Treasure of the Sun (26 page)

Well, maybe not happier, but contented. Perhaps contented wasn't the right word.

But she'd be at rest, knowing she'd done the right thing. She darted a peek at Damian, walking beside her across the square in the center of Monterey.

Married. Oh, dear Lord, she was married, and she felt as if she'd erupt from joy inside. How embarrassing. How demonstrative. How marvelous.

Unable to help herself, she slipped one hand into the crook of his arm. Putting his hand over it, he looked down and smiled. She thought the sun had burst from behind the clouds that whipped along on the wind.

She'd made someone happy today.

He put his arm around her, and she skittered away.

"A man's allowed to hug his wife," he advised. "Especially a wife who's as beautiful as a sapphire in a golden setting."

Unable to help herself, she smoothed the skirt of her new blue dress. "It's very pretty. How fortunate that it just happened to arrive this morning from your father. How many dresses did you have made for me?"

"A man's allowed to clothe his wife."

That didn't answer the question, but when he stepped close and adjusted the silk cravat he'd knotted around her neck, she forgot why she'd asked. "This is a very attractive style," he murmured. "So concealing." Their eyes met. "I predict we'll be seeing it all over Monterey, now that the senoras know it's the rage in Boston.".

"What an outrageous lie you told." She sounded severe, not hinting at the elation she felt. "I doubt Dona Xaviera believed you at all."

"No, she's too crafty for that." He smirked. "However, Vietta and her mother certainly took note. Right now, they're rummaging through their scarves and bothering Senor Gregorio to teach them how to knot them." His hands moved down her bodice to her waist, and he stepped closer. "Perhaps I can teach you more . . . knots, also."

"No." She fastened her fingers around his wrists. "We're not the only two people in the world. Isn't that right, Don Julio?"

Julio, who walked beside and a step behind, wore a puckish expression of mirth. "You could have fooled me."

Throwing him a matching expression, Damian inquired, "Are we ignoring you, mi amigo?"

"A man who's asked to stand up with his friends as witness to his wedding can expect nothing more," Julio assured them. "However, I didn't expect to have to fade away even before we'd left the alcalde's home."

"You exaggerate," Damian accused.

"No. Actually, it's the first wedding I've ever attended where the alcalde was invisible to the bride and groom."

Damian cackled. "There may be some" justification for what you say. I don't remember much about the ceremony."

Neither did she, Katherine mused. She did remember Alcalde Diaz and his assurance to her anxious query. The civil ceremony was legal according to the laws of Mexico, he'd said, but the de la Solas would undoubtedly have a religious ceremony later. Damian, too, had been insistent that she understood the need for a Catholic ceremony.

The wedding itself was. a blur of smiling faces and an elemental elation that she couldn't subdue. She remembered hearing Damian's firm responses. She couldn't remember giving any responses herself, but they were out in the afternoon sun. Somehow she must have said the correct thing.

"You, mi amigo, have lost all sense of your vaunted duty," Julio said. "You haven't even asked for news from the battlefield."

Damian performed his duty with obedience, if not enthusiasm. "What news from the battlefront?"

"Castro has done his bombastic best to assure us of his victory."

"Another proclamation?"

"This one calls the Americanos highwaymen and cowards and, worst of all, poor guests."

"The ultimate insult," Damian drawled.

"What do the Americans say?" Katherine asked. She fingered her watch chain for luck. Already the issues of American and Californian of New England propriety and Spanish warmth rose between the newlyweds. These were the issues that she'd warned Damian about; these were the issues not easily abandoned, nor cured by the rush of passion they experienced now.

Worry tugged at her happiness. Damian felt it too, for he took her hand, and played with her fingers.

Julio watched with weary eyes, but he answered only the question. "Fremont hasn't issued a proclamation. He hasn't become that much a part of California society. The word is that he, too, proclaims victory over the Californio barbarians."

Damian lifted Katherine's hand to his mouth and kissed it. A thrill started at her toes and rose straight to her heart. She forgot about Fremont; she forgot about nationalities; she forgot about everything but her longing to push the lock of hair from her husband's forehead and let her fingers linger.

A smile lit Julio's face as he bowed to them both. "This Californio barbarian senses he's not needed, and definitely not wanted. Congratulations on your marriage. May you live one thousand years together. May every day be a joy."

"Aren't you going to throw kernels of wheat?" Damian joked.

"That ensures fertility, you know."

As if by magic, the pleasure vanished from Julio's face. "No, it doesn't. Congratulations again." He bowed once more and strode away.

Recalled to her surroundings and very much afraid they had offended Julio with their absorption, Katherine jerked her hand away from Damian's lips. "You've made it clear to everyone living in Monterey just why we've wed in such a hurry." She sounded like a scold, but the memory of her embarrassment made her wince. "When we spoke to Dona Xaviera this morning, I felt as if I traveled about the town in a gigantic bed."

"What an imagination you have. Now, perhaps Senora Gregorio and Vietta could have made you feel as if you were a scarlet woman," he admitted. "I thought they would walk past you without a word until I greeted them with the news we would wed this afternoon."

"Those women are the antithesis of Iberian courtesy," she acknowledged. "When we first met Don Julio this morning, he had a little trouble with elementary courtesy, also."

"That wasn't because he was judging us," he assured her.

"During his sober moments at the fiesta, he gave me wonderful advice about catching you."

She stiffened. "You discussed me with him?"

"Never. Julio shows a most intuitive nature when confronted with affairs of the heart." He corrected himself. "Other people's affairs of the heart."

"He was surprised when you asked him to stand up with you."

That irresistible smile broke through once more. "He had to be the only man in California who was surprised to discover what our friendship means to me. I stood up for him, you know."

She shook her head.

"Maybe this will teach him to pick a fight with me." He pointed to the fading bruises on his face.

Her smile peeked at him. "I thought I had made that bruise." Now he did hug her, picking her up and whirling her in circles.

"Put me down." She smacked at him, careful not to add to his marks.

He laughed aloud. "We are going to be the two happiest people in the whole world."

Unable to help herself, she laughed, too. He spun slower, brought her closer. Her blows weakened, her smile wavered. He brought her against his body, and she slid down until her toes touched the grass. Her head was still in the clouds, she knew, for the look in his eyes made her forget their surroundings and meet him halfway for a burning kiss.

"Katherine?"

The sound of her own name made her pull herself, slowly and painfully, from Damian's heaven.

"Katherine Chamberlain?" A spare man of medium height stepped from the shadow of the armory walls and walked hesitantly towards them.

Puzzled, she leaned back against Damian's arms and looked at the gentleman. She looked again, her attention fixed.

The ocean breeze threatened the safety of the man's tall hat, and he held his hand atop it. The strained buttons on his mustard vest showed more of the green and gold cravat than fashion called for. The wind caused his bilious green knee-length coat to beat around his legs. His trousers, gold and black striped, fit tight at the waist and billowed like a ship's sails at his ankles.

His boots were black. Katherine's eyes lingered there, resting from the assault of color that elsewhere decorated the young man. When she thought she could, she lifted her gaze and smiled with polite restraint. "Cousin." Damian tensed in her arms. "What a surprise to see you."

Looking as if he'd bitten into a worm, the man she called cousin answered, "Obviously."

That nasty sneer brought Damian's fists up. If the hidalgo hadn't been restrained by Katherine's grasp, the little peacock would have been picking his teeth off the ground. The man she called "cousin" knew it, too, by the simper he gave. The gentleman swept his top hat off to reveal a stiff wave of hair just on the top of his head; he bowed with a sweep. "Lawrence Cyril Chamberlain," he said. "At your service."

Damian nodded with cool courtesy. "Damian de la Sola."

Words of courtesy stuck in his throat, but he managed, "Mucho gusto."

"What did he say, Katherine?"

The way he whined made Damian grind his teeth. Katherine knew it. He could see the slightest hint of a smile as she answered with fulsome untruth, "He says he's very glad to meet you."

"Doesn't he speak English?" In his desire for this to be the case, the dandy crushed the upturned brim of his hat.

"He speaks English very well Lawrence," she informed him. Lawrence chewed that over, his long, thin face growing longer as he considered. "I know this is California and uncivilized, yet I must ask-why is he hugging you?"

"Because I want to," Damian answered.

Lawrence
jumped; clearly, he hadn't accepted Damian's ability to speak English. Lawrence spoke again to Katherine while keeping a wary eye on the Spanish character. "Katherine, where's Tobias? You told us you came out here to marry Tobias. Were you lying to us about Tobias?"

Damian watched the young man's reaction as she answered,

"Tobias has died."

Joy lit Lawrence's face. He clapped his hands in one hearty smack. "He did? You mean you did marry him?"

"I did," she agreed.

"He's left you a widow already?" The glee in his tone was disgraceful.

"He did," she said impassively.

"Oh, Mother Mary McRee!" Hugging himself, he chuckled.

"Wait until I tell Father! We Chamberlains knew you'd come to no good in this wilderness, but we didn't know how soon." He cocked his head. "How long ago was it?"

"He died almost a year ago."

Horror blossomed on Lawrence's face. Gaping; he said, "You've been living out here alone, destitute, without a family? How have you supported yourself." Inevitably, the worst implications of the scene before him took hold. His eyes widened; then he averted his gaze in a parody of modesty.

Damian glared at the man, and as he watched, the wind caught the edge of Lawrence's hair and lifted it from a bare spot on the back of his head.

This man-much younger than Damian, surely younger than Katherine-this man wore a hairpiece that accented his absurdity. The hair that swept his collar was a different red than the red above. Damian supposed that Lawrence grew his lengthy whiskers to his cravat as compensation.

"If you would excuse us," Lawrence said in loud, hostile tones. "My cousin and I wish to speak alone,"

"I think not," Damian answered with brisk authority. Lawrence looked confused by the reply. His conclusions didn't include anything but the lowest expectations. He stared at Damian for several minutes before his mind made that next logical connection. Pointing a finger at first one, then the other, he sputtered, "You're her ... her ... " .

Damian acquiesced, "I am,"

Stepping forward, Lawrence tucked his thumb and forefingers in the pockets of his vest. "That may be who you are, but I am Lawrence Cyril Chamberlain, second son of the Chamberlain household. As such, I am my family's representative in California and I say you are dismissed from your position of protector."

The faint amusement Damian had felt vanished with the use of that expression. "I take care of Katherine," he said with a heavy sarcasm, but it flew right over Lawrence's head as Katherine flinched.

"Let me spell it out, my good man," Lawrence sniffed. "Your services are no longer needed."