Surrender to Love (12 page)

With a sigh she sat back on the cot Rosa had assigned her.  She separated the snarls carefully with her fingers as her tired eyes perused the small room she shared with her absent roommates.  The dusty-grey walls were void of any decoration, with the exception of a small crucifix which hung over the doorway.  An ancient clock hung on one wall, patiently ticking away the minutes, the hours she had spent within the confines of this prison.

Sabine shifted on the mattress, her eyelids heavy with sleep.  No matter how hard she tried to fight it, rest continued to beckon her.  The bed was soft and filled with musty straw for ticking.  It was certainly better than the hard wooden bench to which she had become accustomed.

But when she lay down, sleep stubbornly refused to come.  Unsettling thoughts pressed at her brain, nagging and pestering relentlessly.  What had become of the others?  Pauline, Patsy and the rest?  Had they found places?  Had Arianna finally convinced someone to contact her family?  Sabine hoped, at least, Pauline had been taken in by someone kind.  And she was quite positive Patsy had charmed the pants off some rich planter, even with her snappy street ways and sharp tongue.  But what of Mauda?  She was neither young nor beautiful.

The clock on the wall chimed eleven, and a giggle came from down the hall, startling Sabine to an upright position.  The door swung open with a clatter and her two companions fell into the room with a titter of laughter.  The smaller of the two grinned broadly
as she flipped her dark braid over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with great interest.  The other stood in the doorway, full lips pursed, her almond eyes hard, speculative.

“Sabine?”

The slight girl pointed a delicate finger in question, and Sabine nodded in reply.

“I am Maria,” she said in halting English, her smile never faltering.  “This is Juana.  She does not speak English, but I do…a little.  Rosa taught
me.  Please forgive me if I do not say the right thing.”

Turning to Juana, Maria beckoned her with a quick gesture of her hand.  The taller girl did not move, but continued to inspect her new roommate critically from afar, causing Sabine to squirm uncomfortably.

“That’s fine,” Sabine told Maria slowly and offered a halfhearted smile as her gaze broke from Juana’s.  “I speak no Spanish.  Maybe we can teach each other.”

“Yes!  I would very much like,” Maria exclaimed as she sat next to her new friend, clasping her hands together excitedly.

Juana snorted in disgust as she entered the room, threading her fingers through her dark tresses as she smoothed the length of her scarlet skirt.  As she crossed to the mirror that hung on the wall across from Maria, Sabine noticed the scornful curl of Juana’s lip as the Latina woman glanced her way, dark eyes discoursing the length of the tattered peach skirts Sabine wore.

“It is good to have someone like you here,” Maria prompted, tearing Sabine’s attention from the black fire that smoldered dangerously in Juana’s eyes.  “Juana is nice, but very…” Maria struggled to find the correct word she wanted in English.  She pantomimed gazing into a mirror and pretended to primp her hair.

“Distant,” Sabine offered hopefully as her gaze once again caught Juana’s calculating stare as it locked with hers.

Maria cocked her head in careful consideration.

“Yes,” she announced suddenly with a slap of her hands.  “I believe that is the word I am looking for.”

Juana looked back and lifted her pointed chin haughtily, her beautiful features marred by the disdain she exhibited.

“Puta,”
she spat out hatefully, her dark eyes wild, and she exited abruptly slamming the door forcefully behind her.  Arching an eyebrow, Sabine gave Maria an inquiring look.

“She call you a whore.”

Her jaw slack, she gasped in astonishment.  A whore?  This girl didn’t know a single thing about her; she had some nerve passing judgment.  What was her problem?  She certainly hadn’t asked to come here.

“She is a jealous woman,” Maria said simply.

“There’s no reason to be,” Sabine said as she propped her back against the wall and wrapped her arms comfortably around her knees.  “I don’t want anything she has.  I don’t even
know
of anything she has.”

“You are beautiful.”

“
I
don’t think so.”  Her reply came out more peevishly than expected.

“
Señor
Colón must believe it to be true.  Otherwise you would not be here.  He likes to adorn himself with beautiful women.  It is a fact,” Maria said as she straightened proudly.

Foolish.  Sabine rose and stared out the window, her brow furrowed.
  Ridiculous.  Colón and beauty and jealousy.  What kind of outrageous thoughts did this girl Maria possess?

“Juana wants Col
ón,” Maria said.

“She can have him.”

“He may want you.  Juana has given him plenty of opportunities, but he is not interested.”

“Well, he can’t have me,” Sabine replied sharply as she turned back to Maria.  “
Nobody
can.”

“You will have jewels and pretty clothes to wear,” the other continued, “and you will not have to work.”

“You don’t understand, do you,” she replied, her hands balling into tiny fists as she fought to control the rage that burned hotly within her.  “I don’t want to be his mistress. I don’t want to be his slave.  I’m a prisoner, Maria.”

“Yes,” Maria said with a shrug of her shoulders, “but is it not better to be a slave on a plantation such as this?  Or would you rather be a whore in Havana like some of the women from my village had to do? 
At least I have nice clothing and plenty of food.  And I do not have to perform favors to receive them.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Sabine countered.

“And with the money my family received,” she said, her voice absent of emotion, “my five brothers and sisters will be assured food in their stomachs and clothes on their backs.”

Straightening, Sabine turned back to the window, hugging herself tightly against the chill that raced through her.  All of this was wrong, this institution of buying and selling human lives, Maria’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her enslavement because it might mean a better life for her family.

But Sabine refused to accept her fate with the same philosophical stoicism as her companion.  She was not going to stay in this house, trapped forever as someone’s property to do with as they pleased.  And there was no telling what Colón had planned for her, but if he was determined to have both her body and her soul…

He
won’t
her tiny voice said firmly as Sabine’s hands clenched into tiny fists. 
Not if don’t you let him.

And she wouldn’t
.  She wanted escape, and she wanted it now.  Tomorrow, she promised as she surveyed the darkened shadows of the trees outside.  Tomorrow she would begin to devise a plan for freedom…and soon enough, she would be free of this life, this place, forever.

Chapter Eight

Dammit, why the hell had he even been there in the first place?  A
slave
auction, for God’s sake!

Michael Pierson quickly rose from his seat at the kitchen table
and paced the floor restlessly, the muscles of his arms tensing as he methodically worked his hands into angry fists.  By just stepping into the room he had gone against every principle he had ever believed in.  All of them.

He hated himself for being there…but he hated himself even more for not leaving.

And then there was that girl, the one whose hauntingly beautiful green eyes that had captured his soul.  He had tried to forget about her, push her memory out his mind forever.

But she kept coming back. And each time and each time he saw her as clearly as he did last night.  Confused.  Frightened – no, not frightened,
terrified
– as she stood up there, chin held high, shoulders thrown back in an attempt to be strong.  But she never really succeeded, did she? The bright glint of tears betrayed her fears.

And he had practically walked away without a fight.  Just left her there in the clutches of that bastard Colón and turned his back.  Michael bit out another curse and slammed a fist onto the worn wood of the tabletop, the sound reverberating in his ears with finality
.  A game.  A simple game of cards was all he had come for. Not this.  Not the unwarranted guilt he had felt ever since he had looked into those emerald eyes.

He muttered an incoherent comment and sat down again, rubbing vigorously at his face, determined to erase her from his mind. 
The girl was under his skin, whoever she was.  Somehow she had dug herself in too deep for his tastes.

What the hell was wrong with him?  She was only a woman…like hundreds of others he had seen.  Nothing special.  Nothing unique. 

Or was there?

But,
dammit,
he had been there.
  He was just as bad as the others, if not worse.  He had attempted to bring her home – even sparred bids with Colón until his cash had run out.

Yes, he wanted her, Michael had admitted reluctantly as he ran a tired hand through his hair, but not to warm his bed.  He wanted answers.  Who was she?  And how the hell had she ended up in Cuba?

XXX

“Well, you can tell her she’d better stay out of my way,”
Sabine snapped as she picked up a dusting cloth.  “I don’t want him.  And I
won’t
put up with her.”

Sabine walked and turned toward the library, leaving Maria gaping in her wake.  She had had enough of Juana’s pettiness.  Enough!  She had been in this prison only twelve hours, and how many times had she been tempted to just reach out, grab a hold of that thick braid of black hair, and yank that vain little witch to the floor?  Why on earth would
anyone even
think
she wanted Colón?

And Maria.  Never had she met a more vivacious girl, but her constant gossiping was beginning to wear thin on her nerves.  Who cared?  Who cared a stitch that Juana held such contempt for her?  Sabine didn’t…and she wasn’t going to simply sit here and allow Juana to push her around like some fool; she had more important things to worry about.

Like freedom.

Like finding a way out of this house, this life, and everything else that went with it.

With a sigh of resignation, Sabine leaned against the window casing and stared out at the sunshine, the trees, the vibrant pink flowers that leisurely crawled up the veranda’s trellis.  She wanted to be out there – walking, running just being alive…and bound to absolutely no one but herself.

Her throat tightened at the hopelessness of her yearnings.  Not hopelessnes
s, she contradicted.  Frustration.  Frustration at not knowing how much longer she could survive here without going mad.  Not even twenty-four hours she had been here, and already the hot flames of discontent lashed unceasingly at her patience.

“I thought I told you,
querida,
to clean up in here.”

Rosa’s round face appeared in the small opening of the door, a teasing smile crinkling her features as she scolded with a wagging finger.

“I – I’m sorry, Rosa,” Sabine replied guiltily as her gaze instinctively dropped to the lush carpeting.

“It is a beautiful day, no,” Rosa commented as she breezed into the room, the wide expanse of her skirts swirling about her legs.

“I – I had better get to work,” Sabine said quickly and began to stack a scattered group of papers on a nearby table.

“Please,” Rosa said as she laid a hand tenderly on Sabine’s arm.  “It is no worry.  You have much time today.”

The older woman led her to the divan and patted the burgundy cushion in an invitation to sit.

“Do you find yourself happy here?”

An absurd question, Sabine thought dully, but she merely shrugged in reply as she stared idly at the clasped hands in her lap.

“I don’t belong here.”

“But are you happy?”

“No.”  Sabine waited expectantly for the blow of retaliation to come, but Rosa merely laid a hand over hers and squeezed it apologetically.

“I cannot help you,” she replied simply.  “It is not my place.  I am sorry.”

Her great bulk heaved off the divan and Rosa moved across the room, leaving Sabine to stare helplessly after her as the door clicked shut between them.

The hot pressure of despised tears built up behind her eyes, and Sabine angrily swept away the single tear that managed to escape. She needed out, and it had to be soon.  Not much longer would she be able to endure the suffocation, the twisting desperation that filled her being.

A wry, sad smile flickered across her features as she inspected the walls of books and shelving.  She should be thrilled to have all these volumes at her fingertips – would be, had she actually felt free enough to lounge about this beautiful study and read and dream and lose herself to the familiar world of make-believe.