Legacy

by Hannah Fielding

  Outside a shabby wooden hut, in the middle of the glade, the young gypsy girl danced like a diaphanous barefoot nymph, oblivious to the ominous skies. It was Sabrina, clothed in a knee-length sleeveless muslin dress that hung loosely on her nubile form yet was so flimsy that the contours of her body were clearly visible beneath. She seemed lost in her dreamy dance, improvising, flooded by emotion, her alabaster skin almost translucent in the dramatic half-light. Her movements were sinuous and erotic, arms writhing and circling sensually. The fire burning in the glade reflected on her fine features and her large pale eyes looked like deep pools as they lifted now and then heavenwards, telling of the insatiable passion that burnt inside her.

  She was not only baring much of her slender body to the man, who sat leaning with his guitar against the trunk of a tree in front of her, she was also baring her soul. The style of her movements was simple but eloquent, her song ardent, yet light and whimsical, which intensified the impression of despair. A primitive summon to the man she loved, to fulfil a basic need. She was a mass of contradictions, an enchantress at one with nature and the encroaching night.

  Sabrina.

  It was as if the wind whispered her name.

  And Ruy sang. It was a song of extreme tenderness, poignant and halting; a song of loneliness and unrequited love with guttural mournful cries that burst into the bruised sky of the Andalucían twilight like a wailing prayer. His fingers skimmed over the strings of his guitar, barely brushing them, and the instrument vibrated with such a deep sadness that Luna felt a lump form in her throat. His voice was husky, deep and strong, losing itself in the repeated cascading sounds and in the modulation of the drawnout cadences. In the purple twilight, his eyes were silver with a sad, faraway look. Like Sabrina, there was something of the supernatural about him – a fallen angel in despair.

  It was all wrong. The song was drawing Luna in, speaking to her very soul. It should have been meant for her alone – it was her song! So, why then Sabrina? Why was he singing it to the gypsy seductress?

  Luna watched, unable to pull away, breathless, jealousy twisting her heart. Ruy had painted the gypsy siren as someone ‘unpredictable’ as if he were some kind of protector, but perhaps the simple truth was that he was obsessed by her – with her free spirit, her beauty. After all, Sabrina was a gitana, and their shared heritage could speak to Ruy’s restless gypsy soul in a way that Luna couldn’t compete with.

  Every note he played, every sound emitted, wrenched a painful chord in Luna’s heart. None of this made sense. Singing to Sabrina now did not fit with the ardour of Ruy’s lovemaking whenever he had touched her, kissed her; made her bare herself to him. Luna could recall the trembling, thrilling note in his voice as he had whispered so many wonderful words to her. How could he sing to another woman like this after the intimate things he had done to her? Yet the evidence was there, before her eyes.

  Was this the secret that Ruy was hiding from her?

  The man was a monster!

  She smothered a sob. Humiliated and mortified, Luna finally turned on her heels and scrambled back up the slope, uncaring of the brambles and twigs that scratched at her bare arms and legs. Compared with her hurt pride and wounded heart they were nothing. Hurt, confusion and anger blistered her mind, almost blinding her as she fought her way up through slippery pine needles and fallen branches, scraping her hands on tree roots protruding from the slanting earth like long, malicious fingers.

  It was only when she reached the top that she remembered she was lost. She became aware of the thunder now, cannonading and rolling across the hilltops and echoing along the plains. Every pine needle in the wood seemed to be shivering in the electric stillness. There was an air of waiting, as if the trees around her presaged some doom-laden event. The heaviness in the atmosphere was like a weight reflecting the overwhelming load in Luna’s heart.

  A vivid streak of lightning flashed down to earth from the sky, followed immediately by an ear-splitting crash that seemed to shatter the ground about her, a deafening roar of mighty thunder that rolled and reverberated angrily from directly above, grumbling as it travelled away into nothingness. That tiny part of Luna that still clung to a modicum of reason registered that the storm was passing over. Then again there came more blinding flashes of light that shone through the trunks of the trees like the sharp flickering of old cine film. In fact, the storm was edging closer.

  Luna’s misery was eclipsed by growing alarm but she soldiered on, using her torch to guide her way through the woods. The air was oppressively close. She fancied she could see in the distance pin lights flickering in the darkness. Please let it be houses or the headlights of cars on a road. Her heart thudded madly. It can’t last, the storm has to blow over soon! she thought wildly. She trembled now, not with cold but with stark fear. Once again, reason took over for a moment: Don’t panic, she told herself, trying to steady her nerves. It’ll be all right.

  With the next blinding flash of lightning came the longest, deepest peal of thunder. It shook the hills wrathfully, followed by rain that sheeted down with a hissing noise, stabbing the ground like so many tiny spears. She began moving faster against the deluge, trying to shield her eyes from the lashing wet; her dress clung to her, sodden and heavy. The dark forms of the trees reared up like menacing sentinels around her, and in Luna’s mind it was as though she was back in the terrifying wood of her nightmare, helpless and fighting her way through the trees, running towards the light. Her heart was pounding and her throat contracted as wave upon wave of panic started to flood her. She glanced behind her but all she could see through the driving rain were shadowy, indistinct shapes in the murky tangle of the forest.

  Now the ground was uneven and Luna cried out as she stumbled, but her voice was drowned by the noise of the storm. Losing her balance, her foot slipped in the mud and she fell, entangling herself in a heap of branches and wet leaves. In doing so, she dropped the torch and lost a shoe. You’re awake, no one’s after you, she told herself over and over again, trying to control her growing hysteria. Sobbing, she groped for them on hands and knees in the darkness to no avail. Logic struggled to get a grip on her fear: It’s no use. Try and find shelter until the storm subsides.

  Luna moved forward, tears and rain blurring her vision, thrashing her way through the maze of trees, arms striking out as if fighting invisible dragons, branches whipping and scratching her face and ripping her clothes. It wasn’t easy clambering, one foot shoeless, over roots and stumps in the dark, her toes sinking into wet leaf mould. The gusts of wind through the trees numbed her limbs, and the sole of her foot felt raw, making it increasingly painful to walk. She was exhausted. Violent shudders raked through her and panic took hold again. What if she never found her way out; what if no one came looking for her? Then a rational voice would break in with a mantra she repeated fiercely over and over again as her feet kept on stumbling forward: Don’t be ridiculous, breathe slowly, the storm will pass soon.

  She was suddenly aware that the thunder and lightning had stopped. The rain was still falling in a light drizzle, but nothing like the torrential sheets of earlier on. Her eyes, accustomed to the darkness at this point, could see a pale patch of light not too far off … possibly the end of the wood, she imagined, hope flaring at the thought. Or maybe another clearing with a house; perhaps she would be able to find help. She hurried ahead, moving almost like an automaton now, ignoring her painful foot and the biting cold penetrating her bones.

  Finally she came to the end of the wood. Luna gasped with relief and would have jumped for joy, had she not been so tired and in pain. She had come out on to a main road. There was no traffic at this hour but she figured if she sat on the side of the road, someone was bound to come along, even if she had to wait until morning. She was too exhausted to walk further anyhow. The storm had subsided and the moon, now emerging from a bank of cloud, looked upon her with a smiling face. The evening had quietened. It was still cold but she didn’t care any more; she was safe. She lay do
wn on the grass verge and huddled up to keep warm; all she had to do was lie there until someone found her.

  She had not been there long when she heard the sound of an engine. Was it her imagination? She sat up stiffly, peering into the night. Yes, a car was approaching. She scrambled jerkily to her feet and waved her arms frantically. The headlights swept the road, strong yellow beams shining like two enormous wild cat’s eyes in the dark, bearing down on her as the driver slowed, indicator flashing, and then jammed on the brakes.

  The vintage Austin came to a halt by the kerb.

  A frisson of recognition fluttered through Luna even before the door of the car sprang open and the tall, handsome figure of the man who haunted her thoughts appeared, silhouetted against the night.

  In two strides Ruy was looming over Luna like a fierce demigod. His eyes were a different kind of silvery-blue than the liquid softness they had exhibited while singing to Sabrina. Now they were as hard and cutting as a diamond.

  ‘Luna, what in God’s name are you doing up here?’ he growled, his long, lean fingers biting into her shoulders through the torn slits in her dress. ‘Only a fool would venture into these hills alone.’

  She turned away from his piercing gaze, her eyes pricking with tears again, suddenly aware of the shabby state she presented. Her clothes were torn and filthy, smudged with earth and blood. Her wet hair, which had come loose from its earlier neat ponytail, was plastered against her head; her feet were muddy. And her face – she didn’t want to think about the state of her face. How did she compare with the ethereal nymph he had just left? She felt speechless with humiliation and wounded pride.

  Still grasping her shoulders, Ruy’s gaze raked over her, quickly taking in the blood on her dress and her missing shoe. His steely expression changed instantly to one of concern. ‘How did you get up here? Where’s your car? Did you have an accident?’ The questions came thick and fast.

  She shook her head without looking at him. ‘I left the car at the bottom of the hills and walked up,’ she said in a choked voice. Something in her was closing down against the torrent of emotions threatening to carry her away.

  He said nothing more, but trailed one warm finger down her cheek and gently turned her face towards him. ‘It’s all right now, querida. You’re safe now. I’m here and I’ll look after you. Come, let me take you home. You’re hurt and those cuts need to be seen to. I’ll sort out the car tomorrow.’

  Luna pushed back her tears. She didn’t care about the cuts on her body, it was her aching heart she needed him to heal, futile as that seemed. As she tilted her chin up to him, she struggled to control the chaos of conflicting emotions he engendered in her. The moonlight fell directly on his face. Now the look in his eyes had softened – patient, tender and loving. The man was like quicksilver, and it was impossible to guess his mood – or whom he might next be wooing, she thought bleakly.

  ‘Let’s get you to the car.’

  Ignoring her small sound of protest, in one strong movement he scooped her up, one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders, holding her tightly against him. Treacherous feelings flooded her. Oh, the warmth and tautness of his wonderful body! Despite her fatigue and confusion, Luna couldn’t help but enjoy those ephemeral few seconds of contact. His breath on the side of her face heated her cold, wet skin and her heart was pounding as she fought a compulsive urge to touch those generous chiselled lips, just inches from hers.

  With one hand he opened the door of the Austin and gently lowered Luna into the passenger seat. Seconds later she heard the boot click and he returned with a cashmere blanket. He moved her seat back to create more leg room.

  ‘Stretch out your legs. Make yourself comfortable and cover yourself with this,’ he ordered, handing her the blanket. ‘You’re still in shock. You’re trembling.’ Then, as she hesitated to take it from him, he unfolded the rug and helped her wrap it round herself as if she were a small child.

  ‘I’m covered in mud and dirt,’ she whispered apologetically. ‘I’ll ruin it, and your seat.’

  ‘Don’t think of anything now, niña. Just try to relax.’

  Luna leaned back in her seat, shivering and weary, her wet body wrapped in Ruy’s beautiful soft blanket that smelt of wild lavender. She rested her throbbing head against the padded headrest. Her drowsy gaze flickered over the man who had just eased himself into the driver’s seat beside her, giving her a look she was unable to read; then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  * * *

  Ruy switched on the ignition and reached for his seatbelt. He put his foot down and they sped off into the night. His eyes flitted towards his passenger: she was a deathly pale but sleeping soundly and breathing evenly, her lashes long and soft against her cheeks. Huddled in the corner of her seat, her arms crossed over her chest, she looked so vulnerable. However strong and capable Luna might appear, she had a fragile side and there was still a mystery behind that aspect of her that he couldn’t fathom. He felt a surge of protectiveness and almost put out his hand to touch her, but didn’t want to disturb her peace.

  In profile, sleeping, she suddenly had the look of her half-sister Juliet; something about the curve of her cheek and her mouth, which turned up slightly at the corners. In colouring they were nothing alike, but it was apparent nonetheless. He was amazed that he’d never seen the resemblance before.

  She was so different to Juliet, who at times used to behave in such a spoilt and self-centred way, often causing misery to his best friend Carlos, whom she had led on a merry dance – one that had ultimately contributed to his death. But what use were recriminations? The poor girl had paid for her capriciousness with her life. Ruy had paid dearly too, inwardly bearing a huge weight of guilt and self-loathing. Of course he did – what man wouldn’t? The court hadn’t held him responsible for the accident, nor had Carlos’s family – although the Herreras had done their best to dig in the knife, of course – but he’d shouldered the burden anyway.

  Ruy sighed and looked down at the sleeping Luna beside him. When she came into his life, he reflected, he couldn’t help but feel an insane hope that everything in his world would change for the better. But then he found out she was Juliet’s half-sister, and the knife of guilt was twisted agonizingly in his gut once more. Frowning, he pushed a hand through his hair, pensively. He knew he needed to clarify things with Luna – and as soon as possible. To go on like this, hiding the truth from her, was unthinkable.

  He looked down into her sleeping face and reflected on the evening’s strange turn of events. What had Luna been doing all alone up in the hills tonight? She certainly wasn’t the reckless type, though why she had ended up in the gypsies’ camp the day before was another mystery he hadn’t yet worked out. His gaze softened with an almost liquid tenderness. Despite her sorry state she still looked beautiful, so innocent and pure. The urge to enfold her in his arms and hold her tight was so strong that he could scarcely restrain it. In the past he had never welcomed the idea of a woman being dependent on him but, with Luna, all he wanted was to look after her, protect her.

  After their earth-shattering intimacy the previous night, he knew beyond doubt that he deeply and truly loved Luna. She was his destiny. Nothing – no secret or shame – could come between them. They were fated to one another.

  Suddenly an image came into his head unbidden, a memory of a summer’s day at the beach with his father. He must have been no more than ten years of age at the time. They were sitting on the sand and Ruy remembered looking up into the glare of the sun and seeing the shape of an old woman looming over him. She seemed ancient to him then: a gypsy, old and bowed by age, her skin wrinkled and shrivelled like an apple that had seen better days. The gitana and his father were speaking together in Caló, he remembered; it seemed they were old friends.

  Before going on her way she had looked at Ruy with strange hooded eyes, which he met without flinching. She chuckled at the budding arrogance of his stare and ruffled his hair. ‘You’re a cocky one, ey?’
Then she had taken his small palm in her gnarled hand. ‘The moon will sail up into your sky one day, my boy, and will take hold of your soul. Fate has a strange way of playing tricks on its chosen ones. Go with the tide. If you fight your fate, you will be punished. She is a capricious mistress.’

  She turned to go but before she left she looked back at him one last time, with a gaze that glittered with hidden fires. ‘Don’t forget, my boy: go with the tide and listen to your heart.’

  The old gypsy had made such an impression on him that day that although he hadn’t understood her words at the time, they were forever branded on his memory. His father had clearly thought the gitana’s predictions were worth taking heed of, for he had paled, and the young Ruy gathered from his curiously watchful expression that there must be something of significance to them. It was then that Andrés had told him how the gypsies had shared a long history with their family; it was if their destinies were intertwined.

  ‘Many gypsies profess to know the future, Ruy, but usually it’s just a trick to take money from gullible busnos. That woman, Paquita, is different. To my knowledge she has never been wrong. Today, her words may appear no more than a riddle, but the day will come when you will understand their meaning and I hope you’ll be wise enough to act upon it.’

  Now he understood.

  * * *

  Ruy carried Luna into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom, where he lowered her gently on to the bed. Luna hadn’t had the strength to argue when he’d woken her and helped her from the car. The storm had moved on and here on the coast the rain had started up again and he’d made his way to the house in a heavy downpour, once more lifting Luna up against his powerful chest to shield her from the elements.

  As Ruy laid her carefully down, Luna noticed that he’d placed some towels over her bedlinen so that it wouldn’t be soiled. If she hadn’t felt so miserable and exhausted, she would have thanked him but she didn’t have the strength to remark on his thoughtfulness and simply remained mute.