While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  Manuela's face was wary as she approached, and it became even more so when Beth requested Charity to go to the kitchen for another pot of coffee. Once Charity had left them alone, Beth stated baldly, "Rafael returned last night. From now and until we leave, I am going to have my servant sleep here in the rooms with me. Will you see that another bed is procured?"

  Guessing the reason behind Beth's request, Manuela nodded without hesitation. "It will be done. Occasionally guests prefer for a servant to sleep nearby. No one will wonder at it, no one need even know of it."

  Beth let her breath out in a jagged sigh. "That's the problem, and that's where I need your help—I want everyone to know that Charity is sleeping in my rooms."

  "I see. Very well, I shall make certain that the senora's fear of sleeping in a strange house without her maid nearby is well known. I will make especially certain that Luis, Senor Rafael's servant, knows of it."

  Beth flashed a warm, grateful smile. "Oh, Manuela! Thank you!"

  Chapter 14

  Charity's presence in her bedroom at night was a frail barrier against Rafael's dark charm, but it was the only thing Beth could think of to give herself some protection. Of course she could have told her husband, but for obvious reasons she chose not to do so.

  Facing Nathan when they met before the midday meal was easier than Beth had imagined it would be. Smiling into Nathan's features, Beth felt her heart squeeze painfully, hating herself for the role she was playing. Perhaps, she thought viciously, I am naturally a liar, an adulterous woman of easy virtue. It was an unfair assessment, but she was too involved with her struggle between anger, shame and guilt to think rationally. The guilt clogged her throat whenever she thought of Nathan, and shame washed over her at how easily Rafael had overcome her resistance. As for the anger, it flooded her body and made her want to lash out at the knowledge that she was powerless to escape the dreadful coil in which she found herself. But I will find a way out of this maze, she vowed fiercely, I will!

  The ordeal of meeting Rafael face to face was postponed; Don Miguel mentioned as they sat down to eat that his son had arrived early that morning, but had taken Sebastian on a brief tour of some land that lay to the east of the ranch. "They should return in time for dinner tonight. Please accept my apologies for their absence."

  Beth was more than willing to accept his apologies, and added silently the fervent wish that Rafael might break his arrogant neck during the tour. That his death might increase her anguish she refused to acknowledge.

  Manuela had wasted little time in spreading the news of the Senora Ridgeway's uneasiness about sleeping without her servant nearby, and Don Miguel spent several minutes as they were finishing the second course of the meal, a spicy green chile soup, earnestly explaining to Beth that she had nothing to fear while in the hacienda—the Comanches had never scaled the stout walls that surrounded them. She listened with polite attention, longing to confess to her host that it was not the enemy outside the walls that she feared, but the enemy within.

  Nathan made no comment while Don Miguel had been speaking to her, but Beth was aware that he was looking at her closely. He remained silent, and it was only when they were alone, taking a stroll through the lush and vibrant flower gardens at the rear of the hacienda, that Nathan made mention of it. Idly examining a vivid display of scarlet poinsettias and dainty, white spider lilies, he asked quietly, "You afraid of something, Beth?"

  "No! Of course not!" she said quickly, too quickly.

  Nathan didn't say anything, his expression thoughtful. Shrugging his shoulders, he remarked, "Very well, my dear. I wondered at Charity's presence. You have never struck me as being skittish, and I found it strange that while sleeping in the back of a wagon far away from civilization, with wild Indians prowling about, never caused you to turn a hair—yet, now when we are safely behind two sets of stone walls and have all the protection one could wish for from the—er—savage elements of this country, you find it necessary to have a servant sleep by your bedside. Rather peculiar, wouldn't you say?"

  Beth didn't meet his considering gaze, looking instead in the direction of the hills that rose in the distance. Her voice slightly strangled, she said, "I know it is ridiculous, but it comforts me. It may be that I am not as brave as you think."

  "Perhaps," he murmured, his gray eyes dwelling on her averted face, positive that she was hiding something. But, as they were to leave within a few days and put this place behind them, he was not inclined to probe. Beth would tell him in her own good time, and he was not about to disrupt the harmony between them by forcing a confidence from her. Infusing heartiness in his voice, he suggested, "Well, then, since we have exhausted that subject and have seen the gardens, shall we retire for a siesta? I believe it is customary at this time of day."

  Beth agreed, needing the solace of her rooms to recover her composure for the coming confrontation with Rafael this evening. But, restlessly pacing the confines of her sitting room, she found neither peace nor a solution. The most obvious solution was to tell Nathan, but if she did that... The picture of Nathan facing Rafael on the dueling field flashed across her brain again. No! She would never allow it!

  By the time she left her rooms to join the others in the central courtyard, she was taut with anxiety. Outwardly her face was serene, the violet eyes wide and limpid, the gently curved mouth soft and rosy, and her smile only slightly strained.

  Everyone was already there except Sebastian and Rafael, and she sighed with relief. It would be much easier for her to be already in the midst of the others when they met, rather than the other way around.

  Dona Madelina was sitting in one of the iron chairs near the fountain, and Nathan, standing by her side, was listening courteously to something she was saying, while Don Miguel appeared to be conferring with one of the servants a short distance away. On a table nearby was a tempting array of refreshments, both to drink and eat. Beth's appetite had deserted her, and after sitting herself next to Dona Madelina, she settled for a tall, cool glass of sangria.

  Don Miguel walked over to them, a frown of annoyance on his face. His displeasure obvious, he said, "I must again apologize for the absence of Rafael and Sebastian. I just received a note, which my son arranged to have delivered at this late hour, saying that he and Sebastian will not return until tomorrow." He shook his head and grumbled, "I do not understand what Sebastian is thinking, deserting his guests this way. I ask that you forgive him and put it down to Rafael's influence over him. As for my son, I cannot offer any excuse."

  Sebastian's absence suited Nathan perfectly, and he murmured, "There is no need for you to apologize—I think, in the face of the charming and pleasant company of yourself and your lovely wife, Beth and I shall be well satisfied."

  At the news that she would not be facing Rafael tonight, Beth was uncertain whether to laugh with relief or stamp her foot in rage. It didn't take a great deal of intelligence to understand why Rafael had waited until now to let his father know that he and Sebastian would be away for the night—if Beth had known earlier, there was a good chance that she not only could have but would have arranged an immediate departure. She would have been safe from any reprisal until after Rafael returned and found her gone... by which time she would have several hours' head start on him. Devil!

  Beth surmised correctly Rafael's reasons for not wanting anyone to know of his intention to be away overnight and for the late delivery of his note. That evening as he and Sebastian made camp, he thought with amusement of Beth's reaction, before he turned his mind to other things.

  The afternoon had proved to be enjoyable once they had left the hacienda, and Sebastian's resentment and disillusionment faded slightly. They had both been stiff with one another at first, but as the miles passed and they conversed with each other, some of the old rapport returned. It was not as though everything was as it once had been, but there was a mending of the breach.

  It helped that both men wished to heal it and that both were doing their damnedest to do
so. It would take time for Sebastian's raw feeling of pain to disappear, for him to reconcile himself to the fact that the woman he had convinced himself he loved above all others was not the faultless goddess he had imagined, and for him to realize that her heart belonged to a man he held in the highest esteem. Bleakly he decided as they stopped for camp that if he had to lose Beth to another man that it hurt less that the man was Rafael—but not a whole lot less.

  His bruised heart aside, Sebastian had been pleased with the afternoon's excursion. They had left the hacienda shortly after one in the afternoon with the supplies they would need for the brief trip snugly encased in saddlebags, Sebastian's heavy rawhide jacket tied across the back of his saddle and Rafael's brightly striped serape suffering the same treatment.

  The pace was steady as they rode toward the east. They stopped now and then to water their horses from the clear, wide, sandy-banked rivers and streams or to stretch their own legs for a few minutes near a grove of sweet gums and maples. The weather was perfect, the sun shining, the air warm and with a hint of spring in it. As for the country through which they rode—magnificent, Sebastian thought dazedly, as he stared at the brush-covered hills and canyons; the myriad of trees, Spanish oak, sweet gum and pine, maple and cypress; the maidenhair-fern-lined creeks; the clear sweet springs that gushed over limestone bedrock; and the awe-inspiring outcroppings of massive granite. Without a doubt he intended to own a large section of it for himself.

  About an hour before sunset Rafael pulled up his horse and pointed to a rocky outcropping that topped a small rise. "We'll camp there for the night. It's off any trail and should offer a defensible position if there are raiding Indians or Mexican bandidos in the area."

  Sebastian nodded, realizing that he hadn't thought of the very real danger during the afternoon. He'd been too busy wrestling with his injured feelings and drinking in the majestic untamed country through which they had ridden; not once had it occurred to him to worry over the possibility of attack by hostile savages or marauding bandits. Annoyed with himself, he asked, "Do you think we will be in danger from an attack?"

  Rafael sent him a level look from underneath the black sombrero. "Amigo, if you would survive here in the Republic, you must always be prepared for an Indian raid—anywhere at any time."

  On that note they turned their horses from the trail they had been following and rode briskly to the outcropping that Rafael pointed out. The next half hour passed swiftly as camp was made and the horses tended.

  By the time they had eaten, the sun had vanished and there was a chill in the evening air. Rafael had made a small fire, and with their stomachs full of tortillas and spicy pemmican and the hot, strong coffee brewed in a tin pot on the glowing coals, both men settled against the boulders that embraced their camp and relaxed.

  Sebastian sat nearest the remains of the fire, idly poking it with a long stick, his features gilded by the dying coals. The firelight intensified his rugged handsomeness and gave him a slightly ruthless air. He was wearing the heavy rawhide jacket to guard against the increasing coolness of the night air, and he had the Colt revolver, fitted snugly in a leather holster, hanging from a rawhide belt about his waist.

  If Sebastian sat in the glow of the fire, Rafael lay in its shadows, his shape barely discernible in the gathering darkness. His long legs were stretched in front of him toward the warmth of the fire; his shoulders propped against one of the rounded boulders. He had not yet put on the striped serape, and in the encroaching darkness of the night his black clothing blended into the shadows. The black sombrero, pulled low across his face, hid his expression, and the tip of a thin cigarillo that he smoked gleamed redly as he stared at the fire.

  There was a companionable silence between them, with no need for conversation. The sudden unexpected scream of a cougar nearby caused Sebastian to start, and, seeing it, Rafael smiled and murmured, "Nervous, amigo?"

  Sebastian pulled a face. "A little. All of this is new to me, and I'm afraid I haven't as yet developed your indifference to the possibility of an Indian attack."

  Rafael stirred impatiently. "Not indifference, Sebastian, never indifference. It's more taking precautions against being surprised—by anyone—and at the same time putting the thought out of your mind." He took a long deep drag of the cigarillo and tossed it on the dying fire. "I doubt that we have anything to fear tonight. It's not yet the raiding season, nor is the moon full—and we are camped in a place that is defensible."

  Sebastian glanced around him, noting the sheer, high rocky outcropping behind them and the mass of large, jumbled boulders that nearly encompassed their camp. The horses were tethered near a small spring not far from where they sat, and no one could approach the animals without passing right through the middle of the two men.

  Rafael watched Sebastian's appraisal and said, "It's one of the first rules of survival out here—unless you're traveling with a large contingent of heavily armed men, never camp in the open. Find something, even if it's no more than a dead snag at your back."

  Ruefully Sebastian muttered, "With you, it is second nature to think of such things—I'm more comfortable strolling the streets of New Orleans than I am out here."

  A sympathetic laugh came from Rafael. "And I, my young friend, am very ill-at-ease in New Orleans." His face almost dreamy, he continued, "The hills, the vast prairies, and the unexplored territories, even with all the dangers that lurk there, are much more to my liking—believe me."

  Sebastian grinned at him. "Your actions never reveal it—I recall that my father said something to the effect that you resembled a chameleon—throw you into any situation and you blend into the surroundings, whether a ball at the governor's palace or a brawl on a riverboat.

  Rafael smiled. "Your father is a perceptive man. Perhaps, too perceptive... especially if one had something to hide."

  "Amen to that, cousin, amen," Sebastian said fervently, thinking of certain pranks and their disconcerting discovery by his father. Shaking his dark head, he added, "How he can dare lecture me on my lack of decorum is beyond me. I didn't kidnap an earl's daughter—even if he was deceived by the fact that Mother was dancing at a Gypsy wedding."

  "Perhaps there are things he has done that he regrets, and he does not want to see you make the same mistakes. You are very like him, you know."

  "Not when it comes to women, I can assure you! Why, I would never—!"

  "Where a woman is concerned, you can never be adamant about what you will or will not do!" Rafael interrupted harshly.

  Aware of the disruptive note in their conversation and thinking of Beth, Sebastian asked carefully, "If you think that Jason has regrets about the past—have you?"

  "Some," Rafael bit out in a tone that made Sebastian decide not to pursue the subject further.

  Changing the subject, Sebastian asked abruptly, "What did you mean about the full moon and the raiding season? I thought that the Indians attacked at any time."

  "They do, but like all hunting animals they prefer the full of the moon. The Spanish called it 'Comanche moon.' As for the season—in the spring when the grass grows thick and green, then through the summer until it is time for the fall buffalo hunts is when they do most of their raiding." An odd smile on his mouth, Rafael murmured, "It is a way of life like no other. You cannot stop a Comanche from raiding and pillaging any more than you can forbid an eagle to soar."

  Unnerved by that smile, Sebastian jabbed the stick into the glowing coals. Realizing suddenly why he was so uncomfortable, he asked bluntly, "Did you ever—? I mean when you were... Did you take part in—?"

  Rafael ended Sebastian's fumbling by saying, "Yes."

  Sebastian took a shaken breath. "You mean you rode with those murdering devils and took part in attacking white people?" he demanded with angry indignation. "How could you bring yourself to do such a thing?"

  "You forget, I think, that I was only two years old when my mother and I were captured by the Comanches. She died before I was three and with her died any
memory of another life. The hacienda, my father, even Don Felipe—none of them existed in my memory. How could I have done any different?"

  "Well, I think you should have known instinctively that you were attacking your own kind. Didn't you even once question what you were doing?" His voice thickening, he snarled, "I suppose next you'll tell me that you enjoyed it!"

  Silence greeted his words. The silence, taut and heavy, lengthened as Rafael placed a new cigarillo in his mouth and, leaning forward, lit it from the stick that Sebastian had just been using to prod the few lingering embers of the fire. When it was lit to his satisfaction he looked at Sebastian.

  Rafael's expression was remote; the gray eyes cool as they stared at the younger man. Sebastian cursed his unruly tongue, aware that they were dangerously near to falling out again. Almost apologetically he began, "I shouldn't have said that. It is just that—"

  "I was twelve years old the first time I went on a raid, and yes, I did enjoy it," Rafael interrupted calmly. "I was thirteen when I stole my first horse and scalped my first white man, and a year later I raped my first woman and took my first captive. By the time I was seventeen, I had been raiding with the warriors for over five years—I owned fifty horses, I had my own buffalo-skin teepee, three slaves of my own, and several scalps taken by my hand decorated my lance and favorite bridle." There was no hint of shame or regret in his voice and his gray eyes never wavered from Sebastian's. "I was Comanche!" Rafael spat the words with pride. "One of the Nermernuh, 'the People,' and I lived by their ways." His voice thickened and he had lost that cool aloofness. Aware of it, Rafael stopped and took a long, jagged breath. In a quieter tone he continued, "I was a young warrior in a band of the Antelope Comanches, the Kwerharrehnuh, and my path to glory, my right to speak in council, my right to take a wife, my wealth, my very reasons for living were to raid, rape, rob, and kill. I wasted not one opportunity to add prestige and honor to my name, to increase my standing within the tribe." His chiseled mouth curving with cynical amusement, he added, "I was ambitious in those days, and I relished the raids upon the white man that dared to take land that was ours, and I yearned for the day that I would have earned enough glory to lead my own raid, to have the warriors follow my commands, knowing that I would bring them success. Oh, yes, I did all of those things, and I did them without regret. I took pride in counting coup, in returning to the camp with my white captives—and, yes, with the scalps of those I had slain in battle dangling from my lance and with the horses I had stolen plunging ahead of me."