A Price Worth Paying - By Trish Morey Page 0,48
He seemed not to notice her presence, even after she’d spoken to him, and so she assumed he was asleep, when she picked up his coffee cup and a gnarled limb reached out, a bony set of fingers grabbed her wrist. ‘Mi nieta!’
She jumped, and then laughed at her reaction. ‘Sí. What is it, Abuelo?’
‘I have something to tell you,’ he whispered. ‘Something I have been meaning to tell you.’ He craned his head around. ‘Is Alesander here?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s out in the vineyard somewhere. Do you want me to get him?’
‘No. What I want to say is for you, and you alone. Sit down here next to me.’
She pulled over a chair. ‘What is it?’
He sighed, his breath sounding like a wheeze. ‘I want to tell you. There is not much time left to me. I must tell you …’
‘No, Abuelo, you mustn’t think that way.’
He patted her hand as if she was the one who needed compassion and understanding. ‘Listen to me, there is nothing the doctors can do for me now, but I can still tell you this, that since you came here, since your marriage, I have never been happier. I have you to thank for making the sun shine in my life again.’
‘Please, Abuelo, there is no need.’
‘There is every need. Don’t you see what you have done? You have given me hope. You have reunited two families who have barely spoken to each other for more than a century.’
She dipped her head. If he only knew, he would not be proud at all. But still she managed a smile and patted his hand. ‘I am glad that you are happy, Abuelo.’
‘More than happy. The rift between our families goes back many years. I never thought to see it end. But Alesander, he is a fine man. He is like the son I never had.’
He stopped on a sigh and his head nodded down, and she thought that he had finished then, already drifting back into his memories and his regrets, when he suddenly looked up, glassy eyes seeking hers. ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘Alesander told me. One of your ancestors—your grandfather, was it?—he ran off and married the bride meant for an Esquivel groom.’
The old man nodded. ‘Ah, sí, he did.’ He laughed then, a cackle of delight, before his face grew serious again. ‘But did he tell you what happened afterwards?’
‘Only that it has resulted in a century of simmering rivalry and a cause of resentment between the two families ever since.’
‘And the rest? Did he tell you the rest?’
She reeled back through her memories of her conversation with Alesander. ‘No, I don’t seem to recall anything else.’
He nodded. ‘Ah, he didn’t tell you, then—probably for the best. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.’
‘What is it, Abuelo?’ she asked, the skin at the back of her neck crawling. ‘What doesn’t matter now?’
‘Only that when it was too late—when he discovered his bride was married to another, Xalbeder Esquivel vowed revenge and that the Esquivel family would drive the Otxoas from their land once and for all. That has always been their goal. That is why we have had to fight them ever since.’
Felipe peered at her, his watery eyes glistening, his crooked mouth smiling in a way she had never seen before. ‘Don’t you see what you have achieved by your marriage to Alesander? The curse is lifted. The Esquivels can never drive us from our land because the Otxoas will be ones with this estate for ever. I am so proud of you, mi nieta, so very proud.’
She let him pull her to him and hug her, feeling wiry arms around her, feeling bony shoulder blades stripped of flesh through his thick shirt, feeling the earth fall beneath her feet. If he only knew what she had done.
Oh God, what had she done?
By her own hand she had signed away the Otxoas’ last links to this land. And she hadn’t just let it happen—she had made it happen. ‘Please don’t be proud, Abuelo,’ she pleaded, feeling sick. ‘I don’t deserve it.’
‘Bah.’ He waved her objections away with a sweep of one gnarled wrist. ‘You have made an old man with no hope very happy. I am only sorry I did not trust Alesander at first. I thought he was only interested in the land. But he loves you, I can tell. And the way you look at him, with such love in your eyes …’
‘Abuelo …’ she chided with tears in