Surrender to Love by Cordelia Sands

her.
    “You speak English, then.”
    Sabine nodded slowly, warily, as she averted her eyes to the straw-strewn bed of the wagon.  His riveting scrutiny unnerved her senses. His eyes were black. Cold.  Like the eyes of a dead man.
    “What is the matter, chica ?”  Colón demanded angrily as he grabbed a handful of her hair.  “Why do you not answer me?”
    He jerked her violently toward him and twisted her tear-stained face until it was only inches from his own .  He was powerfully strong despite his short stature and lean build.  Sabine bit back a whimper as he tightened his grip, and she fought back tears of pain.  Never, she vowed.  Never would she allow him to believe he had the upper hand.
    “Do you not wish to speak to me, beautiful girl,” he purred as he stroked her lower lip with his thumb, capturing her with his gaze.  Then, dark eyes softening , he released her and gently smoothed her ruffled curls into place.  “I could make your life very easy, if you let me.  Come, mi hermosa, tell Manuel Colón what your name is.”
    “Sabine DuBois.”
    Her whisper was nearly inaudible. Heart fluttering, she looked away once more lest she become mesmerized under the spell of his intensity.  But even without looking into those black eyes, she could feel them bore straight through her.
    “What an enchanting name, my dear. You will be very happy where I am taking you.  I have much money, and my home is located on a grand plantation. I assure you, it is much more comfortable than that useless parcel Michael Pierson lives upon.”
    The utterance of that name sent a strange surge through her.  Michael Pierson.  The weight of the American’s stare continued to haunt her, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to shake that feeling.  His eyes.  Why did they unnerve her so?
    “He is no bother now,” Colón’s voice broke into her thoughts.  “Do not worry your most beautiful head over such an uncouth gentleman.  We will not speak of him again.”
    His harsh features transformed into a wide smile; small, white, animal teeth glinted in the moonlight.  He spread his arms wide, welcoming, cornering his prey.
    “I realize,” he informed her, “that this has been a most unpleasant experience for you.  But do not worry.  I will make sure that you are treated well.  All my servants are.  I am sorry,” he said, caressing her cheek, “that I became angry with you, but I am not accustomed to being disobeyed.  From now on, I expect you to speak up at once.  Do you understand what I am telling you?”
    Sabine nodded quickly, afraid to speak and terrified of displeasing him.  His volatile temper had already manifested itself once.  She had not answered him promptly, and for that he had virtually torn her hair from the roots; there was no telling what he would do if truly provoked.
    “Now that you know what I expect,” Colón said as he swung up into the seat ahead of her.  “I do not think we need to have you tied like a wild animal.  You will not leave, I am sure.”
    Turning, he gently loosened the ties that held her fast, and smoothed her wrists where the rough hemp had chaffed them.  His fingers trailed against her skin, burning her with her touch.  She wanted to wrench away, wash herself clean of the dirtiness he made her feel.
    “Thank you, sir,” she replied humbly.
    Her manner reverted to the learned subservience she had been forced to display back home.  Eyes downcast, she set her hands, neatly clasped, in her lap.  The sour taste of bitterness filled her mouth, and Sabine clenched her jaw angrily.  She hated this.  Hated pretending to play the role of false humility when all she truly wanted was to lash out and scratch his eyes.
    But she couldn’t.  She was bold…but she certainly wasn’t foolish.
    “It will not take us long to reach the plantation,” Colón was saying.  “Maybe an hour or so.  When we arrive, I will have Rosa find you some appropriate