Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (53 page)

      
She rewarded him with a blush, feeling like a schoolgirl. “Once my armor did not daunt a Spanish soldier,” she murmured seductively in Provencal. The look of raw hunger on his face rewarded her.

      
“No, it did not. Nor shall it tonight,” he replied hoarsely, also using the French dialect.

      
From across the hall, Esteban Elzoro watched the interplay between Rigo and Miriam. His servants and spies had heard gossip of an estrangement between the half-caste and his lady. Yet the couple did not act the part at all this night. It would be terribly difficult to set another trap using Miriam as bait. Doubtless her husband would keep her under lock and key after the last failed attempt. Thinking of how the messages sent with Brienne to Marseilles must have been received, he shuddered. The woman could have been killed, and that would have sealed his fate.

      
Yet he knew she was the half-caste's fatal weakness. They must use her to reach him, for since the incident with the hound, Rigo Torres heartily mistrusted Esteban Elzoro. Reynard was frankly surprised Aaron Torres had invited him to the celebration.
Could they suspect my involvement in the ambush with the corsairs?

      
Such was not beyond the realm of possibility. He had to find a catspaw with which to lure Rigo Torres to his death. If not his wife, then who? He scanned the room, and his eyes alighted on the tall, golden-haired boy, Cristobal Torres. A speculative light gleamed in Elzoro's eyes.
If I could use the boy, I might lure Torres with him.
The lad fair dotes on the Spaniard.
He sauntered over to where Cristobal stood, an awkward adolescent too young to join in the dancing, yet old enough to yearn to do so.

      
Miriam and Rigo were not allowed even a moment's private conversation. After their dance, she was whisked off by his younger brother Bartolome, a handsome rogue of twenty, eager to make jealous a dozen local damsels by dancing with his sophisticated and beautiful sister-in-law. Rigo was drawn into conversation by various planters and stockmen eager to learn how the heir to the Torres
hato
was faring. Women flocked to him, vying with each other as they simpered, blatantly hinting to him to ask them for a dance until he was forced to oblige.

      
Miriam, now on the arm of her brother-in-law Rudolfo, smiled to herself. “No longer can my lord say his Taino blood makes him an outcast in a ballroom.”

      
Rudolfo's hawkish face lit with a gentle smile. “Here we are not outcasts, even though a few of the planters resent us. When Aaron gave his blessing to my marriage with Serafina, all Santo Domingo society was shocked.”

      
“Yet here in the Vega you certainly are accepted.”

      
His face darkened as he looked across the room at Elzoro in earnest discussion with his young brother-in-law Cristobal. “Most of the Spanish here have welcomed me as they do Rigo, but always there will be a few...”

      
Miriam followed his ebony eyes to Elzoro. “My husband does not like him.”

      
“Neither do I. He keeps hounds to run down escaped slaves. Many of them are Taino.”

      
“But slavery of Indians is illegal by Spanish law.”

      
Rudolfo shrugged his broad shoulders in that fatalistic way she had found characteristic of the Taino people. “If any Indian, be he Caribee or Taino, is accused of rebellion, he can be sold into slavery. In most places outside this isolated valley, the word of a Spaniard always takes precedence over that of the Indian.”

      
“I like not the way Don Esteban engages Cristobal. The boy is young and impressionable,” Miriam said, chewing her lip as she recalled Rigo's suspicions about Elzoro's involvement with the raiders.

      
Rudolfo's eyes hardened. “If that cur harms one hair on Cristobal’s head—”

      
“Please, let me handle this. I would be better able to learn what Elzoro is about than you or Rigo.”

      
“Beware, Miriam. He is treacherous,” Rudolfo said as he bowed at the end of the dance and led her from the floor.

      
Miriam made her way quickly to the secluded place where Elzoro and Cristobal stood in earnest conversation, partially hidden by several large pots filled with palms.

      
“Then it is settled. I shall look for you on the morrow, Cristobal.”

      
“What is settled? This young man has chores that his father will not easily let him escape,” Miriam interjected, favoring Elzoro with her most beguiling smile.

      
“Ah, Doña Miriam. I just invited your young brother-in-law to see my new barb breeding stock. I have received several of the finest mares and a splendid stallion from Spain only last week.”

      
“How fortunate such a valuable cargo was not intercepted by French corsairs,” Aaron said genially, materializing from behind one of the big palms. He possessively placed one hand on Cristobal's arm and observed Elzoro's reaction to his remark. Don Esteban seemed agitated, even a bit flustered at the mention of French pirates.

      
“Yes, Aaron. I was most fortunate to receive the cargo intact, although I believe storms in the horse latitudes to be more a danger than corsairs. I was inviting your son to see my fine barbs.”

      
“May I go, Papa? Always I have wanted a Spanish Barb. The stallion is black, as splendid as Peligro. Don Esteban has invited me on the morrow.” The boy's clear green eyes were as vivid as his mother's and his expression was winsome. His excitement over the invitation had him on the verge of very undignified exuberance.

      
When Aaron hesitated, Miriam intervened. “Perhaps you could spare Cristobal to see the horses if only for a brief visit. I, too, would enjoy the outing.” She turned expectantly to Elzoro.

      
“But of course, Dona Miriam. Twould be my pleasure to show you the horses. Aaron, would you honor me by joining them?” Reynard swore silently in French, uncertain if he had just pulled off a great coup or been himself ensnared in a clever trap. Aaron Torres must suspect him, but could prove nothing. How could he turn that to his advantage?

      
“Thank you, Esteban, but no, I must decline. Miriam and Cristobal would enjoy the visit, I am certain, but in these times of brigandage, we must be very careful, must we not? I think it best to postpone their journey for a bit. Perhaps in the future I might be interested in purchasing some of your stock for breeding.”

      
“Very good,” Elzoro replied stiffly. The wily
converso
was protecting his own.
He knows. I must act quickly.

      
“I do not see why we cannot go to Don Esteban's
hato
, Papa. Do you not believe I am capable of protecting Miriam?” The boy's fragile adolescent pride had been dealt a severe blow. I know Rigo would trust me.”

      
“I am certain I could have no better champion than you, Cristobal—nor at this moment, a better dancing partner.” Miriam placed her hand on the youth’s arm. Smiling and nodding to Elzoro and her father-in-law, she escorted the stunned boy away, all the while assuring him that he would cut a dashing figure on the ballroom floor.

      
Fray Bartolome had observed the whole interplay between Elzoro and the Torres family from across the room. If Rigo's suspicions about the planter were correct, Miriam had just rescued her young brother-in-law from grave danger. Smiling beautifically, he approached the stocky, sandy-haired planter who stood alone, stroking his beard, a brooding expression on his blunt features. “Ah, Don Esteban, just the man I have been hoping to find.”

      
The planter bowed politely, although he seethed inwardly at the meddlesome priest. “Fray Bartolome. It has been a great while since last I saw you—before you took the vows which locked you behind the gray walls of the Dominican monastery in Santo Domingo.”

      
“They do on occasion allow me outside, Don Esteban.” Las Casas' voice was laced with gentle irony. “I was summoned here to baptize the Torres heir since they have no priest on the Vega.”

      
“And to minister to your suffering Indians?” Elzoro could not keep the edge from his voice, no matter if this priest did have the ear of the Council of the Indies.

      
Las Casas chuckled good-naturedly. “The Taino people have no need of a champion here. I will remain a few days and visit them, performing baptisms, marriages, all else that is asked of me, then return to the monastery. Tis about my return journey that I would speak with you. Your
hato
lies directly on the road back to Santo Domingo. Would it be an imposition to ask hospitality overnight before I return to the capital?”

      
“Certainly not. I would be honored, Fray Bartolome. But I must caution you. I keep slaves and they are not tame like these Tainos. You must promise me to stay clear of their quarters lest harm befall you.”
Snooping troublemaker. I will allow you no run of my
hato
to question the savages about their lot!

      
Nodding in understanding, Las Casas smiled and replied serenely, “I assure you, Don Esteban, I shall make no criticism about how you treat your field slaves.”
Tis what lies within your house I would see.

      
Rigo smiled sardonically as he watched Bartolome ingratiate himself with the crafty Elzoro—Elzoro, Spanish for fox, as was Reynard French for the same common surname.
Soon, you crafty fox, your days of thievery will be at an end.

      
His eyes wandered then from his enemy to his wife. How magnificent she looked, easily the most beautiful woman in the crowded room. The smoky lavender of the amethysts matched the silvery glow in her eyes. Watching her dance, he felt his loins tightening. Tonight. He strode purposefully across the floor toward her just as the dance ended, bowing formally to young Cristobal and drawing his wife's hand into his.

      
“Twas an abrupt dismissal of your poor brother, my lord,” Miriam said, her expression not at all displeased.

      
“Come, let us quit the dance and the press of this crowd for a while. I would have you to myself.”

      
As he led her out an open door into the cool night air, Miriam felt a prickle of goose bumps run down her arms. Not the cold, but rather the heat from Rigo's scorching expression caused her to shiver in excitement.

      
Rigo led them into the shadows of a huge oak tree, letting the moonlight spill all around them, casting a lacy pattern on their faces. He took Miriam in his arms and whispered, “Your eyes make the moon pale in comparison.”

      
“Always you have seen beauty in me, desired me when I see but a tall, thin woman with plain gray eyes.”

      
His hand cupped a breast heavy with milk, and he laughed a low, wicked laugh. “Not so thin, I think,” he said, feeling the nipple harden beneath his skilled fingers.

      
Miriam clung to him, putting her arms about his neck, allowing her head to fall back, baring her throat as he brushed it with warm, firm lips. His mouth and tongue left a trail of fire from her throat across her collarbone, then lower to nuzzle the deep vale between her breasts. When he slid the shoulders of the gown lower, baring more of her cleavage, she remembered another night of drugging passion in a moon-drenched garden back in Marseilles when he had done just this. Only now it was his right. He was her husband and she loved him. A small animal cry tore from her as he freed one nipple and took it in his mouth.

      
Rigo could feel her trembling and melting against him. When she cried out his name and ran her fingers through his hair, urging him on, he felt a savage thrill of possession...and love.

      
Just as they lost themselves in a maelstrom of passion that would obliterate the outside world, the sounds of an animal bounding toward them interrupted, followed by a familiar voice.

      
“Vero, by all the saints, stay!” The man caught up with the large gray wolf, who obediently halted and stood beside his master. In the moonlight, Benjamin Torres' face seemed harsh and angular as he bowed before his brother and Miriam. With an irony more appropriate than he could ever guess, Benjamin said stiffly, “I do seem to have the habit of discomfiting you two.” His smile was a mockery.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

      
Miriam struggled in mortification to cover herself as Rigo stood protectively in front of her. Eyeing the wolf, he said, “You travel with strange pets, brother.”

      
“Vero will not harm you or your wife,” Benjamin replied stiffly, feeling both embarrassed and angry at the scene he had blundered upon.

      
Rigo stared dubiously at the wolf, who sat obediently at Benjamin's side, eyeing the stranger with curious golden eyes. “I am glad you have decided to return home, Benjamin. Father and Magdalena will be overjoyed.” His brother's face, once so open and trusting, had become as harsh and shuttered as his own.
I did this to him.

      
Benjamin's expression finally betrayed a hint of emotion. 'Tis good to be back on Española, but I have not returned to settle in the bosom of my family. There is a grave matter I must speak to our father about—is he within?”

      
“Both Aaron and your mother are in the hall, Benjamin,” Miriam interjected softly. She knew the fiery flush in her cheeks must surely be visible even in the moonlight.