Rocky Mountain Ride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 7) (8 page)

She blew out a frustrated breath. “You are a scoundrel.”

“I am that,” Sebastian said happily. “But you also led me to believe you’d be brave enough to answer an honest question.”

She glared at him and he winked. A few vaqueros came over and saved him from a tongue lashing as Francesca had to stop and serve them. Sebastian hung close by, eating and enjoying the pretty flushed face of his Spanish widow. Across the way, Cage caught his eye and shook his head. Sebastian’s grin only broadened.

Finally, he and Francesca were left alone.

“Well?”

She bent close, fishing empty corn husks out of the tamale bucket and tossing them to the ground. “Yes, Englishman. My ass is bruised. But over all, it is fine.”

Sebastian settled back on his heels with a satisfied smile. “You slept well, didn’t you? The night after the birching?”

“Yes.”

“Señor Chivington,” Juan called, and Sebastian sauntered off, but for the rest of the day he caught Francesca watching him.

He’d gotten under her skin. He was behaving like a complete ass, tormenting a widow, but as long as he knew it, he might as well have fun.

She avoided him until late in the day, when the cattle were safely out and Sebastian and Juan were planning on the next day’s labor: repairing the
acequias
. The British lord had earned the respect of the head vaquero. The two approached Francesca and laid out their plans. She rewarded them with a tired smile.

“Well done,” she said. “How long will it take? We still must finish planting.”

“Señor Chivington said he would stay.”

“We cannot ask you to do that,” Francesca said to her guest.

“I insist. It’s my pleasure, and breaks up the long months of hunting and drinking. I’ve been looking for a good spot of honest work. You can ask my men.”

She stared at him, and he continued in a more serious tone. “My men and I are at your disposal. Do allow us to help.”

“Very well. I thank you.”

Juan headed home to wife and family, leaving Sebastian and Francesca alone. Before mounting her horse, Francesca skewered him with her dark gaze. “I do not understand you, Englishman. Why are you doing this?”

“I told you.” Sebastian winked at her, noting how she kept their horses between them. “I live for chivalry.”

“What man does things for a woman and expects nothing in return?”

“Oh, that’s part of the code.”             

“The code?”

“The code between a knight and his fair lady. He goes off and commits glorious acts in her name, while one or both pine. I’d still be here helping you even if you were committed to another. Makes things more romantic.” He threw out an arm in a dramatic gesture, startling the horses. “My love would go unrequited until death. Rather poetic—don’t you agree?”

She wrinkled her brow. “You are not serious… Everything out of your mouth is a joke.”

“Apologies, my lady. Bad habit. Third son of a lord, must make my way on my own wits and charm. In addition to my father’s allowance.” He swung up on his horse, adding, “But, if it’s any consolation, I do get something out of it. As a noble knight, I must complete one selfless act a year, or be turned into a frog. As much as you dislike me, you wouldn’t banish me to live out the rest of my days as an amphibian?”

Her small, fleeting smile was more than enough reward.

*

Over the next few days, Sebastian made himself indispensable, to Francesca’s great annoyance. Even after the work on the
acequia
was done and planting continued, he made no move to leave. He was everywhere, maddeningly, helping her with chores, smoking in the garden while she weeded, or sitting on a stool in the kitchen with his man Cage, both of them playing off each other to make Ana laugh.

Señor Chivington was really two men, she reasoned. Or perhaps three. One, the merry jester who lived with no responsibility, content to laze about. She had no time for entertainment. The other, the firm disciplinarian, lashing her to a tree trunk and whipping her with sticks. The jokester was present during the discipline, though, for the man enjoyed it. And the disciplinarian became a strong man, a pillar of good sense, willing to labor in the fields. But she never knew which Sebastian she was talking to: the rakish lord, silly without substance, or the man of substance, helping in time of need. Which was he?

She wished she could chalk up all his acts to one man, intelligent and bored. But for all his silly arrogance, he was eager to please her. And his willingness to discipline her tilted her whole world and left her body aching and mind in disarray.

He made absolutely no sense. He fascinated her. And, more and more often, at night when she lay in bed and thought of him, she burned.

At dusk one day, Francesca stood at the apothecary window, watching his lanky form as he paced and smoked in the garden. He was waiting for her, she knew. Why else would he be hanging about, striking up silly conversations with Ana’s goat?

She hid in the apothecary until the sun sank just behind the mountains, then sneaked away.

It was the magic hour before dark, the time of gloaming, where the world is in perfect balance. Night and day, dark and light. Anything was possible. Francesca hurried across the fields to the woods, passing the family burial ground where her Cyro was buried along with her father. She touched their grave stones as she passed, but didn’t linger. The woods called her, and she hesitated only a second before plunging into the cool shadows.

She was going to visit her mother. Everyone else lay in the family cemetery, but not Francesca Bari, daughter of Francesca the wise and mother to Ana Maria Francesca De La Vega.

All the Francescas were buried under the large old tree in the forest grove. Now Francesca went about the grove, lighting candles at the feet of a statue of the Madonna.

She’d stopped going to confessional years ago, after she heard Bishop Bernardo believed her own deceased mother a witch. Cyro hadn’t approved of her quiet rebellion against the town’s faith, but he’d let her go her own way.

If her mother was a witch as the church claimed, who’d laid with the devil for power over herbs and potions, then that made Francesca a devil child. She’d once told Ana that since the church thought her the spawn of Satan, she had an excuse to avoid all boring religious practices. Ana had thrown up her hands at the twisted logic.

Francesca’s decision to stay away from mass didn’t make her popular with the bishop, but the townspeople accepted her as they had her mother—some eagerly, some grudgingly, but all eventually desperate enough to come to her for some tonic to ease backache or fever, or help to help deliver a baby or set a broken bone.

Francesca had found her place as a healer early, when she was very young and following her mother around to patients’ homes. She walked confidently on her own path, not caring if it diverged from the rest, and even if Bishop Bernard muttered about her and her mother, she had her powerful husband and father to protect her.

Now she had no one.

A birch wielding Brit was an unlikely guardian angel, but that was what he was to her. So what that he acted like a fool? She felt safer with him around.

But even that was dangerous.

“Madre, I need you,” she whispered. As always, she felt the pull between her mother’s and father’s world. Between freedom and duty, between her calling as a healer, and her prescribed role as a daughter, mother, wife. When things grew out of balance, she prayed for help.

She had never prayed so intently as she did now, not even when she asked for help finding Cyro’s killer.

“Madonna, have mercy,” she whispered, prostrating herself before the shrine. The saintly statue looked so calm and peaceful. How little she resembled the women on earth, Francesca thought bitterly. The real mothers who weren’t virgins when they gave birth.

After lighting the candles, she filled her bowl at the stream, then stripped naked. She bathed in the moonlit water, dampening her face and neck, dragging the cloth over her rapid pulse.

“Madre,” she begged. “Help me. I am a wanton woman. I am unclean.”

She closed her eyes, but all she saw was the Englishman, arms folded across his chest, face arranged in an intrigued smirk. Then he disappeared and she felt him as if he stood behind her, touching her neck, whispering his mocking words, tempting her.

She washed herself again and again, hoping to cool the fire within.

If it didn’t, she’d have to do something to dispel it soon. Something she might regret.

*

All week long Sebastian labored in the fields. He noticed how Francesca avoided him, and he let her keep her distance, choosing instead to join Cage in the kitchen where they teased Ana while she cooked. He was surprised how quickly he took to farming life. Cage and his men grumbled about it, but found his sleep was better, his food tasted sweeter. And every so often, he caught a smile on Francesca’s face as she worked nearby, pretending not to hear their jokes.

The only worry was the dire straits of the ranch. For all their hard work, it seemed they were one disaster away from demise. Late at night, when Francesca thought everyone had gone to bed, Sebastian watched her sneak out to continue working on herbal remedies and tinctures that Ana sold in the town market. Sebastian wondered how long she could keep up the pace. He’d only known her a few days, and even he could see how the strain was getting to her, the exhaustion showing on her face.

One night, Sebastian saw the light in the apothecary and decided he’d had enough of standing by. If she kept this up much longer, she’d get sick. She needed someone to take care of her, and spank her bottom if she didn’t comply. A nice long session with the palm of his hand cracking on her bare butt cheeks would release tension, and do them both good.

But it was not to be. When Sebastian entered the little building, he found his lady asleep at her table, her head cradled on her arms. She looked smaller in sleep, fragile. He went inside, but she didn’t rouse, not even when he lifted her in his arms, and carried her across the field to the hacienda. Her hair smelled sweet, like roses.

As he entered her bedroom, she made a little sound. Her eyes stayed closed, and she clung to him, her fingers clutching at his shirt. Instead of waking her, he lay down on the bed with his sweet smelling bundle, expecting her to rouse at anytime. Would she thank him, or claw his eyes out? There was no telling with his wild Spanish rose.

Dawn was breaking over the fields by the time Sebastian slipped his arms out from around her, and covered her with a blanket, kissing her hair before tiptoeing away.

His cock raged, craving release, but somehow Sebastian felt more content than he had in his entire life.

A few hours later, he felt the effects of a sleepless night, when Juan came to alert the household of the latest crisis. Under the cover of night, cattle thieves had come, spooking the herd and causing a stampede.

Cage and Sebastian worked with the vaqueros to rustle the cows, calming and counting them.

“Ten missing, señora,” the hired men told Francesca as she rode by.

“Chivington and I will ride the perimeter, see if we can find them,” Cage volunteered, and she thanked them. Sebastian waited, but she made no mention of the night before, nor did she look at him.

They found five more cows.

“What do these men get paid for if not watching over the cattle?” Sebastian grumbled.

“It’s the size of the herd,” Cage explained. “They need more vaqueros, but can’t afford them. But the price of beef is too low for them to slaughter or sell.”

“Damned if they do and damned if they don’t.”

“That’s the farmer’s life. Everything hangs in the balance.”

“Bloody shame. This farm would turn a profit, if they had the money to run it properly.”

“Take care, my lord,” Cage said quietly. “It’s one thing to help out a pretty widow. Investing funds is another matter.”

“I know, I know, but, dash it all, I want to help.”

They drove the five found cows to rejoin the others, and the sight of Francesca’s relieved face when she saw the returned cows had Sebastian almost pledging money on the spot.

“Found them just a few fields over,” Cage said. “Whoever did the stealing did a sloppy job. Or they just wanted to cause trouble.”

“I’ll take an incompetent thief any day,” Sebastian said light heartedly and watched Francesca’s mouth quirk with a shadow of a smile.

“I thank you,” she said. “We have almost all of the returned now.”

“Señora,” Juan called, riding up to them. “Your brother in law, Diego Montoya, is here offering to help.”

She shook her head. “We don’t need it.”

A few minutes later, a tall, dark haired man, dark and dashing with stylish clothes came riding up with a small contingent of men.

“Diego,” Francesca said. She sounded so tired.

“Sister,” the man greeted her. “I fear I may have unwittingly caused this. Across the way, I had my men move the cattle, and they must have spooked and stampeded your herd. If you wish, we will look for them.”

“Thank you for your generous offer, Diego, but we have it under control,” Francesca said.

Keeping his head down, Sebastian moved closer to listen to the conversation.

“We should work together. It makes no sense to divide our forces in this way.” Diego said. “I am the only family you have left.”

When Diego had ridden away, Sebastian pushed his horse closer.

“Is this common? Moving cattle in the middle of the night, causing a stampede?” he asked.

Francesca shook her head.

“Seems rather foolish business.” Sebastian watched the men pull the cows out of the water.

“Diego is not stupid,” Francesca spoke softly. “He wants my land. If he cuts off the water supply, my crops will die. He thinks it’ll be easier to convince me to turn the farm and ranch over to him.”

“Turn everything over to him? Would you do that?”

“If I cannot keep the ranch afloat, I might have to.” She ran a hand over her face.

“My lady, my men and I are at your disposal. Let me know what I can do to help.”

“I am going to sweep the borders,” she said. “Ride with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he muttered to himself, then rebuked himself sternly. She was inviting him on a reconnaissance mission, not a tryst.

She held herself with such formal poise, the passionate woman locked up tight. His hands itched to peel the layers from her. He knew just what to do to tease her out.

But he kept the conversation clean, acting the perfect noble guest as they circled around her lands.

He did crack jokes until he got a smile. Francesca seemed to loosen up after that.

“Tell me about your family. The one you left in England.”

“Not much to tell. Third son of a lord, fought like the dickens with my brothers, broke my mother’s heart. Father bought me a commission, I dallied about in a boat for some years before returning to the ton. My mother’s last wish, you see.”

“Did she die?”

“Yes, a few years ago.”

“I am sorry to hear it. My mother passed when I was young. Perhaps they are together, watching down on us.”

“I should hope not.”

“She wouldn’t be proud of who you’ve become?”

“Not terribly proud. I made quite a mess of things back in England. Father thought it best for me to come here. Make a man out of me.”

They rode in silence for a time, stopping on the edge of Francesca’s land.

“This is it.”

“Beautiful. Quite a lot of responsibility.” He noticed her stiffen. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she said. A few more minutes of riding and she confessed. “My father wanted a son.”

“He told you this?”

“Never. But I felt it all the same.”

Sebastian spent the last minutes of their ride home contemplating how hard it was to please a father. Just outside the hacienda gate, Francesca dismounted and he followed suit, walking beside her to the stables.

“Hot today,” he remarked.

“We need a good rain,” Francesca said. “If this dry spell stretches on, I fear it will be a drought.”

“I must say, those
acequias
are a good show.”

“My husband helped design them. He was a smart man.”

“You respected him.”

“Oh yes. He was old enough to be my father.”

“That man who approached…Montoya…”

“Yes, Diego. He was Cyro’s brother. Younger by a few years.”

“You don’t trust him.”

Francesca blinked. “There is much history between us. Even as a boy, Diego was always a troublemaker. Never in sight of the adults, but he would pull the girls’ hair and make them cry. Then he grew up and made girls cry in other ways. His father had to give money to the family of one girl, and they sent her away.” She blew out a breath. “Diego is spoiled and selfish. Cyro was older than him by a few years, and acted as father, but it wasn’t enough. My husband told me he fixed too many problems for his young brother, out of guilt for leaving to serve in the military.”

“He had his lot handed to him,” Sebastian observed. “And it turned him into a man who expects much and gives nothing.”

Francesca nodded.

“A lot of lords are like that,” Sebastian said. “Some would say I am.”

“You do not seem that way to me.”

It was Sebastian’s turn to blink in surprise.

“You act foolish, but you mean well.” Francesca frowned. “I do not understand it all, but I believe that underneath you are a good man.”

“Thank you, señora. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

She gave him a sharp look, as if she wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic.

“Francesca,” Ana called from the kitchen door, waving.

“I must go. I promised I would help her.”

Sebastian took her horse’s reins. “I will feed and water her for you.”

“Thank you, señor. For everything.”

“A pleasure, my lady.” He tipped his hat in a foppish gesture.

She rolled her eyes, then caught his hand before he could replace his hat.

“You have been too long in the sun,” Francesca clucked. “You have a burn.”

Sebastian startled when she reached up and laid a cool hand on his hot skin. Come to think of it, his face did feel tight.

“Is it very bad?”

“Just red.” She grinned, and he could almost guess her thoughts.
Red as a birched bottom.
“Come to the hacienda when you are done in the barn. I will have some salve for you.”

*

By the time he came in, she had already bathed, and met him in the kitchen. Dressed in a simple house dress and slippers on her feet, she was lovely to behold. Her wet hair was braided back, accentuating her dark eyes and polished cheeks.

“Your bath is ready,” she said.

“Where is Ana?” He’d grown used to the matronly woman serving as a chaperone.

“Gone to mass. I will see to your needs tonight.”

His eyebrows nearly shot up into his skull. Francesca gave him a wicked grin and turned. “Come. You stink.” After a few paces, she realized he wasn’t following, and shot him a challenging look.

He took a deep breath and followed her, mesmerized by the soft sway of her hips. She led him to the alcove off the kitchen and the waiting tub, and waved him beyond the curtain. “Get in.”

He started stripping, then paused with his fingers on his shirt buttons when Francesca returned, carrying a salve.

“Hurry up. The water’s hot.” she motioned.

His cock perked up but the rest of him hesitated. “Señora…it may not be wise for you to be here.”

She stared at him with fathomless dark eyes. “I’m the mistress of this house. I take care of my guests.”

Realizing he was on dangerous ground, he cast his fates to the wind and resumed unbuttoning his shirt. He took his time, but she waited, watching him, until he’d taken off everything but his trousers. She left with a look of triumph, and he sighed in relief, as if she’d thrown the gauntlet and then left before he had to pick it up.

After lowering himself into the tub, he was halfway through the fastest bath of his life, when the curtain shook and Francesca returned, bearing several large cloths.

“What are you doing?” He was surprised his voice didn’t squeak like a boy’s.

“Lay this towel over the tub and I will scrub your back.”

“My lady, that is not necessary.”

“Do you have a valet?”

“None of the men even know what that word means.”

“Then I will be your valet for the evening.” She gestured, and he realized she wouldn’t take no for an answer. The thought of having her slender body bending over his body to wash him filled him with horror, if only because his cock loved the idea so much.

“Señora De La Vega, please. We shouldn’t be alone.”

“That did not stop you from baring my body in the forest.”

So here was her revenge. She hadn’t forgotten her humiliation at his hands, she’d been watching and waiting for judgment day.

“That was for a purpose…” he protested.

“Whipping me? Tying me to a tree? You enjoyed it,” she said. “Admit it.”

He was weighed in the balance and found wanting.

She advanced, and he made one last protest. “My lady, I must protect your honor.”

“My honor is mine to give or take as I please. My father tried to protect me, and my husband, and look where it got me.” There was a mad gleam in her eye as she came forward and draped a cloth over the bath for some sense of modesty. She couldn’t see anything but his torso, and she’d seen that before.

She wet a cloth and started to wash him, and Sebastian settled in for the exquisite torture.

He’d spent the last week teasing her, and he’d taken it too far. It was her turn to joust and she was proving able with the lance. His lance. He almost groaned at his awful joke.

He wasn’t sure he’d survive.

The washcloth moved over his shoulders a few times before he felt her lean closer.

“Besides,” she whispered. “I would torture you as you punished me.”

“This is punishment?” He fought to keep his voice cool, even as his cock screamed for release.

“There are many forms of torture,” she purred. She finished with scrubbing his back and fetched the salve. Her fingers smeared it liberally over his reddened skin, stroking and caressing and giving relief.

Sweet relief.

“Does that feel good?”

Sebastian couldn’t answer. He was in another world, one filled with steam and a dark eyed siren who waited for him to say the word.

He blinked as Francesca paused, pushing back her hair sticking to her face and neck.

“It is so hot in here,” she said, and pulled the thick mass of her hair over one shoulder. It brushed against him, setting his nerves aflame like a thousand pleasant needles.

He was impossibly hard, his thoughts turned to mud. She moved away for a moment and he fought for sanity.

What was she on about? For a young widow, she was remarkably world weary.

“Señora…”

Francesca returned to his side, and he faltered.

“You are under a lot of strain, but you’ve managed admirably. Especially for one so young.”

Her hand started to reach for the washcloth that had fallen into the water and he banged his knuckles on the side of the tub grabbing it for her.

“Don’t throw away your honor for a lark.”

“You think I am too young to know what I want?” She took the cloth and set it against his chest, slowly rubbing his muscles. “I was married for five years. I know what it is to please a man.”

“You’re playing with fire.” His voice was hoarse, his whole body seared by the heat in her eyes.

With a devious smile, she pushed her hand a little lower.

He grabbed her wrist. His arousal pounded into his brain.

“Stop. You don’t want what happens next.”

“What will happen?”

By Jove, she was trying to seduce him.

She moved the sponge in small circles over his chest. “You intrigue me, Englishman.” She bit her lip and his arousal ratcheted up another notch. “I have tried and tried, and I cannot sate myself. I cannot stay away.”

Sebastian sucked in a breath. He knew he was getting under her skin, but this was beyond anything he expected. “Francesca. You are grieving. This is not what you want. I will not take advantage of you in this state.” His dick screamed in protest even as he said the words.

She tipped her body forward and the neckline of the chemise fell lower still, showing a wondrous cavern between her ample breasts.

This was madness. He had to stop it.

“No,” he said, rising in a cascade of water and grabbing the cloth to wrap around himself. The flying water forced her backwards, as she had to step back or get soaked.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, señora.” He forced himself to sound cold. “I will not allow you to besmirch your honor any more than you already have.”

Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks. He stepped out of the bath, putting as much distance between her and him.

“You bastard,” she hissed, and followed with a torrent of angry Spanish. Cursing his cock and heritage, no doubt. He sighed as she stomped out, but not before he caught a shimmer of a tear in her eye.

As the curtain closed, the force of her exit leaving the rod slightly askew, Sebastian wondered if he’d made a mistake.