The Heavenly Surrender (35 page)

“Cruz,” Juan Miguel began, helping Genieva to stand. He seemed to be unaware of the brutal battle taking place between his son and Brevan—a vicious match of possible death. “Did Cruz try to…?”

“His intentions were vile,” Genieva sobbed bitterly. She was frantic! Brevan was near to being murdered, and Juan Miguel stood questioning her as if nothing were amiss at all. “He’s ruined at least one woman, and he meant to do no less to me!”

“Why? Why would he…?” Juan Miguel said, shaking his head.

“Why not?” Genieva cried. “You’ve sent him to hurt and harass Brevan. Why do you think him incapable of violating women? He is what you raised him to be!”

Juan Miguel shook his head as he looked to Cruz, who was struggling to stand. “No. I did not raise him to murder men or to harm women.”

Lunging unexpectedly once more, Cruz grabbed Genieva’s shoulders, throwing her to the ground before drawing a knife from his belt and cutting Brevan severely across the chest. Brevan responded by kicking Cruz’s hand, sending the weapon through the air, and it disappeared in the grass.

Genieva screamed as a brutal series of fist-blows were dealt between the men. It was a horrid sight, and she looked to Juan Miguel.

“Stop him! Stop him! Cruz…he means to kill him!” she cried.

“He has the eyes of a devil, Papá,” Mateo mumbled. “El diablo. I see the evil in him clearly now.”

Juan Miguel still stood silent—making no move to assist either his son or Brevan. As if unable to comprehend his own actions, or those of Cruz, he turned and began walking away.

“Stop him!” Genieva pleaded with the man. Juan Miguel suddenly appeared older—weaker than a moment before. “You’re the only one who can stop your son!”

“Brian! Stop them!” she cried out. Looking back, she saw Brevan lose his footing—stumble backward as Cruz dealt a particularly lethal blow to his jaw. “Brian!”

“Cruz! Stop, or I’ll kill you,” Joaquin shouted.

Cruz turned. He looked to his brother a moment before Brevan hurled his body at him, sending Cruz plummeting to the ground. Brian ran to where his brother wrestled with the villain on the ground. Taking hold of him firmly, Brian pulled Brevan from Cruz. Joaquin reached down and took hold of Cruz’s collar, pulling him to his feet.

“I should let McLean kill you for what you have done. You deserve no mercy for it,” Joaquin growled.

Cruz, gasping for breath, only smiled, spit blood from his mouth, and laughed. Brevan pulled himself from Brian’s grasp and stumbled to Genieva. Helping her to her feet, he gathered her into his arms, pressing her pain-stricken body gently against his own in a careful embrace. His breathing was labored, and he swayed slightly from side to side.

“Genieva,” he whispered. “Ya shouldn’t have…look at ya, lass.” Brevan’s face constricted with the guilt and anxiety he was feeling at Genieva’s being beaten. She knew he felt her pain worse than he did his own, and she shook her head, reassuring him of her well-being.

Angrily, Brevan shouted at Juan Miguel, “Ya gave the land to me mother! Of yar own free will, Archuleta! That land I would’ve given back to ya, and well ya know it’s the truth. But ya wanted everythin’! Me own lands, me brother’s, and me sister’s. Ours was not yars to have!”

Juan Miguel turned to face him.

Slowly, he nodded, saying, “Sí. You are right. I see now the evil in my soul, and I ask your forgiveness. I ask your wife’s forgiveness. I ask forgiveness from my daughter and my true sons,” the man confessed, looking from Mateo to Joaquin.

“I am your true son!” Cruz shouted. Reaching out, he drew a knife from Mateo’s belt and raised it high above his head as he charged toward Brevan. “You will have your lands, Papá! I am Cruz Mondragon Archuleta! Your son!” he shouted.

Genieva heard the other blade slicing the air a moment before it embedded itself deep in Cruz’s chest. He stopped—dropped his weapon as he took hold of the knife protruding from his own body. Pulling it from his chest, he looked up to Joaquin. Joaquin closed his eyes for a moment before facing Cruz—Cruz—his brother—his brother who would die from the knife thrown by his own brother’s hand.

“Joaquin?” Cruz choked. “Mí hermano. You…you are my brother.”

“And I pray for mercy on your soul,
mí hermano,” Joaquin whispered as Cruz fell to the ground. Cruz’s evil was ended.

“I never meant to kill you, McLean,” Juan Miguel muttered, kneeling beside his dead son. “I only meant to…”

“Ya’ve lost far more than a man should, Juan Miguel,” Brevan breathed. “I can pity ya now for that reason. Take the sons ya have left and change yar ways, man.”

Juan Miguel looked up to Brevan and nodded. “I will plague you no longer, Brevan McLean. No longer.” He stroked Cruz’s hair gently, and his anguish shown plainly on his face. “I have done you a large wrong, McLean. I am sorry, too, for Cruz. H-he…” The old man could say no more to Brevan. He simply sat staring at his dead child. “Oh, niño. Mí hijíto.”

Brian took one of Brevan’s arms from around Genieva, placing it about his own shoulders, helping to support him. “Ya’re losin’ face in me eyes, big brother. I’ve never seen ya so close in a fight.”

Brevan smiled at his brother’s ability to lighten the weight of his pain. He turned to Joaquin and offered, “I thank ya for me life.”

Joaquin was pale, and Genieva pitied him. Evil or not, it could be no easy thing to kill one’s own brother. It would haunt his mind forever.

“I have married mí amor yesterday,” Joaquin stated. “I am taking Amy to Santa Fe to live. It is how I knew you were in trouble…for I was in town when Brian came to Lita last night. I knew Cruz would…I knew he would…” Joaquin was unable to finish. He asked simply, “You will let us visit Lita again before we go?”

Brevan frowned. “Me? Of course. But that is not for me to decide,” he answered gesturing to Brian.

“Lita would have it no other way,” Brian assured the man, offering a forgiving grin. Joaquin nodded.

“Travis!” Genieva exclaimed then, as she saw her brother-in-law wandering into the orchard before them. He held a hand to his head but seemed well otherwise.

“Help us above!” Travis exclaimed upon seeing Brevan’s condition. “I-I’m sorry, Brevan,” he apologized, shaking his head. “I…didn’t see…they came from behind me and…”

Brevan put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s none of it yar fault, Travis. None of it at all.”

Genieva looked back to Juan Miguel and Mateo. They struggled to lift Cruz’s body from the grass where it lay. Joaquin went to them, and Genieva watched as Juan Miguel placed a reassuring hand on Joaquin’s shoulder. Joaquin bent, lifting Cruz slowly from the grass, cradling him in his arms. Brevan’s gaze followed Genieva’s, and they watched as the Archuletas left solemnly.

Brevan sighed. “He’s…it’s finished now,” he said.

He gently turned Genieva’s face to his own. Tenderly caressing her cheek with the back of his hand, he whispered, “Ya’ve given me life again, and in so many ways, Genieva. I thank ya for them all, lass.”

Epilogue

The months had passed quickly since Cruz Archuleta had died in the orchard—and with them came a healing of wounds, both physical and emotional, for Brevan and Genieva. The apples and pears had been plentiful—as was the work. The first snows had arrived and with them Brenna and Travis’s son, Sean.

Genieva sat contentedly in a chair, listening to Brenna and Lita dote on their perfect children. She looked to where Brevan sat before the fire talking with Brian and Travis. Her joy was manifest across her face in the form of a smile as she watched the men chuckle at something amusing in their conversation. Brevan seemed to sense her gaze upon him. He looked to her briefly, winking merrily. The familiar warmth that permeated her being at his attentions spread throughout her as a warm, comforting bliss.

Genieva’s happiness was complete. Never had she imagined such a wonderful man—such a wonderful life could be hers. In that moment, the knowledge was overpowering, and she rose, taking her shawl from its hook behind the door and walking out onto the front porch.

The air was cold and very, very still. The frost gently floated through the night sky—sifting softly to the ground—dusting the surface of the newly fallen snow—as if a million tiny slivers of glass shimmered in the moonlight.

“It’s too cold for ya to be out here without yar coat, lass,” Brevan said from behind her.

The sound of his voice warmed Genieva far better than a thick, woolen coat ever could. His arms encircling her body from behind caused her to shiver with the thrill of being in his embrace.

“’Tis a beauty of a Christmas Eve, it is,” he commented. His breath in her hair was comforting, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder. He bent and whispered in her ear, “I love ya, Genieva McLean. Ya’re the beauty and rapture of me life, lass. Did I live before I had ya?”

Genieva closed her eyes—content to stay in his arms forever.

“Did I breathe before I had
you
?” she whispered. Then, taking one of his hands in her own, she slowly slid it from its place at her waist, resting it squarely on her abdomen. She pressed his hand firmly against the place and softly said, “I have a special Christmas present for you, my love.”

“
Ya do? And what might that be, me lassie?” he asked.

“
It’s something you have to wait awhile to enjoy,” she whispered as she caressed the back of his powerful hand lying gently on her belly.

“What is it?” he chuckled.

“
Well…” she began, “it’s either a boy or a girl.”

As he turned her body in his arms, her heart knew pure delight—for the expression on his face told her his feelings—even before he spoke the words.

“Truly?” he asked, his face beaming with pride and joy. Genieva nodded, and he gathered her fully into his embrace. “Did I live before I had ya, lass?” he asked before pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

And the kiss that Brevan had gifted to Genieva as her own so many months before was hers once more—warm, impassioned, deliciously moist, and filled with the heavenly promise of everlasting love.

My everlasting admiration, gratitude and love…

To my husband, Kevin…

About the Author

Marcia Lynn McClure’s intoxicating succession of novels, novellas, and e-books—including
The Visions of Ransom Lake
,
A Crimson Frost
,
The Rogue Knight
, and most recently
The Pirate Ruse
—has established her as one of the most favored and engaging authors of true romance. Her unprecedented forte in weaving captivating stories of western, medieval, r
egency, and contemporary amour void of brusque intimacy has earned her the title “The Queen of Kissing.”