Surrender to Love (13 page)

So many wonderful books, Sabine thought as she carefully pulled a leather-bound tome from the shelf and wiped away they fine layer of dust that had settled before thumbing absently through its contents.  So many wonderful thoughts and stories and places…

“’This above all,’”
the page said to her,
“’to thine own self be true.’”

Precisely.  No one else mattered.  Only she.  Only survival.  And she read the words over and over, memorizing them until they were permanently burnished in her consciousness.

“A beautiful woman with a passion for books.  I should like to see nothing more.  Unless, of course, that same woman is in my bed,” the deep voice commented behind her.

Startled, she whirled to face him, the volume carelessly tumbling from her hands.  Heart pounding, she met Col
ón’s eyes tentatively before stooping quickly to retrieve the book.

“I – I’m sorry,” she stammered as she placed it on the shelf.  “I know I should be working, but it was only for a moment,” she added lamely.

Stop it, Sabine, she told herself.  And stop acting like the subservient little fool he thinks you are.  Broken her spirit? Is that what he believed he had done?  Well, he hadn’t – and he never would.

“That is quite all right,” Colón said softly as he crossed the room toward her.  “It is a sign of good breeding to be able to read.”

“My mother taught me,” she replied evenly.

Don’t trust him – not for an instant.  The thought continually in her head.  A gentleman?  Is that what he supposed himself to be because he surrounded himself with riches, expensive clothing, and lovely house servants?  Good breeding? Who did he think he was to say what was good breeding when all he thought of was fear and control?

Well, she would be in control here.

“Do not be afraid, my beautiful one.  I will not harm you.”

She wanted to stand her ground – prove to him that he could not intimidate her – but instincts urged her to flee, to run as far and as fast as she could.  But her legs staunchly refused to obey, traitors to her cause.

Colón drew near, brushing against her as he circled, closely inspecting her as he stroked his neat moustache.
His lips twisted into a smirk, as his gaze captivated her, and Sabine was unable to break the hypnotic trance of his dark eyes.

“I – I must get back to work,” she told him in no more than a whisper, her determination ebbing as the distance between them decreased. “Rosa will be angry with me.”

“Rosa is not the master of this house, Sabine,” he purred.  “She only carries out my wishes.”

He lifted a hand and stroked the base of her neck.  Her entire body cringed at his slight touch, and apprehension raced through her.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned quietly, her voice wavering.

“You are like a goddess,” he continued as he whispered hot breath in her ear.  “Never have I seen anyone as appetizing as you.  You were made to share a man’s bed…my bed, Sabine.  I knew that when I first saw you.”

His fingers trailed the outline of her breast, and a nipple became taut against her will as her stomach contracted with revulsion.  Leisurely he strolled behind her, his touch burning through the flimsy cloth of her blouse.  His smooth, gentleman’s hands caressed her shoulders, and he pressed up so close behind her that the smell of his cologne and the underlying odor of musk drifted to her nostrils.

“Leave me alone,” she repeated, more firmly through clenched teeth.

Colón ignored her demands.  Instead, his lips gently brushed the nape of her neck, and grew hard against the curve of her thigh. His arm encircled her shoulders and a hand slipped down the front of her blouse.

“Stop, I said,” she bit out as her hand connected soundly with the angular line of his jaw.

“What do you think you’re doing,” he spat out and jerked her forcefully to him.  “You are my property now.  You will do as I say.”

Crushing her to him, Col
ón violently brought his mouth down upon her own, devouring her hungrily as Sabine choked down the bile that rose dangerously in the back of her throat.  Desperately, she struck out at him, but he merely thrust her to the floor, capturing her wrestling form beneath him. 

The shattering of a vase punctuated her screams, and Colón drew back a hand to silence her.  But she fought fiercely, claws unsheathed as she raked across his cheek, secret satisfaction filling her as she left behind tiny trails of red.

“You ungrateful whore,” he swore loudly as he straddled her struggling form.  “Who do you think you are?”

Sabine’s head exploded with pain as his closed fist connected solidly with her jaw.

“You will pay for such insolence,” he ground out as he continued to deliver his blows.  “I am not to be defied.  You will obey my every command.”

Pinning her to the floor, he struck at her repeatedly, brutally, with his jeweled hands.  Struggling, more weakly now, she succumbed to the suffocating darkness that loomed over her.

XXX

The soothing coolness of a vinegar-scented rag brought Sabine back to consciousness.
  Every inch of her head and shoulders throbbed with soreness.  And her arms. They stubbornly refused to obey her commands, no matter how fervently she tried to move them.

What had happened? What had he done to her?  She remembered nothing past the vicious blows Colón had rendered; the fury of pummeling fists had left her helpless, beaten.

“Do not move,” Rosa warned as she wrung water out of her rag.  “You must try to get some rest.”

“My – my head,” she groaned as her fingers crept with agonizing slowness to her temples.

“Do not speak.  It will not be good for you.  Sabine, you have taken much abuse.  I have told you not to anger
Señor Colón.
  Why must you defy him?”

“Have I been unconscious long?” she asked, ignoring Maria’s admonishing remarks.

“It has been almost one day.  We were very worried about you. 
I
thought you might die,” she added, lowering her voice.

Die?  No, she was much too determined to let such a thing happen.  Sabine attempted to shake her head in denial, but the jolts of pain sent her sinking helplessly into her pillow.

Sleep, her tired brain insisted.  That’s all she wanted…and she closed her eyes, welcoming the fretful slumber that claimed her.

XXX

“…And so he took her to his other home, the one in Havana.  They were there for three days,” Maria said in hushed  tones as she set a tray next to Sabine’s bedside.  “He is there now.  With her.”

With a sigh of irritation
, Sabine turned away.  The gossip was stale.  Colón’s exploits with that catty tart Juana did not interest her in the least, but she was glad – elated – that he had found another diversion to occupy his lecherous thoughts.  In fact, she’d have stood up and cheered had she the strength to do so.

“How are you doing today?”  Maria asked brightly as she offered her a bowl and spoon.  “You are better?”

Sabine nodded and struggled to a sitting position, wincing as the dull ache throbbed in protest.

“You must have something to eat,” Maria encouraged, her smile wide.  “It is very important for you to get your strength back.”  Maria held out the bowl.  “Rosa has made you soup, and I am going to stay right here until you eat every bit.”

Sabine dutifully picked up the spoon and absently stirred at the steaming broth.

“Maria, what’s the purpose of this?”

She fingered the thin velvet ribbon that encircled her neck, and drew out the small bag that was attached.  As she held it up to her friend to inspect, Maria’s eyes lit up in ardent appreciation.

“It is a gift,” she said, her chest puffed out with pride, “from me.”

“And what is it?”

“It is from
la espiritista.
  Herbs…to keep the evil spells away.  I went to see her last night, and she thinks a spell has been put on you, or maybe you have displeased God.  You must have.  Why else would such harm come to you?”

Sabine allowed the comment to pass without mention.  After all, how many times had she heard the very same topic of conversation in the marketplace back home?  The strange requests for chickens’ feet?  The supposed concoctions designed to catch a beau?  To curse an enemy?

“It is true,” Maria assured her in a hushed voice, her eyes wide with conviction.

Sabine did not venture to convince her otherwise, for she knew full well it would have been futile.  Instead she silently sipped at the chicken broth
while Maria prattled on with her light hearted conversation.

“You look so much better today,” she continued, the subject of religious superstitions forgotten.  “Your bruises are almost gone.  The gash on your cheek still looks bad, but it is healing.”

Sabine’s hand flew up to examine the unseen wound, and she flinched painfully as her fingers brushed against the bruised and swollen flesh.

“I want to see a mirror,” she demanded as she held out her hand.

Maria shook her head decidedly and motioned again to the soup bowl.  “You must finish this.  Rosa will kill me if you do not eat it.”

“I want the mirror.”

“You do not look well,” Maria insisted firmly.  “I will not give it to you.  You must wait until Rosa says you may get up.”

Sabine raised an eyebrow and set down her spoon.  Well, if she had to wait for Rosa, she’d never get out of this bed.  Restlessness had set in days ago, and if she had to stay another minute in here, she’d be sure to explode.

“I’m very tired,” feigning a stretch and yawn as she snuggled back under the thin blanket and sheeting.  “I’ll eat more later, Maria.  I promise.”

“Well, I suppose it will be alright,” the smaller girl agreed reluctantly.  “But you must eat two bowls at supper.”

“I will.”

Maria closed the door behind her
, and Sabine let loose a sigh of relief.  Slipping out of bed, she slowly padded over to the small table where Juana stored her toiletries.  A mirror.  She always stored some sort of mirror here, and –

“Here it is.”

What had he done to her?  It wasn’t enough that he had made her feel so dirty with his violating hands; he had forcibly branded her with his violence, leaving her features disfigured with purple bruises and jagged cuts.

She could not tear her eyes from the hideous reflection.  Mesmerized, her hands gripped at the tarnished silver of the battered glass until her knuckles were tense and pale.

He might kill her if given the opportunity…and the provocation; she was positive of it.

It was not the first time the disturbing thought had invaded her mind since her arrival here.  And over the past several days it had come to her again and again in the
twilight of her lucidity until she knew it was not simply the ravings of a crazy woman.  Colón would eventually be the death of her.

She would be long gone before that happened.  He had thwarted her initial efforts, but he could not stand in her way forever - especially if he was spending time in Havana.

Soon, Sabine vowed as she set the glass down with a trembling hand.  It had to be soon or she might not see another Cuban sunrise.

“This above all – to
thine own self be true.”

The phrase ran circles in her mind until it
finally lulled her to a restless slumber.

Chapter Nine

Michael Pierson was running for his life.

It always came back to him in his dreams; there was no escaping it…and every time he awoke abruptly in a sheen of sweat, heart pounding,
blood racing through every vein, every inch of his body.  It was all due to that girl – that girl he couldn’t seem to keep out of his thoughts.

What was it about her, anyway?  Just this morning he had awakened on the verge of a yell, his subconscious fleeing from some unseen presence that followed fast on his heels.

Michael sat up and untangled the twisted sheeting from around his thighs.  It had to stop.  For the past two years he had done nothing but run; and now that he finally felt safe, he was running again in his nightmares.

Muttering a curse,
he pulled on his trousers and walked over to the window. This couldn’t go on forever, he thought as he drummed his fingers impatiently against the glass.  He had to see her.  Just once.  Maybe then she’d leave him and his thoughts in peace…and he could finally go on with his life and leave his thoughts in peace…and he could finally go on with his life.

Michael ran a tired hand through his hair as he stared out over the Cuban landscape. God, it was beautiful out there.  The land stretched as far as the eye could see.  Wild…untamed…and he was in love with it.

But even after two years, he still wasn’t quite sure he had adjusted to the country that had embraced him so completely.  He was content here, although everything hadn’t exactly gone as planned.  He needed to work the land – his land; smell the richness of the freshly turned soil beneath his boots; feel the strain of his muscles as he drove the blade of his plow deep into the earth.