She crossed the balcony, noting that all of the doors opposite and to the side of her wing were closed. But as she descended the wooden stairs the rest of the house same to life. She heard the murmur of voices from at least three different directions, and at the bottom of the stairs shy little Graziella waited, curtseying, beneath the bright glow of a big iron chandelier.
Graziella directed her to the sala, which was located to the right of the staircase, off the foyer. The wide double doors were closed, but Graziella opened them without knocking, gesturing Christina inside. Taking a breath, Christina walked into the spacious room . . . to halt in confusion. Julian was there, yes. But so was another man. And from his expectant smile, he knew who she was.
Julian had adopted formal evening dress for the occasion, and was something of a wolf in sheep’s clothing in his black, frock coat and while cravat. He came toward her, grinning and looked her up and down in an exaggerated manner that might have insulted her had she not known him so well.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Miss?”
“Señora. And you are?”
“Clean for a change. Apparently you have scrubbed a little, too. If I didn’t recognize that condescending tone of voice . . .” He shook his for once well-combed head. Then he turned, and called to the man standing by the stone fireplace.
“Come here, Gilbert. You must make the acquaintance of the Señora.”
The man came slowly toward them. He limped, leaning heavily on a cane.
Christina moved forward, meeting the crippled man halfway. “I will come to you, Señor. Why do you not sit down?”
He looked at her. “In a moment, Señora. You are most kind. But I walk as much as I can - it is good therapy, the doctors say.”
Julian came to stand behind them, hands planted on his hips. “Christina - this is my brother, Gilbert Torrance. Gilbert, the Señora de Sainz.”
Surprise held her still as Gilbert murmured a conventional greeting and bowed. She gave him her hand and replied in kind.
“But you live in San Antonio, do you not? Where is Lady Antoinette? I would have liked to see her. I grew quite fond of her in - in Washington.”
“She is at Tor Bend, the common name for our family home near San Antonio. And I recall her speaking with approval - and also with some question - of you, and where you might have gone to. She never suspected you might be here! Nor did I, until a little while ago. Julian summoned me here with a message by one of his renegades, and I came immediately, like a good brother.” He laughed, the action rendering his face pleasant and very like Rowan’s. Both men had wavy, brown hair, with a tendency to fall across their high foreheads; both men were of medium build - although Gilbert was the older and heavier - and of medium height. Rowan seemed a trifle livelier, however, and Gilbert more reserved. There was a watchful gleam to Gilbert’s eyes which was reminiscent of his adopted-brother and of his cousin, Michael.
Christina wondered how much of her story Gilbert had learned from both Antoinette and Julian. If he knew she was loyal to Mexico, he would dislike her, wouldn’t he? Hadn’t he been crippled by a Santanista? Why had Julian brought him here?
Julian answered that question himself later in the evening, as they were seated at one end of a dark Spanish dining table finishing a good meal of French and English dishes. Dessert was served by Jefferson, the black man who doubled as a butler; and Gilbert asked Julian for the second time why he couldn’t remain at Dos Rios until Antoinette would be able to arrive.
“Because, as you well know, there is a war going on in Mexico, and I don’t intend to miss it,” Julian said. “The only reason I detoured here at all was to bring Christina, who seemed to be seeing a little too much of it. I am leaving here tomorrow, to rejoin my unit. But I wanted you to meet Christina . . . .” his glance at her was inscrutable, “and Christina to meet you. Just in case. You’ll be checking on her, from time to time, and you should know each other. Michael might not arrive here for weeks.
Both men looked her way, Julian openly and Gilbert a little embarrassedly. She averted her eyes from each of them and focused on her English pudding.
“Also, Gilbert . . . you can’t tell Antoinette that Christina is here. You know she would rush right over and sweep her away to Tor Bend, which Michael would definitely not like. I don’t want Antoinette to come here until Michael returns.”
“Where is he, anyway?” Gilbert asked, evidently not caring for the idea of deceiving his inquisitive mother.
“He was with General Taylor, assisting him in securing Saltillo. Where he is now is anyone’s guess.”
“Does he even know that you have located the Señora?”
“Yes.”
Julian’s reply was short, and that was all he intended to say. The conversation turned to Antoinette, at Christina’s urging, and remained there until Julian was called away by the butler. Once he left the room, Gilbert relaxed a little more. He requested port, and insisted that Christina have an after-dinner wine as well.
He asked her general questions about her travels, avoiding any subject which might prove touchy or uncomfortable; a knack which reminded Christina of his mother. After ten minutes of aimless talking, he struck with a pointedness that was all Julian.
“Señora . . .” he began, his gaze direct. “My mother seems to be under the impression that you and Michael had formed some sort of understanding, before you ran away from him. Yet, Julian tells me that you and my cousin are more in the way of enemies; which would explain, at least, why you did run away.”
He seemed to expect her to speak, but she remained silent. He sipped his port and continued. “Now, please do not mistake me. Whatever is between you and Michael is most certainly your own affair. I am merely curious about your status. Am I to treat you as a future cousin-in-law, or as an honorable Mexican hostage?”
He smiled as he spoke, a warm, generous smile that nevertheless did not disguise his implacable need to know. This was a man who liked order in his life and wasn’t fond of surprises. He was, indeed, different from Michael and Julian, after all.
Christina decided to be honest with him, and trust in his tolerant nature.
“Señor Torrance, I nursed your cousin back to health after he was discovered on my estate in Mexico half-dead from a gunshot wound. To repay me, he kidnapped me, simply because I happened to discover his identity; and took me far away from my home. I needn’t mention the indignities I suffered along the way, not the least of which was the fact that he actually drugged me!” She paused to rein-in her voice, which had risen. “Naturally, I took the opportunity which presented itself in Washington to escape him. I have a duty to my estate, Señor, a responsibility to it - you must understand me, owning land yourself! I wished - I still wish - to return to it, especially now that war has upset everything. My tenants, my people, need me. I am their Patrona . . .”
She stared at Gilbert, her mind on her hacienda; on Maria Juana, on her head man Ricardo, on everyone else there who must have no idea where she was. She saw the place deserted from lack of attention, or even destroyed from the war. Her imaginings chilled her.
“So you see, even though Miguel and I have - gotten along - together at times, just as your mother observed, he has done me a great disservice, which I can never forget. You may consider me his hostage, if you wish; it is true enough!”
Gilbert observed her closely, his interest and his speculation unhidden. He didn’t seem displeased or even perturbed by her story. He seemed to accept it calmly. Was he used to the insane, uncivilized things that his English cousin did? And as for her role - did the idea of a patriotic Mexican not anger him, either?
Then he shook his head, and smiled. “Not a hostage. “Or even a guest. I will think of you as a friend, if you permit it, Señora. And I hope that you will do me the same favor.”
Her expression eased, and she nodded. But before she could speak, he added, “And I promise you that as a friend I will certainly speak to Michael on your behalf. Even t
hough our countries are in the midst of a bitter war - and it is bitter, Señora, on the part of every Texan - Michael must remember that he is a gentleman. I will try to persuade him to let you go.”
She smiled at him in grateful relief, a wide smile that slanted her green-gold eyes upwards until they glittered like faceted stones. She turned the same face to Julian when he reentered the room, and the big man stopped dead to stare at her in mock surprise and cynical approval.
“Well, Gilbert, your conversation seems to have pleased Christina. And I had so hoped to do it myself when I told her I have changed my mind about leaving, and intend to stay here another day or so longer.” He spoke deprecatingly, and both Gilbert and Christina laughed and protested.
Then Julian moved near to Christina, and reached down to caress her cheek, as casually as always. He stopped at Gilbert’s observing look and frowned. It struck Julian how much it pleased him to touch her, and how unusual a show of affection like that was for him. No wonder Gilbert stared! But he couldn’t help touching her, it just seemed to come naturally to him. Of course, he should consider what Michael would make of his petting . . . sure he would not stop it when his cousin arrived, a lot sooner now than he had originally thought. Oh, well, he enjoyed touching Christina, and these days, she didn’t seem to mind his caresses. Perhaps Michael had an even bigger aggravation coming!
The thought of teasing his cousin and best friend restored his sense of the absurd. He grinned down at Christina and patted her like a good dog. “I’ve decided to see you well-nestled in before I go. Lay out the rules, and so on. My troop will just have to do without me for a little while longer. Now - why don’t we go out onto the patio, where it’s cooler? Gilbert can tell us all about his children and his wife and Antoinette . . .”
Chapter 19
The patio was scented with night-flowers and the musky-smell of the land, borne on a tantalizing breeze. They seated themselves on cushioned chairs in a patch of lantern light, and sipped wine in peace for a few moments, listening to the wistful strains of a guitar played by a ranch hand in a dark corner. Then Julian ruined the peaceful mood by turning perverse and setting out to annoy Christina by relating exaggerated tales of her exploits to Gilbert. He made fun of her and complimented her at the same time, using an heroic tone of voice that was as funny as it was annoying, and taking care to play up her unfeminine conduct so that she sounded like some kind of hussy. Why did he find it necessary to talk about her adapting to life with a rough guerilla band as though it were? And why in the name of God, did he bring up the incident in which she killed two men?
Julian leaned over the back of Christine’s chair where she couldn’t see him, rubbing her bare shoulder despite her stiffened back. “So you see, Gilbert, what a brave girl she really is. Without her, er - quick action with St. Just’s gun, he would be dead now, and she would be - uh, well. I’m sure you can guess. Although I’m afraid that killing those dogs has upset her. I don’t know why. They were dead men anyway; I was only about twenty minutes behind them.”
“Julian, you know I would prefer not to discuss it at all,” she said.
“Of course I do. And you will go as far as to drink to forget it.” She knew he was grinning down at her, his smile recalling the absurd inebriated condition he had helped her to attain in her shock at the killings. And here she was with a glass of sangria in her hand, and feeling exactly the same; she still wanted to forget!
She twisted to glare up at him, her eyes daring him to comment further. But he only laughed, and squeezed her shoulder. “You know I approve of you, meniña, despite your faults. I will even take responsibility for most of your recent sins.”
“I am glad to hear it, Juli. Now I know whom to blame.”
Julian’s hand tightened on Christina’s shoulder, and remained there as all their gazes shot toward the familiar, unexpected voice.
“Is this a fiesta? No, the three of you seem too cozy for that. A dinner party, then. Am I welcome?” Michael’s tone was quizzical and bland and tired. But his eyes were narrowed and slate-gray in the dim light, and his face beneath several days’ growth of beard looked hard, even though he leaned casually against the arched doorway.
“I seem to remember something about this being your house. We could scarcely turn you away, could we?” Julian said.
Michael’s eyes met Julian’s, and flickered downwards for only a second before returning back up without acknowledging Christina. Then he turned toward his other cousin, who had risen. His mouth quirked into a smile.
“What are you doing here, Gil?”
Gilbert moved forward and extended his hand. “I’m not sure, now. But it’s good to see you anyway.”
Michael removed dirty leather gloves to clasp his cousin’s hand and came forward, his movements slow. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, especially since it appears we have a lot to talk about. But I think I’ll bathe, and change, first, before joining polite company. I’ve done some hard riding lately, as you can no doubt tell.”
He released Gilbert’s hand and his eyes swung back again to Julian. The half-breed Indian looked amused, and something else indefinable. His stare was heavy and expectant.
Since Julian was waiting for it, and since Gilbert also formed part of the audience, Michael decided to glance down at Christina, seated beneath Julian’s deliberate and pointed grip. He even managed to keep his voice quiet and controlled when he satisfied them all by speaking to her.
“You seem to have been extremely busy since we last met, Señora. How - interesting to find you here, obviously so well cared for . . . and on such good terms with my family. Despite all the trouble you’ve caused!”
Christina flinched, and would have jumped up from the chair had Julian not held her down. “Any small trouble I might be responsible for is as nothing to the misery you have put me through!”
“That misery isn’t over yet, Christina.” It was a flat threat, and watching her now - just as arrogant and demanding as ever, yet less afraid of him than before, thanks to God knows what, when Julian should have humbled her - he wanted to slap her, as hard as he could. Particularly since the sight of her had brought back to him, with seductive strength, the memory of her in bed, that one and only time. And that had been just before she had walked out of his house to go to another man. His disgust rose in his mouth, like bile.
He turned, intending to stalk away, not trusting himself to keep from killing her now, in front of witnesses. He opened his mouth to call out to Julian to dispose of her somewhere before he came back. But then he bumped into the female he had unintentionally brought home with him.
“So here you are, querido! I have looked everywhere for you - but I see we have guests!” She tossed her full head of glossy black hair, and her eyes narrowed into slits as they took in the assembled company.
“Julian can make the necessary introductions, Renata. Now get out of my way so I can take a bath. And remember to be polite, you’re pretending to be a lady.”
The girl flashed dark, passionate eyes at him before facing her audience and dropping into an overdone curtsy. Then, as Michael’s boot steps receded into the house, the girl said, “Good evening.”
Julian burst into rude laughter, seeming to find both Michael and the girl’s appearance amusing. The girl drew herself up and planted angry fists on the hips of her European-style riding habit.
“You dare to smirk at me,, hijo de - she cut herself off, pretending to realize her manners. She glanced toward Christina, noticed the white, rigid expression she wore, and took it for contempt. “Julian, who is she?” she demanded, her glare swinging back to him.
“She is a lady, Spirit, whom you would do well to emulate, if you are serious about improving yourself, which I doubt. Her name is the Señora de Sainz. Yours I thought I knew; but what did Miguel call you?”
“Renata. It is my new name. I no longer want my Comanche name. Is she sleeping in Miguel’s bedroom? There are women’s clothes in his wardrobe.”
Ju
lian smiled, sardonically, and Gilbert looked amazed and disgusted, but not really surprised. Apparently he had met Spirit - Renata before. Christina sat frozen in her seat, not believing the scene that had just taken place, or the one that was now happening.
“Yes she is, and you are to keep out of there,” Julian replied. “It is Miguel’s wish that she have his room, since she is a very important guest. And how long are you planning to stay? I don’t want you disrupting this household for long.” He was intentionally provoking, and this volatile girl lit beneath his words like a smoldering flame, shattering the quiet peace of the courtyard with her loud voice.
“I will remain here as long as I want! It is Miguel’s house, not yours, and he wants me here! I am just as important to him as - as she is, even more important, you dog, and you can’t make me leave. Why don’t you go, instead, and take her with you!”
Her attitude radiated primitive aggression and an equally savage sensuality, and even Christina had to admit her beauty was uncommon and glorious; particularly so due to the contrast between her obvious Indian ancestry and her correct European clothing. But she was vulgar and common, and Michael’s mistress . . . and Christina had just about all she could stand for one night, period.
“You must excuse me, gentlemen, and you, Señorita. It is time that I retired.” She rose from her chair, and Julian made no attempt to stop her. She met his eyes, and they were understanding and not in the least amused. Thank God he had decided to spare her his sarcasm; she couldn’t have borne it. She turned to Gilbert, and nodded, hoping his present expression of bemusement wouldn’t turn to pity for her sake.
But then her gaze crossed that of the Indian girl, and the malevolent hatred she encountered there was unnerving, but not startling. She disliked the girl, why shouldn’t the girl hate her?
“Goodnight,” she said, and walked away. Gilbert Torrance was the only one who wished her a good night in return. As she went into the interior hall, she heard the Comanche girl saying something shrill about her to Julian; and his low and menacing order to shut up. The girl began shrieking then, before there came the distinct sound of a slap. Wild, angry sobbing ensued as Christina mounted the staircase, and the sobbing grew louder when she reached the open hallway to her room, with its high view of the courtyard below.
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