“You look a bit peaked,” he remarked bluntly, his gaze taking in the slight tinge of purple beneath her eyes.
“Wretched headache again,” Mara whispered as she smiled sweetly at Doña Ysidora, politely declining the plate of beef now being offered by her hostess.
“You are much too thin, Amaya,” Doña Ysidora told her sternly as she watched in disapproval as Mara took a sip of coffee. “You must put more flesh on your body; then you will be happier and more content—like Doña Jacinta, perhaps,” she added a trifle maliciously, for Doña Jacinta was beginning to show definite signs of plumpness.
Doña Jacinta merely smiled as she helped herself to a second portion of eggs. “Luís has no complaints,” she remarked smugly, then allowed her dark eyes to rest on Brendan’s handsome features as she added coyly, “and perhaps it is pleasing to others as well?”
Brendan hurriedly swallowed a mouthful of tortilla, washing it down on a gulp of coffee as he replied gallantly, “Madame, you would be in the height of fashion in Europe. In fact,” Brendan continued, “you bear a startling resemblance to our own dear Queen Victoria. She is also a small woman, ah, nicely rounded, as well. Charming woman, quite charming,” Brendan elaborated further, his tone indicating a personal association.
“And you have met the queen of England?” Doña Jacinta breathed, visibly impressed.
“Well, we have attended several of the same social functions,” Brendan explained modestly.
Mara smiled into her coffee cup as she innocently asked, “Was not one of the occasions at the theater?”
Brendan feigned a look of concentration. “Do you know, I believe you are correct, my dear,” Brendan replied quite seriously. “’Twas a marvelous performance, I must admit, and especially one actor, he was quite brilliant if I recollect correctly,” Brendan mused, his lips twitching slightly as he added, “I’m afraid I really can’t quite remember the gentleman’s name; handsome devil, though.”
Mara had to chuckle, for Brendan was indeed an extraordinary actor. The half-smile still curved her lips and a hint of amusement still lingered in her eyes when Nicholas Chantale and Don Andres entered the dining room. The Frenchman was casually dressed and had apparently accompanied Don Andres on his morning ride, for he wore dust-spattered, knee-length boots over tight buckskin trousers, and a dark green riding coat was opened to reveal a leather vest and casually knotted cravat. His black curls were windblown, and as he laughed at something Don Andres said, he showed even white teeth. Mara drew in her breath sharply, for he had one of the most devastating smiles she’d ever seen. It erased the cynical amusement from his lips as they curved almost boyishly into a wide, unguarded grin, and that was where the charm and danger of it lay. For in its naturalness, its unaffectedness, it was far more sensual and effective than any smile of seduction could have been.
Nicholas sat down across from Mara and Brendan, a plateful of food in front of him. He glanced across at them as he started to dispatch his breakfast with a hearty appetite, staring intently at the two of them before he spoke.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said suddenly to Brendan.
“No, we’ve not had that pleasure, sir,” Brendan responded easily. “Brendan O’Sullivan, at your service.”
“Irish?” Nicholas inquired, an interested look in the green eyes that seconds before had seemed lazily indifferent.
Brendan nodded slightly, his response more guarded as he answered politely, “Only on my father’s side, sir, although I was born in England, and only the name is really Irish. Why, I’m as English as London Bridge,” Brendan laughed loudly.
Brendan eyed the stranger more carefully, his manner casual as he asked, “I don’t believe I caught your name, sir?”
“Nicholas Chantale,” he said, his eyes lingering on Mara’s face.
Some instinct warned Brendan not to play the man for a fool. He didn’t know why he should feel that way, but he felt an underlying danger from this stranger. Brendan removed his handkerchief from his pocket and languidly dabbed at his delicately flared nostrils as he cast a surreptitious look at Mara, wondering if she realized that the Frenchman was no greenhorn. He would never dance like a puppet on a string, responsive to her every whim. Brendan sighed as he recognized the half-smile curving her lips and the speculative gleam in her tawny eyes as she gazed at Nicholas Chantale. Damn! Well, he’d have a heart-to-heart talk with Mara soon enough and warn her off the Frenchman. He was out of their league, and it would be a damned nuisance to have him fouling things up.
“If I might say so, you bear a marked resemblance to Miss Vaughan,” Nicholas remarked curiously.
“It is not unusual. She is Mr. O’Sullivan’s cousin,” Don Andres explained. “Mr. O’Sullivan accompanied Doña Amaya from England, escorting her on the long journey to California.”
“Then you have just arrived here from England? I must have misunderstood, for I was under the impression that you had been raised in California. I should have realized you hadn’t been, for you seem so typically English.”
“Sí, Doña Amaya and Señor O’Sullivan arrived less than a month ago. Don Luís traveled to England to look for her and to bring her back to California as was her late parents’ wish.”
“So,” Nicholas commented, “you are as much a stranger to these shores as I am.”
“Yes, you might say that, Mr. Chantale,” Brendan replied stiffly, thinking the Frenchman seemed damned curious about their affairs.
“We were afraid that Amaya would not care to return to California, so we were most surprised, and pleased, when she returned with Don Luís,” Doña Ysidora said. “And to find her such a beautiful and charming young woman as well, is most fortunate.”
“Then you did not know what Doña Amaya looked like?” Nicholas asked softly.
“Few of us remember her as a child, but she is as we would have wished,” Don Andres replied, his eyes warm as they met Mara’s.
Doña Feliciana looked on sulkily. “I think Doña Amaya will not wish to stay in California. Nothing is settled yet, and she does not really belong.”
“Silencio, Feliciana,” Doña Ysidora reprimanded her.
“I only meant that she would not find happiness here,” Feliciana explained resentfully as she sent a dark look at Mara. “Besides, she does not seem well. You suffer an illness, Doña Amaya?” she demanded unsympathetically.
Don Andres stared in concern at Mara. “Doña Amaya, this is true? You do not feel well?”
Mara shook her head. “It is nothing, just a small headache which will pass.”
“You took too much sun yesterday, Amaya. You must be more careful in future,” Doña Ysidora warned her. “And soon, Amaya, we must talk about the future,” she added with a meaningful glance at her son.
With a strangled sob Doña Feliciana jumped up from the table and ran from the room. Don Andres sent an imploring look to his mother before he excused himself and followed Feliciana.
“It would seem as though something had upset the young woman,” Nicholas remarked. “I trust it was nothing I said?”
Doña Ysidora shook her head with its heavy mass of raven dark hair. “No, señor, the child is troubled by her own problems. She dreams too much of what cannot be. Soon, I think, I must see about sending her to a convent. There she will learn patience and humility. It will be necessary if she takes the vows.”
Mara shivered at the determined look on the haughty face of Doña Ysidora. She would hate to think of that autocrat ruling her life. Poor Feliciana! Mara didn’t think she would enjoy life as a nun, not after the way she had come to life on the back of her favorite horse. Mara brushed aside the thought that Amaya Vaughan might be the cause of Feliciana’s trouble and future destiny.
“And where did you live in England, Miss Vaughan?” Mara heard Nicholas Chantale ask her.
“I was raised in the North Country, Mr. Chantale, and grew up on the wild moors of Yorkshire, near Haworth. I doubt you’ve ever heard of the village, and indeed, p
robably have never ventured beyond the comforts of London,” Mara replied sweetly, elaborating further as she remembered facts she had heard about Charlotte Brontë, a novelist of renown in England. “Such a bleak place under those gray winter skies, the wind fairly whistling down the chimney and only that wide expanse of moorland stretching away to the horizon to gaze upon. You cannot imagine how lovely these rolling green hills and valleys are to me,” Mara sighed, mist clouding her eyes.
Brendan coughed into his hand warningly. Smiling at his hostess, he thanked her profusely for the delicious breakfast. “Although I shall really have to watch my figure if I stay here much longer, my dears, or I’ll never be able to button up my waistcoat. You will excuse us. We must go and check on my son, he has a touch of fever.”
“I am most grieved to hear of this,” Doña Ysidora said, worry crossing her hard face. “If there is anything I may do? I am prepared to care for the sick one.”
“You are too, too kind, Doña Ysidora, but our maid is used to caring for him and, to be quite honest, very possessive,” Brendan declined politely.
Doña Ysidora nodded in understanding but continued with a determined light in her eye. “If you should need any assistance or special medicine, I shall, of course, be happy to assist. But you will not miss the festivities this afternoon? We are to have a bullfight and other amusements,” she told them.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Brendan reassured her. With an all-encompassing smile, he escorted Mara from the room and any further conversation with the inquisitive Frenchman.
“That was a damned, stupid thing to do, mavournin,” Brendan confronted Mara as soon as they crossed the sunlit patio. “The Frenchman’s no fool. You might be able to overplay your part with the Californians, but I’m thinkin’ them green eyes be a damned sight too sharp. Asked a lot of questions too,” Brendan remarked in puzzlement. “Too bloody nosey if ye ask me.”
Mara glanced up at Brendan in amusement. “Have a little bit of faith in me. I’m no fool either, my dear,” Mara laughed softly, her eyes narrowing as she added tauntingly, “I do believe you’re frightened of him. I can’t believe it!”
“You may laugh, mavournin, but I’ve run across his kind before,” Brendan replied, a frown marring his brow. “I’ve sat across a green baize table from men like the Frenchman, watching them bet a couple of thousand pounds without a flicker of emotion on their faces. I swear they must have ice water in their veins, for any normal man would have sweated through his jacket. They’re arrogant bastards, taking what they want in life and not giving a damn about the consequences. He’s an adventurer, mavournin, not one of your scented, well-mannered, play-by-the-rules London gentlemen. You’ve not met his kind before.”
Mara smiled at his words. “You think he would best me in a contest of wills, Brendan, me love, and that my rapier wit would not survive?” she asked him softly.
“I think, Mara, me love, that our Frenchman would carve you to pieces as easily as a slice of beef. You are a mere schoolgirl compared to his expertise,” Brendan predicted.
“And I suppose you would be more successful?” Mara asked.
“Oh, no,” Brendan replied frankly, “I know when I’ve met my betters, my dear. I’m not sayin’ he would defeat me; I’m just saying that I’d handle him differently,” Brendan mused. “I’d avoid, if at all possible, any direct confrontations with the man. I’d let him think me the fool. ’Tis the best way of getting under his guard. But you’d do well to heed my advice and let him be.”
At Mara’s preoccupied silence Brendan laughed harshly. “I don’t know why I bother, you never have listened to me before. Your problem, Mara, is that you are so arrogant, so blind to your own shortcomings, that you can’t admit that someone else might be just as devious, just as determined as you are. I would be interested in seein’ your face, mavournin, the day you are faced with having that damned pride of yours smashed beneath someone’s feet.”
Mara gave Brendan a contemptuous look, her lips curling. “Don’t be laying any bets on it, will ye, Brendan? I don’t want ye losin’ your shirt as well as your courage.”
“We’ll see, Mara. Someday ye’ll be rememberin’ my words.”
With a careless shrug Mara left him standing in the sunshine and went to see Paddy, soon forgetting Brendan’s words of warning as she read to Paddy until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
Mara walked along the corridor a little while later, keeping under the shade of the eaves as she looked out on the glare of the sun. It promised to be another unbearably hot day. Her skirt caught on one of the long, sharp cactus spines, halting her progress. She was bending down to release it when she heard a noise coming from the room opening onto the corridor directly in front of her. Mara released her skirt, glanced past the opened door, and went into the room beyond.
It was apparently Don Andres’s study, for bookcases lined one side of the walls and a large desk sat squarely before them. A couple of comfortable-looking chairs had been placed opposite the desk, and against the far wall was an ornately carved pine chest. The room must also serve as an office, for Jeremiah Davies was standing before a map on the wall. His back was to Mara and he was as yet unaware of her presence in the doorway. He alternately studied the map, then a sheet of paper clutched in his hand.
Mara must have made a sound because Jeremiah suddenly turned and stared at her in dismay. It seemed to her that he looked extremely guilty about something.
“Doña Amaya, may I be of some assistance to you?” he inquired politely as he inconspicuously tried to add the sheet of paper to a stack of papers on the desk.
“No. I heard you moving about, that’s why I looked in,” Mara answered. “I trust I didn’t disturb you. You were so intent upon what you were doing. I really must apologize for interrupting.”
“Not at all, Doña Amaya,” Jeremiah Davies quickly denied, “and no apology is necessary. I was just checking the map to see where Don Andres wants his cattle moved next. I must be able to order the vaqueros to the right section of the property.”
The audacity of the man—to be talking so openly of moving cattle, and to her of all people. Mara schooled her features into a look of polite interest. Perhaps he was merely testing her, hoping she would reveal what she knew about him.
Jeremiah moved away from the map and glanced around the room as if checking to make sure he had not left anything out of place. Mara watched him suspiciously, wondering what he really was up to. She was about to leave when Don Andres spoke from the doorway.
“Doña Amaya, this is most opportune, for I would like to speak with you.” He smiled down into her face. Then, as he looked beyond her and noticed the American, he frowned slightly. “¿Sí, Jeremiah? I did not know we had business?” he questioned his secretary who was now looking uncomfortable and discomfited under the Californian’s stare.
“I left some papers in here. I did not intend to disturb you, Don Andres,” Jeremiah apologized nervously, “but I really must have your signature on them.”
“Come back later, Jeremiah, we will see to it then,” Don Andres told him indifferently as he turned back to Mara. “Please, come in and sit down, Doña Amaya,” he invited.
Jeremiah Davies coughed uncomfortably, drawing his employer’s attention. “If you please, Don Andres, I really must insist that you sign these documents today. It will take only a moment of your time,” he added persuasively.
Don Andres sighed in impatience as he walked over to his desk. “You really can be quite tiresome at times, Jeremiah,” he complained as Jeremiah quickly pulled out the large, leather-backed chair and placed the stack of papers neatly in front of the Californian.
“And what exactly are all of these?” he questioned, his pen poised above the first sheet as he hesitated briefly before affixing his signature to it.
Jeremiah smiled as he explained facilely, “Just a few bills and some orders that must be sent out immediately, and a few letters you dictated the other day. Nothing really important. Oh, and t
he authority to sell that parcel of land.”
Don Andres raised his eyebrows inquiringly as he looked up from the paper he was signing. “Then why did you insist upon my signing these at this inconvenient moment?” he demanded of Jeremiah.
The American shifted his weight from foot to foot as a disconcerted expression flickered in his blue eyes. “Don’t you remember? I’ll be away from the rancho for the next week or two, Don Andres. I must hire a field in San Mateo for when we herd the cattle to San Francisco to sell, and I must do these other errands for you,” he explained. He anxiously watched Don Andres quickly sign the remaining documents with hardly a glance at them.
Don Andres laid down his pen with an air of finality. “Enough business for today, Jeremiah. Anything else must wait,” he decreed as he smiled up at Mara. “I’m very sorry for keeping you waiting, Doña Amaya.”
He waved a dismissing hand at Jeremiah Davies who swiftly gathered together the papers and, with a deferential look at the Californian, hurriedly left the room. Mara walked over to the map the American had been studying over moments before and eyed it curiously.
“Why, this is quite beautiful,” Mara remarked in surprise.
“Gracias, I am pleased that you find it so,” Don Andres responded warmly to her praise. “It is a diseño of the Rancho Villareale and was hand-painted by my grandfather.”
Mara stared up at the colorful map that showed the boundaries of the rancho with painted trees, rocks, and other identifiable landmarks.
“And all of this is your land?”
Don Andres nodded his head proudly, “Sí, the land that the hacienda sits on and half of the valley was granted to the Villareales under Spanish rule. However, the bulk of the rancho was granted to us under the Mexican regime in the late eighteen-thirties. It was after the secularization of the missions and all of their properties and holdings in ’thirty-four that much land was given away. We had many more head of cattle, vaqueros, and Indians, as well as a much larger family to support then. So we needed all this land, and it was just sitting empty,” Don Andres explained.
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