Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga)

by Shirl Henke

  “No!”

  He stood behind her and lay one lean bronzed hand on her shoulder. “Liar,” he whispered.

  “Go tryst with your whore, Patrice Farrier. I will have none of you. You have done enough damage to my life already.”

  “And what have you done to mine?” he asked savagely, turning her to face him and pulling her against his chest. “I have betrayed my own brother and yet I burn for you.”

  “You need only a willing female, any will do. You do not want me,” she whispered brokenly.

  “The hell I do not,” he swore as he grabbed her chin in his hand and jerked her downcast face up to his. He felt her palms against his chest, yet she did not push him away. “No token protest?” he asked softly. His mouth descended slowly to take hers.

  Miriam stared at those beautifully sculpted lips, burning for their touch yet knowing the fire he ignited with his kiss would quickly flash out of control. “Soon you will be gone...” she whispered as she opened for the kiss. Her hands reached up and grabbed his shaggy black hair.

  Rigo savaged her mouth, his tongue plunging in to duel with hers, to taste, to tantalize, to drive her wild and be driven wild himself. He pulled her closer, pressing her against him, feeling her breasts crushed against his chest. The cabin floor was packed earth, filthy and cold. He scooped her into his arms and returned to the warmth of the sun, glorying in the wind that whipped her hair about his face, covering them both like a bronze mantle. After but a few steps he knelt on the soft, warm grass, never breaking the bond of the kiss.

  She clung to him, hungry for his vitality, his strength, the assurance his hard body offered after her brush with death. She hungered for life and he was the life-giver. When his hands unlaced the back of her gown and slid it from her shoulders, she began to tug at his doublet. With several swift, rough movements he shrugged it and his tunic off, all the while raining feverish kisses on her neck, then on her bared breasts. She buried her fingers in the thick pelt of his chest hair, feeling his heart thud as they knelt in the splendor of the windswept field.

  When he pressed her backward onto the cushion of the sweet-smelling grass, she held on to him, pulling him atop her. Ebony hair shadowed his face as he raised his head from feasting on her aching breasts. Rigo looked down at her through a haze of passion. He was a man driven, desperate for this slim, imperious, sharp-tongued foreigner. Madness, tis madness! Her words, Soon you will be gone, echoed in his mind. “So this is our goodbye, Miriam, not the bitter recriminations of that first night. This time I will make it good for you,” he whispered as he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her deeply.

  Moaning low, she wrapped her arms about his back, feeling the corded muscles bunch and flex as he moved over her, worshipping her flesh with his mouth, with the heat of his body, with all the inferno of his savage, restless spirit. When he pulled up her skirts she helped him, then brushed her lips across his chest and buried her face against the curve of his shoulder. He tore at the fastenings of his hose, then took one of her hands and slid it from his back, lower to help him in peeling down the tight garment.

  He gasped as his straining staff touched her silky inner thigh. She opened for him and he found her, wet, eager, arching hungrily up to meet him. Her body, so aroused and unfulfilled at their first mating, craved relief with the blind willfulness of pure instinct. Rigo slowly entered the hot, tight interior, steeling himself not to spill his seed so quickly this time. His hands slowed her feverish bucking and set an even rhythm that at first robbed her of breath, then made her cry out and pant in anticipation of an ending she had never experienced.

  Rigo's breath scorched his lungs as he stroked her. He swore softly and cried out her name as he felt her violent response. The sun sent down golden autumn blessings and the wind dried the perspiration from their sweat-slicked bodies as they labored, locked in an embrace as old as time.

  Never in her wildest imaginings—and they had become most vivid in the past weeks—had Miriam dreamed of this wild glory. The sky overhead wheeled about at a dizzying speed, her ears rang and her heart was surely leaping from her breast with every stroke of his shaft, plunging in and out of her. She clawed at his back like a lioness, urging him deeper, swifter, harder. Suddenly a ragged cry tore from her as she was wracked with such convulsive shudders of ecstasy that everything went black before her eyes.

  Rigo had watched and shared the pleasures of a hundred different women, but never had he experienced anything this shattering. Her tight, quivering sheath contracted again and again as she held him blindly, until he swelled and burst, filling her with his life. When he could breathe again he did not pull away from her but cradled her to him and rolled them over so she lay atop him.

  Her hair whipped about them in a burnished cloud as he caressed the silky flesh of her back and felt her breathing slowly return to normal.

  As sanity, the time and the place, gradually forced their way into her mind, she refused to relinquish her precious hold on the golden moment. Miriam buried her head against his chest and lay very still. His heart thudded in an even measured cadence now. So this is our good-bye. The words echoed in her mind. This time I will make it good for you. He had not lied. It had been wonderful, too wonderful. And now it was over. He had initiated her into the mysteries of the flesh, made her crave his touch with a blind, heedless passion that terrified her cool, rational mind. “We have nothing but this, do we, Rigo?” She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until she felt him lift her off him and set her aside.

  “A moment ago, this, ” he emphasized the word, “was quite enough.” His expression was unreadable as he rolled over and pulled up his hose, mechanically refastening them.

  What did I expect? An offer of marriage? The wind felt cold on her bare breasts as she struggled to pull up the wrinkled gown. Woefully she considered how fortunate it was for her that it was dark green. The grass stains would not be readily apparent when she returned home. Home to her father, who must never, never suspect her fall from decency with this Spaniard. “I must go inside and fix my hair. Please, wait for me here,” she whispered without looking at him.

  Rigo watched her race into the hut. When she emerged a few moments later her hair was in tight braids coiled at her nape, and her face was ashen pale but composed. “I think it would be best if you took me to Uncle Isaac's stable and let me borrow a mount from there,” she said calmly.

  “Your father must never know a heathen bastard has defiled his precious daughter,” he said bitterly as he waved her toward the patiently waiting stallion.

  “I have defiled myself, Rigo, and I will not humiliate my father with my guilt,” she said simply.

  He followed her toward the horse and gave no answer.

  * * * *

  The chill rains of November whipped against the glass panes of Isaac Torres' library windows. He gazed out into the courtyard below, not really seeing the water-soaked shrubbery and trees. “I do not know whether to rejoice or feel guilty, my old friend,” he murmured.

  Judah took a sip of wine and replied, “I would rejoice were I you. The Spaniard was dangerous. He is not one of us, Isaac. You and your whole family are well rid of him.”

  “Perhaps. Yet I know Aaron will be grieved when he reads the letter Benjamin has just sent him. Ever since Miriam broke their betrothal Benjamin has been bitterly unhappy. Now he has lost his brother, too. He has lived his whole life hearing of Navaro. To have found and lost him, all in the space of a few short months.” He shook his head in perplexity.

  “Both your nephew and great-nephew are fools! Aaron should bring his family here away from the Holy Office's minions in the Spanish colonies—and Benjamin should wed Miriam. I have tried to talk to the stubborn pup. If he would only agree, I would force Miriam to the match, but he will wed her only if she wishes it!” He threw up his hands in despair.

  “I agree that it would be for the best to have all my family reunited here. But I would not force Miriam and Benjamin. It has been my
experience that such is often a mistake. Only give Miriam time to sort out her feelings. Once Benjamin is gone to Española and she realizes her loss, she may decide to write him a letter that will bring him home. And, as to Aaron and the rest,” a slow smile warmed Isaac's face, “mayhap they might follow. Who knows the will of the Almighty? We must wait and see.”

  Miriam sat before the fire that evening, watching the orange flames lick against the blackened stones of the chimney, wishing she could throw herself into them and simply vanish with the smoke rising into the chill night air. I am a doctor. I know better than some ignorant peasant girl who tosses up her skirts for every passing soldier.

  Tears welled up in her eyes as she clutched the vial in her fingers. They were white and stiff from squeezing the dark blue glass and its evil contents. She unlaced her death grip on the small container. Only a small bit—three drops in a cup of warm water. Of course there was some risk to her own life, but she knew it was slight if she was careful about the dosage. The old midwife who had first told her about it last year had used it with precise results on two noblewomen whom she herself had later attended.

  When she remembered those results, the tiny dead infants, so perfectly formed, yet so bloody and still, she knew she could not do it. “I am sworn to protect life, not take it.”

  Miriam tried to convince herself that it was her professional oath that kept her from using the vial, but she knew the truth lay deeper, inside her soul.

  She stared into the fire, squeezing her eyes closed as she imagined Judah's pain and humiliation. How could she bear to destroy her father's faith in her, his trust? This would break his heart. She would have to leave here, go far away and rebuild her life as a stranger in a distant part of France. Perhaps Bordeaux. There was a Jewish community in the city. Somehow she would manage it.

  “Tis Rigo's child, deserted by a father who will never know of its existence, even as he himself was unwillingly separated from Aaron Torres. I will love the babe enough for both of us.”

  She stood up and threw the blue glass vial into the fire. It shattered against the iron grate and the contents escaped with a hiss, vaporizing into smoke that rose up the chimney into the chill night air.

  Chapter Nine

  Benjamin laid two volumes of French poetry in the sea chest and then rearranged the crowded contents again. “This chest will likely sink the ship,” he murmured aloud, since it was but one of several large trunks of books and medical treatises. Then there was his medical equipment, and the rare European and Oriental drugs that he was bringing home to Española.

  A wistful sadness filled his heart when he thought about traveling alone, without his bride or his brother, but he pushed the melancholy aside. He was returning home at long last and he would have to trust the fates that had first brought him face to face with Rigo to reunite them once more. When the sound of angry shouting echoed from downstairs, he walked quickly to his door and opened it to see what was amiss.

  Looking down the stairs to the front entry, he saw Judah Toulon and his uncle in a heated argument. Miriam stood silently between the two old men, pale and distraught. As if she sensed his presence, her eyes lifted to the top of the high stone staircase. She gave a small frantic shake of her head, indicating that he should not interfere, but he ignored it and quickly descended.

  “I want that heathen savage punished for his perfidy, I tell you! He is a blot on the honor of your noble house. Aaron cannot claim the Spaniard as son after what he has done.” Judah's voice cracked, so great was his rage.

  “This is best discussed in private, my old friend,” Isaac said grimly. “Let us go into my chambers. Your daughter is sore tried by this and must rest—”

  “What has my brother done?” Benjamin asked.

  Judah swiveled immediately to face Benjamin. “Twas you I wished to treat w—”

  “No, Father, no, I beg of you,” Miriam said in a low, hoarse voice. Her hair was bound back in a silver gauze snood. She was dry-eyed now, but her ashen face showed signs of recent weeping.

  Isaac took Miriam's arm and nodded to Benjamin and Judah. “Come, let us to my chambers where our voices do not echo for all the servants to hear,” he said firmly.

  Once they were in Isaac's spacious quarters, he seated Miriam on a low couch piled high with dark velvet pillows and indicated that Judah and Benjamin should sit with him at the round brass table close beside it.

  Without preamble Judah Toulon said to Benjamin, “That half-caste Spanish cur has raped my daughter and taken her innocence. Worse yet, she is with child. You brought him, an outsider, among us, and it is your responsibility—”

  “No!” Miriam shot up from the couch. “I will not allow you to lay my sins on Rigo de Las Casas—or his brother. He did not force me. I...I succumbed to his touch, may the God of our fathers forgive me!” She averted her head, unable to watch the horror and pain spread farther across Benjamin's face.

  “Twas the night of the ball when you sent me the note, was it not?” Benjamin asked in a stricken voice.

  “Yes.” She forced herself to meet those accusing blue eyes. Swallowing for courage, she admitted more. “That night in the summer kitchens and again, outside the city walls—he saved my life when Madam Mirade's servants attached me.”

  Isaac sat, his face a grim mask as he looked from the gently bred young woman he had always thought so sensible to his nephew. Benjamin took a moment to digest what Miriam so painfully revealed.

  In that pause Isaac said, “Please calm yourself, child. Sit down and let us sort out what must be done.”

  “What must be done is obvious. She will marry at once! Since the babe she carries has Torres blood—although much tainted—tis your responsibility to provide a husband for her, else she goes to Richard DuBay within a fortnight!” Judah spoke grimly to Isaac, although every person in the room knew he intended for Benjamin to respond.

  “I would speak to Miriam alone, Judah, Uncle Isaac,” Benjamin said quietly. He turned to her and offered his hand. “Please, walk with me in the garden?” he asked, his voice formal and cool.

  Miriam rose and took his hand stiffly. Her fingers were ice cold and his warm hand enveloped them. Benjamin nodded to a furious Judah and a pensive Isaac. When they were well away from the portico, she broke free and turned toward him in the gray morning light.

  Benjamin's face was a hard mask that Miriam had never seen before. “When you broke our betrothal I suspected you were attracted to Rigo, but I never imagined this betrayal. So prim and proper with your betrothed, yet you willingly whored for my brother!”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I would rather have died than cause you and my father this pain and disgrace. I considered ending my life, but the child...”

  “Never say it!” he commanded sharply.

  She flinched and turned away to regain control of her emotions. “Would that fate had not sent you to sit with a patient that night and it would have been you,” she said, her voice impassioned.

  “Nay, you only sent to me because you feared what was happening between you and Rigo,” he replied bitterly. “From the moment you saw him, I knew he fascinated you, but to fall prey to his dark wiles and lay with him a second time...”

  “I already told my father and you and Isaac, Rigo did not deceive me. I could have stopped him...if I had thought rationally. He is a Spaniard, a Christian, a soldier, everything that would destroy who I am, who my people are. I do not seek to explain my sins or to ask your forgiveness. I am beyond redeeming.”

  “You know Judah will wed you to some man of his choosing, will you, nil you?”

  “Peace, Benjamin. Twill not be you. I have already caused you enough pain.”

  “Twill not be DuBay, the jackal. Your father is right, the babe is of Torres blood. Tis our responsibility,” he said in resignation. “Rigo is my brother. I will wed you.” He reached up and touched her cheek with a sad, bitter shake of his head. “Who knows? Perhaps in time you will come to love me.”

&nbs
p; “I already love you, Benjamin. I told you that when I broke our betrothal. You are as dear to me as a brother, but I will not allow you to turn us to bitter enemies. Make no mistake, if you were forced to claim Rigo's dark child as your firstborn, you would hate me. No, I will go north to Bordeaux and begin anew.”

  “Do not speak foolishly—”

  “I have already acted foolishly. Now I must plan carefully. I will not allow you to sacrifice your life and happiness for me,” she said firmly.

  “Do you think that Judah Toulon, who could not bear you to leave Marseilles, even wed to me, would allow you to move so far from him when you are alone and with child?” he asked incredulously.

  “I can earn my way. I am accounted a good physician,” she said stubbornly.

  ”A good physician who will not be able to work for weeks after your child is born. You cannot do this alone, Miriam.”

  “I will not be bartered—not to you nor to Richard DuBay!”

  “We have not spoken of the other,” he said softly. “Do you love my brother, Miriam?”

  “He is Christian. My father would mourn me for dead if I wed him! It does not signify anyway, for he is gone and would doubtless refuse to take responsibility even were he here.”

  “As for your father's reaction to you marrying outside the faith, you should have given thought to the matter before you lay with Rigo,” Benjamin said acidly. “You avoid my question, yet your very avoidance betrays your feelings.”

  “I do not love him!” she cried, as if trying to convince herself.

  He looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and disgust on his face. “You do not love the man—yet twice you lay with him and allowed him to get you with child?”

  “That first night, twas late, dark...and I had come expecting you,” she whispered, unable to bear the withering look in his eyes.

  “And the second time?”

  “A mob tried to kill me—Jean and Harve from the Mirade estate, they incited the servants. Rigo was out riding and heard the uproar.”