“Are you ready for your bath, Doña Katherina?” Leocadia asked.
As if she had a choice. As if she could say no, and send everyone plodding back downstairs with their burdens. “Yes, thank you. You may put it down there.”
The girls filled the tub while Katherine twisted the sheets between her fingers and considered excuses. Perhaps innocence would work best. Don Damian came to my room last night to talk and accidently fell asleep on my bed.
No. Perhaps not.
Perhaps boldness would provide the best defense. Don Damian never accomplished what he came in here to do.
Ugh. Perhaps—perhaps she’d be better off if she didn’t say a word and let everyone assume what they’d assume anyway.
The housekeeper tested the water with her hand, then walked to the bed. Before Katherine suspected, Leocadia ripped the cover from her hands. “Change the sheets,” she ordered over her shoulder. “Bring more warm water.”
Katherine fled across the room and plunged into the tub. The water covered only her hips, wet her pantalettes and the fringe of her chemise, but that symbolized her bewilderment. Leocadia and everyone under her seemed to assume that Katherine deserved to be waited on, as if she were their mistress. She didn’t see the smile that the housekeeper hid, or the bar of soap Leocadia unwrapped. Yet she knew by the hustle of bare feet that the commands were being obeyed.
“It’ll be good to have a new mistress to direct the doings of the hacienda.” Leocadia tugged at Katherine’s chemise until Katherine let her pull it off. Plunging her hand into the extra water left in a bucket, Leocadia soaped a washcloth.
“No.” Katherine shook her head. “I’m going away.”
Shoving Katherine’s long blond hair aside, Leocadia scrubbed her back and chuckled. “Of course you are.”
“I am,” Katherine insisted. “I’m going away.”
“Don Lucian.” Katherine swept into the cozy room like a winter storm. “I need transportation to Monterey.”
Don Lucian swiveled around in his easy chair and stared. “My, my. What a pretty girl.”
The chill that insulated her melted beneath the mellow, beaming gaze of the older man, and self-consciousness returned in a rush. She smoothed the skirt of her new gown, then wished she hadn’t given in to that revealing gesture. She folded her hands at her waist and tried, with limited success, to meet his eye. “Leocadia burned my mourning clothes.”
“It’s the girl that’s pretty, although the dress enhances her beauty. Come sit by the fire. It’s pleasant on a rainy day like this, although the sun is already peeking out.”
A fresh realization of his kindness swept her. When he rose and indicated a seat across the hearth, she took the chair and waited for him to speak. He fumbled in his coat pockets. “Where have I put my reading glasses? Why can’t someone invent some way for me to find my spectacles when I don’t have them on?”
“I’ll suggest it when I arrive in . . . Boston.”
His eyebrows flew up. He squinted at her, his head thrust forward. “Here, here. What’s this? You can’t go now.”
She didn’t say anything, just handed him his reading glasses off the table at his elbow.
Taking hold of the silver Franklin frames, he settled the nose-piece and hooked them behind his ears. He took one look at her face and pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “I don’t often say the wrong thing, so apologizing is good training for me. I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re free to do as you like, of course, but . . . I was serious when I said you were like a daughter to me.” Sudden tears hovered on her eyelashes, and she couldn’t seem to call them back.
Stricken with consternation, he roared, “My son didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Oh, no, no,” she denied immediately, and was glad she did. Don Lucian looked ready to thrash Damian. “I don’t want you to think that.”
The color faded from his face, and he shook his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but I wish you would tell me why you would leave us. You were happy here until last night, so I can’t help but blame Damian.”
“I stood at my window and watched him ride out,” she said, her mind on the stern shake of the finger Damian had aimed at her as he’d left the yard.
“He’ll puff and snort with all the other young bucks,” he confirmed. “He was ornery as a buck in mating season, too, stomping around here.” Light dawned on his face. “That’s what upset you, isn’t it? That he’s gone to fight one of your heroes.”
“Not at all. John Charles Frémont is acting like a spoiled child.”
He pursed his lips. “If you called him ‘John Charles’ in that tone of voice, I can imagine why Damian was raging.”
“What tone of voice?” she asked, bewildered.
“As if you were his fond mother. Frémont is not a boy.”
“No, of course not, but he’s acting arrogantly in a host country.”
“What is it about some men that brings out the protectress in women?” he wondered.
“I’m not protecting him,” she protested, but faltered under Don Lucian’s quizzical gaze.
“Does Damian know you’re going?”
Her eyes flashed at him. “He told me not to leave.”
“Then I can’t think of a better reason to abandon Rancho Donoso as soon as his back’s turned,” he said wryly.
She couldn’t accept his accusation of cowardice. She’d planned this for months. Damian’s absence was nothing more than coincidence. “You’re trying to make me feel guilty, and I won’t have it. I won’t be a kept woman.”
He sputtered as if he’d swallowed wrong. “If my son refused to do what is honorable, I’d be glad to act as your father would and put a gun in his back.” He waved her objection aside and rose to pace before her. “A woman is not something you try out to see if she’s to your satisfaction, then abandon if she is not. Young people don’t understand the value of patience. If intimacy isn’t ecstasy the first time, it can be developed between a man and his wife over the years.”
“He asked me to marry him,” she interrupted in desperation.
Rubbing his brow as if his head hurt, he murmured, “I will never understand women.” Aloud, he said, “Then what is the problem?” She didn’t answer, and he sighed. “Perhaps you are the one who needs to be told about intimacy.”
“No!” she flared. “We did nothing.” He indicated disbelief in the tilt of his head, the amusement in his eyes. “Almost nothing,” she amended.
He sank back into his chair as if he were confused, and stretched his hands towards the fire. “Young girls these days sometimes expect to love their husbands before the wedding, so I’m told. Perhaps—”
“No. I’m too sensible for that.” She looked at the older man. How could she be speaking about such a carnal matter with him? Yet she owed him an explanation, and with averted eyes, she said, “I’m a sensible woman. I’ve always been sensible. I can’t live like this, always thinking of one thing, always enslaved by some emotion I don’t understand.”
“This emotion is the emotion you feel in the bedroom?” he asked softly.
She spread her hands, palms out. “It’s too powerful. Don’t you see? I have to leave. I can’t stay.”
“You are running from something most women would give anything to have,” he marveled.
“What is that?”
“If I have to tell you, I suppose you may as well go. I’ll arrange everything.” He stood and kissed her forehead. “Everything.”
Damian leaned against his saddle horn and glared at the makeshift fort atop Gavilán Peak. “I’m sick of this waiting.”
Alejandro scratched his stubbled chin. “Si. I could use a shave. So could you.”
Running a hand over his bristles, Damian shrugged.
“Don’t worry, Damian,” Ricky said. “Katherine will love you anyway.”
Damian shifted his glare from the flagrant American flag to his impudent friend. Ricky laughed protestingly and lifted his hands in the si
gn of the cross to ward off evil. “Hey, I was just joking.”
“Maybe all’s not well with love’s sweet blossom,” Hadrian suggested.
Damian ignored them. The wind whipped his hair, the sun warmed his shoulders, the smell of the morning coffee drifted to his nostrils. Behind him, soldiers’ voices called out with authority.
None of the normal pleasures dented Damian’s dissatisfaction. Not even the early morning gallop on Confite had eased his tension. That man, that Frémont should be horsewhipped for creating this kind of tension-ridden situation when Damian needed to be home, reinforcing his claim on a woman too proud of her mind to be aware of her body.
Three days he’d been here close by Mission San Juan Bautista under the command of General Castro. The first afternoon, the sun had come out and the landowners had arrived, their bed-rolls strapped onto their horses. They’d stood about in clumps, growling about the arrogance of this Frémont. They’d admired the three pieces of artillery that would blast those fools off the mountain. They’d bragged about their fighting prowess.
The cavalrymen from Monterey rode up in their brightly colored uniforms. General Castro and his men marched up and down, creating a great display. Indians joined them, persuaded by liquor and free meals. Everyone had camped on the flats of the Salinas Valley. The congeniality reminded Damian more of a friendly bear hunt than a war.
The second day had been more of the same. Steaks cooked over a fire. Coarse jokes and sweet reminiscing. Friendships renewed and forged. The only excitement in the whole day had occurred when the wind whipped up and blew the defiant flagpole over. The Californios had cheered; the Americans hadn’t put the flag back up.
This morning the novelty had palled. The early morning sun still shone, the wind still blew. On a dare, Damian had put Confite through his paces, showing off the intelligence of his prized stallion. Alejandro had tried to buy Confite; Ricky had offered to gamble for the horse. When Damian wisely refused, his friends teased him about his love affair. Damian wanted to spur his horse and ride where his whim took him.
Back to the rancho.
Nothing could hold his thoughts here. He thought about Katherine every moment.
Stirring uncomfortably, he remembered her objections to his proposal of marriage. She used pragmatism to avoid love and some surprisingly clever insights to hold him off. How had she known about his feelings of Spanish pride? How had she known it amounted to a virtual prejudice against her bloodlines? He hadn’t even realized it himself.
It wouldn’t affect their union. He fidgeted with the reins. He knew it wouldn’t. Katherine would become a Spanish Señora: plying a fan with ease, bearing his children, becoming a devoted Catholic. Of course, he couldn’t imagine her without that drive and efficiency . . .
She wielded that efficiency like a weapon, and she presumed it kept him at bay. If only she could have seen herself the morning he left her, sitting there on the bed, her soft shoulders emerging from the sheets, her hair tousled with sleep, her eyes languorous and her mouth marked from his kisses. Irresistibly, a smile crept up on him. How could he not smile? She played the part of the pragmatic housekeeper with vigor. Because she didn’t realize her own frailty, she sailed through life coercing and convincing people to do as she ordered. Only he saw the gentleness in her. Only he knew her desires.
Only he understood that if she should decide to board a ship and sail away from him, she’d leave without a backward glance. He drummed his fingers on the saddle, then stilled his horse’s restless response. They didn’t need him here, he argued to himself. There was the tempestuous General Castro for rhetoric. There were soldiers to oust the invaders. There were his friends to avenge the scene at his fiesta.
“Damian, stop daydreaming. Pay attention.” The urgency of Hadrian’s words penetrated his reverie. Lifting his head, Damian listened.
“They’re gone!” A soldier came galloping down the peak, shouting with glee. “They’re gone. They snuck out in the middle of the night.”
“That worm Frémont ran away?” Damian grinned with cruel enjoyment. “It’s too good to be true.”
The soldier flew past to the general’s tent, and the four friends followed at a sedate pace. They joined the throng around the comandante. “Castro’s your relative,” Damian said to Alejandro. “Find out what’s happened.”
Alejandro dismounted with a grimace and fought his way in.
“I never thought he’d do it,” Damian commented. “He must be curious.”
“Or he’s feeling guilty because he teased you so much,” Ricky suggested.
A long look passed between the three friends.
“He’s curious,” Hadrian said and the others nodded.
Alejandro returned with a holler. “The Americanos slunk away in the night like the thieves they are.”
“Where are they now?” Damian demanded.
“About three miles from here,” Alejandro replied.
Groaning, Damian sank his head into his hand, and Alejandro patted him with mock sympathy. “You can return to your lady love. General Castro isn’t going to pursue them.”
Damian raised his head. “Do you swear?”
“That’s what he says.”
Without waiting to hear more, Damian turned his horse and galloped through the camp, avoiding men on foot, jumping campfires, waving jubilantly. Clods of earth flew up from Confite’s hooves and Damian coaxed him ever faster along the road to the rancho. Be there, he urged Katherine in his mind, be there. A lone rider on the road ahead caught his attention, a rider coming toward him. He eased up, preparing to shout the news and proceed, but he knew the horseman. In silence, he reined Confite in.
“Well met, Julio,” he greeted him, awkward from their last meeting.
Julio glanced around as if he couldn’t bear to look at him. “You’re alone?”
“You’ve come too late. Frémont and his gang have fled from our superior marching ability.”
Julio smirked, as Damian meant him to. “No shots fired?”
“None.”
“I’ll go and check in anyway. Just to show my interest.”
“What kept you?” Damian did his best to keep accusation from his tone, but censure crept in and Julio stiffened.
“I was away. I didn’t hear the news about this robber until I saw Nacia again.”
“Madre de Dios, where have you been?” Damian asked, startled. “The whole of Alta California knows what has passed here.”
Julio shrugged, uncomfortable, and Damian recalled Nacia’s confession. He left, she’d said, for days, for weeks, and she didn’t know where he went. Damian glanced at Julio’s hands, and there were the telltale signs. Dirt ground into the nail beds, scabs on the knuckles. Damian opened his mouth to ask. Something in Julio’s sunburnt face forbade it, so he blurted, “I’ve never kissed your wife.”
Rejecting him, Julio sat straight in the saddle, his features cold with pride.
“Julio.” Damian held out his hand, but Julio ignored it.
“I must go now.”
Julio trotted off to the encampment, and Damian called after him, “Tell Nacia—”
Julio pulled his horse around to face him, fury twisted in his face.
“Tell Nacia I took her advice about Doña Katherina.”
Relaxing, Julio tipped his hat, then turned back to the camp.
Distressed by his friend, puzzled by the mystery surrounding him, Damian set Confite in motion again. The miles fell away, and he rode into the yard as the sun reached its zenith. The stable hands ran to his assistance, asking for news, and he told them what he knew as he searched the grounds for sight of her. “Is she still here?” he demanded.
They waved him toward the hacienda. He ran, and his father met him at the door. In a glance at his face, Damian knew she had fled. “Damn it.” He threw his hat to the ground. “Did she escape at night?”
Don Lucian put his arm around his son. “Come in and have lunch.”
Damian shrugged him of
f. “Did you search for her? Has she been gone long?”
“Not a word until you eat,” Don Lucian insisted.
“Eat?”
“She’s safe,” Don Lucian soothed. “Come and have some caldo habla.”
Frustrated, Damian strode into the dining room and pulled out his chair. Immediately, the dish of serrano ham and chorizo appeared before him, and the fragrance of spices convinced him it would be rude to ignore the soup. “Where is she?” Dipping his spoon in, he took a long, grateful sip. He was hungry. Damn, he was hungry and his woman had escaped him. He could feed the hunger, but God knew when he’d find Katherine. He glared at his father, who pantomimed eating. Reluctantly obedient, Damian took a big mouthful, in a hurry to end the meal.
“She’s in Monterey.”
Dropping his spoon, Damian choked until his father pounded his back. Through the napkin in front of his mouth, he gasped, “Monterey?” Getting his breath back, he said louder, “Monterey? Are you mad? She could sail at any moment.”
“No, no.” Don Lucian punched Damian’s arm. “I knew about the sailing vessels before I sent her, and I took the precaution of bribing the only captain likely to sail away with our Katherina.”
“Well, at least you checked—you sent her?” Damian felt like a fish, all pop-eyed and gaping.
“Si.” Don Lucian pulled his watch from his pocket and checked it. “She’s been there almost twenty hours. It took us one whole day to pack for her. Even then we told her we’d have to send Tobias’s trunk on later.”
“Later?”
“There’s no use dragging it all the way to Monterey just to drag it back. That trunk’s full of rocks, papers, tools. It’s heavy. Besides, if you’d finished up that business with Frémont sooner, you would have been back to stop her.” He glared at Damian as if the delay were his fault. “She threatened to go without help, so I kissed her good-bye yesterday morning. She’ll be staying at the boarding house of that American woman—what’s her name?”
“Mrs. Zollman.”
“That’s right. Mrs. Zollman’s boardinghouse. After your lunch, your shave, your bath—” he sniffed significantly “—you can be on your way.”
Treasure of the Sun Page 13