Loving Lies. Tina Donahue

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      “Oh, but you do.”

      He seemed so certain, Isabella could only stare until he advanced. She retreated several steps. “I was prepared to effect my escape when you came upon the scene.”

      “You were about to be sold and I rescued you.”

      “And you believe having done so gives you the right to take me as your bride?”

      “Of course. However, you also belong to me as your papá wisely chose me to be your husband, Señorita Lopéz de Lara.”

      She stared. He knew who she was? How? She wasn’t betrothed. Only her eldest sister Sancha was.

      Isabella went hot then cold.

      Sancha should have been in the slave market today, not her. As sole heir to their late parents’ estate, Sancha was the one keeping their vile uncle Don Rodrigo from the wealth. He’d ordered her abduction to make certain she never wed and produced heirs with her betrothed, who she’d been promised to since childhood, hadn’t seen since, and wanted not at all. She kept threatening to flee if he ever came to claim her.

      This man couldn’t be Sancha’s betrothed. If he were, Isabella would have taken her sister’s place to thwart their uncle’s plans only to face this new trouble.

      The world seemed to spin as the warrior in front of her bowed slightly and offered a dazzling smile. She was quickly lost in it.

      Desire filled his eyes. “I am, you see, your betrothed, Fernando de Zayas.”

      * * * *

      He expected her to be weak with relief and melt into his arms so he could enjoy another kiss. Instead, she looked unpleasantly stunned, leaving Fernando uncertain whether to be alarmed or offended by her response.

      As her surprise dissolved into pensive reflection, and what appeared to be dread, Fernando was offended. From the moment he became a man, women had pursued him. Never had he lacked a female’s comfort. When it came to this woman, his betrothed, he rather expected it. She was the girl his father demanded he wed despite Fernando’s resistance to any union. He knew what marriage did to a man. How it subjected the poor fool to a wife’s endless nagging or tears. It was better to die in battle.

      Or so he’d thought before rescuing her today.

      Despite her current behavior, her courage was refreshing, her beauty undeniable. Her milky skin, blue-green eyes, and those auburn tresses would bewitch any man, even a poor eunuch. Especially enticing was the promise of her ripe breasts hidden beneath the robe she clutched to her throat.

      How demure and disturbing. Fernando recalled her reluctance to expose her flesh to an aged fakir who she’d kissed readily, opening her mouth to his. Now that she knew who he was, her kiss and continued modesty were beginning to worry him. Would wedding her prove to be a trial? Would she secretly crave other men? Would she actually refuse him in his bed? Was such a thing possible? How could it be? A woman refusing her husband would be against the laws of God, nature, and man. She simply needed some wooing. With little effort, he could teach her exactly what pleased him and only him, she could teach him the same about herself, and they would be drunk with happiness.

      Until such time it would help if he could remember her Christian name. He’d heard it during their betrothal ceremony years before. The first and last time she was in his presence or thoughts. During the following years, he’d been busy with his own activities, going from page to squire to the battlefield and knighthood with no thought as to wedding.

      Scouring his memory, he came up with Luscinda. Or was it Benita? Or perhaps Juanita? None of those names seemed to fit. What had those who’d requested today’s rescue called her besides the señorita? Carmen? Maria? Hortensia?

      As Fernando began to consider every name he knew, she edged closer. “Why were you in the marketplace? How did you juggle hot coals in your hands? How did you avoid burning yourself? How did you breathe fire from your mouth? Why were you in the marketplace when I—”

      “You already asked the question.”

      “And you failed to answer.”

      “You never gave me the chance.”

      She lifted her chin. “You were upon the scene at the moment I was to be sold. Why? What was your purpose there?”

      “I was informed of your dilemma and came to rescue you, what else?”

      “Dressed as a fakir? Acting as a fakir?”

      He sobered at her wary tone. “It was the only means I had of rescuing you and spying for Spain without being murdered in the bargain.”

      Her lips parted in apparent dismay.

      Perhaps she did care. “I use my knowledge of the fakir’s magical tricks and my ability to speak Arabic, Turkish, and Latin to learn of the Moors’ military strategies. Others do the same. The merchant whose shop we escaped from is one of our own, as are the men who dug the tunnel we used. In time we shall rid ourselves of Granada’s useless Sultan, the cursed puto you were to be delivered to if not for my daring and successful rescue.”

      “I had planned to escape.”

      He smiled. Until today’s events, Fernando had always considered a woman to be no more than a means of physical release to a man. Whether as a shrewish wife who had to deliver her body and children, or as a willing mistress who would offer the most sensuous of pleasures.

      He now knew better.

      Here was a woman who’d shown remarkable courage in the marketplace, even though she’d been unaware of his plan to rescue her and was about to be sold as an odalisque. What other female was as resolute? To his way of thinking every other Spanish lady would have dissolved into tears and begged for mercy. Not this woman. She’d held her head high while searching for escape. She’d followed his orders with little pause, crawling through the stinking tunnel, running until her legs refused to carry her. As far as he was concerned, she was as fearless as any man. For the first time in his life, he’d met a woman who deserved his full respect. She was quite the prize, and she was his, whatever her Christian name was.

      No matter. He would delicately approach the problem and soon learn how to address her. First, though, he needed to fix their sorry state, refusing to travel through the day’s heat with them covered in grime.

      He lifted his robe and approached. “Come.” He took her hand and led her toward a stream in the distance. “You need a bath to wash the dirt and blood from you.”

      She held back and made a face at the brownish stains on her robe, then touched her cheek where blood had splashed her.

      He nearly smiled at the face she made. “No need for alarm. The blood belonged to a lamb and will wash away easily. Come.”

      Again, she held back. “As I bathe, what will you do?”

      “Assist you, of course.”

      She yanked her hand free.

      Despite her rude move, he refused to be offended. She simply needed more wooing. He easily reclaimed her hand and kissed her fingers. “Come now, señorita. As my betrothed, I fully intend to have you stripped bare СКАЧАТЬ