by Shirl Henke
“She pursued you across the ocean—she loved you.”
“Ah, so at last we come to the heart of the matter,” Aaron said, looking at his proud, lonely son. “You do not believe Miriam loves you, only that she was forced to wed you because of the child.”
Rigo turned and walked to the window overlooking Magdalena's flower gardens. His eyes saw not the rioting fuchsias, yellows and crimsons, only his wife's lovely face, her clear gray eyes, the proud uptilted chin and delicately sculpted mouth. “She was forced to abandon her life of wealth and comfort, her father's love, everything for me, and it eats like a canker at her soul, more with every passing month.”
“She is about to be delivered of a child. Women are scarce at their most amenable at such times. As a man with six children, I can speak with authority on the subject. Such remoteness does not mean that Miriam does not love you.”
“Never in these many months has she said she cared for me.”
“You, of course, have professed undying devotion to her,” Aaron replied sagely.
Rigo turned on his heel abruptly, once again facing his father. “No, I have not. She made it quite plain when I claimed her from Judah Toulon's house how she felt about me. For a while, aboard ship...I had hoped we might mend the breech and begin anew, but she again turned from me.”
“Yet she chose to wed you—and I know enough about my Uncle Isaac's friend Judah Toulon to understand how dearly that cost her. You and Benjamin both offered to wed her, so he wrote, as did other men her father approved. Miriam went with you, Rigo—not because of the babe, or because of honor. I have watched her these past months. She loves you and you use her ill by refusing to let down the barriers you have placed around your heart. You must speak the words first. Tell her you love her, for I know you do. Only then will you hear her speak her heart. Twill work.”
“You make simple what is most complex,” Rigo said sourly.
“Love is just such a paradox,” Aaron replied serenely.
* * * *
Rigo gave Peligro and himself substantial exercise riding after cimarrones all day, driving the wild cattle into pens. But by sundown, when both horse and rider were exhausted and drenched with sweat, he was no nearer to an answer about his wife than he had been that morning. Did Miriam love him? “There is but one way to learn the truth. Father is right. I must risk all and tell her.” As he rode toward the compound, numerous other riders joined him, laughing and joking, glad of a good day's work passed without sighting raiders or experiencing any other mishap.
“Perhaps the wretched curs have been treated to enough of our steel,” Rudolfo said. “I saw no sign of cattle missing.”
“Between our men and Guacanagari's, we sent those Frenchies scurrying like rats back to their ship,” another rider said.
“Yet it is not safe to ride alone until we know who the Spaniards are who deal with Brienne,” Rigo interjected.
When they separated at the compound gate, each going to his own home, Rigo decided he would search out Miriam. Better to have done with the confrontation before another day passed. As he swung down from Peligro by the stable door, his father rode up on his big chestnut. The expression on Aaron Torres' face was grim. With a feeling of dread, Rigo walked over to meet him.
“Miriam went to an outlying Taino village this morning to treat a boy who fell into a mine. Magdalena says she should have returned by now yet there is no sign of her.”
“Did she go alone?” Rigo's hands clenched into fists and his heart accelerated with fear and fury.
“Magdalena was away in one of our orchards when the runner arrived. When she returned, Miriam had departed with only the runner and another of Guacanagari's men. My wife would never have allowed her to go so far with such little escort,” Aaron replied grimly.
As he remounted Peligro, Rigo said with a constricted throat, “You think the raiders have her.”
“There is every good chance.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Esteban Elzoro observed Miriam Torres dispassionately from a twenty-foot distance. She was great with child. Idly he speculated about how she might look after her delivery. A bit too tall and thin for his tastes, he decided, yet there were those lovely silvery eyes and all that bronze hair. She sat, bound hand and foot, with a blindfold across her eyes. He had insisted on that precaution when he sent his men to capture her. He could not chance that she ever recognize him. If she did, his associate in Marseilles would be exceedingly wroth and he might find himself stretching a rope as a renegade.
“What good fortune that the half-caste's wife fell so easily into our trap,” he said to Vincente Yarros, the leader of his raiders.
The burly man touched his grizzled cheek, which was covered with scratches. “She did not fall all that easily. If I had not your strictest orders against injuring the wench, she would be dead. Who would think such a frail, pregnant woman could fight so?”
“Well, she is unharmed and you shall be rewarded. Soon her family will come seeking her and we shall be able to finish Rigo Torres once and for good.”
Yarros spat and scratched his thickening middle. “I like not trusting the intelligence of an Indian boy to lure the half-caste into our trap.”
“Juan knows what will befall his brother if he does not do as he is bidden,” Elzoro said with finality.
The boy, Juan, had been a slave all of his life, working as did his older brother and all his family, in the fields and mines that belonged to Elzoro. He sat disconsolately across the fire, staring into its flames, not eating the meager ration of cassava bread. The lady had been so kind. She had come in response to his summons and set all Filipe's broken bones. Her skills were truly magical. And she was with child. Now he was instructed to lure her husband to certain death. How could he do it? How could he not, and let Elzoro decree Filipe's death?
Miriam could hear whispered voices speaking in the Taino dialect and other harsher Spanish accents, but none came near her as she sat in cold, damp misery. She knew her captors had brought her to a cave at some good distance from the mine where she had treated the injured youth. After spending all afternoon following her guide through the twisting, tortuous paths of the dense jungle, Miriam had been completely disoriented. On her return home, brigands attacked them and carried her away. They had killed the poor young man from their hato who accompanied her. She did not see what befell the boy Juan, who had come searching for the doctor. He, too, was probably dead.
What do they want with me? The question hammered over and over in her head. They had not killed or raped her. In fact, for such rough-looking renegades, they had taken great pains not to harm her in spite of her fierce struggles. She had been blindfolded to keep the identity of their leader from her. It must be someone I know. That meant they did not intend to kill her, but the thought offered little consolation at the moment. All she could see was Rigo's face, furious with her for going off without proper escort, endangering herself and their child. This time he is right!
She shifted her weight, arching her back against the nagging ache in it. The stone floor of the cave was hard and cold and the fire far away, offering little warmth against the wet, chilly night air. Already Rigo, Aaron and all the hato must be searching for her. Everyone would be terribly worried and she felt the crushing weight of guilt settling around her like a damp heavy cloak. The backache, unrelenting since she was captured, bore down with increased ferocity. Miriam choked back a sob of pain, unwilling to call attention to herself.
As dawn broke on the horizon a scout came riding into the camp at the foot of the caves. Well hidden by thick, fragrant frangipani and a tall stand of silk cottons, the caves were a perfect place in which to set a trap. Vincente Yarros dismounted and sought out Elzoro, who had awakened at the sound of hoof beats. “The riders are at the river below, Don Esteban.”
Elzoro smiled as he rose, dusting off his rumpled clothing. Soon this would be finished and he could return to gracious living, as ruler of the whole valley. “Take J
uan with you. You can show the boy who the half-caste is. Then create a diversion for Aaron Torres and his other men. Let Juan seek out Rigo Torres and give him the message.”
“I like it not. What if Torres brings many armed men with him?” Vincente's face was creased with a dark scowl.
“If you and Juan handle this task as instructed, the half-caste will follow the boy here while you divert his father and their party. We have laid out the plans and have all the advantages. This time we will not fail.”
“That is what you said at Navidad.” Yarros ambled off, calling orders for his men to awaken and prepare for the skirmish.
In the bed of a shallow stream beneath the hidden caves, Aaron raised his hand and called a halt. He looked over at Rudolfo, who dismounted and studied the terrain with a practiced eye, examining the surrounding muddy, moss-covered ground and the flowering shrubs at the stream's edge. They had ridden slowly by moonlight, then stopped until the pale light of dawn again allowed them to follow what they hoped was the trail taken by the raiders who abducted Miriam.
While his son-in-law examined the delicate vegetation for any signs that her kidnappers had left the stream, Aaron looked at the haggard face of his son. Rigo's naturally bronzed skin looked ashen and his mouth was a tight slash across his face. They had taken but a couple of hours of rest in the past day and he knew Rigo had not slept even when the blackness of the jungle night halted their progress.
If only it was progress. “Are we any closer, Rudolfo?” Aaron was terrified they were chasing shadows and the raiders had once again vanished as they had so often done in the past.
“See this orchid? The stem has been broken, and those frangipani branches have been mashed. Someone has left the stream here. We must go into the jungle again and see if there is further trail to pick up.”
Rigo was the first to turn his horse to where Serafina's husband pointed. But just as he entered the dense, leafy embrace of vines and palms, the hiss of arrows and cries of alarm rent the air. They were under attack by renegades who materialized across the stream. Rigo was almost clear of the jungle, ready to join the fray, when a young Taino boy came running toward him and flung himself at Peligro. Rigo had his sword drawn, but the boy cried out breathlessly in Spanish, raising his open palms.
“Please, come with me! I know where your lady is! They have hidden her in a cave far above here and come to attack you.”
“Why do you tell me this if you are with those who took my wife?”
“She saved my brother's life. I will show you a way to reach her the Spanish do not know of.” He waited as the mounted man considered for a brief moment.
“Lead on,” Rigo said, “even though I smell a trap.”
They went only a few hundred yards, veering from the trail into dense underbrush. “You must leave your horse here,” the boy said as he shoved aside the thorny branches of a poinciana bush and revealed the opening to an underground cave barely large enough for a man to enter.
“I thought you pointed to those caves high above on that ridge,” Rigo said suspiciously.
The boy smiled cunningly. “This way is unguarded. You may take them by surprise when you climb up from behind and enter the place where your lady is held. As soon as I show you where she is, I must return and move my brother to safety else the patron will kill him.”
“Lead me to my wife,” Rigo said as he shoved Juan into the cave and followed him, dagger and sword both drawn.
In the gloom of the cave he was quickly forced to sheath his weapons, for the climb through the labyrinth was steep and arduous. As they approached the opening into a wider cave, the dim light grew gradually brighter. Juan stopped at the opening and whispered, “Just move cautiously toward the light and you will find your lady. She is tied up near the opening, but there are two men lying in wait before you reach her, more outside the cave in hiding.”
Rigo's hand shot out and held Juan's thin arm. “Who is this patron you have spoken of?”
The boy's dark face paled in fright. “I have already endangered my family. I can say no more. I must go to my brother.” With that he slipped free of Rigo's hold and vanished into the gloom of the labyrinth.
Still sensing a trap and fearing that the boy might have sealed his fate rather than aided him, Rigo drew his weapons and began to move slowly and silently forward. The sound of voices whispering in French brought him to a halt as he listened.
“I like this not. Where is the half-caste? That slave has betrayed us.”
“The climb is arduous and Torres doubtlessly is cautious. Be patient,” his companion admonished.
Both men were concealed, crouched behind the curving wall of the twisting cave. The sound of a low moan issued from around the corner, a woman's cry. Miriam!
“She has been in pain all night. Pray the Virgin she does not die. Reynard will be furious if harm comes to her.”
Even as the two men spoke, Rigo prepared to take them. The thin fellow who had his back turned to Rigo fell forward against his companion with a low hiss of breath. Rigo's dagger was sunk up to the hilt in his back. Before his companion could shove the dead man away, Rigo was on him, his sword parrying one thrust, then driving home to gut the Frenchman clean to his spine.
Giving them no further attention but to extract his dagger from the first one, he raced around the corner into the mouth of the cave. Miriam lay on her side, bound, gagged and blindfolded. She was obviously in great agony, doubled up in a fetal ball, as if trying to protect the babe within her belly.
Quickly he stepped past her and scanned the opening of the cave. No one was in sight. They must be hidden along the narrow trail leading up to this hellish place. He laid down his sword and knelt beside his wife, gently removing the blindfold and gag that muffled her soft moans. Then he quickly cut her bonds with his dagger.
Miriam looked up into his face, so fierce and taut, and knew he had killed to reach her. “How did you—” She could say no more before another pain ripped through her.
Rigo paled. “The baby—tis coming now?”
Teeth clenched, she nodded, then as the contraction eased, she said, “I fought them when they seized me.”
He scooped her into his arms and carried her farther back into the cave. “Do not look at them,” he said as he passed the two dead Frenchmen. “Only lie here while I summon my father's men below and hold off the renegades until they arrive.”
She lay with her back braced against the rough stone wall, rubbing her wrists and moving her legs. At least she could see and breathe freely now. Another contraction seized her. They had been coming at increasingly regular intervals through the night. “Thank God my legs are no longer bound.” That unnatural position would have killed the babe and her as well. Even now Miriam knew that seven-month babies more often than not were too small to live. Tears filled her eyes, but she dashed them away. Giving way to weakness would not serve in these deadly circumstances. She could hear Rigo's cry for Aaron echo out over the valley outside the cave. Very shortly the clash of steel told her that others of the band who abducted her had entered the cave. She prayed as another contraction overtook her.
Rigo dispatched one surprised brigand with a clean thrust, then took on his companion, who was better prepared to defend himself. As the two men moved back and forth across the rough ground, nearing the sharp precipice at the lip of the cave, Esteban Elzoro stood below at the base of the trail. His every instinct urged him to climb up the twisting trail and engage the Spaniard himself, but already he could hear Aaron Torres' forces crashing through the jungle. The damned half-caste had more lives than a witch's cat! How had he reached the cave without passing the men stationed along the trail? Juan would pay dearly for his disobedience!
Elzoro signaled to his men to mount up and scatter to their usual hiding places, then dug his spurs into his big gelding and took off, cursing another plan gone awry.
Rigo was still occupied with the red-haired raider who was proving to be quite a professional swordsman
. The grizzled outlaw fought with daring rather than desperation, a fine distinction that Rigo had learned on the battlefields of Europe. He must end the duel quickly and not let his fear for his wife mar his judgment. He moved toward the lip of the cave, precariously near its edge. When the sudden gleam in his foe's pale eyes gave away his intent, Rigo feinted to the left, then let the renegade close in for the kill. When he thrust, Rigo slipped to the side with lightning agility, grabbing the brigand's doublet sleeve and propelling him forward. The red-haired man's sword sliced thin air as his momentum, increased by Rigo's leverage, propelled him over the edge. His silence during their battle was broken now as he screamed hideously on his descent.
Rigo rushed back into the cave for Miriam as Aaron and half a dozen of their men began to scramble up the side of the ridge. He knelt at her side and began to lift her. “I must get you back to the hato. ”
“No. There is no time. Carry me to the light. I would see what I am doing.” Her voice was amazingly strong, although sweat beaded her face and her fingers bit into his arms as she stiffened with the pain.
“You cannot give birth here in a cave!”
“I will do it with far more inconvenience half way down the mountainside or lying in the jungle. Are there any blankets? They lay me on something last night.”
Rigo scanned the cave and found a heap of blankets near the burned-down ashes from the fire. He quickly spread the coarse covering across the ground near the opening. Golden sunlight poured in, warming the stone floor as he helped her lie down. “I do not know what to do. You need Magdalena,” he said, fighting the panic that clawed at him.
“I know what to do, but you must act as my midwife.”
The sounds of men's voices climbing up the ridge now carried into the cave. “At last my father arrives with help.”