Three Wishes (River of Time California Book 1)
Page 24
I struggled against the scratchy ropes for a sec, which seemed to amuse the captain. Then I tried to talk and realized I was gagged, a filthy rag in my mouth, held there by a band around my head.
Recognizing the salty taste of sweat, disgusted, I began to choke. The captain watched me a moment, waited until Javier began to rock his chair in agitation and fury, until he casually reached forward and untied my gag. I spit out the wad in my mouth, retching for a moment, dizzy. I gasped, regained my composure, and sat up straight, closing my eyes and forcing myself to breathe slowly. Get a grip, Zara. Think. Think!
I felt his finger swipe across my lips. “She has lovely lips, does she not, Don Javier? How much are those lips worth to you, intact?”
I blinked, and stared up and over at him as he moved to Mateo, trying to pull four images into one. “Or how much is your little brother’s life worth?” he asked, waving to Mateo’s inert form. He was still unconscious. “It must eat at you, thoughts of your elder brother, gone, and now this one, so near to his own death…”
“What did you do to him?” I spat out, my voice raspy and dry, wanting nothing more than to cease his taunting of Javier.
The pirate captain glanced back at me before studying Mateo again, as if appraising artwork in a museum. A curiosity. “The boy thought he might be a hero,” he said, glancing back at me over his shoulder as he continued to pace in a circle around us. “Let’s just say he’s young yet.”
My eyes met Javier’s.
I’m sorry. So sorry, I said to him silently. If I had done what he’d asked…gone home, rather than stay and try to fight…Well, he and Mateo might have still been captured, but I would likely not have been a part of the stakes.
He frowned, but his whole expression was protective rage. Love. Worry.
Which encompassed me, in an odd sort of manner.
“And you—Señorita Ruiz, I take it? You, my dear, have cost me. Two men dead. Injuries to two others.” He refused to admit that I’d hurt him too, but I saw him lift a hand to his collar and pull the starched edge away from a purpling bruise.
I wanted to laugh.
“Who are you?” I said, my voice still raspy. “What do you want?”
“I am Captain Santiago Mendoza,” he said, waving a small circle in the air as he bowed. “I’d kiss your hand,” he added, rising, a wry look in his dark eyes, “but well, you recognize my difficulty in that.”
My skin crawled as he looked down my body and up again. I knew it was a scare tactic. Menacing, somehow, to Javier, more than me. When his eyes returned to mine, I was staring straight at Javier. It will be okay. Somehow, some way, it will be okay, I willed him to know.
Because something in me, in spite of these crazy odds, told me it was so.
Had God brought me back a couple of centuries to fall in love with a man and his family, only to die at the hands of a pirate?
No way.
The knowledge of it sent a surge of adrenaline through me and lifted my chin.
But Javier stared back at me with nothing but fear and righteous, impotent rage.
Which made me feel the same, of course.
“What do you want, Captain Mendoza?” I rasped out.
Wordlessly, he poured a cup of wine and brought it to me.
I sipped, desperate, feeling the tart wine fill my mouth to the full and slop down the corners of my mouth and down my cheeks, chin, and neck. But oh, the relief of that liquid sliding down my parched throat! I swallowed with relish, leaning my head back against the tall, deeply carved face of the chair.
Captain Mendoza took the opportunity to run his fingers up my throat and jaw—making my eye spring open—and then lifted his red-stained fingertips to his mouth, licking them.
I swallowed hard. Hated him, with every fiber of my being. How could someone be so horrible?
Then he gave Javier a meaningful look and resumed his circuit around the three of us, hands clasped behind his back. “You asked what I want, Señorita,” he said, as if still trying to figure out his demands, when it was more than clear that he’d long since determined them. “And as near as I can fathom it, the vast potential of Rancho Ventura is at my fingertips,” he said, pausing to lift my chin and look over at Javier for a long moment. Then he moved on to Mateo, grabbed hold of his dark curls, and roughly raised his head.
Mateo stirred, squinted, and squirmed, starting to rise to consciousness.
Javier grunted and struggled against his bonds anew.
“Free Javier’s gag,” I said to the captain. “This is his deal to make, not mine.”
Mendoza stared at me, and, behind him, I saw the swing of the light on a chain, moving in an arc with the waves. All at once, I became aware of the creak of the timbers all around us, the thrum and energy of sails unfurled, carrying down here, to the hold. The washing sound of water moving past, surging with each wave, deep enough to make us all lean one way and then the other.
We were on the move. Far from Rancho Ventura. Farther with each wave.
How long had we been at sea? How far were we from home?
Home, I acknowledged internally. Rancho Ventura.
The captain moved to free Javier’s gag, and he spit out the rag from his mouth.
He turned away when Mendoza offered him a cup of wine, sneering in his direction. “When I am free—”
“When you are free,” the captain easily interjected, resuming his pacing around us, “you and I shall sup on occasion as good friends. Perhaps even accept a friendly wager? I hear of your fondness for a hand of cards. But for now, Don Javier, you are not free, and these are the terms of my demands…”
We waited, the three of us, the gradually rousing Mateo, Javier, and me. Surrounded by four burly, armed guards in the shadows—my brain finally took them in—and the pacing captain.
“I am going to set you free, come daybreak, in a rowboat, to make your way to shore and back to the rancho to collect the same sum you handed to the presidio scum, my price for your precious little brother,” he said, miming an arc across Mateo’s throat with Javier’s own dagger. “And as for this sweet, intriguing creature,” he said, lifting my chin with the cool flat of the blade.
I stared only at Javier.
“I take it she has stolen your heart? This girl, whom no one knows?”
“De veras,” Javier whispered, staring back at me, pledging his love with those two words in a way that I didn’t think any other might ever match. Indeed.
He hadn’t had to say it, admit it. But he had.
“Be careful of such women,” Mendoza said. “There is a reason that our mothers wanted to know those we might pledge our hearts to—and their kin.”
“I know all that I need to know,” Javier ground out, still looking only at me.
“Well then,” Mendoza said wryly, “her freedom shall cost you another chest of gold.”
Javier’s eyes moved to Mendoza, deadly still a moment. “I shall not give you two chests of gold for these two…I shall give you four.”
“Javier!” I gasped.
“Four,” he repeated. “But you shall deliver them to me in Monterey. Unharmed. Unmolested,” he emphasized, looking to Mendoza with a deadly intensity that sent a shiver down my back. “And I shall never see you or your crew again. Ever.”
The captain cast him a wry grin, brows lifting. “Four chests of gold when I asked for but two? Clearly, you are not the gambler that others said you were,” he scoffed.
“You, Captain,” Javier said, staring at him with a sneer, “have no idea who I am and what threat I might be. Harm either of these two, and I shall hunt you down. Destroy you. No, kill you…in slow, exacting measure,” he grit out.
“Such grand talk!” Captain Mendoza scoffed. “May I remind you that it is I who hold your loved ones’ lives in the balance? To say nothing of what might transpire for your widowed mother, sisters, and brother, far behind us? Ahh, yes, Señor Ventura, I am well aware of all who hold your heart.”
I closed my
eyes again, unable to combat the fear of what I might have brought down on those I loved.
Those I loved.
I loved them.
Not just Javier. But Estie. Francesca. Jacinto. Mateo. Doña Elena.
I loved them as my own.
My own family.
And Javier?
As I stared at him, I couldn’t imagine him gone. Away from me. It baffled me that I had ever been ready to leave him for my own time. What had I been thinking?
It came to mind, then, my third wish. Adventure.
My blood was pulsing at a faster rate than I could ever remember. Okay, Lord, maybe this is a bit too much adventure…
Somehow we had to get out of this. Some way.
Because this love that I felt for Javier, for his family, couldn’t end here or now.
Or ever.
HISTORICAL NOTES
Most of my research came from these five books: Hayes’s Historical Atlas of California, Dana’s Two Years Before the Mast, Beebe and Senkewicz’s Lands of Promise and Depair, Robinson’s Land in California, and Cleland’s The Cattle on a Thousand Hills.
However, I took fictional license on a variety of fronts for the sake of the story. To begin with, my depiction of the Venturas’ villa is likely highly romanticized. There were vast ranchos like this, as well as villas that housed big families and many servants, but I somehow doubt that many in this time would be quite this pristine and sophisticated. Alta California, of course, was still a pretty rough frontier, and a family was more apt to concentrate on survival than impressing visitors. Still, with cities like Monterey within reach, I didn’t think it entirely implausible…which is enough for most fiction writers.
Along that vein, I placed the Venturas’ rancho north of Santa Barbara, somewhere along the Central Coast (intentionally vague!), and gave them Bonita Harbor, when according to Two Years Before the Mast, there were no such wonderful, perfect landfalls for ships wishing to trade with the rancheros, between Santa Barbara and Monterey. They did anchor and trade here and there along the coast—it just was much more arduous than I depicted in this fictional, idyllic harbor. Even though I named the family “Ventura,” it should not be confused with the real Ventura, or the San Buenaventura mission, which is actually south of Santa Barbara.
In addition, there were other missions between Santa Barbara and Sonoma (Junipero Serra founded nine himself), but I have chosen not to include or describe them; they’d been “secularized” in 1833—dividing mission lands into land grants that became new ranchos—and I assumed many of them were largely abandoned by 1840; I also wanted to increase the sense of the Venturas’ isolation from any other “civilization.”
My description of the charreada was abbreviated—it was typically nine events, and didn’t include steer-wrestling (they did do something called steer-tailing, which was more complex, even more dangerous, and yet harder to visualize as I attempted to describe it). Nor was the divvying-up of one rancho’s cattle from another’s an official “event”—I just thought it sounded like chaotic fun, and it was something that rancheros periodically did, so I made it part of this gathering.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my editors, Paul Hawley and Rachelle Rea, for their fine work in getting this book into presentable shape. Also big thanks to my River Tribers who volunteered to be beta-readers and proofers and horse/rodeo-checkers and Spanish-correctors: Jaime Heller, Marylin Furumasu, Paige McQueen, Courtney Adams, Ashlee Humphries, Samantha Booth, Danielle Linnea Groat, Sarah Jo Day, Julie Grant, Maria Teets, Baily Latham, Beth Wickward, Shannon Long, Katharine Trojak, Melanie Harris (belated thanks for your help on Deluge, too!), Abby Olivera-Ruiz, Lydia Joy Blackstone, Staci Murden, Katie Breeland, Sharon Miles, Crystal Hay, Andrew and Debbie Spadzinski, Julie Schmidt, Becky Molitoriz, Sammi Jo Tuinstra, Elizabeth Long, Paula Oyedele-Caleb, Melody Lee, Carolina Santander, Calli Lynch, Joy Doering, Sabrina Vogt, Rel Mollet, Erin Cullipher, Tatiana Moore, Rebecca Peake, Rebekah Howe, Bree Boettner, Karalyn Foster…Lilian Berner and Marcy Cherry deserve special thanks, too. Clearly, it takes a village, and there is none better than my River Tribe! Gracias!!
River Tribe reader Graziella LiVolsi flew from Arizona to Oregon to be my cover model for Three Wishes and Four Winds—much of it at her own expense. I just can’t get over her excitement about taking part, her generosity in helping fund the process, and last but not least, her incredible beauty. From the start, she became Zara Ruiz, as soon as I saw her sweet face. Photographer Jennifer Ilene—a phenomenally talented photographer I met on a mission trip to Uganda—took the awesome cover shots. Bobbi and Audrey from Western Costume in Hollywood helped me find the perfect dresses for the shoot and got them there on time. The amazing florist, Katie (Ponderosa & Thyme, Salem, OR) donated the pretty flowers. (If you’re getting married in Oregon or have a special event coming up, trust me, you want her to do your flowers. Super-cool work!) Kerry Nietz helped format this book for e-release. Many thanks to all.
Loved this time-slip romance? Want to see where it all began?
The original River of Time Series, set it in Italy is available in paperback and e-formats right now from your favorite retailers!
Book I: WATERFALL
Book II: CASCADE
Book III: TORRENT
Book IV: BOURNE & TRIBUTARY
Book V: DELUGE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisa T. Bergren is the best-selling, award-winning author of over forty books in all kinds of genres, with more than three million copies sold. Her most recent fiction works include the historical Grand Tour Series (Glamorous Illusions, Grave Consequences, Glittering Promises), the dystopian-fantasy Remnants (Season of Wonder, Season of Fire, Season of Glory), and the time-slip romance series, River of Time (Waterfall et al). She lives in Colorado with her husband, three children, and a little white dog.
For more information, please see her web site, LisaTBergren.com—where you can find out about upcoming releases, events, and sign up to receive her quarterly e-newsletter.
Or join her on Facebook.com/RiverofTimeSeries, Facebook.com/LisaTawnBergren, or on Twitter @LisaTBergren.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Four Winds
Historical Notes
Acknowledgments
River of Time
About the Author