Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (62 page)

      
“Smug wench. Look you, we are going to be soaked,” he added, nudging Peligro into a faster pace as fat, warm raindrops splashed down on them. By the time they had ridden but half way to the compound they were soaked through. Then Rigo saw the steep cliff with a jagged shale formation jutting out over the mossy ground. “Tis a shallow cave, hand carved for us by nature. Let us avail ourselves of a respite from the rain.”

      
They tied Peligro at one side of the shelter, which had the added benefit of a thick growth of potato bush providing privacy. One of the small underground streams that crisscrossed the rocky part of the island seeped a narrow trickle of water down the inside of the stone effacement, making the earth beneath their feet springy with moss.

      
“You have lured me here,” she said, not at all displeased by the seclusion of the spot.

      
He arched one black eyebrow wickedly. “Yes, perhaps I have. Tis too crowded at the big house. In spite of all the rooms, it seems we have no privacy but at night in our bed.”

      
“But that has served us well,” she said with a teasing light silvering her eyes as she ran one rain-slick hand inside the shirt plastered to his chest. The water had made the thin white cloth translucent. She slid her other hand inside and ran them up his chest to feel his heart pound. “As a physician, I say you must rid yourself of these wet clothes, else you will take a lung fever.”

      
“In this hot spring air, Miriam?” He sighed, then swiftly yanked the wet tunic over his head, shaking rain droplets from his shoulder-length hair.

      
Miriam was busy herself, unlacing her gown and letting the overskirt fall to the earth. As he removed his boots and hose, she slipped the sticky undertunic down and kicked it away, standing before him in glistening wet nakedness. Rigo looked up at her, robbed of breath for a moment. Her hair was darkened to a rich brown from its soaking and now hung free, cascading in dripping waves down her back. Her pale silky skin fairly glowed as he reached out and ran calloused fingertips over one breast, then the other. They were grown fuller than they had been since she weaned Diego. Her hips also seemed a bit more rounded, yet for all of that, she was still his slim, regal Miriam.

      
“Bold wench, to know how well the sight of your flesh pleases me,” he murmured, as his hands glided from her breasts down the slight swell of her belly and around her hips to cup her buttocks, drawing her against his hot, wet skin.

      
Miriam wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled his head down for a long, savoring kiss, the sweet, slow dueling of tongues, the unhurried, sensuous way they were now learning to make love. No longer was it the furious, devouring darkness of forbidden passion rife with hidden fears and insecurities. Now there was only love and honesty and time...all the time in the world. They sank slowly to the soft mossy carpet, letting their wet skin slide and rub in delicious languorous caresses.

      
Rigo worshiped her satiny skin with his hands and mouth, teasing, then sucking her breasts until the pale pink nipples crested in hard nubs.

      
She let her palms and fingers brush across his chest, then raised her hands and buried them in the thick hair of his head, massaging his scalp as she pulled him over her for another long, slow kiss.

      
He cradled her in his arms, rolling them over to lie on his back with her atop him. “I would not wish to leave marks from the hard earth on that delicate spine, he whispered as she opened her thighs and clamped them over his hips. Raising up, she took his hard staff in one hand and guided it inside her body, slowly letting him fill her as she lowered herself onto him. Her eyes closed in bliss, then flew open as he raised his hips in a powerful thrust.

      
She fell forward onto his chest, letting her hips follow the deep, even rhythm of his. Each time they neared the brink, he would still her and they would lay locked in complete embrace, just savoring their union, then resume their ride of incredible beauty. The lovers lost all track of time and place, aware only of each other and the intensity of ever-building pleasure that bonded them as one. Finally they began to lose control, as they always did, increasing the tempo, each attuned to the other's subtle signals which indicated when the glorious culmination was eminent.

      
Just as the rain stopped and the sun burst from behind a bank of thick white clouds, they let go of all the restraints. Swiftly, in long, hard strokes they broke free and plunged together into that sweetest abyss, the whirlpool of hot, mindless release. As if symbolizing the completeness of their union, a rainbow appeared, shimmering on the distant horizon.

      
Miriam gradually became aware of the sun, beating down on her back. When Rigo ran his hand over her shoulder and down her spine he whispered lazily, “We must get up lest you burn that fair skin.”

      
“Or we could reverse positions, for twould not harm yours.”

      
“Greedy woman.” Yet he obliged her and they again ascended the heights, this time more swiftly and recklessly, yet with the same aftermath of peace and satiety. At last they lay, side by side, after moving into the shade of a large fern. Peligro whinnied in impatience.

      
“I think he is saying our clothes have long dried and tis time to go,” Rigo said with a chuckle.

      
“I suppose so, yet there is something I would tell you first. You are right about the house being too full of people and activity for privacy.”

      
He studied her, a frown creasing his brow. “Miriam, is anything amiss?”

      
She smiled. “No, but I do hope the news I have for you will be taken better this time than the last.” She looked into his eyes, reading love and concern, and a hint of puzzlement. “We are going to have another child.” She watched for his reaction, knowing how afraid for her he had been during her last pregnancy.

      
A beautiful smile slashed his face. “You are obviously pleased and tis you who have the burden of carrying our children. How could I not be pleased as well?”

      
“I will grow fat and ungainly again—and now you have confessed that you prefer skinny women.”

      
“Ah, but already I had noticed that your body was rounding out a bit. Let me just say I prefer your infinite variety as you wax and wane like a lovely silvery moon.”

      
She dimpled. “And you claim to be but a soldier. There is more of Uncle Isaac's diplomatic skill in you than ever you knew.”

      
He cupped her strong yet delicate jaw in his hand and kissed her softly. “Never a politician, no longer a soldier, just a peaceful stockman now, who has ended his restless wandering and returned home to the arms of his family, returned to paradise with you.”

* * * *

Epilogue

The Torres
Hato
, November 1526

      
Fray Bartolome spoke the final benediction, making the sign of the cross over two fractious, lustily squalling babies. At his gentle insistence and with the aid of Caonu, he had a modest chapel built in the compound. It served both Tainos and white settlers, as well as all the children that came from their marriages. He smiled at the small, dark face and curly, sun-bronzed hair of Sarah as Benjamin proudly held her while Rani fussed with her lace christening dress. He was still a bit unnerved by the wolf, but after seeing its obedience to Benjamin and Rani when he had performed their marriage, he had decided Vero was safe enough.

      
Little Francisco had grown solemn now, regarding the priest with Rigo's keen blue eyes. Like his brother Diego, the second of Rigo and Miriam's children also had the straight black hair of his Taino ancestors.

      
Aaron and Magdalena beamed on their children and grandchildren. Now everyone strolled slowly from the chapel into the bright morning sunshine, enroute to the big house for a feast. Young Violante held little Diego, bursting with pride. Bartolome, now a young man at twenty-one years, walked beside Cristobal, whose last growth spurt had made him as tall as his elder brother. Everyone dear to them had gathered for the celebration, Serafina and Rudolfo with their three children, Guacanagari and Caonu, along with many of the Tainos from the old
cacique's
village.

      
“What a blessing, Father, that you were able to come all this way for the baptisms,” Magdalena said to Rigo's impressive foster brother.

      
Aaron smiled at his wife. “I think Fray Bartolome was enroute to the north, already dispatched by his superiors in Santo Domingo.”

      
“You must admit that it was thoughtful of my daughters-in-law to have the babies mere days apart to facilitate the matter,” Magdalena said.

      
Fray Bartolome chuckled and replied with a twinkle, “The good Lord does provide for our convenience now and again. But Aaron is correct. I have been dispatched to Puerto Plata to select a site for a Dominican mission.”

      
“Good. If you are on the north coast, you will be closer to us, and we may expect to see you more frequently,” Rigo said as Miriam took little Francisco from him.

      
Fray Bartolome looked from Rigo to his family. “Yes, that is my hope. You are all grown very dear to me.”

      
Guacanagari stepped forward and smiled, humor lurking in his eyes when he spoke. “My heart is glad that the words I spoke to you last year were but a game acted out to trick an evil man. I, like my brother Caonu, would be your friend, even if I do not wish the sacred washing that he has accepted.”

      
The old Dominican's blunt features creased like aged leather when he smiled. “I will keep up my prayers for you to change your mind, but that does not prevent me from being your friend. When I have established the monastery on the coast, I would, in fact, like to speak with you about the history of your people.”

      
“I would be honored to explain the old ways of the Taino to you.”

      
“What are you about now, Bartolome?” Rigo asked in curiosity. “I know you have never given up your crusade to save the Indian peoples.”

      
“I have made repeated speeches betore the emperor and court officials and crossed the ocean-sea so often I lose track of how many times. Now I have decided to try another method. I am going to compose a history of how the Spanish came to the New World and dealt with the Indians. I would know everything, about Guacanagari's people and about the politics in Santo Domingo. I wish to write it all down for future generations.”

      
“I only wish I could write well enough to compose a single letter,” Rani said puckishly.

      
“You are learning well enough, but the writing of history is a man's task.” Benjamin's eyes danced as he regarded Rani's mutinous scowl.

      
“A man's task is it?” Miriam said sweetly to her brother-in-law. “Perchance like the practice of medicine?”

      
Rigo laughed, pulling Miriam against his side, while eyeing Benjamin. “You had best tread lightly, brother, else you will have not only Rani and Miriam but Mother's ire to deal with as well.”

      
Magdalena had been deeply moved by Rigo's ready agreement to consider her his mother and name her such. “My eldest son is right, Benjamin. Women have learned to do much of a man's work here in the New World. There is no reason why we cannot help Fray Bartolome collect information for his history. Have we not all lived through it, men and women, white and red, together?”

      
“I would be grateful for help from all of you in writing the history of the Indies. Let us pray that one day all Indians and Europeans can learn to live in harmony for a bright future in this shining New World that God has given us.”

About the Author

SHIRL HENKE lives in St. Louis, where she enjoys gardening in her yard and greenhouse, cooking holiday dinners for her family and listening to jazz. In addition to helping brainstorm and research her books, her husband Jim is “lion tamer” for their two wild young tomcats, Pewter and Sooty, geniuses at pillage and destruction.

      
Shirl has been a RITA finalist twice, and has won three Career Achievement Awards, an Industry Award and three Reviewer’s Choice Awards from
Romantic Times

      
“I wrote my first twenty-two novels in longhand with a ballpoint pen—it’s hard to get good quills these days,” she says. Dragged into the twenty-first century by her son Matt, a telecommunication specialist, Shirl now uses two of those “devil machines.” Another troglodyte bites the dust. Please visit her at
 
www.shirlhenke.com
.