by Shirl Henke
He had imagined her lithe young body budding to a woman's ripeness, but his fantasy did not compare to the reality. The pale pink nipples of her upthrust breasts tightened in anticipation, begging his hands to cup them and his mouth to suckle the pulsing points. Her head fell back as he obliged her. Aaron could feel her pulses racing as she let out small whimpering cries of inarticulate pleasure. His hands moved lower to her slender waist, then curved around her hips to clutch her small silky buttocks and lift her up against his aching staff.
Magdalena felt that vitally male part of him that had so fascinated her last summer now pressing against her belly with insistent hardness. He growled and kissed her lips fiercely, bruising them with his passion. She was frightened and eager all at one time, unable to think or speak, only to respond to each new maddening, magical thing he did to her. Her hair, pulled back from her forehead with jeweled combs, was contained in a sheer lace snood that his impatient hands quickly ripped away. A dark red riot of curls spilled free, filling his hands with lustrous glory. He plucked the combs free and tossed them onto the carpet, then ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with sensuous thoroughness. When he laid her back on the bed and pulled her wooden-heeled slippers off, she stretched back, hunger and languor oddly merging to obliterate all else.
Aaron slid up the bed, caressing her deliciously delicate young curves as he covered her with his body, nudging her thighs apart with one knee. Her movements were hungry and acquiescent, yet seemingly unpracticed and tentative, as if she knew not exactly what to do or how to move. Yet her hands slid over his back and clasped his shoulders as he lowered his head to kiss her. By all the saints, he would burst if he did not have her now! He kissed her fiercely as he plunged into the soft wet sweetness of her body. She was incredibly small and tight, but there was no barrier to impede his thrust. An instant's regret washed over him, but months of celibacy quickly overrode his foolish hope. He rode her with long slow strokes, savoring as much as he could of her wondrous body, which was still incredibly unsullied by her earlier liaisons.
So this is what is done between a man and a woman, Magdalena thought in wonder, holding fast to him as the beautiful core of heat low in her belly grew into an inferno. If only it might last forever—if only it might be assuaged. She felt her mind spiraling out of control, going blank as primitive instincts drove her. Suddenly, she sensed a change in Aaron's body. Every muscle, hard and tense, seemed to quiver, then turn to stone. The breath seemed to leave his body and his phallus swelled and pulsed in a series of convulsive heaves. Then he collapsed on her like a leaden weight. Her legs instinctively clamped tightly, holding him to her, desperate for him to continue the act which seemed to have ended.
Aaron came to his senses with a slow, drugged struggle. The intensity of his release had been shattering. Surely it was merely his long celibacy, not this hoyden from the court that explained it. He shook his head and rolled away from her clinging embrace, then looked at her flushed face. A surge of guilt, highly irrational and most irritating, overtook him. She lay back with her mane of dark mahogany hair tangled about her shoulders. Her expression was both dazed and hurt. He knew he had gone too quickly for her to be satisfied. His youthful male vanity was stung when he saw what he perceived as accusation in her jade eyes.
He reached out and took a glossy curl in one hand, raising it to his lips. “Do not look so stricken. My apologies for such haste, but I was a long time without a woman. It will not be so when next we come together, I promise.” He sighed and stroked her silky shoulder. “I only wish I could oblige you now, but soon my parents will return—”
Her gasp of horror cut short his defensive apology. “What have I done? If Benjamin and Serafina find that I have—that we—Oh! I must go!” She slid away from him, yanking her hair free of his grasp as she jumped off the far side of the bed. Her eyes frantically searched for her discarded clothing and her cheeks crimsoned when she saw how shamelessly it was scattered about the floor. Grabbing her under-tunic, she hastily pulled it over her head. Then she surveyed the crumpled heap of her silk gown.
Reclining on the bed, Aaron watched her antics with increasing amusement and cynicism. “To see you in such a quandary, one would believe you never had a tryst before. Or is it that you would not lose my father's high opinion of you?”
Magdalena dropped the dress she had been inspecting as if it burned her fingers. Her eyes locked with his. “What do you mean? Think you I have done this before?” Then Benjamin's sympathetic words came roaring down on her, explaining about her injury and giving her the document to verify her virginity.
“I know you have done this before, Magdalena,” he said simply, standing up and strolling casually over to a large chest from which he extracted a long satin robe. He slid into it and belted it, then walked back to the frozen girl and took her dress from the bed. “Allow me to assist you, since the lacings are in the back.”
His cool tone of voice fueled her pain and with it her famous Valdés temper. Never, never would she deny the heinous accusation he made! Generations of Castilian pride demanded she hide her shame. She had loved him from afar since childhood, plotted and manipulated her entry into his life, desperately wanting to win his love, only to have it end this way. And it is all your own fault, stupid schemer!
“I appreciate your assistance,” she said with a tear-clogged voice that she struggled to keep level. “I am certain you have had much practice lacing ladies' gowns. You unfasten them with consummate ease.”
He chuckled as he pulled the fitted bodice tightly around her breasts and began to work the fastenings down her back. “Have you traveled often with the court?” He felt her stiffen.
“Why do you ask? Your family has spent far more time with the Majesties than mine.”
“Yes, but things have not been going so favorably for the House of Torres this past year—or for anyone of Jewish blood. As the daughter of a Crossbearer, I doubt that should escape your notice.”
The grimness in his voice frightened her. “I have nothing to do with my father's activities,” she replied angrily.
“What of Dona Estrella? She, I hear, is most often with the court…and the king.” His voice was a silky insult now.
Magdalena whirled on him, her jaw clenched in pained fury. She raised her hand and gave his handsome, arrogant face a stinging slap.
He grasped her delicate wrist with bruising roughness and yanked her against him. “So, you do not like the comparison between you and your famous mother.” Her flushed face was a telling admission that she was well aware of the truth of his accusations about Estrella Valdés. “I repeat my earlier question, Magdalena. Why have you sought to befriend my father? What plan ferments in that devious, overly educated mind of yours? Court politics...or is it the Holy Office that you serve?”
“You lured me up here, seduced me, tricked me only because you think I am plotting something for my parents!” Her voice broke now and those burning, humiliating tears gushed from her eyes as she struggled to pull free of his hold.
His smile was patronizing. “In truth, I wanted very much what you so freely offered, lady. You are very lovely and I am not so calculating as those of the House of Valdés. Perhaps you judge me by your own standards?”
“You insult me beyond endurance,” she said through gritted teeth, dashing tears away with one small fist as she yanked the other free and whirled away from him, stopping only to scoop up her slippers and surcoat before she raced from the room.
“We will meet again, Magdalena Valdés,” he called after her. The words echoed in the empty outer chamber and he felt oddly bereft. Once when he was a boy hawking with his brother Mateo, his favorite peregrine was cruelly injured by a larger tercel and had to be destroyed. The scheming Valdés minx had naught to do with that. Why did the memory flash into his mind now?
He should never have given in to his lust and become ensnared in her web. He misliked any connection with her family. The temper of the times was far too
dangerous for such dalliance—if a mere dalliance it had been. She seemed so genuinely inexperienced before he had taken her and so profoundly outraged afterward that she had almost convinced him of her innocence. Absurd. She was no virgin. Still, such a skilled little liar had apparently fooled his father, who was no mean judge of character. He summoned a servant and ordered a bath. He would soak and ponder until he could discuss Magdalena Valdés with Benjamin and Serafina.
Magdalena tore down the stairs to the courtyard, pausing only long enough to don her slippers. Heedless of her unbound hair flying behind her and her long surcoat billowing over her arm, she fled past the fountain and out the rear gateway leading toward the stable where Blossom waited patiently with her groom. Swinging her full skirts across the small horse as she mounted, Magdalena kicked her heels and let the horse fly into the sleepy heat of the afternoon's deserted streets with her servant in frantic pursuit.
Benjamin returned from the Ruiz home early, having left Serafina with her friend Sofia. The two women planned to stroll through the bazaar in search of some token or other. He smiled fondly, certain his wife would search out a special gift for Aaron to carry with him as a talisman on his forthcoming voyage. According to his last letter, the young rascal should return to Seville any day now. In scant weeks he would be bound for the Indies. Pray God the Genoese was right in his plan and that Aaron would be safe.
As he pondered on these unsettling thoughts, his cart pulled up to the stable and he saw Andaluz. Aaron was home! As soon as Benjamin entered the courtyard, he spied Aaron's weapons and clothing strewn around the fountain. That devilish boy had ever teased his mother to wrath by leaping into the cooling waters on hot days like today. At least his son had shed part of his clothing before dousing himself! Benjamin quickly crossed the courtyard and walked up the low wide stairs that curved toward the gallery where Aaron's quarters were located.
His son's voice called out to him from across the long room. “Father! I hoped you would return soon!” Dressed in clean hose and boots with his leather armor over his linen tunic, he looked freshly bathed and exhilarated, ready to set off on a journey, not a man who had just returned from one.
Embracing his son, Benjamin said, “Why the full soldier's complements? Surely you must not leave so soon? Your mother will be sore beset.”
Aaron's face fell. “She is not returned with you? I had hoped we would have this brief time together. I must be off for Palos at once. The town council is holding up the outfitting of the enterprise. Three ships, really only one nao and two caravels, to provision, but the Admiral has haggled with them since May. It is near August and we must sail soon to catch the northeast winds from the Canary Islands to the Indies.”
“You are no provisioner of sailors. Why must you go to Palos so soon?” Benjamin argued.
Aaron's face grew harsh with anger. “It would seem from the wording of the royal commission, that one of the inducements for signing on this unlikely voyage is freedom from criminal prosecution. Cristobal is in need of someone to inspect the recruits and keep an eye to their behavior during the last stages of the outfitting. As marshal of the fleet, that is my job.”
“How long can you tarry?” Benjamin asked in resignation as they walked toward the stairway to the courtyard.
“Of course I will not leave until I have said farewell to Mother and Ana and little Olivia. I detoured on my journey home through Barcelona. It was good to see Mateo and Rafaela again. We had much catching up to do ere I departed. I hate this dispersion—my brother and his wife in Catalonia, our uncle and aunt in France. Now I must leave you here in Seville...” Aaron sighed.
“Yet you must go with the Genoese. We are all agreed on that. We will collect your mother from the market and thence ride to Ana's country house for our farewells together. Tell me of Mateo and your Uncle Isaac as we go”
Arm in arm, the two tall men walked through the green and gold canopy of trees in the courtyard gardens, deep in conversation, oblivious of the shimmering late afternoon heat.
When an exhausted Benjamin and Serafìna returned, the moon hung low and full over the tall palm trees lining the streets outside their home. “Pray God he will be safe,” Serafìna said in a choked voice. She had spent the long afternoon and evening putting on a brave face for her son. Ana had shed tears enough to upset her brother when he departed on his great adventure. Now that Aaron was off, his mother let down her guard.
“Our son has survived the worst the Moors can do,” Benjamin reminded her, “not to mention thriving among King Fernando's fiercely jealous military advisors. He will return covered in glory from the Indies, never fear, beloved.”
“Yes, I know he is strong and brave and clever—just as his father is but you always think before you act. Aaron is so impetuous at times that I marvel he has fared as well as he has. Only recall all the scars he carries from that awful war.” She shuddered.
“He is a soldier. Not an easy life, but one he has chosen and is suited for. Can you see him as a physician tending the sick?” he asked her.
A small smile quivered on Serafina's lips and she shook her head. “No. And now that the war has ended, he is well free of court intrigue. Better that he go with the chartmaker and search out the riches of the east.”
“You are weary. It has been a long and trying day. Go rest. I would walk and ponder for a bit.” After his wife retired, Benjamin paused at the fountain, a grin on his face. Some servant had picked up Aaron's tunic. What would Serafina say if she knew their son still violated her rules about bathing in the courtyard? Finally he walked to the stairs leading to his son's quarters. How long before Aaron would return to them? Had he taken all he would need for such a long journey?
“Sentimental old fool,” he murmured as he entered the large open sala. Then as he lit a brass lamp, his eyes caught sight of an expensive volume from his library tossed carelessly on one of the couches. Picking it up, he wondered how it had come to be here. Aaron had read Ovid years ago and surely had little time or inclination to have brought it to his quarters this afternoon. Then his gaze strayed through the wide arched doorway into the bedroom...
* * * *
“I must speak with your mistress,” Benjamin Torres said urgently to Miralda, who watched the marrano suspiciously as she wiped her fat hands on her apron.
“Who gave you leave to enter? No one is sick in this house,” she said, ignoring his request. Magdalena had come home yesterday afternoon disheveled and crying. The old servant knew she had sneaked across town to the Torres palace with naught but a groom for protection. Now the king's own converso physician had sought her out. What had been done to her at his home? Miralda did not trust Jews, converted or not.
Struggling for patience, Benjamin resorted to his most commanding court voice. “I have something of great value to give your lady and it must be delivered in person. You will immediately send word to her that I await her in the sala.”
Seeing he was not to be deterred, Miralda turned and scuttled across the portico toward Magdalena's room. A few moments later, Magdalena appeared, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale. She had hastily dressed and combed her hair, leaving it unbound.
Please, Holy Mother, do not let him know what Aaron and I have done! “Good day, sir. What brings you to visit so early in the morning?” She tried for a cheerful voice as the tall old man turned to greet her. Benjamin had only come to the Valdés city house when she was still recovering from her fall. Then it had been so shabby she had been ashamed of it. Now, newly refurbished by her father's wretchedly gained wealth, its opulence made her even more ashamed.
Ignoring the transformation of the sala, Benjamin reached out and took her hands, guiding her to sit on a brocade couch near the courtyard window. His eyes were grave as he studied her ravaged face. So, the worst is true. “I have brought you some things, my child.” He took the volume of Ovid from his cloak and offered it to her. “This was your selection from my library, was it not? Our doorman said you visited yesterday
while Serafina and I were away.”
She knew her hands trembled as she clutched the book. Had the meddling old servant said more? She could not meet Benjamin's eyes. “I...I must have dropped it in the courtyard. I am sorry...”
When he produced her jeweled combs, she gasped and her face turned red, her eyes locking with his. With infinite gentleness he placed the combs in her limp fingers. “You must tell me what happened, Magdalena. Did my son hurt you?”
She buried her head against his shoulder and began to sob. “It is not as you think. Aaron is not to blame for my foolishness. He did not force me. I...I went willingly to his bed.” Her voice choked and she gulped great breaths of air in a vain attempt to calm herself.
Slowly, with careful questions and encouragement from Benjamin, the whole story of Magdalena's girlhood infatuation with Aaron spilled out, from their first encounter at court to his saving her life on the marsh last year, then to her scheme to insinuate herself into the Torres family with such disastrous results. “When...when he kissed me in the courtyard,” she paused, overcome with shame, “I could think of nothing but how long I had waited for his notice. I thought he returned my feelings—no, no, that is not true. I did not think at all! I merely acquiesced,” she finished miserably.
“Magdalena, my child, you have loved foolishly perhaps, but you have loved. There is no shame in that. You, as I well know, are an innocent. And my son,” he paused delicately, “is not. He will marry you before he sails. We will ride for Palos within the hour.”