Rebecca Stratton - Castles in Spain

by Rebecca Stratton

  'I was,' Holly agreed. 'Did you want me for something, Aunt Nan?'

  Her aunt came across the great hall, her footsteps clicking softly on the azulejos that gave the huge place its character and beauty. There was a small frown between her brows and a kind of hesitancy about her that puzzled Holly. For a moment Aunt Nan said nothing, then she took Holly's hands in here, gently but firmly, and looked at her steadily with her kindly blue eyes.

  'Holly - I don't quite know how to say this to you. I shouldn't perhaps say it at all, but—' She shrugged, one of those expressive Latin shrugs that she had learned from her husband and her stepson. 'I'm worried about Marcos.'

  'Marcos?' Holly felt a sudden cold chill in the pit of her stomach, wondering what on earth could have happened to him since he left earlier that morning to go riding as he often did. He was perfectly capable of handling any one of those spirited Arabs, she felt sure, but just the same - if Aunt Nan was worried.

  'I -1 don't know what's happened between him and Jose,' her aunt went on, and relief flooded over Holly like a glow. 'I don't think they've actually quarrelled, but - oh, it's silly, I suppose, but something's happened between them, I'm sure, only Jose can't bring himself to tell me about it yet.'

  'I see.'

  She had no wish whatever to interfere in anything that arose between Marcos and his father, and her reluctance was evident in her voice, so much so that her aunt put out an anxious hand and touched her cheek softly.

  'I - I wondered, baby, if you saw Marcos - if you could try and discover what's happened. Jose is so - so silent about it.' She hesitated, looking at Holly uncertainly, as if deciding whether or not to say what was in her mind. 'I wondered, baby, if Jose had learned about Marcos - flirting with you.'

  She gave the same kind of delicate hesitation that' her husband would have done, and Holly was struck yet again by how much Aunt Nan had grown like the man she had married. 'It's possible, I suppose,' Holly said, trying to sound as if it was of little importance. 'Would he mind, do you think?'

  'I'm quite sure he would,' Aunt Nan affirmed stoutly. 'Jose is a man of honour and he's grown very fond of you in the time you've been here, Holly. He'd never forgive Marcos if he were the cause of you being hurt.' Holly said nothing, there was little she could say, she felt, in the circumstances, and after a moment her aunt put a hand to her face and looked at her steadily for a moment. 'It's true, isn't it, darling?' she said softly. 'You have been hurt?'

  Holly shook her head hastily, her eyes only vaguely misty as she looked at Aunt Nan's kindly, concerned face. 'I'll recover, Aunt Nan,' she said. 'Don't worry.'

  'And I asked you to find out— Aunt Nan hugged her close impulsively. 'I'm sorry, darling, I truly am,' she said gently. 'I wish it hadn't happened.'

  Holly laughed, uncertain just what she felt about it. Loving Marcos was a kind of exquisite agony, and she supposed it would fade after a time, although she felt sure she would never completely recover from her love for him. 'So do I,' she said ruefully, and kissed her aunt gently. 'But it's no use crying over spilled milk, Aunt Nan. Now!' She looked out of the partly open doors to the sunshine outside. 'I think I'll make the most of what's left of my Spanish holiday.'

  Today was the first day she had been out of doors since her accident, but despite the delight of warm sun on her skin and the bright peaceful scene around her, Holly felt restless and unhappy. Aunt Nan, by suggesting that Marcos and his father had quarrelled about her, had given her even more to be sorry about.

  Very soon now she would be fit enough to travel, and no doubt she would soon adapt to the return to a more humdrum way of life after two months of living in another world, but whether she could adapt so easily to life without Marcos was doubtful. It was the hardest thing she would ever have to do, probably.

  She found the heat of the sun rather too much without a hat, and she had none since she lost the big straw stetson that Marcos had insisted on buying her, so that she debated whether or not to go on with her walk. She had come further than she intended, but she could not resist visiting the paddock, for she loved it down here under the huge shady fig trees, and she could see such a long way down over the valley.

  She was less afraid of the horses now too, although she never took liberties with them; not since that first time when she had fallen foul of the black mare and almost been trampled badly.

  She could see the same mare now, across the far side of the paddock with her shiny black foal beside her, and she smiled. Despite Marcos's strictly Spanish view of animals, she would have liked to make friends with at least one of those beautiful creatures before she left.

  Almost surreptitiously she approached the paddock fence and the mare looked across, as if she recognized her, but she made no move to come over, so Holly soon relinquished her efforts to attract her, instead, leaning on the top bar and gazing at the peaceful scene with a strange kind of longing in her heart.

  She had been there several minutes when she heard someone behind her, someone coming on horseback. She could hear the soft jingle of the harness and the deep, snorting breath of an animal ridden hard. She turned slowly, knowing almost certainly that it must be Marcos, for she had seen nothing of Helena for two days now, much to her relief.

  It was Marcos, as she expected, and Holly felt the sickening lurch her heart gave when she saw him. He was riding one of the Arabs, a shiny golden-coated beauty with a pale cream mane, its neck arched and breathing noisily from the effort of a hard gallop. Marcos sat, tall and dark in the saddle, his black head bare to the scorching sun, a slash of brown throat and chest visible in the dazzling white shirt he wore.

  Two such magnificent creatures belonged together, Holly thought, and watched them, trying to still the wild, urgent desire that ran through her uncontrollably, no matter how she fought against it. There was arrogance and strength about them both, but the man had the upper hand, as he was always bound to, and he brought the animal straight over to the spot where she stood under the fig trees.

  His expression was dark and unfathomable as he sat looking down at her, and it was several moments before he dismounted, relinquishing the rein and taking the few steps that brought him closer to her. He said nothing, but noted the fact that she wore no hat and his wide mouth flicked briefly into a faint smile when he noticed it.

  It was the first time Holly had been alone with him since she had unwittingly revealed her feelings for him in that brief betraying glance, and she gazed at him for a moment, wide-eyed, then, unable to face him, swiftly turned her back to him, her pulses throbbing relentlessly.

  She heard him take another step and stand close behind her, the warmth of his body flowing over her coolness so that she shivered involuntarily when he laid his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs moved in that slow, seductive caress against her neck and each word fluttered warmly against her skin when he spoke.

  'You have nothing on your head,' he said softly. 'Will you never learn, nina?

  Holly clung tightly to the top bar of the paddock fence, needing something firm to hold on to while she coped with the inevitable effect of his touch on her senses. 'I - I lost my hat in the gully,' she reminded him. 'I haven't another one.'

  Then we must get you another one, hmm?'

  'It isn't really worth it now,' Holly said, and was appalled to find how cold and empty it made her feel to say it, despite the hammering excitement in her heart. She had always thought herself a well composed creature, but Marcos could create havoc with her emotions, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  'It is worth it if it stops you being burned by the sun,' he insisted, and Holly felt herself unable to stop the slightly hysterical laugh that she gave. No matter what happened, Marcos must always be right!

  He slid his hands down to her waist and turned her to face him, something she was very reluctant to do, because she knew she would have to look up and see that small throbbing pulse at the corner of his mouth. And so many times that pulse had foretold what he would do next.
/>   'You laughed,' he accused softly, his hands pressing her close against him, his strong fingers digging into her waist. 'You know I do not like to be laughed at, mi pichon, so why do you do it, huh?'

  'I -1 wasn't exactly laughing at you,' Holly denied, and wished she had the strength of will to even attempt to free herself from that inexorable grip he had on her.

  Then at whom?' he demanded.

  Holly looked up at last, a glistening, uncertain look in her eyes, and he pulled her closer still, so that she was forced to tip back her head to look at him, exposing the soft creaminess of her throat, seeing the way his eyes lingered on it with an expression that was almost savage in its intensity.

  'I -1 suppose I was laughing at you,' she confessed. 'At - at the way you always have to be right!'

  'So?'

  "But you're not always right, are you?' Holly said.

  'Am I not?' he demanded, and Holly shook her head, keeping her eyes determinedly away from that fascinating pulse that throbbed beside his mouth.

  Her hands were curled into tight little fists against his chest and she was excitingly aware of the increased rate of his heartbeat. She refused to meet his eyes, but looked instead at the strong brown column of his throat and that glimpse of dark hair where the shirt fastened.

  'You're - you're wrong to be here with me,' she said, her voice huskily unsteady. 'Please don't, Marcos!'

  One large brown hand cupped her face and lifted it, the soft ball of his thumb pressing gently against her lips in a slow, seductive movement back and forth. 'You say "please don't," mi pichon? What have I done, hmm?'

  'Please don't give Helena cause to try and pull my hair out by its roots again! Oh, I know you don't believe me,' she said swiftly when he would have spoken, 'but she did hurt me, and she did run me down in her car, but - quite honestly—' She raised her eyes again at last and met the black-eyed, unfathomable gaze with a wildly racing heart. 'I can't altogether blame Helena. You're not very fair to either her or to me, Marcos.'

  It was a much more serious accusation than she had meant to make, and the caressing stroke on her lips was stilled suddenly, while straight black brows drew together in a frown. Then he slid both aims around her and pulled her so hard against his body that she cried out with the fierceness of it.

  'Muy bien, then I will be unfair to you, poca espina!' he said in a deep, harsh voice that tingled a warning along her spine.

  'Marcos!'

  He gave her no time to protest; his mouth found hers and was fierce and relentless, almost angry in its hardness, while his arms crushed her to his lean, warm body as if he would make her one with him. At first Holly tried to resist, but even in a vengeful mood Marcos was irresistible to her, and she responded with a passion that she would never have believed herself capable of, just two short months before.

  She slid her arms up round his neck, her fingers curling into the thick black hair at the back of his head, yielding to a desire for him that was alarming in its intensity. He pressed his mouth to the soft creaminess of her throat, to her eyes her cheeks and the smooth soft skin of her shoulders, before seeking her mouth again.

  Holly knew she was on the point of complete surrender when he picked her up in his arms and carried her over to the shady cool of the grass below the fig trees, but somehow she found the strength of will to shake her head, and move swiftly before his lithe hardness would have crushed her to the ground.

  'Holly!'

  He looked down at her, his black eyes glittering and bright with the passion that possessed him, his face only inches above hers, and his hands still seeking to draw her closer. Holly closed her eyes briefly, trying to regain control of her senses, wanting him with a desire as urgent as his, but unable to quite forget about Helena and the fact that it was Helena he was going to marry. No amount of wanting or dreaming on her part would alter that.

  'Please, please don't!' she pleaded. 'It's - it's cruel of you, Marcos! You know you can't - you have to marry Helena! Please leave me alone - let me go home and try to forget about you! Please, Marcos!'

  He said nothing more for a long moment, but simply lay there beside her on the warm earth, looking down at her with his gaze fixed on her lips as if they fascinated him, that little pulse at the corner of his mouth throbbing steadily. 'Helena,' he said at last, and in a cool, distant voice, as if he found the name only vaguely familiar. 'She tried to kill you, mi amada.'

  Hearing him word it so bluntly, so calmly, Holly caught her breath, looking up at the dark, shadowed features that were so close, and yet so unrevealing. The words could as easily have been a question or a statement of fact and she was unsure which he meant them to be.

  'Not - not kill me,' she said, searching his face for a clue as to whether or not he believed her at last. She had never suspected Helena of attempting anything as serious as that and she wondered if he really believed it himself. 'I - I think she only tried to frighten me, Marcos.'

  'But she could as easily have killed you!' There was a hint of that implacable hardness in his voice, and she knew that at last he really believed her.

  'You - you don't think I'm making it up?' she asked. 'You really believe it was Helena that ran me down?'

  His mouth brushed lightly, teasingly against hers. 'I believe you, mi pequena,' he said. 'I have to - knowing Helena, and knowing you. I can believe that she ran you down, because she hates you.'

  It was such a matter-of-fact statement of fact that Holly found it difficult to believe he could just accept it so calmly. 'You're - you're going to marry her,' she reminded him in a small unsteady voice that threatened to break, and Marcos eased himself nearer, until she felt the hard, exciting strength of his body warm against her side.

  'Enamorada mia' he said softly against her lips, 'is it that you wish me to go back to Helena? Will you send me away from you when I have risked so much to be near you?'

  Holly's eyes were big and uncertain as she looked up at him, at the dark glistening eyes and the mouth that could make her forget everything when he kissed her. 'You - you risked—' She shook her head slowly. 'I don't understand, Marcos.'

  She remembered then what Aunt Nan had told her about something disturbing the relationship between Marcos and his father, ad she felt the rapid, half fearful flutter of her heartbeat. Not only Don Jose would turn against her, she felt sure, but Aunt Nan too, because anything that upset her husband she would take as a personal affront.

  'Oh no!' she whispered, shaking her head, her eyes wide. 'Oh no, Marcos, you haven't—'

  'I have told my father that I compromised you by coming to your bedroom not once, as he thought, but three times,' Marcos told her, and with such aplomb that Holly was breathless.

  'Oh, Marcos, why? Why did you have to tell your father? Why couldn't you just let me - let me go home, and - and forget about you?'

  'Because I do not wish you to go,' he said calmly, his black eyes looking at her down that arrogant nose, as if he dared her to argue with his decision.

  For a moment Holly stared at him, dismay and elation fighting for precedence, then she shook her head again firmly. There was only one way she could stay and please Marcos, when he was married to Helena, and she was not prepared to do that, even for him.

  'No,' she said huskily. 'I — I can't — I won't share you, Marcos! I won't!' She struggled to sit up, but the plaster on her leg made her movements clumsy and his body still kept her firmly on the cool grass, his right arm across her shoulders, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper aim.

  'I do not intend that anyone shall do any sharing,' he informed her. For a moment his wide, straight mouth wore that devastating smile that played such havoc with her senses. 'I have gambled my honour to have you for my own, enamorada, would you have me do it in vain? My father forgives me only because he is very fond of you, el Conde de Mendez will never acknowledge me again and his daughter will hate us both for the rest of her life, perhaps, but I think you are worth losing such things for. Will you not now agree
to stay with me?'

  Holly said nothing for a moment, her eyes going slowly over that dark, familiar, and so beloved face. The black eyes, watching her with an anxiety she would never have expected to see there, that proud hawklike profile that could be seen repeated a hundred times in those painted faces that hung in the castle.

  With Helena he would have passed on those hawklike features to his sons, but now— 'I - I don't know,' she said, almost afraid to believe he meant it. 'Am I worth all that, Marcos? It was an - an arrangement you should have honoured, wasn't it?'

  'It was,' he agreed soberly. 'But I am not prepared to lose you for the sake of honour or anything else, mi pichon. I would have hated Helena, had I gone on with that marriage, because I love you too much to be able to be a good husband to anyone else. So!' He could not shrug, as he would have done had he been standing, but the meaning was there in his voice. 'I have told my father that you received me in your bedroom, mi pequena, so unless you want to be shockingly compromised, you will marry me.'

  Holly closed her eyes briefly, her mouth soft and her lips parted, sliding her arms up round his neck and pulling that black head down to her. 'I will,' she said softly.