Wicked Whispers. Tina Donahue

rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

      She released her weight into him. He eased the shirt from her neck and kissed her there, rewarding her carnal surrender.

      She trembled with delight and more than a bit of worry. “People can see.”

      “What people? No one else is on the road.”

      “Ahead, at the castle.” She lifted her hand to show him what she meant. He was so busy nuzzling her neck, he couldn’t have noticed. Again, she drove her fingers through his hair, anchoring him to her.

      Several moments passed before he lifted his face from her neck and rested his chin on her shoulder instead.

      She smiled at the weight of his head, liking it.

      “Who would be up at dawn when they drank and feasted throughout the night?” Before she could answer, he ran his tongue over her lobe, tickling her.

      She giggled. “Stop it.”

      “Why?”

      This was so wrong. She twisted around to tell him. Something moved in the corner of her eye. Facing the castle, she squinted, trying to see the balconies more clearly from this distance. They appeared empty now but she could have sworn someone had been on the one to the left, watching her and Enrique before moving away.

      He tightened his arm around her waist. “Why?”

      “Why what?”

      “Should I stop kissing you?”

      The fact they weren’t betrothed or wed and would never be came to mind, though Sancha wasn’t about to get into such a discussion now. “I saw someone.”

      Enrique pulled his hand from beneath her shirt. “Who?”

      “Isabella?”

      He leaned over her shoulder to see her face. “You seem uncertain.”

      “She moved before I could see her clearly. Who else would be up worrying about our return?”

      “From what I can see, your sister’s only worry is our never being together.”

      She chose to ignore his comment. “We need to get inside before full light.”

      On a loud sigh, he prodded his horse to a faster pace.

      The stable boy and house servants pretended not to notice her odd attire. They bowed graciously, kept their tongues, and continued with their duties.

      Knowing the castle design, she avoided any possible crowds by darting toward a back stairway that led to her bedchamber. Halfway down the hall, Enrique grabbed her hand.

      She looked over. “What?”

      “Show me your books.”

      “Now?”

      “I want to see them.”

      Male and female voices drifted from another hall. Not wanting to find out if they belonged to servants or guests, she hurried down the corridor, gesturing for Enrique to follow.

      She stopped at a hidden door. Colorful mosaics matched the rest of the wall, concealing this entrance, the same as the one she’d fled through last night. Before she pressed the seam to open the door, she removed two candles from their holders, lit the wicks, and handed the spare to Enrique.

      The scant light turned the darkness a dismal brown as they descended a stairway cut into the earth. Here, packed dirt pressed close, smelling dank, cooling the air.

      At the bottom of the steps, she pointed. “This way.”

      He grabbed her hand, mindful of the linen strips he’d wrapped around her fingers. “Take care not to hurt yourself again.”

      His concern was so genuine and unnecessary, she wanted to throw her arms around him, giving her all.

      She nodded instead, leading him through a narrow passageway, the oppressive quiet broken by skittering sounds. Mice she had yet to catch. The creatures had served her well in the past, even though Isabella found any vermin appalling.

      She’d argued against Sancha using this space for her books, thinking it too grim. Nonsense. The area was perfect, hidden from prying eyes. Even if something happened to her, the volumes would always be safe.

      She stopped in a surprisingly large room, guessing the Moor who’d owned this castle had kept prisoners here. Rusted chairs rested on the floor. Bolts studded the walls at intervals sufficiently high to hold a man’s arms above his head, low enough to shackle his feet.

      Enrique bypassed those items, stopping at the lone chair and long table, her volumes stacked on top. She had so many the wood was no longer visible beneath her books.

      He put his candle in a holder, picked up the first volume, and turned page after page, his handsome features slackening with shock. “This is in Arabic.”

      “Some are in Latin. I can read both languages.”

      “This volume is on Islamic medicine.”

      She put her candle into a holder. “All of them are.”

      He stared as if seeing her for the first time with the image not pleasing him. “This is heresy.”

      Her spirits fell. Although she hadn’t expected him to understand fully or to grin in delight, she didn’t want him to be so intolerant.

      She joined him and stroked her books as she would a beloved child. “This is knowledge.”

      He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Sancha, listen to me. What you have here are from Spain’s enemies.”

      “No.” She pushed his hands off her. “Physicians penned these books centuries before our birth. How can they threaten you, me, or anyone else in this country?”

      “I concede those men pose no menace now. However, their ancestors did and the generations that follow still do.”

      “Then hate them, not those who wrote the books. What they discovered is beyond compare and saved Fernando’s life, arm, and leg. When his wounds infected, I learned how to treat them as I had Maria’s in order to save both of them. Not because of Spain’s physicians, the Church, religion, or custom. Because of Zakariya Razi. Rhazes to those who honor him.”

      She gestured to the great man’s book. “Reading his work opened my eyes to so many possibilities. Men need not go lame, blind, or die needlessly if someone knows how to treat them. Rhazes’s people established medicine far surpassing what we know. A famous tale relates how he determined where to build a hospital for the community. He had meat hung in various locations around Baghdad. The spot where the carcasses rotted the least was the one he chose, because he knew what caused illness.”

      She circled the table and lifted a cage with mice inside. Three fat ones eyed her, noses twitching. “I experiment on these creatures wherever I am, testing what my books claim. Thus far, all holds true. The potions and treatments these men discovered centuries ago help us now. How can that be wrong? Would you have preferred I let Fernando die?”

      “Of course not.” He threw up his hands. “But this…”

      “This is the future. Spain may keep its people from knowing anything so miraculous but the rest of the world will never stand still. They will move forward as we mire ourselves in unending battles and for what? A piece of land? A castle? What about people? Do they have no value except for your family?”

      He frowned. “You matter.”

      “Then try to understand why I do what I must. How important this is to me.”

      “I can see that. You rage like a madwoman.”

      “Perhaps I am.” She turned away. “You should leave.”

      “Without you? Never.”

      She crossed to the other side of the room before he could reach