Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Your sons?”

  “Diego wants to fight. Pablo wants to win. Two different sides of the same escudo. Ah, what do we fundos know, having been on the land so long?”

  “I’m told there was a contingent of men in San Fernando a few months ago, marching toward Madrid. Were they supporting del Riego?”

  “Who knows what they thought with their bellies empty, and the soles of their boots marched off? Ferdinand accepted a new constitution. Perhaps saved himself a real war.”

  They returned to talk of horses, grains, olives and wine, as they walked into the cool interior of the hacienda. At a large mahogany desk, Roman counted out the money he had, primarily silver reales and a few gold escudas. “I can leave an IOU for the rest, if that is suitable.”

  “I know where to find you. No one would admit to marrying into Belgrano’s family unless it were true. Would you like to take the horses with you, or have Diego and Pablo deliver them later this week?”

  “I can take them. It will be a nice welcome home surprise.”

  Madrigalas laughed as he leaned back in his chair. “You must have made a grave error to be gifting such fine horses. One horse would be asking forgiveness. Two is asking for a lifetime of worshipping at her feet. I can laugh. It was the same with my wife.”

  “Two? I am planning on buying any horse she wants in your next shipment.” Roman pushed to his feet. “Madrigalas, it is good to know you. If you hear anything new about my family, you’ll let me know?”

  “Adiós, amigo. I will see you next month.” They shook hands before returning to the front of the house, still standing in the shade. His new purchases were standing next to his horse, halters secure and with a generous lead line. The strolled toward the animals; Roman threw the now lighter and emptier panniers across the back of his saddle.

  “Oh, I meant to ask. Do you know who the other man with Belgrano was?”

  “Navarro, a don from Barcelona. One who has no regard for the smaller fundos let alone the jornaleros who keep Spain fed. He barely spoke. I can say no more other than my opinion.”

  They shook hands again. Roman mounted his horse and captured the leads in one fist. He clucked his tongue and followed his men to Ubrique.

  Shelene was going to love the horses, but she was going to hate the fact he was knee-deep in the new intrigue surrounding Belgrano and Navarro.

  Deep down she knew Belgrano was a bad man, but she would never believe her uncle intended to hurt her. Roman could prove otherwise. Roman rising from the dead, a death only Belgrano seemed to know anything about was all the proof Roman needed.

  They wanted something at Las Colinas. That was the only explanation for Belgrano’s return home and Shelene’s convenient marriage of Belgrano’s friend or partner, Navarro. That something they wanted wasn’t Shelene—she was just one of the motivators for their actions. Their access. Their cover.

  The commodore had done the best thing possible to protect his wife and daughter, and that was move them to London. He would not be able to pry Shelene away from the estate again.

  When he returned to the valley, he was going to hire more specifically skilled laborers, obtain more weapons and fortify as much as possible. Shelene would think he was overreacting. So be it. He would overreact. He would do all that was necessary to protect Shelene, Antonio, Oliver, the commodore, anyone who made their living in the valley. Whatever it took. He would lay down his life for them.

  They pushed hard the next day. The following morning would see them turn back north toward Las Colinas.

  “Dewey, can you go into Cadiz? We need more guns and men. That seems like the best place to start.” If necessary, he could write to Adam to get a shipment of rifles and ammunition.

  “Most of them are already serving in units. Half of them are deserters,” Dewey said.

  “See if you can get your hands on about twenty Baker rifles. Fisk can help and provide the gold. As for men, I want vaqueros. Good on their horses. If they already know how to shoot, all the better. Assure them it has nothing to do with fighting against their country.”

  “What do I promise in pay?”

  “Gold. At the end of every week. No contributions by violence, as these bands of guerrilleros seem to favor. They don’t have to be young just fit. And with no strong political ideologies.” The country was mostly impoverished and disordered after countless wars, attempts at conquest and being spread thin around the world. But those that remained were dedicated to their homeland.

  “Don’t make this more difficult than it already will be.”

  Roman and Rousseau traveled on, compelled to get home. Shelene wouldn’t be home yet—probably late tomorrow. He doubted Belgrano would show his face soon. If he was in Malaga, Roman would adjust his thinking. If he was still in and around Arco de la Frontera, Roman would find out.

  To his surprise, Shelene’s carriage was in the rounded turn lane, in front of the hacienda. The commodore was outside talking to the coachman. Had they just arrived?

  Hightower glanced at Roman but didn’t acknowledge him. Roman saw the blood on the coachman’s jacket. Oh, shit! Roman flung himself from the horse. A stable boy was there to grab the reins and leads. Rousseau jumped from his horse too.

  “Commodore, what’s happened? Has Shelene or Antonio been hurt?”

  Hightower’s hair was raised in wild clumps, his face red. “No. Thank God, they are unharmed. They’re inside.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m trying to find out.”

  Roman dashed away and into the house where servants were scrambling about with water, cloths and blankets. One of the riders was lying on a table in the middle of the atrium, blood splattering on the tile floor. Shelene was over him, directing everyone. Sakina seemed to be the one in charge of the wound at the rider’s shoulder, and he seemed to be coherent. Usually, a good sign.

  The other rider stood to the side. He was the man Roman wanted to interrogate—God, habits died hard.

  He went to Shelene’s side and touched her arm. “What can I do?” he asked in a quiet by authoritative voice.

  She glanced up, her lips pressed into a firm line and her brow pulled. “Oh, Roman.” She gripped his hand.

  “It looks like it could have been much worse. What happened?”

  “Someone shot at us.”

  “Not a robbery? You didn’t see anyone?”

  “I didn’t, no. I was inside the carriage.” She touched his arm. “Antonio is safe.”

  Roman nodded. He kept his expression unreadable. “I’ll be right back. I need to talk to the other rider and the coachman.”

  “Roman, it wasn’t Uncle. I am sure of it.”

  “If it was, he will be dead before the week is over.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shelene stared at Antonio while he fed. His beautiful dark curls tufted at his ears and fell over his forehead. She caressed his earlobe. A few hours ago, he’d slept through a shocking, scary and unprovoked attack. Her heart still beat erratically, but she kept a stern face, as if she wasn’t completely disoriented and upset by the ordeal.

  When she heard the knock on the door, she knew it was Roman, coming to berate her for leaving Las Colinas in the first place. And how dare she leave without him or his approval? There had been no brigands around the valley. No terror at night. No reason to think she wasn’t safe, even though she’d taken precautions.

  “Come in. Oh, Papa, it’s you. I was expecting Roman.”

  “He is still interrogating the riders and the coachman.” He found a chair and pulled it next to her, in a modest position where he didn’t have to watch his daughter breast-feed his grandson. Papa didn’t realize he was such a proper Englishman. He saw himself as an adventurer, a man who ruled the seas and tamed the storms.

  A smile tried to form. She had never seen her father in command of one of his ships. Maybe he was all those things when he was free of the responsibilities which plague a man on land. Family, especially.

  “I
’m sorry, Papa, to have worried you.”

  “It seems we will have to be more careful for the time being.”

  “You are home now. Safe, when I thought you were dead. And now Spain is turning dark again with all those who think they know best. I would be very upset if something happened to you now.”

  “Me?” Her father laughed. “Spain has been full of trouble for so long, it is easy to believe that all is well. We will manage. Of course, there is another option.”

  “Oh, Papa, I am not going back to England. Spain is my home. I am Spanish. My son’s blood will be full of Spain, too!”

  “Your son is mostly English. Don’t fool yourself into thinking he will have only one love. But who knows? Maybe he will be one of those who can lead Spain with new blood, new vision?” her father said. “But we have to speak about today. It is one thing to be robbed along the road, by a thief. It is another to be shot at with no specific motive.”

  “A miscreant. Nothing more.”

  “You don’t believe that. I am very skeptical. And I know Roman definitely doesn’t believe it.”

  Roman walked in through the door between her room and Tono’s. “No, he doesn’t believe it,” he said. “The question is whether the shooter was incompetent or was only sending a warning shot.”

  “That’s absurd. A warning shot for what?” Shelene stood and went to Antonio’s bed. He was drowsy and accepted his blanket. “Besides, no one knew I would be on that road. I came home early and no one but those with me could know that. There was no warning shot.” She patted Antonio because she could not face Roman or her father’s denunciations.

  “You came straight home, stopping overnight in Las Cabezas?”

  “Yes. And I stopped in Arco de la Frontera to speak with Father Etienne also. But it could not have been more than an hour or so.”

  Roman turned and paced across the room. “So, we can assume someone saw you there and had the wherewithal and the ability to act quickly to waylay your carriage.”

  “I wasn’t waylaid.”

  “Shelene, this isn’t your fault and I’m not criticizing you.”

  “Well, it feels that way.”

  “Every possibility must be considered.” He approached her and took her hand. “I would prefer you didn’t see how I work but I will be ruthless with anyone who tries to hurt you and my son. You don’t want to admit it, but it is Belgrano.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you are considering every possibility. Just one.”

  “Sometimes the simplest reason is the right reason. What’s changed recently? I’ve returned and Belgrano… He still can’t be trusted.”

  “He does have a point, Shelene,” her father said.

  “And how do you propose we find out the whole truth? Las Colinas and Tía Ana-María are all the family he has left. I can’t just send him away if he has truly repented of his horrible ways. I won’t accept anything but the truth about him.”

  “I will find out. I will find out everything. But you must promise me, that when I present the truth, you will accept it.”

  She hesitated. Roman was brilliant at his job according to her father, according to Oliver. Anyone who knew him said the same.

  “And the truth will be incontrovertible.” He was still holding her hand. “Shelene, trust me to do what is right. I promise I will be careful. Antonio will not be harmed. You will not be harmed.”

  “Will you make me go back to England? Because I won’t go.” Shelene watched as her father walked across the room and quietly left, allowing the two of them to speak freely.

  “No.” Roman smiled. “We are together now. We are staying together. I don’t believe there is immediate danger for any of us, but once I start poking around, who knows. It could be that I’ll burst open a beehive. At worst, I will ask you to move to the top of the hill rather than stay here at Las Colinas.”

  “What sort of plans are you making? And how can I help?”

  “Let me take care of this. You must care for Antonio.”

  “This is my home, Roman. My family.”

  “For now, we only need to be cautious. Listen to what is happening around us. When Belgrano returns, I will watch him closely. Dewey, Rousseau, Joaquin, Brahim—all of us will work toward the same purpose.”

  “I came home because you forced me. I thought I had found peace, even with the prospect of your death. And now this.”

  His gaze had always been intense, as if he could see through walls whilst discerning the secret thoughts people tried to hide beneath their expressions, inside their hearts and running free in their minds.

  He loosed her hand and bent to press a kiss to her lips. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t respond the way he wanted.

  “It may be that we are just two people who must face difficulties head-on.”

  “Then why did we think it was a good idea to marry?”

  “Because there are no equals in the world for us. There is no one else who can endure the way we can together.”

  “I won’t be afraid, Roman. Not of Uncle Francisco. But I am fearful for my son. He can only hurt me through Antonio.”

  “You aren’t afraid of what he might do to me?”

  “He’s already killed you once. I think you can survive his worst.” She surprised him by pushing to her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips and running her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “You ought to take a bath. And I think you’ve worn that shirt since the night you returned to Las Colinas.”

  “Death is hell on an Englishman’s attire. And it’s not my only shirt; just the only one clean today.”

  “There is a talented seamstress in Arco de la Frontera who could assist. I will send her a message, if you like.”

  “Your aunt mentioned having a large fiesta to celebrate my return. I must have a proper wardrobe for such an occasion.”

  “She has said nothing to me. And why would we have such a frivolous night of enjoyment when we’ve been discussing the potential for such difficulty ahead?”

  His brows winged and he lifted one shoulder. “We could have a night of not so frivolous enjoyment instead.”

  She turned away from him, ignoring his obvious suggestion. “You know, if we have a party, Uncle Francisco would more than likely be in attendance.”

  “Wouldn’t it take a few weeks to arrange such an event? I plan to find out what he is doing now, not later.”

  She stared back at Roman, wishing for what she knew would only bring more heartache. “I am tired, Roman. I think I will take my leave.”

  “Good night.” He quietly left the room and she returned to Tono’s cradle. He was fast asleep, exhausted from the travel as she was. Being the matriarch of the family wasn’t the simple task her mother had made it seem.

  Strength had to come from somewhere. Shelene left the baby’s room and walked to the small chapel at the side of the main house. When she walked in, she saw her father on the front row, kneeling. “Papa?”

  He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Shelene, dear? What is it?”

  “Nothing. I was just feeling heavy-hearted.” She knelt next to him but didn’t feel like praying alongside him. “Why are you here?”

  “I spent months praying, and begging, that we would live and be rescued. Now that we have and we are safely home, I think I should spend, at the least, the same number of months being thankful. Strange how my prayer to return home has caused you so much grief.”

  “Oh, no, Papa. Don’t ever think that.”

  “It’s a tangled juxtaposition. Maybe if I hadn’t prayed so hard, Roman would never have left you to find me. And then there is Roman. Did my prayers cause him to leave everything he loves, put his life in jeopardy, just so he could lay this gift of my life at your feet? There’s more, if you want to hear it? Think about your uncle. What if he had been in Argentina and Roman had pursued him, causing a delay in finding us and we had died? And now, your uncle will be the catalyst who draws the of you two together again.”


  “Roman and I will work out our own problems. When did you turn into such a philosopher?” She squeezed his hand, trying to smile. There were so many upsetting possibilities; she wasn’t going to look back on what might have been.

  “Near dying can do that to a man.”

  “He hit me, Papa. The night you came home.”

  “Francisco? Have you told Roman?”

  “Of course not. Roman would mount his horse and hunt him to the end of the earth.”

  “He’s probably going to do that anyway.” Papa slid back unto the small pew and drew her back as well. His aged hand was dry and warm. “Your uncle has never been a kind man. I could say worse, of course. He struck your mother once too, before we married. After we married, I forbade him from returning to live at Las Colinas. He saw a new opportunity these past several months. Whether you, me or Roman, he knows his days here are numbered. He knows that whatever he is involved in will come crashing down and he will lash out at those of us nearby. I trust your husband’s judgment in this matter.

  “Now, what are you going to do about Roman’s grand gesture?” he said.

  * * * * *

  Dewey had arrived two days later with seven extra rifles and two vaqueros. He’d also purchased three barrels of gun powder, five hardy Galician horses and a wagon of supplies full of those things that one took for granted but could come in handy during a drought, a battle, a crop failure or a month-long fishing expedition.

  “Have the servants pack everything away. Good planning, Dewey. Are there no other possibilities for more hands with guns?”

  “There might be. I made inquiries in Cadiz and along the way home. A few more could arrive in the next few days. The Spanish army and the opposition have purchased nearly everything of value. And what they haven’t purchased is either poorly made or overpriced.”

  “Well, we can use what we have. You and Rousseau need to go to Las Colinas and inventory what they have as well. I want to make sure Belgrano can’t get his hands on our supplies.” They walked outside. Roman glanced toward Las Colinas, visible in the clear morning air on the other side of the valley. He would see Antonio shortly. Shelene had agreed to ride with him. And he would present the beautiful Arabians to her.