Surrender to Love (36 page)

He loved her.  The utterance had never passed his lips, but she knew he must.  Knew by the way he looked to her – not with the calculating stares of a conqueror, but with tenderness, caring. 
Knew by the way he touched her – his work-hardened hands suddenly becoming gentle as they encircled her waist, took her hand.  And she knew by his words – words that were almost always filled with encouragement and understanding; except for when she pushed him too far, she reminded herself, a smile flickering sadly at the corners of her mouth.

He had shown her a million things she never would have dreamed possible.

And now everything was ruined – horribly, dreadfully ruined – all because she had been too stubborn to see the reality amid the cloud of her own unfounded assumptions.

If she had listened to him at that very moment when it seemed so imperative to him.  If she had stayed.  If she hadn’t allowed those ignorant Southern ideals that had been consistently pounded into her head to overcome what she had inherently knew to be right and true.

And maybe if she had done all those things, none of this – whatever “this” was that lay at
Fortuna Áureo
would ever have happened.

Sabine couldn’t bear to think of
all those things that could have been, for it was utterly useless.  She couldn’t change what had happened.  All she could do now was wonder and hope and pray the wretched thoughts that invaded her brain were unfounded.

Soon, all would be just as it should be, Sabine told herself as
Fortuna
came into view.  Michael would be alive and well and waiting to berate her for never taking the time to listen.  He would yell and swear, and she would bathe happily in his words, relishing every curse and harsh utterance as though they were caressing murmurings of love.

Awkwardly, Sabine clambered from the
volanta
as it came to an abrupt halt before the main house, her heart pounding wildly with the thousand possibilities that lay behind the heavy wooden doors.  Her trembling hands brushed away the unruly tendrils that had fallen from their pins as an oppressive cloak of silence descended upon her, as the stocky figure of Luís came out to the veranda.

He looked little better than Enrique, though his sense of propriety had redeemed itself in the smooth cut of his clothing.  But the hollows under his eyes…the weary, almost defeated, gaze…

“I need to see him.”  The plea was soft-spoken, almost a whisper, yet in its apparent conservatism, it conveyed the vast urgency of her need as her hands clutched desperately at Luís’s, a fresh trail of tears appearing on her cheeks.  “Enrique said he was here.  Is he, Luís?  Is Michael here?”

“Yes,” he replied, running his thick hand over his profuse moustache.  “But it’s my understanding you were back in America.”

“I should have been,” she began, “but I – “ Her words stopped short as she sucked back a sob, her hands trembling as Luís held her hands tighter, reassuring with his touch.  “I’ll tell you everything later,” she told him in a rush.  “But Michael – “

Her words broke off as she noticed the odd way in which
Luís looked to her, the concern in his eyes mirroring the same unfathomable array of emotions that Enrique’s had, and a fresh surge of anxiety bolted to the center of her heart.

“One of the
fieldhands found him,
señorita,”
he began.  “When he came to us, he was not well.”

Sabine felt the color drain from her face as a peculiar twist of sickness rose from the depths of her being.  It was true, then, she thought numbly, all of it – the suspicions that
had swirled and tormented her brain until she thought she could not last another second.  And these men had caught up with him…and he was most certainly alone…

“I will not lie to you,” he said, taking her arm as he led her inside, his hand supporting her as she followed her unsteadily, fear turning her legs to jelly.  “He has suffered a great deal.  And consciousness has come only a few times in the past two weeks.” 
Luís stopped and faced her, his large hand swallowing hers.  “He has called out for you several times,” he added solemnly.  “It is good that you have come.”

They stopped at a door, and Sabine closed her eyes, fighting back the hot flood that threatened to unleash itself at any second as her fingers dug
into the black wool of Luís’s coat.  Lightly he tapped, beckoning forth an elderly housewoman, and he muttered something low in her ear.

“He is asleep,”
Luís pointed out as the woman moved away, “Consuelo says he may awaken after the effects of the laudanum has worn off.”

He swung the door open, and Sabine slipped inside, her heart jumping wildly as her gaze settled on his still form.  What had they done?  His back…so bloodied and bruised, half-bandaged against the healing wounds that crisscrossed his skin.  The pain he must have endured, must still be suffering because of their cruel torture.

Michael.  Oh, dear God, Michael…

Biting back the tightening lump of tears
that rose in her throat, she approached him quietly, cautiously, hands trembling within the folds of her skirt, his name silently repeating again and again on her lips.

And his face.  A tear coursed down her cheek uncontrollably as she knelt beside him, her fingers reaching out to trace the line of his jaw.  The cuts…the bruises…the healing gash on his lower lip…

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”  Her whispered words came brokenly as trembling fingers brushed against the soft growth of his beard, the tiny stream of tears increasing its flow with the love that flooded her heart.  “And I’m sorry I didn’t listen, and I’m sorry I walked out on you, and I’m sorry for everything else I’ve done.”

She brushed away a lock of his hair, smoothing it back into place lovingly as her gaze glanced across his frame, across the pillows that so carefully kept him positioned on his right side, and she finally settled on the white bandages that held his left arm close to his side and the expanse of white at the spot just below his shoulder.

Hesitantly she reached out, the palm of her hand moving with the slight rise and fall of his breathing as her fingers solely moved to the strong curve of his shoulder.  Dear God, she loved him so.  Loved him with every ounce of life she held in her body.  He couldn’t leave her like this.  He couldn’t just give up and leave her all alone.

“I shouldn’t have left without an explanation,” she continued as more tears broke from their confines.  “But I couldn’t go back to America, Michael.  They wanted me – said I was another man’s property.

“But I’m free now,” she said, her words rambling as she forced herself to sound hopeful, happy, in the wake of the image that was breaking her heart.  “I can go anywhere I want, when I want.  And we’re rich, Michael.  Fifteen thousand dollars rich.  Imagine all the things we could do with all that.  But I can’t do it without you.  I can’t.  I love you so much, and – “

Her voice broke again as she said those words, the sobs racking her body as she lay her head on her arms.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t right.  None of this should have happened,, and there was nothing she could do to make it go away – to make the hurt and the wounds and the scars disappear.

Michael shifted, and Sabine started as his hand rested heavily on her back, its warmth burning through the thin muslin of her gown.

“Sabine?”

His voice was nearly inaudible as it whispered raggedly in her ear.  Sweet Jesus, he was alive!  Raising her head, she quickly wiped away her tears as she looked into his half-opened eyes, relief spilling into laughter that escaped her lips.

A solitary tear made its way down his cheek as he allowed his lids to close, and she leaned over, brushing it gently away with her kisses as her hands cupped his face lovingly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said, his words strained.  “There were so many things I never said…”

Gently she pressed a finger to his lips to silence him.

“You should rest, Michael,” and her heart sang out with the utterance of that name.  His name.  Her Michael.  “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

His breathing labored, he struggled to look at her again through tired eyes.

“I love you.”  The words were said simply, an effort for his weakened body.  “I almost didn’t get a chance to say that.”

“Well, now you’ll have all the chances in the world,” Sabine replied, smiling fondly as she smoothed back his hair.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hope not,” and he attempted to laugh.  “I’m not in any condition to go running after you again.”

Her tears began their flow once again as his eyelids fell shut, his energy expended.  But this time, they were
tears of exuberance that spilled onto her cheeks.  Tears that alleviated the pain in her heart, the doubt in her mind.  Tears that rejoiced in his words and the promise of a new day, a new beginning.  Just as soon as  he was well, Sabine vowed.  Just as soon as she could get the farm on its feet and ask Luís if he’d consider selling off some of the south fields to them.

“
Señorita,
he must rest,” Consuelo said quietly, resting a hand gently on her shoulder.  “Perhaps later you will be able to see him.”

“Don’t go,” Michael rasped, his hand motioning weakly to her.

“I’ll be right here,” she affirmed as Consuelo nodded her consent and slipped silently out the door.  “I told you before, I’m not going anywhere.”

And she wouldn’t, Sabine promised as his breathing became soft with his slumber.  She was staying here – with him – where she had always known, deep in her heart, that she belonged.

Chapter Twenty-four

Michael leaned against the mantel of the library’s fireplace uncomfortably, turning down
Luís’s offer of brandy and
cigarritos
as he listened carefully to his friend’s words.

“So, it was Colón,” Michael commented, shaking his head in disbelief as he shifted his weight stiffly.  “I wish I could find that impossible to believe, but I don’t.”

Luís nodded in agreement as he set the decanter on its silver tray.  Then, turning, he said, “Enrique brought it to my attention this morning.  Concha has the authority to deal with Colón. Justice will be served. Do not allow it to bother you, for there is no chance of retribution by him.”

“Well, as much as I’d like to see it, there’s not a hell of a lot the governor-general can do, is there?  It’s not as though Col
ón committed a crime, and, even if he did, what kind of proof do we have anyway?”

“Ah, yes,”
Luís responded decisively, raising his eyebrows as he clasped the lapels of his coat with both hands.  “Proof.  That is true, if you wish to consider the law, but we are not, in this case.”

“Michael, remember,” he said, flicking his spent ashes into a tray, “
I do wield great power in this province, and there are times when it is beneficial to take advantage of it.  José Gutierrez de la Concha and I go back many years.  I have covered his gambling debts more than once, and, in turn, he grants me a favor or two.  I thought, perhaps, it was time to call all those favors in at once.”

“And Colón?”

“He has only been stripped of his land and possessions.  His status as a
criollo
does not give him much of a say in regard to Concha’s decision,” Luís dismissed as he gestured vaguely with his
cigarrito. 
“Two days ago he left for Spain.  He will not return again to Cuba, I assure you.”

“So what’s been done with his plantation?  He must have well over two hundred acres there. 
Concha’s not going to let it sit, is he?”

“I have purchased it all for a reasonable price.  The slaves that didn’t run were freed.  The
emancipados
have agreed to stay on, and Enrique and I have discussed his taking control of the sugar production there.  I debated for many hours whether or not to approach you with the offer,” he ventured carefully, “but I thought it not a good idea because of the harsh memories it holds for Sabine.”

Luís
paused, arching his brows inquisitively as his gaze perused Michael’s features.

Dammit
, why did Luís always pull this? Bait him with leading questions, then wait expectantly for some sort of reaction?  Luís knew full well he would never consider taking Sabine back to a place where he remembered only fear in those huge emerald eyes of hers, ugly bruises discoloring her skin, and ice-cold cynicism framing her words.

Never again.  Not Sabine.  Not as long as he had breath in his body.

Crossing the room, Michael paused to look out the library window and gazed after her fondly.  There she was, out on the veranda, her back to him as she leaned out over the railing, the masses of her dark curls falling between her shoulders.

Sabine.

He repeated her name in his head.  He still liked the sound of it, and, lately, every time he heard someone mention her name, it was as though he were hearing again for the first time.  Just like music.  Sabine.  Sabine DuBois.  Sabine DuBois…Pierson?