“You are beautiful.”
“I don’t think so.” Her reply came out more peevishly than expected.
“Señor Colón must believe it to be true. Otherwise you would not be here. He likes to adorn himself with beautiful women. It is a fact,” Maria said as she straightened proudly.
Foolish. Sabine rose and stared out the window, her brow furrowed. Ridiculous. Colón and beauty and jealousy. What kind of outrageous thoughts did this girl Maria possess?
“Juana wants Colón,” Maria said.
“She can have him.”
“He may want you. Juana has given him plenty of opportunities, but he is not interested.”
“Well, he can’t have me,” Sabine replied sharply as she turned back to Maria. “Nobody can.”
“You will have jewels and pretty clothes to wear,” the other continued, “and you will not have to work.”
“You don’t understand, do you,” she replied, her hands balling into tiny fists as she fought to control the rage that burned hotly within her. “I don’t want to be his mistress. I don’t want to be his slave. I’m a prisoner, Maria.”
“Yes,” Maria said with a shrug of her shoulders, “but is it not better to be a slave on a plantation such as this? Or would you rather be a whore in Havana like some of the women from my village had to do? At least I have nice clothing and plenty of food. And I do not have to perform favors to receive them.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Sabine countered.
“And with the money my family received,” she said, her voice absent of emotion, “my five brothers and sisters will be assured food in their stomachs and clothes on their backs.”
Straightening, Sabine turned back to the window, hugging herself tightly against the chill that raced through her. All of this was wrong, this institution of buying and selling human lives, Maria’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her enslavement because it might mean a better life for her family.
But Sabine refused to accept her fate with the same philosophical stoicism as her companion. She was not going to stay in this house, trapped forever as someone’s property to do with as they pleased. And there was no telling what Colón had planned for her, but if he was determined to have both her body and her soul…
He won’t her tiny voice said firmly as Sabine’s hands clenched into tiny fists. Not if don’t you let him.
And she wouldn’t. She wanted escape, and she wanted it now. Tomorrow, she promised as she surveyed the darkened shadows of the trees outside. Tomorrow she would begin to devise a plan for freedom…and soon enough, she would be free of this life, this place, forever.
Chapter Eight
Dammit, why the hell had he even been there in the first place? A slave auction, for God’s sake!
Michael Pierson quickly rose from his seat at the kitchen table and paced the floor restlessly, the muscles of his arms tensing as he methodically worked his hands into angry fists. By just stepping into the room he had gone against every principle he had ever believed in. All of them.
He hated himself for being there…but he hated himself even more for not leaving.
And then there was that girl, the one whose hauntingly beautiful green eyes that had captured his soul. He had tried to forget about her, push her memory out his mind forever.
But she kept coming back. And each time and each time he saw her as clearly as he did last night. Confused. Frightened – no, not frightened, terrified – as she stood up there, chin held high, shoulders thrown back in an attempt to be strong. But she never really succeeded, did she? The bright glint of tears betrayed her fears.
And he had practically walked away without a fight. Just left her there in the clutches of that bastard Colón and turned his back. Michael bit out another curse and slammed a fist onto the worn wood of the tabletop, the sound reverberating in his ears with finality. A game. A simple game of cards was all he had come for. Not this. Not the unwarranted guilt he had felt ever since he had looked into those emerald eyes.
He muttered an incoherent comment and sat down again, rubbing vigorously at his face, determined to erase her from his mind. The girl was under his skin, whoever she was. Somehow she had dug herself in too deep for his tastes.
What the hell was wrong with him? She was only a woman…like hundreds of others he had seen. Nothing special. Nothing unique.
Or was there?
But, dammit, he had been there. He was just as bad as the others, if not worse. He had attempted to bring her home – even sparred bids with Colón until his cash had run out.
Yes, he wanted her, Michael had admitted reluctantly as he ran a tired hand through his hair, but not to warm his bed. He wanted answers. Who was she? And how the hell had she ended up in Cuba?
XXX
“Well, you can tell her she’d better stay out of my way,” Sabine snapped as she picked up a dusting cloth. “I don’t want him. And I won’t put up with her.”
Sabine walked and turned toward the library, leaving Maria gaping in her wake. She had had enough of Juana’s pettiness. Enough! She had been in this prison only twelve hours, and how many times had she been tempted to just reach out, grab a hold of that thick braid of black hair, and yank that vain little witch to the floor? Why on earth would anyone even think she wanted Colón?
And Maria. Never had she met a more vivacious girl, but her constant gossiping was beginning to wear thin on her nerves. Who cared? Who cared a stitch that Juana held such contempt for her? Sabine didn’t…and she wasn’t going to simply sit here and allow Juana to push her around like some fool; she had more important things to worry about.
Like freedom.
Like finding a way out of this house, this life, and everything else that went with it.
With a sigh of resignation, Sabine leaned against the window casing and stared out at the sunshine, the trees, the vibrant pink flowers that leisurely crawled up the veranda’s trellis. She wanted to be out there – walking, running just being alive…and bound to absolutely no one but herself.
Her throat tightened at the hopelessness of her yearnings. Not hopelessness, she contradicted. Frustration. Frustration at not knowing how much longer she could survive here without going mad. Not even twenty-four hours she had been here, and already the hot flames of discontent lashed unceasingly at her patience.
“I thought I told you, querida, to clean up in here.”
Rosa’s round face appeared in the small opening of the door, a teasing smile crinkling her features as she scolded with a wagging finger.
“I – I’m sorry, Rosa,” Sabine replied guiltily as her gaze instinctively dropped to the lush carpeting.
“It is a beautiful day, no,” Rosa commented as she breezed into the room, the wide expanse of her skirts swirling about her legs.
“I – I had better get to work,” Sabine said quickly and began to stack a scattered group of papers on a nearby table.
“Please,” Rosa said as she laid a hand tenderly on Sabine’s arm. “It is no worry. You have much time today.”
The older woman led her to the divan and patted the burgundy cushion in an invitation to sit.
“Do you find yourself happy here?”
An absurd question, Sabine thought dully, but she merely shrugged in reply as she stared idly at the clasped hands in her lap.
“I don’t belong here.”
“But are you happy?”
“No.” Sabine waited expectantly for the blow of retaliation to come, but Rosa merely laid a hand over hers and squeezed it apologetically.
“I cannot help you,” she replied simply. “It is not my place. I am sorry.”
Her great bulk heaved off the divan and Rosa moved across the room, leaving Sabine to stare helplessly after her as the door clicked shut between them.
The hot pressure of despised tears built up behind her eyes, and Sabine angrily swept away the single tear that managed to escape. She needed out, and it had to be soon. Not much longer would she be able to endure the suffocation
, the twisting desperation that filled her being.
A wry, sad smile flickered across her features as she inspected the walls of books and shelving. She should be thrilled to have all these volumes at her fingertips – would be, had she actually felt free enough to lounge about this beautiful study and read and dream and lose herself to the familiar world of make-believe.
So many wonderful books, Sabine thought as she carefully pulled a leather-bound tome from the shelf and wiped away they fine layer of dust that had settled before thumbing absently through its contents. So many wonderful thoughts and stories and places…
“’This above all,’” the page said to her, “’to thine own self be true.’”
Precisely. No one else mattered. Only she. Only survival. And she read the words over and over, memorizing them until they were permanently burnished in her consciousness.
“A beautiful woman with a passion for books. I should like to see nothing more. Unless, of course, that same woman is in my bed,” the deep voice commented behind her.
Startled, she whirled to face him, the volume carelessly tumbling from her hands. Heart pounding, she met Colón’s eyes tentatively before stooping quickly to retrieve the book.
“I – I’m sorry,” she stammered as she placed it on the shelf. “I know I should be working, but it was only for a moment,” she added lamely.
Stop it, Sabine, she told herself. And stop acting like the subservient little fool he thinks you are. Broken her spirit? Is that what he believed he had done? Well, he hadn’t – and he never would.
“That is quite all right,” Colón said softly as he crossed the room toward her. “It is a sign of good breeding to be able to read.”
“My mother taught me,” she replied evenly.
Don’t trust him – not for an instant. The thought continually in her head. A gentleman? Is that what he supposed himself to be because he surrounded himself with riches, expensive clothing, and lovely house servants? Good breeding? Who did he think he was to say what was good breeding when all he thought of was fear and control?
Well, she would be in control here.
“Do not be afraid, my beautiful one. I will not harm you.”
She wanted to stand her ground – prove to him that he could not intimidate her – but instincts urged her to flee, to run as far and as fast as she could. But her legs staunchly refused to obey, traitors to her cause.
Colón drew near, brushing against her as he circled, closely inspecting her as he stroked his neat moustache. His lips twisted into a smirk, as his gaze captivated her, and Sabine was unable to break the hypnotic trance of his dark eyes.
“I – I must get back to work,” she told him in no more than a whisper, her determination ebbing as the distance between them decreased. “Rosa will be angry with me.”
“Rosa is not the master of this house, Sabine,” he purred. “She only carries out my wishes.”
He lifted a hand and stroked the base of her neck. Her entire body cringed at his slight touch, and apprehension raced through her.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned quietly, her voice wavering.
“You are like a goddess,” he continued as he whispered hot breath in her ear. “Never have I seen anyone as appetizing as you. You were made to share a man’s bed…my bed, Sabine. I knew that when I first saw you.”
His fingers trailed the outline of her breast, and a nipple became taut against her will as her stomach contracted with revulsion. Leisurely he strolled behind her, his touch burning through the flimsy cloth of her blouse. His smooth, gentleman’s hands caressed her shoulders, and he pressed up so close behind her that the smell of his cologne and the underlying odor of musk drifted to her nostrils.
“Leave me alone,” she repeated, more firmly through clenched teeth.
Colón ignored her demands. Instead, his lips gently brushed the nape of her neck, and grew hard against the curve of her thigh. His arm encircled her shoulders and a hand slipped down the front of her blouse.
“Stop, I said,” she bit out as her hand connected soundly with the angular line of his jaw.
“What do you think you’re doing,” he spat out and jerked her forcefully to him. “You are my property now. You will do as I say.”
Crushing her to him, Colón violently brought his mouth down upon her own, devouring her hungrily as Sabine choked down the bile that rose dangerously in the back of her throat. Desperately, she struck out at him, but he merely thrust her to the floor, capturing her wrestling form beneath him.
The shattering of a vase punctuated her screams, and Colón drew back a hand to silence her. But she fought fiercely, claws unsheathed as she raked across his cheek, secret satisfaction filling her as she left behind tiny trails of red.
“You ungrateful whore,” he swore loudly as he straddled her struggling form. “Who do you think you are?”
Sabine’s head exploded with pain as his closed fist connected solidly with her jaw.
“You will pay for such insolence,” he ground out as he continued to deliver his blows. “I am not to be defied. You will obey my every command.”
Pinning her to the floor, he struck at her repeatedly, brutally, with his jeweled hands. Struggling, more weakly now, she succumbed to the suffocating darkness that loomed over her.
XXX
The soothing coolness of a vinegar-scented rag brought Sabine back to consciousness. Every inch of her head and shoulders throbbed with soreness. And her arms. They stubbornly refused to obey her commands, no matter how fervently she tried to move them.
What had happened? What had he done to her? She remembered nothing past the vicious blows Colón had rendered; the fury of pummeling fists had left her helpless, beaten.
“Do not move,” Rosa warned as she wrung water out of her rag. “You must try to get some rest.”
“My – my head,” she groaned as her fingers crept with agonizing slowness to her temples.
“Do not speak. It will not be good for you. Sabine, you have taken much abuse. I have told you not to anger Señor Colón. Why must you defy him?”
“Have I been unconscious long?” she asked, ignoring Maria’s admonishing remarks.
“It has been almost one day. We were very worried about you. I thought you might die,” she added, lowering her voice.
Die? No, she was much too determined to let such a thing happen. Sabine attempted to shake her head in denial, but the jolts of pain sent her sinking helplessly into her pillow.
Sleep, her tired brain insisted. That’s all she wanted…and she closed her eyes, welcoming the fretful slumber that claimed her.
XXX
“…And so he took her to his other home, the one in Havana. They were there for three days,” Maria said in hushed tones as she set a tray next to Sabine’s bedside. “He is there now. With her.”
With a sigh of irritation, Sabine turned away. The gossip was stale. Colón’s exploits with that catty tart Juana did not interest her in the least, but she was glad – elated – that he had found another diversion to occupy his lecherous thoughts. In fact, she’d have stood up and cheered had she the strength to do so.
“How are you doing today?” Maria asked brightly as she offered her a bowl and spoon. “You are better?”
Sabine nodded and struggled to a sitting position, wincing as the dull ache throbbed in protest.
“You must have something to eat,” Maria encouraged, her smile wide. “It is very important for you to get your strength back.” Maria held out the bowl. “Rosa has made you soup, and I am going to stay right here until you eat every bit.”
Sabine dutifully picked up the spoon and absently stirred at the steaming broth.
“Maria, what’s the purpose of this?”
She fingered the thin velvet ribbon that encircled her neck, and drew out the small bag that was attached. As she held it up to her friend to inspect, Maria’s eyes lit up in ardent appreciation.
“It is a gift,” she said, her chest puffed out with pride,
“from me.”
“And what is it?”
“It is from la espiritista. Herbs…to keep the evil spells away. I went to see her last night, and she thinks a spell has been put on you, or maybe you have displeased God. You must have. Why else would such harm come to you?”
Sabine allowed the comment to pass without mention. After all, how many times had she heard the very same topic of conversation in the marketplace back home? The strange requests for chickens’ feet? The supposed concoctions designed to catch a beau? To curse an enemy?
“It is true,” Maria assured her in a hushed voice, her eyes wide with conviction.
Sabine did not venture to convince her otherwise, for she knew full well it would have been futile. Instead she silently sipped at the chicken broth while Maria prattled on with her light hearted conversation.
“You look so much better today,” she continued, the subject of religious superstitions forgotten. “Your bruises are almost gone. The gash on your cheek still looks bad, but it is healing.”
Sabine’s hand flew up to examine the unseen wound, and she flinched painfully as her fingers brushed against the bruised and swollen flesh.
“I want to see a mirror,” she demanded as she held out her hand.
Maria shook her head decidedly and motioned again to the soup bowl. “You must finish this. Rosa will kill me if you do not eat it.”
“I want the mirror.”
“You do not look well,” Maria insisted firmly. “I will not give it to you. You must wait until Rosa says you may get up.”
Sabine raised an eyebrow and set down her spoon. Well, if she had to wait for Rosa, she’d never get out of this bed. Restlessness had set in days ago, and if she had to stay another minute in here, she’d be sure to explode.
“I’m very tired,” feigning a stretch and yawn as she snuggled back under the thin blanket and sheeting. “I’ll eat more later, Maria. I promise.”
“Well, I suppose it will be alright,” the smaller girl agreed reluctantly. “But you must eat two bowls at supper.”
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