Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (good fiction books to read TXT) 📕

machinations. He should have realized that from the scene aboard the Beaufort—her sweet, innocent face looking up into his with fright. But did not Innocencia have the same look? He had been wrong about her. It was no wonder that he was wary about being taken in for the second time by a woman's outward appearance.

Diabo suddenly reared and jerked his head, tearing the reins from Ruis's hands. Across his path, the jararaca, the deadliest of all snakes, with its white tail, bellied over the matted undergrowth and then disappeared.

Diabo did not go far. A whistle from Ruis summoned the frightened beast, and, too well trained to ignore his master's call, Diabo sidled back to the waiting conde. Ruis patted the horse and crooned his approval, and again took to the saddle, thrusting on into the jungled wilderness.

The voice in the distance aroused Maranta. She lifted her head and listened. Ruis? What was he doing calling her name? How had it suddenly turned so dark?

And what was she doing, in the middle of nowhere, tired and hungry and heartsore?

The sounds around her took on a sinister meaning. She shrank against the tree base at the soft wailing sound of a wild animal in the thicket. Almost like a child's cry. Could it be a jaguar?

To be eaten alive by the predator of the forest. Was this her destiny? She and her unborn child? Maranta brushed her scratched hand across her tear-grimed face and looked toward the thicket.

What stupidity, to run away because of the hostile atmosphere created by the two brothers. All at once, Maranta's desire for the welfare of her child made her alert. She did not want to die, did not want to harm the baby that grew inside her—Ruis's son—a part of her and the man she loved, even if she had denied loving him.

Regardless of the pain and shame, Maranta realized she wanted to bear Ruis's child, to hold the baby in her arms. Surely the priest could give her some penance that she alone would have to pay, without exacting the child's life for her sin.

A protective feeling encompassed her, and she clasped her bloodied arms around her stomach, as if she could ward off the danger that threatened the child's life. The sight of the dried blood on her arms made her weak, but she was determined not to give in. Her body, poised to run, waited while her breathing grew more rapid.

At the crashing sound from the thicket, Maranta fled, too terrified to look back to see what had emerged.

"Maranta," the voice called again, and with a scream, she answered, plummeting into the undergrowth, with her arm, stretched out to break her fall, twisting under her.

The twigs crackled beside her, but she could not move. It was too late. She screamed as the animal made contact with her terrified body.

It was a human hand, not an animal, that touched her, and Maranta's wide, frightened eyes looked up into sapphire eyes that were dark and brooding. The man's fierce look matched the forbidding landscape, but Maranta did not care. Ruis had found her.

His gentle hands wiped away her tears, and he clasped her to his chest. "I could not bear it if something had happened to you, little Iemanjá."

With a firm but kindly tone, he scolded her. "You must never run away again, pequena. I might not be so lucky to find you next time. Promise me," he said, "that you will never do this again."

"I. . . I promise."

"And I swear to you, for the sake of our child, Maranta, I will no longer cause you heartache. Vasco can claim you and the child as his own, and I will do nothing to antagonize him."

For the sake of the child—yes, she must remember.

He lifted her onto the horse and began his journey over the darkened terrain to the fazenda with only the stars to guide them. Feeling Maranta still trembling in his arms, Ruis attempted to take her mind off the dangerous trek homeward.

"The constellation of the twins, Maranta," he said, looking up into the sky. "Do you see it in front of you?"

Maranta lifted her head from his chest and gazed upward, thinking of her twin, Marigold, as far away from her as the stars in the heavens.

At Maranta's continued silence, Ruis volunteered, "Castor and Pollux—the twins. They are the brightest in the constellation. Do you know the legend?"

"No."

Undaunted by Maranta's apparent lack of interest, Ruis explained, "Pollux was supposed to be immortal; for he was the son of Jupiter."

"What about Castor?" Maranta asked, suddenly becoming interested in what Ruis was saying. "Was he not immortal, too?"

"No, pequena. Castor was different. He was the son of Tyndareus, and therefore, mortal."

"But you said that they were twins."

Ruis laughed. "The Greeks were never hampered by ordinary facts of life. They broke natural laws to suit their own whims and fancies."

Maranta lay in Ruis's arms—conscious of the seed he had planted within her, even though, in the eyes of the world, she was Vasco's wife. The Greeks were not the only ones to shape their world to suit themselves.

Maranta sighed and relaxed against Ruis's chest, and the man, feeling the tension dispel, forged ahead, his entire body conscious of the fragile young woman whose destiny was irrevocably intertwined with his own.

The condessa, her face drawn, stood by the gate, with the black shawl covering her shoulders.

"Do you see anything, Isobel?"

The companion held the lantern high and peered out into the darkness. "Nothing, Dona Louisa. I'm sorry."

"Ruis won't come back until he has found her. I know my son."

"You've stood out here far too long," Dona Isobel said, glancing at the tired woman. "Don't you think it would be more comfortable for you inside? I'll stay and keep watch."

The condessa shook her head and drew her shawl closer to her. "I'll wait for Patû to return with the dogs from the river."

The gate remained open, with the two women peering into the blackness surrounding the fazenda.