Feminine 101

If you have not already done so, or if you are new, I recommend starting with Chapter 1. This is a linear story and will make a lot more sense read as a whole. Please leave a like, comment, or subscribe to my blog to get notifications when a new chapter is published. If I get 100 views on a single post of One More Life, I will self-publish a digital and printed copy with an exclusive Epilogue. If you only missed the last post, you can read Chapter 12 here.

The Spaniard leaned casually on the fence watching the stud prance fitfully around the corral. He was a beauty, thick chestnut tail dusting the ground, neck arched in a showy manner the Spaniard knew had everything to do with the mares in a nearby paddock. He would make some beautiful colts, no denying that. The Andalusians Andrés bred had become the most sought-after in the nation and he was justifiably proud of the bloodlines that came from his mountain home. Yes, the stud would do nicely, adding some color into the dappled greys that dominated his stock. 

.

At the distant hoofbeats of a rider, Andrés swiveled his head to watch as the horseman approached. It was not long before the man was recognizable, although the horse was known almost immediately. Andrés was given pause by the pace which seemed unnecessarily hasty, unless something was wrong. The Spaniard started toward the drive in determinedly measured strides, eyes never leaving the approaching rider. The stud, aware he was no longer the center of attention, and also curious, came to the fence the Spaniard had just quitted to stare at the new arrivals. 

.

Sweat-stained and dusty, the man came to a halt before the nobleman and proffered a quick bow. “Señor, I have word of your brother.”

.

The Spaniard schooled his face to neutral at the mention of Lope. His brother, older by less than two years, had left Spain decades ago to seek his fortune across an ocean. Their older brother had inherited the modest barely-noble estate–a generous description by any estimation–and the remaining children had been left to find their own way, whether through marriage or other means. Lope de Aguirre had long ago felt that Spain held nothing for him and, with an unsettling gleam in his eye, he’d answered Cortez’s call for men to sail for the New World. 

.

Andrés cast his attention toward more local opportunities. Always with an eye for a great animal, he had won his first stud in a wager. He’d made a deal with another breeder to let his stud for the first colt. In a few short years he was raising some of the most respectable stock in the region, and over the last thirty years he had amassed a considerable fortune. Such wealth, that his children, with a little prudence, would all receive enough to live in some comfort for years to come. 

.

Andrés glanced toward the elegant casa his wife had designed then

toward the tired traveler. Suppressing the sinking sensation in his stomach, and his own curiosity he said, “Do come and have a drink. You can tell me more once you’ve washed and been refreshed.”

.
The man nodded and passed the reins to a groom who appeared from seemingly nowhere. The messenger followed the stately figure of Andrés de Aguirre into the spacious hacienda that managed somehow to be homey despite its mass. A maid, cheerful and plump, placed a glass of cold water in his hand and took his hat from him. She replaced the empty glass with a cool, damp towel and, grinning warmly, handed back the glass–full again– before taking the towel and his hat. 

.

“Thank you, Rosa.” The noble had stood waiting patiently, discreetly looking out a latticed window until the messenger, refreshed, was watching the maid retreat, humming her lively tune, skirt swishing as she walked. “Do sit down,” he gestured toward a chair in the cool shade of the room. 

.

The men sat and the traveler settled into a chair, then recounted his tale. Andrés kept a passive face as his rather infamous brother’s deeds were told. The guest described the contents of the letter to King Phillip, specifically the part where Lope had declared independence from Spain. At this Andrés had raised a finger to his face, but so casually rested his chin on his thumb, that the man could not tell whether he had been surprised at all. Indeed, the only clear reaction came when he told of Lope’s execution. The noble bowed his head and closed his eyes. 

.

He was silent a moment, then with a stoic face, invited the man to stay for dinner and leave in the morning. Rosa appeared again, seemingly from nowhere and, with twinkling eyes and dimples, led him off to the guest quarters, closing the door considerately behind her. 

.

Only, when the pair’s footsteps had gone completely silent did Andrés stand abruptly and pace to the window. There he gazed for a long time, thoughts far away, thinking of nothing and everything. He did not move when the door opened softly and a figure in lace and red silk slipped inside. He betrayed none of the comfort her presence brought. He felt her hands on his shoulders, felt them rub down his back to snake around his waist, soothing and familiar. This touch brought all his thoughts into focus. It was her gift to bring clarity and aim to his mind. He could feel the question in her sweet face even though he had not turned and it made him smile briefly. 

.

“Lope is dead.” He said finally, appreciating that she did not require delicate words. 

.

She said nothing, only laid her head against his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze with her arms. 

.

“There’s more.”

.

He felt her head lift to look at him questioningly. After nearly thirty years of marriage,  lifetimes built together, she did not need to speak for him to know what she was thinking. She had married him when he had only the stud and a plan. Not for the first time, he thought that her unwavering faith in him was as much to thank for their success as his own shrewdness and ambition. She’d proven herself a wise and very attractive business partner. Beyond that, she lent purpose to his actions, made him stand taller, be better. He loved her cleverness, her beauty, and, in this moment, her tenderness.

.

“He was mad. He rebelled against the crown.” He glanced over his shoulder and saw eyes widen at that. “He was executed for his troubles, and they made an example of him.” He turned to face her, taking in the strands of silver winging from her temples, the tear-filled eyes, suffering for him…

To continue reading chapter 14, click here.

If you enjoyed this, wish to own a copy for your collection, and enjoy exclusive content, you can purchase the book here.

©2025 Noell, LLC