“And I you,” Luis murmured, his lips in her hair.
“It will be light soon, we have to get dressed.” For the first time Fury realized that they were lying out in the open on a coarse blanket.
“Who will see us?” Luis teased.
“Those on your ship.”
“She’s drifted off, a good distance. But you’re right, it’s time to get dressed. Fury, I . . .”
“Shhh, no words, Luis, please. What we had . . . have . . . will stay with us always. It’s time for you to continue with your journey home, and I must . . . continue mine. Please, flag your ship while I see to Gaspar and Pilar. Please, Luis, don’t make this more difficult for me than it already is,” Fury said through her tears. “Adios, my love....” A moment later she was gone, down below with her protective birds.
Luis never felt so alone in his life.
“How can I live without him?” Fury demanded of Pilar, who was standing guard over her mate. “You must understand what I feel. You battled those in your way to get to Gaspar. You can’t bear to be without him, I know you can’t. I feel that way about Luis.
“Oh, I’m so selfish,” she wept. “I want to have everything, but I can’t. I’m promised to God. It’s my destiny. There are no choices. Already I’ve betrayed my God and my faith and will spend the rest of my life atoning for my ... last night.”
Fury washed and brushed her hair, donned clean undergarments and a fresh dress. Tears filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. The ship was moving now, no longer drifting, which meant in a matter of minutes Luis would board the Silver Lady; Juli’s brothers would return, and they’d change course for Batavia. She felt as though her heart had been ripped from her chest.
The moment she heard Juli’s brothers on board, she wiped away her tears and ran up onto the deck, racing to the stern. Hair billowing behind her, she waved once, twice . . . and then once again as the man on the stern of the Silver Lady saluted her in return.
When the Rana was safe in her berth at the cove, Fury, drawn and haggard, issued her last orders. “Clean this ship from top to bottom, see that her repairs are first rate, scour the decks one last time with holy stones, and repaint the ship. Fix her right name on the bow. Last but not least, fashion a litter for Gaspar and I’ll carry him to the casa. Adios, my friends. I’ll tell Juli you’re well.”
The brothers banded together and stared at their captain. The eldest spoke, his voice gruff yet gentle. “We know it’s not our place, but the Spaniard loves you very much. If you let him go now, he’ll never be the man he’s destined to be, just as you will never be the woman you are destined to be. Your life will be a world of holy words without meaning.” He glanced at the others, then down at his feet. “That’s all we have to say, Capitana. . . . Oh, yes, one last thing. Give these to our sister, one from each of us.”
Fury accepted the handful of brilliant gems and did her best to smile. “I want the mouth of the river blocked once the ship is secure,” she said. “Can you do that for me?”
“Aye, Capitana. We’ll send word when it’s sealed. Adios.”
“Adios,” Fury whispered.
It was done.
“You look like death!” Juli grumbled as she ushered Fury up the stairs to her room. “Fetch up the hot water!” she ordered one of the maids.
Fury grimaced. “I know what I look like, Juli. I don’t need you to remind me.”
“Tomorrow—”
“I know what tomorrow is,” Fury snapped. “I’ll be ready. Has Father Sebastian been here? Is he going to accompany me?”
Juli nodded. “He doesn’t want to, but he will. It’s a mistake. Everyone but you knows it’s a mistake, and still you persist in this foolishness. You aren’t meant to enter that damn convent!” She grumbled as pail after pail of water was poured into the tub.
“I’m committed to God—you can’t change that with words!” Fury cried. “Now I don’t want to talk about this ever again. Do you hear me?”
“Everyone in the casa can hear you,” Juli retorted. “Tell me something, Miss Fury, have you given any thought to the fact that you could be . . . enceinte?”
Fury turned slowly to stare at the matronly housekeeper. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Those things happen when a man and a woman . . . You should think about that before you enter the convent, or you will shame everyone—your parents, those good, holy women, and yourself.”
Fury sat down in the tub with a loud splash. She cursed then, long and loud.
Juli covered her ears and turned so Fury wouldn’t see her smile. “Where did you learn such words? Not from my brothers! Although,” she added thoughtfully, “I seem to recall your mother using those very same words whenever your father angered her.” She chuckled. “Your God will never forgive you.”
“As of this minute, Juli, you are no longer in my employ. Take your damn diamonds and go away. Go to Aldo—or go to hell! I don’t care. With those jewels you can live in splendor for the rest of your life! . . . What are you waiting for?”
“Your apology and then I’ll go. You see, you’re upset, and the only reason you’re upset is because of Senor Domingo. You know what you’re planning is wrong, yet you’re still going to go through with it. You lack the courage to admit you made a mistake. You should never have let him go; now you’ll never see him again. He could be killed at sea by other marauders, have you given that any thought?”
Fury’s eyes filled with tears. “I want to be alone, Juli, please, leave me to my misery. And yes, I’m sorry for what I said. You can stay on here if you like.”
After Juli left, Fury sat in the tub until her skin puckered. Then she crawled into her bed, pulling the light coverlet up to her chin. Through the window she could see Gaspar in his litter in the sun, Pilar perched nearby. A happy ending for everyone but her and Luis.
She beat her fists into the pillows, tears of self-pity drenching the lacy covering. Eventually she slept, but it was a sleep invaded by dark dreams of a squawling baby in her cell at the convent, begging for wholesome food and sunlight. She woke exhausted, with dark shadows under her eyes that no amount of powder could cover.
As she dressed she found herself wondering if she really could be pregnant. It simply wasn’t possible, she thought. She was obeying her calling, her destiny was preordained. Her sins of the flesh would be obliterated. God was all-forgiving. She would serve Him for the rest of her life.
Father Sebastian was downstairs; she could hear his voice, subdued yet anxious. Juli would be telling him all the details of her sea voyage, possibly even the intimate details she thought she knew. Fury’s face burned as she remembered the things she’d done, the emotions she’d felt. Perhaps she should make a confession before she left for the convent. Her heart thudded at saying the words aloud to the priest. No, she would wait and make her confession at the convent.
“Damn!” she muttered. She should enter the convent free of sin, pure and holy. She was none of those things. “Please, give me some sign that You want me,” she whispered. “I will honor my commitment to You, Holy Father, if this is what I’m supposed to do.”
She walked out to the balcony to say a last good-bye to the hawks. They were quiet, too quiet, she thought as she stroked them. They know where I’m going. They know they’ll never see me again.
“When Gaspar is well, I want you to find Luis and stay with him,” she told Pilar. “He’ll take care of you, I know he will.” She sobbed then, hard sounds of pure grief that neither bird appeared to acknowledge. Pilar’s glittering eyes remained on Gaspar, whose own shiny dark eyes remained closed. “Good-bye, my friends,” she whispered, and ran from the room, her satchel bobbing against her legs.
Pilar’s diamond-bright eyes followed Fury until she was out of sight. Gaspar’s eyes snapped open, and he struggled to raise himself but felt Pilar’s wings pressing him back down on his bed. She flapped her wings, admonishing her mate to remain where he was, before she spiraled upward and out through
the open French doors that led to the balcony. Instead of following the priest’s wagon, the hawk flew toward port and then out to sea.
It was hours before Pilar spied the ship she was searching for. She circled in a pattern that only she and Gaspar knew before plunging downward to land next to Luis on the stern. He showed no surprise at her arrival. Pilar watched him intently, waiting for him to speak.
“I can’t let her go,” he said hoarsely. “I have to try to make her see it’s me she needs. I’m not going to ask her to forsake God. I’ll beg if I have to. I told her I loved her, but I didn’t tell her how much. I had to come back to tell her I can’t live without her. Once she walks through the gates, there is no turning back. But I can’t make this ship go any faster, and the wind is dying. I need more time, hours at least. There’s no way I can make it in time, I know that, but I have no choice. I must try.” He looked at Pilar and slowly shook his head. “Why am I telling you all this? You can’t possibly understand what I’m thinking and feeling.”
Pilar gave a piercing cry as she spiraled straight up over his head. Luis watched until the hawk was out of sight. He cursed at the sea, his ship, and the dying wind. He knew he was torturing himself by continuing, but he couldn’t live if he didn’t at least try to convince Fury that he could make her happy.
“We’re picking up a stiff breeze, Cap’n,” Julian called to him. “A storm is following us. If we can outrace it, we’ll make ten knots and be in port by sundown.”
Luis raised his eyes, convinced he would see Pilar hovering overhead. Instead, a bolt of lightning raced across the sky, followed by thunder that deafened him.
“Thank You,” he whispered.
The sun was merciless, Fury reflected as she shifted her parasol to offer shade to the priest at her side. They’d said little to each other, but she knew he was aware that she’d been crying. Now, though, her eyes were dry, all her tears shed. She was resigned to her fate, her destiny. She wouldn’t dwell on the fact that this should be the happiest day of her life.
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed suddenly as she was jolted from her seat in the priest’s wagon. “Father, the wheel’s come off!”
“So it has,” Father Sebastian muttered. He reined in the horse and offered the reins to Fury while he climbed from the wagon. He lowered his head, his wide pancake hat shielding the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
A moment later he threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “The wheel’s cracked. I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Can’t you fix it?” Fury asked.
“Child, it’s split in two. See for yourself.” It hadn’t been easy to replace his original wheel; the blacksmith had looked at him suspiciously when he’d insisted on the cracked one.
“We’ll have to walk,” Fury said firmly.
“In this blistering heat!” the holy man cried incredulously.
“We were riding in this heat; walking will make no difference except to our legs,” Fury pointed out. “If you prefer, I can make my way alone. There’s no need for you to accompany me.”
As stubborn and strong-willed as her mother, Father Sebastian thought. “You won’t arrive in time, Furana. The Mother Superior will not open the gates after dark. Even if you ran all the way, I doubt you could arrive in time.”
“I’ll take the horse, then,” Fury said desperately. “If you wait for the sun to set and walk slowly, Father, you can make it back to the casa. But this is my last chance, I must take it. Please, say you understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” the priest said, nodding. “I hope you understand that this is an old horse. There’s no speed or adventure left in him.”
“I have to try,” Fury said through clenched teeth. “I’ll leave you the food and water and my parasol.”
A moment later she was on the horse’s broad back, urging him forward. The animal moved off so slowly, she wanted to scream. An hour later she was convinced she would make better time if she walked. She dismounted and smacked the horse’s flanks, watching him clop off in the direction from which he’d come.
Fury trudged on, her rosary in one hand, her satchel in the other. For hours she limped along, every bone in her body protesting the abuse she was inflicting upon it.
Shortly before sundown she saw the imposing convent in the distance. Her heart thudded as she glanced up at the setting sun. She had several miles yet to go, and most, if not all, of her energy was depleted. She dropped her satchel and kept on walking. She’d come into the world with nothing, and she would leave it the same way. She prayed for the energy to continue. The moment she finished her prayer, she felt a sudden burst of energy and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She would arrive in time. Darkness had not yet cloaked the outside world.
She could see the habits of the nuns as they walked from the convent courtyard toward the gates. In minutes she would be able to see their faces clearly. She ran faster, the heels of her shoes leaving clumps of earth in their wake. On and on she ran, her breathing ragged, her lungs burning. She could see their faces now, so serene and peaceful-looking, their dark habits so protective. One of the nuns carried a lantern, the other a huge brass key. Another minute and she would be there, she thought exultantly. Despite everything, she’d actually arrived in time. It was meant to be.
In the near darkness she heard a sudden rush overhead. She ran faster, her heart thundering in her chest. The nun’s lantern light was so close, she could see Pilar clearly as she sailed downward in her own draft to fall at Fury’s feet with a soft thump.
Fury heard the key clank into the iron gate’s monstrous lock as she dropped to her knees. She stared at the nuns for a moment before her eyes lowered to Pilar. From somewhere far off she thought she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Father Sebastian, she thought; he must have found a way to make the old horse pick up his feet and actually move. They were looking at her. She could feel their eyes on her, but hers were on her faithful friend. “She’s hurt, may I bring her inside?” she pleaded.
“No, child, the bird belongs to the outside world,” the oldest of the nuns said gently. “Come, it’s time.”
“I can’t leave her, she’s hurt. She’ll die if I leave her here. Father Sebastian won’t know what to do for her. She doesn’t know him,” Fury pleaded. “Please, just until she’s-”
“No, child.”
Fury sobbed. “But Pilar is one of God’s creatures. How can you turn your back on—” They were closing the gates. She could hear the rusty sound of the old hinges in the darkening night. “Wait!” she screamed.
Luis watched from a distance, his heart in his mouth, waiting for the girl’s decision.
“If you can’t leave your worldly possessions and . . . friends behind, child, there is no place beyond these gates for you,” said the old nun.
“I won’t leave her behind. The God I pray to would never forgive me if I . . .” The sound of the key in the lock was so loud in Fury’s ears, she thought she would faint. “You’re right, Sisters, I don’t belong behind these gates,” she called to the retreating nuns.
Pilar was on her feet in an instant, strutting about Fury, her wings fluttering softly in the darkness. Fury sank down beside her, stunned. “You tricked me,” she said slowly. “You weren’t hurt at all. Why, why did you . . . come here, you wonderful friend.” She sat cross-legged in front of the convent gates, cradling Pilar, something the hawk had never allowed before. She lost all sense of time as she sat in the moonlight contemplating her future. Luis would be part of it—if she cared to return to Spain. Her heart fluttered at the thought of living without the handsome Spaniard. It might be years before she saw him again. What a fool she’d been. She should have listened to her heart. God in His infinite wisdom had shown her the destiny that was to be hers.
“It’s time to go home, Pilar,” she murmured. “Gaspar is waiting for you. I’ll find my way, have no fear. Somewhere out there in the darkness Father Sebastian is waiting.” She clapped her hands, a signal
for Pilar to take wing. “Tell Gaspar I’ll be along shortly,” she called happily as she strode off into the darkness.
“I have this fine steed, Miss van der Rhys. He has a broad back and can carry the both of us with ease, if you have a mind to join me, that is,” Luis said huskily.
“Luis!” Fury cried, running to him. “How did you . . . Why . . . Oh, I don’t care how it happened. I’m so . . . You must have ridden like the wind . . . did you?”
“Don’t you ever finish a sentence?” Luis laughed as he slid from the horse to take her in his arms.
“Only short ones. I love you,” she murmured against his broad chest.
“And I love you,” he said, stroking her hair. “I told myself I wouldn’t interfere, that I would abide by your decision. I thought I would die when I heard those gates creak open. And when they closed I wanted to . . . do what I’m going to do now,” he said, and brought his lips down on hers.
Hovering in a circle overhead, outlined by the moon, Pilar voiced her approval before streaking off to her mate. “Hawhawhawhaw!”
Epilogue
Saianha: Two years later
The bone-thin woman swathed in snowy blankets on the veranda stared straight ahead. Her face was heavily scarred, and small patches on her head were shiny where new hair refused to grow. She was ugly now, shriveled and skeletal in appearance. She didn’t speak and had to be spoon-fed. She never turned her head to see the splendor of her house, so lovingly restored by Cato with the handful of diamonds he’d taken from the vinegar cask.
Cato was in her line of vision, but Amalie gave no sign that she was aware of him. Soon there would be a fresh vase of flowers next to her chair—flowers she neither saw nor smelled.
Amalie Suub Alvarez existed; she no longer lived.
“You said you were going to open the trunk today, Cato,” Clara said anxiously. “You said when the plantation was restored to its original splendor you would open it for Amalie. I had the servants bring it to the veranda. Perhaps the contents will evoke some response in her. Shall we do it now?” she asked as she linked her arm with Cato’s.
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