The Promise (20 page)

She gazed at him with suspicion in her eyes. She had such beautiful eyes. He remembered how they had glazed with passion when he had thrust inside her, when she had bit him on the shoulder like some wild creature in the throes of another climax. He still bore the tooth marks. He hoped they would never fade.

“Günter?” She was staring at him, an odd expression on her face. “I said, what sort of offer?”

He brought himself back to the present with an effort.

“A way for both of us to get what we want.”

One delicate eyebrow rose. “And what is it, exactly, you want?”

“You. That is,” he added when he saw her eyes spark, “to marry you and thereby keep my promise to Martin. And to have a few more nights of what we had here, at least until we weary of one another.”

That should only take a lifetime.

“After that,” he shrugged, “you are free to do as you wish.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What are you saying? If we marry, how can I do as I wish?”

He sat down on the bed to pull on his shoes and looked up at her.

“What you want is to be free of the attentions of other men, because of this so-called curse of yours, correct?” he asked, shoving his foot into one shoe.

She sputtered. “So-called? It is genuine!”

He held up his hand to halt the tirade he knew was coming. “Genuine or not, that
is
what you want, am I right?”

She thought for a moment, and then gave a stiff nod.

“And,” he continued, wriggling his other foot into the second shoe, “I want to fulfill my obligation to Martin. We can both have what we want if we marry, I take you on to Genoa, and you set sail for Spain.” He stood. “Then, when you arrive, you will be a duly wedded wife, no other man can press his suit, and you can still live with your father and call Toledo your home.”

Her brow furrowed, and she pressed a finger against her forehead, rubbing in small circles. He could see the distress in her gaze, and he felt sorry for it but did not alter his course.

“And what of you?” she asked. “While I am in Toledo with my father, what will you be doing?”

“Well, I am no fan of marriage, but as long as I have a wife who lives in Toledo and therefore cannot possibly tie me down, I’ll be satisfied.” He shrugged and paced the small cell, trying to walk off some of his own anxiety. “I’ll go back to the
Fähnlein,
of course, as I have obligations there I cannot ignore for much longer.”

“Go back to the company?” She shook her head. “Then you will surely die!”

“How?” he asked, his voice neutral. “I have fought for more than a half dozen years and have not been killed yet. Some of the men claim I
cannot
be killed, though our bastard enemies have tried often enough.” He grinned. “Besides, didn’t you say it was necessary for a man to fall in love with you before the curse could take effect?”

He held his breath, wondering if she would believe what he implied.

She grew still. “You do not … love me?”

He shrugged and prepared to tell the biggest lie of his life. He studied the edge of his fingernail for one moment and looked up. He forced his eyes to meet hers without blinking.

“You were good … but not
that
good.” He smiled gently to try to lessen the impact. It did not work.

The color drained from her face.

“Oh,” was all she said, and his heart broke for her.

He wanted to rush to her side, to deny everything he had just said, everything he was about to say, but to do so would mean he might lose her forever. He knew if Alonsa ever suspected he felt anything more than lust and obligation for her, she would leave him in order to save his life, only this time he might not be able to discover where she had gone.

Nay, he needed her safe, and he needed her wed, and this was the only way he could think of to achieve both ends.

“Oh,” she said again as realization sank in. A hurt look swept over her face. “You do not love me.”

She sat down heavily on the bed beside him, and the lip he had wanted to nibble on only a little earlier quivered.

He looked at her, his face an unyielding mask, and said, “Is that a problem? It was what you wanted, was it not?”

She raised huge eyes to his and blinked.

“Yes … I suppose it was.” She clasped her hands in her lap, lowered her head, and remained silent for so long Günter thought she might be praying, or mayhap had fallen asleep. He wouldn’t have blamed her. She must be exhausted after the way he had kept her up most of the night.

Finally, she raised her head. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with pent-up emotion, but her words were precise.

“Your solution sounds … efficient. Well thought out. There is only one problem.”

He stiffened. “Yes?”

She stared at him intently.

“You know your own heart better than anyone. Can you promise me you will never fall in love with me, ever? Because if you cannot do that, then my answer must be no.” Her gaze narrowed. “As you have proven to be a man of your word, I will trust you if you can say this to me now in all truthfulness.”

For an instant, he felt trapped. How could he deny what had already become true? How could he lie in a promise? It simply was not in him to do it. For that, he believed, God just
might
strike him dead. He searched his mind, frantic for an answer, and then realized she had left him a hole through which to crawl.

He smiled and for the first time reached over to touch her hand. He patted it in an almost fatherly gesture. “My dear Alonsa, I promise you the words ‘I love you’ will never cross my lips.”

Her gaze bored into him, and for a moment, he thought she might have seen through his subtle equivocation. However, just then, they heard Father Andrew’s shuffling tread outside the doorway and the sound appeared to distract her from the path of her thoughts. The hour had come for them to be loosed from their cage, it seemed. He glanced at the door, then back at her.

“We must settle this matter quickly. Do we have an agreement?”

She stared at him, the light in her eyes dimmed. Günter could hear the key being fitted into the lock.

“Alonsa?” He tried to keep the tension from his voice. His gut twisted with the possibility she might say nay. He could not bear it if she did.

“Yes,” she finally whispered, the word heavy with despair. “We have an agreement.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. The door swung open, and a new day began.

“W
ELL?
” G
ÜNTER LOOKED AT AN APPALLED
A
LONSA
, who stared at the carbuncle ring he’d taken off the body of the dead bandit.

She shook her head. “I said no.”

“I told you,” he murmured through the side of his mouth, “it is the only ring I have at the moment. I’ll replace it later.”

“And I told
you,
I do not require a ring,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

Voghera’s town friar glared at them impatiently and tapped his foot, gazing up at the frame of the small church’s doorway in which they all stood while the subtle battle of wills played itself out. Günter tried to rein in his impatience at Alonsa’s refusal to wear the ring, thus holding up the entire wedding ceremony. They had interrupted the friar’s morning meal, and the man seemed quite anxious to return to it. Günter supposed only the two guilders jangling in the friar’s purse prevented him from abandoning them outright.

Günter clenched his teeth at Alonsa’s continued refusal. “And
I
want you to wear it.”

He had wrapped a strip of cloth around the bottom of the ring in order to make it fit. He held it out once more and grasped her left hand as he attempted to slide it on. She resisted him, withdrawing each time he came near.

Several paces away, impatient bystanders waited for the ceremony’s completion so they might enter the church and worship. Fritz and Inés, the official witnesses, glanced about them uneasily and tried to ignore the dispute as best they could.

While in theory, Günter and Alonsa did not need the friar to observe their vows, Günter felt the more witnesses to their nuptials, the better. Though the Catholic Church would sanction even secret vows, the reform movement in Wittenberg had succeeded in requiring proof that the marital state had been entered into both properly and voluntarily. Günter wanted no questions to arise when he eventually brought his bride home.

“Hardly anyone wears wedding rings here,” Alonsa said, continuing the argument. She flicked an embarrassed glance at the friar.

“But,” Günter said for the third time, “they wear them in your native country, and since I will not be present to support my claim on you, you will need it as evidence of your wedded state. To prevent other men from approaching you.” That, of course, being the most important reason of all. “Now put—it—
on.”
He took a deep breath before he continued, glancing over at the impatient friar. “We are wasting the good friar’s time.”

The gray-frocked, gray-haired man nodded, his three chins jiggling in unison. Alonsa stared stubbornly at Günter, and for a moment he thought she would refuse again; however, she grimaced and finally slipped her finger into the ring. A collective sigh of relief went up from the bystanders. The friar murmured the remainder of the vows, which they duly repeated. He had earlier copied their names down to be entered into the church record.

Once the oaths had been spoken, Günter looked down at Alonsa, and though the friar did not give permission, he pulled her to him and kissed her to seal their vows. It had been too long since his lips had tasted hers. Very well, it had only been since the morning, but that seemed ages ago, especially since he could think of little else.

The kiss got away from him. Memories of their passion, and the anticipation of more now that they were wed, nearly overwhelmed him. So much so that Alonsa wilted against him from the crush of his embrace, and he heard a round of coughing and nervous tittering behind them. Mayhap the doorway of a church wasn’t the best place for this sort of display.

He pulled back abruptly to a chorus of cheering. Alonsa blinked up at him, her eyes dazed by his kiss, the late morning sunlight, or both. Her lips glistened, ripe and wet, when she licked the taste of him off her.

As God was his witness, they were finding a bed—a big one, where he could maneuver—tonight.

In the meantime … he nodded to the friar and moved the little party away from the church door. The friar hastened off to his meal, and the parishioners murmured their congratulations as they moved past.

Inés gazed at Alonsa and Günter, her eyes glowing. She dabbed at them with her sleeve and sighed.

“Weddings always make me cry. I cannot wait for my own.” Günter did not miss the meaningful glance she sent Fritz’s way.

Fritz stared at her and blinked, then grinned like a fool. Finally, he turned to Günter and Alonsa.

“Congratulations to the bride and groom!” he said heartily. He slapped Günter on the back and gave Alonsa a shy peck on the cheek.

“We should celebrate our nuptials before we resume our journey,” Günter suggested with a smile at Fritz. He put his arm around Alonsa’s waist. “There is a tavern a few blocks down. I’ll buy the beer.”

Alonsa looked at him, the expression on her face more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding. “Must we? Genoa is not getting any closer.”

Günter gave her a sharp glance. “It is not getting any farther away, either. We can take an hour to raise a toast to our future.”

“Such as it is,” she said glumly.

He felt as though she had slapped him, but he did not openly react. “Yes, such as it is.”

She looked away and drew the shawl she had donned for the wedding down over her head, veiling her face. However, she couldn’t hide the flash of sadness he had seen there. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fritz and Inés exchange mystified glances.

Mayhap this had been a mistake. Mayhap he would never truly win Alonsa this way … not if he had to break her heart to do it. Still, how else could he prove to her this so-called curse was a figment of her imagination?

He needed time: time to win her trust, time to settle his military affairs, time to prove to her the curse held no power over them. When he did, he would beg release from his vow. Not his marriage vow—he would die before that happened—but rather his vow never to speak words of love to her. Someday he would beg to break the vow both to give and to receive those words from her. He promised it to himself.

For now, he must behave as though nothing had changed.

“Well, we should at least eat before going on to Bobbio, our next stop. There isn’t much hospitality between here and there.”

As their companions nodded and turned away to retrieve the horses and cart, Günter and Alonsa followed. He settled his palm in the small of her back: an intimate gesture, one befitting their new status as man and wife.

She looked up at him, startled. He lowered his voice, so only she might hear, and allowed every bit of his desire for her to show on his face.

“Tonight is our wedding night,” he murmured. “I know just the place to celebrate it. We were too … hurried last time. I promise, this time I’ll go more slowly. So you might enjoy yourself more.”

She stopped dead and stared at him.

“More?” she croaked.

He suppressed his immediate smile. He had pleased her last night, and he inwardly acknowledged his pride, gazing down at her. “Yes. Much more.”

Her eyes widened, and after a brief moment, she snorted in disbelief.

“You lie. It is not possible. You simply tease me again.”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed at her inadvertent praise of his skill and pulled her close.

“Ah, Alonsa, you will make my head swell … among other things.” He noted the pink flush on her skin when he settled her against his hard length and kissed her senseless in the middle of the morning in the middle of the street.

After satisfying himself that he had reminded her of his desire, he whispered into her ear. “But if it is teasing you want, I’ll tease you without mercy tonight,” he said, and shifted his hips ever so slightly against hers.