in spite of her resolve. Plump and breathless, Maria dismounted and rushed to Magdalena's side.
“I am Benjamin Torres, physician to the Majesties Fernando and Ysabel,” he replied, not sparing her a glance as he calmly examined the girl, who was moaning as she regained consciousness. “She fell from her horse, which she was riding far too fast.”
Maria was agog at meeting someone so close to the royal couple, for she had married at age fifteen and had never been to court with her parents. In spite of her provincial life, she knew the Torres name. “Can you heal her?” she asked in an awe-filled voice, impressed by his calm manner, but still afraid of her father's wrath.
“I must see if there are internal injuries after she has regained her senses and can speak.”
Magdalena's eyes fluttered open and looked into the unsettling blue of Benjamin's eyes, so like his son's. Gentle hands restrained her when she tried to sit up.
“You must lie still a moment. Are you dizzy?” His fingers worked and probed lightly about her head, then up and down each arm with practiced ease.
“No, my head is clearing. I think I had the breath knocked from me.” She looked down, needing to find some superficial injury, yet grateful to be alive and whole. Carefully, with Benjamin's assistance, she sat up, ignoring Maria's hysterical weeping and scolding. The moment Magdalena moved her legs a sharp pain lanced up from her groin into her belly and she bit back a scream, then fainted.
She awakened in a strange room, richly appointed with mosaic designs on the domed ceiling and heavy embroidered silk hangings on the walls. Thick Persian carpets covered the marble floors and the bed she lay upon was sinfully soft and piled high with cushions. A small crucifix hung on one wall, seeming as out of place as a pine tree in an orange grove. Instinctively she knew she was in the palatial city house of the Torres family.
“So, you have come back to us at last. I gave you a sleeping draught.”
Recognizing Benjamin's voice, Magdalena turned to where he sat, reading. A maid sat dutifully in the far corner, out of earshot. “How long have I been here?” She turned toward him and winced in pain.
“A day and a half. Be careful of that leg. You have badly pulled the muscles inside your thigh, but with time they will heal.” He hesitated, putting aside the heavy leather-bound volume with Arabic lettering on it.
Magdalena studied his face, sun-warmed and creased with wrinkles, yet still surprisingly handsome. There was more. She could read it in his expression. “Why has my sister left me here? Am I gravely injured?”
He smiled gently and the even white teeth again reminded her of Diego. “No, not gravely. Your sister and her husband agreed with me that it was best not to move you after I had you brought here and examined you.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I think she fears telling your parents what has happened. After all, you were in her charge.”
Magdalena let out a snort of youthful derision. “Maria is afraid of her own shadow. 'Twas my own fault I outrode her and then fell. I will tell our father.” She watched as Benjamin took a slim parchment roll from the folds of his robe.
“This should be ample proof of your purity. Have your father read it. He can come to me if he needs further assurances for your betrothal agreement.”
Her bright green eyes widened. “My—my purity?” she croaked. Then as he approached, she snatched the parchment from him. “I can read well enough myself.” She unrolled it and her eyes quickly scanned the contents. Officially signed and sealed, it attested to the fact that her hymen had been ripped when she suffered a fall from her horse. Legally she was still a virgin, fit property for
“I am Benjamin Torres, physician to the Majesties Fernando and Ysabel,” he replied, not sparing her a glance as he calmly examined the girl, who was moaning as she regained consciousness. “She fell from her horse, which she was riding far too fast.”
Maria was agog at meeting someone so close to the royal couple, for she had married at age fifteen and had never been to court with her parents. In spite of her provincial life, she knew the Torres name. “Can you heal her?” she asked in an awe-filled voice, impressed by his calm manner, but still afraid of her father's wrath.
“I must see if there are internal injuries after she has regained her senses and can speak.”
Magdalena's eyes fluttered open and looked into the unsettling blue of Benjamin's eyes, so like his son's. Gentle hands restrained her when she tried to sit up.
“You must lie still a moment. Are you dizzy?” His fingers worked and probed lightly about her head, then up and down each arm with practiced ease.
“No, my head is clearing. I think I had the breath knocked from me.” She looked down, needing to find some superficial injury, yet grateful to be alive and whole. Carefully, with Benjamin's assistance, she sat up, ignoring Maria's hysterical weeping and scolding. The moment Magdalena moved her legs a sharp pain lanced up from her groin into her belly and she bit back a scream, then fainted.
She awakened in a strange room, richly appointed with mosaic designs on the domed ceiling and heavy embroidered silk hangings on the walls. Thick Persian carpets covered the marble floors and the bed she lay upon was sinfully soft and piled high with cushions. A small crucifix hung on one wall, seeming as out of place as a pine tree in an orange grove. Instinctively she knew she was in the palatial city house of the Torres family.
“So, you have come back to us at last. I gave you a sleeping draught.”
Recognizing Benjamin's voice, Magdalena turned to where he sat, reading. A maid sat dutifully in the far corner, out of earshot. “How long have I been here?” She turned toward him and winced in pain.
“A day and a half. Be careful of that leg. You have badly pulled the muscles inside your thigh, but with time they will heal.” He hesitated, putting aside the heavy leather-bound volume with Arabic lettering on it.
Magdalena studied his face, sun-warmed and creased with wrinkles, yet still surprisingly handsome. There was more. She could read it in his expression. “Why has my sister left me here? Am I gravely injured?”
He smiled gently and the even white teeth again reminded her of Diego. “No, not gravely. Your sister and her husband agreed with me that it was best not to move you after I had you brought here and examined you.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I think she fears telling your parents what has happened. After all, you were in her charge.”
Magdalena let out a snort of youthful derision. “Maria is afraid of her own shadow. 'Twas my own fault I outrode her and then fell. I will tell our father.” She watched as Benjamin took a slim parchment roll from the folds of his robe.
“This should be ample proof of your purity. Have your father read it. He can come to me if he needs further assurances for your betrothal agreement.”
Her bright green eyes widened. “My—my purity?” she croaked. Then as he approached, she snatched the parchment from him. “I can read well enough myself.” She unrolled it and her eyes quickly scanned the contents. Officially signed and sealed, it attested to the fact that her hymen had been ripped when she suffered a fall from her horse. Legally she was still a virgin, fit property for
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