Caribbean Reign Ch. 11-12

I suppose he may do as he pleases. The master remains a tantalizing prize to those in his employ. I'm sure that he is no stranger to insincere advances. Too often I find myself his target. Each small display of affection is deployed carefully in an unseen chess match.

Sebastián is right. I ought to keep my guard up.

***

Other than staying out of Alma's path, there just isn't much to do in a day. The servants are none too fond of my new schedule. It is only by the grace of God that I am no longer sleeping among them, waking to grime smeared across my face and small rodents placed beneath my bedcovers.

The armory is my refuge. In its warmth, I almost feel free. I place my heel against the wall, readying myself to blast across the room, envisioning a foe to give chase.

A smoldering, broad-shouldered villain, perhaps.

Before I can begin the necessary footwork, Isabel marches in. "Ana, come quickly. Señor Navarro is passing on to the next life."

"I'm so sorry, Isa. Are you alright?"

From what I gather, neither of his children are particularly close to their father, but Isabel's heart would ache to lose a butterfly. The death of the senior Navarro also carries great significance. For one, it will ensure the new viscount may do as he pleases with the estate.

"I will be. We've been expecting this for quite some time now. I think Rafael would want you to meet him before he passes."

I recoil, "Me? Why me?"

Cleaning bedpans and oiling flaking skin is hardly my idea of an afternoon. The only other context requiring my presence inspires an equal amount of dread.

"Hush now and come along."

Isabel takes my hand and drags me to an ornate chamber in the East Wing. The room is decorated in the same style as Isabel's bedchambers but has been repurposed for ease of cleaning. No trinkets or rugs appear anywhere in its boundaries. The surface of the bedside tables reflects clear, not a curl of dust to be found.

At the center of the room, a cocoon of blankets buries señor Navarro. His face barely reaches over the tightly wrapped sheets. It's as if his caretakers are already preparing him for the funeral service.

Isabel slowly approaches the bed.

"Papa, this is Annalise. Rafael has taken a real liking to her. She's from the other side of the island, but she's one of the good ones."

I tense as Isabel places my hand atop the old man's shoulder.

He shimmies closer, the lines of authority still strong in his chin. His wizened face twists and squints. An orb of recognition settles behind his eyes.

"De-kugh, De-kugh!" he coughs.

The spittle-laced air glances off my cheek. A moment of lucidity pulls him out of his fading consciousness but sends him into a fit. Isabel grabs both of his hands.

I back away slowly.

"Can we get a diácono in here?" she calls out. "My father is trying to say his last rites."

Soon after, a minister arrives at the scene. He mumbles some words at señor Navarro, but señor Navarro keeps his gaze trained on me. My face is familiar to him. I know it. The trellis of syphilis scars stretching across his hands rules out the idea of Diego Navarro as a practicing Catholic. He wasn't trying to call for a deacon. With his last bated breath, he was trying to cough out my family's name.

I dash out of the room before he can get any further with it.

***

Isabel's anguished cry echoes through the hallway. The old man has passed. Servants armed with fresh linens rush toward the bedroom to lift the smell of death. The house will swiftly pass into mourning rituals.

Isabel emerges from the bedroom, the creases of her eyes dampened from crying.

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Isa." I babble, "Especially if my presence confused him or got him - "

Isabel's eyes glaze over. "No, no, it wasn't you. It was just his time."

She dries her hands on her flowing skirts. "If you'll excuse me," she says, and pushes past with a strong, steady gait.

In her grief, there are echoes of Rafael's coldness. Our relationship as slave and mistress has me questioning whether it is my place to comfort her. I only hope the funeral preparations will help her close out this chapter. Her father's brief appearance has struck has a chord of fear in my soul. There's no denying it; he recognized the Guînes blood in me. Isabel's reassurances calmed the seas, but if he hadn't choked on his words?

Rafael would learn of my true heritage.

I'm not convinced that the viscount has taken to any of my falsehoods. It would be a relief to cease this endless game, walking two paces behind, inventing excuses for my classical education. The remaining diplomatic avenues between our two peoples are thin but not yet exhausted. Seeing how the land truly lies, I believe that I could recommend options to the benefit of both parties.

Unfortunately, as a French aristocrat, I wouldn't be a guest of the Navarro family. I would be the enemy incarnate.

Although I've yet to come across a dungeon on the estate, there is no shortage of ominously locked doors. I'd be surprised if a man of Rafael's temperament didn't keep someplace nearby to torment his adversaries.

I return to the armory before I can inspire any more suspicion. It's best to enjoy the calm while I still can. Rafael managing his father's passing will be unpredictable, to say the least.

***

There's nothing more erotic than an old man coughing himself to death! Thank you so much for your faithful readership as these two characters sort through their feeling. I promise a bit more spice in the next installment.