A Love for Rebecca (31 page)

She took a deep breath and tried to sound confident. “Maybe your words were clear, but your body wants to be near me. I can tell.”

Kenzie took a final sip before he answered, looking not at her but the dance of the flames. “It’s true; I can’t deny it. I wish I could let go of my resentment, but it persists. Yet when you come to me, I can’t say no; I’m not that strong. I’m at your mercy, it seems. The only thing I ask is that you not toy with me. Don’t open yourself to me unless you plan on staying. But I suppose even if you swear you are, I won’t believe you.”

Rebecca secured the towel under her arms and came closer. “Do you want to live a life of regret like your father? Letting bitterness destroy your life and not doing anything about it?”

She was immediately sorry.

He jumped to his feet. She was startled but didn’t step back.

“You’re the one who destroyed my life!” he cried, staring at her, his eyes so brilliant from anger and alcohol they were like two blue crystals.

She didn’t back down; she was determined to fight. “So do something about it!” she yelled.

“And what can I do, Rebecca? I’m lost here.”

“Take me to bed, damn it! Can’t you see I’m dying to be with you? Can’t you see that in my eyes, you’re the only one I love, the only one I dream about? I won’t leave unless you kick me out of your life, unless you force me onto a plane and tell me never to look for you again. And even then I won’t give up!”

He stared at her with an expression she couldn’t interpret. Determined to finish what she started, she went to his side and put her arms around him. “Kenzie, please . . .” she whispered, burying her lips in his neck.

She sensed he was yielding to his feelings. His body shuddered under her caress. Rebecca met him when he bent to kiss her. She trembled with the heat of his lips and the moisture of his mouth. Together they savored the sweetest memories either had ever known, forgetting for a moment the painful ones.

He took her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He placed her on the bed, gently moving his weight over her. He held her face and kissed her again. His hands left her face and moved to her breasts, her towel opening. Rebecca’s body arched to meet his touch. Her breasts moved with her breathing, her desire mounting, inciting his own.

His mouth and hands delighted in her body, caressing, pressing, nibbling her soft skin. She was flushed, her heartbeat accelerating. Through his jeans, his erection was straining against her belly. Her body shook as he parted her legs, her wetness nearly streaming from her. He unbuttoned his jeans and slipped them down his legs, then rose and sank himself into her with one thrust. Rebecca gasped. A moan escaped him, and he tightened his hold on her, his weight and masculine power pressing her into the mattress with each movement, thrusting into her like a delicious torture. She trembled, she moaned; she bit his neck and scratched his back and buttocks. Kenzie’s forehead was beaded with sweat.

She reached for his face to kiss him. She saw the pain of the long years of absence written in the lines there. He moved his head and kissed her fingers. His lips brushed against metal. He took her left hand and saw the silver band he had not noticed before. “You’re still wearing it,” he whispered.

“I never took it off.”

He held up the silver band on his own hand.

“Kenzie . . .” she began.

“Why?” he asked, pain causing his voice to crack. “You took something sacred and threw it in the mud.”

She couldn’t think. Tears ran down her face, into her hair. She struggled to find her voice. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I am too.”

“I never stopped loving you.”

He kissed her gently, losing himself in her mouth. He made love to her tenderly, caressing every inch of her. She pulled at his shirt to get it off; she needed to feel his naked warmth. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer. She exulted in his body heat and hungrily breathed in his scent. It was the aroma of the rain, the waves, the whisper of the wind, the glistening forests of Skye. She was floating on a wave of desire. He marked the rhythm but let her lead the intensity of the movement. They moved as one, bound together in the flesh, kissing each other with intense desire. Unspent passion flowed between them, healing the pain in their souls.

Kenzie’s hand slipped downward, exhorting her to greater pleasure.

“Kenzie . . .” she moaned.

“Yes, Rebecca.” His voice was a warm whisper in her ear. “I want to hear you say my name, to tremble with pleasure under my body. I want you to lose control, to give yourself to me completely.”

Rebecca clutched him in the throes of ecstasy, and her body convulsed in orgasm. Her entire body throbbed—
la
petite mort
.

He reveled in her abandon, waiting for her waves of pleasure to subside. When they had, a little, he mounted her again with a desperate rhythm, his teeth gnashing in ferocious, unbridled release, his arms shaking powerfully until he could no longer hold himself up.

His anger was extinguished on the altar of Rebecca’s body, buried in an avalanche of sweat and tears.

EPILOGUE

Elvira was not attending the welcome dinner at the house in Pedralbes, claiming she was feeling under the weather. During the dinner she remained in her room, listening to the sounds coming from downstairs. Over the previous few weeks, she had gone often to confession with Father Arnau, looking for advice. She was overwrought by Rebecca’s broken marriage and by her son’s relationship with Pablo. She felt unable to bear it in a dignified manner.

On her last visit, the priest’s answer had confused her. “Elvira, we’ve been talking about this for a long time now. I always told you not to give up, and to fight for your children. But you need to accept certain things and approach your role from a different perspective. And after what you’ve told me, I must tell you that you were wrong to have allowed Rebecca to marry Mario. The Lord wants a man and a woman to embrace matrimony freely and lovingly, not under coercion. With these allegations, I don’t think Mario will have any difficulty obtaining an annulment. Once he does, you should see to it that your daughter and the foreigner get married properly.”

He paused and breathed deeply. “As far as Enric goes . . . The moral legitimacy of the union of two men is highly controversial in the Church. It’s an issue that goes beyond pastoral understanding. It’s true that it’s incompatible with the Gospel, but, between you and me, the arguments presented to condemn such relationships are weak. So I will say only one more thing, and then I hope you stop punishing yourself: do what your heart tells you and don’t be estranged from your children.”

Father Arnau’s words had provided a little peace. Nevertheless, what was perhaps her biggest obstacle still held her in its grip: her pride. She realized it was her pride that was keeping her from going down to be with her family now.

Heat spread across her forehead, and what had been the pretense of a headache now threatened to come on for real. She sat on the bed and fanned herself with the parish newsletter that was on her nightstand. Then she got up and went to the bathroom. She looked at her anxious face in the mirror, swallowed hard, and spent a few minutes composing herself. Then she left her bedroom and went downstairs.

Elvira stopped before entering the dining room and contemplated the scene from the doorway. With his shorter hair and his tattoos covered, Rebecca’s Scottish partner looked almost normal, she told herself.

The others noticed her presence, and the cheerful chatter stopped. Pablo exchanged a look with Enric, and Rebecca grasped Kenzie’s hand.

Elvira went to her seat at the table, next to her husband, and sat down with as much dignity as she could. Then, without looking at them and with her mouth drawn tightly—evidence of the great effort she was making—she looked over the food on the table.

“Pablo, will you pass the vegetables, please?” she said.

He sat there, dumbfounded. Elvira had never spoken to him other than to offer a formal greeting. He quickly responded: “The nopales?”

“No, the other one. I don’t care for cactus, and I’m guessing you don’t either. I’ve never seen you eat it.”

Pablo was momentarily at a loss for words, confused by the sudden change in Elvira. Enric gave him a look, urging him to answer.

“That’s true,” he admitted. “I don’t care for it.”

“Baudelia makes us eat it,” Elvira said with a tentative smile. “Before she came to work for us, we didn’t even know nopales existed.”

“They’re quite nutritious,” Enric said, encouraged by his mother’s attitude. “They were an Aztec food.”

“But they’re still cactus,” she replied as she accepted the salad bowl from Pablo. She took a small serving, and as she returned the dish to the table, her eyes settled on Kenzie. He tensed under her gaze. Rebecca squeezed his hand more tightly.

“Are they Catholic in your country, Ken . . .” She stumbled.

“Kenzie, Mother,” Rebecca said.

“Yes, yes. Kenzie. I know that.”

Kenzie didn’t understand the question, and Rebecca translated for him, a little uncomfortably. Kenzie didn’t seem surprised by her mother’s question.

“He says his father’s family has always been Catholic,” Rebecca informed her in Spanish, not adding that Kenzie himself professed no religion and his mother was Presbyterian.

“Good, good,” Elvira said, cheered. She secretly began to concoct new wedding plans.

That same night, Sofi learned her first words in Gaelic. She repeated them all night long under the supervision of her teacher. After all, Scotland would soon be her new home.

Lola returned to Edinburgh, repentant and begging Rory’s forgiveness. He couldn’t help but forgive her. He loved her deeply, and even though he had been very hurt by what she’d done, he was convinced that they could grow from the experience. Lola promised she’d never leave him again. To prove that her change of heart was sincere, she asked him to marry and impregnate her—though not necessarily in that order.

On September 18, 2014, the Scottish people held a referendum on independence from the United Kingdom. The “No” vote won by an eleven percent margin and put to rest three hundred years of secessionist aspirations—for now.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my husband and my son, because they are my driving force and what keeps my feet on the ground.

To my parents and brothers for always supporting me in everything I do, for dreaming with me, and for encouraging me to keep going.

My thanks and admiration to the Scottish tribal musical group Albannach, for being the primary source of inspiration for this story. In particular, to member Jamesie Johnston, who inspired the character of Kenzie and whom I appreciate for his kindness in sharing with me his feelings about his country and what it means to be Scottish.

To Kenny Fraser for helping me choose a song I needed for the novel. Thanks to him I discovered Loreena McKennitt and her beautiful version of “Bonny Portmore.”

To Pablo, from Crea-te, for sharing his view of Celtic rituals; I found it fascinating.

To the British Druid Order and Emma Restall Orr (
http://emmarestallorr.org
), for allowing me to use her Celtic wedding ritual. Her kindness and good wishes remain with me.

To Marisa Nevado and Salomé Alonso, for reading the first manuscript and catching who knows how many errors. Thank you also for laughing and dreaming with me.

To Manuel Navarro, a writer whom I admire, for his corrections and suggestions. Without his help this text would not be the same.

To Brian, Andy, and Lynz for graciously answering all my questions about Gaelic words and expressions.

To my social networking friends, for celebrating my successes, sharing my news, and always being available to help.

I cannot thank enough the readers of my first book,
Los ángeles de La Torre
, whose positive comments gave me the strength to keep creating stories.

And thanks to you, reader of this novel. I hope our minds meet again. Because as Arthur Schopenhauer said: “Reading is thinking with the mind of another instead of with one’s own.”