A Bride for Valentin

by Parker J Cole

  Just like it would be good to defile the sister of his enemy.

  Immediately, he rephrased his thought. No. Defile indicated a vileness he wasn’t capable of. Jacinda—may God rest her soul—would disapprove of his doing that to another woman.

  And he wouldn’t want Jacinda to be displeased with him about anything.

  “Valentin?”

  He turned back to Diego. His best friend rose up from the sofa, wearing the ornate fashions of titled and wealthy Mexican lay on the sofa.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you rethinking your revenge?”

  “Never, Diego.” Valentin answered in a matter of fact tone. Not by one inflection in his voice did he betray the volcanic rage that lied behind it.

  He would never forgo his revenge on Conte Atilio Garcia de Alba.

  For years, he’d stalked his prey. As his trade business grew, so had his number of allies. He had a place of residence in most ports of both the New and Old world. From the deepest jungles of the African continent to the opulent homes of the rich in Spain. From the Middle East to the Far East.

  He’d used this business to gather information from time to time. Now his riches had accumulated enough to exact his revenge.

  No one but Diego knew about Jacinda and the conte. The conte would not allow such a scandal to mar his family name.

  “It seems to be as if being the holder of his debts would be perfect way to exact your vengeance.”

  Valentin got up from behind the large blackwood desk he’s had imported and went over to the window. He took in the picture below him.

  The ranch spread out as far as the eye could see. Cattle, horses, men all worked on the ranch. Indians, Africans, Mexicans, displaced Southerners, it didn’t matter. Valentin employed them all because that’s something Jacinda would have wanted.

  Though he could barely see it, he knew where she rested. On a small hill along the boundary of his ranch. He’d called the ranch El Descanso de Jacinda. Jacinda’s rest. When he decided to settle here, he’d taken her bones and had been placed here under his watchful eye.

  “Diego,” he said quietly, as he stared off to that place where his sister lay. “I want to destroy him. I will attack from all sides – his finances, his familia, his friendships, his future.”

  Despite the control he exerted most of his life, his fist shook with the force of his emotions. “I want to see him crushed. When I have taken everything from him. Everything single thing that he wants, I will take his life.”

  “Se que se.” Diego sighed in a long-suffering way. “I wish you every success, my friend. But do you have to bring his sister into this plan?”

  “‘An eye for an eye’,” Valentin quoted. “I must.”

  Jacinda’s eyes, ever before him though she had been dead for fifteen years, rose up like a specter. She’d been so beautiful—the most beautiful woman in his whole world.

  He remembered her hair the most. It resembled the color of crushed blackberries. Wavy, thick, and shiny as moonlight. As a child, he played with its long tresses. Twirled them around his fingers as he rested in her arms while she sang a lullaby. Her large eyes with their thick lashes sat deep in her face smiling in that serene way.

  Her almond brown skin from her days of working in the sun had contrasted with the white lace mantilla she wore for her daily prayers and holy days.

  As a boy, his sister had been his something like his mother and his angel. Their mother had died and they’d been abandoned by their father. Their aunt had taken them in but there had been hardly enough to care for them and her horde of seven children.

  Jacinda had taken care of him, making sure he learned his letters and his numbers. Ensuring he ate even when there wasn’t enough food for them both. She had been all that was good and kind. All that sweet and self-sacrificing.

  Then, in her twenty-second year, she met the conte.

  He remembered the day he arrived back from his labors in some lord’s field where he’d get work. He came upon her as she made dinner, humming softly with a secretive smile on her face.

  “Val, you’re home,” she greeted.

  He’d hugged her as he’d always done and then looked down at her, wondering at this change he did not understand. Her eyes held a peculiar light he’d never seen in all of his fifteen years. A light derived from some source other than the godly joy she’d grown up with.

  “Why are you so happy?”

  “Oh Val,” she’d laughed. “I’ve met a man.”

  Until then, he’d no idea his sister had aspirations for more than what their humble existence had given her. After all, they may be poor peasants but they were content. He’d never thought of her wishing to have a home and children of her own. It had simply never entered his mind.

  “Who is this man?”

  She’d giggle in that way of women already in love. His heart clenched. Had he known—!

  “He is a man of a strong regal bearing with eyes that flash like lightning, and a low, deep voice.”

  “What does a deep voice have to do with anything?” he’d asked her confused.

  She’d only reached up and patted his cheek in that way of hers. “Oh Val.”

  “Val?”

  He jerked out of his memories. Diego stood by his side.

  “What is it, my friend?”

  Diego asked, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

  With an effort, Valentin put a lid on his memories of the past. Briskly, he strolled away from the window and back to his desk. “We should receive the conte’s answer within the next few weeks. Despite your lack of belief, I know the conte will sell me his sister. When I get the missive that he will, you will go to Spain and you will marry her.”

  Diego’s eyes bulged under his satyr eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

  “You will marry her by proxy,” he amended.

  “By proxy? Is that legal?”

  He nodded. “I want her with me in New Mexico by September.”

  “But if you want to exact your revenge, why not marry her yourself in person? Surely there must be some pleasure derived in seeing the conte’s face as you wed his sister.”

  Valentin had thought of that. “I initially wanted to do that. But I’ve had some time to consider. This way, it shows just how little he means to me.”

  “You are obsessed with the man, Val!”

  “But he doesn’t know that, Diego.” Valentin saw no point in denying that he was obsessed with the man. Had been obsessed since he’d held his sister’s blood-soaked form in his arms. Had heard her whisper Atilio’s name with her last breath, loving the man with every fiber of her being.

  Had seen the light from her eyes vanish forever.

  “I’ll take his sister,” he vowed once more. “I’ll start with her. And then…I’ll cast her away, just as he did to Jacinda.”

  But, his mind asked again, will it be enough?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Annexed land of the Garcia de Alba Estate

  Northern Spain

  Two days later, Ysabel had yet to make up her mind but one thing she was certain of: she hated Valentin Carrion del Bosque.

  She didn’t want to think about him, this faceless man who had placed a noose around her freedom. Instead, as she swayed back and forth in the carriage as it went down the mountain path, she focused on spending the day with the children.

  The gloomy structure of the orphanage greeted her like a blessing. Despite its gray exterior walls with its stained surface, having been beaten by the elements and their harsh taskmaster, Time, it was the only place she wanted to be.

  The carriage stopped in front of the wooden doors. Children poured out in a steady mass. They always did when she came to see them, which was often.

  Ysabel smiled as the groom helped her down from the carriage. With light-hearted laughter, she let the children fall into her.

  “Contessa Senorita! You’re back,” one child exclaimed using her title inaccurately though she nev
er said so. He looked endearing with one of his front teeth missing.

  “Of course, Manuel,” she told the child. But her joy bled away. If she married Valentin Carrion del Bosque, then she would not see these children again.

  “Muy bonito.”

  A tiny hand rubbed softly at the material of her gown. Ysabel looked down to see the beautiful of little Abigail, a child who, if God so saw fit, would grow into a beauty to rival many.

  “Gracias, Abby. It is very pretty. Have you been a good girl?” She lifted the child into her arms who weighed hardly anything. Although she gave whatever she could to the orphanage, it still wasn’t enough.

  If she did not marry this man who held her brother captive, there would be no one to help the children.

  “It’s very good to see you, Contessa Garcia de Alba.”

  She turned to see the Mother Superior, draped in the shapeless habit of her station, glide toward her.

  “Madre Superior,” she greeted. She set the child down and then fell to her knees and kissed the abbess’s hand.

  “No need for that, my child. It is very good to see you. We have missed your face.” Her voice, smooth, slow, and mellow acted as a balm to her rising tension.

  “Madre Superior, I must speak with you.”

  The woman stared at her for a moment. What sort of thoughts went on under the tight fitted material of the woman’s coif? Her white scapular, the apron-like garment, covered the beige of her shapeless tunic, a tunic that Ysabel had hoped to wear sometime in the future.

  Did perhaps the holy woman have some supernatural insight into the inner turmoil of her heart?

  “Of course, contessa. I am at your service whenever you seek it.”

  “I don’t need your service, Madre Superior. I need the wisdom of your counsel.”

  The holy woman gave a soft laugh but said only, “All wisdom comes from God, my child. Come, let us take care of these delightful scrapes. They must eat and then take their lessons.”

  The children, in one voice, groaned at the prospect of lesson but Ysabel smiled. One by one they grabbed at her hands or her dress and led her inside the orphanage.

  Her time with the children passed with speed but she always felt she could stay there forever, locked in the drafty walls, walking along the cold wooden floor, and be a part of their world.

  “Would you like to join me for my walk to the monastery, Contessa Garcia de Alba?” Mother Superior asked when her time came to end her visit with the children. They all cried when she told them she had to leave but she made sure to let her footman know to give the children the bag of sweet treats she’d brought along with her.

  Though there was a monastery on the ground, a church stood within its shadow. It was a small church, lacking in the height, depth, and the classical artwork of the larger places of worship all across the world. And yet here, Ysabel felt so much closer to the Divine than anywhere else.

  When she entered the chapel, the candles were lit at the front. Their flickering light danced off the crucifix. She longed for the hush of the sanctuary to seep into her soul and calm the disquietude that wished to overwhelm her.

  And yet…

  Tears trailed down Ysabel's face as she knelt before the candles, begging for a reprieve from the path she had not chosen, but would very well have to take.

  "Ysabel."

  The gentle voice of the Mother Superior made her head turn. With a cry she grasped the feet of the woman.

  " Madre Superior, I can't do this. Please, hide me away. Give me sanctuary. "

  “You know I cannot do such a thing. The Church no longer has that kind of power.”

  Ysabel wiped at the tears from her eyes. “Of course, Madre Superior.”

  “But why would you need to escape, my child? What troubles you?”

  “I am being given an impossible choice between my heart’s desire or my freedom.”

  “In what way?”

  The story came pouring out of her, a jumble of words mixed with tears, and nonsensical mutterings at times. When she had finished, she felt utterly spent.

  Silence hung in the small sanctuary of the church. And then the abbess spoke.

  "I was once a bride, contessa."

  Ysabel's mouth parted. The surprise on her face must have been comical because Mother Superior laughed and patted her gently on the shoulder. "There is no need to be so shocked. Do not believe this habit hides a woman who has not drank from the cup of passion."

  Ysabel’s cheeks burned. For as long as she could remember, Mother Superior had been her standard. A woman so devoted to God that in her mind, the woman had never been tempted by the dictates of the flesh. To discover different was to shake the foundation of her world.

  "When was this, Madre Superior?"

  A faraway look came into the woman's eyes. "It was many years ago. I married the man my parents selected for me.”

  “It was an arranged marriage then?”

  “Si, contessa. My father was a lord during the reign of King Ferdinand. I remember about that time, the king had returned from his captivity from Bonaparte’s clutches. He’d imprisoned the Liberals who dared to evoke a constitutional monarchy in his absence.

  “My father’s brother had been a part of the Liberal party that suggested such a change. He barely escaped the prison, himself. So, in order to find favor with the king, he married me to one of the king’s distant cousins.”

  Ysabel almost fell out of the pew. “The king’s cousin? Madre Superior, who are you?”

  The abbess patted her hand. “A daughter of God. It is the only identity that matters anymore. I did not love my husband. I knew my father had selected me in order to secure our position and our favor with the crown.”

  “When hasn’t marriage been the means of advancement?” Ysabel couldn’t get the disdain out of her voice. “Even our Queen and her sister were forced to marry for political gain. She married a man who could never love her.”

  Marriage—a political maneuver, a signal of peace, a triumph of conquest. It was never about love. Never about the individuals who made up that relationship.

  Which is why she wanted to marry God—that was her political maneuver.

  “Over time, though, I loved him. Loved him so much that I couldn’t believe my fortune.” A beatific smile creased her face. “God did not bless my womb. I thought my husband would cast me away but he didn’t. Instead, he loved me all the more.”

  “Love? In a marriage?” Ysabel found it highly doubtful.

  “Si, contessa. El amor.”

  "What happened to him?"

  “He died.” Sorrow supplanted the woman's face. “He was a great deal older than me. I was seventeen and he was eight and thirty. Ten years after our wedding, I found him slumped over his papers, my hair comb in his hand, and a smile frozen on his face.”

  Ysabel reached out and grasped her hand. “How awful that must have been for you.”

  The sorrow smoothed away as Mother Superior patted the back of her hand and then removed hers. "We had happy years together. The loneliness I experienced led me to taking my solemn vows and I have no regrets. My motherhood extends to well over twenty children and I continue to be fruitful though my womb is barren.”

  “Why do you tell me this?”

  “I do not believe the convent or the order is the life meant for you. I know why you wish this life. It’s to escape the world. These past years, have been a reprieve for you. We’ve been a lighthouse to you, sort of like a ship in a storm.”

  “But how can I marry a man who I have never seen?”

  “It is a difficult choice, contessa. But if you will allow me to give you my advice.”

  Ysabel faced the woman. “Please.”

  “I do not believe you were meant to be the lighthouse keeper. You were meant for so much more than to wile away your youth in obscurity. You have a giving heart and the capacity to embrace many. If you were to stay here, I believe that the light of your generous spirit will be contained. Your light
was meant to be shared with more than just us.”

  “But there is comfort here.” Ysabel spread her arms, encompassing the sanctuary.

  “Si, there always will be comfort in the presence of Dios El Padre. However, His spirit is not contained within these four walls. He is everywhere. Since He is everywhere, you can find comfort no matter where it is you go.”

  “Are you saying that I should become the wife of this man who hates my brother?”

  “I am saying to not let your fear of the unknown hinder your decision.”

  On her way back to her home, Ysabel thought of Mother Superior’s words. Perhaps there was fear of Valentin Carrion del Bosque. After all, he was the man who told her brother to sell her virgin blood into the institution of marriage.

  For the past two days, the unknown quantity of the man loomed like the evil spirit of Akerbeltz, the half goat/half demon monster who visited his unholy touch on women.

  She thought of the few things she’d heard her brother say. Atilio refused to speak of the sister, whose honor he’d violated in some capacity. But she remembered how he’d said Valentin was doing this for his sister.

  If this man was so willing to go to these great lengths to blackmail her brother in exchange for his sister’s honor, then what kind of man would she be marrying?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jacinda’s Rest

  August 1866

  “I’m disappointed in you, Valentin.”

  Valentin stood at the base of his sister’s grave. The light of the quarter moon shone down, illuminating her ghostly figure. She sat against the humble marker with her name, date of birth and death. The long white lacy mantilla that draped her hair seemed to shine as bright as a star.

  “Jacinda, I am doing this for you. Atilio Garcia de Alba must pay for what he did to you.”

  “No, mi hermano, you are doing this for yourself.”

  “Jacinda!” He cried out, dropping to his knees before her. “How can you say that?”

  Her dark, heavily lashed eyes gazed at him with reproach. “There will be a consequence for your actions. Once it happens, you’ll remember my words.”