The Promise (21 page)

He heard the little catch in her breath before she pushed him away and looked quickly about her. As luck would have it, few others walked the streets nearby. No one but an indulgent Inés and Fritz took note of them, though how anyone could miss the raging inferno between him and his new wife, Günter did not know.

“Cease,” she hissed, slapping at his hands as he reached for her. “Can you think of nothing else?”

He throbbed below, and drew her in front of him as a shield so he wouldn’t frighten small children as they walked by. He moved her toward the cart.

“Not when I am with you.” He nipped her ear with his teeth and enjoyed the flustered sound she made. “Besides, I only have a short time left. We must make the most of it while we can, I think.”

Her stricken gaze flew to his.

He nearly bit his tongue over the thoughtlessness of his remark.

“Alonsa, I meant only that since you set sail for Spain soon, our time together is limited,” he reassured her. “Nothing more.” He set his jaw and looked away. “Remember, even if your curse were real, which I still do not believe, according to you, the condition to invoke it must first exist.” He looked directly at her. “Does it?”

Her expression went flat, and her shoulders drooped. She shook her head and looked away. “No.”

How can she not know how I feel?

Frustration welled up in him. Mayhap it was because she did not
wish
to know. Very well. They would continue this game, then, until she believed him to be safe.

“So, you see,” he said with a careless shrug, “I am in no danger at all.”

They reached the cart, and he helped her climb onto it. Desperate for a change of subject, he said, “Come, I am starving. Those monks did not feed us enough food to keep a flea alive, let alone a grown man. If they have any decent beer at this tavern, I believe I might even get a little drunk.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, surprise evident on her face. “The sun has yet to crest in the sky.”

“It is either that,” he said, his voice a dark caress, “or find a bed for us now and spend the rest of the day in it. Your choice.”

She sat upright. “I will buy.”

He climbed up on his horse. “Coward.”

“I do not deny it.” Taking the reins from Inés, she turned the cart toward the tavern.

The obviously popular
taverna
did not have beer, Alonsa observed, but it had many jolly patrons who gestured exuberantly with their hands as they imbibed and ate the excellent victuals provided. For the majority of them, it would be their only meal of the day, and they appeared to make the most of it.

Alonsa noted that the superior quality of the wine did much to compensate for Günter’s disappointment in the lack of beer. When the proprietor discovered they celebrated their wedding day, he insisted they take his best table and pressed the finest wine and pastries on them. Alonsa had no doubt he would charge them dearly for it later.

The news of their wedding did not prevent the sultry, dark-eyed serving wench from flaunting her prominent bosom as she leaned over Günter to serve his drink. He smiled a friendly but distant smile and turned to wink at Alonsa. She glared up at the serving wench and bared her teeth. The girl beat a hasty retreat, and Günter laughed outright.

However, when Günter tried to pay for the pastries, the proprietor simply waved the coins away and insisted they consider it a wedding gift. In some ways, the elderly man reminded her of her own father, whom she had not seen in nearly two years. The warm, friendly atmosphere and the kindness of a total stranger nearly reduced Alonsa to tears.

Despite her misgivings, despite her despair, when Günter handed her a cup and asked her to toast their nuptials with him and the others, she did.

He raised his cup.

“To my bride’s health, beauty, and happiness. May they be eternal.”

“And to my husband,” she responded, and found herself savoring the word in her mouth more than the wine. “May God bless and keep him wherever he may roam.”

He lifted an eyebrow, but drank to the toast nonetheless. She watched the pattern of veins on his strong hands when he lifted his cup; watched his muscular throat move as the liquid flowed down into it; watched him wipe the moisture from his tantalizing lips with the back of his hand. Such ordinary gestures, yet each etched on her memory for all eternity.

How would she ever survive this unquenchable, intolerable love?

She had been afraid he would love her, condemning himself to a violent death. But knowing he did
not
love her, that she was likely just another in a long line of women who had adored him and had been easily forgotten, was not any better. She did not think she could bear it.

What was wrong with her? Did she
want
him to die? Could she be selfish enough to wish to keep him solely for herself, even at the cost of his life?

No. She simply had no desire to be forgotten. No desire to be just another woman to him, a temporary harbor until he moved on to someone new. Nevertheless, for him to live, it was exactly what he must do. Move on.

She stared down into her cup of wine, tapping it with a restless finger. The conflict between love and desire raged inside her. She wanted him, with every fiber of her being. Yet if she loved him, she had no choice but to let him go.

She looked up while he jested with a patron at another table, and she sighed. It did not mean she could not take what he offered her in the meanwhile. She could store up the memories, hide her heartache deep within, and later, years later perhaps, convince herself she had been somehow special to him; that she had meant more to him than a promise and a place to slake his temporary lust.

She realized with a start he had turned to face her, and she stared into his beautiful green eyes. He reached over and trailed his finger idly over the ring she wore proclaiming her as his, and let his hand settle over hers.

“All will be well, Alonsa,” he said quietly. “Do not fret.”

How did he know? She shook off her melancholy, determined not to ruin her last few days with him, and turned her hand beneath his.

“Yes, of course.” She decided to practice one of his favorite techniques, and she changed the subject. She forced a cheerfulness into her voice she did not feel.

“When do you anticipate our arrival in Genoa?”

He smiled briefly. “Not tonight.” He leaned forward. “Are you so anxious to be on your way?”

She looked away from the intensity of his gaze.

“It is not that. It is just …” I wish to know how much time we have left
together.
She did not say the words, though they hovered on her lips.

He squeezed her hand again, and she looked at him.

“I would have this time with you.” His gaze shifted from her eyes, to her mouth, and back again.

Günter’s desire was unmistakable. At least they had that much in common. Though he did not ask a question, she felt herself answering him nonetheless.

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart breaking with love for him. “Yes.”

He threaded his fingers through hers, brought her left hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips to it. The stones from the carbuncle ring glittered with red fire in a sudden burst of light as the
taverna
door was flung open to let a patron in.

Trapped in the sensual pull of Günter’s gaze, she did not immediately notice the dark stranger enter the inn. A subtle difference in the air and a feeling of being observed caused her to turn her eyes toward him.

He was tall, though not so much as Günter. Immaculately dressed, but dusty from travel. The plumed red cap he held in his hand, the fine quality of the black wool tunic and the parti-colored trunk hose and stockings spoke of great wealth. The sunlight caught and struck the red highlights in his otherwise dark brown hair. The silhouetting effect of the sun hid most of his features, but steel gray eyes stared directly at her, or more accurately, at her hand clasped in Günter’s. The man seemed stunned into immobility, as though he had glimpsed a mirage and could not take his eyes off it lest it disappear. The man gripped the hilt of the sword strapped to his side and stared.

Günter shifted his gaze and noted the man’s scrutiny as well, and Alonsa felt rather than saw his hackles rise. A slight narrowing of his eyes, a shift of his hand so it, too, rested on his sword, and Alonsa knew he sensed an imminent threat from this man.

She leaned close. “Do you know him?”

He seemed startled by her question.

“Nay. I thought you might. A rejected swain, mayhap?” He asked the question without once taking his eyes off the man.

“No. I have never seen him before.”

The room had gone quiet, as if everyone noted the sudden tension between the newcomer, obviously a noble, and the huge soldier at the back table. The nobleman seemed to sense the quiet and broke the spell. He entered and stepped to the side, as though he understood the sunlight made him an easy target within the doorway.

Alonsa caught a glimpse of a proud nose on a long face with a strong jaw covered by a dark, well-tended beard. Another shorter man, apparently a servant from the livery he wore, entered in after him and closed the door, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.

With a rustle of his black cloak, the first man, followed by his companion, turned away, walked to the
taverna
bar, and did not look at them again. However, she felt sure he was aware of them at every moment, just as she was sure Günter watched the man without seeming to.

What was going on?

Günter rose, and Alonsa did too. For a moment, she feared he might challenge the man on principle alone. Instead, he threw a coin on the table to pay for the remainder of the meal.

“Come,” he urged a flabbergasted Inés and Fritz under his breath. “Gather what food you will from the table. It is time to go.”

“But we only just—” Fritz began. A cutting glance from Günter silenced him.

Inés hastily gathered the remaining cheese and pastries into a knapsack. Fritz, though obviously confused, took Inés’ arm and moved toward the door. Günter pushed Alonsa ahead of him, and she had the distinct impression he placed his body as a shield between her and the dark-haired man. Did he expect him to attack them from behind?

No one said anything more until they left the
taverna.
Alonsa turned to Günter.

“What was that about?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the door, as if to assure himself they had not been followed. “I am not exactly certain, but I do not intend to wait to find out. This place seems suddenly unfriendly to me. It is best we move on while we still have the daylight.”

He paid the young boy they had secured to watch the cart while they tarried inside, and after packing up the additional food, they went on their way.

All day, as they continued their journey to the town of Bobbio, Günter seemed tense and on edge. He spoke little and glanced frequently over his shoulder. Once or twice he even rode back a distance before returning.

Finally, Alonsa could bear it no more.

“Do you see anyone?” she asked him after the last time, and he jerked his head toward her. “You fear we are being followed, yes?”

His eyes shifted away. “It pays to be cautious.”

“But you do fear it, do you not?” She turned around and looked behind her, then looked again at him. “Why? We have seen no one all day.”

He did not answer at first, then said, “It is hard for me to explain, but I have an instinct about these things.” He glanced at her. “When the back of my neck itches, I take heed.”

She did not discount his statement. He had survived longer than most in a dangerous profession, doubtless due to his instincts.

“What is your neck saying now?”

He squinted at the sun low in the sky, then behind them again. “It is saying that it is good we are in sight of our destination.”

They arrived just before sunset. Günter took them to a well-appointed inn, large and spacious, with a proprietor to match.

“Signore
Behaim!” the man declared when he spied Günter in the doorway. “What a pleasure to have you here once more.”

As he bundled them in, the rotund innkeeper glanced over Günter’s shoulder with a bit of anxiety on his face.

“There is no, ah, contingent with you this time? Not that I minded, of course, the coin is good, but so many soldiers at once … they frighten the serving girls, you understand.”

Günter laughed. “Nay, Federigo. It is just my wife and I, and our friends here.”

The man clasped his hands together, and his delighted gaze swung to Alonsa.

“Your wife!” he exclaimed. “Can this be true?”

Günter grinned. “I am afraid so, Federigo. Meet Fritz and Inés, our traveling companions, and Alonsa García de Aranjuez. My wife of less than one day.”

Did she only imagine the pride she heard in his voice and the soft pleasure in his gaze?

“Ah! What a beauty she is,” Federigo proclaimed, immediately enfolding her in an overwhelming embrace. Alonsa smiled and hugged him back. It was impossible not to like him. He held her at arm’s length and gestured to Günter.