Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (59 page)

* * * *

      
Miriam huddled beneath the canopy of a large oak tree several hundred yards from Elzoro's compound with Vero sitting quietly by her side. Guacanagari knelt beside her, explaining all that had befallen since Rigo vanished into the fortress.
No, no, no! He cannot be dead—he cannot be dead!
The thought kept hammering inside her head, even as she forced herself to attend his uncle.

      
“My men watched them drag him unconscious to a hut near the dog pens. Then but a few moments ago they brought him across the yard to the place where a large thatched palm roof keeps us from seeing what lies beneath.”

      
“Elzoro will kill him,” she whispered, then froze as the death shriek of a hound rent the air. Vero growled low in his throat.

      
Guacanagari arose and faced the large group of Tainos and Spaniards. “We will attack the compound. They have few sentries watching. If you ride swiftly on your horses and my warriors use stealth to creep near the walls—”

      
“No! You will all be cut down by shot and bolts.” Miriam looked from Manolo, her husband's friend who was in charge of the
hato
's stable, back to Guacanagari. “Those walls are ten feet high and well guarded. You yourself said there are several dozen heavily armed raiders within beside the regular inhabitants of the
hato
. They outnumber you. You cannot save Rigo by getting slaughtered.”

      
“We can not stand here and do nothing while the hounds feast on his bones,” Guacanagari replied. Several of the men who had fought by Rigo's side and ridden with him chorused agreement.

      
“I will go in first. Alone. There are things I have learned that I have no time to explain. The one called Reynard will not harm me.” She walked swiftly to her horse, the wolf dogging her heels, then took her medical bag from the saddle. Extracting a small, wickedly sharp scalpel, she turned to Guacanagari. “Have you any Caribee poison?”

      
Guacanagari looked troubled but another frenzied hound's cry echoed from the compound. “Bring me a dart from your blow pipe,” he instructed one of his sons.

      
As she approached the big oak gate of the compound, Miriam prayed she would be in time.
If Rigo is dead, I would know. Surely, I would know.

      
The guard looked down at the lone woman who rode up so boldly. He recognized her as the half-caste's wife. Before he could do more than gape, she commanded crisply, “Open the gate. I would speak with Don Esteban. Move swiftly! He will be angry if you keep me waiting out here.”

      
She prayed her voice was bold and authoritative enough. Within a few moments that seemed an eternity, she was admitted to the huge fortification. A guard assisted her in dismounting, then began to lead her to the grand-looking house in the center of the compound. She turned in the direction of the large, crudely fashioned frame with its flat, palm-thatched roof. “Do not play with me. I know my husband is there. I will see him now. Tell Don Esteban he had best pray Rigo is still alive.”

      
Elzoro stood at the side of his arena, watching Miriam Torres's determined argument with his guard. “First I can capture none of them. Now I have a surplus of Aaron's family.” He cursed softly and considered how to handle this most delicate situation, then strolled from the shade into the yard. “What an unexpected surprise, my lady. I assume you have read the purloined ledgers,” he said, switching now from Castilian to Provencal. “That is most regrettable.”

      
Miriam smiled coldly and replied in the French dialect, “Yes, it is. Regrettable for you. If you harm me or allow your pirates to harm Benjamin you know your life is forfeit.”

      
“Ah, but that protection does not extend to your husband,” he said as he bowed before her, reaching out to take her hand and salute it.

      
“It does now,” Miriam hissed as she raised her hand for his kiss and tangled it in his hair while her other hand flashed the scalpel to his throat. “Move, breathe, struggle with me and I will at least nick you, if not sever the large vein in your neck. All twill take is a tiny nick, for you see, that greenish film on the blade is Caribee poison.”

      
“Hold!” Elzoro called out to his startled men. They froze in their tracks. “Now what would you do? I am momentarily, at least, at your disposal, my lady.”

      
“Take me to Rigo.” She kept the scalpel poised at the side of his throat even after relinquishing her hold on his hair. Taking his arm in hers, she walked beside him, toward the covered arena.

      
“Your half-caste is quite an impressive fighter, my dear. He has killed three of my best hounds. Tis a good thing you are not squeamish as are most of your sex. I would hate for that deadly little tool to slip.”

      
“As you well know, I am a trained surgeon—good at bloodletting when the occasion warrants it.” Miriam almost loosed her hold on Elzoro when she saw Rigo in the bottom of the pit. The floor of the hellish arena was slick with blood and viscera from the dead hounds. Rigo was covered in blood and his clothing was shredded. Yet he was still standing.

      
“Get him out of there,” she commanded.
Please do not let my voice break!

      
Rigo looked up, rubbing the torn remnant of his tunic sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the salty sting of blood and sweat. Miriam was here, commanding Elzoro! He must be dreaming—or dead. But he knew the crack of that voice, so precise and cool, as cutting as her surgeon's tools.

      
Yarros threw down the plank, now itself slicked with blood from the slaughter. Rigo had attacked the last dog on the plank, which Yarros had then laughingly pulled up, causing him and the hound to roll off.

      
Now he climbed cautiously, frantic to get to Miriam, yet slipping with every step. One dog had torn into his left arm and another had badly slashed his leg. He was prepared for the next one to take him down when Elzoro had signaled a halt and quit the arena. He finally scrambled from the board without dropping his dirk.

      
Then he saw the glint of her scalpel at the renegade's throat and swore. “God's bones, woman, now you will die as well as me!”

      
“As you can see, we are still very much alive, my lord. But Don Esteban will not be for long if he moves precipitously and the Caribee poison mingles with his blood.”

      
As quickly as he could, Rigo struggled to her side. “Whatever possessed you to come here alone? Tis a miracle the guards did not rape or kill you on sight!” he rasped harshly as he seized the renegade's sword. “This is madness.”

      
“Yes, tis all madness,” she echoed softly. “But you see, husband, Etienne Reynard will never dare to harm me. He is in the employ of my father.”

      
At his look of shocked incredulity, she nodded. “After you and Benjamin departed, I read all the documents Fray Bartolome sent.”

      
“And now your brothers are prisoners of my men, half-caste. I think tis time we strike a bargain. Lady Miriam is right. Her father would be sore displeased if harm was to befall her. He is not a man to have as an enemy, as well you should know.”

      
“Before we make any bargain, renegade, I want my wife safely away from here. Miriam, wipe the poison from that implement before it can be turned against you.” Rigo tightened his hold on the stocky Elzoro and held his sword across the man's throat.

      
She lowered the scalpel but made no move to cleanse it of its deadly coating. “I have never made a mistake in surgery,” she said tightly. The horror of the past day pressed in on her much like Elzoro's brutal cutthroats, milling and murmuring, eager to pounce. How could they make it through these dangerous men to freedom?

      
The guard on the wall of the compound watched the
patron's
soldiers crowd around his arena. He had heard the screaming of the hounds and knew the entertainment must be a fine spectacle. “Cursed luck to draw duty on the walls this morning,” he muttered. Suddenly he heard the muffled sound of feet racing toward him. Before he could turn and raise his cumbersome arquebus, a huge gray wolf flew ten feet in the air, cleared the wall cleanly, and crashed into him. They fell from the wide stone walkway to the ground below, but the guard felt nothing. His neck was broken on impact as the wolf landed atop his crumpled body.

      
All around the compound gunfire boomed, men screamed and cursed, and the clanging of steel resounded as the stronghold came under attack. A tall, russet-haired youth had entered the same break in the wall as Rigo and now slipped toward the front gate, sword in hand. Two guards saw him and came running across the yard. The wolf was on one almost instantaneously while Bartolome dealt a swift taste of steel to the other. Within a moment he was struggling with the cumbersome levers that opened the gates. Then, with a creak, the massive oak doors swung wide and several dozen Torres horsemen thundered in while Guacanagari's Tainos swarmed over the walls.

      
Hearing the sounds of attack, Rigo tightened his hold on EIzoro. “Twould seem my uncle has made a foolish decision. Quickly, Miriam,” he said, shoving the renegade forward.

      
Before she could move alongside of them, two slavering hounds were loosened by the fleeing guards. Miriam raised her scalpel and held it in front of her as one leapt. She caught its neck at one side with the scalpel before the dog's body slammed into her, sending her weapon flying. But opening the hound's vein was sufficient to save her life. With a yelp of surprise it collapsed atop her as they fell to the ground. She rolled away in time to see Rigo dispatching the other dog.

      
Elzoro was nowhere in sight. She searched frantically for the scalpel, the only weapon with which she was proficient. As she crawled across the ground toward it, Elzoro appeared behind Rigo with one of the dead hound's leashes in his hand, ready to garrote him. She cried a warning and he turned, leaving his sword still imbedded in the hound.

      
Elzoro's men had run from the arena to engage the invaders. When Miriam saw Benjamin's bright head in the courtyard with his sword flashing, she realized why Guacanagari had attacked. The brigands were outnumbered by the combined forces of the Torres
hato
.

      
Elzoro and Rigo faced each other, the planter using the leather leash like a whip while Rigo had the small blade freed from his belt. They circled each other, intent on ending the contest begun so many months ago in the jungle outside Santo Domingo.

      
“Now, Vincente, loose the hounds,” Elzoro commanded.

      
Miriam gasped, clutching her scalpel, as Yarros suddenly appeared with three large dogs straining at their leashes. He stood in front of the pit by the plank.

      
“
Patron
, if I loose them, they might kill you or the lady.”

      
“Loose them! He stinks like an Indian. They will kill him,” Elzoro snarled, dodging Rigo's blade and flailing at him with the doubled up leather leash.

      
Yarros released the hounds, but they were conditioned to run down the plank into the pit, and did so in a mad dash. The big renegade cursed and yelled as they milled around the remains of the other dogs Rigo had killed, the bloodlust of all the carnage driving them into such a frenzy that they failed to heed his commands.

      
Rigo saw Miriam approach Yarros from the corner of his eye and froze. Elzoro took instant advantage, using the leash to snap a cutting blow to his wrist, knocking the knife from his hand.

      
“Now, you Indian cur, let me feed you to my dogs. They are hungry for a taste of Taino blood!”

      
He lunged, but Rigo seized the leather strap and twisted it away, throwing the renegade off balance. They fell to the earthen floor, rolling nearer the edge of the pit as they punched and gouged.

      
Yarros was almost within reach of them when Miriam struck, using the scalpel to cleanly slice across the right side of his neck. He made a gurgling sound as he turned toward her, his hand slapping against his throat, coming away red with gore. The brutish giant's eyes widened in amazed horror, round, black, soulless. Then he slowly crumpled, not from the poison, which was now rubbed off the scalpel. She had cut through the large vein in his neck. He was dead before he hit the ground.

      
Rigo's momentary lapse had almost enabled Elzoro to force him over the edge into the pit. Seeing Miriam was safe renewed his concentration. He rolled away from his foe, rising, fists clenched as they had been so often in the streets of Seville. The Frenchman, raised in luxury and taught to fight with gentlemen's weapons, was not used to unarmed combat. In spite of his greater weight, his barrel-chested, muscular body proved no advantage against his slim opponent. For every blow he landed, Rigo pummeled him with three, all delivered with uncanny accuracy, breaking his nose and driving the wind from his lungs when a booted foot connected with his stomach.

      
“You fight like a gutter rat,” Reynard wheezed in rage.

      
“Perhaps tis because I grew up in a gutter.” Rigo was tiring; the torn muscles and blood loss from his battles with the hounds were taking their toll. His left arm and right leg both felt ready to give out.
I must end this quickly
. He backed near the pit, goading Elzoro to come at him. “You let an Indian best you, renegade? Weak, womanish French fop!”