Treasure of the Sun (5 page)

Katherine winced. The rooster soon looked somewhat the worse for wear. Another rooster was shoved into a hole, another youth charged at it, leaning so far out of his saddle he rode the side of his horse. She covered her eyes and over the fervent cheering, she said, "Perhaps you won't make a Californian out of me." She heard a shout, a thump, and a groan so loud it shook the air.

"You'll excuse me." Dropping his cigar onto the step, Don Lucian ground it out with his heel. "Young Guillermo just broke his arm."

Katherine rose with him. "You'll excuse me. I'll send for the curandero and prepare a bed."

Don Lucian waved an acknowledgement and leapt off the porch with a vitality that belied his age.

The servants, prepared for just such an emergency, assumed responsibility with hardly a nod to Katherine's authority, and was secretly grateful to be relieved of the chore. As she left patient's bedroom, she heard Guillermo's uncle tell the father, "Your little boy is gone forever. He is a grown man, now."

"How brave," gushed the beribboned girl who kept vigil in hall.

Katherine didn't think Guillermo was brave, she thought he was stupid. This break wouldn't heal well, and he would be pained with it for the rest of his life. Theumatism would settle in and every cold day he would remember the time he fell off his horse and hit the ground so hard his bone snapped.

Out loud she said, "See, Don Lucian? I'll never be a Californio."

"Perdon, Senora Maxwell?" A serving girl looked around the ay for the person to whom Katherine spoke. Her puzzlement at seeing no one made Katherine acutely uncomfortable.

"Nothing, nada," she said.

The girl shrugged, used to the peculiarities of her mistress. “Leocardia says that all the wine chosen before the fiesta has finished, and you must speak to Don Damian. He needs to select more, and you carry the keys."

"Now?" Katherine asked, horrified.

"Si. With all the excitement, the guests are thirsty. They drink to the return of spring, they drink to Guillermo, they drink to ... to anything. We need the wine now."

"Of course, I'll get it." In a moment, she thought, as she hurried away. First she needed to brace herself for the impact of Damian. Stepping out onto the porch, she took several deep breaths. She couldn't see him, and she was glad. She should want to get the job done at once, but her own mortification kept her cringing on the porch. If she were daring, she'd search him out. If she were daring, she'd face a scene like the one last night with aplomb. If she were daring, she'd demand an explanation for his extraordinary behavior.

She wasn't daring. She hated scenes. She was a coward. She watched the crowd until she spied Cabeza Medina and hailed him. The sixteen-year-old came running to stand on the step below her, a grin on his handsome face. "You want me Senora Maxwell?" He flirted with his eyes, giving his question unsuitable connotations.

Starting at the tips of his deerskin boots and ending on the fringe of his gold-trimmed sombrero, she surveyed the young man. Her survey failed to dent his conceit, and he posed for her. She scowled at him. "I need a favor, if you please."

"My heart is in your hands." He placed his hand in the starched ruffles of his shirt and bowed slightly.

His slurred speech, his open flirtation engendered in her suspicion. "Have you been drinking wine?" She stepped aside avoiding his hand as he snatched at her black cap.

"Si, senora. Don't you approve of drinking wine, either?" Her maneuver was unsuccessful; he snatched the mob cap and stuck it in his pocket.

"Not in such a young man," she said. "What do you mean 'either'?"

He swayed close to her, and the sweet smell of the grape fanned her face. "Madre says you don't approve of any of us.”

Slapping at his fingers as they went pursuing her hair pins she complained, "I don't know what you mean."

Cabeza leaned back on the step and almost overbalanced Katherine grabbed him by the lapel and stood him upright. The boy didn't seem to notice, preferring to explain, "You never come out to dance with us. You don't wear the lace mantilla mother gave you. You frown at us all the time." He peered at her. "Like now."

"I certainly do not! Ladies never frown." She frowned harder. "I like you all very much. I do not believe in making friendships that must be broken when I leave here."

'''Leave here?” Distracted, the young man stared at her in astonishment. ''This is your home."

"No, strictly speaking, my home is in Boston, in the United States of America. I’m a stranger here. I speak your language with an accent."

"No, no, no." He sighed.

"I have different customs, different ways."

"Charming and old-fashioned."

"I must leave here," she concluded.

"Leave?" He seemed be stuck on the word. "You can't leave.”

"I assure you I can leave when I choose."

"Haven't we made you welcome? Haven't we become your family?"

Cabeza seemed insulted, and she hastened to affirm, "Indeed, everyone has been most generous; most kind. But you must admit I’m out of place here. I'm like a blackbird in a nest of cardinals and finches." And chattering magpies, she added to herself,  but she wouldn't for the world hurt Cabeza's feelings by saying so.

He crooned, "Your golden hair alone, senora, earns you a place among the most beautiful birds in the world. We call you Sunrise. He peered at her slyly. "Didn't you know?"

“What nonsense," she said with brisk decision. "I know what I am. I own a mirror."

"I suspect, senora, that your mirror is distorted." He sounded sure of himself, rather amused by her bluntness. "One day soon you’ll learn the right of it."

Katherine controlled her annoyance at being chided by such young man. "I've been saving the generous salary Don Damian has paid me this last year. I've almost earned enough to support myself for an extended period of time. I'll be gone soon.”

"Does Don Damian know about this?"

"We’ve never spoken of it, no, but I'm sure he realizes I can't stay here in his hacienda forever," she answered. More than that, she realized he wanted her gone. He wanted her gone, and she had worked to that end. "But this is of no moment. I wish you to take a message to him. I need to see him at once. I'll wait for him in the library. Can you tell him that?"

"For you, senora, I can do anything." He bowed deeply and staggered. He walked backwards, eyeing her with the masculine eye of a young roue, and mumbled, "You've been saving for passage home. This explains why you hide that magnificent figure behind those old mourning clothes."

Katherine whirled on her heel. Her hair tumbled down, her pins scattered on the tile floor by Cabeza's inquisitive fingers. Slipping into the dim room they called the library, she sat on the fainting couch, and pulled her hair over her shoulder. With her fingers she combed and braided it. Prepared for the inevitable loss of her pins, she pulled a ribbon out of her apron and secured the ends.

It made her uncomfortable to realize there had been speculation about the way she dressed. It distressed her to realize there was motivation to the gift of clothing she had received. She wished Tobias were here; he'd tell her how to handle this situation. Reaching into the pocket at her side, she pulled out the massive watch that had been Tobias's. She smoothed her hand over the gold and silver decorations on the cover. It was a work of art and her dearest remembrance of her husband.

Tobias had been a watchmaker, a hardheaded Swiss who had come first to Massachusetts to ply his trade. Restless, he'd moved on to California, drawn by the lure of new lands, new legends, new explorations. That had been one of the things that had drawn her to him-that mix of total practicality and impossible visions.

Sometimes, before Tobias had died, she had dreamed impossible things. A dream had drawn her to California. A dream had grown with her wedding, blossomed during the short week of her marriage. And all the dreams had withered in the blood in the street.

It was rime to go away, to leave her friends in this warm, golden land and find a new place. The dream was dead. 

She popped the catch on the watch and the cover sprang open. Music filled the air, and she smiled. Such an unusual song for her pragmatic Swiss to build into his watch. "Bonnie Barbara Allen," with its tragedy of lost love and the tune that brought tears to her eyes. In her pure voice she sang softly,

He was laid to rest in the lower chancel,

Barbara Alien all in the higher;

There grew up a rose from Barbara Allen's breast,

And from his a briar.

And they grew and they grew to the very church-top,

Until they could grow no higher,

And twisted and twined in a true-lover's knot ....

A prickle on the back of her neck brought her to her feet.

She swept the room with an anxious look and saw only the dark, drapes, the heavy furniture, the small dim branch of candles. She looked again, and saw him.

His black coat and trousers blended with the curtains, his face was a dark blur. Like last night, they were alone, but this was different. Today his eyes glittered, alive in a way she'd never seen before, and the upward slant of his eyebrows seemed pronounced and demonic.

"Don Damian," she stammered, uncomfortably aware that he'd been observing her as she braided her hair and sang. She tucked the watch in her pocket. "I didn't hear you come in."

He took the step forward that brought him to her side.

Too close. She stammered, wishing he looked less like an apparition of night, wishing he would remove his mesmerizing gaze from her face.

Hurriedly, she said, "I asked for you to say-"

He picked up her hand and put it to his mouth. “Say nothing, Catriona," he whispered. "We will speak our words in other ways.”

The warmth of his lips shocked her. His gesture shocked her. And the small nip of his teeth against the pad of her thumb made her jump, made her tug at her hand.

Catriona? Who was Catriona? Oh, Don Damian. You’ve made a mistake."

His other hand reached out to her mouth and he covered it.

They stood like matching statues: hand to mouth, mouth to hand. "Catriona, it's you who’ve made a mistake.”

Chapter 3

There was no doubt; anger held Damian in its grip. He repeated, "Say nothing." His mouth slid up to her wrist, and he pressed his lips there against the thundering pulse. She felt his breath as he murmured, "Or I'll find another way to seal your lips."

She stood frozen to the floor. He slid his mouth up her arm to her elbow, and she cursed the open sleeves she wore.

His mustache brushed the tender skin at the inside of her elbow, his tongue tasted her, and that was too much. She objected, "Don Damian! I must tell you-"

He'd been waiting for her words. His hand encircled her shoulder; he pulled at her, wanting her against him.

She planted her feet, determined to resist, but for the first time she discovered how Damian towered over her. She discovered he could jerk her up on her toes with one hand at her waist; she discovered when his fingers cupped the back of her head she couldn't move it.

She discovered his muscles in the press of his body from her, chest to her knees.

She didn't like this.

She didn't like the way he overwhelmed her good sense with pure intimidation. She didn't like the scent of him, of tobacco and brandy and mint, or the strength of his body emphasized next to the vulnerability of hers, or the sight of his face so close against hers.

She didn't like the patience he exhibited as she looked and clutched, or the way the frozen parts of her body tingled at the thought of tasting him.

She didn't know what to do. She'd never dared to dream of such an experience. His lips were too close; only a fool would open her mouth to remonstrate. Yet the patience she noted still lurked there, a faint smile, then the whisper, "Catriona."

She forgot her wisdom. "I'm not-" He swooped on her, as she'd known he would. He tasted as smoky as she suspected. He wielded his tongue like a weapon in a siege while she fought him. She decided, unemotionally, to go limp.

He bent her over his arm, tucked her head in his shoulder, and kissed her until she kissed him back. The world became a place of total darkness, untouched by any color, yet whirling all her senses into a pool of pleasure. It worked like a drug, changed her from plain Katherine Anne to a creature of the senses.