The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  "Let go of me!" Sabrina snapped, ineffectively trying to free her arm from his iron-hard grasp. "You're hurting me!"

  "I thought you said no one could harm you here?" he shot back sarcastically, giving her a painful little shake.

  Sabrina was dimly aware that he was deliberately being disagreeable, but it didn't stop her temper from flaring, and as he dragged her out of the gazebo, she quickly reached down into her boot and pulled out her knife. Before Brett realized what she was about, the blade had cut a neat slice across the top of his hand and Sabrina had danced free of his slackened grasp.

  The jade-green eyes nearly black with fury, Brett first glanced at the thin line of blood on his hand and then at her. "You little hellcat!" he muttered thickly. "You're a damned sight too quick with that knife, and I think it's time that someone taught you some manners with it!"

  He was very handsome as he stood there outside the gazebo, the lake shimmering in the distance behind him. A slight breeze ruffled the thick blue-black hair; his black silk shirt intensified the darkness of his hard, lean features, and the hip-hugging black breeches made her very aware of those long, powerful legs. Legs that had pressed intimately against hers only hours before, she thought with a catch in her breath. The air of suppressed violence that radiated from him frightened her, though, and nervously her hand tightened on the knife. She didn't want to fight him—all she wanted was for him to love her!

  But Brett wasn't giving her any choice. With the quickness of a hunting cat he was on her, and instinctively Sabrina raised the knife in defense. Her defenses were useless; he had fought too many brawls in too many dark alleys to be stopped by a slim if determined girl. Unerringly his fingers closed around the hand with the knife, and with one sharp movement he brought her hand down painfully on his thigh, the shock of the impact against those steel muscles breaking her grip. The knife went flying, and with a sound of satisfaction, Brett saw it land near the edge of the lake.

  Releasing Sabrina, he whirled and moved to pick it up, and looking back at her, a tight smile curving his mouth, he asked softly, "And now how are you going to defend yourself?"

  "I'm not," Sabrina said calmly. Disconcertingly she began to walk slowly toward him.

  Brett eyed her warily as she approached. When she was only inches from him, she stopped and extended her hand, palm down. Coolly she said, "You may take your own if you like. Perhaps it will make you feel better."

  He stared at her for a long moment, wishing she weren't quite so lovely or that he weren't quite so conscious of her slim body and the isolation of this spot. He looked at her, looked at the knife, and then shrugged his shoulders. A twisted grin creasing his face, he handed her the knife. "Your win, I think," he said dryly.

  CHAPTER TEN

  There was silence between the two of them as they walked slowly back to the hacienda. Each one was very conscious of the other, but neither was willing to break the fragile peace that existed at the moment.

  Upon reaching the hacienda, they were greeted by a scolding and vastly relieved Bonita, and any opportunity for private conversation was lost. Her round face wreathed in a smile, she said to Brett, "Oh, Senor , thank you! I am so pleased that you found her!" And turning to Sabrina, she frowned and muttered, "And you, chica, should not be so free in your ways—there are bandits about, and you would make a tasty morsel for them!"

  Like a hen whose lone chick has been returned, Bonita continued to fuss and hover, and with an amused grin, Brett bade both women good day and gratefully went in search of his bed. He slept until late afternoon, rising barely in time to shave and bathe before joining Alejandro for the proposed trip into Nacogdoches.

  The mission Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe de Nacogdoches had been carved out in the early 1700s, but it had never been more than a not very successful outpost inhabited by only a few soldiers and even fewer gritty priests. At times it had been abandoned, and it wasn't until the late 1770s that a village had grown up around the old mission site. Presently, though, the village supported a thriving population of nearly six hundred residents. And as Brett rode down the narrow red-dirt streets lined with various framed buildings, he saw a wide variety of people—Indians, farmers, traders, soldiers, and robed priests.

  The most imposing structure in the village of Nacogdoches was a large stone building that served as a storage area for merchandise. It had been built by Gil Antonia Ybarbo, one of the leading settlers of the area, in 1779, and staring at the stone walls nearly a yard thick, Brett decided slowly that it would serve admirably as a warehouse for Alejandro's sugar crop—if there ever is a sugar crop, he reminded himself wryly.

  It hadn't taken him long to realize that Alejandro's whim to suddenly grow sugar was just that—a whim. Granted the land was suitable for it, but a great deal of time and back-breaking effort was going to be involved before the crop could be planted. And more importantly, except for the residents of the Nacogdoches area, there was no commercial outlet for any surplus. Once harvested and milled, the sugar would have to be sent overland to Natchitoches, in the Louisiana Territory, and from there sailed by barge through a long, circuitous and uncertain route to New Orleans. It was both an unprofitable and an unpractical situation, but when Brett had pointed out this fact, Alejandro had shrugged and smiled charmingly. "We shall see, amigo, we shall see," Alejandro had murmured carelessly.

  Brett had thought to argue further, but then he, too, had shrugged his shoulders—if Alejandro wished to waste time and money, why should he care? The problem was that he did care. And while Alejandro seemed in no hurry to begin the project, Brett threw himself into the scheme wholeheartedly. It might prove to be a foolish whim on Alejandro's part, but Brett was going to see that it did not fail because of poor planning. The preparing and clearing of the land, the planting, and the harvesting would be faultless. What Alejandro did with it after that would be no concern of his—he would have done his best.

  The visit to town was more for social reasons than because of any desire on Alejandro's part to seek a warehouse for his crop, and as they rode slowly down the streets, they stopped often to converse with first this person then that. It was obvious that Alejandro was an important, well-respected member of the community, and it was only natural that Brett's presence at his side aroused a great deal of friendly curiosity. Proudly Alejandro made the introductions to the various people they met, and by the time they started homeward, Brett's head was reeling from trying to remember the many names and occupations of the individuals he had met.

  They were at the edge of the village, just entering the pine woods, when they encountered someone Brett would have been pleased to avoid—Carlos de la Vega. The dislike between the two younger men had escaped Alejandro's notice, and seeing Carlos at the side of the road he reined in his horse with an exclamation of pleasure. Doffing his heavily embroidered sombrero, he acknowledged Carlos and the young woman who stood nearby.

  ''Buenosdias, Senora Morales. Good day to you, too, Carlos," Alejandro said warmly before introducing Brett to Carlos's companion. "Senora Morales, allow me to present my nephew, Brett Dangermond, to you. He is newly arrived here from Natchez and will, I hope most sincerely, be making an extended visit with us at the Rancho del Torres. Brett, I would like you to meet Senora Constanza Morales y Duarte. Carlos you of course met last evening."

  Constanza was a full-blooming Spanish rose, who could have been any age between twenty and thirty, although Brett suspected she was nearer thirty than twenty—there was something about the way her eyes lingered on his mouth and shoulders that bespoke amatory wisdom. A lovely, sensuous creature, Brett thought to himself, his gaze moving appreciatively over her beautiful face and ripe figure. Lustrous black hair veiled by a black lace mantilla framed her features, intensifying the creaminess of her magnolia skin, making her ebony eyes gleam. There was a slightly feline cast to her face, which Brett found intriguing, but there was nothing feline about her body—the lush, voluptuous curves were decorously but clearly revealed by her sty
lish gown of amber-bronze silk.

  Brett suddenly became aware that Constanza, from beneath her lashes, was assessing him almost as thoroughly as he had her, and he grinned. When their eyes met, a look of complete understanding passed between them.

  The introductions having been made, the four of them stood talking for some minutes, until Constanza, her fine, dark eyes revealing her unmistakable interest in Brett, suggested softly that the gentlemen might prefer some refreshments at her house. "It is only a short distance down this street. Senor de la Vega and I were on our way there when we met you. Do say that you will!"

  When Alejandro would have demurred, it was Brett who said casually, "An excellent idea, Senora Morales. It is very kind of you to offer your hospitality to a stranger like myself."

  Oblivious to the other two men, Constanza smiled coyly and said dulcetly, "But you are no stranger, Senor Dangermond—not when Senor del Torres is your uncle."

  Alejandro frowned slightly, not at all happy with the turn of events, especially not Constanza's undisguised eagerness to ingratiate herself with Brett—or Brett's apparent willingness to allow her to do so. It was Sabrina who was supposed to make him look as he did now—admiring and attracted—not this forward young widow of uncertain means!

  Carlos, who had been noticeably silent, suddenly smiled sourly and murmured, "You will find that we Spaniards are a very hospitable people, Senor Dangermond—even to relatives who can claim no blood tie."

  "Carlos!" Alejandro said reprovingly. "Where there is great affection and trust, there is no need for blood!"

  Carlos flushed and muttered something under his breath. The subject was dropped, but an odd air of tension seemed to hang over the remainder of the visit.

  Constanza's home turned out to be a modest but elegant frame house only a few yards from where they were standing. Leaving their horses tied to a shrub nearby, Brett and Alejandro followed the other two to a small, pleasant patio at the rear of the wooden building. A sharp clap of her slim hands brought an Indian servant to Constanza's side, and in minutes the three gentlemen were seated at a small table enjoying a glass of Madeira. Constanza contented herself with a tall glass of sangria, saying with a sigh, "I do hope that the Madeira is satisfactory. Since my husband's death three years ago, I seldom entertain any gentlemen, and it is surprising that there was anything in the house suitable for your palates." She glanced over at Brett and added, "I live here with my husband's maiden sister, but as she is very old and cares nothing for worldly things, she is little help to me in chosing what would be appropriate to have on hand for the occasional male caller. She is nearly deaf, so I suppose that might account for her reluctance to mingle with others." Her eyes moved on, and sending Carlos a pensive smile, she said fondly, "Senor de la Vega has been most kind to me during my widowhood. He and my husband were good friends, and I don't know what I would have done without his help after Emilio died. ..."

  The conversation went on from there, consisting of polite chatter, but by the time Alejandro and Brett departed, Brett knew all he needed to know about Constanza Morales y Duarte. She was a widow who wasn't averse to male companionship, and he was fairly certain that if she and Carlos weren't lovers now, they had been at some time in the not too distant past.

  Constanza Morales was the type of woman Brett recognized instantly, the type of woman he usually chose for his mistress—a lovely, amoral creature, whose only difference from the common whore was an aristocratic birth and family. She had also made it clear that she wouldn't be reluctant to share a deeper intimacy with him. He was too well versed in the art of dalliance not to have understood immediately what was behind the seductive glances, the swiftness with which she had made her widowed state known, and the fact that her only companion was an elderly deaf sister-in-law! He smiled cynically. She had made so very certain that he knew she was available, even going so far as to murmur low when they said good-bye, "I am sorry to see you leave, Senor Dangermond. It is very lonely for me since Emilio died. Perhaps we will meet again . . . soon?"

  His eyes meeting hers, he had said softly, "Of that you can be certain, Senora. Very soon."

  Alejandro hadn't been blind to what was going on, but as Constanza was considered a respectable young woman, he merely dismissed her actions as perhaps more forward and flirtatious than was strictly proper. If he could have overheard the conversation taking place between Constanza and Carlos just then, he would have drastically changed his mind and forbidden Sabrina even to acknowledge Constanza on the street, much less allow the woman access to his home.

  "Are you going to take him as your lover?" Carlos asked interestedly as he and Constanza continued to sit on the patio after Brett and Alejandro had departed.

  Constanza sent him a teasing glance. "Would you be jealous, querido?"

  Carlos frowned and stared at the Madeira in his glass. "I don't know," he said at last. "But yes, yes, I think I would be jealous."

  Surprise on her face, Constanza said perplexedly, "But you never were of the others. Why him?"

  "The others were different!" Carlos snapped defensively. "They were not like Brett Dangermond. They meant nothing to you. But Dangermond . . . Dangermond is different."

  "How? He is a man like the others. Perhaps more handsome, it is true, but you have nothing to fear from him—just as I have nothing to fear from the other women in your life, si?"

  "I do not fear Dangermond!" Carlos ground out angrily.

  Well used to Carlos's outbursts of anger, Constanza looked almost amused as she said, "Very well then, you don't fear him. And you will not be jealous of him either, will you?" When Carlos did not reply but continued to look sullen, she leaned across the small pine table, and touching his strong hand with hers, she murmured, "Come on, querido, what is bothering you? Surely it is not that he will share my bed? We decided long ago, before I even married old Emilio, that we would put no bonds on each other. I have my men and you your women, and in between"—she smiled impishly—"we have each other. So why are you so disturbed by this man? Besides," she added slyly, "I thought the entire purpose of your visit today was to ask my help in seducing him. You did say you wanted me to make him so mad for me that he would have no eyes for Sabrina, didn't you? Am I not to provide a distraction for him and keep him away from Sabrina? Keep him enthralled so that you will have no rival for her hand? Is that not what we planned?"

  Carlos relaxed suddenly and grinned across at her. "I should have married you, instead of allowing that old lecher, Emilio, to have you."

  Constanza shook her dark head decisively. "No. No, amigo—we know each other too well. If I were your wife, I would be jealous of your other women and you would not want me to have my lovers. I like my life the way it is, Carlos. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I wish Emilio had left me with more money so that I could live in elegance in New Orleans or Mexico City, but on the whole I am satisfied with my life. I come and go as I please, I very discreetly take the occasional lover when it suits me, and when I am pressed for money or have need of a particularly expert lover, I have my good friend Carlos. What more could a woman ask for?"

  "You are unnatural," Carlos said mildly, his eyes resting on her full mouth. "All women want marriage and children. It is what they are born to do—marry and provide their husbands with heirs."

  Aware of his glance on her mouth, she slowly, provocatively moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Bah! Because it is what you want with your Sabrina, you think I should want it, too! What I want at the moment is Brett Dangermond in my bed. Next week or next month it will be something else, but for now ..." She smiled coquettishly at him, her hands lightly caressing his. "You shall have your Sabrina, and all the lands and riches that come with her, and because I have been accommodating in the matter of Brett Dangermond, you will share your new wealth with me, si?"

  When Carlos remained silent, his gaze still on her mouth, she touched his lips softly with one finger. Sensuously she outlined the shape of his mouth. "You will hav
e everything you want, amigo, " she breathed huskily, "Everything . . . including me."

  "Si," he muttered thickly, rising to his feet. "Everything, including you."

  Roughly he pulled her eager body into his arms, and he kissed her upturned mouth hungrily. He glanced around the deserted patio and demanded, "Where? Your room? Or the forest?"

  "The forest," she replied against his throat, her hands touching him intimately.

  His manhood nearly bursting from his tight calzoneras, Carlos kissed her once more. Lifting his lips, he growled, "When you lay with the gringo, you will remember this afternoon." And then, dragging a very willing Constanza behind him, they disappeared into the thick, concealing forest.

  Sabrina was in the forest, too, that afternoon, but unlike Carlos and Constanza she was alone. Or had thought she was . . .

  Having declined to accompany Brett and her father into Nacogdoches, she had saddled Sirocco and gone for a ride, allowing the palomino mare to wander where she would. Sabrina had grown up in the forest surrounding the Rancho del Torres, and it had never held any fears for her. She was as familiar with it as she was the grounds of the hacienda, but today she was suddenly aware of how easily the tangled maze of trees and verdant undergrowth could conceal an enemy. Bonita's harping about bandits, as well as the horrifying news of the sacking of the Rios ranch had begun to prey on her mind, and perhaps that was why she gradually became conscious that she was no longer alone. Someone was stealthily following her. Not someone well versed in the forest either, she thought calmly, as a fallen branch cracked loudly behind her.