Savage Enchantment (8 page)

The Santa Ana blew itself out, and the indolence of the hacienda gave way to industrious work as the spring roundup progressed. The vaqueros stayed busy counting the cattle, branding the calves, and corraling the older cattle for the rodeo that would climax the roundup.

The household servants swept, dusted, and scrubbed every inch of the whitewashed walls, and terra-cotta floors -- under Kathleen's watchful eye. If she could not perform her duties as tutor, she certainly would not give Simon any reason to complain about her duties as mistress of the hacienda.

Diligently she saw to it that the bed linens in each of the nine bedrooms were fresh, that vases of columbines graced each room with their honeyed scents, and that Maria Jesus began preparations for the many meals that were to be cooked during the fiesta. As the day of the fiesta approached, even Diego roused himself from the sunny place on his bench to help oversee the decorating of the courtyard.

In every sense of the word -- but one -- Kathleen was mistress of Valle del Bravo.

At night the thought she would be too tired to do anything but collapse in her bed, but she felt more than ever driven to work so there would be no time to think. Restlessly she would pace the room, brushing her hair, checking her list for last-minute preparations.

Seeing her mistress so distracted, Amelia smiled pityingly to herself. She could tell the proud, young
maestra
what was needed to cure her ailment, but she doubted that the
maestra
would believe her. A man like Julio could wipe away that look of discontent that haunted the plum-colored eyes.

Qué suerte
that Julio couldn't see the
maestra
now without those ugly glasses and with her hair hanging loose like an Indian woman's! But then, Julio had been too busy with the roundup to come around the hacienda. Hopefully she would see more of Julio when the roundup was over. Perhaps when Padre Marcos came for the rodeo festivities she could even persuade Julio to seek the good father's blessing in marriage.

Amelia crossed herself quickly in hopeful prayer.

Kathleen's thoughts were not tender ones of romance. At the moment she was cursing Simon Reyes with every vile word she had ever heard the vaqueros use, wishing him as dead as the long-deceased Father Serra, the founder of the California mission system.

The confrontation between her and Simon earlier that afternoon still stung her thoughts, simmering within her like Maria Jesus's tallow for candles.

The confrontation had occurred shortly after the siesta hour, when Simon worked in his study while the others rested. Diego had summoned her from the kitchen with the message that
el patrón
wished to see her.

Kathleen rapped on the study door, and Simon's low voice bade her enter. From behind his desk he looked up as Kathleen crossed the room. He was dressed in dusty denim pants and a worn red baize shirt.

"You wanted to see me?"

"I've just learned you were out riding last week -- alone, dressed as a
muchacho."

"Are you trying to tell me I'm a prisoner here, that I'm forbidden to do as I wish with my own time?"

"Enough, Kathleen!" Simon's bronze hand slammed down on the oak desk, and he came to his feet, his stern face only inches from hers. "I'll not have my men so inflamed by the sight of a woman in pants that they're incapable of working."

His hard eyes moved past her throat to where the small mounds of breasts rose in agitation. A flush of heat spread over Kathleen's cheeks as she remained unmoving under his sneering regard.

"Unless you happen to enjoy being raped," he finished. "And in that case, I'm sure my vaqueros could provide --"

"Ohh!" Kathleen's hand came up to deliver an intended blow. But the memory of another time she had struck him and Simon's resulting anger halted her. Abruptly she swung her hand across his desk, scattering the papers on the floor.

"You bastard!" she hissed.

Simon's green eyes narrowed dangerously, and a cold shiver rippled Kathleen's spine at the intensity of the anger she saw there.

He stretched out a hand, and Kathleen flinched. Lightly tracing the scar that ran along her cheek with one finger, he laughed softly. "And you, Cataline, are no lady. We're rogues, both of us."

At his touch that seared like a hot iron, Kathleen's mouth parched. "Don't!" she croaked.

Simon's gaze ran over her face, as if baffled by something. "You're right," he said. "What we are is neither here nor there. We both understand how we feel about one another."

He reached into a drawer and handed her a sheaf of papers. "There's a list of names included. Make out invitations to the families for the fiesta next week. When you've finished, Diego will see that the invitations are delivered."

Kathleen glanced at some of the names on the list, names of the most prominent families in the California province. Many she had met at the Escandón fiesta: Carrillo, Bandini, Pico -- liberals who favored secularization and separation of political and military commands; Vallejo, Alvarado, and Castro -- conservatives who supported the rule of militarism.

Kathleen looked up at Simon. "I'd not thought you the type of man to pretend interest in politics."

Simon quirked a brow. "You, yourself, ought to understand the benefits of pretense."

"No better than you, vaquero!" she retorted, whirling from him and slamming the door behind her.

The first guests began arriving early that morning, in time for the horse races and the games of chance, such as monte and
chuza,
which resembled roulette, and the games of skill, the most popular being the
carrera de gallo.

In the
carrera,
Diego told Kathleen, the horseman would ride at top speed toward a line of roosters, buried neck-high in the sand fifty feet apart, and grab at the roosters' heads. The rider who unearthed the most roosters won the contest. Later in the afternoon a barbeque was to be held, followed by the bear-baiting and rodeo.

None of these games did Kathleen watch. Not only because she was busy seeing that everything ran smoothly, but also because she found the sports of the
caballeros
cruel. It was bad enough when Amelia told her that the magnificent brown bear had been defeated, had been gored to death by a gret black bull.

However, as Kathleen helped Maria Jesus in the kitchen, the flat faced old woman gently shoved at Kathleen's back.
"Vaya,
Señorita Catalina. You're young -- enjoy yourself!"

Kathleen would have protested, but the cook practically pushed her out onto the veranda. From the arena came the musical calls of the vaqueros:
"Hooch, hooch, hooch! Who-hah! Who-hah!"

With a sign of resignation, Kathleen wiped her hands on her black broadcloth skirt and made her way to the crowd gathered about the arena. Rather than join the guests in the stands, she found a vacant spot near one of the stalls, where she had a much better view anyway.

Inside the corralled area the cows bellowed and puffed and tossed their heads at the vaqueros. Dressed in a Mexican beaded vest of porcupine quills and in concho-ornamented
chaparejos,
Simon looked impressive as his Spanish cow pony cut first to the left and then the right, finally cornering a monstrous Andalusian bull. With a swish of the slender rawhide riata, Simon lassoed the bull's rear legs, bringing the animal to the ground in a whirlpool of dust.

Any moment Kathleen expected one of the sharp-horned bulls to gore a vaquero. But there occurred in the following minutes a mishap of a different nature. Amelia's
novio,
Julio, had just lassoed a calf, when the turn of his
delavuelta
about the saddle horn hopped, pinching off the first joint of his thumb. He half-slid, half-fell from his horse, and before anyone realized what had happened, Kathleen, who was nearest the vaquero, slipped through the slats and ran to him.

Within seconds Simon was there also, whipping his black handkerchief from his neck and tying it about the wrist of the doubled-up vaquero.

"I'll see to him," Kathleen said, "Get back to the rodeo."

Simon gave her a peculiar look, but allowed her to lead the young man away.

It was a gory sight, with the bone gleaming through the jagged rim of flesh, but Kathleen managed to clean it before Amelia rushed into the kitchen, her brown face ashen with fear.

"Quítate!"
Maria Jesus told Amelia, pointing her finger at the door. "You'll only make matters worse! Get out!"

Amelia hesitated, looked to Julio, whose acorn-colored eyes were glazed with shock, then to Maria Jesus. The frown on the cook's face won out, and Amelia retreated from the kitchen.

Clucking like a hen, Maria Jesus dragged out a tin from the cupboard -- balsam of myrrh the tin contained, she told Kathleen -- and set about applying the ointment to the mangled hand.

After Kathleen bound the thumb with strips of cloth, the dazed Julio thanked them before heading for the door, determined to ride again in the rodeo.

Kathleen leaned in the kitchen doorway, watching the youth lope back to the arena. And the vision came to her mind of Simon deftly applying his handkerchief as a tourniquet to Julio's wrist. She saw again Simon's swiftly moving hands. Hands that were as sure at lovemaking as riding, shooting, and gambling.

Kathleen reclined in the rose-scented water, letting its sensuous warmth soothe her aching muscles. The fiesta day had been a long one and still was not over.

But all in all, it had run smoothly so far -- which was what Simon had wanted, and expected, when he had put her in charge of the hacienda. If only she could get through the evening's festivities without incurring one of his black looks. What was it about her and Simon that made them seem like two wary cocks -- ever ready to fight but restraining themselves for the moment?

Would that moment come? God help her then, for Simon Reyes would be a foe to reckon with. But then, so was she, and she would yet have her revenge on the man.
Patience ... patience,
a voice inside her whispered.
Your chance to vindicate that night will come.

The sounds of guitars and trumpets and violins tuning up floated through the hacienda, and Kathleen realized she would have to hurry. Quickly she stepped from the hip tub, and, taking the large towel Amelia handed her, dried her peach-hued skin before slipping into a satin chemise. Over this she pulled a white satin gown with puffed sleeves and a scooped neckline. Spangled satin slippers and a lace fan completed the startling white attire.

As Amelia swept Kathleen's silken mane up into a crown of curls atop her head, tying the abundant hair with a white ribbon, Kathleen applied a light touch of rose salve to her lips and pinched her cheeks for color.

When she was ready, she cast only a cursory glance in the mirror, not realizing the beautiful young woman reflected there was such a great contrast to the woman who had arrived on the shores of California wearing thick spectacles and a severe hairdo.

So, naturally, she did not interpret the strange look that flickered in Simon's eyes when she entered the
sala.
Nor the sidelong glances of envy thrown by the female guests or the admiring ones openly bestowed by the men.

She paused there in the
sala's
double doorway, hoping to see Nathan's familiar face. In th elight of the gleaming candles the mixture of iridescent white cloth and golden skin and hair was a stark contrast to the sober, dark colors worn by the guests. Her radiance eclipsed all there but that of Simon, whose tall, sinewy frame was clad completely in black, with only the ruffles of white silk at his wrists and throat to serve as relief.

As he moved toward Kathleen, more than a few pair of eyes noted how the tutoress and the ranchero seemed to complement one another -- like the brightest star against the black velvet of night.

Among those watchful stares Kathleen saw the black-eyed glare of Francesca and was glad she had been able to avoid the petulant-looking girl the whole day, leaving it to Amelia to show Francesca and her mother the bedroom they were to share with Doña Modeste and to see to it that they were comfortable.

Francesca's eyes hungered after the broad back of Simon Reyes, unaware of Dimitri's whispered words of flattery to her. Just as Kathleen was unaware of Simon's appraising gaze until he was at her side, handing her one of the two glasses of wine he held.

"You're a
bruja,
Catalina," he said in words meant for her ears alone. "Like a witch, you cast your spell, changing yourself from a gray mouse to a fairy queen." He raised his glass in an intimate gesture of toasting. "To Calafí, the golden amazon queen for whom California was named."

Kathleen could scarcely believe she heard right. She looked up into the harsh features, searching for a sign of his usual mockery. She saw instead the dark flickering of desire in the green depths of his eyes.

Her lips curled scornfully over the rim of her glass. "You dare believe your honeyed words could win from me what your body has so savagely taken? Have done with your ridicule, Simon. I'll be out of your life within the year. And,
gracias a Dios,
you'll be out of mine!"

Simon's eyes crinkled in laughter. "Already you've turned back into a
bruja.
Maybe the warmth of a man's kisses would change the witch into a fairy queen again."

"That's an opportunity you'll never have!"

She turned from him, her dress swirling about her ankles, and made her way through the crowded room with the intent of talking with Don Pio Pico, whom she saw Diego admit a brawny man dressed in the sailor's garb of navy-blue duck trousers and jacket and a think blue tie.

She deposited her untouched glass on a nearby table and hurried to the entrance. "Nathan," she said pleasurably.

His big, rough hands closed over Kathleen's. "How've you fared, lass?" He looked over her head, his blue eyes questioning the tall man who approached them.

Simon nodded. "How are you, Nathan?"

"Touchy as a porcupine at the moment, with the customs officials on my heels." His gaze roamed over the guests. "I see the cream of California are gathered here. By the end of the fiesta there should be no doubt as to your patriotism."

Simon smiled thinly but made no reply. Instead he turned to Kathleen. "I think the gentleman over there in blue -- Señor Martínez -- is boring Father Marcos. Would you rescue the good padre, Kathleen?"

"Of course," she answered. "I'll leave you two gentlemen to discuss your nefarious enterprise."

As she made her way across the room, Nathan said, "I made a mistake in telling you about her, Simon."

"I won't discuss it -- not even with you, Nathan."

"She's gentle-bred," the sea-captain persisted. "It's obvious, isn't it, by her manner?"

"And you think my base-born manners too coarse for the girl?"

"You're asking for trouble, Simon. Gemma's screeching her ire at every turn. I"d tread warily on your next visit to Santa Barbara."

"That may be sooner than planned. Gemma's been here once already. On the pretext of visiting the Castro rancho for the weekend. She brought word that Santa Ana has ordered our illustrious
deputado
-- Martínez there -- to see to it that Micheltorena expells Frémont and his men from California -- by force, if necessary."

The gaze of the two men returned to where Kathleen stood in conversation with Martínez and Father Marcos. At that moment Francesca and Dimitri joined Kathleen and the men with her.

"I met you, did I not, at the Santa Barbara Mission?" Dimitri asked, as if he did not quite believe his eyes. "It is the same lady, isn't it, Father Marcos?"

The brown-robed padre laughed, and Kathleen said, "I'd begun to think you had a poor memory, Dimitri. I was also at the Escandón fiesta, but you didn't seem to recognize me then."

"You are right to chide me, señorita," Dimitri said. A flirtatious smile erupted beneath the thin black mustache. "A thousand pardons."

As if she did not like being left out of the conversation, Francesca said sweetly, "Are you trying to make a convert of our little tutoress, Father Marcos?"

Martínez raised startled, bushy brows. "Señorita, you do not share the Faith?"

"Señor Martínez," Father Marcos explained, "is Monterey's
deputado
to Mexico, and, as such, feels strongly about the obligations of the people."

The corners of Kathleen's lips curved upwards. "I'm afraid I don't share the Faith. I'm as gentile as the renegade Indians you were denouncing."

The
deputado
looked at Kathleen askance. "Have care señorita. The Faith is not a thing to be taken lightly. You realize, do you not, that the Protestants have no legal rights in California."

Kathleen paled slightly. "But, Señor Martínex, why should I have concern over legal rights? I'm only here for a temporary period of time."

"The
deputado
doesn't mean for his words to frighten you," Father Marcos said gently. "But there are those wo wished to overthrow the Mexican rule, and one can never be too careful. However, my daughter, your intentions would never be questioned, working as you do under the roof of such an esteemed gentleman as Señor Reyes. Am I not right, Señor Martínez?"

"Oh, quite, Father. But tell me, señorita, how is it Señor Reyes was fortunate enough to employ a woman as a tutor?"

"Yes, do tell us," Francesca said, fanning herself fiercely. "I'm sure it makes an interesting story."

"Indeed," Dimitri added, his dark eyes roaming over Kathleen with the same speculative gaze she had seen in the eyes of Boston's fortune hunters. "The sight of an American woman is rare here. And one as beautiful as you -- and a tutor, besides, well ..." The black eyes flashed appreciatively, unaware of Francesca's pouting lips.

"I'm here because --" Kathleen broke off, not knowing what to say next. Perspiration broke out on her temples. Could any of those about her relate the reward posters to herself?

"Miss Summers's job as tutoress is quite easily explained," a voice said behind her. Simon came to her side, tall and self-assured.

"Miss Summers and I met briefly in Europe, where women teachers are more readily accepted." Simon glanced down at her with a polite smile. "I was persuaded by her delightful combination of charm and intelligence that she'd make an excellent employee. And when I settled here, I immediately made plans to hire her."

"But, Simon, you never told me you had been to Europe," Francesca said.

Simon smiled engagingly down at Francesca's sullen face. "There are a lot of things I haven't told anyone." Simon looked around at those about him. "For fear the
deputado
here would report me for being such a rakehell!"

Martínez's laughter boomed throughout the room. "Impossible, Señor Reyes. I'd have to report all of us, then!"

There was a general eruption of laughter, and when it died down, Simon said, "Now if you'll excuse us, we should attend our other guests."

Simon took Kathleen's arm and guided her among the few guests, mostly older ones, who still remained within doors. From outside, the refrains of a violin's haunting melody drifted through the open veranda doors. The sweet night air enveloped Kathleen, as she and Simon made their way out onto the veranda, restoring some courage to her shaking limbs.

The words of gratitude came uneasily to her lips as she and Simon paused beneath one of the lanterns hung from a camphor tree. "Thank you, Simon. For sparing me, in there." She kept her eyes on the couples who danced sedately to a Spanish ballad.

"Your thanks aren't what I want, Kathleen."

Her eyes met his. "You'll receive nothing else from me -- freely given."

"Careful,
bebé.
You tempt the hands of Fate."

Then, before she could protest, he drew her within the circle of his arms and whirled her out into the center of the patio to join the other dancing couples.

"Stop this, Simon! Do you want a scene?"

He pulled her against him, holding her firmly as they moved as one. "Why? I thought all women liked to dance." His mocking words fanned the curls against her temple where his lips rested.

"Can't you understand? I hate the touch of your hands on me! I hate you!"

"Oh? Then I'm not good enough for you?"

"Ha! You have the audacity to ask me that? A profiteer? A gigolo? Or do you deny that you used Santa Ana's wife to gain del Bravo? No, don't bother. You're a man without loyalties, principles. I find your kind despicable."

"And what kind are you, Catalina?" His smile was a sneer. "A woman that'll go to bed with a man for the right price or rank? -- a Castilian soldier can buy your charms, but not a
cholo
vaquero."

Kathleen stiffened in outrage. But the fury that rose like bile in her throat was choked back by sudden fear. Her knees grew weak as she stared past Simon to the dark figure on the veranda.

Edmund Woodsworth's lipless smile was like the malevolent grin of a skull.