The Promise (14 page)

Her voice came out in a choked cry. “I
cannot
have what I want! Oh, leave me be. Please!” She leaned against the nearest tree and sobbed as though her heart would break. The sound of her weeping echoed in the night, borne by the approaching mist across the forest floor.

Günter stood helpless, unsure of what to do. She had feelings for him. He’d be blind not to see it. Still, she denied him repeatedly, even tried to flee from him. There had to be a reason she wouldn’t marry him, even though she so obviously wanted him.

He clenched his jaw.
Enough, by God.
He would find out what disturbed her if it was the last thing he ever did. He waited for the storm of her tears to abate before he spoke again.

“Alonsa.” He touched her shoulder. She turned, and even in the moonlit dark, he saw the misery on her face. “This must end. We will go no farther with this journey until I know why you refuse to marry me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and he stilled her with a finger over her lips. “Nay. The truth. All of it.”

She sniffled and ran a hand over her wet face. “You will not believe me.”

“It matters not. Take the chance. It cannot be any worse than this torment you are putting us both through.”

She shook her head. “You will laugh at me.” And then softer, so that he almost did not hear, “Or hate me.” She stared at the ground.

He smiled faintly. “Not possible. I think you already know that.” He saw the debate going on inside of her. “Tell me, or you will not see Genoa this week.”

She drew her sleeve across her cheeks to wipe them dry and swung away from him. Twisting her hands together, she paced in silent circles for a time. Günter waited, determined to have the truth.

Finally, she turned to him. “I’ll tell you everything, but when I am finished, you must swear to take me on to Genoa.”

“Nay.” Günter shook his head. “No more promises until I know what I am dealing with.”

She tilted her head in confusion. “No more promises?”

He avoided her curious gaze. “We’ll talk about that later.” He leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, prepared to wait the night out if needed. “Your story first.”

Alonsa sighed. “Very well.”

Her words came slowly and haltingly at first, and then more rapidly as she told him of the Gypsy Miguel, of a curse, and of the men who had loved her and died. When she spoke of Martin, however, her words faltered.

She hung her head. “I blame myself for his death. I was selfish. I should have known better. I should have protected him. But I thought he was safe.”

“Why?” Günter did not believe a word about this ridiculous curse, but it would help him to understand her reasoning.

“He did not love me. That alone should have protected him from it.”

“He did, you know.” Günter said it without thinking of the consequences, which he realized as soon as he saw her face go white. Of course, with her belief that this curse killed men who loved her, he should have thought better of it.

“What?” she asked, and her eyes filled with despair.

He moved his hand as though to brush her question aside. “Never mind. Continue with your tale.”

She grabbed his sleeve. “If we are speaking truths, you must tell me yours as well.”

Günter sighed, knowing he couldn’t avoid what came next. She needed to know how Martin felt about her, because it would help her to understand what Martin had done.

“He loved you very much. Enough to ask me to look after you when he realized he was dying. Enough to hand your future over to me when he knew I wanted you and he wouldn’t be there to take care of you.”

She shivered. Her hand crept to her mouth. “So the curse claims another. It still holds its power over my life.”

Günter blew out a breath. “This is ridiculous. I don’t believe in that nonsense for one moment.”

She lifted her chin, one brow arching haughtily. “Your belief in it is not necessary for its power to prevail.” She frowned. “But what did you mean, he handed my future over to you?”

Günter pondered whether to tell her anything more. It would be better, mayhap, if she did not know. He considered it only for a moment. Nay, she needed to know the truth.

When he finally spoke, his tone was cautious. “I promised Martin I would make you my wife. When he called me back into the tent the morning before he died, he asked it of me, and I agreed.”

She stared at him, openmouthed. “How could you have agreed to such a thing? How could Martin have asked it of you?”

“I was glad to do it.” He stroked a finger down her cheek and smiled. “You are not such a hardship.”

She jerked away from his touch, and he flinched.

She ran a trembling hand through her hair.

“Was I not to be given a choice? Am I some broodmare to be passed along from man to man as though I have no mind of my own?
Por Dios,
what were you thinking?”

He clenched his jaw. “Of you. And … yes, of myself, as well. Let us admit something. I have wanted you since the day I first set eyes on you. You must have realized it. Somehow Martin knew it, too, but he understood.” He took her hands in his. “Nothing has changed. I still want you. I think I’ve proven it. I intend to marry you, Alonsa, and nothing—no curse, no superstitious nonsense—can make me change my mind.”

Her hands were cool as marble beneath his touch. They shook, and she pulled away. She looked up at him, her eyes round and afraid.

“Are you mad? Do you not understand the danger you are in?” She swirled away from him, looking around her as though she sought escape. “They sometimes go mad before …” She stopped. “No. Not yet. Perhaps it is not too late.”

He caught her arm before she could flee. He had to convince her. “It was Martin’s last wish. I couldn’t deny him. I have a duty to him, to you. That is all.”

“Then I release you from the burden of your obligations.” She snapped her fingers in his face. “There!”

He looked at her, resolute. “You haven’t the power to free me from this particular obligation, Alonsa. I promised Martin, not you, and I keep my promises.”

She shook her arm free and stared up at him with defiance. “When your promises include me, then I should have a say, should I not?”

Günter sighed. “If you would only consider what I have said, we—” he stopped, frowned, tilted his head to listen.

He’d heard something. A sound that did not belong out here. He stared intently over her shoulder into the dark wood surrounding them.

“Günter—” she began, but she, too, stopped. She turned her eyes slowly in the same direction.

“Don’t make another sound,” he whispered. To his great relief, she obeyed.

Mist shifted in pale gray tendrils across the ground, and silvery points of starlight peeked through the trees overhead. Nothing else revealed itself. Still, some shared intuition must have warned them to remain silent.

He heard it then: the sound of soft whispers and movement through the undergrowth.

“We have visitors,” he murmured. He pushed her toward a wide tree whose base was nearly hidden by branches and trailing undergrowth. He picked up his sword from the ground where he had laid it while he kissed her earlier.

“No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, do not reveal yourself.” Without waiting for a response, he thrust her behind the tree and quickly but quietly dragged the foliage around her.

Günter stepped back, intent on drawing the attention of whatever predator lurked in the wood, preparing to defend Alonsa with his life.

He prayed to God it wouldn’t be necessary and Alonsa’s supposed curse would not once again have the chance to fulfill itself.

G
üNTER LISTENED TO THE URGENT MALE WHISPERS
and the rustling in the undergrowth.

“What is it?” A harsh voice barked out the question.

“I heard something. Over there!” came the murmured reply.

He groaned inwardly. French.
Mayhap gendarmes from King Francis’ troops?
They did appear to be French, but he thought he heard an Italian tongue among them. He had no idea why they’d be so far afield of the main company. It could be a simple reconnoiter, in which case they would be low-level infantrymen, or they could be soldiers who had deserted from their posts and taken to banditry. It was common enough in these times.

The second would be better news. King Francis and his captains would never lose sleep over a few deserters who later turned up dead. However, if Günter killed a gendarme—which he fully intended to do if they came anywhere near Alonsa—he might have the entire French contingent after them before the night was through.

He heard more crashing about, twigs snapping and branches being bent back.

“Merde
!
”
One of them barked, and his comrade shushed him.

“Do you want to warn it?” another man asked angrily.

Günter understood enough of their slurred speech to realize two things: one, they were drunk; and two, they thought the sound they had heard was an animal in the underbrush. They probably hunted their evening meal and mistook Alonsa and Günter for the main course. He saw several shadowy figures heading toward them, too many to safely fight with Alonsa nearby. If he were alone, it would be different, but…

Günter made his decision quickly. He pointed the tip of his sword up and moved to Alonsa’s side behind the tree just before several of the men passed by, gesturing and smacking the undergrowth with their blades. Günter counted six men in all. Each was dressed in dark cloaks, and one or two sported battered helmets or breastplates. One man carried a bow and quiver, but he was so inebriated he was likely enough to injure his companions as he was a hare.

Alonsa huddled behind the tree. She looked up at him in surprise when he settled in next to her and held his finger over his mouth. She turned and pressed into him, and though she remained staunch, he could feel her fear transmitting itself in little shivers throughout her body. He balanced his sword in one hand and wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her close. Her delicate musk scent drifted up to him.

She felt like a little bird in his arms. He sometimes feared he might unwittingly injure her with his big hands, and yet he thought she must be very strong to have come through so much.

If they were lucky, the men would never be the wiser about their presence. Unless, of course, they made for the water’s edge where Fritz and Inés waited; in that case, Günter would have to follow to make sure their traveling companions remained safe.

When two of the men separated from the group and stumbled closer, Günter felt a tug at his waist and looked down. Alonsa had slipped her hand over the dagger tucked between their bodies, and she slowly pulled it out of its sheath. He squeezed to get her attention, and she looked up. He shook his head no.

She glanced toward the half dozen men and back at him again. Her dark eyes communicated a silent message, one he understood. If he must fight, he couldn’t possibly kill them all before one got to her. She intended to defend herself, even if he couldn’t. Still, she did not pull the weapon completely free, as if she awaited his permission.

He hesitated only a moment, evaluating his chances of success. He knew if one drop of blood remained in his body, no one would get past him to her. Still, there was always a chance something might go wrong.

He nodded, and Alonsa withdrew the blade. He held her so close he could feel the quickened rhythm of her heart against his chest. He pressed a brief kiss to her temple in reassurance. They waited, together.

Several of the men headed in the opposite direction, but one stumbled closer, tripping over the wood Alonsa and Günter had gathered. The man fell hard upon his knees. Cursing viciously, he kicked the wood out of his way. He belched and lay on the ground for a moment, not moving, then rolled his bulky frame over. He sat up, stared at the wood for a long moment with a bemused expression on his face, and then sniffed the air with curiosity.

The gray hood he wore identified him as a bandit. The patched and worn cloak hanging haphazardly over his shoulders, and the mismatched hose drooping at his knees, testified to his low birth. However, Günter noted, the wicked blade in his hand appeared serviceable enough. The man scratched himself and peered about him with an expression of befuddled intensity.

Behind him, Günter, still hidden in shadow, lowered his sword to within an arm’s reach of the man’s neck.

“Jean-Claude, you pig!” Out of sight before, a short, wiry man with a big nose came around the trunk of a tree.

Günter pulled his blade back.

“What?” the man on the ground answered insolently, his expression sour.

Swaying ever so slightly, Big Nose gestured with his sword. The lanky hair beneath his hood hung down to his shoulders, and even from a distance, Günter could smell the piss and sweat on him. However, he wore a doublet-and-hose in black and red—expensive colors—and a bejeweled ring glowed on one of the fingers gripping his sword. These indicated he might be nobility of some sort, so Günter stayed his hand. Big Nose may have stolen what he wore, but Günter would rather not take chances on killing a noble without cause. Someone invariably became upset when that happened, and came looking for the killer.

“Get off your ass and help us hunt,” the man snarled at the one on the ground called Jean-Claude. “You’ll not fill your belly sitting on your balls.”

Jean-Claude glared back mulishly. “Not anything out here. Not anymore. You shits made enough noise to wake the dead, anyhow.”

“Get up, I said, or I’ll know the reason why.” Big Nose must have thought himself in charge of the motley group now crashing its way toward the waterline. He weaved over to Jean-Claude and lowered the blade to his throat.

“Better yet, maybe I’ll just finish you off myself. I’m tired of all your whining. My brother says you’ve not pulled your weight since you joined this band. I’ve robbed twice as many men as you, and I only started last month.”

Jean-Claude said nothing, merely staring up at him with cunning speculation, a look belying the impression of stupidity on a face marred by a heavy brow. Big Nose stared back at him with barely disguised repugnance, too drunk to notice Jean-Claude had his blade pointed directly at his crotch.