Read Wicked Whispers for Free Online

the leather alforjas behind him, indicating where he had the items, hoping neither man would ask to see them or tell him the village was already in possession of the things.
    The older man pointed. “The last hut to the right.”
    “ Gracias .” After tossing the coin to the fellow, Enrique directed his horse through the village. Dust and mud seemed to cover everything, smoke permeating the air. No candles burned here. Light came from the moon and a few torches placed at such a distance from each other, he couldn’t determine what they were meant to illuminate.
    Although the village was grim in comparison to a castle, the people had tended the property well, keeping their chickens and pigs in pens. Tattered clothes hung on a limp rope strung between two sorry looking cork trees.
    He stopped at the last hut, its windows shuttered. Faint light spilled through separations in the wood. The mules Sancha and the men rode were off to the side, tethered properly.
    Before Enrique could dismount, a man left the hut, slammed the door behind him, and strode into the darkness.
    After debating whether to knock first, Enrique slipped inside quietly, prepared to deal with an argument from Sancha or the men she’d travelled with.
    Shadows darkened most of the room. Torches shone on a rough wood table with a little girl lying on top. Eyes closed, and moaning, she couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. A rip in her homespun dress showed ribs as prominent as Fernando’s had been during his recovery, the child’s thin body nothing like those belonging to the nobility’s sons and daughters. Their skin was olive or pink, not gray like this child’s. Their arms and legs had never been as spindly as hers.
    A pungent smoke smell was as strong in here as it had been outside, along with the odor of decay. Someone had hiked the child’s garment above her right thigh to reveal a large wound, angry red around the edges, yellowish pus oozing from the center. Given how swollen the injury was, Enrique sensed there was far more pus inside. He’d heard Fernando and their other brothers speak of injuries like these when relating scenes from their battles.
    Men had died from similar wounds, as Fernando would have, if not for Sancha’s skilled help.
    She, the two men who’d ridden with her, and a woman stood to the far left side of the table, their backs to Enrique. Several of Sancha’s tresses dangled from her sack hat.
    The woman wore a frayed kirtle and worn shoes, her hair uncombed, shoulders drooping.
    The taller of the men asked, “Will you listen to him?”
    “How can I?” The woman spoke to Sancha. “No matter what my husband said, you must save my daughter’s life whether you can spare her leg or not. He worries if Maria loses a limb, no man would want her. I will. So will her uncles. We can see to her welfare.”
    The men promised they would.
    Sancha nodded. “What did the woman who usually takes care of these things do for Maria?”
    “She died recently.” The mother pushed lank hair behind her ears. “Her daughter took her place. Under her care Maria has grown worse.”
    Sancha placed her bag on the table and emptied it.
    Enrique frowned at her scraped fingers.
    “I need several containers of water.” She glanced at the pots hanging from hooks over the crude hearth. “Both the water and containers must be clean.” She placed a stack of snowy linen napkins on the table, followed by a bottle of vinegar. “Two of you will need to hold Maria down when I cut into her wound to drain it.”
    “Cut? Drain?” The woman shook her head. “We were told never to do so. What flows from the wound would harm other parts of her body.”
    “Whoever told you so was misinformed.” Sancha gestured to the wound. “See how red the skin is at the edges, how swollen the center of her injury is? The yellow matter inside causes both. Your daughter’s body is trying to expel the vile liquid. Once removed, the wound will have a