She paused there at the railing, overlooking the main sala, and blinked her eyes unbelievingly. Was it really the muted light of sunrise that shined through the wooden shutters to tall in slanted patterns on La Palacia's carpets?
She shrank back as two early risers -- Californios -- passed directly below her, engrossed in talk. When they had moved on, Kathleen crept down the stairs, hugging the wall. If only she could slip through the front doors.
Kathleen!"
She whirled, prepared to fight, to scream -- whatever it took. The great purple eyes, glazed with fatigue and fear, closed in sheer relief. "Nathan." It came as little more than a whisper.
The sea captain caught her up as she sagged, setting her gently on the nearest sofa. The violet shadows beneth the fringe of inky lashes, the tawny curls that fell about her shoulders in abandoned disarray ... What had happened? he asked himself grimly. What was she doing there -- in the most notorious house of promiscuity on the California coast? Had the girl come looking for him? Or had he been wrong in rejecting the rumors that she was some cast-off mistress?
Kathleen's eyes opened to see the contradicting thoughts that played on Nathan's weather-lined face. What else could he think, she thought furiously, trying to sit up straight and at the same time distractedly pushing at the curling strands that laid on her shoulders. "Nathan, I've -- is there somwhere else I can stay ... until I can locate someone -- a Señor Reyes?"
A startled look passed over the man's ruddy face. "I can take you to Santa Barbara Mission, Kathleen. You can stay there. This Señor Reyes -- if he's in town, I'll find someone to get word to him."
By the time Nathan obtained a carriage for Kathleen, Santa Barbara was coming alive with street vendors on their way to the plaza's market, driving their produce in clumsy oxcarts or carrying their wares atop their heads.
Neither of them spoke during the few minutes it took to reach the mission. In the early morning sunlight, Kathleen thought the mission's arched roof of tiles set above the earth-plastered stone walls looked like a fiery cyclops eye, and she shuddered in spite of the sun's warmth. Only the five copper bells in the high-towered belfry ringing out the matins helped dispel her inexplicable aversion.
Nathan helped her alight from the carriage, and a plump monk in a coarse brown cassock came down the mission steps to greet them with an effusive welcome. After Nathan arranged for a room, he turned back to Kathleen, taking her hands in his larger ones.
"If you shoul dneed me, I have to sail up the coast to Monterey to report to the customs officials. But you can find me there -- if --"
"Thank you, Nathan," she said, sparing him his tactful groping for words. "I'll always remember your kindness to me."
Reluctantly, she watched him go, before following the padre down a damp, musty corridor to one of several small but amply furnished cubicles kept for guests.
She did not even bother to undress as she fell across the rawhide bed, both Nathan's kindness to her and the horror of the vaquero's violation of her body temporarily forgotten in the slumber of exhaustion that claimed her.
Chapter 5
Later that afternoon, after Kathleen had awakened and satisfied her hunger with fruit and a delicate onion soup served by quietly gliding Indians, she allowed the abbot to show her the mission -- its peach orchard, the lavishly ornamented friary, and the flower-covered graveyard enclosed by high walls behind the mission.
She found it strange, the great number of Indian names that marked the small wooden crosses at each grave. "Ah, my daughter," Father Gaona replied to her question, "there were unfortunately more deaths than births among our converts -- sanitation problems, diseases, things like that. But the Church has accomplished much," he went on, pride beaming in his protruding eyes. "In the few decades we've been here, we've not only converted the Indians -- we converted the land." The plump hand stretched out to indicate the orchards, with dozens of varieties of trees, and the acres of gardens. "With the acequias -- irrigation ditches -- the Digger Indians built, we've been able to make this into a prosperous land the Lord has given us."
Kathleen paused in the courtyard at a stone well. "I was under the impression that the land originally belonged to the Indians," she said, leaning over the well's rim to see her reflection.
"You're correct, of course," the padre said. His unlined face puckered in a flustered look. "But the Indians didn't know how to care for their land. We taught our neophytes -- our converted Indians, that is -- how to work the gardens, sow our crops, and tend our cattle and sheep -- what's left of our herds, since Mexico began secularizing the Church. Gracias a Dios, el gobernador, Micheltorena, is restoring some of our lands to us -- the Church, that is," he added hastily.
"And reading and writing -- did the Church teach the Indians how to do these skills also?"
The usually complacent countenance frowned under Kathleen's questioning, and he looked down at the wooden crucifix his pudgy fingers continually rubbed.
My daughter, you have to understand these primitive children. Before, they only knew how to gather seeds and nuts for their survival. You must see that they need to know more how to cultivate the land and such trades as tanning and blacksmithing than they need to learn such unessential instructions as reading and writing."
The abbot's bovine attitude annoyed Kathleen, and she begged off touring the rest of the mission, saying she wished to change and wash up for dinner.
That evening Father Gaona and anther padre, old, gaunt Father Marcos, presided over the guests at the dinner table. Besides a dashing Russian officer, Dimitri Karamazan, who all but ignored the mousy-looking Kathleen, there was a Catilian family returning to Spain after a lengthy visit with relatives. The middle-aged Doña Inez, who was much younger than her austere husband, Don Felipe Feito, kept the conversation flowing with gossip of her cousin Lucia's daughter.
"Francesca is truly a beauty," she said between samplings of the succulent chile stew. "Like her mother, Lucia. Francesca's skin is paler than a pearl -- and her eyes -- Madre de Dios, they're as black as coals! Why, 'tis said that every single male between San Diego and Yerba Buena is vying for her hand. Of course," she added with a knowing smile, "the fact that her father is one of the wealthiest rancheros about is an extra plum to the man who wins her hand."
"I believe, my dearest," Don Felipe said dryly, picking at his wooden teeth, "that your cousin's daughter has already decided who shall have that 'extra plum,' as you call it."
"Can you blame her for wanting Simon Reyes as her husband -- even if his wealth doesn't quite equal her father's?"
"The young lady is still unengaged?" the Russian Karamazan asked at the same time Kathleen said, "Señor Reyes?" more sharply than she intended.
"Why, my daughter?" Father Gaona interposed. "Do you know him?"
"No." Kathleen looked around the room at the expectant faces turned on her. "I've never met the man ... but I've heard his name ... if it is the same man."
"It is." Don Felipe replied. "Though there's an unhealthy mystery about the man. No one seems to know for certain anything about him. Who he is -- from whence he comes."
"I believe," Father Marcos said quietly, "that the man was formerly a scout in Texas. That he was taken prisoner at some place there called Goliad -- by Mexico's president, Santa Anna himself."
"Then he's hnot a California?" Kathleen asked.
"Undoubtedly not!" Doña Inez said. Her eyes took on a wicked gleam. "Unlike the Californios, Simon Reyes is a man who doesn't have time for flattery and flirtation. There's something savage about him -- primitive. You can imagine, my dear," she said to Kathleen, "after the excessive attentions of the Californios, how a woman could find the man's indifference extremely stimulating."
"Bah!" Don Felipe said, rejoining the conversation. "I'm quite sure Doña Delores also thought the man a savage ... finding herself suddenly dispossessed of Hacienda del Bravo. And that Reyes arrogantly claiming the land was granted him by the Mexican government."
"He had the papers to b
ack up his claim." Doña Inez protested. "At least, that's what Lucia says. She told me, quite confidentially you understand, that Santa Anna's wife, Maria Tosta, was rumored to be Simon's mistress -- and that's how he came by his land grant."
Father Gaona made a grunt of shocked disapproval, but Kathleen caught the expression of amusement gleaming in Father Marcos's hollowed eyes.
"That's neither here nor there, my dearest," Don Felipe said. "If Spain still ruled the Californios, you could be certain something as outrageous as the dispossession of Doña Delores's land would have never occurred!"
"But Don Felipe," Kathleen said, "I thought that Spain also made land grants when it ruled Californios. Except, in Spain's case, the grants would have been dispossessing the Indians, would they have not? So this, Señor Reyes, hasn't really done anything so outrageous, has he?" Why she felt compelled to defend Simon Reyes, who wasn't even concerned enough to meet his tutor, was beyond her.
"Actually," Father Marcos said, "I understand Simon Reyes didn't dispossess Doña Delores. That when he arrived here a year ago he allowed her to continue living at del Bravo until her death, some months back."
Father Gaona's placid expression changed to a scandalized look. "How Doña Delores could have suffered the scoundrel in the very house her husband built for her can only be attributed to her fine religious upbringing."
"Doña Delore," Father Marcos explained to the guests, "was reputed to be the most beautiful girl in the California province, the daughter of an alcalde of pure Castilian blood."
The father nodded at Don Felipe, acknowledging the gentlemen's own Castilian blood, and continued. "Andrew King, an Englishman, came to the province on one of the whaling ships that frequented the coast before Mexico forbade it. Andrew saw Doña Delores one day in the plaza and, of course, fell instantly in love with her. I married them myself. Unfortunately, the good Lord did not bless their union with children."
"So you can imagine," Father Gaona broke in, "how upset Doña Delores must have been to have someone else own the house meant for her longed-for children. This man is a curse to our --"
"You've met this man, then?" Kathleen asked.
"No," Father Gaona admitted. "But his uncivilized actions are common knowledge. A rakehell, he's called. It's even whispered that he killed a man in a duel over a daughter of Don Juan Bandini -- San Diego's former comandante. Simon Reyes has been a thorn in the Church's side since he arrived. A crude heathen trying to play the caballero -- no better than the pagan Indian renegades!"
Kathleen glanced at the older padre, but Father Marcos's expression remained mild beneath the ivory brows as Father Gaona continued his diatribe:
"And the Indians! Dios mío, I'll wager one day they'll revolt en masse -- murder every one of us in our beds! Por Dios, between the renegade Indians and the growing horde of bandits that ride the roads, it's unsafe to leave one's home these days. Let me tell you, more than one wealthy hacendado has recently been waylaid and relieved of his purse."
"I hear," Karamzazn said, fingering his black goatee, "that several times lately your military has been forced to yield the wagon shipments of silver from the mines they guard."
"Quite true, my son!" Father Gaona said.
"Well, I can only say that I'm glad we're leaving this place," Don Felipe said. He stifled a yawn with the back of his veined hand and turned to his wife. "We must sail on the tide the morrow. Shall we retire, my love?"
Kathleen would have dearly liked to learn more about Simon Reyes, but she bade the Spanish couple good evening and murmured a polite response to Dimitri Karamazan's courtly bow of farewell. When she had thanked the fathers for the dinner, she sought out her own rooms, just as the bells rang out their Ave Maria.
It seemed to her that night that her nerves were strung as tightly as the ropes that held the five copper bells. For months she had waged open warfare on her father -- and then Edmund -- fighting, then retreating, only to fight again. She felt drained mentally and physically and sought the refuge of sleep in her cell's rawhide-thonged bed.
But sleep did not come quickly that night for her. She tossed and turned as if she were still aboard the storm-besieged Tempest. Dreams plagued her. Sweat-drenched dreams of the vaquero's cold eyes ... and nightmares -- that her father would find her ... and horrible visions that her employer, Señor Simon Reyes, would not.
The latter found her. And she wondered later which would have been the worse.
Chapter 6
Dusty streamers of light from the single window played on the tiled floor of the abbot's study, where Father Azcona told Kathleen she would find her visitor.
The tall -- well over six feet, Kathleen judged -- slim-flanked man, dressed in the black, braided bollero and tight breeches of the ranchero, stood near the grilled window watching something outside. As she softly shut the door behind her, he turned to confront her.
Above the square, clean-shaven jaw line and high, jutting cheekbones, half-closed eyes ran over her lazily. Kathleen returned his blod look, noting that the powerful nose, which flared sensuously at the nostrils, looked as if it had once been broken, and that the arching line of the left brow was sharply curtailed by the white slash of an old scar.
It was a face of angles and planes, and was saved from harshness only by the startling, light green eyes, which contrasted with the sun-bronzed skin and the thick, walnut-colored hair that ended in unruly curls just below the ears.
The eyes, made to seem even lighter than they actually were by the comparative darkness of long lashes, narrowed for a moment with a flicker of -- it couldn't be surprise, Kathleen thought. Surprise that she wasn't a male. Surely Nathan would have told him his new tutor was a woman.
No, she would swear it was something else that flashed like a spark in their green depths.
A slow half-smile parted the well-carved, mobile lips, displaying the ranchero's only perfect feature -- even, white teeth that gleamed diabolically in the semidarkness of the musty office.
"You aren't exactly what I had in mind when I sent the passage fare -- to a Robert Patton, if I remember rightly." The voice, spoken in the drawled English of the Southwest, was deep and surprisingly quiet in the hust of the room.
So this was the notorious Simon Reyes. Kathleen lifted her chin. She wouldn't be intimidated by him. "Certain circumstances forced Mr. Patton to forgo the post you offered him. But I believe I'm equally qualified to teach English and reading and writing to your children."
"There are no children of mine to be taught, Miss --"
"Summers," she lied. "Kathleen Summers." Of course there would be no children, she thought, remembering Doña Inez's gossip of Francesca's infatuation with this man.
"There are only Indians to be taught -- which makes you most unsuitable for the post, ma'am."
His overbearing manner, his sarcastic attitude, irritated her. "Then may I say you are certainly not suitable for an employer? A worthwhile employer would have had the common decency to have met his employee when the brig anchored in the bay."
His hands hooked in his belt, the man walked slowly in a circle about Kathleen, his narrowed eyes raking over her as if she were a piece of merchandise. Kathleen remained standing as she was.
When he was once more before her, he looked down at her with an insolent smile. "Maybe you were expecting someone like the handsome Lieutenant Aguila? Su amante does not seem to make easy conquests."
Kathleen gasped. "He is not my lover!" she spat without thinking, in Spanish. How did he know of Aguila? she wondered wildly. Was her name already on every tongue in Santa Barbara?
So, you speak Spanish in addition to your other --" His gaze rested on her breasts, which heaved beneath Amanda's coarse gown. "-- qualifications," he finished derisively.
"Un poco." Why tell the ill-mannered boor she had been raised in Spain? The interview was going worse than she had anticipated. Dear Lord, what if he didn't hire her? Where would she go? What kind of work could she find?
As if readi
ng her thoughts, he said, "I'm afraid you won't do, Miss Summers -- even if you do speak Spanish. If you'll excuse me ..." He made an impatient move toward the door.
Gambling in desperation, Kathleen stepped directly in his path, planting fists on her hips. One slim, winged brow lifted in mockery as she looked up into the rough-hewn countenance.
"What?" she taunted. "Don't tell me you're afraid to deal with a woman, Señor Reyes. I wouldn't have thought it, by --"
In one rapid movement he caught her up against him, inhaling her subtle scent of jasmine while tasting the soft provocativeness of her lips.
Kathleen tried to push the man from her, to escape the hateful embrace, but he only crushed her to him the tighter. One of her hands freed itself, and she raked his cheek with her long nails. Like a buzzing in her ears, she heard his low laughter even as his hard mouth bruised hers, parting her lips in an intimate manner that made her weak, so that her struggling ceased. A strange lethargy crept over her.
"Ahhhemmm!"
Both whirled to face Father Gaona, his tonsured head shining in the lighted doorway. Kathleen could see the shock that whitened the poor man's round face.
"You'll forgive us," Simon said quite carelessly. "It's been so long since we've seen one another." He took Kathleen's flinching hand in his. "Are you ready to go, mi vida?"
She glared up into the cool eyes that dared her to deny she was his sweetheart. Knowing that he had intentionally placed her in the compromising situation, she could only not her head as she straightened the eyeglasses that had been knocked askew in her struggle.
"With the bandidos on the roads again, Padre," Simon continued, "I carry little money. But you'll find an ample amount in your donation box this Sunday -- in gratitude for accommodating mi novia."
The plump abbot was servile in his thanks. "Muchísimas gracias, Don --"
"Señor. Señor Simon Reyes, Padre."
The padre's protruding eyes looked as if they would fall from their sockets, and, in spite of her anger, a dimple formed in Kathleen's chin, deepening the cleft.
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