Woman of Three Worlds (32 page)

“Not really.” Lisette's pale gray eyes stabbed into Brittany's. “That won't matter if you can't get the de Haros to intervene and withdraw their charges.”

Brittany's head whirled. In the midst of her distress was a glow; Zach
had
come after her! She must find Roque, persuade him to right this tangle! She was starting to ask Panchita to help find him when he strode in from the patio.

Gold eyes furious, he stared at Lisette. “This is not your place. I've told you never to come here.”

She tossed her head. “Don't snarl, darling. I'm sure you wouldn't want your guest to be upset when she eventually learned of the execution of the man you left at the mining camp.” She tilted her head amusedly. “Is it true, as he says, that you'd forbidden the priest and people to say where you'd taken Miss Laird or even your name? He had to get some miners drunk to win that information.”

Roque's lips thinned. “You have always been a clever liar.”

“I don't lie now!” she spat. “You told your Alamos servants and your brothers to feign ignorance if he did, by some chance, learn your identity. You may even have asked them to make sure that his curiosity was permanently quenched.”

Face hardening to stone, he went over to the hinged writing surface of a high, carved desk, wrote with slashing swiftness. Handing it to Lisette, he said in a tone that cut like an ice-frosted knife, “Give this to Anselmo. He will provide you with a carriage, escort, and ample money to establish yourself wherever you choose to most profitably sell your body.”

“You—you can't throw me away like an old rag!”

“I can do with you exactly as I please.” His soft voice held chilling menace. “You can go now, with the means for a luxurious future, or be awkward and—well, who knows?”

He turned his back to her. Shrieking, face distorted, she flew at him, clawing at his eyes, mouthing unintelligible reproaches and entreaties.

As if dealing with a frenzied cat, he pinioned her wrists, hauled her to the door, and called Mateo. “Take this woman to Alamos,” he said. “Tell Tomás she may collect her clothing and personal belongings but to watch that she steals nothing. She is not to be allowed to spend another night under that roof.”

“Bastard!” she screamed. “Sneaking low-down greaser!”

“If Señorita McDonald continues to rave,” Roque said, “perhaps, Mateo, you will think of a way to quiet her. She has pretty
pechos
, doesn't she? Don't stammer—I've seen you watching them!”

Lisette understood the drift of his words, for she tried to writhe away from the bodyservant's brown hands. “Roque! Roque, I love you! Don't do this! Don't let this peon hurt me!”

“He won't, if you behave,” Roque said. “What happens to you from now on depends precisely on how well you conduct yourself, beginning with Mateo and ending with Anselmo.”

He motioned. Mateo led the woman away. Brittany could not keep from pitying the droop of Lisette's head and shoulders, said urgently, “Don Roque, you can't let Mateo hurt her!”

“He won't, if she goes peacefully.”

“But—”

His face closed. He made a gesture to Panchita, who gathered up the children and hurried them away. “I was more generous than she deserved. Don't worry about Lisette. She was a French officer's toy when I was fool enough to take her into keeping. Anselmo has an eye for her. If she weeps prettily and allows him to comfort her, he might set her up somewhere. I've tried to delicately hand her over to him before this, but she protested her devotion so persuasively that I kept her on long after I was bored with her jealousy and tantrums.”

Brittany was horrified at this casual brutality, though she suspected that he was right. Deprived of the man she wanted, Lisette would find another. But Zach!

“Is it true?” she asked slowly. “Did you try to make sure Zach couldn't find me?”

Roque shrugged. “It would have been much better for him if he hadn't tried.”

Brittany's heart stopped. “But—but surely you'll go into town, get your brothers to have him released!”

“Will I?”

He folded his arms, surveyed her coolly.

Brittany gasped. “You can't just let him be shot!”

“I see no reason to interfere. I left him in good hands, with orders that he be given provisions and a mount to get back to Arizona. If he came blundering to Alamos, broke into Anselmo's house, and assaulted my brothers, he deserves punishment.”

Stunned, Brittany felt the tiles heaving beneath her. Roque made her sit down. She pushed away from him, crying fiercely, “You must help him!”

Kneeling, Roque gripped her shoulders, compelled her to look at him. “Brittany, what is this man to you?”

Something warned her not to avow her love. “He was captured while scouting with a patrol that was hunting me. I feel to blame.”

The tawny eyes searched hers. “Let us make a bargain,” he said carefully. “I love you, my Brittany. I had hoped to wait till you loved me before saying that I want you to be my wife, stay with me forever.”

“You—you promised to take me to Arizona!”

“After Easter,” he corrected. “I was vain enough to believe that by then you wouldn't wish to go.”

Trying to wrest away, she flamed, “And the merchant trains? How many of them have gone through without me?”

“Only one. Be glad you weren't with it. Juh's band ambushed it and everyone was killed.” He held her with such implacable strength that struggle was useless. “I still believe you will love me. Sometimes you almost do, yet you resist. I can feel it. You know I have been patient.” Slowly, he lifted her face to his. “I am tired of waiting, Brittany. I begin to think that for some obscure reason you are bent on going back to Arizona. Because of this, you will not let yourself love me.” His tone harshened. “So there must be no more thoughts of return.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will marry me. With futile notions out of your head, you will love me and be happy.” Bowing his head, he pressed her hands to his lips. “Promise. You will ride to Alamos with me, tell this Tyrell that you are to be my wife, that you willingly remain. Then he will be released with a horse and supplies while we are married either here or in the cathedral of Alamos.”

See Zach? Force herself to lie convincingly so that he'd return home? Her whole being revolted against this forced marriage, denying her only love, but the alternative was his death.

Looking blindly at Roque, she said, “Let us go. Now.”

On the way into town, she only said one thing. “Panchita and the children should stay where they are. I don't want them sent away.”

He looked relieved. “Good. We will not speak of it again, but let me assure your tender heart that they are provided for in my will. Trini and Chuey will get lands and mining income, while Panchita gets a permanent home at the
hacienda
and a generous allowance. I have had more comfort from her than ever I did from Lisette.”

“You can't marry her?”

“An Indian? You know that is impossible!” His gaze embraced Brittany. “I had thought that even for legitimate heirs I could never put a woman in Francisca's place. You changed that.”

Ironic, that he should love her while Zach, whom she loved, only felt for her the masculine lust a healthy man had for almost any attractive woman. He must certainly have wanted Erskine's reward to come all the way to Alamos. Her lip trembled. She bit it savagely.

He'd forfeit the reward but he'd have his life. It was as well, for her pride's sake, that he'd never know how much she loved him.

They called first on Anselmo. He had a bandage over one eye, a grazed cheek, and puffed mouth. The courtyard had been tidied, but a birdbath and two chairs were stacked under the colonnade for repairs.

“Doña Lisette was here a little while ago,” Anselmo told Roque, evidently not knowing that Brittany now understood considerable Spanish. He preened his moustache. “I have lodged her in a small house till better arrangements can be made.”

Roque shrugged. “Please apply the settlement I mentioned in my letter toward your … arrangement.
Felicitaciones
!” They might have been discussing the transfer of a mare. “Now, brother, you must do
me
a favor.”

Half an hour later, they waited in the magistrate's office, which adjoined the jail. Tranquilino had joined them, his dignity no whit diminished by a limp and an arm in a sling. Plainly astounded by Roque's wish for clemency, he argued a few minutes, then spread his palms and went to talk to the magistrate.

After a startled glance, the magistrate listened, nodding affably. “Of course, Don Tranquilino, if it is your wish.” He sent two guards into the jail.

To Brittany, hands clenched in her lap as she sat stiffly on a hard bench, it seemed to be hours before the grilled gate opened and the guards prodded Zach into the office.

His hands were bound cruelly behind him, lashed together from wrists almost to elbows. His shirt hung in bloody tatters. A gash on his scalp was matted with blood and his mouth and eyes were swollen and bruised. Brittany and the de Haros were seated against the wall so that, facing the magistrate, he didn't see them.

“Going to shoot me already?” he cheerily asked the official in rough but understandable Spanish. “That'll be a merciful relief from your bedbugs and the pig swill you stole my coin to pay for.”

“Señor Tyrell!” began the balding and bespectacled magistrate.

Zach cut him off. “Oh, don't apologize. I should have known better than to expect the family of an abductor to care about restoring the victim to her people. But let me advise you, sir, that Miss Laird is being sought by a wealthy and influential officer of the United States Army. If he learns you've connived at holding her down here, it could cause serious trouble between our governments.” He chuckled genially. “Even to gratify the de Haros, I should think you wouldn't want to risk that. I hear that President Díaz has a swift and final method of taking care of those who create problems.”

The magistrate stood up, face crimson, Adam's apple bobbing. “Your threats are wasted, Señor Tyrell! Out of their magnanimity, the Señores de Haro have requested that you be allowed to return unharmed to your own country.” He gestured toward the spectators.

Zach turned. A sound muffled in his throat as he saw Brittany. He started toward her when Roque got to his feet and bowed. “Señor Tyrell, I rejoice to see you recovered from your wound. I am Roque de Haro, who left you to be cared for by Father Damiano.”

With a puzzled frown at Brittany, who sat rigid and frozen-faced, Zach looked into Roque's eyes. “I reckon I have to thank you,” he said slowly. “But I can't figure why you didn't leave word about where you were taking Miss Laird—and why, when I finally tracked you here, no one would tell me anything.”

It sounded as if he hadn't been given the letter Brittany had left at the priest's. Through the torn shirt, Brittany could see the puckered jagged scar on his shoulder. She longed to touch it gently, wash his hurts, assure herself he was all right, but in this world, to save his life, she could never touch him again.

Roque smiled forgivingly. “I had supposed you'd want to return to Arizona and I did instruct Father Damiano to tell you that Miss Laird would be sent north with a merchant caravan.”

“He told me that,” Zach admitted. “All the same—”

“You are a stubborn man,” Roque finished, laughing. “And I believe there was the matter of a reward?”

Dark blue eyes probed Brittany's for a second. Unable to bear them, she flushed and stared at the floor. Zach's tone was dry. “I had thought, yes, that there might be a reward. Though from the looks of things, I was mistaken.”

Brittany clenched her jaws, thinking she would stifle with hurt and anger. Did he mean Erskine wouldn't pay unless she were returned as a virgin, and now he didn't think she was one? It was shameful, much worse than having bounty offered for one's scalp!

Damn Zach Tyrell! It would serve him right if she did let him get shot!

Roque took her hand protectively. “To my mind, this lady is worth any ransom.” He smiled down at her, but she saw the glint of warning. “What she has to tell you, Señor Tyrell, will set your mind at ease and satisfy the questions of that officer you just mentioned.”

Brittany's mouth was drier than it had ever been on a desert journey. She simply could not gaze directly into Zach's accusing eyes. Fixing her stare on a point beyond him, she said the words she had rehearsed during that silent ride from Los Caciques.

“I am going to marry Roque de Haro and remain in this country. You will please tell my cousin and friends that I am well. Convey my thanks to Major Erskine for his concern and kindly express my gratitude to the men who searched for me.”

Zach, so still that it seemed his heart had stopped, had gone white around the lips. White also showed at the indentation of each nostril. “I'm sure your thanks will be a great comfort to the parents of Michael O'Shea and the others who died trying to rescue you.”

His tone was frigid. He gave a curt bow. Auburn hair fell forward, revealing more of the ugly gash, and outraged as she was at his unfair reproach, she ached to clean the wound, dress it with healing ointment.

The magistrate cleared his throat. “You are free to go, Señor Tyrell. Your horse and belongings await you in the courtyard.”

The guards opened a door leading outside. Without a word, Zach strode through it.

While preparations were made for an elaborate wedding, Brittany was lodged at Anselmo's to be under amiable blond Beatriz's chaperonage. After several attempts to persuade her to convert, Roque gave up. They could not be married in the cathedral, but a cousin who was a priest had consented to perform the ceremony in the
sala
of Roque's home.