Alonsa’s sharp glance. That look clearly warned of dire consequences if Inés ever attempted to come near Günter in such a way.
Interesting. So she does not mind about Martin, but Günter is another matter. Inés decided to keep her speculations to herself.
“If he wishes to marry you for love, and if the curse is real, do you fear Günter’s attentions will mark him as the next victim?” she asked.
Alonsa sighed again and nodded. “I cannot risk it.”
Inés stayed silent for a moment, contemplating. “Why do you not tell him the truth?”
“He would not believe me. They never do. It is like the ancient myth, the one of the woman Cassandra, who is cursed to prophesy the future but no one ever believes her.”
Inés blew out a breath.
“Alonsa, how can you believe in this nonsense?” Inés began re-braiding Alonsa’s hair. “Many women have lost more than one husband. There is a woman in this camp who has lost seven husbands, and yet she does not blame some pagan curse for it. If only in this case, I am inclined to agree with the holy men, fools though they can sometimes be.” Inés patted one last strand of hair into place. “I think it is coincidence. If you flee, you may actually be permitting the Devil to work more freely by denying God’s will in this matter.”
Alonsa turned to Inés and stared at her intently. “Whether you believe it or no, it is enough I believe it. You must help me to save him. You must help me to escape from this place before he knows I have gone.”
Inés stared at Alonsa, and wheels began to turn in her head. She would keep these thoughts to herself until she had a better chance to think them through. It would not do to give Alonsa false hope.
“Well, we will get nothing done today,” she said, fully intending to delay Alonsa from her flight. “The sun climbs high in the sky. If I do not make the meal ready, we will keep each other awake all night with our grumbling stomachs. Perhaps we can try tomorrow.” With that she rose.
Alonsa stopped her with a hand on her sleeve.
“Promise me you will not repeat this story to Günter. I am too ashamed about… Miguel.”
“I promise, I will not repeat this story to Günter.”
Relief flooded Alonsa’s face. Inés smiled serenely. Alonsa had yet to learn the many ways of making promises and still doing what one willed.
Flesh. Heat. Desire.
Günter moaned and tossed fitfully in his sleep.
The dream again. Only this time, he had reality with which to compare it to, with which to salt its flavor. Because he had kissed Alonsa, held her body against his, it made the dream more erotic, more intense.
He awoke—hard, aching, and groaning her name. He threw off the blanket and lay sweating and naked on his bedroll, battling fiercely to control his desire. As he struggled to bring himself under control, he thanked God he shared his tent with no other soldiers this night.
Though he wouldn’t be the first to have such a dream, and to be good-naturedly teased by the other men who occupied the tent, he could not bear to have Alonsa be the subject of such lewd jesting—or for himself to be thought of as pathetic by any man. For pathetic it was. If he reacted this way to a dream, how long would he last when he finally got her into bed?
He would get her there, he vowed. It was not a question of if, only when. Alonsa would become his wife. Yes, he had promised Martin, but it meant more to him now than just that. Somehow, once he wed her, once he stopped her “no’s” with kisses, he would manage a scrap of self-restraint with her in his bed. Long enough to make her dissolve into heated moans like the ones she had given him this morning.
He felt the fire building in him at the memory, and he shook his head in frustration.
He rose and lifted the pitcher of water, now ice-cold, he kept beside the bedroll for washing—and up-ended it over his head with a yelp. Both desire and the need for further sleep quickly fled.
He
Interesting. So she does not mind about Martin, but Günter is another matter. Inés decided to keep her speculations to herself.
“If he wishes to marry you for love, and if the curse is real, do you fear Günter’s attentions will mark him as the next victim?” she asked.
Alonsa sighed again and nodded. “I cannot risk it.”
Inés stayed silent for a moment, contemplating. “Why do you not tell him the truth?”
“He would not believe me. They never do. It is like the ancient myth, the one of the woman Cassandra, who is cursed to prophesy the future but no one ever believes her.”
Inés blew out a breath.
“Alonsa, how can you believe in this nonsense?” Inés began re-braiding Alonsa’s hair. “Many women have lost more than one husband. There is a woman in this camp who has lost seven husbands, and yet she does not blame some pagan curse for it. If only in this case, I am inclined to agree with the holy men, fools though they can sometimes be.” Inés patted one last strand of hair into place. “I think it is coincidence. If you flee, you may actually be permitting the Devil to work more freely by denying God’s will in this matter.”
Alonsa turned to Inés and stared at her intently. “Whether you believe it or no, it is enough I believe it. You must help me to save him. You must help me to escape from this place before he knows I have gone.”
Inés stared at Alonsa, and wheels began to turn in her head. She would keep these thoughts to herself until she had a better chance to think them through. It would not do to give Alonsa false hope.
“Well, we will get nothing done today,” she said, fully intending to delay Alonsa from her flight. “The sun climbs high in the sky. If I do not make the meal ready, we will keep each other awake all night with our grumbling stomachs. Perhaps we can try tomorrow.” With that she rose.
Alonsa stopped her with a hand on her sleeve.
“Promise me you will not repeat this story to Günter. I am too ashamed about… Miguel.”
“I promise, I will not repeat this story to Günter.”
Relief flooded Alonsa’s face. Inés smiled serenely. Alonsa had yet to learn the many ways of making promises and still doing what one willed.
Flesh. Heat. Desire.
Günter moaned and tossed fitfully in his sleep.
The dream again. Only this time, he had reality with which to compare it to, with which to salt its flavor. Because he had kissed Alonsa, held her body against his, it made the dream more erotic, more intense.
He awoke—hard, aching, and groaning her name. He threw off the blanket and lay sweating and naked on his bedroll, battling fiercely to control his desire. As he struggled to bring himself under control, he thanked God he shared his tent with no other soldiers this night.
Though he wouldn’t be the first to have such a dream, and to be good-naturedly teased by the other men who occupied the tent, he could not bear to have Alonsa be the subject of such lewd jesting—or for himself to be thought of as pathetic by any man. For pathetic it was. If he reacted this way to a dream, how long would he last when he finally got her into bed?
He would get her there, he vowed. It was not a question of if, only when. Alonsa would become his wife. Yes, he had promised Martin, but it meant more to him now than just that. Somehow, once he wed her, once he stopped her “no’s” with kisses, he would manage a scrap of self-restraint with her in his bed. Long enough to make her dissolve into heated moans like the ones she had given him this morning.
He felt the fire building in him at the memory, and he shook his head in frustration.
He rose and lifted the pitcher of water, now ice-cold, he kept beside the bedroll for washing—and up-ended it over his head with a yelp. Both desire and the need for further sleep quickly fled.
He
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