Chapter 10

 

There was silence between the two of them as they walked slowly back to the hacienda. Each one was conscious of the other, but neither was willing to break the fragile peace that existed at the moment.

Upon reaching the hacienda, they were greeted by a scolding and relieved Bonita, and any opportunity for private conversation was lost. Her round face wreathed in a smile, she said to Brett, "Oh, señor, thank you! I am so pleased that you found her!" And turning to Sabrina, she frowned and muttered, "And you, chica, should not be so free in your ways—there are bandits about, and you would make a tasty morsel for them!"

Like a hen whose lone chick has been returned, Bonita continued to fuss and hover, and with a grin, Brett bade both women good day and went in search of his bed. He slept until late afternoon, rising in time to shave and bathe before joining Alejandro for the trip into Nacogdoches.

The mission Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe de Nacogdoches had been carved out in the early 1700s, but it had never been more than a not-very-successful outpost inhabited by only a few soldiers and even fewer gritty priests. At times it had been abandoned, and it wasn't until the late 1770s that a village had grown up around the old mission site. Presently, the village supported a thriving population of nearly six hundred residents. And as Brett rode down the narrow red-dirt streets lined with various framed buildings, he saw a wide variety of people—Indians, farmers, traders, soldiers, and robed priests.

The most imposing structure in the village of Nacogdoches was a large stone building that served as a storage area for merchandise. It had been built by Gil Antonia Ybarbo, one of the leading settlers of the area, in 1779, and staring at the stone walls nearly a yard thick, Brett decided that it would serve admirably as a warehouse for Alejandro's sugar crop—if there ever is a sugar crop, he reminded himself.

It hadn't taken him long to realize that Alejandro's whim to grow sugar was just that—a whim. Granted the land was suitable for it, but a great deal of time and back-breaking effort was going to be involved before the crop could be planted. And more importantly, except for the residents of the Nacogdoches area, there was no commercial outlet for any surplus. Once harvested and milled, the sugar would have to be sent overland to Natchitoches, in the Louisiana Territory, and from there sailed by barge through a long, circuitous and uncertain route to New Orleans. It was both an unprofitable and an unpractical situation, but when Brett had pointed out this fact, Alejandro had shrugged and smiled charmingly. "We shall see, amigo, we shall see," Alejandro had murmured.

Brett had thought to argue further, but then he, too, had shrugged his shoulders—if Alejandro wished to waste time and money, why should he care? The problem was that he did care. And while Alejandro seemed in no hurry to begin the project, Brett threw himself into the scheme wholeheartedly. It might prove to be a foolish whim on Alejandro's part, but Brett was going to see that it did not fail because of poor planning. The preparing and clearing of the land, the planting, and the harvesting would be faultless. What Alejandro did with it after that would be no concern of his—he would have done his best.

The visit to town was more for social reasons than because of any desire on Alejandro's part to seek a warehouse for his crop, and as they rode down the streets, they stopped often to converse with first this person then that. It was obvious that Alejandro was an important, well-respected member of the community, and it was only natural that Brett's presence at his side aroused a great deal of friendly curiosity. Proudly Alejandro made the introductions to the various people they met, and by the time they started homeward, Brett's head was reeling from trying to remember the many names and occupations of the individuals he had met.

They were at the edge of the village, just entering the pine woods, when they encountered someone Brett would have been pleased to avoid—Carlos de la Vega. The dislike between the two younger men had escaped Alejandro's notice, and seeing Carlos at the side of the road he reined in his horse with an exclamation of pleasure. Doffing his sombrero, he acknowledged Carlos and the young woman who stood nearby.

"Buenos dias, Señora Morales. Good day to you, too, Carlos," Alejandro said warmly before introducing Brett to Carlos's companion. "Señora Morales, allow me to present my nephew, Brett Dangermond, to you. He is newly arrived here from Natchez and will, I hope most sincerely, be making an extended visit with us at the Rancho del Torres. Brett, I would like you to meet Señora Constanza Morales y Duarte. Carlos you of course met last evening."

Constanza was a full-blooming Spanish rose, who could have been any age between twenty and thirty, although Brett suspected she was nearer thirty than twenty—there was something about the way her eyes lingered on his mouth and shoulders that bespoke amatory wisdom. A lovely, sensuous creature, Brett thought, his gaze moving appreciatively over her beautiful face and ripe figure. Lustrous black hair veiled by a black lace mantilla framed her features, intensifying the creaminess of her magnolia skin, making her ebony eyes gleam. There was a feline cast to her face, which Brett found intriguing, but there was nothing feline about her body—the lush, voluptuous curves were decorously but clearly revealed by her stylish gown of amber-bronze silk.

Brett became aware that Constanza, from beneath her lashes, was assessing him as thoroughly as he had her, and he grinned. When their eyes met, a look of understanding passed between them.

The introductions having been made, the four of them stood talking for some minutes, until Constanza, her fine, dark eyes revealing her interest in Brett, suggested that the gentlemen might prefer some refreshments at her house. "It is only a short distance down this street. Señor de la Vega and I were on our way there when we met you. Do say that you will!"

When Alejandro would have demurred, it was Brett who said, "An excellent idea, Señora Morales. It is very kind of you to offer your hospitality to a stranger like myself."

Oblivious to the other two men, Constanza smiled and said, "But you are no stranger, Señor Dangermond—not when Señor del Torres is your uncle."

Alejandro frowned, not at all happy with the turn of events, especially not Constanza's undisguised eagerness to ingratiate herself with Brett—or Brett's apparent willingness to allow her to do so. It was Sabrina who was supposed to make him look as he did now—admiring and attracted—not this forward young widow of uncertain means.

Carlos, who had been noticeably silent, smiled sourly and murmured, "You will find that we Spaniards are a very hospitable people, Señor Dangermond—even to relatives who can claim no blood tie."

"Carlos!" Alejandro said reprovingly. "Where there is great affection and trust, there is no need for blood!"

Carlos flushed and the subject was dropped, but an air of tension hung over the remainder of the visit.

Constanza's home turned out to be a modest but elegant frame house only a few yards from where they were standing. Leaving their horses tied to a shrub nearby, Brett and Alejandro followed the other two to a small, pleasant patio at the rear of the wooden building. A sharp clap of her slim hands brought an Indian servant to Constanza's side, and in minutes the three gentlemen were seated at a small table enjoying a glass of Madeira. Constanza contented herself with a tall glass of sangria, saying with a sigh, "I do hope that the Madeira is satisfactory. Since my husband's death three years ago, I seldom entertain any gentlemen, and it is surprising that there was anything in the house suitable for your palates." She glanced over at Brett and added, "I live here with my husband's maiden sister, but as she is very old and cares nothing for worldly things, she is little help to me in choosing what would be appropriate to have on hand for the occasional male caller. She is nearly deaf, so I suppose that might account for her reluctance to mingle with others." Her eyes moved on, and sending Carlos a smile, she said fondly, "Señor de la Vega has been most kind to me during my widowhood. He and my husband were good friends, and I don't know what I would have done without his help after Emilio died...."

The conversation went on from there, consisting of polite chatter, but by the time Alejandro and Brett departed, Brett knew all he needed to know about Constanza Morales y Duarte. She was a widow who wasn't averse to male companionship, and he was certain that if she and Carlos weren't lovers now, they had been at some time in the not too distant past.

Constanza Morales was the type of woman Brett recognized instantly, the type of woman he usually chose for his mistress—a lovely, amoral creature, whose only difference from the common whore was an aristocratic birth and family. She had made it clear that she wouldn't be reluctant to share a deeper intimacy with him. He was too well versed in the art of dalliance not to have understood immediately what was behind the seductive glances, the swiftness with which she had made her widowed state known, and the fact that her only companion was an elderly deaf sister-in-law. He smiled cynically. She had made certain that he knew she was available, even going so far as to murmur when they said good-bye, "I am sorry to see you leave, Señor Dangermond. It is very lonely for me since Emilio died. Perhaps we will meet again... soon?"

His eyes meeting hers, he said, "Of that you can be certain, señora. Very soon."

Alejandro hadn't been blind to what was going on, but as Constanza was considered a respectable young woman, he dismissed her actions as perhaps more forward and flirtatious than was strictly proper. If he could have overheard the conversation taking place between Constanza and Carlos just then, he would have changed his mind and forbidden Sabrina even to acknowledge Constanza on the street, much less allow the woman access to his home.

"Are you going to take him as your lover?" Carlos asked as he and Constanza continued to sit on the patio after Brett and Alejandro had departed.

Constanza sent him a teasing glance. "Would you be jealous, querido?"

Carlos frowned and stared at the Madeira in his glass. "I don't know," he said at last. "But yes, yes, I think I would be jealous."

Surprised, Constanza said perplexedly, "But you never were of the others. Why him?"

"The others were different," Carlos snapped. "They were not like Brett Dangermond. They meant nothing to you. But Dangermond... Dangermond is different."

"How? He is a man like the others. Perhaps more handsome, it is true, but you have nothing to fear from him—just as I have nothing to fear from the other women in your life, si?"

"I do not fear Dangermond!" Carlos ground out.

Well used to Carlos's outbursts of anger, Constanza looked amused as she said, "Very well then, you don't fear him. And you will not be jealous of him either, will you?" When Carlos did not reply but continued to look sullen, she leaned across the small pine table, and touching his strong hand with hers, she murmured, "Come on, querido, what is bothering you? Surely it is not that he will share my bed? We decided long ago, before I even married old Emilio, that we would put no bonds on each other. I have my men and you your women, and in between"—she smiled impishly—"we have each other. So why are you so disturbed by this man? Besides," she added slyly, "I thought the entire purpose of your visit today was to ask my help in seducing him. You did say you wanted me to make him so mad for me that he would have no eyes for Sabrina, didn't you? Am I not to provide a distraction for him and keep him away from Sabrina? Keep him enthralled so that you will have no rival for her hand? Is that not what we planned?"

Carlos relaxed and grinned across at her. "I should have married you, instead of allowing you to wed that old lecher, Emilio."

Constanza shook her dark head. "No. No, amigo—we know each other too well. If I were your wife, I would be jealous of your other women and you would not want me to have my lovers. I like my life the way it is, Carlos. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I wish Emilio had left me with more money so that I could live in elegance in New Orleans or Mexico City, but on the whole I am satisfied with my life. I come and go as I please, I very discreetly take the occasional lover when it suits me, and when I am pressed for money or have need of an expert lover, I have my good friend Carlos. What more could a woman ask for?"

"You are unnatural," Carlos said, his eyes resting on her full mouth. "All women want marriage and children. It is what they are born to do—marry and provide their husbands with heirs."

Aware of his glance on her mouth, she provocatively moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Bah! Because it is what you want with your Sabrina, you think I should want it, too! What I want at the moment is Brett Dangermond in my bed. Next week or next month it will be something else, but for now..." She smiled at him, her hands caressing his. "You shall have your Sabrina, and all the lands and riches that come with her, and because I have been accommodating in the matter of Brett Dangermond, you will share your new wealth with me, si?"

When Carlos remained silent, his gaze still on her mouth, she touched his lips softly with one finger. Sensuously she outlined the shape of his mouth. "You will have everything you want, amigo," she breathed huskily. "Everything... including me."

"Si," he muttered thickly, rising to his feet. "Everything, including you."

Roughly he pulled her into his arms, and he kissed her upturned mouth hungrily. He glanced around the deserted patio and demanded, "Where? Your room? Or the forest?"

"The forest," she replied against his throat, her hands touching him intimately.

His manhood nearly bursting from his tight calzoneras, Carlos kissed her once more. Lifting his lips, he growled, "When you lay with the gringo, you will remember this afternoon." And then, dragging a very willing Constanza behind him, they disappeared into the thick, concealing forest.

* * *

Sabrina was in the forest, too, that afternoon, but unlike Carlos and Constanza she was alone. Or had thought she was...

Having declined to accompany Brett and her father into Nacogdoches, she had saddled Sirocco and gone for a ride, allowing the palomino mare to wander where she would. Sabrina had grown up in the forest surrounding the Rancho del Torres, and it had never held any fears for her. She was as familiar with it as she was the grounds of the hacienda, but today she was aware of how easily the tangled maze of trees and verdant undergrowth could conceal an enemy. Bonita's harping about bandits, as well as the horrifying news of the sacking of the Rios ranch preyed on her mind, and perhaps that was why she gradually became conscious that she was no longer alone. Someone was following her. Not someone well versed in the forest either, she thought, as a fallen branch cracked loudly behind her.

More curious than alarmed, she continued on her ride, imperceptibly changing her direction so that she was now heading back toward the hacienda. Passing under a tall pine tree, she slowed Sirocco long enough to allow herself time to swing up into a low, overhanging tree limb and then softly commanded the horse to move on. Obediently the mare did so, leaving Sabrina to wait for her follower.

She didn't have long to wait. Only minutes after Sirocco had ambled on, a horse and rider came into view. Sabrina recognized neither the animal nor the man upon its back, and with thoughts of the murdered Rios family in her mind, she reached down and slid her knife from the sheath in her boot. A feral gleam in the amber-gold eyes, the glorious golden-red hair a fiery halo about her head, she dropped down on the hapless rider below.

There was a startled croak from her victim as she landed behind him on the horse, her arm quickly and efficiently passing around the man's neck, the knife blade pressing into the rider's throat. In a voice that was surprisingly fierce, considering how fast her heart was beating, Sabrina demanded, "Your name or your life!"

Everything had gone according to her hasty plan until now, but she hadn't anticipated the violent reaction of her victim. A sinewy hand suddenly gripped the wrist that held the knife, even as the well aimed elbow of the man's other arm jabbed powerfully into her solar plexus. Winded from the unexpected blow, Sabrina's arm holding the knife slackened, and he took quick advantage, increasing his hold and forcing her hand down and away from his throat.

Realizing what was happening, Sabrina fought back, and they struggled violently to gain control of the knife. While they fought their grim, silent battle, the horse fidgeted nervously, finally rearing up and throwing both combatants to the ground. They hit hard, but rolling and twisting, they continued the fight until Sabrina, her breath coming in deep, painful gulps, finally gained the upper hand. Sitting on his chest, her knees digging into his arms, pinning them uselessly to the ground, she finally saw her opponent's face.

"Señor Ollie!" she exlaimed, the savage expression fading from her face. The knife, which she had been in the process of placing against his unprotected throat, lay limply in her hand. Her bewilderment obvious, she asked, "Why were you following me?"

His face a mixture of bafflement, embarrassment, and chagrin, Ollie ignored her question and burst out with a string of profanity of such hair-curling virulence, such boundless variety and innovation, that Sabrina blinked.

"I beg your pardon!" she said, understanding not even one word in fifty of what he uttered. "Speak English!"

"I am speakin' bloody H'glish!" Ollie returned, aggrieved.

They eyed each other, and then, with a frustrated growl, Sabrina stood. Impatiently she gestured for Ollie to rise.

Ollie did so, and dusting off the debris that clung to his clothes, he muttered disgustedly, "If this don't beat the Dutch! Bested by a dimber mort! And me a flash cove up to every rig and row that's ever been run!"

Torn between curiosity about his peculiar way of speech and amusement, Sabrina suddenly found the situation preposterous. A gurgle of laughter escaped her, and Ollie glanced at her with dislike.

"Laughin' at me!" he said, outraged. His brown eyes sparkling angrily, he shook a finger at Sabrina. "It ain't polite to crow over a man's misfortune! I would have thought even in a 'eathenish place like this, you'd 'ave been taught better. Seems I was wrong!"

Laughing, Sabrina sought to soothe his ruffled sensibilities. "No, no, Señor Ollie. I was not laughing at you—it is this ridiculous situation." She sent him a smile, inviting him to share her laughter, and Ollie stared at her open-mouthed, entranced.

She was a lovely thing, he thought, his earlier distrust and animosity fading away. Aware of the enormity of what he had said and done, he hung his head and blushed like a girl. Now he was in for it! When the guvnor heard about this escapade, he'd be lucky if he wasn't dismissed on the spot. Miserably he said, "It's me, miss, that should be explaining things to you."

Sabrina's face softened. He was so very unhappy and uncomfortable that she could not find it in her heart to be very stern. "Very well then, if you will not join me in laughter, tell me why you were following me," she said softly.

Ollie swallowed painfully. He couldn't very well admit that the guvnor's uncustomary mood last night had anything to do with his actions. How could he say, "You had the guvnor fair blue-deviled, and as I always watches out for the guvnor, I wanted to know what kind of woman could do that to him."

When Ollie remained silent, Sabrina asked quietly, "Was it because of the bandits? Did Señor Brett ask you to follow me?"

Ollie almost seized on the excuse, but figuring his lie would be found out, he shook his head. Improvising, he said, "I didn't mean to follow you. It was just that I was at the stables when you left, and as I 'aven't seen much of the countryside, I thought I'd just follow along behind you. That way I wouldn't get lost." Embellishing his tale, he looked suitably downtrodden and explained mournfully, "I shouldn't be saying this to you, miss, but the guvnor's no easy taskmaster. This is the first day I've 'ad any time to myself. I didn't mean any 'arm, miss." Putting his best pleading expression on his face, he begged pitifully, "You won't tell the guvnor, will you, miss?" He shuddered theatrically. "He'll fair beat me to death if he finds out about this, I can tell you!"

Hoodwinked by Ollie's manner and pathetic tale, Sabrina was allied on his side. Why, Brett must be an ogre to his servants! she thought. Poor Señor Ollie, to be so frightened of his master. Her eyes kindling, she said grimly, "You have nothing to worry about. I shall say nothing. And Señor Ollie, if your master dares to lay a hand on you while you are at the Rancho del Torres, you let me know. We do not mistreat our servants here!" She glanced across at Ollie and smiled reassuringly. Then, looking at the sun, she said briskly, "We had best find our horses and head back to the hacienda if we wish to arrive there ahead of your master and my father."

Relieved and yet feeling guilty about the easy way she had swallowed his story, Ollie agreed with alacrity. A cheeky grin on his face, he started to step out smartly when he heard a buzz near his foot, and Sabrina commanded, "Do not move! Stay like a stone, señor, if you value your life!"

Ollie froze, and looking down at his toes, he saw, curled not a foot away from him, the sinister shape of a serpent. But no serpent like he had ever seen before. This creature had a tail that vibrated so swiftly that the eye could not follow the movement, and the ugly triangular head was poised above the coiled, thick body. Ollie barely had time enough to realize that he might be in mortal danger when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of steel. The next thing he knew, the snake was writhing on the forest floor, its head staked to the ground by Sabrina's knife.

His face held a green tinge, and he jumped back. "Bloody eyes! What in the 'ell is that?"

Placing her booted heel firmly behind the head, Sabrina removed her knife and efficiently cut off the snake's head. Ignoring the twisting carcass, she dug a hole and deposited the head. "That, Señor Ollie, was a rattlesnake. They are venomous and quite, quite deadly," she said sincerely. "Our land is beautiful, but it is also dangerous. You must take care within our forests or we may bury you here."

Shaken, Ollie said piously, "God love you, miss! You saved my life! If ever Ollie Fram can do you a favor, I'll do it."

Opinions completely revised about one another, in increasing rapport, they caught their horses and rode back to the hacienda.

* * *

Later that day, as he was laying out Brett's apparel for the evening, Ollie glanced across at his master, who had just finished shaving, and said carelessly, "Miss Sabrina saved my life today, guvnor."

Wiping his face with a white towel, Brett looked at frowning. "What do you mean, she saved your life?"

Looking innocent, Ollie answered, "Well, guvnor, I was down at the stables, intending to take a little ride about, when I notices Miss Sabrina riding off alone. And I recalls the fuss that was made this morning about her maybe being captured by bandits, and I says to myself, 'Ollie, you best ride along with her. It's what the guvnor would want.' And so I did."

Brett's eyebrow rose skeptically. "And she allowed you to?"

Ollie nodded vigorously. "Indeed she did, guvnor! She was right 'appy to 'ave Ollie Fram nearby, I can tell you that!"

"Oh? And why was that?" Brett asked dryly.

Ollie appeared nonplussed, but then, warming to his tale, he said, "Why, because of the bandits, guvnor! We rode quite some distance, and as you know, I'm no great 'orseman, so after a bit, I suggests that we walk and give me shanks a rest. Miss Sabrina, kind lady that she is, agreed, and guvnor, that's when she saved my life!" Ollie shot a look to see how Brett was taking his story so far, and if not reassured by amusement on Brett's face at least not worried by it, he continued, "Right by my feet was the most awful, deadly serpent in the world! A rattlesnake! And before I could even speak a word, quick as a wink, Miss Sabrina had nailed that creature of the devil right to the ground! Six inches of cold iron she put through its 'ead. Just like that!" And he snapped his fingers. His eyes gleaming with admiration, Ollie raved, "Guvnor, she's a diamond of the first water! Why, she looked like a tiger when she killed that snake, them eyes of 'ers all glittery-gold like and that red hair like fire around her head, and yet she was the kindest, the sweetest lady I ever met. I take back everything I said about 'er last night—she's a prime article!"

Not as easily duped by Ollie as Sabrina was, Brett looked at his manservant for a long, unnerving moment. "I see," he finally said, and Ollie breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a companionable silence between them as Brett dressed, Ollie handing him first one piece of clothing and then another. Attired in black satin breeches, a crisp white linen shirt fitted snugly across his broad shoulders, Brett fastened the buttons of a yellow waistcoat gaily embroidered with black. "You won't have to wait up for me this evening, Ollie," he said. I will be riding into Nacogdoches later and have no idea when I shall return." He smiled cynically. "I suspect I shall be gone all night, if I have read a certain situation aright."

Ollie knew what that meant—the guvnor had found a new mistress. But for once, that fact disturbed him. Somewhere between the time Sabrina had killed the snake and now, Ollie had come to the happy conclusion that Miss Sabrina was the perfect mate for his master. And he wasn't best pleased that the guvnor was now chasing after some common light skirt when he should be paying suit to Miss Sabrina. "A Covent Garden Nun," he sniffed, handing Brett an ivory-backed brush.

"Hardly a prostitute, Ollie," Brett chided as he brushed his thick black hair. "Although she probably has all the instincts of one." Laying down the brush, he murmured, "But who knows? I might be wrong—she might even be perfectly respectable."

Brett wasn't wrong. Having made his excuses to Alejandro, he rode into Nacogdoches, arriving at his destination just as dusk was falling. Tying his horse discreetly at the rear of Constanza's small house, he made his way across the patio and knocked softly on the wooden door.

It opened instantly, almost as if he had been expected. He obviously was, he thought sardonically, his gaze sliding over Constanza's scantily clad body. She was wearing some sort of gauzy silk wrapper that revealed almost as much of her ripe body as it concealed, and his lips widened in a slow, appreciative grin.

Constanza smiled sleepily at him, touching his cheek lightly, her ebony eyes languorous and seductive. "So you did come to me, querido. I had hoped you would."

There was no need of conversation between them, Brett taking his cue from Constanza and pulling her into his arms, his hard mouth claiming hers in a devastating kiss that sent her mind reeling. It was only later, much later when he lay awake satiated and exhausted beside Constanza's naked body, that he was conscious of a queer sense of guilt and disgust. Infuriatingly, Sabrina's slender form rose up to mock him, to fill him with such a hungry desire that it was as if the hours just past of violent lovemaking with Constanza had never been. Smothering a virulent curse, he turned to Constanza, jerking her against him, and proceeded to make wild, almost savage love to her. But it did little good. No matter how many times he lost himself in Constanza's warm, welcoming flesh, Sabrina's lovely face condemned him, made him writhe with an unquenchable longing to have her in his arms, to have her mouth against his, to have her body beneath his.