Passionate Pursuit

by Tina Donahue

* * * *

  On the second day, Beatriz strove for normalcy and busied herself with Yolanda’s lessons. She’d finally advanced to D, E, and F in the alphabet, her progress painfully slow, determination remarkably dogged.

  After the afternoon siesta, Beatriz found Yolanda outside, drawing letters in the dirt with a twig.

  “I can hide my mistakes this way.” She grinned slyly. “And keep using the same spot, unlike paper.”

  Beatriz clapped in approval. “How right you are. We should move our lessons outside.”

  “I have no complaints.”

  She, Yolanda, and Isabella spent a pleasant afternoon on the grounds, returning to the castle at the same time Fernando and Tomás did from the pastures.

  “Did you see this?” Tomás gestured to the cabinet near the front entrance. A letter rested on a silver tray.

  From Sancha? “A servant must have brought the missive in when we were outside. Isabella, you should open it.”

  Fernando shook his head. “Not Enrique’s seal. Must be for you, Tomás. Or Beatriz?”

  “No. Not my father’s.”

  Tomás looked. “Don Larnaz?”

  “I have no idea.” Beatriz gestured to the letter. “Please open the thing and find out. I have no desire to touch anything that he has.”

  Tomás broke the seal and read. “For me. A merchant I spoke to last month finally has four Arabians for sale, each black, just as I asked for.”

  Fernando chuckled. “As a child, Tomás refused to ride any other color. What say we have a look at them?”

  “What else? Wait.” Tomás took Beatriz’s hand. “The merchant’s stable is right at the edge of Don Guzman’s estate that begins at the southern border of my land. No more than two hours ride from here. I can make the purchase and return quickly. Faster than when Fernando and I toured the pastures and fields to the east.”

  The city lay in that direction with a route that held myriad dangers. All land from here to Don Guzman’s estate had either his guards or Tomás’s protecting property and inhabitants. The same as Tomás’s castle that had men at the gate and walls, keeping her from harm.

  Was this what their life was to be like? Tomás hesitant to move freely beyond these confines because of her endless worry.

  She wouldn’t have that, especially for him and particularly when his stated direction was so safe. “Go, my love, and enjoy yourself. But can you put off leaving until morning?”

  “For you, anything.”

  * * * *

  That night, Beatriz needed to store each moment to sustain herself for their brief separation and sensed Tomás felt the same. Their kisses were long and deep. They made noises that would shame them if anyone else could hear.

  They were in the harem, the space lit by oil lamps as a sultan might demand, Beatriz bared, though not fully tamed. Wearing a wicked smile, she ran her fingers down Tomás’s torso, making his muscles jump. “Lie down.”

  “I will, after I have you.”

  “No, now.”

  He touched his nose to hers. “I rescued your orange peel, I gave you a bath, I even let you take over my study for Yolanda’s lessons, and still you deny me?”

  “Only if you keep talking. Once you lie down, I can serve you, while you serve me in the most wanton way.”

  Tomás leaned back. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Do as I ask so I can show you.”

  He fell to the mattress. Purple silk puffed up with his weight and floated back down. “What now?”

  Beatriz faced his feet and straddled his hips.

  Tomás stilled. “What are you doing?”

  “Watch.” She positioned herself so her face was above his stiffened rod and sac, her soft folds near his mouth.

  He gripped her hips. “I like this.”

  Isabella had told her about the position. Best to keep that secret to herself.

  Beatriz licked his member and swirled her tongue around the plump crown. His toes curled. He pulled her down to him, his mouth on her sex. Heavenly pleasure tore through her, but she saw to his enjoyment too and eased the right side of his sac into her mouth.

  Tomas growled, the sound raw and virile, filling the chamber.

  Her blood raced. She licked his hair-roughened sac, adoring his sex, its heat, musky fragrance, and faint salty taste. He breathed hard and forgot to see to her pleasure. Beatriz didn’t care. In here, she was his carnal slave, required to submit and bring him boundless satisfaction.

  With great care, she suckled, tending to him as he did with her, finally remembering to lick her nub and spear his tongue into her opening, claiming what was his.

  She showered her attention on the other side of his sac.

  He groaned.

  They filled the chamber with love sounds, worshipping each other’s sex in a strikingly intimate act that left them panting.

  * * * *

  The following morning, Beatriz was tired but still wanted more of Tomás.

  He gave her a hearty goodbye kiss and ordered several guards to accompany him and Fernando. Hardly necessary, considering where they were going, but the added protection pleased Beatriz.

  She waved until he could no longer see her.

  Isabella pressed her hand to her chest. “Whatever did we do before we met our men?”

  “I cried a lot, thinking of the beast I was supposed to wed. What about you?”

  “No time for tears. I was worried about Sancha. I hope her missive comes today.”

  So did Beatriz, wanting an end to this.

  She busied herself with Yolanda’s lesson held beneath a cork tree. Yolanda sat cross-legged, drawing in the dirt near the trunk. Isabella reclined on the blanket, dangling her sapphire above Juana. The sparkling gem mesmerized the infant. Several times, she batted her tiny hands trying to catch it.

  After Juana had her meal, the rest of them paused to refresh themselves with bread and cheese, oranges, olives, and roasted pork, washed down with milk. Isabella yawned. Yolanda returned to her alphabet.

  “Señorita Beatriz.” Nuncio hurried across the lawn holding two papers. Panting, he handed one letter to her and the other to Isabella.

  Isabella turned hers over. “From Sancha.”

  Beatriz had no idea who hers was from. Hoping Don Larnaz hadn’t written, she broke the seal and read.

  Dear Señorita Serrano,

  Forgive my words written in haste. As your father’s physician, I must inform you that his health grows increasingly worse. He may not last much longer.

  His future is in God’s hands now. The only thing left for me to do is to make him as comfortable as possible. Those few times he can sleep, he keeps calling for you.

  Your servant,

  Señor Cristóbal Yniguis, Médico

  Numb, she lowered the letter. Isabella took the missive from her and handed Beatriz the one from Sancha. Beatriz forced herself to read.

  My dearest sister, Isabella,

  How sorry I am for Beatriz and all her troubles. May God grant her and Tomás naught but happiness here forward.

  I raced through my volumes, the symptoms you provided in hand. At length, I found a passage matching what you wrote me.

  The illness is real.

  Your loving sister,

  Sancha

  Chapter 15

  Needing to move, think, do something, Beatriz crossed the lawn to the castle. Nuncio and Yolanda caught up with her.

  Yolanda touched Beatriz’s sleeve. “What happened?”

  Isabella joined them, Juana in her arms. “Her papá is sick.”

  “The illness is real?” Nuncio asked.

  Beatriz nodded. Her father was a monster who deserved to burn in Hell, but he was also helpless now and most likely frightened. To ignore or hurt him, as he’d done to her and her mother, was unthinkable. Beatriz couldn’t manage that much hatred. She entered the castle.

  Isabella followed close behind. “Are yo
u going to him?”

  “What other choice is there? I have to do the right thing.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No.” She crossed the kitchen. Servants paused in their work, staring at her and the others. Beatriz raced down the hall to the grand stairway.

  Nuncio caught up again. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

  She stopped and threw her arms around him for his kind gesture. This time, Nuncio hugged her in return. Tears stung her eyes. “I need to do this on my own. Please arrange for a carriage. I need to leave at once.”

  “Of course.” Nuncio hurried down the hall.

  Isabella rushed to the stairs. “Yolanda, help me pack what Beatriz needs for her journey.”

  “At once.” The girl bounded up the steps.

  Isabella spoke to Beatriz. “Please wear the gown I gave you.”

  “What I have on is fine.” She wore the simple dress she’d taken from Pascuala, relished seeing her expression when she realized Beatriz had donned a servant’s clothes to escape.

  Beatriz guessed she had malice in her after all. Suddenly, she was a fourteen-year-old girl again, clinging to her mother’s things, with Pascuala pushing her aside in order to dispose of them calmly and coldly.

  “Forgive me for being so bold,” Isabella said. “But do you want your father’s last view of you to be in servant’s clothes rather than dressed as a noble, looking beautiful and happy for having made the right choice in running away? Whatever you may be feeling now, this is your final chance to prove you survived his cruelty, unlike your mother. You can make her proud.”

  Beatriz stopped on the landing. “How wise you are.” She pressed her cheek to Isabella’s.

  Juana gurgled.

  “I can take her.” Yolanda reached for the infant. “You two can talk.”

  “No time for converse.” Isabella delivered her child to Yolanda, then tugged Beatriz down the hall. “We have to prepare you and pack. How long will you be gone?”

  Beatriz had no idea. “I know this sounds terrible, but should I wait for him to pass?”

  “Could be days, possibly weeks if the physician is wrong. They often are.” She steered Beatriz into her and Fernando’s chamber. “I learned as much from Sancha, especially when Tomás fell ill. The fool surgeon bled Tomás twice, even though he was already too weak to stand on his own. When Fernando lost so much blood trying to protect me, he nearly…” Tears welled in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Although your father’s condition is grave, he may last awhile.”

  She pulled a leather satchel from the wardrobe. “This is large enough to hold items for several days. If you need to stay longer, Tomás can bring what you need…unless you want to use what you left behind when you fled.”

  “Never. I want nothing of that life.”

  “Very well, you shall have what I give you.” She opened a cabinet drawer and pulled out several chemises, the undergarments as white as the finest pearl, lighter than the morning mist. “These should do. I can also give you some of my gems and shoes and—”

  “The plum-colored gown is enough.” Too much to Beatriz’s way of thinking. “Could be all my father wants is for me to show up, proving I care, so his physician can tell others what a good man he is and how much his daughter loves him. Once I serve my purpose, he may tell me to quit annoying him as usual.”

  Isabella lowered the chemises to the bed. Yolanda sat in a box chair, rocking Juana. Both looked sad for her.

  What grand friends they were. “Never fear. What my father thinks of me is in the past. I have Tomás now.”

  “That you do.” Isabella pulled out a pair of low shoes in black leather, the toes pointy. She put them on the satchel. “Stay with your father or leave as soon as you make an appearance. Do what you feel you must. But I still want you prepared.”

  * * * *

  When Isabella had finished packing and Beatriz was dressed like a noble, Nuncio had the carriage waiting. Tomás’s most able guard drove the conveyance. Several guards would also accompany them on horseback for protection against robbers.

  Beatriz hugged Nuncio. “When Tomás returns, please tell him not to worry about me.”

  “I will, but he will.”

  She laughed and released him.

  Yolanda lifted the snowy napkin on the basket Cook had prepared for the journey. “Everything you like.” She wiped a tear. “Especially olives and oranges. I picked the very best for you.”

  Isabella smiled. “She is such a treasure.”

  Beatriz embraced Yolanda. “No need to cry. In no time at all, I will return. You can watch for me from the parapet.”

  “Take care, please.”

  With her father near death and Tomás’s love sheltering her, Beatriz was safer than she’d been her entire life. She cupped Yolanda’s chin. “No slacking off on your lessons. Practice your letters every day.”

  “I promise to learn all of them before you return.”

  “Half will do.” She brushed away Yolanda’s tears and kissed her cheek.

  Once Isabella had handed Juana to Yolanda, she embraced Beatriz. “I need to thank Tomás for finding you and giving me another sister to love.”

  Beatriz laughed and cried.

  With the carriage packed and the guards ready to leave, there was no more delay. Nuncio helped Beatriz into the transport. The horses started forward, the wheels creaking. Missing everyone already, she leaned out the window and waved farewell. Yolanda ran down the path, but couldn’t keep up. Soon she and everyone else became mere specks in the distance before disappearing completely.

  Beatriz still looked, finally slumping against the cloth seat embroidered with Tomás’s coat of arms. Already, she longed for a return to the castle, the only place she’d ever been welcomed fully and could call home.

  All too soon, the carriage passed through the gate and clattered down the road. Fields streamed past, followed by vineyards and groves. Peasants toiled on the land, wearing tunics in yellow, red, purple, and green more vivid than new grass. Women walked down the road, holding young children’s hands, unmindful of dust stirred by horse hooves and wheels.

  One mother carried an infant in a sling wrapped tight to her breasts. She didn’t seem happy or unhappy, simply resigned to doing what she must. With never-ending work, these people hadn’t time to consider anything except survival. A hopefully full belly, enough clean water to drink, a place to sleep undisturbed, children who survived past the first years and thrived to adulthood.

  Beatriz recalled Yolanda, tongue peeking from her mouth as she drew in the dirt, learning what she should have at a much earlier age. Juana would have the best tutors, Isabella and Fernando educating their daughter so she had every chance to succeed.

  The same as Beatriz’s papá had done for her, though hardly out of pride or love. She closed the velvet curtains over the windows, blocking out dust, light, and her farewell to a place she adored. She considered her first moments alone with her father after so many months. For those images, she needed darkness.

  A knot formed in her chest, aching dully. Similar to what Nuncio had said about her father’s pain, though hers was different. Dread, not mortal weakness, crowded out her guilt. If her father railed at her for having taken Pascuala’s gown and fleeing, rather than wedding Don Larnaz as a dutiful daughter should, Beatriz wasn’t certain she could keep her tongue.

  She feared losing control of years of pent-up hurt and anger. She might enrage her father to the point where he wouldn’t be able to breathe any longer and she would be responsible for his death.

  Although the physician had written how her father called for Beatriz in his sleep, the man hadn’t said whether her papá’s voice was loving or filled with contempt. Maybe her father wanted her to kill him so her guilt would never end.

  She covered her eyes, certain she was losing her mind. After collecting herself, she drew back the velvet curtain on the right. The guard on t
hat side scanned the area, ever watchful.

  She leaned out. “How long until we reach the city?”

  “Three hours at best. If you need us to stop, say the word.”

  She nodded and let the velvet swing back into place, hoping a nap would make the trip seem shorter and silence her uncomfortable thoughts. After propping a pillow behind her head, she leaned against the transport and closed her eyes.

  * * * *

  The carriage jolted, nearly sending Beatriz to the floor. She grabbed the window ledge to steady herself. The horses squealed.

  She shoved aside the velvet. “What is it?”

  “A cork tree in the road.” The guard pushed up on his horse, craning his neck to see more. “The wind must have pushed—”

  Air poured from him. He fell from his horse.

  In front of the carriage, men fought, fists hitting flesh with sickening thuds, muttered words spoken, fierce howls released, steel blades clanging. Robbers. The tree in the road had been a ploy.

  She tore through her things for something to protect herself, not having thought to bring a dagger or sword as Tomás had once warned. Thankfully, Cook or Yolanda had packed a knife with her meal. With the weapon hidden within her skirt folds, Beatriz waited. A pulse beat hard in her temples, her palms sweaty. She might not fell more than one man, but she would have blood for this horror.

  The horses’ squeals finally quieted to snorts and sniffs, the way they would when someone had calmed them. Seconds passed with nothing else happening. Birds chirped, the wind whistled through trees, leaves rustled.

  Footfalls struck softly on the packed dirt, someone rounding the transport. Sun shone on the curtain, making the scarlet cloth a lighter red. A shadow fell across the fabric, the dark outline showing a man’s shoulders and head.

  She gripped her knife.

  The half-door flew open. Rufio smiled. “Now, you pay.”

  Beatriz’s shock delayed her reaction, though not by much. She slashed his forearm.

  He stared at his injury, disbelief on his face. “Whore!” He grabbed her skirt and yanked her to the carriage floor.