Wicked Whispers

Follow the heart through darkness . . .

As the Inquisition gains force, even the faintest rumor can brand one a heretic. In this world it is Sancha’s gift—or curse—to be blessed with the gift of healing. But the villagers are in need of her arts more than ever, and she feels it is her duty to help them at the risk of losing her life. And at the sacrifice of her heart . . .

Enrique has never wanted a woman as he does Sancha. Determined to have her love, he woos her with exquisite passion, giving her refuge to pursue her healing in secret. But their very desire and escape from the ruthless forces of the world may be their undoing. And together, they must pit themselves against a jealous rival and archaic tradition to secure their place in a hopeful new dawn . . .

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Dangerous Desires Series

Loving Lies

Wicked Whispers

Passionate Pursuit

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Dangerous Desires

Tina Donahue

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

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Copyright © 2015 by Tina Donahue

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First Electronic Edition: May 2016

eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-589-5

eISBN-10: 1-60183-589-2

First Print Edition: May 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-590-1

ISBN-10: 1-60183-590-6

Printed in the United States of America

To the Book Escape Authors – you guys rock!

Ah, Spain. Warm, vibrant, enchanting. The first time I researched this wonderful country, I fell in love. The late fifteenth century was an especially volatile time for Spain with the battle against the Moors and the establishment of the Inquisition. A period that continues to fascinate me.

To Penny Barber for her wise and always accurate suggestions.

Andalucía, Spain—1488

The castle of Don Fernando de Zayas

Of all the perils a man might face, Enrique de Zayas figured the worst was unending desire for a woman. Especially one whose heart he hadn’t yet claimed, because the lady in question was being remarkably difficult. Heat had burned in Sancha’s eyes the few times she’d deigned to meet his gaze. Of course, she had been busy tending to his brother Fernando’s grave injuries, sparing him death and life as a cripple.

Isabella would never have forgiven her sister if Sancha had chopped off Fernando’s arm and leg to save his life. He was a warrior knight and had proved his bravery by falling in love with and wedding Isabella, one of the Lopéz de Lara sisters, who appeared to be delicate Spanish flowers but were as hard as any man.

Steeling himself for whatever happened tonight, Enrique joined the other nobles in his brother’s grand dining hall. Exotic spices, garlic, and onions scented the cavernous space. Rich tapestries depicting country life hung on the walls below ornate Moorish designs in gold and silver. The metal glinted from the flickering candlelight and oil lamps. A harpist, flutist, and a man playing a lute sat in the center area on red chairs. The musicians’ vibrant Spanish melody was scarcely audible beneath too much converse and loud laughter from hundreds of guests, all dressed in their finest.

He spotted Isabella, regally attired in a gold silk gown that complemented her auburn hair and milky complexion. She saw him too and threaded through the crowd, heading his way. Numerous
señoritas
also edged close, eyeing him as the main fare for this evening’s feast. Being a rich man in need of a wife was the second greatest peril a man could face. Isabella stood only as close as etiquette allowed to quell wagging tongues. Spaniards loved intrigue whether it involved the Crown or one of Spain’s wealthy subjects. Her earlier abduction and near sale as a concubine for the Sultan’s harem had certainly fueled enough gossip.

She turned into him, the top of her head reaching his shoulder. “Take heart. Sancha is here tonight.”

His pulse pounded. Warmth rushed to his groin.

Isabella glanced around the opulent, red-walled room. “This time she promised not to take too long with the servant.”

“Too long doing what?”

Isabella paled then shrugged. “Whatever one does with servants. Trust me, she will not keep you waiting.”

She already had, repeatedly, in the few weeks since they’d met. To him the time seemed longer than most of his life. He wasn’t a man who needed decades to determine his feelings for a woman. With Sancha, he’d fallen in an instant. Each day without her added to his torment.

He frowned.

“Oh no.” Isabella regarded him closely. “Have you lost interest in her already?”

She’d made him sound like the worst sort of beast when he was the one in pain. “It would appear your sister has never shared my passion.”

She flicked her hand dismissively. “You need to woo her as Fernando wooed me.”

“When he believed you were Sancha, his betrothed, or after he learned your true identity?”

“Both.” She grinned despite the hell she’d put him, Fernando, and two of their other brothers through. “Everything worked out as it should.”

Indeed. Sancha had never wanted to wed Fernando. With Isabella taking her place, she remained blissfully unattached in order to torture Enrique with his endless yearning. “Where is my brother?”

“Resting before the meal. I insisted he do so until his strength returns.”

“Fernando allows you to order him about?”

Her slender eyebrows lifted slightly. “You believe I or anyone could make demands of a warrior-knight? Never. I request and woo. Something for you to keep in mind with my sister.” She searched the crowd and inclined her head. “There she is.”

God help him, Enrique couldn’t resist staring.

Bathed in the light of candles and oil lamps, she seemed unearthly, an angel sent to visit mere mortals, her complexion creamy and flawless, streaks of gold highlighting her auburn hair, a shimmering mass of temptation.

He locked his knees to steady himself, lost in her allure.

She stepped deeper into the room, emerald skirt swaying, her gown cut modestly, though still providing a hint of her ripe breasts and narrow waist. Unlike the other women here, she wore no jewels to prove her wealth, which was considerable. She was sole heir to her late parents’ estate, her holdings as vast as his.

Caballeros
watched as she passed.

She didn’t glance at any of them.

Enrique wasn’t about to suffer such treatment for himself any longer. Tonight he would change everything between them. First though, she had to look at him. To see him.

She stared into the distance, lost in her own world. A server passed too close and brushed her arm. Despite his heavy tray, he stopped and inclined his head in apology. She offered a gentle smile and stepped back to give him more room, her gaze touching Enrique.

He stilled, unable to draw a full breath. Pleasure registered on her lovely face, followed by the same longing he’d seen during their previous encounters, her dark eyes luminous with unmasked desire.

They wouldn’t satisfy their craving for each other easily. She may have believed she was independent and even enjoyed playing a role more suited to a male. However, she still had a woman’s need for a man to thrill and protect her within his strong embrace.

He fully intended to be that man. His inertia broke. He stepped toward her.

Her passion instantly turned to caution.

Fearing she might bolt, he prepared to give chase.

Isabella dug her fingers into his sleeve. “Give me a moment with her. My sister is shy.”

Sancha’s impassioned expression upon seeing him had said otherwise. Hunger had burned deep within her, simply waiting to be free.

“Stay here.” Isabella patted his sleeve and brushed past the others.

Enrique waited a moment, lost patience, and followed. Another hand clamped on his arm. He gritted his teeth and turned.

Luscinda de Cortés held onto him, her strength surprising, her expression too eager. He would have expected such desperation from a homely woman, not her. She was remarkably beautiful, her snowy skin, long black hair, and dark eyes enhancing her sultry features. Her full lips had surely given many caballeros pleasant dreams. The scandalous cut of her red silk gown barely covered her ample breasts, quivering with each breath she took. Numerous pearl necklaces studded with diamonds graced her long throat.

From the rumors he’d heard, her clothing and gems represented the full sum of her family’s wealth. A matter her
mamá
, Señora de Cortés, seemed determined to change, allowing her daughter to dress as she had tonight to catch a rich husband. The older woman stood to the side, watching closely.

He regarded Luscinda’s hand on his arm.

A painfully long moment passed before she finally released him. “So good to see you here, Enrique.”

Where else would he be with Fernando celebrating his and Isabella’s union? Given how their wedding had come about, he’d suspected his brother might need help defending against any unkind comments or gossip.

He, on the other hand, needed to keep Luscinda and her grasping family away from himself. Rather than address him as Don Enrique, as good manners required, she’d addressed him as a betrothed or a man who was already her husband. He’d willingly face death before wedding her or anyone other than Sancha. Rather than explain the obvious, he bowed his head slightly. “Doña Luscinda.”

Señora de Cortés snapped her fan and beat the air with the thing. He pretended not to notice the woman’s outrage at his failure to add señorita to his greeting, affording her daughter even greater respect.

Luscinda’s expression remained inviting and seductive. Color stained her cheeks, her pupils dilating unnaturally, possibly the result of using belladonna in her eyes and on her face. The poison was supposed to enhance a woman’s beauty, if it didn’t kill her first.

He hardly wished her harm, wanting only to have her bother someone else. Perhaps if he simply ignored her, she’d drift away. He glanced at Sancha. She neared one of the tables, speaking to Isabella as if no one else in the room existed, not even him.

He huffed.

“Poor Sancha.” Luscinda looked to where he had and inched closer to him, her fragrance heavy and cloyingly sweet. “We must understand what she goes through and pity her.”