by Paula Scott
“Perhaps she just went to bed.” Roman walked from the courtyard. Isabella trailed along behind him.
“I think you’re mad,” she told him.
“Why would I be mad?”
Outside of the walled patio, at the edge of the darkness, Isabella tugged him to a halt. “You are mad because nothing is going the way you planned. You lost the war in Texas. Sarita married the gringo. And now you must marry Rachel. Perhaps California will be conquered by the Yankees, and then you will be happy you married a gringa because Papa says an alliance with the Americanos will protect us.”
Roman knelt down beside her, putting his hand gently on top of her head. “Do you fear the Americanos coming, pequeña?”
“Maria prays the United States will conqueror us quickly. She says she will sail away on one of those Yankee ships that bring us sugar and satin shoes.” Isabella’s voice trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.
Roman pulled her into his arms. “I won’t let that happen, chica. Maria will never board a Yankee ship and leave us. Never.”
Isabella wrapped her arms around his neck. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Roman held her for a moment and then set her away from him as he rose to his feet.
“Did Papa whip you harshly?”
He smiled to ease her concern. “I am fine, pequeña. Let me go to bed now. I’m very tired tonight.”
“Is that really where you are going? To your bed?”
“Look at the moon. The second night watch is already here. You should go to your bed too.”
“Will you walk me to Rachel’s room?”
His smile disappeared. “Can you not find your own way there?”
“No. I need your help. How will I sleep tonight without Señora Poppycock?” Isabella appeared on the verge of tears again.
He reached for her hand and led her through a colonnaded patio lit by more candle lanterns. “I hope Señorita Tyler does not snore like Señora Poppycock.”
“Señora Poppycock does not snore.”
“No, she clucks. How do you sleep with all that clucking your chicken does?”
“She only clucks if something frightens her.”
“Then she must be frightened all the time.”
“Señora Poppycock is not frightened all the time. She is a brave hen.” Isabella tugged him toward the east wing.
After passing several closed doors, Isabella abruptly opened a door and pulled Roman into a candlelit room. Clothed in a white nightdress, Rachel knelt beside her bed. Her unbound hair tumbled to the floor. She rose swiftly to her feet upon their arrival, her hair swirling about her in glorious display.
“You left without me,” Isabella chastised her.
Rachel glanced at Isabella and then fixed her gaze on Roman. He attempted to free himself from Isabella’s grip, taking in Rachel’s unbound hair and thin white nightdress, as well as the shocked look on her face. As he stared at her, she gathered her hair with both hands and swiftly braided it over one shoulder.
Isabella would not let him go. He finally yanked his hand free of hers and shut the door behind them so no other guests saw him there. “Can’t you see we have interrupted Señorita Tyler as she prepares for bed?”
“She wasn’t sleeping, just praying,” Isabella said.
“You should never barge into a señorita’s room.” Roman glared down at her.
Isabella backed away from his disapproval until she stood in the sweep of Rachel’s white nightgown.
Rachel put her arms around Isabella. “It’s all right. I told her my room was hers as long as she stayed here.”
Rachel looked so vulnerable and fetching and determined to stand her ground that he couldn’t help but admire her. “I’m sorry you were forced to sing tonight,” he said.
“I am sorry you and I are being forced to marry. I do not want this marriage any more than you do,” she answered.
“Don’t say that!” Isabella turned and wrapped her arms around Rachel’s waist.
“Isabella, this is an adult affair.” Roman moved toward the door.
Rachel stroked Isabella’s hair, staring down at the child now, no longer meeting his gaze.
“I have requested you stay at Rancho de los Robles until the wedding so we may have the chance to get to know one another before we marry. Your father has agreed to this, which amazes me. If you were my daughter, I would never allow such a scandalous arrangement.”
Rachel raised her eyes to his, and though he didn’t know her very well, he could see he’d made her angry. “Then why did you ask for this arrangement?”
A rueful smile twisted his mouth. “Why not? We are all but wed in California. A betrothal is as binding as rings here. You may as well be my wife.”
“You can sleep with me and Señora Poppycock at our house,” Isabella volunteered brightly.
“I will speak to my father about this.” Rachel’s voice trembled as she twisted her braid in her hand. She kept her other arm tucked around Isabella.
“I am leaving tomorrow. I don’t care what you say to your father. You will leave with me when I ride out in the morning.”
Isabella giggled. “I am so happy you are coming to Rancho de los Robles. We will plan your wedding there. You should marry quickly and begin having babies.”
A blush colored Rachel’s cheeks at the mention of babies. “How old are you?” she asked Isabella.
“Eleven.” His sister squared her little shoulders.
“Really?” The child’s age obviously surprised Rachel.
“I am small for my years. My mother was small this way too. She died giving birth to me. I was brought to Rancho de los Robles on All Saints Day, along with my wet nurse because I was but a month old. My father decided he could not live in California and care for me after my mother passed. He was a Russian fur hunter who lived at Fort Ross. Padre Renalgo said he truly loved my mother. Padre Renalgo said everyone loved my mother. She was so very beautiful, but so very young. Just fourteen years old when she died at Fort Ross while giving birth to me during a terrible storm that made the ocean rage. This is only a few years older than me. See, I am quite grown up after all.”
“Grown up enough to understand Señorita Tyler must be given time to get used to this idea of marrying a stranger,” said Roman, narrowing his eyes at his sister. He wished she wasn’t in the room with them.
“You are not a stranger,” Isabella told him.
“I am a stranger to Señorita Tyler.” Smiling in spite of himself, Roman opened the door. He could stare at Rachel in her winsome white gown all night long, but he knew he needed to go. “Goodnight, pequeñas,” he said, shutting the door behind him.
CHAPTER TEN
The knock on her door came before dawn. Rachel was already awake, curled on her side in the bed beside the sleeping Isabella. After lighting a candle, she tiptoed on bare feet to open the door. Roman stood there dressed for the trail, along with a very sleepy Maria still in her nightclothes. He pushed his sister into the room and quietly closed the door behind her.
“You must dress for travel,” Maria said as if she were talking in her sleep. “Don’t worry about your belongings. Everything will be packed up by our servants and brought along when we return to Rancho de los Robles. Roman says you must hurry.” Maria headed for the bed, crawling into it to snuggle down beside Isabella, still sleeping soundly there.
“Maria,” Rachel whispered in rising panic. She went to the bed and gently shook the girl awake. “What has happened? Why is your brother here so early?”
Maria mumbled something in Spanish. Rachel had no idea what she said. “Maria!” She shook her again. “Why is he here so early?”
Maria rolled toward Rachel. “Roman’s ready to leave. How do I know why he gets up so early? He always rises early.”
“But what about the rest of you? Aren’t we all traveling together today?”
“We won’t be leaving for several more days. Unlike my brother, Tio and Tia would never behave so rudely.” The
redhead flipped onto her stomach, burying her head under the covers.
“Maria.” Rachel shook her again, hoping she had the redhead by the shoulder under the bundle of covers. “Certainly, your brother knows I can’t travel alone with him.”
The covers flew back, hitting Rachel in her face. Maria sat up, a stream of indignant Spanish spilling from her lips. Rachel marveled Isabella didn’t wake up in the midst of the ruckus. “I have no idea what you are saying,” she patiently told Maria. Inside, she was frantic.
The bedroom door opened. “She said you will travel with me or else there will be the devil to pay. I am your betrothed, and you must obey me as you would obey your husband.” Roman walked into the room, translating for Maria.
“I did not say that,” Maria replied in irritated English. “If you’ve had your ear pressed to the door like a snooping servant all this time, why didn’t you just come in and fetch her yourself so I can go back to sleep!”
“Lower your voice,” Roman commanded. “I told you to help Señorita Tyler dress. She doesn’t look dressed to me.” He kept his eyes on Maria. Rachel was still in her nightdress.
“I told you, I am not a servant. She can dress herself.” Maria smirked. “Better yet, you dress her, hermano. It won’t be long before you undress her as well.” Maria laughed.
Roman took a threatening step toward the bed. Maria dove under the covers, bumping Isabella. Amazingly, the child slept on.
Glancing around, he focused on Rachel’s traveling trunk and strode over to it with a purpose, his spurs clicking against the plank floor.
“What are you doing?” Rachel grabbed a shawl to wrap around her shoulders as he rifled through her things.
He ignored her until a bundle of clothing filled his arms. “Come with me.” He gripped her by the elbow, dragging her toward the door.
“How dare you!” She fought to escape him, resolved to keep the shawl covering her nightgown.
He wrestled her to the door.
“I will not leave with you,” she cried.
The blankets again flew back from Maria’s head. She sat up, still laughing at them.
Finally awake, Isabella untangled herself in the mess Maria had made of the bed.
“Silencio, all of you!” Roman pushed Rachel out the door.
“I must have my Bible!” She twisted away from him.
Their gazes collided and then held in a contest of wills. “Does the Bible mean that much to you?”
“Yes!” She yanked out of his hold and rushed back into the room.
He followed her. Both his sisters sat up in bed, watching them, Maria clearly entertained, poor Isabella rubbing her eyes like a child roused from a long summer nap.
“Hurry,” Roman told Rachel.
She grabbed the worn leather Bible off the table beside her bed where the candle burned and then refused to budge. It wasn’t even dawn yet. “I will not travel alone with you.”
Maria laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Isabella asked.
Roman strode over to the bed. He shoved the bundle of clothes at Maria. “Be quiet and follow me,” he ordered. The redhead dove back under the covers, taking the clothes with her.
Rachel backed away from him when he approached, his face absolutely unwavering. When he attempted to grab hold of her arm, she raced around the bed with her Bible clutched to her chest. He ended up with just her shawl in his hands. He let out a curse. Throwing the shawl to the floor, he pursued her from the room.
He caught her in the darkened hall, cupping his hand over her mouth as he pulled her into his arms. “You must not scream.” Her thin nightdress offered very little covering between their two bodies. God bless her Bible for it was the only thing keeping an ounce of distance between them as Roman pressed her against his hard, immobile chest.
“Nod your head if you will not scream.”
She shook her head no instead. He pulled her more tightly against him, if that were possible, his breath hot against her ear. “Do not resist me, Rachel. I am trying to protect you, and I cannot do that by leaving you here with your father. You have enemies in this place.”
It was the first time she’d heard her name on his lips. He said it so invitingly. The enemies he mentioned confused her. Who would be her enemy in her father’s house? She thought she might faint in his arms, his body, so hard and warm and masculine, pressed against her frame. Never had she been pressed to a man’s body before. The rawness of it stunned her, the muscle and bone and strength of him. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she could feel his anxiety. His breath warmed her ear as he whispered, “Your father was well into his brandy last night. If he’s any kind of father at all, he will have changed his mind this morning about allowing you to leave with me. I want to be long gone when he rises.”
Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth. She opened her mouth to scream, but the moment she made a sound, his lips covered hers. His kiss muffled her cry. He kept on kissing her until she stilled in his arms. Until she could no longer resist the heat washing over her. His kiss was nothing like she’d ever imagined a kiss could be. At first fiercely consuming, then shockingly intimate, now his lips gentled, becoming so tender she could taste his longing for her to yield in a way she didn’t know a woman could yield to a man.
When she tentatively responded to his tenderness, he released her, cradling her face in his large, calloused hands. “Please don’t scream,” he said and then kissed her again, this time deeply, intimately, his body trembling against hers. This hard man was trembling from head to toe. She trembled too.
With a soft groan, he scooped her up into his arms.
“Come with me willingly, pequeña.” He sounded as breathless as she felt.
“All right,” she answered, shocking herself.
His lips found hers in the darkness once more, and he kissed her swiftly. Possessively. Passionately. Then he strode through the shadowy hacienda and out into the cold, moonlit morning with her in his arms.
The brisk air brought Rachel to her senses. She pressed the Bible against her chest as he carried her to the stables like a captive. She began to shiver uncontrollably. In response, he tucked her closer to his chest, trying to warm her, it seemed.
In front of the stables, four mounted riders waited with two saddled horses in the blue-black darkness. Roman spoke Spanish to the men.
One of them dismounted and disappeared into the stables.
A second man dismounted and took Rachel from his arms as Roman swiftly leaped into one of the saddles. The vaquero placed Rachel back into Roman’s arms in front of him on the horse.
The other vaquero came from the stables carrying a woolen blanket, which he handed to Roman. He threw the blanket over Rachel, tucking it around her. The vaquero then placed another cloth bundle into a leather bag on the horse without a rider before mounting his own horse.
One of the men led the pack animal out into the darkness. Rachel scarcely had time to gather her thoughts before they were off at a gallop, horse hooves thundering in her ears.
They were a mile from the hacienda before her situation truly sank in. How Roman kept them both in the saddle with the blanket tucked around her astounded her. This man seemed part of the horse, and she a part of him, pressed intimately against his body. The group did not slow when dawn broke upon the hills. By then, Rachel had worked herself into a state of absolute panic.
“I lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”
Repeating this verse from the Bible again and again brought calmness like nothing else could. Neither she nor Roman had spoken a word to each other since she agreed to go with him outside her bedroom door after his kisses.
Had she really agreed to travel to his home alone with him? She needed to stop thinking about what had happened in his arms. Lord, help me. I have lost my mind, surrendering to him this way.
Staring at the sun breaking over the hills
, tears of shame filled Rachel’s eyes and then washed across her cold, windblown cheeks. How could she ever face Steven again now that she’d yielded herself to another man? This Spaniard, whose rock-hard body cradled hers as if they were one in the saddle. The smell of him. The feel of him. Her lips still throbbing from his kisses. All of it so pleasurable. So seductive. She hated herself for feeling this way because she loved Steven.
After several hours, the horses came to a halt in a grassy meadow. At Roman’s command, two of the vaqueros rode on across the meadow, disappearing into the woods.
The vaquero who had lifted Rachel into the saddle still led the packhorse along with them. He spoke with Roman as the sweat-soaked horses rested. Rachel did not understand their Spanish. The vaquero was definitely Indian. He was about the same age as Roman, darker in complexion, and powerfully built. Clearly, the two men were very fond of each other. The Indian remained careful not to look at Rachel. Most likely embarrassed they’d all seen her in her nightdress. At least it was dark then, she reminded herself. The blanket covered her now.
In the time they’d been riding, she’d worked herself into a fine fit of outrage. What was he thinking stealing her away from her father before he changed his mind? Forcing his attentions on her as if she was already his wife? Worse, as if she was some wanton woman without any sense of morality. Shame flooded her anew as she remembered how she’d responded to his kisses.
“Antonio is going to lift you down. Hold on to your blanket,” Roman interrupted her anxious thoughts.
The vaquero was off his horse now, reaching for Rachel. Roman said something to him in Spanish. She could tell it was something teasing about her.
“What did you say to him?” she demanded, moving away from Antonio after he set her feet on the ground as Roman dismounted.
“I said be careful. She is mean as a wild hog and bites like one too.”
“You did not tell him that.”
Roman laughed. “I said you weigh as much as a feather and are gentle as a dove.” He repeated this in Spanish for Antonio, who responded with a smile.
Roman went to the packhorse and retrieved what Antonio had stuffed in the saddlebags back at the stable. He spoke in Spanish again, and Antonio mounted his horse and rode off without another word, leading the pack animal along behind him.