The Promise (6 page)

He leaned into her, and she thought he would kiss her again. Instead—to her surprise—he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. His hand rose and fisted there for a moment, but he released her. She almost fell backward from the sudden loss of his strong arms encircling her.

Günter’s jaw clenched. Then the corner of his mouth lifted in a provocative smile. He made a loose fist with one hand and gave her chin a light tap.

“Fight me, then. Run, if you must. Hide—if you can. But you will not escape your fate.” He pinned her with the heat of his gaze.

“I am your fate,”
he vowed and, turning on his heel, walked out of the tent.

G
ÜNTER STOPPED JUST BEYOND THE TENT FLAP AND
took a steadying breath. He needed one, lest he turn around, march back into the tent, and show Alonsa just how much she already belonged to him.

He heard the “lovely flower,” as Martin had once called her, curse like a soldier and smash something breakable inside the tent. He shook his head in amused empathy and strode a few more paces away from temptation.

Frustration tugged at him, demanding he go to her, coax her to surrender to him and become his wife
now,
so that he could spend the rest of the day indulging his raging desire—and hers. However, the small amount of reason still left within him admitted such a plan would be unlikely to succeed, not to mention unseemly, given the timing.

They had only buried Martin today. Günter could wait. If it killed him, he would wait.

Nonetheless … she had a strong will. Almost as strong as his. He smiled to himself, despite his aggravation at her stubborn resistance. Martin had warned him she wouldn’t be had easily. Yet Günter did not doubt she
would
be had, and by him. Not by a nunnery, which had no use for her unrestrained passion, no need for her sweet skin and her hot mouth. He ground his teeth at the ridiculous notion of this woman bound to the Church, secluded and beyond his reach. He would be dead and his body cooling on the ground before he allowed it to happen.

Still, Alonsa would require careful handling. She was her own worst enemy. He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her; even so, she would be a worthy opponent. He would have to probe her defenses, find her weaknesses before she reinforced them. Then he would mount a sustained siege; a direct frontal assault, as it were.

He smiled in anticipation.

Günter stroked his chin and mused for a moment, plotting strategy in his mind. He heard a slight cough and looked about. He had been so involved in planning his sensual campaign that it took him a moment to realize where he still stood.

He spotted Inés and Fritz a few paces outside the tent, trying desperately to appear uninterested in what had transpired within. Inés pretended to cook, though her pots were empty, and Fritz stared up at the scattering clouds, seemingly fascinated with the weather. Though Günter did not know when Fritz had arrived, he realized Inés might have heard much of the conversation inside the tent. In a community made of fabric walls, private matters were camp business, and few secrets existed between friends.

Günter glanced at Fritz once more. The younger man had been dogging his heels for some time, determined to learn soldiering before the next mustering in. Günter had found the attention mostly annoying, but now he realized Fritz might serve a purpose. He whistled sharply, and Fritz came to him like an overeager pup. Free of his company, Inés darted inside the tent.

Günter crossed his arms over his chest and looked Fritz up and down. Fritz bore the perusal manfully, staring at Günter with unabashed admiration.

“Well, son, can you be trusted?” Günter asked after a long silence. He spoke softly so as not to alert either Inés or Alonsa within the tent.

Fritz stood taller and nodded.

“I can be trusted with your money, your life or—” Fritz’s eyes shot to the tent, “your woman.”

Günter smiled.

“That is a fair answer, Fritz, and in the proper order, too. Come, I have a task of great importance for you. If you are up to it,” he added in a voice implying he had his doubts. He did not. However, he always found it encouraged the recruits to work harder to impress him when he used that particular tone of voice.

Fritz glanced speculatively at the tent and puffed out his chest.

“I am, sir.”

Günter nodded.

“Good. And don’t call me ‘sir.’ I am a sergeant.
Sir
is for officers and noblemen.”

Fritz grimaced in apology. Günter walked away, knowing without a doubt that Fritz would follow him to the ends of the earth if he required it. The young man’s bloodhound qualities were about to make him very useful indeed.

Within the tent, Alonsa paced in an erratic circle, muttering under her breath, waving her hands about as she held a furious debate with herself.

How could she have allowed him to kiss her in such away, to handle her body so intimately? As if … as if she were already his! He must think her a complete wanton. A fool who thought only of the pleasures of the flesh. He had merely touched her, and she had fallen apart.

Oh, and how she had wanted his touch. It had felt so right, and yet it could not be more wrong. By allowing it, she had put him in mortal danger of his life.

She pivoted and charged in the opposite direction.

And he! How
dare
he take advantage of her weakness? Still, she could hardly blame him for his actions when she had practically attacked him after a mere kiss. Surely, he thought her a loose woman, waiting only for the next man to come along and take her at his will.

She wrung her hands together at the thought.

Part of her wanted to run after him and deny she had ever responded in such a way to any man, except, of course, the first. But the more sensible part knew chasing after him would be mere foolishness, and he would likely take her appearance as an invitation to lift her skirts once more. Her cheeks burned at the memory of his big hand on the back of her thigh, and she stomped around the tent once more.

Inés, after cleaning up the smashed bits of glass from the broken water bottle, stood quietly, arms crossed. Finally, she stepped into Alonsa’s path.

“Well?”

Alonsa stopped abruptly, annoyed at the interruption.

“Well, what?” she snapped.

Inés rolled her eyes. “Do you intend to accept his offer?”

“Of course not!” Alonsa gasped, horrified. “I could not even consider such a thing.”

Inés flapped her arms in frustration.

“In the name of the Holy Virgin—why not? He is employed. He wishes to wed. He is handsome. Big, too.” She cupped a handful of air. “All over. Did you notice that?” she added meaningfully.

Alonsa thought of the way he had pressed so intimately against her, and she felt her cheeks burn again.

“I noticed,” she muttered.

“Then what possible reason could you have to object to such a one?” Inés huffed. “I do not understand your way of thinking.” Then she stopped, paled.

“Oh, but of course … you mourn for Martin. Forgive me.”

Alonsa sighed and dropped her gaze.

“I wish it were due to as honorable a reason as that. No, I had no thought of Martin when I refused Günter’s offer.” She turned away, drawing her arms around her. “At least, not in the way you mean.”

“Then why?” Inés asked, clearly confused.

Why, indeed?

Alonsa longed to tell Inés the truth. She had no one else to confide in. Inés had become the nearest thing to a friend she had in the camp.

As a matter of discipline and for her own protection, after Alonsa’s husband had died, it became necessary for her to hire a companion to reside in her tent on a nightly basis until Martin could escort her back home to Toledo. It violated camp regulations for a decent woman to stay alone. Otherwise, some soldier might be tempted to mistake her for a whore, force his attentions on her, and have to walk the gauntlet as a result.

Therefore, Alonsa had asked Inés, who had served Martin before their betrothal, and who had to find a new master or leave the camp, to move in with her as a chaperone. Alonsa wearied of having to constantly speak the guttural German tongue, and being with someone who spoke her own more melodic language reminded her of the home she longed to see once more. In addition to assisting her, Inés hired out her laundry and cooking skills to the bachelor soldiers who had no woman in the baggage train.

Despite the differences in their stations, Inés and Alonsa had developed a grudging respect for one another. Each recognized in the other a core of steel few men knew could exist in such fragile form. Why not confide in her? Inés could be trusted to keep her counsel.

Alonsa took the other woman’s work-worn hands in her own.

She stared into Inés’ soft gray eyes. “I will tell you. But you must swear never to speak of it to anyone else.”

Inés arched an eyebrow at Alonsa’s urgency, but she did not blink.

“I swear it. Now, tell me what secret blinds you to the charms of the most handsome man in camp?”

Alonsa nodded, took a deep breath, and told the market woman the tragic tale of Miguel.

Sometime later, Inés sat next to Alonsa on her pallet, legs tucked under her skirts, completely involved in Alonsa’s recollections. The dark summer night of death so long ago seemed to linger in the crisp morning air. It took Inés a moment to realize Alonsa had ceased to speak.

“Dear God.” Inés took a deep breath and shook her head to clear it from the visions Alonsa had created. “What happened then? What did your father do?”

Alonsa clasped her hands together in front of her, the purple shadows under her eyes making her appear even more fragile than usual.

“That was the worst of it. I expected to be punished, to be whipped even, for my disobedience. I had tempted a man, driven him to madness, and caused his very death.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her small frame. “I deserved every justice Papa had the right to administer, but he did nothing. He just … looked at me with those sad and weary eyes and turned away. The next day, the gypsies were all gone. They had left in the night, Papa later told me. I think they knew. They never returned.”

“What of the man you were to wed?” Inés asked.

Alonsa let out a sigh.

“Two days later, my intended broke the betrothal. Perhaps there were rumors … I do not know. I know only I felt relieved. I was afraid … afraid to be touched, afraid to be loved by another. If this emotion could do what it did to Miguel, I wanted nothing more to do with it.”

“But it was ten years ago. You married eventually,” Inés pointed out.

“Twice.” Alonsa gave another longsuffering sigh.

“Twice?” Inés responded, intrigued.

Alonsa nodded. “Yes. When I neared twenty, Papa felt I had mourned my sins long enough. He did not believe in this curse, you understand. We had gone to the priest, and when I completed my penance, he forgave me for disobeying my father and blessed me. The priest said we should not fear the mad ravings of a dying lunatic, and to trust in God, not pagan curses. Papa seemed more than ready to accept his pronouncement.”

“And you?” Inés asked.

Alonsa’s gaze shifted. “I wished only to forget. After a time I did. At any rate, I had no other siblings, and Papa wanted grandsons to whom he could pass along his skills. He selected a nice young man for me from a neighboring township and allowed him to court me.”

Something about the emptiness of her voice made Inés think Alonsa would have chosen differently, if even at all.

“Did you have no wish to wed?”

Alonsa lifted a shoulder eloquently.

“It did not matter. I had no intentions of disobeying my father again, after the last time.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, I … liked Eduardo well enough. He was handsome and charming. What had happened to me with Miguel seemed so very long ago. Perhaps, I thought, all would be well.” She massaged her brow with one delicate finger. “But on the wedding night …”

Inés began to unwind the damp braid trailing down Alonsa’s back to her waist. “What happened on the wedding night?”

“I felt nothing at his caresses. I had thought when we were wed, when I was his wife in the eyes of God, it would be different, but …”