Wicked Whispers (3 page)

Unable to help himself, he eased into her, cupping her face.

Her lips parted. She leaned into him rather than pull away.

Surprised and delighted, he brushed his lips over hers, astounded at their silky heat. Her breath smelled sweetly of orange, her usual rose fragrance mingling with a hint of musk. Her excitement as a woman.

He eased his tongue inside her mouth and waited for her response, praying she wouldn’t move away at his bold move.

A soft, wanting sound poured from her. Sagged against him, she gripped his doublet and used his garment for support.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to him, his thickened shaft snug against her mound. She stilled for a moment, then suckled his tongue, her need of him obvious.

This was heaven, the only reason to be alive. These moments would change everything between them. He’d claim her and she would be his for a lifetime.

Dizzy with joy, he deepened the kiss, working his fingers past her dark green caul and through her hair, caressing tresses softer than fur.

She clutched him more tightly, her mouth wanton and willing beneath his.

Exactly how he’d hoped their first moments alone would be, though still falling short of what he had to have. He cupped her breast, testing its weight and warmth, savoring her nipple pebbled against his palm.

She froze.

He tempered his passion and caressed her more gently.

She tore her mouth from his and pulled away.

He’d frightened her. Fool. He should have known better and did now. Despite his arousal, he remained where he was and dropped his hand to his side.

Sancha breathed as roughly as he did. She touched her mouth still damp from his lips on hers. He expected her to turn and run.

She cupped his face and claimed his mouth, driving her tongue inside.

He suckled her greedily. She returned his kiss, both of them pushing against each other to get closer. Unable to, Enrique wanted to howl in frustration. She moaned softly then pulled away again. This time she put out a shaky hand even though he hadn’t moved.

He pulled in a deep breath. She stepped back again.

Before she could leave the balcony altogether, he stopped breathing. “Are you all right?”

“No. Enough of this.”

Those weren’t the words he wanted to hear, though he had expected something unpleasant. “Enough of what?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You kissing me.”

He risked a smile. “When I stopped, you moved back into my arms and began again without me having to ask.”

Her face went slack, gaze turned inward. “Is this what you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Our kissing and enjoying these moments? Not entirely.”

“What then?” Fingers laced, she struck the same pose his mother had when he’d misbehaved as a child.

This wasn’t how he’d envisioned the most important moments of his life. He’d imagined music playing, candles dancing in a gentle breeze, him holding her hands as she waited breathlessly for his words.

Sancha, like Isabella, needed to learn how women behaved around men, accepting that males ruled, females obeyed, and everything was as God, nature, and men had always demanded.

He lifted one eyebrow. “I would ask if you enjoyed our kiss, but I sense you did.”

She opened her mouth then closed it.

Just as well. He wouldn’t have accepted her denial. “Since you did enjoy our kiss and moved into me for another that I found even more delightful, I believe you and I were meant for each other. Much as Isabella and Fernando have found perfection in their union. Therefore, I want you to know I intend to woo, win, wed, and bed you.”

Her face turned white.

He would have expected that reaction if he’d threatened her with death, not everlasting love or a blissfully happy marriage.

She stepped back. “No.”

No? He crossed his arms. “Is it your habit to kiss men as though you have deep feelings for them, then say no to their offers of marriage?”

“Of course not. Only with you.”

“What?”

She wrung her hands. “You, señor, are the first and the last man I ever intend to kiss.”

How comforting, at least when it came to her not wanting to be with another man. “Then what part of my offer are you saying no to?”

“All of it.”

He stiffened. “Why? I know you find Fernando repulsive. Are you saying I am too?”

“Never.” Her gesture took in his entire length. “I have never seen a more glorious man.”

He puffed up with pride and offered his sweetest smile. “You are unbelievably lovely.”

She stepped back.

Unable to help himself, he approached.

She lifted her hand to stop him. “Señor Don Enrique—”

“Enough of such formality. We kissed. Call me by my Christian name or not at all.”

She squared her shoulders. “Very well, Enrique. No matter what happened between us a few moments ago, I have no intention of wedding you or any man.”

He didn’t believe her for a minute. “Then why did you agree to come out here with me?”

“I suspected what you wanted to talk about and decided to tell you my feelings on the matter.”

Not while they’d been kissing, she hadn’t. “You intend to enter the order and stay at the convent forever? An odd choice for a woman who enjoys a man as you did me.”

Her throat flushed, the rosy tint matching her cheeks. “I have no intention of joining the order.”

“What then? You plan to remain independent?”

“Sí.”

“Why?” A woman without a man to protect and guide her or the church to lead her through life was unnatural, unheard of.

She straightened even more than before. “For the same reasons you have yet to wed.”

“Me? I was waiting to meet you. Now I have. Who are you waiting for?”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “No one.” She dropped her hand. “Tell me, do you enjoy your days with no one telling you what to do or how to behave?”

“You make my life sound as though I have no duties whatsoever. I have countless obligations to the estate, my servants, the peasants, and more. I hardly spend my time doing precisely what I want.”

“I never said you did. However, if you wished to study a subject, who would stop you? If you wanted to travel to a foreign land, would you need to take a chaperone? If you wished to run through the fields at night, would anyone dare tell you not to?”

“They might question my sanity for running through fields in the dark.”

“You make light of this, but you know what I mean.”

Enrique did. He held up his hands in surrender but did approach so they could speak softly, lest anyone was on the grounds below or inside the room with an ear to the door. “Does this concern your healing?”

She turned away.

“Sancha.” He hesitated, his hands hovering before he risked resting them on her upper arms.

She tensed.

He stroked her gently until she relaxed. “If you want to heal, you can do so with me and our children, keeping us in good health.”

She pulled away. “Only if you allow me to do so.”

“Why would I stop you? You saved Fernando. You were magnificent.”

“What if I wanted to save others?”

“My brothers, sister, and father? Your sisters?”

“Anyone who needed my—”

“No. Absolutely not. You know the Church targets women healers as witches. For you to expose yourself in such a way would put your freedom and life at risk.”

“Both are mine to give, not yours. Unless you intend to tell the inquisitors what I do.”

“You know I would never betray you. How dare you suggest otherwise.”

Her frown hung on for a moment and then she slumped. “Forgive me. I never meant to wound you.”

Of course, she hadn’t. He’d never had any doubt yet had spoken so foolishly, railing at her when she needed comfort. He opened his arms. “Sancha.”

She regarded him longingly, but finally backed away on a quiet sigh. “I need to do what I must. You need to find a woman who can give her all to you.
Adiós
, Enrique.”

“Sancha!”

She flung open the doors, dashed through the room, and disappeared into the shadows.

Certain he’d catch up, he tore after her, but when he reached the hall, all six passages were inexplicably empty.

Sancha climbed the steps in the secret passage she’d found out about earlier, thanks to her sister. Isabella said she and Fernando played games where she’d run and hide with him chasing and trying to find her. Once he had…Sancha had stopped listening at that point, trying not to groan or laugh at how silly her sister and Fernando behaved.

No different than her.

She’d been a fool to have met with Enrique. Running had been her only recourse, taking her here. Blindly, she negotiated each step in the dark, hoping he wouldn’t hear her shoes tapping the stone, her rasping breaths.

She groped the wall on both sides to steady herself. Her hand slid into a depression on the left, fingers hitting nothing suddenly, that part of the wall gone. Shocked, she snatched back her hand, twisted, and nearly lost her footing. Clinging to the other side, she inched up the steps. Upon reaching the landing, she looked over into blackness. No one had opened the hidden door below, letting the light from a candle or lamp spill inside.

For the moment, she remained undetected and alone.

Always alone.

She slumped against the wall, its surface rough beneath her palms, the scent faintly stale.

Without wanting to, she recalled Enrique’s clean fragrance. His freshly shaved cheeks had been smooth and hot beneath her fingers, breath sweet, mouth searching. His body hard and strong.

No. She shouldn’t dwell on her memories of him and pushed them away.

The images returned, swift and sure, tempting her beyond reason. His broad shoulders beneath his dark blue robe and doublet, his sinewy thighs and calves clad in hose of a black-and-white striped design. He’d towered over her, his height imposing but never dangerous.

She’d been comfortable with him, wanting more of the man he was. Despite his obvious strength, he’d treated her with respect and gentleness, his male beauty impossible to resist. She’d longed to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair, the locks tumbling over his forehead and curling around his ears. His white forelock had mesmerized, begging for her touch, the same as his mouth.

While they’d been together, she’d kept thinking about stroking his bottom lip, damp from their kiss. In the moonlight, his eyes had seemed quite pale in contrast to his dark brows and tawny complexion. He was a magnificent man whose heat and strength had undone her too easily.

Even before agreeing to meet with him, she’d understood the folly of her actions, yet had persisted. Telling herself she would only speak with him, explain how his pursuit was hopeless and she’d never be his.

She’d forgotten her firm speech the moment she’d seen him on the balcony, his smile promising wanton delights and protection against the ills of the world.

She huddled closer to the wall, curling her fingers into fists, not caring how the gritty stone scraped her skin. The ache in her soul was far worse for desiring a man she would never have. Surrendering to Enrique would bring her carnal pleasure, an end to her terrible loneliness, and a lifetime of duty where she needed permission to indulge in whatever interested her. Tradition would reduce her to a childlike state again, where she’d have to wait for a man, a husband, Enrique, to make a decision on her life that met with his desires first, without considering her needs.

Never.

She beat her fists against the wall, frustration and sorrow battling within her. Resolve won. Refusing to weep, she brushed tears away and held her breath before she opened the door.

The hall was empty and shadowed, the candles in this part of the castle, where the servants resided, spaced far apart. Recalling the route back to her chamber, she hurried down the corridor and jerked to a stop before she ran into a maid.

The young girl jumped back, eyes rounded. “Forgive me for nearly harming you, Señorita Doña Lopéz de Lara.” She took Sancha in and gasped. “Your fingers.”

Blood ran down them from when she’d hit the passage wall.

The girl stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

“I am.” She hurried past.

“Wait, please,” the girl called. “I was coming for you. I just left the dining hall, thinking you were there.”

Uneasy, Sancha turned, worried Enrique had asked the servant to search for her once he realized she hadn’t returned to the celebration. “Who asked you to fetch me?”

“Juanita.” She joined Sancha and scanned the hall in both directions. Although they were alone, the girl huddled close. “She has news of her niece. The child has taken a turn for the worse.”

Sancha pressed her hand to her throat. She’d spoken to Juanita earlier on the matter. “Has she arranged for my travel to the village?”

“Sí. The child’s uncles will accompany you. Forgive them for bringing a mule for you to ride. They lack the funds to own a horse.”

“A mule is fine. Fetch me a male servant’s clothing. Not what he wears during his duties here but his personal garments. Shirt, braies, hose, hat, and ankle boots. Clothing close to my size.”

The girl’s plain face slackened in apparent bewilderment.

“Go and do as I say.” Sancha gestured to get her moving. “Return here.”

She nodded and bolted down the hall.

Sancha paced as she waited. Every sound made her flinch. Repeatedly, she peered down the hall to see if Enrique approached.

He did not.

At last, the girl returned, arms wrapped around the garments.

Sancha took them. “Tell the men to wait for me in the olive grove.”

The girl ran in one direction, Sancha the other, the journey to her chamber longer than she’d hoped. There were so many passages here, too many halls and rooms.

Once inside her own, she sagged against the door to catch her breath but didn’t allow herself more than a moment. After dropping the clothing on the bed, she frowned at her silk gown. The garment had no end of buttons she might not be able to reach, the farthingale and kirtle each bore laces that were difficult to undo on her own.