He hadn’t even seen the fishing boat that found him and took him to Eleuthera. From there he’d been flown to a hospital in Miami. He’d been in the hospital for almost two months, and when finally he was released, he went back to San Sebastian. It had taken his body a long time to heal, and by the time it did, he fought with himself about whether or not he should try to find Annabel. If she had made a life of her own, a life without him, would it be fair to her if he walked back into her life? And so he had waited.
Instead he had gone looking for Flynn, through boat brokers, boat people, dock masters and yacht clubs from Maine to Florida. But there’d been no trace of him, not until his windbreaker jacket had been picked up by the coast guard.
Flynn had died in the explosion on the boat that bad gone down near Eleuthera. Annabel had been the lone survivor; she had known Zachary Flynn.
If she and Flynn, and whoever else had been with them, had been searching for the Cantamar, then she knew the location of the galleon. And if she did...
Luis looked up at the portrait. “I’m going to find your ship,” he said. “No matter what it takes, Alejandro, I swear to you that I will find the Cantamar.”
He raised his glass. “Esta es mi promesa para ti. This is my promise to you.”
He downed the brandy, then, drawing his arm back, threw the glass into the fireplace, where it shattered.
It was well after midnight before Annabel fell asleep that night. When she awoke a little after eight the next morning, she bathed, and because she felt a reluctance to dress in clothes that were not her own, she put on a pair of shorts and a shirt that had been purchased for her in Nassau.
And because she did not want to face Luis this morning, she picked up the phone and asked if breakfast could be brought to her room.
Ambrosia, bearing a breakfast tray, knocked at her door some twenty minutes later.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile. “Don’t you look fresh and pretty. Did you sleep well? Where you be wanting to have your breakfast? Here by the windows or out on the balcony? The sun be shining bright as a pumpkin. Better on the balcony, yes?”
“I prefer to eat in my room,” Annabel said coolly. “Leave the tray on the table by the windows.”
“But the sun be warm and the day be beautiful.”
“Just leave the tray.”
Ambrosia looked hurt. For a moment she stood where she was, uncertain, holding the tray.
Annabel turned away. She felt betrayed by this woman who had greeted her so warmly the day before. “It’s real nice having you back,” Ambrosia had said.
Back? But she’d never been here. Ambrosia had lied, just as Luis had lied. But why? Why?
And because the woman still stood looking at her so uncertainly, Annabel said, “That’s all. I’ll call if there’s anything else.” She waited until she heard the door close before she crossed the room to the table.
The glass of orange juice and fruit plate looked appetizing, as did the mushroom omelet. But she wasn’t hungry. She ate a little of the papaya and took two bites of the omelet. The food stuck in her throat. Because she’d been unkind to Ambrosia. Because she was afraid.
She went to the closet and took the white bikini from the shelf. When she put it on, with one of the looser-fitting shirts over it, she left her room by way of her balcony and found the path that led to the beach. As she started down it she heard Rob bark, and when she turned, she saw him racing toward her.
“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He jumped up, all tail-wagging eager. She laughed and pushed him down. “Come on,” she said, feeling her spirits rise. She started running toward the water. “Last one in is a sissy.”
He came after her, yapping, darting in front of her then off to the side and back again. When she reached the beach she took off the shirt and ran into the water. Rob plunged in, too, but only until it reached his belly. Then he stopped and barked.
“Okay,” Annabel said. “I’m going to swim. Go find yourself a fish to play with.” And with that she headed out beyond the waves to where the water was calm.
She swam for a long time, stroking easily, feeling the release of tension, trying to think what she was going to do now. She was trapped here on Luis’s island, with no way out except by boat, his boat. He had said that she was, his wife, but he had lied. She wasn’t his wife, she was his prisoner.
Puffs of white cloud drifted overhead in the clear blue sky. The water was warm and crystal clear. Back on the shore palm trees swayed in the breeze and tropical flowers grew in a beautiful blending of colors: scarlet and pink, bright yellow and orange, lavender and deep purple. If this was her prison, then surely it was the most beautiful prison on earth.
She decided that perhaps it would be best not to let Luis know how she felt, not to say anything about the clothes that were supposed to be hers but weren’t. She would go along with whatever game he was playing, and when he had been lulled into believing he had fooled her, she would be able to find out the real reason she was here.
Finally, feeling more cheerful and certainly refreshed, Annabel headed for shore. Rob came partway out to meet her, and when she stood in water to her knees, she said, “Okay, boy, catch me if you can,” and started running toward shore. Suddenly she screamed.
Had something bitten her? Had she stepped on a shell? The shock of pain sickened her. She had to get out of the water. Had to... She hopped on one foot and tried to let the waves carry her in. When she reached shallow water, she managed to pull herself up onto the beach.
Once there, she sank down on the sand, moaning in pain. Rob circled her, nervous, whining. She grasped her foot. Two jet black, ugly sea animals, with spines like black needles, were stuck to her.
Without thinking, only wanting the pain to go away, she grasped one of them and screamed again, for now it was embedded in her hand.
Rob ran back and forth, barking.
She had to get to the house. The only problem was that she couldn’t walk on the foot with the spiny animal still stuck to it. Moaning in pain, she managed to get onto her knees and her one good hand and started to crawl across the beach toward the path. Before she’d gone more than a yard or two, she saw Luis running toward her.
“What is it?” he called out. “I heard Rob barking. Are you hurt?”
Then he saw the spines in her hand, the black sea creature stuck to her foot.
“Ay Dios!” he cried, and scooping her up in his arms, he ran with her toward the house.
She tried to hold back her cries of anguish. It hurt, oh God, it hurt.
He carried her into the kitchen, and Rob followed them in. Ambrosia was there with a woman Annabel hadn’t seen before. Both women looked up when Luis rushed in.
“Mr. Luis!” Ambrosia cried. “Wha’ happen?” She saw the sea urchin in Annabel’s foot. “Oh, Lord,” she cried. “Oh, Lord.”
“Pliers,” Luis said. “Get me the pliers. And canvas gloves. Hurry!”
The other woman dashed to one of the drawers and fumbled through whatever utensils were there. When she found the pliers she brought them to Luis. Ambrosia handed him the canvas gloves, and after he had set Annabel in one of the chairs, he put them on.
“I have to pull this out of your foot,” he said. “It will hurt.”
She looked at the ugly blackness. “Do it,” she said, gripping the side of the chair. “Just do it.”
He grasped the sea urchin. Annabel moaned. He took the pliers, fastened them around one of the spikes and carefully pulled it out. Then the other. The sea urchin fell to the kitchen floor.
Annabel was pale, her face beaded with sweat.
“Now your hand,” Luis said.
She held it out, trying to fight the nausea that rose in her throat. Ambrosia came to stand behind her. She put her hands on Annabel’s shoulders. “It be over soon,” she murmured. “Be easy, be easy.”
Annabel took a deep breath. Luis pulled the sea urchin out of her hand. Two of the spikes b
roke off, one in her palm, the other in the fatty part of her thumb.
“Get me hot water and soap, Meadowlark,” he said to the other woman. “And antiseptic.” He tightened his hand around Annabel’s wrist. His face was almost as white as hers, and sweat glistened on his forehead. He picked up the pliers; Annabel closed her eyes. With the pliers he grasped the spine embedded in her palm. He pulled and she gasped in pain. Please, she wanted to say. No more, please.
“One more.” He pulled at the other black, spiny prong. It didn’t come out. The other woman, Meadowlark... what a strange and pretty name, Annabel thought... began to cry.
Luis tried again. This time he wiggled the spine to loosen it. Her hand was on fire; jabs of pain ran up her arm to her shoulder. “Wait,” she pleaded. “Wait.”
He stopped. “Water,” he said to Ambrosia. “Bring her some water.” And when the woman brought it, he held the glass to Annabel’s lips. “It’s almost over,” he said. “Another few seconds and it will be out.”
She took a sip and handed the glass back to him. He gave it to Ambrosia. And to Annabel he said, “Hold on.” Then he grasped the black needle with the pliers and pulled.
It was like being burned with a red-hot poker. Pain ran up her arm. She gasped and slumped forward. Luis eased her up against his shoulder.
“It’s over,” he said.
She leaned against him, weak with relief and pain, shaking with reaction.
He held her there, and when he let her go he bathed first her foot, then her hand with hot, soapy water and applied antiseptic to the wounds. Meadowlark brought bandages. He wrapped Annabel’s foot and hand and when he finished said, “I’m going to put you to bed.”
He picked her up and started out of the kitchen. Rob trotted after him. “No!” Luis said. “Stay!”
“Let him come,” Annabel said. “Please.”
“All right, if you want him to.”
He’d have given her anything she wanted right now. If she’d told him to let a parade of elephants into the house, he would have. He’d have done anything he had to, given anything he had to ease her pain.
He carried her into her room and gently laid her on the bed. Rob leaned his head on the bed beside her and she patted him with her good hand. “I’m all right, boy,” she assured him.
Luis left her there while he went to get aspirin and an all-purpose antibiotic he kept on hand for emergencies like this. He helped her to sit up and held water to her lips. When she lay back down he said, “The aspirin will help.”
“Thank you. I... I’ll be all right now. What were they? Those ugly black things. What were they?”
“Sea urchins.” He smoothed the sweaty hair back from her face. “I know how much it hurt when I pulled out the spines, Annabel...how much you’re hurting now.”
She looked up at him. His eyes, more silver than gray, were concerned. His face was pale. It was almost as if her pain had become his pain. As if he really cared about her. Did he? Did he care?
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he said. “Sorry I had to hurt you.” He lifted her injured hand and brushed a kiss across her wrist. “Rest now,” he said. “I’ll sit with you until you sleep.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He placed her hand on the coverlet. “Close your eyes, Annabel. Sleep if you can.”
And in a little while, watched over by him and guarded by the dog at her side, she slept.
In the late afternoon when she awoke, her hand hurt and her foot felt as though the spiny needles were still in it. She moaned in pain, and Luis, who had been sitting beside her bed, asked, “What is it, Annabel? Are you all right?”
Without thinking, she leaned on her hand to shift her position and yelped with pain.
“Easy,” he soothed. “I’ll get you something for the pain.” Something stronger than aspirin, something to help her sleep. He should have gotten her out of her bathing suit before, but she’d been in such pain he hadn’t wanted to cause her any more discomfort.
But now he said, “We’d better get you out of your suit.”
“No. I... I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not,” he said patiently. “You’ll feel better once you’ve rinsed off and put a nightgown on. I’ll help you.”
“No! ”she cried. “I can do it.”
“Do you want me to call Ambrosia to help you?”
She shook her head. “I can manage.”
He frowned, and getting up, he went to her closet and took a pale blue gown from the shelf and put it at the foot of the bed. And though she said, “Wait a minute! What are you doing?” he lifted her off the coverlet, placed her in a chair and went to turn back the sheet on the bed. Then he picked her up and carried her back to the bed.
“You’ve got to get out of your bathing suit,” he said, and before she could object he unfastened the top of her suit and pulled it off.
“Wait! Stop that. Don’t—”
“Lie down.”
She did, glaring at him, and pulled the sheet up to her chin. He reached under it and eased the bottom of the suit down over her legs, being careful of her foot.
She was still sputtering with indignation when he crossed the room and called “Come” to the dog. Rob, with one last appealing look at her, scooted out.
Luis went into the bathroom. When he came back with a porcelain bowl filled with hot water, he put it on the bedside stand.
Annabel clutched the sheet even more tightly. “Don’t be silly,” he said, and pulling the sheet back to the rise of her breasts, he began to bathe her arms and shoulders.
She’d been sandy and saltwater sticky, and though she was loath to admit it, the warm, soapy water felt good on her skin.
He lowered the sheet, and though she cried, “No! Don’t!” he bathed her breasts, her back and her belly. He tried to be objective, tried to act like a doctor with a patient. Tried not to let his gaze linger on the small, soft mounds of her breasts or the pink-tinged nipples.
She didn’t look at him but held herself stiffly and let him minister to her.
When he finished, he pulled the sheet up to cover her, then raised it from the bottom and washed her legs.
His hands were cool on her skin and seemed somehow to soothe away the pain. She didn’t understand him, she didn’t trust him, but for now it felt good to lie here like this and let him bathe her.
When he finished he put the basin aside and handed her the nightgown. “Do you need any help?” he asked.
“No.” She knew she was blushing now. “No, thank you. I can manage.”
He nodded and went back into the bathroom. By the time he returned she’d put the gown on. He gave her another antibiotic capsule and two pills that he said would help the pain and also help her to sleep.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“I’ll help you.” He pulled the sheet back and lifted her into his arms.
“Listen,” she said. “I can do this.”
“You can’t walk.”
“But I can hop.”
He carried her to the bathroom door and put her down, helped her in, then closed the door behind her. When she opened the door a few minutes later, he picked her up again and carried her to the bed.
“How do you feel?” he asked. “Does your foot still hurt? Your hand?”
“Not as much as before.” She yawned. “I think the pills you gave me are taking effect.”
“Good.”
“I’m all right now. You don’t have to stay.”
He nodded but he didn’t leave.
She turned on her side, facing him. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
He took her injured hand and brought it to his lips. “Anytime,” he said.
Her eyes drifted closed. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead. She smiled, murmured something he didn’t understand and scrunched down into the bed. In a little while her breathing evened and he knew she slept.
When evening came and he was hungry, he went out
to the kitchen. Meadowlark fixed him a sandwich, which he ate at the kitchen table.
When he went back to check on Annabel, she was restless, moving from side to side. Was it a bad dream or was she in pain?
He rested a hand on her forehead. It was warm. He didn’t think she had a fever, but she was restless. He wanted to help her but he wasn’t sure how. She whimpered again. “Annabel?” he said, but she didn’t answer.
A look of indecision crossed his face, then, before he could change his mind, he took off his trousers and his shirt and, wearing only his briefs, turned back the sheet and lay down beside her.
“What are you... ?” Her eyelids fluttered and she tried to move away.
“Sh,” he said, gathering her in his arms. “It’s all right. Go to sleep, Annabel. I’m here.”
She stiffened, but as he talked, whispering to her, stroking her shoulders and her back, she began to relax against him.
“That’s it,” he soothed. “Sleep now. Sleep.”
And at last, still murmuring a protest, she relaxed. And cradled in his arms, she slept.
Chapter 7
Curtains moved in the ocean breeze, bringing in the scent of the sea. The overhead fan turned slowly and patterns of morning sun streaked the floor. Annabel stretched, opened her eyes and came face-to-face with a broad expanse of chest and a thatch of curly chest hair. Chest hair? Startled, she looked up. Silver gray eyes met hers.
“Good morning,” he said.
She was frozen, unable to move. She knew a moment of panic as she wondered, If his chest is bare, is he like that all over?
“How do you feel?”
“All right. Well...my hand hurts, but otherwise I’m okay.”
Polite conversation for the morning you wake up with a man in you bed? “What...uh, what are you doing here?”
“You were restless, hurting. I didn’t know how to help you so I got into bed with you.”
And held you like this all night. Heard your sighs and your whispers. Felt your softness. Breathed in your scent. Content just to hold you.
She shifted a little away from him. The brush of her body against his aroused him, and he knew that if he didn’t get out of bed quickly, he wouldn’t at all. But still he lingered.
Long-Lost Wife? Page 7