Читать книгу Blood Calls - Caridad Pineiro - Страница 6

1491, Galicia, Spain

The thought of slowly strangling the life from his wife made the flogging almost bearable for Diego Rivera.

As each lash stripped another bit of skin from his back, he imagined his hands encircling her throat. Imagined himself watching her eyes bulge as he exerted pressure and heard the crack of cartilage beneath his fingers.

The pleasure of his near-delirium daydream evaporated as one particularly sadistic blow penetrated his defenses and his body jerked spasmodically.

“Madre de Dios,” he gasped as fire erupted between his shoulder blades. Beside the heat of the whip as it tore into his flesh, Diego sensed a warmth that could only be blood trickling down his back.

“Confess your sins, convert. It will go easier if you tell us the truth,” the Inquisitor urged from his spot a few feet away. Beside him sat a physician whose job it was to make sure the heretic wasn’t too far gone to confess.

This business of saving lives wasn’t supposed to kill anyone, Diego thought cynically, then laughed out loud.

The sound bounced off the stone walls of the room, shocking his torturers, who looked at him as if he was crazy. Maybe he was, Diego mused, as he heard the eerie echo of his laughter, sounding too much like that of a madman.

As the physician rose from the chair and walked toward him, Diego realized they would stop the punishment now and wait for him to be more lucid. That was the way it had been for weeks now. Maim, wait, repeat.

It was the way it would be today.

The physician jerked his head toward Diego, and two guards quickly undid the shackles that had been cutting into his wrists. Released from his bondage, he slumped and would have fallen to the ground if not for the guards, who dragged him from the chamber toward the small cell that had held him prisoner for nearly a month now.

They tossed him inside unceremoniously. He landed roughly on the floor, his head smacking against the cobblestones, since his arms were too feeble to break his fall.

What was one more bruise? he thought as the chilly humidity of the cell quickly registered his burning flesh. He shivered violently, which brought renewed pain to his mangled back and sore arms. He tried to quell the chatter of his teeth and swore he would get vengeance on those who had betrayed him.

He didn’t know how long a time passed before the slight scuffle of footsteps on the stone floor drew his attention.

“Esperanza?” He glanced upward and smiled as the familiar face of the plain servant girl from his home crept into his vision. Esperanza had been sneaking into the prison to care for him.

“Don Diego, I’m so sorry,” she said as she dabbed at his back with a moist cloth.

At his groan, she explained, “This will keep it from getting infected.”

Diego knew she meant well, but keeping him alive would only benefit the Inquisitor. He gently laid a hand on her thigh as she knelt beside him. “You are a good girl, Esperanza.”

Her gasp confused him. In her vibrant brown eyes, however, he finally saw why she risked her life to help him—she was in love with him. In a way, he cared for her, as well.

Diego had barely noticed her the entire time that she labored in his home. He had been too busy whoring with many more beautiful women, including his own bitch of a wife. His infidelities had been the reason that his wife had lied about him and turned him over to the Inquisitor. Backing her claims that he was a relapsed convert was a lower nobleman who coveted Diego’s properties and wife.

God help the poor man when he discovered the real nature of the harridan Diego had married.

A woman nothing like kind and gentle Esperanza, he thought, passing his hand over her cheek. Her skin was soft and smooth and remarkably creamy in color, in sharp contrast to the deep auburn of her hair.

“Do not come again, little one. I am not worth your life,” he said, and in truth, he meant it. Selfish and materialistic, he had not been a good man up until now. It had taken this unfortunate encounter with the Inquisitor to make him realize he needed to change.

“Don Diego—”

“Promise me you will stay away.” As tears filled her eyes and spilled over, he whispered, “I will never forget you.”

She kissed his cheek, then rose and rushed from his cell.

He didn’t expect the loneliness that followed her departure. It was a greater torture than any the Inquisitor could visit on him.

Loneliness had been with him for most of his life, he had realized in the weeks of numbing pain and solitary confinement within this small cell.

He vowed that if he survived, he would strive to change that. Strive to do good.

God had to have visited this torture on him for a reason, and he wasn’t about to question why he had been called.

He just intended to answer when the time was right.