B-ronken-R-ing 159...

Inés's scrutinizing gaze traced over his frame. It appeared that he had interpreted her prying gaze in a different way.

"Inés, I implore you to spare me this suffering. It has been very long, and I fear I may soon lose my resolve," he said, a strained smile on his lips.

Her brow arched in intrigue. "Oh? I see no reason for such restraint."

"You have gotten so thin," Cárcel replied with a concerned smile.

Inés scowled at him. How could he think she'd grown thin when he was the one bearing wounds? Before she could voice her thoughts, Cárcel turned to walk away. As he did, he extended one hand behind his back, taking her hand in his own with a firm grasp, whilehis other hand held his belongings.

She fixed a piercing stare at the back of his head even as she curled her fingers around his. She had a nagging suspicion that he was avoiding meeting her gaze to keep something from her.

"How did come to be wounded?" she suddenly asked, hoping to catch him unawares.

But he was prepared. "It was during a mission," he answered smoothly.

She narrowed her eyes further. "And how exactly did you get injured?"

"Through my own folly."

"That is hardly an explanation, and you know it." As Cárcel began to climb the stairs, Inés stubbornly planted her feet a couple steps below him. "Who was responsible?"

Cárcel halted at once. She knew that she was nowhere near strong enough to bring him to a halt, so he had probably stopped walking of his own will as soon as he felt her tug on his arm.

He then turned his head, offering a playful smile. "Why? Do you intend to exact revenge on my behalf?"

"If that damned rat is still alive after taking a weapon to your head... most certainly, I will," she replied, her biting words a stark contrast to her elegant tone.

Cárcel chuckled under his breath and whispered, "Regrettably, there is no one left to punish."

"So you annihilated them?"

"Indeed," Cárcel affirmed.

"Good." With a satisfied smile, Inés resumed climbing the stairs. She ensured her grip on Cárcel's hand remained steadfast as she quickly walked ahead of him to open the door herself.

Raúl was standing right in front of them with an awkward look on his face. He had presumably been watching their exchange through the glass pane of the door, waiting for the right moment to open it for them. "Greetings, my lord-" he began, faltering in apparent surprise.

Beside him, Arondra, much shorter than Raúl, poked her head out and exclaimed, "What in the heaven's name?"

Raúl stared at Cárcel in concern even as he stepped aside, allowing Arondra to express her dismay without obstruction. "My lord," he said with measured caution, "you are injured."

Cárcel gave a curt shake of his head. "It is nothing-"

His words were drowned by Arondra's surprised rambling. "What fiend dared to harm you? Who dared to mar that fine forehead of yours?!" Although she usually remained unperturbed by Cárcel's injuries, but this time, the affront seemed to have surpassed her tolerance.

Inés cast a sidelong glance at Cárcel with a raised eyebrow, challenging him to insist that his injury was "nothing serious". His expression, however, was completely nonchalant in the presence of their household staff.

Meanwhile, Arondra's outcry only grew in intensity. "By all that is holy, if I could get my hands on that wretch, I would throw him into the pits of Hell myself! Let him burn in the flame and sulfur! To think that scoundrel had the nerve to ruin such a beautiful face..."

"Is that your primary concern?" Cárcel asked with an amused smile, his tone as even as ever.

For a fleeting moment, Inés considered joining forces with Arondra to pry Cárcel on the exact identity of the offending wretch. However, a single glance at his exhausted face was enough to dissuade her. She turned to the housekeeper and gently admonished, "Arondra, calm yourself. You may aggravate his head injury." Arondra immediately clamped her lips shut, looking faintly ashamed. Inés then addressed José. "Prepare a hot bath for him, will you?"

José quickly bowed. "Of course, Madam."

"Raúl, dispatch a messenger to Lieutenant Maso's residence requesting his presence before the evening. Then go to the apothecary in El Tabeo and get some pintala-the one that induces restful slumber."

"Yes, my lady," Raúl responded dutifully.

Satisfied, Inés turned her gaze back to Cárcel. "You really need some more sleep. Promise me that you will rest until late afternoon tomorrow," she insisted, then clicked her tongue in concern, noting the fatigue etched in his bloodshot eyes. She reached out to caress the corner of his right eye, but her hand only found empty air when he tilted his head away to the left, avoiding her touch.

The air froze for a brief moment, and silence fell between them, charged with unspoken words. Inés broke the tension by grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs to their bedroom. The silence followed them like a shadow until the the door closed behind them.

Inés released his hand and whirled around to face him. "You have no other injuries, then?"

"Of course not," Cárcel assured with a slight shake of his head.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Then I insist you undress," she said. "Right here, right now."

Cárcel avoided meeting her eyes, his demeanor oddly reserved.

Inés immediately sensed that something was out of the norm. He was never one to shy away from her requests, and his reluctance now only served to heighten her suspicion. An inexplicable irritation began to grate on her, like a small pebble in her shoe that she couldn't remove.

Fixing him with a resolute stare, she insisted, "Undress."

Finally, Cárcel set his belongings on the floor beneath the table and shed his morning coat, draping it over the chair. He unbuttoned his shirt from the neck down, then removed his cufflinks with practiced ease.

Inés watched with a flash of discontent crossing her features. It irked her to see him taking off his clothes with such military discipline, as if this were a mere routine on an ordinary day after work. He remained composed even though the open shirt revealed his bare chest and stomach.

Oblivious to her growing irritation, Cárcel stripped his shirt and held it in one hand. He then offered her a gentle smile, without even a hint of arousal. "See? No other wounds."

Inés, unimpressed, reached out to trace her fingers along the scar on his side.

He chuckled and whispered, "I'm covered in dirt, Inés. Let me take a bath first." She glared at the scar and pressed her fingers against it. Why was he suddenly so intent on avoiding her touch?

The pleasant scent of olive soap lingered on his skin -the kind found in the finest inns. Knowing how fastidious Cárcel was about his cleanliness, she was certain he had washed himself in the morning, no more than a few hours ago, before returning to the residence. Yet he wants to take a bath first? Nonsense, she thought angrily. She continued to brush her fingers over his side, skepticism etched on her face.

As he clasped her hand gently, she reached out with her other hand and leaned in to press a short, featherlight kiss to his lips.

He stiffened, his lips unmoving, a stark departure from their typical, passionate exchanges. It was like he had suddenly turned into a statue. Inés feigned ignorance, withdrawing slightly as she whispered, "I want the rest to come off, Cárcel."

***

Cárcel's world seemed to suspend itself in an endless moment. The sudden noise of water splashing into the bathtub broke the silence, announcing the presence of José and another servant, who had entered through the servants' passage to prepare the bath. It was the sole reminder that time had been flowing steadily the entire time.

He felt adrift, clinging onto the noise of running water in a desperate attempt to anchor his own senses. A part of him wondered if his reunion with Inés came far too soon, while another part of him questioned whether his mind had yet to emerge from the fog of fever.

What Inés did not know was the fact that the untreated wound on his head had festered during his hasty journey back from Bilbao, leading to a vicious fever that nearly claimed his life. For five days, he teetered on the brink of death, forcing him to slow his ride back to Calztela. He paused at inns each evening-something that he had never allowed himself before. Even when only a few hours from Calztela, he chose to settle down for the night to rest. Truly, he had never taken such delicate care for himself in the past twenty-four years of his existence. In a way, it was only natural that he grew cautious in light of his recent brush with mortality.

In those feverish days, he hoped that his proximity to death might allow him to meet with the apostle or reveal glimpses of his past life. However, all that emerged from his feverish dreams were vivid recollections of Inés: how they had sat together and laughed on a tranquil evening in Calztela, how he had stood on the terrace one night and watched her pray inside the room, how he had gazed upon her sleeping face one morning and kissed her forehead with a soft prayer.

In those simple everyday moments, he had discovered the purpose of his existence. Though his dreams offered no grand answers, they revealed that Inés was the answer he had been seeking. She was the axis upon which his world turned. She completed his world.

In the end, he had realized that his soul had been aching for her presence ever since his departure from Mendoza. The painful truth uncovered in Bilbao did not dampen his desire; instead, they deepened his resolve to reunite with her, to hold her in his arms once more.

The memories of his current life with Inés were the beacon that pulled him from the clutches of despair and rekindled his will to live. He resolved to journey to Mendoza as soon as he took care of his duties in Calztela and recovered from his injury. He was going to stay there until Inés could come back home with him.

Hence, he had found it hard to believe the reality of her presence in Calztela, as he stood before her and felt her touch. It had seemed a fragile illusion.

The silence stretched before Cárcel finally uttered, "Inés... The sun hasn't even set yet."

Inés simply shrugged. "And why should that matter? I can see you more clearly in the daylight."

He could not help but suspect that his grip on reality was slipping. It seemed entirely possible that he was imagining her presence, her persistent touch, and her demands. Perhaps my fever has returned, he thought sardonically. Perhaps he had succumbed to base desires and hallucination, even after having witnessed the piety and devotion of her former husband was.

Cárcel recalled what Emiliano had said as he gave the necklace to him. The kindhearted fool, wracked with guilt, had scrimped and saved up for years to return it to Inés. That sacred proof of his kindness was lying hidden in Cárcel's bag, only a few steps away from her.

He felt like a thief in front of Inés, fearing he would lose everything once she discovered what he had stolen. Anxiety consumed his mind, and he dared not look her in the eyes. He stood there like a statue, avoiding her gaze, even as she suggestively stroked his palm with her fingertips.

"Take them off, Cárcel," she coaxed, her voice a soft, inviting whisper. "I want to see you."

In times past, he would have torn her clothes away, driven by primal urges. He knew exactly what Inés was trying to do, whispering those sensual words to provoke him. Her eyes, gleaming with a competitive spirit, betrayed her growing impatience as she urged him to undress. Yet, he did not feel any desire or passion.

All he could feel was a painful throb in his heart.

The sorrow refused to dissipate even though he had wallowed in it as he slept, rode, and gasped for breath in the throes of his fever. In the stable, he had feared that he would burst into tears every moment he met Inés's gaze. That same anxiety plagued him as he kissed her hand, his eyes lowered and reddened with unshed tears. He fought to hold them back as he pleaded silently with God to forgive his insolent hatred, lest His wrath befall Inés instead. This grief threatened to engulf him, leaving him vulnerable and sobbing his heart out for hours.

He could not hope to explain his tears to her, and he was determined to keep his misery and suffering away from Inés. However, it felt like God had suddenly poured both the weight of humanity's grief and the warmth of its joy into his soul. He felt an overwhelming rush of sorrow and joy from being able to see Inés once again-it was so intense that he felt like he had fallen from a ship, and he was now helplessly drowning in a vast, uncharted ocean.

His mind was a tumultuous blend of love and jealousy. Now he was painfully aware of his own selfishness-he knew that he had no right to love Inés, but he also knew that he could never bring himself to let her go. The weight of guilt was crushing. He could not even bear to meet her gaze.

A voice within whispered that it was only natural that he couldn't let her go. After all, Inés finally wanted him. It had taken so long... Even though he recognized the self-deception in trying to justify his own immorality, he could not suppress the flicker of joy within him.

When Inés had happily rushed to him and hugged him from behind, he had felt an overwhelming gratitude. It felt like she had returned to him at last after years of longing and waiting.

In that moment, he felt like the man he once had been lifetimes ago, and they had finally become one.