Free The Promise by T. J. Bennett Page A

burning, and full-scale destruction to its deeds, particularly when papal properties were involved, as they were here. The officers, hailing mostly from the gentry and minor nobility, had little command over the foot soldiers in such situations. Captains depended upon their sergeants to maintain control. Sometimes with the edge of a blade.
    “Mayhap,” Fritz offered, “I could accompany you today.”
    “There is no need.”
    “But—”
    “Off with you,” Günter said gently. “Get my gear and meet me at the Señora’s tent.”
    Fritz hesitated, then nodded. He hastened off in the direction of von Frundsberg’s tent.
    Günter strode off in the opposite direction, trying hard not to rub his hands together in gleeful anticipation of the upcoming skirmish with his future bride.

    Alonsa gave one final tug on the ropes that held the various bundles inside her wide merchant’s cart. Absently patting the sturdy gray body of her burro, she gazed up at the morning sun climbing higher in the sky than she would have liked. The animal snuffled, and she patted it once more.
    She had sold her dray horse. The burro was much less costly, and with the profits, she would be able to afford the passage to Spain without having to spend coin from the sales of her father’s blades. She had sewn some of the money inside her skirts and placed the rest in an iron box hidden at the base of the cart. She would sell the burro when she reached Genoa.
    Cursed luck, bad weather, and Inés’ incessant complaints had thus far prevented her from leaving for the port city. Still, she intended to depart today, no matter how delayed the journey might be.
    She had dressed in traveling clothes: her thick woolen mantle draped her shoulders, while a white linen snood covered her head. Her front-lacing bodice would permit her to quickly dress and undress at night without aid. She still wore gray for mourning, but she’d girded her skirts to allow ease of movement in and out of the cart. She felt comfortable and prepared for her journey.
    She checked the stores of food and wine for the last time.
    Alonsa, absorbed in her activities, gradually became aware of a prickling sensation along the back of her neck. She moved her hand to the Toledo blade lying on top of the bundles. Designed especially for her by her late husband, it bore a shorter hilt and lighter weight. As the feeling of being watched became stronger, she yanked the blade from its sheath, dropped her mantle, and swung around to confront whatever danger approached. Her blade whistled in its downward arc—and came to a clanging halt as a great sword checked its descent.
    Without thinking, Alonsa flanked left with the blade and spun to renew her attack, her heavy skirts swinging out around her—and mid-arc saw Günter raise his blade once more.
    He countered before she could check her own attack. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the blade out of her hand. It landed beyond her reach, point down and vibrating in the muddy ground.
    She turned to face him, incensed.
    “What do you mean by this … this assault?” With a huff, she retrieved her mantle from where she had dropped it on the ground.
    Her question brought his dark brows up in mocking inquiry as he lowered his sword. “What do I mean by it? I believe you assaulted me. I came only for a visit. Nice swordplay, by the by. Did your father teach you that?”
    Alonsa sniffed with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she had been roundly defeated. She twitched the mantle over her shoulders. “My late husband.”
    “Ah.” Günter nodded.
    Alonsa had no idea what that noncommittal word might mean.
    His falcon’s eyes flicked over the cart. “Going somewhere?”
    “I am leaving for Genoa, as I believe you know already,” she answered stiffly. “Your young spy has been hovering about my tent for the past three days.” She moved toward her sword, but Günter blocked her path. “If you will permit me to retrieve my blade,