Caribbean Reign Ch. 09-10

This week's installment will focused on character growth (a little less of the sexy stuff). Rafael and Catherine need a little bit of a cool-down after her last, rather unconventional punishment.

Let's see if they can make nice.

Chapter 9: The Master's Favorite - Rafael's Perspective

"What in God's name did you do to her?"

Despite the flock of people, Isabel has pushed her way through the masses to the front of the crowd. She stands over Ana's body.

"Isa, she invoked our mother's honor. I had no choice."

I brush my fingers over Ana's cool forehead. Even I am unconvinced.

"There is no reason you had to march this poor girl through the house naked. Just look at what you've done to her."

Ana sprawls across the bed like an angel, pillows propped up behind her. Cook found her passed out in the scullery. Despite our housekeeper's concerns, I instructed the servants to put her up in one of the West Wing bedrooms. Her long, chestnut hair spreads across the pale fabrics. Her body has been covered by the thick duvet. For once, Ana's determined glare lays at rest.

"I'm sorry, Isa. She's just so infuriating -- and I let it get the best of me."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. Slave or not, she is a person under our care." Isa tries to maintain the harshness in her voice, but I can tell that she is surprised that I've ceded ground.

"Let us not forget that she is a slave."

At Isabel's request, a pair of housemaids uncover Ana, one limb at a time, scrubbing the exposed skin with washcloths and patting it dry with a clean towel. Our family physician has been called in, as well as another set of servants to tidy her room. The girl is positioned as a lady surrounded by dutiful attendants. The image is marred only by the outline of shackles beneath the covers. As much as I hate to admit it, the heavy weight around her ankles may have contributed to her current state.

"Someone remove these chains," I demand.

One of the maids sets off in search of a man to assist. The rivet guarding Ana's leg irons will need to be removed with a hammer and chisel.

I turn to the physician. "Doctor, is she going to be alright?"

"She's going to be fine. I believe the cause of her condition to be dehydration. She probably hasn't had enough to eat either."

He pauses, "At least, that's the case for most of them."

I breathe a sigh of relief. The good doctor shakes his head. Dr. Guevara is kept on-premises for my father. It is quite uncommon for him to be called in to examine the help.

"She had better be alright," Isabel snaps. "She's the only slave whose name you haven't forgotten."

I believe that I know the name of the servant who just departed, but she is far enough away by now that it would make a poor retort.

Alma approaches the bedside.

"Don Navarro, this may be my fault. I was the one who told the girl to avoid the servants' kitchen." She shakes her head, "Truly, I intended no harm. I meant only to protect her from the menservants."

Dr. Guevara interjects, "It's no business of mine how you discipline your slaves, but it does seem like someone threw her around a bit."

He gestures to a trail of scratches on her upper arm. I stare at fresh, red wounds and the bruise on the girl's forehead. As much as I would love to thrust the blame on the housekeeper's advisement, at least she had Ana's wellbeing in mind. When I lashed out at her, I don't even recall grabbing her by the arm. When we are alone together, it is like we are the only two people on this island. If I cannot make her submit to me, then I have already ceded San Miguel to the French.

"It is not your fault, Alma. Please find Ana something nice to wear when she wakes up."

"Yes, master." The words come out of Alma's mouth happily, but the poor woman looks like she's just caught a whiff of a barrel of codfish. Given the range of what she's experienced during her tenure, it's concerning. The focus of her gaze is the porter fumbling with the hammer under the sheets.

Tap, screech. Tap, screech.

It takes considerable force to chisel away at the shackles' rivets.

"Is something wrong, Alma?"

"Nothing, master," she replies but gestures with her head toward the corner of the room. I follow.

She continues in a low voice, "I would not let that man around Annalise. One of the girls saw them fighting in the hallway."

The man's fingers wrap around Ana's right ankle. A heavy instrument repeatedly strikes a few inches from her toes. From one angle, one might see a porter happily attending to his task. From another, I see him gawking at her exposed legs. A "fight" with Ana was most likely an assault against her honor. And I was the one who opened her up to it all. I singled her out, and the others descended like wild dogs. Forcing her to work nude encouraged this kind of misbehavior, and I did nothing to prevent it.

I wait until the porter has finished with his tools before confronting him.

"Excuse me, did you encounter this slave in the hallways earlier?"

The porter snorts. A throaty, mucus-filled sound.

"I did, Excellency. The little troublemaker swung at me. Pardon my saying so, but I think that someone still needs to be taught a lesson."

"I couldn't agree more," I reply, grabbing the recently freed chain and stepping behind him. The porter kicks and struggles, but the metal chain clamps down on his Adam's apple. The veins in his neck bulge. Alma turns away from the violence. The rest of the servant girls exit the room quickly.

I hold steady as he pushes against me, thinking about what he might have done to Ana if he had the chance, then goading me to punish her for it. The links bite into my hands, but I am resolute.

The body slumps onto the end tables.

Alma fetches more trustworthy groundsmen to remove the corpse and finish the rotten business once and for all. No one dares call the watchmen. Our family funds the watchmen. This porter will be dumped in an unmarked grave, and a coveted position in the house will open up.

Ana lays still, presiding over the commotion with her silence.

***

Once everyone is gone, I kneel beside the bed with a wet cloth. Much worse than the marks, the skin under the leg irons has been mauled by rusty metal. Glancing over at the door, I attend to her wounds. Slowly, brown specks of dirt disappear from her fair skin. Her reopened cuts need to be bandaged.

I unspool a length of cloth from the medical bag. I've spent enough time around my father's physician to know the correct amount of pressure to stop bleeding.

Ana seems much more at home in a four-poster bed than scrubbing floors. Perhaps I'll have to rethink her work assignment.

The pretty creature rouses. "You're removing the chains?" she asks blearily.

I quickly get to my feet.

"I'm confident that if you can't make it down the hallway, you won't be able to flee."

"Of course. You wouldn't want your property getting away."

If I've softened towards her, she hasn't noticed. She tries to sit up, but her head is not yet strong enough to rise from the pillows. I offer her my hand. She accepts reluctantly.

"You are my property, and you must learn obedience - but I shouldn't have put you in danger."

That is as close to an apology as she is going to get.

Ana looks around the room, visibly confused by her surroundings. The lifted ceilings and canopy bed are much nicer than her shabby corner in the servants' quarters. I cannot send her back there in her present state.

"So how long before I return to work?"

"You won't be going anywhere for a while. When you feel better, I might allow you to tend to the armory. There's plenty in need of a good polish."

"You've changed your mind?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Given the extent of her injuries, I choose to ignore her continued lack of a respectful address.

"Yes, and don't make me change it again."

The household staff has not taken too kindly to her. According to Alma, they call her "the master's favorite." My bedmates are none too pleased. Any other assignment might put her life in peril. Those who sympathize with the recently deceased porter might direct their anger toward her. It's best that Ana is put somewhere I can keep an eye on her.

"It's been a while since I've had someone to train with. You seem to know your way around the equipment, and you're absolutely useless in the kitchens, so I suppose you'll have to do."

Ana's shoulders relax for perhaps the first time. "I would like that very much."

"I would like that very much, master."

I cannot afford to loosen the reigns completely.

"Yes, master," Ana repeats. She's weak, but the fire has already returned to her eyes. She throws herself back onto the pillows, chin lifted in elation.

"Now, get some rest."

I can't help but think of how much I would like to see her draped over my bed. The image of her naked body still haunts my restless nights. After I seduce her, my head will be clear. Once she comes crawling, I'll be able to rid myself of her mystique and move on to more important tasks. Moving her into a bedroom like this is unconventional, but it will speed the process along.

***

"Don Navarro, pardon me."

Sebastián paces the halls at a speed that makes my head spin.

"I've heard a terrible rumor you that snapped the west porter's neck." He runs his fingers along the side of his jaw to emphasize his distaste.

"Yes, I hope that won't prove too much of an issue for staffing."

Killing the porter was a bit rash but is of no consequence. I am master of this house. I may do as I please. I only hope that Sebastián didn't catch me on my knees, wrapping bandages.

"Old friend, I can easily find you a replacement."

He pauses, "I'm just concerned that you're taking rather extreme actions for a field slave. Pretty as she may be, the girl is also replaceable."

"Do you have something you wish to say to me, Sebastián?"

I have always trusted señor Velazquez to tell me the unpleasant truths. I have no patience for an advisor who wastes my time rooting around his conclusions.

"Don Navarro," he folds his hands behind his back, "I'm concerned the house will think you've grown soft over this girl. The other slaves, especially. Annalise is a common thief and yet, you fawn over her with made-up chores and put her in the bedroom next to yours."

If I put her near Isabel, the two of them would surely form an alliance against me.

I lay a hand on my friend's shoulder. "I appreciate the concern, Sebastián, but I can manage my own reputation."

My advisor nods. "Of course, Your Excellency."

He is none too pleased.

Chapter 10: Wary Alliances - Catherine's Perspective

The cocoon of pillows envelopes my shoulders. Perhaps it is wrong to feel safe in the jaws of the enemy, and yet, I am so weary of fighting. For a moment, I allow myself to trace the wooden crosshatch lining the ceiling. A gold hue chases the walls, the headboard, and the trinkets on the dresser. He has placed me in a lovely bedroom. Apart from the Spanish patterned curtains, it reminds me of home.

I raise the covers. Raw skin peeks out of the bandages around my ankles.

My freedom is temporary. Without the chains, I am merely a different type of slave. Rafael may have come to regret the severity of his punishment, but how patient will he be when I eventually reject his advances?

In his defense, he has been uncharacteristically civil since my injury. But favorable treatment from the master can only last so long. I dread a return to the scullery, especially now that everyone has seen me so naked.

A knock rattles my thoughts. I quickly wrap the sheet across my top half.

"Enter," I say, half-wondering if imperatives are permitted for a woman of my station.

All questions of slave etiquette disappear at the sight of my visitor. A thin man paces into the room, black sleeves flapping, and quietly shuts the door. I hold the sheet tighter around me. Something about this man makes me wish for armor.

The market.

I remember his beady eyes scowling at me from across the duelers' circle. He was the advisor agitated by the results of his advisements. And now he is here, roaming the hallways, creeping into young women's chambers. That cannot be a coincidence.

"You." I say, "I know you."

"Bien sûr, Catherine," he replies in perfect French.

My name.

It pierces the air like a whistle and pins me to the headboard. Reflexively, I glance at the door. Only a sliver of light from the hallway ekes through.

"Who are you?"

Instead of answering, the man strides around the room, allowing his eyes to rest on a small, golden elephant on the dresser. He picks it up before casting it aside.

"Allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle. Sebastián Velazquez, head steward to the Navarro family. At your service." He bows with a half-step that's difficult to decipher as mockery or sincerity.

I press the flat of my hand to my chest in shock. "At my service? Why, I'm no more than a slave."

He drums his fingers on the bedposts.

"Come now, we both know that's not true. Whether Rafael wants to admit it or not, your family is just as powerful as his. Even in your current state, look at how you've managed to seduce him." He gestures to the fineries of the bedroom as evidence, the handsome elephant lying in the pile of golden baubles.

"I'm not trying to seduce him --"

Sebastián holds up his hand.

"It is not my place to judge. I am only here to offer some helpful advice. Rafael is a good man, but the Navarro hatred for the Guînes family is beyond repair. He may fancy you now, even knowing you're a Frenchwoman, but if he found out your true identity," he pauses for effect, "you would never again see the light of day."

I remember Don Navarro's promise to pass the Guînes's daughter around his court. The moment when all hope of appealing to his better nature was dashed. Was Sebastián there to witness my branding?

"That may be so, but why do you care what happens to me?" This air of mystery is beginning to grow putrid.

He clears his throat. "Mademoiselle, my father was great friends with your aunt, Valentine. She was betrothed to Rafael's uncle but died in a fit of his senseless jealousy. I sincerely hoped that no other innocent women would be sucked into this mess, but when I finally recognized you in his court - I knew it was too late. I couldn't intercede on your behalf without giving myself away."

"Will you help me escape?" I try to keep my voice cavalier.

While I do not believe this man can be trusted, and yet, he respects me enough to be forthright about our first encounter. Genuine hatred flashed across his eyes when he spoke of my aunt. If his father was truly a friend to a de Guînes, that might be enough to sway his loyalty.

Sebastián smiles. "In honor of my father, I will do whatever I can. Make sure Rafael doesn't find out who you are before then. Think of what he's already done to you. Imagine what he would do to an enemy."

There is some way I factor into this man's plans. I can feel it. His timely appearances are a bit too convenient for my taste. The only piece I feel confident in is his spite toward the Navarro family. Few people in my life have enjoyed their presence, but there is something there. A feud deeper than land boundaries.

"Attendez," I call out. "I wrote my family a letter. I was going to try to smuggle it out, but you're right, the consequences would be too severe if my family discovers what happened before I've escaped. Would you destroy it for me?"

"Of course, mademoiselle. Where did you leave it?"

"In the top drawer of the desk in the green bedroom. I appreciate your loyalty to my family. If this ever gets straightened out, I promise you'll get all that you deserve."

"I have no doubt, mademoiselle."

He nods and exits. The pressure in the room deflates.

As nice as it was to speak my native language, I can't help but feel that I've sold my soul to the devil. I should dispose of the letter myself. Yet, the thought of returning to the site of my assault makes me shiver.

Sebastián already knows who I am. He could have exposed me twice over by now and earned his master's eternal gratitude.

Besides, what choice do I have? Don Navarro's changed temperament won't last forever. For the past few days, I have been treated as an honored guest, but in an instant, I can be expelled to the fields, toiling under the hot sun.

Everything is so complicated here. Perhaps I should just enjoy the small luxuries of a down mattress before I'm set to work again.

***

Alma brings me a pale, blue gown and fresh undergarments.

I stand, for the first time in a while without dizziness. Isabel has put me on a hearty diet of bread and stew.

Alma laces up the stays. Slight pulls in the fabric indicate that it has been gently used, worn to the point that it would be passed down to favored maids. The skirt falls past my ankles. Its length would be much too short on Isabel. I can only wonder about its previous owner.

For now, it is time to face the beast.

Just being near the armory's entrance is enough to curdle my skin. The ghosts of events transpired haunt these corridors.

I approach.

Rafael waits at the armorer's bench with an épée de cour, a weapon he would call a smallsword. It has a small embellishment of lions and a slender grip. The blade reaches down into the hilt. He extends the hilt toward me.

"I'm not sure how you expect me to clean with this."

He chuckles. "Come, let us fence."

He draws his own sword, a jewel-encrusted rapier with his family's crest pressed into the hilt.

I look down at the smallsword. The blade is freshly polished. I suppose it is an acceptable peace offering. It's been a long time since I've sparred. Not ladylike at all. Then again, neither is marching around the estate, marking up the soles of my feet. As a humble house slave, I'll be sparring barefoot.

I extend my tip toward him. "You assume that I know how to use this thing."

"I assume that I'll have to teach you."

He parries my weapon out of the way and advances toward me.

I tap my foot. "Why am I not surprised that you would attack an opponent without their ready?"

I flick my blade back and forth, watching carefully for his response. His footwork is sharp, but from his slow, goading attacks, it's clear that he has no idea of my strengths. It will be best to lull him into a false sense of security and then close in on the gaps. I allow my arm to weaken in mock exhaustion.

He advances quickly, pressing in on me with an obnoxious smile.

"Are you ready, yet?" he jests.

"Ready, Your Excellency."

Once he lands within my distance, I lunge at his chest, unconcerned with the degree of my weapon's blunting or lack thereof. Unfortunately, I am not quite used to lunging barefoot. The rapidly shifting weight knocks me onto the floor. I land in a flurried heap, skirts flying up around my ears. Instinctively, I secure my shift before recalling the many unfortunate circumstances where this man was able to observe me unobstructed.

I wait for him to ridicule my attempt. Instead, he throws down his blade.

"Come, I'll retrieve a blunted sword and we'll get to practicing."

He extends his hand. I take his assistance reluctantly. I should have expected him to best me easily. I'm certain that His Excellency was provided with a top-rate fencing master and all the time he needed to practice. As much as I hate to be in any position subservient to him, anything that gets my hands on a sword can be tolerated.

At least, he isn't being a total ass about it.