Nightsong

by Valerie Sherwood

  She looked at him hopelessly. How could he be so stubborn?

  ‘You are a fool,’ she said bitterly. ‘And you are bent on losing your life.’

  ‘At least I will lose it in a way of my own choosing and not in the way you have devised for me,’ was his cool response.

  ‘Kells,’ she pleaded desperately, ‘what can I do to make you believe me?’

  His tone was without expression. ‘If you call me Kells again, I will pull up those skirts and thrash your lovely white bottom until it is as pink as your cheeks!’

  Her eyes flashed silver. ‘Oh, you would not!’ she cried in exasperation.

  ‘I would.’

  ‘Well, I shall call you Kells whenever I like! And I shall certainly call you Kells whenever we are alone!’

  She had driven him too far. She realized it the moment the words had left her mouth.

  Before she could move - and she was already in the act of drawing back, dismayed by the expression on his face - he pounced upon her like a big cat and swept her up against him. Ignoring the futile flailing of her beating fists against his chest, deaf to her furious screech as she kicked his shins - managing to hurt her toes in their soft slippers against the stout hardened leather of his jackboots - he carried her up the tiled stairway, bounding three steps at a time with his angry squirming burden.

  Juana and Luz, alerted by the commotion, had come running out from the kitchen to see what was the matter. With pure delight on their rapt faces they watched Don Diego mount the stairs with a raging Carolina pinioned firmly against his hard body.

  ‘What do you think he will do with her?’ wondered Luz, impressed by Carolina’s wails.

  Old Juana laughed. ‘He thinks to beat her,’ she told Luz. ‘But he will reconsider.’

  And when Luz looked doubtful, Juana poked her jovially with her elbow. ‘He is in love with her, Luz. Why else would he - who always came home looking so relaxed and satisfied when he had been visiting Doña Jimena - now come home from the same lady looking tormented?’

  ‘Perhaps he fears Doña Jimena’s husband will find out?’ suggested Luz.

  Juana laughed again. ‘I think Don Diego fears neither gods nor devils,’ she said. ‘And especially I do not think he fears husbands - Doña Jimena’s or any other’s.’ An angry scream from upstairs penetrated down to their domain. ‘Come back to the kitchen, Luz. They will return smiling, and we will not want to be thought spying on them.’

  That angry scream from upstairs had come when Kells strode into the big front bedroom, sat himself down upon the bed and turned Carolina across his knee.

  This devil is going to do it - he is actually going to spank me! Carolina had thought in blind rage as she felt her voile overskirt, her yellow petticoat and her cambric chemise all jerked upward in a single determined gesture that bared her white bottom to Don Diego’s view.

  The next moment she felt a large hand descend with a smack upon that bottom and she gave a cry of rage and did her utmost to squirm about and bite him.

  She was rewarded with a rough cuff that put her back in position, to the sound of ripping of voile, and the large hand descended smartingly upon the reddening flesh of her soft bottom again.

  ‘I am trying to make my point,’ he said evenly. ‘Which is that I am in command here. You will not go against my direct orders and I order you not to call me Kells!'

  A sob of anger caught in her throat as she found herself suddenly righted and standing upon her feet before him. Her hair was a bright tousled halo tumbling wildly about her, and the expression of indignation on her lovely face was almost more than he could stand, but he kept his own countenance impassive as she trembled before him.

  ‘You are not Kells!’ She bit the words at him. ‘You may once have been, but to me you are no longer - you are not fit to lick his boots!’ And in blind rage she drew back a white forearm and struck at his expressionless but determined countenance.

  ‘Ah, now that’s better,’ he said smoothly, and - overwhelmed by his desire for her - drew her abruptly into his arms.

  For a moment Carolina swayed dizzily beneath the hot pressure of his lips. Then with a wrench that ripped the thin voile of her gown (indeed she could feel her sleeves part company from her bodice!), she pulled away from him - only a small space, for his arms were still around her. She looked up at him with blazing eyes and he could feel himself kindle to flame before her trembling fury.

  ‘I do not desire you!’ she gasped angrily ‘Don Diego!' she added scornfully through clenched teeth.

  ‘Do you not?’ His dark brows shot up mockingly and he drew her back to him with perfect aplomb. ‘Your body tells me otherwise, wench of the Devil!’ he told her and bent his head to revel in the sweetness of her flesh, to torment the soft lobe of her ear with his lips, to trail along the white column of her throat with the tip of his tongue.

  Now was the moment to resist him - now, while he held her fast. But even as the thought crossed her mind she could feel her senses reeling, for her desire for him was as keen as his for her. Even though she had meant to remain rigid, to keep her knees locked together, she could feel her body relax against his with a sigh of perfect content, feel herself borne to the bed, feel herself falling - no, dissolving - backward upon it with his long body atop her own.

  She did not even protest when he reached down and lazily but firmly spread her thighs apart. Indeed Carolina was overcome by a dizzy awareness of fate overtaking her as he thrust within her - not violently as she might have expected, but tenderly, savouring a lover’s delight.

  She felt the remnants of her defences melting, crumbling beneath the sweet assault of his flesh. Even through a haze of remembered anger she could feel herself clinging to him. Against her will a little sob formed in her throat.

  She thought she heard him chuckle and felt a new surge of fury that drove her to squirm and thrash about in his arms - which only completed the ruin of her sheer gown and increased this blinding overpowering sweetness that was stealing over her as every nerve end came alert and the world seemed a medley of confused responses to his lover’s thrusts.

  You should fight him! pealed a distant echo from that inward Carolina who still trembled in spent fury.

  How can I when I love him so? wailed that other Carolina who had wept for his loss in Port Royal and who even now felt a burning terror that he might be lost to her again - this time past all reclaiming, to a Spanish executioner.

  But the wars within her dimmed beneath his expert caresses, the voices stilled and drifted away to be replaced by swift flashes of passion racing through her blood. Through torrents of emotion she seemed to be rising, lifted up towards some far, unreachable goal, unutterably sweet.

  She could feel his grip grow stronger now as they moved to their own wild rhythm. The world was far away and there was only this rushing magic, winging them along with it as their bodies touched and melded, as every physical sense drove them onward, straining towards a peak of passion that seemed to glitter above them, like a distant snowfield struck by the sun.

  She had forgotten her anger now, forgotten her fear. She moaned against him, delighting in the hard masculinity of him. Her lips moved against him, and she murmured broken endearments, half heard, not noted. She felt his hot breath, felt his heart beat strongly against her own hot body and she seemed to flame to new heights with his every thrust.

  Gone from her - at least for now - was every care, every worry, every danger, as the world sped away from them as if in flight to the farthest stars.

  No man had ever made love to her like this, with such wild sweet gentle fury - and she gave back to him the very essence of herself, in moaning lost abandon.

  It was wonderful, it was exciting, it was triumphant and it ended in a burst of glory before, still tingling and atremble, she felt her spent body relax and she sank down with a contented sigh from those marvellous heights they had just achieved.

  She nuzzled against him, warm and safe in his love as he lay beside her
, and felt his outflung arm on which she lay tighten briefly about her, felt his free hand rove over her body with affection, stirring to soft flames the embers of the afterglow.

  ‘Oh, Kells,’ she murmured, still under the spell of his strong masculine appeal. ‘I love you so - I always have.’ Beside her his tall form stiffened. He put her away from him and sat up.

  ‘It is Diego Vivar in whose arms you have just lain,’ he reminded her sternly.

  The world came back to Carolina with a crash.

  ‘Oh, don’t be a fool, Kells,’ she cried despairingly. ‘Do you think I don’t know the man I’m married to?’

  He was out of the big bed and landed on the floor on both feet with a thump.

  ‘By God, there’s no reasoning with you!’ he growled. ‘I will find me a Spanish wench to share my bed!’

  The door slammed behind him as he strode down the hall away from her.

  Behind him Carolina burst into tears of vexation. She threw the bed pillows across the room. She ripped the sheets from the bed and stamped on them.

  Blazing-eyed, she faced her reflection in the mirror that had been sent over from the governor’s palace. It gave her back a marvellously rumpled reflection. Her white-gold hair seemed to radiate from her head in great shining tangles. Her face was flushed, the lips parted, as she gasped slightly for breath. Her chest heaved, making her soft breasts rise and fall.

  I look battered, she thought, her stormy grey gaze surveying the wreck of her thin dress. The petticoat had survived for it was linen and stronger, but the lighter red voile had given way in numerous places - both sleeves were out of the armholes, giving silent testimony to the struggle that had taken place. Two of the darts were ripped. The toe of her slipper had gone through the red voile hem, leaving a long swatch of material trailing her across the floor, and the gathered skirt had been ripped from the bodice at one side, giving the entire gown a lopsided effect.

  Down below she heard the front door slam and she ran to the window and saw Kells striding away into the heat, moving fast away from the house. Away from her.

  He would not be back tonight, she guessed. She would dine alone, wincing beneath Luz’s impudent grin as the girl padded about, serving her with studied insolence.

  Of a sudden her anger left her and despondency took its place. She went back and sank down upon the bare mattress, trying to blank everything from her mind. She was like a newly trapped bird, she thought, a bird beating its wings helplessly against the wicker of its cage.

  For her there was no way out.

  25

  Carolina was still sitting there listlessly on the bed when she heard the sound of Penny’s feet tripping up the tiled stair treads.

  A moment later Penny herself burst in, a vivid Penny jingling with jet and with a brilliant red scarf tied around her bright hair.

  ‘Well, this room looks like something has struck it,’ she observed, coming to a halt and looking around her at the sheets lying heaped up on the floor, at the bed pillows flung into corners. She peered at Carolina. ‘I was just coming out the door when Don Diego dashed by looking as if he were on his way to his execution.’

  He may be, thought Carolina pessimistically. He may go to his death one day still maintaining vigorously that he is Diego Vivar!

  Penny looked her up and down. ‘He was glowering so, I came over to find out if you were in an equally ferocious temper.’ Her observation of Carolina ended with a sigh. ‘I take it you had a little discussion of whether you would or you wouldn’t?’ She cocked her head at her sister. ‘And I take it from the state of your clothing - I doubt me that dress can be mended - that you didn’t exactly win? But of course, with a man as attractive as Don Diego, perhaps you didn’t exactly lose, either?’ She gave a throaty chuckle.

  Carolina gave her a dull look. ‘We had a difference of opinion,’ she stated.

  Penny’s chuckle became a full-fledged laugh. ‘That’s obvious! And might one ask what sent Don Diego off in such a temper?’ She was watching Carolina with bright eyes.

  ‘No, one might not,’ sighed Carolina. ‘It is a private matter.’ For something told her she could trust Penny only so far, that Penny might shift her loyalties just as she had so frequently shifted her affections.

  ‘A private matter . . .’ Penny thought about that. ‘Well, least you’ll need some clothes,’ she said briskly. ‘That dress you’re wearing - or should I say that’s still hanging on to your figure - will never bear another such discussion! I’ll poke about in the governor’s palace and see what I can find for you.’

  Carolina gave her sister a grateful look. ‘Thank you, Penny. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘Well, I imagine you’d soon be down to your chemise and when it was gone, where would that leave you?’ Penny laughed heartlessly. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she promised, and left, to return in a little while with a black silk petticoat and a black taffeta riding skirt. There was a separate black taffeta bodice with long sleeves, and Penny had brought along a wide-brimmed black riding hat and a burst of white lace for her throat.

  ‘But these are riding clothes,’ objected Carolina. ‘And where would I find a horse?’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’ll find yourself riding double with Don Diego,’ Penny suggested brightly, and Carolina gave a sharp look. Did Penny know something? Had she guessed Don Diego’s true identity? Was word already being muttered about the town? It seemed incredible that someone had not already recognized him.

  The very thought gave her a headache. ‘You’re right, perhaps I will,’ she murmured.

  She tried on the clothes. The bodice was almost unbearably tight. ‘Doña Constanza was leaner in her younger days,‘ observed Penny. ‘Before she bore Marina. And these riding clothes are obviously of that vintage. That’s why I thought they might fit you.’

  ‘The sleeves are too long,’ Carolina pointed out.

  ‘That’s no trouble, we can tuck them up,’ Penny said. But the main barrier was the black taffeta riding skirt. The petticoat was shorter and although it swept the ground, Carolina felt she could wear it without alteration. But the skirt was far too long.

  ‘Do you think I dare ask Luz to shorten this skirt?’ wondered Carolina. ‘She’s the only one around here who’s good with a needle - ’

  ‘Yes, I can’t help you there,’ sighed Penny. ‘I’m worse with a needle than you are, Carolina!’

  ‘And if Luz carries tales over to the governor’s palace that I’m altering clothes that look as if they might have belonged to the governor’s wife . .’

  ‘Yes, I see your point.’ Penny frowned. Suddenly she had a flash of inspiration. ‘Here’s your answer!’ She tore the red scarf from her head and waved it at Carolina. ‘We’ll tuck the skirt up higher and secure it with pins - and we’ll wrap this scarf tightly around and around your waist and there’ - she was doing it as she spoke - ‘no one will ever know these riding clothes weren’t made for you!’ Carolina turned slowly before the mirror. Save that her hair was such a vivid blonde, her skin so pink and white, her eyes so light a grey as to seem silver, she might have been a Spanish lady. Her wide-brimmed black riding hat with its silver band sat squarely on her head. The tight black bodice made her slim figure seem arrow-straight and narrow. The wide sash that encircled her waist was of shimmering scarlet silk, and it cut a gash of colour that - along with the burst of frosty white lace that Penny was just now tying about her white throat - gave her outfit a dramatic flare.

  ‘It’s too bad we have no boots to fit you,’ Penny said. But neither Marina’s nor Constanza’s will fit your small feet!’

  ‘No matter.’ Carolina’s chin lifted as she pirouetted before the mirror. ‘I’ll wear these that Don Ramon selected for me at his bootmaker’s.’ She kicked her black skirts aside as she turned and exhibited a flash of red heels.

  'Yes, how is Don Ramon?’ wondered Penny.

  ‘Well, I suppose. He’s called several times but I’ve always sent down word that I was out.
’

  Penny digested that. ‘He hasn’t been near the governor’s palace, and I understand he was a frequent visitor before - ’

  ‘Before Marina developed her interest in Don Diego,’ Carolina finished bitterly. She turned to Penny with a burst of honesty. ‘Oh, Penny, I don’t think I can stand much more!’

  Penny took that to mean that Carolina was jealous of the governor’s plump daughter. ‘Oh, I’ve given Marina something new to think about,’ she said lightly. ‘She saw me coming out of the governor’s bedchamber this morning.’

  Carolina gave a little start.

  ‘Clad very lightly too.’ Penny chuckled as she remembered. ‘In one of her mother’s sheer black chemises. You should have seen her face - I thought at first she was going to faint. And then she sort of hissed at me and dashed on by as if devils were after her.’ She fingered her jet necklace and ear bobs. ‘I found these lying on the pillow beside me when I woke up - in my own room later today. What do you think of them?’

  ‘They - become you,’ Carolina forced herself to say.

  ‘Yes, I think so, too,’ Penny said thoughtfully. ‘Of course, they aren’t really handsome - you know what I mean. I’m sure Constanza’s jewel box has many things I’d like better - some great sweep of emeralds, for instance. Or deep blue sapphires to match my eyes.’

  Carolina remembered bitterly a great sweep of emeralds that she owned. But they were far away in England. She doubted she would ever see them again.

  ‘What do you think now - of the governor?’ she managed.

  Penny shrugged. ‘I was curious, of course, but I wasn’t particularly impressed. And he had the bad taste at a most crucial point to actually call me Constanza!’ There was a look of distaste on her face.

  ‘Perhaps that’s why he gave you the jet jewellery,’ suggested Carolina. ‘To make up for his lapse.’

  ‘Oh, these things?’ Penny touched the jet with careless fingers. ‘They’re just the opening gun! I’m sure he left them on my pillow in sheer gratitude because he hasn’t had such an exhilarating romp in years! But just you wait and see what he gives me later.’