Destiny's Captive (11 page)

Embarrassment heated her from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet, but she nodded.

When her mother concluded, she added, “Some women find the marriage bed pleasing; others don't.”

Pilar wanted to ask if she had, but again, embarrassment took told.

As if having read Pilar's thoughts, she confessed with a fond smile: “Your father and I enjoyed that part of our marriage very much.”

There was a knock on the door. It was Pilar's uncle. “The coach is here, Desa. Noah would like for Pilar to join him.”

“Thank you. We'll be down in a moment.”

He withdrew and her mother pulled her into a tight embrace and placed a kiss on her cheek. “You and your man will do fine. You'll see.”

Pilar hoped she was right.

He was waiting for her in the parlor. “Take a few moments to say good-bye. I'll be out in the carriage.”

She was grateful for that small kindness. “Thank you.”

He bowed to her mother. “I will send for you and Doneta as soon as we reach my home.”

After his departure, Doneta embraced her first and Pilar's heart ached. “Please don't cry,” she said, even as tears spilled down her own cheeks.

“But I will miss you so,” her sister whispered thickly.

“I'll miss you, too, very much.” She leaned back and took a long last look. “You'll take care of Mama.”

“Always. Be happy.”

Pilar didn't speak to that but instead hugged her sister tightly again and placed a parting kiss on her wet cheek.

Next came her mother, whose smile melded with her tears. Holding Pilar close, she said confidently, “I will see you soon. God keep you safe.”

“You too, Mama. I'm sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Things happen as they will. I'll keep you and Noah in my prayers.”

The love she felt for her mother was unequaled and Pilar had no idea how she'd get through life until she saw her again. Everything that she was and believed in had been bestowed upon her by her parents, and every day since her life had begun, one of the two had been there. Now, her father was among the saints and her mother would be thousands of miles away. Her world was shattered. She stepped into her uncle's wide-open arms. “I'm sorry for the shame I brought to your house, Tio,” she whispered.

“No shame. You've made me very famous. Everyone will want to come and buy cigars from the man who had a sword fight at his birthday
rumba
.”

She laughed and wiped at her eyes.

“I will look after your mother and sister. Have no worries on that.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything. Give my cousins my love.”

“I will. Go with God, my rebel niece. May you find favor.”

Picking up her borrowed case, she took a final look at the people she loved, gathered herself and stepped out into the darkness.

H
e was waiting by the coach. She was glad the darkness hid the evidence of her tears. She hated showing any form of weakness, so she quickly dashed away the remaining dampness and hoped there would be no traces left when they reached their destination.

“I'll take your bag.”

“I can carry it.”

“It's called chivalry, Pilar. I help you with your bags and hand you into the coach. Humor me if you would.”

She pushed the bag practically into his chest. She thought he cracked a bit of a smile but it was too dark to see clearly.

“Now, your hand please, so I may help you in.”

“I've been getting in and out of carriages my entire life.”

“Not with a husband, you haven't.”

He was right of course, and because she had no ready riposte, she impatiently extended her hand. He took it in his own and the warmth that radiated rippled over her like stones across a pond. As soon as her foot gained the lip of the coach, she broke the contact in order to restore her breathing to something akin to normal.

The interior had only one bench, so she chose to sit on the far end beneath the window. He followed her inside.

The coachman got them underway and she tried not to think about leaving her mother and sister behind. It was difficult. “Where are we going?”

“To the boardinghouse I'm staying in. As I said, we'll see about the train in the morning.”

Another thing she tried not to think about was the wedding night. She was thankful for the information given to her by her mother concerning what she might expect. Pilar didn't reveal that during her time with the Revolutionary Army she'd inadvertently happened upon a few men and women coupling under the cover of darkness but had quickly veered away so she wouldn't be seen. Nor did she reveal that one of the Mambi women had told her that with the right man the marriage bed could be heaven, but with the wrong one, hell. She wondered which he might be and if she'd be able to tell the difference. She hazarded a glance his way and found him watching her. “How long will it take us to get to your home in California?” she asked to cover her nervousness.

“Five days—maybe seven, depending on the tracks, the weather—any number of variables.”

“Do your mother and brothers live nearby?”

“We all live on the ranch.”

“In the same house?”

“No. My brothers have their own homes. You and I will be staying with my mother in the house where I grew up until we decide where we might want to live.”

“Oh.” She wondered how his mother would take to her and what he'd been like as a child. Had he gotten the scar back then? More questions without answers, so she sat in the darkness and tried not to wail aloud over this unwanted turn in the direction of her life.

Noah couldn't believe she'd wanted to argue with him over entering the coach and chuckled inwardly. Having her in his life was going to be an ongoing challenge. He'd have to keep reminding himself that she was twenty-five years old and had been making her own way in the world for quite some time. When other fifteen-year-old young ladies had their heads filled with parties, new gowns, and dreams of
novios,
she'd gone off to war. Deferring to a man on such mundane matters as etiquette was undoubtedly something she'd never had to take into consideration before. He cast back to the memory of her standing so stoically in her uncle's study. It had probably killed her inside to ask that he marry her. Under normal circumstances her words would have been music to his ears. Although there was nothing normal about the threats she and her family were possibly facing, he still wanted her as his wife and dared the Spanish or anyone else to try and take her from him.

At that moment the coach's open window caught the passing light of a streetlamp to reveal the sadness on her face. His heart opened in a way that was as new to him as his rising feelings for her were. It had to be excruciating for her to leave her family behind, especially coupled with the grief she felt as a result of her friend's death. He very much wanted to offer her solace but she'd probably pull a machete out of her bag and hack him into small pieces if he approached her in that way, so he settled back and shared the silence.

It was a bit past ten when they left the carriage and walked to the door of the boardinghouse. The place was dark as befitting the lateness of the hour. The owner, a short, large-breasted Irishwoman named Ira Fitzhugh, didn't issue keys to the front door after eight o'clock, so he had to knock and hope she didn't curse at him for getting her out of bed. Dressed in a robe thrown over her nightclothes, she finally answered the summons, took one look at him and Pilar, and said in an icy tone, “I don't allow men to have women in their rooms, Mr. Yates.”

“This is my wife, Pilar, Mrs. Fitzhugh.”

Her attitude instantly gentled. “Oh, then come in. Were you married today?”

“Yes.”

“And she's such a pretty little thing. Lucky too, eh, Pilar. Not many women are blessed with such a handsome man. I remember my wedding night. I was so afraid, but when my Jamie began—”

At the sight of Pilar's appalled face, Noah cut her off. “We're going to go on up, Mrs. Fitzhugh. My apologies for making you leave your bed to let us in.”

She waved him off. “No apologies needed. Have fun.” After throwing them a bold wink she padded back down the hallway to her room.

After they climbed the dark stairway to the second floor, Pilar felt as if she was walking to her doom. She stood silently while he fit his key into the lock of one of the doors.

“Stay here a moment and let me light the lamp.”

Once it was lit, she entered. The weak light flickered around the small room to reveal a large bed which she quickly averted her eyes from, a writing desk, a few chairs and a screen which she assumed hid the pot. She was more nervous than she'd ever been in her life. She watched as he removed his coat and pulled his tie free.

“You should crawl into bed and get some sleep,” he told her. “We've a long day ahead of us.”

She went still. Would there be no wedding night?

As if having read her mind, he said quietly. “We'll save the wedding night for the future. I want you to be as ready for me as I am for you. Tonight, you're not.”

Although being with him in bed wasn't something she'd been pining for, she was now trying to determine if she should be offended. “You don't want a wedding night?”

“I do, but as I said, you aren't ready.”

“And you know this how?”

He walked over to where she stood and placed a finger beneath her chin to gently raise her eyes to his. “Because you aren't. Shall I show you?”

Pilar trembled under his intense gaze but not wanting to admit defeat, she nodded.

“You're certain now?”

“Yes,” she all but gritted out.

He eased her close and when his mouth claimed hers she was instantly lost. This was a repeat of their interlude in the garden. His kisses ignited a slow heat in her blood like a too potent sangria, leaving her sighing, breathless and brainless.

“Open your mouth,
mi pequeño pirata
. . . let me taste you . . .”

Her lips parted of their own accord. He slipped his tongue inside and she moaned from the sweet feel.

“When you're ready, you'll want me to do this.” Lips as hot as his tone blazed a lazy trail down the edge of her neck and then journeyed back up again to reclaim her mouth, while his hand cupped her breast and bold fingers teased the nipple through the layers of her thin gown and chemise. She fought to breathe as kisses singed the flesh at the base of her throat. When he dragged down the bodice of her dress, taking the edge of the chemise with it and fed himself on the hard nipple that came free, the intensity crackled over her like lightning striking the sea. She cried out, pushed him away and covered herself. The air was thick with the sounds of their accelerated breathing and Pilar's blood pounded in her ears.

“Now do you understand?” he asked quietly.

Every inch of her being was aflame and pulsating. A part of her wanted to hike up her skirts and flee from this overpowering man who'd given her his name, while another wanted to throw open her gown and let him feast. Saints help her.

“Go to bed, Pilar. When you're ready we'll play again.”

That said, he moved to the French doors that led out to the verandah and left her inside alone. Pilar sank to the bed and fell back against the mattress. Looking up at the shadowy ceiling, she lay there throbbing. Her gown was still askew, her nipple damp and pebbled and the feel of it in his mouth reverberated in her memory again and again. She sat up and put her head in her hands. Nothing in her life had prepared her for such sensual upheaval. Across the shadowy room lay the doors he'd used to exit. Had the brief encounter affected him as much, or was he too experienced to be moved by his virgin wife? Another question with no answer, so she dragged herself to her feet and changed into her nightclothes. Beneath the crisp clean sheets, she wondered if he planned to stay outside for the rest of the night and what it might be like to sleep beside him. Deciding she'd asked herself more than enough unanswerable questions, she drifted into sleep.

Outside, Noah wondered if she was asleep or awake thinking of him the way he was thinking of her.
Dios
, he was hard—harder than he remembered being in quite some time. He'd wanted to carry her to the bed, strip the gown from her, and take her with a sweet, bed-rocking ferocity that had been almost too powerful to control. But control himself he had, much to the disappointment of his still throbbing manhood. He shifted in the chair. He'd been wanting to taste and touch her without restraint from the moment she fled from him at Miguel's birthday party. Twice now he'd kissed her and each time he'd tasted a virgin's reluctance and then a passion he knew could be stoked to the fullest when the time came, but that time was not now, so he willed his body to calm and sat and waited for the sun to rise.

As always, Pilar awakened with the pink and gray skies of dawn. She glanced around the room and finding herself alone, wondered where Yates might be. Leaving the bed, she took care of her morning needs and pulled a skirt and blouse from her carpet bag. Once dressed, she dragged on her stockings and garters, stuck her feet into a pair of worn leather slippers and walked through the silent room to the doors that led to the verandah. And that's where she found him, fully laid out on the floorboards, asleep with his face atop his folded coat. He was snoring softly. Why he'd chosen to sleep out of doors only he knew. The scarred side of his face was hidden against his coat and she took a moment to evaluate his unblemished profile. There was no denying he was a handsome man. Lost in sleep, he looked peaceful—as if the world held no worries or challenges. He certainly bore no resemblance to the man who'd overwhelmed her with passion, or made her melt by calling her his little pirate. This Noah Yates seemed younger, almost innocent, but she knew better, so she left him and went back inside to await his awakening.

She didn't have to wait long. When he entered she was seated in one of the chairs.

“Good morning,” he said. Even rumpled from sleep his powerful presence filled the small room.

“Good morning.”

“I didn't mean to keep you waiting.”

“You seemed to be sleeping so peacefully—I didn't want to wake you.”

Last night's encounter rose again and the memory of his fervent kisses and warm mouth on her nipples made them harden beneath her cotton shift and blouse. “I'll—wait out on the verandah so you can take care of your needs.” Without waiting for a reply, she slipped past him and stepped through the opened doors.

Noah thought about her as he dressed. What sort of challenges would she bring today? She looked none the worse for wear from their fiery predawn episode, and he hardened thinking about her satiny soft skin and soft gasps of passion. Dragging his mind back to the present, he searched through his lone bag of luggage for a fresh shirt and suit. Once dressed, he stepped out to join her. “Are you hungry?”

“A bit, yes.”

“Mrs. Fitzhugh offers a good breakfast. Shall we go down?”

She nodded and joined him inside.

“Let me get the door.”

“Another chivalry rule?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes.

He smiled and pulled the door open. “After you.”

Seated at their table in the small dining room, he watched her scan the eggs, grits, bacon, and toast on her plate. “Something wrong?”

“Not what I'm accustomed to. What is this?” she asked.

“Grits.”

He saw no recognition in her eyes. “It's hominy. A grain.”

She used her fork to taste a bit of it and made a slight face.

“Most people use butter and salt and pepper to flavor it. Here in this part of the country it's sometimes served with shrimp as well.”