Bride of Thunder (29 page)

Since everyone had been up late the night before, Christmas day was quiet. Mercy still intended to give her gifts on Christmas rather than on the Day of the Three Kings, so she put the plump blue coati on the still-sleeping Jolie's pillow. Then she came up softly behind Chepa to wrap her in the soft shawl and said to her, “
Feliz Navidad!
” And Mayel exclaimed over the parcel of bright ribbons and several necklaces.

Salvador admired his new shirt, but he was utterly enraptured with the handmade book of proverbs and fables. That left only Zane. The sweet, spicy smell of fresh-baked sweet bread and hot chocolate announced breakfast, so Mercy took the carefully decorated bookmarks along to the dining room and put them at Zane's place as Jolie ran up to her frantically.

“The coati! It's so soft and cuddly and just beautiful! Thank you, Doña Mercy! Salvador and I have something for you, but we'll give it to you on the Day of the Three Kings.”

“I don't know if I can stand the suspense that long,” Mercy said and laughed.

Zane came in, a bit heavy-eyed, but apparently with no memories of last night. He smiled with surprise and appreciation as he looked through the bookmarks. “The tree of the center,” he said and nodded. “Handsomely done, Doña Mercy. My library will take on elegance once I'm not marking places with tamale husks, bits of sisal, wood slivers, and scraps of paper. Thank you very much.”

“You're welcome. And thank you for the book of cures. But are you sure you want to give it away? It must be very rare.”

“The only one of its kind,” Zane confirmed. “A doctor friend of my father's translated it into English for him and got an artist to copy the herb pictures from one of the few copies of the old Aztec manuscript. I'm sure no one else would get as much pleasure from it as you will.”

“There's nothing I'd rather have,” Mercy admitted, not sure that she should allow herself to be persuaded.

“Not even diamonds?” Zane teased.

Only you … but how can I say that?
“It's the most wonderful present I've ever had,” she said honestly, and they sat down to breakfast, beamed over by Chepa, in her luxurious shawl.

It was a peacefully happy day. That afternoon, Zane suggested that he take Mercy and Jolie riding, and they got home just in time to freshen and change before a dinner of
cochinita pibil,
tamales, yams, seasoned rice, pumpkin seed cakes, and caramel pudding.

A fire crackled in the hearth. It wasn't needed for warmth, but it cast a cheerful glow that made them linger at the table long after the dishes were cleared away, and even Jolie had all the hot chocolate she could drink.

“I know I'm too big to sit on your lap, Papa,” she muttered sleepily. “But can I, for a little while?”

“Oh, I think we can manage that,” Zane said and laughed. “But from the way your eyelids droop, I think I'd better carry you to your room!”

She didn't argue but caught Mercy's hand. “Will you come tell my coati good night? His name is Carlos.”

“Why did you decide to call him that?” asked Mercy as they crossed the courtyard to Jolie's room.

Jolie yawned against her father's shoulder. “That's what I called my pretend-brother before I knew Salvador.”

Zane was commanded to admire the blue challis animal. When he'd done so to Jolie's satisfaction, he went to his office and Mercy slipped into her own room.

It had been the happiest day she'd spent in Yucatán, the happiest in years. The long ride that day with Zane and Jolie and the shared evening meal had made them seem almost like family. Mercy sighed, beginning to undress. Tonight, however, she and Zane wouldn't share the big matrimonial bed—any bed at all.

Putting on her nightgown, she was picking up her hairbrush when she noticed a small packet beside it on the chest. How had that got there? A surprise from Zane or Jolie?

She opened the paper, staring at the gleaming jade that was smooth and cold in her palm. A quetzal. A slip of paper had fallen to the floor. With strange, fated knowledge, she bent down for it and held it in fingers that trembled.

“
Sometime, someplace
.”

That was all. It wasn't signed. No need for it to be. Eric Kensington must have paid someone to put the gift in her room. The quetzal seemed suddenly to burn her hand. Opening the chest, Mercy dropped the exquisitely carved jade in a corner and covered it up.

She held the brief note over the lamp till it caught on fire and burned, but as she flicked away the burned flakes she seemed to hear the big Englishman laughing sardonically.

Nonsense! He was on his way to Belize. Zane had made it plain that he wasn't a welcome guest. Arranging for this quetzal to be left in her room was a final touch of bravado, a swagger before accepting the inevitable.

Mercy put the
Badianus
copy by her pillow and kept touching it for reassurance, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.

13

On the Day of the Three Kings, Mercy awoke to find a row of pottery jars on the table by her bed, each painted with a different herb. When she peeked inside, each jar held leaves, bark, or seeds. Here was the start of a Mayan apothecary, and there was also a small horn flask, which she unstopped, puzzling at what appeared to be plain water.

“That's virgin water,” called Jolie from the window ledge. “Salvador and I climbed way back in the cave above the jaguar and got it where the stalactites drip. Holy water, Mercy, the kind the old ones offered to the gods!” She was dancing up and down with impatience. “Come see what the kings left me!”

There was an elegant French doll with a complete wardrobe, a baby doll with a hand-carved crib, a heart-shaped locket, a blue velvet riding cloak lined with dark blue satin, and several books: Hawthorne's
Tanglewood Tales,
Dickens'
A Tale of Two Cities,
and a recent book that Mercy had heard of but never read,
Alice in Wonderland,
by Lewis Carroll. Zane must have specially ordered some of the gifts and combed Mérida for the others, yet it was the homemade blue coati that Jolie hugged even as she crooned over the beautiful dolls.

This day of gifts was mostly for children, but at breakfast Zane thanked Jolie for the initialed handkerchief she'd put in his boot. And Mayel exhibited a bracelet, which Chepa must have left on her window ledge. It was Mayel who'd painted the herbs on Mercy's pottery, and she flushed with pleasure when Mercy brought the jars for Zane to see, while Chepa announced that Mercy must learn where to find all the substances so she could keep her “medicine chest” supplied.

Zane raised an eyebrow at the horn flask of sacred water, but for Jolie's sake he didn't question the propriety of giving a mortal the due of gods.

Epiphany was only ten days past when the village began to hum with preparations for the fiesta of its patroness, Santa Yñez. There was dancing, and some years bulls were brought in for fights, but Zane had been quietly discouraging this custom, and to Mercy's relief there would be no tormenting of bulls during this fiesta.

She wasn't expecting the conclusion of Saturday night's festival. After the young couples had danced to exhaustion, thirteen men entered the clearing. They wore turkey-feather headdresses and each man held a turkey tucked under his left arm by its feet. While musicians in the center played on flutes and drums, the performers circled and danced, and Mercy realized with a rush of nausea that they were wringing the turkeys' necks.

Starting to back away from the spectators, she was stopped by Zane, who stepped out of the shadows. “You eat turkey,” he reminded her.

“I don't know if I ever shall again!”

Zane smiled. “Why, doubtless you'll enjoy some of the broth made from these birds! Come, Doña Mercy! Shouldn't you have the courage to face where your food comes from?”

Thus challenged, she conquered her squeamishness and watched till the dance ended and each man placed his turkey on the ground before him. The leader walked around, stirring each bird. One gave a flutter and there were jeers and shouts from the crowd.

The careless dancer hung his head and the leader beat the turkey against the man's skull till it finally expired. Mercy gritted her teeth, though she couldn't keep from flinching at each dull thud. When the leader tossed the turkey down, the dancers began to pluck the birds, jumping and yelling, while the air was full of feathers. Mercy had seen more than enough. With a defiant glance at Zane, who watched her amusedly, she worked her way out of the shouting throng and hurried to the house.

The main village feast was over. Santa Yñez should be pleased with the expense and labor in her honor, and Victoriano had made offerings of corn gruel to the gods for protecting the village and its cornfields. Life at La, Quinta went back to normal and men who needed new fields for that summer's planting hurried to finish clearing their patches.

Mercy was busy teaching and learning all she could from Chepa about herbs and healing. Often now, when Chepa was busy, Mercy took care of fevers or nosebleeds, diarrhea or intestinal upsets. She rode Castaña nearly every day, usually with Jolie. Vicente was most often their escort. Zane, though polite, was avoiding Mercy.

This was the only blemish on her contentment, but there was no answer, since she was sure that Zane would interpret any overtures on her part as a yielding, an invitation to possess her on his terms.

Then, at the end of January, a messenger came from Colonel Cepeda Peraza, Zane's old commander. He'd slipped out of Mérida a few weeks earlier and was now commander of a revolution against the empire. Would Zane fight with him for Yucatecan independence and bring any armed men he could find?

The messenger, a young mestizo with only a hint of fuzz above his upper lip, went to bed right after dinner. He had to make an early start the next morning. Jolie slipped out of her chair and went to put her arms around her father.

“You won't go, will you, Papa?”

He considered heavily. “Yes,” he said at last, “I think I must.”

“But La Quinta's so far from Mérida!”

“Yet that's where our laws are made and where the present imperial authorities have arrested a number of my Republican friends and sent them to the penal colony on Cozumel.” Zane's lips thinned. “
That
matters.”

Jolie regarded him seriously. “I thought you said you were too old to be a soldier.”

“I'm sure every man who ever was quickly decided he was either too young or too old,” Zane teased. “But if Peraza can fight one more time for Yucatecan liberty, I suppose I have to join him.” Jolie's mouth quivered and a tear slid down her cheek. Zane swept her onto his lap. “It shouldn't be for long, sweetheart. With French troops leaving Mexico, the empire's bound to fall, and shortly. The fighting will center around Campeche and Mérida. You'll be in no danger here.”

“I don't want you to go!” Jolie wailed, clinging to him. Mercy, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, silently echoed that cry. But she knew if a man didn't fight when he believed he should, he lost something of being a man.

Zane's eyes met hers above Jolie's head. “Honey,” he said in the Southern way he must have learned from his father, “I don't want to go one bit! But Doña Mercy will be with you, and so will Chepa, and with luck I might get home before it's time to plant corn.”

He produced a handkerchief, and after Jolie had trumpeted into it, she swallowed hard. “When … when are you going, Papa?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

She wound her arms even tighter around him. Mercy ached not only for this parting, but in remembering how she'd said almost the same things to her father nearly seven years ago.

He'd never returned. But that had been a long war, and he'd lived through many battles before he died at Gettysburg. Zane had been to war before, and he'd be careful. Surely he'd come home. He had to!

But she knew very well, of course, that loved men die as fast as friendless ones, and Zane would be cautious, but he'd do his duty. Murmuring some excuse, she fled from the table, escaping through the back court toward the orchards and the tower.

It was dark but the path was good. She'd come this way instinctively because she wanted to be alone while she fought the waves of desolation that almost overwhelmed her.

The tower loomed dark and lonely. She moved slowly to the door and tried it. The device that raised the bar on the other side lifted. She hesitated on the threshold only a moment before she went in.

If Zane didn't come back, how bitterly she'd regret not having been his! It made a tremendous difference—that he was going away. In his absence, she'd have to be more concerned than ever with Jolie and the affairs of La Quinta. Mercy pressed her hands to her waist and loins, then made a decision.

Tonight she'd go to Zane. She wanted that, craved at least one time with her love. If for him it was lust, well, that was his concern. She wouldn't ask for guarantees or conditions. This would be for now.

When he came back, if he came back, then they could fight the battle of where she belonged. She was as resolved as ever not to be his concubine. She was equally determined to send him away with all the sweetness she could give him of her body, while she would have, whatever else happened, the memory of him.

Heartened, she turned to go, then stared at the dark figure in the doorway with just a thrill of alarm before Zane said, “I love you, Mercy. It's you I love.”

Dawn was approaching when they left the tower. In the upper room, he had seared away with his passion the shame Philip had caused with his sadistic demands. She had never dreamed a man could enter a woman with such sweet, throbbing ferocity and stroke her to ecstasy with his long, supple fingers, alternately sensitive and ruthless, as if he knew what rhythm her needs demanded even before she did. He kissed her in her most secret places and made her feel she was opening like a flower, tremulously exposed to his lips and tongue, flooded with warm honey-wine. And she tried to anticipate his wishes, to make him so happy that he, too, would forget that other faithless loved one.