Читать книгу Wicked Whispers - Tina Donahue - Страница 9

Sancha climbed the steps in the secret passage she’d found out about earlier, thanks to her sister. Isabella said she and Fernando played games where she’d run and hide with him chasing and trying to find her. Once he had…Sancha had stopped listening at that point, trying not to groan or laugh at how silly her sister and Fernando behaved.

No different than her.

She’d been a fool to have met with Enrique. Running had been her only recourse, taking her here. Blindly, she negotiated each step in the dark, hoping he wouldn’t hear her shoes tapping the stone, her rasping breaths.

She groped the wall on both sides to steady herself. Her hand slid into a depression on the left, fingers hitting nothing suddenly, that part of the wall gone. Shocked, she snatched back her hand, twisted, and nearly lost her footing. Clinging to the other side, she inched up the steps. Upon reaching the landing, she looked over into blackness. No one had opened the hidden door below, letting the light from a candle or lamp spill inside.

For the moment, she remained undetected and alone.

Always alone.

She slumped against the wall, its surface rough beneath her palms, the scent faintly stale.

Without wanting to, she recalled Enrique’s clean fragrance. His freshly shaved cheeks had been smooth and hot beneath her fingers, breath sweet, mouth searching. His body hard and strong.

No. She shouldn’t dwell on her memories of him and pushed them away.

The images returned, swift and sure, tempting her beyond reason. His broad shoulders beneath his dark blue robe and doublet, his sinewy thighs and calves clad in hose of a black-and-white striped design. He’d towered over her, his height imposing but never dangerous.

She’d been comfortable with him, wanting more of the man he was. Despite his obvious strength, he’d treated her with respect and gentleness, his male beauty impossible to resist. She’d longed to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair, the locks tumbling over his forehead and curling around his ears. His white forelock had mesmerized, begging for her touch, the same as his mouth.

While they’d been together, she’d kept thinking about stroking his bottom lip, damp from their kiss. In the moonlight, his eyes had seemed quite pale in contrast to his dark brows and tawny complexion. He was a magnificent man whose heat and strength had undone her too easily.

Even before agreeing to meet with him, she’d understood the folly of her actions, yet had persisted. Telling herself she would only speak with him, explain how his pursuit was hopeless and she’d never be his.

She’d forgotten her firm speech the moment she’d seen him on the balcony, his smile promising wanton delights and protection against the ills of the world.

She huddled closer to the wall, curling her fingers into fists, not caring how the gritty stone scraped her skin. The ache in her soul was far worse for desiring a man she would never have. Surrendering to Enrique would bring her carnal pleasure, an end to her terrible loneliness, and a lifetime of duty where she needed permission to indulge in whatever interested her. Tradition would reduce her to a childlike state again, where she’d have to wait for a man, a husband, Enrique, to make a decision on her life that met with his desires first, without considering her needs.

Never.

She beat her fists against the wall, frustration and sorrow battling within her. Resolve won. Refusing to weep, she brushed tears away and held her breath before she opened the door.

The hall was empty and shadowed, the candles in this part of the castle, where the servants resided, spaced far apart. Recalling the route back to her chamber, she hurried down the corridor and jerked to a stop before she ran into a maid.

The young girl jumped back, eyes rounded. “Forgive me for nearly harming you, Señorita Doña Lopéz de Lara.” She took Sancha in and gasped. “Your fingers.”

Blood ran down them from when she’d hit the passage wall.

The girl stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

“I am.” She hurried past.

“Wait, please,” the girl called. “I was coming for you. I just left the dining hall, thinking you were there.”

Uneasy, Sancha turned, worried Enrique had asked the servant to search for her once he realized she hadn’t returned to the celebration. “Who asked you to fetch me?”

“Juanita.” She joined Sancha and scanned the hall in both directions. Although they were alone, the girl huddled close. “She has news of her niece. The child has taken a turn for the worse.”

Sancha pressed her hand to her throat. She’d spoken to Juanita earlier on the matter. “Has she arranged for my travel to the village?”

“Sí. The child’s uncles will accompany you. Forgive them for bringing a mule for you to ride. They lack the funds to own a horse.”

“A mule is fine. Fetch me a male servant’s clothing. Not what he wears during his duties here but his personal garments. Shirt, braies, hose, hat, and ankle boots. Clothing close to my size.”

The girl’s plain face slackened in apparent bewilderment.

“Go and do as I say.” Sancha gestured to get her moving. “Return here.”

She nodded and bolted down the hall.

Sancha paced as she waited. Every sound made her flinch. Repeatedly, she peered down the hall to see if Enrique approached.

He did not.

At last, the girl returned, arms wrapped around the garments.

Sancha took them. “Tell the men to wait for me in the olive grove.”

The girl ran in one direction, Sancha the other, the journey to her chamber longer than she’d hoped. There were so many passages here, too many halls and rooms.

Once inside her own, she sagged against the door to catch her breath but didn’t allow herself more than a moment. After dropping the clothing on the bed, she frowned at her silk gown. The garment had no end of buttons she might not be able to reach, the farthingale and kirtle each bore laces that were difficult to undo on her own.

She strained to reach the buttons on the back of her gown, her fingers falling short no matter how hard she tried. Growling, she grabbed both sides, prepared to rip the garment from her.

The door to her chamber flew open.

She froze. So did Isabella.

Sancha leaned over to see if Enrique had accompanied her sister.

Isabella was alone. She closed the door and frowned at the peasant wear on Sancha’s bed. “What are you doing?”

“I need your help.” After lifting her hair, Sancha turned her back to her sister. “Unbutton me.”

“Why?”

“So I can remove my gown.”

“Why?”

Sancha stormed away. “Never mind.” She grabbed the back of her garment and tugged as hard as she could.

“Wait.” Isabella grabbed her wrists. “What did you do to your fingers?”

“I scraped them on a wall in a secret passage.”

“Why? What were you doing there?”

“Trying to find my way here.” She shook off Isabella’s hands and tugged on her gown once more.

Isabella clucked her tongue. “You ruin your hands and now you intend to rip your clothes to get them off?”

“I have no choice if you refuse to help me.” She spoke quietly. “A child lies wounded, possibly dying, in the village.”

“Wounded how?”

“Older children found a sword. While they were playing with the weapon, the little girl came too near and the tip slashed her leg. I need to go to her without delay.”

“Of course you do.” Isabella glanced at the other garments. “But dressed as a man?”

“I learned the trick from you. The deception served you well after your rescue when you traveled with Fernando.”

“Exactly. I was with him, not alone.”

“The girl’s uncles will accompany me. I have no time to discuss this. I must hurry.”

“Keep still so I can help.” Isabella’s fingers fairly flew over the buttons and laces.

With her sister’s assistance, Sancha pushed the gown, farthingale, kirtle, and chemise off. Naked, she padded to the servant’s clothing.

Isabella joined her. “Does Enrique know about this? Did you and he argue over your plans to help the little girl?”

“He knows nothing of her.” She pulled on the braies. “I learned of her worsening condition after I left his side.”

“Did you enjoy each other?”

Isabella’s expression was so hopeful, Sancha warned herself not to encourage any romantic dreams. However, she couldn’t be dishonest. “Far too much.”

“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands, stopping quickly. “Why did you two argue? I know you did. When Enrique came to me, he was quite concerned about you.”

“Did he say what we discussed?”

“No. He left to find you.”

Sancha stopped pulling up the hose. “Will he come here?”

“Not right away. He has no idea which room is yours. Tell me what happened.”

Too much. Losing herself in Enrique’s arms wasn’t like her. All her life, Sancha had been the demure one, dismissing passion in favor of books and knowledge. Love was for other women who wanted nothing more than a man to rule their days. “I told him his hope for our union was impossible and to woo another woman.”

“What? Since when do you find him as repulsive as you did Fernando? Is it because they resemble each other so closely?”

“No. I find Enrique too thrilling. We kissed and I wanted more.”

Isabella laughed gaily, turning a fast circle only to stop. “You said you wanted more. Why then are you denying him and yourself?”

“To save others, as I did Fernando. If he had been anyone else’s husband save yours, and I had wed a man who refused to allow my healing, Fernando would have died. How can I permit such a thing? How can anyone, and for no other reason than I happen to be a woman?”

“Sancha.” Isabella embraced her. “I fear for your safety. The Inquisition has spies everywhere. Many of them are probably here tonight, eating my husband’s food and enjoying his drink.”

“Those spies have always been around, even when I tended Fernando.”

“You had me to protect you.”

Fighting a smile, she cradled Isabella’s cheek. Her little sister was more warrior than she, both of them battling the constraints of their sex. “Protect me during my absence. Tell anyone who inquires that I felt ill and took to my bed. Surely, no one will come in here to see proof of my sickness.”

“Enrique might.”

Enrique would. He was not a man to let anyone deny him.

She should have been disturbed at the prospect of them in this room alone, both bared to each other’s sight and touch, him wanting, seeking, demanding everything she could give.

Warmth coursed through her. She recalled their kiss, his thickened shaft pressing against her mound. A dull ache had filled her then, her channel growing increasingly congested, needy of a man to fill and possess that part of her. Even now, moisture lingered on the soft folds between her legs, proof of her desire for love and physical pleasure despite what good sense told her.

This had to stop. “If Enrique does come here, send him away.” If he refused to be strong in this matter, she’d have to be for both of them.

Isabella sighed. “You have no hope of a future with him?”

Sadly, no. “I explained my position and he refused to see matters as I do. He would stand in the way of my healing anyone except him, our children, and the rest of the family.”

“He wants to protect you. In time, you may change his mind on the matter.”

“How many will die as I wait for his decision? No man, even a good one, has a right to ask such a thing of me.” She pressed Isabella’s hand to her cheek. “I trust you with my secret and life, little sister.”

Isabella hugged her fiercely. “I will never fail you.”

* * * *

Enrique checked dozens of bedchambers, each empty of guests though filled with their clothing and other personal articles. A quick search told him none of the items belonged to Sancha. The silks and gems were garish, nothing like her.

She had to be somewhere in the castle, no doubt with Isabella, who’d left the dining hall never to return. Hopefully, she was trying to change Sancha’s mind about what she and Enrique had fought over.

He closed the last door, sensing even the most impassioned speech or his kisses and ardent lovemaking wouldn’t change Sancha’s mind on anything for long. She was as stubborn as Isabella, perhaps more so, her willfulness nearly as bad as his.

He’d never acquiesce to her plans to save the world. The danger she faced was incomprehensible, his determination as great. Whatever it took, he’d keep her from harm.

He bolted down the hall and checked balconies this time. He hadn’t expected her to return to the one where they’d met, though there was always hope.

She wasn’t there.

He slammed the doors and searched five more balconies, each seeming to be a league away from the others. On the last at this level, he leaned against the stone railing, gulping air. The hour was late. He was tired and wanted naught but comfort in her arms.

Ha. Her loving embrace wasn’t likely to happen this evening.

He pushed away. A slapping noise sounded below. He scanned the grounds but found nothing amiss in the olive grove. Moonlight had turned the green leaves ashy. Twisted trunks left long shadows across the grass.

Something moved in the corner of his eye.

A peasant rode a mule on the grounds, his back to Enrique, hair hidden by an acorn hat. How curious that the guards had allowed the man this close to the castle.

Enrique leaned over the railing again for a closer look at the next peasant, also on a mule and departing this place. This individual was the size of a boy fourteen years old or so and wearing a sack hat. He carried something in a cloth bag tethered to his mule. From this distance, Enrique couldn’t make out the contours of whatever was inside. Another peasant came into the scene, as large as the first fellow.

Enrique studied the bag, guessing that Fernando might have given food to those in need. If so, one of the men, not the boy, should have carried the items. Given their superior age, they’d be in charge, distributing any meal to others in the village. If that was their destination.

The first in line stopped, his hand lifted to signal the others. Their mules also came to a halt. The fellow in front turned to the boy and said something Enrique couldn’t hear. The boy in turn twisted around to speak to the man behind him.

Enrique blinked then stared. Moonlight touched the boy’s face, which was decidedly female and quite beautiful with dark eyes, delicate features, and a mouth he’d never forget.

Sancha.

Despite the odd scene that should have had him questioning his eyes, he recognized the way she gestured when speaking, how she glanced to the side while gathering her thoughts, then met the other person’s gaze once she knew what to say.

Enrique opened his mouth to call out but didn’t, sensing she and the others would flee. He raced from the balcony and down the great stairs to the castle entrance, intent on following her the moment he gained his horse.

Upon arriving here, the stable boy had taken the steed, presumably to the stables. Enrique had no idea where they might be. Isabella hadn’t given him a tour of them.

He rushed to the dining hall and Isabella’s side. At his fast approach, she and Fernando looked up. The others were busy getting happily drunk and fat to pay him any heed. Save for Luscinda and her mother. Both waved.

Enrique bent down to Isabella, so those surrounding them couldn’t overhear. “Where is she going?”

Fernando frowned. “Where is who going?”

“Sancha.” He spoke to Isabella. “Tell me. I saw her outside, dressed as a boy, leaving with two men.”

She leaned away from him and Fernando, whose frown had deepened. He pressed closer. “What have you helped Sancha to do?”

“Nothing. If she dressed as a boy, she gained the clothing on her own.”

“You know her destination and what she intends to do there.” Enrique planted his hands on his hips. “Admit it.”

“Why?” She lifted her chin. “Do you intend to stop her?”

“My goal is to protect her.”

Fernando narrowed his eyes. “From what? Who?”

Enrique gestured helplessly to Isabella. “Tell me. Please. I promise no harm will come to her from me or anyone else.”

“Do as he asks.” Fernando rested his hand on Isabella’s arm. “If you refuse and anything untoward happens to Sancha, will you be able to forgive yourself?”

“Nothing untoward will happen. It never does.”

“Never?” Enrique’s gut cramped. “How often does she do things like this?”

Isabella averted her gaze. “How would I know?”

He growled.

She sniffed. “Quit hounding me.”

“Not until you tell me what Sancha is—”

“Tonight, she goes to the village at the edge of the estate to help the peasants.” She grabbed Enrique’s sleeve even though he hadn’t budged. “Follow her if you must, but do nothing to stop her. She will fight you. If you win, Sancha will hate you for all time.”

He wanted to bellow his frustration at her and Sancha but simply nodded. Any argument on his part would take time he didn’t have. “Where are your stables? I need my horse.”

Isabella called a servant over, instructing the young man to assist Enrique in gaining his steed and to give him directions to the village.

Fernando shook his head at Enrique. “Perhaps you should forget about Sancha.”

He frowned at the notion, the same as Isabella had, and followed the servant.

The boy who tended the horses saddled the Arabian as quickly as he could. Even with Enrique’s help, the task seemed to take them an interminable amount of time. Mounted, he wheeled his horse around and rode hard until the moon ducked behind a thick cloud cover.

He was some distance from the castle, unwilling to return for a torch, and cursed himself for not taking one. The same as Sancha and her companions had failed to secure any for themselves. If they hadn’t arrived at the village yet, they were travelling as blindly as him. A dangerous venture. Something could alarm her mule and make the sorry creature throw her. Thieves could lie in wait. A snake might strike.

Swearing, he waited for the moonlight to return before prodding his horse to a faster pace. If he were to have an accident during his heated pursuit, his injuries would keep him from protecting her. As Isabella had warned, he couldn’t stop Sancha, rail at her, or try to talk reason. If he dared do so, she’d hate him for eternity.

Clenching his jaw, he left the last fields and vineyards, entering an untended part of Fernando’s property. Overgrown olive trees and orange groves flanked both sides of the dirt road. With one hand on the hilt of his sword, he scanned the surrounding areas and searched for anything untoward.

For the moment, he was alone.

Recalling the directions, the servant had given him, he turned to the left at a point where the road branched in several directions. Something moved ahead. He stopped and squinted at the individual, on foot and alone.

Couldn’t be Sancha, unless something had happened to her mule and companions.

Sweat broke out on his face and neck. He rode as quickly as the road allowed and reined in his gelding at what he’d mistakenly believed was her. A cow ambled along the path, as if Enrique and his horse didn’t exist. He passed the creature and growled at Sancha’s foolishness.

How dare she put herself at risk, thinking of naught except helping the peasants. As though no one in the village was capable of doing anything for them save her.

He’d see about that, no matter Isabella’s admonitions. The community lay ahead.

Crudely constructed mud huts mingled with simply designed wooden structures. Given the late hour, there wasn’t much activity. Two men with uncombed hair and unshod feet stood at the village entrance, pitchforks in hand, keeping guard.

Enrique rode to them and identified himself. “Have two men and a boy arrived? The boy’s mule carried a bag laden with goods.”

The peasants exchanged a glance.

“I mean no one harm.” Enrique pulled a ducat from his pouch and held the gold coin for both men to see. “The boy forgot something he needed. Whichever of you tells me where he is, so I might deliver it to him, receives the coin.”

“What was forgotten?” the younger man asked.

Enrique warned himself not to frown or argue. He tried to recall what Sancha had used on Fernando when she’d treated him. The stench of illness had been horrific, though not as daunting as the scent of death.

“Wine.” He remembered having seen a bottle in Fernando’s room and something else. “Vinegar too.” He patted the leather alforjas behind him, indicating where he had the items, hoping neither man would ask to see them or tell him the village was already in possession of the things.

The older man pointed. “The last hut to the right.”

“Gracias.” After tossing the coin to the fellow, Enrique directed his horse through the village. Dust and mud seemed to cover everything, smoke permeating the air. No candles burned here. Light came from the moon and a few torches placed at such a distance from each other, he couldn’t determine what they were meant to illuminate.

Although the village was grim in comparison to a castle, the people had tended the property well, keeping their chickens and pigs in pens. Tattered clothes hung on a limp rope strung between two sorry looking cork trees.

He stopped at the last hut, its windows shuttered. Faint light spilled through separations in the wood. The mules Sancha and the men rode were off to the side, tethered properly.

Before Enrique could dismount, a man left the hut, slammed the door behind him, and strode into the darkness.

After debating whether to knock first, Enrique slipped inside quietly, prepared to deal with an argument from Sancha or the men she’d travelled with.

Shadows darkened most of the room. Torches shone on a rough wood table with a little girl lying on top. Eyes closed, and moaning, she couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. A rip in her homespun dress showed ribs as prominent as Fernando’s had been during his recovery, the child’s thin body nothing like those belonging to the nobility’s sons and daughters. Their skin was olive or pink, not gray like this child’s. Their arms and legs had never been as spindly as hers.

A pungent smoke smell was as strong in here as it had been outside, along with the odor of decay. Someone had hiked the child’s garment above her right thigh to reveal a large wound, angry red around the edges, yellowish pus oozing from the center. Given how swollen the injury was, Enrique sensed there was far more pus inside. He’d heard Fernando and their other brothers speak of injuries like these when relating scenes from their battles.

Men had died from similar wounds, as Fernando would have, if not for Sancha’s skilled help.

She, the two men who’d ridden with her, and a woman stood to the far left side of the table, their backs to Enrique. Several of Sancha’s tresses dangled from her sack hat.

The woman wore a frayed kirtle and worn shoes, her hair uncombed, shoulders drooping.

The taller of the men asked, “Will you listen to him?”

“How can I?” The woman spoke to Sancha. “No matter what my husband said, you must save my daughter’s life whether you can spare her leg or not. He worries if Maria loses a limb, no man would want her. I will. So will her uncles. We can see to her welfare.”

The men promised they would.

Sancha nodded. “What did the woman who usually takes care of these things do for Maria?”

“She died recently.” The mother pushed lank hair behind her ears. “Her daughter took her place. Under her care Maria has grown worse.”

Sancha placed her bag on the table and emptied it.

Enrique frowned at her scraped fingers.

“I need several containers of water.” She glanced at the pots hanging from hooks over the crude hearth. “Both the water and containers must be clean.” She placed a stack of snowy linen napkins on the table, followed by a bottle of vinegar. “Two of you will need to hold Maria down when I cut into her wound to drain it.”

“Cut? Drain?” The woman shook her head. “We were told never to do so. What flows from the wound would harm other parts of her body.”

“Whoever told you so was misinformed.” Sancha gestured to the wound. “See how red the skin is at the edges, how swollen the center of her injury is? The yellow matter inside causes both. Your daughter’s body is trying to expel the vile liquid. Once removed, the wound will have a chance to heal.”

The mother stroked her child’s leg. “Will she live?”

“I will do everything in my power to help her. Please fetch the water.”

The woman grabbed a battered pot and spotted Enrique in the darkness. She lifted her eyebrows. He put his finger to his lips, asking for silence. She gave it. So did the two men who followed her outside, pots in hand.

Hurriedly, Sancha pulled other items from her bag. There was a brass container, wine as she’d had when tending Fernando, a dagger, thread, and a needle.

Staring at the last items, Enrique stepped closer. His arm hit a broom. The smack of the handle against the packed earthen floor sounded louder than it should have.

She looked over and gaped at him.

“I mean no harm.” He held his hands behind his back to prove his words.

The child squirmed and opened her eyes. “Mamá?”

Sancha stroked the little girl’s cheek. “Your mamá is fetching water. She should return in a moment.”

The child’s face reddened with her strained breathing, fat tears sliding down her face. “My leg hurts.”

“Of course it does.” Sancha smoothed the girl’s hair. “I promise to make it better.”

No words would console Maria. She cried loudly without end. The moment her mother returned with the water, she put the pot on the table and held the girl to her breast, rocking her.

Sancha touched the woman’s shoulder. “We need to begin now, before the infection grows worse.”

“Should we give Maria some wine?” the smaller man asked. “The drink may quiet her some and make what you do less painful for her.”

“No. Given how weak she is, the wine could do more harm than good.”

“What did you give Fernando?” Enrique asked.

Everyone glanced at him.

Sancha looked away first. “Fernando had already swooned when I tended to his injuries. Nothing I did roused him in the least.”

After rolling a napkin into a ropelike shape, she handed the item to the mother. “Have Maria bite down on this to help ease the pain.”

Sancha pushed up her sleeves, washed her hands in the water, and dried them on yet another napkin. She uncorked the wine and vinegar, showing both to the mother. “This is to cleanse your daughter’s wound.”

The moment the liquids touched her, Maria screamed around the napkin. Immediately, the men held her down. Swiftly, Sancha washed her knife blade in another pot, then ran it through the torch flame. Upon her return, she spoke to the men. “Hold her firmly. She will fight the pain and me.”

Maria spat the napkin from her mouth and wailed. Sancha hadn’t even touched her as yet. Didn’t matter. Screaming now, the child struggled against her uncles’ hold. Footfalls and voices neared the hut. Enrique stuck his head outside. Women and men stepped back.

Not only was he a stranger but a noble. “All is well.”

The child’s ear-piercing shrieks turned to gasping sobs.

“Tell the same to anyone who asks,” he said. “Especially Maria’s papá.”

Enrique closed the door. Sancha finally sliced into the child’s wound. Blood and pus spurted out. The girl shrieked louder than before.

His stomach rolled.

Sancha mopped up the mess with the napkins. She used so many, the crumpled linens fell off the table. Despite the gore, she never flinched or became ill as he would have. At last, she’d exposed the raw core of the wound and poured vinegar over the dark red flesh.

The little girl stiffened and swooned.

“The worst is over.” She looked at each family member in turn. “Do keep holding her should she awake without warning.”

Weeping, the mother made the sign of the cross over herself.

Sancha opened the brass vial. The moment she brought the container to the wound, the mother put out her hand. “Wait. What is that?”

“A mixture of wine, garlic, onion, and cow bile to keep the injury from infecting again.”

Enrique went to her. “Bile helps against an infection?”

“Physicians have used this for centuries as I did on Fernando.” She poured the mixture on a fresh napkin and applied it to the wound.

Once the area was fully saturated, she ran the tip of the needle through the fire as she had the dagger and pulled thread through the eye. Then she held the edges of the wound together with one hand while stitching with the other. The same as she’d do when repairing a rip in fabric rather than a child’s skin.

The mother covered her face.

Maria moaned several times but never awakened fully.

He’d never seen anything to match Sancha’s actions and knowledge. She’d performed similar healing with Fernando but Enrique hadn’t witnessed the actual methods. After snipping the thread with her scissors, Sancha washed the wound with more wine and vinegar, then wrapped several napkins around it. “You must keep the area clean.” She gestured to the dressings. “In my experiments—”

“Your what?”

She ignored him. “During those times when I was faced with a similar problem as Maria’s, if the wound became dirty, the infection returned.” She handed the remainder of the napkins and the brass bottle to the woman. “You can care for her during the next days using these.”

“What if she grows worse?”

“Send for me.” Sancha pulled several loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, and a container of roasted pork from her bag and put each on a shelf to the side. “Make certain your daughter eats as much as she can during the healing period and drinks plenty of water to prevent a fever.”

She put out her hand to Enrique. “Give me any ducats or reals you have.”

Sensing she wasn’t in the mood for questions, he handed his money over.

She gave the coins to the mother, dug into her bag once more and produced even more gold and silver. “Use the coins to purchase whatever food you need for Maria and others in the village. If you eat well, you are less likely to fall ill.”

“I could never accept so much.”

“You can and you will. Señor Don Enrique insists.” She glanced over. “Do you not?”

He lifted his hands. “Of course.”

She fought a smile. The mother wept.

“Do you leave now?” Enrique asked Sancha.

She regarded Maria. “In time. I want to wait and watch. You may go, of course.”

He would stay.