FLAME OF DESIRE (47 page)

“That is all I want, all I ever wanted,” she whispered, reaching up to entwine her arms around his neck. “Perhaps all is not lost for us. We have Mendosa’s friendship, and if my father is still alive, I will seek him out and see if he can be of any help to us in our new life.”

“Yes, your father. I had forgotten that you are of  Spanish blood, my love.”

“Mother told me all about him while you were locked in the Tower. We shared our heartache, she and I. Rodrigo de Vega, that is his name. He sailed with Francisco Pizarro and Hernando de Soto in search of new lands, leaving my mother with the promise to return. He never came back, leaving her with empty promises and a child in her belly. Me.” Her voice was tinged with bitterness. “All these years I wondered why she was so meek and mild with Thomas Bowen, and now I know the reason. It was because she was so grateful to him. He married her and gave her child a name.”

“A beautiful child,” he whispered, stroking he hair. “I feel sorry for this de Vega not to have watched you grow into a beautiful woman.”

Her eyes were as stormy as the sea. “I feel no sorrow for him. I will never forgive him. Never. If it were not that we are fugitives, I would not want to see him, but circumstances often melt away one’s pride.” She shook her head sadly. “No doubt he will not be too anxious to see the proof of his perfidy, but he cannot deny I am his child. My mother has told me that it is from this Rodrigo de Vega that I come by my red hair and gray eyes.”

He touched her face gently. “Then I thank him with all my heart.” There was a silence between them for a long moment as he gazed at her, at the slight widow’s peak he loved so well, her upturned nose, the flawless skin of her complexion. He remembered that first night he had seen her. Had he loved her even then? Yes.

“Ah, the lovebirds,” Rafael Mendosa said with a smile, coming up behind them. “What think you of the sea, Señorita Heather?”

“It is beautiful, Rafael, so peaceful and serene.”

He laughed. “For the moment,
señorita
. Like a beautiful woman, it is unpredictable and full of spirit at times. Let us hope that you do not witness firsthand its temper.” He looked about the deck, his eyes searching for someone. “Señorita Tabitha. Where is she?”

“In one of the smaller cabins below. I fear that she is not as fortunate as I. The sickness of the sea ails her.” Actually Heather suspected that part of the blond woman’s problem was nerves. Nerves and shyness. The way she blushed and trembled whenever Rafael Mendosa was near had not gone unnoticed by Heather. She had fallen under his spell, Heather thought. How I hope that he will not break her heart.

“She is ill?” His voice was filled with concern and tenderness, easing Heather’s fears. “Is there anything I can do for her?”

“Tabitha is resting now, but there is something you can do for me.”

“Anything, Señorita Heather.”

“Have you heard of Rodrigo de Vega? He sailed with Hernando de Soto to the New World.”

“De Vega?”

“Yes. Rodrigo de Vega. He is my..my father.”

If he was shocked by her revelation, he didn’t show it, maintaining as always his undeniable charm. “Rodrigo de Vega. Yes, I have heard of him. He is one of Philip’s most trusted nobles. A man of great renown. I have met him once or twice while in Castile.”

“Philip’s noble? I’ll be damned,” Richard swore. “It seems that all is not as bleak as we thought, if he will help us.”

Heather brushed at her skirt with agitation, asking the question that had to be asked. “Is he married now?”

Rafael shook his head no. “But I believe that he was several years ago. He has always been a man of subtle mystery, this explorer noble, as if he bears a great sadness in his heart.”

“Or guilt,” Heather said, ignoring Rafael’s quizzical look.

“Will you help us find him, Rafael?” Richard asked, trying to soothe the tension which had suddenly sprung up between his friend and the woman he loved.

“
Sí, amigo
, I will help you.” He swept Heather a most gracious bow. “And now I must go below to look upon another fair face, the Señorita Tabitha. I have just the thing to soothe her.” Smiling at the two lovers, he took his leave of them, walking upon the swaying deck as if upon solid earth.

“An interesting man, our Mendosa,” Richard exclaimed.

“I like him. I hope with all my heart that he proves to be the man Tabitha has longed for all her life. A woman needs a man to love, as I love you.” In answer he reached out to cup her face in his hand, bringing his lips down to hers for a kiss that mingled gentleness with desire.

“I love you. The thought of never seeing you again wounded me more deeply than the wrongful cry of traitor.” The stark emotion in his voice touched Heather’s heart. “When we get to Spain, I want you to marry me, before a priest and before god.”

“Marry you.” The words sounded so precious to her. How long had she waited to hear him say them? “I will marry you.”

Pulling her into his arms, he crushed her against the warmth of his chest. “Only death will part us now.”

The creak and sway of the ship kept Tabitha awake. She opened her eyes as the cabin door swung open. “Heather?” she asked softly, stifling a groan. Never in all her life had she felt so miserable. This horrible seasickness robbed her of any poise and dignity.

“No
señorita
, not Heather. Rafael.”

She buried her face in the pillow, refusing to look at him. What must he think of her? He would surely think her weak and sickly as well as plain of face. Fighting the urge to cry, she remained silent and unmoving until she felt a hand on her hair, stroking the soft curly strands with a gentleness that was surprising for someone so large and so strong.

“I am so sorry that you are not well,” she heard him say.

The motion of the ship seemed to tie her stomach in knots, yet she managed somehow to turn over on her back and gaze up at him. “I’m all right. Really I am,” she lied, only to clasp her hand over her mouth at the sudden motion of the ship. Running from the bed, she was just barely in time to reach the chamber pot  before her stomach emptied its contents. In humiliation she was sick in front of the very man whose admiration she so longed to obtain

“Poor
señorita
,” she heard him say as he moved about the room. The next thing she knew, he had dampened a cloth with water from a pitcher near the bedside and was wiping her face and forehead. Bright splotches of red blazed high on her cheeks to have him see her like this. “Lie down,
señorita.
I have something which will help you in this first time at sea.” He handed her what appeared to be a handful of weeds. “Chew these. I promise you that they will make you feel much better.”

She would have taken them if he had given her wooden pegs to eat. “Thank you. You are very kind.”

At her quizzical look he answered, “A rare blend of strawberry leaves, spearmint, and just a bit of sage. My mother’s concoction. She often gave it to me when I was a small boy and we sailed upon my father’s ship.”

Tabitha looked at him shyly, wondering what he must have been like as a child. Handsome even then, she thought. “They taste good together,” she stated in surprise.

When at last she had chewed them a long while, he put forth a small linen handkerchief. “Spit them into this. Don’t swallow them.”

Again she was embarrassed, but did as he said. He left the bed for a moment and came back with a cup of water in his hand and bade her drink it. She sipped it slowly, her eyes riveted upon his face all the while. When she was finished he pushed her gently down upon the bed and pulled a woolen blanket up over her.

“Sleep,” he said to her. “If you need anything, anything al all, call me.”

“Thank you, Rafael,” she whispered. He closed the door, leaving Tabitha to her dreams.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

From the deck of the
Canción
Heather watched the ocean, so peaceful now. But as Rafael had said, it could be violent.  Last night there had been such a storm that she had feared lest the ship topple over and throw them all into its mighty depths. Richard and Rafael had not shown panic, but she and Tabitha had huddled together in Tabitha’s tiny cabin, clutching to the very beams for support in a world gone topsy-turvy. Now all was calm again.

Heather’s eyes sought out Richard. She never tired of looking at him. As he worked, he removed his shirt. The wide expanse of his bare chest always stirred her emotions as the sinewy strength of his muscles rippled with his every movement. Was there a more handsome man anywhere?

Sensing her eyes upon him, he turned to look at her, his eyes smoldering, flashing her a devilish grin, his teeth as white as the pearls the Spanish galleon carried on board.

“Heather.”

Heather was surprised to find Tabitha standing behind her. So Rafael’s gentle ministrations to the girl
had
healed her. Heather smiled at the way Tabitha looked at Rafael and at the fond look he returned. There was a flash of attraction that sparked between the handsome Spaniard and the blond-haired young woman. Gone was the meek servant, and in her place was a woman of poise and natural charm.

Why, she is almost beautiful, Heather thought, looking at Tabitha standing by the railing with her long hair blowing in the wind. It was like the change of a caterpillar into a butterfly.

Sensing Heather’s eyes upon her, Tabitha turned and smiled. “I feel as if I was only half-alive before now. I’ve never felt this overpowering love before. Even thinking about him made my heart flutter. I will never forget how kind and gentle he was to me. Now I fully understand your feelings for your Richard.”

“Rafael is a fine man. I’m happy for you, Tabitha.”

“I know that he is as high above me as the stars above the earth, and yet somehow I sometimes think he feels the same about me. Yet perhaps it is only a dream. Sometimes if you want something so very much you imagine that your dream has come true.”

“I think he cares for you, Tabitha. Why wouldn’t he? You are a very pretty young woman.”

Tabitha clasped her hands to her breast and her blue eyes widened. “No. No, I am not. I am plain and tall, yet when he looks at me I feel beautiful.”

Heather shook her head sadly. Thomas Bowen had chided this sweet girl so often that he had convinced her of her unworthiness. “You are beautiful.” Beauty was deeper than just the surface, an inner glow from the soul, a gift that Tabitha had been given by Rafael’s love.

From behind them the women heard the sounds of the Spanish sailors talking, their voices raised in agitation.

“
Por allí, por allá. Un barco….otro barco. Siguiente detrás.”

The words stirred fear in Heather’s soul. “Ships! Following us.” Searching for Richard, she saw him striding toward her.

“You and Tabitha go below at once1” he thundered. “There are two ships headed toward us and we know not yet whether they be friend or foe.” He didn’t say the words, yet Heather knew that he feared that Seton followed them.

“I will not leave,” she answered stubbornly.

“I said go below. Now!” Tabitha scurried off, used to doing as she was told, but Heather stood her ground, sensing the danger they were in.

“If I am to die, it will be by your side.”

He looked at her in anger, but his emotion melted away at the look of love in her eyes. “If it is an English ship, I will carry you down below myself if need be. Stay until we see what ship seeks us.”

Looking out toward the ships, she sought to judge for herself. The
Canción
was said to be faster and more maneuverable than most ships. Although she was built for trading and carrying gold from other lands to Spain, still the
Canción
was equipped with small cannon.

“Surely we need not worry. The cannon…” she thought aloud.

“Are not good at a distance. We can only hope to keep them from boarding us if they are enemy.” As the captain issued his orders, Richard left her. The sound of tramping feet sounded as the sailors too hurried to obey.

They were English ships. Heather knew full well what that meant. “Seton!” It couldn’t be true. Not when everything was going so well. Not when they had at last found peace and contentment. “No!”

But it was true. Men swarmed the deck brandishing their weapons. It seemed as if all hell had broken loose. She watched three men scramble into the rigging, trying their best to fully unfurl the sails. The wind was blowing against them, holding the ship still. There was no way that the
Canción
could outrun the pursuing ships. Puffs of smoke billowed from one English ship as it fired upon them. The deck shuddered as wood splintered from the railing.

“Damn bastards. Damn bloody bastards!” Richard shouted in frustration. “We have been hit.”

The
Canción
struck her colors and topsails to show nonaggression to the other ship, yet the English ships moved steadily onward. Another shot brought damage to the rigging, and still another sent wounded sailors sprawling to the deck, smeared with their own blood.

“We must surrender. I want no trouble with these English,” shouted the captain. “Philip wants peace between our countries, not war. Even now he is King of England by proxy marriage.”

“No. No surrender!” Richard yelled, overcome by his desperation, his will to survive. The other sailors glared at him, knowing full well the reason for this confrontation. They were not willing to die for an Englishman. Muttering among themselves, scowling in his direction, they made it clear what the outcome of this battle would be.

“Surrender!” came the shout.

Rafael rushed forward. Unlike the others, he would not admit defeat. “No. No, we must fight!” The roar of a cannon sounded just as he stepped to the beakhead, the force of the explosion hurling him to the deck of the ship.

“Rafael. No,” Heather shrieked, seeing him fall. Ignoring the danger, she ran to him. He was holding his side in pain.

“I am hit!” he breathed, seeking to stanch the flow of blood with his hands.