Paradise & More (Torres Family Saga) (6 page)

      
Bernardo nodded unhappily, afraid of the spleen of this volatile and crafty courtier. Guzman quit the room, slamming the heavy oak door. The old man watched through the front window as Lorenzo seized the reins of his waiting horse from an old groom and hurled himself into the saddle. Yanking savagely at the gelding's bit, he dug his spurs into the sides of the frightened mount and rode off without a backward glance. Valdés decided he would tread very warily around Lorenzo Guzman.

Chapter Three

Seville, April 1492

      
Magdalena rode westward through the narrow, twisting streets, heading her white filly away from the Alcazar gardens toward the open air of the Guadalquivir River. The morning breeze was cool and redolent with the fragrance of orange trees and rose bushes. Tradesmen and vendors stirred, but handsomely dressed young women of noble family were a rare sight so early in the day. Her restless spirit craved an open space where she could let her horse run freely, leaving her groom and her elder sister, Maria, far behind. Just as she sighted the Gold Tower by the river's edge, the steady stream of creaking carts laden with olives, pomegranates, and freshly butchered pigs for the markets thinned, revealing a long, clear stretch of road. Its rain-washed cobblestones gleamed golden in the morning light.

      
“I'm going to ride to the Church of Saint Stephen at the edge of the river,” she called out to Maria, attempting to placate her sister's sense of matronly propriety.

      
Magdalena urged Blossom into a canter, leaning low over her neck, weaving the small filly gracefully between heavy, wooden-wheeled carts and plodding oxen, a fairy sprite flitting amid earthbound mortals. Her frustrations seemed to fade with her sister's protests. She had spent a week riding by the elegant Torres palace, watching for Diego and his family at the Cathedral on Sundays, strolling in the market to purchase cloth and trinkets she did not want.

      
Her mother remarked on her piety, sitting through mass three times in one week, while her father complained at her shopping excesses. Still she did not encounter Diego. She had seen his mother in church and his father leaving the house to attend a patient one day, but their son seemed to be in seclusion—or absent from Seville.

      
She had learned from her mother's sources at court in Granada that he had left King Fernando's army after the city had fallen. Where had he gone? Surely not into exile with his Jewish uncle. The story of the king's most trusted and honest adviser leaving Castile under mysterious circumstances had been retold for weeks. Some said Isaac Torres was on a secret mission to the Majesty's brother-in-law, King João II of Portugal. Some said he had taken all his vast wealth and fled to the south of France, bribing the king to allow him to send gold abroad in spite of laws which forbade it. As she rode, Magdalena crinkled her brow in vexation, praying Diego had not accompanied Isaac.

      
Magdalena had wheedled a sizeable sum from her miserly father for lavish gowns and jewels, secretly hoping to impress the worldly soldier who had grown up at court. Of course her parents had plans for her other than allowing her to marry into a New Christian family, no matter how wealthy. Since the Expulsion Edict had been promulgated last month, all Jews had until the end of July to dispose of their property and leave the kingdoms of Aragon and Castile. This cast a pall over anyone of Jewish blood, especially recent converts such as the House of Torres with near kindred who had remained in their old faith. No, the Valdés family would wish their youngest daughter married more securely to someone with political power. That was why Don Bernardo had allowed her the extravagance of the new wardrobe in preparation for her debut at Queen Ysabel's court.

      
“I will marry where I choose,” she murmured willfully beneath her breath as she turned the plan over in her mind once more.

      
Of course, it would work only if Diego were here in Seville, not abroad somewhere with Isaac Torres. With the bravado of a spoiled sixteen-year-old, she dismissed that idea as unthinkable. This would be a beginning. Diego's father was the king's personal physician and a renowned healer. Meeting him would forge the first link between her and his son. For days she had turned the matter over in her mind, deciding to fall ill of a fever before she realized that such a ruse would easily be detected and scorned by Benjamin Torres. For over a week now she had watched him leave his home each morning at daybreak to attend patients in various parts of the city. One elderly man lived on the river's edge at the outskirts of the old Roman wall.

      
Left to run reckless and unattended in the country, Magdalena was an expert rider and had taken many a fall from ponies and horses since early childhood. How difficult could it be to throw herself from Blossom onto the roadside just as Benjamin Torres emerged from the home of his patient? A few scrapes and bruises would be necessary to make her accident convincing, but Magdalena had suffered far worse.

      
Because of the cool morning air, she had worn a heavy velvet gown of pale yellow. The color was becoming, but more importantly, the fabric would protect her from overmuch damage—she hoped! Flinging her mantle impatiently across her shoulders, she felt it catch the wind, pulling at the topaz broach that held it fastened at the high neckline of her bodice. Magdalena caught sight of her quarry. Benjamin emerged from the arched doorway of the house and was climbing into his cart. His driver moved the horse into a slow trot when she sped past, seeking a curve in the road where Blossom could be pulled up short and she could fall. A small swale off the cobbled road was overgrown with the weeds that flourished in the rain-dampened earth. She turned Blossom toward it as she rounded the corner, then reined her filly in sharply.

      
The startled horse reared and Magdalena let loose a shriek, then made to slide clear of her mount. She had kicked free of the stirrups with her soft kidskin boots, but the stubbornly strong velvet of her gown caught on the pommel of her saddle, and with it her right leg. As she slid backward, her body and left leg were flung down while her right leg was held for a terrifying moment by the rearing horse's saddle. Then with a hissing rip, the cloth gave way just when Magdalena was certain she was being torn asunder. Merciful Mother, she could be killed! The thought flashed in her mind just as oblivion overtook her.

      
Benjamin saw the young woman ride past, noting her rich dress and splendid mount, wondering at the boldness of a noblewoman unescorted on the streets of the city. Then he heard a scream and the sounds of a frenzied horse just past the turn of the road. By the time he reached the girl, she lay in a crumpled heap and her small white filly stood grazing a few yards distant. Reaching for the pouch with his medical supplies, he rushed to her side and knelt to examine her just as a groom and a very distraught young woman rode up.

      
Maria cried and crossed herself, terrified of what their father would do if Magdalena were seriously injured. As an elder married daughter, she had been entrusted with chaperoning her far lovelier sister. “Who are you, sir, and what has happened to my sister?” she asked in her most authoritative voice, which squeaked in spite of her resolve. Plump and breathless, Maria dismounted and rushed to Magdalena's side.

      
“I am Benjamin Torres, physician to the Majesties Fernando and Ysabel,” he replied, not sparing her a glance as he calmly examined the girl, who was moaning as she regained consciousness. “She fell from her horse, which she was riding far too fast.”

      
Maria was agog at meeting someone so close to the royal couple, for she had married at age fifteen and had never been to court with her parents. In spite of her provincial life, she knew the Torres name. “Can you heal her?” she asked in an awe-filled voice, impressed by his calm manner, but still afraid of her father's wrath.

      
“I must see if there are internal injuries after she has regained her senses and can speak.”

      
Magdalena's eyes fluttered open and looked into the unsettling blue of Benjamin's eyes, so like his son's. Gentle hands restrained her when she tried to sit up.

      
“You must lie still a moment. Are you dizzy?” His fingers worked and probed lightly about her head, then up and down each arm with practiced ease.

      
“No, my head is clearing. I think I had the breath knocked from me.” She looked down, needing to find some superficial injury, yet grateful to be alive and whole. Carefully, with Benjamin's assistance, she sat up, ignoring Maria's hysterical weeping and scolding. The moment Magdalena moved her legs a sharp pain lanced up from her groin into her belly and she bit back a scream, then fainted.

      
She awakened in a strange room, richly appointed with mosaic designs on the domed ceiling and heavy embroidered silk hangings on the walls. Thick Persian carpets covered the marble floors and the bed she lay upon was sinfully soft and piled high with cushions. A small crucifix hung on one wall, seeming as out of place as a pine tree in an orange grove. Instinctively she knew she was in the palatial city house of the Torres family.

      
“So, you have come back to us at last. I gave you a sleeping draught.”

      
Recognizing Benjamin's voice, Magdalena turned to where he sat, reading. A maid sat dutifully in the far corner, out of earshot. “How long have I been here?” She turned toward him and winced in pain.

      
“A day and a half. Be careful of that leg. You have badly pulled the muscles inside your thigh, but with time they will heal.” He hesitated, putting aside the heavy leather-bound volume with Arabic lettering on it.

      
Magdalena studied his face, sun-warmed and creased with wrinkles, yet still surprisingly handsome. There was more. She could read it in his expression. “Why has my sister left me here? Am I gravely injured?”

      
He smiled gently and the even white teeth again reminded her of Diego. “No, not gravely. Your sister and her husband agreed with me that it was best not to move you after I had you brought here and examined you.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I think she fears telling your parents what has happened. After all, you were in her charge.”

      
Magdalena let out a snort of youthful derision. “Maria is afraid of her own shadow. 'Twas my own fault I outrode her and then fell. I will tell our father.” She watched as Benjamin took a slim parchment roll from the folds of his robe.

      
“This should be ample proof of your purity. Have your father read it. He can come to me if he needs further assurances for your betrothal agreement.”

      
Her bright green eyes widened. “My—my purity?” she croaked. Then as he approached, she snatched the parchment from him. “I can read well enough myself.” She unrolled it and her eyes quickly scanned the contents. Officially signed and sealed, it attested to the fact that her hymen had been ripped when she suffered a fall from her horse. Legally she was still a virgin, fit property for marriage!

      
A sparkling blackness surged behind her eyes for a moment. What had her insane scheme cost her? Now her father would be certain to rush her into some loathsome alliance before any could claim her to be impure. Small wonder she hurt so cruelly at each small movement of her hips.

      
Benjamin studied her expressive face, pale and lovely, keenly alight with intelligence. “This is not the world's end, Doña Magdalena,” he said gently. “You were fortunate to have me see you fall and attend you so directly. No one will question what has happened to you. My reputation as a physician will protect you.”

      
Her clear green eyes met his. “I do thank you for that, but this accident will only hasten my father's plans to marry me off, I fear.” She looked at the parchment again.

      
Knowing the whorish reputation of Doña Estrella, Benjamin felt he understood Bernardo's reasoning. Yet this girl was young and unspoiled. “How came you by the ability to read?”

      
Her smile transformed the dazed sadness of her face into radiant pride. “I was taught Castilian and Latin by my brother's tutors.” Her eyes strayed to the volume laying near his chair. “I would love to learn Arabic, but 'tis frowned on now.”

      
Benjamin sighed. “More than merely frowned on, it is seen as a sign of heresy by the Holy Office.”

      
“Yet you read it,” she said matter of factly.

      
“I read medical treatises by special license of King Fernando. I don't think they would interest you,” he added drily.

      
Magdalena's cheeks tinged pink as she recalled the Latin medical books she had read scarcely a year ago. “Many things interest me, especially the healing arts. Tell me, is it true there are Jewish women who practice medicine?”

      
Benjamin was intrigued by the artless girl. “Yes, for many centuries now. The Moors will allow no male physician to examine female members of their households. This stricture led to women being trained as healers. I do not think it is feasible for you to consider such an unlikely vocation.”

      
Magdalena sighed. “No, I suppose not, but I am curious about so many things and my father's library is so small...” She plucked at the bed linens nervously.

      
“I will have your maid Miralda bring you as many books from my library as you care to read. She awaits you next door.”

      
Thus began the unlikely friendship between the elderly physician and the sixteen-year-old girl. The following day, Magdalena was well enough to return to her parent's city house. She was laden with volumes from the Torres family library. In addition to the books, Magdalena also took with her the medical certification and Benjamin's promise not to inform her father of the precise and permanent nature of her injury. It would be her decision alone when and to whom she divulged the nature of her defloration, thus avoiding the threat of a hurried marriage to some horrid man like Maria's aging husband.