Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue
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about her daughter to answer him. Maria’s uncles sat on the floor, backs against the walls. Their heads repeatedly fell forward. They flinched each time and tried to stay awake.
Seeing no receptacle for rubbish, Sancha held out the sack she’d brought. “Use this.”
After dropping the napkins inside and washing his hands in the pot, he pulled a chair over and gestured to Maria’s mother. “You should rest.”
She regarded him gratefully, tears in her eyes.
Enrique placed his hand on the woman’s arm, guiding her to sit. “Maria will be fine.”
He brought the other chairs over and offered Sancha one. “You should also relax while you can. Maria may need you later.”
Sancha didn’t argue. Her shoulders and legs ached with tension even as weariness washed over her. After tending the ill, she always experienced crushing fatigue driven by her intense concentration over their maladies, coupled with worry that she wouldn’t succeed in keeping her charges alive and whole.
The moment she sank to the chair, Enrique grabbed two clean napkins and dampened one with vinegar.
She couldn’t imagine what he was doing and hoped he wasn’t planning to treat Maria.
He dropped to one knee in front of Sancha. “Give me your hand. Either one, as I intend to see to both.”
She buried her fingers in her homespun shirt. “My hands are fine.”
“You hurt them. How?”
She wasn’t about to say until he glanced at the table, its rough wood possibly the source of her injury. “Whilst I was at the castle collecting the items I needed for Maria, I moved too quickly and tripped. Not wanting to drop anything, I scraped my hands on the kitchen wall.”
He accepted her lie without challenge, taking great care in cleansing her fingers with the vinegar. At the first sting, she winced. He blew on the hurt, easing her pain.
Moved by his tender care, she curled her fingers around his.
After giving her a fast smile, he used his dagger to cut the other napkin into strips and wrapped the linen around the scrapes to protect them from further damage.
“You should take more care with yourself.” He knotted the last strip. “You know what an injury can do.”
Her hands weren’t her biggest concern. Her future was at stake, and yet she wanted him more with each passing minute. Already she’d allowed Enrique far too many liberties with their relationship. As she would a husband who had the right to follow her, remain here, and see to her physical comfort.
How pleasant she found his touch. He was a good man. Certainly chivalrous. But he wasn’t her destiny. People like Maria and others in this village were. They needed her more than he ever would. There were countless women who’d want him, giving him heirs.
Too few saw to the needs of the ill and poor.
“Gracias.” She eased her hands from him and gestured to his chair. “You should rest.”
With a sigh, he sat. “This evening has been long.”
She smiled. Given his stricken expression earlier, she was surprised he hadn’t swooned as the child had. Although the scene had disturbed him, he’d kept his peace, affording Sancha the same right to do what she wanted as he would a man.
Because no vows bound her to him. He had no right to demand anything. Yet he had helped. Wanting to reward him for his kindness, she left her chair.
He stood. “Where are you going?”
She pointed at the table.
He sank back to his chair, let out what sounded like a relieved sigh, but remained alert.
Perhaps she was too hard on him. She leaned down to Maria’s mother and kept as quiet as possible. “May I take a piece of your bread?”
“Of course. Let me get it for you.”
“Stay with your daughter.” She patted the woman’s thin shoulder and made certain to take a modest piece of the loaf.
Once seated, she offered the bread to Enrique. “Given how little you ate at the gathering, you might get hungry.”
His face lit up with such delight, she might as well have offered her heart rather than such meager sustenance. A thread of disquiet along with too much desire filled her. She warned herself not to let him believe he’d have what wasn’t possible.
He broke the bread in two, giving her the largest portion. “You barely ate either.”
His size, heat, and scent hadn’t allowed her an appetite, the same as now. She warned herself to refuse his offer.
His warm smile defeated her. In taking the bread, their fingers brushed. She came alive instantly, in a way she hadn’t before, her skin exquisitely sensitive to even the lightest touch, making her want more of whatever he could give. “Gracias.”
He didn’t seem to notice how her voice trembled. He ate his bread eagerly, like a man starved or one who’d never tasted anything better, marking this as one of the happiest moments of his life.
She’d never enjoyed an evening more.
They were losing control and Sancha wasn’t certain how to remedy the matter. She couldn’t ask him to leave when he’d been so kind and giving. Daunted, she nibbled her bread, unable to swallow a large bite.
“Would you like water?” He glanced around. “I can fetch some fresh.”
“You have no idea where the well is.”
“I can ask.”
“Or I could gather my own. Some for you too.”
“And leave your patient to do so?”
What was the matter with her, forgetting the child again? Maria still rested, eyes closed, breathing steady as her mamá stroked her hair. “I need nothing to drink.”
“As you wish. If I may say so, I believe you will make a magnificent mother.”
She grew hot, cold, then hot again. “What?”
Unfazed at how she’d blurted her question, he leaned close. “You knew what to say to Maria in order to calm her as much as circumstances allowed. You were kind yet strong, doing what you must. She trusted you.”
“She wanted her mamá.”
“Only because she had yet to spend enough time with you.”
Sancha might have laughed at his outrageous praise but couldn’t. Like most men, he had no idea how children felt or thought, forgetting the time he’d been small and helpless. “I could spend an eternity with the child and she would still prefer her mother, as I would mine. I miss her greatly and will never forgive myself for not being able to save her.”
He glanced away for a moment then faced her again. “Fernando told me what your uncle had done to your parents. He never mentioned you ministering to your mamá.”
She’d done everything possible to save her and had failed, the poison her uncle used unknown to her. There hadn’t been enough time to prepare and experiment with her own remedies. “Mamá succumbed so quickly, I barely had the chance to do anything.”
“How awful for you and your sisters.” He touched her fingers. “I am so sorry.”
Her throat tightened. She turned her hand to cup his, then stopped, worried he might misread her intentions. “No one was sorrier than I that my few skills were no match for Mamá’s illness. I may not be a man with all the knowledge the world offers, but I will do what I can and more. Never again will I lose a person I love.”
He stroked her thumb, then rested his hand on his thigh. “Where have you learned these things? Surely, someone other than those in