Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga)

by Shirl Henke

  Miriam knew her heart was going to explode from her chest as his scalding breath caressed the vale between her breasts. His hand released her hair and moved around to touch the neckline of her gown, tugging at its stiff seams. The samite was heavily embroidered with gold thread inset with topaz stones. When he could not free the aching tips of her breasts, he nuzzled between them and then trailed kisses up to her mouth once more.

  By now she was holding on to his shoulders, her fingers caught in the rich black velvet of his doublet. I am darkness. She could feel him trembling, even feel the pressure of his erection through the heavy layers of her gown.

  This time when his lips covered hers she opened to him at once, her uninitiated young body hungry for the assault. He obliged her with another of those shattering duets of tongue. By now her lips were bruised and her hair and clothes in shambles, but Miriam was aware of nothing but the man holding her so fiercely.

  Rigo ached with an unquenchable fire, a longing he could never satisfy as he pressed her lower body against his. He could feel the stiff metal frame of her farthingale through their clothing. A niggling trickle of sobriety and conscience assaulted him. Like the savage bastard that I am I would take advantage of her! She is to be my brother's wife! The thought pounded him like a siege cannon until he finally pushed her away roughly.

  Miriam staggered back, still dizzy and breathless, her emotions in such turmoil she could do nothing but reach out instinctively to regain her equilibrium. A lemon tree by the walkway kept her from falling weak-kneed to the ground. She watched Rigo back away, his breath coming in great straining gasps, as if he had just run many miles—or fought a great battle.

  “Be grateful, lady, that for once in your unconventional life you did as fashion dictates and wore that damnable gown with all its underpinnings!” With that he turned and stormed into the dark shadows of the olive trees.

  Miriam fled across the courtyard and climbed the outer stairs to a retiring room where she sank into a chair before a large mirror. With mute horror she gazed at her reflection. Her hair was in shambles and her mouth kiss ravaged and swollen.

  A maid entered silently and bowed discreetly. “May I assist you, lady?”

  Miriam raised her hands and found them trembling as she tugged at the loose strands of pearls and topazes. Without further encouragement, the maid took over, refastening the gems as best she could amid the thick coils of hair.

  “I am no hair dresser, lady, but it does look better,” she said when she had finished smoothing and securing the elaborate loops and braids.

  “Tis fine. I give you my thanks. Now, if you could bring me a small basin with fresh water, I wish to bathe my face.” I must wash away the stain of his touch!

  Yet Miriam knew all the water in the Mediterranean could not cleanse her soul. After she had repaired her person, she returned to the festivities by way of the inside steps, praying she had not been missed.

  Benjamin, standing with a group of well-wishers in the hall, saw her descending the stairs. She looked pale as parchment. Something was badly amiss. Then he noticed that her elaborate coiffure had been clumsily redone. Hastily excusing himself, he strode over to take her ice-cold hand as she stepped from the staircase. “What has happened to you? Did that swine DuBay—”

  “No! No, nothing has happened, Benjamin. I am unused to these cumbersome clothes. I caught my gown on a rose bush and then tripped on the garden path. Tis good that I was alone and no one witnessed my foolishness.” At least I do not lie about being foolish!

  He studied her pale face and watched as her eyes swept the crowded room, skipping past DuBay but fastening for an instant on Rigo. He felt his breath sucked from his lungs as if he had taken a great blow to the gut. Surely it could not be!

  Miriam felt Benjamin's grip tighten on her arm. She tore her eyes from Rigo and looked pleadingly into the face of her betrothed. “Benjamin, please, I am unharmed but for female vanity. Do not dwell on it, I pray you. Twill serve no good.”

  “Aye. In that you have spoken the truth.” He guided her toward the dancing at the center of the hall. Surely she is not lying. No matter what I have sensed between her and my brother, he would not put his hands on her. He could not betray me thus.

  Judah Toulon was troubled. He watched Miriam and Benjamin dance several sets, their demeanor as lifeless and grim as the plaster idols the Christians carried in their holy day processions. He had been so pleased that the threat of DuBay had brought both young people to their senses. He would not allow them to throw everything away over a foolish lovers' spat. When the dance was over, he walked through the press, receiving congratulations from Jews and Gentiles alike, nodding politely and responding. As he talked with several members of the city's governing council, he observed his daughter.

  Miriam looked disarranged and she was abnormally pale. With grim foreboding he excused himself from the company of two council members and approached her, taking her arm proprietarily.

  “You seem unwell, daughter, and the hour is late. Perhaps we should retire from the festivities. Where is Benjamin?”

  “He is at the tables where the food is laid out. I...was not hungry,” she added lamely. Then quickly she said, “We cannot leave while everyone else is celebrating. Uncle Isaac and Aunt Ruth would be hurt.”

  He grunted and then, guiding her to a secluded alcove furnished with several small cushioned chairs, he bid her sit. “Have you and Benjamin quarreled?”

  Miriam fought tears and nodded. “Twas the usual. He resents the threat of DuBay, Father.”

  “And the young fool still dreams of the Indies,” he said as he patted her hand indulgently, ignoring the remarks about his machinations with Richard. “Twill pass, Miriam, once you are wed. You will live here.” He eyed her slight dishevelment, visible only to his eyes. He was so carefully attuned to his only child. Then he saw her glance across the crowded hall at that detestable Spanish savage. She quickly lowered her eyes when Rigo returned her perusal. An icy premonition seized Judah. “You went into the courtyard earlier.”

  “That was when Benjamin and I quarreled,” she answered too quickly.

  “The second time you went alone. I saw you step through yonder door myself,” he said sternly.

  “I did not realize you were guarding me as if I were some Moorish female destined for a harem,” she replied, anger and guilt both tearing at her.

  “Never before have you given me cause to distrust your common sense, Miriam. Have you done such tonight?” He held his breath.

  Miriam followed his troubled eyes to where Rigo stood. “I had a chance encounter with him while in the courtyard garden. He is everything I despise, Father! The very opposite of Benjamin. He treats women as if they were livestock, mindless and soulless. When Benjamin asked me to assist in caring for him, I learned more than enough about Rigo Torres.”

  “He is a Christian, descended from savages, no matter if Aaron Torres is so unwise as to give him his name. What passed between you in the garden?” he asked bluntly.

  Miriam flinched but held on to her resolve to put the whole sordid matter behind her. “There is no cause to create a breech in the family. He was drunk and I was unwise enough to bandy words with the lout. Tis over with, no harm done to me—or my honor.” Please believe that, Father...even though tis not true!

  Rigo stood by a large silver ewer brimming with freshly drawn wine, trying most desperately to get drunk enough to sleep. His encounter with Miriam in the garden had been miserably sobering. If he lay abed this way he would toss about until dawn, burning for her. He held out his cup and a servant obligingly filled it. As he sipped, he watched her from a distance. She and old Judah were having an earnest discussion, and he feared that he figured prominently in it.

  “You are Benjamin's brother, the Spaniard, are you not?” a husky feminine voice asked.

  Rigo tore his eyes from the scene across the room and looked at the small, voluptuous brunette with large green eyes and a small pouting mouth. She slow
ly wet her rouged lips with the tip of her pink tongue, like a pampered house cat lazily contemplating a succulent mouse. “Yes, I am Benjamin's brother,” he replied guardedly. “Rodrigo de Las Casas is the name by which I was raised.” He said nothing more, waiting for her to carry on the conversation. I do not know your name, but I know your kind all too well.

  “I am Patrice Farrier.” The cat's eyes glittered like emeralds. “So, Rodrigo, art thou happy in Marseilles, surrounded by the enemy?”

  He laughed and took another swallow of wine. “You had best beware, lest you find yourself in danger for consorting with the enemy.”

  She appraised his face and then lowered her eyes slowly to take in his tall, lean body as suggestively as if she were divesting him of every stitch he wore. “I love danger, Rodrigo. Art thou dangerous?” she asked with one elegant, dark eyebrow arched provocatively. The tongue made another flickering foray from between her lips.

  Smiling, Rigo raised his cup and saluted her. “I am very dangerous, Madam. And you?”

  Her laughter was well practiced, light and tinkling like the peal of a porcelain bell. “Not I, but my husband is dangerous—oh, not as you are, with your blade,” she said suggestively. “He hires other men to do his bidding.”

  Rigo wondered if she hired men to dance attendance on her. He knew some rich men's wives did so in Italy. “I do no one's bidding but my own.”

  “I like that in a man. I will be very bold, Rodrigo—”

  “You already have been, Madam Farrier, by talking thus with an outcast such as I.” He began to weary of the game, even knowing its outcome. Why do I throw away what is offered me when I need the distraction!

  “I have already said I enjoy danger. And you fair reek of it! Look at that fat sot I am wed to,” she said, indicating a paunchy man lavishly dressed in ruby velvet robes.

  He looked to be a member of the governing council, as indicated by the heavy, jeweled chain around his shoulders. “A formidable sot indeed,” Rigo murmured. The challenge of cuckolding one of the leaders of this city that had defied Pescara began to stir him. And Patrice was a delectable morsel, even if a bit past thirty years.

  “He will drink himself into a stupor ere we leave here. Once he is asleep...” She let her words trail away, watching the increasing interest in his piercing blue eyes.

  “As you said, Madam, you are very bold. But I am not very foolish. I do not make it a practice to steal into other men's homes to make love to their wives.” Already he was considering various other possibilities.

  “I can easily leave my house. My servants are discreet and we live but a stone's throw from here,” she replied.

  An idea flashed through his mind. “There is a small summer kitchen presently deserted, at the rear of the courtyard garden. During the hot season tis used by the cooks, who also sleep there. It has an entrance from the street beyond.”

  “Which you will unlock this night,” she added, praying Claude would quickly become drunk.

  “I will leave the door unbarred, Madam, if you have the courage to venture into my lair,” he dared her.

  “I have courage enough. If only Claude does not disappoint me by staying sober long enough to find his way into my bed,” she whispered. “If so I will send a messenger on the morrow and we will choose another night.”

  “You are bold, madam,” Rigo replied, kissing her hand in what would seem to any onlooker a perfunctory courtesy.

  “And you, my gallant, are dangerous.”

  Miriam watched the exchange between Rigo and Claude Farrier's wife with growing outrage and disgust. He was right, the arrogant lout. Fine ladies do throw themselves at his feet! She searched the crowd for Benjamin and found him surrounded by his aunt and uncle and a group of family members. Her heart wrenched with guilt. He was too good for her, base, weak creature that she had become, yet he was also her only salvation. She might have caused a breech in his family by separating him from his parents with this marriage arrangement. His heart was on Española. If she loved him, should she not be willing to risk all and live there? Tis the least I can do! she vowed.

  Walking briskly through the crowd, she slipped from the hall into a corridor which led to Isaac's library. There would be writing instruments she could use, and the faithful Paul would deliver her note to Benjamin once the household had retired. She could not discuss her plans with Benjamin while her father and his family hovered about when they made their farewells.

  The library was black as ink and redolent with the musty smell of books, newly printed as well as old hand-copied volumes. Knowing the room well, Miriam carefully shielded her one small candle's weak flame as she walked to a large table in the center. She lit several tall, fat candles and then discarded the small one. Her hand, steady enough while she performed the simple task, began to shake when she tried to put pen to paper. How to phrase what was in her heart?

  Miriam agonized over her confused emotions for a quarter hour. I shall soon be missed and must get this to Paul once tis done. She took a deep breath and began to write.

  My Dearest Benjamin,

  Forgive me for all the pain I have caused you. My heart breaks with the knowledge that I have put my selfish comforts before your needs. I will gladly live in Española. Let us vow never to quarrel again. I would seal this pledge. Please meet me in the old summer kitchen later tonight. I will be able to slip out easily enough once Father is asleep. Do not fear, for I shall have two stout litter bearers to guard me.

  All my love,

  Miriam, your Betrothed Wife

  As she signed her name, the pen shook and she smudged the ink. Would he know what she was offering? Would he refuse her? Rigo would never have such qualms. The moment the treacherous thought surfaced, she squelched it and sprinkled sand across the fine paper, then folded it several times and sealed it with wax from a dripping candle.

  “My course is set,” she whispered in the darkened corridor as she went in search of Benjamin's body servant with her missive clutched tightly to her breast.

  Chapter Six

  The pounding of the heavy brass knocker on the front door was deafening in the empty front hall, but since the master's young nephew, the physician, had come to live here last year, it was not a remarkable occurrence. Margaret, one of the maids cleaning up after the evening's festivities, was the first to reach the door.

  As she struggled to open it, Benjamin came to her assistance. “The Councilman Le Bruge has been ill with a bloody flux all week. Tis probably his servant. I was half expecting to get no sleep,” he said wryly to Margaret as he confirmed his surmise by noting the late caller's livery. “Tell your mistress I am on my way to tend her husband as soon as I gather some medicines,” he instructed the runner.

  Ruth stood at the foot of the curving staircase, taking in the now familiar scene. “Well, at least the old fool had the good grace to wait until the celebration was over,” she said to Benjamin. “Gather what you need. I shall send word to Paul that you will likely not be home until daybreak.”

  * * * *

  Rigo lit a taper and inspected the small, musty rooms. They had not been in use all fall, but the Torres' servants were diligent under Ruth's sharp eyes. Even the bedding linens were passing clean. He threw open the shutters and let in some cool night air. It had a faint tang of salt in it from the harbor below, but mercifully the stink of fish did not carry this far.

  Rigo had brought a clean coverlet of soft cendal, which he spread across the simple peasant's bed. Trying to conjure up an image of Patrice's lush curves and dark hair against the gold fabric did not work. Instead his treacherous mind's eye brought forth a long, slim body with bronze hair and pleading gray eyes, her arms outstretched to him. Rigo swore and poured himself more wine from the large ewer he had taken from a complacent serving wench. He had seen his brother with his medical bag, preparing to visit some patient across the city.

  “I was right when first I spoke to him. He is the good half, I am the evil,” he muttered as he drank ag
ain, deeply. At last he began to feel some slight effect from all his consumption. He pulled off his slippers and unlaced and removed his doublet as one used to doing for himself. Only in recent years with his rise in rank had he the luxury of a body servant, and often in the chaos after a battle, he still did not have such. Even Pescara dressed himself often as not when they were on campaign.

  He lay back across the bed and propped several pillows behind his head, wondering if he should rejoin his general in Italy or dare to venture to the New World. The answer to his dilemma still eluded him. He hoped Patrice was able to get free of her husband. Perhaps a good lusty tumble would clear his mind of its brooding fixation on his brother's betrothed. Soon sleep claimed him and the lone candle flickered out as the night breeze from the harbor kissed it.

  The city was silent below her as Miriam peeked from the heavy velvet curtain of her litter to look down at the winking lights from the harbor. The Torres palace was only a stone's throw away now. She had cautioned her faithful servants to be quiet as they approached for fear of awakening anyone in the household. What if Benjamin was not there? Or, worse yet, what if he scorned her for making this bold overture? Again her conscience excoriated her for arranging such a dangerous and covert tryst, even if she was betrothed to Benjamin and they had signed the documents. She refused to examine the reasons for this rash act. Please, let him be there!

  As she alighted from the litter, the voluminous hooded silk cloak she wore billowed softly in the breeze. No one could recognize her, even if someone were about in the dank narrow alley. Refuse had been dumped by some servant from across the way and a large willow tree's whispering branches shadowed her in the sinister darkness. This is not right, an inner voice chided. She ignored it and stepped up to the door, which was splintery and narrow, albeit sturdy. She turned the latch and it lifted. With a small squeak, the door swept open. Her servants had their instructions and departed now that she had safely gained access to the house.