Wicked Whispers Read Online Free PDF Page B

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