The Promise (7 page)

She rocked gently on the pallet. “Even though he possessed my body, my heart felt as though it awaited another. He begged for my love, but I … I could not make such a thing happen against my will.”

Alonsa tugged absently at a lock of damp hair Inés had unbraided as she spoke.

“I promised to be a faithful and dutiful wife. I promised to obey him in all things.” She lifted a shoulder. “What more could I do? Still, he would become … angry. Frustrated when I did not respond as he felt I should. I feared he would become like Miguel.” She stared off into space, lost in her recollections.

Inés found a brush and began tugging out the tangles in Alonsa’s wavy tresses. “So,” she asked, “what happened then?”

Alonsa blinked, and quietly resumed her tale.

“We went on in this way for a while. He would leave for days on end, come home late at night, and sometimes he was … unkind when he took me.” She glanced at Inés. “He did not mean to be. He was just as miserable as I, I think.”

“You should not make excuses for such behavior,” Inés sputtered. “Unkindness in bed is sometimes even worse than a fist.”

Alonsa’s eyes widened and Inés saw a nearly imperceptible shudder pass over her. “Yes, I thought so, too. But I felt too ashamed to admit it.”

Inés rested a gentle hand on Alonsa’s shoulder.

“Is that why you refused to marry Günter? You fear the marriage bed? Because, if you do not mind me saying so, your desire for him a little while ago was quite … apparent. At least to me,” she added hastily when she saw Alonsa’s cheeks turn pink.

“To the entire camp, no doubt,” Alonsa murmured.

Inés smiled, and Alonsa, for the first time in days, smiled with her. Inés decided she liked the fact that this woman could laugh at her own folly, at least.

“No, it is definitely not an issue with Günter,” Alonsa admitted. “If it were not for you and your banging pots, who knows what might have happened here today?”

Inés sent her a woman-to-woman gaze. “I shall keep my pots silent if the opportunity arises again. However, I thought you might regret such a thing so soon after Martin’s burial. But how do these experiences relate to why you cannot marry Günter?”

“Let me finish my tale,” Alonsa begged. “You will understand soon enough.”

Inés nodded and returned to brushing Alonsa’s hair.

“Three months after we wed, a servant he had dismissed for thievery killed Eduardo.” Alonsa’s voice shook.

Inés’ hand flew to her mouth in shock. “When he loves, death will follow,” she whispered.

Alonsa nodded. “I could not disregard it. Not for the first time, the curse arose in my mind. I know in his way Eduardo loved me, though I never loved him. I asked myself, could it have been Miguel’s curse?”

Inés considered it as well. “Still, you say you married again.”

Alonsa hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin upon her knees like a young girl. Of the two, Inés felt older and wiser, though Alonsa preceded her by two years. “When I reached four-and-twenty, Papa arranged a marriage as a business alliance, nothing more.” Alonsa folded her legs beneath her. “Juan Carlos had many grown married sons already, several of whom had apprenticed with Papa. My father began making plans to leave one of this man’s younger sons the Toledo blade concern.”

Alonsa picked absently at the weave on the gray wool cloth covering her pallet. Inés stayed silent, listening with great interest.

“It … it went well, at first. Juan Carlos became like a second father to me. I told him my troubles, and he listened patiently. He taught me to play chess and to keep track of the receipts for the sales of my father’s blades. He took me on merchant trips and taught me to distinguish the quality of fine steel, how to match a blade to a man … everything Papa had never bothered to do because I was a woman.” She smiled faintly. “He even instructed me in the rudiments of sword fighting as a precaution, since I often traveled with him when he visited the yearly trade fairs and the military companies. He had a gentle soul. He was a good man.” She sniffed back tears.

“Did he also try to …” Inés probed delicately.

“Eventually, yes, though not as you might think.” Alonsa slid a sideways glance at Inés. “He … It was no longer possible for him to engage in marital relations,” she finally said.

Inés raised her eyebrows. “Ah.”

Alonsa stared down at the tips of her shoes poking out from beneath her hem. “Though otherwise healthy, and still handsome, he was older, no longer capable in that manner. Do you understand?”

“In other words, he could no longer raise the drawbridge?” Inés offered.

Alonsa almost smiled again. “Yes.”

“Then how …”

Alonsa shifted on her side of the pallet and blushed. She cleared her throat.

“He sensed my restlessness, I think. Certain … dreams disturbed my sleep. As a young woman, I still overflowed with the normal passions, yet remained unfulfilled. He could not bear for me to be unhappy.”

Alonsa looked quickly at Inés and then away. She lowered her voice, and Inés had to lean toward her to hear what came next.

“So one night, he offered to … to do certain things for me. He was, after all, my husband. I allowed it, for a time, and he came to love me not as the girl he had seen growing up before him, but as a woman. Still, no love existed in my heart for him. I felt guilty taking so much when I had nothing to give in return.”

“And the curse?” Inés asked.

“Several weeks later, bandits murdered Juan Carlos after we became separated from the military company.”

Inés sat up straight. She was no fool. She saw the same pattern Alonsa must have seen then.

“And that is how you met Martin.” This part of Alonsa’s story she knew.

Alonsa nodded.

“Yes. He saved my life, rescued me from those bandits before they could do any harm to me. On that day, I felt nothing but gratitude. I do not know what I would have done without him. All the men traveling with my husband were killed, but because of the profits involved, I had to represent my father’s blade concern until the merchant season ended. Martin understood my dilemma. When my father sent the letter of reward to the man who saw me safely through the season and home to my family, Martin offered his blade. Over time, he offered his name. I know he hoped for a healthy dowry so he might leave the mercenary life forever.”

Alonsa stretched out her fingers before her, stared at them as though she’d never seen them before. “I was still in mourning for my husband’s death when he offered for me. I became truly fearful for him. Two men who loved me had died, just as Miguel had predicted. Would Martin be the third? I asked myself.” She twisted her hands together in her lap. “I searched out the
Fähnlein’s
holy man, asked him what I should do.”

“And what did he say?” Inés placed her hand gently over Alonsa’s.

“He said that God would not allow a good Christian woman to be cursed in this way by a heathen. The fact that both of my husbands preceded me in death was simply God’s will. He said if I prayed about it, the Lord would protect me from Satan’s ploys.”

Inés snorted and said, “Did you believe his wise words of comfort?”

Alonsa nodded, guilt clouding her brow.

“I prayed for hours, for days on end before I finally said yes. I was … so lonely.” She glanced at Inés, pleading for understanding with her gaze. “Have you ever been so lonely you would do almost anything, believe almost anything, just to make the loneliness go away?”

“Yes,” Inés said softly, understanding as perhaps only another woman might.

“I let myself believe Martin would be safe because he did not love me. But now,” Alonsa went on, “he is dead, too, and I can no longer ignore the truth. Although there are things about his death I do not understand, the curse must be genuine.”

“What is it you do not understand?”

“Martin acted the gentleman throughout our entire courtship.” Alonsa bit her lip. “He treated me like a fragile flower. He never so much as kissed my lips. Not even once. I do not believe he loved me, and yet he is just as surely dead. It makes no sense.”

“Just because a man does not try to thrust his tongue down your throat does not mean he has no love for you,” Inés said hotly. “Martin was an honorable man. He would not have touched a woman he intended to wife before the wedding. He told me so himself the last time he bedded me—” Inés snapped her mouth shut.

Oh, Holy God, what have I done?

Alonsa gazed at her, a look of gentle understanding in her eyes.

“Inés, you knew Martin long before I did. I have known about you and him almost from the beginning. I decided some time ago if you did not mind that he chose me over you, how could I mind that he bedded you first?”

Inés stared back at her in astonishment. She’d had no idea. She cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject.

“About this so-called curse—if Martin did not love you, as you say, then shouldn’t he have lived?”

“I do not know.” Alonsa heaved a sigh. “Perhaps his death came merely as a coincidence of his profession. Perhaps not … but I am unwilling to risk Günter’s life on such a thin thread of hope.” She nibbled on her lower lip and slid Inés a shamefaced glance.

“He is too—” Alonsa waved a hand vaguely in the air. “If he kisses me that way again … surely love will follow.”

Inés raised an eyebrow at Alonsa’s innocence.

“For a twice-married woman, you know very little about men. Just because a man
does
thrust his tongue down your throat does not mean he loves you.”

Alonsa sighed. “I know, I know. Then why does he wish to marry me? For pity? Because he desires me? He could probably gain my favors easily enough, as he has so capably demonstrated. No doubt he could have the favors of half the women in this camp if he wished it.”

“Likely all,” Inés murmured and noted Alonsa’s sharp glance. That look clearly warned of dire consequences if Inés ever attempted to come near Günter in such a way.

Interesting. So she does not mind about Martin, but Günter is another matter.
Inés decided to keep her speculations to herself.

“If he wishes to marry you for love, and if the curse
is
real, do you fear Günter’s attentions will mark him as the next victim?” she asked.

Alonsa sighed again and nodded. “I cannot risk it.”

Inés stayed silent for a moment, contemplating. “Why do you not tell him the truth?”

“He would not believe me. They never do. It is like the ancient myth, the one of the woman Cassandra, who is cursed to prophesy the future but no one ever believes her.”

Inés blew out a breath.

“Alonsa, how
can
you believe in this nonsense?” Inés began re-braiding Alonsa’s hair. “Many women have lost more than one husband. There is a woman in this camp who has lost
seven
husbands, and yet she does not blame some pagan curse for it. If only in this case, I am inclined to agree with the holy men, fools though they can sometimes be.” Inés patted one last strand of hair into place. “I think it is coincidence. If you flee, you may actually be permitting the Devil to work more freely by denying God’s will in this matter.”

Alonsa turned to Inés and stared at her intently. “Whether you believe it or no, it is enough
I
believe it. You must help me to save him. You must help me to escape from this place before he knows I have gone.”

Inés stared at Alonsa, and wheels began to turn in her head. She would keep these thoughts to herself until she had a better chance to think them through. It would not do to give Alonsa false hope.

“Well, we will get nothing done today,” she said, fully intending to delay Alonsa from her flight. “The sun climbs high in the sky. If I do not make the meal ready, we will keep each other awake all night with our grumbling stomachs. Perhaps we can try tomorrow.” With that she rose.

Alonsa stopped her with a hand on her sleeve.

“Promise me you will not repeat this story to Günter. I am too ashamed about… Miguel.”

“I promise, I will not repeat this story to Günter.”

Relief flooded Alonsa’s face. Inés smiled serenely. Alonsa had yet to learn the many ways of making promises and still doing what one willed.

Flesh. Heat. Desire.

Günter moaned and tossed fitfully in his sleep.

The dream again. Only this time, he had reality with which to compare it to, with which to salt its flavor. Because he had kissed Alonsa, held her body against his, it made the dream more erotic, more intense.

He awoke—hard, aching, and groaning her name. He threw off the blanket and lay sweating and naked on his bedroll, battling fiercely to control his desire. As he struggled to bring himself under control, he thanked God he shared his tent with no other soldiers this night.

Though he wouldn’t be the first to have such a dream, and to be good-naturedly teased by the other men who occupied the tent, he could not bear to have Alonsa be the subject of such lewd jesting—or for himself to be thought of as pathetic by any man. For pathetic it was. If he reacted this way to a dream, how long would he last when he finally got her into bed?

He would get her there, he vowed. It was not a question of
if,
only
when.
Alonsa would become his wife. Yes, he had promised Martin, but it meant more to him now than just that. Somehow, once he wed her, once he stopped her “no’s” with kisses, he would manage a scrap of self-restraint with her in his bed. Long enough to make her dissolve into heated moans like the ones she had given him this morning.