by Linda Ladd
"What? That's absurd. She's just a niña, with freckles all over her face."
Chase raised a brow. "She's near your age."
"But I'm a man. She's just a girl. I could never marry her. She's skinny."
Dona Maria shook her head, as if fed up with her sons' argument. "Dona Marta was at the ball last night, mi hijo, and she did everything possible to draw your attention away from Chaso and Carlita. If you'd even glanced at her, you would have seen she's blossoming into a lovely young woman."
"I don't want to see her!" Tomas shouted defiantly. "And I won't marry her! Carlita's the only woman I'll ever love. Someday she'll leave you, Chaso, and I'll be there for her!"
Chase felt his jaw clench, then his fists. "Dammit, Tomas, you go too far! If you want to live here in the Casa Amarilla, you'll keep your distance from my wife!"
Tomas stalked angrily from the table without another word. Furious, Chase shook his head as his mother hurried after him. He cursed under his breath, blaming Carlisle for Tomas's adolescent behavior. Until Tomas had met Carlisle, he'd been a fine, obedient boy. Now she'd possessed him as she'd possessed every other man who'd ever laid eyes on her!
17
As Juana moved around the bed, setting flame to the tall white tapers on the bedside table, Carlisle awoke, alarmed but not certain why. She sat up, clutching the coverlet against her nakedness, her red hair tousled in ringlets down her back. She frowned slightly at the darkness pressing like black velvet against the balcony door.
"Oh, Juana," she murmured, disappointed. "The potion didn't last long enough." Reclining languorously against the pillows, she smiled. "But the dreams were wonderful, just as you promised." A sensual tremor rippled over her as she remembered all the exquisite things Chase's hands and mouth had done to her during their imaginary lovemaking.
"Bueno, Dona Carlita, but I was very frightened when Don Chaso came," Juana said in her quiet way. "He seemed angry that I had mixed the potion for you. Will he send me home to Papa because I gave it to you?"
Carlisle stared uncomprehendingly at her maid. "Chase came here?"
In turn, the Indian girl looked confused. "Sí, Dona Carlita, do you not remember? He came last night when you were in the bath."
"Last night?"
"Sí. You have slept the whole day through.”
Carlisle stared at Juana. "Chase wasn't a dream?"
"Oh, no, he came soon after you did. He told us about the meeting with El Presidente that detained him at Chapultepec Castle."
A pleased smile spread over Carlisle's face and warmed her inside. Despite all the unkind things he'd said and done, Chase had come to her. Now she was sorry she'd taken Juana's drug, because her recollection of the wedding night was too fuzzy to suit her. Perhaps, though, he was ready to forgive her at last. Perhaps he already had. Why else would he have come to her after telling her he wouldn't?
Anxious to find out, she quickly performed her toilette, then allowed Juana to help her dress in a lightweight apricot silk gown. By the time she descended to the patio, she was apprehensive about facing Chase. If only she could remember everything he'd said. When she found Dona Maria sitting alone by the fountain, relief and disappointment mingled inside her.
"Carlita! So you are up at last! I've been waiting supper for you." Dona Maria signaled to a serving maid, who immediately hurried away to notify the cook. "But the long rest will do you good," she continued with a smile. "I realize the wedding was exhausting for you."
Carlisle took her customary place and glanced warily at the open doors of the book-lined library, where Chase sometimes worked.
"Aren't Chase and Tomas going to join us?" she asked hopefully.
Dona Maria looked chagrined. "No. This morning my bullheaded, stubborn sons stormed out of the house in a temper." She sighed. "I knelt in the chapel for many hours today, praying to the Holy Virgin that they will stop their quarreling."
"What's wrong between them?"
Dona Maria suddenly became inordinately interested in her dinner plate. "Chaso told Tomas that he must marry little Marta. She is really a lovely niña. Tomas will soon see reason."
Carlisle fingered the heavy white linen napkin on her lap. "I'm sorry, Dona Maria. Tomas has been angry with Chase ever since I came here."
Dona Maria shook her head, picking up the heavy crystal pitcher of orange juice and filling Carlisle's goblet.
"You must stop blaming yourself for the actions of others. The will of God is always done. You were meant to wed Chaso, and Marta is the right muchacha for Tomas." She smiled, but Carlisle could detect a shadow of sadness in her dark eyes. "Both my sons are very headstrong. But you mustn't concern yourself. We must be glad that you are safely married and will soon present my son with his heir. Chaso loves you. I see it in his blue eyes each time he looks at you."
Dona Maria paused as she poured naranjada into her own glass. "You must be very patient with him, niña, for Chaso still grieves for Esteban. They had a special friendship that few people are fortunate enough to experience, closer even than brothers. Ever since they were small boys, they were inseparable. But, in time, he will accept Esteban's death, and the two of you will be happy. You must believe that."
Carlisle wanted desperately to have faith in her mother-in-law's encouraging prediction, but when she saw Tomas striding across the flagstones toward the table, her sense of foreboding increased. She knew at once that he was still angry.
"Buenas noches, Carlita, Mama," he greeted them, but his manner was stiff, his smile unnatural.
"Sit down, Tomas," Dona Maria said. "We are ready to be served."
"What about Chaso?" was his sullen answer as he slumped down in his chair. "Are we to be honored with his almighty presence?"
"Sí, he will come soon. He was called to meet with El Presidente on a matter of importance."
"Does Chaso still intend to ruin my life?"
"Chaso is the head of this family, Tomas. You have always known we would arrange your marriage," Dona Maria reminded him. "I don't know why you suddenly choose to be so disagreeable about it."
"You know why," Tomas muttered, glancing at Carlisle. "And Marta is such a child." His mouth settled in a stubborn line. "She's gawky, all arms and legs, and she's a pest. All she ever did was follow me around and beg me to teach her to fight the bulls! I don't want to marry her. Anyway, I'm not ready for marriage yet."
Dona Maria remained unimpressed by his arguments. "Chaso did not say you had to wed her now. In fact, her father intends to send her to the convent school in Madrid to ready her for marriage and motherhood. When she returns, I daresay you'll see a big difference in her behavior."
Inside herself, Carlisle cringed, pitying Dona Marta. Why did men always assume that locking a girl away in a convent would teach her to be a lady? Often, living in such austere circumstances only made girls all the more eager to rebel and taste life. Look what had happened to her.
"The wedding isn't imminent?" Tomas was asking, looking very much relieved.
"Of course it's not," Chase answered from behind them. "Dona Marta is to spend at least two years in Spain, and she won't be leaving Mexico City for Madrid for several months."
Carlisle's heart raced at the sound of her husband's deep voice, and she turned to watch him approach on the path from the stables.
His dark blue eyes found her briefly, but Carlisle's hopes for reconciliation disintegrated as he glanced coldly away. She stiffened her spine. He had come to her last night, she reminded herself. He did love her, she knew that.
A moment later, as a maid served them from a platter of steaming arroz con pollo, Carlisle found out what had caused his bitter look. He turned in his chair to address her, his handsome face devoid of emotion.
"Your friends, Arantxa and Javier Perez, have arrived in the city for trial."
Carlisle felt the color drain from her face, because she was sure the news must have brought all Chase's rage toiling up to the surface again.
Dona Maria voic
ed the question that lay poised on Carlisle's lips. "What will happen to them, Chaso?"
A muscle flexed in Chase's cheek. "They committed treason. They'll be tried, found guilty, and shot by firing squad."
Carlisle gasped, unable to hide her dismay as she thought of Arantxa's laughing face.
"Oh, Chase, not Arantxa, too?"
Chase's expression revealed not an ounce of compassion. "Sí, Arantxa, too." Without having touched the food on his plate, he stood, bowed toward his mother, and ignored Carlisle. "I have business elsewhere tonight, Mother. Adios."
As he strode away, Dona Maria appeared angry at his abrupt departure, but Tomas seemed pleased. Carlisle made certain no emotion showed on her own, face. He was angry, but he'd been angry last night, and he'd eventually come to her. She understood his fury, and she didn't blame him. But it was so hard to watch him walk away, not knowing where he was going or when he'd be back.
"Are you feeling unwell, querida?"
Carlisle went weak with pleasure at Chase's whispered concern. She shook her head, but she was grateful for his supporting hand around her waist. They stood together in the long line of diplomats queued up to meet the United States ambassador. Since their marriage several weeks before, her husband had escorted her to many such social functions, his important post in the Juarez government requiring their presence.
As Chase presented her to an American diplomat and his wife, she realized, with some surprise, that she had become accustomed to hearing conversations carried on entirely in Spanish. Now as she exchanged pleasantries in English, her native tongue seemed almost alien.
Músicos, dressed in black charro suits with bright red sashes, strummed guitars and played violins and trumpets as they strolled among the guests, many of whom spilled outside in small groups to enjoy the walled terraces of the ambassador's great estancia in the suburb of San Cosme.
As Chase led her into the large salon, for the first time in months Carlisle found herself wanting to kick off her satin pumps, lift her garnet-colored silk skirts, and dance the jarabe. That night they'd camped on the river with Conchita's gypsy band seemed so long ago. Sorrow touched her when she thought how in love Esteban and Conchita had been and how lonely Conchita must be now in their cozy little casa in La Mesilla.
She looked up at Chase. He was so devastatingly handsome. If only he could forget, they could be happy. Though he no longer showed his anger so readily, he intentionally held himself away from her. The core of his emotions was protected by impenetrable walls he'd constructed between them, as if he could not bring himself to trust her with his feelings.
A young English officer, resplendent in his red-and-gold uniform, passed nearby, eyeing Carlisle with an appreciative smile, and she recalled having been introduced to him at a reception the previous week. Chase's arm tightened around her waist in a proprietary way that thrilled Carlisle. She leaned closer to him, enjoying the intimacy while she could.
He loved her—she had to keep telling herself that. He just couldn't yet bring himself to forget about what had happened to Esteban. And he wanted her. Even though he absented himself from home on the nights they had no social obligations, he'd often come to her very late, after she slept. She'd awaken while being pulled roughly into his arms, his lips demanding her surrender. Then he made love to her with such gentle; overwhelming passion that she had no need to hear the words of love he refused to utter.
Carlisle put her hand against her belly. Although she was now over three months pregnant, she still had not begun to show much, except for a slight thickening at her waist. She wondered if he'd find her unattractive when she grew large and awkward. Would he seek his pleasure elsewhere? Just thinking about Chase with another woman made her feel disconsolate.
"Benito has arrived. I should join him for a moment or two," Chase said at her side, his gaze on the crowd across the room that had gathered around the presidential party. "There's no need for you to stand in line again. Why don't you sit down and rest until I come back?"
"Sí, gracias," she agreed, taking a seat on a small red velvet settee in front of a tall mullioned window overlooking the garden.
"Will you be all right here alone?" Chase asked, and their eyes met and locked. Carlisle wondered if he could tell how much she wanted him. But when she saw desire flare in the depths of his eyes, she knew he had seen the love she no longer even tried to hide.
As he moved away, she watched the other guests idly, glad to sit quietly for a time. She tired easily of late, but at least the horrible queasiness that had plagued her so in the beginning had passed.
Eventually, she would face the long ordeal of confinement inside the high yellow walls of the Casa Amarilla. Somehow, the thought was not completely repugnant. To sit on the cushioned benches in the lovely dark shade of the patio or loll in the wide net hammocks hung on the cool recesses of the arcaded porch would be wonderfully peaceful. While the soft rustling of graceful palm fronds and tinkling of fountains soothed her mind, she would think about her baby.
Although she knew she shouldn't be afraid, she did dread giving birth. How often had she heard horrible stories of breech birth and childbed fever? And worst of all, stillbirth? She shivered, not wanting to think about the possibility of something going wrong. She wanted her baby so much. She wanted to give Chase a child.
"Perdón, but you are Dona Carlita, Don Chaso's wife, sí?"
"Sí," Carlisle answered, recognizing at once the pretty young girl standing in front of her.
"I am Dona Marta Moreno," the girl continued. "May I speak with you?"
Carlisle strove to hide her shock, for she had never expected to be approached by Chase's former fiancée.
"Sí, Dona Marta. Sit here beside me, if you wish."
Dona Marta did so, fussing with her white chiffon skirts as if mightily annoyed by their cumbersome dimensions. Her dark brown hair was twisted into twin spiral braids over her ears, and large pearl earrings suspended by thin gold chains danced around her jaw. She looked at the people near them, as if she expected them to eavesdrop on her conversation with Carlisle.
"Tomas won't speak to me now that we are betrothed," Dona Marta began without preamble. "Does he hate me?"
Carlisle heard the vulnerability beneath the boldly uttered question. "I don't believe he dislikes you at all, Dona Marta. He just doesn't think he's ready for marriage yet."
"Oh, I know how he feels! But if Papa makes me marry someone, I want it to be Tomas. Tomas never, ever treated me like all the other muchachos." Angry, she shook her head, making the earbobs swing wildly. She looked speculatively at Carlisle. "I am very glad Don Chaso fell in love with you. I never really wanted to marry him, you know, though all my amigas thought I was very lucky to be his novia."
Carlisle smiled, impressed with her honesty. "I was afraid you'd be angry with me."
"No, of course not. I can see why Don Chaso chose you. You are as beautiful as he is, no? I am not pretty enough to be the wife of such a man."
"But that's not true," Carlisle protested quickly. "You are very pretty."
Dona Marta's answering smile was shy, but pleased. "Gracias, but I know I am plain. That is why I have decided to make myself beautiful so Tomas will want to make me his bride. Soon I go to convent in Madrid, where I will learn to act like a great lady. For Tomas," she added, then looked at Carlisle, obviously seeking approval.
"I think Tomas is lucky to have you as his novia," Carlisle replied in all sincerity.
This time Dona Marta veritably beamed. Her gaze circled the room almost furtively, then she retrieved a folded parchment from the white satin reticule dangling at her wrist.
"My cousin asked me to deliver her carta into your hands, but no one must see. She is very unhappy."
"Your cousin?"
"Sí, but you must not tell anyone that I carried her note to you. Papa would punish me. Now I must go, before Papa or Mama see me here with you. Adios."
With that, Dona Marta melted away into the crowd. Carlisl
e looked after her for a moment, then unfolded the tiny scrap of paper. Her gaze went to the bottom first, seeking the identity of the writer.
Arantxa!
Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked around guiltily. Chase was nowhere in sight, and almost fearfully, she began to read.
Dear Carlita,
I am writing by candle in my horrid cell at the Chapultepec Prison. I am so lonely and afraid, here in this dreadful place. But I have bribed my jailor with the diamond ring that Papa gave to me, so he will take this letter to my cousin Marta. I pray she will be able to deliver it into your hands without being seen. I beg you to visit me here, Carlita. I know the idea must be distasteful to you after all you have been through because of me. But I must clear my conscience before I die. I love you as my own sister, though I know you must hate me. I implore you to come to me. It is my last wish before I die. Please have pity on me, please.
Arantxa
Bluffed with tears, Carlisle's eyes remained on the letter for a long time before she hastily refolded and hid it in her velvet purse. Poor Arantxa, Carlisle should at least go see her. But how could she? Chase would never allow it.
The next day, Carlisle returned to Chapultepec Castle and walked beneath the thousand-year-old ahuehuete trees on the same ground the last Montezuma had walked. The prison was located in an isolated corner of the immense, sprawling palace, far from the glittering gold-and-white ballroom where she had danced with Benito Juarez. Tall, pockmarked limestone walls rose like a towering fortress, forbidding and frightening. A shudder skidded over Carlisle's flesh as she envisioned ghosts of tortured, wailing prisoners on the other side of the cold stones, clawing to be free. She drew her black rebozo closer around her face as she peered around the courtyard. After Chase had left for the Palacio Nacional, she'd sneaked out of the Casa Amarilla alone, on the pretext of visiting the flower market.