by Shirl Henke
“Tis fearful dark in here,” she whispered low to Benjamin. Surely he must be here for the door to be left open thus. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness. One thin beam of light fell from an opened window. Trembling, she shoved the door closed and removed her cloak. She could hear his steady breathing and dimly discern his figure in the shadowy corner. Suddenly her mouth was dry and her voice trapped in her closed throat.
Rigo had come awake in spite of the wine. He sat on the bed, frozen in amazement as the woman's scent filled his nostrils. Even before he heard her soft whisper and saw her silhouette in the dim moonlight, he knew it was not Patrice but Miriam. Why? What earthly reason would bring her here? His wine-fogged mind churned to clear itself. Surely this was a dream! But as he watched while Miriam shed her cloak, revealing her slim, supple body clad in a plain gown of thin, airy fabric, he knew she was all too real. The soft essence of roses filled his nostrils.
Never had he wanted a woman this desperately. Always before he had been content with any healthy and attractive female, but this was different, so strange...and frightening. He saw her hesitate, as if aware for the first time of his presence. His heart was hammering in his chest as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and whispered raggedly, “Come to me.”
Miriam took a hesitant step. Was Benjamin as uncertain, as frightened as she? His hands reached out for hers, palms open, supplicating. Such beautiful hands. She quickly crossed the smooth earthen floor and knelt in the darkness beside the crude pallet. “We should talk—” she choked out. He enfolded her in his arms, stilling her words with a soft kiss as he held her chin in one hand. His lips cherished hers, brushing them softly, then moving upward to caress her eyes and eyebrows, her temples, her cheeks, as if memorizing and tasting every contour of her face.
Hesitantly she raised one hand and stroked his cheek, feeling the slight bristling of his whiskers. At her touch, she felt a shudder go through him, as if he were gripped by an ague. His breathing was labored. He had been drinking to excess, something Benjamin never did. Had she brought him to this pass? Guilt assailed her in renewed waves. Then, as if he could no longer leash his passions, he gave a low feral growl and buried his hands in her long masses of hair, pulling her against the hardness of his body, lifting her up and onto the bed to lie beside him in the darkness.
Miriam could feel his bare chest as the springy hair rubbed against the sensitive skin above the low neckline of her summer gown. Nervous about undressing before him, she had chosen it for its loose fit and front lacings. His fingers were already at work with great deftness on the laces. When he brushed a pebbly hard nipple and freed it in the cool night air she gasped. Quickly its twin was also bared and he was touching, teasing, stroking them both as she kneaded the hard muscle of his chest and listened to the rapid pounding of his heart. As frissons of ecstasy shot through her, she knew her own heart must be similarly betraying her pleasure.
Yet, for all his leashed passion, he was being so gentle, so careful of her as his lips once more found hers, brushing them, traveling down to her throat, then lower. His tongue outlined her delicate collarbone, then his mouth dipped tantalizingly toward her breasts and fastened on one aching nipple. When the hot wetness of his mouth enveloped the crest and suckled, she cried out incoherently and dug her nails into the bunching muscles of his shoulders.
He continued to feast, first on one delicate little breast, then on the other as she arched toward him. Slowly her hands grew bolder, running up and down the corded muscles of his arms. Her fingertips glided over satiny biceps and then traced a path higher. Her hands clutched at the long hair on his head just as he imprisoned her lower body by swinging one long leg across her thighs. Miriam felt the pressure of his erection probing insistently between her legs through the thin layers of her gown. Her fingers tangled in his hair—coarse, straight hair, not Benjamin's fine, curly blond hair!
At once she knew it was gleaming black as a raven's wing. “Rigo!” she cried out just before his lips silenced hers with a fierce, searing kiss, as if he wished her to say no more.
There was a great roaring in his ears as he heard her speak his name. Robbed of all thought, all reason, he deepened the kiss, plundering deep inside her mouth with savage ferocity, unleashed by that single word. Rigo could not stop when she stiffened and began pushing against his chest. So far lost was he that he could scarcely breathe as his hands roamed over her slender curves, pressing her beneath him as he rolled atop her.
Miriam knew she should stop the madness, gouge out his eyes, pull his hair, scream. She did nothing. Nothing but open for his invading, dancing tongue. Rigo teased her lips, biting them and sucking on them, then tracing their outline with the tip of his tongue. He tasted of wine and smelled of a strong, heady musk that she knew was from sexual arousal. She could feel his hand gliding down the curve of her hip to pull at her skirts. The sheer fabric slid easily and cool air touched one long, slender leg. Then he branded it with the scorching heat of his caress. She felt his lower body, bucking and rocking between her thighs, knowing in a remote part of her mind what the motion presaged. Yet she did not protest.
His hand continued caressing her hip as he pulled the whole of her gown up about her waist. When his fingertips lightly grazed the insides of her thighs he released her mouth and began to suckle and torment her breasts. Ragged little cries of passion, low, moaning, pleading, issued from her mouth. And still she did not stop him.
Rigo ached, ready to explode if he did not slow down, yet he could sense her growing passion and it drove him wild with longing. Her body, virginal and untutored, cried out to his, even as she keened and gasped her frantic pleasure and need. Her breasts arched, the nipples hardened to points beneath his touch. He continued the assault on them with his mouth while one hand stroked the silky softness between her legs, moving toward the center of her need. Rigo groaned when he touched the velvety wetness, and his cry of primal possessiveness mingled with her cry of ecstatic amazement.
On rare occasions, Miriam had heard her patients speak of the pleasures of coupling. At last her eager, starved young body understood. With a volition of its own, her body writhed shamelessly beneath his touch. She was aflame. When he rolled away from her, leaving her breasts bared and her skirts bunched about her waist, she could not suppress a moan at the loss of his heat. She could feel the rustling and tugging as he unlaced his hose. In a moment he was once more above her. She felt his staff probe the most intimate recesses of her body.
“Open for me,” he whispered hoarsely, his breath scorching her neck as he once more devoured her throat with kisses and then claimed her mouth with his own. Rigo could feel the warm, wet opening, feel her hips raise ever so slightly, instinctively, to welcome him. He guided his aching phallus to enter her, moving it in a slow circle to slick it with her moisture first. Then, kissing her deeply, he plunged, sundering the thin membrane before conscience or reason could stop him.
Her body, so fired with maddening forbidden pleasures now felt a sharp tearing pain, then a tugging fullness as he buried himself deeply inside her. The pressure was intense. He lay very still, not moving but for his chest. He breathed as if he had run a race. She could sense that he struggled not to hurt her further. But they both were compelled to move. Miriam experimentally arched her hips beneath the impaling pressure of his shaft and discovered the pain was past.
Rigo buried his face in her neck and gritted his teeth to keep control of his passion. I will not end it this soon, not after waiting and wanting so long! Slowly he withdrew and thrust. The slick tightness that sheathed him was bliss beyond any he had ever known. With a muffled oath he felt his hips begin to work faster, the thrusts come harder, drive deeper into her virginal heat. Losing the battle, he gave in to glory.
Miriam felt the first stirring of that earlier delicate ecstasy when he had first stroked her with his hand. Now the huge, hard instrument of his sex stroked slickly in and out and the motion, the pleasure came alive once more. Instinctively h
er hips arched into his stroke. Suddenly she felt him swell inside her, then his whole body shuddered as he plunged deeply one last time and collapsed on her, holding her tightly in his arms. The pleasure of a moment earlier now turned to an unquenched aching. Surely this was not how it was supposed to end? Nothing in her medical books had ever addressed the subject, but she was too dazed to think clearly. Miriam only knew frustration at the moment.
Rigo felt her restive stirring. Slowly his senses returned after his spiraling flight to the heavens. When he withdrew from her she tried to suppress a gasp of pain. He had taken virgins before, a few young peasant girls eager to be rid of their maidenheads, but never a gently reared lady. Guilt immediately seized him, settling like a leaden weight in his guts. Why had she come to him? Why had she betrayed Benjamin? His head spun with questions.
A sudden chill made her shiver when he rolled away, leaving her sweat-slicked skin bared to the brisk night air. She felt soiled and painfully vulnerable as she watched him slip easily from the pallet and readjust his hose. Now that her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, she could see altogether too much. He had removed his shirt and shoes earlier, before she arrived. He must have been waiting for her in the bed, as if he, not Benjamin, had been the recipient of her note. Benjamin! God, what had she done? How had this happened? She sat up and covered her lower body, then began to fumble with the lacings of her gown, trying to frame her thoughts into coherent questions. When he spoke, she gasped and leaped from the bed.
“What by all the saints were you doing, coming to me in the middle of the night?” He watched her struggle to pull her gown together as she jumped from the pallet.
“Coming to you!` she echoed in amazement. “I was coming to Benjamin!” Even saying his name made her wince in misery.
“You did not mistake me for my brother. You called me by name, Miriam,” he said contemptuously.
“I gave a message to Paul for Benjamin before we departed here, saying I would meet him in this place. How did you come by it? Why did you betray your brother this way?” she asked desperately, battling with her own guilt. Rigo. I said it aloud. He knows!
“Benjamin has been abroad, tending a sick patient since the ball ended,” he replied furiously. “He received no note, nor did I in his place. Twas you who betrayed your betrothed, my lady. I was merely waiting for a whore in a convenient trysting place.” His voice reflected fury and sarcasm now. “So you came expecting my brother, then lay with me in his place. In the dark we are much the same. Did I perform well enough as substitute?” he asked cruelly.
Miriam felt her throat close as she choked back tears. “Benjamin has ever been gentle and chaste with me. He is nothing like you!”
“Yet you allowed me to bed you. I did not force you to betray my brother,” he said, cold rage building within him as her rejection stung.
The tears overflowed now, purging some of the white-hot shame from her trembling body. Her voice was steady when she spoke. “Yes, Spaniard, I allowed you to defile me, to my everlasting shame.”
“I have none of the French pox, if that is the defilement you fear,” he said, nearly ripping a sleeve from his doublet as he donned it.
Seldom in her life had Miriam Toulon let temper overcome her. This man goaded her beyond her own formidable control. He swaggered across the room to stand before her and she slapped his arrogant, hateful face. “Tis not French pox but Spanish, brought to us from the savages of the Indies!”
Rigo grabbed her wrist and held the fragile bones tightly. With but a flick of his powerful hand he could snap them. “So now that your passions cool you revert to your former opinion of me. I am not only an accursed Spanish idolater and a bastard, but a filthy savage in the bargain!”
She did not whimper in spite of the painful grip he had on her wrist, but faced him squarely. “Would to God Benjamin had let you die on that battlefield.”
His hold loosened slightly and he massaged her small hand, turning it over to examine her delicately formed fingers. “Twas you as much as Benjamin who saved my life. Regret your own actions as well as his, my lady.”
“I do, heartily, I assure you,” she said, pulling free of his oddly gentled touch. I first fell beneath your spell tending you when you were wounded. She met his eyes, puzzled by the shift in his temper.
Rigo could see the trail of tears on her cheeks. She was guilt-stricken now that it was too late. He muttered a curse and turned from her, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “We have dishonored a man who deserves far better,” he said bitterly. And I still want you!
Patrice Farrier heard the murmur of low, angry voices as soon as she approached the door. One was definitely female. At first she turned angrily away, but then the cultivated accent of the voice piqued her curiosity. The woman was not some rude serving wench Rigo had taken when she was late for their assignation. Motioning for her litter bearers to wait, she lifted the latch and stepped inside.
Her eyes nearly popped from their sockets at the sight of Judah Toulon's daughter, the haughty Jewish doctoress. A slow, feline smile’ curved her lips, and she purred, “Well, Rodrigo, art thou fallen ill with impatience while waiting for me?” Turning to Miriam, she scoffed, “I was given to understand you only practiced your healing arts on females and boys.”
“This man is far beyond my healing arts, I assure you. Would'st care to try your skills with him? I am certain you have had infinitely more practice at such than I,” Miriam replied with cold disdain, ignoring a series of particularly filthy Spanish expletives from Rigo as she flung her cloak about her shoulders. She turned to him and said calmly, “Have no fears for your brother's honor, I will end our betrothal on the morrow. I leave you to the whore you summoned.” With that she marched toward the door.
Ignoring Patrice's outraged gasp, he brushed by her and thrust his arm across the door frame, blocking Miriam's escape. “Do not be foolish. You cannot walk alone through the streets during the middle of the night.”
“I have already been foolish, more than foolish,” she said in as steady a voice as she could manage. Mercifully her faithful servants had followed her instructions and were coming up the hill with her litter. “I have my escort. Please, let me go, Rigo.”
“What will you tell Benjamin?” he asked bleakly.
“Twill not involve you. He longs to return to the Indies. Now he can do so and remain there. Go with your brother, Spaniard. I would never lay eyes on you again.” With that she stepped past him, pulling her hood over her head as she walked toward the litter and vanished inside its velvet-curtained interior.
Patrice's hand, glittering with intricately wrought heavy rings, fastened on his shoulder and then inched higher to caress his beard-stubbled jaw. “Come, surely that green girl cannot have sated a fine stallion such as you...can she?” Her voice was both taunting and cajoling.
He looked down at her, trying to suppress the distaste rising like soured wine in his throat. “If you think to flatter my male vanity, do not. I know I am capable of performing, but I do not choose this as a time to prove myself.” He looked to see her litter bearers waiting patiently just down the alley. Raising his hand to signal them, he gently ushered her outside. “I have much to ponder, my lady.” He saluted her hand gravely.
Patrice sighed. “Perhaps another time,” she murmured as he assisted her into the conveyance, knowing there would be no other time. All the way home, she cursed her fat, stupid husband, who for once in his miserable life had not possessed the good grace to get drunk quickly enough!
* * * *
Judah Toulon sat at the head of the polished ebony table in the spacious dining hall of his palace, the opulence of his surroundings forgotten. So were the cheese and fresh oranges with which he was accustomed to break his morning fast. He stared at his only child in blank astonishment. “You have taken leave of your senses. I cautioned you about overwork among the indigent women and children of the city.”
Miriam sat rigidly on the edge of her chai
r, the food on her plate untouched. “No, Father, I am not grown feebleminded from overtaxing my strength, but I must break the betrothal. Benjamin and I quarreled last night. His bitterness over being forced to live here would ever be between us. He will be happy no place but Espanola.” She had rehearsed her speech very carefully.
“He has pledged his word to live here and he is a man of honor. I, too, have pledged mine and given you in a betrothal contract. The rabbi is set to perform the marriage within the month. You will not dishonor our house by disavowing the match at this late date.” His voice was as steely as his cold, dark eyes.
She met his gaze squarely. “Twould be a far greater dishonor to go forward with the marriage and consign Benjamin to a lifetime of unhappiness.”
He rose and paced the floor, impatience in every gesture. “Benjamin will not be unhappy. I know I did a bit of scheming, using Richard DuBay, but that merely proves how much Benjamin loves you. He would not see you wed to anyone but him.”
“He will be unhappy. Do you not see, Father? He only came to terms to save me from wedding against my will.
After twas done he bitterly regretted the pledge.”
“Art saying he would break faith and hold you in the Indies against your will?” Judah asked incredulously.
She waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “No, of course not. He would return here after presenting me to his parents, but once having been to the home of his heart, twould be all the more painful for him.”
“We will speak no more of this matter. Tis settled. I have always given you your way, Miriam, but this time you go too far.”
“I will not wed Benjamin.” She rose and faced him, her voice calm, her expression as steely as his. “Today I am going to release him. You will see that tis for the best.” With that she walked from the room.
His voice stopped her in the wide doorway. “If you break faith with the House of Torres, I will treat with Richard DuBay once more. He is yet eager to wed you. You have a duty to me, to our family name. I have worked hard and long to amass a great fortune. I would not see it divided up among the poor Jews of the city for want of heirs to inherit.”