The Heavenly Surrender

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  

  It seemed the nightmare was reality, and she woke. Sitting upright and panting, she felt the cool beads of perspiration on her face mingling with the hot tears stinging her tired eyes. The nightmare was gone the moment she sat up, but the anxiety lingered, and she had to reassure herself of his well-being.

  Tossing her blanket aside, Genieva fled from her room and down the hall to Brevan’s. Bursting in upon him, she sighed with relief as he sat up in his bed and grumbled, “What devil’s chasin’ ya in here at this hour, lass?”

  Genieva closed her eyes for a moment—let her hands press firmly against her bosom in an effort to still the frantic, frightened pounding of her heart.

  “I-I only had a nightmare, and it seemed so real. I had to be certain that you were…”

  “I’ve been lyin’ here for hours, me eyes glued to the roof for lack of bein’ able to sleep, Genieva,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow. “The situation is serious with the Archuletas, lass. Juan Miguel and his boys mean me harm. They mean it for you too, for they don’t want me to have a child that might inherit me property.” He motioned with one hand for her to approach him. Pulling his sheet aside, he patted the mattress next to him. Genieva’s mouth dropped open at his inference.

  “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I…” she stammered.

  “It is for me, lass. Ya’ll sleep here where I can know ya’re safe. And furthermore, ya won’t be needin’ to leap up from yar bed, runnin’ through the house like a madwoman to check on me because of yar bloomin’ nightmares.”

  “It wouldn’t be proper, Brevan,” Genieva whispered, glancing about the room as if expecting to find spectators hidden in every corner.

  Brevan chuckled. “It’s right, ya are. There’s not one married couple, not one wed man and woman in the world who would consider sharin’ the same bed, now is there?”

  “It’s different, and you know it,” Genieva scolded, irritated at his sarcasm.

  “Yes. It is. Now settle yarself in here with me, lass. I’m tired, and if ya make me get up and put ya here meself, I might take to snappin’ at ya the way ya do to me at times.” He patted the mattress again.

  Inhaling deeply and summoning all the courage within her, Genieva let her feet carry her to Brevan’s bed. She sat down tentatively on the edge of it.

  “There now,” he sighed as he turned from her, punching his pillow several times before laying his head on it finally. “It’s off to sleep with ya now, lass.” Genieva still waited several moments, trying to find the courage to lie down next to him. “Genieva,” Brevan growled. Quickly, she lay down, pulling the sheet protectively to her chin.

  The overwhelming need to ask her question caused her heart to continue to pound furiously in her chest. She needed to hear it from him. He’d nearly said as much earlier that night in her bedroom. He’d implied it, but not said it as she needed to hear it. Her heightened anxiety and worry compelled her to ask him—straight and honest.

  “Brevan,” Genieva whispered timidly.

  “Hhmm?” he mumbled.

  “Is it truly all right that I’m not what you hoped for?” she asked, unable to force her voice beyond a whisper. “I know someone more experienced and older perhaps would’ve done better for you…in all respects. Are you…will you truly be happy in life having settled on me?”

  Brevan raised his head. Frowning, he turned over, propping himself up on one elbow again. Genieva looked away from him—afraid to see the answer in his eyes were it there. He was silent for several moments, and she began to feel ashamed at even venturing to put the question to him. Still, she needed to know. She needed to hear from his own mouth that he was satisfied with her—that perhaps there was a chance of his truly loving her one day. Not just be agitated by his physical desires for her.

  “No one else would’ve been for me, Genieva. You are everythin’ and all I wanted in a wife and so much more. For you and I, Genieva…” he lowered his voice and watched with delight as her eyes widened at his next utterance. “You and I are lovers as well, we are.”

  “I can’t believe you’d mock me so,” she whispered, looking away from him in an effort to hide the tears in her eyes.

  “I do not mock ya, lass,” Brevan whispered tenderly. Reaching out, he turned her to face him, brushing a tear from her temple with the back of his hand. “Think on it a moment. You and I are lovers, Genieva. It has been such since the first letters we wrote, it has.”

  Genieva closed her eyes, sending more tears trickling from the corners of them to moisten the pillow beneath her head. “Ya dare not deny it, for I see it in the lavender flavor of yar eyes each time I touch ya or am near to ya as I am now. And I taste it on yar lips and mouth when I lose me sense and take me pleasure in them.” He took her face gently between his hands, turning her to look at him again. “I’ll put an end to yar feverish doubtin’, Genieva McLean. But I may raise a greater fever in ya the like ya’ve never imagined.”

  Genieva closed her eyes as Brevan’s delicious mouth blessed her own with a coveted kiss. His kiss was laced with so much restrained passion, she could only guess at what the liberation of its full potency would generate. And his words held true—for the unendurable doubts in her fevered mind ceased as their affectionate exchange intensified. Gradually, Brevan seemed to untether his own restraints. As he let his body cover hers, Genieva became the enraptured recipient of his kiss in its full, unshackled, amorous fervor. His emotion spoke to her soul, and she knew, though he had not uttered it literally, that she owned his heart. He kissed her cheek lingeringly, brushing the remaining tears from her face as he at last spoke the assurance she’d so yearned to hear for such a long, long time.

  “It’s love that I have for ya, Genieva. The powerful, eternal kind of love that a man has for a woman who makes him want to live his life for nothin’ else…for no other reason but the fact that he has her,” he whispered. “I love ya, I do.”

  Genieva smiled as a final teardrop streaked her tender temple. “I love you, Brevan,” she told him, thrilling at the gratified smile spreading across his handsome face.

  “Ya’ve said it to me then,” he whispered. “And now ya’re mine, are ya? Now? This night? Entirely?” he asked, still hesitant.

  “Entirely yours, Brevan,” she assured him, reaching up to place a small hand against his unshaven face.

  He smiled once more as his gaze fell to her mouth. Letting his thumb trace the pretty outline of her lips, he repeated, “Entirely mine,” before lavishing her again with passionate, fevered kisses accompanying the profound, shared love they surrendered to then in each other’s arms.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The winsome song of the meadowlarks lifted Genieva from her deep, contented slumber. The warmth of an early autumn morning met her as she slowly opened her eyes to the bright sunshine already streaming through the open window. The sun’s light, coupled with the soft billows of the lace curtains at the window, painted lovely shadows on the walls.

  She was not surprised to find Brevan had already left their bed to begin his day—for he was not one to oversleep. She was, however, delightedly astonished to find the largest, reddest, and shiniest apple she had ever in her life seen lying on the pillow next to hers. A small bouquet of wild daisies accompanied it, and she smiled, elated by the tender thoughtfulness of her husband.

  Sitting up, she took the delicate flowers in one hand, brushing them lovingly across her cheek as she bit into the juicy sweetness of the apple. Her gaze fell then to the bed, and she placed a hand to her bosom, gasping as she realized the tattered quilt that was Brevan’s usual and familiar bed covering had been replaced—replaced by the lovely quilt the women of the town had labored over months before beneath the fragrant blossoms now bearing abundant fruit in the orchard.

  It was too much—too sweet and tender—too loving. Genieva tossed the covers aside and dashed down the hall to her room. She dressed quickly—though she was irritated with the time it took to lace her boots—for sh
e must find Brevan at once. She must let him know what his attention to her morning waking had meant to her. As she tied the last bow of her boot securely, she heard heavy footsteps enter through the front door.

  Dashing into the kitchen, the daisies and apple core firmly in hand, she called, “Oh, Brevan! You’re so…” The words caught in her throat, however. For before her, in her very own kitchen, stood Cruz Archuleta. His nauseating smile curled his lips as he studied her from head to toe. The young man she recognized as his brother Mateo entered the house behind him, accompanied by two other vaqueros. Genieva was immediately aware that Mateo seemed uncertain, hesitant. When he removed his hat politely and nodded at her, she shook her head in wonderment—for it was only then she knew his age to be no more than sixteen.

  Looking to Cruz defiantly, though her fears were mounting, Genieva ordered, “Get out of this house.” But Cruz only chuckled. He knew all too well her extreme disadvantage.

  “Where is your hombre, Mrs. McLean?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  “He’s just outside. He’s no doubt heard you approach, and if you value your life, you had better leave,” Genieva answered, trying to sound as confident in Brevan’s supposed nearness as she could.

  “He is not too near,” Cruz corrected her. “He is out in the orchard. I know. We watched him leave this morning, just a time ago. We waited until he was far enough from you.” Cruz walked to where Genieva stood, stopping so close to her she could smell his reeking breath, already heavy with the stench of liquor even so early in the day. “Him. This Brevan McLean. He is a coward. He should not have such a woman as you. He is not man enough for you. I am right, yes?”

  “No,” Genieva growled. “If he finds you here…if you touch me…he’ll kill you. I’m warning you for the last time to leave this house.”

  The brutal force of the back of Cruz’s hand as he struck Genieva violently sent her plunging to the floor. She watched as her precious flowers and apple remains flew from her hands to scatter across the floor. She lay for several moments in shock before dabbing with her fingers at the cut Cruz’s rough knuckles had left across her soft cheek. Looking up at him, she knew complete and frightful dread. As his smile broadened, she again understood his intention—absolutely understood it.

  “Don’t you dare to touch me,” Genieva warned through clenched teeth. But the villain only laughed as he reached down, taking hold of the front of her bodice and pulling her to her feet once more.

  “Touch you?” he mocked. “I’ll do more than touch you, señora!” Genieva gasped as another painful blow was dealt to the other side of her face.

  “What are you doing, Cruz?” Mateo exclaimed.

  Cruz looked over his shoulder for an instant. He growled, “I was right, Mateo. She is here. Alone.”

  Genieva, though aching from the abuse dealt her by Cruz, did not miss the opportunity allotted her and, summoning all her strength, shoved Cruz, causing him to lose his balance and stumble backward. He caught hold of her wrist, however, and she was unable to pull free of him.

  “Mateo,” Cruz mumbled as he pulled Genieva’s body flush with his own, “she is bonita, no?”

  “Cruz,” Mateo began, his insecurity and hesitation all the more apparent, “Cruz, let’s go. Ven conmigo.”

  Cruz only chuckled. Taking hold of Genieva’s chin tightly, his fingers tortured the wound at her cheek as they squeezed it mercilessly. Genieva cried out as Cruz forced her to the floor, pressing her bleeding cheek to the wood planks.

  “Let the hombre see that when he comes back, mí amigos! It is good, Mateo, no?” The two vaqueros chuckled. Yet when there came no reply from his brother, Cruz stood, releasing Genieva for a moment and turning to face his sibling. “Answer me when I talk to you, hermano! It will make him loco with anger, Mateo! It is good, no?” Genieva’s fingers again went to her wounded cheek, pressing on it in a pointless effort to stop the throbbing pain there. She drew her fingers from her face, studying for a moment her own blood, moist and red on them.

  Then, seeing perhaps one last opportunity, Genieva reached out, taking hold of Cruz’s boots and pulling at them as hard as she could. Her efforts were successful, and Cruz lost his footing, falling against his brother for a moment before ending on the floor. With only moments to act, Genieva dashed into her room, slammed the door shut, and dropped the heavy bolting board across it. Almost immediately, Cruz began shouting angrily in his native language as he pounded on the door. Knowing it would be a matter of mere moments before he broke the door down, Genieva rushed to the window. Struggling for a moment to release the latch, she opened the window and, wriggling through it, plummeted to the ground outside.

  She knew Cruz would think of the window, perhaps deciding to enter her room by way of it. Thus, without pause, she ran—ran toward the orchards, knowing Brevan would be there—ever her safety.

  “You will not escape me!” Cruz shouted as he struggled to follow her through the open window. But the window was small, and it was not as simple for his bulky form to slip through it. “Ándele! Get her!” he ordered over his shoulder.

  As Genieva reached the orchard and began calling Brevan’s name, she heard the angry pounding of horse hooves and knew that Cruz would overtake her quickly.

  “Brevan!” she screamed desperately as she ran between the trees, slipping once on a wind-fallen apple. “Brevan!” She paused for a moment, looking about frantically. But her protector was nowhere within her vision. He did not answer her call for him. Brevan was not in the orchard. As she looked back to see Cruz astride his horse—the others behind him, fighting at the tree branches hanging low and heavy with fruit—she realized that were she to escape, it would be her own doing.

  The orchards and wind-fallen fruit indeed helped to slow the approach of Cruz and his accomplices. Staying close to the trees, for Cruz had not yet caught sight of her, Genieva made her way through the orchard and into the open. Pausing for only a moment to think, she remembered the rocky, hilled area to the north of the property. She had been there only once—on a day when she had needed to chase down a young calf that had strayed. But it was rocky and full of concealing crevasses, impossible to traverse on a horse or any means other than on foot. Hoping the orchards would continue to irritate and confuse the men for a time, she ran on. Her lungs burned—her legs ached with the strain of the sprint—but still she ran. As she neared the edge of the rocky hills, she could again hear the mad pounding of horses’ hooves and the angry shouting of Cruz. Looking over her shoulder only once before leaping atop the first large rock, she felt tears finally begin to flood her cheeks. She knew all too well what her fate would be if the man who hated her husband so were to capture her. Quickly she began to climb among and over the large rocks in her path.

  “The horses will not follow,” she heard Mateo shout to his brother. But she knew that Cruz would. She only hoped she could hide herself from his sight quickly and well. It was her only chance of escape—of eluding a morbid fate. But Cruz, unhampered by bulky skirts and petticoats, was able to climb more nimbly and quickly. Genieva screamed as she felt his hand take hold of her ankle. Kicking at him with her free foot, the heel of her boot hit him squarely in the nose. It administered enough pain to him to cause him to release her ankle. As she neared the top of the first hill, the realization struck her that she had never viewed the other side of the formation. What if there were no more rocks to hide among? No more chances of escape? As she reached the summit, she cried out in frustration—for the hill did, indeed, flatten out for some distance before dropping off again.

  “I’ll kill you when I’m done with you!” Cruz shouted from behind her.

  Genieva looked back to see him scrambling up the rocks toward her, his nose bleeding profusely. With no other path before her, she pushed on, running across the summit. Suddenly, there was a thunderous crashing as Genieva felt the ground give way beneath her. Her body was wracked with pain, and darkness enveloped her. Genieva had fallen, and fallen far. As she pres
sed her hands to her temples to lessen the mad pounding in her head, she looked up to see sunlight streaming through an opening some twelve feet above her. Her left hip throbbed fiercely. She sensed that, miraculously, nothing was broken. She looked up once more to the sunlight entering through the opening above. As she had feared, Cruz now loomed above her, blocking most of the sun’s light, peering down into the darkness. He uttered something she couldn’t understand, and then Mateo joined him in looking into the pit.

  “Is she down there?” Mateo asked.

  “It is too dark to see clearly. But I think she is there, sí,” Cruz answered his brother. Genieva sat very still. The pit was too dark and deep for them to see her clearly, but she knew she mustn’t move.

  “I’ll go for rope,” one of the vaqueros offered.

  “No!” Cruz shouted. “McLean will be back too soon. We leave her. If she is dead…she is dead. It is a long fall to the bottom, but such a strong woman would not be killed by such a simple fall. She lives…We will return for her. Vamos.”

  “But what if she climbs out?” one of the men asked.

  Cruz chuckled. “She won’t. It is a good prison down there, and no one will think to look here for her. We’ll come back when there is the darkness of night.” Raising his voice, he shouted into the pit, “Do you hear me, niña? You have nothing to fear. I will come back for you later!”

  “We cannot leave without finding out if she is hurt or…” Mateo began.