Captive Secrets (7 page)

Amalie laughed, a deep, sensuous sound, and slipped away silently. Renaldo breathed deeply and almost choked on her animal scent. He heard her laugh again as she moved off, this time to her pallet. Involuntarily, he shivered and crossed himself.

Amalie Suub Alvarez was evil; he could feel it in every pore of his body. The old priest's hands worked feverishly on the beads in his hands. Over and over he said the familiar prayers. Always before they had comforted him, but not this evening—and perhaps never again.

 

Amalie awoke to a slow, sleepy dawn. As yet the birds were still cradled in their nests, their shrill early-morning cries minutes away. The others were asleep, the mission quiet and peaceful. Soon she wouldn't have to sleep under the stars with hundreds of others pressed close for warmth during the chilly nights. Soon she would be free of this damnable mission.

She closed her eyes and tried to picture the plantation alive with people and music. Her father had wanted to be a king, to live in grand splendor with the infamous Sea Siren as his queen. Instead, she'd killed him and sailed away, probably to her own death. If she, Amalie, were careful and planned every single detail, she could become a queen and resurrect the Sea Siren from her watery grave. It was an exciting thought. There would be obstacles, many of them, and primary among them was that she knew nothing about ships and had never been on one in her entire life.

Amalie sat up and hugged her knees. There were hundreds of books in her father's office, most of them about sailing. She'd looked through some of them, but they were full of rot and mildew, their pages either sticking together or crumbling in her fingers. At least her father's navigational charts were intact in their oilskin pouches, that much she knew.

A bright beam of sun shafted downward through the glossy leaves overhead, bathing Amalie in an eerie yellow glow. She moved out of the sun, muttering to herself as she left the room to prepare the morning meal.

First there would be the endless prayers, then breakfast, then cleaning up, then lessons. She hated it, but she'd gone on pretending because she needed this place and what it offered. After today, however, she wouldn't need this mission or Father Renaldo. Oh, she would stay on for a while longer—but only long enough to learn what was needed and to put her plan into operation.

Amalie's eyes flew to the priest's quarters as she padded down the hallway. It was possible the old man would die in the meantime. If he didn't . . . such things were simple to arrange. She smiled. At last her life was on a steady course.

 

After breakfast, Father Renaldo announced his intention to accompany Amalie into town. Instantly her suspicions were aroused; fear tightened like a vise in her chest as she scrutinized the old man. Why did he want to come with her? What was in his mind? Did he intend to thwart her plans somehow—perhaps even refuse to give her the diamonds?

Her yellow eyes narrowed. She didn't want him with her, but she had no choice. If he tried to get in her way, she would simply have to cut him down. They were adversaries now.

The moment breakfast was over, the old priest hobbled to the schoolroom, the children in tow. “Today,” he said in a reed-thin voice, “there will be no lessons. Tomorrow is All Saints' Day, so you will fashion garlands of flowers for the chapel, and I want to see the biggest, the prettiest blooms in crocks at the foot of Our Lady. Saria will be in charge of the garlands, and Celeste will oversee the chapel arrangements. I'm going into town with Amalie and should return by sundown, but in case we are delayed, Rita is in charge of supper. Hurry now, for it will take many hours to do the flowers. And remember, they must be perfect.”

Amalie cursed under her breath, words she'd heard in town, words no lady would ever allow to pass her lips. Her best course of action, she decided, was to act as if nothing were amiss. She waited until they were alone and then approached the priest, forcing a note of cheerfulness into her voice. “Do you have the stones, Father?”

“Yes, Amalie, I do. If you will prepare the horse and wagon, we can leave immediately.”

He listened as Amalie went off to hitch the old bay to the mission supply cart. He should have told her of his intentions. His conscience demanded she be told. Perhaps on the ride into town, he decided. All night he'd prayed for God to tell him what to do. He'd been a foolish old man, succumbing to the caress in a girl's voice—a foolish old man who'd thought he was doing the right thing by remaining silent in the face of deception. But she was Alvarez's daughter, although illegitimate, and nothing could change that.

The old priest sighed. Perhaps while he was in town he could go to confession. Father Juan would hear his sins and they'd talk afterward. It would ease his mind considerably. And tomorrow was All Saints' Day—God's way of giving him a chance to atone. He'd spend the entire day in prayer and fasting.

“Father, the wagon's ready,” Amalie said, startling him from his sober thoughts. “Please, allow me to help you.”

Father Renaldo suffered her touch as she helped him onto the hard, high seat. Before she snapped the reins she leaned over and said, “Father, I—I would like to see the diamonds before we start out.”

Father Renaldo debated a moment, but only because he didn't want to touch the hard, bright stones. In his eyes they represented death. In the end he handed over the pouch, crossing himself imperceptibly. He wished he could see the girl's expression as she shook the glittering stones from their cloth bag into the palm of her hand.

“I hope they fetch a good price,” Amalie muttered as she dropped them, one by one, back into the little pouch and tucked them away. “Thank you, Father.”

The old man shook his head wearily. “I deserve no thanks for surrendering you to the forces of evil. Come, child, let us be on our way. I have no desire to travel during the hottest hours of the day.”

An hour into their journey Amalie noticed that the priest was deep in prayer, his hands telling the rosary with an almost frantic intensity. He's afraid, she thought with sudden realization. He's afraid of me. We're bound together in this deception, and it's tearing him apart.

“Father, forgive me for asking, but why are you making this trip?” she asked, breaking the hour-long silence. “I appreciate your company, but the heat will shortly be unbearable, and we still have a long way to go.”

The priest did not answer her; his lips moved silently in prayer. Amalie didn't repeat her question; she knew the answer. Father Renaldo intended to reveal the truth to Justice Muab. When she spoke again a little while later, her tone was light, conversational. “The sun today is particularly brutal, Father. And you're not well. Perhaps we should turn back,” she said softly.

“No, no, I must get into town.” He turned to her then, his rheumy eyes striving to pierce their prison of shadow. “Amalie, I cannot allow the justice to believe the lie I told him. I was blinded with what I felt was your need. That house, child, will not make you happy. It's all based on lies, and I compounded those lies. Please . . . I want you to stay at the mission and help with the children. It's a good, honest life, and you are well suited to it. Forget that grand house and those rotting ships in the harbor. The diamonds are yours, although I feel in my heart they will only bring you misery and heartache. But as for the rest . . . Please tell me you understand,” the old priest pleaded.

Amalie contemplated him coldly. “Of course I understand. Because I do not embrace your faith does not mean I am incapable of understanding. I simply disagree, which is my right. My father was a disgusting, treacherous, lustful man. He used my mother in ways that aren't fit for your ears to hear. I have a right to avenge her—and to see to it that I do not fall prey to the same fate. I refuse to die a slave, at the mercy of some man's whims of kindness or cruelty. This is my chance to live the life I want for myself—and neither you nor anyone else will stop me! Now, Father, I suggest you climb down from this wagon and return to the mission. Now. I'll go into town alone.” Amalie reined in the horse and turned to the old priest with glittering eyes.

Father Renaldo heard the threat in her voice. Evil . . . He gripped his cane tighter in his gnarled old hand as he struggled down from the wagon. Walking back to the mission was better than forcing the issue now, here. He was no match for this one. Some way, somehow, he'd get word to the justice. His rosary in his hands, he began to trudge along the road, head bowed in prayer.

Amalie never looked back as she urged the old bay onward, to town.

 

Amalie arrived in town during the hottest part of the day without a drop of perspiration on her brow or a hair out of place. For the first time since starting out, she allowed her gaze to stray to the right and to the left as she observed the stately town houses of the rich traders and politicians. She particularly liked the grilled gates, manicured shrubbery, and long, circling drives. One day she, too, would have a town house here, she vowed.

One day she would ride into this town in a shiny black carriage, and every head in town would turn—the men's eyes full of desire, the women's full of envy. One day everyone would know and respect Amalie Suub Alvarez.

As the wagon clattered down the street, Amalie stared straight ahead; she was in the business district now, and she knew the shops were open, their proprietors lazing behind drawn shades. At the end of the street she tethered the old horse and ramshackle wagon and strode up the south walkway with her head held high. She was Amalie Alvarez—or she would be soon—and the sooner the people in town became aware of her, the better she would feel.

Her bare feet made slapping sounds on the wooden planks. Soon, she promised herself, she would have shoes to adorn her feet, as did all proper ladies. A splinter gouged her toe, but she kept on walking, her eyes searching for the gilt lettering that represented the jeweler's establishment. When she found it, she approached the entrance, heart pounding.

A cluster of bells tinkled as Amalie opened and closed the shop door. Sun ribboned through the windows, bathing her in a golden glow, shining through her thin chemise and outlining every limb and curve of her body. Grasping the small pouch, she walked up to the counter and shook the stones into the palm of her hand. She waited, her beautiful face impassive, for the arrogant-looking proprietor to get up from his chair and walk to the long counter that separated his offices from the entry area.

The jeweler's eyes widened at the sight of the girl in her faded, worn dress. He almost ordered her out of his shop—until he saw the stones in her hand. Greedily, he made a move to pluck them from her palm, but the moment he did she closed her hand into a fist.

“I want to sell these. I know they're worth a lot; how much will you give me?” Amalie said, fixing him with her cat's eyes.

“Where did you get these?” the jeweler demanded. “I don't buy stolen goods.”

“I didn't steal them; they're mine. Do you wish to buy them or not?”

“I need to examine them first,” the jeweler said, clearing his throat.

Amalie opened her hand and gave the jeweler one large sparkling diamond at a time. She smirked as he licked his lips, eyes aglitter. Obviously he hadn't seen many diamonds of this quality.

The man held the jeweler's glass close as he examined each stone carefully. Amalie waited until he had replaced the last diamond in the pouch. From underneath the counter he withdrew a cash box. The small mound of guilders he counted out shocked her. She hadn't been prepared for this. Was it enough or not? She didn't know. Taking a gamble, she shook her head.

“I want gold sovereigns, and this is not enough,” she said coldly, and waited, hardly daring to breathe. The man replaced the guilders and withdrew another box. Again he laid out a small mound, and again Amalie shook her head. The man added two more sovereigns to the small pile of gold. Again and again she shook her head, until she sensed that the man was nearing his last offer. Should she take it or not? Instinct warned her not to accept. “Add
all
of the guilders, and I will sell the diamonds,” she told him.

The jeweler snorted. “Ridiculous! They aren't worth that much. I have to be able to sell these at a profit. This is my last offer.”

“What would you offer for me?” Amalie asked quietly.

“Why, I . . . I'm a respectable man and run a respectable business. I—”

“Have a wife.” Amalie's yellow eyes flashed. “But would she do the things to you I would do, Mynheer Jew-elder?”

The jeweler licked his lips again. “What . . . what kind of things?” he asked in a quivering voice.

She smiled. “Things to remember . . . things you'll take to your . . . grave.”

Slowly, seductively, Amalie leaned across the wooden counter, her cat's eyes dark brown now and moist with heat. The jeweler tore his hungry gaze from hers and looked down the front of her dress. He nearly choked at the sight. Amalie's smile promised untold delights as her tongue snaked out from between her teeth. She allowed it to caress first her top lip, then her lower lip. The jeweler moaned.

“All of the guilders, Mynheer. A larger pouch. Now . . . before-”

“Lock the door,” the jeweler said hoarsely as he stuffed the gold into her pouch.

“No,” Amalie said, walking around the counter. “You will find what I do to you much more exciting if you fear . . . the unknown.”

“Yes, yes, hurry. This is unbearable,” he said, unfastening his trousers. He was suddenly shy, muttering under his breath, “I'm . . . I'm not very . . .” His face reddened miserably.

“I can see what you mean, Mynheer. I know how to remedy your problem,” Amalie said with a hint of sardonic laughter in her voice. “Trust me, Mynheer, you will never want to bed your sensible wife in her sensible bloomers and corsets again.” A deep growl of pleasure ripped from her mouth as she lifted the chemise over her head and stood before him naked in her splendor. The jeweler's eyes rolled back in his head as Amalie pulled him to the floor.