Wicked Whispers (19 page)

Nothing she could say would make this moment more singular, a slice of paradise he would fight to keep. No one would ever take her from him.

Battling his overwhelming need, he thrust faster and stroked her nub once more.

A wail burst from her. “No. You must stop.”

He panted. “Before I have my due?”

“No. Yes. I mean—are you trying to kill me?”

He grinned at her using his earlier words, and then he struggled for more air. “If I am, what a pleasant way to die, no?”

“No.” She pushed his hand away.

He touched her nub again. “You must take the bad with the good.”

She stopped turning her head from side to side. “How right you are.” She tightened her sheath around his shaft, her movements timed so she was at her narrowest as he nearly pulled out of her before he thrust back inside.

His head fell forward. The friction between them was more than even he could bear. He ground his teeth so hard they hurt. “Stop. No more of what you do.”

“As you wish.” She reached down and cupped his sac.

He gasped and shoved her hand from him. Again, she tightened her channel around his member.

He gave up, unable to tame her. “Do what you must.”

“I am.” She worked her muscles around his shaft
and
ran her fingertips over his sac.

Every part of him shrieked for relief. He fought the release he had to have and rubbed her nub once more.

She cried wantonly.

He pumped for all he was worth.

She tumbled over the edge and moaned with abandon, forgetting to torment him in return.

He was past control. The snugness of her sheath, inner warmth, and loving touch had already done him in. On a wild cry, he pushed into her a final time. His arms and legs tensed, then trembled with the force of his delight.

The room whirled.

Too dizzy and weak to catch up, he sagged down and held onto to her as she did with him. Their chests bumped on each ragged breath.

She kissed his cheek and ear. “Will you live?”

He laughed faintly. “Will you?”

“For a second, I thought I had died. Everything went white, black, and white again.”

He rested his forehead on her shoulder, savoring her fragrance. She smelled of sweet flowers, him, sex, love. “Sounds as though you were blinking, no?”

She slapped his arm.

“Have it your way. You were doing something other than blinking?”

“Be serious.” She kissed the part she’d smacked. “I was trying to praise you for performing so well.”

As though he could ever do anything less. With what little strength he had left, he pushed to his elbows and looked at her. “Did Isabella say these moments would be otherwise?”

Had she boasted about Fernando’s endurance? Surely, his brother’s stamina wasn’t as great as his own.

“No.” She brushed his hair off his forehead. “I intend to tell her how wonderful you are whenever you take me. I plan to make her quite jealous.”

Laughter bubbled in his throat, followed by tenderness so deep, his eyes stung. “You are a wonder.”

“I am a woman now. Gracias.”

Grinning, he rolled them over until she was on top with his shaft still inside her channel. She molded to him without pause, her weight a wonderful burden, their forms fitting perfectly.

She ran her fingertip around his nipple. “Will you sleep now?”

He wanted nothing more than to take her again. Sensing she wanted to talk, he shook his head and stifled a yawn. “Would you like to discuss our plans?”

“In part, though something else too.”

“Which first?”

“Our plans. Will we wed tomorrow? That is, today?”

“As soon as I send word to Pedro, Tomás, and Dominico. None is too far from here. By this evening, you and I will be husband and wife. Can you withstand the wait?”

She stopped licking his nipple to bite the flat disk instead.

He yelped. “Now you draw blood?”

“I barely touched you. Will you be able to endure the time before you can wed me?”

“You know I cannot.” He squeezed her buttocks. “Any other questions concerning my desire for you?”

“No. I trust I have your heart. Who do you think started the rumors about me? Do you think it was the sacerdote who wed Fernando and Isabella?”

“Why would he have anything against you?”

“He was at the convent when I was healing Fernando. I made certain he never saw anything I did, but he seemed surprised, maybe suspicious, when Fernando survived.”

Enrique frowned. “Why would he have wanted my brother to die?”

“He anointed him in preparation for death. Fernando’s return to good health disproved what the sacerdote had expected. He was already angry with Isabella for lying about the betrothal and tricking everyone. After thinking on the matter, he might have come to believe I had done the work of the Devil in saving Fernando.”

“You said the sacerdote had no idea what you did.”

“Does it matter? During my time with Fernando, he grew better.”

He considered her suspicions and shook his head. “The priest hardly thinks of anything except his next meal. He had no problem railing at Isabella. If he thought you had done anything wrong, he would have told you. Starting rumors takes cunning and cowardice. Luscinda is probably behind this.”

Sancha pushed off him.

He caught her wrist before she could move too far away. “If I thought mentioning her would make you leave me, I would have kept my tongue.”

“This is no time to make light of matters. Why would she hate me so much to start rumors about—oh no, she wants you.”

“She wants what my position and wealth can give her. You, and my contempt, stand in the way.” He shrugged. “My feelings are the least of her worries.”

“Do you think she knew I was the one with you that morning?”

“For certain? No. However, she did see how I looked at you at the gathering. Any fool would know I wanted you.” He pushed up. “I am so sorry. This is my fault. I should never have spoken to her as sharply as I did. If I had only—”

“Shhh.” She placed her fingers on his lips. “How were you to know what she might do? We have no proof she was the one.”

He recalled Luscinda’s fury and wouldn’t have put murder past her to get what she wanted. “If she was, our union will prove her rumors wrong about you hating marriage, men, and anyone but the Devil.” He left the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to compose my missives to Tomás and Dominico for my servants to deliver.” Although tired, he pulled on his braies and hose, determined to set things straight so he and Sancha could begin their union in joy not fear. “The sooner my friend and brothers arrive, the faster we can put this behind us.” With his shirt, belt, and shoes in hand, he kissed her deeply. “Sleep. I promise to give you no rest once we wed.”

She smiled. “I would hope not.”

* * * *

Enrique made fast work of his letters, his words cryptic enough not to feed old rumors or start new ones should the missives fall into the wrong hands. He’d simply told the truth about his love for Sancha and their desire to wed immediately, without fanfare. Given the raid at the village, who knew what danger guests would face if they came to his castle for a celebration? The Moors might slaughter them all.

Satisfied with what he’d written, he sent two servants to deliver the items. After telling his cook to prepare for three more guests during the main meal, he caught up with Hortensia.

“I have news.”

She nodded patiently but still seemed alarmed.

She’d yet to forget the constant trouble he’d given her as a boy. Hopefully, she’d find this newest disclosure more pleasant. “Tonight, I wed.”

Her expression brightened. “About time—if I may say so.”

He laughed. “You already have.”

“Señorita Doña Sancha is lovely. You are wedding her, no?”

“Who else?”

Hortensia hugged him. “I am so happy for you.”

“Take care to keep the other servants out of her study room.”

“I always will.”

He hugged her with gratitude and left to check on Sancha.

She’d brought Rosa to bed with her. The galgo explored the tangled linens, pillows, and counterpane. Sancha lay on her side asleep, hands to her heart as though in prayer, pleading that no one would harm them with the rumors.

Torn between sorrow and anger, he finally sighed. If he’d had proof Luscinda was the one who’d gossiped, he would have seen her pay in a moment. Without evidence, he’d only make matters worse by confronting her. Who knew what she’d do then?

After gathering fresh clothes, he closed the chamber door and chose another room to prepare for his wedding.

* * * *

Dominico arrived first, shortly after sunset. He was more rawboned than Enrique recalled, nothing but arms and legs, his lanky body swallowed by the drab robe of his order.

“Look at you.” Enrique’s sweeping gesture took in all of the man. “Has the Church stopped feeding its priests?”

“I stopped eating. Their food is terrible.” He smiled. “I hope to get better fare tonight.”

“My cook will stuff you until you burst. She loves to take in strays.”

“Is she comely too? If so, I may fall in love with her.”

Laughing, Enrique embraced his friend, both trying to outdo each other on how hard they squeezed.

“Enough.” Dominico pulled away. “Tell me about this woman you want to wed. Is she very beautiful?”

“Should a man in your position be asking such a crude thing?”

“Surely not, if the poor girl is plain. Knowing you, my guess is she makes every other woman ugly in comparison.”

And then some. “Come to my study.” Enrique glanced around the entrance hall, making certain the servants weren’t nearby. “We can talk there.”

“How serious you become.” Dominico frowned. “Is something the matter?”

“Not at all.” He forced a smile. “There are chairs and wine in my study. None out here.”

Once inside the room, he closed the door and turned to his friend. “I need your promise never to repeat what I tell you.”

“You want to make a confession?”

“I want information. Sit. Please.” He gestured to a leather chair, its wood engraved with his coat of arms. “I shall have your wine in a moment.”

He filled a goblet, gave it to Dominico, then sat across from him. “Have you heard what the Inquisition is doing in this area? Who they might be targeting?”

Dominico finished his sip and lowered his goblet. “I only hear what others do. My work is different than the tribunal’s.”

“Have you heard rumors about the inquisitors focusing on a young noblewoman? The daughter of a grandee and duke.”

Dominico lifted his eyebrows, a light brown shade, the same as his hair. “No. Have you?”

“Would I be asking you if I had? Have you heard the nobles discussing this?”

“This what? The girl? Why are you being so secretive? Who is she?”

Enrique hesitated a moment then relented. He had no other choice. “The woman I speak of is the one I plan to wed tonight. Sancha Lopéz de Lara.” He huddled near, telling Dominico about the encounter with Luscinda, her jealousy and threat, the subsequent rumors.

Finished, he gripped the arms of his chair. “Will the Church take this talk seriously?”

“How can they? Granted, the Church is suspicious of unmarried women who refuse to wed and bear children as nature intended. Tonight Sancha will be yours. Nine months from now, she will surely bear your son.”

He expelled the breath he’d been holding and sagged into his chair. “Gracias.”

“For what? Telling you what you already know?” Dominico regarded him closely. “Is there something about Sancha you have yet to reveal?”

Cautious of questions from a priest, Sancha waited until the last possible moment to meet Dominico.

The second she entered Enrique’s study, unannounced, both men pushed to their feet. She closed the door, clearly not planning to leave. Not the best behavior for a soon-to-be wife, but she hardly cared about custom. She feared for her and Enrique’s future.

He seemed pensive, not alarmed, and looked astonishingly handsome. His doublet and robe were a dark green, like the heavy forests on his estate. One leg of his hose was white, the other had alternating stripes of black and a pale rose. The pinkish tint reminded her of a new sunrise. With combed hair and a fresh shave, he presented an image of the powerful noble he was. His forelock seemed to mark him even further as being superior to others.

What an image of male authority and beauty he presented, though Sancha preferred his hair tousled, face shadowed with whiskers, muscular body naked. How wanton she’d become in such a short time, wanting the formalities of their union at an end, guests departed, leaving her and Enrique to their bed.

She suppressed a sigh and smiled instead, hoping she appeared cordial rather than yearning or pained.

Enrique joined her. After kissing her cheek, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “You look exquisite.”

She’d worn one of the few grand gowns she brought to Fernando’s castle before coming here. A gift from Isabella who’d always said her eldest sister dressed too simply. Of the finest red silk, the garment had a gold embroidered kirtle and jeweled undersleeves.

She would have preferred a maid’s clothing and an evening at the pond with Enrique after a hard day studying or tending the ill.

She squeezed his hands, his warm, hers icy, and spoke in his ear. “Is all well?”

“We have nothing to fear. Trust me.”

She searched his eyes, hoping he wasn’t trying to spare her new worry or grief.

He met her gaze honestly, longing mingled with determination. The kind a man has when preparing himself for a battle he intends to win.

She hoped the fight now wasn’t between him and Dominico. She pressed her cheek to Enrique’s to keep the priest from overhearing. “How much have you told him?”

“Merely of Luscinda’s jealousy and your reluctance to wed until you met me. Nothing else. I will protect you to my dying breath.”

His assurance brought tears to her eyes. Her secret was theirs to face together, not hers alone. With those words, he’d fully delivered his heart and future to her. At another time, she would have been reckless with joy. Not tonight. She worried about Dominico. He may have been Enrique’s dear friend, but he was still a priest.