by Linda Ladd
"It is plain to me that you already love the gringa. Why do you fight yourself so hard? Why not just face it like a man?"
"That's ridiculous. Anyway, I'm already betrothed someone else. You know that."
"Si, but your mother arranged the marriage when you were just a boy. I know you have no desire to wed Dona Marta. You told me yourself you probably would not."
"Por Dios, Esteban, leave it alone, will you? I just met Carlisle a week or so ago, and we can't stand each other. I'm not in love with her, or anybody else, comprendes?"
"Then why do you get so riled up when you speak of her, amigo? It is no sin to love a woman. Do you not remember how jealous and miserable I was before my Conchita decided she would be my wife? I wore the same black look as you, my friend, and I watched her every movement, just as you do Carlita's. And the gringa feels the same about you."
"Shut up, Esteban. I don't want to talk about it anymore," Chase warned through clenched teeth.
Esteban only laughed. The sound grated on Chase's nerves, but as they lapsed into silence, Chase knew his friend was right. He did care about her. He just didn't know what the hell to do about it.
As Conchita had predicted, by nightfall the carriage in which she and Carlisle rode passed beneath a tall white archway which glowed ghostly and pale in the moonlight. They proceeded down a long avenue, through shifting patterns of dark and light created by the moon filtering through huge cedar trees lining both sides of the road.
Carlisle watched eagerly for the house, half out of curiosity and half because she was so weary of the endless, bouncing journey, not to mention Conchita's constant chatter about Don Chaso's manliness. Half an hour later, the coachman urged the horses through yet another massive entry arch with a tall gate of black iron spikes. Huge octagonal iron lamps hung on poles at intervals along a smoothly paved road, and Carlisle sat back, impressed as a low and rambling, two-story Spanish estancia came into view.
The carriage halted with a lurch in front of a pillared arcade, roofed with heavy red tiles and lit by many lanterns. Chase had already dismounted at the foot of a low stone staircase, and as his steed was led away by a small Indian boy dressed in white, he opened the coach door and held out his hand to Carlisle as if nothing untoward had passed between them the night before. Carlisle decided to act that way, too.
"Bienvenida, welcome, Dona Carlita," he said, his smile easy, his eyes shining like sapphires in the lantern light. "Aqui tiene usted su casa," he said, "which is a time-honored proverb in Mexico. It means, 'This is your house.' "
Reluctantly, Carlisle put her hand in his out stretched one, felt an immediate reaction to his touch, then denied that her trembling had anything to do with Chase Lancaster. When Conchita started to step down, Chase stopped her.
"No, Conchita, it's been a long journey. Go home with Esteban. Rosita will see to Carlisle's needs tonight."
"Gracias, senor. Mañana, Dona Carlita, I will at-tend to you," Conchita called as the driver chucked the reins and the carriage rattled off down the drive.
"Do they live nearby?" Carlisle asked Chase.
"Just down the road in the village of La Mesilla. Many of my vaqueros live there."
Tired to the bone, Carlisle allowed him to lead her up the steps and through the arched gallery stretching across the front of the house.
The front doors, a ten-foot-high expanse of richly carved mahogany, stood open. Inside, massive beams supported the lofty ceiling of the entry salon. A great adobe fireplace filled one side, with a log fire crackling and popping in the grate. Directly in front of her, a wide stone staircase adorned with intricately designed black iron railings rose to the second floor. Near the steps, two young Indian maids stood waiting, wearing spotless white blouses and skirts.
Chase greeted each girl by name, and the servants curtsied and welcomed him home, while Carlisle let her gaze circle the room. A heavy Spanish table stood beside the door, carved of fine oak and covered with a beautiful white lace runner. A thick, crimson-and-gold Arabic carpet covered most of the floor, and it seemed to Carlisle that she had walked into the plush palace of some desert sheikh.
Instead of this magnificent, luxuriously furnished mansion, she'd expected a dusty cow farm with railed corrals and watering holes, such as those Gray had described to her after one of his trips to El Paso.
"Rosita, Dona Carlita is my houseguest. You will be her maid. See that she receives anything she needs, por favor." When Chase spoke, his deep voice seemed to echo up into the recesses of the high domed ceiling.
Rosita looked about twelve years old and had the brown skin and flat, solemn features Carlisle had begun to identify as Indian. The girl bobbed a quick curtsy, taking in Carlisle's red hair and green silk gown as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
"I believe Rosita likes the way you look, Senorita Kincaid. Redheads are rare in Mexico."
Carlisle thought she heard sarcasm in Chase's voice, but she smiled at Rosita, who shyly lowered her gaze.
"You'll probably wish to bathe and retire now," Chase said, his polite mien making Carlisle suspicious.
Why was he being so nice? She wondered. Why was he pretending to be a gentleman? She supposed he couldn't act like a despicable cad in front of his own servants. His dark blue eyes found her again.
"I'm sorry about what went on between us last night, Carly. It was all my fault, so don't blame yourself. I promise you, nothing like that will ever happen again."
Totally shocked, Carlisle felt her jaw drop, but Chase had already turned back to the maids.
"Rosita," he went on, "show Dona Carlita to her room and draw her a bath, por favor. And you, Carmen, tell Dolores to prepare a light meal for our guest. Buenas noches, Senorita Kincaid."
Still amazed by his apology, Carlisle followed Rosita up the stairs, but at the top step, she paused with her hand resting on the iron railing. As she stood looking down into the spacious room below, a gray-haired man dressed in a neat black suit hurried from a doorway beneath the stairs.
"Bienvenida, patrón! You stay away from us too long! Even su madre gave up and went home to the Casa Amarilla!"
"Jorge, amigo! I have missed you!" Chase greeted him, exchanging a warm abrazo with the old Indian servant. "But I must leave again soon. El Presidente has need of me in the capital."
"Si, Don Chaso. El Presidente has sent many letters here for you. There was one today, most urgente. I have locked it in the safe with the others."
The men walked toward a hallway, and as Jorge's voice faded, Carlisle wondered what the important message said. Could it concern the guerrilleros? She would have to find out, she decided as she followed Rosita to her bedchamber.
After speaking with Jorge for a few minutes, Chase walked quickly to his library. He went to the safe behind the bookcase, turned the tumbler until the combination clicked, and retrieved the packet of letters from the president. He sank down in the chair behind the desk, his muscles stiff and sore from the long ride.
Opening the envelope that had arrived earlier, he rapidly skimmed the message, then took the glass chimney off the off lamp and held the stiff white parchment to the flame. The fire quickly ate a hungry black line across the gold presidential seal, and when the paper curled, he dropped the flaming remnants into the copper dish atop his desk. He sighed, leaning back in the chair, his mind recoiling from what Benito Juarez had penned in his neat, lawyer's script.
Dios, he thought, it was starting all over again, the fighting, the killing, Mexican against Mexican. A kind of sickness he'd not felt since the worst days of the war spread like a black blight over his soul. Why couldn't the conservatives see that the Juarez reform laws would allow their country to survive and grow strong?
Even his own grandfather, whom Chase had respected more than any other man he'd ever known, had been blind to the poverty and hopelessness of the peasants. Juan Morelos had ruled over his domain for his entire life like some steel-fisted feudal lord. Would the opponents of Juarez insist on war again, on
inviting the intervention of foreigners, who only came to rape their country?
Slowly, inexorably, from the darkest dungeons of Chase's mind, a picture struggled against the restraining chains of forgetfulness. He rubbed his eyes, trying to force the grisly images away, but he saw them vividly: corpses everywhere; blood and gore spattering walls and floors; limbs sliced away by sharp machetes; flesh torn and blackened by gunshot blasts—old men, women, babies, every inhabitant of San Miguel. God, there had even been crucifixions. Bile rose in his gullet, and his mind shrank from the ghastly faces of the dead.
Agitated, he slid open the drawer and took out a flask of tequila. He drank deeply from the bottle, forcing his mind blank as he'd learned to do after the massacre. His present problems gave him plenty to worry about. Benito's news would affect Carlisle more than anyone. He'd heard the Perez family was involved in revolutionary activities, had even mentioned it to Gray Kincaid in New Orleans. But now their opposition to the Juarez government was a proven fact.
Roberto Perez, Javier and Arantxa's father, had been caught plotting an assassination that nearly took Benito's life. He'd failed, thank God, but one of Benito's advisors, a friend of Chase's, had been killed. Perez had been captured and imprisoned at Chapultepec Prison to await trial for treason, but the most important question concerned his children. Had Javier and Arantxa been involved? And if so, to what degree?
Carlisle wasn't involved, of course. Why would she be? But Chase knew that she'd obstinately defend her friends against his accusations. She would be loyal to the end, as she had been to Tyler when he and Gray had decided his cousin should marry. Perversely, that was one of the qualities Chase admired most in Carlisle. He had been glad she had befriended his cousin when Tyler needed an ally so badly.
But now, under the circumstances, Chase could not allow Carlisle within a mile of any member of the Perez family, not without endangering her. And his interference would make her furious. He could almost see those green eyes glow with fire, as they always did when she was angry with him.
Earlier, when he'd apologized, they'd filled with shock, but he'd meant what he'd said. All day long, riding and talking with Esteban, he'd had time to analyze his own behavior. He remembered what Esteban had said, that he was already in love with Carlisle and should face the truth like a man. And Chase had finally admitted that his compadre was right. He cared about her. Though she could make him furious, he understood her, probably better than she knew herself, because he'd been much like her when he was her age.
Chase could remember very well how he'd acted when he was seventeen and his mother had encouraged him to study with the priests. Instead, he had wanted to fight the bulls, as his half brother, Tomas, did now. During those days of his youth in an austere monk's cell, he'd thought of the bullring, and of women—what it would be like to touch and kiss them. Carly was no different. She was curious, sensuous, eager. Except that she was a woman, and those of her gender didn't have the luxury of living life the way they wanted. She had spent an entire year in a convent. No wonder she acted as rebellious as she did. Who wouldn't?
He heaved a deep sigh, fixing his eyes on the flickering flame, not sure what to do about his predicament. He wanted her, God help him, more than anything he could ever remember. When he'd seen her with Emilio, he'd lost control, something he'd never before done over a woman. He'd been angry, frustrated, and jealous.
And last night he'd found that she wanted him, too. He supposed she still thought herself in love with Javier Perez, but she wasn't. Even if she did love Perez, Gray would never allow such a marriage, not when he learned of Javier's involvement with a rebel faction.
Who would she marry? Chase wondered. And why did the thought of her marrying someone else leave him with a bad taste in his mouth? Lord, there were plenty of women around. Why did he hunger so incessantly for Carlisle? Any kind of relationship between them would be extremely complicated, if for no other reason than the betrothal contract his mother had arranged with the daughter of one of her friends, years ago, when the girl was a mere child. Chase hardly knew Dona Marta, but she was eminently suitable. He'd never courted her, and he'd never been sure he'd honor the agreement. As for Carlisle, no doubt Gray intended her to wed some rich American businessman eventually.
Chase drank again. At the moment, despite his growing feelings for her, Carlisle was his responsibility, and she would be for the duration of her visit. Benito had asked him to go to Saltillo and find out what he could about the guerrilleros purported to be gathering in the mountains there. The order gave him a good reason to escape her company for a time. Once away from her intoxicating presence, perhaps he could think straight and decide what he should do about her.
Esteban and Conchita would watch over her until he returned. If they showed Carlisle a good enough time here at the hacienda, perhaps she wouldn't be so hell-bent on joining Javier Perez. And if she didn't know they were purposely keeping her away from her friends, she wouldn't be so likely to throw a temper tantrum and try to go to them on her own.
If letters from Arantxa or Javier arrived, he would have to intercept them, at least until he learned the extent of their involvement in their father's plot. His course of action decided, Chase restoppered the bottle of tequila, put it in his desk, then took himself upstairs for some much needed rest.
7
The ringing of hoofs against cobblestones awakened Carlisle the next morning. She sat up, looking around the large bedchamber to which she'd been ushered the night before. Royal blue curtains were drawn over the closed windows, making the room very dim and cool.
Across from her, a large round gold mirror reflected her position in the middle of the magnificent canopied bed. She looked very small and insignificant framed by its immense, carved posts, with a big silver crucifix hanging on the wall above her head. She swept back the covers, pulling on her dressing gown and padding barefoot to the window. The hoof-beats of a prancing horse still clattered on the paving stones outside, and as she slid back the curtains and parted the shutter, she hoped she would see Chase.
A blast of heat hit her face, and she squinted in the bright morning sunlight, shielding her eyes as she stepped onto a small iron balcony. Below, Esteban sat astride his horse, Conchita in the saddle in front of him. He held her with one arm while he kissed her, seemingly oblivious to the way his steed backstepped and danced sideways.
"Buenos días," Carlisle called down, leaning against the rail and laughing as the couple broke apart.
Esteban immediately set Conchita on the ground, and as she ran out of sight beneath the arcade pillars, he doffed his wide white sombrero.
"Buenos días, la ángel! You must let me show you the toros today! They are the bravest in all Mexico!"
"I'd like that! After breakfast?"
"Si. I will be back for you!" Esteban swept his hat through the air in a gallant salute, then spurred his mount down the front avenue. Carlisle watched him until he was out of sight, then looked down the road in the other direction, eager to see Chase's hacienda in the daylight. Impressed, she noticed neat flower beds ringed with whitewashed rocks and ablaze with scarlet geraniums. Yellow roses climbed the tall stone wall that surrounded the mansion, and baskets of daisies and marigolds hung from every lamppost and balcony rail. Carlisle turned as Conchita entered the room and called out to her.
"Hola, Dona Carlita! I have your breakfast for you!"
"Does Esteban always kiss you like that before he goes off in the morning?" Carlisle asked, coming back inside as Conchita placed a silver tray on a table near the center of the room.
"Oh, si. I would be angry if he did not," Conchita answered, rushing past Carlisle to
push the balcony doors together. She opened the slatted panels to allow light to filter through. "Soon it will be very hot. You must keep the shutters closed so your room will be cool for siesta."
"I won't need a siesta. I can't sleep during the day."
"Oh, si, everyone at the hacienda rests when the s
un climbs high. You will see, Dona Carlita, it is the custom here in Mexico. But you do not have to sleep if you do not want to. Esteban and I do not sleep."
Conchita's smug smile suggested exactly what Esteban and Conchita did at siesta. Apparently the marital bed was no torture chamber for little Conchita. And the sensations Carlisle had experienced so briefly on the bed with Chase were certainly nothing to complain about. Perhaps Conchita would tell her what would have happened if Chase hadn't left so abruptly, Carlisle thought as she sat down before a plate loaded with rice, beans, and hard boiled eggs. She poured herself a cup of milk from the heavy pitcher.
"Is it nice, the thing between a man and a woman, Conchita?" she asked, trying to act casual.
Conchita was smoothing the rumpled linen bed-sheets, but she stopped at once and looked at Carlisle. "You are so inocente, niña. No wonder Don Chaso watches you so close. He is like your duenna, no? But si, it is very bueno, the thing between a man and his woman. My Esteban, he is a fantástico lover. His hands, they do such things to me, they make me moan and cry out, but you will see someday, when you marry and lie with a man."
Carlisle sipped the cool milk, aware that she was blushing. Though she very much wanted specific details, she couldn't bring herself to ask any more questions. Conchita's description was intriguing, to say the least. She envisioned Chase's hands, large, brown, strong, and remembered how savagely they'd pulled off her clothes and moved over her body. Just thinking about how his mouth had caressed her made her heartbeat go wild.
Angry, she shook such thoughts from her mind. Why didn't she think of Javier's hands on her body? She loved him, didn't she? Chase had only kissed and held her because he was angry about Emilio and wanted to punish her. He'd said so. Why did she always daydream about Chase? As she finished her meal, she vowed not to think about him again. But while Conchita helped her bathe and put on a light-weight dress of pale blue cotton, she was already wondering where Chase was and why he'd felt the need to apologize.