Iron Lace

by Lorena Dureau

  Sebastian lifted the iron cross at last from the flames, and it hissed and sputtered as though it were alive as he turned resolutely toward the trembling girl. Even at that moment he had to fight back the impulse to bend forward and taste the pink-tipped cone of her breast as he steadied her to receive the imprint of the iron. So engrossed was he with the task at hand and the turmoil of his inner conflict that he was completely unaware of the fact that the tall, slim silhouette of Miguel Vidal de la Fuente had emerged from the passageway and was standing there sword in hand.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  A law growl— like the growl of an animal goaded into attack—sounded involuntarily from Vidal’s throat as he swept his gaze across the room and saw the dark-cloaked figure bending over Monique’s prostrate form.

  “I’d rather not have to kill you,” he told the monk icily through clenched teeth. “Just release the girl and let her leave peaceably with me.”

  But although Fray Sebastian was obviously startled by the unexpected interruption, he was not to be intimidated. “You’re interfering with the work of the Holy Inquisition,” he warned, turning the red-hot tip of the still-uplifted brand threateningly now in Vidal’s direction. “You’ll be damned to eternal hell if you stop me from doing God’s work!”

  “You mean the devil’s work!” thundered Vidal, dangerously near the breaking point. “If you don’t let her go, I’ll dispatch you to hell this very moment.”

  He couldn’t bear the sight of Monique lying there like that. Reaching over to where her wrists were fastened above her head, he tugged at the straps with his free hand while he kept his eyes and sword fixed on the monk.

  Monique was sobbing and calling out to him, half in relief and half in fear for him now, as well as for herself.

  The friar brandished the iron wildly at Miguel, lunging like a madman in an obvious effort to blind or burn him. “Hell and damnation!” he raged. “You must not interfere, I tell you. This is a matter for the Holy Tribunal!”

  Miguel dodged the brand, but the heat from its still-sizzling tip nearly singed his cheek as he drew back. One look at Monique was enough to tempt him to forget all his fine resolutions and run the monk through on the spot, but he knew the repercussions of his actions at that moment might affect the lives of many people, perhaps even the future of the colony itself.

  “The fire has reached the square,” he told the friar. “We must get out of here before it’s too late!”

  “It’s safe enough down here,” retorted Padre Sebastian, “as long as the passage door is closed.”

  “We’ll roast down here like pigs on a spit. We have to get out, I tell you.”

  He fumbled again with the straps around Monique’s wrists, but it was difficult to loosen them with just one hand, and he didn’t dare lower his guard against the friar.

  “The only way I’ll leave here will be if I see both you and the girl either dead or in chains!” The monk swished the long-handled branding iron above the flames to keep it deadly hot. Then, with one continuous movement, he lunged a second time.

  Miguel parried the thrust with his sword, and their strange duel continued with even more deadly intent than before. Metal clashed against metal. Miguel threw his cape back out of his way as he set about defending himself in earnest.

  Although his fine Toledo blade and expert swordsmanship made him by far the superior of the two, the wild frenzy of the monk made him an opponent to be reckoned with. Miguel remembered fleetingly, even as he thrust and parried desperately to keep that red-hot iron from finding its way into his eyes, how once he had heard someone say that the strength and cunning of one madman was equal to that of ten sane men, and now he knew it was true.

  In the ruddy glow of the flames, the friar’s face had taken on an even more diabolical aspect, his eyes smoldering in their deep sockets and his long brown robes whipping about his skinny frame as though he were a winged demon bolting out of hell.

  Miguel recognized the fact that his reluctance to kill the monk was placing him at a disadvantage, since he was forced to fight defensively instead of aggressively. He had just about decided that the best way to bring their bizarre duel to an end would probably be to wound the friar just enough to disarm him, when suddenly the latter made another one of his sweeping movements over the brazier to keep the brand hot and then lunged forward. Holding the tip of the iron tilted high to reach his taller adversary’s eye level, the monk thrust furiously… once… twice. He chuckled his satisfaction as Miguel instinctively retreated from him. But even as he moved in closer to press his advantage, the long sleeve of his habit trailed over the brazier.

  Immediately the restless flames leaped up and snapped curiously at him.

  In a split second, the fire was racing along the length of his uplifted arm and on toward the very peak of his hood. With a cry of amazement, he dropped the branding iron and clutched frantically at his blazing garment.

  “Get it off! Quitesela!” Miguel shouted to him, even as the fire turned on itself and began racing down the other side of the monk’s flowing robes. His figure was outlined in flames now from the top of his pointed hood to the hem of his habit.

  There was no water to be found in the place, so Miguel quickly removed his own cape and stepped toward the friar, hoping at least to smother the swift course of the flames with it, but the monk shrieked wildly and drew back with threatening gestures.

  Clawing, coughing and sputtering, he slapped at himself wildly in a vain effort to put out the flames. His hood fell back, exposing his tonsured head with its rim of dark hair circling the shaven crown. A human torch now, he ran toward the passageway, screaming as he went, leaving the odor of burning cloth and singed hair in his wake.

  Long after he disappeared, his desperate cries of terror continued to echo throughout the tunnel.

  At that moment, however, Miguel’s first thought was for Monique. Sheathing his sword quickly, he ran to free her. But she was so stiff and sore when she slipped down from the rack and tried to stand that she couldn’t sustain herself without his help.

  He threw his cape around her shoulders and caught her eagerly to him, grateful just to feel her there at last in his arms. Weeping softly now, she clung to him like a confused, frightened child.

  “Don’t cry, my sweet,” he kept murmuring as he showered her tearstained face with kisses. “You’re safe now. You know I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

  “I… I was so afraid,” she sobbed. “I thought I’d never see you or… or Grandmother… or anyone ever again…” Her voice trailed off, smothered now by his lips.

  “By all that’s holy, I’ll never let you get away from me again!” he told her as his own tears mingled now with hers.

  Her body ached all the more as he crushed her to him, and the taste of their kisses was salty, but she rejoiced in the sensations, for they told her she was alive and that Miguel was there holding her close once more.

  “Are you hurt, my dear?” he was asking her gently. “Tell me the truth. Did that monster hurt you in any way?”

  “He… he said horrible things to me and… and wanted to… to…”

  But Miguel suddenly put a finger gently to her lips. “No, my dear, I shouldn’t have asked you that. There’s no time for such things now. We may be in danger here. We’ll talk later when you’re safe at home. Then you can tell me, but only me. You mustn’t say anything to anyone else about any of this, do you understand? We’re going to tell your grandmother and Celeste that you were caught in the fire, that’s all… as little as possible. I promised the governor. It’s for your sake, and for many others, too. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t really, but she nodded her assent. Whatever Miguel said. The important thing was that he was there taking care of her again and she knew everything would be all right now. At that moment nothing else mattered.

  “We have to get out of this place,” he continued anxiously. “We’re in danger of being trapped down here.” He didn’t want to frighten h
er any more than she already was, but he knew there might also still be danger from Padre Sebastian himself. The man was a fanatic, and if he’d managed to put out his burning habit in time, he might be up there in his hut waiting for them… stalking them at that very moment.

  He had finally spotted her cloak in a corner of the dimly lit chamber, so he went quickly to fetch it for her while she leaned against the rack, trying to rearrange her tattered gown and wondering where all her strength had gone.

  Miguel’s jaw clenched angrily as he helped her exchange his cape for her own and drew it protectively around her. He circled Monique’s waist with his arm and firmly sustained her against him to steady her. For a moment just the feel of her vibrant warmth there in his arms again softened the cutting edge of his fury.

  “I love you, Monica,” he said huskily. “If anything had happened to you, I’d have never gotten over it.”

  She swayed a little, and he tightened his arm.

  “My poor child!” he exclaimed anxiously. “Let me get you out of here right now. Can you walk if I support you this way?”

  She tried a few steps and nodded. Slowly he led her over to the entrance of the tunnel, pausing only to take the torch from the wall bracket in order to light their way back.

  As they stepped out of that chamber of horrors and pulled the rotting wooden door closed behind them, it was as though they were leaving the realms of Hades in their wake.

  The passageway was so close that Miguel had to walk stooped, and their shoulders brushed the sides of the crumbling brick walls as they made their way pressed close together. The entire tunnel oozed and dripped with moisture. Huge droplets of water trickling from the ceiling fell into their faces, and the seepage coming through the brick-lined walls and flooring was so great that they had to pick their way over puddles of water as they went along.

  The faint odor of smoke tinged the damp, clammy atmosphere and seemed to grow stronger as they made their way closer to the other end, but there was only one way out, so they had to go on.

  There were times when Monique stumbled and nearly fell, but Miguel’s grip held her fast. At such moments all she could do was stand there clinging to him, weeping with fright and frustration.

  “It’s all right, my dear, it’s all right,” he kept reassuring her. “Come, we only have a little way more to go now. Hold on to me. I won’t let you fall.”

  But the nearer they came to the end of the passageway, the more apprehensive Miguel became. The presence of fire permeated the atmosphere. Smoke was beginning to penetrate the tunnel, and its acrid odor was beginning to sting their eyes and sear their lungs. Miguel knew they had to get out of there at all costs before they were overcome.

  With sword in one hand and torch in the other, he left Monique at the bottom of the short flight of tiny brick steps and climbed cautiously toward the trapdoor above them.

  The saints be praised! It wasn’t completely closed! One of his fears had been that the door wouldn’t open and they’d find themselves trapped down there. Most certainly, if that fanatical monk hadn’t been so occupied with his own troubles when he’d surfaced shortly before them, he would have tried to find some way to block their exit.

  Partially sheathing his sword, Miguel carefully eased the trapdoor open. All his senses were on the alert for whatever lay waiting on the other side.

  Suddenly a nauseating wave of heat rushed against his face. The entire hut over them was in flames! Miguel had the strange feeling that he was rising out of the bowels of the earth only to go from one hell to another!

  Chapter Forty

  “Cover your head!” Miguel cried as he lifted her through the trapdoor into the fiery inferno of the burning hut. He swept her into his arms and began a desperate dash for the outer door, while the crackle and roar of the flames grew louder in their ears.

  Monique clutched the hood of her cloak tighter about her to protect herself from the sparks of blinding light dancing around them in the smoke-filled haze like giant fireflies. She was aware of Miguel’s chest heaving against her cheek as he carried her doggedly toward that slit of light shimmering off in the distance. The hut was not that large, yet at that moment the doorway seemed so far away…

  An oppressive, choking blanket of smoke enveloped them, and they began to cough and sputter, but Miguel toiled forward as swiftly as his panting, stifled breath would allow. Their hearts were pounding in a macabre union… Had she escaped Fray Sebastian’s fiery purge in the dungeon below only to perish in the hellfire of his blazing hut?

  Suddenly one of those flaming darts of burning thatch from the roof came flying through the air and landed on the shoulder of her cloak. With lightning speed, however, before it could take hold, Miguel snuffed it out with a fold of his own damp cape. Thank God for that trek through the dripping tunnel! It had at least dampened their outer clothing enough to make them less vulnerable now to those insatiable flames around them! Straining every fiber of his being to the limits of his strength, Miguel ran those last few feet to the exit, relieved to see that the narrow slit of light that had been guiding him through the dark, smoke-filled hut had been indeed the partially open doorway.

  He stumbled, hardly setting her to her feet, as he raced with her to a safe area near the still-smoldering ruins of a blackened brick wall, which had in all probability once been a part of the calabozo.

  “The saints be praised!” exclaimed Miguel between heaving gasps as the chilly breath of that early-winter evening brought welcome respite to his agonizing lungs.

  For a long moment they stood there merged with the darkening shadows of the ever-encroaching night, gulping in the cold brisk air while they laughed and exclaimed with the sheer joy of being alive and together again. Monique wept a little, and he kissed away her tears, murmuring reassuring phrases in her ear to calm her.

  Then cries sounded close by and they were suddenly aware of their surroundings. Most of the huts there in back of the church and many of the larger buildings to one side of the square were still burning themselves out, and the Plaza de Armas itself was filled with screaming, shouting people trying to extend a bucket brigade into the square from the river, while the militia struggled desperately to keep the hand pumps working.

  A man was looking curiously at them, so Miguel took Monique by the arm and decided they should get out of there as quickly as possible.

  Suddenly someone called out above the din. “It’s stopped! The fire’s stopped… right before the church! A miracle! A miracle!”

  Another voice came from near the rear of the cathedral. “It’s Padre Sebastian… the poor padre! God have mercy on his soul!”

  Miguel paused. A stout elderly woman came waddling past them, shaking her head dolefully and making the sign of the cross again and again over her ample bosom.

  “Did you say Padre Sebastian?” he asked her.

  “Oh, yes, senor. The poor monk! They just found his charred body inside the church… lying there on the floor behind the altar! What a horrible way to die! God have mercy on his soul!”

  Impulsively Monique began to speak. “He… he was evil… he…”

  Miguel pressed her arm and hissed in her ear. “Be quiet!”

  “But…” She tried to vent her anger. “But…”

  Miguel squeezed her arm even tighter and turned to the woman, who hadn’t heard the girl’s weak voice amid all the noise and confusion around them.

  “Yes, senora, it’s really a pity,” he said quickly, directing himself to the newcomer. “May the good friar receive his just reward in heaven.”

  The panting woman dabbed her eyes dramatically with her apron. “He must have caught fire while doing rescue work,” she lamented. “God bless him! He died a hero’s death… special masses should be said for him.” She continued on her way, calling out her tragic news like a self-appointed town crier, while Monique turned a bewildered face up to her guardian.

  “How could you say… Why?” she asked him incredulously.

  “Remem
ber what I told you below,” he mumbled to her under his breath as he steered her in the direction of the town house, grateful that it was less than two blocks away. “You must never say anything about Fray Sebastian and what happened… do you understand? You could bring the Inquisition down on all our heads if you did!”

  He was gently hurrying her along as quickly as he could down the street toward the relative peace and quiet of the other side of the square where the fire had not reached.

  “I won’t say anything if I shouldn’t, but it makes me furious,” Monique complained somewhat breathlessly as she tried to keep up with Miguel, even though he was trying to reduce his long stride to a more leisurely pace for her. “To think they’re calling Padre Sebastian a martyr when he was the one who really wanted to make martyrs of everyone else!”

  “At least he’ll never hurt anyone ever again!” Miguel mumbled between clenched teeth, equally angry over the injustice of it all, although he knew in his heart it had all turned out for the best.

  “It’s so ironic… so unfair!”

  “I know, my dear, but perhaps there’s some consolation in thinking that the death of one evil monk will probably serve to call attention to the good so many other friars—French and Spanish alike—have done for the colony over the years. Much as I hate to say it, for the sake of so many innocent people, including your own, we’ll have to let the sins of one demented friar lie buried with him.”

  She sighed her resignation. “All right, you have my word on it. But surely someone will discover the entrance to the passageway when they rummage through the ashes of Padre Sebastian’s hut?”

  “Early tomorrow morning I’ll meet with the governor and show him where the trapdoor is. I’m sure he’ll have some trusted man seal off the tunnel and dungeon immediately before anyone is the wiser. There’s too much at stake to take chances. That’s why we must keep our little secret.”

  He looked down at the little cloaked figure plodding along beside him, and he paused a moment. “Here, my sweet, I’ll carry you the rest of the way,” he offered gently, but she shook her head.