Kathleen leaned forward, her great purple eyes shining with pleasure. "They sit quietly, like Maria Jesus, not saying anything. But I know they're assimilating most of what I say. DO you realize, Simon," she went on eagerly, "what could be accomplished if only ten of the Indians who work for you learn to read and write? Think of it! With an education they could raise themselves out of the squalid --"
Kathleen broke off, aware of the inscrutable expression in the eyes that watched her so closely.
"You're a surprising woman."
Kathleen was unsure how to take the statement. "I ... Thank you," she concluded awkwardly, putting her napkin on the table. "If you'll excuse me -- if that's all, I'd like to --"
"No, it isn't. I want to talk with you about your job."
"you're not satisfied/" she asked, perplexed.
"As tutor -- sure. But I want you to take on an added task -- mistress of the hacienda."
Simon nodded at the portrait of Doña Delores that hung on the far wall. Kathleen had never liked the portrait and found it hard to believe that the heavyset woman with the faint shadow of a mustache over the bitter line of the lips was the famed beauty Father Marcos had mentioned.
I'd hoped Doña Delores would stay on as mistress here, but she died shortly after I arrived." His face grim, he went on. "Since everyone seems quite enchanted with your ... charms, I'd like for you to be responsible for the household -- to see that all runs smoothly at the fiestas that'll be held here."
"Until another tutor can be brought out?" Kathleen lifted one slim brow.
The corners of Simon's lips curved in a lopsided grin. "So you're reminding me of the nasty behavior I displayed at the mission? Yes, until another tutor can be brought out."
Kathleen rose. "Then I'll bid you good night."
Simon nodded, and she left the room, savoring the fleeting moment of triumph.
Once in bed, Kathleen found she was too excited to sleep. Her impulsive flight from her father and Edmund was working out far better than she could have hoped for. She was actually enjoying the simple life of the rancho and even found Simon pleasant to work for at times.
Hours later she still lay awake, wide-eyed and restless. She had long since discarded the thin coverlet as the heat seeped through the thick adobe walls. The moon splattered slanted patterns on the tile floor, beckoning her outside.
Once more Kathleen slipped into the wrapper at the foot of the bed and, softly throwing open the veranda doors, followed the silvery path of moonlight outside, across the cool tiles to the wrought iron railing.
There was not the smallest breeze, and her tangled curls lay damply against her neck, hanging heavily to her waist. With a movement as graceful as the mountain cat Amelia had compared her to, she stretched, lifting the mass of spun-gold hair over her arms, high off her back.
Something made her turn, made her aware of another's presence. In the shadows she saw only the red glare of a cigar tip, but she knew it was Simon who silently watched her.
"I-I didn't know anyone else was about," she murmured to the darker shadow. She pulled the wrapper tighter about her. "I couldn't sleep. The heat, I'm not used to it."
"It's the still before the Santa Ana," Simon said, getting up from where he sat on the wooden bench. He came to her side and tossed the cigar over the railing so that the red tip arced in the blackness of the night like a shooting star. "The desert winds -- the Santa Anas -- they come the last of May. The ocean breezes suddenly halt, and the hot, dry winds come whirling down the canyons, through the passes, and rush out into the valleys."
"You talk like you've been in quite a few of these Santa Anas."
Simon glanced at her sharply. "Once is enough. The winds are harsh and burning. They rip off palm leaves, snap branches, and topple over eucalyptus trees. They bring so much dust and heat that no one dares make a light -- even a stove."
Intrigued and drawn by the low, even cadence of his voice, Kathleen unconsciously leaned on the railing close to Simon.
"How long do these winds last?"
"A few days. After the winds stop, there's a celebration to coincide with the roundup. During the day, there are rodeos and the branding of the calves. And at night, barbeques and dancing."
"It must all be quite exciting," she said softly.
"You'll find out for yourself," Simon said, rising from the railing. "Unless you decide to run away again."
Kathleen looked up quickly. How much did he know? But the rough-cast face in the moonlight was enigmatic. The heavy-lidded eyes held hers, as if calmly waiting.
"I'd better go back inside," she said in a husky whisper, feeling more like a silly schoolgirl than a grown woman. "It's late."
"Come here, Kathleen."
She froze in the act of turning away. His hands were warm on her shoulders as he came up behind her, pulling her against him. "Are you afraid?" he whispered at her ear.
Kathleen's breath was as bellows in her lungs. Yes! she wanted to cry out. I'm afraid to submit to the demand of your kisses ... to the power man holds over woman ... and the pain. But the words never reached her lips.
Simon turned her to face him, and his mouth closed over hers. For a long moment Kathleen stood immobile against him. There was the heavy, sweet smell of sangría on his breath.
Then, as his lips left hers and roamed over her face, lightly tracing a trail that came to rest at her ear, Kathleen's legs began to tremble. She felt a warmth spread throughout her belly. To keep from sagging, she caught at his shoulders and felt him wince.
Instantly she drew away. "What is it, Simon?"
"It's nothing. I was hurt riding herd today. Diego tended to it this evening."
But Kathleen's left hand came away damp and sticky. "Your wound needs to be rebandaged."
Simon chuckled in the darkness. "I'm kissing you, and all you can think of is tending a wound?"
But he submitted and let her lead him to the kitchen. While he removed his shirt, Kathleen lit a candle and searched through the shelves for a clean cloth. When she turned around, Simon was sprawled in the rickety chair at the table. In the light of the candle the hair that matted the wide expanse of chest shone like the glossy pelt of some forest creature. She colored faintly as she realized she was staring at his naked torso with fascination.
Briskly she moved to him, laying th ecloth and scissors on the table. "It won't take long," she said in a businesslike voice.
Kathleen still trembled from Simon's kiss. She was angry -- at Simon for taking advantage of the fact she was hired help, at herself for letting her emotions get out of control. It could be disastrous for her if she should be forced to leave the sheltering hideaway of the hacienda.
Ignoring the lips that curled in faint amusement, she gently pulled at the old bandage, clotted with blood. Once, when the cloth adhered to the skin, she quickly stripped it away, knowing it must hurt. But Simon said nothing, only watched her.
"Simon, you've been grazed by a bullet!"
"One of the vaquero's guns went off."
Kathleen picked up the candle, holding it close so that she could see while she deftly stanched the slow trickle of blood. As she finished, her gaze involuntarily strayed to the muscled column of Simon's neck. For the first time she marveled at the beauty in the masculine physique.
Then the candle began to shake in her hand as she stared unbelievingly at Simon's earlobe. Dear God, no! It couldn't be! But yes, there it was. In the light of the quivering candle could be seen the slight indentation in the lobe. A pierced year.
You!" The single word came out as hot and blistering as the Santa Ana. "You're the vaquero at La Palacia!"
She would have killed him then; would have buried the scissors in his heart. But Simon was swifter. In one liquid, quick movement he caught her wrist in a steel grasp as she lunged for the scissors.
The candle fluttered out on the floor.
"I'll kill you, I swear!" Tears of anger coursed down her cheeks. "I'll make you pay for what you did to me,
Simon Reyes! You're4 a loathsome, bestial savage!"
Simon laughed softly as he jerked her against him so that the scissors fell to the floor with a clang. "I seriously doubt that you'll kill me, Catalina. For, where would you run next? Or don't you know that rewards were posted today in every town on the California coast" -- one side of the lean lips lifted in a cruel smile -- "for information leading to the whereabouts of a Miss Kathleen Whatley."
He shoved her from him. "Yes, I'm your vaquero, and you, mí vida, are Kathleen Whatley, are you not? What crime are you running from?"
Chapter 11
Gone were Kathleen's seat-soaked nightmares. But they were replaced by hate-induced daydreams of revenge. There would yet be some way she could wreak her vengeance!
If Simon did not hand her over to the Mexican authorities first. But since that night three days ago, he had done nothing to indicate what his intentions were. If he did not intend to turn her in (and he certainly did not need the reward money), then did he plan to use her as he had that night at La Palacia?
Just let him try, Kathleen thought. The kitchen knife she kept beneath her bodice would at least make the rogue think twice. Unconsciously she crumpled in her hand a paper one of her students had copied from a religious tract.
Dear God, how long could she continue to play this cat-and-mouse game, careful to always keep within earshot of one of the house servants during the day, laying awake at night, her ears straining to catch the fall of footsteps?
Her nerves were near to snapping, and in the tumultuous days that were to follow there was only the one moment of peace -- like the calm before the storm.
That moment of calm came the same afternoon, as Kathleen sat on the veranda going over the students' papers. There came the sound of a horse cantering down the palm-tree-lined road toward the hacienda. But the hot, dry desert winds had begun to pick up, and the swirling dust concealed the rider's identity. However, Kathleen could tell, by the inexperienced way the rider sat the horse, that it was not one of the vaqueros -- nor was it Simon.
She laid her papers aside and crossed to the railing, calling out in surprise as the rider approached and dismounted. "Nathan!"
Her hands gripped the railing in a paralysis of fear. Had Nathan, too, learned of her identity? Had he come to bring her back?
Nathan climbed the veranda's shallow steps in one stride. "Kathleen," he said warmly, taking one of her hands. "How nice to see you again!"
"You know -- you're a friend of Simon's?"
The sea-blue eyes were solemn. "Simon and I met a year ago. When the Tempest took him on, off San Blas, Mexico."
"Then why didn't you tell me in --"
"You didn't tell me your employer was Simon Reyes until the morning I left you at the mission."
Kathleen nodded, with a wan smile. "Of course. You visit Simon often?"
"Simon and I are partners in a trading venture. I buy his hides and tallow, and he buys silks, furniture, farm implements, and the like from me."
"Oh," she said, her breath easing from her lungs in relief. That explained the visit. And if Nathan didn't know her true identity, maybe no one else did either.
At once she felt light-hearted, tremendously glad that Nathan had come. His presence would soften her loneliness, would serve as a buffer against the hostility that existed between herself and Simon.
Like a schoolgirl, she tugged at the hand that held hers. "Come along, Nathan. We'll stable your horse. There's something I have to show you."
Unaware that the blue eyes rested on her with thoughtfulness, she led Nathan toward the rear of the hacienda. Near the stables was a small arena where the bulls were run. "Look," she said, climbing on the slats of one of the stalls.
A great bear, of perhaps nine hundred pounds or more, lumbered restlessly about the arena. His cinnamon-colored coat shone with a deep luster in the late afternoon sun.
"Diego said it's a grizzly bear, Nathan. Isn't it a beautiful creature? The vaqueros brought him in yesterday."
Standing on the slat, Kathleen was nearly the same height as Nathan, and when he looked back to her, she saw the sadness in his eyes.
"Within the month he may be dead."
Kathleen's own eyes widened. "Why?"
"When the roundup comes, lass, the vaqueros have a bear-bait. They match the grizzly in a fight with a bull, goading them until one of the animals kills the other. It's not a pretty sight."
"No! They can't do that!" In her indignation, Kathleen lost her balance and toppled from her perch on the slat. Immediately Nathan caught her in his arms.
It was this intimate-appearing scene that Simon first saw when he rode up, reining in sharply. Simultaneously, Kathleen and Nathan looked up into the dark, unfathomable face.
* * * * *
"There were rumors that a garrison of soldiers was attacked last week," Nathan said, swallowing the last bite of wine pudding. "And that the customshouse in Monterey was razed ... caught fire, they say."
Simon set his wine glass down. "Probably because of the dry season. Or do the officials think otherwise?"
Kathleen saw Nathan glance in her direction. Did he think her silence rude? But then, he could not know about Simon -- about the rape. How could he guess that the dashing, wealthy ranchero found his amusement by masquerading as a common vaquero, taking his pleasure regardless of what his victims suffered? As she suffered now, gracing the dining table -- at Simon's command.
"The officials think it's the work of Indian renegades," Nathan said, turning back to Simon. "Posters are already being nailed around. Offering rewards to anyone that can give information."
Simon shrugged and pulled out a cigar. "If it isn't the Indians, it'd be the Californios revolting again. Though, obviously, nothing ever comes of it."
"Then you think the time is ripe for another revolt?" Nathan asked, leaning closer over the table.
"I doubt that the Californios will stand much longer for Mexico's high revenue laws -- or being excluded from sending representatives to the Mexican Congress. I think one day the Californios will successfully revolt against Mexico -- like your American colonies did against Great Britain. And then the cargoes you bring me will be in even greater demand."
"And, in turn, we'll turn a pretty profit," Nathan said, lifting his wine glass to Simon in tribute.
Kathleen stood up. Her hands held the table's edge to steady her trembling legs. "Excuse me, please, gentlemen," she said stiffly. "I'm rather tired. I'll leave you to your conversation."
She dearly wanted to tell the two men she found their avarice disgusting. But she found her own lack of courage even more so.
It had taken only one mention of reward posters, and she had gone as weak as a prisoner facing a firing squad.
Dear God, would she always feel haunted -- followed -- trapped? How long would she have to wait before her father died? Before she was free of Edmund Woodsworth?
And what if her father lived another ten years?
* * * * *
"Why'd you force her to sup with us, Simon?" Nathan asked after Kathleen had fled the room. "Especially when you knew there were plans to discuss. You realize you humiliate her, don't you?"
"What's it to you, Nathan ... or do you hold some special feeling for the girl?" The icy green eyes held the sea-blue ones.
"Good God, Simon! Did you have to rape her? Is no woman safe from you?"
Simon's eyes narrowed. "Did she tell you that?"
"Do you think that's the kind of thing she could tell someone? Hell, all you have to do is look at her, Simon, and you can see the wariness creep into her eyes ... Nay, it wasn't the lass who told me. When I returned from Monterey, Gemma was fit to be tied. The girl's torn undergarment was found in your room. If the girl had been there, Gemma probably would have tired to tear her eyes out. It was the pistol with the Whatley name engraved on it that told me who your night-of-love was. You already know, I suppose, that the posters are everywhere for information about her."
"Saw the
m on my last trip in. Who-all suspects Kathleen's identity?"
Nathan produced the pistol from a pocket in the denim jacket. "As far as I know, only the two of us. Now I'll ask you -- is she something to you? With your scorn for women, this will certainly be a change."
Simon took the pistol and pocketed it. "You might say we tolerate each other. She detests me ... and I find her no different than the other women I've known."
"There's no comparison, Simon! You know it as well as I do."
"You're fooling yourself, my romantic friend, if you think that. The fact that she slept with our fine Castilian lieutenant the same night merely proves my point. Or did she neglect to tell you that when you found her in the lobby that morning?" Simon asked, with a contemptuous sneer.
Chapter 12
The desert winds at last arrived -- and with them the end of Kathleen's respite. The Santa Ana was even worse than Simon had described. Day and night there was the clashing and clattering of the palm fronds as the wind played them like cylbals. Each time Kathleen ventured outdoors her throat and eyes burned as if exposed to the open blast of a furnace, and her skirts lashed about her frame like the sails against a ship's masts in a hurricane.
Yet that day the sting of the wind did not bother her as she braved its plast in search of Simon. When Diego informed her earlier that morning that Simon had suspended her teaching duties, her caution was overcome by a wrath as fierce as the winds.
She found him as he strode toward the corrals. "Simon!" she yelled, grabbing at his sleeve to get his attention. He turned, and Kathleen was petrified. The harsh wind whirled about them, isolating the two of them from everything but their own thoughts.
And Kathleen remembered with terror -- the mouth that had brutally possessed her, the hands that had ravaged her, the mocking words that had tormented her.
"Simon," she said, gathering courage, "you can't suspend the classes! If it's the wind, the classes could be held indoors. But the students, they have a right to --"
Savage Enchantment Page 7
