Savage Enchantment (15 page)

Kathleen found herself enfolded in the turquoise woolen blanket Simon tore from the bed, and carried out into the dark stillness that surrounded the way station. Somewhere near, a horse snorted, echoed by the wine-reeking snore of a soldier who lay stretched out at the door.

As Simon, dressed once more in the leather chaps and brush jacket of the vaquero, moved silently across the wheel-rutted yard, the night's fresh air wafted over Kathleen's face, reviving her, and she wondered why she didn't call out, alert the guards. She told herself it was because she would only be endangering herself. Had not Simon once before forced her to choose between himself and his men? Then for the moment she would choose him again over the soldiers who would surely tear her apart without Aguila to lord over them. Yes, she would bide her time.

Once inside the stone rubble of the mission's walls, Simon spoke softly to someone, and Kathleen recognized Armand's French accent. Did Armand already know of Concha's deach ... or that his daughter Chela slept safely within the confines of the corral? And how had Simon slipped through Aguila's personal guards and the sleeping soldiers inside the way station?

Suddenly she found herself thrown astride Salvaje. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded in an angry whisper.

Simon looked up at her and grinned, displaying in the dark the even, white teeth. "Do you know, Catalina, you look like Lady Godiva right now?"

Imagining how she must look, mounted on the powerful horse with only her gilt tresses and the draping blanket to partially cover her nudity, Kathleen smiled in spite of herself, but said with a stern voice. "If I do, Simon Reyes, it's all your fault."

Then she leaned down, her face only inches from his, so that Simon found it hard to raise his gaze from the rounded breasts that gleamed so enticingly.

"It's all your fault, Simon!" she said harshly. "Everything! Your people there," -- she nodded toward the way station -- "what about them" Will you desert them ... as you deserted us before?"

In the gray light she saw the rugged features draw together in a frown. "So that's what it is," he said, as if talking to himself.

He swung up into the saddle behind Kathleen and quietly urged the horse forward. When the way station was several miles behind them, he said, "In answer to your question, I'm taking you back to del Bravo."

And how do you explain my two-month absence?" she asked tartly.

"Our
absence. Aren't a bride and groom allowed a
luna de miel
-- a honeymoon? The last two months have been spent blissfully alone, in a mountain cabin, getting to know one another."

Kathleen could imagine Simon's insolent smile and refused to say anything.

"And in answer to your second question, my men are waiting on the beach. Armand'll see that Renaldo and the others are freed. Now," he said, his warm, tobacco-scented breath stirring the wisps of curls at her ear. "I want to ask you a question. Why are you so concerned about the people back there? -- the people you would've looked down your nose at back in Boston."

"I-I ..."

Kathleen bit her lip and fell silent. She was puzzled by the man who was her husband; and keenly aware of his maleness -- the wide expanse of shoulders at her back, the clean scent of leather that clung to his clothing, the soft mat of hair that peaked through the open flannel shirt and tickled the nape of her neck ... and the way his arm encircled her waist, just lightly enough to remind her she was one of his possessions.

Just before dawn, when the slate sky was burnished with faint streaks of purple, Simon reined in Salvaje at a small stream lined with twisted willows and dismounted. Kathleen slid into his upraised arms. For a fleeting second she thought the green eyes searched her face there in the darkness, but he turned away and released her.

Kneeling at the creek's bank, he splashed water on his face and dried it with the back of his sleeve. Then he crossed to Salvaje and, taking a packet from the saddle bag, produced what looked like to Kathleen thin strips of dried, lean meat.

"Goose liver," he said. "Eat some. It'll be almost eight o'clock 'fore we reach the cabin."

Warily Kathleen took the stringy-looking meat and bit into it. It was about as tasty as an old boot. But she was hungry, and she seated herself on a grassy knoll to eat the rest. Simon hunkered off to one side, and when he had finished his portion of the pemmican, he rolled a cigarette and lit it, all the while watching her.

Uneasy under his scrutiny, she said, "Without a watch -- or the sun -- how can you tell what time it is?"

"El reloj de los Indios,"
he said, a smile briefly touching the solemn lips.

"The clock of the Indians?"

Simon gestured to the fading light of the stars that were still scattered throughout the sky. "The two stars -- there on the front side of the Big Dipper -- they point to the pole star. By watching the swing of the Big Dipper around the North Star, you can hit within fifteen or twenty minutes of the correct time."

"And if it's a cloudy night?"

"Then you go by the time it takes to roll and smoke a cigarette."

"You're joking with me."

"Nope. The shepherds and vaqueros spend enough time on the range to have their inner timing down pat." He flicked his cigarette away and stood up. "Time we get going."

Kathleen wiped her hands on the blanket that covered her and followed Simon over to where Salvaje stood quietly grazing. After he hefted her up into the saddle, he mounted behind her. But instead of heeling Salvaje forward, he spoke, his voice low.

"Were you hurt, Kathleen?"

She turned her head and raised her violet eyes to meet his steady gaze. Understanding the underlying meaning in his question, her own gaze dropped. Her voice when she spoke was barely audible.

"I was not raped -- if that's what you mean. Aguila's impotent."

There had been physical pain, she thought bleakly, but not anything that wouldn't heal. It was the mental torture, the unbearable memories that she could never mention to anyone. How could the arrogant Simon ever understand such degradation? Understand the meaning of humiliation, defilement, debasement.

The grimness that etched her face at that moment matched the midwinter gleam in Simon's eyes.

Several times, as the dawn lengthened into the crisp light of day, Kathleen was aware that she fell asleep, her head on Simon's shoulder that she fell asleep, her head on Simon's shoulder, only to be jerked awake as Salvaje plunged down a
barranca
or scrambled up a rocky hill like some mountain goat, as always surefooted.

Then they were there, on the mountain's pine-forested crest with the small log cabin standing in the clearing like a refuge for hunted animals, accentuated by the golden shafts of the morning sun.

Once again Kathleen found herself cradled in the cedar-bough bed, smelled the sweet, fresh scent of the ferns growing through the pine boards, and heard the musical flow of the stream that cut through the cabin floor.

As Simon moved about the room, she lay on the bed, not wanting to disturb her deep, drowsy contentment. But she suddenly jerked upright when Simon took hold of her right foot.

"Romero weed," he said, spreading the pungent paste over her lacerated sole. "It speeds the healing and eases the pain."

"Another Indian remedy?"

"Um-huh," he said, ignoring her barbed tone as he picked up her other foot and rubbed the soothing unguent into the reddened flesh.

"Simon."

He looked up at her.

"Let me go -- now. I can make my way to Santa Barbara and leave the country. I swear I'll never utter your name to a living soul."

Simon sat back on his haunches. "Even under torture? I'm afraid I can't take that chance. Too many other lives hang in balance besides my own."

The purple eyes frosted over. "So that's why you came for me tonight. You couldn't afford to have me give you away."

"Nope. I don't intend to share my wife with anyone. For that Aguila died."

Kathleen shuddered at the cool indifference in Simon's voice. She saw again the white bulging of Aguila's eyes and heard the wheezing rasp from deflating lungs. Simon, in his way, she thought, was as merciless as Aguila had been. And it was Simon's bed she would have to share for God knew how long. Simon's bloodstained hands she would have to endure.

"Your derringer's in my saddlebag," he said, breaking in on her thoughts. "From now on I want you to keep it with you -- at all times."

You're not afraid I'll use it on you?" she taunted.

He rose and hooked his tumbs in his belt. "There's still Edmund," he reminded her. Then: "We'll bed down until evening."

Kathleen's mouth parched suddenly. The agony of Simon's intentions seared her soul like a hot iron. COuld she again make her mind a blank when Simon came to lie by her?

And what would happen when he found her body rigid and unyielding?

Kathleen reclined on the mound of goose-down pillows. Over the powder-blue satin cases her bountiful mane spread in studied disarray like tangled skeins of apricot-colored silk. Her thoughts drifted over the day that stretched ahead of her, sorting the details that would have to be taken care of before the reception that evening.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Amelia entered, bearing Kathleen's usual morning breakfast -- a cup of rich hot chocolate and sugar-powdered sopapillas.
"Gracias,"
she told the girl as Amelia sat the tray on the night stand.

"De nada, señora,"
Amelia said cheerfully, and bent to collect the clothing that Kathleen had heedlessly dropped on the chair the night before.

When the girl had left, Kathleen picked up the cup with trembling hands. Did Amelia and the other house servants whisper of the fact that Simon did not share his wife's bed? As she herself wondered. Had he already grown tired of her? Or, dear God, did he despise her that she now had been used, that her body had been soiled by the leavings of another man?

The moment she had been dreading -- that afternoon alone with Simon in his cabin, after he had stealthily whisked her from Aguila's stronghold -- had all been for naught. Before, he would have taken her without thought, his lovemaking cursory yet consummate. But that afternoon they slept apart, their bodies only inches distant on the cedar-bough bed -- yet never touching. And since then Simon had treated her with a cool politeness. Not once had he even entered her bedroom.

Was it out of disgust or pity that he ignored her? There were times when she would swear he didn't even know she was there -- except for the occasional moments when she would catch the long green eyes resting on her in a speculative manner ... as if she were an irksome insect that bore watching.

But this evening would be the worst she had so far had to endure since her return to del Bravo -- to smile graciously at the guests Simon had supposedly invited in honor of his bride -- and which she knew was merely a pretext for another of his political meetings.

Simon, the loving husband! Kathleen set her cup on the tray, sloshing the chocolate into the saucer. To pass her off as his wife in order to silence her knowledge of his identity; to masquerade as the respectable ranchero while he plotted against the Mexican government ... that was her loving husband! Why, she was nothing to him but a pawn to be sacrificed at the right moment -- and when would that be?

"I've the news you've been waiting for, Simon," Gemma said, inclining her head close to Simon's cupped brown hands as he lit her thin cigar.

Kathleen caught the meaningful look that passed between the two. And when Gemma slowly exhaled and flicked a questioning glance in her direction, Kathleen's lips curled in a contemptuous smile, and she said sweetly, "I'll take the cue and mingle with the guests -- while you two conspire."

Actually, she wanted nothing better than to remain at Simon's side and watch the frustration crack Gemma's cool and lovely mask. But she would forgo that satisfaction in exchange for the precious opportunity to speak with Larkin, who at that moment was alone at the buffet table. The merchant, Simon had told her, had just been appointed by Polk as American Counsul to California. Here perhaps was someone who might be able to help her -- one of her own countrymen.

Ignoring Simon's frown, she bypassed the matrons clucking like hens in the
sala
-- a rude but necessary gesture, she knew, if she were to catch Larkin alone. But just short of her destination DImitri Karamazan moved into her path. His olive skin was flushed and the black eyes glittered angrily. "So life is not so blissful for the bride?"

"I'm not sure I understand you," Kathleen said, trying to edge past Dimitry.

The Russian officer took another gulp from the champagne glass in his hand. "Oh, you don't have to pretend with me, Señor Reyes. Your secret is safe -- I'm leaving tomorrow. Returning to Sitka."

"Leaving California? But why? I had thought --"

"That I'd marry Francesca? I assumed the same, señora. But her father turned my offer down today. Didn't you know that I'm a penniless opportunist?"

"But surely if Francesca loves you, something can be arranged, Dimitri."

"Ha! Francesca -- like all the other women about -- is charmed beyond reason by that snake you've married!"

Kathleen drew up her skirts to move around the young man. "I won't hear of such talk in del Bravo, Dimitri! Now if you'll excuse me."

Leaving the Russian with his mouth open in surprise, she reached Larkin just as he came to the end of the buffet table, his hands ladened with food and drink.

"Let me help you, sir," she said, taking the plate from one hand and setting it on the mahogany drop-leaf table that stood in one corner.

"Ah, Mrs. Reyes," Larkin said, looking over his veined and bulbous nose at her. "You can't imagine what good it does me to see an American woman gracing a Mexican household. Have a seat with me, madam. As I was saying, it just goes to prove that your race is a hardy breed."

He stuffed his napkin over the knot of his mulberry-colored cravat while Kathleen seated herself opposite him. "Yes," he said, taking up a fork and knife, "the American woman can make a life under the worst of conditions. Why, look at my wife, coming here, not knowing a soul -- not knowing a word of Spanish. And do you realize, madam, she'll soon give California the first child of American parents? Marvelous opportunity here in --"

"That's what I wanted to talk with you about, Mr. Larkin," Kathleen said. She cleared her throat and hurried on before the consul could launch into another tirade about the grandeur of California.

"I-I don't think I'm the pioneer type. I've found it hard to adjust to the life here." She lowered her voice. "You see, Mr. Larkin, I'd like to return to the United States. But my husband -- being so much like the Mexicans -- is extremely jealous."

What lies,
she thought, even as she lowered her black forest of lashes in coy distress. "He wouldn't think of letting me return -- even for a brief visit. So you see, I was hoping perhaps you can give me asylum -- the protection of the American Consul?"

Kathleen raised pleading eyes, and Larkin jabbed agitatedly with his fork in the mound of tender spiced cabbage. "A man should never refuse a lady's request, but surely, madam, it's just a passing pang of homesickness, isn't it? Why, I know my wife cried often those first --"

"But you will refuse me," Kathleen said, not trying to keep the dejection from her voice.

"You must see, madam, with your husband being a Mexican citizen --"

"But he's not! At least I don't hink he is. He may even be an American -- a Texas scout, I think Farther Marcos said."

"What he was is neither here nor there, madam. To own land in California, he would have been required to have either embraced Catholicism, Mexican nationality, or one of the local ladies -- which he did not. And you must understand, in this dispute between the Californios and Mexico, the United States can not afford to get involved. Not openly at least. Not until the Californios have asserted and maintained their independence."

"And then?"

"Why, then," he blustered, "we shall render them all the kind offices in our power, as a sister republic."

"Of course," she said icily and rose from the table. But as she turned, Simon said at her side, "I hope my wife has been entertaining you, Thomas."

How much had Simon overheard? she wondered wildly as his arm encircled her waist, pulling her against him as if to flaunt his possession of her.

"Oh, yes, yes. She most certainly has, Simon," Larkin said, rising hastily and dropping his napkin in his plate. "A most charming hostess."

"You've got to be careful with Kathleen, or she'll turn your head."

Both Kathleen and Larkin looked guiltily up into the hard emerald eyes.

Kathleen eased into the sun-warmed spot on the bench. "Diego?" she asked softly.

Beneath the thatch of bone-white hair one eye cocked open.
Sí, hija?"

"You once advised me not to judge Simon too harshly. But this marriage of ours -- this farce between Simon and myself -- I can't stand it any longer. I thought I was a calm, steady person. But my hands tremble now, tears fill my eyes at the slightest irritation. And Simon -- I think he's nerveless. Diego, it's asking too much of any woman. I'm his wife -- and he humiliates me before the servants by avoiding my bed." And, Kathleen thought, by sleeping with another woman under the same roof, for she had seen from her bedroom window Gemma leving early that morning in her black buggy. With Amelia watching, it had been all Kathleen could do to keep from slamming the shutters.

"And would you share your bed with him,
hija?"
the old man asked, with a candor that matched Kathleen's.

"Why -- no. Of course, not! I can't stand him! It's just that --"

"You can't stand him -- because you wont' understand him."

"What's there to understand in him? He's a common cowboy that somehow wrangled his way into possession of del Bravo. A selfish, inconsiderate outlaw with illusions of ruling California. Escandón called Dimitri an opportunist last night. But Simon makes Dimitri look like a philanthropist."

"Then Simon is not the child I knew."

Kathleen sat forward. Her hands, which had been clenched in a tight ball, now cupped over the edge of the smoothly worn bench in expectation. "And who
is
the Simon you know."

"He couldn't have been more than ten when I first saw him. But it was his mother I remember more clearly."

Diego paused and reached for the half-starved stick of wood and razor-edged knife that lay at his side. "The Indians were herded daily out into the mission grounds," he said, resuming his whittling. "I was a soldier then -- a good Sapnish soldier,
hija.
And I stood guard that day they brought the Mariposa Indian woman in. A beautiful woman, tall and slim and stately, with black hair that fell below her waist -- like a cascade of India ink. She didn't struggle between the soldiers who held her; nor did her son. It was probably their scornful attitudes that made our captain order the harsher punishment for her -- flogging."

"Why? What had she done?"

"She was the mistress of a ranchero."

"And for that they flogged her?"

"I'm sure her dignity -- which the padre mistook for haughtiness -- irritated them. But you have to understand the times then,
hija.
The Indians had no rights. They were slaves. No sooner had the ranchero died than his wife sent word to the
soldados
at the presidio that there were Indians in the valley who needed converting. And she pointed a finger at Tocha, Simon's mother, accusing the Indian woman of adultery."

Diego broke off and spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the sun-baked earth. "So SImon was forced to watch while the soldados cut away Tocha's long black hair and shaved her head. To this day I can remember the awful way her head glistened as she stood under the broiling sun -- proud and disdainful.

"Then the padre who stood at the top of the mission steps begged Simon's mother to realize and confess her sins. His voice droned on so long that we -- and the mission Indians, who couldn't completely follow the Spanish words anyway -- shifted from one foot to the other. We were anxious for the ordeal to be over.

"But Simon remained as impassive as his mother -- except for the narrowed eyes. I would've sworn,
hija,
they were as dark and fiery as the flames of Hell.

"When Tocha refused to speak, or captain ordered the flogging to begin." Diego's rheumy eyes clouded over with memory, and he said, "It was the hardest thing I think I ever had to do ... to lay the lash on the proudly held back ... to strip away the threads of flesh.

"When she collapsed on the stone steps, the captain realized Simon had disappeared. A platoon found Simon in the mountains a day later. That's when they pierced his ear with a copper earring -- to mark him as a runaway -- a
huldo!"

"Dear God!"

"It didn't stop Simon, though. He began to disappear regularly after that. And each time he ran away, he'd be brought back and flogged. The last time he ran away, it was I who found him. He carried a knife, and I think the boy would've killed me if he could have. But I wrestled with the cub and got the knife away. He looked real surprised when I returned it along with a dozen or so
reals.
'Hightail it out of California,' I told him."

"And he went to Texas," Kathleen said softly. "What happened to his mother -- Tocha?"

"She wsn't the same after the flogging. One night, when I was off duty, I helped her escape. Took her to that cabin of hers in the mountains. She died that same year."

"You were in love with her, weren't you?"

"I've talked to much. Must be getting soft in my old age."

Kathleen rose and laid a hand on the old soldier's still-straight back. "What you've told me, Diego ... it helps me to understand Simon a little better. But there's too much between Simon and myself to change our feelings about one another."

"Time has a funny way of changing things,
hija."

"There are some things, Diego, that time will never change."