The Promise (13 page)

Inés squeezed her eyes tight and tried to push the yearning from her heart.

“Ha!” She could think of nothing else to say.

Marriage to him? A sweet dream beyond her reach. They were like two coins, the two of them. He, new and freshly minted, still shiny from the smelter’s cast. She, worn and scratched, a coin that had been in the pockets of too many men. He would expect too much from her—to be innocent, to be honorable—and she had nothing of value left to give.

Even her beauty, which men both praised her for and lied to her to use, had begun to fade. Around her eyes, fine lines appeared; her hands, though sturdy and capable, were worn, not soft like the
Señora’s.
Her body, strong and lean from years of hard labor, held none of the soft curves and fine pale skin young men seemed to adore.

Her only vanity was her shoulder-length, ginger-brown hair which, when it was not coiled or braided at her nape, hung thick and wavy and gleamed with good health. She brushed it with one hundred strokes of a horsehair brush every night.

“Such a pretty color,” he murmured.

Inés opened her eyes and looked up at the dazzling night sky, grateful for the change of subject. She blinked away the tears clouding her vision and nodded her agreement.

“Sí.”
The stars never ceased to amaze her. They swirled like so many pearls scattered across black velvet, crowding and bunching in delicate patterns that somehow sailors used to find their way home.

She felt Fritz lightly touch her hair.

“It is like … when the leaves change in the autumn and the whole forest is a red and brown tapestry laced with golden thread.”

Inés turned to see him admiring her hair, not the sky. She battled fiercely the spurt of pride flaring within her and pulled away.

She laughed at him, cruelly, to smother her own response. “Why do you say such things to me? Are you a fool?”

Fritz lowered his hand and shrugged. “If what I feel for you makes me a fool, then I will gladly wear the jester’s cap. I am not afraid of your laughter. I am happy to see you smile, no matter what the cause.”

Inés’ heart fluttered in her breast, and she pressed a hand over it to make it stop.

He bit his lip as though he gathered his courage about him. Clearing his throat, he asked, “May I… may I kiss you, my lady? On the hand?”

She blinked. “I am no more a lady than you are a knight. Besides, what is wrong with my lips?”

Fritz looked both startled and pleased. He leaned forward eagerly. “May I?”

She scooted away. “Certainly not. I only wondered what was wrong with my lips that made you wish to forsake them for my hand.”

He smiled and sat back.

“To kiss a lady on the hand is to pay homage to her beauty, and to show her the proper courtly respect.” He recited the words as though he recalled them from a book. “When a lady allows it, she is granting the gentleman a special favor. When a gentleman asks for a lady’s hand to kiss, it is an important step in their courtship ritual.”

He shifted his legs beside her and managed to bring himself even closer. “I would normally make my suit to your father first—”

“If you find him, you will have to introduce us, since I have never met him myself.” She watched his eyebrows shoot skyward, but he pressed on.

“Since he is not here, I am instead making my suit directly to you.”

She shook her head again. “Why would I wed you? I am going home with the
Señora
to take employment, not to become some man’s slave.”

“Is that what you think marriage is? Servitude?” The contours of her ear seemed to fascinate him. He stroked one with a long finger.

She all but jumped out of her skin before she stopped herself and swatted his hand away.

“Stop that.
And, in answer to your question, yes. I have served men long enough to know when it is time to serve myself.”

“When we marry, it will be
I
who serves
you.”
He frowned. “You should wear your hair down,” he pronounced. “Your ears are far too tempting for other men to see.”

She allowed her eyebrows to dip into a scowl.

“Listen to him,” she said to the stars. “Not even married yet and already he tries to tell me what to do.”

He grinned. “You said ‘yet.’ Does that mean you agree?”

She sputtered. “Of course not!”

He studied her for a long moment, and then boldly reached behind her and pulled a hairpin from the coiled hair at her nape. She gasped in surprise as it came loose. He pulled another, spilling the heavy mass over her shoulders.

“Stop that
!
”
She seemed to be repeating herself. She tried to seize the pins from him, but he pocketed them.

“You do not need them. Or that ugly head scarf, either, which you wear for a reason I am sure only other women must understand.”

She crossed her arms and huffed at him.

“I wear it because it is the custom. Only maidens wear their hair unbound in public.” She stared hard at him. “I am no maiden. I have not been one since … well, for far too long. Do you understand me when I speak of such things?”

He thought for a moment and then nodded.

“You are saying I will not be the first.”

She nearly choked. “I have not yet said you will be
any
number!”

“There is that word again.” His expression was just a bit smug. “However—and forgive me for speaking so plainly, but I can see it is necessary—I
will
be your last.”

Inés gaped at him, astounded to her core. Finally, she rolled her eyes and flung her hands up in disgust.

“You have been taking lessons from Günter, I see.”

She stood up with as much dignity as she could manage, though her heart pounded inside her chest like a drum. “I will go stir the soup. If you wish it to be cooked, you will gather more firewood before the remainder has burned out.”

She turned away, but he caught her hand and stared up at her, his gaze questioning.

She looked down at him and sighed.

“Oh, very well,” she said irritably, and allowed him to draw her hand to his mouth.

He pressed a soft, warm kiss just below the knuckle of her middle finger, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and stood up with a ridiculously pleased smile.

“I will go gather the wood.” He strode off, whistling a lighthearted tune.

Inés started to shake her head again, then stopped herself. She touched her hand where it still tingled from his kiss, and pressed it against her lips.

How could she be expected to resist someone whose devotion seemed so simple, yet so utterly sincere?

“Foolishness,” she sighed, and went to stir the soup.

It was the kiss of Günter’s dreams. Better, in fact. Alonsa had relaxed into it after only a few moments of persuasion and now returned his eager exploration of her mouth and her body with a passionate embrace of her own. Her arms curved around his neck, her hips pressed into his, and her sweet lips tried to taste every part of his face she could reach.

He nearly laughed from the pure pleasure of it. He knew then what he had suspected after their first kiss: Alonsa, once given, would hold nothing back. The possibilities dazzled him, and he lifted her high in a joyous embrace, whirling her around in sheer delight.

Mine. Now. Forever.

She squealed and gripped his shoulders, her eyes round with surprise.

“Günter! Let me go!”

He stared up at her, his pulse dancing a mad rhythm in his veins.

“Never,”
he growled, and brought her down for another kiss, covering her mouth hungrily with his own.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and let her slide over him as he lowered her slowly to the ground. Their bodies rubbed against each other, the sweet friction both easing and spreading the flames within. He heard the pleasured sigh from deep inside her, and answered it with one of his own.

“Never,” Günter repeated against her mouth.

He delved in, the rhythm in his veins mimicked by his tongue tangling with hers while he probed and stroked the inside of her soft mouth. He groaned, nearly driven mad by her taste. He knew he should stop himself before he no longer could. He knew it. Instead, he kissed her more deeply, bending her over his arm and molding her hips to his.

She dragged her fingers through his hair, twisted her body against his in frustration. He wrapped a handful of her silky dark mane around his fingers and slid it with his open palm over the sensitive skin just below her collarbone. He followed its path with his mouth. She gasped and pressed her hips even harder into his. The gesture sent an unmistakable message straight to his loins, and he groaned again. He sought her lips and she opened to him, nearly frantic in her haste to kiss him.

A part of him wanted to satisfy her, here and now, yet even he knew it was neither the time nor the place for it. With a woman like Alonsa in his arms, a man wanted to go slow and fast all at the same time … to have her stretched beneath him for hours and yet have the thing done quickly so he could do it all over again.

He needed to regain some measure of control. He gripped her head in his hands, broke the kiss, and pulled back just a little, staring down into her passion-glazed eyes.

He took a deep breath. “I am beginning to be grateful we did not wait to marry in Wittenberg. I do not think I would have survived the weeks before I could bed you.”

She grew very still. The smoky haze of her eyes cleared slowly, as though she came out of a trance.
“What?”

Unease drifted through him at the stunned expression on her face, but he went on. “Without special permission from the Wittenberg Marriage Council, we’d have to wait for the banns to be read, but here any friar will marry us if we cross his palm with enough guilders. There is something to be said for the decadence of the Catholic Church, I suppose.”

Alonsa licked her lips, which were still red and swollen from his kisses. He noted the gesture with a touch of desperation and distracted himself by reminding himself to shave at the first opportunity. He ran a hand over his beard. Though it was soft, it must have rasped her delicate skin.

“I promise I’ll remove this before our wedding night. I plan to kiss you thoroughly in … a number of places, and I’d hate to chafe you raw.”

She blanched and pulled away from him, and would have fled from him altogether if he had not grasped her arms in an attempt to keep her near.

“Wedding night?” Her brows drew together as though she were in pain. Her full lower lip quivered, her next words forced from her lips. “Günter, how can we have a wedding night when we cannot have a wedding?”

His happiness shattered, replaced by a stab of distress so strong it made him grip her arms harder.

“I told you. We are getting married. I thought
this
—” his look encompassed her trembling body, her reddened lips, “was your way of telling me you had finally agreed.”

She shook her head. Her hair drifted over his hands, caressing them as if in silent sympathy. Sadness clouded her eyes instead of passion.

“Nothing has changed. I cannot wed you. I thought you understood that.”

She looked down at his hands still gripping her slender arms, and then back up at him. “Please release me.” She spoke softly, but he heard the firm resolve in her voice.

He hauled her against him, bent down to kiss her once more. She turned her head away.

“Nay,” he rasped. “You cannot deny me. You
belong
to me.”

She simply gazed at him, her steady resolve reflected in the black gems of her eyes.

Panic made his voice harsh. He shook her slightly. “Dammit, woman, don’t look at me that way.”

She winced. “Günter, you are hurting me.”

He released her at once and stepped back, struggling to bring himself under control. What had he been thinking? Of course, it wouldn’t be so easy. Nothing he truly wanted ever came easy. Precious little though he had, he’d worked hard for every bit of it. Why should she be any different, just because of one earth-shattering, life-changing kiss?

He felt like a fool. Again. “Forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you. I … it will not happen again.”

She stood before him and nodded her head once as she ran her hands over her arms. She lowered her eyes, but not before he saw the glitter of tears in them.

He lifted her chin, alarmed. “Did I truly hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, and turned away from him.

He had never felt so confused in his life.

“What is it, then? Why do you cry?” When she remained silent, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “If you do not want me, why do you respond to me the way you do?” He held his hand out to her in a wordless plea. “What is it you expect from me, Alonsa? Tell me.”

Still she said nothing, simply shaking her head. He moved to her side, tried to embrace her small, unyielding frame. She wouldn’t allow it. So different from a few moments ago … a lifetime ago.

He caressed her hair, her cheek. He leaned his head against hers and spoke softly.

“Tell me, so I can make it all better. So I can give you what you want.”