Daughter of Spain

By Jeannine D. Van Eperen

Spain is in turmoil. In the 17th century, Inquisitor Sarmiento is zealously continuing the Inquisition, ridding Spain of those he considers infidels and also increasing his own land holdings at others' expense. A victim of the Inquisition Isabela and her mother are incarcerated in one of Sarmiento's dungeons. Her father has been killed. She is rescued when Don Carlos, Duque de Malagón, breaks into the castle to rescue his brother. He is too late to help his brother but Don Carlos takes Isabela and her mother to safety. Since he, too, must now flee the Inquisitor's long arm, he and his retinue leave Spain and sail for the New World to face a stark yet lovely land that brings the promise of new beginnings if they can survive the many challenges ahead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597050913

Book preview

What They Are Saying About

Daughter Of Spain

Daughter of Spain is not a woman, but a place... a place in the new world called New Spain. As I read this romantic tale of a woman’s heroic maturing from a naïve, indulged child to noblewoman, I couldn’t help but envision Johnnie Depp’s character in Chocolate, cast as Don Carlos Rodrigo Fresquez. Multi-published author, Jeannine D. Van Eperen , has a way of putting the reader into the heart and soul of her characters. This is definitely a must read, as well as a keeper to be read again and again.

—JoEllen Conger

Cinderella And The Stripper

Daughter Of Spain

Jeannine D. Van Eperen

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Historical Romance Novel

Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Dianna Hamilton

Senior Editor: Leslie Hodges

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Philip Fuller

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2006 by Jeannine D. Van Eperen

ISBN:  978-1-59705-091-3

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

For my sister, Shirley, and niece, Bobbi, in thanks for their encouragement of my writing, my two greatest fans!

New Mexico

song music and lyrics

by Shirley Phyllis Jansson

used with permission, copyrighted 1950

New Mexico

Lovely daughter of Spain

Her enchantment remains

New Mexico

Land of the Sun!

New Mexico

Lovely yuccas in bloom

Spread their perfume

New Mexico

Land that I love!

A soft desert breeze

Stirs the tall mountain trees

Whispering a name

That rekindles a flame.

Guitars softly strumming

A senorita is humming

As she dreams and the sighs

Of a night that’s gone by

In New Mexico.

I still recall how she kissed me.

I hope that she’s missed me.

New Mexico

I’m coming home.

One

Isabela was roughly pushed down the winding stairway that led deep into the bowels of the castle. She tried to keep hold of her mother’s hand but the soldiers kept them apart. Never had she feel such fear. Her father had been dragged away from their home a week before, and they had not seen or heard from him again. Spain was in turmoil, she knew, but until now, it did not concern her family. They attended mass daily. They were good Catholics. Why were they torn from their home and brought here to face the Inquisitor? It was impossible. What could she or her mother tell the Inquisitor? What had they done? What had her father done? Isabela’s mind raced with these questions as she and her mother were flung into a dark cell.

The cell was damp, cold, and filthy. Frightened, she screamed as a rat ran across her foot and burrowed into the dirty straw on the floor. Pampered and cared for all their lives, Isabela and her mother were afraid to move and stood huddled together tightly, grasping each other’s hands. How could they sit down on the filthy straw? Vermin hid in it. They saw the rat. What else could be hidden unseen within the straw? The stench of the cell stung their delicate nostrils. It smelled of rotting bodies and human excrement.

A torch outside the cell flickered as the short, swift breeze made from the slamming of the heavy door blew across the flame.

Isabela heard a moan and became aware of the soft murmur of voices. With a feeling akin to gratitude, she realized she and her mother were not alone. Gradually, her eyes became accustomed to the dark, and she saw shadowy forms huddled at the rear of the cave-like cell. Moisture seeped in dripping, running down the dirt walls. A solitary figure knelt in prayer, a priest, his head bent in supplication, his lips moving in silent words of worship.

A scream penetrated the cell rising up from the corridors which led deeper still into the bowels of the dungeon.

Father forgive them. The priest’s voice rose. Bless the Inquisitor and all in this castle. Bless this cell and the people in it. Give us strength. Help us not to be afraid. For in our faith in You, we have nothing to fear.

Sounds of marching, scuffling, the rattle of a chain and screams assailed the atmosphere. The inmates mumbled, shivering with fear, and drew even deeper inside the cell.

Get back, someone hissed at Isabela and her mother. Back, you fools.

But they could not move. Fear immobilized them.

The priest did not stir. His hands tightened on his prayer beads as he continued his devotions.

Guards, employed by Inquisitor Sarmiento, opened the gate and pushed a man inside the cell. He cried out in pain. His arms dangled helplessly. The guards pushed him sadistically and he fell moaning, writhing in pain.

The priest stood up then and went to the man. Pablo, Pablo! What have they done to you?

Be quiet, heretic! the guard shouted and hit the priest across the face.

Staggering from the blow, the priest raised his arms in supplication. It was then Isabela saw that he was chained. His wrists were bound with chains and he wore leg irons that allowed him to walk only with the greatest difficulty.

May we have some water, please? he asked, his voice soft and almost musical in its beauty. Many burn with fever. They will not live long without water.

Laughing mirthlessly, the guard said, Better for them if they died. And better for you, too, to die before—

Hurry, Miguel, the other guard said. Don’t bother with the condemned ones. It would be best if you do not speak to the heretic priest. He was found harboring Moors.

Did not our Father say, ‘Make thy enemies thy friends’? the priest asked.

Miguel faced the priest. You will burn in hell for your treachery and blasphemy! He hit the priest again. You will fare far worse than your servant. Mark my words, we’ll come for you next, and your false god will not help you!

There is but one God, the priest said. His mouth bled and he struggled to his feet.

Miguel spat at him.

Did not our Lord say to feed and clothe the poor? To heal the infirmed?

Miguel now turned and saw Isabela and her mother. Ah, where did you come from? A tasty morsel for a starving man, eh, Pedro? I’ll have the younger one.

Isabela’s mother bravely stood in front of Isabela to shield her from the guard’s sight. With dignity, she said, "My husband is Don Francisco Alvarez."

Miguel laughed. "You are now his widow, Señora, and if you and the young one are nice to me and Pedro, we can make your last days on earth pleasant ones. He grabbed at the woman’s dress and ripped it exposing her breasts. Then he pushed her towards Pedro. What do you think, Pedro? Will she do?" Then, he grabbed Isabela and tore her dress open. His hands fondled her breasts as she screamed and kicked.

The priest, though chained, hurled himself on Miguel, bringing his chains down on the man, stunning him for an instant. The guard released Isabela. He struck the priest repeatedly before he left the cell, locking the gate. "We will return for you later, Señora, Señorita Alvarez." He bowed mockingly.

Pedro, we must go and tell the Inquisitor how the heretic priest blasphemed. Maybe they will cut out his sinful tongue. The guards chuckled as they walked away.

Isabela forgot her disarray. She ran to her protector. Are you all right?

Yes, the priest said groggily as he struggled from the floor. His eyes took in Isabela’s face and figure. He looked at her feeling a desire he had never before known. She was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. Her face, framed in blond curls, was beautiful. Her eyes pools of deep blue looked at him with concern and her exposed breasts buds of perfection. He flushed, confused. They knelt facing each other in the filthy straw. He reached up and gently touched her chin, tilting her face upward. I can die happy now. I have seen beauty and known perfection.

Pablo moaned. The priest left Isabela and went to comfort him.

They tried to pull my arms from their sockets, Pablo said. "I defended you, Ramon. I said you are a devout Catholic, a good priest. How can they think otherwise? You must somehow send word to your brother. He will know how to save you.’

"Don Carlos knows we have been seized by now. He won’t be in time for me, Pablo. I fear for you and the women, Don Francisco Alvarez’s daughter and widow. You must get them out of here."

I am crippled. I am weak.

You will heal. I will pray for it. Our Lady of Guadalupe will intercede for you and the women. Ramon sighed. For me, I will soon be in purgatory to atone for my sins.

No! Ramon, protect yourself. Please, save yourself. Tell them anything. Tell them I fed and clothed the infidels. That is what I told them.

Ramon smiled, and placed a gentle hand on his servant’s shoulder. Did they believe you?

Alas, no.

"Then why would they believe me? You must rest, Pablo, my faithful servant and friend. You must look to the girl and Señora Alvarez." The priest knelt again, praying.

Isabela’s mother drew her mantilla from her head and covered Isabela’s bosom, and with her hands held her own bodice shut. We must move deeper within the cell so the guards cannot see us in the darkness. Gently, she pushed Isabela into the darkness. As she passed the kneeling priest, she stopped. "Thank you, Padre, for defending us. Lenora sighed. We are all so helpless and alone."

God is always with us. Ramon abandoned his prayers and looked up.

Señora Alvarez gasped. You are not more than a boy! You are too young to die. She looked into his liquid, brown eyes and read not fear but tranquility.

"Señora Alvarez, we must trust in God. Pablo will help you and your daughter. Do as he says. He lowered his voice. I am sure my brother will come to help us. If he does, you must go with him. He is an honorable man and will take care of you and your daughter."

You will not escape, too?

My brother will not be in time to save me. They will come for me soon.

But they will bring you back as they did your friend.

Perhaps.

The torch outside the cell sputtered for a moment. The two guards, Miguel and Pedro, marched passed the cell ignoring its occupants. All were quiet as they listened to the receding steps as the men walked down the stairs to the lower dungeon. Then quiet descended, sinister and silent in the gloom.

Señora Alvarez and Isabela dropped down to their knees, now unmindful of the rodents and filth as they silently prayed for deliverance.

Ramon, help me to sit up, Pablo said. If I keep lying, I will never get up. It will be too easy to lie here and just succumb. Pablo moaned as Ramon tried pulling him up with his shackled hands.

Let me help, Isabela said. I’ll push him up by his shoulders while you pull on the chains that bind his hands.

Ramon’s expression let Isabela know he doubted her ability to be of much help. She knew she looked fragile and small, but behind her fragility a steel determination seldom seen except by her tutors or dueña gave her strength.

Ramon smiled as little by little Pablo, a man of considerable girth, was pulled to a sitting position, and the young priest’s eyes told Isabela of his admiration of her.

Now to my feet. I must be on my feet, Pablo insisted. I will stand between them and you, Ramon.

No. You will follow my orders and stay with the women. They need a protector. The guards would defile them, he said with lowered voice.

Isabela and Ramon worked and finally got Pablo to his feet.

Ah, good. It is best that I stand up. Once down, I cannot get up. Pablo apologized as Ramon led him to the wall. Pablo leaned against it. He tried to move his dangling arms. A lot of good I’ll be. I can’t protect a flea.

A shriek, then the sound of laughter from the guards broke into the cell’s darkness. Now, the priest’s turn, a voice was heard to say. Guards’ footsteps grew nearer.

Ramon flinched and his handsome face grew pale with apprehension. Isabela ran over to him. Ramon, can we do nothing? she asked unconsciously using his given name.

Beyond prayer and faith, there is nothing. He towered above her small figure and gazed down at her. For a moment, he wished he was not a priest so he could kiss her lips If we had met at another time, he whispered. Go, hide in the back, please.

"Vaya con Dias," she whispered. She grasped his hand and kissed it.

I will love you through all eternity and defend you with my dying breath. Quick, God’s beloved one, hide!

You! Ramon Carlos Fresquez, ordained priest, sinner, heretic! Your time has come, the guard called.

I am ready to meet the Inquisitor, the young priest said.

Brave, eh? I wonder how brave you’ll be on the rack? Your cook told all. She damned you before she died. The guard laughed mirthlessly. She would have been set free, had she lived.

Isabela shuddered as a chill of fear ran through her body. She clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. She shook with terror as she watched Ramon stand with dignity before the guards. She longed to run to him, protect him, but what could she do? Everything was so unfair! What could a young priest have done to cause him to be tortured and killed? With insight beyond her years, Isabela knew she would never see Ramon Carlos Fresquez, priest, again, but she knew without a doubt, she would remember him until she died.

Come on, heretic! The guards pushed the priest forward.

The chains dragged across the floor pulling some of the dirty straw along as the young man moved slowly from the cell. As he walked, he prayed aloud. His words, his melodious voice drifted back to the prisoners. Forgive them their trespasses.

Isabela sagged, caught by her mother before she fell to the floor as consciousness left her.

Two

Her mother’s sharp slap to her face roused Isabela, forcing her to consciousness. Without realizing it, she brought her hand to her cheek and rubbed. Her cold hands soothed her smarting cheek.

I’m sorry to hit you, dear, but you cannot faint. We must be brave, Lenora Alvarez said firmly to her daughter. Her voice was but a whisper as all within the cell kept their voices low. Traitors and tell-tales could be everywhere, even in the dirty cell. I have been told my husband is dead, that I am a widow, but I cannot let myself dwell on those words or believe them. Later, when we are rescued we can relax and then we can mourn your papa, if this is true. All this seems a nightmare. Nightmares end when daylight comes.

But we are awake, Mama. Isabela sighed and hung her head. I will not faint again, I promise, and we will not believe Papa to be dead. Perhaps, those nasty guards lied. She raised blue eyes to her mother. Her voice filled with hope. It is possible, isn’t it?

Piercing screams permeated the ghostly quiet of the cell. The sound was animalistic, primal, heart-rendering. Then nothing. Quiet. The screamer had either passed out or died. Isabela hoped death and peace from torture for that person. Were the cries the last of the young priest whose voice had sounded so calm and musical? She blinked her eyes, pressing tears back to the well that held them. She looked at Pablo. Tears ran down his face. She knew then, Pablo believed the cries to be those of Ramon. I’m sorry, she whispered, and he nodded.

For what seemed an eternity the guards did not appear and there were no more cries of agony. There was only the soft murmuring of the prisoners as they sometimes whispered to each other, confiding their fears, or just talked to ease anxiety. Lenora and Isabela stayed at the rear of the cell near Pablo, no longer speaking, not even words of comfort, to each other. The reality of the situation was too horrible to contemplate or communicate. Since those horrendous screams, all knew God was a stranger to them. When their time came to be interrogated, they, too, would shriek. Denials would do no good. No one listened to denials. But what was one to confess, if one had done nothing?

Miguel and Pedro sauntered by the cell, not marching militaristically, but taunting the captives. Pedro smirked and said to his partner, Did you hear the priest’s last words before they cracked his skull like a nut?

With a subdued tone, Miguel answered, No, but I heard his screams. They pushed the vice too tight, too quickly.

Isabela covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

A foreign noise drew the guards’ attention. What’s going on there? Miguel asked as he and Pedro ran toward the distraction.

Soon sharp clanging sounds filled the corridor of the dungeon. Moans and cursing, feet running, then again, silence before the cell’s gate was opened. Five men entered the cell. Three carried torches bringing light into the horrible surroundings. Isabela blinked as the light assailed her eyes. None of the prisoners moved, frozen immobile by fear, unable to believe the gates opened and they might escape.

One of the five men detached from the others and came over to Pablo. My brother, where is he?

Pablo shook his head sadly. "Gone, Don Carlos."

Gone? Where did they take him?

"He’s dead, Don Carlos. Pablo began to weep openly in despair. He was so good... too good."

Dead! Dead? No. He can’t be.

Isabela, watching from the shadows, felt compassion for Ramon’s brother. She saw him wince in pain as he stood momentarily silent, seeing, perhaps, his younger brother run after him as a child, a laughing, happy child.

Are you sure? Don Carlos’ features now masked any sign of the emotion he felt.

Yes. Why would they lie? He was taken below to the Inquisitor hours ago and then later, the jailers said— Pablo’s voice broke. "His last wish was for you to get the women, Señora Alvarez and her daughter out of here. Ramon was not afraid to die. He knew. Somehow, Don Carlos, he knew."

So young! Too young to die. If he’s dead, I must avenge him!

"Yes, later, Don Carlos, but first we must get the women to safety. I am but little use. They pulled my arms from their sockets. Poor Ramon, gentle Ramon, they..."

What? Carlos’ dark eyes burned with intensity as he looked steadily at Pablo. What did they do to him?

"Later, Don Carlos, later. Pablo looked into the darkness of the cavern of the cell where Isabela and Lenora still huddled. Señora Alvarez. Señorita."

Isabela and her mother slowly moved forward.

"This is Ramon’s brother, Don Carlos Fresquez, Duque de Malagón. He will take you from here to safety."

But the guards! Isabela cried. Where are they? How did you get in here?

Don Carlos laughed bitterly. The guards will not be here to bother us. Come, ladies. He moved his hand elegantly motioning the women to pass out of the cell. He then helped Pablo, who still moved with pain, paying scant attention to Isabela and her mother.

Don Carlos was luxuriously dressed in dark blue, and the white lace of his shirt cuffs looked incongruous in the filth of the dungeon. Tall and handsome as was his deceased brother, Carlos’ eyes held none of the gentleness of Ramon but to Isabela appeared hard and piercing.

Other men waited quietly in the corridor. As Isabela walked slowly along the passageway with her mother, she saw the sprawled and bloody bodies of the guards. Were they unconscious or dead? Isabela could not tell. She shook with fear and apprehension, and glanced furtively at Don Carlos. This tall, dark man, who was Ramon’s brother, appeared as frightening to her as the dungeon did, but it was Ramon’s wish that she go with him. She knew Ramon, a priest, for but an hour or two, and he was now dead. He died a cruel, inhuman death. Isabela heaved a deep sigh. Don Carlos must not be as frightening as he appeared. In the torchlight she could see a long, slender scar ran down his face. A dueling scar? He looked a man hardened by battle and duels. He appeared to be afraid of nothing. Ramon had faith in Don Carlos ability to rescue them from the dungeon. If only he had been earlier! Isabela’s heart ached for Ramon. She knew with certainty that she would honor the noble priest for the rest of her life. She began crying silently.

"Little Señorita," Don Carlos said gently. Do not cry. You will be safe. I’ll not let anything harm you.

Glancing up at him, she said, I’m not afraid. I was thinking of Ramon.

Don Carlos showed surprise. You knew my brother?

I loved him. I just met him, yet I loved him, she said without guile, remembering the young priest’s bravery and piety.

And did he love you?

Yes, she whispered. I’m sure he did.

Then it is good he is dead. He was a priest.

ISABELA AND HER MOTHER remained under Don Carlos Fresquez’s protection for just over a month. Isabela saw him rarely, however. She was isolated at his country house far from Madrid and Barcelona near Malagón. Her mother, no longer put up a brave front, but mourned her husband, spending most of her days in prayer. Isabela could not pray. She could not kneel and pray to a God who allowed Ramon Fresquez to die such a cruel and useless death. She pictured him still, his gentle dark eyes filled with love and piety. She could no longer be pious. Ramon’s goodness and belief in God did him no good. If she were captured now, she would indeed be an infidel, and gladly avow it. The Inquisitor had robbed her of her faith in God, and for that she cursed him. If she believed as Ramon did, then she could believe that one day she would see him in Heaven. But there was no Heaven, only hell.

Isabela walked restlessly through the elegant rooms of the palatial home of Don Carlos Fresquez, not giving him a thought. She walked into his study. Don Carlos usually kept the door locked, but today as she wandered, she pushed at the door and it opened. A fire crackled invitingly in the hearth as she strolled in. Unaware she was not alone, she studied the paintings of Fresquez men and women that lined the wall. Gasping in surprise, she drew her hand to her heart as she saw Ramon’s likeness looking down at her.

A striking resemblance to your lover, Don Carlos said, his voice brusque.

My lover! Isabela’s face flushed red with anger. Her deep blue eyes blazed. How dare you say such a thing!

Don Carlos laughed. I thought you said you loved Ramon, my brother, the priest.

"Yes, but he was not my lover, Don Carlos. Her face flushed in embarrassment as she beseeched the haughty man who spoke so cuttingly I just saw him that once in the cell. He saved me from the guards. They ripped my dress. They... they started to touch me. Her small hands covered her eyes as if to stave off the vision. It was horrible."

Don Carlos’ voice was now gentle. "I’m sure it was distressing, Señorita Alvarez. My brother was a gentle man. His piety did him no good though, did it? He entrusted you to my care, and I mean to take care of you. He took her hands in his before continuing. We will sail to the new world, and you will sail as my wife, Isabela."

Wife?

"Your mother and I