Four Winds (River of Time California, Book 2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “Of what do you speak?”

  I gave her a false smile and turned to cover her with a blanket again, covering feet that were cut and bruised because of me. Legs that had had to swim and walk for miles because of me. “I speak of Franciscans and God’s winding path, of course,” I lied. “Is that injury to your head robbing you of memory?” I winked at her, so she’d know I was teasing. But she looked puzzled and concerned.

  Hector arrived then, with another pot of steaming water, a dented tin cup, and a spray of feverfew in hand. “I did find a bit more. It has not the finest flavor, but it should ease your aches.”

  “Thank you, Hector,” Zara said, lifting a hand to her forehead. “I think the first of it did, last night. I had some then, right?”

  I answered, “You managed to take a few sips before you were out again.” I leaned toward Hector. “Do you mind if I step out for a moment? Can you keep watch on Señorita Zara?”

  “Certainly.”

  I ignored her searching eyes and walked out of the tiny church then, needing to be outside, away from her. When I was close to her, all I wanted to do was sweep her into my arms. To kiss her and know that she would always be at my side. But if I was to let her go, I had to begin to separate my heart now—niggle free the ends where we were bonded, like Mama tearing out a hem in a dress—so that when the time came, I could set her free, truly free.

  CHAPTER 20

  ZARA

  I took the cup of tea from Hector. “What troubles Javier?” I said.

  “Other than that his intended has suffered much at the hands of an evil man?” he asked.

  I swallowed the bitter drink and gave him a small smile. “Yes, aside from that.”

  Hector shrugged and sat back against a brick column, which held up one side of the roof’s remaining arch. “There is a great deal on the don’s mind. Mostly retribution and revenge, I’d wager. He is very angry that the pirates dared to attack us; he’s even angrier that the Mexican garrison did not come to our aid.”

  “Which draws him closer to thoughts of supporting the Union’s claim on California?” I guessed. “And farther away from what his mother most desires, to remain a true, loyal son to Mexico.”

  Hector nodded slowly. He picked up a stalk of the medicinal flower and idly began peeling more leaves from the stem. “I’ve had similar thoughts since this attack. If Mexico cannot protect her frontiers, then she is of little use to us here. And if she gives way at her center, how long until we follow?”

  I tried to think back to Mexican history from this time. I knew of the Alamo, of Santa Anna, Mexico’s ruler, but little else. Was there something in history that might give me a clue as to what truly drove Mendoza?

  “Why do you think that Captain Mendoza chose to attack Bonita Harbor and Captain Craig’s ship? Craig is a Union supporter. Do you suppose that Mexico hired him to attack those who might oppose them, under the guise of piracy?”

  Hector frowned and paused his stalk splitting. His dark eyes shifted left and right. “It’s not impossible,” he admitted. “What makes you ask?”

  “He was so willing to risk his ship and his stolen cargo in the storm,” I said, thinking aloud. “And he said some things that made me wonder. I think he expected to gain from the attack in ways outside the cargo’s value. Even above the ransom Javier agreed to pay for me and Mateo.”

  “More than four chests full of gold?” He looked doubtful.

  “Honestly, he seemed almost fine with just me as his captive—as if Mateo would’ve been too much bother. They may not even have searched for him.” I swung my head to look back at him but realized my head wasn’t doing well enough for me to risk such movements.

  “More tea?” Hector asked, seeing me squint in pain.

  “Please,” I said, holding out my tin cup.

  He took it from me, filled it, and handed it back. “Javier has asked me and seven of the men to escort you back to the rancho, when you are up to traveling.”

  I scowled at him. “So then he will go north without seven of his best men? That makes little sense to me. We could be waylaid on the road. Would it not be best for us all to stay together?”

  Hector frowned. “Don Javier only wants to know that you are safe and far from danger.”

  I sighed. “Danger is everywhere. I might return to the rancho and contract a fever that would kill me.”

  Hector crossed himself and cast his eyes upward, hands clasped, “Protégela, bendito Señor, de tal maldición.” Guard her, Lord, from such a curse.

  “Am I wrong?” I pressed. “Have you not known people to die in their own homes? Javier’s own brother was gored to death in the rodeo. Does not disease run through the Indian villages? The towns? There is danger everywhere. I prefer to face it with those I love.”

  Hector let out a little huff of a laugh.

  “What? What is funny?”

  “You,” he said. He shook his head, his expression half-dismay, half-delight. “No wonder Don Javier is so captivated. You are unlike any woman we have ever met.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said. I grew tired of how women were treated in this era, the weak roles they had to play, the lack of equal rights, opportunity. “So will you aid me in convincing him that we are all better off together?”

  He scratched his chin, considering me. “Will you do as we ask of you? Stay where we tell you?”

  “Yes, yes, anything. I just do not want to be separated from Javier again. And I want to see that devil myself when he pays for what he did to us,” I added fiercely. Again, my head throbbed in complaint, and I rubbed it.

  “We must cease this talk and you must rest.”

  “I’m weary of resting,” I said, stretching out an arm and gingerly coming to my feet. “My body aches as much from being in one spot as it does from what I’ve endured. I need to move. Where did Javier go?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Well, let us go find him.”

  Hector yanked off his boots. “These are far too big for you. But you must protect your feet if you insist on going about. Don Javier worked too long on them for you to get them filthy on the mission grounds.”

  I began to protest but knew he was right. Still, I was so antsy that I had to move a little, stretch my muscles, and get the blood flowing. “You truly are a kind man,” I said, slipping my foot into one warm boot and smiling as he bent to lace it up for me. “With big feet.”

  “Big?” he chuckled, as if amused.

  Then, in stocking feet, he offered his arm. “Now come, m’lady. Let us find Don Javier. It will do him good to see you a bit more restored.”

  The thought of it made me a little nervous. I ran a hand through my curls, knowing my hair must be a sight. “Is there any sort of mirror around?” I asked. “Or a brush?”

  “The priests did not put a high price on outward beauty,” he said, “so we’d be hard pressed to find either. Not that they would likely leave such things behind.”

  “Right,” I said. It was a stupid thought. I straightened my shoulders and turned toward him. “Then tell me. How bad is my face? My neck?” I knew that a few of the pirates’ blows must have left marks. Javier’s pulsing neck vein when looking me over had told me it made him furious.

  “It’s not too bad,” he tried.

  “Hector,” I said. “The truth, please.”

  Hector hazarded a sidelong glance or two and sighed. “A bruise here,” he said, gesturing toward my right cheekbone. “Turning rather green. A scratch here,” he said, lightly tracing his left temple to his eye, “with a good scab, but it might leave a faint scar.”

  A scar. I frowned. I hadn’t thought of lasting evidence of my scuffles with Mendoza and his men.

  “Another bruise here,” he said, gesturing toward my lower right cheek. “This one is more brown.” He frowned now too, anger gathering in his brow, but there was little more than concern in his dark eyes. “You clearly endured much, Señorita. And for that I am deeply sorry. We tried to get to you in
time. You know that, yes? Don Javier did not sleep. From the time he left the Crescent Moon, last night was the first he allowed his eyes to close for more than minutes.” He stared at me with sorrow, guilt, compassion, as if he wanted to wrap me into a brotherly hug.

  I swallowed, refusing to cry again. What was it about compassion in a friend that made me want to sit down and sob? And remembering each blow I’d taken made me angry again too, which would for sure make me cry.

  I sniffed and lifted my chin. “Well, I survived, as did Mateo. I think we must concentrate on that gift rather than what was lost, yes? But am I a hideous sight? Is that why Javier had to leave the room? I’m too battered to look upon?”

  Hector’s face twisted in a look of surprise. “Hideous? Oh, Señorita Zara. Do you not know? You are beautiful, no matter what bruises you bear. In fact, they make you seem more heroic. Fearsome, in a way, even wrapped in your womanly form.”

  It was my turn to stifle a laugh. “Fearsome?”

  “Fearsomely beautiful,” he returned, lifting a brow. “Like a warrioress, after returning from battle.” He tucked my hand through the crook of his arm, and we resumed our slow walk out of the church.

  We emerged into a small courtyard, where I saw Javier standing to one side. The courtyard was surrounded by a half-roof, falling down in places. I was certain that it was once a contemplative, prayerful place to walk, protected by the elements. Seeing us, Javier turned and moved toward me, silently taking my arm from Hector. We could all see I was trembling.

  “It’s fine,” I said, waving them both off. “I need to move. Walk.”

  “I’ll fetch more tea,” Hector said, eager to have a task.

  Javier turned to face me, looking me over. “Do you need to sit?”

  I nodded reluctantly. My knees suddenly felt made of jelly, despite my brave words.

  He led me to a stone bench, and I half-wished he’d pull me into his lap again, but he sat down at my side instead, one arm around me. Silently he rubbed my arm and hand, as if willing his calm and courage into me. When my trembling finally stopped, he took my hand and gazed at me. “Zara, I doubt anyone will inquire, but in case they do, I must know. Did you kill that pirate on the beach?”

  I was silent a moment. “The second mate intended…down on the beach, when I—”

  Javier bore my half-sentences, filling in the blanks. “You were defending yourself when he died,” he said gently. “There is no culpability in that.”

  I didn’t know what culpability meant exactly, but I could guess. He didn’t think I was to blame. I thought of the captain striking me, ramming me against the rocks…and again began trembling. “I hate it that I am so weak. That even the thought of it sets me to shaking and—”

  “What?” he interrupted. “No. No,” he said more firmly. He lifted my chin so that I had to look into his eyes. His dark, beautiful eyes were full of sorrow and admiration and fury and hope. “Zara Ruiz, you are the strongest woman I have ever encountered, other than my mother.”

  I laughed at this. A short bark of a laugh and then giggles that brought tears to my eyes. He smiled with me at last, and it was a relief to finally see him smile again. And it did make my heart and mind feel more steady, the fact that he equated my strength to his mother’s. Because I had never met a more formidable woman than Doña Elena.

  “Maybe the golden lamp only comes to strong women,” he said. “It takes a great deal of fortitude for one to travel to another time, yes?”

  “More than you know…”

  When he’d handed me a handkerchief to wipe my eyes and nose, he slowly caressed my cheek, tracing my lower lip, clearly thinking about kissing me, but trying to resist. “Is it all right, mi corazon? God help me, I shouldn’t—”

  No, you should, I wanted to whisper back. I could feel my draw to him rise, expand, warming me from within. And yet…

  “I’m trying not to press, after all you’ve been through,” he whispered, with a slight rasp to his voice. His lips moved toward mine, whisper-close, but he did not press. “Are you certain?”

  I considered him, focused on all that was good in him, driving back the shadows that Mendoza and Gonzalo had cast in my mind. He was light. Light, light…

  “You do owe me a kiss,” I whispered back, watching as his dark eyes searched every inch of my face as if he could read my deepest need. “You remember? Our wager?”

  He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. Just waited for me. Deciding then, I ran my fingers through his dark hair and pulled his lips toward mine. We kissed at first softly, then with deepening intensity. He tasted of salt and sage, of fresh air and leather and sweat—and all of it tasted like comfort to me. Memory. Falling back into the known. Blessed, comforting known after all the unknown I’d faced. This was the man I loved. This was the man I’d wished for, from twenty-first century California, but could find only in the past….

  His kiss quelled my fears and stilled my trembling as passion replaced my hurts.

  The sound of applause made him hesitate and brought my head up. Across the courtyard, four of Javier’s men were clapping and grinning, like silly college boys full of bravado. I giggled and felt the heat of my blush as Javier’s arm tightened around my shoulder, silently encouraging me not to slip away. He lifted one hand and dismissed them with a wave; they dragged themselves away, laughing and chatting as they went.

  His gaze returned to me, and humor faded back into intensity. “I am so glad that you survived this ordeal, Zara. To think what might have happened, how you might have suffered…” He ran his fingers through his curls, pushing the mass back from his anguished face.

  I took his hand and caressed it. “It was terrible,” I whispered. “But you came after me, Javier. Rescued me.”

  His eyes searched mine, and he opened his mouth to say more but then stayed silent, as if thinking better of it. What was it that he held back? A promise? An apology? Our long-awaited I love you?

  Whatever it was, in the end, he gave up, sighed, and looked to the sky as if pleading for help.

  CHAPTER 21

  JAVIER

  My mind was screaming at me, even as my heart and body yearned to turn and kiss her again. To tell her I loved her. But I couldn’t. Had I not just decided that I had to let her go? That it was in her best interest to free her, allow her to return to her own, safer time so that she never had to go through such terror and abuse again? I was a weak fool in her presence, and I had to get her back to Tainter Cove where she could—

  I abruptly stood and felt the color drain from my face even as I covered it with my hands. The lamp. The golden lamp that had allowed her to come here, my mother to come here—I hadn’t seen it since that day we were attacked.

  “Javier? What is it?” she asked, wobbling to her feet. She hurried behind me as I moved toward where the horses were tied up.

  “Your golden lamp,” I said over my shoulder, just loud enough that she could hear. “I haven’t seen it since the day you tried to return to your own time.”

  She frowned, still keeping pace. “Why are you thinking of that now?” But something in her tone told me that she was now worried about it too. I was right. Clearly right. She still harbored thoughts of returning to her own time. And who could blame her? After all that had transpired?

  “Because it belongs to you,” I said, making up an excuse. If she didn’t want to discuss it plainly, then neither did I. “And you’ve lost so much—so much has been taken from you—it grates at me to think it’s gone as well. I think I slipped it into my saddlebag that day. Do you remember?”

  “I don’t,” she said.

  I wished that my mare were here, now, that we could go search her saddlebags this instant. I strode a few paces away, arms crossed, trying to remember. I’d been so relieved that God had left Zara with me, in my time, rather than taking her away….

  “You helped me mount your horse, and we rode together,” she said, coming to stand beside me.

  “So did you have the lamp
or did I?”

  “I think I handed it to you at some point. Or…” She lifted a hand to her head as if she could force the memory to emerge. “I think you put all my things in the saddlebag. Right as you helped me mount?”

  I nodded, dimly remembering something like that. In that moment, all we’d been able to concentrate on was each other. “There’s no way I would have left it behind.”

  “We reached the harbor, you sent me toward the rancho…” she said distantly, lost in memory. “I came across the dead guards, Mateo’s horse, and turned back. I hobbled her right across the dunes from the storehouse.”

  “Where you were captured,” I said. “So the pirates might have searched the bags and stolen it.”

  She paled. “So it…might have gone down with the Crescent Moon. Or it remained in the saddle bag and…and Mendoza has it now. He was carrying a bag with him. I mean, not a saddle bag. But a bag. He had jerky and more in there…But Javier, if he didn’t, doesn’t have the lamp…”

  I turned toward her, my face feeling numb and stiff. “You might be trapped here,” I finished for her.

  Her eyes searched mine, confused. Fearful. Hopeful. Angry. A myriad of emotions played across her face, one after the other. I believed I recognized each of them because I felt them all as well. I wanted Zara to remain here if she chose to stay, not because she had no choice. Did I not know the chafing nature of such a life firsthand? How I had longed for the sea, the university rather than the sprawling rancho? I’d come to partial peace with my lot as Don Javier de la Ventura, largely due to Zara’s influence. But I could not demand the same of her.

  “We’ll find Mendoza in Monterey and learn whether he has it. Or we’ll return to the beach near the wreck. Scour it to see what washes ashore.” Even as I said those last words, I know they sounded futile.

  “If Mendoza has it, we now have twice the reason to catch him.” She gave me a steady gaze—steadier than I’d seen her yet. Determined. “Shall we be off then and make some distance before nightfall?”