The Promise (9 page)

She had sold her dray horse. The
burro
was much less costly, and with the profits, she would be able to afford the passage to Spain without having to spend coin from the sales of her father’s blades. She had sewn some of the money inside her skirts and placed the rest in an iron box hidden at the base of the cart. She would sell the
burro
when she reached Genoa.

Cursed luck, bad weather, and Inés’ incessant complaints had thus far prevented her from leaving for the port city. Still, she intended to depart today, no matter how delayed the journey might be.

She had dressed in traveling clothes: her thick woolen mantle draped her shoulders, while a white linen snood covered her head. Her front-lacing bodice would permit her to quickly dress and undress at night without aid. She still wore gray for mourning, but she’d girded her skirts to allow ease of movement in and out of the cart. She felt comfortable and prepared for her journey.

She checked the stores of food and wine for the last time.

Alonsa, absorbed in her activities, gradually became aware of a prickling sensation along the back of her neck. She moved her hand to the Toledo blade lying on top of the bundles. Designed especially for her by her late husband, it bore a shorter hilt and lighter weight. As the feeling of being watched became stronger, she yanked the blade from its sheath, dropped her mantle, and swung around to confront whatever danger approached. Her blade whistled in its downward arc—and came to a clanging halt as a great sword checked its descent.

Without thinking, Alonsa flanked left with the blade and spun to renew her attack, her heavy skirts swinging out around her—and mid-arc saw Günter raise his blade once more.

He countered before she could check her own attack. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the blade out of her hand. It landed beyond her reach, point down and vibrating in the muddy ground.

She turned to face him, incensed.

“What do you mean by this … this assault?” With a huff, she retrieved her mantle from where she had dropped it on the ground.

Her question brought his dark brows up in mocking inquiry as he lowered his sword. “What do
I
mean by it? I believe you assaulted
me.
I came only for a visit. Nice swordplay, by the by. Did your father teach you that?”

Alonsa sniffed with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she had been roundly defeated. She twitched the mantle over her shoulders. “My late husband.”

“Ah.” Günter nodded.

Alonsa had no idea what that noncommittal word might mean.

His falcon’s eyes flicked over the cart. “Going somewhere?”

“I am leaving for Genoa, as I believe you know already,” she answered stiffly. “Your young spy has been hovering about my tent for the past three days.” She moved toward her sword, but Günter blocked her path. “If you will permit me to retrieve my blade, I may have use for it on my journey.”

“Genoa, is it? I had heard you were leaving, but I was not aware of the destination.” After sticking his own sword into the ground, he retrieved her finely honed blade. He examined the workmanship and wiped the mud off, handed it to her across his forearm, hilt first. His searing gaze lifted from the mirrored steel and met hers across its length.

The move displayed his trust—or perhaps assumption—that she would not attempt to use the blade on him again. Although she had no wish to harm him, her fingers tightened on the hilt. He raised an inquiring brow as she took the blade from him; he followed it with a smile that played strange rhythms on her heart.

“Do you intend to cut your way through me?” he asked. “Because I warn you, that is what it will take for me to leave your side.”

Apprehension lanced through her. Did he know of the curse, or did he prophesy inadvertently? She stared at him for a long moment, trying to determine which it might be. His gaze touched her face, lingering on her mouth, and she knew he remembered their kiss.

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by the arrival of Inés, who looked out-of-sorts, and Fritz, who looked perfectly enamored. Fritz carried a bedroll, several twine-wrapped bundles, and Günter’s cittern. He juggled the weight from side to side while his glance flickered repeatedly to Inés’ legs. Inés had tied her stockings with two red ribbons just above her shapely knees today, which peeked out of her hitched-up calf-length skirts every time she took a step.

“There you are!” Inés called out to Günter, and her tone sounded faintly accusatory. “Where have you been for so long?”

Günter turned his beautiful green eyes on Inés.

“Had I known you wanted me with such eagerness, I would have come at once,” he offered, his smile the ultimate of charm.

The flustered woman’s cheeks became pink beneath Günter’s regard. Fritz’s eyes narrowed and a dull flush rose up his neck. It seemed as though he would say something, but he bit his lip and looked down instead. Alonsa felt certain her own eyes had turned green with jealousy, and she glared at Inés, wondering if she had ever lain with Günter the way she had with Martin.

“I brought your gear, Günter,” Fritz announced, and unceremoniously cast it upon the ground.

The corners of Günter’s smile rose and fell as though he struggled to prevent an outright laugh.

“Thank you,” he said, his simple words proving he intended to ignore the deliberate insult. “Now, if you would just place those
carefully
in the cart for me, the
Señora
and I will be on our way.”

“What?” Alonsa squeaked.

“Genoa, I believe you said?” He went on without awaiting her answer … not that she would have been able to speak regardless, so stunned was she.

“I suppose we may find a reverend there who can be trusted to perform a simple wedding. Still, I would have preferred to have the announcement made in my own home of Wittenberg first,” he said with a heavy sigh.

He threw back his cloak and shrugged his shoulders.

“Pity. Ah, well, Genoa it is, then. Of course, if you insist on a priest, we may have some difficulty convincing him I am a faithful Catholic, but I’ll risk damnation for you.” He examined the cart with a critical eye. “I’d even be willing to locate a cleric here in Lombardy if you did not wish to travel so far, and the journey wouldn’t be nearly as dangerous. We could use the extra time for our honeymoon.”

He glanced at her and winked, ignoring her drop-jawed stare.

“But I will not deny you anything you wish,” he finished, and went to assist a newly mobilized Fritz in putting his bundles into her cart.

Her
cart.

“What madness is this?” Alonsa demanded after staring open-mouthed at him for some moments.

Günter had his back to her. As he fussed with the cart, he arranged his bundles beside hers and retied the ropes. It gave her an opportunity to observe his strong thighs and buttocks covered with snug slate-gray hose slashed at the knees. He sported a brown leather jerkin that fit like a second skin beneath his cloak.

Günter’s gaze swung around to hers, and from the smug look on his face, she deduced he had caught her ogling him.

He leaned against the cart. “That is the second time you have accused me of madness. Mayhap it is you who makes me so.” His voice had grown husky, his masculine stance both self-confident and extremely annoying. He grinned at her and returned to his task.

“Fritz, bring the horse and tie this”—he looked askance at the
burro
—”fine steed to the back of the cart.”

As Fritz hurried to obey, Alonsa tried to regain control.

“What do you think you are doing?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Günter did not bother to turn around. “What does it look like?”

Fritz returned with Günter’s horse and began unhitching the
burro.

“Leave him be!” she insisted to Fritz. “You”—she pointed at Günter—”take your things out of my cart this very moment. I will not go anywhere with you!”

His gaze swung around to her once more. This time, instead of playful, he sounded determined. “Do not tease. You mean you will not go anywhere
without
me.”

She stamped her foot like a child, such was the greatness of her frustration. “No, it is not what I meant, and well you know it.”

She struggled with her temper and moved closer to him so Fritz and Inés, who were staring avidly at them both, would not overhear. “We have talked about this, Günter. I will be no man’s bride but Christ’s. I have already explained. Whatever you are about, you must cease. It will do you no good. My course is set.”

Günter grew still, and his hands clenched on the rope he held in his hand. For a moment, she saw the sweep of some barely restrained emotion pass through him. It made her take a step back from him. In control once more, he turned his cool gaze on her.

“And do you intend to travel to Genoa without protection of any kind? Wasn’t your husband’s death proof enough of the folly of your plan?”

She drew in a sharp breath. “How dare you.”

“How dare
I
?” he said, not so cool-headed now. In three short steps, he’d backed her up against the cart.

“How dare I?” he said again as he grasped the cart on either side of her and thrust his face toward hers. His aggressive stance spoke volumes. She tried not to cower before the anger in his expression.

“I
dare
to offer you protection to your destination so the bandits who carved up your husband do not have a second chance at you.
That
is how I dare.”

She stared up at him. His body threw waves of heat at her, so close did he stand. She could smell the faint aroma of spice, leather, and sunshine on him. She could see the bronze strands in his hair interweaving with the gold, and the dark pupils at the center of a sea of green fringed by thick lashes. A restless and frustrated desire reached out to her from within those luxuriant depths. However, far worse than anything he could have said, this close she could also see the censure in his gaze. She felt the sting of tears behind her lids, but she would not tremble before him.

“You are not being fair.”

“You are correct. Perhaps it is because it is not fair a woman cannot travel alone in these regions for fear of being raped, robbed, and pressed into service as a whore, if not worse. You are plainly a fool if you disagree and, therefore, not responsible for your own decisions. It is my duty as Martin’s friend to see to your care.”

“Is that what this is about? Your duty as Martin’s friend?” She heard her voice tremble.

She did not know why it mattered to her. Although she would never encourage Günter’s attentions, a part of her yearned for them still. Terrified she might weep, she tried to prevent her lower lip from quivering. The week’s events had been emotionally exhausting, and she felt she could bear no more.

Suddenly, his face softened, and he raised his hand, stroking her cheek.

“You know it is not. Not solely, at least. Let me go with you, Alonsa,” he murmured. “Let me ensure you are safe. If anything were to happen to you …” He hesitated for a long moment. “Martin would never forgive me,” he finally said. “Allow me to do my duty by him. By you.”

She had the feeling those were not the words he had intended to speak, but she could not puzzle out what they might have been. She gazed up at him in indecision and felt she would drown in the intensity of his regard.

He moved his hand, and she found her lips pressed against his palm.

She closed her eyes. “You are too much temptation for me,” she whispered, and could not prevent the single teardrop that escaped, or the trembling kiss she placed in the valley of his rough hand.

He grew very still.

“Alonsa …” The fingers of his other hand slowly pushed back her snood and drifted over her hair. He pressed his lips to her temple, and she could feel his pounding heart beneath the hand she laid upon his breast.

It beat so strong, so sure, his heart. It made her believe he could conquer anything, defeat anyone. Perhaps, if they were very careful …

“No!” she said, and surprised both of them with the hoarse declaration. “I cannot risk it.” She pushed away, freed herself—and ran directly into Inés, about whom she had entirely forgotten.

“Oh!”

Alonsa blinked, remembering they were not alone. With Günter, all else seemed to fade away. Time became suspended, and a soft cocoon weaved its way around them. She glanced back at him, and she saw the reflection of what she felt in his face as he gazed owlishly at the cart, Fritz, Inés.

The other woman gripped Alonsa’s shoulders.

“Señora,
do not be foolish. You must accept his protection,” she urged, “at least until you take passage to Spain. He speaks truly. You would not get far on your own. I have said this myself many times.” She stared intently at Alonsa. “For our sakes, allow him to accompany you, so we do not worry what will become of you. By doing such, you make no other promises. Leave the rest to God. Am I not correct,
Señor?”
Inés glanced over at Günter, and it seemed to Alonsa a silent communication passed between them.

Günter cleared his throat and nodded as though he did not trust himself to speak.

The insidious desire to accept crept over her. If he went merely as protection, and they kept their distance …

They were right; the roads were unsafe. She had thought to travel during the late morning hours, when bandits were rarely about, and to stay to the main roads so she had a greater chance for survival. Still, with a two-day journey ahead, and with Günter at her side, it would be that much safer.

And more bittersweet. She would have a few more days with him. After they parted, they would never see one another again. Was a few more days so much to ask? Surely, a man could not fall in love so quickly? Especially a man like Günter, favored by every woman he encountered.

She had no foolish notions; what he felt for her at this moment was nothing more than desire and duty. Certainly, there would be distraction enough for him once they reached an inn; a willing wench ready to tumble a randy soldier always occupied the back room of such places. The thought made her heart contract. Still, she nodded her head in assent.