Tears of Gold (18 page)

“Thank you, Andres. Now I must fetch a bonnet if we’re to be out in the sun all day,” Mara said, adding, “or I shall be quite out of fashion with a freckled face.”

Don Andres shook his head. “I do not think that you could ever be that, Amaya.” Then he paused uncertainly, as he searched for the right words. “I think soon we must come to a decision, Amaya. You must think about whether or not you wish to stay in California.”

He held up his hand as Mara would have spoken. “Please, you need not say anything. I know you must think of this carefully. Whatever you decide upon…well, I will agree to.”

Mara stared at this quiet, California ranchero in perplexity. Despite herself, she rather liked him. Never had she met anyone quite so unselfish before. In the world she was accustomed to, a person thought of himself first and sometimes exclusively. But these Californians were a strange race. They opened their hearts and their homes to strangers, unsuspiciously sharing their possessions, their sole purpose to be good hosts. And what were they likely to reap in return? Already they were finding out that not all people were as honest as they were.

How easy it was for Brendan and her to take advantage of the Californians’ hospitality. How easy it would be for her to go on pretending to be Amaya Vaughan, marry a rich ranchero who would provide a stable home for Paddy, and spend the rest of her days in this peaceful valley. Mara sighed. What was the use in dreaming, for some instinct warned her that this was not meant to be her destiny.

“What is it that concerns you, Amaya?” Don Andres asked. “You seem saddened.”

Mara’s lips twisted into an amused smile. “Saddened? No, Don Andres, I was merely indulging in a foolish daydream, that is all.”

“Dreams are never foolish, Amaya,” Don Andres disagreed with an indulgent smile.

Mara shrugged as she walked slowly to the door. Glancing back at the Californian she said cynically, “Dreams are a luxury, Andres. They don’t put food in your belly or shoes on your feet, and they often lead you to false hopes.”

“You are quite a cynic and rather world-weary for one so young,” Nicholas Chantale remarked in a lazy voice from the doorway.

Mara eyed the Frenchman curiously, a slightly defiant tilt to her chin. “And are you a dreamer, Monsieur Chantale? I would have thought not. You strike me as one who had lost all of the illusions of youth.”

Nicholas Chantale straightened his lean body from against the doorjamb and unflinchingly returned Mara’s taunting look.

“Ah, now you surprise me, Miss Vaughan. For I would have thought a sheltered, English miss like yourself would have had her every wish granted,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me that you are not like the princess in the fairy tale?”

Mara’s eyes narrowed in anger kept barely in check, for she was not used to being baited in this insolent manner. “We are not always as we would seem,
m’sieu
,” Mara told him coldly. Then, giving Andres a warm smile, she turned back to the tall Frenchman and waited haughtily for him to step aside.

“Are you advising me not to judge you by your appearance, Miss Vaughan?” Nicholas questioned with a sardonic gleam in his green eyes. He obliged her and cleared the doorway.

“I do not expect, or desire, any judgment from you, monsieur,” Mara replied in a tone of voice that indicated his opinion was unworthy of consideration and, indeed, of very little consequence as far as she was concerned.

With a patronizingly slight nod of her sleek, chignoned head, Mara left the room, a gleam of satisfaction brightening her eyes as she walked along the gallery and remembered the look of black anger that had flared for an instant in the Frenchman’s eyes. And, Mara mused, hadn’t there been a shadow of unwilling admiration in those damnably beautiful green eyes?

“You seem mighty pleased with yourself, m’dear,” Brendan’s drawling voice interrupted Mara’s reflections.

“Brendan,” Mara said quickly, ignoring his comment as she guided him into his room, “I think we’ve landed ourselves in a pit of vipers.”

“Rattlers,” Brendan corrected her as he inattentively straightened the sleeve of his coat where Mara’s fingers had wrinkled the material.

“What?” Mara spoke in exasperation as she watched him smooth his scarf. “Do stop fidgeting, Brendan.”

Brendan looked up at her with a comical expression of peevishness on his handsome face. “Well, really, did you have to manhandle me so, jerking me into me own room, wrinkling me coat? I’ll have you know I’ve not many in decent shape to be wearing, so do be more careful in future,” he told her. Then with a teasing smile he enlightened Mara. “Rattlesnakes would be more likely out here, mavournin. Lying in wait up in the rocks for the unsuspecting, the vicious little devils, although they do give you a warning before they’re ready to strike and pump you full of venom.” Brendan grinned, enjoying his frightening description and the look of distaste on Mara’s face. “Obliging of them, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, ’tis more than most of the people around here are doing,” Mara complained.

Brendan eyed her more seriously. “And just what have you been up to while me back was turned?” Brendan demanded suspiciously. “Been tanglin’ with the Frenchman again, have you?”

Mara returned his glare coolly as she answered mysteriously. “Among other things, Brendan, me love. However, what I was speaking of was finding Jeremiah Davies sneaking around Don Andres’s study, and up to little good. And finding out that our benefactor, Don Luís, neglected to tell us that Doña Amaya would be inheriting a jewel-encrusted cross of solid gold, worth a lifetime’s wages,” Mara told him softly, relishing the look of incredulity on Brendan’s face.

“Damn! A gold cross did you say, mavournin?”

Mara smiled slightly. “It would seem Don Luís is not without his little secrets.”

“Well now, suppose you tell Brendan all about this cross of yours,” Brendan invited, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed.

“It seems as though Don Luís is a bit of a gambler, and not a very lucky one, for many of the family treasures have slipped through his fingers, so Amaya’s father entrusted what heirlooms were left to the Villareales. I was shown this priceless heirloom just a few minutes ago, as well as receiving a rather halfhearted proposal of marriage should I decide upon staying at the Rancho Villareale,” Mara told Brendan matter-of-factly.

“Well, things are beginning to pick up around here. Where’s the cross? I’d like a look at it,” Brendan demanded with a gleam of anticipation in his eye.

“Sorry, love, but Don Andres has it safely locked up,” Mara replied innocently, as if it were all beyond her control.

“The divil you say,” Brendan grumbled, then glanced suspiciously up at Mara as she remained silent. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that state of affairs, did you, Mara, me love?” Brendan asked softly, seeing the answer to his question in the slight twitching of her lips. “Ye’re a distrustful wench to be thinkin’ ill of your own flesh and blood,” he ejaculated, a look of anguish transforming his face into a mask of pathos.

“I was merely trying to protect you from yourself, Brendan. Too much temptation is bad for a person,” Mara said, remaining unimpressed with his elegant display of dramatics, having seen him use the same expression and gestures while performing on stage. “We might be liars, but so far we’ve not sunk so low as to start stealing crosses.”

Brendan flinched at the bluntness of her words. “Please, mavournin, must you be putting it quite so crudely? I will admit that we are not above embroidering a bit on the truth, that in the past we might even have been guilty of certain falsehoods,” Brendan admitted easily, “but—”

“You lie like a trooper, Brendan, me love,” Mara contradicted.

“But,” Brendan continued, ignoring her interruption, “
we’d
be fools not to take advantage of the fools who are ripe for the picking, and since playin’ a double game comes easy for us, why not make use of our skills?” Brendan stated without a twinge of conscience. “However,” he added as an afterthought, “I’m no Jonathan Wild yet, and do not consider myself to be a thief. I do have certain standards, m’dear.”

“Well, just keep remembering that, because our fine Californian has his eye on that cross. He must still have some family pride left that he wants it back in his possession, and he’ll even lie to get it. He asked me about it, calling it something of little importance.”

“To be sure, he must think us the fools,” Brendan said sourly. “I don’t know what the old fox’s game is, but I’m damned tired of playin’ it.”

“He’ll make his move soon, Brendan, and I for one will be glad to leave here,” Mara predicted as she echoed his sentiments.

***

Mara frowned as a loud chorus of cheers echoed around the corral. From her position on the raised platform, built earlier that morning for the afternoon’s entertainment, Mara could see the whole area below and the two wild animals insanely fighting in a blood lust. The enraged bellows of the snorting bull and the screams of the giant grizzly bear were almost deafening as they fought each other. The heavy chain that was attached to one leg of each bound them together, not allowing either to get away from his enemy. Mara glanced away from the arena in distaste. The bull, with lowered neck and eyes burning like glowing coals, snorted and pawed the earth before him. The bear sat back on his haunches, his vicious, curved claws flashing through the air. His small eyes glared malevolently at his antagonist. On an ear-shattering bellow he lunged at the bull, trying to leap onto his vulnerable, unprotected neck, but the bull, anticipating the grizzly’s move, raised his thick neck and speared the bear through the shoulder with his sharp horns. The grizzly’s roar of rage and pain spurred him to lash out in retribution at the unfortunate bull, his deadly claws ripping the bull’s lolling tongue in two.

Mara felt sick, not only by the cruel baiting of the animals, but by the expressions of anticipation and enjoyment on the Californians’ faces. Doña Feliciana’s eyes glowed in excitement, and even Doña Ysidora cheered as heartily as Don Andres as she watched the mauling in the arena. Shaking her head at Brendan, her face pale, Mara signaled that she was leaving and, excusing herself, made her way from the arena, her handkerchief held to her lips.

She closed her eyes for a second, blotting out the bright glare of the sun, and felt her headache lessen somewhat. She stumbled slightly, but before she could fall, a strong hand closed about her elbow. Mara glanced up, a word of thanks on her lips, only to have them trail away as she stared up into the watchful green eyes of the Creole.

“You do not care for blood sports?” he asked casually, his hard fingers still wrapped around her elbow.

“I find very little sport in that,” Mara replied as she pulled her arm free from his grasp.

“You surprise me.”

Mara stared at him in puzzlement. “Why?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Perhaps I was mistaken, but I sensed a certain strength of mind, a determination and self-reliance,” he explained. Then he added with a disarming smile. “And what is it the English say? You have bulldog courage?”

Mara’s eyes widened as she sputtered, “B-bulldog courage?”

“I’m sorry. I see I have offended you, mademoiselle. It was not intended. I only meant that you show a certain hardness, a severeness of manner unusual in a woman,” Nicholas apologized, his thick lashes hiding the mocking glint in his eyes.

“You find me hard and unfeminine?” Mara asked, hiding her dismay well. “I have never thought of myself in that light, m’sieu. However, to be strong does not always imply that a person is hard.”

“Please forget what I have just said. I can see I have angered you,” Nicholas smiled.

“Angered me? Not at all,” Mara denied even as the anger stained her cheeks.

“Then prove to me that I have not offended you, mademoiselle, and accept my invitation to accompany me on a short ride,” Nicholas invited her, his wide, boyish smile charming her as it was meant to do.

Mara hesitated only a moment before she accepted. “Thank you. I should like that, Mr. Chantale,” Mara said in the friendliest tone of voice she had yet used with the man.

Yes, she would go riding with him, Mara thought defiantly a few minutes later as she struggled into her riding habit.

“Monsieur Chantale has a few more things to learn about Mara O’Flynn before I’m through with him,” Mara muttered beneath her breath as she adjusted her small straw hat.

“What was that ye said?” Jamie demanded as she tried to straighten up the clothes Mara had flung across the floor. “Here’s your other hat,” Jamie told her, holding up the black beaver hat with the veil. “Why aren’t ye wearin’ it, it looks better than that one.”

“’Tis too hot, Jamie. My head’s fair to bursting now with this heat, and I feel like my skin is cracking open. ’Tis so dry. Doesn’t it ever rain out here?” she demanded in exasperation as she sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up one of her riding boots.

“Help me on with this, will you, Jamie?” Mara said as she pulled the boot over her toes, sliding her foot down inside.

Jamie had picked up the left boot but dropped it to help Mara in her struggle. Wiggling her foot successfully down inside the boot, Mara started to reach down for her other one when she drew back with a scream. Two exploring claws appeared out of the mouth of her boot as the rest of the body of the scorpion crawled from concealment. Mara jerked her feet up on the bed as she stared in horrified fixation at the tiny pincers waving in the air and the curved, poisonous tail poised dangerously behind.

“Oh, my God,” Mara whispered shakily as the many-legged creature moved slowly across the floor. “What the devil is that thing?”

“Whatever ’tis, it isn’t goin’ to be with us for long,” Jamie promised with a threatening glint in her gray eyes. Swiftly she picked up the empty bowl on the table and allowed the scorpion to crawl inside. Then, without wasting any time, she scurried over to the window and tossed the wicked-looking creature out the window between the bars guarding it against larger trespassers.

“That horrid thing nearly scared the life out of me,” Mara said breathlessly. “And how did the creature get into my boot?”