Fingers of fog slithered over the wooden cross marking the grave.
“He was a good man,” she finally said. “Wise. Creative. He had wonderful dreams for his life.”
“Yet he seemed unwilling to stand up for you when we raided your ship.”
“He was not a violent man like you, señor,” she spat. “He was a gentle man. A man of peace.”
“Peace or not, if I had a wife like you and children like your little ones, I’d fight to the death to keep you safe.” Hanging his head, he silently cursed himself. Why had he said that? Why was he feeling this way toward an American?
She stared at him as if he’d told her he intended to become a monk.
“Why did you marry him?” He nodded toward the grave.
“You are too bold, Señor Pirate.” She shifted away from him and hugged herself. Creamy mist swirled about her, coating her cheeks with glitter. “I loved him, of course.” Her tone was curt. “Why else does a woman marry a man?”
Dante chuckled. “Apparently for protection.”
Even through the fog, Dante saw her face redden. She shifted her shoes over the gravel and let out a sigh. “I mean a real marriage.” She flattened her lips. “Besides, I wouldn’t have risked defying my father’s wishes and losing my family’s favor if I hadn’t loved François.”
Then why did she sound like she was trying to convince herself of that fact? Dante rubbed his chin. “So, let me guess. Your father finally refused one of his precious daughter’s requests? And you went and had your way regardless.”
“You know nothing of me, Pirate!” Blazing eyes snapped his way. “You are an insolent brute, señor.”
He grinned. “I agree. But I speak the truth, don’t I? You hail from money—one of those long-standing families out east, I’m guessing. And from your accent, somewhere near New Orleans. My bet is you ran away with this François to escape the strict rule of your parents.”
She pursed her lips and huffed. “You may think what you wish.” Moments passed before she swung a suspicious gaze his way. “But what of you, Señor Pirate? You are obviously schooled here in America, not in Mexico.”
“Harvard, in fact.”
“A Harvard-educated pirate?” She laughed.
“Privateer, señora, if you please.” He grinned.
“Whatever you call it.” She waved a hand through the air, stirring the fog into a whirl. “You must have had an American mother, a wealthy one, since you seem to find success so disdainful.”
Dante narrowed his eyes. The woman was not only beautiful but smart. “I abhor neither success nor wealth but rather what they both do to people.”
She studied him with those green eyes of hers—the color of a tropical sea. The fire went out of them, replaced by understanding. “Your mother was cruel to you.” It was both a statement and a question.
Dante tightened his jaw. He wanted neither understanding nor sympathy. Especially not from an American. All he wanted from this woman was the means to redeem his ship from the city. “If you wish to know, perhaps you should ask the God to whom you were praying a moment ago.”
She jerked her gaze back to the grave. “How dare you spy on me!”
“I’m curious, señora, why an intelligent woman like yourself believes that God actually cares about our troubles.”
“Of course He cares! How can you say such a thing?”
“If He cares so much for you, why are you speaking to a husband six feet under? Why do you barely have enough to eat? Why is your vineyard being attacked?”
Her chest began to heave like a sail catching the wind. “I insist you leave at once, Señor Pirate. I don’t want an American-hating, atheist thief around my children.”
He smiled, dipped his head, and turned to leave. “You should have thought of that before you married me.”
Chapter 4
Philippe’s laughter drew Caroline to the kitchen window where she brushed aside the gauze curtains and gaped at the sight before her. Dante and her son sat on a bench in the shade of a tree, their heads bent together over a long, coiled rope. On the ground lay several knots tied in other pieces of rope—unusual knots, the likes of which she’d never seen. The pirate’s husky voice came to her on the wind, confident, kind, and patient as he taught her son how to tie what she assumed were ship knots.
“You try it now, Philippe,” he said, handing the boy the rope.
Caroline stiffened, waiting to see if her son failed in his attempt. The poor boy had already suffered enough beneath his father’s neglect. Caroline would not allow any man to wound her son’s tender confidence with more rejections or rebukes.
Philippe finished and held up the rope, but then he shook his head. “It’s not right, is it?”
“No.” Dante took it. “But it’s almost right. Here, let me show you again. These knots are not easy to learn.” He slowly slid the rope through loops and circles, while Philippe watched with more focus than Caroline had ever seen from the boy.
This time Philippe tied the knot correctly, his blue eyes gazing up at Dante in expectation and pride.
“Well done!” the pirate exclaimed, tousling the boy’s hair. “We’ll make a sailor out of you yet.”
Philippe beamed, and Caroline’s heart filled to near bursting with joy for her son. Slipping from the window, she returned to clean the final dishes after breakfast, her mind awhirl with the events of the past few weeks. Despite her insisting that Dante leave, the stubborn man had stayed on. At first she’d been worried at his intentions and also that he’d get used to a roof over his head and cooked meals and then never leave. The last thing she needed was another mouth to feed. Yet, not only had the pirate behaved as a perfect gentleman, but he had actually assisted Sisquoc in tending the grapes, feeding the livestock, and irrigating the land. He’d even fixed a broken wheel on their wagon and replaced a few tiles on the roof.
He took his meals with her and the children and seemed to actually enjoy their time together. But every night after supper he headed downtown. Some nights when she couldn’t sleep, she heard him stumble into the barn well after two in the morning. Oddly, even though she kept a pistol beneath her pillow as a defense against him, she felt safer when he returned.
They’d not spoken privately since that morning by François’s grave, but that was for the best. Not that she was looking for a husband, but this particular one possessed all the wrong qualities: he hated Americans and America, he didn’t believe in God, he was often rude and ill-mannered, he drank and gambled. And worst of all—lest she forget by his civilized behavior—he was a thief and a pirate! Bon sang, she shouldn’t even be thinking of him this way at all. Tossing down her towel, she stormed from the kitchen. If she had a thimble of brains, she shouldn’t even allow such a man around her children. He’d told her more than once that as soon as he redeemed his ship, he would leave.
And the way Philippe was starting to look up to the man, she knew her son would suffer. Not to mention Abilene, who also seemed to have developed an affection for the pirate. Ensuring the little girl still played contently on the sofa, Caroline marched onto the veranda. “Come, Philippe. We are going into town.”
“Ah, Mama, but Señor Vega is teaching me to tie sailor knots.”
“I need you to come with me, Philippe. Now.” She kept her voice stern.
The boy scowled and handed the rope to the pirate. Dante stood and faced her. “Something has upset you, Señora Moreau?”
“Of course not. I simply need to purchase supplies.”
“Then I will go with you.”
“There is no need.”
“Nevertheless, you married me for protection. And protect you I shall. Since I am not permitted any other privileges of the sacred union.” He winked above a disarming grin.
“If you consider protecting us a privilege, I am happy for it, señor.” Clutching her skirts, she spun around before he could see the red creeping up her face. Infuriating man! She wasn’t a woman to blush easily, but this p
irate seemed to know just what to say. And just how to look at her—as if she were a precious gem he longed to touch.
After a brief argument, she allowed him to take the reins and drive them into town, and within minutes, Dante parked the buckboard near the public square. After helping them down, he guided them through throngs of donkeys, carts, horses, and people to the vendor stalls and booths. The smell of human sweat and animal dung joined the briny scent of the sea and the sweet perfume of fresh flowers in a dichotomy of odors as they passed carts stuffed with all manner of dry goods, fruit, meat, fresh flowers, objets d’art from the East, furniture, and rugs.
“Mama!” Philippe called, luring her to where he stood before a leather shop, a whip in hand. “Can I have one?” His expectant gaze met hers, and she’d give anything to be able to see his smile grow larger, but the price read $2.50. And $2.50 would feed them for a month.
“Not this time, Philippe,” she said, hoping to placate him with a smile, but the disappointment on his face broke her heart.
Dante gripped the braided leather rope and nodded his approval. “Every young boy needs a whip.”
Caroline chastised the pirate with her eyes.
“But not every boy gets what he wants when there’s food to buy,” he instantly corrected. “A man needs to earn these things on his own.” He placed the whip back in the cart, and Philippe’s scowl faded as he nodded his understanding.
“Mama.” Abilene tugged on Caroline’s skirts and pointed to a booth filled with dolls of all kinds: some made of cornhusk, some wood, some wax, some cloth, and some porcelain—all dressed in lavish gowns. Before Caroline could divert her daughter’s attention, the little girl darted to the cart and shyly brushed her fingers over a doll perched up front, a porcelain beauty with long ringlets of black hair, a satin ruffled gown, pearls around her neck, and a feathered bonnet.
“A beautiful doll for a beautiful señorita!” the vendor said as Caroline approached.
But another two-dollar price tag caused her heart to sink. She’d not been able to buy the children anything special in years. Not even for Christmas. To her rescue yet again, Dante swept the little girl in his arms and diverted her attention to a woman in the next booth who was weaving straw hats.
While the children watched the woman, Caroline slid beside Dante. “My children are not the type to ask for such expensive gifts, señor. I do not know what has come over them.” Even as she said it, her eyes landed on a bonnet in the millinery behind the booth. It was fashioned of sheer gauze embroidered in gold thread and embellished with pink silk bows. She fingered her own plain bonnet with its frayed edges and torn ribbons and felt the pirate’s intense gaze on her. Flustered, she turned away. “Come, children, we have shopping to do.”
He smiled, handed her Abilene, and dipped his head. “I must go to the council to discover the redemption price for my ship, señora. I will meet you later.” And off he went with that confident gait of his, drawing the eyes of more than one female in the plaza.
Caroline huffed. Some protector he was. But she didn’t need protection in the daylight, not with all the people milling about and the vendors and cantinas and shops filling the square. Gathering her children close, she found the things she needed: soap, beans or frijoles as they were called here, oil for lanterns, and oranges. Now, to check on the price of fresh fish. The fish monger, however, spoke no English and insisted on arguing with her over the price. They bartered back and forth until Caroline’s frustration was near bursting. Stealing herself for her final offer, she glanced down to ensure her children were still beside her.
But they were gone. She scanned the market square. They were nowhere in sight!
“Philippe! Abilene!” Caroline shoved her way through the crowd, her heart pinched tight. How could she have let them out of her sight? Oh, Father in heaven, please help me find them. Desperation dizzied her as she pressed through the throng shouting their names. Finally, she spotted her son’s mop of brown hair and Abilene’s red curls across the plaza. They sat in a café under the shade of an awning, eating as if they hadn’t nearly put their mother in an early grave.
Furious, she marched toward them, intending to first take them in her embrace and next to give them a scolding they wouldn’t soon forget. Before she could reach them, a man drew close and placed two cups next to their plates and then lifted his gaze to hers. A slick smile tugged on lips below a thin mustache. He straightened his gold-fringed black vest and shifted his boots over the ground. The chirping of his spurs grated her nerves. Gray streaked across the dark hair circling his handsome face. Deep-set eyes she had never trusted met hers. Domingo Casimiro de Iago.
“Señora Moreau.” He bowed elegantly. “I am sorry to have alarmed you, but when I saw your children in the square, I couldn’t help but offer them a fardelejo. I know how much they love the Spanish pastry.”
“Mama, this is so good!” Abilene glanced up at Caroline, crumbs dancing on her lips.
“Thank you, Señor Casimiro!” Philippe beamed from ear to ear while he shoved another forkful of the almond-filled pastry into his mouth.
Trying to contain her fury, Caroline drew Señor Casimiro aside, noting as she did that several of his men lingered just outside the café, watching them from beneath sombreros.
“Señor Casimiro,” she began.
“You may call me Domingo, por favor, señora.”
“Señor Casimiro, while I appreciate you buying my children treats, I must protest you doing so without my permission. They are my children, and I should decide what and when they eat.”
“Ah, but they are only los niños, señora, and you know how much I adore them.” His smile was sickly sweet.
Did she? He had told her more than once, yet she’d never seen him actually speak to them except with trifling flatteries such as “what a good boy” and “what a beautiful girl.”
He leaned toward her, smelling of Spanish cologne and spicy mustache oil. “I know you cannot afford such treats, señora. Why not allow the children to enjoy?”
She took a step back. “Again, I thank you for your generosity, but in the future, I would prefer you ask me. And my finances are none of your affair.”
“But I would like to make them my affair, as you say, señora. I would like to wipe away all of your troubles. A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t have to worry about such matters.”
Acid welled in her belly. Ever since François had died, the wealthy don had not hid his interest in her, nor stopped pursuing her—even in light of her continual rebuffs. Certainly marrying the man would solve all her problems. She’d live on the largest ranchero outside the city, have a bevy of servants attending her every need and tutors for her children. But something in the man’s eyes caused her insides to squirm. Something in his arrogant demeanor made her realize she’d lose the freedom she’d grown to love. Still, she would marry the pompous man for her children’s sake, for them to have a better chance at life, if only she didn’t catch the flickers of dismissal in his eyes when he looked their way.
“Perhaps you have not heard, señor, but I am newly married.” She glanced at her children still enjoying their pastry then up at the don whose face had tightened into thin lines.
“A pirate, I am told, señora. What were you thinking?” Though his voice was still sweet, one side of his lips twitched.
“I saved a man from the noose.”
“A villain who deserved such a death. Or perhaps it is his warmth at night that pleases you.” He raked her with his gaze.
“How dare you, señor?” She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught it. The veneer of civility shattered from his face, replaced by a sinister glower. Clutching her arm—a bit too tightly—he led her off the porch to the side of the café. “Do you think such a villain will stay with you? Estúpido! He will take what he wants and leave.”
“You’re hurting me!” She raised her voice, hoping passersby would notice and come to her rescue, but even the few who glanced up didn’t dar
e to confront the most powerful man in town.
“How could you marry a thief, a villain, a man of no consequence, no wealth, while you dare to shun me?”
“Let go of me!” Though she tried to hold them at bay, tears filled her eyes.
Señor Casimiro’s men gathered close, forming a barricade around them.
“Mama!” Philippe’s voice rose above the crowd.
Hot sun seared her skin. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and neck as the men’s boots stirred dust in her face.
“Please let me go to my children,” she sobbed, coughing.
“I will, señora, I will. But not until we come to an understanding. If you insist—”
She kicked him with all her strength. Howling, he leapt back. Her thrust hadn’t landed where she’d hoped. Instead of incapacitating him, she’d only infuriated him. Raising his hand, he slapped her across the face.
The sting radiated from her cheek down her neck.
“Mama, where are you?” Abilene whimpered.
Caroline tugged against the man’s grip.
“I have been kind to you, señora. But my patience will soon come to an end. When your pirate lover leaves you, and you have nothing to feed your little ones, you will come to me then. You give this pirate everything now, but you will soon be mine. And your precious vineyard.”
Chapter 5
She will never be yours, señor!” Dante gripped the man by his gold-embroidered collar and tossed him away from Caroline. Señor Casimiro stumbled backward, his expression brimming with shock and fury. He reached for his pistol. Dante kicked it from his hand then leveled his own weapon on the don’s advancing men. One of them seemed familiar, his shock of light hair a beacon among so many brown-haired men. He walked with a limp as eyes bent on revenge pierced Dante. These were the men who had attacked Caroline’s vineyard. And this popinjay was their boss.
The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West Page 57
