Surrender by Moonlight

by Foxx, Rosalind

"We will continue to search," he told her. "But it is in the hands of God now." He crossed himself piously and went down the hall toward his office.

  "He is right," he heard his wife say. "Let us return to the chapel and continue to pray for Leonor's return to us."

  Don Gilberto sagged into his velvet chair and ordered Eduardo to bring wine. The very fact that nothing had been found decided him that the men had done their job properly. Certainly, that was it. They killed her and carefully buried her and there was not a trace of her left for anyone to find. He assumed they had taken her mare north with them but he did not begrudge them that. Good riddance to her, too. She had never allowed anyone to ride her but that wretched girl and would now be useless.

  He would have to curb his impatience to claim the estate in his wife's name. They would have to pretend to search thoroughly and exhaustively before giving up and notifying the governor. The new claim would then be entered and, in a few months, it would all be legally his. If only, he thought furiously, he could be sure that Dimitri Varanov would not appear to challenge his innocence in her disappearance. He knew if that man lived, he would demand an account of his efforts to find his stepdaughter. Don Dimitri would do everything in his power to uncover the mystery, of that Don Gilberto was sure. It would be very difficult and uncomfortable, but if he did nothing, he would succeed. The Russian could not know anything, after all. He might suspect something but he could never prove it. No, if he could just stay calm, he would be all right. But he was nervous and uneasy just the same, wondering if Dimitri Varanov would descend on him and demand an accounting.

  At last Eduardo brought the wine. "In the name of all the fires of hell, did you have to go out and pick the grapes?" Don Gilberto snarled.

  Eduardo bowed and said the kitchen was in such an uproar he could not get anyone to help him. Don Gilberto dismissed him abruptly, took a long sip of the wine, and tried to calm down. Everything would be fine. It had to be. After several glasses of wine, he went to bed and found, to his intense relief, that his wife had cried herself to sleep. After a long time he fell into an uneasy slumber.

  It was a long, maddening day and night for Cesar. When Senorita Leonor went upstairs, he went with her and waited outside her door. When she went into the dining room to eat, he stood in the doorway. When she returned to the dim sala, he sat in a straight chair, waiting. What unnerved him more than anything else was her absolute refusal to talk. He would have preferred that to the furious anger he could see in her eyes and feel vibrating from her. After dinner she gestured curtly toward the stairs and he accompanied her to her room and locked her in. Then, with a deep sigh of relief he went to the kitchen to beg a mug of ale from the compliant Maria.

  "All day I have felt as if I were sitting on a volcano, waiting for the eruption," he confided to Maria as he took a long swallow of ale.

  "The lovely young lady did not like your close guarding, Cesar?" she asked with amusement.

  "I would rather move cattle in midsummer, in the midst of a drought, than do this," he said sourly. "Sitting in a chair with an outraged senorita staring at me is not my idea of a way to spend a day."

  "Everything was quiet, was it not?" she asked.

  "Yes, thank God."

  He longed to see his master walk in the door and free him from this job. Dealing with angry women was the very devil and he felt that Don Dimitri was much more adept in dealing with this particular one than he was. But he shivered suddenly at the thought of what might happen if he did not guard the senorita competently. All in all, he would be very glad to see his master.

  The next day, Don Gilberto worked in his study. He had persuaded himself, during the long night, that he had nothing to fear but he would have been less certain of that if he had known that Dimitri was listening to a report from Andres of the visitors of the day before and of his refusal to allow them to pass. Leaving Andres on guard duty at the gate, Dimitri rode home. He was tired. He and Sergei had not stopped to spend the night. They had, instead, pressed on, making slow progress in the dark, but driven by the growing urgency to get home and be reassured that no new crisis had developed.

  At the front door he paused to listen to Cesar's account of the last day and night and then went to his own room to wash up and change his linen before he unlocked Leonor's door and let her expend her suppressed anger on him. Cesar had chosen his words carefully but Dimitri had a very clear idea of what to expect.

  He had known she would be angry. Part of her anger, he suspected, was her fear of the future. He hoped that she had decided to marry him but he would carry out his plan regardless of what she thought she wanted. He intended to have her. It was that simple. He had success almost in his hand and, after last night, he would not let her go without a fight. Their passionate merging had made one thing clear to Dimitri. He wanted her with his heart and soul and body and he would never let another man have her. He had not realized that fondness had deepened to love until he had accepted her passionate surrender. Then he had known with an aching clarity that this was the only woman who could answer the longing, the need he had denied. She was the other half of him, the half he had despaired of ever finding. Now that he had, she could protest all she liked but he would never let her go. Hoping against hope, he walked to the door, clinging to the thought that she, too, may have made the same discovery and would come to him willingly, eagerly!

  His hope was quickly shattered when he locked the door behind him and leaned against it, gazing across the room at her. She did not rise from the armchair, just looked calmly and coldly at him.

  ''So you decided to come back, after all? I trust your business was satisfactorily taken care of," she said with frigid politeness.

  He pushed away from the door, his eyes a stormy gray and moved across the room to stand in front of her. "It was. I'm sorry you had to be confined but we dared not risk anyone seeing you."

  "It's quite all right," she said coldly. "Cesar explained the necessity for the precautions. I fear he's spent a very boring day and night."

  Dimitri ignored that. He had expected anger, hot surges of rage and temper . . . but not this cold, distant stranger who looked through him with merciless black eyes.

  "You have come for my decision," she continued before he could speak. "I have made one. Not that there was any choice, you realize. I admit you were right about the necessity for me to marry. It's the only thing that will stop my stepfather. I understand that, now. And, after the other night," she went on, ruthlessly, hiding any emotion, "I have little choice but to marry you. What other man would have me now?"

  "Leonor," he said gently, putting out a hand to take hers.

  She snatched her hand away and primly folded both of them in her lap. "I don't want to hear any excuses, senor. It is done, over with. I accept the fact that it can't be undone or changed. I will marry you whenever you can arrange it."

  "You are curious to learn what business demanded that I leave so unexpectedly?"

  "If you wish to tell me, I'm prepared to listen."

  His jaw tightened against the growing anger her coldness stirred. "I had to meet a Russian ship captain. He's going to deliver two letters for me, one to the Czar and one to my father." As he spoke he tried to force her to meet his gaze but she would not look at him. "I have made the decision to stay permanently in California and I advised them both of that fact. I will not be returning to Russia. I did not know what you had decided but my place is here."

  "And what would you have done if I'd said no?" Her tone was still crisp and hostile.

  "My place is still here."

  "Then it all falls out very nicely for you, does it not? You have acquired a new country, a new estate and a new wife in a few short months. You should be very pleased with yourself."

  "Leonor, it doesn't have to be this way. If you will just listen—"

  "I have listened quite sufficiently, senor. I cannot escape the fate that you've planned for me. I never dreamed," she said with bitterness, "that I would be mar
rying because I had been compromised and because I had to marry to save both my life and my property. Fate can be very harsh, I've discovered. However, that is the case and there is nothing I can do but accept it. You've won, Don Dimitri. It will be as you wish."

  "Will it?" he asked quietly. Sadness and pain lay in his nearly violet eyes but she refused to look at him and did not see it. "You must believe that this is not the way I wanted it, either."

  That statement came near to crushing her, so sharply did it hurt. "That I do believe. Fate has also been harsh to you, I realize that. You have been burdened with a wife you do not want, just as I am burdened with a marriage and a husband not of my own choosing. One survives, I expect, if one graciously accepts one's fate." She flicked a glance up at him but his expression, taut with strain, told her nothing. "If possible, I would wish to have Father Bartolomé marry us. He, at least, understands reality and has a fondness for me."

  "I will send for him immediately." Dimitri, containing his savage anger and hurt, turned at the door. "I'm sorry you feel this way."

  She did not trust herself to speak. She averted her head, refusing even to look at him and he went quietly out the door and shut it carefully behind him.

  The closing of the door released the pent up storm and Leonor, writhing with an agony that stripped her of all pretenses, flung herself on the bed and burst into heart rending, agonizing tears. She would never forgive him. He could at least have tried to make it easier for her. He could have pretended he felt something, anything! Not just stood there conducting a cold, businesslike meeting, as if she were a horse he had chosen to buy. Leonor felt cheapened, stripped of her pride and torn with an anguish beyond bearing. What kind of marriage could they have, she wondered, with such a great gulf between them?

  Father Bartolomé listened patiently to the explanation Dimitri gave him. When the taut young man had finished, the elderly priest folded his gnarled hands thoughtfully. "I understand your predicament and your urgency, Don Dimitri, but we must realize the child is still underage. Don Gilberto is her legal guardian and his consent is necessary. Surely there is some place we can hide Leonor until she is of age."

  Dimitri met those faded but probing eyes. "You do not seem particularly shocked or surprised at this tale of villainy, padre."

  "I admit that I am shocked but not surprised. There have been rumors, you see. I could scarcely avoid hearing them. He is not," the padre said gently, "a good man, from what I have observed and heard. I have worried about Leonor often, particularly since she began her activities of late. I even warned her that her stepfather would not tolerate them. I did not anticipate murder. Perhaps I should have, but such a suspicion is abhorrent to any priest. We are not here to judge, you understand, but to guide and aid our flock. I have tried not to judge Don Gilberto but I have not been reassured by reports of him. But to attempt to murder the child so he could inherit! Si, my lord, it shocks me."

  "This member of your flock needs your aid. Only by marriage can she be safe guarded."

  "I don't dispute that. In fact, I am in full agreement with you and I also feel that you are definitely the man to take her safety in charge. It is only the legal aspect that troubles me."

  "If you performed the ceremony, it would be illegal?" questioned Dimitri. "The marriage would not stand?"

  "I could not go so far as to say that," Father Bartolomé said cautiously. "It is customary, of course, to have the consent. A sacrament by a priest in good standing is binding in the eyes of the Church and, generally, in the eyes of the law. Under those circumstances, the lack of consent could be waived by the bishop."

  "And how long would that take? Time is one thing we are short of, padre."

  "I realize that," the padre agreed gently. "The bishop is visiting the mission of San Juan Capistrano all this week. If I went there today, I could obtain his consent and be back late tomorrow, if he agreed to give it, of course."

  "Do you think he will?'

  "I think he will, under the circumstances. You see, I know him well and he knows me. I have also known Leonor since her birth and he would accept my word on the danger and the urgency. But I would have to talk to her first, of course. She must also be in agreement with your plans. Could we not, until such time that arrangements must be made, hide Leonor at our mission? We would willingly shelter her."

  "And, could you protect her?" Dimitri asked frankly. "I mean no disrespect, padre, but you have many poor Indians about the Mission. It would take only one to recognize her and sell the information either to Don Gilberto or Don Carlos and the damage would be done. If they learned she was there, they would take her by force. Could you prevent that? We must not make the mistake of underestimating those two. They have already shown they will do anything necessary to dispose of her."

  The old priest's tired eyes mirrored his acute distress. "No, we could not stop them. I am aware that it took your personal command to get me through your gate, my son. If you had not come down and vouched for me, your man would not have let me pass. They were very polite but firm. No, we can't offer that kind of security for her. In fact, the only security we can offer is that of the spirit and your point about the Indians is well taken. We do have many who would not hesitate to sell such valuable information and, by now, all of the area knows she is missing. Very well. If she tells me this marriage is what she wishes, I will go to the bishop and lay the problem before him. It is not," he added, "that you do not have my full sympathy. You do. It is that my conscience must be clear and this marriage must be as legal as we can make it. Her guardian can challenge it, if it is not, and then the good will be undone. The knot must be tied so that it cannot easily be untied."

  Dimitri smiled. "And I am in full agreement with that, padre! Come, I will show you to her room and let you talk alone with her."

  Leonor had chosen to spend the night and most of the day in her room. She could not bring herself to join Dimitri at his table and be at ease with him. Her heart was too sore and her control over her feelings too fragile. She looked up in surprise when the door opened and, with a glad cry, rushed across the room to be clasped in Father Bartolomé's frail but comforting arms.

  "There, my child," he murmured. "It cannot be bad enough to warrant such tears." But she continued to sob. ''Let us sit down and you will tell me everything."

  "Oh, padre, I don't know what to do!"

  "There is always a solution, Leonor, if one looks for it. God never leaves us without a way out. Start at the beginning."

  She took a deep breath and began, telling him about the riot, the attempted murder and her stay in Dimitri's house. She told him about the second attempt on Dimitri's life but, flushing miserably, skipped the part about spending the night in his bed and what followed. When she finished, he dried her tears and shook his head.

  "It has been a strain for you, Leonor, but you have done well. You have shown courage and the resolution to face those truths you so desperately sought. You love him very much, do you not?"

  "Very much," she admitted, with no joy in her voice. "But he doesn't love me. He's fond of me, padre, and is willing to marry me. Besides protecting me, he needs to marry and have an heir and this solves both problems."

  "If true, it is not a sound basis upon which to build a marriage," murmured Father Bartolomé."

  "It's true," she told him bitterly. "He has never tried to pretend otherwise. Not one word of love has he said, padre."

  "You would prefer him to lie to you? To ask you to live a lie?"

  "No, but—"

  "But what, Leonor?" he asked seriously but kindly. "You cannot have it both ways, can you? You can have the truth, and he impresses me as a man who deals in honesty, not deceit, or you can have a soothing lie that you would always know was a hollow pretense. You don't even know for a certainty," he added, more sternly, "that he doesn't love you. You only know that he has not paraded his feelings for you to stamp on in your anger and frustration. Yes, I have known you well and you have always been impulsive
. Until he is sure of your feelings, I would not expect him to reveal his. He is not that kind of man."

  As he spoke the padre remembered with vivid clarity the betraying expression in Dimitri's eyes and voice when he explained the problem and what he intended to do about it. The young man cared a great deal more for this woman than he had admitted to her but it was not Father Bartolomé's place to betray that confidence. He could, however, try to make her begin to question her impressions.

  "It has not been my experience," he said gently, "that men such as Don Dimitri are either willing or able to settle for second best, Leonor. If he has chosen you, and it is clear that he has, then his reasons would bear looking into. Truth wears many faces, child. You should open your eyes and explore them."

  "If you're suggesting—"

  "I'm suggesting nothing more than an open mind. If he tells you in plain terms that he doesn't love you and never will, then you will know that is the truth. But until he actually tells you that, it is a dangerous assumption for you to make. He is," the priest admitted to her surprise, "a very interesting man. But you have not answered my question. It is his wish that I try to obtain the bishop's permission to marry you, without the consent of your guardian. The union, if it is made, must be binding and legal to protect you, Leonor. Do you wish me to do that?"