Читать книгу Tempted By Innocence - Lyn Randal - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Even with Celeste’s best efforts, it was some while before she found her way back through the forest to where the others waited with shifting feet and worried expressions. She hurried towards them. Hettie turned and cried out in dismay. “Lord, child! What have you done? Your beautiful clothes—they’re all wet!”

“I fell into the river.” Celeste brushed aside the concern, but Hettie fretted over her like a mother hen, plucking at her sleeve and pulling back the heavy curtain of her hair.

The maid clucked her tongue at the ruined gown. “And just now, when we’re about to make it to that gentleman’s encom… encom…”

“Encomienda,” supplied Padre Francisco. “Or, if you cannot remember the word, you might call it an estate, like in England.”

“Aye, that,” Hettie said. “It distresses me that my lamb will meet the owner looking such a pathetic sight. Though perhaps seeing a lady in distress will make him more disposed to offer lodging.”

“He’d better offer lodging,” muttered the priest. “We’ve a letter in the name of the King of Spain from Cardinal Cisneros himself. One look at that and if the man has any wit in his brain he’ll offer up even his own fine bed.”

“Nay,” Celeste said. “We’re not here to inconvenience him, only to find Diego Castillo.”

“Let’s move along, then,” Barto said. He raised the reins and the mules started into motion again, the cart lurching forward over the uneven ruts of the narrow road.

The encomienda of Don Ricardo Alvarez was not a grand one, but it had many things to commend it. The location was excellent, with the home of the master well-built and overlooking a valley that was lush, its well-tended fields a testament to the owner’s diligent oversight and the hard work of his slaves.

The man himself was another reason to give thanks. Although their appearance was unexpected, he welcomed them graciously, offering them lodging and food even before they’d explained their purpose and shown him the letter with the royal seal. Only once, upon their first enquiry concerning Diego Castillo, had Celeste seen a flicker of discomfort, but as it had been so subtle and so brief she imagined later that she’d let her overactive fancy get the better of her.

Now, as Celeste stripped off her sodden clothing in the comfort of the hacienda’s guest room, she sighed and stretched out upon the bed. Blue-green eyes came again to her mind, and she shivered with the wickedness of the fantasy she could not forfeit. Who was he, that tall stranger who’d plucked her from death, only to plunge her squarely into forbidden desire? What evil lay within her heart that she could have such lustful imaginings even while Damian Castillo’s betrothal ring encircled her finger? God help her, she was a sinful wench!

She bounced up upon the edge of the bed, calling to Hettie.

Soon she was gowned, her sleeves tied on, her hair secured in an elegant coil and veiled, hiding the fact that it still had not dried completely. “There,” the maid said with satisfaction. “Nobody would guess what a poor sight you were. You look an elegant lady now. What do you mean to do now?”

“I’m going to confession. There’s a small chapel on the premises, built of stone. If I can find a priest there, and if that priest can speak my tongue, I’d like very much to say shrift.”

Hettie looked dubious. “You’ll not likely find an English-speaking soul anywhere on this island.”

An unbidden thought came to Celeste, that of a stranger with warm skin who spoke rich English into her ear. She shivered with delicious feeling, then shoved aside the memory. “Priests spend many years at their education, Hettie. Padre Francisco speaks our tongue—and French and Latin besides. At least I’ll attempt it. I’ve not been shrived since I left for Spain.”

“Why the need for confessing, all of a sudden?” Hettie studied Celeste, frowning slightly.

“Oh, I know not. Perhaps in this wild land I feel more strongly the want of it.”

“Would it not suffice to say shrift to Padre Francisco?”

Padre Francisco? Saints preserve her! She’d rather die with those sins unrepented than tell the Castillo family priest about her faithless heart!

“Nay, I think not,” Celeste said. “I’ll seek out the priest who serves this encomienda, and if he speaks no English…well, so much the better.”

Hettie smiled at Celeste’s weak jest and busied herself with straightening the room. Celeste pushed open the heavy door, blinking as she crossed into the brightness of the flower-filled courtyard. The church stood nearby, and she hurried towards the peace she hoped to find there.

Padre Diego Castillo heard the soft tinkle of the bell and groaned inwardly. He’d placed the tiny bell on the door of the confessional chamber so he could work in his private room without missing any penitent who came. Yet he’d begun to dread the sound.

Of all his priestly duties, this one came hardest. It was never easy to hear the sins of other human hearts. He could never feel peaceful about leading others to absolution when he had so much of the world left in his own soul.

He knew the importance of his work, knew as well that all sinned and none stood perfect before God, but yet…how it disturbed him to be made aware of his own black heart, over and over, each time he closed the door of the confessional.

Even so, he was never hard on those who poured out their transgressions, often amid agonizing tears. Their guilt was his own. Empathy kept him seated, still and contrite, while they sobbed out their shame. Empathy made him return to the tight little box again and again, listening through the small latched door, crying his own guilt silently while they cried theirs aloud.

He closed the door and sat down, drawing his robe into a comfortable position around his long legs. “I am here for you, my child.”

A woman’s voice answered. “Padre, do you speak English?”

Diego’s chest tightened. It couldn’t be. Not her.

“Aye,” he answered, letting his accent come out thick and gruff, knowing the fear that as he’d recognized her voice, so she’d know him by his.

Or should he let himself be known? Should he open the latched door that separated them and let her view his face? Would that not be the honourable thing to do—now, before she said another word, before she bared her soul?

What would her reaction be? Diego tried to imagine it.

She would die.

She’d been held in the arms of a naked priest, a priest whose eyes must have shown the lust that had flamed within him. And even if his eyes hadn’t, the rest of him surely had. Oh, dear heavens. He was as trapped as he’d ever been. He couldn’t reveal himself. Listening to her confession was the only way to avoid savaging her dignity and destroying whatever semblance of decency remained to him.

“Father, I have examined my heart and am come to make my confession of sins to thee.”

He concentrated on the words, on their form, comforted by the movement into familiar ceremony. His response was sure. “You have prayed, then, and sought God’s leading?”

“Aye, Padre, prayed to know the true state of my soul.”

“And our Lord has led you to knowledge of your sins?”

“Indeed, and I fear what I’ve seen. There is lust in my heart, Padre. Lust, and unfaithfulness to one who believes me to be true.”

Diego could scarcely speak. “You’ve been unfaithful to a husband?”

“Nay, Padre. I have no husband.”

“In what way, then, unfaithful?”

“I’m betrothed to a nobleman in Spain. I hardly know him, but I’ve spoken vows of betrothal and am to wed him as soon as ’tis possible to do so.”

Diego had no words. She paused, expecting his response.

“Padre, are you there?” she asked finally.

“Aye.”

“Did you hear me well?”

“Yes. There is more?” Diego knew there would be more, and he did not wish to hear it.

Her voice took on a frantic edge. “Oh, Padre, I’m so ashamed of my wayward heart! I can’t control my feelings, though I wish to be upright, to be the fine wife Damian Castillo wishes of me.”

Shock impaled Diego’s heart.

His next words were stammered, tumbling out before he could hold back. “Damian Castillo? Damian Castillo?”

“Aye.” She paused. Diego envisaged the way she looked, the sharp way she tilted her head, her furrowed brow. “Padre? You don’t know him, do you?”

“I…the name is irrelevant, my child. Only your repentance is important now. Tell me more. In what way have you been unfaithful to your betrothed?”

“I felt lust for another man. He was a stranger to me. I don’t even know his name. But he rescued me from drowning. And I…I was overcome by a feeling I’ve never known before.”

“Perhaps what you felt was not lust, but some other fierce emotion. Gratitude at being saved, perhaps?”

“Nay, Padre. I’m familiar with gratitude. What I felt was an uncommon lust. I think I would have lain with him, I wanted him so badly.”

Diego closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, his throat tight.

“I don’t know why I was affected by him. Something in his eyes held my heart. I couldn’t look away. Now I can’t forget the magnificence of his body. He held me and our eyes met and something passed between us, something intense and beautiful. In that moment I wished to know him as a man. To be known by him as a woman. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to lie with him there in the forest, with green around us and blue above us. Perhaps he wanted it, too, for he—”

Diego cleared his throat. “That’s enough. It’s not best to dwell further on those images. Memory should serve judiciously. If aught reminds you of lustful feeling, it would be best to put such behind you.”

“I know, Padre. There’s the coil. I don’t wish to forget him.”

“Why wouldn’t you? The man’s a stranger. He means nothing to you. You’re already bound by sacred oath to another. You must forget this nameless man and find happiness with him who would be your husband.”

Diego heard her sigh. “Your suggestion is the proper thing,” she said, “and yet I doubt I can feel for my husband what I felt today. Nor am I sure I want to.”

Diego wanted to groan. “In time you’ll come to feel the same passion for your husband.”

She didn’t answer.

“Listen, my child. What you felt today was a natural thing, given as a gift by a loving God for his divine purpose, to lead mankind to couple and beget children. It’s a natural and beautiful thing, but meant to be enjoyed between man and wife. Not corrupted by—”

She cut him off with a low growl of frustration. “Corrupt? No, it was not. Were I to have lain with that blue-eyed man, there would have been something loving between us, something of warmth and care, something transcending all vows. Our souls seemed to entwine.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Padre, I’m not an immoral woman. Nineteen years old am I, and yet do I remain a virgin. Never have I wanted to make love with a man, not any man ever. But what happened today was wondrous. In my heart, I know our coupling would have been a thing of beauty. It felt good and right between us.”

Diego drew in a shaky breath. That much he could not deny. It had been wondrous. It had felt good and, yes, even right.

He bit back his first impulse, that of agreement. Instead, he did his duty. “There’s never a time when sin can be right. Had you lain with him, you’d be guilty of fornication. You might have conceived a bastard child. I know you don’t wish for such disgrace.”

Diego looked up at the ceiling of the small chamber, realizing how exquisite his own tension had become. “You must close your mind to further fantasies. To continue with them is to lead yourself into a world of folly.”

“Aye, Padre.” She was near tears.

“Pray God to keep your soul pure and your body untainted until you wed. You must pray this.”

“I will.”

She cried now. Tightness made his own chest ache. “Put aside your guilt, and with sincere heart seek the will of God. In this way, you are forgiven.”

The bell tinkled as she slipped away.

When he was sure she had gone, Padre Diego Castillo bowed his head and prayed for her soul…and his own.

* * *

Ricardo Alvarez looked down at his drink and then up at Diego, who paced the floor of terracotta tile in agitation. “I didn’t give your presence away to them, you know. But neither can I pretend I know you not. They’ve a letter with the King’s seal, Diego. I dare not lie and tell them you aren’t here.”

“What do they want with me?” Diego asked, stopping to riffle his hair with lean fingers.

“This I do not know. Could it be your father has…departed? That you’re the recipient of an inheritance or something?”

Diego halted for a moment, considering that, then shook his head and resumed his pacing. “That doesn’t explain the presence of the girl. Who is she? What does she want with Diego Castillo?”

“I’d hoped you might answer that question.”

“My father’s not been ill,” Diego reasoned, as if to himself. “Doña Elena Ponce de León sends me news of Seville. Her last letter came but two weeks ago and she said only that my brother was…that he is…”

Ricardo looked up sharply and frowned. “To wed, Diego.”

“He is to wed. There, I’ve said it.” Diego stopped and shook his head. “And at the time all I could think was, ‘God bless them both,’ but that was before…”

Ricardo cocked his head, but Diego only frowned at him. Ricardo frowned back, nonplussed. Diego had been his friend for years, and nothing, not even the priest’s ill humour, could dissuade him from their deep friendship.

Ricardo let Diego pace awhile, then cleared his throat. “You must meet them, Diego, and find out why they’re asking for you. They’re to dine with me this evening; you might as well attend.”

Diego stroked his chin. “You could discuss the business with them and tell me of it later. That way—”

Ricardo stood abruptly. “You’re the damnedest, you know that? The damnedest! Truly, I’ve never known you for a coward, but—”

Diego’s lips twitched. “And you’re probably the only Spaniard I know who gets away with cursing his own priest.” He shrugged. “I’m no coward, Ricardo, but there’s more to this tale than you understand. I have reason to be loath to meet them. The English señorita in particular.”

“Well, enlighten me. What’s a reason so good that you can’t at least discover their business, especially if accompanied by a fine meal and good wine?”

Diego raised his eyebrow in such a rakish way that it almost offset the pious formality of the priestly robe he wore. “This morning I went to my bath at the river, heard a feminine scream, and before I knew what was happening, had pulled a woman from the water.”

“That makes you a gentleman, Diego. What of it?”

“Well, something passed between me and the girl as I held her in my arms.”

“Something like physical attraction, Diego? Well, it happens. Even priests are men.”

“I’m not supposed to let it happen to me.”

Ricardo snorted. “Carnal temptation. As long as nothing comes of it, you’ve not sinned. There’s no ill done.”

“Except that I stood naked with the girl in my arms, Ricardo. And then became aroused…by her…beauty.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Where is a towel when you need one?”

Diego frowned. “This is no laughing matter. I couldn’t hold her in my arms all day, and when I put her down… Well, she saw…everything…’ ere she fled from me.”

Ricardo threw back his head and laughed. Diego scowled at him.

“And let me guess,” Ricardo said, still grinning. “Our lovely redheaded guest is the lady of whom we speak?”

“Aye, she is the one.”

“So there’s the rub.” Ricardo shook his head. “You still must face her. Oh, you’ll be a bit embarrassed. She’ll be quite a lot embarrassed. But it happened, and now it’s in the past. She’s got to understand that even priests can be men occasionally, and curse it all, she interrupted your bath. It isn’t as if you tried to seduce the girl. You didn’t try to, did you?”

“Of course not. Whatever my past sins, I’ve been faithful to my vows since I spoke them.”

Ricardo gestured with the glass of Madeira. “So let the girl see that robe, Padre. She’ll get over the shock. She’ll cry herself to sleep because her blue-eyed piece of masculine flesh has a higher call than marriage, but she’ll get over it.”

“Well, there’s more.”

“Damn. There always is.”

“She came to shrift this afternoon and…well, I couldn’t let her know that the priest to whom she was confessing her lustful feelings had…uh….”

“Been guilty of the same lustful feelings?”

“Aye, some such thing as that.”

“So now she’ll know you deceived her.”

“And there’s more.”

Ricardo shook his head. “More? Sweet blessings, Diego! For a priest, you get into the most confounded messes.”

“It seems our unexpected encounter moved her deeply, so deeply that now she doubts she can feel the same for her betrothed.”

“Her betrothed?” Ricardo glanced up into Diego’s face and found it far too grim. “Oh, dear heavens,” he said. “Don’t tell me. Not…your brother?”

“My brother.”

Ricardo sat down abruptly. “Hell. Hell and damnation.”

“Ricardo, those curses—”

“It’s like the last time all over again, isn’t it? You and Damian and Leonora.”

“Nay, Ricardo. It is not like the last time. I’ll not let it be. I’m under my vows now.”

Ricardo shook his head. “Sins of the flesh, sins of the mind. Cuidado, amigo. They are not too far apart.”

The muscle tensed in Diego’s jaw. He said nothing.

Ricardo breathed in deeply. “You can’t run, Diego. You must face our guests, including the señorita. Come, dine with us this evening.”

“She’ll be angry when she discovers who I am. What I’ve done.”

“Let her be angry. Let her vent her spleen and hate you. It will be the simplest way.”

Diego nodded.

Ricardo walked across the room. He looked back from the doorway. “And, by the way, her name is Celeste.”

Celeste, Diego thought when he sat alone in the quiet. Well, it would have to be. Everything about her, even her name, was heavenly.

And that made him feel like hell.