The Promise (17 page)

He promised it with his eyes while he gazed down at her with quiet hunger: he would not wait much longer. Heat burned across the distance between them, and she touched her tongue to her upper lip in an absentminded gesture of desire.

He smiled tautly. Oh, yes … she understood him at last.

Inés’ soft moan of pain broke the fragile silence. As if jerked from a waking dream, Alonsa blinked several times and peered anxiously at her friend.

“What is it?” she asked with concern.

“I cannot bite this bread.” Inés clutched a piece of the crusty bread in one hand and the side of her jaw in another. “I fear that black-haired bastard broke my jaw.”

Alonsa gently examined Inés’ jaw with her fingertips.

“I feel no break. It is probably only bruised, though I am sure it feels worse to you.”

Fritz stared at Inés from across the table, a dull flush evident on his cheeks, and reached for the bread. He winced a bit, but managed to pull out some of the soft inner parts of the bread and drop them in the wine in her cup.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her.

Inés waved the cup away. “No, I do not—”

He cut her off, his tone irate. “Drink it. You’ve had nothing since we began. How do you expect to get well with no food in your body?”

She glared at him.

“I will eat when you do,” she said, her chin tilted up.

His nostrils flared. He broke a chunk off the crusty bread with an angry gesture and thrust a piece in his mouth, chewing with rapid, grinding motions. He held the cup out to her again.

“Take it,” he ordered, his clear blue eyes hard as steel.

In mere hours, the look of innocence that had once shone from his face had disappeared.

Inés grabbed the cup, drops of wine sloshing unnoticed over the rim. She drank the way he ate, the movements tense and angry. They stared each other down, neither of them speaking a word, and finished the meager meal in silence.

Günter watched in bemusement. Why were they so angry at one another? He shrugged. They would have to work it out between them.

He turned and strode to the door through which the monk had exited. Where the devil had the man gone?

As if summoned by his thoughts, the monk appeared in a circle of torchlight at the opposite end of a long passageway. He gestured to Günter as though he had awaited them the whole time and not the other way around.

Günter spoke over his shoulder. “It appears our lodgings are ready. Alonsa, bring the candles.”

She obeyed, and the others rose and followed him down the passageway.

The old monk hovered in front of a narrow doorway. He gestured inside and spoke to them in Spanish once more.

“These are for guests, though they usually come during the day,” he noted with a pointed look at Günter. He nodded to the other side of the passageway. “Do not venture beyond that door. It leads to the cloistered part of the abbey, where none but the members of the Rule may go.”

Günter nodded his agreement, and turned to examine the cell. Small, bare, but clean, it sported a high window and a tiny table with a basin of water and two sets of washing and drying cloths in one corner. An effigy of Christ in the throes of agony on the cross hung on one of the whitewashed walls. Instead of a straw pallet, a narrow bed—a relative luxury in such a place—had been pushed up against another wall. Fresh linens already hugged it. A rope fastened at an angle to two walls, with a blanket over it, hid the chamber pot in the corner.

Günter recognized a variety of medicinals in small wooden cups on the table, as well as cut-up strips of bandages. This room must be intended for Inés or Fritz. Alonsa placed one of the candles on the table.

The monk turned and wordlessly swept his hand to a door across the narrow passageway. It was another cell similar to the first, but without the medicinals. Alonsa entered it and placed the second candle on the table inside. When the monk made no other move, she looked around.

“Where are the other rooms?” Her voice held a note of confusion.

The monk’s brows drew together.

“Other rooms? There be none. Guests here are few.”

Alonsa gestured to the narrow bed.

“But it is so small. Two people will not fit comfortably.”

The monk snorted and looked Günter up and down.

“Aye, he’s a giant, but yer small enough. I’ve a feeling he’ll make room for ye, eh?” He winked with earthy good humor.

Günter nearly burst out laughing at both the wily old monk’s insinuation and the stunned expression on Alonsa’s face when she realized he expected
them
to share the bed, not her and Inés.

“Oh, but we are not—”

Günter stepped between them.

“These rooms are fine, thank you, Brother. My
wife
and I—” he emphasized the word for Alonsa’s benefit, “greatly appreciate not having to spend the night out of doors again. It has already proven hazardous enough for one eve. I am sure my friend and
his
wife”—at this he glanced meaningfully at Fritz and Inés—”feel the same way.”

They both nodded and made agreeing noises, similar tight smiles on their faces.

Günter turned and sent Alonsa a warning look. Realization must have dawned, because she swallowed whatever she had been about to say and snapped her mouth shut. He put an arm around her tiny waist and drew her to his side, enjoying the fact that for once she couldn’t openly deny him. To do so would get them all thrown out of the abbey because of the unmarried status of the women.

“Thank the kind man, my dear.” He knew his eyes glinted with the humor he couldn’t express.

When she only glared at him, he lowered the hand behind her back to her luscious rump and squeezed.

She squeaked, then disguised it with a cough. Another warning squeeze and she managed a semblance of a smile for the monk.

“Thank you,” she said through clenched teeth.

Pity. Günter was beginning to enjoy himself.

The old monk raised one eyebrow, but finally nodded as if satisfied he had done all he could for them.

“Name’s Father Andrew, in case ye be interested.”

Günter, realizing in his haste he had never introduced himself, started to do just that.

“I am—”

Father Andrew held up a hand.

“Always found it better not to ask such questions in the middle of the night.” His eyes sparked with wry humor. “If ye take my meaning.”

He pointed above one of the cell doors at a long strip of rope hanging from a hole in the ceiling.

“If ye need aught else, pull the cord. It will ring a bell in another part of the abbey. Someone will come to ye. The abbey does not break its fast until after vespers, but we’ll leave something for ye on the table in there at dawn,” he said, gesturing back to the dining area.

Günter took it as an invitation to leave at the earliest opportunity.

The old monk then reached into his robes and took out a large iron ring from which several keys dangled. He looked at Günter.

“Ye understand. We cannot have anyone wandering about at night making mischief. We unlock the doors at first light.”

He stood there for a moment, eyeing both couples. Inés seemed to realize first he expected them to go inside so he could lock them in. She curtseyed clumsily, pushed Fritz inside one of the cells, and then shut the door in their faces with a murmured goodnight. The last thing Günter saw of Fritz, he was staring at Inés as though she’d grown two heads.

Günter looked at the monk. “The animals need food and water.”

Father Andrew nodded. “They will be cared for proper.”

Not believing his good fortune, Günter quickly pulled Alonsa with him while he backed inside the other cell.

“Well, then. Good night, Father Andrew,” he said before Alonsa had a chance to contemplate whether the danger with him inside was worse than what she might face on the outside. He shut the door on the monk’s formal bow and listened as the keys turned the ancient locks on both doors.

Now he knew why they called them cells.

The old man’s distinctive shuffling tread faded into the quiet night as he trundled back down the passageway.

Günter took a deep breath of satisfaction. He propped his great sword and his
Katzbalger
carefully against the wall beside the bed and then turned to face his “wife.”

Alonsa stared back, madder than a wet hen, her face flushed, her brown eyes spitting with fire. “If you think for one moment I will allow any liberties—”

He interrupted her. “Alonsa?”

“What?” she snapped.

“Shut up.”

He had just enough time to enjoy the stunned expression on her face before he pulled her into his arms and tumbled her down onto the narrow bed.

A
LONSA WAS NOT SURE HOW IT HAPPENED
. O
NE MOMENT
, she stood on her own two feet, and in the next, she lay beneath Günter’s huge, hard body on the narrow bed. He buried his face in her neck and his hands made quick work of the laces on her bodice. The burning heat she associated with him enveloped her, tempting her to burrow her always-chilled body into his, but she resisted. When she tried to push him away, he simply lifted her wrists above her head and held them together with one large hand.

She gasped when his lips found the plump upper swell of her breasts and he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses over them.

“Günter!”

“Alonsa,” he drawled. In the blink of an eye, he had opened her bodice. In a gesture of impatience, he pushed aside her chemise and fastened his greedy mouth to one suddenly taut peak. He rolled his hips against hers, and she arched up involuntarily in response. The secret place between her thighs grew damp.

“Wait!” she cried while he brought her to readiness with dizzying speed.

“Nay,” he whispered against her skin. His tongue darted out, tasting her as though she were a succulent treat; he sucked the peak into his mouth.

“Now,” he murmured around the hard bud.

She shivered at the sensation. How could he do that? How could he make her desire him with just a kiss, a touch, a word? It seemed as if she was attuned to him, already sensitive to his every whim and fancy.

He released her wrists and spread his fingers across her breasts, caressing and kneading, plumping and molding her with his palms. He suckled, rocked his hips, teased her into mindlessness, and she forgot all about denying him anything. Her arms were still high above her head on the pillow; she could not move, drugged into a languid stupor by his mouth and hands.

When she felt the cool air on her thighs, she did not even protest. He pushed up her skirts and then growled in frustration. They had caught beneath her and bunched below her hips.

“Lift up,” he commanded.

Like one of his soldiers on the battlefield, she obeyed without thought. He sat up and swept the clothes over her head until finally she lay naked and exposed to him in the flickering candlelight. His fingers trailed over her nipples, his thumbs sweeping gentle arcs over the taut peaks. A wolf’s smile crossed his face, and she heard a rumble of approval deep in his throat while his gaze wandered over her.

Despite her arousal, she felt her cheeks grow warm with discomfort. Perhaps it was the hungry smile giving her pause; perhaps it was the embarrassment at being naked in front of a man not her husband, but suddenly she felt bashful and insecure. She tried to protect herself from his sight with her hands.

He shook his head and his wolf’s smile disappeared. “Nay.” He straddled her, imprisoning her hands on either side of her head, his strong thighs entrapping her. “Do not hide from me. Ever. I want to see every part of you. I
will see
every part of you. And you will see me.”

He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth ravenous. Alonsa clenched her hands at the sensation of his hard mouth gliding over hers, of his sleek tongue sliding in and out. She felt like a puzzle piece fitting into the space for which it had always been intended.

Her mind whirled. He went too fast, and yet not fast enough. She ached for him, feared for him, yearned for him. She moaned into his mouth.

He pulled back, his eyes glittering like emeralds.

“Yes, I know. I feel it too,” he murmured. He stretched his length out over her, slipping between her legs as he did.

She felt him, thick and hard, against her center. He rocked his hips and she cried out.

Still dressed. Why was he still dressed?

She did not realize she had spoken aloud until he raised his head and smiled.

“Just give me a moment.” He rolled off her, and more rapidly then she could have imagined, came back naked to the bed.

He
was
too fast. She had not had the chance to look her fill. What she had seen, however, made her mouth grow parched.

He was hard and taut, his legs long, his male haunches firm and compact. In silent testimony to his lust, his sex jutted out from the curls at the apex of his thighs. His torso rippled with strength; the sight of the crisp hair on the chiseled muscles of his chest made her hands itch to caress it; the sinews in his shoulders flexed and contracted when he moved.

His green eyes blazed at her, the fire in their depths unmistakable. When a lock of his bronze hair fell forward across his wide brow, he shook it back with an impatient toss of his head. An image came to her of a proud stallion preparing to service his mate.

He was, quite simply, magnificent.

He lay down beside her. Not beside her, really, since hardly enough room existed for either of them to lie flat. Instead, he arranged himself half-on, half-off her, one hand propped beneath his head while with the other he pulled her dark hair forward over one shoulder and teased her with it. His hand traveled up and down as he explored her trembling body, first brushing the locks of hair across her breasts, next stroking her belly with it, and then, after releasing it, caressing her thighs.

She clasped her legs together against the mad rush of desire he incited within her. He chuckled and easily pushed his knee between hers, the hairs on his legs rubbing against her skin, sensitizing her to his every motion. Having exposed her, he slid his hand down until he touched her dark curls, then pressed one finger slowly inside.