Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue

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      “I am.” She hurried past.

      “Wait, please,” the girl called. “I was coming for you. I just left the dining hall, thinking you were there.”

      Uneasy, Sancha turned, worried Enrique had asked the servant to search for her once he realized she hadn’t returned to the celebration. “Who asked you to fetch me?”

      “Juanita.” She joined Sancha and scanned the hall in both directions. Although they were alone, the girl huddled close. “She has news of her niece. The child has taken a turn for the worse.”

      Sancha pressed her hand to her throat. She’d spoken to Juanita earlier on the matter. “Has she arranged for my travel to the village?”

      “Sí. The child’s uncles will accompany you. Forgive them for bringing a mule for you to ride. They lack the funds to own a horse.”

      “A mule is fine. Fetch me a male servant’s clothing. Not what he wears during his duties here but his personal garments. Shirt, braies, hose, hat, and ankle boots. Clothing close to my size.”

      The girl’s plain face slackened in apparent bewilderment.

      “Go and do as I say.” Sancha gestured to get her moving. “Return here.”

      She nodded and bolted down the hall.

      Sancha paced as she waited. Every sound made her flinch. Repeatedly, she peered down the hall to see if Enrique approached.

      He did not.

      At last, the girl returned, arms wrapped around the garments.

      Sancha took them. “Tell the men to wait for me in the olive grove.”

      The girl ran in one direction, Sancha the other, the journey to her chamber longer than she’d hoped. There were so many passages here, too many halls and rooms.

      Once inside her own, she sagged against the door to catch her breath but didn’t allow herself more than a moment. After dropping the clothing on the bed, she frowned at her silk gown. The garment had no end of buttons she might not be able to reach, the farthingale and kirtle each bore laces that were difficult to undo on her own.

      She strained to reach the buttons on the back of her gown, her fingers falling short no matter how hard she tried. Growling, she grabbed both sides, prepared to rip the garment from her.

      The door to her chamber flew open.

      She froze. So did Isabella.

      Sancha leaned over to see if Enrique had accompanied her sister.

      Isabella was alone. She closed the door and frowned at the peasant wear on Sancha’s bed. “What are you doing?”

      “I need your help.” After lifting her hair, Sancha turned her back to her sister. “Unbutton me.”

      “Why?”

      “So I can remove my gown.”

      “Why?”

      Sancha stormed away. “Never mind.” She grabbed the back of her garment and tugged as hard as she could.

      “Wait.” Isabella grabbed her wrists. “What did you do to your fingers?”

      “I scraped them on a wall in a secret passage.”

      “Why? What were you doing there?”

      “Trying to find my way here.” She shook off Isabella’s hands and tugged on her gown once more.

      Isabella clucked her tongue. “You ruin your hands and now you intend to rip your clothes to get them off?”

      “I have no choice if you refuse to help me.” She spoke quietly. “A child lies wounded, possibly dying, in the village.”

      “Wounded how?”

      “Older children found a sword. While they were playing with the weapon, the little girl came too near and the tip slashed her leg. I need to go to her without delay.”

      “Of course you do.” Isabella glanced at the other garments. “But dressed as a man?”

      “I learned the trick from you. The deception served you well after your rescue when you traveled with Fernando.”

      “Exactly. I was with him, not alone.”

      “The girl’s uncles will accompany me. I have no time to discuss this. I must hurry.”

      “Keep still so I can help.” Isabella’s fingers fairly flew over the buttons and laces.

      With her sister’s assistance, Sancha pushed the gown, farthingale, kirtle, and chemise off. Naked, she padded to the servant’s clothing.

      Isabella joined her. “Does Enrique know about this? Did you and he argue over your plans to help the little girl?”

      “He knows nothing of her.” She pulled on the braies. “I learned of her worsening condition after I left his side.”

      “Did you enjoy each other?”

      Isabella’s expression was so hopeful, Sancha warned herself not to encourage any romantic dreams. However, she couldn’t be dishonest. “Far too much.”

      “Wonderful.” She clapped her hands, stopping quickly. “Why did you two argue? I know you did. When Enrique came to me, he was quite concerned about you.”

      “Did he say what we discussed?”

      “No. He left to find you.”

      Sancha stopped pulling up the hose. “Will he come here?”

      “Not right away. He has no idea which room is yours. Tell me what happened.”

      Too much. Losing herself in Enrique’s arms wasn’t like her. All her life, Sancha had been the demure one, dismissing passion in favor of books and knowledge. Love was for other women who wanted nothing more than a man to rule their days. “I told him his hope for our union was impossible and to woo another woman.”

      “What? Since when do you find him as repulsive as you did Fernando? Is it because they resemble each other so closely?”

      “No. I find Enrique too thrilling. We kissed and I wanted more.”

      Isabella laughed gaily, turning a fast circle only to stop. “You said you wanted more. Why then are you denying him and yourself?”

      “To save others, as I did Fernando. If he had been anyone else’s husband save yours, and I had wed a man who refused to allow my healing, Fernando would have died. How can I permit such a thing? How can anyone, and for no other reason than I happen to be a woman?”

      “Sancha.” Isabella embraced her. “I fear for your safety. The Inquisition has spies everywhere. Many of them are probably here tonight, eating my husband’s food and enjoying his drink.”

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