The Tiger Lily (9 page)

Ironically,
by the time their last night on the trail arrived, Brett very closely resembled
those hard-featured desperadoes they had outfaced. His raven hair was long,
brushing the collar of his shirt; a half-grown black beard partially disguised
his features; and the rough clothing he wore was definitely not that of a man
of wealth. Attired in an open-necked red calico shirt, a wide brown leather
belt, buckskin breeches, and boots, he bore little similarity to the elegant
rakehell who had graced some of the wealthiest homes in Europe. And with his
bearded face and a practical wide-brimmed brown hat pulled low across his
forehead, it wasn't surprising that when Sabrina saw him, she thought she had
fallen into the hands of a desperado.

CHAPTER
FIVE

Sabrina,
unaware of Alejandro's invitation to Brett Dangermond, had found the months
following her seventeenth birthday fiesta uneventful. No, that wasn't quite
true, she admitted with a frown one sunny morning in early April. There were
subtle differences within herself, and she was conscious of a flicker of
dissatisfaction with the easy regularity of her days.

There
was nothing or anyone she could blame for her disquietude—her father was the
same loving man he had always been, her home and the servants were unchanged,
and she was still the darling of the Nacogdoches district. But there was
something missing . . . some unnamed yearning growing inside of her made her
restless and moody, uncertain and expectant at the same time. She wasn't
unhappy, nor was she precisely disenchanted with her usual pursuits, it was
just that . . .

Balefully
she scowled at an unoffending display of vivid pink morning glories that caught
her eyes. She was sprawled comfortably in a patch of spring clover that grew
under the shady branches of a beech tree, her slim body clothed in what was
positively indecent attire for a young lady: a loose-fitting white linen shirt
and a pair of disreputable-looking russet calzoneras. A wide-brimmed sombrero
lay on the ground near her booted and spurred feet, and just a short distance
away, the palomino mare that had been her sixteenth birthday gift from her
father lazily cropped the lush green grass.

This
was a favorite spot of Sabrina's. It was less than a mile from the hacienda,
and she often came here to sit and allow the peacefulness and beauty of the
sheltering beeches, pines, flowering dogwood, and myrtles to sweep over her.
She had spent many a pleasant afternoon lying here daydreaming. Unfortunately,
of late, her daydreams had been vague, shadowy affairs that increased rather
than diminished the growing turmoil within her.

Still
glaring at the morning glories that were attempting to twine themselves around
the base of a towering pine tree, she plucked a stem of clover and idly chewed
it. Maybe it is Carlos, she thought reluctantly. Or maybe it is Father.

Her
soft mouth curved ruefully. No, it wasn't anything her father had done, but she
wished he had never brought up the subject of marriage to Carlos.

Sabrina
had never thought too deeply about the man she would one day marry, but
marriage was something she had always accepted as inevitable. Until the night
of her seventeenth birthday. Or rather, until the weeks following it.

Meeting
the sons of the neighboring ranchers, dancing with them at other fiestas,
dining at their homes with her father, she discovered with surprise that there
wasn't one she would want to marry. Not even dear Carlos, she conceded wryly.

Since
the conversation with her father she had begun to look at the men of her
acquaintance with new eyes, particularly her cousin Carlos. And while she still
found him delightful to dance with, to laugh with, and to ride with, she was
becoming increasingly aware that she definitely did not want to marry him—or
any man she had met so far.

As
if to give lie to that thought, a dark young face with jade-green eyes danced
before her, and with an exclamation of disgust, she tossed the mangled clover
stem away and rolled over onto her stomach. Brett Dangermond was certainly the
last man she'd ever think of marrying! And right behind him came Carlos, she
decided grimly.

If
she had begun to look at Carlos with new eyes, she had also begun to be aware
of the fact that their relationship had undergone a delicate change during the
months following her birthday. He seemed to call more frequently at the Rancho
del Torres than he had in the past ... or was it just because she was now more
conscious of him? And hadn't his hand seemed to linger longer on hers than
necessary? And wasn't there a look in his dark eyes, a hungry, assessing look
that hadn't been present before? She couldn't tell for certain; she only knew
that the way his eyes seemed always to follow her had begun to disturb her
slightly and that she didn't take quite as much enjoyment from Carlos's presence
as she once had.

Suddenly
annoyed and angry with her train of thoughts, she sprang lithely to her feet
and reached for her sombrero. Hurriedly twisting her red-gold hair up on top of
her head, she secured the fiery mass with an ivory comb she always carried with
her for just that reason, and jamming on the wide-brimmed sombrero, she
whistled for the palomino mare. Sirocco. Well trained by Sabrina, Sirocco
instantly trotted over to her mistress, whickering softly. Sabrina smiled, her
foul mood vanishing, and gently she caressed the silken muzzle that pushed
against her breasts.

"What
a fool I am. Sirocco," she said absently, "to be brooding on such a
lovely morning." The mare tossed her golden head as if in agreement, and
Sabrina laughed.

Looking
more like a slim youth than an heiress, she swung up lightly into the ornate
silver saddle the vaqueros had given her for her seventeenth birthday. Grasping
the silver inlaid bridle given at the same time, she leaned over and crooned
mischievously into Sirocco's twitching ear, "Shall we see if you live up
to your name? Will you run for me like the fiery wind you are named
after?" And ever so gently she touched the gleaming golden hide with her
spurs.

Spiritedly
Sirocco reared up on her hind legs, and then very like her name, she plunged
from the green glade where they had been and raced like the wind across the
wide, marshy meadow that stretched in front of them. This was familiar ground
to them both, and recklessly Sabrina urged the mare on to an even faster pace,
reveling in the feeling of the mare's powerful strides and the humid air
rushing coolly across her face. A joyous sparkle in the amber-gold eyes, a
smile on the full mouth, Sabrina felt the last remnant of her earlier
dissatisfaction evaporate, and with a soft laugh she loosed her hands on the
reins, giving Sirocco free rein, willing to lose herself in the sheer pleasure
of this wild, mad dash.

To
Brett and Ollie, just entering the meadow to the left of where Sirocco had
burst from the forest, the situation looked anything but pleasurable. The first
clue they had that they were not alone in this seeming uninhabited wilderness
was when, like a creature gone mad, the golden mare with her slim, boyish rider
suddenly exploded into their view and began to race crazily across the meadow.
Never once dreaming that anyone would deliberately ride with such a disregard
for life and limb, assuming that the horse had escaped the control of her
inexperienced rider, Brett tossed the reins of the pack horse he'd been leading
to Ollie. With a muttered curse under his breath about the stupidity of young
males, he dug his spurs into his stallion's side and shot away after the
disappearing horse and rider.

Sirocco
was fleet and light-footed, and at four years of age she was just coming into
her full strength, but Firestorm, Brett's stallion—a son of Flame's—was at his
peak, and with his longer legs and more powerful strides, Firestorm swiftly
closed the distance between them. Still unaware that he was not rescuing a young
boy, as Firestorm raced alongside Sirocco, Brett leaned over in his saddle and
made a desperate attempt to catch the silver bridle that dangled so uselessly
against Sirocco's extended, lathered neck.

Sabrina
hadn't been conscious of anything but her own enjoyment of this wild ride, but
the instant the lean brown hand made a grab for Sirocco's bridle, she was
alerted that she was no longer alone. Catching only a glimpse of a hard, dark,
bearded face beneath the wide brim of a hat, she took immediate evasive action,
jerking the reins and causing Sirocco to swerve sharply in another direction.
She heard the other rider curse furiously, and glancing over at him, she saw
that his own horse had already changed direction and was once again coming up
fast alongside Sirocco.

Her
heart beating painfully in her breast, certain she was about to be attacked by
one of the many brigands who had been drifting into this area, Sabrina
tightened her mouth, and during the following minutes she did her damnedest to
escape. But it was all to no avail—the other horse was too powerful, the other
rider too determined, and in an open field there was no place to do more than
let Sirocco have her head and pray the mare could outmaneuver the big chestnut
horse.

It
still hadn't occurred to Brett that the boy he was attempting to rescue didn't
want to be rescued. The erratic movements of the mare he put down to
inexcusable handling, and by the time he was again in position to attempt to
stop the runaway horse, his temper, never the coolest in the best of
situations, was boiling. And this time he made no move to snatch at the reins.
Instead, with the suddenness of a striking snake, he reached out and roughly
plucked Sabrina from Sirocco's back. With more force than necessary, he flung her
facedown across the saddle in front of him.

Sabrina
was not at all grateful for her supposed rescue, and being handled like a sack
of meal, the breath momentarily knocked out of her, did nothing for her frame
of mind. Furious that this lawless creature would dare to attack the daughter
of Don Alejandro del Torres on his own land, she didn't even wait for the
galloping horse to slow down before she began to fight.

The
Toledo steel blade her father had given her for her birthday was neatly
sheathed in the top of her boot, and if she could only reach it . . . Quickly
recovering her breath, she twisted and squirmed, trying uselessly to escape
from the iron hand that pressed down so forcefully in the middle of her back as
her captor gradually reined in his horse. Determined to get away, she continued
her wiggling, hoping that if she couldn't use her knife, she could shift her
weight to the side her feet dangled from and then slide down the side of the
slowing horse and possibly make it to the protection of the nearing forest.

Brett
didn't exactly realize what his unwelcome burden was up to, but he was aware
that if the confounded boy didn't stay still, the young whelp stood an
excellent chance of falling to the ground and being trampled under Firestorm's
hooves. Grasping the waist of the calzoneras, he ungently shifted Sabrina so
that her head was now lower than her thrashing feet. Harshly Brett commanded,
"Be still, you young cretin, until I stop the horse!"

The
blood rushing to her head, as much from his words as her position, Sabrina
furiously began to struggle even harder. The sombrero, which had miraculously
remained on her head until now, went flying, the ivory comb with it, and the
red-gold hair came tumbling down around her flushed face.

Busy
with stopping the powerful stallion with only one hand on the reins, Brett saw
neither the sombrero nor the ivory comb disappear. He also wasn't paying as
much attention to his captive as he should have been, and just as the stallion
finally came to a stop, with a burst of incredible agility, using her hands for
leverage against the side of the horse, Sabrina was able to flip herself over
and practically in the same movement twist herself into a sitting position in
front of her captor.

Like
lightning her hand snaked to the top of her boot, and in a second her fingers
closed around the blade. Before Brett even had time to assimilate that the
"boy" wasn't a boy at all but a furious fire-maned young hellcat, the
knife swung in a determined arc, deeply slashing him across the shoulder and
down the upper portion of his muscled arm.

Taking
no notice of the almost blinding flash of pain, Brett reacted instinctively,
and moving with a deadly swiftness, he captured the slender arm that wielded
the knife so efficiently. Cruelly twisting the arm behind Sabrina's back, he
glared down into the angry features so near his own. Astonishment held him
speechless as his stunned gaze took in the disheveled mass of flaming curls
rioting around the most enchanting face he had ever seen—thickly lashed
amber-gold eyes fairly spitting defiance and fury were set under haughty dark
brows, a delicate straight nose with a delightful tilt at the tip was thrust
arrogantly into the air, and below it was a generously curved mouth that fairly
challenged any man to taste its sweetness.

It
was that glorious hair and those unforgettable eyes that brought recognition to
him almost instantaneously, and on a note of incredulity, he breathed,
''Sabrina?"

At
the sound of her name, Sabrina froze, and suddenly oblivious to the brutal hold
on her arm, she stared up into the dark bearded face so near her own. It wasn't
precisely reassuring. Heavy black eyebrows curved sardonically over deep-set,
cynical, jade-green eyes ringed by remarkably long, thick, black lashes—the
impact of those eyes was mesmerizing. With an effort she tore her gaze away
from his and swiftly took in the arrogant nose, the slightly flaring nostrils,
and the full, mobile mouth with its mocking slant. The half-grown beard hid
most of his face, but with her heart unexpectedly racing in her breast, her
gaze once more fastened on the hard green eyes—green eyes that she had never
quite forgotten. "Senor Brett?" she got out huskily, unable to
believe that it was really he.