Passionate Pursuit (18 page)

Using another oil lamp, he reached the wooden door and slipped inside. “Beatriz.”

Nothing.

Uneasy, he ran down the hall, praying she hadn’t fallen into the water. “Beatriz!”

He stopped at the stone depressions, both empty, mattresses stacked to the side, the silk piled next to them. Ready to call her name once more, Tomás lifted the lamp.

She knelt in the courtyard, head down.

He put the lamp on the floor and raced to her. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

She lifted her face, her cheeks damp with tears that glistened in the waning light. “I lost it.”

“What?”

She trembled. “It was all I had of our day here.”

He touched her shoulder. “What do you mean? Tell me and I can help you look for whatever you lost.”

“The orange peel! You forgot to put it in the basket before we left. I came back and found it.” Her mouth trembled. “So little to ask for when I lost you. I only wanted…”

He gathered her close. “You never lost me.”

“I have.” She gripped his shoulders, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He helped her to her feet and swept her into his arms. She clung to him as though drowning. They both were without each other. Their separation had to end.

Back in the chamber, he lowered Beatriz to her feet and put a mattress on a platform. “Lie down.”

“No. I have to look for the peel.”

“We will later, I promise.” He pulled her down to the mattress.

She threw her arms around him, her kisses hungry. They fell back, tearing at each other’s clothes, trying to keep their mouths together. Soon, they lay on the mattress naked, Tomás between her legs. He mounted her quickly, thrusting deep.

She captured his mouth.

Given their savage passion, one would have thought decades, rather than weeks, had separated them. He couldn’t get deep enough inside her to quell his desire. She couldn’t seem to sate her hunger for his mouth. They rocked in time, breaths mingled, joyous cries combined to make one glorious sound.

Panting, he rolled over until she was on top, her weight and heat comforting him.

He fought sleep, fearing she’d disappear if he closed his eyes. He didn’t think he could survive another estrangement from her. “We have to settle this. I refuse to go back to these past days. What of you?”

She tightened her hold. “I feel the same.”

He lifted her chin so she’d have to look at him. In the faint light, she was a mixture of golden skin and dark hair, a creature of passion, the loveliest woman he’d ever known. “Tell me precisely what you mean. I want to hear the words.”

He needed Beatriz to declare her love and promise to be his wife.

She looked so solemn he grew uneasy.

“Do you intend to leave the castle because we had each other again?” His skin prickled. “Do you intend never to see me again?”

“I want to be with you. God help me, I have to…though not as your wife.”

“You want us to remain friends? What happens when you conceive?”

“I would do the very best for our child.”

“On your own?” Everything was slipping away again, and so quickly, he couldn’t keep up. “Without me?”

“Our son or daughter would bear your name. I would keep your memory alive. I would never want anything else.”

He couldn’t believe she’d actually said what she had. “You expect me to allow you to take our child away?”

“We could stay here until the time came for us to leave.”

“When would that be?”

“When you wed.”

“You expect me to wed someone else when I love you and to let you take our son or daughter from me?”

“You would always be a part of our child’s life, if you wanted to do so. You and I could still see each other.”

“Have you gone mad? How?”

“I would be your mistress.”

Tomás rolled them over until she was beneath him. He left the mattress and backed away. “No. Never. How dare you suggest such a thing.”

“This is the only way.” Leaving him forever wasn’t possible any longer. She’d have to share him with another woman in order to have him in her life at all.

“You have gone mad.” He threw up his hands. “You expect us to live in the shadows, hiding. From what? Why? Because of your station? Position means nothing to me. I want you as my wife, not my mistress.”

Beatriz wanted the same, but their desire didn’t matter, a future together wasn’t possible. She reached for him. “I love you. I will never want another.”

His outrage changed to yearning. He sank to one knee by the mattress and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

A tear ran down her cheek. “Please say you agree.”

“No. How can you even ask?” An anguished sound rushed from him. “Why are you doing this to us? Tell me. We can solve anything provided I know the truth.”

If he did, their time together would end. “I want no man to rule me. This way, I can be free and you can too.”

He released her hand. “Except for my ties to my future wife. Have you forgotten her?”

She’d have to push her feelings aside, never wanting to know if the other woman was pretty or plain, whether her voice was sweet, how she and Tomás behaved together. Whether they touched freely, smiled, and became lost in each other’s gazes.

Beatriz wanted to die, but pulled herself together. She had no other choice. “Many in the kingdom have loveless marriages with the husbands and wives seeking pleasure elsewhere.”

“How true. But what if I fall in love with my wife? What then?”

She’d never recover. She lowered her face, hiding her torment. “I would have your child or children to remember you.”

“You would also have your precious freedom.” He stood. “Put on your clothes. We need to quit this place.”

She couldn’t move.

He yanked on his shirt and reached for his braies. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Please reconsider.”

“No. Never mention such a vile thing to me again, understand? From this day forward, you and I are nothing to each other. Without marriage, you will never have my love or my child. Get dressed. Now.”

She forced back tears. Her hands shook so badly she could barely manage to pull on her clothes or work her laces. Tomás didn’t offer to help. He fetched the oil lamp and remained away, waiting for her.

Once she’d finished, he led the way from the harem and across the grounds.

She held back. “Wait. My clothes are muddy. My hair…” During their passion, he’d loosened her braid. The breeze blew tendrils across her cheeks and forehead.

He stopped finally, his hair ashy in the moonlight, the locks and his shirt quivering in the light wind. He returned to her. “If anyone notices how you look, tell them you became lost in the darkness and fell. I heard your cries for help. Let them think what they will.” He proceeded to the castle.

Beatriz had to run to keep up.

* * * *

Tomás was finished with her. He had to stop this madness now. Beatriz thought so little of him she was willing to share him with another woman in order to retain her precious freedom.

So be it. Never again would he offer her his heart, nor did he want to see her every day to remind him how foolish he’d been. He hated this estate and the endless, boring tasks. He wanted to fight again for Spain. Die for his country if need be.

When he’d been at Enrique’s castle, they’d heard from their other brother, Pedro, about the Crown’s advance on the Moors. Spain had already taken Cuxar, only two leagues from Baza, the next goal. Tomás’s destination after tonight.

He reached the back entrance. Light glowed in the kitchen, with a possible audience to his fury. He rounded the castle to enter from the front. Nuncio stood at the door, waiting for him.

Tomás frowned. “Go away.”

Nuncio took in Beatriz’s tear-streaked face, muddy clothing, and messy hair. “Don Tomás, you must listen to me.”

“Not now.”

Nuncio stood in his way. “You have a visitor.” He inclined his head to a carriage and men to the side, then glanced at Beatriz. “You need to speak with him.”

“I said, not now.”

For the first time in his service to Tomás, Nuncio wouldn’t retreat. He leaned close and whispered, “This is about her.”

Tomás grew cold. He looked over at Beatriz. “Go to your bed.”

“No.” Nuncio kept his voice low. “She needs to stay down here.”

Tomás went unsteady with foreboding. He waved her away. “Go to my study. Remain there until I say otherwise.”

She stared at him and Nuncio.

Tomás frowned. “Now.”

The moment she entered the castle, he crowded Nuncio. “Speak. Explain.”

“While you were gone, Señor Don Larnaz Telles arrived at the gate, demanding entrance.”

“And you let his carriage in? Tell him and his servants to go.”

“He awaits you in the parlor.”

“You let him in the castle?”

“I had no choice. The man is a marquis.”

“He could be king for all I care. I never heard of him. This has to be a mistake. Tell him to leave. Call the guards and have them throw him out if you must.”

“He demanded we bring Beatriz to him.”

Tomás’s belly clenched. “He spoke her name?”

“Quite clearly.”

“Beatriz, my servant? Surely, the man wants another woman called the same.”

“He expressly demanded her, Beatriz González y Serrano.”

“Have you lost all good sense? That is not her surname.”

“I told him as much. He gave me this to prove what he said and to show you.”

Nuncio handed him a portrait miniature, no larger than Tomás’s palm. He couldn’t look at the thing. Didn’t want to.

“The face is hers.” Nuncio pulled a torch from its holder and held the light closer to Tomás.

The artist must have painted Beatriz a few years earlier. She looked slightly younger. However, her features and hair were the same. He tried to understand this but couldn’t. “Was she in service to the marquis? Did she steal from him?”

“What servant has the means to have a portrait created?”

“How should I know? She might have tutored his children. Maybe she was an important part of the family. Nothing else makes sense.”

“You need to speak with him to find out.”

Squeezing the portrait, Tomás forced himself to go inside, and entered the parlor.

A corpulent man of perhaps sixty lumbered to his feet. Chin lifted, he glared at Tomás’s disheveled hair and soiled shirt, then wrinkled his nose. “I insisted on speaking to the master. Not a fool servant.”

Nuncio rushed up. “Allow me to introduce Don Tomás to you. He rules here.”

Don Larnaz’s florid cheeks went as dark as his wine-colored doublet and robe. He puffed out his chest, straining his already snug garments. “Don Tomás. We meet at last.”

“Why should we meet at all?”

Larnaz’s mouth fell open, making his sagging jowls more prominent. He frowned at Tomás’s fist. “You have my portrait. Return it at once.” He thrust out his hand.

Tomás ignored him, hating the man already for how he looked, behaved, and the way he’d said Beatriz’s portrait belonged to him. “How did you come to be here?” He stepped closer. “Who told you to barge in on my estate?”

The man’s shaggy eyebrows shot up. He recovered quickly, frowning. “I had no intention of requesting an audience with you. To answer your question, I believe the man’s name is Rufio.”

Tomás had to keep from reacting. Beatriz had warned him that Rufio would exact revenge. “How does he fit into this?”

“If you must know, I offered a reward for information leading to Beatriz’s whereabouts. I had her likeness posted at various areas in the city, even the ones where peasants gather, hoping for work. Rufio recognized her, had someone read what I had written, and appreciated the sum I offered for what he knew.”

“Beatriz worked for you? She stole money or property?”

His expression darkened. “She and I are betrothed.”

Nuncio gasped.

Tomás couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t possible. Yet her refusal finally made sense. If she’d accepted his marriage offer, the moment the banns were posted, Larnaz would have found out where she was and would have dragged her back.

Tomás curbed his outrage. “She ran from you.”

Larnaz sneered. “Beatriz and I had a quarrel, easily remedied. She adores her papá and wants what he does. He chose me for her. She agreed. I have the contract.”

Her father was alive? “He chose you? Are you saying Beatriz is noble born?”

He stroked his gray-streaked beard. “If only such a miracle were possible. Her beauty, however, does make up for her poor lineage to some degree. Her papá is one of the most prosperous merchants in the city. I agreed to take her off his hands.”

Tomás wanted to run the puto through. “Nuncio, ask Beatriz to come in here. Say I want to see her, not that the marquis has arrived.”

Nuncio backed away slowly.

Larnaz scowled. “Be quick about it.”

Nuncio wasn’t, but finally left the room.

Larnaz faced Tomás. “I have my men waiting outside should she try to slip away again. Beatriz can be quite headstrong at times. A lesson I learned too late. She needs a firm hand, which I intend to give until she learns to obey. Never again will she escape my reach.” He cleared his throat. “All this needless explanation is making me quite thirsty. I require a drop of wine.”

Tomás would die before giving him a sniff. “You can taste your own store once you leave.”

The man huffed.

Beatriz entered the parlor and stopped short. Her face deathly white, she stared at Larnaz as one would a demon.

Larnaz scowled. “What have you done to yourself? How dare you put me to such trouble only to have you look this way? Come here at once.”

She recoiled.

“Very well. I will go to you.” He stormed across the room.

Tomás stood between him and Beatriz. “Leave now. Never come here again.”

“As though we would. Once Beatriz and I take our leave from—”

“She stays.”

Deep red patches spread across Larnaz’s cheeks. “You have no say in this. She and I are betrothed. I have the contract.”

“If you had an order from the king, my answer would be the same. I asked for Beatriz’s hand. She accepted.”