Passionate Pursuit (3 page)

Nuncio observed her carefully. “I see how he is when the two of you are near. Make certain you never encourage him.”

She bristled. “I never have or will. I keep my distance from him and all the men.”

“Make certain you continue to do so, especially with our master.”

“Does Don Tomás behave with the other female servants as he has with me?”

Nuncio remained turned away but did look over. “His habits are not yours to know.”

“Did you tell those servants the same?” Did those women obey and stay away from him?

On a loud sigh, Nuncio faced her. “The monarchs granted Don Tomás this land quite recently. Before that, he was away for years fighting the Moors. I have no idea what he did at the fortaleza. This castle is my only concern.”

Then Tomás hadn’t behaved with the others as he had with her, or Nuncio would have said so, warning her what became of those women. Beatriz’s spirits soared until she recalled her and Tomás’s impossible situation. Hopeless because of their positions, as long as she remained a servant and never revealed her past. There was also Nuncio’s dogged determination to protect Tomás from himself.

Nuncio opened the door.

She joined him. “One last thing.”

He regarded her warily and closed the door. “What?”

“Even if I flee every time I see Don Tomás, what do I do if he follows and catches me?”

Nuncio gave her a cold stare. “If he does, your days at the castle are over. I should make you leave this second, seeing the trouble you could cause. However, I know Don Tomás far better than you ever will. If anyone stands in the way of what he believes he wants, he craves it even more, making everyone as miserable as he is. Long ago, I learned to let him reach the proper conclusion on his own, which he always does. Therefore, you may remain here unless you force my hand by making yourself available to him on purpose or accidentally. The burden to avoid any trouble is upon you. No one else.”

He left without a backward glance.

Tomás entered the parlor, prepared to do battle. Ten señoritas, ten mamás rushed him. He backed up. Too late. Despite their silks gowns, cloying perfumes, and sparkling jewels, they surrounded him like hungry beasts in the wild, everyone speaking at once.

“How are you, dear Tomás?”

“Your color is excellent, but perhaps you should sit.”

“Here, take my arm. I can lead you to a bench.”

“No, take mine.”

“Why yours? I asked him first.”

He stood between the arguing young women before they came to blows. “Sit. Please. I have something to say once you do.”

The mamás hurried to the carved wooden benches and box chairs, tugging their daughters with them. The señoritas were young, most lovely, all educated, and trained to please a husband in every possible manner, to bear his sons willingly and with great frequency as duty demanded. To remain at his side for a lifetime whether he desired that or not.

Sweat trickled down his back. He wanted to flee. “As you know, I battled the Moors for many years.”

“How brave you are, dear Tomás.”

“No man has an equal.”

“You are a warrior among warriors.”

A stout countess worked her jeweled fan. “My daughter and I thank you for your kind service to God and Spain. Now, you must see to the rest of your life.”

He shifted his weight. “About that. Given my many battles and then my illness, I need to adjust to my role here.”

The women exchanged glances.

“I need to relax.” He strode to the right, the left, unable to keep still. “Marriage is a huge and sacred undertaking. As dear to everyone as the monarchs’ desire to conquer Granada and the Moors. No one should make such life decisions lightly. I cannot and will not. I need time to do things right. Solitude in the coming months, perhaps years, will give me a chance to think, plan, and eventually move forward with my life. Until then, I regret being unavailable.”

Finished, he steeled himself for shrieks, perhaps curses. Hopefully, they’d then leave his castle so he could find Beatriz again to tease and laugh.

The women stared, none railing or departing. Their sniffling soon filled the spacious parlor. More than one dissolved into tears.

They couldn’t be that desperate for a union with him. Surely, there were other victims for them to run down.

“You poor man.” A viscount’s wife pressed her hand between her ample breasts. “How greatly you suffered.”

The other mamás nodded and elbowed their daughters. The señoritas raced across the Persian rugs toward him. One touched his arm, the other his shoulder, another his wrist. All daubed their eyes with dainty pieces of linen decorated with lace and embroidered with flowers.

He edged away.

As one, the young women pursued until he ran into a large wall hanging. Trapped, he prayed for escape. The señoritas colorful gowns were too bright, the reds, blues, greens, yellows, making his head ache. Their faces swam before him, their eyes widened in worry, mouths trembling.

Zita glanced around the room. “Someone call a servant.”

As a boy, Tomás had run into Zita at numerous gatherings. When her parents and his had stopped keeping an eye on them to enjoy themselves, he and Zita had shared as many steamy kisses as they could.

Ines stroked his thumb.

He eased his hand away. “Why?”

Ines looked at him quizzically. “Why what?”

“Does Zita need a servant?”

“To pull a chair over for you. Unless you would prefer me to lead you to one.” Zita offered an indulgent smile. “So you may rest, poor man.” She stroked his other thumb and winked.

He cringed inwardly.

The young women chattered without pause about his health and need to rest. Each agreed with everything he’d told them earlier. Curiously, no one mentioned the months or years he’d require before wedding anyone. Their mamás watched closely, smiling or frowning at their daughters’ behavior.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted the scene, saving him. He hoped. He shouted above the others, “Come in.”

Nuncio slipped inside, his expression neutral, as a servant’s should be. His eyes however…

The old devil enjoyed Tomás’s pain.

“Forgive me for interrupting.”

He didn’t sound sorry in the least.

“Refreshments are served.” Nuncio threw open the door and gestured to the dining hall.

Inez placed her hand on Tomás’s left forearm for him to lead her to their meal. “You must eat well to keep up your strength.”

He prayed she wouldn’t feed him each bite to make certain he’d had enough.

Zita rested her hand on his right forearm. “Our family cook has many wonderful recipes, hearty dishes to keep a man strong, preparing him for anything.” She winked again. “I can share them with you later.”

Before he could decline, everyone spoke at once.

Tomás plodded toward the dining hall, a lamb going to slaughter. Trunks lined the castle entrance. Surely, these women hadn’t planned to spend the night, or worse, the entire week. Staying until they’d worn him down, much like the monarchs’ battle plan against the Moors.

He would have given anything to be in an armed conflict now. Queen Isabella had relocated the Castilian court to Jaen on Granada’s border. There she’d wait, while Spain’s invading army pushed toward their enemy with a legion of fifteen thousand men on horseback and eighty thousand on foot, the force led by King Ferdinand.

That meet Tomás would readily enjoy.

This though…

Given what Cook had prepared, the meal might never end. Roasted fowl, pork, mutton, and beef filled one table in the cavernous dining hall, capable of accommodating a hundred men and certainly twenty women.

He dragged to his place at the head of the long table designed to seat thirty.

Inez directed a servant to pull out a chair for him, as one would for a man more decrepit than Nuncio.

Tomás wrested the chair from the female servant who was as broad as Señora Cisneros. “I need no assistance.”

“Strong men never do.” Zita waved away the aged servant she’d called over.

Tomás waited for the ladies to sit.

Galina, a duke’s third daughter, and Damaris, a count’s fifth child, glared at each other. They’d chosen the same chair, two down from his, with Zita and Ines having claimed those closest to where he would sit.

Before the young woman tore hair or clothing, Tomás gestured to the chair across from them. “Damaris, sit over there.”

She scowled. Her mother pinched her arm. Damaris’s frown transformed to a sweet smile. “Of course.”

She rammed her shoulder into Galina’s. The other señoritas knocked elbows and stepped on each other’s toes, accidentally or on purpose, while they gained their seats, then daintily allowed the servants to push them toward the table.

Nuncio marched to Tomás side and leaned in. “Is all well?”

“Trunks are in the entrance hall. Why?”

“Many of your guests traveled great distances to be here.”

They should have stayed away. Now that they’d arrived, they should leave quickly for their own castles or someone else’s before nightfall. “How long will they be here?”

“As long as they wish. Remember, their families are your allies.”

Tomás had never experienced such vulnerability or aching loneliness. He sank to his seat and turned at a flash of red.

Beatriz.

No. Another servant, whose name he couldn’t recall, her face, form, and manner equally forgettable. He sagged into his chair and gestured for Nuncio to lean down to him.

Nuncio spoke quietly. “Whatever you want me to say to get rid of them, you should reconsider. I am not a good liar. I advise you to stay and face your guests. If you run, they will follow.”

He already knew as much. “What servants work in here today?”

“Why?”

Tomás clenched his jaw.

Nuncio sighed. “Those you already see.”

He waved Nuncio away. If Beatriz worked in the dining hall, she’d be here daily, during meals. Tomás wouldn’t have to hope to run into her while she tended the chambers or wait endlessly until she dusted his study.

A talk with Señora Cisneros about Beatriz’s duties would easily change matters.

* * * *

Beatriz dusted a second floor windowsill overlooking an expansive lawn. Mulberry and cork trees bordered the clearing, along with countless flowers in an array of types and colors. White carnations, bluebells, roses, red-and-white striped lilies. Their exquisite scents perfumed the air.

At any other time, she might have smiled at the beauty. Not today.

A gentle breeze carried laughter and converse from the señoritas who surrounded Tomás, each vying for his attention. The one in dark green silk with a matching caul danced around trying to get closer to him. The one in red with a white flower in her hair elbowed past another girl. Those in gold and bright yellow were even less demure, pushing into each other, speaking loudly, far removed from how a lowly servant had to act.

Especially to please Nuncio.

How dare he make her solely responsible for a man’s carnal moves? Beatriz had no control over anyone’s passion except her own. Thus far, she’d failed miserably at quelling her desires.

Despite what Nuncio had said, she still ached to feel Tomás’s heat and strength, to have him imprison and possess her. No threat in the world would change her longing. However, she wasn’t foolish enough to act on her attraction. Poor man already had enough trouble.

His broad shoulders were slumped, mouth turned down. She wanted to make him smile. To have him stand as the noble lord he was, magnificent in his dark blue robe and doublet, his hose snug to his sinewy thighs and calves.

Several young women spoke to him at once. A señorita in a bright yellow gown touched his upper arm. The girl next to her, clad in vivid orange silk, touched his jaw.

Jealousy heated Beatriz’s face and throat.

Tomás drew back until the young woman groped air, not him. He faced the window, his gaze touching Beatriz, his dark brown eyes flooding with warmth, bronze complexion deepening.

Weak with desire, she leaned against the sill for support.

The señoritas gestured to him, talking endlessly, their words too garbled to understand.

Whatever they said, Tomás ignored them. He studied Beatriz’s eyes, then her lips and lingered there. She was smiling without realizing it. He answered with a broad grin and stepped closer.

A young woman gripped his sleeve and tugged him away. He gave her a hard frown.

Beatriz leaned forward to catch what else he’d do, and her hand slid off the polished stone. Startled, she jerked back and dropped her cloth. The linen drifted on the breeze, coming to rest on a fat bush, marring the area’s perfection.

No, no, no, no. She willed the air to blow the cloth behind the vegetation to hide the stupid thing.

The linen stuck there, flapping in the breeze for everyone to see. Particularly Nuncio who might guess she’d spied on Tomás.

The señoritas babbled loudly. Two held his hands, pulling him across the lawn. He looked back at Beatriz several times, his expression yearning.

She would have leaned out the window to keep him in sight but feared falling to the ground. As it was, she needed to wait until he and the others left before risking a trip to retrieve her cloth.

When she could neither see nor hear them any longer, she left the window and froze.

Rufio blocked her. Of average height, he had broad shoulders, powerful arms, and large hands, perfect for hauling heavy trays to the dining hall or meal sacks and animal carcasses to the kitchen. Although he was a handsome young man, she found his attention off-putting. Since she’d arrived at the castle, he’d haunted her every move.

He smiled slyly. “Better not let old Nuncio catch you spying on our betters.”

She warned herself not to show any reaction he could use against her. “What are you doing in here?”

“Talking to you.” He edged closer, danger in his black eyes, hard lust in his expression.

Her pulse jumped. She couldn’t run with naught but the window behind her even though flight was her duty in order to save men from their vile natures. If she didn’t accomplish such a worthy goal, Nuncio would toss her out in a second, smiling evilly. She lifted her chin and made certain to show no fear. “Step aside.”