Wicked Whispers (7 page)

“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.

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.”

“Ahead, at the castle.” She lifted her hand to show him what she meant. He was so busy nuzzling her neck, he couldn’t have noticed. Again, she drove her fingers through his hair, anchoring him to her.

Several moments passed before he lifted his face from her neck and rested his chin on her shoulder instead.

She smiled at the weight of his head, liking it.

“Who would be up at dawn when they drank and feasted throughout the night?” Before she could answer, he ran his tongue over her lobe, tickling her.

She giggled. “Stop it.”

“Why?”

This was so wrong. She twisted around to tell him. Something moved in the corner of her eye. Facing the castle, she squinted, trying to see the balconies more clearly from this distance. They appeared empty now but she could have sworn someone had been on the one to the left, watching her and Enrique before moving away.

He tightened his arm around her waist. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Should I stop kissing you?”

The fact they weren’t betrothed or wed and would never be came to mind, though Sancha wasn’t about to get into such a discussion now. “I saw someone.”

Enrique pulled his hand from beneath her shirt. “Who?”

“Isabella?”

He leaned over her shoulder to see her face. “You seem uncertain.”

“She moved before I could see her clearly. Who else would be up worrying about our return?”

“From what I can see, your sister’s only worry is our never being together.”

She chose to ignore his comment. “We need to get inside before full light.”

On a loud sigh, he prodded his horse to a faster pace.

The stable boy and house servants pretended not to notice her odd attire. They bowed graciously, kept their tongues, and continued with their duties.

Knowing the castle design, she avoided any possible crowds by darting toward a back stairway that led to her bedchamber. Halfway down the hall, Enrique grabbed her hand.

She looked over. “What?”

“Show me your books.”

“Now?”

“I want to see them.”

Male and female voices drifted from another hall. Not wanting to find out if they belonged to servants or guests, she hurried down the corridor, gesturing for Enrique to follow.

She stopped at a hidden door. Colorful mosaics matched the rest of the wall, concealing this entrance, the same as the one she’d fled through last night. Before she pressed the seam to open the door, she removed two candles from their holders, lit the wicks, and handed the spare to Enrique.

The scant light turned the darkness a dismal brown as they descended a stairway cut into the earth. Here, packed dirt pressed close, smelling dank, cooling the air.

At the bottom of the steps, she pointed. “This way.”

He grabbed her hand, mindful of the linen strips he’d wrapped around her fingers. “Take care not to hurt yourself again.”

His concern was so genuine and unnecessary, she wanted to throw her arms around him, giving her all.

She nodded instead, leading him through a narrow passageway, the oppressive quiet broken by skittering sounds. Mice she had yet to catch. The creatures had served her well in the past, even though Isabella found any vermin appalling.

She’d argued against Sancha using this space for her books, thinking it too grim. Nonsense. The area was perfect, hidden from prying eyes. Even if something happened to her, the volumes would always be safe.

She stopped in a surprisingly large room, guessing the Moor who’d owned this castle had kept prisoners here. Rusted chairs rested on the floor. Bolts studded the walls at intervals sufficiently high to hold a man’s arms above his head, low enough to shackle his feet.

Enrique bypassed those items, stopping at the lone chair and long table, her volumes stacked on top. She had so many the wood was no longer visible beneath her books.

He put his candle in a holder, picked up the first volume, and turned page after page, his handsome features slackening with shock. “This is in Arabic.”

“Some are in Latin. I can read both languages.”

“This volume is on Islamic medicine.”

She put her candle into a holder. “All of them are.”

He stared as if seeing her for the first time with the image not pleasing him. “This is heresy.”

Her spirits fell. Although she hadn’t expected him to understand fully or to grin in delight, she didn’t want him to be so intolerant.

She joined him and stroked her books as she would a beloved child. “This is knowledge.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Sancha, listen to me. What you have here are from Spain’s enemies.”

“No.” She pushed his hands off her. “Physicians penned these books centuries before our birth. How can they threaten you, me, or anyone else in this country?”

“I concede those men pose no menace now. However, their ancestors did and the generations that follow still do.”

“Then hate them, not those who wrote the books. What they discovered is beyond compare and saved Fernando’s life, arm, and leg. When his wounds infected, I learned how to treat them as I had Maria’s in order to save both of them. Not because of Spain’s physicians, the Church, religion, or custom. Because of Zakariya Razi. Rhazes to those who honor him.”

She gestured to the great man’s book. “Reading his work opened my eyes to so many possibilities. Men need not go lame, blind, or die needlessly if someone knows how to treat them. Rhazes’s people established medicine far surpassing what we know. A famous tale relates how he determined where to build a hospital for the community. He had meat hung in various locations around Baghdad. The spot where the carcasses rotted the least was the one he chose, because he knew what caused illness.”

She circled the table and lifted a cage with mice inside. Three fat ones eyed her, noses twitching. “I experiment on these creatures wherever I am, testing what my books claim. Thus far, all holds true. The potions and treatments these men discovered centuries ago help us now. How can that be wrong? Would you have preferred I let Fernando die?”

“Of course not.” He threw up his hands. “But this…”

“This is the future. Spain may keep its people from knowing anything so miraculous but the rest of the world will never stand still. They will move forward as we mire ourselves in unending battles and for what? A piece of land? A castle? What about people? Do they have no value except for your family?”

He frowned. “You matter.”

“Then try to understand why I do what I must. How important this is to me.”

“I can see that. You rage like a madwoman.”

“Perhaps I am.” She turned away. “You should leave.”

“Without you? Never.”

She crossed to the other side of the room before he could reach her. “You have no claim on me.”

“Not yet.”

Frowning, she looked over.

“Study what you want.” He made a sweeping gesture to take in all her books. “Experiment on whatever creature appeals to you. Heal when you will.”

Surprised at his comment, she softened her stance. “Truly? You believe in what I do?”

“You give me no choice, and I give you none. From this moment forward whenever and wherever you heal, I intend to accompany you as your protector.”

She stepped back.

Didn’t matter. No distance would keep her from him. He was resolute in what he required, no different from Sancha with her needs.

“No.” She fisted her fingers but stopped quickly at the scrapes on her skin, pain tightening her features.

“Are you all right?”

“No.” She planted her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.

What light there was sparkled in her eyes. They appeared ghostlike, belonging to an apparition rather than the angel he first thought upon seeing her at the celebration. In either case, she was breathtaking. “You said no twice. What was the first one for?”

“Everything. You have no right to make demands of me.”

“I have every right and reason.”

She advanced a step, her frown hard. “Because of a few kisses?”

“Hardly, though I enjoyed each, the same as you. Never deny your response. I. Was. There. I saw and felt your passion.”

She glanced to the side, chest heaving with her rough breaths.

Even though the light was dim, it revealed her deepening color. Whether her blush resulted from anger, arousal, or both, he wasn’t certain. At least she wasn’t indifferent to him. As far as he was concerned, she’d always be a part of his blood, heart, the fabric of his being. Her secret had simply bound him to her even more.

Fernando had told Enrique how learned she was. He hadn’t guessed her knowledge was so great. Most women would have despaired at learning Arabic, the writing symbols rather than words. For Sancha to have taught herself treatments and potions, then to have experimented on mice to test her theories was more than he could comprehend.

He’d always considered himself a scholarly man, having had no choice except to learn everything he could as the firstborn son. He’d worked hard and had excelled. Only science had proved challenging to him. From the little he’d read, the subjects in her books were unbelievably complicated. Yet, she’d mastered them. Given what she’d accomplished tonight and had said earlier, she seemed to absorb knowledge effortlessly, possibly making her more learned than him.