Greta Gilbert - The Spaniard's Innocent Maiden

That was before the Mexica Tribute Takers had taken her older sister’s husband and two boys, when life was still joyous and full of possibility.

After Pulkho’s family was taken, the idea of closeness with a man had become terrifying to Tula. Why enter into the sacred union if it could so easily be destroyed? Tula had stopped going to the maize festivals, and had determined never to get close to any man. There was simply too great a danger of losing him.

This was different, of course. This kiss had nothing to do with closeness and everything to do with theft. The excitement she felt was not the excitement a woman felt for a man: It was merely the danger of the situation mixed with the possibility of success.

She lay her tongue atop his, squeezing it into the ring, such that their tongues twisted together in the small space.

Slowly, steadily, she coaxed the heavy prize into her own mouth.

She felt a rush of triumph as she hovered over him, threading her own tongue through the golden ring. She was so proud of herself that she hardly noticed when his lips reconnected with hers and his tongue began to move inside her mouth.

He was kissing her back. Tula’s heart began to pound, and a different kind of shiver ripped through her body. His lips pressed firmly against hers. She tried to pull away, but she couldn’t. He wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her against him, keeping her body pinned against his so firmly that she could scarcely breathe. His chest was hard, as if padded with some invisible armour. But his kisses were soft and tender, and his eyes remained closed.

‘Luisa,’ he whispered.

Chapter Five

Luisa, his dear Luisa. Here she was, at last in his arms. He could feel the warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin. He could even sense her desire—how she drew in the scent of him, how she thrilled and shivered at his touch. She still wanted him, even after two long years. And he wanted her—Diós, how he wanted her. She was all that mattered, all that would ever matter. She was the only good thing in his despicable life.

He pulled her against him and heard her sigh, and it was all the permission he needed to shower her with his kisses. He started with her cheeks, which tasted salty and fecund, as if she had swum all the way across the ocean to be with him. He ran his fingers through her damp hair, which she had allowed to grow long and straight. Perhaps she had ceased to cut it the day they parted, just as he had done with his beard.

Keeping his eyes closed, he kissed beneath her jaw, then down her long, elegant neck. ‘Mi amor, how I have missed you,’ he said.

Gently, he cradled her breasts, which were swaddled in some soft, vaguely damp textile. How many times had he thought of placing his palms upon the small rises, which were as tender as ripe pears? How perfectly they fitted there now.

Ay, lusty Luisa.

He let his tongue explore her neck’s soft chalice, feeling a tingling warmth rising through his body. There had been others before Luisa—silly, fatuous women who had chosen him for what he appeared to be, not who he was. Only Luisa knew who he was. She had known him since he was a boy and he felt certain she could see into his heart.

Now her chest heaved with her emotion and it was all he needed to know that she felt as he did.

‘It has been...difficult,’ he confessed, keeping his eyes closed. ‘I think of you every day.’ He kissed her shoulders, which smelled vaguely of the briny air. ‘This new world...so much...misery.’

That was all he would say. He would not tell her about the things he had seen, the things he had done. He would not sully her view of him, or shatter her illusions by admitting that there had been many times since they’d parted that he had wished himself dead.

Though perhaps he was dead now. If so, then he thanked Diós, for surely he had made it to Heaven. Here it did not matter that he would inherit nothing but his bootstraps. All that mattered was his love, which was truer than the stars, and burned more brightly than the sun.

He plunged his tongue into her mouth. But instead of soft wetness, he felt only a smooth, hard stone.

Then Luisa released a frightful yelp.

Benicio opened his eyes to behold a strange, big-eyed woman staring back at him. He might have believed her a ghost, were it not for the deep honey hue of her skin, the wind of her breath and the large jade and diamond ring resting upon her tongue.

His jade and diamond ring.

‘Bruja!’ he cried. Witch!

The woman jumped backwards in the sand.

‘Give it to me!’ he shouted. In a blur of motion, he leaned forward and cupped her jaw, forcing open her mouth. Then he plucked the large jewel right off her tongue.

He felt a sudden, piercing ache behind his ribs. He careened backwards in pain, his head swimming. In that instant, it all came back to him—the battle, the priest, the ring, the thrust of Rogelio’s blade as it plunged through his chest.

He sat up and peered down at his jerkin, half-expecting to see a spreading bloodstain. But the leather garment was spotless. The only evidence of the stabbing was a coin-sized hole in the pocket that covered his heart.

Benicio struggled to right his thoughts, wondering why he was not dead. Rogelio had chased him relentlessly into the night. By daybreak, Benicio thought he had lost the greedy villain, but Rogelio had burst from the jungle with the first rays of sun.

It was at that moment Benicio had realised the reason for Rogelio’s speed: he had abandoned his heavy armour. Wearing nothing but his woollen hose and leather boots, Rogelio had easily caught up to Benicio. When Benicio finally decided to abandon the weight of his own armour, they had already reached the coast.

‘Where is the ring?’ Rogelio had demanded, pinning Benicio upon the beach.

But Benicio had refused to open his mouth.

‘And where is the map?’ Rogelio had added, searching the pockets of Benicio’s jerkin. Benicio had only blinked mindlessly. ‘Do not play a fool,’ Rogelio had sneered. ‘Where is the map to the Maya treasure?’

And thus Rogelio had given away the secret. It was a treasure map that Benicio carried, just as he suspected.

Benicio looked around now, confused. After such a tireless chase, and after plunging his very knife into Benicio’s chest, Rogelio had all but abandoned Benicio, and without taking the ring that he had chased him all night to obtain. Something was amiss, but Benicio could not determine what.

Benicio studied his would-be bandit. Her wet black hair hung in ropes about her breasts, which were covered by a damp yellow shawl that betrayed the shadow of two small nipples.

Benicio felt his desire tighten against his will. If not a witch, then surely she was a siren of the sea, for her lips were pink like coral and her eyes were dark, watery maelstroms. When he finally wrenched his gaze from the pools of her eyes, he took in her whole face. Her cheeks were high, her nose straight and long and her steep, angled eyebrows tilted like twin arrows. She was at once lovely and fearsome, and he felt strangely helpless in the grip of her ancient beauty.

‘Leave!’ he shouted, but she only stared at him with those unfathomable eyes. Perhaps she was casting a terrible enchantress’s spell upon him—some witch’s curse that would see his golden prize back inside her mouth once again. And where, oh, where had Rogelio got to? Had she cast her enchantress’s spell upon him, as well?

She squared her shoulders to Benicio and he observed that she was quite small, but with all the fascinating dips and curves of a woman. She straightened herself upon her knees, as if to make herself seem larger. But her fearsome posture only served to display her lovely long neck, reminding him that just moments ago, his lips had been upon it. His mouth grew wet with an unsavoury lust. Surely she was an enchantress, for only enchantresses were this beautiful and corrupt.