Treasure of the Sun (56 page)

"Katherine isn't part of a conspiracy," Julio added.

"No?" Hadrian asked groggily.

Damian said, "She's part of my fate."

The threesome stepped over the threshold and into the feminine world of wedding preparations. A few screams, a few scoldings followed them as they weaved towards the stairway. Damian ignored them. "Katherine is your friend, Hadrian. You know she is."

"Yes." The admission was dragged from the honest Hadrian. "Most of the Americans are our friends." Julio sounded firm, like a man trying to convince himself.

Damian nodded. ''The ones who aren't, the ones who have just arrived and make no attempt to honor our ways, Hadrian, those you should warn me against."

"Consider yourself warned." Hadrian lifted his legs as if each step were too high. Reaching the top, he twisted his hands against the newel post.

He didn't see Katherine, peeking out of Damian's upstairs study, but Damian did. He promptly forgot the American problem, Hadrian's exhaustion, his own distress. Enthralled, he stared at the golden woman beneath the mantilla. As Dona Xaviera had predicted, Katherine's creamy skin glowed beneath the black lace. The women had loosened her hair; it matched the silk of her dress in texture and color. Her smile was both enticing and shy, and she shone with the beauty of a bride-his bride.

He stepped toward her; she reached out her hand.

A ringed, beefy hand slapped onto her wrist, and Dona Xaviera's bulk placed itself between them. "This is not acceptable."

Julio gave a bark of laughter at Damian's frustration. Damian complained, "First we send out the invitations, then we slave like animals getting the fiesta ready. I've hardly seen her for a week."

"Another few hours won't hurt." Dona Xaviera pushed the resisting Katherine back inside the room. "What you mean is, you haven't slept with her for a week. What your father permitted was scandalous."

"We were married," Damian insisted, disgruntled with the way everyone ignored the civil ceremony.

"Not in the Church!" Dona Xaviera shook her finger at him.

"She is still Mrs. Maxwell."

"Katherine says she is Senora de la Sola." He leaned toward Dona Xaviera. "You tell her she isn’t."

Dona Xaviera backed up and her little grin popped out. "Not I."

Oblivious to the little scene, Hadrian said loudly, discordantly, "Damian, do you know what Mariano Vallejo said to his wife when the Americans marched him off to their prison? Do you know what he said?"

Damian glanced at the open door and sighed.

"He said, 'Quien llama el toro aguanta la comada! "

From inside the study, Damian heard Katherine's voice translate the phrase into English. "'He who calls the bull must endure the goring.'" She asked someone inside the room, "What have the Americans done now?"

Dona Xaviera shut the door, but Damian had no great faith that even that great woman could keep Katherine restrained within.

Loosening the bow that strangled him, Damian wondered desperately if the wedding ceremony he'd been afraid of would ever have a chance to begin. The American consul and his wife had arrived, but that hadn't freed them to start the wedding. It had created another barrier as the hidalgos crowded around Larkin and demanded explanations. The discussions had taken over the whole day, and the fiesta spirit was subdued as the men fretted.

Tactfully, Don Lucian tried to frame the question on all of their minds without insulting his friend Larkin's nationality or honesty. "The Americanos have different traditions than we do. Not long ago, a group of them insinuated they could take my property by staying on it. Squatting, they called it."

Alejandro blurted, "Will the American government respect our land grants?"

Larkin tapped his fingers on the desk where he sat. "I believe so."

"Pardon me, Senor Larkin, if I lack confidence in this assurance." Damian shook his head. "We have heard that Americanos stole two hundred horses, that they imprisoned one of our prominent citizens and confiscated his property. These are not actions designed to make us feel secure."

A feminine voice broke through the babble that followed his comments. "Don Damian is right, Mr. Larkin." Katherine stepped into the library, glorious in her wedding finery. The shocked men cleared a path for her, a path that led straight to Damian and Larkin. "What are the Americans thinking about? Is this all the work of Mr. Fremont?"

Larkin answered her with ease. "I don't think so, Mrs. Maxwell."

"Senora de la Sola," she corrected.

"Has the wedding already taken place?" Larkin asked. "I thought I was here to officiate."

"You're to officiate at our second wedding."

"Of course." Larkin nodded, calm and precise. "As far as I'm able to ascertain, Mr. Fremont had nothing to do with the regrettable incident at Sonoma, but I fear I recognize his method of planning."

"None at all," Damian asked bitterly, remembering the aborted battle at Gavilan.

"He plans, but recklessly and with no dependence on his informants. He's made no attempt to contact me."

"Will the American government respect these land grants?"

Katherine demanded, her mobile mouth serious. "Except for your own conduct, I've seen nothing to admire in American handling of California. Let me speak bluntly, Mr. Larkin. Will a Spanish name on the title put the de la Sola possessions in jeopardy?"

Larkin hesitated.

"Would an American name be more likely to secure the lands?"

"That is a possibility," Larkin allowed.

Katherine turned to Damian and Don Lucian. "I have an alternative. Put your family lands into my name."

An excited babble broke out. "That's foolish," Ricky protested. "You're a woman."

Katherine turned clear green eyes on him. ''I'm an American citizen. Throughout the American West, women own property. With the legal and economic training I've had, and the considerable monetary backing of the de la Solas, only an idiot would try to take these lands away from me. What do you think, Mr. Larkin?"

Larkin rubbed his bewhiskered cheeks. "Well, it is a solution to a tricky situation. Mind you, I don't know if it would work, but I believe it's a good idea."

As one, the room turned and stared at the de la Sola men.

Don Lucian nodded, but Damian stood frozen in place. He felt again as he had after he'd been shot. His skin felt stiff and pale, his eyes wide and staring.

This was his family's lands they discussed so casually. His family's lands. How could they suggest such a thing? How could his father stand there and indicate agreement?

His Californio lands.

They would be Katherine's lands. Seventy-five years of masculine Californio pride would be ground into dust. What kind of man would he be, living on his wife's charity? He would owe her everything.

Katherine was a strong-minded woman. She had indicated that she believed a woman could survive and thrive without the care of a man. Could he trust this American woman to marry him and not destroy his dignity by reminding him how much he owed her? He didn't know another woman he could trust so far.

His gaze was caught by a glow in the room. It was Katherine.

Golden hair, golden dress, golden woman. His treasure. In. rush he remembered her pride. She'd agreed to many regardless of Smith's insinuations, accepting that he wouldn’t take advantage of her. -

How could he give her less trust than she'd given him? "Draw up the papers," he told Larkin. "My wife's going to become a landowner today."

Senora Katherine Anne Chamberlain Maxwell, soon to be the newest rancher in California, clung to her father-in-law's arm and laughed at the good-natured teasing. She'd never seen a wedding procession as informal as this one. Don Lucian followed a circuitous route to the guests who ranged all over the yard. No one was solemn. The men predicted Damian's subjugation at the least, the fall of civilization at the most. The women asked her if she would charge her husband rent, or kick him out during a fight. They seemed to relish it all, using the occasion to jab their husbands.

She didn't answer. Her attention was fixed on the bower under the trees. There Damian, Fray Pedro, Mr. Larkin and Alcade Diaz waited. That was where she wanted to be. She wanted to speak her vows, to tell Damian how she felt about him, to make love with him. Like a veil lifting, she could see into the future. See the years of sleeping together, serving each other, adapting to each other until they were the one entity the romantics spoke of.

She knew what it would cost him to sign his lands over to her. He was a hidalgo, a Spaniard, a man, and he trusted her with everything that was his. Once he'd made the decision to deed her the lands, his main concern had been the speed with which the papers could be drawn up. They were ready, waiting in the study for their signatures, but right now Damian wanted to get married.

She wanted it, too.

Each moment she waited stretched her temper. This delay had gone on long enough. Deciding her geniality had been extended beyond its limits, she tugged at Don Lucian, subtly at first, then with greater energy. "Come on," she demanded, "or I'll go by myself."

"She's giving the orders even before the ownership has been transferred," Ricky teased. "Watch yourself, Don Lucian. Soon you'll be serving her dinner, dressed in an apron."

"It would be an honor," Don Lucian said with gallant good nature. He raised his eyebrows significantly as he stumbled sideways under her propulsion. "I have to go now."

They stepped out, moving in the direct line that she set.

When she heard the galloping hooves and the shout, "Katherine," she only increased her speed.

"Katherine!"

She swung around. Lawrence Cyril Chamberlain brought his prancing horse to a halt only a few feet from her and dismounted in a tumbling haste. "Am I in time?"

"You're in time to see me wed." Her chill should have warned him.

"Katherine, you can't do this."

She wanted to shout at him, but instead she stared at Lawrence. His colorful clothes no longer matched, as if he'd mixed the remnants of his Boston wardrobe with apparel bought in California. His tall hat and red toupee had disappeared. His nose had been broken, its elegant hook knocked sideways. Worst of all, he was sunburned, his fair skin peeling in flakes. Benignly, she asked, "Who do you think is going to stop me?"

Lawrence
blinked. "Why, I am."

Still in a voice of rationality and moderation, she asked, "Do you think you can follow me around, badger me, kidnap me, and still influence me to return to Boston?"

Desperately ignoring the interested group that surrounded him, he heaved a shaky sigh. "Can't you see this is no place for a gently bred woman? Look at what it's done to me."

She pressed her lips together to curb her smile. ''It's done nothing like that to me."

"Yes, well . . . you do look appallingly healthy." Glancing around, he took her arm and tried to lead her away. "I didn't want to tell you before, but Father said to promise you anything if you would return. Please, Katherine, we would treat you like a queen. I guarantee it."

She shook her head. "Lawrence . . ."

"Don't say no. Please come. You must know I can't return until I bring you. Don't you feel sorry for me?"

"I always have, but I still won't come back."

He glared, but it had no effect. The Californios pressed closer, and he whispered, "This isn't your home. These aren't your people."

"Lawrence."

As the pity in her voice deepened, his own voice rose. ''They're all mean and horrible."

The sympathy she felt for Lawrence melted, and she warned, "Lawrence."

He didn't read her correctly, too agitated by their audience and his own looming failure. "They're crude and ignorant, with their horses and their misplaced arrogance. They're-" he waved his arms, searching in the air for the right word "-they're barbarians."

She took the tattered remains of his cravat in her hand. With a slow and steady pressure, she pulled him down to her eye level. "Barbarians are people who exploit their helpless relative~. California is my home. Californios are my clan. And Don Damian de la Sola is my love. You can go back to Boston and tell my uncle and aunt I'm never coming back. Or stay here, if you're too afraid of your parents, but stay away from me."