Passionate Pursuit (21 page)

“Better I walk around naked?”

He glanced at the rumpled bed.

She made a face. “You expect me to wear sheets?”

“What? No. The white tunic from your livery should do.”

“Without the red gown? You want me to go about with my arms uncovered?”

“Wear one of my shirts too. They have sleeves.” He plucked at his, showing her.

She wasn’t certain whether he was teasing or not. “White on white?”

His face brightened. “Like an angel.”

He was serious. She scrubbed her clothes. “Until these dry, I have no choice except to wear my livery. What are we going to tell the other servants?”

“About what?”

She gestured to the messy bed, her new status with him.

“Oh.” He shrugged. “You want one of the servants to come in here now and tidy the—”

“You
are
teasing me.”

He grinned. “I like how easy you are to fool.” He joined her on the floor. “I already had a word with Señora Cisneros, asking her to explain our situation to the others, and to hire a servant to replace you. Someone young, nine or ten perhaps, so the new girl has no chance to outshine you for a few months.”

Beatriz couldn’t share his levity about this. “The staff will gossip about us, you know.”

“They do anyway even when absolutely nothing happens. Ignore them from now on.”

“After we worked together? I think not. I intend to speak to Yolanda personally. It would be awful if she thought less of me because of our wedding.”

Tomás gave her an odd look. “The few times I spoke to Yolanda, she seemed to like me. At least enough to approve of me marrying you.”

Beatriz smiled. “No need to feel bad. I was going for another point. Even though Yolanda and I spoke often, I never revealed what was going on between you and me. I told her a tall tale about my past. She has good reason to think I deceived her. Friends tell the truth to each other and share things.”

“Put the blame on me then. Tell her I ordered you not to breathe a word. I like the child and want her to keep liking you.”

“You are a good man.” She hugged him. “Once I get dressed I can help you write missives to your brothers.”

“Already finished and sent. One to my papá too. I woke early while you slept.” He caressed her buttocks, then explored the separation between her cheeks, tickling her.

She squirmed. “What of my father?”

“You mean writing him a missive? I should see him in person.”

“Oh, please, no. Seeing him could make things worse. He schemes constantly and might try something to stop us. A missive would be best.”

“Whatever you want. We can work together on what to say to him. Do you know how much he gave Larnaz for your dowry?”

“Are you planning to send money with the letter?”

“The sum will surely make our words easier for him to read.”

Although her father craved wealth, what he wanted even more was access to a world he hadn’t been born into. “Are you certain you want to go through with our plans?”

He leaned against the tub. “Are you going to give me another hard time? Can I at least have breakfast first?”

She couldn’t help smiling, though her amusement didn’t last. “My father never gives up.”

“Has he ever fought a Moor? I have hundreds of times. Facing an enemy who wants to live as much as you do is a lesson in avoiding defeat. The only one who can fell me is you by turning your back on our love and leaving my side.”

“I promise to remain until I see you harmed. Then, I would concede defeat in a moment to spare you.”

“Never.” He grabbed her shoulders, his gaze locked with hers. “Without you, I have nothing. Promise me we never stop fighting for our future no matter what.”

She lowered her face.

“Beatriz, I want to hear the words.”

“You ask too much. I could never let you get hurt because of me.”

He didn’t comment, nor did he release her.

“Very well, I promise this. If my father or Don Larnaz tries to harm you in any way, they will answer to me.” She would see them pay.

Tomás regarded her for a long moment, then pushed to his feet. “You can wear livery today but need proper clothes for the future. We can write the woman who used to make your gowns, commissioning dozens in every color and fabric.”

“Dozens?”

“Hundreds then. I want you dressed like a queen. No more hiding your hair, either.”

“You do know the current style is for a woman to wear a caul or some sort of covering on her head.”

“Not you, never in the castle or on the grounds. Please.”

He kissed her so tenderly she couldn’t deny his request. “My hair will always be down for you.”

Tomás grinned. “Let me get your livery.”

* * * *

Once dressed, Beatriz had breakfast with him in the dining hall. The servants exchanged glances, their expressions saying the world they’d known would never be the same. The kitchen help peeked around the corner to view the scene, Leonor among them.

The last time Beatriz had felt on display like this was when her father had introduced her to Don Larnaz. Both men treating her as they would a heifer, raised for purchase.

Tomás seemed obvious to anything except his meal and holding her hand.

She forced the last of her milk down.

Antonia rushed up. She’d just turned twenty and had always been friendly but not close. “More, Beatriz?”

The others gasped.

Tomás took another boiled egg from the basket. “Not Beatriz. Señorita Serrano.”

“Forgive me.” Antonia bowed, apologized again, and departed.

Beatriz’s cheeks burned. “Would it be so wrong for them to address me as they always have?”

“Your decision, though it would be best for them to be more formal during gatherings. Otherwise the nobles will talk.”

She squeezed his hand in gratitude and looked over. “Everyone, please keep calling me Beatriz.”

Rather than returning her smile, they exchanged glances again.

Tomás leaned toward her this time. “Wars are never won in a day. Best you remember that.”

After their meal, she made a list of clothes she’d need from her tailoress and other merchants.

Tomás worked on his missive to her father, reading each line to her. At her request, he’d scratched out most of what he’d written and finally sagged in his chair. “No man could be this difficult to win against. Does he breathe fire?”

“He smiles sweetly and is exceedingly kind when speaking with others, making everyone love him so he can learn their weaknesses, which he then uses to destroy them.”

Tomás rubbed his forehead. “Clearly you believe my being forthright or firm with him is the wrong approach. What say I use his ploy and use a honeyed tone, giving him a false sense of security in regard to me?”

“Now you have it.”

“What if he believes I truly fear him and he strikes even harder, dragging this out for months?”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Write the missive as you think best, though I would mention the dowry at the end, rather than the beginning.”

“Why?”

“To make you sound fair rather than paying him off to leave us alone. How right you are about being firm. If he senses weakness, he will pounce, just as he did with my mother when she had me to protect.”

He covered Beatriz’s hand. “I give you my oath, your papá will never harm you again. He may be fearless against women, children, and nobles gone soft, but he has yet to face a warrior.”

“How you make my blood race.”

He laughed. “Show me once I finish this missive and my other work.”

“I will. While you do, I want to speak with Yolanda. During breakfast, I had a thought concerning her and some of the other servants.”

“What kind of thought?”

“I want to speak with Yolanda first, feel her out before I tell you.”

“Go on.” He waved her away. “Remember to put the blame on me for keeping you from the servant quarters.”

After a fast kiss, Beatriz left his study and sought Señora Cisneros, but ran into Nuncio instead.

He actually flushed and had difficulty meeting her gaze.

She took his hand. “Thank you for giving me strength during my darkest time last night.”

“Señor Don Larnaz is a beast. Forgive me for saying so, but he is.”

“No need for remorse. I agree. I hope you and I can be friends.”

His cheeks darkened. “I was so unkind.”

“You were protecting Tomás. I trust you to do so in the future. Will you promise me?”

“Of course. I will do so with you too.”

“I know.” She hugged him soundly and spoke before his shocked expression had faded. “Do you know where Señora Cisneros is?”

“The last I saw she was at the linen closet.”

Beatriz found her there.

“Señorita Serrano.” The woman bowed her head in deference.

“Beatriz, please. You saved my life. I would have starved if not for you.”

“How sad you looked the day you came here. Only a fiend could have said no to your request for work.”

Beatriz remembered the encounter differently. “I recall begging you for several minutes to at least give me a chance to prove myself.”

The woman grew pensive. “I must have had my mind on other matters to have been so rude. Everything worked out, though. You convinced me what a fine servant you would be. Good for you.” She smiled. The hairs on her chin became more obvious, the ones on her upper lip less so. “For the most part you did almost as well as Yolanda.”

“I tried my best.”

“Of course. What can I do for you now?”

“I want to speak with Yolanda. Will you ask her to come to the bedchamber where I slept last night?”

Señora Cisneros looked uneasy. “Is the girl in trouble?”

“Not at all. I simply want to see how she is. How she likes her work.”

“Let me get her for you.” She dashed down the hall.

Beatriz returned to the bedchamber. In her absence, a servant had cleaned, tidied, and taken away the tub. Her freshly laundered gown hung in the wardrobe, dried and ready to wear as if by magic. At least that’s what a noble or a prosperous merchant and his family would think. Until Beatriz had come here, she’d had no idea the labor needed to run a grand house or a castle. The work was endless and tedious with little reward.

Although Tomás was generous with his servants, giving them a day off, as much food as they wanted, and fair wages, those women and men had little to look forward to other than endless service. Beatriz wanted to give them more, especially Yolanda, who had a spark that needed nurturing.

Light footfalls sounded in the hall. Beatriz expected the door to swing open or for Yolanda to call her name.

Yolanda rapped timidly.

Her heart ached. In the past, Yolanda had vigorously shaken Beatriz to wake her, even pinching if necessary, without worry about consequences. They’d been friends, Yolanda the only one Beatriz had when she’d sorely needed one.

As she did now. “Come in.”

Yolanda shuffled inside, cheeks rosy, gaze on the floor.

Beatriz crossed the room and took Yolanda’s hands in hers. “How are you?”

She glanced up, then down just as quickly. “I have no complaints.”

“Can we have a word?”

“If you want. I can do whatever you say.”

“Not as servant and mistress. As friends.”

Yolanda stared. “You still want that with me?”

“Of course. Come. Sit.” She gestured to a chair.

Yolanda perched on the edge and kept her face down, either uncomfortable in the room’s splendor or with this odd relationship. Perhaps both. She’d surely never expected to be here in this manner.

Custom may have frowned upon what Beatriz was doing, but she hardly cared. Yolanda was the little sister she’d never had. She closed the door and took the chair next to her. “Do you know who I really am?”

“Señora Cisneros said you was one of them, those who lead fine lives, not one of us.”

“I came from a prosperous family and ran away because I was unhappy. No one loved me.”

Yolanda nodded, understanding on her face at being an unloved child. Early on in their friendship, Yolanda had explained how her parents had told her to find work and to send them her wages. If she couldn’t get a position, she wasn’t to come back. They couldn’t feed her any longer as her six brothers needed the food, two of them older than her. She’d been ten at the time and had walked alone from her village to this castle. Not once had she sounded bitter during her tale, saying she understood her parents turning her out. As a female, she had little to offer them.

Beatriz wanted to give Yolanda the world. “My pending marriage changes nothing between us. I would have told you who I was, but I feared my father would find me.”

“Is he a cruel man?”

“My mother died because of him.”

“Then you did the right thing to leave. Good for you.”

Beatriz loved the girl’s spirit and sense of justice. “Is your work coming along all right? Do you still enjoy what you do?”

“Has the chandler complained about me?”

“No. I wanted to know if you like what you do or would prefer something else.”

“Depends.” She grew cautious. “What did you have in mind?”

“A lady needs a personal maid. Would you like to be mine?”

Yolanda’s mouth fell open, her eyes brightening, though only for a moment. She calmed quickly and shook her head. “I must say no.”

“Why? You seemed excited.”

“I am, but being a maid to a lady is for someone much finer than me. Look at my hands.” She stuck them out, knuckles red, skin rough. She was only twelve.

At that age, Beatriz had ridden the finest Arabians, read countless books, learned how to paint, and play the harp, her father grooming her for marriage to a noble without her knowledge.

Yolanda drew in her shoulders. “If I was to touch your fine silk and other things, I could hurt them.”

“What if I show you how to make your hands soft and tend to velvets and silks so nothing bad happens?”

“You can do that?”

“I can teach you everything you need to know. All you have to do is say yes.”

“I will. I mean I do. Wait.” She bit her lip.

“No need to worry about the chandler. Señora Cisneros can find someone else to help the man.”