by Shirl Henke
With a smile twitching at the corners of his lips, Benjamin obediently knelt in the large tub. Rani placed one dainty foot inside, then the other. She perched on the edge and began to sluice his body with water.
“I shall first bathe you. Then we will trade places...or something of the sort.”
“Something of the sort, eh?” he echoed as she took a stem of fruit soap from the table beside the tub and began to lather his upper body sensuously. Benjamin quickly seized more of the aromatic soap and lathered his hands. When his wet, sudsing fingers made contact with her breasts, she lost her balance. He swept one soapy arm about her slim waist and pulled her against him. “See how we save time? If you rub against me, we lather each other with the same soap.” Sweet reasoning. She obliged.
They knelt in the water, legs entwined, bodies fused together as their arms encircled each other, their hands caressing and cleansing. Rani reached beneath the water and massaged his hard thighs and buttocks. She reveled in the erotic pleasure as he lifted one of her slim legs, then the other from the water to lave it with soap. When he reached higher, to the junction of curls at the apex of her thighs, she moaned softly. “I think I am quite clean.”
“Not yet,” he said, kissing her nose. Playfully, he grabbed one of the urns of rinse water from beside the tub and poured it over her head, soaking her long hair until she sputtered and splashed him.
“I must wash it, must I not?” he asked innocently. Soon he had a fluffy white cloud of suds enveloping her masses of raven hair. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, holding on to his waist as his fingertips massaged her scalp.
Rani could feel the insistent pressure of his erection against her belly. She wriggled provocatively, causing him to growl, then giggled when he reached abruptly for another of the carefully arranged urns of water, breaking bodily contact for a moment as he again sluiced her, rinsing away the lather. She flung her sopping long hair about, splashing him liberally.
“You are as bad as Vero.”
“Ah, but I can offer you compensation Vero cannot.” Again she melted against him, pulling his head down to hers for a fierce yet oddly languorous kiss.
Benjamin responded by deepening the kiss. His hands slid from her waist to cup her silky little buttocks, lifting her against him. “Put your legs about my hips, water sprite,” he commanded hoarsely as his tongue snaked out and licked droplets of water running in silvery rivulets down her breasts.
Blindly Rani obeyed, wrapping her legs around his hips, opening to him. Benjamin came into her and buried himself completely, then held very still lest he lose control and spill his seed at once. “You are so small...and tight.”
“And wet,” she whispered, gliding her palms from his shoulders, down the lean sinewy muscles of his back, clasping him tighter. “Tis so good, Benjamin. I would never have it end.”
“Then do not wriggle that delicious little tail so enticingly else it will end all too soon,” he admonished, setting a slow, gentle rhythm. He watched her eyes close, saw the thick, sooty lashes flutter downward to fan against her cheekbones. “Rani, I love you, I love you,” he murmured. How much this tiny, elfin woman meant to him! She was his life and he had nearly lost her because of his blindness.
“Agata was right. You are my fate, the Golden Man I am destined to love forever.” Her nails dug into the wet, slippery skin of his shoulders, holding him tightly as he stroked deeper, faster, harder until her eyes again flew wide open just as her whole body convulsed in a release so powerful that she trembled.
Benjamin could feel the shuddering waves ripple through her, pulling him over the edge to follow her. The world reeled about them as they rode the crest of a great tidal wave...in a tub of water.
After a few moments of clinging wordlessly to him, Rani muffled a giggle. “Benjamin, I am slipping.”
“Twould serve you right if I let you slide under the water. You have fair ruined my knees. I may never walk again.”
“Whose idea was it to make love this way?” she asked as she climbed off him and stepped daintily from the tub.
“Who seduced me in the water?” he countered, rising stiffly.
Rani let out a burble of laughter. “Your knees are wrinkled like Sicilian prunes.”
He gave her a mock scowl, then grabbed a length of towel and wrapped her in it, drying her and tickling her mercilessly at the same time.
She fought him for an end of the long towel and began to dry him. “Look at the mess we have made. The floor is under water all about the tub.”
“Twas your hair. You shake it like your wolf does his mane.”
“Ha! I thought you claimed he was your wolf.”
Vero chose that moment to shove open the door and pad silently in. He circled the sodden rug about the tub, sniffing; then sat back and regarded them quizzically.
“Think you he wishes to bathe, too?” Benjamin asked, his eyes alight with laughter.
Rani suddenly turned from Vero to Benjamin. Her eyes met his, then dropped shyly as she moved her palms in soft, caressing circles on his chest. “Benjamin...about that wedding...”
“Do not tell me. You wish Vero to attend.” He appeared to consider, knowing she was desperate to have him affirm his earlier promise to wed her. “If Rigo's foster brother, the Dominican, is half as tolerant as Rigo has told me, Fray Bartolome would perform a marriage with a wolf as witness.”
Her hands stilled and she looked at him with pure love written across her small, beautiful face. “I think that would be lovely,” she whispered with an aching catch in her voice.
* * * *
Aaron sat in the large library of the Colon palace in Santo Domingo, studying the letter and accompanying documents. He lay them aside and rubbed his eyes.
Magdalena's footfalls echoed as she entered the high-ceilinged room. “Something troubles you? Maria said a messenger had come from the hato. We should not have left Benjamin and Rigo to deal with Elzoro.”
Aaron smiled reassuringly, opening his arms to her. “No, all is well with them. Benjamin has reclaimed his Gypsy from the corsair, all safe and sound. He is going to wed her.” He waited for a reaction.
“Well,” Magdalena said thoughtfully, “if your family has been willing to accept me, what can Gypsy blood matter to the House of Torres? I could see that he was in love with her as soon as he told us the tale about her on the night he returned home. Benjamin's choice of a wife is not what has upset you thus. What of Elzoro?”
“Dead. His filthy slave compound razed. All the raiders, including the corsair, are dead or in chains. Rigo, Benjamin and Bartolome dealt well with the problem.”
“Then what is wrong?”
“You remember my telling you about the attempts on Rigo's life aboard ship and here when first he landed?”
“Twas Elzoro's doing, I know. The man was French, a traitor. He set a price on Rigo's head.”
“No, he was merely the tool for the one who truly wanted Rigo dead.”
Magdalena felt her heart skip a beat as understanding dawned on her. “A Frenchman, someone in league with the corsair, in Marseilles.”
“Judah Toulon,” Aaron replied.
“But if he was the malefactor in whose pay Brienne and Elzoro were, why did they begin the depredations on us long before we ever found Rigo?”
“That is for Uncle Isaac to learn,” Aaron said grimly. “I am sending these papers on the next ship to Marseilles. Then we will go home post haste. I am relieved that Maria has received word from Diego of the fraudulent summons his enemies sent in his name. I have arranged matters so that she will be secure enough in Santo Domingo without us. Our family needs us at the hato. ”
She nodded and then her eyes moved from his face to the ledger lying on the table. “Judah Toulon has much to answer for.”
* * * *
Marseilles, July 1525
Isaac Torres stepped inside the massive walnut door of the Toulon city house. Always in the past he had felt so welcome in the spacious entry ha
ll with its austere yet opulent appointments. The Turkish carpet's thickness absorbed his steps. His heart was leaden as he followed the doorman into Judah's accounting room. He was amazed that each footfall did not shake the house.
Upon being announced, he entered the room and Judah stood up, shoving aside a pile of papers, a broad smile wreathing his face.
“Isaac, my old friend, what a pleasant surprise! Come, I will have a servant fetch wine.”
“There will be no need for wine. I have not come for pleasantries, Judah.” He lay a ledger and several letters on the table. “Aaron sent these from Española.” He paused, his eyes locked with Judah's. “Reynard and your corsair are dead, Judah. Tis over.”
Judah sunk his head onto his hands. “I am ruined, and all because of that savage, cursed be his name!”
“Why, my old friend, why? Tis you who have tried to ruin me and mine, long before Rigo ever met Miriam. You were behind the raids on Aaron's hato, the pirating of his cargoes at sea. You tried to ruin him for over two years.” Isaac stood very still, staring at Judah Toulon, waiting for an answer.
At first Judah's face took on a pleading expression. “I did not intend ruin for Aaron—only that he and his family return here as you yourself have wished. If their home in that savage wilderness was destroyed they would have no choice. For all the years Benjamin and Miriam were betrothed, twas her dearest wish that Benjamin give up his plan to return to Española. If I had succeeded, he would have remained here in Marseilles.”
“But then my other nephew came into Miriam's life and wed her. She was dead to you, Judah,” Isaac said gently, with infinite sadness in his voice.
“Yes, she was dead to me—but only as long as that savage lived! I could own no daughter who was wed to a Christian half-caste.” Now Judah's face twisted with naked hatred as he remembered Miriam's betrayal with the Spanish bastard. “I gave her everything! Everything! She was my only heir, the last of the House of Toulon. I have no other family left alive. I would not let my line die out, nor would I see it contaminated with the blood of Christians and savages.”
“If Rigo were dead you thought to force her and Benjamin to return here with his family,” Isaac said in dawning understanding.
“You know how long we have both planned the alliance of our houses. She was destined to wed Benjamin. He is the worthy son of Aaron Torres.” A fanatical fire glowed in his eyes.
“Benjamin has wed the Gypsy girl, Judah, and Miriam and Rigo have a son. You have a grandson.”
“I will claim no bastard's get! He is a cur, a filthy, rutting animal!”
Isaac sighed with weary resignation. “Tis out of our hands, Judah. I can not let you continue to plot against my family—which, for better or worse,” he added sardonically, “now includes a Christian half-caste and a Hungarian Gypsy. I will protect what is mine. Do not enlist any more scum from the wharfs of the Lacydon in your mad schemes. I make a formidable enemy. Fernando Trastámara and Bernardo Valdés could both attest to it...but then, they are dead.”
He studied the shuttered, rigid expression on Judah's face and knew the old man would never relent. “I must give over these and other documents to the Council, Judah. They will have the watch confiscate your ships. I know about the stolen cargoes of slaves and gold. As I said, tis over.” Judah stared past him as if he, too, were considered dead.
Isaac walked from the room, closing the door on thirty years of friendship. A bitter choice, but Isaac Torres would protect his family above all else.
At dawn the next morning the city watch came to arrest Judah Toulon. They found him, dressed in a fine black armoisin chamarre, suspended from a noose thrown across a beam in the great hall of his palace, his neck broken. They cut him down and buried him amongst the plague graves in a field outside the city walls.
* * * *
Española, August 1525
Miriam entered Aaron's accounting office with a feeling of dread. Somehow she knew the summons boded tragic news. Rigo held her arm gently as he ushered her to a large oak chair and stood protectively beside her, his hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. She looked at her father-in-law's grim face and said, “You have word about my father. Is Rigo safe from him now?”
“Yes, Rigo and all of us are safe to live out our lives here on Espanola,” Aaron said quietly. “He is dead, Miriam.”
Rigo felt a slight tremor pass through her body, yet she stilled it with a deep steadying breath and asked, “Did the Council execute him?”
“No. Uncle Isaac went to him, hoping to convince him to give up his plan.”
“But he wished to kill Rigo so he could make the match for me with Benjamin.”
Aaron looked amazed. “How did you know that?”
“Twas not all that difficult. When I read his instructions to Reynard, I could deduce much left unsaid. Always he stressed that you and Benjamin were not to be harmed. Only your means of livelihood here ended. And he repeatedly tried to have Rigo murdered.” She paused. “My father would never have given up unless he had no recourse but to face his own disgrace. He killed himself then.” She was proud of her steady voice.
“Yes. Miriam, I am so very sorry. Uncle Isaac is heartbroken for he was the one—”
She raised her hand in a placating gesture. “No, he was but the one chosen for a difficult and essential task. Tis I who should apologize to this whole family for the disaster I have unwittingly brought down on it through Judah Toulon. I am simply glad tis over, Aaron. I will write to Uncle Isaac. He should not blame himself for my father's sins.”
She reached up to her shoulder and squeezed Rigo's hand, then arose. “I would like to be alone for a few moments, to walk in the garden.” Father and son watched her leave the room with quiet dignity and courage.
Later that afternoon, Rigo found her in the nursery, sitting in a low woven cane chair with little Diego at her breast. She was caressing the straight black hair on his head and gazing down at him with a look of profound peace. She looked up at Rigo and smiled. “I am all right, my lord. I have you and our son. Now we have a whole new life ahead of us. Although my father could not understand, his long dreamed-of alliance between the houses of Toulon and Torres has truly come to pass.”
* * * *
Espanola, April 1526
Rigo watched as Miriam finished binding the Taino farmer's arm. He had been slashed by one of the pigs now running wild across the island. Without the physician's skill in staunching the flow of blood and sewing up the torn muscles, the man would have died. Where once resentment would have flared at seeing his wife kneeling in a crude hut, treating the hurts of an Indian, now pride swelled in his heart.
After all her fears about coming to Espanola and living among strangers, Miriam had adapted to life on the hato every bit as well as Benjamin had always said she would. But his brother and Miriam had not been right for each other, and somehow in her woman's heart she had sensed the fact from the very beginning. Rigo smiled as he thought of Benjamin and that wild little creature he had wed. What a merry chase Rani would lead him, she and that wolf who was always by her side.
Miriam sensed Rigo's presence, just as she always had from their first encounter in Marseilles. He was waiting patiently, leaning against a tall palm outside the caneye, observing her as she worked. As always, she devoured his dark, hard beauty. His legs were encased in lightweight hose that emphasized every sinuous muscle. Her eyes traveled higher to a sheer white lawn tunic open to the waist, revealing that thick pelt of hair on his chest. The sardonic, knowing expression in his eyes made her cheeks heat, but she met his gaze with one equally bold.
He uncrossed one booted foot from in front of the other and stood away from the tree, his arms still folded across his chest. “I have come to offer you a ride when you finish here. Soon the afternoon rains will be upon us.”
She smiled, a subtle, sensuous curve to her lips that sent sparks of lightning dancing between them. “So, you would not have me melt in the rain.”
�
�Let us just say I would have you melt elsewhere,” he replied with an intensity in his voice belied by his casual pose.
Miriam issued brief instructions to her patient and his wife, then rose and walked over to Rigo. Reaching out one hand, she said simply, “I am ready, my lord.”
Rigo took her strong, dexterous hand and pressed it to his lips, then tucked it around his arm as they strolled across the village toward the place where Peligro was tethered.
“Is Diego fussing?” she asked, still worried since he had been weaned, even though the year-old boy thrived on solid foods.
“No, he ate for his grandmother and went down for a nap before I left the house. You are the one who has missed the midday meal.”
“Am I grown too skinny? Would you fatten me to be like one of those voluptuous French courtesans?”
He swung up on Peligro, then reached down and scooped her effortlessly in front of him. She wrapped her arms about his waist and lay her head against his shoulder, feeling the vibrations of low laughter in his chest. “I would have you, my lady, just as you are—slim and supple. I find my tastes in women run less to fleshy opulence than they did in years past.”
“Frenchwomen such as that plump partridge Louise of St. Gilles no longer please you,” she said smugly, feeling him squirm a bit uncomfortably in spite of Peligro's easy gait.
“How did you ever hear of Louise? Or see her to know she runs to...er, voluptuousness?”
Her silvery laughter rang out. “The lady was rather infamous. Her reputation stretched from Aix to Marseilles, where she came to buy silks and jewels from eastern traders on more than one occasion. I could have killed you when you cried out her name in your feverish ranting.”
“That was long ago, Miriam. A world away, and I was another man then.”
She raised her head and looked him in the eye as she wiggled her hips, cradled between his thighs. “I think you are the same man...only now much happier and all mine.”
