Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue

many other times she’d stolen into a village to treat a peasant.

      Better never to address the subject.

      He settled his mouth on her ear, his lips heated and soft. “Are you comfortable?”

      She was about to lose control. Her heart walloped, and perspiration ran down her spine. She dug her nails into the horn and willed herself not to ease closer to him, her desire and self-control battling with longing determined to win. She made a noise that sounded wanton to her.

      He leaned over, his face close. “What did you say?”

      “Why did you warn Maria’s mother?”

      “What? Warn her? When?”

      His admonition to the woman had surprised Sancha and gave her something to speak of other than his thumb stroking the area directly beneath her breast. Her belly fluttered. “You told her never to mention my visit. Why would she? I helped her daughter.”

      “You exposed yourself to gossip.”

      She waved her hand. “A woman invites scandal if she breathes too deeply.”

      “Make light of this if you will, but did you ever consider how miraculous your healing appears to others?”

      She twisted to look at him. Even in the wan light, his forelock stood out within his dark locks. His handsome features and hooded eyes seemed slightly dangerous, completely male. “My intent has never been to amaze anyone but to offer what relief I can.”

      “Your intent hardly matters. There are many who would insist your healing powers are so great you gained them from something other than the books you read. Namely, Satan. They would also suggest if you have the means to heal, you can also use your talent, power, or whatever you want to call it, to destroy.”

      Although she was well aware of how foolish and cruel people could be, having him state the matter made her belly cramp. “Do you think so of me?”

      “You know I never will.”

      “Nor do the peasants.”

      “Until you fail them, which you will at some point, as you are hardly God. When one of them dies in your care, the others may begin to talk, accuse, and want revenge. Have you ever considered such an outcome?”

      She’d been so intent on helping others, she hadn’t considered the aftermath of failure. “If your intent is to dissuade me from healing—”

      “I want you to understand the possible consequences of your actions. As a wealthy woman, you have much to lose to the inquisitors. All they need is a reason to confiscate what you own in the name of saving a sinner. Rumor says many innocents face accusation so the inquisitors can enrich themselves. Powerful men have gotten rid of their wives by claiming those women were witches. Nobles can easily dispose of rivals with false allegations. If the tribunal succeeded in accusing you, men would search every part of your body for witch marks and perhaps rape you in the process. Even if you lived through such horrors, death by strangulation or burning alive at the stake would be next. For what? To practice your healing?”

      “To save others. Am I to live my life in fear or do what I must? If an enemy were to come to Spain and threaten her, what would you do? Flee to save your life or fight to spare others?”

      He sighed. “The situations are hardly the same.”

      “They are precisely the same and you know it.”

      He lifted his face to the sky. The ridge in his throat bobbed with his hard swallow. “You and Isabella…”

      “Me and Isabella what?”

      He looked at her. “Never have I met women like you.”

      She inclined her head slightly to concede his point. “Now you understand why I said you must find another more in accord with your needs.”

      “I want no one but you.”

      “Enrique.”

      He’d cupped her face, his thumb skimming her bottom lip. Her mouth tingled. Her breath spilled out on a wanting sigh at the tenderness and desire in his expression.

      He reined in his gelding and lowered his mouth to hers.

      She couldn’t fight him. Didn’t want to. The night was perfect for love, their attraction too intense, his kiss soft and searching at first then filled with raw male need, his tongue slipping into her mouth.

      Sancha sagged against him, suckling his tongue as though she’d been born for the task, loving his clean flavor, his strong caress.

      With the reins in one hand, he eased his other beneath her shirt, fingertips grazing her skin, hand cupping her naked breast.

      She should have pulled away, told him to stop. Trembling with unbearable need, she opened her mouth even more to his tongue, inviting him to invade her deeply, intoxicated by his scent and strength.

      Emboldened by her willing surrender, he dragged his thumb over her nipple, making the tip even harder. She ached for him in a way she couldn’t deny. All her life others had told her how sinful lust was. For her to avoid it at all cost. A woman’s purity was worth more than love. Passion could fade in a moment. Chastity alone proved a female’s honor the same as valor did with a man.

      She’d never doubted those truths, having rarely thought of them until now.

      Within Enrique’s embrace, she was complete for the first time, even though they had no future. Somehow, this moment and a few others seemed enough. On some level, she knew her sentiments were wrong. A better woman would fight for what was right, denying herself and him.

      She gripped Enrique’s thigh, not wanting him to stop. Her touch seemed to excite him even more. He tore his mouth free and lifted her shirt, exposing her breasts to the ebbing moon and night air. The cool breeze skipped lightly against her feverish skin. His mouth was hot and damp on her throat. After he’d kissed her thoroughly there, he leaned over, straining to latch onto her nipple. Sancha faced him as much as she could, unable to deny what they both craved.

      He claimed her breast, running his tongue over her areola and tip, suckling each.

      The folds between her legs grew damp with obsessive need. All she could think about was lying with him, his chest nestled against her breasts, shaft buried deep within her belly, skin touching, breaths mingling.

      She cupped the back of his head, her fingers buried in his thick, silky hair to keep him close.

      He laved her nipple, drawing a sound from her that she didn’t recognize. The noise sounded too base, raw with desire. She curled her toes and pushed into him, trying to get closer. He seized the opportunity to squeeze her other breast, using her thoroughly.

      She allowed the pleasure, lost in his embrace, the lusty promise of his strength and heat. Forever wouldn’t be enough to sate her passion. Another moment was out of the question. The horse shifted its weight again, impatient to move on.

      Straightened, Enrique gulped air like a man saved from drowning. Sancha was so lightheaded she gripped his arm for support. Still panting, he kissed her cheek, ear, hair, shoulder.

      “You should always wear a man’s shirt.” He stroked the fabric.

      She laughed, surprising herself. “What if others see me do so?” She gestured to the horizon, sun spilling its first rays across the fields, groves, and forest.

      He swore. “We should have left the hut earlier.”

      They shouldn’t have stopped to enjoy each other. Rather than point out the obvious, she pulled the shirt over her breasts and settled properly on the saddle, surprised she hadn’t fallen off during their passion.

      She was doomed whenever they were close. He’d spoken of her having magical powers granted by the Devil. What of his? A woman had no hope of keeping her wits when faced with his seductive touch.

      With the horse at a gentle speed, he slipped