Authors: Tina Donahue
She cried, “I will see all of you arrested by the tribunal.”
“You will keep your tongue,” Sancha said. “Or I will have it along with your youth and beauty. Have you forgotten I consort with the Devil? You said so yourself and have told others the same many times. If what you said is true, I should have the power to strike you dead or disfigure you horribly.”
Luscinda shook her fist. “Touch me in the least and you will regret doing so.”
“You threaten a woman who has the Devil’s power behind her? How brave you are.” Sancha smiled and approached Luscinda, prepared to say what had suddenly occurred to her yesterday. A truth she should have always seen but hadn’t. “You claimed I was the one who could destroy lives. Why then have I held off with yours? You certainly deserve the same anguish you caused my husband, our families, and me. Could it be you remain unharmed because I have no dark power? Could it be, you are the one under Satan’s control, given what you have done, the lies you repeatedly told about me?”
“Witch.” Enrique pointed at her.
Alfonso circled Luscinda. “I see another mark from the Devil on her neck.”
She spun away and came face-to-face with Tomás, so wan and thin from his illness.
“You made me sick,” he said to her then spoke to the others. “She put a spell on me, hoping I would die to ruin Sancha and Enrique’s happiness.”
Gabriello stepped forward. “The crops on Papá’s estate withered this year as they never have. You did that.” He pointed at her and shouted, “Witch!”
She tried to run into the house. Alfonso blocked her. Sancha, Enrique, and his other brothers surrounded her again.
“Leave me alone,” she cried.
“Never.” Enrique’s expression was dark with disgust. “The time has come for you to learn accusations move in both directions. You claim my wife engages in witchcraft. Now my family, Sancha’s, and I are going to say the same about you. Our ties to the Crown are closer than your family’s will ever be. Before your lies harm us, we intend to destroy you.”
She shrank from him. “I never went to the tribunal. I spoke to no one except those at the gathering.”
“You mean you lied to no one but them,” Sancha said.
Luscinda glared at her but finally nodded.
Enrique crowded her. “During the next hours you will write missives to every noble we know, telling them of your jealousy and greed. How you intended to destroy Sancha because you wanted—”
“No. I could never show my face again.”
“After you write your letters,” he said, “you and your mother will move to the north, your people there, never to return to Andalucía again.”
“No!”
“Pedro.” He looked over. “You know where to find the tribunal?”
“I do.”
“Leave now. Tell them we have a witch who needs questioning.”
Pedro left the courtyard.
“Wait!” Luscinda cried for him to stop until he had. “I would never have let the lies go on. I would have stopped them before the inquisitors came.”
“You will stop them now,” Sancha said.
Enrique gestured to Alfonso and Gabriello. “Take the señorita inside. Tell her what she needs to write in her letters.”
Once they’d led Luscinda away, with Pedro, Fernando, and Tomás following, Sancha held Enrique as tightly as she could.
He stroked her hair. “Are you all right?”
She couldn’t stop trembling. “Is it over finally?”
He embraced her, his size and strength a balm. “Our future is only beginning.”
Months later…
The spring day proved warmer than usual, its heat tempered by a mild breeze.
Sancha lifted her face and inhaled deeply of fragrant grass, sweet flowers, rich earth. She smiled at the ducks on the pond, surely the same mamá and papá as last year, looking forward to their new brood.
Instinctively, she rested her hand on her swollen belly, the child inside.
“You need to eat and so does our son.” Enrique offered her three orange slices.
She gobbled the food without pause or apology. Since conceiving, she couldn’t eat enough fruit, craving its sweet juice endlessly, almost to the exclusion of everything else. Katia had said her desire for oranges proved she carried a son.
The old woman sat on a chair beneath an olive tree, smiling at Rosa and Diego, Isabella’s galgo. The dogs turned in circles, sniffing each other. Rosa tired of the activity first and darted away with Diego in fast pursuit. A game they’d played since meeting. In a few months, Rosa would be old enough to breed. Sancha and Isabella had promised her to Diego.
“We should have a betrothal ceremony for them,” Isabella had said, laughing at the idea.
How wonderful to have her close.
During these last weeks before she gave birth, she and Fernando had come here to await their child’s arrival. They lounged on a blanket beneath the next tree, sharing soft laughter and intimate smiles, Fernando’s hand on her belly, their infant’s kicks delighting both.
When Isabella’s time came, Sancha and Katia would be on hand to usher the new life into the world. The countess was a dear friend now and a blessing to Sancha and Isabella, the mamá they’d missed since their own had died.
Finished with peeling a new orange, Enrique stretched out on the blanket, legs crossed at his ankles.
“Sleepy?” Sancha asked.
He propped his head in his hand and glanced to the left. “Not with the noise.”
A group of señoritas surrounded Pedro, Gabriello, Alfonso, and Tomás. The young women’s gowns were as vivid as any flower, the silks in red, yellow, green, and blue. The girls’ loud giggles interrupted their chatter, after which they continued to speak without taking a moment to breathe.
The brothers laughed and flirted with the young noblewomen, except for Tomás. He offered a bland smile, continually glancing off in the distance, his thoughts elsewhere.
His health wasn’t an issue. He’d regained his lost weight, becoming the same man he’d been before his illness, tall and strong, blond hair quite beautiful, his handsome features drawing more than a few of the señoritas to him.
Again, he listened politely but seemed distracted.
Sancha leaned down to Enrique. “What ails Tomás?”
She’d hoped these young women would please all his brothers, giving them an incentive to settle down. Enrique, even more than she, thought it was high time his brothers found wives.
He handed her another orange slice. “Trouble at his castle, I think.”
After his brush with death, he’d returned to the fortaleza for a short time to turn his command over to Pedro. The sovereigns had granted Tomás land and a castle for serving the Crown courageously, the same as they’d done with Fernando. Both brothers were now rich men like Enrique.
“What kind of trouble? Surely not raids by the Moors.”
“No. A new servant.”
She frowned. “If Tomás finds the man unacceptable, he should simply dismiss him.”
“The servant is female. I believe her name is Beatriz. And I can assure you, Tomás does not want her to leave. He seems quite besotted with her.”
“How awful.”
Enrique lifted his eyebrows. “Why? Because the woman lacks our noble heritage?”
“Of course not. Tomás rules at his castle. For him to be infatuated is a small matter as he has naught to lose. What of the girl? When things go badly, as they surely will, where will she go? You should have a talk with him about not taking unfair advantage.”
“Already have. Given the look on his face, not a word I said got through.”
She’d have to talk to him later. “Do you think it will ever be any different?”
Enrique lifted his face to her, hair dancing in the breeze, his forelock a startling white against his dark hair. “Will what be any different?”
“A woman’s place in this world. Females being at such a disadvantage to you men who have every privilege.”
“Have I been so awful to you?” He cupped the back of her neck and eased her down to him, his lips on her ear. “Have I not accompanied you on every journey to the villages? Have I not brought the ill here for you to treat? Did I not catch a score of mice last week for you to torment during your experiments? Will I not continue to do these things and more for the rest of our days?”
He had and would. “You are a man among men.”
Chuckling, he eased back to the blanket, his beautiful features filled with love.
Her heart opened even more to him. How lucky she was to have Enrique, and him to have her.
“What of my question?” she asked. “You have yet to answer.”
“Forgive me. Your praise chased every other thought out of my head.”
She waited.
He looked sheepish. “What question?”
“If the world will ever be different for women, allowing them to be all they can?”
A time when universities would welcome them, praising their thirst for knowledge rather than calling them witches. When they stood beside men, rather than behind, helping to build great cities, improving life for everyone, not only nobles, and had a say in their own future.
Sancha’s had once been promised to Fernando without her consent. As awful as Luscinda had behaved, she’d simply followed a woman’s only allowed goal: to find a husband. What might she have been like if given as many possibilities as men had?
“The world had better,” Enrique said.
She shook her head. “Had better what?”
“Change. You never will.”
Praise, not indignation, rang in his words, filling her with hope.
For their daughters, at least, the world would be a different, better place. Those girls would continue to bring more change, one man at a time through understanding, friendship, love. The same as their mamá and papá had done with each other.
She ran her fingers over his bottom lip. “I tire of this spot. What say we go to our chamber?”
With a pleased smile, he led her to their room and closed the door on the outside world.
Keep reading for a sample of book three in Tina Donahue’s Dangerous Desires series
Forced into a betrothal by her ruthless papá, Beatriz wants only to escape marriage to a cruel Marquis. Fleeing an impossible situation, she assumes another identity and seeks work as a servant despite her father’s wealth.
Tomás doesn’t know what to make of the new woman at his castle. Beautiful and well spoken, Beatriz doesn’t seem suited to a life of drudgery. Captivated, he pursues her.
Determined to resist a man she can never have, Beatriz soon falls under Tomás’s spell as he does with her. Passion turns to love.
All while the Marquis sets a trap to make her his forever.
A Lyrical Originals novel available August. 2016
Learn more about Tina at
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/24772
Andalucía, Spain—1489
The castle of Tomás de Zayas
The siege had begun. Not from bloodthirsty Moors. Oh no. Tomás de Zayas would have welcomed such a prospect. He’d fought Spain’s enemies with ruthless determination during his service to the Crown. Those battles were frequently grisly, but the conflicts had always ended.
What he’d face in the coming hours could turn into a miserable lifetime sentence if he wasn’t careful.
Tomás planned to be.
He didn’t budge from the parapet.
The first wave of carriages approached his estate, the transports less than half a league apart, though far enough for the drivers and their charges not to spot each other from the heavily vegetated ground. Inside each conveyance was a señorita and her mamá with naught but marriage on their minds and him the unwilling suitor.
His gut churned.
A mild breeze ruffled his hair, robe, and doublet. The sky was clear, sun heavy, air sweetly scented with new vegetation and spring flowers. Balmy weather that was too splendid for their visit. A day a man should spend outside riding, laughing, loving…with the right woman.
An image filled his mind of the one he craved. Her hair so dark the tresses were nearly black. Eyes light brown, softened with desire. Pale skin with a hint of color in her cheeks, her response to his intense and eager gaze. Plush mouth, pink as an Andalucían dawn, her lips parted to welcome his.
He released a yearning sigh none of the arriving females would ever hear from him.
He’d held them off for months, declining invitations to countless gatherings. The mamás had persisted with endless requests to visit his estate, claiming they and their daughters wanted to see how he was doing after his brush with death.
He was hearty as ever and wanted to enjoy life again, though not with them. The woman he craved was already here.
A rush of heat poured through him, unbidden and insistent.
“There you are,” Nuncio said.
He turned to his manservant, an ancient fellow who’d been with his family well before Tomás’s birth. Despite Nuncio’s sixty years, the man held himself as erect as a Spanish knight. While his bearing and white hair gave him a courtly appearance, his casual manner was more intrusive uncle than groveling servant.
Nuncio regarded the goblet Tomás held. He arched one of his bushy white eyebrows.
Gleefully, Tomás finished his wine, wanting more to fortify himself against the coming hours.
Clattering horse hooves and wheels quieted.
The first carriage had arrived. Mother and daughter left their conveyance, chattering endlessly, too far below for him to catch any words. Their voices, however, rang with excitement. Their silly giggles grated.
He pictured the one woman he did desire but shouldn’t, at least according to his brother Enrique and sister-in-law Sancha. Both had lectured Tomás on his wayward passion that couldn’t amount to anything, ever, except trouble and heartache.
Precisely what he’d get from the women intruding upon him today, even though they were noble born, their backgrounds similar to his. A supposed incentive for him to find a bride. With his service to the Crown over, everyone seemed to expect him to wed without complaint or delay. After all, the señoritas vying for his attention 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. Everything a man should want, except stirring his carnal appetite with lust so deep the feeling stole his breath and thickened his blood.