"Still, you should never discourage the Duke. The Countess Romana y Perez mentioned even before I left Court that she had visited the Duchess at the family seat in the south and that the poor woman looked as if at death's door."
"But I suppose my lady is not yet awake enough to fly her hawk, Master Encastro..." Don Enrique's voice drawled.
Dolores started and blinked her way out of her deep thoughts. She realized that they had arrived at the edge of the meadow and that her companion had been addressing her. "Oh, I am sorry, my lord, I was preoccupied," she exclaimed, smiling her apology. "And yes, I am very awake and just aching to let my Dalila fly, if it please you." Her smile grew wider because this was the truth; she did very much enjoy hawking.
The Duke's expression was amused, indulgent. His eyes slowly took her in and it was evident to her—and even to the two falconers quietly sitting their mules and awaiting orders—that what he saw greatly pleased him. "Very well, dear lady, so you shall. Send your lightning bird first after what fowl we find, and I will scoop up the remainder. I shall reserve my goshawk for hare. Put on your glove, then."
They had drawn up amid the bustle of the others of the hawking group getting ready for sport and the retainers unloading the dogs and the various gear necessary to transport the catch. Dolores pulled the heavy hawking glove onto her left hand, unfolding out from its wide cuff a leather protector for most of her arm. Leandro Encastro, a falconer widely regarded as a master trainer, passed on to her fist her obedient peregrine, quiet now because of the calming leather hood over its head embroidered with gold and pearls and surmounted with a small, pert spray of exotic feathers. Dalila was a broad-shouldered bird but not very big; a slate-colored, cream-breasted hawk with a hooked beak, wicked, sharp claws, and great long wings that when unfolded gave her unmatched speed of descent. Sitting so still as she was now on Dolores's fist she seemed mild, but once unfettered she became the unrelenting mistress of the aerial chase and the deadly swoop to the kill.
"It is too crowded here," the Duke complained. "We will remove to the other side of that pond." The Duke, now holding one of his speckled gyrfalcons on his large, gloved fist, wore a calf-length tunic of brown brocade edged with cloth of gold and a short cape. Atop his chin-length dark hair, sparked here and there with gray, he wore a low, big-brimmed hat of beige fur. On his breast lay a thick gold chain and his right hand flashed with a large ruby. He was a figure of power and privilege, this senior commander of the armies of Spain, smiling his heavy-jawed smile at the young noblewoman who had become entwined in his life.
He was not young. He was not subtle or graceful or especially charming. But he was a Grandee of the Realm. Dolores lifted her chin. Power. Position. Wealth. This was all that mattered. All the rest was Ciudad Real. She favored him with a teasing smile and bridled like a fine-stepping horse as she slid a coquettish glance at him. And she had the pleasure of seeing his bulgy eyes kindle at this unexpected flirtation.
***
The big, gray hound stood statue-still, his tense body stretched from tail to muzzle in a straight, stiff line toward a clump of high grass. High above, so high she seemed nothing more than a tiny W wheeling through the wispy clouds that drifted the blue sky, circled Dalila, waiting for her prey to be flushed, her incredibly sharp vision fastened upon the pointing dog.
"Wait, wait, the bird is still climbing and too far downwind," the falconer whispered to Dolores. "Wait a bit... until she gets a little upwind.... Now!"
"Hah! Hah!" Dolores yelled, clapping her hands sharply. The hound, released like a spring from point, dashed forward, and a covy of three terrified quail clattered up into the air and winged away. Instantly the soaring dot in the sky dropped headlong, falling downward with unbelievable speed, the wind screaming through the double bells on her legs and streaming out the jesses attached to her feet. Within seconds Dalila had overtaken her chosen quarry, coming up behind and over the fleeing bird to hit it heavily with her deadly hind talons—thwack!—and a cloud of feathers filled the air as the quail fell stone dead toward the ground.
Dalila curved through the sky gracefully, turned, and circled down to land light as thistledown on her kill. Instantly Medina-Sidonia cast off his gyrfalcon after the remaining quail winging frantically away. Swiftly the hawk clawed his way up at a sharp angle and then soared on the wind a quick second to take stock. Spotting his victim he launched himself like a hurled spear speeding flat out to catch up with it. Galloping off in the same direction to keep under the bird, the Duke and his second falconer rode away to attend the strike while Dolores, accompanied by Encastro, jogged over to retrieve Dalila. The falcon sat warily on her kill, beak open, feathers tight, anticipating the fresh-killed thrush Dolores would toss her so she would relinquish the fat quail in her talons.
Dolores waited until Dalila had crunched up her snack, beak, feathers and all, and then whistled three soft notes. With a flap the bird rose up and flew to her fist. "Good Dalila, good," Dolores praised the peregrine. The bird tilted her sleek head and stared at her mistress with a cold, black eye, even as she allowed Dolores to stroke her breast with a feather. In a moment she ruffled up her own feathers, blinked, and subsided calmly. Dolores, gripping the jesses in the fingers of her gloved hand, dropped the hood over the bird's head, using her free hand and her teeth to help pull the leather traces tight.
The dead quail safely in a bag, Dolores and Encastro pirouetted their horses and galloped toward the other two, who were riding to retrieve the two birds downed by the gyrfalcon, dogs bounding alongside them. In this way, working for hours with three well-trained birds of prey, five quivering-nosed pointers, and a couple of retrieving dogs, their small party bagged a number of quail, partridge, and three large hares to contribute to the kitchens before Dolores heard the horns in the distance announcing the hunt collation. Encastro rode up to take Dalila and by this time the Baroness de la Rocha was grateful; she hoped the crook in her right arm and the painful ache in her shoulder would not be permanent.
The hunters and their retinues, Dolores and Medina-Sidonia among them, were converging from all parts of the forest and fields as they rode toward the verge of the woods, where an army of valets and servitors were spreading long tables with silk cloths and setting out a feast on gold plates. But before they cleared the trees the Duke waved on his falconers and hound-handlers and beckoned Dolores in a divergent direction. She followed after him as he led the way a bit deeper into the forest and then behind a tangled thicket. She thought he merely wanted a few private words. It took her by surprise that he dismounted and held up his arms for her to dismount too. Her elbow was sore and she felt disheveled, but the fine weather and the activity had pumped up both her appetite and her good humor. So, smilingly, she allowed him to set her on her feet.
Suddenly the Duke's arms shot about her and she found herself almost smothered in his groaning, frantic embrace. She was so astonished that her eyes remained wide open as he pulled back and clamped onto her lips, and it took a few seconds before she could marshal resistance to his deep, damp kiss by shoving at him with muffled cries. Although his mouth would not be dislodged from hers his lips were not firm but soft and without shape, so the more she struggled against the hand that held her head the wetter the kiss became. Disgusted, she strained to get free, but his insistent arm held her clamped against his fleshy but strong body and her efforts were useless. When he finally released her she staggered as she recoiled backward.
"Don Enrique! This sort of behavior is not part of our contract!" she sputtered. She wanted to scrub at her wet mouth with her sleeve, but even in her indignation she did not care to insult him and settled for a discreet swipe with the back of her hand.
Medina-Sidonia's features were filled with painful passion as he sought to engage her hands in his. "Verily, Baroness, it is not in our contract. But I should like to make another agreement. One for which a loving embrace would be both a seal and a symbol. I wish to take you for my wife," he stated, a man accustomed to giv
ing out orders and being obeyed.
Dolores goggled at him, her breath quite taken away. There were princesses and duchesses galore all over Europe who would happily give their hands to this prestigious grandee. It seemed impossible he would wish to marry her, a little Baroness from an obscure family and without influence. She thought her ears deceived her.
"I know I surprise you. I surprise myself. And I know there are serious problems we must talk about. But my dear, beautiful young woman, it is absurd for me to continue pretending my interest in you is merely your waterfall. Not when I am so pleasured by, so delighted in your presence, and in turn"—there was the suspicion of a crack in the intense voice—"so devastated. I did not think this could happen to me, not after my—wound. But you have accomplished it. You have rekindled my desire for the affection and love of a woman, which I thought I had forever banished in my disfigurement. You have set within me such a longing to be with you that nothing will do but that you shall be my Duchess and share my roof and my bed, such as it is, and my heart, forever." The ordinarily unbending Guzman, almost panting with the effort of his impassioned plea, stared anxiously into the startled wide gray eyes that had so enthralled him.
Dolores thought that if he were not holding her tightly by the wrists she would fall into the chasm that appeared to yawn under her feet. "But, but my d-dear Lord Duke," she stammered, trying to catch hold of her skittering mind, "how has it escaped you that you are already married? And that Doña Catania is very much alive? You cannot have two wives at once." She found herself distressingly close to panic and she prayed it didn't show in her eyes.
"But she is not very much alive," the Duke growled, not realizing that he shook her by the arms. "That is, the lady is mortally ill. The Jewish physicians who have been attending her say she has little time left in this world, poor suffering woman, God help us all. But you certainly are aware that I have not had a loving accommodation with her in years; I have told you that. Why, she isn't even cognizant how truly grievous I was wounded." The last was said with a scowl, whether for his wife's ignorance or at his own impotence it was hard to tell. "When the Lord takes her to Him I will mourn the bare requisite time to satisfy my sons and daughter—and our pious Queen. But a soldier is not required to mourn forever. Then I shall be free. To choose you."
So intently did he stare into her face, his lantern-jaw willfully set, that he forgot to hold her tight and she was able to free her arms. Whirling away from him, presenting him her back as she resettled her hat that had been knocked askew, she grabbed a few precious seconds to collect herself. Heavenly Mother, what a shock. Luisa had been right. While her own eyes had been dimmed with yearning for that blue-eyed wandering swaggerer, the great Duke of Medina-Sidonia had fallen in love with her. Two reactions zipped through her mind. The first was a glittering vision of a mitered archbishop lowering upon her bejeweled head the seven-pointed coronet of a Duchess while a great chorus sang out a wedding triumphal. But the second, almost superimposed, was the memory of that loose, damp, spongy kiss, and now she almost gagged. Involuntarily her lips writhed. She thanked God she wasn't facing him, for whatever she did she must not make an enemy of him. The wrath of such a man, already humiliated in his affliction, would snap her existence as easily as a twig.
He walked up behind her and turned her about to face him, but she was ready. The expression she molded upon her face held nothing but wonder. Exuberantly he crushed her to him and rasped in her ear, "I know I cannot consummate a marriage in the ordinary manner or give you children. But I can make up for it in other ways that will please you. And you will be the queen of my heart, of my household...."
His voice went on describing the riches and comforts he could give her as his bulbous eyes traveled covetously over her face. But she was barely listening. She was casting around through her numb mind to select some wise course....
Finally, with a weak smile she held up a hand. "Please, My Lord, but I am overcome by surprise. It never occurred to me you would... you would... I need time to consider what you are saying. I have no one to speak for me..."
"Time? Of course you shall have time. I will be gone to the north for several months to settle a border dispute in Navarre, and you may take this time to think. But you must not say me nay nor feel that coyness would become you. I realize you have no parent or guardian to advise you, but you have your own considerable intelligence to tell you where your best interests lie. I shall rely on that."
With downcast eyes to cover her confusion Dolores murmured, "My Lord greatly honors me."
He responded quietly, "My delightful, lovely lady, it is you who will honor the house of Guzman. But will you not at least give some indication of your feelings toward me so that I may sleep with lessened anxiety?"
"Why, Don Enrique, you know how much I enjoy your friendship. But I have given little thought to marrying, however foolish that may sound from an eighteen-year-old woman." She thought her brain must be smoking with the effort of finding just the right words to handle the situation; she still heard Luisa's prophetic voice echoing in her ear. But she said, "I must collect myself and consider your stunning offer..."
"No, you are not one to simper or be coy, Doña Dolores; you are a woman who knows her mind enough to answer me right now, if you wished. I understand what is tying your tongue. It is the normal wish to want children of a marriage, and I tell you so shall you have them, you and I together." His heavy jaw worked. "My most favored son Don Felipe has said he thinks you very beautiful, as what man would not. If you were to have a child by him it would be of my blood, you see, and I would love it as a father. And no one would know the babe was actually my grandson."
She gaped at him, both for such generosity and for his inattention. Don Felipe! She felt a shriveling inside at even the thought of making a child with the disagreeable Count. It was hard to credit the astute Medina-Sidonia with such infatuation that he refused to notice her cold relationship with his heir. Still, now was not the time to give any offense to this mighty suitor. "I... well, it is a solution, certainly. But does Don Felipe realize..."
"No, he thinks I yet perform like the buck I was." His thin smile was self-denigrating. "But when the time comes I would tell him. He would be a fool to refuse to cooperate, and my son is no fool. So you see, in the respect of children, how easily our little problem is resolved." Now he raised an eyebrow significantly. "And any other problem can be taken care of as discreetly, if you take my meaning. I am a fairminded man."
Dolores colored and hoped she was not dithering. "I admit, my lord, you have relieved my mind, which believe me, holds no prejudice against you of any sort. Yet I still must beg the time you so kindly offered."
He looked deep into her eyes, a middle-aged, homely man who was wildly smitten, craving the youth, freshness and beauty of a lissome girl. "I love you," he declared roughly, unaccustomed to the word. He tilted up her chin. "I know you do not love me, but you will learn to, for you have before you a lifetime of pleasures. Consider, if you must, but consider with your head, and your heart shall follow."
Feeling her ground more securely now Dolores stepped away from him, a slight flush still in her face. "Don Enrique, I beg you, this is neither the place nor the time for so intimate a subject to be discussed." They could both hear muffled laughter and conversation; riders, retainers, dogs, and servants had been streaming past not far from their screened brake. "Do you not think betrothal is a matter better discussed in privacy? Indeed, I would be more comfortable, so, sir."
Now he flushed, but he was not displeased. "You are right, doña, it was impetuous of me but I could not contain myself longer. I have been thinking on us for many a month, as I hope you will now do. But you are—can I find the words to tell you how appealing this morning?—that my suit just burst from me and it had to be placed before you at last. I shall not let you forget it, Doña Dolores, as you have a habit of doing when you wish to postpone an issue. I shall be persistent. I have rarely not gotten what I wanted," he d
eclared, but with a smile meant to be encouraging and warm. He held out his hand. "Come, Lady, I will give you a leg up to your saddle."
She gave him her hand and he led her to her mount. He pulled her close to his large body, looking down at her flushed cheeks and flustered expression. "I long to embrace you now, and again take those lips I have watched in hunger for so long," he murmured. Then, to her relief he added, "Yet you are right, 'tis too public here. So think on my proposition, doña, and I shall impatiently bide my time."
They rode onto the path behind the last stragglers going to the field banquet. She smiled at him mechanically. He gave her a searching look which mellowed into a confident smile. "In addition, Baroness, when we marry I shall make out to you a disposition stating that your father's property —all of it—shall be yours to do with as you wish. I will not claim it as a dowry. You alone are dowry enough." High spirits seemed to hit him at that moment. "Come now, Doña Dolores," he rumbled, "you have to admit we do get along splendidly well!"
For once Dolores blessed her ability to blush easily. It was a wonderful cover for her moiling thoughts.
***
If the possibility of becoming the next Duchess of Medina-Sidonia wasn't shock enough, an infinitely more upsetting situation awaited her late the same afternoon. The lively outdoor banquet, complete with the gay music of shawms, horns, pipes, and tambourines, had helped her shove Medina-Sidonia's marriage proposal to the back of her mind; she would deal with it later in the quiet of her chamber. Her poise regained, pleasantly tired from the hunt and fresh, cold air, she rode by her benefactor's side back across the dry moat and through the castle gate into the courtyard, where there seemed to be much more activity than that which usually attended the bustle of dismounting hunters and the unloading into the kitchens of their mixed bag of deer, hares, squirrels, and fowl of all kinds. There was, in fact, a dusty train of baggage mules unloading, and saddlehorses and mules and empty litters were being led away by valets with white crosses prominent on their tabards.
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