Zita’s time came. Then Aurelia’s. Her stomach was knotted with anxiety by the time she stepped off to the beat of the music.
The aisle seemed twice as long as the evening before. Ahead of her Santos stood near the first pew. She caught her breath at this handsome brother whose breadth and height would equal two average-sized men. Silver conchos gleamed across the broad chest of his fitted black charro jacket and down the length of his long-legged calzoneras.
When he winked at her, she relaxed a little. Then, as she drew nearer, he stepped ever so slightly aside and her eyes found Carson, although it took her a moment to recognize him. For one terrifying instant she thought a stranger stood in his place.
The stranger stepped toward her, his elbow crooked, his eyes strumming her senses, creating a magical music all their own.
“Definitely,” he whispered when she came within range. “Yellow definitely becomes Aurelia.”
She took his arm, an arm swathed in the same black as her brother. Across the chest of his tight-fitting charro jacket gleamed a row of conchos, and above them that wry smile that never failed to take her breath away.
He squeezed her hand against his arm. His eyes teased. “You wanted a charro, didn’t you, angel?”
Her knees felt weak. He held her steady while they ascended three steps to the chancel. The nearness of him radiated a warmth that lulled her previous fears. His shoulder brushed her lace-covered arm, showering her with the familiar sense of peace she always felt at his side.
But high above them the crucifix taunted her with the knowledge that this man was an interloper. And from behind, she felt her mother’s eyes accusing, condemning. It cannot be. He is not of our faith, this Texas Ranger.
“Are you all right?” Carson whispered just before Rodrigo took her arm and escorted her to the altar behind Pia and Santos, as they had rehearsed the evening before.
To the altar away from Carson. They knelt, Rodrigo and Aurelia, one to either side of the bride and groom. They knelt before the altar where Carson—not of our faith—was not allowed to follow.
They had rehearsed it the evening before. But the evening before she had been consumed by the problem of telling Enrique she would not marry him. Hers and Carson’s future had seemed secure—at least, more secure than it did at this moment when she knelt in a place he was not allowed to so much as set foot.
By the time the service was over and Rodrigo returned her to Carson, himself returning to escort Zita, Aurelia’s head fairly spun. She clung to Carson fiercely.
“Hey,” Carson whispered, seeing tears in her eyes. “I thought you approved of this wedding.”
She tried to smile, but not until they stood outside in the arch of the sombreros did she manage to. Standing beside him, she tossed rice on Pia and Santos while he held the sombrero high above their heads. A sombrero, she noticed, not a Stetson.
The customary restrictions were relaxed a bit following the service, when the bridal party was allowed to ride to the Leal mansion without dueñas, two couples to a coach. Riding in the carriage with Zita and Rodrigo, Aurelia sat silently, squeezing Carson’s hand, willing her anxieties to ease.
By the time they reached the reception she had gathered her wits, telling herself that as soon as Santos and Pia left, she would talk to Carson. Together they would work things out. Together.
Escorting her up the stairs to the ballroom of the mansion, he grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you had changed your mind about wanting a charro.”
Gathering her skirts with one hand, she lifted her chin and matched his stride. “I told you in Guanajuato what I want. All I want is you.”
Her voice was so plaintive he halted a moment to study her. “What’s wrong with that, angel? Sounds pretty good to me.”
She did not speak again until they stepped into the grand ballroom that had been decorated to resemble a Greek garden, complete with fountains, flowers, and tables to accommodate the two hundred guests.
“What will you do tomorrow?” she asked.
“Tomorrow?”
“When you no longer have a reason for staying in Catorce?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You are my reason for staying in Catorce, Aurelia.”
“But?…”
“What brought on all this worrying?” he questioned. “You don’t think I am planning to run out on you?”
Her lips trembled when she started to speak and she pressed them together.
“Come on,” he urged, “let’s not ruin the party. You aren’t about to get rid of me.”
“No matter what?”
He studied her a moment longer, wondering what had happened to suddenly cause her to doubt him. It wasn’t like Aurelia to doubt. “No matter what. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
She relaxed then and smiled. The rest of the evening he watched her closely, finding her subdued, wondering at the change in her.
Finally, he teased her out of her melancholy.
First by scrutinizing her gown. “Hmm, yellow definitely becomes you.” He fingered her yellow mantilla. “But I liked that gown better in your ballroom.”
She felt her cheeks flush under his sensual scrutiny.
“Do you suppose we could find a small room off here somewhere?” he continued.
When he rose to propose a toast to the bride and groom, her heart swelled. He did look handsome in the charro costume. But she preferred him as she knew him best, as a Texas Ranger—her Texas Ranger.
“To the luck of my friend Santos,” Carson toasted. “They say every charro needs two things: a good horse and a good woman. Don Rodrigo supplied the horses, a wedding gift, and you, my friend, found a good woman all by yourself. Make her happy.”
The crowd cheered. Everyone drank, and he slipped back to his chair. “Same as I intend to make my good woman happy,” he whispered.
Her euphoria began to return at his words, at his teasing eyes…eyes that begged her to smile, to laugh with him. So he believed their problems had fled with Nuncio Quiroz and Tío Luís. Perhaps they had.
Another toast was given, this one from Don Domingo to his new daughter-in-law. A cheer arose from the charros. When Aurelia turned laughing eyes to Carson, he lifted his champagne glass to her lips and their eyes met across the rim, passing sensual promises through the bubbles.
Everything would work out, she assured herself. With him beside her, everything would work out.
When she left to help Pia dress, Aurelia learned others had been concerned about her dilemma, too.
“I’m so excited, Relie. Santos is telling Carson right now, but he let me tell you.” Pia slipped her gown off as soon as Aurelia had the buttons undone, then began to wriggle out of the petticoats.
“We have decided to live in Catorce. Santos will run the mint for your father. And…” She paused, stepped into a robin’s egg blue serge skirt, and held the band together while Aurelia fastened it from behind.
“Turn around,” Aurelia instructed, half listening to Pia’s excited babble, the rest of her brain filled with what she would tell her father, how she would convince him that Carson would be her husband, regardless of his faith, regardless of anything.
“…and you and Carson can run the ranch.”
Aurelia lifted startled eyes to Pia’s.
“That is all right, isn’t it?” Pia questioned. “I know you always said you didn’t want to be stuck on the ranch, but—”
Aurelia pressed her lips together, her eyes wide, her heart pounding. “It’s a perfect solution.” She shrugged. “If Carson agrees.”
Suddenly, she became leery. “Whose idea was it?”
“Why, ours, of course.”
“What about Papá?
“Don’t worry, Relie. It isn’t like you.” She set a prim blue hat atop her head. “Here, stick a pin in this from behind, will you?”
With numb fingers, Aurelia pinned the hat to Pia’s curls. “What about Papá?” she asked again.
“Santos thinks he will be rel
ieved to have both problems solved—the mint and mine here in Catorce, and the ranch.”
Aurelia’s mind raced back to her mother’s warning. It cannot be. It cannot be.
“What’s the matter, Relie?” Pia asked. “We thought you would be happy. Santos and I—”
Aurelia snapped out of her trance. Clasping her friend’s hands in her own, she laughed. “I am happy, Pia. It’s your wedding day. Today all my happiness is for you.”
And indeed it was. Even when she returned to the ballroom to find her father and Carson in conversation, she refused to let her spirits fall. Her heart skipped a frantic beat at their serious expressions, but when her father slapped Carson on the back, she began to breathe again.
Later, the guests gathered in the courtyard to wave Santos and Pia on their way. Aurelia clutched the bridal bouquet in her arms and felt a tear roll down her cheek.
Carson took her arm. “Come on. Your father gave me permission to see you home.”
She stared at him, astonished.
“Don’t be too impressed. He and your mother will be right behind us.”
“Did you think Relie acted strange tonight?” Pia questioned after she and Santos arrived at the lodge where they were to spend the next week in virtual seclusion, except for a couple of servants who lived in a cottage behind the main house.
The fire had been laid, but otherwise the lodge was deserted. Pia had changed into a frothy white gown and dressing robe, and she sat brushing her hair.
“Women,” Santos teased. “I will never understand you. Here we are on our honeymoon, and you want to talk about my sister.”
“No, I don’t,” she answered. “She seemed strange, that’s all. She wasn’t as excited as I expected her to be about living at the ranch.”
“They have a few problems to work out, Pia.”
“Such as?”
Santos came up behind her. He took the brush from her hand and stroked the long black strands of her near waist-length hair. Holding her gaze in the looking glass, he ignored her question.
“Tonight when I saw you walk down that aisle with the candlelight burnishing off your satin gown and your eyes gazing right into mine, I thought you were the most beautiful sight in the whole world.”
She shivered at his words.
“But now…” Laying the brush aside, he pulled her to her feet, turning her to face him. His big hands disappeared in the billowing fabric. “…now your beauty leaves me tongue-tied.”
His lips descended at the same moment he folded her in his all-encompassing arms. She felt her heart begin to flutter. Frantically, she tried to recall all the things she had rehearsed in her mind—little things to keep her mind off the physical deed that loomed before her.
Stretching on tiptoe, she threw her arms around his neck while opening her lips to his kiss.
Suddenly, he drew back. “You’re trembling, little one.”
She shook her head to deny it, but her eyes remained wide open. She saw confusion in his eyes.
“Are you afraid?” Santos whispered.
Once again she tried to deny it, but once again she failed. With the most tender of motions, Santos gripped her shoulders and stood her back on her feet. His fingers found the ribbon at the neck of her robe and untied the bow. The frothy fabric fell instantly to the floor, leaving her standing before him in a sheer panel of white lace.
His eyes, wide and filled with passion, traveled her length, sweeping her with great streaks of heat. Although her fear remained strong she felt it begin to slacken beneath a growing sense of expectation.
“Don’t be afraid, Pia.” His husky voice added to her feeling of detachment. She felt her nipples tighten, and she flushed with the knowledge that he could see them through the sheer fabric of her gown.
Then it was gone, her gown. She felt it drift beneath his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, across her hips, to pool around her ankles. She stood before him, bare as the day she was born, and Pia knew she must surely glow like the sun at midday. Heat like molten liquid flowed through her veins; she felt it hot and moist between her legs, hot and moist and suddenly urgent.
“Say something, Pia.” His eyes caressed her face before traveling her length again.
“I…” Her voice rasped from a dry throat. “No one has ever seen me unclothed before…not since I was…”
Santos’s hands swept from her face down her neck to her breasts, which he cupped, one in each palm. She felt her nipples, rigid against his roughened palm.
“You are so fine, Pia,” he mumbled. “So fine.” His hands left her breasts, tracing her ribs, her waist, her hips. Suddenly, he scooped her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Still she trembled.
“Don’t be frightened, little one. I promised you this would be worth waiting for. Now I will show you what I meant.”
At the bed, he tore back the covers with one hand, depositing her in the center of the feather mattress. When she reached to cover herself with the sheet, he stopped her.
“Let me look at you.”
She felt herself blush from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” While he spoke, he began removing his own clothing. “I’m your husband. I intend to look at you every day for the rest of our lives.” He tossed his shirt aside, removing his boots, then his trousers. “Soon you will enjoy having me look at you.”
Her eyes darted down his body, then quickly she averted her gaze. “And you will enjoy looking at me,” he told her, “lunk that I am.”
His body, large as a mountain, loomed over her, then settled beside her. He traced one hand down her face, across her chest, stopping to cup her taut little belly. “Even when you are big as a melon with my child,” he mused, “I will love to look at you.” His hand retreated to her breasts, which he fondled, one by one. “And when your breasts are heavy with milk to feed our babes.”
His rumbling, melodious voice lulled her into easiness; his sensuous handling caused her body to tingle. His hand left her breast and traveled downward again. This time he didn’t stop until his fingers played in the triangle of black hair at the base of her abdomen. Pia flinched.
His lips lowered to hers, where he nipped gently between soft commands. “Relax, little one, relax. That’s it. Relax.”
Before she knew what had happened, his kisses became demanding, urgent, and she was responding, mesmerized by his gentle coaxing.
When he had slipped his fingers inside her secret moistness she didn’t know, but suddenly they were there, stroking her, encouraging her, thrilling her. Then quite by surprise, Pia realized that passion had leaped to life inside her.
“You aren’t a lunk, Santos.” She spoke as though she had only now found her voice. “You are beautiful and I’m not afraid anymore.” Twining her arms around his neck, she played her fingers in his hair. Her lips opened to his quest, and her hips lifted against his hand.
He squeezed her in the crook of his free arm, while his fingers spread and deepened inside her, awakening her passions, measuring and judging at the same time.
“I know what comes next,” she whispered. “I’m ready…”
“We have all night, little one. I want it to be good for you.”
“We have the rest of our lives,” she responded. “Let’s begin now.”
Painstakingly, he arranged her on her back, then positioned himself above her. “You aren’t afraid?”
She shook her head, feeling it sway from the passion that engulfed her. Why had she been so foolish? She pulled on his shoulders. “Come to me, Santos.” At the same time, she lifted her hips to meet his.
When he entered her small, silky sheath, he knew he was the one who was frightened. She fit him like a glove, one that was two sizes too small. He moved with caution, slipping by increments into her moist interior.
Pia glowed now, not from embarrassment but from wonder. Standing before the altar beside Santos, hearing the padre pronounce them man and wife, had been the most
wonderful moment in her life…until now. Feeling him move into her, become one with her, watching his face so full of love and passion, she knew this was indeed a moment to savor for all times. Then he stopped.
His face took on a pained expression.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she assured him.
“It will.”
Her brain balked at his words. “No.”
He nodded. “There’s a barrier. Until it is broken—”
“Then break it. Now.” Her words gasped on ragged breath. “Hurry, Santos, so we can enjoy this moment.”
He watched her face, flushed now with innocent passion.
“Hurry, Santos,” she whispered.
Suddenly, he dreaded what lay ahead. If she had been afraid before, how would she feel after he shattered her body with pain? His own physical demands became secondary, her welfare everything. He wanted to hold her and love her and protect her.
But this damned barrier must be broken.
“Hurry, Santos,” she urged.
So he thrust. Deep. And hard. Destroying her innocence and her youth in one great surge. Making her his forever.
When she tensed against the splintering pain that raced from her abdomen straight to her brain, Santos stopped. Lowering himself on his elbows, he nuzzled her face with his lips, soothing her with words, sprinkling kisses into her hair.
After a while the pain ceased, and a while after that she was able to convince him to resume their quest. The end came quickly. When she felt him stop, then finally fall to the side, drawing her with him, she was confused. Her face rested on his chest. She felt his heart race beneath her cheek.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
With a limp hand, he fluffed her hair. “Ah, little one. The first time is not always good.”
“It wasn’t good?”
She felt his chest heave a few more times, then he shifted to an elbow. Cradling her head on his arm, he kissed her tenderly. “For me it was wonderful. Next time it will be wonderful for you, too.”
“It was wonderful for me,” she objected.
“Not like it can be.”
Silver Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Two Page 32
