The Tiger Lily (37 page)

Without
a further word, he had wheeled his horse about and disappeared. For a long time
after the sound of his horse's passage through the forest had ceased, Sabrina
had stood there staring blindly into space.

Looking
back on it now, Sabrina realized that it was then that she had begun to face
reality and had stopped yearning for the illusion that had been her love for
Brett Dangermond. She laid it to rest like a cherished dream that had become a
nightmare, and with a fierce vigor she picked up the scattered threads of her
former life.

She
had relayed Ollie's message to Lupe, and seeing the faint glow in the younger
girl's big dark eyes, seeing the soft flush that lit her cheeks, Sabrina had
been aware of envy. Lupe at least had hope.

But
delivering Ollie's message to Lupe had also brought the girl to Sabrina's
attention, and some months later, when Bonita had broached the subject of
training someone to take over some of her tasks, Sabrina had found herself
casually suggesting Lupe. Bonita had been pleased, and Lupe, a sweet, gentle
girl, had proved to be clever and quick to learn what was expected of her.

As
Sabrina thought of Bonita, her face clouded. Had Bonita known that her time was
limited when she had wanted to begin training someone to one day take her
place? Had she guessed that in less than a year, in late 1801, she would die of
one of the many outbreaks of fever that swept through the area?

Fate,
Sabrina thought with a wry grimace. Fate did such strange things. Had it been
fate in the fall of 1804 that had arranged for Tio Luis to be gored and killed
by one of the bulls he had just purchased from her father?

Sabrina
shuddered remembering that dreadful day. Poor Tia Francisca! Who would have
thought that Tio Luis's death would change her so drastically? Gone was the
domineering, outspoken harridan who had ruled the de la Vega household with an
iron hand. In her place had been left a pitiful, broken woman.

The
de la Vega ranch had greatly shrunk over the years, and upon Luis's death,
Carlos had decided to sell the hacienda itself. His dark eyes shuttered, his
mouth in ,a grim line, he had said to Sabrina, "Why should I keep it? It
means nothing to me—especially since the woman I love will never share it with
me." Sabrina had turned away, depressed that after all this time, he still
seemed to care deeply for her.

Alejandro
had been greatly distressed not only by Luis's death and the tragic change in
his sister but by Carlos's decision to sell his birthplace. There were many
long, not always friendly, discussions between the two men, but eventually
Alejandro had told Sabrina, "Carlos is, perhaps, wiser than I thought. He
does not want to be in debt to me, though I have explained repeatedly that he
is not to worry about it. But as he pointed out, with the sale of the hacienda
and several hundred acres, he can pay me back and begin anew with fresh
capital. I cannot blame him for wanting to be clear of debt and to manage the
remaining lands his own way. It may be that Luis's death will be the making of
him."

Francisca
and Carlos had moved in with Sabrina and her father after the de la Vega
hacienda had been sold. It had seemed at the time to be a logical situation,
but Sabrina had never quite gotten used to sharing a house with her aunt and
cousin. Particularly since Francisca did little to hide her resentment of
Alejandro and Carlos made no secret that he still harbored hopes of one day
winning Sabrina's hand.

It
was strange, Sabrina thought gloomily, how the passage of time since Brett had
departed seemed marked by death. First Bonita, then Tio Luis, and finally, just
over a year ago, in January of 1805, her father. . . .

Choking
back a small sob, Sabrina buried her face in her hands. Would the pain of his
death never leave her? Would she always think of him and feel this sharp ache
to see his beloved face one more time? To tell him that she loved him? That
despite all their differences, he was the best father a girl could ever
possess?

Time
was supposed to lessen the hurt and the pain, but Sabrina, feeling as she did,
doubted it ever would. She still grieved for her father, still felt rage for
him—and against him.

Alejandro's
death had been sudden and violent—he had been riding home one day from
Nacogdoches when, it was presumed, a lone bandit had accosted him. There were
signs in the dust near his body of a struggle, a struggle Alejandro had lost, a
pearl handled stiletto driven through his heart. His valuables were gone,
including the dearly prized turquoise and silver bracelet that Elena had given
him.

Sabrina
had been in a state of shock when Francisca had told her, unable to believe
that her father would never come home again, unable to believe that she would
never feel his comforting arms around her, never hear him call her
''chica
"
in that teasing, affectionate tone of his. And once the shock had worn off, she
had been like a wild woman, possessed with the savage desire to find her
father's killer, to extract the most awful vengeance possible. But though the
del Torreses' vaqueros had scoured the area, though Sabrina had offered an
exorbitant sum as reward for the killer of her father, Alejandro's assailant
had never been found.

Francisca
and Carlos had been her bulwark in those first weeks following Alejandro's
senseless death. They had been kind, exceedingly so, and Sabrina had been
pathetically grateful, feeling real affection for her aunt. For a while the two
women had grown close, both having lost the most important men in their lives
within months of each other, but after several months, Sabrina had found
Francisca's constant dwelling on death suffocating and morbid.

Sabrina
lifted her face and stared blankly at nothing in particular, wondering morosely
if she would ever feel true happiness again. Ever feel as young and
lighthearted as she had before Brett Dangermond had come into her life. Ever
feel free of the oppressive air that seemed to hang over her.

She
glanced down at her black silk skirts, her slim fingers idly toying with the
rich material. The year of mourning for her father was past; she could, if she
wished, now begin to wear colors again, but somehow that seemed to be too much
of an effort.

Where
was her spirit? she wondered drearily. Her zest for life? Was she simply going
to fade away into a sad, spineless spinster?

Francisca's
dark, depressing presence wasn't conducive to laughter, or even pleasure, Sabrina
mused slowly, and she suddenly wished that her aunt and Carlos didn't still
live with her. She suspected that left to her own devices, she wouldn't have
barricaded herself away from their friends and neighbors. Without Francisca and
Carlos sheltering her to the point of isolating her, she probably wouldn't be
still wearing black, still brooding over the injustice of fate, still mourning
this deeply her father's death and his unexpected betrayal. . . .

A
bitter gleam lit the amber-gold eyes, an angry flush staining her cheeks as she
remembered the ghastly day when the enormity of his betrayal had been made
clear. It had been almost a year ago when the stunning contents of Alejandro's
will had been disclosed to her.

Even
now, just thinking about it jarred her from the apathy that seemed almost a
natural part of her. Her mouth tightened, and her jaw set. How could he have
done that to me? she thought furiously.

Alejandro
hadn't disowned her, but occasionally, when anger got the better of her,
Sabrina almost wished he had. Anything would have been better than what he had
done!

Reviewing
it rationally, she really shouldn't have been so stunned—at least a hundred
times before he died, Sabrina had heard Alejandro complain bewilderedly,
"It would have been such a wonderful match! I just don't understand you,
chica!
He would have been so good to you, been such an exceptional husband!"

She
smiled grimly. Well, he couldn't force her to marry Brett, but he had done his
best to see that Brett would hang around her neck like a slave chain for the
rest of her life. She had been her father's only heir, and listening to the
lawyer's precise voice that day, Sabrina hadn't been surprised to discover that
all Alejandro's belongings had been left to her. It was the codicil to the will
that had caused the furor and left her so resentful and furious with
Alejandro—Brett Dangermond had been named as her sole guardian. Like some
prized filly, she had been handed over to him to do with as he pleased.
Everything was to be in Dangermond's control—until she married. The problem
was, and this infuriated Sabrina almost as much as the guardianship, Brett had
to approve of her husband. If he didn't, the entire del Torres fortune, except
for a modest annuity for her, became his.

Sabrina's
teeth gritted together. Dios! How angry she had been that day! Francisca's
fury, though, had been frightening, and to this day her aunt could not speak
Alejandro's name. Carlos had been as stunned as Sabrina, but though he had
ranted and raved after the lawyer had departed, of the three of them, he had
accepted Alejandro's will most quickly. When Sabrina had taxed him with it
several weeks ago, he had shrugged his shoulders and muttered, "What good
does it do to rail against that infamous will?
I cannot change it.
We
have to live with it. Besides, you've made it clear you don't intend ever to
marry me—so what does it matter to me that Dangermond is your guardian?"

Sabrina
had looked at him dismayed. "It doesn't bother you that I am left in his
complete control? That he practically owns me?" she had asked with
puzzlement.

Carlos
had drawn her into his arms, his lips gently touching her hair. "Of course
it bothers me,
querida!"
he had murmured softly. "But until
Dangermond makes some move, I can do nothing." He had tipped her head back
and asked quizzically, "Unless you've changed your mind and will make me
the happiest man in the world by saying you'll become my wife? Together, I'm
certain we could break that damned codicil."

Sadly
Sabrina had smiled at him. "If I could love you that way, I would. But you
are my friend, my cousin . . .not my lover."

"I
could be," Carlos had said thickly, "I could be, if you would let
me."

Warily
Sabrina had regarded him, that terrifying day in the gazebo far away but not
forgotten. "Carlos, you will always be my friend. Nothing more," she
had said gently.

He
had sighed and released her. "It is just as well that I leave for Mexico
City tomorrow." A teasing glint in his eyes, he had murmured lightly,
"Perhaps there I shall find a red-haired beautiful heiress to take your
place in my heart."

Sincerely
Sabrina had replied, "Oh, I do wish you would! How happy it would make
me!"

Carlos
had grimaced and turned away. The next day he had left on his long journey to
Mexico City to sell a sizable herd of del Torres and de la Vega cattle.

Sabrina
guessed that part of the reason she was so moody today was because she missed
Carlos. During the months since Alejandro's death they had tentatively
reestablished their bond. Left alone with only Tia Francisca, she discovered
that she longed for Carlos's easy companionship. At least with him around there
was the occasional moment of laughter.

But
it wasn't only Carlos's departure that preyed on her mind. The vexing,
infuriating problem of the guardianship had begun to loom larger and more
frighteningly before her. In the weeks following the reading of the will,
Sabrina had waited with fury and impatience to hear from Brett; she had
received only a polite letter from a lawyer in New Orleans informing her that
her guardian was currently out of the country and would, as soon as he
returned, take up the duties of his guardianship.

For
a moment Sabrina frowned, remembering an odd incident the past October. She had
been in the gazebo, lying on the cushions, when she had heard the sounds of an
approaching horse. She had raised herself up slightly, and her heart had
literally stopped when she had glimpsed through the concealing gloom of the
forest the tall, dark figure astride a bay stallion. The rider's features had
been hidden by the pulled-down brim of his hat, the lower half of his face
completely obscured by a heavy black beard, but for one strangely ecstatic
moment, Sabrina had been positive it was Brett. Something about the arrogant
way he sat on the horse, the breadth of shoulder, the proud carriage . . . For
a timeless second, man and horse had seemed to freeze as she slowly rose to her
feet, making her presence known within the gazebo. And then, like a ghostly
apparition, they had disappeared into the murky shadows of the forest, leaving
Sabrina to wonder if she had dreamed the entire sequence.