cart off the road! It will mire in the mud should a storm arise again.”
He gestured at the overhanging rock.
“We will hide the cart beneath one of these outcroppings. That should protect it. We will take what we need from it for the night. It will be quite safe.”
“Well, I do not know…” Alonsa wavered in her resolve to continue. Günter seemed so certain …
Fritz coughed again, even more piteously, and Inés sent her an insistent look.
“Señora, we must show kindness for the poor soul,”
she admonished.
Alonsa sighed in defeat.
“Oh, very well.” She allowed Günter to direct the cart where he willed.
An hour later, Günter had hidden the cart and installed their gear in a small clearing out of sight from the road. The horses and the burro had been cared for and tied to a nearby tree. Inés worked over by a stream, within view of where they camped, skinning a plump hare Günter had caught. Tired and worn, the women removed their headgear for comfort. Inés’ auburn tresses coiled at the base of her neck, while Alonsa’s dark locks swung free.
Fritz seemed to have recovered from his ague. He hovered near Inés while he chewed on a heel of dark bread she had given him to allay his ever-present hunger until supper.
Alonsa found herself with nothing to do but admire Günter while he sat at the edge of the impromptu camp awaiting their meal. He leaned against the peeling trunk of an umbrella pine, strumming his cittern and humming softly. His sword lay on the ground beside him.
Sitting on a flat rock near him, she watched his fingers pluck the strings of the pear-shaped instrument and noted for the first time how much the smooth curves of the cittern resembled those of a woman. Such instruments often had the image of a female carved into the head, and for this reason men referred to them as “barbers’ sluts,” because they could be found in the window of any barbershop and played with ease by any waiting man.
She watched Günter’s long fingers move with assurance, amazed at how he seemed to coax the music from the very heart of the cittern with little effort. Her mind drifted.
What would it be like to be played by Günter? She found herself amused at the notion that she was envious even of this inanimate wooden instrument.
“You are smiling.” Günter strummed a haunting melody while he spoke. “Do you find this song amusing? Or is it just me?”
Alonsa raised her eyes from the transfixing sight of his long, agile fingers plucking the courses. She met his speculative gaze. Loath to admit the wayward direction of her thoughts, she replied, “Never you, Günter. You are not a man to be laughed at.”
“You laughed at me today.”
The way he said the words made her believe the memory was not unpleasant.
“No, not at you, exactly. Simply …” She shrugged. “Account it to a woman’s secret thoughts.”
Günter ceased to play, resting his fingers lightly over the humming strings for a moment. His eyes held hers, their warmth banishing the chill of the approaching night from her bones.
“Tell me I am a part of your most secret thoughts, Señora, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Alonsa swallowed hard.
“You already are.” At the lift of his eyebrows, she added, “Following me everywhere.”
“Ah.” He pursed his lips in mock disappointment and returned to his playing. “Tsk. I thought you were confessing I had invaded your fantasies.”
Alonsa stood, trying to rid herself of the intimacy of his knowing gaze. The chill returned, and she moved restlessly about the little camp. She pulled her mantle tighter around her shoulders.
“I do not indulge in such fantasies. They are for maidens, and I have not been one in many a year.”
“Maidens are highly overrated. I prefer a woman with … experience.” She heard the smile in his voice.
She gave him a sharp glance, annoyed he mocked her. “Then Inés must be quite to your liking.”
He stared at her for a long
He gestured at the overhanging rock.
“We will hide the cart beneath one of these outcroppings. That should protect it. We will take what we need from it for the night. It will be quite safe.”
“Well, I do not know…” Alonsa wavered in her resolve to continue. Günter seemed so certain …
Fritz coughed again, even more piteously, and Inés sent her an insistent look.
“Señora, we must show kindness for the poor soul,”
she admonished.
Alonsa sighed in defeat.
“Oh, very well.” She allowed Günter to direct the cart where he willed.
An hour later, Günter had hidden the cart and installed their gear in a small clearing out of sight from the road. The horses and the burro had been cared for and tied to a nearby tree. Inés worked over by a stream, within view of where they camped, skinning a plump hare Günter had caught. Tired and worn, the women removed their headgear for comfort. Inés’ auburn tresses coiled at the base of her neck, while Alonsa’s dark locks swung free.
Fritz seemed to have recovered from his ague. He hovered near Inés while he chewed on a heel of dark bread she had given him to allay his ever-present hunger until supper.
Alonsa found herself with nothing to do but admire Günter while he sat at the edge of the impromptu camp awaiting their meal. He leaned against the peeling trunk of an umbrella pine, strumming his cittern and humming softly. His sword lay on the ground beside him.
Sitting on a flat rock near him, she watched his fingers pluck the strings of the pear-shaped instrument and noted for the first time how much the smooth curves of the cittern resembled those of a woman. Such instruments often had the image of a female carved into the head, and for this reason men referred to them as “barbers’ sluts,” because they could be found in the window of any barbershop and played with ease by any waiting man.
She watched Günter’s long fingers move with assurance, amazed at how he seemed to coax the music from the very heart of the cittern with little effort. Her mind drifted.
What would it be like to be played by Günter? She found herself amused at the notion that she was envious even of this inanimate wooden instrument.
“You are smiling.” Günter strummed a haunting melody while he spoke. “Do you find this song amusing? Or is it just me?”
Alonsa raised her eyes from the transfixing sight of his long, agile fingers plucking the courses. She met his speculative gaze. Loath to admit the wayward direction of her thoughts, she replied, “Never you, Günter. You are not a man to be laughed at.”
“You laughed at me today.”
The way he said the words made her believe the memory was not unpleasant.
“No, not at you, exactly. Simply …” She shrugged. “Account it to a woman’s secret thoughts.”
Günter ceased to play, resting his fingers lightly over the humming strings for a moment. His eyes held hers, their warmth banishing the chill of the approaching night from her bones.
“Tell me I am a part of your most secret thoughts, Señora, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Alonsa swallowed hard.
“You already are.” At the lift of his eyebrows, she added, “Following me everywhere.”
“Ah.” He pursed his lips in mock disappointment and returned to his playing. “Tsk. I thought you were confessing I had invaded your fantasies.”
Alonsa stood, trying to rid herself of the intimacy of his knowing gaze. The chill returned, and she moved restlessly about the little camp. She pulled her mantle tighter around her shoulders.
“I do not indulge in such fantasies. They are for maidens, and I have not been one in many a year.”
“Maidens are highly overrated. I prefer a woman with … experience.” She heard the smile in his voice.
She gave him a sharp glance, annoyed he mocked her. “Then Inés must be quite to your liking.”
He stared at her for a long
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