Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  And what was she up to now? Surely Rafael wanted her to remain in San Antonio? Had they quarreled before his cousin had left for Enchantress, and was she planning on punishing Rafael by leaving?

  He glanced at her then, not quite able to believe her guilty of that kind of spiteful coquetry. And yet, why not?—it would be the action typical of the kind of creature he now knew her to be!

  Feeling he should make some push to prevent her leaving, he said carefully, "Is that wise, do you think? What does Rafael say about it?"

  Unconsciously Beth's black-gloved hand tightened 369

  about the carved ebony handle of her parasol. Was the dark fascination that Rafael held for her so very obvious? she thought painfully. Her eyes shadowed, she replied calmly enough, "I hardly think Senor Santana is concerned with my plans." And, curious that Sebastian would make such a statement in the first place, she asked with apparent airiness, "Besides, what difference would it make to him?"

  Sebastian's lips thinned at her mendaciousness. How could she sit there and act as if nothing existed between her and Rafael? What a little Jezebel she was behind those fine eyes and sweet features!

  Thinking it high time that^he acquaint her with what he knew of her true character, he said grimly, "You can quit playing off your innocent airs on me!" Staring at her with unfriendly emerald eyes, he added almost accusingly, "Rafael told me about you, you know."

  Beth stiffened, and with eyes just as unfriendly as his, she demanded, "What do you mean by that? What could he possibly tell you about me?"

  Not bothering to hide his feelings, Sebastian gave an ugly laugh and retorted angrily, "A damn sight more than I would have suspected, I can tell you that!" Seeing the shocked expression on her face, he said bitterly, "Oh, for God's sake, you can act naturally around me! Even knowing what you are, I am not about to tell anyone else, so don't worry I'll betray you to the gentle ladies of San Antonio."

  Her voice dangerously controlled, Beth asked, "And what exactly is it that Rafael told you? What is this dark forbidden secret?"

  Sebastian shot her a quick look, for the first time in weeks beginning to wonder about what Rafael had told him. But he instantly dismissed the notion as a weakening of his resolve not to trust a pair of beautiful eyes. Tiredly he finally said, "I saw you that night at Cielo when you and Rafael exchanged that rather revealing embrace in the courtyard, and I later taxed him with it. Considering I had seen how it was between you, he had no choice but to confess that you were his mistress, that you two had a long-standing liaison." Almost a sneering note in his voice, he finished, "You've been

  his mistress for years, so why pretend the need to go back to Natchez? Now that your husband is dead, I'm certain you won't have to be put to the usual shifts in meeting one another."

  Beth was so taken aback at Sebastian's revelations that for one moment she was literally struck dumb, and then, as the full import sunk in, she was so angry that she feared if he said just one more word to her she would explode in a shower of sparks like a Fourth of July sparkler. A furious and hurt glitter in the violet eyes, she snapped, "What gossips men are! So I have been his mistress, have I? Well, thank you for letting me know about it! And you can rest assured that when I next see your abominable cousin, I shall express my appreciation for his assassination of my character." Her eyes full of contempt, the soft upper lip curling with scorn, she spat, ''And you, you fool, you believed him! I thought you were my friend!"

  Nettled, Sebastian replied heatedly, "I am your friend! Your being Rafael's mistress makes little difference to me. I just wanted you to be aware that I knew of your relationship so you could drop this pretense that Rafael is almost a stranger to you. I dislike hypocrisy above all things, and I would not have thought it of you, Beth."

  So full of rage at the unjust remarks made about her, Beth was nearly in danger of losing her temper. How could he? she thought furiously. How could he dare to tell Sebastian an outright lie like that? She'd kill him, she thought half-hysterically. It wasn't enough that he overcame her scruples, that he took advantage of her weakness for him, but to claim that she was a creature of loose morals—his mistress—and to speak of it to someone else! What a dastardly act! And Sebastian had believed him! Dismayed, hurt almost unbearably, and blazingly angiy at the same time, Beth stared stonily ahead, thinking that she would like to whack her parasol over Sebastian's head and then find Rafael and... and... She was so outraged she couldn't even think of a retaliation wicked enough to pay him back. But she would, she thought grimly, she would.

  There was a frigid silence between them as they rode toward the house in San Antonio. Although Sebastian,

  aware he had handled the affair badly, made several attempts to redeem himself in Beth's graces, his friendly overtures were met with an icy look of disdain, and by the time they reached the house Sebastian was in a quandary.

  My God, he mused furiously, what difference does it make that I know? I wouldn't betray her, and surely she must know that it changed little between us—which wasn't precisely true, and he knew it. He would never quite feel the same way about another woman, and at the moment, instead of feeling justified at his remarks, he had the uncomfortable suspicion that he had somehow given Beth a grievous insftlt—one she would not forgive easily.

  It was not to be a pleasant day for Beth. She returned to the house, out of sorts with Sebastian and deeply wounded that he could believe Rafael's lies about her and in a flaming temper with Rafael himself. She had been barely helped down from the gig and had just entered the front hallway when she was met by Dona Madelina with the news that Charity had run away with a Mexican youth this very morning. Dispirited as much by her maid's needless defection as the knowledge that she would miss Charity's merry face, Beth took off her bonnet and murmured tiredly, "Now, why did she have to go to that extreme? Surely she knew that I would set her free to go away with a husband that was not one of my own slaves? Am I such an inhuman monster that my own servants are afraid to approach me?"

  Her dark eyes full of sympathy. Dona Madelina shook her head. "No, nina, I think it was merely that she knew you would object to what she meant to do. You see, Jesus already has a wife and child in Mexico and Charity knew it. She also was aware of what she was doing when she rode away with him this morning. Do you wish to put out a reward for her return?"

  Beth shook her head. "No. I have always had my doubts about the system of slavery, and to force her to return when she obviously has made her choice will do no good—she would only run away again, and would resent and hate me."

  There was more unpleasant news, but she didn't find 372

  out about it until after the heavy afternoon meal. Anticipating that as her health improved she would once again think of returning to Natchez, Don'Miguel, determined to nip such thoughts in the bud at least until his son returned, had somewhat underhandedly sent all her servants to Cielo that very morning while she had been receiving Sebastian's insulting disclosures. His eyes guileless, he said mildly, "I hope you don't mind, mi cara, but a messenger arrived from Cielo while you were out and there has been a slight crisis at the rancho. As your servants were idle here in San Antonio, I'm afraid I took it upon myself to make use of them. They shouldn't be gone more than a few weeks." Innocently he asked, "You had no immediate need of them, had you?"

  Beth gritted her teeth in vexation, suspecting his motives. It was uncharacteristically high-handed of Don Miguel to do such a thing without consulting her, but, knowing how adamant he was about her leaving without a male escort, his son in particular, she could be forgiven for being suspicious of his actions. It was rather odd, too, that the crisis was of such a magnitude that it required the instant help often strong men, and yet Don Miguel was in no rush to hurry back himself.

  Feeling considerably ill-used and put upon, Beth felt her temper rise. It was almost as if Don Miguel had foreseen that she would return to the house with every intention of immediately making plans to go home, and to find that she had been neatly s
cotched was the final straw to an already beastly day. Her head beginning to ache, her feelings scraped raw, and her temper soaring mercurially, she rose from the table and, in a decidedly unfriendly voice, she said, "Why, of course not! Why should I? You have been so kind to me that it is only natural that I help you in your hour of need. And if having my servants whisked away with neither my permission nor my knowledge is how I have to repay you, then it will have to suffice."

  It was, perhaps, not very gracious of her, and under any other circumstances Beth would never have spoken to someone in that manner, especially not someone she had a great deal of affection for and who had been so

  very kind to her during these past trying weeks. An uncomfortable silence greeted her words, and Don Miguel moved a little guiltily in his seat, but Beth, not in the mood to be polite, excused herself coolly and swept from the room, leaving the others to stare at one an other with startled, dismayed eyes. Somewhat ruefully Don Miguel admitted, "I suppose I wasn't too tactful/'

  "You were not, my husband!" Dona Madelina agreed with unflattering promptness. ''Surely you could have spoken with her first before you sent away all her servants—she is a good woman and would not have denied them to you." And, to the mystification of both Sebastian and Senora Lopez, she added, ''I understand what you are about, but there was probably a better way to accomplish it."

  What Dona Madelina said was true. All Don Miguel would have had to do was ask and Beth would have given him anything she possessed, but to steal her servants so meanly when her back was turned went against the grain, and Beth was more than a little annoyed. She spent most of the remainder of the day secluded in her room, more from the pain that had rapidly developed into a devastating sick headache than because she was sulking or at odds with Don Miguel and Sebastian.

  When the nausea in her stomach and the almost unbearably painful pounding in her temple had ceased, it was well into evening, and while her disappointment and anger with Sebastian had not abated one whit, she was beginning to feel slightly ashamed at her outburst in the dining room. She was the most wretched creature alive to have spoken so pettily to a man who had shown her nothing but generous hospitality and overwhelming consideration.

  Rising from her bed, she rang for Charity, only to remember with depression that Charity would serve her no longer. I hope she's truly happy with her lover, Beth thought sadly, thinking of the difficulties ahead for the laughing little black girl.

  She would have to start training Judith, the other Negress she had brought along, more as a companion to Charity than any other reason, she decided without

  enthusiasm. And, thinking it would be Judith who answered her ring, she was considerably surprised when Manuela knocked and entered the room.

  They stared at one another, these two women with their unwillingly shared ugly secret, and Beth finally said with resignation, "Don't tell me—Dona Madelina has assigned you to serve me in view of Charity's desertion."

  Manuela smiled faintly and nodded. ''Si, senora. As soon as it was discovered what had happened. Dona Madelina informed me that I would act as your personal maid until other arrangements could be made. Do you object?"

  Beth shook her head slowly and smiled wryly. "It seems that you and I are destined to remain together. I suppose I should stop fighting against it and let fate take its course."

  Manuela gave a fatalistic shrug. "It would seem so, senora." And, looking uncertainly at Beth, she asked anxiously, "Do you mind?"

  "No. At least not anymore," Beth answered truthfully, discovering with surprise that it was true. So much had happened to her during these past months that New Orleans and the events that had taken place there four years ago seemed as if they had occurred to another person. She would never forget it, but it no longer had the power to hurt her—she had new wounds now that were far more painful.

  Competently, as if she had been Beth's personal servant for years, Manuela set about preparing her mistress for the evening. A hip bath was provided, and after Beth had bathed and powered herself, she reluctantly approved the gown Manuela had selected.

  It was a beautiful gown of black satin with touches of black lace at the throat and wrists, but already, with Nathan dead barely six weeks, Beth was beginning to hate the sight of black. How she was going to endure the months ahead always in widow's color, she didn't know.

  The gown became her, it was undoubtedly true, her high bosom neatly enhanced by the perfect fit and her narrow waist emphasized by the figure-hugging cut of

  the gown before it fell in full, voluminous skirts to the tops of her little heelless slippers. She had no need of a corset of any type—Nathan's death and her own illness had left her reed-slender—and with her silvery hair piled on top of her head in curls and her alabaster skin gleaming above the black satin, she was very lovely.

  She descended the stairs intent upon making her apologies to Don Miguel. Finding him in the main salon, she did so, very prettily and sincerely. He accepted them in the spirit with which they had been conveyed, and in a matter of moments the entire affair was put behind them and things were very much as they had been... except for her stiffness with Sebastian. It would be a long time before she forgave him for believing Rafael's lies!

  Everyone was gathered in the salon, the ladies sipping Sangria^ the two gentlemen enjoying a particularly fine brandy, when Lorenzo Mendoza was announced. Unconsciously Beth went rigid, wondering at his purpose, for certainly he knew Rafael would not tolerate his presence in his house.

  But Don Miguel would and did, much to Beth's dismay. It seemed that during the days that she had been ill, Lorenzo, knowing Rafael was absent, had been a frequent visitor. With his serpent's grace he had renewed his insinuation into Don Miguel's favor, and from the bits and pieces of their conversation she overheard, apparently Don Miguel was determined to put an end to the estrangement between his son and a man he clearly regarded as a member of the family.

  "This is a ridiculous state of affairs!" Don Miguel stated firmly. "You only able to show your face when my hotheaded son is not around. I admire your unwillingness to precipitate an ugly scene, but surely you see that you two must put aside your differences. The day will come when I am no longer alive and you will be invaluable to my son in helping him with the running of the rancho."

  Lorenzo smiled modestly, but the man's fawning mannerisms grated on Sebastian's nerves and under his breath he muttered, "Unwillingness or cowardice?"

  Fortunately no one but Beth heard his low-voiced 376^

  comment—at least she thought she had been the only one until she happened to glance over at Lorenzo and saw the malevolent look he shot Sebastian, who then smiled at him sweetly and raised his glass as if to emphasize that he had indeed said the words. Lorenzo's black eyes went opaque but he made no attempt to challenge the insult.

  It had been a most frustrating time for Lorenzo since Beth had arrived in San Antonio. His hopes had been bolstered, only to be dashed as Beth seemed to escape from a tragic death time after time. He had bitterly regretted that the Comanche lance that had killed her husband had not buried itself in her soft bosom. Then, when she had come down with the fever, he had been delighted, especially when she hovered near death's door, but much to his fury she had recovered—and her eventual death had become almost an obsession with Lorenzo!

  He feared her, knowing that with one sentence she could destroy all that he had worked for over the years, and because he feared her, he hated her intensely. He wanted her dead, but he wanted no wind of blame to travel his way. He dare not hire it done, and he was aware that Beth would never allow herself to be lured away in his company so that he might do the deed himself. And so, like a deadly reptile coiled and waiting for his prey, he watched and lurked.

  As long as she remained under the Santana protection she was safe, and yet every day she spent with Don Miguel and Dona Madelina terrified Lorenzo, frightened that with their growing intimacy Beth might speak of his part in Consuela's scheme. He wanted to avoid the house
, feeling that the less Beth saw of him the less likely it was she would speak, and at the same time he found himself unable to stay away, calling frequently to discover whether he was still in favor or if the killing blow had fallen.

  When Beth had been ill there had been no danger, but as she increased in health so had Lorenzo's fear and fury. She must be silenced! He would not live the rest of his days knowing that when he least expected it she

  could reappear, as she had done this time, and upset all his carefully erected plans.

  But if Beth had been saved from him thus far, her time was running out. Sooner or later she would leave San Antonio, and once she was away from the safety it and the Santanas afforded... Who knew what would happen then?

  PART FOUR

  DUELS, DEVILS, AND LOVERS

  The time and my intents are savage-wild. More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

  William Shakespeare,

  Romeo and Juliet, Act V, Scene HI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  While Beth had lain so ill, the Comanches, filled with a hitherto unknown bitterness and deadly zeal, had been viciously harrying the fi-ontier with lethal lightning raids. They struck everywhere fi^om north of Austin, the new capital, to the Mexican border, attacking without warning and with a particularly terrifying vin-dictiveness. The Texas Rangers, their numbers never very great, were helpless to stop or contain the widespread raiding and looting.

  Smoking, burned-out homesteads, charred and mutilated bodies became a common occurrence, and in desperation, knowing his rangers were not enough, Jack Hays organized a posse of men from San Antonio to help strengthen his own hard-pressed forces. These "Minute Men," as the volunteers became known, were in service constantly, their horses, arms, and provisions kept for instant use. The signals that sent them running for their mounts were the raising of a flag over the courthouse and the mournful ringing of the San Fernando church bell. As the weeks passed everyone began to dread the sight of that flag and the pealing of the bell.