The Ilokana

Chapter Seven

Los Españoles de la Villa, Vigan - 6 de Noviembre de 1703

Outside his window, she could hear the sound of a guitar. It was soft and steady, occasionally stopping with a thoughtful pause before the melody of plucked strings by gentle fingers filled the air again. Leona closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She paid off one of Doña Elena Maria's, Tomás' aunt, servants in order to slip into the house with a 'message' for him. Leona was careful to target the foreign maid over the Filipino ones, afraid that they'd recognize her and word would get out that she came to visit him.

If her father and family found out, they'd be angry. They were friends, she once told them, but considering the situation, she was banned from seeing him.

As she calmed herself, she lifted a clay jar filled with water and followed the foreign maid into to villa. She kept her head lowered, wearing an opaque veil to cover her head and neck while long sleeves and a Spanish-styled skirt covered any exposed skin. The other household staff didn't seem to pay attention to her as she walked through the tiled floors, lugging the jar against her.

"Señor esta arriba," the woman said, motioning her head towards a set of steps in the courtyard, outside. "Help me with these jars and then you can go."

Leona nodded, trying to create a mental map of the villa as they headed to the kitchen. Once she placed the clay jar beside the maid's, she slipped away.

"If you pretend you belong there and know where you are going, no one will think anything suspicious of you," her father told her years ago.

She straightened her back and glided across the courtyard, mimicking a wealthy heiress who'd belong in the villa. Though she kept the veil over her face, nothing else seemed amiss and anyone who would've seen her ignored her presence.

At the top of the stairs, she turned to her left, heading towards the room the maid instructed her to go to earlier. As she neared the door, she heard the familiar strumming of the guitar and released a low, relieved breath that she found him. She lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

"Queiro estar solo." His voice was deep and quick, almost distracted. He sounded upset, but not angry.

"Lo siento, señor, pero tiene una carta," she said as she uncovered her face. There was a pause and then shuffling heard behind the wooden door. Light footsteps approached and the door was pulled back.

"From whom?"

She met his eyes as they widened in surprise upon the sight of her. A pained expression reached her as she looked up at his unshaven face. Dark bags were beneath his usually bright, kind eyes and she detected the faint scent of tobacco and alcohol on him.

Leona's eyes crinkled up as she spoke in a breathless whisper. "From me."

At once, his arm swept around her and the warm, masculine scent of him enveloped her as she was crushed against his chest. The door closed behind them; its dull thud filling the silence of the room as he released her.

She couldn't help but reach out for him as her veil pooled over her shoulders. Leona tried to call out, but Tomás was already across the room, sliding the windows closed.

"Mi querida." He turned around, his hands still on the wooden panels as they shut closed. His brows furrowed with concern. "What are you doing here?

Leona almost couldn't speak. She was so focused on seeing him, she almost forgot what she came to say. "I...I wanted to see you." It was all she could get out.