Tears of Gold (13 page)

“When do I get paid?” Raoul finally spoke in a defiant voice.

“In debt again?” the American asked dryly. Mara could almost see the sly smile curving his small mouth. “You will receive your share of the profits as soon as the cattle are sold in San Francisco. And you needn’t worry about being discovered. The brands have been altered, and I hardly think you and I are going to betray each other.”

“What do you do with your share, Jeremiah?” Raoul demanded truculently. “I never see you gamble, nor do you spend it on the señoritas. What do you spend it on? You have no pleasures?”

“When I have enough, I’ll spend it on what I want, don’t worry about that, mi amigo. You’ll know soon enough what my real pleasure is,” he informed the Californian, laughing at some private joke.

Mara turned, preferring to remain an anonymous eavesdropper. But as she moved her foot, she struck a stone, dislodging it and the loose gravel around it. Mara cringed at the sound the small avalanche of stones made. Quickly, before the now-silent conspirators could detect her presence, Mara hurried back into the concealment of the trees and toward the safety of the camp.

She glanced back once, but saw no one in pursuit. When she emerged from the bank of the stream, she was walking nonchalantly, as if back from a casual stroll.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw a tired Paddy leaning against a tree trunk near Brendan, his shoulders sagging wearily as he drowsily watched the cleaning-up activities. His eyes brightened when he caught sight of Mara walking determinedly toward him, the slight smile on his face turning into a broad grin as he held something out to her.

“Look what I found, Mara,” he told her proudly as he displayed a wedge-shaped piece of stone. “An arrowhead.”

Mara forced herself to look suitably impressed as she handled it. “That’s very nice, Paddy. Is that where you were? I was looking for you. We’re about to leave now,” she told him, not having the heart to scold him as he proudly tucked the arrowhead into his coat pocket.

Mara found no opportunity to speak with Brendan before they began to ride back toward the rancho. It was cool as they galloped through the early evening hours. Twilight lingered in the lengthening days of summer. The wildflowers had closed their petals when the fiery sun disappeared behind the western hills, taking its warm caress with it. They were riding through a field of wildflowers when Mara suddenly felt her saddle slide sideways. She began to lose her balance and fall from the back of her horse. She hit the hard-packed earth with a thud and just managed to roll clear of her horse’s flying hooves.

Momentarily stunned, Mara tried to catch her breath. She was struggling to her knees, rubbing a painful elbow when Don Andres, an expression of great concern on his face, dismounted beside her.

“
Dios!
Are you all right? I could not believe my eyes when I saw you begin to fall. What happened? Did your horse stumble?” he asked as he gently helped her to her feet.

“The devil it did,” Mara spoke, still shaken as she brushed off her skirt. “It was my saddle. The girth was too loose.”

Don Andres stared at her uncomprehendingly. “But that is impossible. I personally checked your mount and it was perfectly secure then.”

“Well, it isn’t now,” Mara said pointedly as Raoul came trotting up, leading Mara’s mount, her saddle hanging sideways from the horse’s back.

Don Andres shook his head in distress. “I am most sorry, Doña Amaya. I do not understand how this could happen. If you will accept my deepest apologies.”

“Accidents do happen, Don Andres,” Mara said softly. She did not blame him, but wondered just what had happened. She might have broken her neck.

“Are you all right, Mara?” Brendan called as he rode up beside her, trying to control both his mount and a squirming Paddy, who was staring down tearfully at Mara, his heart in his eyes.

“Lemme go, Papa, lemme go to Mara. She’s hurt,” he cried frantically.

“I’m all right, Paddy. Now sit still, love, and mind your papa,” Mara told him reassuringly.

“There, it is tight once again,” Don Andres told her as he resaddled her horse.

“Perhaps Doña Amaya would be happier to ride in the carreta, Andres,” Feliciana suggested. She stared down at Mara with a pitying look.

Mara bit back her angry words and allowed Andres to help her onto her mount’s back once again. “Shall we continue? It grows late,” Mara said, ignoring Feliciana.

“Sí, if you are sure, Doña Amaya,” Don Andres agreed. He remounted and urged the group on across the meadow.

“Never seen you take a fall like that before, mavournin,” Brendan commented as he kept his mount close to hers.

“That’s because I’ve never had my saddle tampered with before,” Mara told him bluntly.

“Tampered with, is it now?” he said softly, a doubtful look in his dark eyes as he looked at her over the top of Paddy’s head. “And why should you be thinking that, Mara, me love?”

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but you had reason to be suspicious of our American friend. I happened to overhear Raoul and him discussing the lucrative aspects of cattle rustling…and need I say whose cattle they’ve been stealing?”

“The divil, ye say?” Brendan ejaculated in amazement. “You mean to tell me that young Raoul and Jerry boy are up to no good? My, my, there’s quite a scheming mind behind that freckled face. And now, me love, just how did you happen to overhear such an interesting conversation?” Brendan asked curiously.

“I was looking for Paddy down along the stream bank and happened to overhear it. They didn’t know I was there, at least not until I was trying to leave and stumbled over some loose rocks.”

“Rather clumsy of you, m’dear, but do go on,” Brendan observed with a thoughtful glance into the group of riders up ahead.

“Well, that’s about all there is to it,” Mara told him. “I got out of there as fast as I could. I was beginning to believe they hadn’t seen me, but they must have. Why else would someone try to hurt me?” Mara demanded.

“I’m thinkin’ it’s more likely someone’s trying to frighten you, mavournin, if indeed it wasn’t an accident. These things do happen and you aren’t sure that they saw you, are you?” Brendan reasoned. “I wouldn’t worry. ’Tis probably just coincidence.”

“But what are we going to do, Brendan?” Mara asked.

“Do about what?”

“About Raoul and that little rat Jeremiah,” Mara said in exasperation. “Shouldn’t we tell Don Andres?”

Brendan sighed. “In the first place, ’tis none of our business. And in the second place, I’m not of a mind to be angering Don Luís when he hasn’t paid us yet. I’m not thinkin’ he’d be taking kindly to hearing that his son is a thief,” Brendan explained patiently. “No, I think we’d best keep this to ourselves, Mara, me love, or at least wait until the time comes when we could use the information against Don Luís, should he decide not to pay us.”

Mara nodded. There was no reason to stir up trouble, especially when it could cause further trouble for them. The first star of night was twinkling in the dark blue sky as their party rode through the wide open gates of the rancho. Torches had been lit and flickered eerily from the adobe walls, casting long, distorted shadows across the stable yard. Mara shivered in the cool night air.

Carrying Paddy, Mara moved toward the iron-grilled gate with the others, who were talking and laughing, unaware of anything save their conversation, but as she looked over Paddy’s dark head, she saw a shadow move behind the gate. She passed beneath one of the smoking torches, the burning fire highlighting her face and reflecting in the gold of her eyes. She stared into the darkness before her. Mara shivered again, but not from the chill in the air. The shadow moved. Then with a smile of excessive relief, she saw the gate open and Jamie come forward to relieve her of her heavy burden.

“And I hope ye’ve not brought me a sick little boy,” Jamie greeted her with a disapproving look on her small, pointed face.

Leave it to Jamie to banish any imaginings, Mara laughed at herself, feeling foolish. She handed the sleeping Paddy to Jamie, who easily took hold of him. She might be small and wiry, but she was as strong as an ox, she often reminded them, and she proved it now as she walked effortlessly along the corridor, her head and shoulders half-hidden behind Paddy’s.

“He probably stuffed himself fair to splittin’ and took too much sun as well,” she continued as she stomped through the shadows.

Mara glanced around as she followed Jamie’s quickly moving figure. She could hear the tinkling of water in the fountain until it was drowned out by the voices of the people crowding into the courtyard.

“Were you standing at the gate watching?” Mara asked, unable to rid herself of that persistent feeling.

Jamie glanced back over her shoulder. “Standing at the gate? No, why should I be doin’ that? Been standin’ on me feet all day washin’ your clothes. Heard all the laughing and knew ye must be back, so I just got to the gate as you came up with Paddy. Why?”

Mara shrugged, a whimsical smile curving her mouth. “Oh, no reason. I was just curious, that’s all,” she replied vaguely as Brendan came up behind them.

“Curious about what, mavournin?” he demanded, not liking to be left out of anything.

“It was nothing, really,” Mara answered carelessly. “I just thought I saw someone lurking at the gate as we dismounted.”

“Lurking, was he?” Brendan laughed. “You make it sound mysterious. I’m beginning to wonder about your imagination, m’dear. Panicking at shadows now. It was probably only the stranger,” he informed her offhandedly.

“Another relative?” Mara asked as Brendan stopped at the door to his room.

“Damned if I know, but I doubt it. When was a fellow Californian ever called a stranger? I haven’t met him. Guess he arrived sometime earlier today. Most likely we’ll be meeting him shortly, for unless I’m mistaken, the party’s just beginnin’, and looks as though it will be continuing until dawn,” Brendan predicted as they heard the unmistakable sounds of musicians tuning up. Brendan brushed ineffectually at some of the dust covering his stylish Newmarket riding coat with its one-button fastening. “Would you be believin’ this was once a blue coat,” he said with a disgusted glance down at the grayish-colored lapels. “Wonder if I can be gettin’ some hot water around here.”

A half hour later, Mara was smiling in appreciation as she relaxed in the tubful of steaming water that had been prepared for her bath. She rested the back of her head against the curved lip of the tub as she slid down and allowed the hot, fragrant water to slide over her shoulders. Mara sighed deeply as she felt her tired muscles relaxing, and for the first time in many days she was free of the headache that had been plaguing her. She closed her eyes in contentment and wondered if Brendan had fared as well.

A half hour after that, Mara was shifting impatiently from one foot to another. “Do you have to be pulling so tight, Jamie?” she groaned as the little woman’s strong hands tightened the back lacings of her corset until the whalebone stays bit painfully into Mara’s soft waist.

“Ye want to be gettin’ into your dress, don’t ye? Thank the good Lord I’m too old to be foolin’ with such nonsense as these,” Jamie murmured in disgust as she stared at Mara’s small, nipped-in waist and swell of breast above the deep flounce of lace and scarlet bows decorating her corset. “Can ye breathe?”

“Hardly at all,” Mara sighed as she fidgeted, trying to ease her discomfort.

Jamie gave a smile of satisfaction. “Then ’tis tight enough.”

Mara bent over, smoothing the line of her silk stockings with their inset of lace.

“Careful, or ye’ll be comin’ to grief for sure,” Jamie warned as she doubtfully eyed Mara’s deep cleavage. “Contraptions like these were made for them folks who haven’t got much and need a little help, but on you”—Jamie sighed, raising her eyes heavenward—“’tis like sugarin’ candy.”

Mara straightened the top of her linen chemise trimmed with embroidery and then her knee-length drawers with their deep flounce of lace around the hem of the legs. One by one, five ruffled petticoats followed and were buttoned at the waist while Jamie briskly spread out the full skirts. Mara sat quietly while Jamie combed and brushed her long hair into a thick, shining braid that she intricately arranged on top of Mara’s head, then adorned with a wreath of artificial red rosebuds. She wove the delicate flowers within the heavy twist of hair that covered Mara’s head with the professional skill of her many years as a wardrobe mistress in the theater, a skill she was now putting to effective use as Mara’s personal maid.

Mara winced when a firmly placed hairpin scraped her scalp, and she began to grow impatient with Jamie’s seemingly tireless ministrations, but then she settled down again as she told herself that Jamie was, in a manner of speaking, preparing her for a performance; and so she stood quietly when Jamie slipped a red silk gown with floral motifs embroidered in silver in the skirt and puffed sleeves over her elegantly coiffed head and, pulling the seams together, began the tedious job of hooking it up the back. The low, curving neckline was edged in Brussels lace and matched the wedge of embroidered silver silk and lace that divided the skirt up the front. Mara adjusted the lace of the décolletage a shade lower, and, finally satisfied with the line of the bodice, she slipped her feet into dainty red satin slippers trimmed with rosettes, and then she swirled for Jamie’s inspection.

Jamie smoothed down the hem in back, flicked a pleating of lace into place, and, standing back, nodded her head in satisfaction.

“Ye’ll do.”

Mara stared into the mirror, a slight frown between her arched brows. She bit her lips, bringing more color to them. “I think I’ll add just a touch of rouge. I look so pale,” she decided.

“No,” Jamie said emphatically. “Ye’re not Mara O’Flynn, the actress, but a supposedly well-bred English miss who’d not be wearin’ color on her cheeks. Besides,” she sniffed self-righteously, “I’ll not have ye offendin’ these good, Christian folk.”

Mara raised an amused eyebrow at Jamie. “And since when have we been caring what others are thinking, Mistress Jameson?”