A Bride for Valentin Page 7

  She turned around from kneading the bread dough on the table for make for their evening meal. Valentin stood behind her, looking tall and handsome. His eyes held a special gleam in them.

  “A surprise for me?”

  He nodded. “Tomorrow is your birthday, but I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow.”

  Her mouth formed an ‘O’. She dusted off her hands, set the bread dough in the bowl and then turned. “Well?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Valentin…”

  “Go ahead, querida. Close your eyes.”

  She tried not be affected by the use of the endearment. After all, it could mean nothing.

  Or, it could mean everything.

  I have a surprise for you, my husband. I think I want to come to you of my own free will.

  Over the past two weeks, she had come to recognize things about Valentin that she liked. Though a poor man, he worked hard. Every couple of days, he went into the nearby village to sell his wares. When he returned, he’d bring a trinket with him every time. A lace fan that she used when she was trying to cool off in the heat of the day. A pair of gloves, made of white satin. Though that part of her life was over, as she never would attend the kind of functions a pair of those gloves would do justice to, she appreciated the gift. Cocoa, her favorite gift to date. The bittersweet taste of it in her hard, clay cup brought back days of when she’d sit in the castillo and drink a warm cup of it.

  Another gift he’d bring, although one couldn’t truly call it a gift were newspapers from home. How he was able to procure them remained a secret known only to him, but she appreciated the material.

  From the quick read she’d been able gain in between the unending chores of the house and the ladies from the homesteads nearby visiting, she saw that Queen Isabella had come under severe censure for the pointless Chincha Islands War as she tried to rustle back Spanish influence on their former colonies of Peru and Chile.

  How long could the Queen keep making decisions until the country ousted her—both her detractors and her supporters?

  Along with news about home came letters from home. Letters from Madre Superiora assuring her that Atilio, in this one regard, had kept his promise. The orphanage had been gifted with the sum of her inheritance and it was being used toward those purposes. Reading that had given her a peace of mind that she made the right decision.

  Despite the circumstances of how they met, she found herself getting past it. No longer angry, she’d begun to thrust it out of her mind. Though life was hard, it was bearable.

  Maybe what was making it bearable was the fact she had Valentin.

  Though he went away every few days, she looked forward to having him come back. Maria had become a permanent fixture in their home, helping out with the chores and being a companion to her.

  At night, when he was with her, she’d cuddle up next to his body which gave off waves of warmth. Wrapped in his strong arms and surrounded by his masculine presence, she felt safe. Safe from everything.

  Was this what the abbess had referred to? The change in their relationship which she was coming to accept with each day. No longer did she want to atone for Atilio’s guilt. Her brother would have to answer to Dios El Padre sometime for his actions. She could not do it for him.

  “Are you going to close your eyes, Ysabel?”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh and then closed them.

  “Hold out your hand.”

  She did as he requested and she felt something smooth and pointy touch her inner palms.

  “Open.”

  Glancing down, she gasped. “Valentin!”

  “Do you like it, querida?” He looked slight anxious, as if it meant something to him to have her like her birthday gift.

  “Me gusta mucho,” she breathed out in wonder.

  A beautiful peineta, a comb rested in her hand. Beaded with pearls along the top and made with gold, it had a spiral pattern embossed on its surface. She turned it in her hand, this way and that looking at it from all angles.

  “But we can’t afford something like this, Valentin.”

  An odd look crossed his features. “Don’t worry about the price of it, Ysabel. I want to make sure you have it.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh.” He shushed her by putting his finger on her mouth. “Don’t worry about it. I’m your husband and it’s my duty provide and care for you.”

  Care for her? Did he really care or was he using it just because it was a cliché phrase?

  “Feliz cumpleaños,” he congratulated in a low, poignant voice.

  She decided to take him at his words. “Gracias, Valentin. I can’t wait to wear it.”

  She longed to throw her arms around him, and send kisses all along his face for his wonderful gift. She didn’t have too many mantillas. One made of white lace and the other out of black lace. The white one she worn while reading her scriptures or praying. The black one she’d worn when invited out for some function or other.

  “I can’t wait to see you in it either.”

  The way he said it, she had an idea he was talking about something unrelated to the comb. Something which she had just tasted two weeks ago while in his arms and something she would admit she would want to taste again.

  But it was too soon for that. Something, she wasn’t sure what, held her back from giving herself to him. Until she was able to rectify the hesitation on her part, it was better to accept this gift in the way he meant to give it.

  As nothing more than a gift to a familiar stranger.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A week later

  October 1866

  Valentin knew he could not go on like this. He had to tell Ysabel the truth.

  He stood outside the door that led to their humble abode and hated it. Hated the fact that he had subjected the kindest woman on earth to live in its squalor. He hated himself for letting his plans for vengeance blindside him to the fact that the sins of the brother would not be paid for by the sister.

  It was getting harder to stay away from his lovely wife. Harder to keep his distance when he wanted to be so much closer. Every night when they lay side by side in the small bed, she’d wrap herself so tightly against him that she didn’t know where he ended and she began.

  He always missed her presence when he’d gone back to Jacinda’s Rest. Sleeping in the bed alone had been a worst agony than when he stayed with her. At least with her by his side, he could smell the wonderful, fresh clean scent of her hair. Feel the softness of her body as she burrowed into him. Hear her slight snores.

  If she lived at Jacinda’s Rest with him, he wouldn’t have to be separated from her so often. The only reason why he was, had to do with the fact that he had been trying to keep his wealth a secret from her.

  But what good would that do? Ysabel had grown up in wealth. It would not change who she was. Wealth had not made her prideful, nor had poverty made her bitter. If anything, she’d learned to work with much less.

  Then, there had been his last talk with Jacinda. Though he’d gone into her room as he usually did, he didn’t find solace there. For the first time in a long time, for as long as he could remember in fact, Jacinda’s image was forward in his mind.

  This time, he found no comfort in her presence. Or anguish even. Instead of thinking of the evil that the conte had done to her, he thought of how grateful he was to have had her for as long as he did.

  As always, he’d fallen asleep in the room dedicated to her. But this time, when he saw her, she stood under a tree outside of his ranchero. Her white mantilla seemed longer this time and billowed about her as if caught by a wind. She glowed in an unearthly, pure light. Her voice sounded like water.

  “Valentin, you don’t need me anymore.”

  He wanted to object when she said that he realized that it was true. He didn’t need her presence anymore.

  He had Ysabel.

  “Jacinda, I wanted to make him pay for what he did to you.”

  She floated towa
rd him, the mantilla behind her. She reached out a glowing hand and touched the side of his face. She felt so warm.

  “You will make him pay. Just not by hurting him in the way you thought. And you must remember: I loved Atilio with every fiber of my being. Though he treated me wrongly, if I had my life to live over again, I would probably make the same mistake again.”

  “How can you say that? “I thought Santo Dios couldn’t care about us for what had happened to you and the children.”

  “Atilio made me happy. Just as Ysabel will make you happy. In this short life, Valentin, you must fight for your joy. And once you have won it, never let it go.”

  “Jacinda…Ysabel already does make me happy.”

  He came back to the present. Valentin knew that it was very well he could lose the woman he had grown to care for…to love if he had to be honest with himself. How would she react when she discovered that he had placed her in poverty when she could have been living like a princess if she wanted?

  His heart hammered in his chest. Whether or not she hated him or would cast him away from her, he knew he had to tell her the truth and beg her forgiveness.

  “Valentin, you’re back!”

  He turned around to see Ysabel racing toward him, her face filled with joy at his presence. It humbled him to see the emotion, particularly when he did nothing good to deserve it.

  She jumped into his arms and rained kisses all over his face. He was so shocked he just stood there as her kisses, like the brush of butterfly wings, touched every part of his face.

  When she tried to leave after she finished, his arm tightened around her waist.

  “What was that for?”

  “Don’t you know? I missed you so much. I kissed you for every minute you were gone.”

  “Every minute?” What was she trying to say? Dare he hope that—

  “Every minute.” Her large dark brown eyes lifted up. What he saw within their depths made him gasp. “Ysabel?”

  “I know you don’t feel the same way about me, especially after what my brother did to your sister. But I want you to know that I love you. It didn’t start off that way. Indeed, there was a time I hated you. But being with you, and then not being with you when you go to sell your wares…I can’t take it anymore. May I come with you next time?”

  She loved him! A man like him who had done whatever he could to hurt her. She loved him!

  “I can’t believe that you would give me your love, Ysabel. I’ve treated you horribly.”

  Valentin fell to his knees. “I’ve already gone on my knees to Santos Dios and begged His forgiveness for how I have treated you. The woman that I love.”

  She gasped. “Valentin!”

  “Now I must beg for yours. Please forgive me, Ysabel Garcia de Alba for taking you away from your home and your comforts to give you this. Please forgive me for wanting to make you pay for your brother’s sins. Please forgive me for everything wrong I have done.”

  She bent and kissed the top of his head. “I forgive you but you forgot one thing.”

  “What is that?’ He stood up, wondering at the amusement in her voice.

  “It’s Contessa Ysabel Garcia de Alba y del Bosque.”

  He grinned. “So it is.” Then he sobered. “There’s just one more thing—mm!”

  Ysabel had wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself fully against him. Hs head exploded with sensation. It had been three weeks since the first time he had kissed her and he’d longed for it more.

  “Valentin, do we have to keep talking?”

  “What do you mean?” He couldn’t keep his hands still as they moved restlessly along her body.

  “I’ve sent Maria away for a while. Do we have to keep talking?” She kissed him again, deeper with an innate sense of exploration that nearly drove him mad. “I want to give myself to you because I love you. Can we do that now?”

  “Ysabel,” he groaned as her fingertips ran inside his jacket, sending long strokes of caresses across his chest. “Please, Valentin?”

  When she said it like that, how could he resist? He snatched her up in his arms and ran into the house, shutting the door behind them.

  Ysabel listened to the sound of her husband’s breathing as he slept. Carefully, she lifted the covers from her bare person and shifted herself into her robe. She glanced back down at her husband, who looked boyish in the moonlight.

  He had made her his wife in the gentlest, but passionate way possible. Now that she knew she loved him, she had no qualms about the future. She would be glad to live with him whether in this shack on the edge of town, or the prosperous ranchero he mentioned when they lay against each other’s heart.

  Tiptoeing, she went out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen. When she found what she was looking for, she grabbed it and then spent a few minutes getting what she needed together.

  Then, carrying the item back to the bedroom, she stood on the side of the bed.

  Valentin had shifted in his sleep again. An arm thrown back over his head, his mouth relaxed in repose. Loving she gazed at him, and then with a small sigh, she lifted the bucket of water and threw it over his head.

  Her husband jerked awake, spluttering and coughing. She stood back and watched with a certain wicked amusement as a stream of curses spewed out of his mouth.

  “Ysabel! Why did you—?”

  “Valentin, you let me rot in this house for three weeks when I could have been in a ranchero?!”

  His damp hair dripped in front of his face. Pulling the locks of hair apart from each side of his face, he shivered and then gave a sheepish grin. “I said I was sorry. Didn’t I?”

  “You did,” she acknowledged. He’d apologized in a most ardent, and passionate way, between kisses along her face and neck that had sent all thought of retaliation had gone away on a sigh.

  But not for long.

  “Which is why this bucket of water has lavender in it, not the grime from cleaning the floor.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that, can I?’

  “No,” Ysabel said as she set the bucket, went over to where he sat on the bed, and pushed back his wet hair. “you can’t argue with that, my love.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Three weeks later

  Jacinda’s Rest

  October 1866

  The assailant, crouched in the corner of the room with the peasant girl’s picture hanging over the wall, straightened as he heard the handle to the door turn. He’d waited for the better part of the day, along with the girl in the picture. At long last, his patience was about to be rewarded.

  Once the door pushed open, and he saw the patron, Valentin Carrion del Bosque, enter the room, he started to rise, his knife secure in his hand.

  “Come, querida.” Valentin said to whoever was behind him, “Come and see.”

  The assailant watched as the mistress of Jacinda’s Rest, Ysabel wandered into the room. She looked happy and content in a way the assailant had never seen her before.

  “Oh Valentin. It will be perfect for whenever we have a child.”

  A child?

  “But are you sure? This room belonged to Jacinda.”

  “It’s all right. Jacinda is no longer here. She no longer visits me in my dreams. I think, she has found rest. But instead of the rest I had hoped she would find in my vengeance against your brother, she has found rest in my happiness.”

  The assailant’s eyes closed in pain.

  “Did you hear something?” Ysabel asked as she came further into the room.

  Valentin paused. “No, but then there’s nothing to worry about. No one has the key to this room but me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the assailant said as he came from his hiding place from behind the sofa.

  “Atilio!” Ysabel gasped. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes dropped to the blade in his hand. The shock faded away, replaced by unease. “And what are you doing with that?”

  He took a few moments to look at her. She hardly r
esembled the woman he had given up three months ago. Back then, she fluttered around, taking care of the house and servants with a calm efficiency. Now, hear she was, standing in a room that would be used for a nursery.

  “I came here to kill your husband.” He said. “I was going to do but then, when I saw her painting, I couldn’t.”

  “You couldn’t, what?” Valentin asked.

  “I couldn’t take your life. Ever since you brought up my debts, my life has been tossed back and forth. My former Carlist friends no longer wished to be sided with me. My loyalties to Queen Isabella’s crown have been called into question.

  I came here after leaving the country to avoid imprisonment.”

  Atilio sighed. “I blamed Valentin for the predicament of my life.”

  “And you should,” the man said bluntly.

  “I was going to kill you, Valentin for all the harm you caused me.”

  “I caused YOU!” Valentine interrupted with a shout. “You are the one who—”

  “I know, I know. Now.”

  Atilio went over to stand under the picture. “I know you don’t believe me when I say this, Valentin. But I did love Jacinda. I was young then and stupid. Brash, arrogant, whatever term it is you want to use. But my feelings for my wife were genuine.”

  “Not genuine enough,” Valentine added.

  “You’re right. I was trying to gain the full beauty of the women who had ripped you both apart for over a year but there is no way you can hold onto a bird that is uncaged.”

  He reached out and tried to touch the edge of the gilded frame. “When I saw her, after all this time of not seeing her, my heart almost cracked in two. She was so kind and loving. I treated her wrong in my youthful arrogance. I look at the both of you and what you have and I think, I could have had the same sort of contentment if I had stayed married to the woman I love.”

  Tears started to eke out of his face. “Now, I am alone.”

  “No you’re not, mi hermano. You’re not alone. And if you stay with us, I’ll make sure you’ll never be alone again.” Ysabel glided over to where he stood and cupped his face in her hands. “You’re not alone, brother.”