Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  the necessity of continuing this distasteful charade. That his death might increase her present anguish she firmly refused to acknowledge.

  Manuela, it appeared, had wasted little time in spreading the news of the Senora Ridgeway's apparent uneasiness about sleeping without her servant nearby, and Don Miguel spent several minutes as they were finishing the second course of the meal, a spicy green chile soup, earnestly explaining to Beth that she had nothing to fear while in the hacienda—the Comanches had never scaled the stout walls that surrounded them. She had listened with polite attention, longing to confess to her kindly host that it was not the enemy outside the walls that she feared, but Che enemy within!

  Nathan had made no comment while Don Miguel had been speaking to her, but Beth was very aware that he was looking at her closely. He remained silent, and it was only when they were alone, taking a short stroll through the lush and vibrant flower gardens that lay to the rear of the hacienda, that Nathan made mention of it. Idly examining a strikingly vivid display of scarlet poinsettias and dainty, white spider lilies, he asked quietly, "You afraid of something, Beth?'*

  "No! Of course not!" she said quickly, too quickly.

  Nathan didn't say anything for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and remarked, "Very well, my dear. I just wondered at Charity's presence. You have never struck me as being particularly skittish, and I found it somewhat strange that while sleeping in the back of a wagon far away from civilization, with wild Indians prowling about, never caused you to turn a hair—yet, now when we are safely behind two sets of stone walls and have all the protection one could wish for from the—er—savage elements of this country, you find it necessary to have a servant sleep by your bedside. Rather peculiar, wouldn't you say?"

  Beth didn't meet his considering gaze, looking instead blindly in the direction of the hills that rose in the distance. Her voice slightly strangled, she said, "I know it is ridiculous, but it comforts me. It may be that I am not as brave as you think."

  "Perhaps," he murmured, his gray eyes dwelhng gravely on her averted face, positive that she was hiding something. But, as they were to leave within a few days and put this place behind them, he was not inclined to probe. Beth would tell him in her own good time, and he was not about to disrupt the harmony between them by forcing a confidence from her. Infusing a heartiness in his voice, he suggested, "Well, then, since we have exhausted that subject and have seen the gardens, shall we retire for a siesta? I believe it is customary at this time of the afternoon."

  Beth readily agreed, needing the solace and quiet of her rooms to recover her shattered composure for the coming confrontation with Rafael this evening. But, restlessly pacing the confines of her sitting room, she found neither peace nor a solution. The most obvious solution was to tell Nathan, but if she did that.. .The picture of Nathan facing Rafael on the dueling field flashed across her brain again. No! She would never allow it!

  By the time she left her rooms to join the others in the central courtyard, she was taut with anxiety and growing fury. But outwardly her face was serene, the violet eyes wide and limpid, the gently curved mouth soft and rosy, and her smile only slightly strained.

  Everyone was already there except Sebastian and Rafael, and she sighed with relief. It would be so much easier for her to be already in the midst of the others when they met, rather than the other way around.

  Dona Madelina was sitting in one of the iron chairs near the fountain, and Nathan, standing by her side, was listening courteously to something the Spanish woman was saying, while Don Miguel appeared to be conferring with one of the servants a short distance away. On a table nearby was a tempting array of refreshments, both to drink and eat. Beth's appetite had deserted her, and, after sitting herself next to Dona Madelina, she settled for a tall, cool glass of sangria that was quickly served by a servant in a loose-fitting white shirt and baggy trousers.

  Don Miguel walked over to them, a frown of annoyance on his face. His displeasure obvious, he said, "It

  seems that I must again apologize for the absence of Rafael and Sebastian. I just received a note, which my son apparently arranged to have delivered at this late hour, saying that he and Sebastian will not return until tomorrow." His vexation growing, he grumbled, "I dp not understand what Sebastian is thinking about, deserting his guests this way. I can only ask that you forgive him and put it down to Rafael's undue influence over him. Concerning my son, I cannot offer any excuse."

  Sebastian's absence suited Nathan perfectly, and he murmured, 'There is no need for you to apologize—I think, in the face of the charming and pleasant company of yourself and your lovely wife, Beth and I shall be well satisfied."

  At the news that she would not be facing Rafael tonight, Beth was uncertain whether to laugh with relief or stamp her foot in rage. It didn't take a great deal of intelligence to understand why Rafael had waited until now to let his father know that he and Sebastian would be away for the night—if Beth had known earlier, there was a good chance that she not only could have but would have arranged an immediate departure. She would have been safe from any sort of reprisal until after Rafael returned and found her gone... by which time she would have several hours head start on him. Devil! she thought with unwonted violence, devil, devil!

  Beth had surmised correctly Rafael's reasons for not wanting anyone to know of his intention to be away overnight and for the late delivery of his note. And that evening as he and Sebastian made camp, he thought with amusement for a brief moment of Beth's probable reaction, before he turned his mind to other things.

  The afternoon had proved to be comparatively enjoyable once they had left the hacienda, and Sebastian's resentment and disillusionment had faded slightly. They had both been rather stiff with one another at first, but as the miles passed and they cautiously conversed with each other, gradually some of the old rapport returned. It was not as though everything was as it once had been, but there was a partial mending of the breach.

  It helped enormously that both men wished to heal it and that both were doing their damnedest to do so. But it would take time for Sebastian's raw feeling of pain to disappear, for him to reconcile himself to the fact that the woman he had convinced himself he loved above all others was not the faultless goddess he had imagined, and for him to realize that her heart belonged to a man he held in the highest esteem. Bleakly he decided as they stopped for camp that if he had to lose Beth to another man that it probably hurt less that the man was Rafael—but not a whole lot less!

  His heartburnings aside, Sebastian had been thoroughly pleased with the afternoon's excursion. They had left the hacienda shortly after one in the afternoon with the few supplies they would need for the brief trip snugly encased in saddlebags, Sebastian's heavy rawhide jacket tied across the back of his saddle and Rafael's brightly striped serape suffering the same treatment.

  Although the pace had been steady as they rode toward the east, they had stopped now and then to water their horses from the clear, wide, sandy-banked rivers and streams or to stretch their own legs for a few minutes near a grove of sweet gums and maples. The weather was perfect, the sun shining brightly, the air warm and with more than just a hint of spring in it. As for the country through which they rode—magnificent, Sebastian thought dazedly, as he stared eagerly at the brush-covered hills and canyons; the myriad of trees, Spanish oak, sweet gum and pine, maple and cypress; the maidenhair-fern-lined creeks; the clear sweet springs that gushed over limestone bedrock; and the awe-inspiring outcroppings of massive granite. Without a doubt he intended to own a large section of it for himself.

  About an hour before sunset Rafael had pulled up his horse and pointed to a rocky outcropping that topped a small rise. ''We'll camp there for the night. It's off any trail and should offer a fairly defensible position in case there are some raiding Indians or Mexican ban-didos in the area."

  Sebastian had nodded, realizing uncomfortably that he hadn't thought of that sort of very rea
l danger during the entire afternoon. He had been too busy wrestling with his injured feelings and drinking in the majestic untamed country through which they had ridden; not once had it occurred to him to worry over the possibility of attack by hostile savages or marauding bandits. Feeling slightly annoyed with himself, he asked, "Do you think we will be in danger from an attack?"

  Rafael sent him a level look from underneath the black sombrero. ''Amigo, if you would survive here in the Republic, you must always be prepared for an Indian raid—anywhere at any time."

  On that rather chilling note they had turned their horses from the trail they had been following and rode briskly to the outcropping that Rafael had pointed out. The next half hour passed swiftly as camp was made and the horses tended.

  By the time they had eaten, the sun had vanished completely and there was a distinct chill in the evening air. Rafael had made a small fire, and with their stomachs full of tortillas and spicy pemmican and the hot, strong coffee that had been brewed in a tin pot on the glowing coals, both men settled back against the boulders that embraced their camp and relaxed.

  Sebastian sat nearest the remains of the fire, idly poking it with a long stick, his features gilded by the dying coals. The firelight intensified his rugged handsomeness and gave him a slightly ruthless air. He was wearing the heavy rawhide jacket to guard against the increasing coolness of the night air, and, not surprisingly, he had the Colt revolver, fitted snugly in a leather holster, hanging from a wide rawhide belt about his trim waist.

  If Sebastian sat in the glow of the fire, Rafael lay in its shadows, his shape barely discernible in the gathering darkness. His long legs were stretched in front of him toward the warmth of the fire and his shoulders were propped negligently against one of the rounded boulders. He had not yet put on the brightly striped serape, and in the encroaching darkness of the night his black clothing blended into the shadows. The black

  sombrero, pulled low across his face, hid his expression, and the tip of a thin cigarillo that he was smoking gleamed redly in the darkness as he lay there staring at the fire.

  There was a companionable silence between them, neither at the moment feeling the need for conversation. But the sudden unexpected scream of a cougar nearby caused Sebastian to start, and, seeing it, Rafael smiled faintly and murmured, "Nervous, amigo?"

  Sebastian pulled a wry face. "Perhaps a little. You have to admit that all of this is very new to me, and Fm afraid I haven't as yet developed your indifference to the possibility of an Indian attack."

  Rafael stirred impatiently. "Not indifference, Sebastian, never indifference. It's more taking precautions against being surprised—by anyone—and at the same time putting the thought out of your mind." He took a long deep drag of the cigarillo and tossed it carelessly on the dying fire. "I doubt that we have anything to fear tonight," he said calmly. "It is not yet fully into the raiding season, nor is the moon full—and we are camped in a place that is fairly defensible."

  Sebastian assessingly glanced around him, noting the sheer, high rocky outcropping behind them and the mass of large, jumbled boulders that nearly encompassed their camp. The horses were tethered near a small spring not far from where they sat, and certainly no one could approach the animals without passing right through the middle of the two men. From their position near the top of the outcropping, in daylight there would be an excellent view of the relatively level plain a few hundred feet below them; during the dark hours it would be almost impossible to scale the rocky slope without rattling a few stones, which would alert them to danger.

  Rafael watched Sebastian's appraisal and said, "It's one of the first rules of survival out here—unless you're traveling with a large contingent of heavily armed men, never camp in the open. Find something, even if it's no more than a dead snag at your back."

  Somewhat ruefully Sebastian muttered, "With you, it is second nature to think of such things—I am, I'm

  afraid, much more comfortable and in my element while strolling the streets of New Orleans than I am out here."

  A low sympathetic laugh came from Rafael. "And I, my young friend, am very ill-at-ease in New Orleans!" His face almost dreamy, he continued, "The hills, the vast prairies, and the unexplored territories, even with all the dangers that lurk there, are much more to my liking—believe me!"

  Sebastian grinned at him. "Your actions never reveal it—as a matter of fact, I seem to recall that my father said something to the effect that you resembled a chameleon—throw you into any situation and you immediately blend into the surroundings, whether it be a ball at the governor's palace or a brawl on a riv-erboat!"

  Rafael smiled briefly. "Your father is a very perceptive man. I have always thought, perhaps, too perceptive ... especially if one had something to hide."

  "Amen to that, cousin, amen," Sebastian said fervently, thinking of certain childhood pranks and their disconcerting discovery by his father. "There isn't a damned thing which happens that he doesn't know about!"

  The conversation drifted for several moments onto Jason Savage, and soon the two men were eagerly exchanging stories of Jason's wild misspent youth, which they had both heard down through the years. Shaking his dark head in amused admiration, Sebastian said at last, "How he can dare lecture me on my lack of decorum is beyond me! At least I didn't kidnap an earl's daughter—even if he was deceived by the fact that mother was dancing at a Gypsy wedding!"

  His face suddenly thoughtful, Rafael said slowly, "Perhaps there are things he has done that he regrets, and he does not want to see you make the same mistakes. You are very like him, you know."

  Looking affronted, Sebastian burst out, "Not when it comes to women, I can assure you! Why, I would never—!"

  "Where a woman is concerned, you can never be very adamant about what you will or will not do!" Rafael interrupted harshly.

  Aware of the disruptive note in their conversation and thinking of Beth, Sebastian hesitated a moment. Picking his words with care, he asked finally, "If you think that Jason has regrets about the past—have you?"

  "Some," Rafael bit out brusquely and in a tone that made Sebastian decide instantly not to pursue the subject further. The conversation naturally languished for several moments until, searching earnestly for a subject that would dispel the uncomfortable silence, Sebastian asked abruptly, "What did you mean about the full moon and the raiding season? I thought that the Indians attacked at any time."

  "They do," Rafael returned quietly, just as determined as Sebastian to smooth over the momentary breach, "but like all hunting animals they prefer the full of the moon. The Spanish called it 'Comanche moon.' As for the season—in the spring when the grass grows thick and green, then through the summer until it is time for the fall buffalo hunts is when they do most of their raiding." An odd smile on his mobile mouth, Rafael murmured, "It is a way of life like no other. You cannot stop a Comanche from raiding and pillaging any more than you can forbid an eagle to soar."

  Unnerved by that smile but not quite knowing why, Sebastian jabbed the stick into the glowing coals. Realizing exactly why he was so suddenly uncomfortable, he questioned tightly, "Did you ever—? I mean when you were... Did you take part in—?"

  Rafael put an end to Sebastian's fumbling by saying simply, "Yes."

  Sebastian took a deep shaken breath. "You mean you rode with those murdering devils and actually took part in attacking white people?" he demanded with angry indignation. "How could you bring yourself to do such a thing?"

  Almost imperturbably, Rafael responded, "You forget, I think, that I was only two years old when my mother and I were captured by the Comanches. She died before I was three and with her died any memory of another life. The hacienda, my father, even Don Felipe—none of them existed in my memory. How could I have done any different?"

  His mouth set, Sebastian said stubbornly, "Well, I think you should have known instinctively that you were attacking your own kihd. Didn't you even once question what you were doing?" His voice thickening, he sn
arled, "I suppose next you'll tell me that you enjoyed it!"

  Silence greeted his words. The silence, taut and heavy, lengthened as Rafael deliberately placed a ci-garillo in his mouth and, leaning forward, lit it from the stick that Sebastian had just been using to prod the few lingering embers of the fire. When it was lit to his satisfaction he looked directly at Sebastian.

  Rafael's lean, hard face wa^, remote, the gray eyes very cool and distant as they^ stared steadily at the younger man. And Sebastian cursed his unruly tongue, aware that they were dangerously near to falling out again. Almost apologetically he began, "I shouldn't have said that. It is just that—"

  '1 was twelve years old the first time I went on a raid, and yes, I did enjoy it," Rafael interrupted coolly. "I was thirteen when I stole my first horse and scalped my first white man, and a year later I raped my first woman and took my first captive. By the time I was seventeen, I had been raiding with the warriors for over five years—I owned fifty horses, I had my own buffalo-skin teepee, three slaves of my own, and several scalps taken by my hand decorated my lance and favorite bridle." There was no hint of shame or regret in his voice and his gray eyes never wavered from Sebastian's. "I was a Comanche!'' Rafael spat the words almost with pride. "One of the Nermernuh, 'the People,' and I lived by their ways." His voice had suddenly thickened with passion and for just a moment he had lost that cool aloofness that he cloaked himself with. Aware of it, Rafael stopped abruptly and took a long, jagged breath. In a quieter tone he continued, "I was a young warrior in a band of the Antelope Comanches, the Kwerhar-rehnuh, and my path to glory, my right to speak in council, my right to take a wife, my wealth, my very reasons for living were to raid, rape, rob, and kill. Sebastian, never doubt that I did all of those things, did them and reveled in doing them! I wasted not one op-

  portunity to add prestige and honor to my name, to increase my standing within the tribe." His chiseled mouth curving with cynical amusement, he added, "I was very ambitious in those days, and I relished the raids upon the white man that dared to take land that was ours, and I yearned for the day that I would have earned enough glory to lead my own raid, to have the warriors follow my commands, knowing that I would bring them success. Oh, yes, I did all of those things, and I did them without regret. I took pride in counting coup, in returning triumphantly to the camp with my white captives—and, yes, with the scalps of those I had slain in honorable battle dangling from my lance and with the horses I had stolen plunging madly ahead of me.