20. Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Porto, Portugal
Amália, I have learned of a ship that is to depart for England on Friday. There are earlier ships, but this is a captain I can trust, for he has no connections to either our family or to Vasconcelos. I have already secured passage for a Mr Stewart aboard the ship. It might be wiser to wait until Thursday night to release your friend, but if you are convinced that tomorrow will be the best night for you to access him without rousing suspicion, we will meet tomorrow as we arranged. I know of a room I can use at the docks, for its owner is presently at sea. Your friend can hide there until his ship sails. You must obtain the keys to the door and his irons. Have you discovered yet where they are kept? If you cannot secure them in time, you must send me word so that I may cry off. Ruy
A mália crumpled the note. The keys! No, she had not yet learned where Miguel or his father kept them. Another late-night foray into the study had not yielded them up, and she was beginning to think she would only find them locked in a private writing desk or kept on their persons. How was she to reach them in time?
Her fingers tightened over the wad of paper just before she furtively cast it into the fire grate—and none too soon, for Miguel’s steps clicked against the tiles into her room. She spun about, still blocking the view of the fire with her body. “My husband,” she curtseyed and smiled, though there was a shade of guilt to her expression if Miguel had cared to notice.
He did not. “My dear,” he waved a hand in irritation. “Is it proper that I must search so long for my wife for before I find her?”
She tilted her head innocently. “Certainly not. Why do you search for me? The house is large, but I make no secret of my whereabouts.”
His features contracted in anger, and he strode sharply near. “You make too free with my good nature. I will no longer endure such impertinence from my wife!”
She flinched, drawing back and lowering her head. Never had Miguel struck her, but something in his manner just now chilled her to her very marrow. “Forgive me, Miguel!” she protested nervously. “Such was not my intention! I only meant that if I were in another part of the house, one of my maids must surely have given you the information you sought.”
“I have no intention of playing the foolish spouse, running about after the servants for word of my wife. Your only duty is to please your husband, but you seem to care little for doing so!”
A convicted heat stained her cheeks as she kept her eyes low. “I do beg your pardon most humbly, Miguel. I was detained with the housekeeper—”
“Another excuse! Where have you been each time I have sought you? I do believe your brother has seen you more in the last week than I, and when we are in company, you find some reason to leave my presence.”
She blinked, nibbling her lips but keeping her gaze down. Whether out of fear or a guilty conscience, she sensed that making eye contact with her husband just now would only incense him further. “Did we not spend all of the last two or three evenings together?” she murmured defensively.
“With my madrasta as a guest! Oh, yes, I remember how pleased she was by your thoughtful invitations.”
Amália swallowed and dared to meet his eyes. “I only thought that with your father away in the province, she would appreciate the company of her family.”
He threw his arms explosively in the air. “Did I not specifically request a quiet evening in our private chambers on each of the last three days? Instead, I am required to share my wife with my madrasta in the drawing room, only to find her too fatigued after her hostessing duties to entertain me! How many more excuses do you intend to find, Amália?”
Amália felt the blood drain from her face. “Please, Miguel, I do not intentionally avoid your attentions!”
The cords of his jaw stood out as his mouth furrowed bitterly. “That is a lie! I provide for you handsomely and treat you as a princess, yet you disdain me. You have hardened your heart against me! I suppose I ought to have expected it, for I do not wear a red coat as your former suitor did.”
Indignant fire surged into her veins, but she forced a humbler response. “Dear Miguel, you cannot suspect me of divided sentiments! That was so long ago, and he was only a friend! There has been no other. Did I not pledge myself wholly to you?”
“And you have failed to keep that vow! Speak the truth, my wife; do you not still prefer the Englishman? Those times you took me in your arms, was it his face you saw when you closed your eyes?”
She cringed, feeling the empty air behind herself and shrinking backward. “Miguel, please, I—”
He grasped her elbow, jerking her toward himself until she could feel his breath on her forehead. “You will not deny me tonight, my wife,” he hissed. “Right here, by the fire so I can see you looking to me—me, and no other!”
Amália twisted her arm, fear slicing through her heart. Miguel had never seemed so provoked, so insensible to her pleas. Her breath was coming in sharp gasps, and his other hand bit painfully into her backside as she tried to wrench away from him. “Please, Miguel, you are hurting me!” she cried.
“That will be over soon,” he growled, his fingers delving through the sheer fabric of her skirts until she felt him tugging at her drawers. The muted sound of seams ripping sent a shiver down her spine.
She pushed against him frantically with her free hand, beating uselessly against his chest. “Miguel, stop! You needn’t force me, you are my husband!”
“Indeed, I am!” He hooked a hand behind her thigh, then pressed her body backward until she fell beneath him. Only the thick rug on the floor spared her from smacking her head on the tile, but even so, she lay dazed and short of breath as he tumbled upon her.
She protested weakly as he drove savage kisses along her jaw, covering her mouth and cutting off her terrified whimpers. She tried to cry out, desperate for air, but his weight crushing her and the spiraling horror of his sudden assault sent a blind panic through her mind. She began to shake her head, thrashing like a wild thing under his power. “M-m-guel,” came her smothered words, “can-n brea-ff—”
Unable even to draw breath enough to complete her plea, Amália called on the last of her strength. His knees were between her thighs now, and she flailed her calves against him, battering her hands against his shoulders and flying ineffectually about his head—trying at any cost to catch a fresh gasp of air and to pause for a moment—a few seconds! —of reason.
Miguel pulled back, but it was not to grant her reprieve. His face twisted into a hideous snarl, more terrifying than she had ever known, he drew back his hand and delivered a ringing blow to her cheek. Amália’s eyes rolled back in her head and she saw only a dazzling flash of white, then several seconds of alarming darkness. In the hours following, she would remember trying to open her eyes, only to discover that they were never closed.
She swept her hands before her face, searching for Miguel as she felt his body pulling back from her. Long seconds passed as her vision returned—a blur of white, then a hazy dark head leaned over her. She blinked, panting, and realised that he was speaking.
“—couldn’t help it,” he was mumbling. “You had no right to anger me so!”
She slowly felt of the tender back of her head, her bruised cheek, all the while putting out another hand to lift herself to a sitting posture. “W-what did you say?” she stammered incredulously.
He was pacing now, gesticulating wildly. “You know I would never hurt you! You cannot possibly blame me; it is not my fault. You deny me my rights. It is only natural I should be outraged!”
She drew her knees under herself, her fingertips braced on the floor as the last of the fog disappeared from her eyes. She turned her head one way, then the other, trying to determine how dizzy she was before she attempted to stand. “Not your fault…?” she repeated dumbly.
“There, I am glad you see it for what it is,” he nodded in satisfaction. “Your heart has not been faithful, my wife. I would be within my rights to put you aside entirely, but I love you too much for that. I will forgive your coldness of late, so long as you take care to show more affection. After all, it would not do for my father or madrasta to perceive your indifference. Such a disgrace would surely find its way into the tittle-tattle of the city.”
She stared in mute shock, still seated on the floor.
“Oh, come, my flower, did you not hear me say that I forgive you?” he cried in exasperation. “Do not sit there looking deaf and dumb. Come, stand to your feet.” He reached for her hand, but she reeled back, crawling crab-like away from him.
“What is this?” he sneered. “You are not going to pretend fear now, like some spineless ninny! No, I know you too well for that. Stand up, or I shall begin to think you not only a coward but a liar!”
She spun backward all the more hastily, kicking her feet away from his grasping hands. At last he stopped, resting fists on his hips. “So, this is how it is to be,” he scowled. “You would turn things about, make me lose countenance! You think yourself quite the innocent victim! Well, have it your own way tonight.”
With a final sweep of his arms, he whirled away and paced to the door. “Put some oils on your face and be sure that your maid is instructed in cosmetics,” he grumbled. “I come to your bed on the morrow, and I will not have my wife looking so bedraggled as you do just now.”
Amália winced as the door slammed. She put a hand to her eyes, avoiding the rising welt across her cheek. What just happened? Was this the way it was when a woman learned that the man she had taken as her own was but an animal?
She rolled slowly forward to her knees, but at once her stomach twisted. A cold sweat came upon her and she bent double, retching and heaving on the bare tiled floor. When it was all over, she collapsed back against the side of the chaise nearest her, a hand draped listlessly over her stomach.
What am I to do now? she wondered distantly. All her newly awakened misgivings had exploded into violent terror. The man whose name she had embraced was a monster, and she his prey. Was this episode merely an isolated mishap, or was she to expect mounting cruelty now that the threshold had been breached? He had frightened even himself when he laid her out helpless on the floor, that much had been clear… but would he be brought back to reason so easily again? Would he now nurse a grudge against her for his own ferocity, blaming her as he had already begun to do for his own utter lack of humanity?
So numb was she that she did not at first recognise the hot tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She was trembling from head to foot, but she was too stunned to cry aloud, too dazed even to curl into a ball and give way to her trauma and dread. One sense only began stumbling through her muddled thoughts—her home was no longer safe.
A new awareness of a wife’s true vulnerability began spreading from her heart. What protection had she against him? Her father’s honour would be disgraced if she fled her husband’s house. Ruy would find a way… but Ruy was a soldier, destined to be called again to the lines at any moment. Regardless, there was nothing either father or brother could do, for by law and by sacrament, she belonged to Miguel!
Sobs began heaving within her breast as the tears blinded her eyes and stung her raw cheek. Too weak to stand, she began to crawl dizzily toward her bed. If only there were someone to comfort her! She thought longingly of her mother, how she would have gathered her in her arms and soothed her damp, tousled curls with gentle kisses. She screamed out silently for Ruy to come champion his sister and defy Miguel. Oh, but the bitterest wish of all was for Richard—Richard with his crooked smile, twinkling eyes, and shining sword. What would Richard have done, had any man so much as insulted her, let alone attacked her person?
A shrill cry rose from her throat and she ceased all movement, instead splaying herself face-down on the cool floor. Why, why did he have to be a British soldier? Why not one of her countrymen, a Catholic—someone her father might have accepted? Or why could she not have been born an English girl with handsome enough connections to tempt his noble family?
She turned her injured cheek against the cool floor and pressed into it, drawing what comfort she could from its nearness. Her hands worked, kneading and caressing the only thing at hand as though it were strong arms offering her shelter. She lay there long—so long she could not have told—until her sobs were exhausted and her tears spent and dried upon her face. Still she did not move, but her mind had begun to think more clearly.
Somehow, she must appease him. It was the only way of securing her safety! None other could save her from her husband, and would not even her father say that it was only her wifely duty to please him? Perhaps, if she went to him even now and offered herself, it was not too late for him to repent of his wrongs and treat her once more as he always had… as his prized possession.
A lump formed in her throat. Yes, a possession . This was to be her life, forevermore! Wed to a man of temper, around whom she must walk as if on eggshells! She sniffled, rolling to her side and spreading one hand out—reaching, stretching, as if in a mournful farewell to her days of youth and hope….
At once, she lifted her head in surprise. Her fingers had encountered something cold and smooth, some feet away on the floor. The shadows had fallen before her, but she could feel metal clanking against metal as she inched her fingers over the object. She snatched it up, recognising it instantly for a ring of keys.
Sitting up, she examined them. There were two, linked together by a twisted bit of wire. They could only have come from Miguel’s pocket when he had fallen upon her! She lifted one of them toward the firelight, her fingers tracing the toothed edge. She knew most of the common keys about the house, but this one was unfamiliar to her. It was too large for a desk key. Rather, it looked as though it were meant for a door… or a padlock.
A slow smile grew on her lips. Whatever became of herself, there was one other she could save from her husband.