Surrender to Love

by Sands, Cordelia

  “I will.”

  Maria closed the door behind her, and Sabine let loose a sigh of relief. Slipping out of bed, she slowly padded over to the small table where Juana stored her toiletries. A mirror. She always stored some sort of mirror here, and –

  “Here it is.”

  What had he done to her? It wasn’t enough that he had made her feel so dirty with his violating hands; he had forcibly branded her with his violence, leaving her features disfigured with purple bruises and jagged cuts.

  She could not tear her eyes from the hideous reflection. Mesmerized, her hands gripped at the tarnished silver of the battered glass until her knuckles were tense and pale.

  He might kill her if given the opportunity…and the provocation; she was positive of it.

  It was not the first time the disturbing thought had invaded her mind since her arrival here. And over the past several days it had come to her again and again in the twilight of her lucidity until she knew it was not simply the ravings of a crazy woman. Colón would eventually be the death of her.

  She would be long gone before that happened. He had thwarted her initial efforts, but he could not stand in her way forever - especially if he was spending time in Havana.

  Soon, Sabine vowed as she set the glass down with a trembling hand. It had to be soon or she might not see another Cuban sunrise.

  “This above all – to thine own self be true.”

  The phrase ran circles in her mind until it finally lulled her to a restless slumber.

  Chapter Nine

  Michael Pierson was running for his life.

  It always came back to him in his dreams; there was no escaping it…and every time he awoke abruptly in a sheen of sweat, heart pounding, blood racing through every vein, every inch of his body. It was all due to that girl – that girl he couldn’t seem to keep out of his thoughts.

  What was it about her, anyway? Just this morning he had awakened on the verge of a yell, his subconscious fleeing from some unseen presence that followed fast on his heels.

  Michael sat up and untangled the twisted sheeting from around his thighs. It had to stop. For the past two years he had done nothing but run; and now that he finally felt safe, he was running again in his nightmares.

  Muttering a curse, he pulled on his trousers and walked over to the window. This couldn’t go on forever, he thought as he drummed his fingers impatiently against the glass. He had to see her. Just once. Maybe then she’d leave him and his thoughts in peace…and he could finally go on with his life and leave his thoughts in peace…and he could finally go on with his life.

  Michael ran a tired hand through his hair as he stared out over the Cuban landscape. God, it was beautiful out there. The land stretched as far as the eye could see. Wild…untamed…and he was in love with it.

  But even after two years, he still wasn’t quite sure he had adjusted to the country that had embraced him so completely. He was content here, although everything hadn’t exactly gone as planned. He needed to work the land – his land; smell the richness of the freshly turned soil beneath his boots; feel the strain of his muscles as he drove the blade of his plow deep into the earth.

  But the growing season was different here – and the crops that grew best were ones to which he was unaccustomed. When he first arrived he had managed a temporary refuge by signing on as a foreman at Luís Roderigues’s sugar plantation. And he learned; worked in the fields right long side the emancipados Luís had hired until he knew every aspect of cane production.

  It wasn’t enough. He wanted his own land, his own crops to harvest.

  Two years.

  It seemed like a lifetime since everything had gone wrong…when the Kansas Territory had reached out to him like the Promised Land – and he finally understood how Moses felt when he had first set eyes on Canaan. There it was – all that wide, open space laid out before him, just waiting for him to cultivate it and watch things grow.

  And everything had been perfect. For a while.

  Michael shook the thoughts from his mind and he turned from the window, jaw clenched angrily. It was the past, he thought bitterly; none of it mattered now. He had to look to the future. Keep his eyes open. Make sure he had his back covered.

  Besides it was a lifetime ago…America…the farm…every single dream he ever had. All gone – disappeared as the result of a single gunshot. These ten acres were all he had now; ten acres, and a former overseer’s house that he had purchased from Luís Roderigues. Everything he owned sat right here in some Spanish colony.

  And now there was the image of this girl that insisted on disrupting every moment of his days – and nights. Today, he decided as he quickly reached for a shirt. He was going over there today to see her, no matter how much Colón hated him.

  XXX

  “Sabine.”

  Her heart froze, and she jumped in her skin, startled at the suddenness of the voice. Turning quickly from polishing the silver service, she nearly upset the sugar bowl; her nervous fingers fluttered to catch the expensive piece before it tumbled recklessly to the floor.

  It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t right that she should live in constant fear every second of her life.

  But only for one more day, Sabine reminded herself. Tonight. Tonight she was leaving this hell far behind her, and Colón would never catch up with her. And it didn’t make a difference in the world where she was headed…just as long as she was far from here.

  Rosa stood in the doorway, drying her hands on a dishrag. She smiled warmly in compassion, her dark eyes filled with pity for this slight girl who was in her charge. So attractive Sabine was; but Señor Colón had marred that beauty with his terrible temper.

  She was almost better now, Rosa thought. Many of the bruises had faded to a greenish-yellow, and cuts along her cheek were healing nicely. Was it enough? Was it nearly enough that this young woman be restored, only to have the master abuse her a second time? No, but, in this, Rosa’s hands were tied. It was not her place to step in. If Señor Colón had made up his mind to have her, Sabine’s fate was sealed.

  “How are you feeling,” she questioned awkwardly.

  “Fine, I suppose,” Sabine replied as she flexed her hands. “My arms don’t hurt as much as they did.”

  “I need someone to gather some mangoes for me from the tree that is out in the yard. Maria is finishing the room upstairs, and Juana – “

  “Is in Havana,” Sabine finished for her.

  “Sí, with Señor Colón until tomorrow. Do you feel up to going out?”

  Feel up to it? Hadn’t she spent a good portion of this morning hovering by the window as she procrastinated in her duties, yearning to feel the welcoming rays of the sun? Dreaming to feel free, even for just a little while?

  She followed Rosa into the kitchen, her entire body tingling with anticipation. Outside…a hint of what was to come when she left this place; a sweet taste of momentary freedom.

  Standing on the back step, Sabine closed her eyes, enraptured as the breeze outside caressed her cheek lovingly. She drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh air that carried with it the sweet scent of flowers. Suddenly she longed to run through the fields, lie in the tall grass, and regale in just being alive.

  But as her hand brushed up against the healing gash on her cheek, she was painfully reminded of her station here. Elation was promptly brought down to harsh reality as her disposition sobered in the wake of her revelation.

  She swung the basket loosely in her hand as she dawdled in her task, dreading the thought of having to go back inside to complete the monotonous duty of polishing silver. She hated that chore. Well, she’d never have to do it ever again, Sabine thought smugly as she gently plucked a ripe mango from its stem. Nor would she have to listen to anyone’s demands…or freeze in fear whenever she heard the steps of Manuel Colón come down the hall.

  “I see you’ve found yourself in a pleasant situation,” a masculine voice behind her commented with a touch of causticity. “How have
you been?”

  The basket fell to the ground, ripe mangoes spilling out onto the grass. Mumbling a quiet curse, she stooped to pick up the fallen fruit, not once bothering to acknowledge the man behind her. A frightened rabbit; that’s all she was. Jumping and starting at every little noise, every voice that came up behind her. It was embarrassing. Ridiculous.

  “I know you’re not deaf. And I know you speak English.”

  Grinning, Michael leaned over and observed her from atop his large chestnut gelding as he pulled his hat farther over his eyes to shade them from the harsh Cuban sun. Damn her and that pride.

  “I rode all the way over here to see how you were making out with Colón. The least you could do is turn around and look at me.”

  Sabine threw her basket to the ground angrily. What did he want from her, this Michael Pierson?

  Yes, she knew exactly who he was, remembered the way Manuel Colón had referred to him the night of the auction. For the past three weeks all she had done was remember him when she wasn’t worrying about Colón or plotting her escape. How many times had she found herself poised over her work, thinking of him? Recalling the way he spoke, the way he moved? And then she became angry with herself all over again for allowing the thought of him to enter her mind. He didn’t care. How could she have ever thought he did that night in Havana? He didn’t even know her! And she didn’t want to know him.

  She faced him, her hands set stubbornly on her hips. Her narrowed gaze watched as Michael’s grin turned to rigid severity, his eyes inspecting the yellowing bruises and healing cut on her cheek.

  “What’s going on here?” Michael Pierson demanded as he swung off her horse. “What in the hell happened to you?”

  Sabine immediately turned away, ashamed, and prayed he would not probe further. He should just get back on that horse – get right back up there and ride back to wherever it was he’d come from. Why did he feel so compelled to come here and ask questions anyway? He wasn’t in the least bit responsible for her…and her life – or lack of it – was none of his business.

  Gruffly he grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him, his eyes ice cold with hatred.

  “Well?”

  Her eyes quickly averted from his as his furious gaze bored through her. She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t confess that she had been so weak as to let a man like Colón overpower her.

  “He hit you, didn’t he? Dammit!”

  He released her harshly and bit back another curse. So the stories were true. The bastard had a reputation for being ruthless, but how could Colón even think of raising a hand to this woman, let alone beating a woman the way he had?

  Michael watched as she silently stooped to retrieve the fallen mangoes, and he swore softly under his breath. The sight of her was more than he had bargained for. Ah, hell, why did he feel it was his business to know what had happened? He didn’t even know a single thing about her. She could have deserved the beating for all he knew.

  No woman deserves that, her conscience shot back. Would you have done the same to her?

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered in apology as he scuffed at the grass with the toe of his boot. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that…when I last saw you….” His voice trailed off.

  “I looked a lot better,” Sabine finished for him. “And you’re right,” she added bitterly, “you shouldn’t have said anything, because it really isn’t any of your business, is it?”

  Michael continued to stare, a look of puzzlement veiling his feelings of outrage. His arms dropped limply at his sides. Well, what was he supposed to say? “Gosh, miss, you really look fine today? How ‘bout goin’ for a ride in the country?”

  God, her face. The beautiful, honey-colored skin of her face and sculpted cheek bones senselessly battered and torn by vicious blows. How could Colón have gone after her like that? The image he conjured in his mind sickened him, angered him, until he nearly slammed his fist against the trunk of the mango tree in frustration.

  But now he was standing here like some fool, and he had completely forgotten the real reason why he had come in the first place. Why did she keep doing this to him? Why did the very thought of her get him so confused and angry that everything he did and said was wrong?

  “You have to get out of here,” Michael said as he removed and wearily wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve.

  “You’re very perceptive, sir.”

  “Sabine,” Rosa called out from the veranda, “do you have those mangoes, querida?”

  “Almost, Rosa,” she responded with a frustrated sigh, hoping Michael Pierson would finally take his cue and leave.

  “Buenos dias, Señor Pierson,” Rosa waved. “What are you doing this way?”

  “I came over to see when Colón was due to return.” Lying through his teeth. Was he so desperate that he had to stoop to this?

  “Tonight, perhaps. Most likely tomorrow. He is in Havana.”

  “Tell him I need I need to talk to him when he returns. It’s important.”

  “Of course.”

  Rosa waved him on with his business and disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

  He didn’t move from where he stood. Instead he remained, intently studying the figure who bent down in the grass before him; hadn’t even bothered to look up when Rosa had come outside. He just stood there – looking.

  Sabine.

  So she really did have a name. Sabine. He liked the sound of it. It was musical. She should be in a parlor somewhere in silks doing needlework. Or maybe even working in a seamstress shop. She should be anywhere…anywhere but here.

  “What are you looking at?”

  Her words cut through him like a knife. Shaking himself from his thoughts, Michael looked down at her. Dark violet skirts spread across the grass where she sat, her emerald eyes blazing angrily through her heart. Damn, she was gorgeous.

  “Things could be better for you, Sabine,” he said softly.

  “Really,” she responded tersely, green eyes flashing. “Have you come up with a better solution, then? Hell, perhaps?”

  She didn’t bother to wait for a reply. Things could be better for you. Ha! Hadn’t she heard that line a hundred times? And Michael Pierson could go straight to the devil, too, right along with the rest of them. Things could be better…and they damn well would be, she thought, after tonight. After she left here forever.

  Michael watched steadily as she retreated into the house. So tough she appeared to be; but he knew it was only a façade. Underneath that hard exterior was a fragile young woman she had buried somewhere deep within her breast; he was positive of it.

  And coming here hadn’t helped one bit. Instead of answers, he was leaving with more questions, more problems. He had to get her out. He didn’t know how or where she would even go; but she was good – too good – to be here, and no matter how bitter or indifferent she appeared to be, Michael knew she cared. He could see it in her eyes.

  XXX

  Escape. That’s all she needed for the moment. A tiny bit of quiet to call her own. A tiny bit of aloneness to help her forget her situation.

  So, instead, she escaped in her mind. Sabine curled up in the corner of an upstairs bedroom, her imagination poring indulgently over the leather-bound volume that had captured her attention for the past hour.

  Romeo and Juliet.

  Was there ever a more engaging story of passion and desire? Imagine…imagine risking all simply to be with the one true love of your life. It was magical…adventurous…romantic.

  She could imagine it – that was the problem. Had she not done the same thing once? And what did it get her? Nothing but the feeling of unclean and used. And lied to…by everyone.

  Well, it would never happen again. Trust was something she could do without; all it had given her was heartache and trouble. She needed no one but herself. No family. No friends. Nothing.

  The clock in the hall patiently chimed eight. Three more hours, she thought distractedly. Three more hours until Rosa tur
ned in for the night and the house was quiet. Three more hours until she would enjoy the true taste of freedom; when the Cuban countryside would swallow her up without a trace and she would begin anew.

  “I see you have made yourself quite comfortable. This is good.”

  Sabine felt herself pale, and the acidy bitterness of fear roiled in her stomach. Determination drained from her as every muscle in her body slumped in defeat and tears of frustration welled in her eyes. But she didn’t even care about them. Her plans, her dreams. They had all crumbled into nothingness with the utterance of those words.

  Colón lounged casually in the doorway, a sardonic smile twisting his dark features as he rested one hand arrogantly on his hip. Paralyzed, she remained where she sat, her heart beating with wild intensity. She was trapped, cornered like some wild animal he wanted to tame.

  “I was told you wouldn’t be returning until tomorrow,” she informed him steadily, her gaze never leaving the dark maliciousness of his eyes.

  “I changed my mind,” he said, his voice lowering dangerously. “Besides, Juana is tedious.”

  Entering the room slowly, cautiously, he knelt down beside her. And Sabine waited, her heart racing as she watched warily out of the corner of her eye; but Colón made no attempt to reach out for her.

  “Why do I frighten you, Sabine?” he asked in a husky voice. “I will not hurt you.”

  Liar! She wanted to scream, and then beat him as he had beaten her. She wanted to inflict the hurt, see the bruises. Why didn’t he leave her alone? Juana was more than happy to submit to him. So why her? Why did he constantly pursue her instead?

  “I won’t play your games,” Sabine said firmly as she stood. As she turned to leave, a steel grip latched onto her arm and the door slammed in her face.

  “I will not tolerate your insolent behavior any longer,” he snarled. “You are going to learn to obey me, and you are going to learn tonight.”

  Forcing her to him, Colón’s fingers dug harshly into her flesh, probing, demanding she submit. No, her brain cried out as she thrashed wildly, kicking out at him with all her strength. He would not brand her again with his violence.