Spanish Serenade (24 page)

“There is usually a choice.”

“Except when others are involved.”

“Even then. Clean wounds heal and babes weaned in season don't cry after the breast, and a fast death carefully selected is better than a stinking progression to the same end.”

He was telling her a great many things, none of which she was sure she understood. Slowly she said, “I see why you don't want to be loved.”

“Who was speaking of love?” he answered. “That's another subject altogether.”

Dancing with Refugio was an exercise in precision and the glory of perfect timing. There was knowledge and guidance in it, but most of all there was untrammeled instinct and limitless grace. He enjoyed it. The music was an exultation inside him which he translated into movement, taking his partner with him.

Pilar, making these discoveries, felt her own pleasure rise triplefold. She had her instincts and they met his and mated with them. That she could, with some small effort, match his exacting pace was a private triumph. She looked into his silver-gray eyes as they advanced and retreated with the steps, and what she saw there, half hidden by his lashes, made her fingers tighten in his grasp. He might not wish to take love or to return it, but he was not indifferent to her. It was a potent consolation.

The evening progressed toward midnight, the hour that would bring the ending of Mardi Gras and the beginning of Ash Wednesday. Then would come the unmasking, also, though there would be few surprises. Shortly before that hour there was served a last supper of meats and pastries and all the rich comestibles that would be forbidden during lent. The governor of the island, resplendent in silver lace, a full wig of white silk, and shoes with red heels, led the way into the dining room. He was flanked by scarlet-clad guards carrying silver maces. Laughing, joking, in fine appetite considering the short period of time that had elapsed since dinner, his guests trooped behind him.

Refugio took Pilar in to supper and found a chair for her. By the time he turned to go in search of food for them both, Philip was there proffering a filled plate. Not far behind him was Charro, also bearing a selection of delicacies, and behind him came Enrique with an extra glass of wine. To be surrounded by men was gratifying, even if the intentions of several of them were more protective than amorous. It was also ludicrous, for there was far more food than she could eat. The only way to prevent hurt feelings was to taste something from each offering. It did not help that it must be done under Refugio's sardonic gaze. Still, she nibbled first one confection and then another, and sipped at the wine, all the while making pleasant chatter designed to alleviate the awkwardness between the men.

Enrique and Charro did not seem to care for Philip or his presence. They made a number of sly comments, only half joking, about the provincialism of the island, the blandness of its food, and the complexions of its women. In a final closing of ranks, they disparaged the isled-bred horses, the horsemanship of the riders, and even cast doubt on the local level of expertise with a sword. Philip, at first inclined to agree with them and to long for the excitement and adventure of a sojourn in Spain, began to grow pink in the face.

Pilar looked to Refugio, expecting him to put an end to the baiting. It would be unwise to start an imbroglio at the governor's palace, especially with the son of their host in the middle of it. The bandit leader, however, seemed to have found something of supreme interest in the bottom of his wineglass; his concentration upon it was total.

The comments continued. Pilar herself attempted to redirect them, but to no avail. As Philip's voice in defense grew hotter and his face redder, she sent Refugio a fierce frown.

It was then, during a temporary lull, that an elderly woman nearby spoke, her tone querulous and positive.

“The man is an impostor, this I tell you! He is far too handsome, for one thing; for the rest, he lacks fire. If he were Count Gonzalvo, there would not be this cluster of men around his Venus, oh no! If he were the count, there would have been swordplay by now.”

Refugio stiffened, then turned slowly to face his detractor. There was about him, in that moment, the unyielding pride of generations of grandees, with also the chill hauteur of the Moorish prince that he was portraying for the evening. His face behind his mask was dark with anger.

Around them the spreading silence grew, broken only by the soft sibilance of whispers. Those guests who were nearest turned to look, pausing with their supper plates in their hands.

The apprehension that rose inside Pilar was as much for how Refugio, intended to answer the woman as for the danger that had suddenly caught up with them. An angry defense, or one of cold and formidable formality, would be wrong, she thought; it would give the old woman's idle words far too much weight.

She moistened her lips, gathering her courage. “Ah, my love,” she said to Refugio in a tone of low, humor-tinged intimacy, “how little the lady knows you.”

He swung his head to look at her in surprise, then he smiled, a realignment of the features that brought the light of impatient desire to his eyes and curved his mouth with sensual remembrance, caressing promise. He answered softly, “Or you, cara.”

Returning his attention to the elderly woman with what appeared to be an effort, he inclined his head. “I would not seek to justify my conduct to you, señora, for there is nothing that compels it. However, I would not have you think I value my Venus less now than in the first days of my love. Think you that it is impossible to trust a woman? You would be wrong. But there is more. Show me which of these men around her is worthy of her smiles. You cannot, for she is too far above them, just as she is too far above me. Slaying them would be as sensible as trying to slay every man who gazes with longing upon the moon.”

“If you were Count Gonzalvo, you would try,” the old woman said, though there was a certain approval in her faded eyes.

“How can I?” Refugio, asked, all rueful frankness. “To spill the blood of the son of my host would be an intolerable breach of conduct, nor can I think that the governor would appreciate a gory ending for his ball.”

Behind Refugio, Philip uttered a sharp exclamation. “The blood spilled might well be yours.”

“It might, if your skill was equal to the task,” Refugio replied politely.

“I also have strength and youth. What would you wager on the chance?” The young man's face was purplish red, his stance belligerent. His gaze flicked to his mother and father, who stood chatting on the far side of the room, then moved away again.

“Do you expect me to place my Venus as a prize? A vulgar notion, one she would doubtless refuse.”

“I would,” Pilar said as the two men looked to her in speculation.

“You need have no fear of paying the forfeit, I assure you,” Refugio said, his tone light, before his gaze moved above her head to where Charro and Enrique stood.

Some communication passed between the three, Pilar thought, some semblance of an order given and received.

A frisson of purest alarm ran along her nerves. Refugio was up to something, but what was it? She wished she knew, wished she could tell whether she was meant to indulge him by agreeing or aid him by opposing him. She thought the latter, though she despaired of ever being certain of the convolutions of his reasoning. Her voice low with her indecision, she said, “I have no fear.”

“How very gratifying.”

“Not to me!” Philip Guevara declared. “I demand a meeting.”

“I also,” Charro said, suddenly.

“And I,” Enrique added, drawing himself up in imitation of Refugio's rigid stance. “The honor of us all has been besmirched, as well as that of the men of Santiago de Cuba. We require redress.”

“No,” Pilar said, her eyes widening as she saw the direction that was being taken. “I will not be a part of such madness.”

“But yes,” Enrique declared with fervor. “Have I not been insulted, along with the horses and the women of this island?”

“Horses?” the old woman who had begun the incident said in puzzlement.

Refugio shook his head. “This grows ridiculous. It would be repetitious to fight you all. Besides, what would it prove, the private and deadly settlement of this issue? No, no, I will not be guilty of such disregard for hospitality.”

“You must,” Philip said. “It would be infamous to refuse now.”

Refugio heaved a mock sigh. “I have no need for further infamy. But should the governor and his guests not gain some further entertainment from the contention? What say you to a public trial, one more nearly equal? What's needed is a tournament, the splendor of a passage at arms, a contest pitting men against each other.”

“A tournament?” Philip said in disgust.

“Precisely. Doesn't it please you to think of demonstrating your skill before all, particularly the ladies?”

A speculative gleam appeared in the young man's eyes, then he shook his head. “That might be, but it would take too long to arrange. Now, a duel—”

“What arrangements are necessary? We have a night and clear sand at the edge of the sea. We have horses and men and swords, and even a moon to light the field. The prospect is perfection. Unless you have no stomach for it.”

“You mean — tonight?”

“What better time? After the governor's ball is over, of course. I would not want to offend him.”

“But what honor can there be in this?”

“The same as in battle, the defeat of a worthy foe.”

“You will participate?”

“It will be my pleasure.” The gold cord of Refugio's headdress gleamed as he inclined his head.

Charro spoke then. “What shall be demonstrated, skill at swordplay or horsemanship?”

“Need it be one or the other? The ancient tournament was a test of skill in both, a mock war.”

A murmur rose from those listening. In it was intrigued interest, and also admiration. From the phrases that emerged, it appeared that most thought the exercise was a wonderfully concocted excuse by the count, one designed to supply him an audience for the drubbing he meant to give the admirer of his Venus.

“I don't like this,” Pilar said, propelled to her feet by burgeoning fear.

“But I do,” Refugio, said, his eyes bright with challenge. “And you shall be judge, if not also the prize. What could be better than a veritable moon goddess, fairest of the fair, impartial, incorruptible, and also endlessly accommodating.”

“Stop this!” she demanded. “It can't be necessary.”

“But it is, I promise you. Proof is required, don't you see? Proof that I value my Venus, and am, therefore, who I say. Proof for them all. And for me.”

Who had heard those last soft words? No one, she thought, except herself. Her voice equally quiet, she said, “I'll have nothing to do with it. Nothing.”

“No? The loss will be felt; how could it be otherwise? We require watching and favors, as well as judging. And you, my sweet Venus, unlike the goddess of justice, are not blind.”

11

THE NEWS OF THE CONTEST flashed around the ballroom as swiftly as the reflected light of a looking glass. Señora Guevara cried out in alarm as she heard, but for the most part the prospect was greeted with delight for its novelty. So great was the preoccupation of the governor's guests that the midnight unmasking became a perfunctory rite, a signal for the beginning of the entertainment instead of its end. That was, doubtless, Refugio's intention, though not his only one.

Refugio and his men, with Philip and a number of his friends, left immediately after dropping their half masks. They were closely followed; few felt inclined to miss the spectacle.

The ball guests flowed down the steps of the governor's palace and, calling their servants from their private party, mounted to their horses, their carts, and carriages and galloped after the contestants. They headed for the seashore beyond the neck of the harbor. Their passage through the town attracted the attention of others, the late revelers of lesser rank and station, mulatto servants, street vendors and musicians, seamen and stevedores from the docks. These followed on foot, laughing and drinking and shouting back and forth to find out the reason for the frolic.

Pilar found a ride with Señora Guevara, piling in ahead of Doña Luisa without waiting for an invitation. Her welcome was chilly. The older woman's gaze as it rested on her in the light of the carriage lantern was sharp, as if she knew Pilar was at the center of the affair, but she made no accusation. Requesting that Doña Luisa stop dithering about the possibility of her gown becoming crushed in the overcrowded vehicle and get in if she wanted to go, the official's wife gave the order for the carriage to start.