by Johnny Miles
Alonso furrowed his brow and strained to hear whatever it was Arbol had
heard, but he could make out nothing over the water falling into the lagoon.
“What did you hear?” Alonso asked, coming closer.
“I'm not sure, but I feel like we're being watched.” Arbol scanned the forest. “I
thought I heard… I don't know. Branches snapping. A voice.”
“What?” Alonso chuckled but looked around all the same. “There's no one
watching. And…I don't… No, I definitely don't hear anything.”
And almost as soon as he spoke, they both heard it.
“Alonso!” a voice bellowed quite near.
“My father,” Alonso said.
“Dios mío! He found out! I knew he would. I told you not to send the slaves
home!” Arbol said with panic and rushed out of the water. He scrambled up the
riverbank toward the rock where his clothes lay, and struggled into his pants. They
were still quite wet.
“Don't worry,” Alonso said reassuringly as he slowly made his way out. “I'm
sure it's something else he's going on ab—”
But Alonso stopped abruptly, standing in water that reached only up to his
knees.
“Alonso de Rodrigo!” Bernardo boomed. His voice seemed to echo across the
lagoon. “Get out of the water. Now!”
Bernardo carefully steered his horse to where the river began to swirl away
from the lagoon. The horse hesitated, unhappy that it was about to get wet. But
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Bernardo did not care. He pushed the horse forward, and the beast stepped in,
carefully making its way to the other side.
The bottom of Bernardo's pants became soaked as, in his anger, he clumsily
dismounted.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Bernardo demanded through
clenched teeth. He struggled to contain an explosive anger, even more so than the
night before. In his youth, Bernardo's emotional outbursts had frequently gotten
him into far more trouble than he would have liked.
“Father…” Bernardo heard the good-natured derision in Alonso's half chuckle.
The boy shook his head and shrugged. “What are you going on ab—”
Bernardo pulled back sharply and swung at his son. His open hand struck
Alonso on the face, and Bernardo watched as the boy reeled and fought to keep his
footing.
Stunned, Alonso looked up at his father. In all his years, he could not
remember a moment where either of his parents had ever struck him. He was
shocked. Not just from the force of his father's hand, but from the anger that
seemed to flow from him.
“Father, I—” Alonso started but found that he could not speak any more. Tears
sprang to his eyes, and his throat suddenly constricted.
“Put your clothes on,” Bernardo mumbled and looked away slightly. “I can't
talk to you…like this.” The man waved a hand in the air toward Alonso, indicating
his nudity.
Alonso turned, surprised yet grateful Arbol was behind him. He took the
clothes Arbol held out to him, and shot the slave an awkward wink. Alonso dressed
slowly, noting that Arbol had the discretion to look away.
“What is the meaning of this?” Bernardo asked when Alonso was clothed. He
leaned in, excluding Arbol.
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“Father, I was—We—That is…” Alonso faltered.
“Don Bernardo.” Arbol spoke up quietly. “If I may…I fell into the water.”
“You fell into the water,” Bernardo repeated as if he was thinking about what
Arbol had said.
“Sí, señor.” Arbol nodded. Alonso watched him point to the waterfall.
“From…from up there.”
“I see. And for that he needed to take his clothes off?”
“I'll handle it, Arbol. Thank you. I appreciate your help.” Alonso glanced at his
would-be defender. He turned back to his father. “We were just having a swim,”
Alonso said quietly.
“Is that all?” Bernardo said through gritted teeth, his face inches away. Alonso
felt a heat rising from his upper chest, through his neck, and into his cheeks.
“I don't know what you mean, Father,” Alonso said, refusing to be bullied and
willing his embarrassment to die down.
“I wasn't born yesterday, Alonso!” Bernardo exploded. “You know your mother
and I do not condone…being with a slave in that way.”
Alonso met his father's gaze. For a moment, neither of them spoke. When
Alonso finally opened his mouth, it was with a quiet but obvious rebellion in his
voice.
“Even if anything happened, as you so crudely imply, how is it any of your
business?”
“Alonso. Everything you do is my business. Especially here. Things just aren't
the same as they are in Spain.”
“Obviously,” Alonso spat sarcastically.
“Don't take that tone with me, young man.”
“And tell me, Father, just how the hell was I supposed to know what you and
Mother do or do not condone? It's not like you handed me a book of rules on the
ship. You went off last night to God knows where…”
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Alonso detected a nervous tic just beneath his father's eye. And was that a
blush creeping into his cheeks?
“To do God only knows what,” Alonso pressed on, noting the faint look of
embarrassment force his father's gaze away from his own for just a split second.
“You did not tell me where you went, who you were with, or what I was supposed to
do with you when I found you passed out from drink this morning!”
“You will watch how you speak to me. Do you understand?” Bernardo's voice
went lower. “You may be twenty-five years old, but you're still my son, and I am still
your father.”
“And that gives you the right to hit me?” Alonso snapped. “That gives you the
right to embarrass me in front of my friend?”
“Arbol is not your friend here. He's a slave,” Bernardo added.
“That still doesn't give you the right—” Alonso started, but his father was not
about to let him finish.
“We will finish this discussion later,” Bernardo said with finality. “For now, I
want to know why there are no slaves in the fields. It is not yet sundown.”
“It was hot, so I gave them the rest of the afternoon off.” The back of Alonso's
neck heated with the rising blush. Like a little boy, he looked down at his bare feet.
“It was hot,” Bernardo repeated. He seemed filled with disbelief. “So you gave
them the rest of the day off.”
“That's right,” Alonso said, raising his head once more.
His father walked away, scratched his head, then hollered angrily into the air.
When he turned back around, his face was contorted in anger.
“You should have…consulted…with me…first!”
“But you were—” Alonso tried to explain.
“Never mind where—or what—the hell I was!” Bernardo cried. He stormed
back toward Alonso, who flinched.
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“What the hell were you thinking? These are slaves, Alonso! Slaves!
Not…fucking…dock workers!”
“Forgive me, Father,” Alonso said quietly and bowed his head. He had never
felt so humiliated o
r embarrassed. He had tried to do something good. Something he
thought was only fair considering how long the slaves had been working under such
horrible conditions without any compensation, day in, day out. Surely a few hours of
one day couldn't hurt profits that much.
They remained in silence for what felt like a very long and uncomfortable
moment. Until Bernardo finally spoke.
“Arbol, go home to Nana. Alonso, put your shoes on and come with me. We're
going to finish this at home.”
“But, señor!” Arbol moaned. “It's…don Velasco…” Arbol trailed off, his voice
overshadowed by Bernardo's horse snorting and grunting. Bernardo and Alonso
turned in time to see Raúl step out from behind a tree and walk toward them with a
lopsided grin.
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Chapter Nine
Raúl walked slowly toward the de Rodrigo men and their slave. As he
approached, Raúl lifted his hands and clapped with mild amusement.
“Bravo,” Raúl declared, his throat husky. “Bravo! If it isn't the illustrious de
Rodrigo men airing out their dirty laundry.”
“What are you doing here?” Bernardo demanded as Raúl stopped before him.
Raúl turned his head slightly to look at Bernardo through his good eye.
“I got tired of waiting for you at your house, so…I decided to go home. On the
way back, I heard all this noise. Groaning and moaning. Naturally, I
thought…someone must be dying…or having a little fun. I couldn't tell. But by the
time I got here, all that beautiful noise turned to splashing.” Raúl turned and stared
at Alonso and beyond him to the slave.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw your son…naked…with that…fine piece of
African flesh.” Raúl savored his glee.
“Like you've never taken a bath naked here,” Bernardo spat.
“You should know.” Raúl turned toward Bernardo. “You took one with me on
your last trip. Remember? Or did you conveniently forget?” Raúl finished with
feigned sweetness.
Bernardo blushed as he sucked in his breath.
“What do you want?” Bernardo glared.
“Can't I drop in on an old friend to check and see how he and
his…lovely…young boy are doing?”
“You stay away from my son,” Bernardo muttered.
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Raúl noted how Bernardo's nostrils flared and his pupils opened like drops of
ink, spreading. He could almost taste Bernardo's sweat, could almost feel his
heartbeat accelerating. He bit his lower lip.
“I wonder if you have any idea how aroused I am right now?” Raúl said,
unconcerned about discretion.
Raúl felt a sudden shift in the air. Discomfort, shock, and surprise rippled
around him.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Bernardo snapped. For a moment,
Raúl thought Bernardo would turn away, but to his credit, he held his ground. Raúl
felt his cock twitch. He moaned lewdly and shook his head.
“So the boy knows nothing?” Raúl grinned wickedly.
“Raúl. I would advise you…” Bernardo started, his voice filled with threat.
“I know all I need to know about you,” Alonso stated, interrupting his father.
“Is that so?” Raúl moved away from Bernardo, aware of the man's gaze as he
stepped slowly toward Alonso. “And what is it that you know about me?”
“That you're scum,” Alonso replied with disdain. “Not to be trusted, and
certainly not the type of man we do business with.”
“Oh ho, ho!” Raúl laughed. “Mighty big words from a little boy like you.” Raúl
couldn't help but grin as he caught the boy's deeply penetrating blue eyes. They
seemed to sear right through him.
“I suppose you don't know, then. It must have…slipped your father's mind.”
“What are you talking about?” Alonso furrowed his brow. “What slipped his
mind?”
“Well…if Bernardo hasn't seen fit to tell his precious boy, then neither will I.
But you should ask him when you're alone in your house. Perhaps he'll tell you how
business associates can make for the strangest of bedfellows.”
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Raúl saw the blush creep up Alonso's neck, as if the boy were already figuring
things out. He watched Alonso glance behind him and knew the boy was searching
his father's face. Alonso looked right back at him and stared him down.
“I already know,” Alonso said defiantly.
“I see. I'm impressed. Very progressive of you, Bernardo,” Raúl said, his sight
never wavering. He cast a sweeping, appreciative glance up and down at Alonso.
“See this?” Raúl turned so Alonso had no choice but to look directly at his
closed eye. He pointed at his own face and continued. “Your old man did this to me.
Last night. Do you want to know why?”
“Raúl. I'm warning you…” Bernardo cautioned.
“I'm sure you deserved it,” Alonso snipped.
“You think so?” Raúl cocked his head and gave Alonso an odd look. “What
makes you say that?”
But Alonso did not respond. He merely glared at Raúl, unflinching. Raúl
became even more aroused.
“You have more spirit than your father.” Raúl leered. “Much more. From what
I saw.”
Alonso gave a snort. “I don't know what you're talking about. You're crazy. You
saw nothing. You said so yourself.”
“De tal palo, tal astilla, ah?” Raúl chuckled.
“That's right, Raúl,” Bernardo replied and moved to be closer to Alonso. “Like
father, like son. Now what is it you came here for? You're not the kind of man to pay
someone a visit unless you want something.”
“You have the nerve to ask me that after last night.” Raúl shook his head, then
focused his attention on the slave. How was it that such a luscious slave had ever
escaped his scrutiny? Perez knew how much he liked to break in beautiful, young
brown boys. He would have to have a word with the overseer. Raúl licked his lips
suggestively and moved toward Arbol.
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“Perhaps you and I should take a walk, Raúl. Talk about things. About what
happened,” Bernardo suggested calmly.
“There might be no need for that,” Raúl said distantly as he rubbed his chin.
He was vaguely aware of Bernardo and Alonso as they stood, side by side, just a few
feet behind him.
“Where ever did you find this one?” Raúl asked with obvious curious delight as
he walked around Arbol.
“What are you implying?” Bernardo replied almost a little too quickly. “He was
here. He's the son of our midwife.”
“Is that so, boy?”
“Sí, señor,” Arbol replied, obviously nervous. He flinched when Raúl reached
out and roughly cupped his pectoral muscles.
Raúl grunted and continued inspecting Arbol the way he would a horse. He
stopped and asked, “If he was born on the island, why is he not branded? He should
have at least one mark on his shoulder.”
“The…previous owner. He did it where you can't see it. I guess he did not wish
to mar Arbol's beautiful skin.”
“I can understand not wanting to damage this beautiful skin,
” Raúl noted.
“But it would be a far worse crime to damage this ass!” Raúl slapped, stroked, then
squeezed Arbol's buttocks.
“What's this all about? What are you doing to him?” Alonso demanded.
“Father, what's he doing?”
“Raúl, por favor!” Bernardo pleaded.
“You really should try going to a slave auction sometime, Alonso,” Raúl
suggested, then tweaked one of Arbol's nipples and slapped the flat, firm belly. He
ran his hands over Arbol's arms, feeling his biceps and shoulders, then ran a hand
down the middle of Arbol's back. The dark brown cleft of Arbol's spine made Raúl
want to lick him.
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“I must have this slave,” Raúl declared as he pried open Arbol's mouth. He
inspected his teeth, his tongue, searched for open sores. He then searched Arbol's
eyes, pulled the slave's head down toward him, and parted the thick hair here and
there, searching for lice.
“You can't have him.” Alonso stepped toward them.
“Why not?” Raúl demanded.
“Because he's mine. Father, tell him.”
“That's enough, Raúl,” Bernardo fumed. “Arbol is not for sale.”
“Then lend him to me,” Raúl countered. “I'll return him in a few days.”
“I'm not selling him to you, nor am I lending him to you. Now, why don't we
leave the boys alone, go back to the house, and discuss what you came here for?”
“In a moment.” Raúl waved his hand flippantly.
“Father, if you don't do something…”
“Raúl…”
“Shhh!” Raúl turned back to Arbol. “Drop your pants, boy!” he commanded,
forcing the sound of Bernardo's brat from his mind. He gazed down between Arbol's
legs.
“Raúl, please! Stop this nonsense. Now! Leave my slave alone! He is not for
sale, nor is he up for inspection.”
“I said drop your pants, boy!”
Arbol froze when Raúl stepped out into the open. Rooted to the spot, he fixed
on a distant point, then set his heart and mind on Alonso. It was that, more than
anything, that gave him newfound strength.
Even when Raúl turned his attention to him, when Raúl barked at him to drop