Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue

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СКАЧАТЬ inclined closer to ensure no one heard them speak. “Will you join me after you sup? Please.”

      She stopped stroking his thumb.

      Crushed, he prepared to make his case, even if hundreds watched and heard. Words swirled in his mind, none perfect or even adequate to begin his pretty speech.

      She caressed his fingers again, much to his surprise. A faint sound poured from her.

      “What?”

      “Sí.”

      “To what?”

      “Meeting you.”

      The answer he’d waited a lifetime for. He had to keep himself from whooping in delight or hauling her onto his lap and kissing her senseless. Aware of how easily gossip could spread, he remained as close as protocol allowed to keep anyone from eavesdropping. “Are you familiar with the north balcony that faces the stand of olive trees?”

      Sancha nodded.

      “Meet me there as soon as you finish. But please, take the time you need for your meal.” Even if the wait killed him, he’d endure anything to be alone with her.

      He released her hand and ate faster than he ever had, far less too, neither tasting nor caring about his meal. The moment a bite of fig or beef stuck in his throat, he washed the offending morsel down with a gulp of wine.

      Sancha picked at her bread and mutton.

      “Can I get you anything?” He wanted to give her the world. “A slice of fowl or more honey?”

      She folded her hands in her lap. “I want nothing more.”

      How wrong she was. They needed each other. “Leave this room when you feel you can. Then come to me.”

      He was ready to signal Isabella, reminding her to chaperone Sancha, at least until they arrived at the balcony.

      Luscinda rested her hand on his arm. “You must try this.” She offered an orange slice. “Its sweetness will stun you.”

      “Thank you, no. I need air, not food.”

      “Luscinda will accompany you.” Señora de Cortés bit off another piece of cheese, her mouth crammed with it. “She could use some cooling air too.”

      The evening was as steamy as the room. “If she accompanies me, who will accompany her?”

      Señora de Cortés smiled. “Her mamá, of course.”

      How clever of her. If they claimed anything untoward happened, like stolen kisses or more, the matter would rest on their word against his, followed by a wedding and a life of misery with a woman he would never want. “Remain here. I neither need nor want company this evening.”

      Both women glanced at Sancha.

      Best he hide his interest in her. “I wish to remain alone unless my brother wants to visit with me. I should ask his lovely wife if she minds me stealing him away for a few minutes.”

      Señora de Cortés eyed him. “Indeed you should.”

      Ignoring her, he faced Sancha. “Excuse me.” He left the table.

      At his approach, Isabella smiled slyly.

      Fernando rolled his eyes. “What are you two plotting?”

      His and Sancha’s future hopefully. “Nothing.” He leaned down to Isabella and told her where he and Sancha would meet.

      “Never fear, she will be with you shortly.”

      Fernando regarded them. “Bound and gagged if need be, no?”

      Enrique clapped him on the shoulder. “She found you repulsive, dear brother, not me.”

      “We shall see.”

      Enrique turned to Isabella. “One last thing.”

      She held up her hand. “You have naught to worry about. She already knows how magnificent you are. Nearly as much as my dear Fernando.”

      Enrique smiled sweetly. “Keep an eye on Luscinda and her mother. If they make a move toward Sancha, fell them as you did the rogue who tried to take Fernando’s life.”

      Isabella spoke through her teeth. “The dirty puto.”

      “Wife.” Fernando pointed at her. “Must I keep warning you about your language?”

      “Only this once.”

      “And until next time,” Enrique said.

      Fernando exchanged a glance with him, then bumped her arm with his. “He knows you too well.”

      “Go.” She shooed Enrique away. “Sancha will come to no harm.”

      He left the dining hall, grateful for the cooler air and silence. Although Fernando’s castle was half the size of Enrique’s, the rooms were enormous, the halls long, candles and lamps everywhere, lighting his way. Soon, the only sounds were his shoes ringing against the stone floors. Colorful mosaics decorated many of the walls, the patterns breathtaking in their intricacy. Polished stone columns, as white as milk, flanked graceful archways.

      Fernando had done well as a warrior. The Crown had granted him this castle and conquered land for his many battles against the Moors and spying for Spain in Granada.

      As the firstborn son, Enrique never had to serve in battle, as he alone would inherit their papá’s great estate. In the past, he’d envied Fernando and their brothers for the adventures they’d known. Not any longer. Isabella’s anguish had been hard to witness when Fernando had nearly died to protect her and Sancha from their murderous uncle. Enrique never wanted to bring Sancha such pain. He simply needed her love and would make his case tonight.

      Upon reaching the balcony, he closed the doors and paced. A balmy breeze ruffled his hair, the scent of rich earth and vegetation surrounding him. An animal cried in the distance. The faint sound of horse hooves reached him, perhaps a late visitor arriving for the celebration.

      He stopped pacing and listened for footfalls. None yet. Muttering an oath, he stalked from one end of the balcony to the other repeatedly. After an eternity of waiting, the handles rattled.

      He strode forward, then stared, worried suddenly about Luscinda, her mamá, or both being here.

      “Enrique,” Isabella called. “The doors are stuck.” She kicked the wood.

      He pulled hard on the handles, opening them for her.

      She stayed put. Although Sancha didn’t race to his side, she did join him on the balcony.

      “Fernando needs me.” Isabella rocked on her heels. “When you two return, please do so at separate times so no one notices or discusses what might have gone on out here.”

      Sancha colored in the moonlight.

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