Wicked Whispers Page 5

They were losing control and Sancha wasn’t certain how to remedy the matter. She couldn’t ask him to leave when he’d been so kind and giving. Daunted, she nibbled her bread, unable to swallow a large bite.

  “Would you like water?” He glanced around. “I can fetch some fresh.”

  “You have no idea where the well is.”

  “I can ask.”

  “Or I could gather my own. Some for you too.”

  “And leave your patient to do so?”

  What was the matter with her, forgetting the child again? Maria still rested, eyes closed, breathing steady as her mamá stroked her hair. “I need nothing to drink.”

  “As you wish. If I may say so, I believe you will make a magnificent mother.”

  She grew hot, cold, then hot again. “What?”

  Unfazed at how she’d blurted her question, he leaned close. “You knew what to say to Maria in order to calm her as much as circumstances allowed. You were kind yet strong, doing what you must. She trusted you.”

  “She wanted her mamá.”

  “Only because she had yet to spend enough time with you.”

  Sancha might have laughed at his outrageous praise but couldn’t. Like most men, he had no idea how children felt or thought, forgetting the time he’d been small and helpless. “I could spend an eternity with the child and she would still prefer her mother, as I would mine. I miss her greatly and will never forgive myself for not being able to save her.”

  He glanced away for a moment then faced her again. “Fernando told me what your uncle had done to your parents. He never mentioned you ministering to your mamá.”

  She’d done everything possible to save her and had failed, the poison her uncle used unknown to her. There hadn’t been enough time to prepare and experiment with her own remedies. “Mamá succumbed so quickly, I barely had the chance to do anything.”

  “How awful for you and your sisters.” He touched her fingers. “I am so sorry.”

  Her throat tightened. She turned her hand to cup his, then stopped, worried he might misread her intentions. “No one was sorrier than I that my few skills were no match for Mamá’s illness. I may not be a man with all the knowledge the world offers, but I will do what I can and more. Never again will I lose a person I love.”

  He stroked her thumb, then rested his hand on his thigh. “Where have you learned these things? Surely, someone other than those in the order taught you. The nuns I know have never been as skilled.”

  She lowered her face. If his words had come from another man, they would have sounded like an accusation of witchcraft. How she wished to live in a different world where women’s lives weren’t made unnecessarily difficult. Forcing them to hide their feelings, tell lies when truth would have served better, and to always wear fear as men did their sense of privilege.

  Weary of having to pretend to be someone she wasn’t, and to prove to Enrique why he shouldn’t woo her, she faced him. “As the nuns know little and physicians would have been suspicious of any questions I might have had, I learned most of what I know from books.”

  “Books taught you this? Whose?”

  “Mine.” There were also the experiments she’d mentioned earlier.

  He glanced quickly at the adults, then leaned closer to her. “Will you show your books to me? I can come to your castle whenever you find a visit convenient.”

  “The books are elsewhere.”

  “Oh. Do you bring them with you when you travel?”

  She laughed softly. “Even the strongest man would have difficulty carrying dozens of volumes. A woman would have no chance.”

  “Where do you keep such a collection?”

  She was afraid to say.

  He sighed. “Do you trust me so little?”

  She already believed in him too much, captivated by his integrity, the way he listened to her, and his presence. If there were such a thing as sorcery, he’d been working his spell on her from the moment they’d met.

  She kept yearning to be closer to him, feel his heat, and enjoy the taste of his lips again. A stray crumb on the corner of his mouth fascinated her, urging her to lick the morsel away, feel his beginning stubble against her tongue, cheeks, and fingers.

  She had to stop thinking such things. “Isabella’s.”

  “Isabella’s what?”

  “She has my books at the castle.”

  “Fernando’s? Why?”

  She regarded the wrappings on her hands rather than him. “Should anyone question my actions and send the authorities for me, a search of my castle will yield them nothing, especially my books. Whatever happens—”

  “Nothing will. Not to you.”

  She slumped. “The books will still be safe and available to another woman.”

  “Why are you always worried about everyone else rather than yourself?” He leaned toward her, gripping the seat of his chair. “Why do you insist on putting yourself in such danger?”

  She gestured to Maria.

  He fell silent. She did too, her fatigue too great to resist. Closing her eyes, she kept alert to any sounds Maria would make.

  The girl was blessedly silent, allowing Sancha to recall the celebration, the thrill and worry of having Enrique next to her. Their moments on the balcony. His concern and kindness here, followed by his quick anger when he believed she was careless with her safety.

  She had no choice. Death wouldn’t wait for the world to grow fair for everyone. She had to do what she could while there was time. Endless people needed saving, their health and lives restored. She pictured her patients recovering only to grow ill once more. Inquisitors nearby, watching, waiting, ready to pounce.

  A hand rested on her arm. She flinched and struggled to open her eyes, her lids gritty with sleep.

  The child’s uncles lay sprawled on the floor, one snoring loudly. Maria’s mother still watched over her daughter, the child’s face slack with slumber, no pain etching her features.

  Sancha stifled a yawn.

  “We should go.” Enrique squeezed her arm gently. “You need real rest in a bed. Twice, I had to keep you from falling off your chair.”

  He had? “I feel fine now.”

  “Will the child heal faster if you force yourself to stay awake so you can watch her sleep?”

  She refused to smile at his teasing. “You know she would not, though a vigil is comforting.” She straightened and tried to shake off her fatigue. “Maria’s uncles are clearly too tired to see me back to the castle. They need their rest. I have no intention of disturbing them.”

  “I agree. You and I can ride together on my horse.”

  “No.” To have him pressed to her was more than she could allow.

  “I see. Have you suddenly lost your desire to defy convention or was I correct that you trust me so little?”

  She didn’t trust herself. She’d proven how weak her flesh was when they’d been on the balcony. To have the excuse of riding behind him would prove too tempting, her hands roaming his chest, firm belly, thighs, the area between his legs.

  She shook her head. “We both risk injury if you fall off your horse because you need sleep.”

  “I have never been more alert and will protect you.”

  He would undo her resolve as surely as the sun rose each morning.

  Before Sancha could counter him, he left his chair and approached Maria’s mother. “Will you be able to care for your child when she awakes?”

  “Nothing will stop me.” She turned to Sancha. “I remember everything you said I should do. If Maria needs you again, I promise to send word.”

  “Never speak of what happened here to anyone,” Enrique said. “Do you understand?”

  She drew back at his suddenly harsh tone. “I know what trouble gossip can bring, and so do the others in the village. They too may need help someday.” She glanced at Sancha. “You saved my daughter’s life. I owe you my own. No one will ever make me betray you.”

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sp; After embracing the woman, Sancha checked the linen covering Maria’s wound. Everything was as it should be. With naught to delay her, she followed Enrique outside, her heart pounding. The coming dawn tinted the horizon orange, pink, and pale blue, colors that seemed more vivid this morning than they had on any other day. A soft breeze shooed away the acrid smoke, replacing the stench with the scent of vegetation and Enrique’s delightful fragrance.

  Giddy with anxiety and excitement, she locked her knees to keep from swaying. He offered his hand.

  She didn’t slip her own inside. “If you mount first, you can easily help me up so I can ride behind you.”

  “And have you tumble off my steed if you fall asleep? What kind of a protector would I be to allow such a thing?” He dragged his hair off his forehead where the wind had blown it. “I can see to your safety far better if you ride in front of me. No arguments, as I gave you none during your time with Maria.”

  No wonder he’d been so agreeable, figuring he might use his actions to sway her at some future point. “Any protests you might have made would have angered the child’s uncles and her mother.”

  “I fear no one’s fury except yours. Especially if we reach the castle in full light with the guests seeing how we ride.” He pointed at her shirt. “And how you dress.”

  Darkness was definitely her friend.

  She allowed him to help her mount. He settled behind her, his muscular thighs pressed close, stiffened shaft nestled against her buttocks. She gripped the saddle horn to steady herself. Her pulse throbbed even harder.

  With too much ease, he held her to him and left the village.

  The men guarding the community lifted their pitchforks in farewell. Enrique bowed his head in acknowledgment, his heated breath skipping across her cheek.

  She turned into him without thinking, reckless need racing through her until she curbed her feelings. Sitting straighter, with her back barely touching his chest, she searched for something to discuss. She sensed her experiments would hold his full interest and would open a flood of questions she wouldn’t want to answer. Speaking about Maria seemed safe, until she considered him asking how many other times she’d stolen into a village to treat a peasant.

  Better never to address the subject.

  He settled his mouth on her ear, his lips heated and soft. “Are you comfortable?”

  She was about to lose control. Her heart walloped, and perspiration ran down her spine. She dug her nails into the horn and willed herself not to ease closer to him, her desire and self-control battling with longing determined to win. She made a noise that sounded wanton to her.

  He leaned over, his face close. “What did you say?”

  “Why did you warn Maria’s mother?”

  “What? Warn her? When?”

  His admonition to the woman had surprised Sancha and gave her something to speak of other than his thumb stroking the area directly beneath her breast. Her belly fluttered. “You told her never to mention my visit. Why would she? I helped her daughter.”

  “You exposed yourself to gossip.”

  She waved her hand. “A woman invites scandal if she breathes too deeply.”

  “Make light of this if you will, but did you ever consider how miraculous your healing appears to others?”

  She twisted to look at him. Even in the wan light, his forelock stood out within his dark locks. His handsome features and hooded eyes seemed slightly dangerous, completely male. “My intent has never been to amaze anyone but to offer what relief I can.”

  “Your intent hardly matters. There are many who would insist your healing powers are so great you gained them from something other than the books you read. Namely, Satan. They would also suggest if you have the means to heal, you can also use your talent, power, or whatever you want to call it, to destroy.”

  Although she was well aware of how foolish and cruel people could be, having him state the matter made her belly cramp. “Do you think so of me?”

  “You know I never will.”

  “Nor do the peasants.”

  “Until you fail them, which you will at some point, as you are hardly God. When one of them dies in your care, the others may begin to talk, accuse, and want revenge. Have you ever considered such an outcome?”

  She’d been so intent on helping others, she hadn’t considered the aftermath of failure. “If your intent is to dissuade me from healing—”

  “I want you to understand the possible consequences of your actions. As a wealthy woman, you have much to lose to the inquisitors. All they need is a reason to confiscate what you own in the name of saving a sinner. Rumor says many innocents face accusation so the inquisitors can enrich themselves. Powerful men have gotten rid of their wives by claiming those women were witches. Nobles can easily dispose of rivals with false allegations. If the tribunal succeeded in accusing you, men would search every part of your body for witch marks and perhaps rape you in the process. Even if you lived through such horrors, death by strangulation or burning alive at the stake would be next. For what? To practice your healing?”

  “To save others. Am I to live my life in fear or do what I must? If an enemy were to come to Spain and threaten her, what would you do? Flee to save your life or fight to spare others?”

  He sighed. “The situations are hardly the same.”

  “They are precisely the same and you know it.”

  He lifted his face to the sky. The ridge in his throat bobbed with his hard swallow. “You and Isabella…”

  “Me and Isabella what?”

  He looked at her. “Never have I met women like you.”

  She inclined her head slightly to concede his point. “Now you understand why I said you must find another more in accord with your needs.”

  “I want no one but you.”

  “Enrique.”

  He’d cupped her face, his thumb skimming her bottom lip. Her mouth tingled. Her breath spilled out on a wanting sigh at the tenderness and desire in his expression.

  He reined in his gelding and lowered his mouth to hers.

  She couldn’t fight him. Didn’t want to. The night was perfect for love, their attraction too intense, his kiss soft and searching at first then filled with raw male need, his tongue slipping into her mouth.

  Sancha sagged against him, suckling his tongue as though she’d been born for the task, loving his clean flavor, his strong caress.

  With the reins in one hand, he eased his other beneath her shirt, fingertips grazing her skin, hand cupping her naked breast.

  She should have pulled away, told him to stop. Trembling with unbearable need, she opened her mouth even more to his tongue, inviting him to invade her deeply, intoxicated by his scent and strength.

  Emboldened by her willing surrender, he dragged his thumb over her nipple, making the tip even harder. She ached for him in a way she couldn’t deny. All her life others had told her how sinful lust was. For her to avoid it at all cost. A woman’s purity was worth more than love. Passion could fade in a moment. Chastity alone proved a female’s honor the same as valor did with a man.

  She’d never doubted those truths, having rarely thought of them until now.

  Within Enrique’s embrace, she was complete for the first time, even though they had no future. Somehow, this moment and a few others seemed enough. On some level, she knew her sentiments were wrong. A better woman would fight for what was right, denying herself and him.

  She gripped Enrique’s thigh, not wanting him to stop. Her touch seemed to excite him even more. He tore his mouth free and lifted her shirt, exposing her breasts to the ebbing moon and night air. The cool breeze skipped lightly against her feverish skin. His mouth was hot and damp on her throat. After he’d kissed her thoroughly there, he leaned over, straining to latch onto her nipple. Sancha faced him as much as she could, unable to deny what they both craved.

  He claimed her breast, running his tongue over her areola and tip, suckling each.
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br />   The folds between her legs grew damp with obsessive need. All she could think about was lying with him, his chest nestled against her breasts, shaft buried deep within her belly, skin touching, breaths mingling.

  She cupped the back of his head, her fingers buried in his thick, silky hair to keep him close.

  He laved her nipple, drawing a sound from her that she didn’t recognize. The noise sounded too base, raw with desire. She curled her toes and pushed into him, trying to get closer. He seized the opportunity to squeeze her other breast, using her thoroughly.

  She allowed the pleasure, lost in his embrace, the lusty promise of his strength and heat. Forever wouldn’t be enough to sate her passion. Another moment was out of the question. The horse shifted its weight again, impatient to move on.

  Straightened, Enrique gulped air like a man saved from drowning. Sancha was so lightheaded she gripped his arm for support. Still panting, he kissed her cheek, ear, hair, shoulder.

  “You should always wear a man’s shirt.” He stroked the fabric.

  She laughed, surprising herself. “What if others see me do so?” She gestured to the horizon, sun spilling its first rays across the fields, groves, and forest.

  He swore. “We should have left the hut earlier.”

  They shouldn’t have stopped to enjoy each other. Rather than point out the obvious, she pulled the shirt over her breasts and settled properly on the saddle, surprised she hadn’t fallen off during their passion.

  She was doomed whenever they were close. He’d spoken of her having magical powers granted by the Devil. What of his? A woman had no hope of keeping her wits when faced with his seductive touch.

  With the horse at a gentle speed, he slipped his hand beneath her shirt once more, enjoying her breasts as though they were his to do with as he pleased.

  She had to stop this.

  He rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

  She released her weight into him. He eased the shirt from her neck and kissed her there, rewarding her carnal surrender.

  She trembled with delight and more than a bit of worry. “People can see.”

  “What people? No one else is on the road.”