her.

  Terrified at that ever happening, she thrust her tongue more deeply into his mouth.

  Again, he broke free and stepped back, breathing as hard as she did. He turned to the man closest to him. “See to my horse. All of you, go.” He flung his hand, gesturing them away. “My esposa and I will walk.”

  She wrapped her arms around his torso, not allowing him to move.

  He touched her cheek. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded then shook her head.

  “Which is it?”

  “I missed you.”

  “Oh. Is that all?”

  She released him and stepped back. “All?”

  “The way you were running and gasping, I thought—I have no idea what I thought, except something ghastly had happened.”

  “It had. You were away from me for days.”

  “At your request.”

  She whimpered, feeling guilty again. “Did you miss me even a little?”

  “Greatly, and during every second.”

  She sagged into him once more.

  He staggered from her weight and righted himself. She followed, staying close, running her hands over his chest, down his torso, and lower.

  Enrique stopped her before she’d reached the hefty ridge between his legs. “We need to go to our bedchamber.”

  “The sheets are fresh and smell of my rose fragrance just as you like. I challenge you to race me to—”

  He grabbed her wrist, keeping her from darting away. “What say we walk?”

  With their arms around each other’s waists, they strolled to the castle entrance, pausing frequently to kiss and embrace. Although dust clung to his clothes, he still smelled wonderful, musk scenting his skin. His hair was tousled, as she preferred, whiskers roughening his cheeks, everything about him better than she recalled.

  She couldn’t imagine how other women fell in love with men who left for war and didn’t return for years or who never came back at all. How did those wives survive?

  She was being childish, of course. The world was a cruel place where love seemed the least important matter, easily dismissed as everyone went about the business of simply staying alive. However, until she faced inescapable death, she wanted nothing more than to be with Enrique.

  He opened the door for her.

  Reluctantly, she let go of him to move inside and promptly took his hand once he’d joined her. “Fill me for hours on end—no, days—no, weeks. Please.”

  He fingered her cloak. “I should bathe first. The filth of the road clings to me.”

  “If mud covered you from head to foot, I would still want you without delay.”

  Rather than grinning at her admission, he regarded her closely. “What happened during my absence?”

  Sancha didn’t want to get into Luscinda’s visit now, possibly ever. She still hadn’t decided whether to tell him of the harpy’s visit. “I played with Rosa until she tired of me.”

  He leaned close, his lips on her ear. “No study or experiments?”

  “My mind refused to consider anything except you.”

  “And my task. We can speak of what happened in our room.”

  “I need your love first.” Whatever he had to say wouldn’t change anything for Guillermo’s cousin or the young woman. Sancha had done what she could for them, praying repeatedly today, lighting more candles for their good health. Now, she needed her husband.

  In their room, she removed her cloak and undressed him hurriedly, then bathed his face and hands with a damp cloth scented with her fragrance.

  He kept sniffing. “You want me to smell like you?”

  “You will anyway, in time. Rest your arms on your head.” The words he’d once used on her. “Part your legs.”

  He lifted one eyebrow but did as she’d demanded. Her hunger for him tonight was too great for a request.

  She ran the cloth over his chest and licked away moisture trapped in the short hairs.

  He made a rumbling sound and edged closer, his shaft touching her skirt.

  “Stay where you are.” She pointed to the spot. “No moving, do you hear?”

  “Are you quite certain you want that?” He flexed his member, making the lovely thing bob.

  She forced herself to act stern. “Quiet. In this room, I rule.”

  He huffed but did keep his tongue.

  She pressed her face to his chest and inhaled deeply of his now sweet scent with the delightful fragrance of man beneath.

  His breath
s quickened. “You tempt me far too much.”

  “Silence.” She washed his arms and pits, then stepped behind him.

  He turned his face to the side.

  Again, she recalled his earlier words to her and gave him the same. “Eyes to the front.”

  He remained as he was.

  Very well. She ran the cloth over his buttocks and down the insides of his thighs.

  He pushed to his toes, wavered, then came back down, his heels smacking the floor. She dropped to her knees and licked away water trapped in the hair on his legs.

  New sounds poured from him, male and uninhibited, fueled by lust and love.

  Thrilled, she dipped the cloth into the bowl of scented water. With greater care than she’d shown the rest of him, she tended to his sac firm with passion, his shaft thick with need, and paid particular attention to the back of his crown, his pleasure spot.

  He groaned louder than a man in mortal danger, snatched the cloth, and threw it across the room. “My bath is finished. I rule in here with you as my devoted slave, or have you forgotten?”

  “Never. Your wish is my command.”

  He undid the fastenings on her clothes, stripping her nearly as fast as she had him.

  On their bed, he burrowed his hard member into her sheath, thrusting until their curls touched, filling her completely. Needing to be closer, she pushed her hips into his and tightened her inner muscles around his shaft.

  His head sagged to his shoulder. He sighed loudly, the noise sounding aroused yet content. “You do intend to kill me.”

  “And you me.” She slid her fingers up his arms. He trembled at her touch, his reaction pleasing her more than she’d believed possible. “We shall go together, not even a moment apart.”

  “In fifty years or more. Promise me.”

  “You have my word.”

  They returned each other’s assured smile, as though their bond gave them the right and power to predict an uncertain future. Getting down to the business of loving, they enjoyed each other until dawn arrived, after which they slept, then indulged even more.

  * * * *

  Enrique had Hortensia deliver the midmorning meal to his bedchamber. Neither he nor Sancha wanted to dress and leave each other yet.