Wicked Whispers (28 page)

“For tickling you?”

“For not suggesting I go back to the gathering. I know you would never demand.” She laced her fingers through his. “Will you stay here too?”

He shook his head. “I want to keep an eye on Luscinda. Turn over so I can undo your buttons.”

Once she was naked, as he liked, he kissed her longingly, then hugged her in farewell.

When he reached their chamber door, she called out, “She will never win.”

“Never.” He’d see to Luscinda’s ruin first, proving how ruthless he could be when it came to his beloved wife.

* * * *

He didn’t return to the bedchamber until dawn and fell onto the mattress fully clothed.

Sancha hated to bother him, but she’d spent the night wondering and worrying what went on at the celebration. “Do you have anything to tell me?”

He finished his yawn. “Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the wretch staring at me. Not once did I glance her way, as though she was no longer at the table. At last, she gave up and went to her room.”

“Are you certain she headed there?”

“I had a servant follow her and linger to make sure she remained, which he did and she did.”

Good thing. She easily pictured Luscinda scouring the castle for something to use against them.

“Enough talk of her,” he said. “Time for us to…to…” He fell asleep without finishing.

She followed him into slumber. Neither woke until nearly midday.

* * * *

He went off with the men to ride, fish, or hunt. Stuck with the women, she led the group to the area surrounding the pond. After servants had laid blankets over the grass and brought out chairs for the older women, they provided baskets of cheese, bread, grapes, olives, pork, boiled eggs, and wine.

Rosa couldn’t seem to get enough eggs. She licked yolk off Sancha’s fingertips, making her laugh.

Despite the month, the afternoon grew unexpectedly warm and lazy, the women still too tired or sated from food to speak much. Many sank to their blankets and slept beneath olive trees. Sancha smiled at Katia, the elderly countess who’d said she recalled being young and in love.

“Can I get you anything?” Sancha asked.

Katia’s smile created a fan of wrinkles on the corners of her eyes. Otherwise, her skin was as fresh and fair as a young woman’s. “I have already eaten far too much.” She regarded the surroundings. “This area is lovely. Do you and Enrique come here often?”

“As much as we can. His work with the estates keeps him occupied.”

“What keeps you occupied?” Luscinda asked from the next blanket. Seated beside her was the baroness who’d offered naught but frowns and insinuations since her arrival.

Pretending she hadn’t heard the question, Sancha lifted the pup and presented her to the countess. “Have you met Rosa yet?”

“Bring her here.” The galgo licked Katia’s chin. She laughed gaily.

Luscinda and the baroness didn’t join in, their attention on Sancha.

Whenever she said anything, one or the other would comment, trying to force her into a corner. She ignored them and followed Enrique’s advice on making allies of the other women. Some she’d known for years, seeing them at countless gatherings, though they’d never spoken to her for long nor she to them.

Today, she forced herself to converse and finally asked mothers in the group for advice on enduring childbirth, tending to an infant, making certain her son or daughter would grow up healthy and strong.

Information she already knew, but pretended ignorance.

The change in the women’s attitudes toward her was nearly magical. They surrounded her protectively and offered advice on what she shouldn’t eat to avoid sickness in the mornings. One marquesa, who’d had seven children and was carrying her eighth, told her to ride every day, even when she was heavy with child, claiming the activity would make birthing far easier.

“And kill the horse from the weight,” one young woman said.

Everyone laughed, save for Luscinda and the baroness.

Before long, Sancha forgot about them and genuinely enjoyed herself. She and a few women her age dipped their feet in the pond to cool off from the unseasonable heat, making certain they were always in the shade to avoid ruining their complexions.

“Men are so fortunate,” a señorita with light brown hair said. “No matter how horrible they look, they can always find a wife.”

“But not her tender regard,” the young woman next to her said.

Somehow, the subject changed from love to wedding nights with tales more fantastic than what Sancha had heard the duke and Enrique discuss. She laughed heartily with the women.

A servant approached. “Señora?”

Still smiling, she turned to the young man.

He offered a small bow. “You have a visitor.”

Surprised, she looked at him dumbly. “Me?”

“Sí. In the patrón’s study.” He offered another small bow and left without saying more, as though full disclosure wasn’t his place in front of so many others, or perhaps such a thing wasn’t allowed.

She suddenly thought of Isabella coming here, wanting to surprise her. Hoping for that, she pushed to her feet. “Please excuse me. I think my sister has made the gathering after all.”

“Have her come out and join us,” the one with the brown hair said. “Is she wed?”

Sancha nodded. “And with child.”

“Wonderful. She can tell us even more tales about wedding nights.”

“I warn you, hers are more outrageous than any of yours.” With her words bringing on new laughter, Sancha left.

Barefoot, she ran into the castle and Enrique’s study, stopping just inside the door. Pedro, not Isabella, stood inside.

“What are you doing here? Oh my, forgive me.” Sancha felt horrible. “I meant to say, I was expecting Isabella, not you. Are you looking for Enrique? Is everything all right?” She inhaled sharply. “Has something happened to him? Had he been hunting? Is he hurt?”

“I have no idea where he is. I came to speak to both of you.”

Her insides churned. The earlier worry she’d had about rumors and the inquisitors came back with a vengeance, making her dizzy and ill. “Why do you need to speak to us?”

Pedro strode past her and closed the door. “Tomás is ill.”

“Ill?” She didn’t understand. “In what way? How badly?”

He lifted his hand, grief and worry flooding his features.

“Tell me please.”

“The surgeon doesn’t expect him to survive.”

“What? Enrique and I saw you and Tomás a short while ago. He was fine.”

“He had a cough and a fever like so many are getting lately. The others recovered. For some reason he keeps getting worse. He asked me to write the letter for why we were unable to attend your gathering.”

“You never wrote that he was ill.”

“He told me not to. He feared ruining your and Enrique’s gathering with worry. I argued if he came here, you could help him. He said no, refusing to endanger you because of your healing. The surgeon has bled him twice with him only growing worse. A third time will surely kill him. Something else must be done.”

“I need to gather my things. Find Enrique. He and the men left hours ago. They should be on their way back by now.”

She left Pedro to go to a storage area where she found an unused sack. Making certain no one watched or followed her, she ran to the hidden room where Enrique had moved her books, mice, herbs, and other materials.

Just inside the door she stopped, tears blurring her vision.

Tomás couldn’t die. He had too much to live for, charming countless señoritas, taunting his brothers good-naturedly. Of all Enrique’s siblings, she was closest to him. He’d always smiled and teased her.

She packed her materials quickly, adding her largest volume should her initial remedies fail to help. Given what Pedro had told her, the illness sounded the same as what Isabella said Fernando experienced. The symptoms also matched what the baroness claimed in regards to her servants.

With everything ready, she left the sack in the room, returned unnoticed to the study, and paced for what seemed an eternity. Finally, footfalls rang in the hall. Enrique and Pedro hurried inside the room, breathing hard, their faces flushed.

She closed the door. “I have everything ready in the room. As soon as I fetch the sack, we can leave for the fortaleza.”

Enrique shook his head. “Not you.”

“What do you mean? I can use everything I know to heal him.”

“At a stronghold filled with knights and a surgeon who sees to their care? Pedro never should have asked you to do this.”

“I offered. None of this is his fault.”

“What does it matter? If any of the men sees you healing, they will tell the authorities.”

“You want me to let Tomás die?”

“No. Give me your medicine. Write down what I must do and I can—”

“Listen to me. I need to tend to him as I did Fernando, not through you. Hoping you achieve what I can may cause your brother’s death.”

“How can you treat him at a fortaleza?” He turned to Pedro. “Tell her how foolish her idea is.”

“Enrique is right. I was wrong to have come here. Tomás would never want you to risk your safety, no matter his need.”

“No one will know what I do. No different than at the convent. The sacerdote was there and never knew I treated Fernando. He thought I was holding prayer vigils. The two of you can say the same to the knights and the surgeon.”

Enrique glared. “You hope that will keep them out of Tomás’s room?”

“Telling them how contagious the illness is will keep them well away with none of them seeing what goes on inside. We can say the fever and cough brought down one of the nobles we know after he dealt with his manservant who had the same symptoms. Now he, the servant, and everyone in his castle are ill.”

Enrique shook his head.

She cried, “Each moment you force me to reason with you is another lost as Tomás grows weaker. You promised before we wed you would never stop me from healing. You would help me. Do so now.”

His face turned red.

“Please. If not for your brother, for me.”

“What of our child you carry?”

“You are with child?” Pedro asked.

“I am, but my condition changes nothing.” She went to Enrique. “You asked about our babe. When he becomes a knight and needs a healer I would hope one would chance everything to keep him whole and alive.”

He swore beneath his breath then spoke to Pedro. “Gather what she packed so she has everything she needs.” He told his brother where to find the secret room, then held out his hand to her. “We need to tell our guests of our departure. If we leave without word, they will wonder.”

With Luscinda’s encouragement, they would talk.

The men were in the dining hall, enjoying their repast after a day of sport. Enrique told them of Tomás’s grave illness.

The nobles offered sympathy and their hope the young man would survive.

Sancha led the way to the pond where the ladies rested, talked, and laughed until they noticed her and Enrique’s approach.

With a glance, he took them in. “Forgive my wife and I for leaving you so suddenly. My brother, Tomás, has taken quite ill.”

Several of the women inhaled sharply in surprise and dismay, hands to their throats. A flurry of wishes for renewed health followed.

“Sancha and I will be leaving for the stronghold immediately,” he said.

“Why her?” Luscinda stood. “What can she do there?”

He took a step toward her, hands tightened into fists, face dark with fury.

Sancha grabbed his arm, stopping him. “I can pray for Tomás’s good health, as I would hope each of you will do in the chapel.”

The ladies glanced from her to Enrique, then Luscinda.

Katia came forward. “Of course, we will. I can take care of Rosa in your absence. Go. See to Tomás. Make certain he survives his illness.”

Given Sancha’s condition, Enrique asked her to ride in the carriage. For him to insist would have proved futile. Repeatedly, his wife did whatever she willed.

She shook her head. “A horse would be faster.”

“And more dangerous. You keep forgetting about the child you carry.”

“Riding a horse is good for both of us.” She recounted what the marquesa had advised. “She and her children are in perfect health.”

“Until a horse throws one of them.”

“We have no time to debate this with Tomás lying near death.”

He loved his brother and wanted him to survive, though not at her expense. To lose Sancha would be more than he could bear, but he couldn’t sway her.

With each league they travelled, his mood darkened, convincing him they rode toward certain doom. Although Tomás’s men were brave warriors who would stand beside him to their deaths, their first loyalty was to God and the Crown. A hint of anything involving heresy and they would seek out the authorities even if the suspected witch were Tomás’s sister-in-law.

The knights would spare no one arrest, an interrogation, torture, or death at the stake when their souls were at risk.

His shoulders ached with tension. He couldn’t seem to catch enough breath. Each time he glanced at Sancha, her attention was on the road, as was Pedro’s, both lost in their own thoughts.

The fortaleza was several hours’ ride from the castle. To Enrique, the horses seemed to move at a pace greater than what seemed possible, fate’s invisible hand guiding them toward destruction.

By the time the stronghold came into view, the sun had already dipped behind the trees, its rays casting long shadows, the air cooling.

Enrique ordered his guards back to the castle. He, Pedro, and Sancha reined in their mounts, dust swirling around them. Two knights rode hard in their direction, their expressions grim, swords drawn.

Pedro shouted, “Ignacio, Juan, I bring my brother and his wife to see Tomás.”

“How is my brother?” Enrique asked.

Ignacio shook his head. “Not good.”

Sancha put up her hand for their attention. “You must stay away from his room. The illness he has will spread.” She related her tale of the noble, his manservant, and the others they infected.

Juan’s features slackened. “Most of us have been in his room wishing him well, doing what we can. Will we now fall ill as he had?”