Rafael was both pleased and displeased by the arrival of the men from Enchantress—pleased about the progress Renaldo wrote of and displeased that it interrupted his time with Beth. It proved, as he had suspected, to be a busy day for him. He had to order supplies, implements, and miscellaneous items that Renaldo had requested. There was even more to be sent out this time than the first because now, with the men's quarters completed, their families would be joining them. It proved to be a long, exhausting day for him, and it was dusk before he returned to the house.
The day stretched endlessly before Beth once Rafael left the house, and she wandered from room to room before deciding to enjoy the warmth of the morning sun. Leaving Senora Lopez to her seemingly endless needlework, Beth walked outside and sat down in a comfortable chair at the edge of the rear courtyard, her body half-shaded by a huge, old cottonwood tree. Blankly she stared at the creek where she and Rafael had walked the previous night, her thoughts on the child and the need to make a final decision. I'm such a coward, she mused. Just tell him! When he comes home this afternoon, ask to see him in the study alone and tell him. It would be so easy. It was what she should do, she knew, and yet her heart wanted the reassurance of his love—first. Not afterward, if it came at all. In spite of the growing bond between them, she wasn't certain of the depth of his feelings, and she dreaded the possibility that her confession would bring back the snarling, sardonic man who had greeted her that dawn at Cielo. He might love her—her heart believed he did—but then again, he might just want her body. It was a depressing thought, one that she instantly dismissed.
She sat there for quite some time. The day was becoming hot and, deciding to seek the coolness of the house, Beth had just risen to her feet when she heard the sound of many horses at the front of the house and the sound of several voices. Paco's she recognized, but not the harsh autocratic bark of the other; she thought she heard Don Miguel's voice as if he were attempting to placate someone. Apparently it did no good, because the harsh voice broke out in an impassioned denunciation in rapid Spanish that Beth couldn't follow, only the tone. Senora Lopez's voice was heard briefly too, but she was drowned out by the curt commands thrown out by the hard voice.
Curious, she made her way to the house and wasn't at all surprised to be met by Senora Lopez, an expression of vexation and anxiety on her face.
"Ah, Senora Beth, come quickly to the front veranda!" the Spanish woman cried when she saw Beth.
Wary and uneasy, Beth followed the other woman, not hurrying and yet not exactly dragging her feet either. Entering the main hall, she became aware of the bustle that had overtaken the house as two maidservants with harassed expressions scurried up the stairs, four menservants quickly following them with what looked suspiciously like her trunks. She stared up after them in amazement for a second and then turned her gaze toward the front of the house.
The white double front doors were open to their fullest extent, with Paco, a sullen expression on his usually smiling face, standing helplessly near the entrance. Looking out across the wide veranda Beth was startled to see a veritable cavalcade of mounted Spaniards.
As her bewildered gaze traveled over the dozen or so men, she recognized only Don Miguel, appearing embarrassed and uncomfortable, and Lorenzo, a pleased expression on his dark face. The others were all strangers, all well-armed vaqueros... except one—the slim, aquiline-nosed old man in the center of the group.
Astride a magnificent black stallion, the saddle and bridle artfully worked with silver that glittered and sparkled in the hot sunlight, he sat on the spirited animal with all the arrogance and pride of a conquistador. His black sombrero was heavily embellished with silver embroidery work, as well as the ruby cloth chaqueta and the black calzoneras he wore. Wicked-looking silver spurs jutted out from fine leather boots, and the hands that held the reins of the big stallion so effortlessly were covered in black leather gloves.
Self-importance radiated from him, and haughtily he stared back at Beth, making no move to dismount, to greet her, or even to politely doff his sombrero in acknowledgment of her presence. The lined and seamed face bore evidence of the strikingly handsome man he must have been once, but it also showed cruelty and selfishness in the curve of the thin mouth beneath a slim drooping mustache and the set of the arrogant chin. His eyes were black and showed as much emotion as a reptile's as they moved insolently over Beth's slender shape. In a heavily accented voice he demanded in English, "You are the Senora Ridgeway?"
Beth stiffened, liking neither the tone nor the way his eyes traveled over her, assessing her as if she were an animal to be bought. Nor did she like being questioned by rude strangers. From Paco's sullenness to Don Miguel's uncomfortable expression and the fact that no move was being made to dismount, it was also apparent that this overbearing creature had refused to enter the house. Treating him with the same contempt he did her, she nodded curtly and asked crisply, "And you—who might you be?"
One thin, arrogantly arched eyebrow rose. "I?" he said in surprise as if it were incomprehensible that she didn't know him. "I am Don Felipe."
Chapter 26
So this was the terrifying and autocratic Don Felipe! What a cold, imperious face he has, she mused silently; even his mustache seems to curl with contempt for his fellow man.
It was not only his face that showed his imperiousness but his manner as well. The reptilian black eyes never leaving her face, he informed her. "The servants have been ordered to pack your things. It is not proper, I think, for you to reside in my grandson's house with only Senora Lopez as chaperon. As I and the other members of my family will not dirty our feet by stepping inside the house of Abel Hawkins, you will come with us this afternoon." As Beth stared at him with stunned fury, he added condescendingly, "Dona Madelina is waiting for you at the hacienda the family uses whenever there is need to remain overnight in San Antonio."
Swallowing the hot retort that sprang to her lips, Beth opened her eyes very wide and queried sweetly, "Even your grandson, Rafael?"
Don Felipe's thin lips tightened. "No! He prefers to flaunt his plebeian blood and stay in the house of a gringo trapper!" Throwing his son a speaking glance, he added, "I was offended to discover that there are others in my family who think differently—but rest assured it shall not happen again. But that has nothing to do with you—you will come with us. A coach is behind us, and you will have just enough time to prepare yourself for departure before it arrives." When Beth protested angrily, he glared at her and thundered, "I will have no argument out of you—I do not have the time to waste exchanging words with you."
Beth took a deep breath, fighting to control her blazing temper. Her chin held at a defiant angle, she met Don Felipe's black-eyed stare and said coolly, "Thank you very much for your kind offer, but I will stay where I am. If I decide it is not proper for me to remain here, then I shall remove myself to a hotel."
The black eyes narrowed and a mirthless smile cracked across the old face. "She has spirit," he said approvingly, as if Beth were not standing there. "A certain amount of spirit is a good thing in a woman—she should breed spirited sons worthy of the Santana name." Almost as an afterthought he tacked on, "A pity, however, that she is a gringo, but she should do well enough. At least her father is a baron, although I could have wished for a duke."
Beth's gasp of outrage was lost as one of her trunks and a small valise was carried past her by Rafael's servants. The servants looked uncomfortable and uncertain, and it was apparent that while they resented and objected to being ordered about by this arrogant old man, they were too frightened not to obey him. Not so Beth. The violet eyes glittering with rage, Beth burst out angrily, "Now wait just one damn minute!—put those things down!—I am not going anywhere!" With quick, furious strides she crossed the veranda and stood on the second step, glaring at Don Felipe. "You have no right to order about servants not your own!" she raged. "Most importantly, you have absolutely no authority over me! So you can forget any idea you might have had of rem
oving me from this house."
Don Felipe, thinking it was as well that he had made plans for her foolish stubbornness, looked her up and down. Obviously she was not going to accept his orders meekly and climb sedately into the coach when it arrived, so it would have to be the other way—and with an expression of boredom on his proud face he flicked a couple of fingers, and before Beth had any idea of what was happening, she found herself swept off the steps and held prisoner in front of Lorenzo. His horse shied at the unexpected addition of her weight, and the high saddle horn bit into her hip as she wiggled about, struggling to escape Lorenzo's brutal hold.
Don Miguel, who had remained a silent, sullen observer as his father dominated the scene, spoke up, objecting angrily at the unanticipated event, but a sharp rejoinder in rapid Spanish from his father caused him to subside in embarrassed silence. He threw Beth a look of commiseration and apology, but made no effort to stop what was an abduction; Beth realized in that instant that Don Miguel would always give in to a stronger man.
Don Felipe, ignoring Beth's animadversions and her attempts to free herself from Lorenzo, snapped something to Paco and Senora Lopez, which Beth later learned was a message to Rafael about her whereabouts and instructions for the removal of the remainder of her possessions. Then, with a signal to his men, he turned his horse away and the entire group followed, leaving Paco and Senora Lopez dazed as they stood on the veranda watching Beth's bright head disappear in the cloud of dust made by the horses' hooves.
A second later Paco sent a servant hurrying around town trying to locate Senor Rafael and relate to him what had happened, while Senora Lopez and Manuela began the necessary preparations for the removal to the hacienda where Beth had been taken. Don Felipe had informed them that when the coach arrived they were to accompany Beth's various trunks, as well as their own, to the hacienda.
It never occurred to Senora Lopez to do otherwise, although she may have thought Don Felipe highhanded in his actions. As for Manuela, she was only a servant and had even less to say about matters than Senora Lopez, and so with a troubled expression she began to pack Senora Beth's belongings, wondering uneasily what the outcome of this day would be.
Knowing it was useless, as well as undignified, to keep fighting, Beth eventually stopped her struggles and subsided into a tight-lipped furious silence as the town disappeared behind them. The sun beat down on her uncovered head, and they hadn't gone a mile before she had the beginnings of a severe headache—a headache brought on as much by indignant temper as the blazing sun.
Don Miguel maneuvered his horse near Lorenzo's and murmured to Beth, "I am sorry this had to happen, cara, but my father is a stubborn old man. He is not always polite or conventional; he has lived all his life doing as he pleases."
"I suppose it never occurred to anyone to defy him?" Beth snapped. "Why didn't you stop him back there? You could have, you know."
Don Miguel wouldn't meet her eyes. Instead he cleared his throat and said in a low voice, "The habits of a lifetime are difficult to break, senora. I obey him because I have been trained to do so. He does not tolerate defiance of his dictates—I have found life easier when I do what he wants rather than rebel. I may disagree with him, but I cannot bring myself to go against his wishes."
"I see," Beth murmured, aware again of the weakness that his charm had hidden from her. Don Miguel was a charming man, but, unlike his father and his son, he would always defer to a more powerful personality. Looking at him with new eyes, she said suddenly, "I wonder that you dared to marry Rafael's mother."
He flushed and replied stiffly, "That has nothing to do with this."
Accepting the snub, Beth stared ahead at the ears of Lorenzo's horse, conscious of Lorenzo's hard chest at her side, and the wiry-muscled arms that encompassed her. She could feel his breath on her neck and she knew he was holding her tighter than strictly necessary. Beth glanced up at him, intending to rebuke him for the sly intimacies he was taking, but, meeting those black eyes and seeing the desire that burned in their depths, she looked quickly away.
As they traveled farther away from San Antonio, Don Miguel kept his horse by their side, while Don Felipe rode at the head of the cavalcade like a returning king at the head of his army. Since signaling for her capture, Don Felipe had neither looked at Beth nor addressed any talk her way. He was not one to waste words—especially on a woman.
But Don Miguel, essentially a gentle man and a kind one, was troubled by what had occurred and, looking at Beth's set face, he said softly, "Senora Beth, try not to think too harshly of me. My father is right about one thing—it was not proper for you to remain in San Antonio with only Senora Lopez to protect your good name. Dona Madelina and I were remiss in thinking otherwise—as my father pointed out. We should have taken you with us when we returned to Cielo, or remained in San Antonio until..." He stopped abruptly, unwilling to say more.
A dangerous sparkle in her eyes, Beth prompted, "Until what?" When Don Miguel seemed disinclined to tread on shaky ground, she demanded, "Where did your father get the ridiculous idea that I am to 'breed Santana sons'? And I would like very much to know by what right he inquired into my family background."
Don Miguel looked even more uncomfortable and embarrassed. "It is my fault," he confessed. Staring earnestly into Beth's unfriendly features, he said, "It was presumptuous of me, I know, but I wrote to my father telling him about you and of my hopes that you and my son would make a match of it. It was a mistake I can see that now—I never expected my father to interfere in this manner." His eyes begging for forgiveness, he continued, "You are sweet and lovely, and it seemed that Rafael was not immune to your charms. It would have solved so many things—you would not return to Natchez a widow, and my son perhaps at last would have found happiness."
Don Miguel looked away and sighed. "When I wrote to my father, I had forgotten how ruthless he can be when he has set his mind on something. He has long wanted Rafael to remarry, and when I wrote him about you, he seized upon it—especially when, through a friend at the British consul in Mexico City, he was able to confirm your background."
Beth maintained a stony silence, but her earlier anger at Don Miguel was fading. He could not help being a weak man and he and his wife had been very kind to her, she reminded herself. It was Don Felipe who was her enemy—Don Felipe who, with his highhanded arrogance, might have destroyed any chance she and Rafael had to discover the depth of their feelings.
It was clear that he intended to force a marriage between them. Obvious that by whatever means, fair or foul, Rafael was going to be compelled to make a decision he might not be ready for. As for herself, there was no doubt in her mind that she loved and wanted to marry Rafael, but only if he loved and wanted to marry her—certainly not at the command of an overbearing tyrant like Don Felipe.
She and Rafael had been so close, so near, possibly, to declaring what was in their hearts, and now this wicked old man may have ruined everything. The violet eyes hard, she glared daggers at Don Felipe's ramrod-straight back several riders in front of her. Damn him!
If Beth was furious with Don Felipe, Lorenzo was delighted. When Don Felipe's message had reached him yesterday afternoon to meet with him at the hacienda, he had nearly crowed with excitement when he heard what was planned. It didn't matter that the marriage he feared between Beth and Rafael was one step nearer. What had mattered was the fact that Don Felipe was intent upon removing Beth from San Antonio—away from the protection of the town, away from safety.
Lorenzo wasted little time once he left the meeting with the head of the Santana family. Riding to the limestone hills to the west, he broke off the green leaves and twigs that he needed for a smoky fire, and within minutes, billows of gray and white smoke drifted up against the bright blue of the sky. His serape proved an effective blanket, and soon puffs of white smoke were seen rising at regular intervals as Lorenzo covered and uncovered the fire with his serape. The smoke could be seen for miles, and he smiled wolfishly when shortly he saw the
answer to his signal in the distance. Good! The Comanche raiding party was not more than one day's journey from him.
Beth's slender body next to his brought Lorenzo's thoughts back to the present, and, feeling himself harden with desire, he knew that before he left her with the Comanches to die he would possess her. The urge to have that white, silken skin against him was the only thing that would keep Beth alive one moment longer than necessary. Perhaps it was even the reason he proposed to dispose of her as he did. First he would have his pleasure, and then he would watch as the Comanches had theirs, before...
The Santana house was situated about six miles from San Antonio in a small valley near a branch of the San Antonio River, and, despite the fact that it was seldom used, it was always staffed and kept in readiness for any member of the family in the vicinity. It was nowhere near the size of Cielo but was as luxurious in its furnishings and accommodations, Beth thought as she was shown to her room.
Her room was as large as the one at Cielo, and although she did not have a separate sitting room, there were several chairs upholstered in crimson velvet and a long, low sofa covered in blue brocade at one end that would serve the purpose. Her bed was made of black iron with intricate filigree work in the high headboard and low footboard. A crimson quilt of satin squares lay across the plump mattress and a gray marble stand with an oil lamp of crystal stood nearby. The slate floor was covered by a lovely carpet in jewel tones of crimson and blue.
But while the room was delightful, it was a prison, and watching impassively as a Mexican woman in a brightly striped skirt and white blouse hung up the clothes that had come in a trunk which had been brought with them, Beth wondered what would happen next. Even though she was a prisoner, Don Felipe did not mean to mistreat her—as long, Beth thought cynically, she did nothing to annoy the family despot.
While Passion Sleeps Page 39