The Promise (11 page)

“It is your decision,
Señora.
Of course, we will abide by your wishes. I am sure Fritz will not mind the risk.” He said this with an oblique glance at Fritz. “After all, he has no one left to depend upon him—what does it matter if he catches a deadly ague and dies in some forgotten village outside his own country? I understand many think it an honorable goal, to die in the service of a lady. Do you agree, Fritz?”

Fritz’s eyes widened. “Er, yes. It is every knight’s most chivalrous dream. Of course,” he said, casting his gaze downward with great dejection, “I am not a knight. Though I had once hoped to be a squire.” He peeped first at Alonsa, then Inés, and coughed again.

“Oh, no,” Inés cried, clasping her hands together. “We must take care of the poor sparrow,
Señora.
I would never forgive myself if, in our haste to be gone from this place, we caused the death of this gentle soul.”

Alonsa slid a glance to Inés at her affected behavior, raising a questioning brow at her. Inés winked and smiled sweetly.

Had Inés lost her mind? Could she not see the men were playing them for fools?

Still, the day
had
grown late. Perhaps Alonsa had underestimated the amount of time it would take to travel today. Günter knew the routes in these places much better than she.

She gazed around her. Beside the road, massive poplars swayed golden and pale in the afternoon sun. The day-

light, barely reaching the forest floor, drifted and sighed in wispy beams streaming between top-heavy branches. Though alluring, at night the sameness of each smooth-barked tree might make finding one’s way around very difficult. A feeling of unease settled over her.

She turned back to Günter.

“Where would we camp? I think there is nothing here at all.”

“It will be secure for the night. No one will see us from the road if we camp deep in the woods.” He grabbed the
burro’s
reins and tugged. It followed obediently over the bridge, the wheels of the cart creaking. “I believe we can even safely light a small fire to cook our evening meal.”

After they had cleared the bridge, Günter directed the group away from the path on the other side. The wheels of the cart lurched for a moment and then left the road.

Alonsa tugged back on the reins.

“But we cannot take the cart off the road! It will mire in the mud should a storm arise again.”

He gestured at the overhanging rock.

“We will hide the cart beneath one of these outcroppings. That should protect it. We will take what we need from it for the night. It will be quite safe.”

“Well, I do not know…” Alonsa wavered in her resolve to continue. Günter seemed so certain …

Fritz coughed again, even more piteously, and Inés sent her an insistent look.

“Señora,
we must show kindness for the poor soul,”

she admonished.

Alonsa sighed in defeat.

“Oh, very well.” She allowed Günter to direct the cart where he willed.

An hour later, Günter had hidden the cart and installed their gear in a small clearing out of sight from the road. The horses and the
burro
had been cared for and tied to a nearby tree. Inés worked over by a stream, within view of where they camped, skinning a plump hare Günter had caught. Tired and worn, the women removed their headgear for comfort. Inés’ auburn tresses coiled at the base of her neck, while Alonsa’s dark locks swung free.

Fritz seemed to have recovered from his ague. He hovered near Inés while he chewed on a heel of dark bread she had given him to allay his ever-present hunger until supper.

Alonsa found herself with nothing to do but admire Günter while he sat at the edge of the impromptu camp awaiting their meal. He leaned against the peeling trunk of an umbrella pine, strumming his cittern and humming softly. His sword lay on the ground beside him.

Sitting on a flat rock near him, she watched his fingers pluck the strings of the pear-shaped instrument and noted for the first time how much the smooth curves of the cittern resembled those of a woman. Such instruments often had the image of a female carved into the head, and for this reason men referred to them as “barbers’ sluts,” because they could be found in the window of any barbershop and played with ease by any waiting man.

She watched Günter’s long fingers move with assurance, amazed at how he seemed to coax the music from the very heart of the cittern with little effort. Her mind drifted.

What would it be like to be played by Günter?
She found herself amused at the notion that she was envious even of this inanimate wooden instrument.

“You are smiling.” Günter strummed a haunting melody while he spoke. “Do you find this song amusing? Or is it just me?”

Alonsa raised her eyes from the transfixing sight of his long, agile fingers plucking the courses. She met his speculative gaze. Loath to admit the wayward direction of her thoughts, she replied, “Never you, Günter. You are not a man to be laughed at.”

“You laughed at me today.”

The way he said the words made her believe the memory was not unpleasant.

“No, not at you, exactly. Simply …” She shrugged. “Account it to a woman’s secret thoughts.”

Günter ceased to play, resting his fingers lightly over the humming strings for a moment. His eyes held hers, their warmth banishing the chill of the approaching night from her bones.

“Tell me I am a part of your most secret thoughts,
Señora,
and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Alonsa swallowed hard.

“You already are.” At the lift of his eyebrows, she added, “Following me everywhere.”

“Ah.” He pursed his lips in mock disappointment and returned to his playing. “Tsk. I thought you were confessing I had invaded your fantasies.”

Alonsa stood, trying to rid herself of the intimacy of his knowing gaze. The chill returned, and she moved restlessly about the little camp. She pulled her mantle tighter around her shoulders.

“I do not indulge in such fantasies. They are for maidens, and I have not been one in many a year.”

“Maidens are highly overrated. I prefer a woman with … experience.” She heard the smile in his voice.

She gave him a sharp glance, annoyed he mocked her. “Then Inés must be quite to your liking.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“That comment does neither me, Inés, nor you any justice.” He lowered his gaze to the cittern and tested one of the strings, then adjusted its tension.

Alonsa felt a flush pass over her face, and she glanced at Inés to ensure she had not heard her unworthy comment. She need not have feared; both Fritz and the hare occupied Inés’ attentions, and she was too far away to hear their softly spoken conversation.

“Of course you are right.” Alonsa sighed. “Forgive me. I am simply … anxious.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

“And cold, too, by the looks of it.” Günter put down the cittern and picked up his sword, balancing it casually over one shoulder. He rose and held out his hand to her.

“Come and walk with me.” His voice held a smoky edge to it, rough and yet inviting at the same time. It might have been the very voice the serpent used in the Garden of Eden to tempt Eve toward her downfall.

Alonsa only resisted its pull with a supreme effort of will. She took a step back. “Where?”

One corner of his mouth lifted, and those fascinating green eyes crinkled in a subtle display of humor. Oh, his eyes … She might resist his voice, but she could never resist his eyes.

He still held out his hand to her.

“We need more wood to cook the hare and warm you as well. You can help me gather it.” He gestured to their companions. “It would take more effort to pry Fritz away from Inés’ side than to gather the wood ourselves. Unless you would prefer to warm yourself in the circle of my arms …”

“I will help you gather the wood,” she said quickly.

This time both corners of his mouth lifted in amusement.

“Pity, though I suppose you are right. We still need the wood for cooking. Come.”

She glanced up at the darkening sky. Purple and orange streaks decorated the edges of the heavens. Night approached.

“Can we gather it here? It grows dark soon.”

“The wood here is too wet.” He pointed to a softly sloping hillside. “The wood on higher ground will not smoke as much. A smoky fire can reveal our position to passersby. Besides, I have an innate sense of direction. I can find my way around quite well in the dark.” His smile turned playful. “You’d be surprised how well.”

She put her hands on her hips.

“Must everything be a jest to you?”

He grew still, suddenly intense.

“Not everything. Some things I am quite serious about. Would you like to know what they are? Or would you prefer to gather the wood?”

She sighed and rubbed her temples. This constant banter wearied her—she never knew what she might say that would cause him to tease her. Resisting the urge to tease back grew increasingly harder.

“Let us gather the wood, please.”

“Wise choice.”

She let him take her hand in a gesture of familiarity that surprised her. He enveloped it with his own and smoothed his thumb over the tender hills of her palm. Not once did he take his eyes off her as he called to Inés and Fritz that they were leaving.

They turned and climbed the sloping hillside together into the gathering dusk.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“W
HAT IS THAT SONG YOU SING?
” A
LONSA ASKED
Günter as they trudged through dead leaves and kicked aside pebbles in search of the best kindling wood. “It is beautiful. Do I know it?”

Günter’s hand still lightly clasped hers. She tried to ignore the warmth of his big palm; tried to forget the last time she had felt it upon her body.

He glanced at her and leaned down to retrieve a fat stick of wood.

“It is nothing. A little tune I am composing.” He handed the wood to her.

She took it without thinking.

“You have time to compose your own music?”

His eyes flickered, then went blank.

“Aye, between hacking men to death and bedding every wench in sight, I manage to write a lyric or two.” He dropped her hand and turned away.

Realizing she had annoyed him, she hurried to his side.

“Günter …”

“That is what you meant to imply by your question, isn’t it?” In profile, his clenched jaw said more than his words ever would.

She tugged on his arm, forcing him to stop.

He turned to look at her. “What?”

“I meant to imply no such thing.” She stared at him and realized he was not annoyed but hurt, and not for the first time, by her words. In a moment of clarity, she also realized Günter might be one of the biggest, fiercest warriors in the company, but he had a tender heart.

She wondered if any of the other women of his acquaintance had comprehended it, or if by his jesting and careless attitude he had fooled them into believing he thought of little other than his beer and his blades. Deep inside, she already knew the answer.

“Who was she?” she asked softly.

His gaze narrowed. “Who was who?”

“The woman who hurt you.”

He remained silent for so long that she thought he might deny it, might refuse to speak. Then he sighed.

“She is—was my brother’s wife.”

Shocked, Alonsa dropped her hand and simply stared.

He looked back at her with a self-mocking smile.

“She was
my
betrothed first.” He picked up another short branch, rubbed it between his palms, and gazed at it as though it might reveal its wooded secrets to him.

“I had known Beth since we were children,” he went on. “There was an affinity between us. Our parents betrothed us as soon as we came of age.”

He stared off into the forest, but she suspected he did not see the landscape before them.

“I suppose I loved her, but I was not yet ready for marriage. I wanted to travel, to see the world.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I asked her to wait for me. She did, for years. And then, I suppose, she grew tired of waiting.” He threw the branch into the gathering dark with a sharp flick of his wrist and stared after it.

“What happened?” she gently prodded.

He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck in a gesture of weariness. “I had gone to study music and art in Florence. Then one day, my older brother Wolf arrived on my doorstep, all the way from Wittenberg, unannounced. He told me I must see to my betrothed, and he’d come to drag me home if need be. You see, there was someone else, though I did not know whom at the time.”

“You do not mean …”

He smiled, sharp and quick, but she saw the pain around the edges of it.

“Ah, you guessed what I did not. The trip to Florence was Wolf’s desperate attempt, I suppose, to do the right thing. That is Wolf,” he mused, shaking his head. “Always doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. Regardless, when I came home, Beth explained to me quite tearfully that she couldn’t marry one man while she loved another. It would dishonor them both, she said. It didn’t take long for me to discover who the other man was.”

“Oh, Günter. They … betrayed you?”

“Nay, they claimed the opposite. They swore to it, in fact. But it mattered little, in the end. Her heart had changed, while mine had not. Yet it became obvious to me there would be no future for us, not with Wolf in the middle.”

Günter wandered over to grasp the black trunk of a gnarled pine. He picked absently at the aged strips of bark, which told a story of strife and hardship in a harsh land.

“To her credit, I don’t think she meant to hurt me. She was so young when we were betrothed, she hardly knew her own mind. By the time she did, it was too late to change our course.”

“Did you decide to marry her anyway?”

“Nay. Wolf offered to leave, to take himself off to Nürnberg, but I wanted no more of either of them. I left, enlisted in the
Fähnlein
one day while stinking drunk, and did in fact get my wish to see the world.” He laughed that humorless sound again. “Just not as I had expected.”