legs. Then, trying not to look, she plopped one piece of wet linen on his lower body.
As she worked, refreshing the cloths, Rigo raved in Castilian. Miriam spoke the language poorly, but she had learned from Benjamin's diligent tutelage to understand it well enough. After a few moments she wished she did not.
“Mother—mother? Who were you? Royal princess, hah! You died and left me. Indians—dark-skinned savages, cowards...Bartolome says they offer their naked bellies to Spanish steel...cowards! I am no coward. I fight...I fought the boys, even the slavers. They did not take me away in chains. Father...damn you! Damn you for laying with an Indian whore...”
Miriam tried to soothe his rantings. He would pause, panting in exhaustion from time to time, then curse Aaron Torres. He relived his abuse from older soldiers when he joined the army, his first blooding in a gruesome battle in the freezing heights of the Pyrenees. All of this before he had been as old as she when she had gone to Padua! And I fancied myself brave just to live away from my father, she thought as she murmured low, soothing words to him, trying to calm his struggles.
In spite of whatever humiliations had been heaped upon him, he had risen through the ranks of the Imperial Army, in part because his foster brother, Bartolome, had taken the small child under his special care and tutored him. Now Miriam understood how Rigo had learned to read. His reckless bravery in battle combined with his literacy, a rare skill among soldiers, brought him to the attention of one of King Carlos' best generals, a Neapolitan named Pescara. Rigo's words about Pescara were fond and admiring. It seemed he sought other men to replace the father whom he never knew.
He also sought women. Miriam's cheeks burned as she listened to him relive his amorous encounters. She slipped a water-soaked linen between his teeth and nearly choked him in the midst of his shockingly lurid descriptions of bedding peasant wenches and highborn ladies. Suddenly he called out for a priest, once again reliving when he took the cannon shot and collapsed bleeding in Pescara's arms.
“You have much need of confession, Spaniard, if such could save your blackened soul,” she whispered, slapping several cloths into the water and splashing her gown in the process.
Then he began to rant about one woman in particular, Louise. “Louise, come, love, let me—” Miriam's hands flew to her ears as he described in licentious detail what he would do with various parts of her voluptuous body! The depravity of the savage! She looked at the big copper basin filled with water and debated giving him a full bath to aid in the reduction of his fever.
“Twould serve as well to reduce that great staff, you rutting beast!” His phallus stood rigidly at attention beneath the wet linen clinging to it.
Rigo had been thrashing and tugging at the bindings on his arms and legs for hours. Suddenly he pulled one arm free and attempted to sit up. Miriam quickly threw herself across his shoulders, attempting to restrain his free arm before he did further injury to his side. He buried his face against her neck and his hot lips seared her bare skin above the ruffle of her undertunic. He was nibbling on her as if she were a piece of roast fowl!
She shoved him down into the soft pillows but to do so she had to sit on the bed and lean against his naked body. That treacherous free hand reached up and clasped her waist as he murmured, “Louise, darling.” Then before she could calm her pounding heart enough to think straight, his fingers slid deftly up her side and cupped a breast, boldly massaging it as he once more kissed her neck.
Lightning bolts streaked through her. She lay immobilized over his hard naked flesh. “So small, you have need of fattening,” he murmured as he fondled
As she worked, refreshing the cloths, Rigo raved in Castilian. Miriam spoke the language poorly, but she had learned from Benjamin's diligent tutelage to understand it well enough. After a few moments she wished she did not.
“Mother—mother? Who were you? Royal princess, hah! You died and left me. Indians—dark-skinned savages, cowards...Bartolome says they offer their naked bellies to Spanish steel...cowards! I am no coward. I fight...I fought the boys, even the slavers. They did not take me away in chains. Father...damn you! Damn you for laying with an Indian whore...”
Miriam tried to soothe his rantings. He would pause, panting in exhaustion from time to time, then curse Aaron Torres. He relived his abuse from older soldiers when he joined the army, his first blooding in a gruesome battle in the freezing heights of the Pyrenees. All of this before he had been as old as she when she had gone to Padua! And I fancied myself brave just to live away from my father, she thought as she murmured low, soothing words to him, trying to calm his struggles.
In spite of whatever humiliations had been heaped upon him, he had risen through the ranks of the Imperial Army, in part because his foster brother, Bartolome, had taken the small child under his special care and tutored him. Now Miriam understood how Rigo had learned to read. His reckless bravery in battle combined with his literacy, a rare skill among soldiers, brought him to the attention of one of King Carlos' best generals, a Neapolitan named Pescara. Rigo's words about Pescara were fond and admiring. It seemed he sought other men to replace the father whom he never knew.
He also sought women. Miriam's cheeks burned as she listened to him relive his amorous encounters. She slipped a water-soaked linen between his teeth and nearly choked him in the midst of his shockingly lurid descriptions of bedding peasant wenches and highborn ladies. Suddenly he called out for a priest, once again reliving when he took the cannon shot and collapsed bleeding in Pescara's arms.
“You have much need of confession, Spaniard, if such could save your blackened soul,” she whispered, slapping several cloths into the water and splashing her gown in the process.
Then he began to rant about one woman in particular, Louise. “Louise, come, love, let me—” Miriam's hands flew to her ears as he described in licentious detail what he would do with various parts of her voluptuous body! The depravity of the savage! She looked at the big copper basin filled with water and debated giving him a full bath to aid in the reduction of his fever.
“Twould serve as well to reduce that great staff, you rutting beast!” His phallus stood rigidly at attention beneath the wet linen clinging to it.
Rigo had been thrashing and tugging at the bindings on his arms and legs for hours. Suddenly he pulled one arm free and attempted to sit up. Miriam quickly threw herself across his shoulders, attempting to restrain his free arm before he did further injury to his side. He buried his face against her neck and his hot lips seared her bare skin above the ruffle of her undertunic. He was nibbling on her as if she were a piece of roast fowl!
She shoved him down into the soft pillows but to do so she had to sit on the bed and lean against his naked body. That treacherous free hand reached up and clasped her waist as he murmured, “Louise, darling.” Then before she could calm her pounding heart enough to think straight, his fingers slid deftly up her side and cupped a breast, boldly massaging it as he once more kissed her neck.
Lightning bolts streaked through her. She lay immobilized over his hard naked flesh. “So small, you have need of fattening,” he murmured as he fondled
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