Taking her silence for encouragement, he flung his sombrero down on the table, and startling her, he knelt theatrically down in front of her. His hand grasped hers, and he carried it to his lips. "Querida! You must forgive me! I love you so much that to have you so close to me drove me mad—I could not help myself! I went crazy with love for you! I never meant to harm you or frighten you." He struck his head with his palm. "I do not know what came over me, how I could have acted so despicably, so dishonorably! I am a swine! I am the lowest animal alive!" The black eyes fixed with pleading on hers, he murmured, "Say you forgive me, querida! Say that all the years of our friendship are not to be lost to me! I could not bear it, Sabrina—you are too dear to me for me to face the future knowing I have destroyed everything between us." Mournfully he shook his head. "All the years of laughter we shared shattered by my unforgivable actions! I don't think I can bear it!"
Sabrina made a face. Not quite certain how to handle Carlos in this abject mood, she said uncomfortably, "I forgive you—at least I think I do. Now please get up before someone sees you there and wonders what is going on!"
Rising to his feet with alacrity, Carlos reached for her hand once more and covered it with kisses. "You are as good and kind and wonderful as the Holy Mother of God!"
Deeply embarrassed and showing it, Sabrina jerked her hand away from his. Seeing Lupe approaching with a tray of glasses and jug of lemonade, Sabrina hissed under her breath, "Will you cease! I said I forgave you!"
While Lupe was present, they both remained silent, but as soon as the girl retreated to the house, Carlos, who was now seated across the table from Sabrina, leaned forward and said passionately, "Sabrina, I can never forgive myself for what nearly happened yesterday. You must believe me—I never meant to harm or frighten you!"
Before yesterday she would have believed him completely, but trust once destroyed does not return easily. She did forgive him because, beyond frightening her, and thanks to Brett's timely interference, nothing had happened. But she was wary with him now, wanting to have things as they had been and yet unable to forget that, at least for a moment yesterday, he had taken advantage of their long friendship and would have dishonored her. Awkwardly she muttered, "It's in the past, Carlos. Please put it behind you." Sending him a strained smile, she added, "I have."
"Have you really, querida? Carlos asked shrewdly. "Can you say that nothing is different between us?"
"No, I can't," Sabrina answered truthfully. "Yesterday changed things, but I ... I ... I don't hate you, and I wouldn't want our families to be distressed by what happened—or nearly happened."
The black eyes shuttered, he asked carefully, "Does your father know what . . . nearly happened? Have you told him? Did anyone see you when you returned to the hacienda?"
"No, no one saw me," Sabrina replied quietly. "And I didn't mention anything to my father. It ... it ... it would have caused complications."
"Complications?" Carlos inquired with a lifted brow.
Sabrina grimaced, her eyes on the glass of lemonade in front of her. "You know very well what I mean. If he knew what had happened, he would either take a bullwhip to you or demand that you marry me—or both! It would make things very unpleasant!"
"I would be honored to marry you, querida! As a matter of fact, I have considered telling your father the truth myself and asking your hand in marriage," he confessed softly, the black eyes watching her face intently.
Sabrina's head jerked up at that. "Don't you dare!" she spat angrily. "I love you, Carlos—you are like a brother to me—but I do not want to marry you . . . and I will not marry you! Telling my father would only cause a terrible rift between our families and put both of us through a great deal of unpleasantness and pain. I said I forgave you and I do, but speak of what happened yesterday and I'll never forgive you!"
There was such grim promise in her young voice that Carlos relinquished the idea immediately. Giving her an attractively rueful grin, he murmured, "I had hoped you would react differently, but . . ." His dark face suddenly serious, he said, "Sabrina, I am sorry for what happened yesterday, and I will do everything within my power to earn your trust back." He smiled sadly. "If I cannot have you as my wife, perhaps I can still have you as my friend." An unexpected lump in her throat at the sadness on his face, she leaned forward impulsively and touched his hands with hers. "You always have my friendship, Carlos. Always!"
Friday, Sabrina's eighteenth birthday, dawned hot and clear, the sun a blazing yellow-orange orb in a blinding blue sky, and she was reminded of the same date last year. Last year. How innocent she had been then. How unaware.
Sabrina took a bittersweet enjoyment in the day. She had always delighted in the fuss and frolic that set her birthday apart from any other fiesta, and this year was no different. Bonita had brought in her breakfast tray adorned with the special bouquet of yellow rosebuds as she had for every birthday that Sabrina could remember; the gift this year was a pair of finely wrought silver bracelets that jangled merrily whenever Sabrina moved her slim wrist. Everywhere she went she was greeted and wished well, and she couldn't help basking in the attention.
The day was nearly a repeat of her last birthday celebration, with one notable difference—Brett Dangermond. Everywhere she looked, Sabrina seemed to see him: laughing with her father over breakfast; talking with the guests as they began to arrive; wandering about the grounds with various groups of smiling and gesturing men and women; teasing fat Bonita as she waddled around overseeing the hustling servants, and listening intently as Luis and Alejandro discussed certain business prospects. Against her will, her eyes seemed to follow him, to admire the tall, lean body as he moved with his effortless grace, easily charming anyone who came within his radius. She was angry with herself and irrationally furious with him, because in spite of everything, he still had the power to move her, to make her heart beat faster, to arouse a fierce, inexplicable longing within her. Time and time again she tore her eyes away from the harshly handsome face and threw herself into the festivities that were, after all, in her honor, and yet, not five minutes later, she would find herself anxiously searching the shifting crowd for his dark head.
The bullfight Alejandro had promised Brett was held in honor of Sabrina's birthday; everyone trooped down to watch the various high-spirited young men pit their skills against the magnificent black bulls. Vaqueros and their families lined the makeshift bull ring; the guests viewed the activities from the relative comfort of a hastily constructed grandstand, a canopy of bright yellow material protecting the fair ladies from the blazing sun. Alejandro had considered a bull-baiting and had even instructed his vaqueros to capture a bear to pit against one of the fiercest bulls, but Sabrina had begged, "Oh, please do not, Father! The bull makes such mournful bellows when the bear attacks him, and the poor bear is gored unmercifully. I do not like it!" Alejandro had shaken his head in mystification but had agreed to accede to her wishes.
Narrow-eyed, she had critically watched the young blades display their proficiency with the cape and the sword, and more times than not her sympathy lay with the bull. It was a bloody and perhaps cruel sport, and yet there was something elemental about it, something that stirred dark emotions, something that thrilled as well as terrified. But it wasn't until Brett coolly walked out into the middle of the red-dirt arena, the ground now torn and furrowed from the other fights, small puffs of russet dust rising from beneath his feet, that she knew the full depth of terror. Her heart seemed to stop, and her face went white, her hand unconsciously clenching the lovely scarlet and gold fan Carlos had given her for her birthday.
She gave a small moan of denial, and Carlos, who was sitting next to her and who had not deigned to participate this year in the dangerous amusement, glanced at her sharply. "Is something wrong, chica?" he asked.
Forcing herself to relax, trying desperately to hide the utter horror that roiled inside her, she said weakly, "Why, no! What possibly could be wrong?"
"I thought perhaps you might be
concerned for the gringo. After all, this is a Spanish sport, and big men are notorious for being slow on their feet." Sending her a calculating glance, he finished, "It will be interesting to see if he survives the encounter with one of your father's indomitable bulls."
Numbly Sabrina nodded her head, her gaze fixed painfully on the tall, broad-shouldered man in the center of the arena. The sunlight brought out the hint of blue in the black, thick hair, one lock displaying a tendency to fall across his forehead. He was clothed in Spanish dress, and with one part of her mind, Sabrina admitted it became him wonderfully, the dark green calzoneras fitting snugly across his lean hips and thighs, the gold filigree giving them an elegant air. The white shirt was blinding in the bright sunlit afternoon, the scarlet cape whirling and fluttering in the still air as he made a few practice motions.
Apparently satisfied, Brett nodded to release the penned bull, and with a roar of encouragement from the crowd, a huge nightmare of bone and muscle, of blood and fury, exploded into the arena. To Sabrina, Brett seemed terribly defenseless as the magnificent creature lowered its massive head, the long, wickedly curving horns glinting in the sunlight. Her heart in her mouth, she watched helplessly as, with a spine-tingling bellow, the savage animal charged the still figure with the scarlet cape. To the crowd's delight, Brett proved himself an excellent matador, moving with such precision and artistry that time and time again it seemed the bull must touch him and yet he remained unscathed, stepping gracefully away at the last, vital moment. It was immediately apparent that the tall gringo knew what he was about, and the crowd shouted its enthusiasm as, with elegant skill, Brett imperturbably performed one of the oldest, most classical moves of the bull ring, the veronica. The scarlet cape swirled sinuously in the air as he brought it down in front of the charging bull and then swiftly up and around his own body. And when the kill finally came, there was a concerted sigh of pleasure, almost of awe, as the sword found its mark and cleanly made the fatal thrust.
Sabrina had sat like a stone figure throughout the fight, her eyes never once leaving him. And when the agonizing suspense was over, when the bull was only an inert heap in the red dust, to her surprise she discovered that her hands had been so tightly clenched that her fingernails had left deep impressions in the palms of her hands, the skin purple and bruised.
Limp, she had nearly sagged in her seat, only to stiffen when she saw Brett lean down and cut off the ears of the fallen bull and walk straight in her direction. He stopped directly in front of her, his gaze taking in Carlos, who sat next to her. The men exchanged a peculiar look, Brett's dark green eyes glittering with an oddly challenging spark, and then deliberately his eyes switched to Sabrina. He gave her a long, unsmiling glance, and then impassively offered her the grisly trophy. A trophy won at the risk of his own life.
Sabrina hesitated, her heart beating erratically within her breast. Despairingly she tried to read the expression on that dispassionate, dark face, wondering why he had singled her out this way, wondering with a curious mixture of hope and anger whether he realized the significance of what he was doing. And if he did, whether she dared accept the trophy and all that it might imply.
There was a hushed expectancy from the crowd, every eye on Brett's lean form and Sabrina's slender figure. His actions were almost a public declaration of marriage; at the very least they were a clear indication that he had more than just a passing interest in Don Alejandro's lovely daughter, and everyone waited to see what she would do.
Oblivious to everything but the man in front of her, Sabrina stared helplessly at him, loving him, hating him. Was he merely honoring her birthday ... or was he staking his claim upon her? Considering the situation between them, one of studied indifference these past days, it was foolish to think this was more than simply a gesture to mark her birthday, and yet, there had been something in the way he had looked at Carlos, something in the coolly determined way he had approached her, that made her breath catch in her throat.
A current of awareness seemed to flow between them, Sabrina so very conscious of the faint sheen of perspiration on his face, of the musky scent of his warm body, of the insane desire to fling herself into his arms and let the world see that she loved him. But she held back, and as the seconds sped by and the tension increased, she was suddenly furious. If she accepted, it would leave them open to avid speculation; if she refused, it would embarrass everyone.
Becoming vaguely conscious of the smoldering anger radiating from Carlos, and of the smile of encouragement that her father flashed her from where he sat on her other side, she moved uneasily. Then, unwilling to prolong the incident, deciding she was making too much of a small thing, reluctantly she reached out and snatched the trophy from Brett's grasp.
“Gracias, senor. I am honored," she said stiffly, the amber-gold eyes sparkling with resentment.
Brett sent her a taut smile, a curious expression flickering across the harsh features. "You should be, sweetheart—you're the only woman for whom I've ever risked my hide." He glanced at Alejandro and said coolly, "I'm certain you won't mind if I take my own reward." And under Alejandro's approving grin, and Carlos's naked fury, Brett jerked Sabrina out of her seat and with the crowd hooting and cheering, proceeded to kiss her thoroughly.
Flushed and disheveled, her lips throbbing from the almost brutal kiss, she was rather abruptly set back down in her seat. He gave her an ironical bow, and she watched in absolute rage as he sauntered arrogantly from the bull ring. The onlookers were completely enraptured, and for several moments after Brett disappeared, they continued to clap and shout, some of the more ribald suggestions making Sabrina's ears burn.
After that, the remaining fights were anticlimactic, and Sabrina found herself watching the bull ring with blind eyes. It was with relief that she finally quit the area and began to walk back to the hacienda with the others.
Her relief was short-lived, however, for Francisca and Carlos flanked her, and their comments did nothing for her state of mind.
"What is your father thinking?" Francisca demanded in an angry undertone. "Letting that . . . that gringo maul you that way! It was an insult to our family! Everyone knows that you and Carlos are to be betrothed, and now this!" Her bosom heaving, the dark eyes full of fire, Francisca said grimly, "Just wait until I have a word with your father!"
Carlos's attitude was much the same but even more venomous. The black eyes cold with an icy fury, he snarled, "How dare he touch you that way! If I didn't want to spare you the indignity of a scene, I would have struck him and challenged him then and there! And as for his ability in the bull ring! Fah! If I had known he was going to make such a spectacle of himself, I would have fought the bulls today and showed him how a true Spaniard kills the bull."
Her face crimson with embarrassment, mortified that others nearby might overhear the unpleasant conversation, Sabrina said urgently to Carlos, "Oh, hush! It was nothing! Please let it be and do not make it any worse! Please!"
Carlos looked at her flushed face consideringly. "Weren't you insulted?" His lips curving into a sneer, he added, "Or did you enjoy being publicly degraded by the gringo?"
Sabrina's eyes flashed, and she said hotly, "What I felt is none of your business! Leave the subject alone."
Carlos followed her lead and ceased his questions, but Francisca was not so easily put off, and her eyebrows rising in displeasure, she said sharply, "I notice that you do not seem to be overly distressed. Can it be that you actually welcomed the gringo's vulgar attentions? That you were impressed by his coarse skills?"
Holding on to her rising temper with an effort, Sabrina said levelly, "I may not have liked how he chose to celebrate his victory, but I will not allow you to refer to his skills with the bulls as coarse." Meeting her aunt's furious gaze, she said boldly, "He was magnificent! I have never seen anyone who is his match in the bull ring."
Francisca's bosom swelled with wrath, and for one tense moment Sabrina thought her aunt would strike her. But Carlos swiftly intervened.<
br />
"Magnificent, you say?" he drawled. "You are naive for thinking so, querida! Once you have seen the matadors fight in Madrid, you will realize how paltry his skills are. He did nothing but perform a few cheap tricks to dazzle the eyes of these unsophisticated people." And he gave a languid wave of his hand to indicate the other guests who were scattering throughout the grounds near the hacienda.
"And you are so much more sophisticated?" Sabrina returned with an edge to her voice.
Carlos shrugged. "I have not buried myself here all my life. I have traveled to Europe, unlike you and most of our neighbors. I have seen things ..."
If he meant to impress Sabrina, it had just the opposite effect. Her jaw set, she said sweetly, "I hadn't realized how very rustic you found us. And because I am such a thoughtful hostess, I shall not bore you any longer with my unsophisticated presence! If you will excuse me, there are other, less cosmopolitan guests who will enjoy my naive company." And with that she marched proudly away, leaving Carlos and Francisca to stare after her.
Sabrina sought the sanctuary of her room, and discovering she still held the trophy in her hands, with an exclamation of disgust, she threw the ears down on the floor. Her head was suddenly aching unbearably, and she sank onto her bed, pressing her fingers to her pounding temples. She already regretted the outburst with Carlos, but Brett's actions had jangled her nerves and shattered her composure. What was he trying to do? she wondered uneasily. If the scene this afternoon had happened a week ago, she would have been better able to understand it. Would have been—if she were honest—thrilled and excited, but now? Now, when they barely tolerated one another? When he dared accuse her of being a slut? When he thought she had welcomed Carlos's near-rape?
The Tiger Lily Page 22
