Captive Innocence

by Fern Michaels

  Struggling from the wicker chair, she was halfway across the veranda when the rider came into view. Royall’s eyes widened in shock. “The Baron!” she exclaimed. Should she run and warn Elena? A shadow fell across the bright floor. No need for Royall to call Elena, she was standing inside the door watching the rider dismount.

  His gait was unsteady, his appearance such that Royall shuddered. There was nothing meticulous or dandyish about the Baron now. He was slovenly and filthy. A growth of beard straggled against his neck. It was his eyes that frightened Royall most as he stormed up the steps, shouting at the top of his lungs for Elena. Royall backed off several steps as Elena appeared from the doorway. Her hands were folded, almost as though she clasped them in prayer, below her waist. “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “Is it true?” the Baron bellowed.

  “If you’re referring to Jamie’s death, yes, it’s true. We buried him at sunup nine days ago.”

  “It’s your fault, Elena, and you’ll have to be punished for allowing Jamie to ride in the jungle. You were in charge of the boy. I trusted you with his well-being. You let this happen!” he spat. Suddenly, he brought up his hand and rendered a mighty blow to the side of her head. Elena gasped and fell backwards, landing with a thump against the door frame. “That’s just for starters,” the Baron shouted. “I should kill you. But I won’t. Prepare a bath for me. Now! Fetch me clean clothes and a bottle of brandy. Where is everyone?” he asked suddenly.

  “If you mean the little girls, they’re gone. Everyone is gone. Only Elena and myself, along with two stable boys, are left,” Royall snapped angrily. She loathed the Baron for his rough treatment of Elena, who looked dazed, not comprehending what was going on. Her hand was massaging her temple above her ear. Dear God, what if she was really hurt. Then it would just be herself and the Baron.

  The Baron whirled around as though noticing Royall for the first time. “What do you mean they’re gone? Where did they go?”

  “They were sent back where they belong, to Regalo Verdad. The others just left in the middle of the night. Don’t ask me for an accounting of your slaves, Baron. You lost that right the night we were informed of the yellow jack. You remember, the night when you said it was some small uprising. Well, that little uprising, as you call it, wiped out this plantation. I didn’t try to stop any of those who wanted to leave. In fact, I gave them my blessing. It’s over; there’s nothing left for you here. I plan to dissolve this partnership. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to freshen up for dinner. In my room, Elena, if you’re up to it. If not, I’ll eat in the kitchen with you.” The housekeeper nodded, the first sign of life Royall had noticed in her since the Baron stomped his way up to the veranda.

  “You’ll pay for this. I know that Rivera, that bastard, is behind all of this. He’s wanted my people for years, and now, thanks to you, his wishes have been granted. Elena, send the stable boys to his plantation and order my people returned to me, or I’ll have the law set on him within the day.” It was an idle threat, and Elena knew it as did the Baron. It was something to say to save face in front of the American woman.

  “I’m afraid that it’s impossible. The Senora told you, everyone is gone. If you want anything from Senor Rivera, you will have to speak with him yourself,” Elena said quietly as she went through the door.

  “You sicken me,” Royall hissed as she swept past him to follow Elena into the house. “Don’t plan on striking me, for I’ll give you back exactly what you mete out. I’m not Elena; I don’t have to tolerate you. Not now, not ever. And, now, at this moment, I have the advantage. You’re drunk!”

  “How dare you speak to me in such a manner.” His hand shot out.

  Royall, halfway through the doorway, neatly sidestepped and then stuck out a long leg. The Baron sprawled headfirst into the foyer. Curses rang through the stillness as Royall picked up her skirts as though he were vermin crawling at her feet. “Your position becomes you, Baron. Crawl and grovel, that’s what you’ve been reduced to. Tomorrow it will be all over, Baron.”

  Hatred spewed from the Baron’s eyes as he struggled to his feet. Vile curses followed Royall and would ring in her ears for hours to come.

  “Elena, are you all right?”

  “There’s no need for you to concern yourself about my well-being, Senora. I can and will manage.”

  “I’m sure that you can, Elena. Please, let me help you with the water. I’ll fetch it from the spring, and you can heat it. He does need a bath; he smells worse than all the jungle and stable put together. Elena, what are you doing to do?” Royall asked in a troubled tone.

  “Do?” Elena asked, puzzled at the question.

  “Yes, do. Are you going to stay here and continue to take the Baron’s abuse? I’m not saying he would kill you, but there is that possibility. He’s insane! I know for a fact that Mrs. Quince has been trying to find a suitable housekeeper for some time. I’m sure that if I spoke to her she would be more than glad to have you. I don’t want anything to happen to you, Elena. I would feel responsible.”

  Elena’s dark eyes widened. “Senora, this is my home, the only home I’ve ever known. I couldn’t leave for any reason. You need have no fear of the Baron killing me. Believe me when I tell you that will never happen.”

  “Yes, I do believe you, but it doesn’t make me worry less. I’ll fetch the water, and while it’s heating, I can help you with dinner.”

  “It really is most kind of you, Senora. Tomorrow things will be better.”

  “In a pig’s eye,” Royall muttered sourly as she made her way to the spring for the pails of water. “It will never be better.”

  On the afternoon after the Baron returned to the Reino, Royall was increasingly aware of the man’s hostility. He watched her like a hawk, and as far as she could determine, he had had nothing to drink in the way of spirits since his return. As far as either Elena or herself knew, he had still not made a visit to Jamie’s gravesite.

  The Baron walked out onto the veranda and seated himself opposite her. Crossing one elegantly clad leg over the other, he leaned back, making a steeple of his fingers, and stared at her with sharp gray eyes.

  “It’s your fault my sons aren’t here, Mrs. Banner. You and only you are responsible. First Carl and then Jamie. Carl would still be here on the Reino if you’d married him as I wanted. Jamie would still be alive if you hadn’t tricked him into driving you back here the night of Rosalie’s party.”

  Royall bristled and faced him squarely. “You had no right to interfere in my life, Baron. The only reason you wanted Carl to marry me was because if I were a member of the family you wouldn’t be forced to give me an accounting of my shares. As for Jamie, yes, I did trick him into bringing me back here. I’d do it again if need be. People are alive because Elena and I nursed them. You’re an evil man, Carlyle. I’m not an overIy religious person, but I know that God has punished you by taking your sons from you.” She saw his hands clench into fists and his eyes harden.

  “I wouldn’t threaten me, Carlyle. Mr. Morrison and the Quinces already know about my situation. In fact, they’ve all warned me that I might be in danger.” Her voice became stern, authoritative, something the Baron was definitely not used to coming from a woman.

  “I’ve already sent a message to Mr. Morrison in Manaus to see about dissolving my partnership in the Reino. You’ll be well rid of me, I assure you. But I’m afraid you won’t have much left. Without the support of the other planters, you’re ruined. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Go! And good riddance to you! The Reino will be mine, and that’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

  “You may have your plantation and it will crumble and fall around you. You’ll rot along with it. Look in your mirror, Baron. You’ll find the truth there. Sooner or later even Elena will leave you, and then you’ll truly be alone, and God pity you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go for a ride.”

  Royall walked down the few steps onto the lawn. As she skirted some thick f
oliage, her foot touched a pebble. It wasn’t a pebble but the head of the toy soldier. Royall bent to pick it up. How she hated the touch. She turned and walked to stand beneath the railing at the Baron’s back. “Baron, turn around, I want to give you a small memento.” She thrust out the tiny head and watched the Baron as he gazed at the small circle of wood. It was a mistake, Royall knew immediately. She had to get out of here before he came after her and thrashed her to death.

  Royall saddled the big gray hastily. A strong wind whipped the heavy, emerald green foliage as the sun cast dappled patterns at the scattered pebbles at her feet. The gray snorted his impatience to be on his way. Royall gave him his head and rode from the clearing into the beginnings of a storm. Her thoughts as she rode leaped about in her mind as the strong wind whipped her hair about her face. She was glad she had made the decision to go riding, even if a storm was approaching. She couldn’t stand another minute of the Baron’s cruel and vengeful eyes.

  The horse slowed as she veered to the left, taking Royall on a path she had never explored. A sudden depression settled over her as she allowed the gray to canter along at his own pace. She would miss Rosalie Quince and Alonzo. Even Elena, at first so distant and so resentful, had become a friend.

  Most of all, she would miss Sebastian, regardless of his feelings toward her. She loved the man, respected him. Never to feel his arms around her or his mouth taking possession of hers again . . . Silently she grieved for what could have been.

  Her attention was caught by a sudden drop of cold rain. She glanced upwards; there were dark, ominous clouds to the west. She had lost all track of time, and her first thought was to find shelter before the storm broke. Frantically, Royall looked about. Somehow the gray had wandered off the path and they were in the middle of a wide, overgrown meadow, the jungle on all sides. Elena had warned her of the sudden, terrible storms this time of the year.

  The terrain was strange, and Royall knew she was lost. Her eyes raked the sky in panic. There was nothing to do but spur the horse forward and hope for the best. Suddenly, to her right, the stark outline of a dilapidated building appeared. Quickly, she reined in the horse before the decaying remains of the building. The jungle had advanced and smothered the darkened,.charred beams of the once luxurious plantation. From the lines of the building and from the way Jamie had described it, Royall knew she was looking at the original Casa. Royall frowned. For some reason she had thought the entire building had been gutted. From where she was standing it seemed like the “big fire” Jamie spoke of had just ruined the south wing of the sprawling building.

  It must have been beautiful in its day, Royall thought as she dismounted. Holding the reins, she led the horse inside the building, not wanting to leave him outside in the storm. Would there be snakes and rodents inside? She shivered at the thought. Seeing a stout tree branch at her feet, she bent to pick it up. What good it would be against a coiled hissing snake she didn’t know, but she did feel better with it in her hand. It was getting darker by the moment. If only she had a candle. She must find a spot and settle herself before the storm let loose its rage. A place where she wouldn’t fall and kill herself. When the storm lessened, she would take stock of her situation and explore this once grand house. The thought excited her. She had heard so many tales from Mrs. Quince about the wonderful balls that were held and the magnificent chandelier that was in the center hallway. The gray wickered in fright as she continued to lead him into the main building, which still had the roof intact.

  A vicious rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, followed by a slash of lightning, making her jump in fright. If there was one thing in the world that frightened her more than snakes, it was a storm such as this. In the brief illumination from the lightning she had seen something that looked like a crate in the far corner of the room. She advanced slowly, one hand holding the reins of the gray and the other stretched in front of her to ward off anything in her path. The stick tapped the crate, and Royall heaved a sigh of relief. She sat down gingerly, her back to the wall, watchful eyes straining to penetrate the gloom for signs of strange and fierce animals seeking shelter from the storm.

  Carlyle Newsome stared at the small circle in his hand. It was all that remained of Jamie. That Royall Banner should be the one to give it to him was almost more than he could bear. Everything was her fault. All this was her doing. She was responsible for the straits he was in. His thin, aristocratic face darkened with rage and his eyes popped from his head. Great cords rose in his neck, almost cutting off his breathing. His heart pounded and thundered in his chest as he stomped up and down the veranda, the tiny head clutched in his hand like a lifeline. She had to pay for all of this. He couldn’t let her sail back to New England after all the trouble she caused him. He was destroyed; he was no fool. There were no pieces to pick up. No place to make a new start. She had ruined it all, and she would be made to pay even if he killed her. The thought pleased him. There was nothing he would rather see than Royall Banner dead by his hand.

  “Elena,” he shouted shrilly, caught up in his hatred.

  “Yes,” the quiet, cultured voice answered.

  “Fetch me a bottle of brandy, and make sure the glass is clean. God’s sake, woman, don’t just stand there. What are you waiting for? I thought I told you to fetch me a bottle of brandy.”

  “Yes, sir. May I ask where the Senora is?” she questioned softly as she turned to leave.

  “I have no idea. She handed me this,” the Baron said, holding out his hand for Elena to see the small soldier head, “and then she rode off on the gray.”

  Elena’s face drained of all color. How could she have been so remiss as to forget the one little head. She should have counted the soldiers and the decapitated heads. It wouldn’t matter to Jamie, but it mattered to her. Lately she couldn’t seem to do anything right. She also knew that the Baron had only showed her the little head to torment her, to make her suffer still more. How insidious he was. How she hated him. She had to keep her wits about her when she was with the Baron, and right now she had to serve him his brandy.

  There was no expression on her face as she watched the Baron swallow the brandy. His face was hateful as he swore and cursed between swallows. “You should have warned the Senora of the approaching storm,” Elena said quietly. “She’s never seen one of our storms. The gray may throw her, and she could be injured.”

  “I couldn’t be that lucky,” the Baron spat viciously.

  Elena frowned with worry over Royall. Surely the Senora would seek shelter when the storm hit.

  “I see that you’re worried. Very well, Elena, I’ll search her out. Will that make you happy?” he asked, his voice already slurred from the brandy.

  “No, that will not make me happy. You’re in no condition to ride, especially with the approaching storm.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do! Remember your place, Elena. I don’t want you to take care of me; you can’t be trusted. I trusted you with my son and you let him die. How do I know that you won’t follow me into the jungle and try to kill me,” he said craftily.

  Elena was shocked. Things were worse than she even imagined. He had never spoken to her like that before. But he was right about one thing: she would follow him into the jungle if he rode out. Not for him or his safety, but for the Senora. She owed her that much. After all, she had worked alongside the American during the fever and she knew what it cost the Senora to work as she did. She had saved the lives of many of Elena’s people. Yes, she would follow the Baron, but only to save the Senora. Let the Baron think what he wanted. At this point he would listen to nothing she had to say.

  “Yes, Baron,” Elena said dutifully as she withdrew from the veranda.

  “Saddle my horse. And do it quickly!” he called to her retreating back.

  The wind attacked Elena as she made her way to the stables. She was forced to walk bent over, her shoulders hunched into the shuddering gusts. The horses were nervous and restless with the approaching storm. In minutes she’d
saddled the Baron’s favorite gelding, then saddled the roan for herself. Leaving the roan tied to the hitching post, she led the gelding out of its stall.

  This time the wind lashed her from the back, slicing into her legs as she led the beast back to the Casa. The man was insane if he thought he could ride out in this weather in his condition. And she was just as mad for planning to follow him.

  She watched from beneath the kitchen shelter as the Baron climbed on the horse. The wind buffetted him, but he remained seated. He dug his heels cruelly into the flanks of the horse, who immediately bolted into a gallop down the graveled drive.

  Anger and hatred churned within him as he rode with his head bent. At least he could be thankful for one thing—the strong wind was clearing his head, making it possible to hate with a clear mind. And he did hate the girl with the blond hair and strong voice. He raised his head as the first drops of rain fell on his hands. Because of the storm, it was dim, almost dark. His eyes raked his surroundings. He too needed to seek shelter. She had come this way; he could tell from the trampled vines and from the way the leaves curled back on the foliage along the trail. She couldn’t be going to the old Casa. As far as he knew, she didn’t even know where it was located unless Jamie or Carl had told her.

  The horse reared back, and the Baron almost lost his seat as a roll of thunder ripped through the sky. He dismounted and reached for the reins. He would have to lead the horse and hope for the best. It wasn’t far now to the old plantation. If he hurried, he could reach it before the storm attacked in all its fury. Without warning, he stumbled and fell, his ankle twisted in a long, curling vine. He shook his head to clear it and looked around. The banyan tree to the left of him made him wince. In the darkness he had miscalculated. He was still a good twenty-minute ride from the old Casa. Goddamn it to hell, he cursed as he got to his feet, only to be driven to the ground again as the storm unleashed its fury with a torrential outpouring of rain. He lay still, not moving, as the rain beat at him like so many pebbles. He moaned over and over as the rain beat against him. Men had been known to drown in such storms. He prayed he wouldn’t be one of them.