“What?” Mara asked as she barely caught his sleepily mumbled words.
“Molly, me darlin’ Molly,” Brendan slurred the name.
Mara’s lips tightened at the sound of the name. “No, ’tis Mara, me darlin’ Brendan,” she said sharply, “and you’d better get up now. You need a shave and a wash. You smell like the inside of a whiskey bottle.”
She was leaving the room as he struggled to his elbows and shook his head to clear away the hazy thoughts. “What a hair-raising dream,” Brendan groaned as he swung his feet to the floor and held his head in his hands.
“Your hair is standing on end,” Mara confirmed. “Even as fine an Irishman as yourself can only be holding so much before finding himself pickled and full of blarney.”
Brendan looked up, the light from the candles softening the jaded expression on his face. “Ye’ve got one fault, Mara, me love, that you ought to be trying to change before someone decides to do it for you. And that’s not knowin’ when to curb that sharp tongue of yours. In other words, mavournin—shut up.”
Mara’s lips parted in a half-smile. “To be sure, it gets the right results sometimes in clearing the fog from some people’s minds.” Turning on her heel she flounced from the room, the half-smile still on her lips as the door closed behind her and she started along the dark passage to her room.
An hour later Mara stared at her reflection in the mirror as she fastened dangling, jet earrings into her ear lobes and slipped several matching bracelets onto her wrists. In the candlelight her bare shoulders gleamed as luminously as pearls above the pale yellow glacé silk gown. The skirt was gathered in flounces and caught by loops of black velvet ribbon that matched the deep ruffles of delicate black lace that edged the tight-fitting bodice that was cut low and off the shoulder. A caul of black silk net shot with gold was draped over her chignon and caught the light, glowing softly.
Mara touched her favorite scent to the inside of her wrists and the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. Lily of the valley floated around her as it was warmed by her body. Picking up a black satin reticule, she placed a dainty lace handkerchief inside and, drawing the strings, gave her reflection a last, searching look.
She was folding a black lace shawl over her arm when Brendan knocked on the door with his special knock, hitting it once, then again, then twice in rapid succession. He sauntered into the room, pausing to look Mara over critically, a smile curving his mouth as he found nothing to fault in her appearance. He had shaved and washed, and brushed his curls into order. He wore fresh linen and a sky blue silk scarf adorned with a gold pin. In blue trousers and a coat of superfine, with a dark blue velvet collar and a scroll-patterned, gold silk waistcoat, he looked very elegant and highly respectable, quite different from the man of an hour ago.
“Shall we go and face our audience?” Brendan asked in good humor as he glanced around the room curiously. “Where’s Paddy? Isn’t he dressed yet?”
“Jamie’ll be bringing him over,” Mara replied patiently. “And if he’s looking as fine as his father, then he’ll be doing us proud,” Mara complimented her brother, smoothing over her harsh words of an hour earlier.
Brendan smiled widely. “D’ye think so, now? I’ve been thinking, so as not to become too bored with this charade, that I just might be playing me finest dandy. Besides, playing the fool sometimes is the best way of disarming a person. In me role as a Jemmy Jessamy I shall be me lady’s fondling, and confidant to all of her secrets. Who knows what I might learn about Don Luís and the others in this household,” Brendan said slyly, a gleam of mischievous anticipation in his dark eyes.
“Just don’t be overdoing it and scare them off. We really can do without a scandal,” Mara reminded him as Jamie entered with a subdued Paddy in hand. Dressed in long trousers, a short, round-edged jacket, and green silk waistcoat, Paddy was a miniature gentleman. His curls had been combed ruthlessly back, although one or two had already managed to escape onto his forehead.
“I’m not sure I’m likin’ havin’ Master Paddy up so late. ’Tisn’t good for him to be eatin’ such rich food either. It’ll be givin’ him nightmares for sure,” Jamie complained with a disapproving look at the O’Flynns.
“She’s right,” Brendan agreed, for once showing more than his usual casual interest in his son. “You know how cranky he gets when he’s been up too late.”
“Well, it’s too late to do anything about it tonight. We’ll make other arrangements later on. In fact, you might want to see to all his meals yourself, Jamie,” Mara decided as she thought of the richly seasoned food they had eaten on the trail the night before.
“Aye, that I’ll be doin’, and havin’ me own meals in me room, as well,” Jamie said firmly. “Thought someone had lit a fire in me insides last night, and ’twas still smoldering most of today as well.”
“Good, you are ready,” Don Luís spoke from the doorway. His gaze lingered critically over them. “We shall go now.”
“I should like some dinner prepared for Jamie and sent to her room. And in future I think she should prepare both Paddy’s and her own meals.”
Don Luís seemed surprised for a moment and then shrugged agreement. “I suppose the English would find our dishes a little spicy. I’m sure it can be seen to, and it is just as well that the young señor have as little to say as possible,” Don Luís decided as he stared at the tired boy. “This is not child’s play, and as a gambler, Señor O’Flynn, you will appreciate that the stakes are high. I do not intend to lose. We will now go,” he said as he motioned them out of the room with an imperious wave of his hand.
“Our lord and master has given us a command, mavournin,” Brendan grumbled in a theatrical whisper. “We’d best not be disappointin’ his highness, although I’m thinkin’ I might just be doin’ some rewritin’ of roles in the last pages of this play. Don Luís’s is going to become a bit part.”
Paddy’s small fingers tightened painfully around Mara’s as they crossed the open courtyard and neared the lighted windows of the salon. Through the opened doors the sound of laughter and voices raised in conversation drifted into the night air.
Don Luís waited for them to close the distance between them. Then, with the O’Flynns but a step behind him, he made his entrance into the salon as grandly as any stage performer could have. The family Villareale—distant cousins, uncles and aunts, and friends—had gathered. An uneasy silence descended over the previously jubilant group at Don Luís’s entrance. As Brendan, Mara, and a reluctant Paddy were ushered in, a flock of fans were raised as the ladies hid their expressions and whispered comments.
With a smile of benevolence that did little to soften his austere features, Don Luís guided Mara to Don Andres, who was standing beside three ladies seated on an upholstered sofa.
“It is my greatest pleasure, Doña Ysidora, to present to you my niece, Amaya Anita María Josefa Vaughan.”
“My child, it has been a long wait for your return,” said the lady sitting in the center of the three. Though she spoke softly, there was nothing soft about her appearance. She sat with a straight back, almost in defiance of the plush satin cushion, and was dressed in a black silk gown with a discreet edging of black lace around the bodice and cuffs. A heavy, gold cross hanging from a chain around her neck was her only adornment besides the gold rings in her ears and on her fingers. Her dark hair, streaked with silver strands through the temples, was held in a thick pile atop her head with a large, tortoiseshell comb.
Beside her, Doña Feliciana sat quietly, her large brown eyes full of silent suffering as she looked away from Mara’s flamboyant figure and down at her hands demurely clasped in her lap. Her long black braids were draped across her shoulders and fell like ropes of black satin to coil against the seat of the sofa.
“And my wife, Doña Jacinta,” Don Luís continued his introductions, “and Doña Feliciana, a cousin of Don Andres.”
Doña Jacinta beamed a wide smile of welcome, her round brown eyes shining. Her softly p
retty face seemed too small for the large comb holding the heavy twist of black hair on top of her head. She was a startling contrast to the other two women, for her dress was a vivid peacock blue silk and around her neck was a beautiful double string of pearls that matched the pearls clustered at her ears.
“It is my pleasure to meet you ladies,” Mara replied, a slight smile curving her lips. “And this is my cousin, Brendan O’Sullivan and his young son, Padraic.” Brendan had been standing silently behind Mara, carefully observing each woman in turn.
“Doña Ysidora,” Brendan said in a tone of deepest respect as he bowed over her hand, his manners their most polished as he repeated the performance with the other two ladies. “It is, indeed, an honor and a pleasure to gaze upon such unequaled loveliness as I see before me now,” Brendan spoke flatteringly, while his lingering gaze caused a delicate blush to spread over Doña Feliciana’s smooth skin and Doña Jacinta to smother a pleased giggle behind her fan.
Doña Ysidora’s eyes showed a hint of amusement as she accepted the compliment with a slight nod of her regal head. “It would seem as though Doña Amaya takes after your side of the family, Señor O’Sullivan, rather than the Quintero side, for there is a marked resemblance between you,” she commented thoughtfully as she allowed her gaze to linger on Brendan’s face.
“Sí, there is, isn’t there, although I do think she has her mother’s chin,” Don Luís interjected smoothly. “My sister would have been very proud of her daughter’s beauty,” he added. Catching sight of a young man standing apart as he conversed with another man, he called out, “Raoul, you have not met your cousin, Doña Amaya. Come here at once!”
The young man flinched visibly at the authoritative tone and, with a careless shrug, sauntered over to where his father stood impatiently waiting.
“Mi muy estimado padre,” he said sarcastically, raising his wineglass in a toast before draining the contents.
“Raoul,” Don Luís spoke sternly, his expression forbidding as he noticed for the first time his son’s slightly glazed eyes and precarious balance.
Raoul stared boldly at Mara, his mouth curving in a smile of welcome as he moved closer to her, his eyes darkening to black as they caressed her bare shoulders and throat, lingering on her seductively full lips. “Ah,” he breathed regretfully, “a pity we did not grow up together, little cousin,” he said, disregarding the fact that they stood almost eye to eye.
He moved suddenly, clipping his arm around Mara’s waist. He pulled her against him, covering her mouth with his in a hot kiss flavored with wine.
“Raoul!” Don Luís began angrily, his face turning a mottled red.
Raoul released Mara. “I’m merely welcoming Amaya to California as you requested,” he answered innocently.
“You embarrass your mother and me in front of our friends,” Don Luís berated him, his hands clenched with suppressed violence.
“Please, Uncle Luís,” Mara interrupted, smoothly halting him. “One can forgive a small boy for many offenses. He harms no one but himself, and only makes himself look the fool.” Mara laughed, her golden eyes glowing as a look of contrite embarrassment spread across Raoul’s handsome face.
“Funny man,” Paddy’s small voice piped in as he moved closer to Mara, his hand finding hers as he gazed possessively up at her. “Don’t kiss her again. She only likes me to kiss her. She only loves me.”
“Oh, such a precious one,” Doña Jacinta chuckled, relieved to see Raoul turn away before Don Luís could confront him again.
“My son, Paddy, is very fond of Amaya. She is like a mother to him,” Brendan said sadly, his expression mirroring tragic remembrances as he continued in a slightly quivering voice, “now that I am a widower. A tragedy, the loss of his dear, sweet mama. Such an angel she was to die so young. And now we are completely dependent on our adorable Amaya, and utterly lost without her. That was why I insisted on accompanying her to this strange land. She is really such a tower of strength to us, and so devoted to little Paddy.”
“Very commendable, Doña Amaya,” Doña Ysidora commented with a pleased expression on her sculptured features. “It is good that you have a devotion to your family. The young forget too often that once they were cared for by the same old people they now have no time for. They learn new ways and forget what they have been taught.” She spoke softly, yet with a hint of condemnation as her eyes lingered on Raoul.
Mara smiled slightly at Doña Ysidora’s words. She had wondered if she would let Raoul’s conduct go unpunished. Although Don Andres was master, Mara had the feeling that Doña Ysidora still had a lot to do with the running of Rancho Villareale.
“You have not met Jeremiah Davies,” Doña Ysidora changed the subject as the man who’d been in conversation with Raoul stepped forward as he caught his name and the look of summons directed his way.
Jeremiah Davies was of medium build with light brown hair and clear blue eyes that stared openly at each face as he was introduced to them. A spattering of freckles spread across his pug nose and rounded cheeks, giving him a boyish quality that went well with the wide grin he frequently flashed in response to the slightest amusing remark.
Mara and Brendan exchanged knowing glances as they watched Don Andres’s secretary join in the conversation, ever careful to agree and be attentive to his hosts as he ingratiated himself with all the guests. His boyish, eager-to-please charm might have fooled the others, but being actors themselves, Mara and Brendan recognized all the tricks and nuances of his performance.
“And I’m wondering what young Jerry boy is up to?” Brendan commented curiously as he watched Jeremiah Davies bend attentively to catch Doña Feliciana’s softly murmured words. “Are you thinking he might be having hopes in that direction, I wonder.”
“That’s not for us to worry about,” Mara whispered back discouragingly, before turning to greet the others who were now coming forward to be introduced to the long-awaited Amaya Vaughan.
Supper was served on a huge oak table, at least fifteen feet long, that stretched over half the length of the dining room. Benches ran along each side and easily held all of the guests as they gathered around the table to dine. As colorful dishes were placed on the table, Mara looked at Brendan, who with a shrug of inevitability dipped his spoon into the bowl of soup in front of him.
Mara followed his example, expecting it to be as hot as their meal of the previous evening but was pleasantly surprised to find it quite palatable. Paddy, seated between Mara and Brendan, was evidently enjoying it. He hungrily spooned the dumplings that thickened his soup into his small mouth.
Mara eyed the plate of flat tortillas and wondered where the usual slices of bread were. She watched curiously as Raoul tore a piece from one and, using it like a fork, scooped frijoles onto it and swallowed it all. Paddy seemed to like the idea and promptly copied the Californian, much to Brendan’s look of surprised disgust. Large pottery baking dishes covered the table in a profusion of color, the steam still escaping from them.
“Allow me to select something for you, Doña Amaya,” Don Andres offered solicitously. He pointed out several odd-looking concoctions as one of the servants filled a plate for her.
“Please, not so much,” Mara objected with a worried laugh as an overloaded plate was placed before her.
Suspiciously prodding one of the rolled, cornmeal shapes with her fork, Mara took a bite under the anxious gaze of her hosts and found it delicious, her smile of pleased satisfaction and relief receiving answering grins all along the table.
“It is a tamale, and it is filled with meat,” Doña Ysidora explained. “For it to be good, it must take two days of cooking. You try also the enchilada, and the puchero, which has meat and vegetables, onions, and tomatoes. Sí, you will like.”
“It is all very good, Doña Ysidora,” Mara complimented her.
“Gracias. The little one enjoys as well,” she said in satisfaction as Paddy finished his beans and took a bite of roast beef.
Brendan gave a shr
ug, hunger overcoming reluctance, and took a forkful of the thick stew. At his gasp of surprise Mara glanced at him curiously. Her eyes widened as his face turned a bright red and tears streamed from his eyes. He reached out desperately for his wine and eased the fiery burning in his throat.
“May the saints preserve us,” Brendan gasped. “’Tis hot enough to be raisin’ the dead.”
Mara bit her lip in vexation at Brendan’s ill-spoken words, but the Californians only laughed loudly, finding his words and beet red face amusing.
“You compliment my mother, Mr. O’Sullivan,” Don Andres explained. “We pride ourselves on a spicy dish. The hotter, the better, eh, amigos? My apologies for not mentioning the green chili peppers in the stew. And you must watch out for the red ones as well.”
Brendan smiled sourly, failing to see the humor in being the butt of the joke.
“Now, Doña Amaya would be different. She has the blood of a Californian mother in her veins,” Don Luís taunted, a malicious gleam in his eye. “I wonder if she can withstand the fire of the chili pepper, eh?” he speculated, looking around for support. “Perhaps not, I think.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Brendan said suddenly. “You’d be surprised at some of the hidden talents of Doña Amaya, Don Luís,” Brendan challenged. “I’m bettin’ she could eat one of them hot peppers of yours, Don Luís, and without flinchin’.”
Mara looked at Brendan incredulously and he returned her stare expectantly, as though in little doubt of her answer.
“Of course, it is up to Amaya. If she thinks that she cannot do it…well,” Don Luís said patronizingly.
“Please, I will not allow this,” Don Andres said laughingly, missing the undercurrent of dislike between the O’Flynns and Don Luís. “Doña Amaya is a guest, and I would not have her thinking ill of us.”
“Sí, the child is not used to our food,” Doña Ysidora added with a curious look at Don Luís.
“Oh, but I shouldn’t like to let Uncle Luís down in front of his friends,” Mara replied mockingly as she selected a bright green pepper and, with a shudder, bit into it. She was vaguely aware of being the center of everyone’s attention as she felt beads of perspiration gather above her upper lip. Her throat burned with fire and her eyes pricked with tears, yet outwardly she showed little sign of her inner turmoil. A murmur of appreciation went around the table.
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