The Bastard (7 page)

Rosa
sighed and shook her head dolefully.

On the evening before the wedding, Tia
Anuncion
arrived on horseback, escorted by one outrider, an old man so feeble he all but fell off his horse when dismounting. Diarmid watched while a
man-servant
helped him shamble away. Don Francisco greeted his brother's widow with cool courtesy.

"My daughter insisted you be present at her wedding," the don added as he ushered her into the casa.

Anuncion
, a plump older woman with lively eyes and gray curls escaping from under her black bonnet, smiled wryly. "I knew it was none of your doing," she said. "Nevertheless, I'm grateful for the invitation."

If she
hadn't
been the mother of a man he saw as a possible contender for the property, Diarmid thought he might come to like this outspoken woman.

After dinner,
Anuncion
chose to sit in the courtyard for
awhile
before retiring. Out of duty,
Concepcion
kept her company and Diarmid joined them.

My fiancée tells me your son is a sailor," he said to
Anuncion
.

"He was, yes." Her gaze was shrewd and Diarmid had the notion she knew exactly why he was interested.

"He's chosen another line of work?" Diarmid asked when she volunteered no more.

"He's been dead these past four years."

"I'm sorry, I hadn't realized--"

She waved away his apology. "You couldn't be expected to know. Yes,
he's
dead and his wife, too. My grandson is my sole consolation."

So
there was still a male Gabaldon. Don Francisco had assured him the brother's descendants had no claim on the rancho but the existence of
Anuncion's
grandson made Diarmid uneasy and
Anuncion's
wise dark eyes told him she was well aware of his thoughts. If they were ever at odds, he decided,
she'd
be a formidable opponent.

"Tell me, my dear,"
Anuncion
asked
Concepcion
, "
where did you ever find such a handsome young man?"

"He was sent by the Blessed Virgin,"
Concepcion
said quietly, taking both of her listeners aback.

She
can't
be serious, Diarmid told himself, she only means to silence
Anuncion
.

"I've prayed to Mother Mary for years,"
Concepcion
went on
, "
and at last she granted my dearest wish." She turned to Diarmid and smiled. On a prettier, younger
woman
the smile would have been radiant. As it was, even
Concepcion
's thin and sallow face
momentarily
glowed.

Diarmid, as embarrassed as he
was moved
, clasped her hand for an instant before rising and excusing himself. He fled into the night, striding away from the hacienda to the small grove of Mexican fruit trees near the house that Don Francisco had told him were avocados.

"Years ago my wife planted the pits from the fruit we ate," the don had said, "and every pit sprouted
."
Diarmid had never seen an avocado, much less eaten one.

Anuncion's
grandson has no rights, he told himself firmly as he plucked one of the long green leaves and tore it into strips.
I'll
plant my own seeds, grow my own fruit trees. Just as
my
seed will grow in
Concepcion
to give me this land.
My
land.

The next afternoon found Diarmid pacing restlessly up and down the verandas. Why he should be so nervous on his wedding day, he
didn't
know. When Manuelo rode in just before the ceremony was to begin, Diarmid was so relieved to see his friend he ran into the yard and all but dragged him off the black stallion, hugging him and clapping him on the back.

"I thought you wouldn't make it in time," he cried. "I thought I'd have to go through this alone."

"You shouldn't have worried,"
Manuelo
told him, "I said I'd be here and I keep my word."

“I haven't changed my mind, it's not that." Diarmid shook his head. "But suddenly--" he paused, uncertain of exactly what he did feel. Myron was a part of it. Though he
hadn't
killed him, he couldn't help thinking Myron had died so he could marry
Concepcion
. Not that
he'd
ever tell Manuelo or anyone else what happened.

"All men about to marry have doubts." Manuelo, an arm about his shoulders, led Diarmid toward the casa entrance. "Perhaps we're not truly meant to be shackled to just one woman and we sense it at the last moment of freedom."

Diarmid glanced at Manuelo in surprise. Ordinarily his friend was the least philosophical of men.

Manuelo grinned. "That's what my father told
Tio
Tomas on the day my uncle wed. Never have
I
seen a man so unnerved. Before the
ceremony
we half-expected Tomas to run for his horse and gallop away, never to return. Yet he stayed and he and my aunt have been happy together for many years--so take heart."

He
didn't
really expect to be happy with
Concepcion
, Diarmid thought, but Manuelo's words calmed him nonetheless. He had no reason to be uneasy when,
as a result
of this marriage, he'd fulfill his greatest desire.

Fortified by this realization and by Manuelo's presence, Diarmid managed the ceremony with aplomb and, with the aid of the wine, smiled his way through the celebration afterwards. Though he
wasn't
drunk when he and Concepcion left the others, he wasn't entirely sober, either.

They walked to the unused bedroom they were to share, one that had been her mother's and
father's
. For
days
he'd been aware of servants sweeping and scrubbing and polishing. The large room smelled of beeswax and lemons, as well as of the white roses in a cut glass vase on the chest of drawers.

"You were the one who put the rose in my room the first night I came," he said to his new wife.

"Yes.
To welcome you.
I hoped you would never leave."

How was he supposed to reply? Uncomfortable, he glanced about the bedroom. The walls were painted white, as they were all through the
casa,
the many-paned windows were small and deep-set into the adobe. The massive mahogany wardrobe and the matching chest of drawers now held his clothes. Two fat white candles burned within glass chimney holders on a table between the windows. A wooden and silver crucifix hung over the bed with its intricately carved mahogany headboard and footboard.

No
doubt
Concepcion
had been conceived in that very bed. With luck, his own son
would be conceived
there as well.
Tonight.

He looked at the clothes he had on, finely made
Californio
wear--black trousers, vest and embroidered jacket with a ruffled white shirt--the bride's gift to him. Because he had nothing else,
he'd
given her his mother's small gold heart-shaped locket, bearing his mother's initials on the front.
Apparently
the gift pleased
Concepcion
for she’d immediately placed it on the gold chain that held her own mother's locket, also gold, but oval and larger with three small but brilliant rubies set into the cover.

Concepcion
had disappeared into the small curtained chamber off the room, apparently too modest to undress in front of her new husband. Diarmid pulled out the leather-bottomed chair by the table and sat down to remove his boots.
He'd
stripped to his trousers by the time she reappeared, garbed in a sheer white gown that floated behind her as she hurried toward the bed, her eyes averted from him.

Again
she reminded him of a white moth, a gauzy-winged one, the kind that sometimes deserted the night, lured into a
lamplit
room, only to die in the flame of a candle. The image recalled his fire dreams and he shook his head. The
wine's
mazing
you, lad, he told himself.

Pulling off the rest of his clothes, Diarmid, naked, walked to the table and snuffed the candles, then climbed into the high, soft bed and reached for his wife.

Concepcion
tried to still her trembling as Diarmid's warm hands pulled open her nightgown and his fingers touched her small breasts. She
wasn't
afraid, she wanted his caresses but fear of the unknown plagued her. She wished now
she'd
tasted more of the wine but she'd been too caught up in half-fearful anticipation to drink more than a sip.

He slid off her gown entirely,
then
ran his hands along her body, making her tingle all over. His lips lay hot and moist against her throat, sending their warmth deep within her. She felt his naked body press against hers, felt the hairiness of his chest and the strange hardness lower down and her breath caught in her throat.

"I'll try not to hurt you," he murmured.

The way he touched her was glorious, she hoped
he'd
never stop. If a bit of pain came with such new and wondrous sensations, she
didn't
care. Tiny moans of pleasure escaped her; she
couldn't
stop them.

When he spread her legs and eased himself over her, she trembled again--in eagerness this time. A gentle probing began, his hardness seeking entrance and she opened herself to him, wanting, wanting...

Suddenly he pushed himself inside her and she gasped with the shock. He groaned, thrusting in and out. At
first
it did hurt but as he moved faster and faster warmth spread within her, the pain disappeared and, without her willing it, her hips began to wriggle. Panting cries escaped her as she clung to him.

He grunted, his body jerked in a spasm and, a moment later, he rolled away, turning his back to her. For long
minutes
Concepcion
didn't move as she stared into the darkness,
savoring
the experience.

When his deep and steady breathing told her he slept, she sat up and pulled the bedcovers over them both. She
didn't
bother to find her nightgown--if he preferred her naked, that's the way she'd stay.

I hope he gave me a baby, she thought, but she
didn't
dwell on it, she was too caught up in the wonder of how men and women mated. Not like animals as
she'd
feared, not at all, she
marveled
, still feeling the tingling inside her.

She curled onto her side, facing him, waiting for him to wake so they could begin all over again.

She had what she
wanted,
she was the wife of Diarmid Burwash, the most wonderful man in the world, a man she'd do anything for. Marriage to him had fulfilled her greatest desire.

No one will ever part us, she vowed.

Chapter Four

Diarmid, with no real desire for his wife, did his best to transmute his passion for the land to the bedroom, knowing that, without a child, the land would never be his. He
hadn't
had a woman since Miriam, so for the first few weeks of the marriage
Concepcion
's eagerness in bed, though it took him aback at first, didn't dismay him. He was anxious for her to conceive as soon as possible.

One morning in June, after
they'd
been married for two months,
Concepcion
, blushing and stammering, admitted she was
encinte
. Diarmid hugged her in delight, threw on his clothes, rushed out of the casa, and, on Bruce, galloped over the land that was now to become his. When he felt the buckskin balk, he realized he'd been riding toward the sea--ever since the day Myron had been killed, Bruce tried his best to avoid the cove.

Diarmid swung him north. He wanted
no unpleasant
reminder today, either, for it was a day to celebrate.