Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue
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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.
Chapter 2
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