The Promise (22 page)

“Just for you,” he whispered to Günter, who nodded and sighed with satisfaction as he drank the beer and licked the foam from his lips.

In the soft candlelight, Inés and Fritz murmured together and gazed into each other’s eyes at one end of the table, and Alonsa began to wonder if they were aware of the presence of anyone else. She leaned toward Günter on the bench seat.

“Do you think it would be pointless to waste coin on separate rooms for them tonight?” she whispered.

His eyes twinkled. “Why, Alonsa, what a wicked mind you have. Knowing Fritz, they did not spend their last evening together the way we spent ours.” He paused. “Still, knowing Inés, the night is young, and who knows what it may bring for them … or us?”

His hand slid across the bare skin at the nape of her neck, smoothing the delicate flesh in a rhythmic motion with his thumb. He made a contented sound deep in his throat at the contact while his gaze moved over her. The mug he held in his other hand, apparently forgotten, paused halfway to his mouth, so absorbed was he in the act of caressing her.

She took a slow breath, and his hot gaze captured hers over the rim of his mug. She barely noticed how he had managed to avoid answering her question.

“Perhaps,” Inés murmured into Fritz’s ear, “we could pretend to be man and wife and share a bed again. I am feeling much better today.”

“Inés …” Fritz shook his head in warning, though his eyes were soft, not stern. “Do not tempt me. You know how I feel about this.”

“My lip heals nicely. I could kiss you for hours and do no damage.” She moved closer on the bench and brushed her breast against his arm in invitation. He jumped, and sweat broke out on his brow. “Just kiss, no more, of course,” she offered flirtatiously.

“Do not torment me! A man can only withstand so much.” He pulled at his collar and moved an arm’s length away. “Besides, if you had agreed to wed this morning, when we had the friar available to us, we would not have to pretend we are man and wife. It would be true.”

Inés pouted. “I did not wish to rush through such an important event. I want a betrothal feast. And a wedding crown and a pretty dress. I want my friends to be there to see the wonderful husband I have by my side.” She gazed up at him, hardly believing such an intelligent, kind young man would want to take her as his bride. “I want them to see your pride in me, and mine in you.”

He sighed. “But that will take time. I do not object to it, but …” His hungry gaze searched hers. “I do not know how to contain myself when I am with you.”

She smiled and snuggled next to him again.

“Then do not,” she murmured suggestively. “Let me do it.” She giggled at his shocked expression.

“Inés!” His eyes were wide with appalled interest. Then he blinked and frowned. “You are not worried that I will change my mind if we do not…”

“Enjoy each other’s favors?” she supplied.

He nodded.

She bit her lip and turned away, fiddling with the flagon of wine set before her. “Would you? If we had to wait, that is?”

“Nay!” He took her face gently in his hands and turned it toward him. “I am far too eager for that. My lady, I wish only to honor you by wedding you first. And besides …” This time he was the one to look away. “I will confess something to you, since you have confessed your worry to me.”

She moved closer and lowered her voice. “What is it?”

He swallowed hard. “Mayhap I wish to wed you first in case I do not meet your expectations in—in bed. I’ve no experience of those things. If we are wed, then you will still be mine even if it turns out that I bore you … in that way.”

She stared at him, openmouthed. The thought had never occurred to her. He wished to please her. He cared about it enough to fret over the possibility he might not!

He looked up at her and hastily looked away again, his face flushed.

This time she took his head in her hands and turned him to face her. “You are the only man who has ever truly loved me. You defend my honor by your very virtue. You value me and treat me as a lady, despite my past. These things alone make you the most exciting man I have ever met. If that were not enough, you are honest, handsome, and kind. I
want
to care for you, love you as no other woman has. There is no possibility that you could not please me. None at all.”

He blinked at her, and an expression of longing crossed his face. “Ah, Inés. I love you so much, my soul aches for you.”

She leaned her forehead against his.

“And I, you,” she whispered, sweet love spreading throughout her body. “And I, you.”

The hasty arrival of the innkeeper at the table disrupted their tender moment. Such a large man moving so quickly was indeed a sight to behold. Both she and Fritz watched as he hurried to Günter’s side.

Federigo smoothed back a lock of his thinning black hair from his forehead in a gesture of agitation before leaning down to speak to Günter, his hands clasped before him.

“Signore,
forgive me for disturbing you, but my servant tells me there is a gentleman at the front door who inquires about a man who looks very much like you, and of his beautiful companion.” He smiled worriedly at Alonsa. “My servant is paid very well to ignore such requests for information about our guests, but noblemen will have their way, will they not?” He punctuated the comment with a longsuffering sigh.

Günter straightened and slowly put down his mug. His gaze intense, he asked, “What did he look like?”

“The servant described him as very tall and very rich, in a nobleman’s cloak of black, lined with red.” The innkeeper fluttered his hands. “Do you know this man,
Signore?
Should I permit him to enter? It is a touchy business to deny such a one entrance if he wishes it, but for you …” He made an eloquent gesture that somehow managed to communicate both his desire for Günter to leave and his willingness to allow him to stay.

Günter was silent for a moment. He exchanged glances with Alonsa and then looked down the table at Fritz, as though he weighed his options. Finally, he rose.

“Tell him I’ll meet him. Outside. This pursuit has gone on long enough.”

Alonsa grasped his arm. “No! What if—what if he seeks to harm you?”

He glanced down at her, his features a cold mask.

“Then it is best I meet him on a field of my own choosing, is it not?”

Alonsa, frantic now, held onto his sleeve. “You cannot go!” She looked down the table at Inés first, then Fritz. “Tell him he cannot go.”

Inés realized she feared the curse had come to take Günter. Could it be true? So soon after they wed, danger reared its head. Could this be merely coincidence?

Günter sighed in exasperation. “Alonsa …”

Fritz stood. “I will go as well.”

Inés was proud of his courage. However, she had no more desire to see Fritz harmed than Alonsa did Günter.

“Perhaps it would be best if we pretended not to be here …” she began, but Günter interrupted her.

“Federigo,” he said, the finality in his voice speaking volumes, “give the gentleman my message.”

Federigo nodded and hastened off.

At Alonsa’s indrawn breath, Günter turned to her.

“Trust me,” he said softly. “All will be well.”

With those words, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. He glanced at Fritz, who seemed determined to accompany him, and shook his head.

“Stay here and watch over the women.”

Günter reached for his
Zweihänder
and a torch and strode from the room.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HE NOBLEMAN
—G
ÜNTER ACCOUNTED HIM TO BE
about five-and-twenty—awaited him just beyond the passageway leading to the inn. A few lit torches lined the stone passageway, throwing their light into the darkness and casting flickering shadows on the ground, revealing enough to determine it was indeed the same man from the tavern in Voghera. He had removed his black cape and now watched Günter’s approach with deep intent, his sword held at his side, though he did not threaten with it.

Günter placed the torch into an empty wall sconce, and then allowed his
Zweihänder
to balance freely on his shoulder while he scanned the area, noting the absence of the man’s servant. The damp ground was not the best, and the narrow passageway would make maneuvering with the
Zweihänder
difficult, but its longer reach gave him the advantage over the nobleman’s shorter blade. The servant might be hiding somewhere nearby, ready to stab Günter when his back was turned. Günter knew enough about battle to understand all men, noble and otherwise, liked to have the odds of surviving in their favor, and might arrange matters to their own advantage whenever possible.

Günter approached him slowly and stopped just out of sword reach. The other man watched him, his grey eyes filled with an emotion Günter could only describe as cold rage, the steel of his blade reflecting the glow of the torches. They measured one another for a time, neither willing, it seemed, to make the first move. Finally, the noble spoke.

“Who are you?” he asked. He spoke in French, his accent both educated and elegant, though his words were clipped.

Günter gave him a cold smile and answered in kind.

“You followed me, and yet you do not know who I am. Odd. Mayhap I had best have your name first.”

The man lifted one eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

Günter shrugged. “Nay. If you intend to do me or mine harm, you will be dead just the same.”

The man shifted his feet, and Günter raised his weapon. The noble held his ground.

“Where is your servant?” Günter asked. “Or is this to be a fair fight?”

“He had other matters to attend to. He will not interfere.” The noble’s jaw firmed. “This is between the two of us.”

Günter nodded; for some reason—his famous instinct, mayhap—he believed him.

“Why are you here?” Günter asked.

The Frenchman drew himself up. “I want answers.”

“Then ask the right questions,” Günter fired back.

The Frenchman’s gaze narrowed. “The carbuncle ring.”

Startled by the change in subject, Günter frowned. “What of it?”

“Where did your whore come by it?”

Günter went deadly still. “She is my wife. Take care how you speak of her, patrician.”

The noble moved his head in a gesture of irritation.
“Bien.
Your wife, then. Answer the question.”

For a moment, Günter considered telling him to go to hell, but his curiosity about the other man’s intentions drove him to answer truthfully.

“I gave it to her. To mark the occasion of our wedding.”

At this response, the Frenchman raised his sword.

“Then I challenge you,
Monsieur,
to a duel of honor. Defend yourself, or today I make your wife a widow.”

He moved quickly toward Günter.

The Frenchman was fast, but Günter was faster. He guarded and flanked the noble’s blade with his own, the sudden contact igniting sparks. He swung around, counterattacked with focused intensity, but the Frenchman dodged and spun away, anticipating his move. They faced each other, each man taking the other’s measure, trying to gauge the next attack.

Suddenly, the noble made a sloping parry and managed to get close enough to slice through Günter’s sleeve before he passed back. Günter ignored the stinging scratch on his arm and passed forward, making a straight cut for the head, but the other man reacted quickly and the two blades clashed perpendicular to one another, the clanging sound of steel reverberating loudly.

For a moment, they pushed against one another’s blades, their breathing harsh. Günter saw a flicker of admiration in the Frenchman’s gray eyes and understood. He had rarely met anyone to match his own abilities, and a part of him couldn’t help but respect the other man’s skill. Still, fighting in such close quarters would prove difficult. He needed open ground to maneuver before he could gain the upper hand. His gaze flicked over the other man’s shoulder, and he smiled at what he saw behind him. The nobleman’s eyes grew wide at his expression, and he frowned in concentration and pushed harder to free himself.

Günter thrust the man away with a grunt, and the fighting resumed. He allowed himself to be pushed toward the trees and away from the torches. For long minutes they fought, their blades clashing while they tested each other’s strength and commitment. At one point, Günter slipped on a patch of mud and stumbled, fumbling his sword. Rather than press his advantage, the Frenchman took a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes, giving Günter the precious seconds he needed to recover. He scrambled up, raising his sword just as the other man came in for the kill. The nobleman spun away in time to prevent Günter’s sword from hacking into his chest, and they resumed the fight. Their movements took them away from the inn to where the light from the torches shined weakest, but Günter had eyes like a cat. He went on the attack, his footing surer now, the swinging arc of his blade driving his opponent to the tree line where it was more difficult for him to maneuver with his back against the barks.

Günter did wonder why the Frenchman was trying to kill him, but he’d ask the question later, if he survived the contest. He decided to end the match quickly since he’d taken the man’s measure. He went down on one knee, briefly, his hand sinking into the drier dirt near the tree line, but he recovered quickly.