Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Felipe’s appointed guest room was easy to find.
The bed hadn’t been slept in and an unopened bottle of white wine rested on the mantelpiece. Beside it, a candle had burned down to the wick next to a bowl of fresh water. I leaned over it and splashed my face, then used the towel folded next to the bowl.
Felipe could have the house. Miguel and I would take the horses and rebuild elsewhere, start over and make a new life for ourselves. Sobering up, my head cleared, making the decision obvious. My family had been virtually wiped out, and I wasn’t prepared to lose Alicia on account of my pride.
Miguel would understand – I’d make it up to him.
Looking around for Felipe’s personal items, I noticed there weren’t any and doubted he had even been here, or perhaps the servant who’d pointed to this room had been mistaken.
Through the window, I heard hooves clip-clopping along and a rumbling carriage. I peered out of the window and saw Felipe climbing in, ignoring the butler who closed the coach door behind him. With the crack of a whip, the carriage jerked forward and sped off.
I flew out of the bedroom, down the stairs and through the house.
Dodging staff, I bolted through the kitchen and came face to face with the man I’d caught Salvador making love to in bed.
He was dressed as a chef. I threw him a wide smile, and he beamed back.
With a leap in my step, I headed outside.
Within minutes, I’d found the stables and saddled my stallion. I threw a coin to the groom who’d taken care of him and galloped out of the barn. The small amount of money I had would have to be enough to feed both my horse and me.
Fear of losing sight of Felipe’s carriage ensured my focus, and I lived up to my reputation of being reckless.
The unforgiving rain continued to batter me. It was impossible to remember ever being dry.
My current existence teetered upon the edge of some exquisite oblivion, a life forged from the very embers of ruin – born of ash and suffering, crafted with a defiant will.
And this unholy temptation had seized me like a divine madness.
Yet something inevitable beckoned, coaxing me with a rapture too intoxicating to deny; fate whispered my name through the sweet delirium of revenge.
Within a day, I was in Vigo. The harsh climate was a contrast to being in Santiago De Compostela. This town was somewhat larger and busier.
Fatigue set in. I needed a place to rest Valiente, having ridden him too far for too long. I’d pressed him – and myself – past exhaustion.
With aching limbs, I rallied the remnants of my fading strength. From a little way off, keeping a safe distance, I observed Felipe enter a well-guarded manor. Studying the windows, I wondered which room Alicia was being kept in.
I turned my weary horse and followed the tattered sign back into town. I chose the nearest tavern. They vowed to care for my horse, but it ended up being me who tended to him. I ensured that Valiente’s comfort, his hunger and thirst, were sated before my own.
The innkeeper’s wife escorted me to my room.
Nausea welled up in me as I entered. The stale odor of the previous tenant lingered, but exhaustion forced me to stay.
With a thrust, I secured the bed against the door.
Despite the nasty bedding, fatigue pulled me down and I fell asleep.
Nightmares and dreamscapes filled with disconnected memories and fears came and went.
Carried away, impossible to escape, I cycled through each terror.
I was a boy again, standing in the pitch dark, and out of nowhere a large bull thundered toward me, gnashing its white teeth and snorting.
I sprang up.
Stifled by the lack of air, I climbed out of bed. It was impossible to judge how long I’d slept. Dust puffed off the tatty curtains as I peeked outside.
It was dark.
The tavern entertained a few locals eating supper.
At a corner table, I inhaled the scent of stale bread, boiled chicken, and gulped cups of warm water.
Stroking my chin that hadn’t felt a razor in two days, my thoughts drifted once more to Annabelle.
Although I’d heard of the flamenco, this had been the first time I’d ever seen the exotic dance that gypsies had brought from the Mediterranean to Spaniards desirous of a rich expression of love.
Annabelle’s performance had bewitched all the guests, including me.
Still shaken from Felipe’s threat, though, I’d not been able to truly appreciate her.
This indulgence wasted time.
I had just enough money left to pay for my stay. Valiente greeted me with quiet relief, and I vowed to make up for all the chaos I’d brought upon him. My horse pressed his forehead softly against my chest, and I took my time, whispering calm reassurances into the stillness between us.
I led him out of the stables, securing him briefly outside a local store.
Brute force ensured my entry into the tailor’s shop. Row upon row of clothes awaited my inspection. In the corner, I found what I’d come for – officers’ uniforms. After finding one that looked about my size, I stripped.
Despite my stubble, the corner mirror would have reflected a dashing army captain if the trouser legs hadn’t been two inches too short.
I found another. This time, Spain’s finest stared back in the warped mirror.
In the back of the store, I found what I needed to shave. I left my old clothes and withdrew.
I mounted Valiente and we headed off into the night. When we reached the stables on the senator’s estate, a lad greeted us warmly, promising to take good care of my horse.
With my heart thundering with trepidation, I dismounted and ascended the stone steps, tilting my heavily braided cap. Several passable salutes later, I strolled on into the senatorial residence.
Within the manor’s shadowed halls, I moved with quiet purpose, the silence thick around me as I searched for Alicia.
I’d spent a lifetime wondering about my sister.
I leaned up against the door, her door, and listened, marveling at the influence of a dashing officer, the uniform having gotten me in.
Minutes before, I’d found the staff’s quarters and used my affable nature to cajole the female cook into giving me information.
Wiping her powdered hands on her apron, feeling sorry for the young officer newly returned from active service, she’d told me that she’d just delivered warm milk to Senorita Alicia’s boy in the south wing.
Her stern expression and lowered tone showed her disapproval.
The senator was married, after all, but not to Alicia.
I attempted to remain stone-faced, despite the heaviness in my chest. Felipe had fathered Alicia’s son, the scandal a closely guarded secret.
Felipe had lied. He had no intention of freeing my sister.
I struggled for the right words and was unable to find them. Alicia was the only family I had left.
And I was seconds from seeing her.
With a turn of the handle, I entered her room.
She lay sleeping on a large bed, her dark flowing locks spilling over white linen.
Staring at her features, I noted how similar they were to mine.
Her child – a one-year-old boy – slept peacefully beside her.
I removed my braided jacket and flung it over the back of a corner rocking chair, then carefully sat down, trying not to make any noise.
Seeing her again stirred once buried memories.
Alicia’s look of horror when Ricardo had slapped that red cape down onto the kitchen table, or the way she clung to our mother when she thought I might win one of our fights, and the endless days we’d played by the river, both of us lost in our own imaginary worlds – sometimes crossing into each other’s.
Dusk promised to arrive at any moment. I wiped the perspiration from my brow with my sleeve.
The child stirred, causing Alicia to awaken. She swept a few stray hairs away from her face. When she noticed me, she bolted upright. “Daumia?”
I rose out of the chair. “It’s so good to see you.”
She pulled her son closer to her.
“He seems sweet.” I forced a smile, seeing Felipe in him.
Her gaze narrowed. “What do you want?”
“I’ve come to get you out.”
She shook her head. “Don’t hurt us.”
“Never!” I glanced at the door.
She stared at the officer’s jacket that had slipped off the chair and lay crumpled on the floor. “Guards,” she yelled.
“Whatever Felipe’s told you about me is a lie.”
“Get out!”
“I’ve come to take you home.”
“I am home,” she screamed.
The door burst open, but I didn’t wait to see who entered.
Panic caused my throat to tighten as I peered out of the window and down at a drop that would kill me. I leaped up onto the ledge and leaned out, grabbing hold of a handful of vines.
And then I jumped.
Dangling, I pulled myself along. I slipped and struggled to hold on as the twisting vines tore into my palms. Clutching at an open window, I hauled myself up and clambered inside the room.
Descending the central staircase too quickly, I tripped and tumbled down the marble steps. My right shoulder bashed against the iron banister, and a searing pain shot down my arm. Three guards closed in on me, their swords pointed.
I scrambled through the front door just as I felt something cold and sharp slice into my left ear.
A burning sensation was followed by a gush of warm liquid streaming down my neck.
Unable to catch my breath, I descended the steps four at a time, startling a flock of crows.
They flew up and around me, flapping their black feathered wings in my face as I dashed into the center of the courtyard.
I was going to die. Die here.
Far from home.
I fell to my knees, consumed with a dark rapture as I felt myself bleeding out, my eyesight blurring. Refusing to surrender, I staggered to my feet.
A horse-drawn carriage swerved, missing me by a hair, and I felt myself being grabbed and dragged violently into the careening vehicle, my limbs shaken, my body thrust this way and that.
Unbearable.
Dreaming, I wandered through a mausoleum of silence – her face, impossibly radiant, too flawless to belong to this world.
She hovered just beyond reach like a vision carved from moonlight and longing.
As sleep pulled me deeper into nothingness, I trembled in the stillness – stillness like I’d never known.
Carved oak bedposts came into focus.
“You’re safe now,” whispered a husky female voice.
“Alicia?” Not recognizing my surroundings, I froze. I was lying on a bed with no idea how long I’d been there. Several flickering candles threw shadows over thick, drawn drapes and plush furniture. A female’s silhouette loomed in the corner.
Blinking as if waking from a fever, I beheld her, arrayed not in silks but dressed as a nobleman, a doublet clinging to her shapely form, hose laced with quiet defiance.
Her long raven hair spilled down her back like ink on parchment.
Her beauty surpassed the reach of any vision my mind dared to summon.
With fumbling fingers, I explored the material used as a bandage, wrapped around my head, covering my left ear.
Felipe… Either him or one of his men had attacked me.
I’m alive, at least.
As she stepped into the light, shadows danced across her, revealing those familiar, striking turquoise eyes that lit up when she smiled.
“I know you.” I sat up.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Sunaria?” I tried to focus.
She gave a nod. “Your ear’s fine.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Not long.”
“I have to get to my sister. Wait…you’re…”
“Hush.”
I could make it to the door in about ten steps. The idea of a woman being any kind of threat felt ridiculous, and yet she conveyed an unearthly presence and that stare of hers elicited a visceral response, a sense that she had within her the power to entrap, to seduce and completely enslave.
This arousal could have been better timed. I shook it off. “That carriage, it was yours?”
“Yes.”
“You saved my life?”
“You’re reckless.”
“That’s the first time anyone’s ever made that remark about me.” I climbed out of bed and stared at her. “Roelle, what the hell happened to him?”
She wrapped her pale, delicate fingers around the bedpost and hugged it.
I gestured. “Please don’t come any closer.”
“Daumia, lay back down.”
I placed my feet firmly on the floor. Those long, red fingernails of hers would leave a mark, scratching a man’s back until he came.
My back.
Not arousal, I’d confused it with the excitement stirred by danger.
God, I wanted her. Wanted to taste her lips, wanted to strip her naked of that fine garb and own her body. Even in this state my mind spiraled with the madness of it all.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Her heavy-lidded gaze held mine.
There were no marks on my hands from the vines.
I turned to face the vanity and peered into the mirror.
I peeled back the bandage and to my astonishment my ear had healed.
Blood on my collar was the only suggestion of an injury.
I remembered the sword slicing through, shivered and spun round, lifting my shirt and checking my back.
Again no laceration where I thought I’d been stabbed, causing me to question my memories. Then, something slipped through…
Her hand hovered over my mouth. A few drops of warm crimson fell from her wrist.
Her curious gaze studied me. “How much do you remember?”
“Everything.”
She stepped closer. “Then we have a problem.”