by Shirl Henke
Benjamin heeded her cries and raised himself over her wet, eager flesh, his own aching to join with hers. As she dug her nails into his shoulders, he guided his staff to the entrance of paradise, working the smooth tip inside her. Her arched hips and gasp of pleasure pushed him over the edge. He could not go slowly. “Now, Rani, now.” He plunged in and felt the barrier being breached, felt her cry of ecstasy turn to a cry of pain. She stiffened beneath him, trying to push his far greater weight off. “No, no, little one. Only hold still. I will not hurt you any further, trust me,” he whispered, his lips nibbling her earlobe, his tongue tracing inside the tiny shell until she ceased struggling and lay quiescent in his arms.
Trust me. He had hurt her. Somehow, in spite of what she had overheard from the married women in camp, Rani had been so sure Benjamin, her magical golden love, would not cause her virgin's pain.
As if sensing her shock, he trailed gentle kisses across her eyes and cheeks, then concentrated once again on her mouth, brushing it, molding his lips firmly to it, teasing it with his tongue until she responded. As he kissed her he waited for her to signal that her body was ready to continue. She was so small; he prayed he had not hurt her beyond the inevitable tearing of her maidenhead.
Rani felt an incredible fullness. Her body blazed with heat as his large, rigid shaft impaled her. It was pain yet, oddly, it was pleasure at the same time. As he kissed and caressed her upper body, she grew aware of how carefully he held himself immobile deep inside her. The pleasure-ache grew and with it the irresistible urge to move her hips. As their tongues dueled, twining and plunging, she arched up, rotating her pelvis as she had seen in ancient Romani dances. Now she understood their meaning. This was the ultimate enticement, the ultimate dance of ecstasy.
Sweat beaded his face as he held his body under control by sheer force of will. When he felt her move her hips, he knew he must finish what he had begun. “Slowly, slowly, little one,” he crooned as he began to stroke. She was so tight yet so slick, so soft, so perfectly made for pleasure. Murmuring love words in Spanish, he kissed her and lost himself in the splendor of her small, passionate body.
Rani felt like a wild thing now. Perhaps this was why she had always possessed such an affinity for wolves and horses, even bears. Her instincts were as savage and hungry as theirs. She arched up to meet his thrusts, panting and crying, urging him on faster, deeper, more...more. When the blinding fury of her release came, it was as if she had been waiting for it all her life, waiting for Benjamin, her golden lover, to give it to her. She clawed at him, her legs locked behind his back, her head thrashing from side to side as wave after wave convulsed through her body, shattering her. Then she felt him stiffen and swell deep within her, pulsing his seed in long, hard thrusts as he gasped for air, breathless, spent. And she was whole.
Benjamin felt so utterly replete, yet so victorious, for he knew she had joined him in finishing the act of love. He carefully supported his weight on his elbows as he struggled to regain his breath, then gently pulled away from her, cradling her against his side as he fell on his back. Rani snuggled against him, her damp mane of hair flung over his chest. Now it was clean and fragrant. Indeed her whole body gave off a delicate, musky perfume that was as subtly enticing as it was purely female.
“Little siren, I did not intend to hurt you. I never imagined you had not lain with a man before.” He felt her stiffen and pull away from him.
Rani sat up, trying to escape from him, but he held her wrist and would not free her. She shook her damp tangled hair over her breasts, feeling painfully naked and humiliated, all the magic of a moment ago fled. “Because I am of the Rom that of course makes me a whore.” She willed herself not to cry, but tears burned behind her lashes.
Benjamin, too, sat up and took her small, lovely face between his hands, tilting it up so she had to meet his eyes. “I am sorry I misjudged you, Rani. Never for the world would I hurt you.” A small, wistful smile touched his lips. “But I am not sorry I was the first.”
She met his gaze and was unable to stop herself as she raised her hands and caressed his cheeks, now rough with golden whiskers. “You are the first...and the last,” she said simply, then waited for him to say more, to promise her marriage, to speak of love.
“I will always take care of you, Rani,” he vowed.
It was not the reply she wished, nor the one Agata had hinted at, but it would have to do for now.
Chapter Twenty
Española, April 1525
Magdalena and Miriam sat on the wide stone porch of their house looking out on the Torres kingdom. That was truly what it appeared to be, a self-sufficient piece of paradise. Well, almost paradise, Miriam thought sadly as she watched her husband cavorting with little Violante, tossing the giggling child in the air and catching her while Cristobal vied for his adored eldest brother's attention.
They played beneath the shade of a stand of silk cottons at the edge of the big house's grounds. How quickly Rigo's younger siblings had taken to him. Twenty-year-old Bartolome and fourteen-year-old Cristobal wanted nothing more than to grow up to be like the Spaniard. Even Serafina, herself wed and the mother of three babes, was genuinely impressed with Rigo. Lani had been the easiest conquest of all.
At first Miriam had been surprised and pleased with how well the hardened loner had responded to the children. She began to fantasize that he would love their babe so much he could never be parted from it and would abandon any idea of going to Mexico. But the shuttered, aloof way he treated her had not changed. The passions of the night always faded with the breaking of the dawn.
Now that her time drew near and her body grew heavier with each passing day, Miriam feared it was only a matter of time until he would leave. Perhaps he will stay to see the babe born. He might love it, but he would never forgive her or himself for Benjamin's betrayal. His brother would ever stand between them.
Rigo would never forgive Aaron either, although he had worked out a distantly polite arrangement with his father in the months since they had arrived at the hato. If only the family were not in such a coil, this would be a good life for him. His skills as a soldier were natural assets in running a large plantation. Rigo was a born stockman and leader of men. Aaron was delighted with the way he had adapted to hato life.
Magdalena, however, was less than enthusiastic about the stepson who had usurped Benjamin's place in their home and taken his bride. From the corner of her eye Miriam observed as Magdalena watched Rigo playing with her children. “You wish it was Benjamin out there instead of Rigo, do you not?” Why had she asked such a blunt question? “Forgive me. I have no right. Tis just the heat and my aching back.” She rubbed her spine and then picked up a glass of cool lemonade and sipped from it. They had just returned from a tiring day visiting elderly patients in the Taino village at the edge of the compound.
Magdalena's keen green eyes assessed the tall, elegant woman sitting next to her. “I wondered how long we would fence about the matter. Many times since you arrived in February I have wished we could speak plainly, but I was...” She hesitated. “I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and causing a rift in the family. Aaron has waited so long for this reunion and I would never spoil it for him.”
“And you have also waited a long time for the return of your firstborn son. Rigo and I have spoiled that for you.”
“Benjamin always wrote that you were outspoken. He told the truth,” Magdalena said with a wistful smile, adding, “Yes, I miss Benjamin, but his last letter sounded as if his heart is on the mend. I do not blame you for what happened, Miriam. When love calls, we must answer. There is no choosing. I loved Aaron Torres since I was a girl scarce older than Violante.”
“And now Rigo causes Aaron pain,” Miriam said softly. “He is a hard man, filled with a lifetime of hurts. He does not find love or trust easy things to give.”
“How well I have observed that.” Magdalena's tone grew hard. “But tis not for Aaron that I fear. Slowly but certainly he will win Rigo
over. Tis the way Rigo treats his wife, not his father, that distresses me.”
Miriam nearly choked on the cool drink. She looked at Magdalena's expression. “He is guilty about the way he betrayed his brother, as am I.”
Magdalena shook her head dismissively. “Benjamin, as his father has repeatedly told me, is a man grown. He will find his own way. You obviously adore that stubborn fool you married and he treats you as coolly as if you were a stranger.”
Miriam's cheeks blazed. If only Magdalena knew how different his actions were in bed! “In many ways we are strangers. He is Spanish, a Christian, a man raised in the streets who has fought bitterly for what little he owns. I am a Jewess, beloved of my father, who lavished everything on me.”
“And yet you gave all that up to wed this Christian—and he left behind the life he knew and came to meet his father, a task I know he did not relish,” Magdalena said wryly.
“Rigo wed me out of a sense of duty. He always believed his father had deserted him—part of him still clings to that mistaken notion. He would never have repeated that breach of honor.”
“So, you do not believe he returns your love.”
“I never said I loved him,” Miriam answered too quickly.
Magdalena smiled. “You do not need to say it. Your actions speak for themselves.”
Miriam's shoulders drooped as she gave up the pretense. “Everything I do infuriates him. Who I am infuriates him. Each time I go with you to treat sick people on the hato he is angry. He wants an ornament for a wife, not a physician.”
“Perhaps Rigo, like his sire long ago, is not yet certain exactly what he wants,” Magdalena said obliquely.
“Perhaps he is, and duty holds him prisoner here.” Miriam's voice was tight, her hands clenched in fists.
“Whither would he go? Surely not back to Italy?”
“To Mexico,” Miriam replied in a choked whisper. “I heard him ask the boatswain about winning gold with his sword. If he were not burdened with me and the babe he would leave at once. I fear when the child is born...”
“After a man holds his own flesh and blood in his arms, he finds it difficult to walk away,” Magdalena said gravely. “Twas so with his father. Aaron loved him so dearly it fair broke his heart when his Navaro vanished.”
“I would not hold Rigo using an innocent babe as pawn.”
“You are not Aliyah. So much the better,” Magdalena replied dryly. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the swarthy man playing with her children. “Only wait, Miriam. And whatever you do, do not try to become someone you are not. He was drawn to you for who you are. You will not please him by becoming a milksop miss who falls beneath his arrogant Spanish pride.”
“I have always possessed a strong sense of who I am and where I belonged. Twas part of the reason Benjamin and I quarreled so often, for I was determined we should not live here.”
“And now you love Española...as well as Rigo.”
Miriam's eyes filled with tears and she reached out for Magdalena's hand, clasping it tightly. “I am so glad we have had this talk.”
Magdalena gave her hand a squeeze of reassurance. Perhaps I should give that young fool the diaries...
* * * *
The Tainos on the Torres hato lived at the south end of the fields, close beside one of the numerous springs that burbled up across the fertile valley floor. Skillful tillers of the soil, Guacanagari's people were in charge of the food crops grown on the plantation—manioc, beans, sweet potatoes, peanuts and maize.
Aaron and his old friend sat beneath the shade of a tall silk cotton tree by the water's edge, watching as young men and women hoed between the neat rows of plants. “This has been a good growing season,” the Taino said in his musical language. He was still slim and straight, almost as tall as his Spanish companion. The brown skin of his face was virtually untouched by wrinkles and his night dark hair had but a sprinkling of gray in it.
Aaron looked into Guacanagari's liquid black eyes. “You have not summoned me here to discuss the harvest.”
A smile curved Guacanagari's elegantly sculpted lips. “You were always a clever fellow.” His expression turned grave as he continued, “I would speak my heart about Navaro.”
Aaron waited. Ever since Rigo had first met his uncle and Taino cousins his distance from these open, emotional people had been painfully evident.
“He prefers the name your people gave him. Perhaps I do as well, for the first Navaro was a famous war chief and I would not see Rigo die as he did.”
“Like me, Rigo was a warrior in his life across the waters. Here he is making a good stockman.”
“He has much skill with the great beasts you ride. I have watched him catch the wild cows with ropes. He possesses great courage, but he does not believe his mother's people do.”
“My son is mistaken,” Aaron said flatly, “about many things.”
“That is true, but my heart is troubled that he is ashamed of us. Soon there will be no Taino people. Only those who have mixed their blood with your people will continue our heritage. Rigo is one such. He does not die of the white man's diseases for he is half white. He and those like him are our hope for the future. I would have him feel pride in the blood he passes on to his children.”
Aaron could feel his friend's pain and knew the sad words he spoke were all too true. “If only I knew of a way to convince him of that,” he said pensively.
“I have been thinking on just such a thing.” At Aaron's look of interest, Guacanagari continued. “You remember the great battle when my warriors and the Admiral's warriors joined together to defeat Caonabo. Now we have a new enemy. One who menaces our crops and animals, even our very lives.”
“The raiders,” Aaron said grimly.
“Yes. Only last month they stole many of your fine horses and you and your son gave chase.”
“We recovered most of the horses, but they escaped by sea.” Aaron's eyes narrowed as he asked, “Have your men found out from where these raiders come?”
“No, but our long vigil has given us another reward. We have learned where they take their plunder. To a big canoa in the hidden cove off the coast, near our old village. A runner has brought me word that another such has just arrived, awaiting someone.”
“At last! We will catch the raiders when they meet the ship!”
“Yes, you will, and I and my warriors will fight beside you, just as we did long ago.”
Aaron remembered all too vividly the carnage at that battle, thirty years ago, when Guacanagari's warriors fought hand to hand with Caonabo's fierce tribesmen. “Rigo will see how a Taino warrior acquits himself.”
“It will be so.” Guacanagari's expression was alight with satisfaction. “I know it in here.” He tapped his chest with his palm.
“Then let those raiders come and do their worst. Good will come of their harassment yet!”
* * * *
Rigo watched Miriam as she knelt by the pallet of an injured Taino boy and checked the bandage on his leg. She was amazingly graceful even in the advanced stages of pregnancy. He waited until she had completed her task, for he did not like speaking with the Indians any more than was forced upon him.
Feeling his cold blue eyes on her, Miriam looked up, then patted the boy and murmured a few words of broken Taino and rose to face her scowling husband.
He strode toward her and took her arm. “This is Magdalena's chore, not yours. I told you not to walk alone to these Indian quarters.” His grip was possessive as he steered her from the large bohio out into the bright afternoon sunlight.
“I am a physician. There are people here who are too ill or badly injured for Magdalena to treat.”
“The Indians have every accursed plague known to man. You are a physician second, my wife first. I do not want you here.”
She studied his harsh, set features. “You do not want your wife contaminated by their customs, their language—tis not their sicknesses, tis them. You despise them. Why? You have seen the way they h
ave adapted. Aaron's people and Guacanagari's people live and build in peace. How can that fail to impress you?”
His face was expressionless. “Tis a pity you did not give in to my brother's importuning and move here with him. You love this place and its savages so well.”
She fought the urge to slap him, balling her hands into fists, clutching her medical satchel in a death grip. “I have grown to love this place and the Tainos, but even more I have grown to love your family. Why can you not do the same? Are you so completely filled with bitterness and hate that you can see nothing?” She turned from him, yanking her arm free from his grasp.
Rigo stared bleakly at her as she walked away. Confusion and anger welled up inside him. He loved his family too—at least he loved his brothers and sisters—but life had taught him to be wary. He still did not trust his stepmother's recent overtures of friendliness. Her cool reserve when first they met suited him better. As to his father... They worked well together. Yet both Aaron and Magdalena had fallen under Miriam's spell. They were delighted with her and her medical skills, skills he felt were wholly inappropriate for a woman, especially his pregnant wife.
“Small wonder they and the Tainos love her. How could they not?” he muttered to himself. Just then his chaotic thoughts were interrupted by a most unwelcome intruder. His uncle, Guacanagari, strode across the wide plaza, heading his way. He once again studied the tall, imposing figure of his mother's brother. The man spoke excellent Castilian and possessed a quiet dignity that was undeniable. There was none of the superstitious subservience in him that Rigo had seen in others of his race. Still, he was Aliyah's brother, Aliyah, the mother who had given her son away in a fit of jealous spite. No matter who told the truth about his disappearance as a child, he felt bitterness. Either his father or his mother had deserted him. Perhaps neither parent had wanted him.
Guacanagari watched the way Navaro stood, waiting for him to speak yet offering no welcome. He must find a way to reach out to his nephew. Perhaps the zemis had at last provided them with an answer.
