Royally Claimed (11 page)

She'd had over a decade to think and had come to the conclusion that the highway was no fun unless you had someone riding along with you. Like today.

Julia hugged him and kissed his shoulder. He straightened in surprise and the bike bobbled a second. “Stop distracting me,” he turned his head to shout. “Or I'll crawl along at twenty kilometers per hour.”

“Fine,” she shouted back, hiding her smile in his back. “I want to go faster than that cow I just saw.”

He picked up the speed again, and the ocean breeze began to take on a peculiar smell as they went around a corner, the vista opening onto a larger town nestled between a mountain and the ocean. The view was beautiful, but the air had sort of a sulfuric, rotten-eggs smell. Rather interesting combination, the whole fire-and-brimstone smell coming from a picturesque village.

The wind changed and blew away the eggs-gone-bad odor. Frank eased off the throttle as they approached the town. She was glad this time because she could see the houses and people better.

“This is Furnas,” he announced, unstrapping his helmet and helping her do the same.

“Furnace? Is that why it smells like that?” Her hair immediately sprang into its normal fluff. Not even the
heavy helmet could make it behave. She shook it and fingercombed it down anyway.

“Spelled a little different in Portuguese, but the same idea. That,” he said, pointing at the mountain ahead of them, “is an active volcano.”

She was taken aback as she gazed up at the rounded mountain. Visions of rivers of lava and clouds of ash raining down as innocent Azorean islanders fled with screams of terror came to mind. Although on an island, there was only so far you could flee before you got to the ocean.

“Don't worry, the last big eruption of this volcano was in the 1600s.”

“Isn't another overdue, then?” she asked.

“No, no,” he assured her. “There are underwater eruptions quite frequently. They probably help vent the pressure here on dry land.”

She rolled her eyes. Not the most reassuring geological theory she'd ever heard. Frank was a farmer and rancher, not a volcanologist. However, no ominous puffs of smoke were issuing from the top, and the local people were going about their daily lives, shopping and visiting without any particular look of panic.

“Come on, let's enjoy the town.” He steadied the motorcycle as she climbed off, the pull of muscles in her inner thighs and butt making her walk bowlegged for a minute.

He watched her with an avid gleam in his eye and she shook her finger at him. “Behave yourself, you miscreant.”

“Miscreant? How very strict and old-fashioned you sound. I like it.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She grabbed his shirtfront to pull him close. “Don't make me punish you, Franco.”

His black gaze threw golden sparks. “What if I want you to?”

“No promises.” She kissed him quickly but thoroughly, pushing him away at the end.

“The punishment starts,” he groaned, lifting the backpack onto his shoulders.

Julia laughed and took his hand. “Hey, Frank, do you have any water in that backpack?” The trip had dried out her mouth.

“No, but we'll get some around the corner.”

A minute later, Julia was looking at the Cro-Magnon version of a drinking fountain. “And people drink this?” she whispered, not wanting to offend anyone.

“Furnas is famous for its hot springs and spa waters. This spring is called
Agua Santa,
holy water.” A spigot came out of a stone wall, the water spilling into an iron-stained basin below.

“Like your estate in Portugal.”

He smiled down at her. “Yes, my land is named after a spring as well, but a cold artesian spring instead of a hot spring.”

“I wonder which tastes better.”

“You'll have to find out for yourself.”

She blinked. This was the first time he'd mentioned visiting his family estate on the mainland—at least this time. Eleven years previously, he'd invited her there and discussed the land and people in great detail. They all seemed perfectly pleasant, but his duties outside of the estate were something different.

One event had been particularly frightening to her. Frank, having turned eighteen, had been invited to the
Spanish royal palace for a state dinner with the king and queen of Spain. He of course thought nothing of meeting royalty since he was pretty close to royalty himself. He mentioned the king and queen fondly and personally, if not by first name. It had stayed with her ever since.

And, of course, his estate regularly hosted the aristocracy and upper crust of Europe. Frank's mother, the Dowager Duchess, enjoyed high-society life and threw extended house parties at the huge manor house. Frank had described the formal dinners with seven courses, bottomless wineglasses and enough silverware to support a small nation. Julia could get through dinner without blowing her nose into her napkin or scratching her scalp with a salad fork, but had to admit a real sense of intimidation.

Oh, sure, she would have been a real hit hosting those parties if she'd married Frank—the nineteen-year-old college-drop-out duchess who couldn't even speak Portuguese.

She wondered if that had partially spooked her from keeping up a relationship with him. “Have you seen the king and queen of Spain recently?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Not since the baptism of one of their grandchildren a few years back. Why?”

“I was wondering if they'd ever tasted your spring water. Maybe they could give it their royal seal of approval.”

He shook his head and turned away—maybe in disappointment? She touched his arm in apology. “I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't mean to be flip. The springs sound really nice.”

He smiled at her—all was forgiven. He paid a nearby
vendor for the loan of a pair of sturdy glasses. He handed her one. “You have to fill your own cup. Otherwise, it doesn't work as well.”

“What is it supposed to do?” She bent and twisted open the faucet, an ominous-smelling liquid spilling into her cup.

He followed and did the same. “It does what you need it to do. If you are sick, it makes you well. If you are weak, it makes you strong. If you have a heavy burden, it lightens you.”

Julia stared at the water. “That's a lot for a cup of water to do.”

He swirled his around, almost up to the rim. “That's why they call it ‘holy water.' Because it can perform miracles. What miracle do you want, Julia?”

Him. She wanted him. But she was still a mess, and he deserved someone who wasn't banged and bruised up, mentally and physically. “I would like for my headaches to go away for good.”

His eyes darkened in concern. “They haven't been bothering you today, have they? Otherwise, I can call a cab to take us back to the boat.”

“No, my head feels okay. I haven't really had a bad headache since the day we met at the farmer's market.”

“That was a shock for me, too. But a good one,” he hastily added. He lifted his glass. “To good surprises.”

“And miracles.” Julia clinked her rim against his. She took a deep breath and drank. “Aack!” she sputtered. The water lived up to its iron-colored promise, so rich with minerals that it almost had a gritty texture as it battled its way down her throat.

Frank drained his glass without a wince and even smacked his lips.

“Well, I won't need to worry about my iron intake for the day.” She smacked her lips as well, mostly to get the taste off them. “Like medicine—it has to taste bad to work well.”

“Good things come with a price.” Frank took her glass and drank the rest of her water before handing both glasses back to the nearby vendor.

Wasn't that the truth. Unfortunately, she'd paid a high price for stupid things, too. “What's next?” she asked brightly, not wanting to dwell on the negative on such an interesting, if smelly, day.

Frank took her hand and they wandered through the town, the natives obviously very proud of literally living on the edge of the volcano. Little shops full of bottled spring water and T-shirts aimed for the tourist trade while the usual cafés, delis and bakeries were there for the local population. “Here we go.” Frank stopped at a gate marked with a large sign written several times in various alarming fonts and colors.

“Hot danger?” she asked.

“Thank you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I've never been called
that
before.”

“Not you.” She squeezed his hand and he spun her around so her back was against the iron fence.

“You don't think I'm hot and dangerous?” He ran his fingers up her arm next to the heavy curve of her breast. He brushed the side where no one could see, and her nipples hardened instantly against the cotton of her shirt. “I'll have to work harder to convince you of that.” He swiveled his hips so his pants' zipper rested on her hip. Even through the thick fabric, she could practically feel every inch of him. Even at rest, so to speak, he was firm and long, ready to spring up at her slightest touch.

“I think you're very hot and dangerous.” Her voice was breathy.

“Good.” He leaned in, innocently kissing her cheek and then not-so-innocently flicking her earlobe with his tongue.

She let out a little moan and he pulled back, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “But, unfortunately, we are only here to see the hot, dangerous springs.”

“Fine.” Her lips pulled into a little pout, but she couldn't very well go mauling Frank in public. He was a big fish in the small pond of the Azores, and everybody knew who he was. Many of them knew him personally, as well. She supposed he was expected to kiss women in public and generally show off his macho side—not that she minded. She loved being the recipient of a certain aspect of his macho side. And his sweet side. And even his grouchy side when the coffee was still brewing.

“Shall we go inside,
meu bem?
”

The endearment sent warm fuzzy feelings through her. “Let's see if the smell lives up to the hype.”

They wandered through a setting that reminded her of a park—if a park had dirty brown boiling mud pits that looked as if some primordial monster was forming from the dangerous ooze. Occasionally large gunky bubbles would rise to the surface and then pop, wafting that lovely sulfur odor toward her. As a nurse, she was unfortunately reminded of certain rough evenings in the emergency department with patients who must have eaten a buffet of cabbage, broccoli and beans before arriving for care.

Fortunately, they turned a corner and came to clear, or rather clearer, water. Here the water probably had
more of a calcium or salt content, because it left a crystal-white coating that looked like snow or icicles depending on where it dripped. A pool of water lay below the walkway they traveled, and Julia was careful to watch her step and stay well back from the railing.

An older woman with short black hair shot with gray sat nearby with husked corn on the cob and small brown potatoes in a basket on the path just past the walkway. Frank asked her a question in Portuguese and she replied, pointing at the water.

He grinned and handed her a few euros. “She says it's almost ready.”

Julia knew what was coming when the woman hauled on a rope to pull up a steaming hot mesh bag from the spring itself. The vendor carefully drained most of the water and opened the bag into a battered metal colander. Cobs and potatoes tumbled out, and the woman tossed one of each into two rectangular carry-out trays.
“Bom appetito.”

“Thank you.” They walked along the path for a few minutes. Julia blew on the golden corn cob and debated how to eat the potato without any utensils. The corn cooled faster, and she decided to try that first, nibbling along it.

Frank took a bite of his, as well. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, once they were done chewing.

“It does taste different—but not bad. Almost pre-salted.” She ate another row, getting used to the different flavor. The corn grown here probably tasted different in the first place due to the volcanic soil, a huge contrast from the sandy and sometimes swampy Massachusetts ground.

He picked up his potato and bit into it like an apple.
“Needs butter,” he mumbled, the unadorned root vegetable starch obviously a challenge for him.

“Want me to find some water for you to wash that down?” she asked sweetly, guessing that any taps here in the park were probably just as odiferous as the first one.

He gave her a sidelong glance that promised retribution later and finally swallowed. “No, thank you.”

Julia laughed and finished her corn. It actually was quite flavorful and juicy. The spring probably cooked it quickly. Frank abandoned his potato and switched to the corn. She consented to taking a small bite of potato just for the flavor experience but he was right—it did need butter.

“Lunch will be much more flavorful, I promise.” Frank took the paper trays and pitched the remnants into a garbage can.

“More of that chunky fish stew?” He had cooked that for her a few days ago, and it had been delicious.

“Not today.” He took her hand. “Benedito's cousin lives nearby, and they are having us to lunch today for the local specialty—
cozido.
”

“I've never heard of that dish.”

He grinned as if holding a big secret. “It's very local. You can't find it anywhere else in the world.”

Julia grimaced slightly. She was always leery of claims like that, especially on islands where truly odd bits of seafood or meat could be claimed as delicacies. “We're not eating cod brains or pig's private parts, are we?”

He roared in laughter. “If you've lived around the world like I have, you'd be worried, too,” she retorted. “My father is a very adventurous eater and my mother
is always hovering over him to make sure he hasn't caught some rare parasite.”

He caught her hand and they walked along the path. The trees were green and lush, and she had the same disjointed feeling she'd always had in the Azores. Portuguese, but not Mediterranean. Atlantic seacoast, but not American. Tropical oranges, pineapples, even tea plantations, but not hot and sunny.