Untamed Fire (11 page)

“Gossip travels at an alarming rate. She was
only asked this morning.”

“Well—that is—I heard a young vaquero was
interested in Gaby. I just assumed... “

“That he would ask her—if she had the
evening off.”

“Gaby is entitled to an evening to herself,”
Dona Maria said. “She is young and should think of marriage and a
family.”

The thought infuriated Rafael. His fist came
down on the table with an angry pound. “She is serving a
punishment. She will not entertain ideas of marriage and children,
until the punishment is served in full.”

Dona Maria looked with pity on Gaby standing
quietly by the door. “That is not fair, Rafael.”

“I judge what is fair and what isn’t.”

“Did she wish to go to the dance with
Sanchez?”

Rafael realized at the moment that he had
never asked her and suddenly her answer was important to him.
“Gaby, did you wish to go to the dance with Sanchez?”

Gaby felt her heart race. She had wanted to
attend the dance, enjoy the music, feel a man’s arm around her, but
it wasn’t Sanchez whose arms she ached for, so she answered as she
knew she must. “Yes.”

Dona Maria smiled.
Good the girl wasn’t
interested in Rafael
. “See, you should allow Gaby the evening
out with Sanchez.”

Rafael wasn’t paying attention to his
mother. He was staring at Gaby. So she wished to see this man, go
to the dance with him, laugh with him, perhaps even kiss him. “You
have my permission to go to the dance with Sanchez.”

Both women stared at him in disbelief.

“As long as,” —he paused causing both women
to hold their breaths in anticipation— “all your duties are
complete.”

Gaby smiled and nodded, accepting the
challenge he extended. “
Si
, Don Rafael.”

~~~

Rafael woke with a start from his dream, his
body thick with perspiration. He bolted up, the damp sheet falling
to his waist. He tossed it off and swung his long legs out of bed
to sit on the edge. He brought his cupped hands to his face for a
moment before running them over it and through his rumpled
hair.

He stood naked, his damp, taut muscles
glistening from the moonbeams that danced through the open window.
He walked over to the table and poured himself a glass of Madeira,
taking it back to bed with him. He slipped beneath the light cover
and braced the pillow behind his back and slowly savored the
wine.

The dream remained on the fringes of his
thoughts nagging to be accepted for what it represented, but he
fought against it. He forced his thoughts on his vineyards and the
yield they would produce in another year. He thought of his
orchards and the fresh fruit they provided year-round. He bravely
resisted the dream’s interference until he rested his head back and
closed his eyes and Gaby’s face filled his vision.

The dream came again. He was in a small
cell. It was dark except for the flicker of light from a small,
melted-down candle sitting on a bench. Across from the bench sat
Gaby on a narrow bed. She was dressed as usual, a brown skirt and
white blouse, only her hair was different. It wasn’t braided. It
hung loose and free over her shoulders and along her breasts.

He walked over to her. He wore only his
black pants. Neither of them wore shoes, and the thought made him
smile.

He sank down beside her and pushed her silky
dark hair back over her shoulders. “You are my prisoner,” he
said.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

Before her second ‘yes’ escaped her lips,
his lips were on hers. His taste was hungry, almost savage, as
though he couldn’t get enough of her. She didn’t resist, she
encouraged. He slipped her blouse off her shoulders and bared her
large breasts. They were round and plump and his hands found them
pleasurable. His mouth soon followed, teasing the nipples with his
tongue, licking and suckling until Gaby’s moans grew in
intensity.

“You’re my prisoner,” he said once
again.

“Yes, yes,” she cried.

His hands remained firm on her breasts while
his lips searched and found the throbbing pulse at her throat. He
ran his tongue along it, feeling her lifeblood flowing until he
came to rest on her lips.

“Prisoner,” he whispered repeatedly.
“Prisoner.”

She stopped him then, pulled up her blouse,
and stood. She walked away and the flickering candle’s light
followed her path to the door. She opened it, smiled at him and
walked out shutting it behind her.

The click of the door told him she was gone,
but the whisper remained.

“Prisoner.”

His eyes flew open and he shivered, wiping
the sweat from his brow. It was obvious, so very obvious. She was
not his prisoner. He was hers.

~~~

The dance was one week away and Gaby felt as
though her chores would never end. Every time she thought she had
caught up, she found she herself further behind. Of course, it was
all Rafael’s doing. Dona Maria had lightened her chores, but when
Rafael discovered this he added more to her workload. She refused
to give up. She had accepted Sanchez’s invitation with a smile,
which he had returned, promising her an evening of fun. She was
looking forward to it. She needed it. She needed to get away from
Rafael.

She had picked fruit for Lupe knowing it was
Rafael’s order; she had polished all the silver knowing it was
Rafael’s order. She would never, never give in no matter how many
chores he dumped on her.

She was braiding her hair for the day when
she noticed the bruise on her right arm. It was purple and red and
it hurt. Then she recalled the bruise on her leg and the one on her
thigh. She hadn’t thought anything of them at first. Her own
clumsiness she reasoned. But of late she wondered if the children
were playing pranks.

The first incident was a few days ago. She
had come out of the hen house, her arms wrapped around the basket
of two dozen eggs. She hadn’t looked down, the path had always been
clear of any debris. That was why she was so shocked to find
herself tripping over the wood crate that had always sat beside the
cookhouse door filled with kindling. She came down hard against it
and a thin sliver of wood had ripped through her skirt piercing her
thigh.

Lupe had tended the wound and threatened the
small boy whose job it was to keep it filled. He had insisted he
hadn’t moved it. He had placed it where it belonged. Lupe hadn’t
believed him, declaring his foolish pranks often got him into
trouble.

Gaby had sensed the boy’s fright; he
trembled with it. He had pleaded with huge, sobbing tears that Lupe
had insisted were false, not to tell Don Rafael. In the end, Lupe
had relented, sending the boy off with a whack to the back of his
head and strict orders to tend to his chores or else.

The second incident had occurred in the
orchard, but had been her fault. She had spied a fat orange high up
on the tree and thought the juice would be plentiful and sweet for
Dona Maria’s breakfast. She had climbed the small wooden ladder
kept in the orchards. When she had been ready to climb down, a rung
on the ladder cracked and she fell to the ground. One ankle had
been the only part of her to suffer. It held a bruise as a reminder
of her carelessness. She should have checked the ladder’s condition
as her father had often taught her.

The third incident troubled her the most.
She had been sure it was meant as a prank. That she hadn’t been the
target, the tomato had been. She had been in the vegetable garden
leaning over to pick a ripe tomato from the lush plant. Suddenly,
her arm had felt as if it was on fire and the tomato had shattered
to pieces before her eyes. When she had looked at her arm, it had
been bleeding. She had assumed the weapon had been a sharp rock,
being the vegetable had burst.

Glancing once again at the abrasion, she
made a vow to find the culprit and give him a sound tongue-lashing,
certain it had been one of the mischievous children working around
the hacienda.

She opened the door and made to step outside
when her bare feet connected with a short stack of logs. She lost
her balance and fell to her knees. She heard children giggle and
swore this would be the end of it. She refused to put up with
anymore nonsense. She picked herself up, brushing at her clothes
and checking her knees. A scrape and blood marred one. She shook
her head and moved the logs away from the doorstep before going off
to the cookhouse.

“You should speak to Don Rafael,” Lupe
insisted for the third time. “He would put a stop to this
foolishness.”

“I will handle it,” Gaby said, wiping the
small abrasion with a warm wet cloth. “The children are testing
me.”

Lupe shook her head. “Testing you for what?
To see how much pain you can bear?”

“They are mischievous boys like my
brothers.” Gaby laughed recalling all the tricks and jokes her
brothers had played on her.

“And your papa never scolded them for
leaving bruises on you?”

“I suffered a bruise only once and my
father...”

“See,” Lupe said as Gaby’s words trailed
off. “Your father then left bruises on them.”

“
Si
, he did.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? That Don
Rafael will have the boys whipped?”

“Won’t he?” she asked the thought having
crossed her mind.

Lupe wrapped a thick cloth around the handle
of the iron skillet on the cook stove and moved it to rest on an
iron trivet on the table. “It is not his way. He does not punish
unfairly.”

Gaby helped remove the hot biscuits from the
pan onto a plate. “I don’t always find that to be true.”

Lupe looked at her and pushed a lone strand
of hair from the young girl’s forehead. “
Si
, with you he
does not play fair. This puzzles me.”

It didn’t puzzle Gaby, but she didn’t wish
to involve Lupe in her problem. “Already?” she asked, anxious to
serve breakfast.

Lupe smiled and handed Gaby the serving tray
filled with hot scrambled eggs, peppers, potatoes, sausages,
biscuits, muffins, and fruits.

Gaby entered the room her usual way,
backside first. Dona Maria was chattering away to Rafael and paused
to bid her good morning. Rafael was so engrossed with reading
papers resting in his lap and followed his mother’s greeting with
one of his own, that he did not bother to look up.

Gaby cheerfully went about her task, wanting
to complete it as fast as possible. She had many other chores to
see to that day, and if she kept to her schedule she’d finally be
ahead.

She finished serving and hurried from the
room. She helped Lupe with the breakfast pots and pans and was
drying the last one when Rafael entered.

“Lupe, my mother wishes to speak with you,”
he said and turned to leave the room. He stopped suddenly, turned
back around, and stared at Gaby. “See to my mother now, Lupe.”

The plump woman rushed from the room at the
sound of his stern orders. Rafael walked directly to Gaby and
grabbed the pan and cloth from her hand, tossing them to the table.
The heavy skillet landed with a solid thud.

Gaby went to take a step backward when he
grabbed her arm. “What happened?”

She looked to where his eyes had settled.
They were fixed upon the ugly bruise. She opened her mouth to
answer.

“I’ll have the truth,” he insisted and
directed her to a chair to sit. “What happened to your leg?”

She looked down and grimaced, her skirt
having hitched up enough to expose the scrape already starting to
turn in color.

He knelt before her, pushing her skirt aside
to examine the abrasion. “Has someone been abusing you?” he asked
with deadly calm as his fingers gently examined her knee.

She winced even though his touch was
gentle.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to cause you more
pain.”

His words were so gentle and sincere that
Gaby couldn’t help but stare at him. Tender one minute, a tyrant
the next; sometimes she did not know what to make of him.

“Who did this to you,
querida
?”

She spoke truthfully. “I do not know.”

His head tilted slightly and his eyes filled
with doubt. “Do not cover for someone. I will find out the
truth.”

Her hand moved to cover his and she almost
sighed from the warm welcoming feel of him. “I’m telling you the
truth. Some were my own carelessness. The others... “ She shrugged.
“I thought perhaps it was the children playing foolish games.”

“How many times has this happened?”

“Four.”

“Where else have you been injured?” “My
ankle,” she said, slipping her hand from his and moving her leg to
show him the now almost-faded bruise.

Rafael’s fingers brushed the area gently.
“That’s only three, Gaby. Where’s the fourth?”

“I cannot show you,” she said, averting her
eyes.

“Tell me.”

“My upper thigh, but it doesn’t hurt as much
as my arm,” she added quickly.

Having drawn his attention once again to it,
he examined the swollen wound carefully. His fingers skimmed her
flesh, barely touching the skin. “Why didn’t you tell me about
this?”

His face was level with hers, since he
continued to kneel. He was close, so close she could feel his warm
breath against her cheek. “I thought to look after it myself.”

He guessed her thoughts. “You fear my
punishment to the boys for such a mindless trick?”

She nodded. “They are young—”

“And stupid,” he finished.

“They mean no harm.”

“This is no harm?” he asked, barely
controlling his rage as he held her arm up before her.

“Please, Rafael,” she said without thinking
and touched her hand to his shoulder.

The soft plea knifed through him. That was
what he imagined she would say when he made love to her. Please,
Rafael. Please . . .

“I’m sorry,” she amended and reluctantly
drew her hand away.