Passionate Pursuit (27 page)

The girl couldn’t stop cooing over the infant or letting Juana curl her tiny fingers over Yolanda’s thumb.

Even Nuncio made funny faces at the baby, coaxing her to laugh.

“What a treasure you have in Yolanda.” Isabella pulled her cloak tightly around herself. “Have you thought what you might say to your father if he is ill?”

Since Nuncio’s return, she’d troubled over visiting her father, especially for the last time, having his full attention for once, with him unable to turn his back on her. She pushed windblown tresses from her face. “Do you really want to hear this?”

“Rage away.”

Beatriz loved Isabella’s spirit and acceptance. “Hardly rage. More like confusion. As I looked at him for the last time, I’d ask, ‘Why, papá? Was what you did to mamá and me, and so many others, worth losing your soul? Did you ever love us, even for a moment? When you saw me on the day I was born, were you proud or indifferent? If I had been a boy, would you have wanted me more? Would you have listened and cared?’”

Tears sparkled in Isabella’s eyes. She hugged Beatriz. “If matters do come to a last visit, I hope he gives you the answers you want.”

Not likely. “My fantasies of those last moments are probably far different from what I would end up saying. To borrow Nuncio’s comment, forgive me for being a coward. Most likely, my final words would be about what a fine business he had and wealth everyone envied. That would make him happy.”

“What a good daughter you are.”

“Not if this is a ruse and he tries to harm Tomás.”

“We shall see.”

* * * *

On the second day, Beatriz strove for normalcy and busied herself with Yolanda’s lessons. She’d finally advanced to D, E, and F in the alphabet, her progress painfully slow, determination remarkably dogged.

After the afternoon siesta, Beatriz found Yolanda outside, drawing letters in the dirt with a twig.

“I can hide my mistakes this way.” She grinned slyly. “And keep using the same spot, unlike paper.”

Beatriz clapped in approval. “How right you are. We should move our lessons outside.”

“I have no complaints.”

She, Yolanda, and Isabella spent a pleasant afternoon on the grounds, returning to the castle at the same time Fernando and Tomás did from the pastures.

“Did you see this?” Tomás gestured to the cabinet near the front entrance. A letter rested on a silver tray.

From Sancha? “A servant must have brought the missive in when we were outside. Isabella, you should open it.”

Fernando shook his head. “Not Enrique’s seal. Must be for you, Tomás. Or Beatriz?”

“No. Not my father’s.”

Tomás looked. “Don Larnaz?”

“I have no idea.” Beatriz gestured to the letter. “Please open the thing and find out. I have no desire to touch anything that he has.”

Tomás broke the seal and read. “For me. A merchant I spoke to last month finally has four Arabians for sale, each black, just as I asked for.”

Fernando chuckled. “As a child, Tomás refused to ride any other color. What say we have a look at them?”

“What else? Wait.” Tomás took Beatriz’s hand. “The merchant’s stable is right at the edge of Don Guzman’s estate that begins at the southern border of my land. No more than two hours ride from here. I can make the purchase and return quickly. Faster than when Fernando and I toured the pastures and fields to the east.”

The city lay in that direction with a route that held myriad dangers. All land from here to Don Guzman’s estate had either his guards or Tomás’s protecting property and inhabitants. The same as Tomás’s castle that had men at the gate and walls, keeping her from harm.

Was this what their life was to be like? Tomás hesitant to move freely beyond these confines because of her endless worry.

She wouldn’t have that, especially for him and particularly when his stated direction was so safe. “Go, my love, and enjoy yourself. But can you put off leaving until morning?”

“For you, anything.”

* * * *

That night, Beatriz needed to store each moment to sustain herself for their brief separation and sensed Tomás felt the same. Their kisses were long and deep. They made noises that would shame them if anyone else could hear.

They were in the harem, the space lit by oil lamps as a sultan might demand, Beatriz bared, though not fully tamed. Wearing a wicked smile, she ran her fingers down Tomás’s torso, making his muscles jump. “Lie down.”

“I will, after I have you.”

“No, now.”

He touched his nose to hers. “I rescued your orange peel, I gave you a bath, I even let you take over my study for Yolanda’s lessons, and still you deny me?”

“Only if you keep talking. Once you lie down, I can serve you, while you serve me in the most wanton way.”

Tomás leaned back. “What did you have in mind?”

“Do as I ask so I can show you.”

He fell to the mattress. Purple silk puffed up with his weight and floated back down. “What now?”

Beatriz faced his feet and straddled his hips.

Tomás stilled. “What are you doing?”

“Watch.” She positioned herself so her face was above his stiffened rod and sac, her soft folds near his mouth.

He gripped her hips. “I like this.”

Isabella had told her about the position. Best to keep that secret to herself.

Beatriz licked his member and swirled her tongue around the plump crown. His toes curled. He pulled her down to him, his mouth on her sex. Heavenly pleasure tore through her, but she saw to his enjoyment too and eased the right side of his sac into her mouth.

Tomas growled, the sound raw and virile, filling the chamber.

Her blood raced. She licked his hair-roughened sac, adoring his sex, its heat, musky fragrance, and faint salty taste. He breathed hard and forgot to see to her pleasure. Beatriz didn’t care. In here, she was his carnal slave, required to submit and bring him boundless satisfaction.

With great care, she suckled, tending to him as he did with her, finally remembering to lick her nub and spear his tongue into her opening, claiming what was his.

She showered her attention on the other side of his sac.

He groaned.

They filled the chamber with love sounds, worshipping each other’s sex in a strikingly intimate act that left them panting.

* * * *

The following morning, Beatriz was tired but still wanted more of Tomás.

He gave her a hearty goodbye kiss and ordered several guards to accompany him and Fernando. Hardly necessary, considering where they were going, but the added protection pleased Beatriz.

She waved until he could no longer see her.

Isabella pressed her hand to her chest. “Whatever did we do before we met our men?”

“I cried a lot, thinking of the beast I was supposed to wed. What about you?”

“No time for tears. I was worried about Sancha. I hope her missive comes today.”

So did Beatriz, wanting an end to this.

She busied herself with Yolanda’s lesson held beneath a cork tree. Yolanda sat cross-legged, drawing in the dirt near the trunk. Isabella reclined on the blanket, dangling her sapphire above Juana. The sparkling gem mesmerized the infant. Several times, she batted her tiny hands trying to catch it.

After Juana had her meal, the rest of them paused to refresh themselves with bread and cheese, oranges, olives, and roasted pork, washed down with milk. Isabella yawned. Yolanda returned to her alphabet.

“Señorita Beatriz.” Nuncio hurried across the lawn holding two papers. Panting, he handed one letter to her and the other to Isabella.

Isabella turned hers over. “From Sancha.”

Beatriz had no idea who hers was from. Hoping Don Larnaz hadn’t written, she broke the seal and read.

Dear Señorita Serrano,

Forgive my words written in haste. As your father’s physician, I must inform you that his health grows increasingly worse. He may not last much longer.

His future is in God’s hands now. The only thing left for me to do is to make him as comfortable as possible. Those few times he can sleep, he keeps calling for you.

Your servant,

Señor Cristóbal Yniguis, Médico

Numb, she lowered the letter. Isabella took the missive from her and handed Beatriz the one from Sancha. Beatriz forced herself to read.

My dearest sister, Isabella,

How sorry I am for Beatriz and all her troubles. May God grant her and Tomás naught but happiness here forward.

I raced through my volumes, the symptoms you provided in hand. At length, I found a passage matching what you wrote me.

The illness is real.

Your loving sister,

Sancha

Needing to move, think, do something, Beatriz crossed the lawn to the castle. Nuncio and Yolanda caught up with her.

Yolanda touched Beatriz’s sleeve. “What happened?”

Isabella joined them, Juana in her arms. “Her papá is sick.”

“The illness is real?” Nuncio asked.

Beatriz nodded. Her father was a monster who deserved to burn in Hell, but he was also helpless now and most likely frightened. To ignore or hurt him, as he’d done to her and her mother, was unthinkable. Beatriz couldn’t manage that much hatred. She entered the castle.

Isabella followed close behind. “Are you going to him?”

“What other choice is there? I have to do the right thing.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No.” She crossed the kitchen. Servants paused in their work, staring at her and the others. Beatriz raced down the hall to the grand stairway.

Nuncio caught up again. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

She stopped and threw her arms around him for his kind gesture. This time, Nuncio hugged her in return. Tears stung her eyes. “I need to do this on my own. Please arrange for a carriage. I need to leave at once.”

“Of course.” Nuncio hurried down the hall.

Isabella rushed to the stairs. “Yolanda, help me pack what Beatriz needs for her journey.”

“At once.” The girl bounded up the steps.

Isabella spoke to Beatriz. “Please wear the gown I gave you.”

“What I have on is fine.” She wore the simple dress she’d taken from Pascuala, relished seeing her expression when she realized Beatriz had donned a servant’s clothes to escape.

Beatriz guessed she had malice in her after all. Suddenly, she was a fourteen-year-old girl again, clinging to her mother’s things, with Pascuala pushing her aside in order to dispose of them calmly and coldly.

“Forgive me for being so bold,” Isabella said. “But do you want your father’s last view of you to be in servant’s clothes rather than dressed as a noble, looking beautiful and happy for having made the right choice in running away? Whatever you may be feeling now, this is your final chance to prove you survived his cruelty, unlike your mother. You can make her proud.”

Beatriz stopped on the landing. “How wise you are.” She pressed her cheek to Isabella’s.

Juana gurgled.

“I can take her.” Yolanda reached for the infant. “You two can talk.”

“No time for converse.” Isabella delivered her child to Yolanda, then tugged Beatriz down the hall. “We have to prepare you and pack. How long will you be gone?”

Beatriz had no idea. “I know this sounds terrible, but should I wait for him to pass?”

“Could be days, possibly weeks if the physician is wrong. They often are.” She steered Beatriz into her and Fernando’s chamber. “I learned as much from Sancha, especially when Tomás fell ill. The fool surgeon bled Tomás twice, even though he was already too weak to stand on his own. When Fernando lost so much blood trying to protect me, he nearly…” Tears welled in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Although your father’s condition is grave, he may last awhile.”

She pulled a leather satchel from the wardrobe. “This is large enough to hold items for several days. If you need to stay longer, Tomás can bring what you need…unless you want to use what you left behind when you fled.”

“Never. I want nothing of that life.”

“Very well, you shall have what I give you.” She opened a cabinet drawer and pulled out several chemises, the undergarments as white as the finest pearl, lighter than the morning mist. “These should do. I can also give you some of my gems and shoes and—”

“The plum-colored gown is enough.” Too much to Beatriz’s way of thinking. “Could be all my father wants is for me to show up, proving I care, so his physician can tell others what a good man he is and how much his daughter loves him. Once I serve my purpose, he may tell me to quit annoying him as usual.”

Isabella lowered the chemises to the bed. Yolanda sat in a box chair, rocking Juana. Both looked sad for her.

What grand friends they were. “Never fear. What my father thinks of me is in the past. I have Tomás now.”

“That you do.” Isabella pulled out a pair of low shoes in black leather, the toes pointy. She put them on the satchel. “Stay with your father or leave as soon as you make an appearance. Do what you feel you must. But I still want you prepared.”

* * * *

When Isabella had finished packing and Beatriz was dressed like a noble, Nuncio had the carriage waiting. Tomás’s most able guard drove the conveyance. Several guards would also accompany them on horseback for protection against robbers.

Beatriz hugged Nuncio. “When Tomás returns, please tell him not to worry about me.”

“I will, but he will.”

She laughed and released him.

Yolanda lifted the snowy napkin on the basket Cook had prepared for the journey. “Everything you like.” She wiped a tear. “Especially olives and oranges. I picked the very best for you.”

Isabella smiled. “She is such a treasure.”

Beatriz embraced Yolanda. “No need to cry. In no time at all, I will return. You can watch for me from the parapet.”

“Take care, please.”

With her father near death and Tomás’s love sheltering her, Beatriz was safer than she’d been her entire life. She cupped Yolanda’s chin. “No slacking off on your lessons. Practice your letters every day.”

“I promise to learn all of them before you return.”