by Eliza Lloyd
“What do you think Belgrano’s plans are?” Rosseau asked.
“I can only guess, but knowing Belgrano, I think I’m close. Without Hightower or me to control life at Las Colinas, he meant to use his influence to obtain command of the estate. But I don’t think that is his main objective. I think he is part of the group who want to overthrow the King of Spain,” Roman said.
“The time is right. The king is weak, the people unhappy.”
“Set the new vaqueros to a specific task. I want to know where every trail in the valley leads. Give them an outline of both estates and have them identify the trails on a map. But make sure their heads aren’t just down, they need to see what is happening too,” Roman said.
“What about Belgrano himself?”
“He’ll be back. If you or Rousseau thinks of anything else, let me know.”
“What about Brahim and his family?”
“I’m riding with Shelene later this morning. I’ll talk to him then.”
“Ah, going to ride those fine new horses of yours?”
“They’re well-rested now. And they aren’t mine. They are a gift for my wife.”
Dewey laughed. “They are yours, with strings attached.”
“Hmm,” Roman said, then mounted one of the horses, saddling creaky beneath his weight. “Treat everything suspiciously, Dewey. I don’t trust Belgrano with anything that is important to me.”
He clucked his tongue and turned his horse toward the estate.
He’d visited the hacienda each morning to see Antonio, but Shelene had stayed away. Working on a stained-glass window, they had said. He didn’t doubt it. She had always been creative and dedicated to improving her craft. But it was also a convenient reason to keep her distance. She was determined to keep her word. He’d give her all the time she needed to punish him, and he would enjoy every moment of rebuilding her trust and returning to their marriage agreement.
But, just in case she was in a forgiving mood upon receiving such a beautiful gift, he’d packed a bottle of wine, two glasses, a blanket and enough food to sustain them through the afternoon. When he saw there was enough room in his pannier, he packed more wine.
Once at Las Colinas, he dismounted and entered the house. He was always amazed at the efficiency of the estate. Numerous servants hustled about cleaning, caring for Antonio, preparing large quantities of food for day-to-day meals and preservation for long-term survival.
Prosperity for all attached to the estate. Roman would never understand it—Belgrano had grown up in this environ, yet he was a selfish, hateful bastard.
Roman stood near the fountain waiting for Shelene to come down. When he heard her crisp footsteps along the balcony, he glanced up to see the sixteen-year-old girl he had fallen in love with.
Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun. A red flower was tucked into it and a black bolero sat upon her head at a rakish angle. She wore a black skirt with a flounce and her white shirt was tucked in with her sleeves buttoned tight at her wrists. A wide leather belt decorated her waist. Around her neck was an equally bright red neckcloth with a silver round buckle holding the two edges together. How he would love to see her walk onto an English duchess’s dancing floor looking like the Spanish princess she was to him.
She’d never lacked confidence and watching her stride across the balcony and down the curved staircase made him believe she’d gained even more while he’d been gone. As she approached, she pulled on one of her black leather gloves. “Now, tell me the truth of this grand gesture about which my father has hinted.”
“He told you?” Roman said, with a bit of disappointment.
“Not so much told me, rather implied that you were concocting some scheme to win my favor.”
“Is that possible?”
“Hmm,” she said. “Englishmen.” She pulled on her other glove. “I haven’t been riding since Antonio was born. It is much easier to travel by carriage when one has an infant.”
“He will be riding soon enough.”
She laughed and glanced up. “He’s not even a year old, Roman.”
“I will be here to teach him. You’re not to worry.”
“Let us ride. I have a full morning planned.”
“I’m surprised you could fit in the time.”
“The weather is perfect, even if the company is not.”
Roman placed a hand over his heart. “Ever the precise marksman.”
Shelene led the way outside. When she saw the horses, she gasped. “Oh, Roman. Arabians? They are magnificent.” She gripped the bridle of the nearest horse and then leaned into the horse’s shoulder, patting its neck. “What a gorgeous girl.” She dipped beneath the horse’s neck and stood between them. “Incredible. I’ve never seen such a perfectly matched pair.”
“I’m told they are from the Godolphin Arabian. They’re yours.”
“Grand gesture, indeed.” She smiled, a bit one-sided and with just a hint of pleasure. He knew she was thrilled with the gift.
“Take your pick. I thought we could take the trail along the valley stream then up to the north pasture.”
She gripped the saddle horn and swung up with ease, her skirt billowing then settling around her. She usually used a step-up box. With this level of excitement, there was no need for Roman’s help. He mounted as well and reined his horse away from the house. “I hope you can keep up,” he said.
They set off at an easy pace, the horses running side by side in an easy lope until they reached the rockier, downward portion of the trail. Roman followed Shelene, enjoying the smooth, graceful way she rode. She was a daughter of Spain, her English half rejected, forgotten, buried. He had a better understanding now how she’d hated her two years in London. Without him. Without her father. And she would always blame England for taking her mother from her.
Shelene pulled her horse to a slower gait, allowing Roman to catch up and ride beside her.
“Remember the first time we rode together?” she asked. “I was wildly in love with the handsome, young son of an English duke. So mysterious. So dangerous. And promising me I was the only girl he loved.”
“So, what you are saying is that nothing’s really changed.”
She laughed. “I’m not wildly in love anymore,” she said.
“I’m not dangerous or mysterious anymore either, but you are still the only girl I love.”
“And two Arabians are supposed to proclaim that love? Roman, you don’t believe me. That is only going to make the coming months and years very difficult. I won’t object to your being Antonio’s father, but I will no longer be your wife.”
“Are you seeking an annulment or divorce? Surely Father Etienne and the Church will frown upon that. And, of course, your husband will vehemently oppose such an action.”
“It can be done, even though it will take time.”
“Perhaps you are right. Afterward, I could find another Spanish wife to shower with gifts while she bears me more beautiful sons and daughters.”
“Be sure to tell her beforehand that you will likely break her heart with broken promises.”
“Is that the reason you will cite in your divorce petition? But, Holy Father, he broke his word to me. That was never my intention and you know it.”
“Don’t mock me, Roman. We married based on that promise.”
“No, we married because we have long loved each other, and we recognize the moment for what it was: our chance.”
They rode in silence for a while longer before Shelene said, “She’s a dream to ride. You were fortunate to find such horses and the person willing to sell them.”
“Señor Madrigalas will be in Cadiz in a month. I told him we would attend him since he is bringing in more Arabians from Morocco. I think they will be a great addition to building our own line of Arabians, though it won’t hurt to look for prime Andalucían stock as well.”
“Making friends already?”
“In fact, that is the first thing I do—did—every time I went on a mi
ssion for the Crown. Making friends makes everything easier when you want information.”
“When we get back, I need to ride up and see Oliver. I want to see if the bark is relieving some of his malarial symptoms.”
“This morning he seemed rather chipper. I wouldn’t worry about Oliver. Mrs. Spencer has been smothering him with attention. And I don’t think he minds overmuch.”
“Still, I should check on the health of a friend. Besides, we are not complete heathens in the backcountry of Spain.”
He laughed. “You sounded very English just then.”
She lifted her nose.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,” he said.
“I should think not. What an insulting thing to say to a woman who has spent her entire life, except two years, living in Spain.” She reined her horse up the trail. “Too bad Englishmen can barely keep up with a Spanish woman.” She used a small riding crop and tapped the horse’s flank, sending it up at a breakneck speed.
“Shelene! Wait.” At the top of the hill, with a large green pasture spread out in front of them, Shelene pulled up and waited for him to join her. “That was reckless!” he said.
“I’m not riding side-saddle and I’ve ridden this hill many, many times. I think I’m in love…” she said, glancing at him while patting the horse’s neck. “With this horse. I’ll ride yours next time.”
“Not my horses. Yours. You ought to name them, though.”
“Bronte is going to be jealous you’ve abandoned him.”
“If it were practical, I would bring the old boy to Spain and let him romp with these fine fillies, but he’s earned his rest and I promised him green pastures and a warm stall the rest of his life.”
“In England? The poor boy probably has a constant chill. How about we name them Arsu and Azizos?”
“The evening star and the morning star? It fits.”
She stroked the horse with a gentle swipe of her hand. Roman felt acute jealousy that she lavished more affection on her beast of burden than she did him. He would need to be more diligent in his pursuit.
“Arsu and I will race you to the rock fence.” Cattle fed at the far side of the pasture and three riders were visible watching over the herd.
“Is there a cliff on the other side of that barrier? I would hate to jump over and find nothing but air.”
She laughed. “If I were going to dupe you in order to get your money, perhaps, but I think it wouldn’t be that difficult to ask for everything you have and you would oblige.”
“My dear, you are too confident. Did you say something about a race?” He clucked his tongue and took an early lead. Of course, he was going to let her win, wasn’t he? Ah, hell no. She deserved a thorough thrashing.
Roman didn’t look back. He could feel horse and rider hard at his heel. The mare beneath him had also picked up the challenge and surged ahead, clods shooting up from its hooves.
They came to the fence and he tugged the horse left, slowing and bringing Shelene’s horse with them as they came to a rest between a group of trees. The canopy above provided shade for the green grass below and the blanket he was going to lay down for their comfort.
He dismounted, breathing hard, and tied off the reins for Azizos, the winner in his first gambit to win the return of Shelene’s trust. She loved him. Of that, he was sure.
Shelene leaned against her saddle horn, her arms braced. “Is that how you win a woman’s love? You let me win last time.”
“And look what it got me. Out of your good graces no matter the Herculean efforts to reclaim what is mine.”
He braced his hands at her waist and lifted her to the ground, letting her slide down his body. She gripped his arms and stared up. “Next time, we are going to bring a chaperone.”
“Martina is too busy gossiping with your aunt to even notice that we are…riding.” He let loose and walked to his horse, clutching the pannier and finding an even spot for them to enjoy an hour or so alone. Shelene removed her bolero and strolled toward him. He found the blanket and snapped it into place. He held her hand while she sat. She threw her hat and gloves aside. “I brought wine and a few other things.”
“Do those other things include groveling, begging and crying?”
He pulled out the glasses and one of the wine bottles. “You’ve gotten much saucier in my absence. I might need more than one bottle of wine to cure that.”
“I’m afraid it’s incurable.” She accepted her glass of wine. “When a Spanish woman reaches her majority, matures and becomes the head of her household and runs a large estate, she finds she has little time for the coy niceties of etiquette.”
He lifted his glass to hers and touched the delicate bell. “What do I need to do to win such a woman’s trust?”
She sipped at her madeira, then stared at the blanket. “Roman, I am happy you are home. My heart is full of incredible gratitude for what you have done. After all the months you were gone, and then thinking you were dead along with my father… I still can’t believe or accept you are here. It’s almost like a dream…”
“So, you are not ready to have a husband return to your life?”
“A husband? I was about to marry Señor Navarro.” She braced one arm against the blanket and leaned toward him. “Don’t you understand? It is you, Roman. Not because you are my husband. But because of our past. Having you in my life might be compelling, but you haven’t changed. What is the next thing you will chase after, forgetting you have a wife and son here to protect and care for? When will you find yourself facing a man with a gun whom you can’t outrun? Or an enemy hell-bent on revenge for some long-ago slight? I love the peace here at Las Colinas, but I want—”
“What I want too. I want you and our son. I want to live in this valley and enjoy the sun on my face while our love grows. And our family grows.” He took her free hand. “I love you, Shelene. It has always been you. Do I want to be the way I am? It was a calling for me. One I couldn’t deny. Do I want you to be anything but who you are? No. Do I love you because you are weak and easily won over? No, I love you because you are the highest and best prize, the only woman I have ever wanted. And the most difficult to win. But I am not giving up on having you.”
“Let us talk of something else.”
“No. It’s too nice a day to talk about anything but us and our future. Let’s drink all the madeira and talk about our son. Tell me about when he was born. Or before that, when you found out.”
She smiled slyly. “It was nothing less than the happiest day of my life.”
Chapter Fourteen
Shelene had promised Father Etienne the stained-glass window would be completed in the next week and she labored over it, angry at herself for being behind schedule. She bit at her lip, trying to suppress her agitation, and euphoria, about the reasons why.
A strange reality surrounded her since Roman had returned. Her mind was clear. Her heart was betraying her at every turn, though. Sleepless nights added to her incomprehensible elation.
Two weeks. The same amount of time she’d spent with Roman in France after their marriage. Two weeks and she felt herself giving in to his unique and relentless powers of persuasion.
In her rational moments, it was easy to ask the obvious question: When would his duty to England overcome his sense of duty to his family. To her?
How was it she could spend so little time with him yet know him so well?
She turned back to the glass frame window laying on her worktable. She’d cleaned and repainted the frame. She’d finished securing the shaky lead cames with new filler, a mixture she’d developed which included linseed oil.
Now for this last section. She blinked her eyes and refocused. The drawing on her right was the best she could do based on her instincts for how the finished glass should appear.
Maybe her procrastination had to do with the bag of blue glass she’d purchased in Seville. The shop owner had a wide array of broken stained-glass windows that no one had bothered to repair, opti
ng to sell them for the scrap metal or actual glass. In some cases, the frames were still in perfect condition. She purchased three of those for her own work.
She opened the leather bag and emptied the contents on the table, separating the different shades of blue along with those that had serrations and might be used for shading between the different pieces. After all, a gown’s folds would not be one consistent color. Somehow, she would make that work, rather than taking apart the other robe. Poor Durra, she’d had to watch Antonio for four hours while Shelene had sifted through the best of the blue shards.
Taking a deep breath, she used her pliers to ease the broken glass away from the cames. Most of the lead was in place, only mangled. Each piece of glass was placed on her drawing, which would assist with not only finding the right colors to replace but putting the whole of it together again.
She was interrupted about four times, but she didn’t look up, only answering the question put to her and returning to her work.
“Shelene, my dear. How have you been? I have returned.”
Shelene straightened and looked over her shoulder. “Uncle Francisco,” she said, and moved toward him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “How was your journey to Malaga?”
“Tiring, so you can imagine my relief at being home. And you? How is your reunion with your husband?”
Shelene glanced at his attire. He did not appear to have traveled a great distance. His hair was neatly combed, his shirt had the barest of wrinkles and his tie a perfect bow. “Well, I think you can imagine. It is not without its difficulties. Have you had something to drink? I am just at a point where I wish to tear my hair out and may join you.”
He looked around to view her table. “Still laboring over Joseph and Mary?”
“Yes, but with my last trip to Seville I think I found the perfect color to finish the glass replacement for her gown. Father Etienne will be happy, at last. He is going to say a mass for the family when I am done.”
“Is your soul not pure?”
