Wicked Whispers (27 page)

Enrique took her in, his face naked with pride. “Smile. You have never looked more exquisite. The gown is perfect for your coloring and my mamá’s jewels.”

He opened the polished wood box he’d taken out earlier and removed an intricately designed emerald pendant with a gold chain attached. In the candlelight, the jewel flashed green, the same color as the trim on her gown.

The stone’s beauty and the elaborateness of the piece overwhelmed and disturbed her.

In too short a time, she’d changed from the woman she’d once been. Now she dressed like a queen and wore a monarch’s gem, her books and experiments forgotten, the peasants on their own. Thankfully, none had needed her these last days, but would. She had no business wasting time with a group of arrogant and pampered nobles when survival for others was at stake.

“Put it back.” She stepped away. “I could never wear such a lovely piece.”

“You can and will.” He held it up. “Turn around, lift your hair, and accept my gift.”

“I would rather be swimming in the pond with you, experimenting on my mice, or treating the ill.”

“This is only one night, my love. The feast will end. Your mice will meet their doom once more.”

Not fast enough for her. The gown was heavy, hot, and too ornate to move in easily. She was uncomfortable with the extravagance that would surely pull all eyes to her.

Once she was on the stairway, her worst fears came true.

Nobles glanced up, conversations stalled, eyes widened. Approval flooded the men’s faces, envy the women’s.

Luscinda stood within the glow of a dozen candles. The light skimmed her blue velvet gown, her caul bearing the same shade. The dark colors and her black hair made her skin seem exceedingly delicate and quite lovely. Young men surrounded her, each a minor noble without great estates. They’d been born second and third sons rather than the first. Their broad smiles and gentle touches on her sleeve failed to gain her attention. She eyed Sancha’s gown and the jewel she wore.

No illness or wound had ever disturbed Sancha as much as Luscinda’s calculating appraisal.

Enrique seemed blind to her presence. At the bottom of the stairs, he exchanged pleasantries with his guests.

The old duke smiled broadly at Sancha, his fat fingers wrapped around a goblet. “Your husband is a lucky man.”

A count’s wife edged close. “Your gown is exquisite. Do tell me the name of your tailoress.”

Soon, the women had surrounded her, the men Enrique. Everyone talked at once about velvets, silks, jewels, gowns, war, Moors, property, the Crown, until Sancha’s head spun as she tried to keep up. At past parties, she’d listened to others discuss trivialities, relieved the other nobles ignored her.

Now, these women sought converse on matters she’d never considered.

“I have yet to see the newest combs and fans,” she said to an older woman, a marquis’s wife.

The woman wagged her finger. “Your husband must take you there.”

“Where?” Enrique joined them, proving to Sancha he’d listened all along, protecting her as he’d promised.

The women spoke at once, advising him to spend at least a day at the next fair so Sancha could have the latest fashions.

“Wearing what you have in the past will never do,” a viscountess said.

The marquesa put up her hand. “I have an idea. We can go to the fair together. Ladies to purchase the most beautiful items they can find, men to haggle over weapons and animals as they drink themselves into a stupor.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Sancha smiled as well as she could, grateful for Enrique’s arm when time came for the feast. She recalled how noisy the banquet had been at Fernando’s castle. Tonight’s was twice as loud given double the guests.

With Dominico seated on her right and Enrique on her left, she endured Luscinda’s relentless scrutiny from across the table. Although the young woman kept up her end of converse with the men on either side of her, even toying with them shamelessly, her attention never left Sancha for long. Whenever Sancha spoke, Luscinda seemed particularly interested.

For the most part Sancha kept her tongue, concerned Luscinda might use whatever she said to put doubt back into the other’s minds, destroying the hope and work Enrique had accomplished this night.

There was enough food to feed a sizeable village for a week. Two harpists and three men with lutes played a melody no one paid attention to and few probably heard given the din. Wine flowed freely.

The older men were the first to succumb to drink and their gluttony, sagging in their chairs with sleep or bending over the tables, arms pillowing their heads as they napped. A few ladies followed, lids closed, mouths slack.

Even Dominico grew sleepy. Although Sancha had seen him out-drink and out-eat Tomás, Pedro, and Enrique combined on the night of her wedding, he’d apparently reached his limit at this gathering.

“You should help him to his chamber,” Luscinda suddenly said.

Sancha glanced at those who surrounded them, all busy with their own enjoyment, even Enrique, who had the duke laughing loudly at his tale. “Who do you mean?”

“Your priest.”

“Enrique’s boyhood friend?” She’d spoken louder than usual should anyone be listening. To claim Dominico was hers would be the first step to saying she’d corrupted his soul. The religious were favorite targets of demons. If she’d truly had the Devil’s power, she would have made Luscinda burst into flames rather than having to endure her icy smile.

“Dear Sancha, call him whatever you want. He does seem ready to fall off his chair.”

He swayed, jerked, and swayed once more, bumping Sancha again.

She helped him rest his head on the table.

Luscinda pursed her lips. “How uncomfortable he must be.”

“No more than the others.”

“Are you refusing to take him to his chamber because you fear being alone with a holy man?”

Her question shouldn’t have shocked Sancha but did. If she didn’t help Dominico to his room, Luscinda could claim she was afraid to be alone with him because he’d unmask her as a witch. If she did take him upstairs, speculation would arise concerning their time together and whether she’d tried to corrupt him carnally or he’d done so with her.

Sancha gestured for the servant behind Dominico’s chair. “Help padre to his chamber. See he has everything he needs.”

Unable to handle the priest alone, the young man called upon an older fellow next to him for help.

Luscinda stroked her goblet. “How clever of you.”

Sancha stood. No one noticed, not the young nobles on either side of Luscinda who now spoke to others, nor Enrique who was telling his tale. She rounded the table to the other side and leaned down to the young woman.

With her cheek close to Luscinda’s, Sancha whispered, “How sorry I feel for you. Wanting a man who will never share your desire, him having found you lacking even before he met me. Nothing has changed with Enrique in regards to you. Continue on your course and chance his reprisal at your own peril.”

Sancha left the room.

The duke’s tale of an old romance had Enrique laughing so hard his throat grew parched. He reached blindly for his wine, misjudged the distance, and knocked over the beaker.

He shifted around to see if the drink had spattered Sancha. With his sudden movement, dizziness hit. After taking a moment to breathe deeply, clear his head, and curse himself for imbibing too much, he turned to Sancha once more.

Her chair and Dominico’s were empty. Confused, he craned his neck to see if they were in another part of the dining hall visiting with others. There was no flash of her auburn hair, her gold gown, or Dominico’s balding head.

Odd, unless…

His stomach twisted at the possibility of Sancha having fallen ill because of her condition.

His worry drove away the effects of his drinking, while good sense told him she wouldn’t have left without telling him she was ill. She’d always come to him first, not Dominico, even if she believed his friend’s prayers and blessings would help save the coming babe.

Enrique searched until a servant girl blocked his view, moving plates aside, mopping up the mess he’d made.

“Leave it.” He scanned empty chairs, guests who still enjoyed themselves, those who had fallen asleep or had swooned, and finally came upon Luscinda across the table, staring at him.

His skin crawled. Never had he seen a woman’s expression as intense and determined. The men on either side of her didn’t seem to notice. Drunk, they talked loudly, each vying for her attention. To Luscinda, they seemed not to exist, as absent from her thoughts as Sancha was.

Enrique glared at her. “Where is she?”

She looked at him coldly. “Who?”

“My wife.”

“Gone.” She glanced at Dominico’s empty chair, her expression knowing and accusatory as to what his wife and friend were doing alone together.

How dare she consider such a thing in regards to Sancha. He wanted to have it out with her but held back and cursed himself for paying more attention to enjoyment than safeguarding his wife. For those few moments of foolish pleasure, Luscinda had effortlessly forced him into a corner.

If he left to search for Sancha, as he should, Luscinda would likely point out his absence to the others, claiming he’d gone to find his wife and friend the moment he became aware of their absence. Luscinda wouldn’t have to accuse Sancha of outright adultery or witchcraft. Spreading innuendo, then allowing others to come to their own conclusions would be enough. If he were to stay here, she could claim Sancha’s absence had weakened the spell she’d cast on him, the one that had forced him to the altar. With Sancha’s hold on him no longer firm, Luscinda might suggest he clearly preferred to be with her.

Whatever he did had no good outcome, a confrontation between them unwinnable for him. She could say anything to defend herself and would. Only a direct threat against Sancha would convince the other nobles of Luscinda’s jealousy and avarice, causing them to dismiss anything else she said concerning his wife.

Luscinda had warned him not to spurn her and kept making good on her words.

More worried about Sancha than gossip, he left the room and sprinted down the hall toward his study. She might have taken refuge there. They’d shared many good moments in the room, her on his lap, keeping him from work.

At his approach, a viscount and a baron’s young wife jumped apart, lips still wet from their impassioned kiss. Upon reaching his study, he opened the door and closed it quickly on the couple inside, both naked, their backs to him, the man prepared to mount the woman, who was on her hands and knees.

He climbed the stairs three at a time, reached the landing quickly, and raced down the hall to his and Sancha’s bedchamber, his panting nearly as loud as his footfalls. Not caring how much noise he made, he threw open the door to the room. The handle struck the wall.

Sancha flinched, Rosa yipped, both on the mattress.

He kicked the door closed and dropped to one knee at Sancha’s side. Her fingers were surprisingly warm, not icy as he’d expected. She didn’t look upset either. Certainly nowhere near the rage tearing through him. “She said nothing to you?”

“Who?”

He frowned. “Who else? Luscinda.”

“Oh her.” She shrugged.

“Why did you leave the table without telling me where you were going? I thought something had happened to you and the infant.”

Now, she frowned. “Without me telling you?”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Fine. Tomorrow morning will surely be a different matter.”

“What happened to bring you up here?”

“I missed Rosa.”

He pressed his fingers to the inside of his eyes. “Must you always talk around things as though you have no idea what I mean when you most certainly do?”

“Forgive me. I want only to keep you from getting angrier.”

“Too late.” He lowered his hand. “What did Luscinda say to you this time?”

“The usual. She twisted my words to make them seem suspicious. In turn, I told her your feelings for her, or lack of them, would never change even if I were gone. I then warned her of your reprisal if she should continue her current course. I made no threats in public, whispering to her instead.”

He nodded, proud she’d defended herself, though she’d done little to change Luscinda’s mind. He’d seen her hatred at the table. For the first time, he realized the matter between them had gone beyond Luscinda wanting what his position and wealth could bring her. She meant to hurt him through Sancha, revenge her true goal.

Fury shot through him, burning his skin. He wanted to destroy her no matter the consequences.

“Are you all right?” Sancha gripped his arm.

He took a deep breath. The worry in her voice, her frantic touch, shook him back to good sense. “I am. Avoid the wretch as much as possible. Give her no chance to speak to you. Win over the other women, making them your allies.”

“Must I go back down now?”

She looked so disheartened, tenderness welled in him. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, stuck out like a little girl who pouted. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. Tonight, most everyone is too drunk or well on the way to notice your absence.”

“The same as Dominico.”

“I wondered where he went. Did he stagger away by himself?”

“Two servants dragged him from his chair at my request. I told them to put him in his bedchamber.”

“How did I miss so much?”

She smiled gently. “You and the duke were enjoying yourselves, trying to outdo each other with tales of when you first became men, and the women who helped you reach those lofty goals.”

His face stung. “How much did you hear?” He couldn’t recall details of what he’d said.

“Enough for me to brag to Isabella regarding your indiscretions since she always goes on about Fernando’s earlier adventures—no—stop.”

He would not. He tickled Sancha until she sprawled on the bed, trembling with laughter, Rosa yipping at her side. He stroked the galgo’s head to quiet her.

Sancha’s giggles turned to contented sighs. “I love you, you know.”