"Not a chance, sweetheart!" Brett replied lightly. "There are four of them at the most, possibly only three; there will be six of us, and we will have the element of surprise."
Almost wistfully she muttered, "I wish I could come along, too. I am proficient with the pistol. I could hide under the hay with you."
There was a resounding "No!" from the three males, and Sabrina reluctantly put the idea from her.
Carlos left immediately. "There are others I still must see, keeping with the original plan," he said bluntly, and then hurried away.
For some moments after he had departed, the other three continued to discuss the bandits and Brett's plan, but eventually the conversation not unnaturally returned to a more pleasant topic—the wedding that would be arranged within the next few months. Sipping his claret, Alejandro leaned back in his chair and remarked, "It will be lonesome for me once you two are married and you have gone to live at Riverview. I trust you will come back often to visit me?"
Sabrina started to protest that she didn't want to live at Riverview in Natchez, that aspect of being married to Brett not having occurred to her previously, but Brett halted her exclamations by saying calmly, "We won't be living at Riverview."
Alejandro quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not? Since you are heir to the estate, I assumed that you would wish to live there. Someday, after I am gone, you will have to make some decisions about the rancho, but that is in the future."
"Far in the future, I hope!" Brett said with an affectionate smile. His face sobered, and he confessed baldly, "I am no longer the heir to Riverview—it is to go to Gordon, my young half brother."
"What?" Sabrina inquired sharply, every suspicion she had ever entertained about Brett rising up before her.
Brett sent her a hooded glance, his face unsmiling. "Exactly what I said. Riverview is not mine—will not ever be mine." An odd note in his voice, he continued, "I have a plantation in the lower Louisiana Territory. It is not Riverview, but you should have no fear that I am not able to provide well for you." Deliberately he made no mention of his other wealth, intensely curious about her reaction to the news that she would never be mistress of his father's elegant mansion and wealthy estate.
The fact that she was a considerable heiress hadn't ever bothered Sabrina. It probably wouldn't have even now if firett had said he loved her and had explained earlier about Riverview. As it was, she couldn't help but wonder about his proposal, couldn't help but be aware of how very little she actually knew about the man she had just consented to marry. Carlos's tale of the knife-slashed girl in New Orleans came back to haunt her, as well as his comments about Constanza, and Sabrina felt slightly sick. If she had been more confident in her love, if Brett had been more forthcoming, more honest about his own emotions and situation, there would have been no sudden doubts, no sudden, unpleasant suspicions running through her mind.
Because she was silent, that the news of his loss of Riverview troubled her was obvious to Brett. That she might be thinking he was the fortune hunter never crossed his mind. But then he had never been privy to Sofia's letters about Hugh threatening to disown him, had never realized that there might be some speculation about his reasons for suddenly appearing in the wilds of Spanish Texas. And of course, there was Carlos. . . .
Carlos had done his work well on both of them, the sly innuendos he had flung at Sabrina now taking root, raising all manner of uncertainty in her mind. As for Brett, he had the memory of Lady Diana's disdain, as well as Carlos's ugly statement that Sabrina was vitally interested in his fortune, to arouse demons he had thought he had conquered.
They were both of them appalled at their thoughts, guilt-stricken and horrified that they could harbor such disgusting ideas about the person they had just agreed to marry, and yet, like a tiny sliver under the skin, the suspicions would not go away. Both refused to think about the distasteful subject, and both determinedly thrust the ideas away as nonsense, but the seed had been planted, and they were hampered by their very lack of trust in one another.
The disclosure about Riverview didn't faze Alejandro in the least; he knew the full extent of Brett's fortune. If anything, the lack of Riverview pleased him, and with deceptive lightness he said, "Well, since Riverview has no claim upon you, why don't you consider settling here?" He smiled faintly. "I am approaching the day when I will be relieved to loosen the reins of the Rancho del Torres, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see it fall into your capable hands."
It was a tactless remark to have made in front of Sabrina. Completely unaware of its effect upon his daughter, Alejandro sent her an affectionate look and compounded the error by saying, "It has long troubled me, chica, the idea of you running the rancho single-handedly. A woman needs a strong man to care for her, and now that Brett has undertaken that responsibility, I know that I can rest easy."
Inadvertently made to feel like an imbecile, Sabrina fought down her humiliated anger. Her face stiff and set, the rage and resentment that were stirring in her breast very apparent to Brett—rage and resentment he wrongly attributed to the news about Riverview—she stood up and said tightly, "I didn't realize that becoming betrothed automatically stripped me of the ability to take care of myself! What would you have done, Father, if Brett had not offered for me—put me in a nunnery?" She gave a bitter laugh and sent both men a decidedly hostile look. "Excuse me, I must go and say prayers of thankfulness for the fate I have been spared!"
In shocked dismay, Alejandro watched her sweep regally from, the courtyard. Horrified at her reaction, he glanced helplessly to Brett. "She is so young and proud," he muttered excusingly. "I should never have said a word about her needing someone to care for her—she is quite certain that she needs no one, that she is as competent as any man."
Brett's eyes were fixed on Sabrina's departing figure, and almost vaguely, almost to himself, he murmured, "But perhaps it wasn't that which made her angry. Perhaps it was"—his voice hardened—"something entirely different."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alejandro made his peace with Sabrina that evening, and on the surface everything seemed harmonious. Alejandro was so full of enthusiasm for the match that he never noticed that the two principals seemed a trifle less than wildly ecstatic about the wedding plans. Suspicion once aroused dies hard, and Brett and Sabrina were both fighting their own particular demons—each one wanted to believe in the other, each one wanted the marriage, and yet . . .
Brett's plan to trap the bandits went precisely as discussed. Alejandro's news that he was bringing the del Torreses' valuables into town in a hay cart on Monday found the intended target. And Carlos, Brett, and Ollie were ready when the trio of bandits struck on the dusty red trail that led to Nacogdoches.
The bandits were caught by surprise, but unfortunately, they were not captured alive. Despite being outnumbered two to one, they fought back savagely, and all three died in the barrage of gunfire that was exchanged.
The victors did not emerge unscathed: Carlos was wounded slightly in his left shoulder, Alejandro received a scratch near his temple, and one of the vaqueros suffered a hand wound. But there was such jubilation at having at last rid the district of the murderous rogues that the wounded were indifferent to pain.
Brett's plan was not the only one that would prove to be successful—the instant Carlos had left the del Torreses' ranch on Saturday, he had ridden for Nacogdoches and a meeting with Constanza. His face contorted with fury he had faced her in the privacy of her bedroom.
"It has happened!" he snarled the moment he charged into the shadowy coolness of the curtain-drawn room. ''They are betrothed!"
Clad only in a shift of white linen, Constanza had sat up abruptly at his entrance. At his words, her face paled and she closed her eyes in pain.
"So," she said numbly. "It has happened—we will now take steps to undo it."
"How?" Carlos demanded furiously. "A betrothal, especially to my tio, is almost as binding as marriage itself. Once he makes the announcemen
t, nothing short of dishonor will allow him to retract it."
A rigid smile pinned to her mouth, Constanza replied calmly, "Then we will just have to make certain that there is no announcement!"
"Fah! Will this plan of yours work that quickly?"
Some of the color had come back into her face, and languidly she reached for a delicate peignoir lying at the foot of her bed. Shrugging into it, she rose and crossed to a pine wardrobe set against one wall. "Yes," she replied indifferently. "You will arrange for Sabrina to meet privately with me on, say, Tuesday afternoon. I think the gazebo would suit my purposes admirably."
"You don't mean to harm her?" Carlos growled.
Constanza sent him a look that made him uneasy. "Only because I do not want you to kill Brett," she answered finally. Selecting a gown from the wardrobe, she said over her shoulder, "You men are such fools—you think violence is the answer to everything!"
'"I want to know what this plan of yours is!" Carlos said dangerously. "You will receive your gold. Now tell me what it is you have planned."
Ignoring him, Constanza said quietly, "On Tuesday you will see the plan yourself." Her lips curved in a mirthless smile. "You must convince Sabrina that it is imperative that she meet with me, that you mean to save her from Brett's wicked scheme to marry her for her money."
Carlos frowned blackly, and grasping Constanza by the shoulders, he shook her cruelly. "Stop playing with me! Tell me! What can you possibly do to make Sabrina change her mind?"
Unmoved by his violence, Constanza stared coolly back at him, but eventually she said, "Your Sabrina has pride. What do you think she would do if she were faced with a woman carrying Dangermond's child ... a woman Dangermond had promised to marry but had deserted to pursue her fortune instead?"
Carlos sucked his breath in sharply, his black gaze raking her slender body. "Who?" he inquired harshly. "Not you?"
Constanza's lips twisted. "But of course, mi amigo! Who else?"
"You are to bear his bastard?"
An ugly laugh broke from Constanza. "Don't be a fool! Of course not! But your Sabrina will not know it! And with a little padding here and there, my belly discreetly evident, I shall throw myself on her mercy, pleading with her to release him. Begging her to let him marry the one he loves, explaining how he has told me that it is her money he hungers for, that what he really wants is to be with me and our child!"
Admiration filled his face. "It will work," he murmured, slowly. "It will work!"
Because of the wound he had suffered in the battle with the bandits, it had been decided that Carlos would spend the night at the del Torres hacienda, so it was easy enough for him to have a private word with Sabrina on Monday evening. He sought her out at dusk as she stood near the stables watching a pair of young colts scamper and race around in a paddock with their mothers.
They spoke quietly for some minutes of the events of the day, and it was only when conversation began to languish that Carlos was able to broach the subject uppermost in his mind. Watching Sabrina's lovely profile in the gathering shadows, he said softly, "Querida, I must speak to you about this betrothal—there is something that you must know."
She turned to look at him, her face shuttered and guarded. "What?" she asked flatly.
Carlos appeared reluctant and uneasy. Regretfully he began, "I know that you do not trust me as you once did, but you must believe that I have only your best interests at heart." A wry expression flicked across his face. "You know that I love you, but I could happily see you married to another if I knew that he loved you as you deserve to be loved."
Sabrina froze, her gaze locked painfully on his. "What do you mean?"
Carlos glanced away and hesitated. Gravely he said, "As you are aware, I have known Constanza Morales a long time—I visited with her Saturday evening, and ..." He stopped, and then, as if the words were dragged out of him, he said heavily, "You must meet with her, Sabrina. There are things she must tell you about the man you have promised to marry."
An icy chill swept through Sabrina. In a low voice she demanded fiercely, "What things? Why can't you tell me? And why should I meet with her?"
He sent her a pitying look. "It is not for me to say. It is her secret, and only she can tell you. She has asked me to implore you to meet with her tomorrow afternoon at the gazebo by the lake—secretly. Most of all she doesn't want Brett to know that she is seeing you."
"Why not?" snapped Sabrina.
Again Carlos sent her that pitying look. "Have you forgotten the girl in New Orleans? Constanza is afraid of what he might do to her if he were to learn that she wishes to see you."
Sabrina was silent for a long time. Meeting with Constanza was the last thing in the world that she wanted to do, but Carlos had touched upon painful subjects—the girl in New Orleans and Brett's failure to mention love.
During the past two days, she and Brett had had little time together and none of it in private. She was badly in need of reassurance, needing Brett's strong arms about her, needing to hear that he loved her, but this had been denied her. Her betrothal to the man she loved, instead of bringing contentment and peace, seemed to have created more dissension and uncertainty within her. One moment she was filled with joy, the next full of misery and suspicion. She despised herself for being so mean and small as to suspect Brett of having ulterior motives for seeking her hand in marriage, and yet she was unable to ignore that possibility.
Brett had not helped matters either. He was strangely aloof, and on more than one occasion lately, she had glanced up to find his assessing eyes on her. Whatever she had thought being betrothed to Brett Dangermond would be like, she had never imagined it would be this painful, this full of agonizing ambivalence.
Perhaps she should meet Constanza, she thought wearily. Conceivably it would clarify things in her own mind. Certainly it couldn't add to the painful battle that was now being waged in her heart. Dully she said, "Very well. I'll meet her. What time?"
"Two o'clock?" Carlos suggested, the elation he felt carefully hidden.
Reluctantly Sabrina nodded her bright head. Brett and her father were approaching, so further conversation was impossible. The afternoon's events were mentioned, and for the next several minutes the four of them talked of nothing else.
"It is a shame that they all died!" Alejandro said slowly. "Now we will never know where they have hidden their spoils. There wasn't time enough for them to have disposed of the valuables stolen the night of Sabrina's birthday. Their cache must be nearby . . . but it could be anywhere."
Brett grimaced. "That was the one flaw in the plan—we made no allowances for trying to recover the stolen objects." He hesitated, his eyes shadowed. "I didn't believe they would fight to the death like they did. It wasn't until Carlos killed that last one that I realized that the others were dead, too." He looked rueful. "I suppose I thought we would capture them and be able to question them."
Carlos shrugged indifferently and then winced as his wounded shoulder made itself felt. "I think most people will be satisfied with the way things turned out. Granted they would all like to recover their valuables, but everyone will rest easier knowing that those thieving devils are no longer alive."
"What you say is true," Sabrina murmured quietly. "But it is so sad that our friends and neighbors lost so many objects that meant so much to them." Her fingers brushed against the huge gold hoop earrings that hung near her cheeks. "I would pay three times what these are worth to recover them if they were stolen. Bonita gave them to me, and I treasure them."
"I know what you mean," Carlos said seriously. "Yesterday, after Mass, Senora Galaviz, the trader's wife, could do nothing but bemoan the loss of the lion's brooch that had belonged to her mother."
"Oh, no!" Sabrina cried distressfully. "Not her lion's brooch! I remember it so vividly—as a child when we would go into their store, she would show it to me, pointing out the tiny emerald chips for the eyes and the ivory for its teeth." Mournfully she added, "It was so lovely, so beautiful
ly designed, the gold so wonderfully wrought. I shall never forget it."
Glancing beseechingly across at her father, she asked, "Isn't there any way we can find the stolen things?"
Slowly, regretfully, Alejandro shook his head. "No, chica Wherever the bandits hid their treasures, that location would be known only to them—and they are all dead. Trying to find their hideout, if they had one, would be impossible in this wild, untracked area. Someday someone might stumble across it, but not in our lifetime, I would wager."
Sabrina still appeared unhappy, and Carlos said, "At least they are dead—they will rob no one else."
It was small comfort, but Sabrina took it, and the conversation wandered on to other more pleasant subjects. Shortly thereafter, Brett firmly detached her from the others, saying lightly, "You will excuse us? I have not had a chance to talk alone with my novia since we became betrothed, and I wish to discover if she is still of the same mind as she was then."
Sabrina blushed, her heart suddenly pounding in her breast. Alejandro laughed, and waving them away, admonished teasingly, "Do not be gone too long—I may be an old man, but I remember what it was like to be young and in love."
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