Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue
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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.
She strained to reach the buttons on the back of her gown, her fingers falling short no matter how hard she tried. Growling, she grabbed both sides, prepared to rip the garment from her.
The door to her chamber flew open.
She froze. So did Isabella.
Sancha leaned over to see if Enrique had accompanied her sister.
Isabella was alone. She closed the door and frowned at the peasant wear on Sancha’s bed. “What are you doing?”
“I need your help.” After lifting her hair, Sancha turned her back to her sister. “Unbutton me.”
“Why?”
“So I can remove my gown.”
“Why?”
Sancha stormed away. “Never mind.” She grabbed the back of her garment and tugged as hard as she could.
“Wait.” Isabella grabbed her wrists. “What did you do to your fingers?”
“I scraped them on a wall in a secret passage.”
“Why? What were you doing there?”
“Trying to find my way here.” She shook off Isabella’s hands and tugged on her gown once more.
Isabella clucked her tongue. “You ruin your hands and now you intend to rip your clothes to get them off?”
“I have no choice if you refuse to help me.” She spoke quietly. “A child lies wounded, possibly dying, in the village.”
“Wounded how?”
“Older children found a sword. While they were playing with the weapon, the little girl came too near and the tip slashed her leg. I need to go to her without delay.”
“Of course you do.” Isabella glanced at the other garments. “But dressed as a man?”
“I learned the trick from you. The deception served you well after your rescue when you traveled with Fernando.”
“Exactly. I was with him, not alone.”
“The girl’s uncles will accompany me. I have no time to discuss this. I must hurry.”
“Keep still so I can help.” Isabella’s fingers fairly flew over the buttons and laces.
With her sister’s assistance, Sancha pushed the gown, farthingale, kirtle, and chemise off. Naked, she padded to the servant’s clothing.
Isabella joined her. “Does Enrique know about this? Did you and he argue over your plans to help the little girl?”
“He knows nothing of her.” She pulled on the braies. “I learned of her worsening condition after I left his side.”
“Did you enjoy each other?”
Isabella’s expression was so hopeful, Sancha warned herself not to encourage any romantic dreams. However, she couldn’t be dishonest. “Far too much.”
“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands, stopping quickly. “Why did you two argue? I know you did. When Enrique came to me, he was quite concerned about you.”
“Did he say what we discussed?”
“No. He left to find you.”
Sancha stopped pulling up the hose. “Will he come here?”
“Not right away. He has no idea which room is yours. Tell me what happened.”
Too