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In the past, the sound of midnight bells would call Elena and the villagers of Camarinas to dutifully search for survivors. But over the last year, the sound of the bells represented more than duty for her. They were simultaneously a call to hope and fear.

Elena dressed quickly in warm, serviceable clothing and joined her household and the villagers on the beach, lanterns bobbing in their hands, rain drenching them entirely, goaded on by the sharp-cutting wind. It reminded Elena of the night nearly a year ago that her husband’s ship had foundered so close to home, the lighthouse beacon failing to bring the men safe to port. Her husband’s body had not been found among the wreckage that lined the beaches the following morning or in the weeks afterwards.

She had mourned her husband, but she had not been overwrought at his demise. Their marriage had been arranged, orchestrated by their parents and marked with indifference. She had not become truly alarmed over his disappearance until Don Alicante swooped in and made it clear that unless he reappeared, she stood to lose the pazo and all that went with it—including her. So she’d struck her devil’s deal with Senor Alicante.

Elena shivered, not from the cold but from the remembrance of that awful day. In her mind’s eye, Senor Alicante’s “offer” was plainly etched. He’d had the audacity to stand in her front parlor just one month after Alejandro’s ship had gone down and put forward his proposal. As a woman, she had no rights to the property except through her husband or other male relative. So without a male heir, Alejandro’s property was for sale. Without the property or means of support, she would become a destitute widow.

Or she could marry him.

She’d pleaded with the don that her husband wasn’t dead, merely missing. She’d argued it was too soon to decide the fate of his estate. Senor Alicante had given her a year’s reprieve to produce her husband from the watery depths, alive.

But Elena would not countenance such a bald attempt at coercion. She knew that he had had two wives already who had met with untimely fates, and rumors from his villa had not painted him as a generous husband. She’d had a taste of freedom without Alejandro and she was not willing to relinquish it. While the work on the pazo was difficult and time-consuming, it was a price she was more than willing to pay for the freedom and little luxuries she enjoyed. Without the pazo, she had nowhere to go and no source of income. She needed the pazo regardless of her relish for the demanding work. Without it, she was nothing. Still, if she had to chose, she’d want life with Alejandro over the life she’d lead with Don Alicante.

That was why every time the bells rang, desperate hope rose for Elena. Perhaps the bells rang to signal Alejandro’s return. But each time she’d risen to answer the bells, there had only been disappointment; another wrecked ship, more lost crewmen, one more dashed hope. And time was running out. She had only one month left before Senor Alicante would press his claim.

Elena joined a group fanning out along the beach looking for survivors. It was not impossible as this ship had met its fate not far from shore. She could even see flames from a fire on deck. If the sea were calmer, a fisherman’s boat could reach it. But for tonight, the storm made such a journey too risky. Beside her, an older woman muttered prayers to Santa Carmen, the patron Saint of sailors.

There was a loud exclamation a short way ahead of her. Elena looked up, shading her eyes against the slant of the rain. “Senora! Senora! Come quickly!” A woman ran up to her, grabbing her hand. “There’s a man. He’s alive but barely.”

Elena followed her, tripping over rocks. She pushed her way through the little crowd and held her lantern high to illuminate the form. For a moment in the darkness the lantern highlighted his features and she’d thought wildly the man was Alejandro. But as she steadied the light, she realized the man was a stranger. She bit back her own disappointment and said nothing. Whether or not the man was Alejandro, he was in need of attention.

The seas had shredded much of his clothing, giving her a substantial glimpse of a muscled physique. Long dark hair lay plastered against a well-sculpted face. It would be a shame to lose such a splendid specimen of a man in his prime; he was too young to die.

He groaned and Elena swiftly knelt at his side, reaching automatically for his hand. She chafed it in her own, feeling the extreme cold of his skin. She spoke soft words, encouraging him to speak again but no sound came.

Elena looked up at the villagers and called out instructions. “We must get him warm.” She pointed to four men in the group. “Carry him to my house. It’s closest.” She tried to rise as men came to lift him but the stranger’s hand clenched around hers and refused to relinquish it, showing an incredible amount of strength.

They made an awkward entourage as they carried the man up the hill toward the pazo—four fisherman with a man slung between them and the senora walking alongside, her hand caught firmly in the unconscious man’s grip. Even before they’d arrived at the pazo gates, the speculations started. Elena could catch snatches from those who crowded close to them, eager to see the stranger:“Even unconscious he grasps her hand like he knows her…with the devotion of a husband. He’s got dark hair…Alejandro had hair like that, wore it long too like this man. Alejandro had wide shoulders.”

Elena was glad when the iron gates of the pazo swung shut behind her. The man wasn’t Alejandro, though he looked remarkably like him. But she was hesitant to deny the villagers' hopes. The whole village knew of her situation with Don Alicante. His superior attitude hadn’t made him a favorite with the townspeople and no one was in a particular hurry to have him acquire the Duero property.

She instructed the men to take their burden up to her room on the second floor. The other rooms weren’t made up and she didn’t want time wasted. This man needed help and comfort immediately. Servants came running at the sight of her and she gave them tasks. The pazo became a flurry of activity. There was water to draw and warm. After a bath, the man would need clothes and blankets and eventually hot food. Elena motioned for two of the women to follow her up to the chambers.

Once he was deposited on the bed, Elena and one of the women began the process of undressing him, stripping the cold rags from his body. The other woman built up a fire and laid out blankets from a trunk at the foot of the bed. “He’s freezing,” Elena exclaimed, finally succeeding in disengaging her hand long enough to tear away the remains of his shirt. A worrying blue tinge was visible about his lips now that there was light to see by. “We need those blankets!”

“Here’s a blanket.” The woman, Anna, shook out a blanket and passed it to Elena. “But it’s a shame to cover up such a gem—don’t see a fine healthy male like that just any day.”

Elena felt her cheeks flame. She was embarrassed to admit that she’d noticed the defined muscles of his torso, the lean curve of his hip, the long lines of his thighs and what lay between them. The cold hadn’t appeared to do too much damage to the member that lay snuggled against his leg in a nest of dark hair. Quickly, she snapped the blanket over him and chided herself for such unruly thoughts about a man in need.