“I’ll be there by—”
“Tonight.” Don Lucian smiled with satisfaction. “Late tonight.”
29 May, in the year of our Lord, 1777
A hearty mountain rain brings us unending misery, dripping on us by day and flooding us by night. We’re lost, unable to guide by sun or the stars. Our clothes are wet. We have no food and no way to make a fire. Last night, Fray Lucio shivered until I believed his old bones would rattle, but Fray Patricio speaks stoutly of our return to the coast. God works in mysterious ways, and for the first time I, too, have hopes our prayers will be answered The sound of the Indians’ pursuit has faded and I fail to see how they would trace us through this unending mud
—from the diary of Fray Juan Estévan de Bautista
Chapter 9
“Oh, Don Lucian.” Katherine sat on her heels before one of her overstuffed carpetbags and dashed an unwelcome tear from her lashes. “How sweet you are.” Lifting the bag, she dumped her clothes out onto the floor and jerked the feather pillow from the bottom where it had been hidden.
Her pillow. Her pillow from the rancho.
If she weren’t tired, she wouldn’t be so tearful. So pleased. She hid her face in the pillow and breathed in the scent of hacienda.
So homesick.
She corrected herself. She wasn’t homesick. She couldn’t be homesick for a place that wasn’t her home. Still, she would miss her friends there. And Don Lucian. And . . . well, everybody.
The pillow would help her sleep. Her fingers lingered on the embroidered edge of the pillowcase. Standing, she checked the room. The heavy wooden door was secured, latched with a leather thong that connected to the frame with a large bolt. She’d slipped a hole at the other end of the leather over a protruding bolt, like a buttonhole over a button. It held the door closed, afforded her privacy, and the open windows provided her with air. She leaned against the wall and stared at the bed which seemed so far away. Gathering her willpower, she staggered across the room and flung Don Lucian’s gift. She followed it with a weary shrug.
Tonight, with the help of her pillow, she would sleep.
Of course, she’d thought the same thing yesterday. The trip to Monterey had taken a long time. Too long, she suspected. The servants seemed unwilling to go to Monterey and too willing to ride back. They’d taken her to a boardinghouse run by the elderly American woman. They’d left her on Mrs. Zollman’s porch with her bags around her. They’d waved good-bye as if her departure meant nothing to them.
She had ignored the hurt their attitude caused as she lugged the bags to her room. She’d been amazed at how weighty they were and recalled briefly the pleasure of having servants to do the heavy work. It spoiled a woman.
She’d better get used to doing without.
She straightened the soft cotton of her nightgown. It bothered her to sleep in a bed so narrow she couldn’t turn without complicated convolutions. It tangled the nightgown around her legs and made her feel as if she were strangling.
It was a feeling she’d better get used to.
She hoped she didn’t fall out. The bed was hard, but not so hard as the floor. Just as the servants and the bed had spoiled her, so had the large, open space of her attic at the hacienda. The walls of this bedroom, so close, so dark, made her feel as if there wasn’t enough air to breathe. She could have stayed with any of the prominent families in Monterey, but instead she’d spent her first full day unsuccessfully dodging her Spanish friends. She’d seen Dona Xaviera and Cabeza, seen Vietta Gregorio and her mousy mother, seen the entire Valverde clan strolling en masse through the presidio, had even seen Julio de Casillas. He’d nodded to her curtly without a word, and she’d nodded back, relieved to be ignored for once.
Not that she didn’t wish to tell them all farewell, but explanations of her unchaperoned presence were complicated. Mrs. Larkin hadn’t understood Katherine’s feeble excuses. Katherine suspected she’d offended the wife of the American consul, but after all, she was leaving. It didn’t matter. Did it?
Monterey was a pretty town. Built around a square, the presidio was nothing more than a few cannons housed in one-story buildings. The adobe homes with their red tile roofs were scattered like pearls and rubies in the grass, unrestrained by organized streets. The Santa Lucia Mountains served as Monterey’s backdrop, the Pacific Ocean as its admirer. Yet for her, the town held a combination of memories. Memories of marriage, of happiness, of friendship. Memories of death, of blood, of grief. She felt confused here. Wanting to stay, wanting to go. She wanted to go. She did want to go. She couldn’t wait for her ship to sail. The Yankee captain she’d contacted had agreed to transpon her down the coast to Los Angeles. He’d promised they would leave as soon as he had finished conducting his business. When that would be, she didn’t know. He’d been too vague for her satisfaction.
She yawned again and collapsed against the pillow. She really was tired, the previous nights contributing to her fatigue. Since the hours she’d spent with Damian, she’d never slept; she’d only dozed. Half her attention seemed always tuned to his return—whether in anticipation or anxiety, she didn’t care to define.
When she did nod off, she imagined he was there. She’d feel his hands in her hair: braiding it, combing it, raising it to his lips. She’d smell the smoky odor of him. She’d hear him whisper how he adored her . . . and she’d wake up alone.
In the dark, when one was exhausted, she’d discovered, it was harder to ignore the disappointment and the yearning.
But tonight the small bedroom no longer seemed so strange to her, she had her pillow. She lay there and smiled, comforted by the familiarity of it, and she slept, realizing it only when she came awake in a rush.
Danger lay in wait, cloaked by the night. Somehow she knew it; somehow she was afraid. Every muscle in her body clenched; her eyes strained to stay closed. This wasn’t a nightmare, nor was it the return of Damian. There was someone in the room with her and that someone made her afraid.
She didn’t know why or who, but she was in danger.
The sound of light, quick breathing came to her ear. Was it close? Too close. The scent of medicine tickled her nose. Was it the intruder? Or what he held?
Her eyes flew open and strained to see in the dim light. She gathered herself to leap off the bed. She heard a small shuffling noise beside her. A giant, masked figure leaned over her. She gasped. The figure laughed. A sweet smell clogged her nostrils and stole her mind away.
The bed rocked beneath Katherine. The movement made her nauseous.
Why did she feel so strange? Why was she afraid to open her eyes?
She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember, and right now it seemed more important to follow her instincts than to battle for courage.
Did she rest on land or sea? The bed was rocking, yet she couldn’t hear the slapping noise of the waves, nor smell the sour brine-soaked wood. So she was on land, and the nausea-inducing movement was all in her head.
Good. Better fuzzy thinking than a return to a ship.
No, wait. She wanted to be on a ship. She was fleeing Damian, his proposal and his insistence on passion.
That wasn’t right, either. She wasn’t fleeing him, she was taking the logical, correct step to correct their situation.
Sickness hit her like a wall of water, and a tiny groan escaped her.
“Are you waking up?”
The voice was deep and muffled, and she didn’t have to struggle to remain still. Like an animal sensing danger, she lay quiet. She heard the footsteps shuffle across the floor boards, knew whoever it was stood above her.
“Too much chloroform,” the voice lamented.
A palm cupped Katherine’s chin, fingers pinched Katherine’s cheeks, and her head was shaken back and forth.
“Hurry and wake,” the voice urged.
The footsteps shuffled away.
Shoeless, Katherine deducted. Tall, and strong, to have pressed that cloth over her face until . . . in a rush, the remembrance o
f fear came to her. Someone had come into her room. Someone had attacked her.
Oh, God, where was she?
The scent of the hacienda wafted to her nostrils. So her head still lay on her own pillow, her body rested on the bed in the boarding house. She fought to recover her self-possession. It was both easier and harder than she expected, for some of her perceptions were sensitized, others dulled.
Through her closed eyelids, she could see a light. Not a bright light like the sun, it flickered, tickling her blindness with little flares and. wavers.
A candle. The night still pressed around her, wrapping her tight in its coils, imprisoning her movements.
No. She traced feeling to her fingertips and wiggled them. Shooting pains stabbed her hands, and she bit down hard on her lip.
Ropes imprisoned her. A cord bound her wrists behind her back and all her weight rested on them. Her shoulders ached, the skin of her arms tingled. Not even the feather mattress could ease the agony.
Her feet were bound, too. Was she tied to the bed?
The noises of the intruder distracted her. Grunts, soft curses in elaborate Spanish, the sound of cloth ripping.
She wanted to look. She wanted to open her eyes and see where she was, see how she could escape . . . see her captor. She knew she shouldn’t open her eyes, yet she wanted to, so badly. Her palms sweated with her desire; she couldn’t control her breathing. She concentrated, wanting, needing to make her breaths slow and deep and even.
What did it mean? Why had someone stalked her? Why had this person gone through such elaborate preparations to hurt her?
God, how she hated Monterey.
A tear of fear and grief crept from her lids and down her cheek, and she grimaced to hold back the flood that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Whore!”
Water slapped Katherine with the force of anger behind it. She gasped, sputtered and opened her eyes. Like a fool, she opened her eyes.
Her captor stood beside her bed, in her boardinghouse room, and said in Spanish, “I knew you’d try to deceive me.”
The great flood of water, Katherine saw, was nothing more than the contents of a tin cup, clasped in one big hand and dripping the last of its contents on the floor. She blinked the moisture from her face and squinted against the illumination of the candle. Set on the floor among her bags, it drew her gaze.
As she flinched from the light, her captor callously commented, “Your eyes aren’t such a pretty green now.”
“What?”
“They’re red.”
Katherine stared as the intruder placed the cup on the table, making sure the metal didn’t clatter against the wood. Clearing her throat, she said, “My eyes are red from the drug. How did I deceive you?”
“You deceived me by faking sleep, but I knew you were awake. I’m craftier than you are.” The bizarre figure leaned over her.
“I can’t disagree.” Katherine peered into the glittering eyes, trying to decipher the twisted features shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat. The skin of the forehead and cheeks looked shiny and hard. The mouth had no lips, no tongue, only an ebony gash set deep in dark skin. A line ran from ear to ear across the hump of a nose. Was she hallucinating?
No, she decided. A master with scarves and masks, this villain obscured the features that would betray identity. That would explain the muffled voice, the indistinct words. Was any of that mutilated face real? She couldn’t tell.
Was the brawn encased in the black shirt authentic? Were the lumps that widened the waist of the breeches actual rolls of fat? Did a wizard of masquerade stand before her? Certainly the eerie form seemed to have no fear that she would penetrate this camouflage, asking scornfully, “Why do you look at me like that?”
The tension in her coiled tighter. From a pocket in the dark breeches, the intruder pulled a silver chain. From one end of the chain dangled a familiar silver watch. She clenched her hands in a useless fist. “That’s not worth much.” The watch moved closer to her face, and she stared at it with hypnotic fervor, as if she could whisk it away with her fear for its safety. As it swung before her nose, she whispered, “It’s only valuable to me.”
“Such a pretty little toy—your remembrance of your husband.”
The hushed voice and odd phrasing brought her gaze to her tormentor’s face. “How did you know that?”
“I’m no common thief.”
The eyes behind the mask burned with relish.
Frantic to soothe the beast, she agreed, “I can see that. But please don’t take my watch.”
“Take it? No, no. You misunderstand.” With gentle stealth, the watch was laid on the table beside the cup. “I’m going to open it.”
“Push the button on the side.”
Her advice earned her a withering glare. “I’m opening the back.” A thin file appeared in one black-gloved hand and slid into the groove that circled the silver watch. A twist of the wrist and the back fell off with a ting. The intruder twirled the back, then lifted the exposed works and examined them. They ticked loudly, undisturbed by this baring of their secrets. The intruder cursed and carried it towards the candle. Katherine raised her head, staring at the retreating back. The intruder probed the works with one finger; she heard a disgusted mumbling. Like an accompaniment called forth by impatience, the love song clicked on and the music tinkled.
“There grew up a rose from Barbara Allen’s breast—” Katherine blinked. She sang the words before she’d even thought, and the room spun on its axis as she fought the drug’s effects.
“Bastardo.” The music clicked off, the watch was tossed onto one of the carpet bags. “There’s nothing there.”
A protest tore from Katherine. “It’s delicate.”
“I ought to smash it—” a grotesque smile advanced on her “—but my own kindness forbids it.”
Katherine didn’t believe that, and an absurd confidence stirred her dazed mind. The lady of the house slept down the hall. This intruder didn’t dare make a noise. If she screamed, help would arrive. “What did you expect to find? Why are you doing this? I have nothing in my bags to interest you.”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course not. I’m a poor American widow.”
“The widow of Tobias.” The voice of her captor thinned; the mask couldn’t disguise the avarice and the threat.
“Tobias . . .” She faltered. Was this the one who’d killed Tobias? She shifted to test the strength of the bonds that held her.
“You’ll never get free,” the intruder observed with pleasure.
“I’m not trying to free myself,” Katherine lied. “The ropes hurt me. Why are you interested in Tobias’s widow?”
“Tobias was a very smart man. Too smart, in some ways. Too innocent in others. He found something I want.”
Staring in fascination as the wrapped mouth spoke, Katherine almost missed her cue. “What is it you want?”
“As if you don’t know. As if that sly man from Switzerland wouldn’t have told you.”
Even the scarf across the mouth couldn’t constrict the flow of malice.
Katherine answered, “We were only married a week, and mysteries weren’t a topic of conversation.”
“That would be too bad for you,” the intruder said casually, “even if I believed you.”
Katherine glanced around the room and saw the jumbled mass of her belongings torn from her bags. “Oh, no, why did you—” She tried to sit up, but pain shot through her wrist; she jerked and groaned. Twisting, she managed to scoot onto her side and relieve the worst of the pressure on her hand.
“Do you think all this nonsense is going to make me pity you?” the intruder asked in amazement.
“Not at all.” Katherine wiggled her toes, trying to encourage circulation. “I’m doing it for my own edification. Why did you destroy my clothing?”
“I didn’t destroy much.”
The trace of defensiveness encouraged Katherine, and she asked, “What was so important that Tobias woul
d tell me about it on our wedding night?”
“The treasure occupied Tobias’s mind as much as it occupies mine, and he trusted you. He trusted you and I know it. He told me so often enough.”
Staggered by the information thrown at her in such casual disregard, Katherine sputtered, “Treasure?”
“The treasure of the padres. The gold of legend, waiting for me to rescue it from obscurity.”
“Gold?” Katherine gaped at the absurd face before her.
“So much gold. So much influence and freedom can be bought with gold.” The palms in the black gloves rubbed together. “I will be all I have dreamed of being with the gold.”
“Gold?”
“Tobias had the key.” The intruder leaned over her, giving Katherine a clear view of the mask and scarf that created such an effective disguise. “Where’s the key?”
“Key? A real key?”
“You play innocent. You fool everyone, except me.”
“I don’t have the key.”
“Then you have the treasure. You’re fleeing Rancho Donoso. You’re in Monterey, avoiding people who call themselves your friends. You’re seeking the first ship out.”
Guilt spread over Katherine’s face. “There are reasons.”
“Why else would the de la Solas send a message to the captain that you must be delayed?”
“What?” Katherine struggled, her discomfort forgotten. “That deceiver of innocent women—”
“Who? Damian?” The intruder flicked one forefinger into the air in disdain. “It’s treasure he seeks. He’s always been fascinated by the treasure.”
Katherine froze, hurt at being dismissed so casually, hurt by the assurance with which the intruder spoke. “Don Damian protected me. When I first went to the hacienda, he kept my presence a secret.”
“I knew where you were,” the intruder said with scorn. “I didn’t choose to risk my life at the hacienda for you.”
“He guarded me.”
“Would he do any less for the least of his servants?”
Stricken, Katherine collapsed onto her back, and the pain reintroduced rationality. Who was this person who knew Damian so well? Who was this person who understood Tobias and the desires of his soul? Again she examined the tormenting figure, trying to see beyond the camouflage. Disgusted with the relentless masquerade, seeking to draw out the facts, she taunted, “Couldn’t you find this key on your own?”
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