Treasure of the Sun (19 page)

"That worm Fremont ran away?" Damian grinned with cruel enjoyment. ''It's too good to be true."

The soldier flew past to the general's tent, and the four friends followed at a sedate pace. They joined the throng around the comandante. "Castro's your relative," Damian said to Alejandro. "Find out what's happened."

Alejandro dismounted with a grimace and fought his way in. "I never thought he'd do it," Damian commented. "He must be curious."

"Or he's feeling guilty because he teased you so much," Ricky suggested.

A long look passed between the three friends.

"He's curious," Hadrian said and the others nodded. Alejandro returned with a holler. "The Americanos slunk away in the night like the thieves they are."

"Where are they now?" Damian demanded.

"About three miles from here," Alejandro replied. Groaning, Damian sank his head into his hand, and Alejandro patted him with mock sympathy. "You can return to your lady love. General Castro isn't going to pursue them."

Damian raised his head. "Do you swear?" "That's what he says."

Without waiting to hear more, Damian turned his horse and galloped through the camp, avoiding men on foot, jumping campfires, waving jubilantly. Clods of earth flew up from Connfite's hooves and Damian coaxed him ever faster along the road to the rancho. Be there, he urged Katherine in his mind, be there. A lone rider on the road ahead caught his attention, a rider coming toward him. He eased up, preparing to shout the news and proceed, but he knew the horseman. In silence, he reined Confite in.

"Well met, Julio," he greeted him, awkward from their last meeting.

Julio glanced around as if he couldn't bear to look at him.

"You're alone?"

"You've come too late. Fremont and his gang have fled from our superior marching ability."

Julio smirked, as Damian meant him to. "No shots fired?"

"None."

"I'll go and check in anyway. Just to show my interest."

"What kept you?" Damian did his best to keep accusation from his tone, but censure crept in and Julio stiffened.

"I was away. I didn't hear the news about this robber until I saw Nacia again."

"Madre de Dios, where have you been?" Damian asked, startled. "The whole of Alta California knows what has passed here."

Julio shrugged, uncomfortable, and Damian recalled Nacia's confession. He left, she'd said, for days, for weeks, and she didn't know where he went. Damian glanced at Julio's hands, and there were the telltale signs. Dirt ground into the nail beds, scabs on the knuckles. Damian opened his mouth to ask. Something in Julio's sunburnt face forbade it, so he blurted, "I've never kissed your wife."

Rejecting him, Julio sat straight in the saddle, his features cold with pride.

"Julio." Damian held out his hand, but Julio ignored it. "I must go now."

Julio trotted off to the encampment, and Damian called after him, "Tell Nacia-"

Julio pulled his horse around to face him, fury twisted in his face.

"Tell Nacia I took her advice about Dona Katherina." Relaxing, Julio tipped his hat, then turned back to the camp. Distressed by his friend, puzzled by the mystery surrounding him, Damian set Confite in motion again. The miles fell away, and he rode into the yard as the sun reached its zenith. The stable hands ran to his assistance, asking for news, and he told them what he knew as he searched the grounds for sight of her. "Is she still here?" he demanded.

They waved him toward the hacienda. He ran, and his father met him at the door. In a glance at his face, Damian knew she had fled. "Damn it." He threw his hat to the ground. "Did she escape at night?"

Don Lucian put his arm around his son. "Come in and have lunch."

Damian shrugged him off. "Did you search for her? Has she been gone long?"

"Not a word until you eat," Don Lucian insisted. "Eat?"

"She's safe," Don Lucian soothed. "Come and have some caldo habla."

Frustrated, Damian strode into the dining room and pulled out his chair. Immediately, the dish of serrano ham and chorizo appeared before him, and the fragrance of spices convinced him it would be rude to ignore the soup. "Where is she?" Dipping his spoon in, he took a long, grateful sip. He was hungry. Damn, he was hungry and his woman had escaped him. He could feed the hunger, but God knew when he'd find Katherine. He glared at his father, who pantomimed eating. Reluctantly obedient, Damian took a big mouthful, in a hurry to end the meal.

"She's in Monterey."

Dropping his spoon, Damian choked until his father pounded his back. Through the napkin in front of his mouth, he gasped, "Monterey?" Getting his breath back, he said louder, "Monterey? Are you mad? She could sail at any moment."

"No, no." Don Lucian punched Damian's arm. "I knew about the sailing vessels before I sent her, and I took the precaution of bribing the only captain likely to sail away with our Katherina."

"Well, at least you checked-you sent her?" Damian felt like a fish, all pop-eyed and gaping.

"Si." Don Lucian pulled his watch from his pocket and checked it. "She's been there almost twenty hours. It took us one whole day to pack for her. Even then we told her we'd have to send Tobias's trunk on later."

"Later?"

"There's no use dragging it all the way to Monterey just to drag it back. That trunk's full of rocks, papers, tools. It's heavy. Besides, if you'd finished up that business with Fremont sooner, you would have been back to stop her." He glared at Damian as if the delay were his fault. "She threatened to go without help, so I kissed her good-bye yesterday morning. She'll be staying at the boarding house of that American woman-what's her name?"

"Mrs. Zollman."

"That's right. Mrs. Zollman's boarding-house. After your lunch, your shave, your bath-" he sniffed significantly "-you can be on your way."

"I'll be there by-"

"Tonight." Don Lucian smiled with satisfaction. "Late tonight."

29 May, in the year of our Lord, 1777

A hearty mountain rain brings us unending misery, dripping on us by day and flooding us by night. We're lost, unable to guide by sun or the stars. Our clothes are wet. We have no food and no way to make a fire. Last night, Fray Lucio shivered until I believed his old bones would rattle, but Fray Patricio speaks stoutly of our return to the coast. God works in mysterious ways, and fur the first time I, too, have hopes our prayers will be answered. The sound of the Indians' pursuit has faded and I fail to see how they would trace us through this unending mud.

-from the diary of Fray Juan Estevan de Bautista

Chapter 9

"Oh, Don Lucian." Katherine sat on her heels before one of her overstuffed carpetbags and dashed an unwelcome tear from her lashes. "How sweet you are." Lifting the bag, she dumped her clothes out onto the floor and jerked the feather pillow from the bottom where it had been hidden.

Her pillow. Her pillow from the rancho.

If she weren't tired, she wouldn't be so tearful, so pleased.

She hid her face in the pillow and breathed in the scent of hacienda.

So homesick.

She corrected herself. She wasn't homesick. She couldn't be homesick for a place that wasn't her home. Still, she would miss her friends there. And Don Lucian. And ... well, everybody.

The pillow would help her sleep. Her fingers lingered on the embroidered edge of the pillowcase. Standing, she checked the room. The heavy wooden door was secured, latched with a leather thong that connected to the frame with a large bolt. She'd slipped a hole at the other end of the leather over a protruding bolt, like a buttonhole over a button. It held the door closed, afforded her privacy, and the open windows provided her with air. She leaned against the wall and stared at the bed which seemed so far away. Gathering her willpower, she staggered across the room and flung Don Lucian's gift. She followed it with a weary shrug.

Tonight, with the help of her pillow, she would sleep.

Of course, she'd thought the same thing yesterday. The trip to Monterey had taken a long time. Too long, she suspected. The servants seemed unwilling to go to Monterey and too willing to ride back. They'd taken her to a boarding-house run by the elderly American woman. They'd left her on Mrs. Zollman's porch with her bags around her. They'd waved good-bye as if her departure meant nothing to them.

She had ignored the hurt their attitude caused as she lugged the bags to her room. She'd been amazed at how weighty they were and recalled briefly the pleasure of having servants to do the heavy work. It spoiled a woman.

She'd better get used to doing without.

She straightened the soft cotton of her nightgown. It bothered her to sleep in a bed so narrow she couldn't turn without complicated convolutions. It tangled the nightgown around her legs and made her feel as if she were strangling.

It was a feeling she'd better get used to.

She hoped she didn't fall out. The bed was hard, but not so hard as the floor. Just as the servants and the bed had spoiled her, so had the large, open space of her attic at the hacienda. The walls of this bedroom, so close, so dark, made her feel as if there wasn't enough air to breathe. She could have stayed with any of the prominent families in Monterey, but instead she'd spent her first full day unsuccessfully dodging her Spanish friends. She'd seen Dona Xaviera and Cabeza, seen Vietta Gregorio and her mousy mother, seen the entire Valverde clan strolling en masse through the presidio, had even seen Julio de Casillas. He'd nodded to her curtly without a word, and she'd nodded back, relieved to be ignored for once.

Not that she didn't wish to tell them all farewell, but explanations of her unchaperoned presence were complicated. Mrs. Larkin hadn't understood Katherine's feeble excuses. Katherine suspected she'd offended the wife of the American consul, but after all, she was leaving. It didn't matter. Did it?

Monterey
was a pretty town. Built around a square, the presidio was nothing more than a few cannons housed in one-story buildings. The adobe homes with their red tile roofs were scattered like pearls and rubies in the grass, unrestrained by organized streets. The Santa Lucia Mountains served as Monterey's backdrop, the Pacific Ocean as its admirer. Yet for her, the town held a combination of memories. Memories of marriage, of happiness, of friendship. Memories of death, of blood, of grief. She felt confused here. Wanting to stay, wanting to go. She wanted to go. She did want to go. She couldn't wait for her ship to sail. The Yankee captain she'd contacted had agreed to transport her down the coast to Los Angeles . He'd promised they would leave as soon as he had finished conducting his business. When that would be, she didn't know. He'd been too vague for her satisfaction.

She yawned again and collapsed against the pillow. She really was tired, the previous nights contributing to her fatigue. Since the hours she'd spent with Damian, she'd never slept; she'd only dozed. Half her attention seemed always tuned to his return-whether in anticipation or anxiety, she didn't care to define.

When she did nod off, she imagined he was there. She'd feel his hands in her hair: braiding it, combing it, raising it to his lips. She'd smell the smoky odor of him. She'd hear him whisper how he adored her and she'd wake up alone.

In the dark, when one was exhausted, she'd discovered, it was harder to ignore the disappointment and the yearning.

But tonight the small bedroom no longer seemed so strange to her, she had her pillow. She lay there and smiled, comforted by the familiarity of it, and she slept, realizing it only when she came awake in a rush.

Danger lay in wait, cloaked by the night. Somehow she knew it; somehow she was afraid. Every muscle in her body clenched; her eyes strained to stay closed. This wasn't a nightmare, nor was it the return of Damian. There was someone in the room with her and that someone made her afraid.

She didn't know why or who, but she was in danger.

The sound of light, quick breathing came to her ear. Was it close? Too close. The scent of medicine tickled her nose. Was it the intruder? Or what he held?

Her eyes flew open and strained to see in the dim light. She gathered herself to leap off the bed. She heard a small shuffling noise beside her. A giant, masked figure leaned over her. She gasped. The figure laughed. A sweet smell clogged her nostrils and stole her mind away.

The bed rocked beneath Katherine. The movement made her nauseous.

Why did she feel so strange? Why was she afraid to open her eyes?