In a panic, he strained, trying to move his injured legs. Again and again, he tried to raise them, first one and then the other, while his mother looked on helplessly. Finally, he fell back weakly against the pillows, gasping for breath, facing defeat for the first time in his life. "My God, no," he moaned. "I am a cripple."
Dona Anna's eyes filled with tears, and she threw herself across his chest. "You are not to worry about anything. I will always look after you. Every day I will read to you. The kitchen will be instructed to make only your favorite meals. I will never leave you alone."
Marquis gripped his mother's shoulders and pushed her away. His mind would not accept what she was trying to tell him. She was implying that he would be an invalid confined to his bed! He shook his head. "I will walk again. I will not stay in this bed one day longer than I have to."
Dona Anna feared that if Marquis recovered enough to get out of bed, she would lose him to the English woman. As long as she could keep him dependent on her, she could hold onto him. "After awhile you will be able to be carried to the garden. Perhaps one day you can even ride in a carriage. For now, just let me take care of your needs."
Marquis could see nothing but bleakness and emptiness in his future. His thoughts turned to his wife, the only bright spot in his life. Before today, he had been too ill to question Valentina's absence. He could not remember her coming to his room at all. Why was she not here with him now?
"How is Valentina taking to her new home, Mother?"
"I have had no time to see to her comforts." Dona Anna's eyes narrowed. "I was busy taking care of you."
"Has she been to see me?"
Dona Anna ducked her head. "Not since the first night you were brought home."
Marquis glanced down at the legs that kept him prisoner in his own room and would probably make him a cripple. Who could blame Valentina if she did not want to spend time with him? he thought bitterly. She was young and beautiful. She did not want to be tied down to half a man. The one thing he could never accept from her was sympathy. He could not stand to see those beautiful silver-blue eyes looking at him with pity.
"If Valentina tries to see me, tell her I do not want her in my room. Is that clear?"
Dona Anna nodded, her eyes gleaming with delight. "I will see that she does not disturb you."
"Leave me now." He needed to think about what his mother had just told him. "I want to be alone."
Dona Anna gathered up the tray and paused. "Word has come that the English woman's mother and servant will arrive today. Where shall I put them?"
"Put them in this wing. I believe her mother is ill. Valentina will want her nearby."
"And the servant?"
Marquis's lips curled into a smile. "I believe Salamar will put herself where she wants to be. I doubt that anyone will tell her what to do."
Marquis's mother brushed a kiss across his cheek, saddened by the dull look in his eyes. "I will be back soon. Rosalia will come to sit with you after awhile."
Marquis was not even aware that his mother had left the room. He was thinking how horrified Valentina must be at finding herself married to half a man. There was no will in him to get out of bed. He felt as weak as a babe. He had lost his strength, his pride. He would not allow Valentina to see him this way. It had been a mistake to marry her. He could never be a husband to her now. As his wife, she would be a prisoner the same as he—a prisoner of a cripple.
Doubling his hands into fists, he clamped his jaws tightly together. Would he have to be carried everywhere he went? Could he never hold Valentina in his arms, never give her a child of his body?
Closing his eyes, he saw visions of her beautiful face. He also saw another face, the veiled face of Jordanna— Jordanna, the woman who was having his baby, the woman and the child he had rejected. He could never sort out his feelings where Jordanna was concerned. Perhaps if he could put a face to her, it would help.
Marquis pounded his clenched fists against his legs, feeling no pain, feeling nothing. This must be his punishment for having denied his own flesh, he reasoned. He had to see Tyree and tell him to find Jordanna. Something had to be done for her. She had to know he hadn't deliberately deserted her.
Lying quietly on the bed, lulled by the soft musical sound of the fountain in the courtyard below his balcony, Marquis fell in a troubled sleep.
Since there was no mirror in Valentina's bedroom, she could not see whether or not her hair was parted straight. Brushing the golden tresses until they crackled, she wrapped them around into a coil and secured it to the top of her head.
Rosalia had brought Valentina several of her gowns to wear, but since Rosalia was not as tall as Valentina, the gowns were too short. Valentina preferred to wear her own wine-colored riding habit, now that the tears from the cave-in had been mended.
Valentina could feel herself being drawn up like a fish in a net. She had no rights in this house. She did not really belong here and probably never would. She realized if she were not careful, she could be swallowed up by the traditions of the Vincente family and lose her own identity.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Valentina pushed her feet into her riding boots. Time lay heavily on her hands, and she did not know what to do with herself. As always, her eyes traveled to the wardrobe, where Isabel's gowns still hung. They were a constant reminder to Valentina that she had not been Marquis's first choice as a wife.
Pacing back and forth restlessly like a caged animal, Valentina noticed something on the wall that made her stop in her tracks. There had once been a connecting door between this bedroom and Marquis's. It had been sealed up and painted over, but she could still see where the hinges of a door had been.
Her shoulders sagged as the meaning of what she saw became clear. If Marquis had married Isabel, the door would not have been removed. After he decided to marry her, he must have sent word ahead that he wanted the door sealed.
"No," she told herself, "I will not cry. I will not let anything Marquis does make me cry again." Valentina thought saying it out loud would give her courage, but it did little to stop the tears that spilled down her face. Having a door removed might seem a small thing to some people, but to Valentina it had great significance. Marquis was showing her her place in his life. They might have a private wing to themselves, but the only access to his bedroom would be through the hall or across the balcony.
In that moment, Valentina made a firm decision. She would no longer humiliate herself by trying to see Marquis. If he had wanted her, he would have sent for her by now. She could feel the gap between them widening. Marquis was proving to her that he wanted nothing to do with her. Even from his sickbed, he was making it clear that she had no place in his life—neither she nor her baby.
Hearing a rap on the door, Valentina smoothed her gown and moved across the room to admit whoever it was. As the door swung wide, Valentina cried out with joy. Salamar smiled brightly before wrapping Valentina in her arms.
"Salamar, you are here! I thought you would never arrive." She glanced over Salamar's shoulder expectantly. "Where is Mother? Didn't she come? Was she too ill to make the journey?"
Salamar laughed and moved into the room, turning around and assessing the scant furnishings with disapproval before she answered Valentina. "Your mother has been tucked into bed just down the hallway and has already fallen asleep. She took the journey well and will be anxious to see you when she wakes."
"Do you have a room yet?"
"There is a small room just off your mother's. I have told a servant to put a bed in there so I can be near her."
Valentina clasped Salamar's hand. "You just cannot know how glad I am that you and Mother are here. I have been so . . . everything is different here."
"Tell me all about what is going on," Salamar said, removing her brown leather gloves and tossing them on the bed. "How is Marquis?"
"I only know what the doctor has told me. It isn't known if he will regain the use of his legs," Valentina admitted sadly. "He may not be
able to walk."
"Nonsense. It is probably an injured nerve."
"It's serious, Salamar."
"I would not lose heart yet. There are many things we can do to help him."
"I haven't been allowed to see Marquis since the first day. He hasn't sent for me. His mother stands guard over him, as though he were the family jewels, and I the thief."
Salamar heard the hurt in Valentina's voice. "Have you accepted his mother's word as law? The Valentina I know would never allow anyone to dictate to her."
Valentina made a hopeless gesture. "What can I do? I am an unwanted stranger here."
"Have faith, Valentina. You can be instrumental in helping him heal."
"How could—"
Valentina was interrupted by another rap on the door. "We will talk later," Salamar said, opening the door to admit several servants carrying Valentina's trunks. She directed them as to where to place the heavy pieces. After the men had gone, she walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, giving Valentina a questioning glance.
"These are not quite your style. Besides being too big, you would never wear the bright colors."
"They belong to Isabel, the woman Marquis was supposed to marry."
Without ceremony, Salamar pulled the gowns out of the wardrobe and walked across the room like a woman with a purpose. Opening the door, she tossed the gowns into the hallway. "I am surprised you did not do that yourself. Has marriage made you soft in the head, or did you lose your courage somewhere between here and San Francisco?" Salamar inquired with a gesture of dusting her hands.
Valentina smiled brightly, feeling better than she had in days. "You are my courage," she admitted with tears in her eyes. "You give me the strength to stand up and battle the world."
Salamar nodded. "Good! That's the Valentina I know. But your courage does not come from me. You have always stood up for what you believed in. You just forgot for the moment what it was that needed defending."
"I don't know where to start, Salamar."
"You can start by throwing away that rag you are wearing and slipping into one of your lovely gowns. You are wearing your hair in the style of a woman twice your age. A woman needs to look her best in order to be armed with courage when she faces the enemy."
Valentina could feel the blood pumping through her veins as her courage returned. She was ready to do battle, to meet life head-on. "Oh, Salamar, you are incorrigible," Valentina cried happily. "I'm so glad you are here at last."
Not bothering to knock on Marquis's bedroom door, Valentina pushed past the startled servant who was on guard. She sailed into the room with banners flying, ready to take on the world. Her golden hair was caught up in a violet velvet ribbon and fell down her back in a mass of curls. Her white gown with tiny violets embroidered on the skirt swayed over the wide hoop. Salamar had been right—being properly dressed did give one courage. As Valentina met Dona Anna's hostile eyes, she prayed it was not false courage.
Marquis's mother jumped to her feet, objecting loudly. "You cannot come in this room! My son has asked that you be kept out of here."
Valentina paid little heed to Dona Anna's ranting. Her eyes went to her husband, who stared at her in disbelief. She almost lost her courage when his eyes burned into hers. He looked so different. He had the beginnings of a beard and mustache. His face was ashen against the stark white pillow. His injured leg rested on three pillows, and his arms were folded across his chest in stubborn defiance. The room was dark and stuffy, smelling strongly of medicines.
"I do not want you here," he said in a raspy whisper. "Get out of my bedroom."
Valentina felt the sting of his cruel words, but she would not give up yet. "You should have thought of that when you asked me to be your wife. If you believed you could place me in some obscure corner of your life and forget about me, you were mistaken." She raised her chin proudly. "I am your wife, and I have every right to be here."
Valentina had spoken in English and Dona Anna could not understand what she was saying, but she gathered from the tone that Valentina was trying to take over her son. "I will call the servants and have her thrown out," Dona Anna snapped, moving toward the door. "This English woman does not know when she is not wanted."
"Stop!" Valentina called out. "You had better know, before you try to have me thrown out of my husband's room, that I will not go without a fight. Do you want the servants to spread gossip to the neighbors that we do not love one another?"
Valentina's challenge hung in the air, halting Dona Anna in her tracks and forcing the woman to look to her son for guidance. She did not want her family to be the subject of curious gossip around her neighbors' dining tables.
Marquis thought Valentina was like a breath of spring. How beautiful she was as she stood her ground, defying him and his mother. Never had he admired her more than he did at that moment. He knew he would never be able to push Valentina out of his life and heart. He had thought by keeping her away he could forget about her. He was wrong. There had not been a waking minute she had not dominated his thinking.
"Let her stay if it pleases her to be where she is not wanted," he said sourly, turning away from her as if he could shut her out of his mind by not looking at her.
"I will just go for your grandfather," Dona Anna declared. "He will handle this English woman."
Valentina heard her mother-in-law leave, slamming the door behind her. Walking around the bed, she forced Marquis to look at her. "Is that how your mother refers to me? As 'that English woman?'"
Marquis almost smiled. "It seems to please her to call you that."
"You need a shave," she observed in a soft voice.
"If you do not like the way I look, then why not shave me yourself?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.
"All right, I will," she said, picking up the challenge. "First of all, you need light and fresh air in here. It's a glorious day outside. The gloom in this room is enough to make anyone feel ill."
"If you do not like it here, you can leave." His dark pupils were smoldering embers. "You were not invited in anyway." He turned his head away from her, fearing she would read the joy in his eyes. Yes, his heart sang when she was near. Her presence in his room was bringing him back to life. He could feel the blood pumping throughout his body, reviving his spirits. He dared not look into her eyes lest he see pity there.
Valentina moved to the window and pushed the heavy drapery aside. She opened the door to let in fresh air. Placing her hands on her hips, she turned to Marquis and found him staring at her. "Where do you keep your razor?" she asked.
"You are not going to shave me, Valentina," he said with bitter rage.
"Oh, yes, I am," she insisted. Looking about the room, trying to decide the most likely place he would keep his shaving kit, she finally decided on a tall chest near the window.
Opening the top drawer, she found just what she sought. Marquis watched her sullenly as she poured water into a pan and approached him with a drying cloth across her arm. "The water is still warm," she said cheerfully. "Your mother must have just bathed you."
"I do not need my mother to bathe me, nor do I need you to shave me." His eyes were boring into her, daring her to come near him.
Placing the pan on the bedside table, she draped the cloth across his chest. She searched her memory, trying to remember how her father shaved. Valentina prayed she would not cut Marquis, or he would have her thrown out for sure.
Wetting the brush, she whipped up a thick lather. "I never cared for a beard on a man," she said, trying to make light conversation.
"What do you like on your men?" he snarled.
"On you, I like the leather trousers and the bolero jacket." She laughed to hide her nervousness. "A good sense of humor is always nice to wear."
She saw his lips twitch and knew he was trying not to smile. "I can shave myself," he said, grabbing her hand.
"You said if I didn't like the way you looked, I could shave you. That's what I intend to do," she announced, jerking her hand
free.
Meeting his eyes, Valentina refused to look away. She could not allow him to discover she was shaking inside. What she really wanted to do was ask him if he was in pain. She wanted to have him hold her and tell her he was glad she was his wife. She wanted to smooth out the frown lines that creased his forehead. Instead, she lathered his face, while he appeared to suffer in silence.
When it came time for the razor, she felt her hand shake. Mentally schooling her fear, she held his chin and dragged the razor down the side of his face. Taking an easy breath, she saw that she could be pleased with the results. Gathering courage, she repeated the stroke.
When the door suddenly opened, Don Alonso entered. He was taken aback when he saw Valentina shaving his grandson. Moving to the side of the bed, he watched in silence while Marquis cast him a withering glance that warned the older man not to make fun of him.
"When I was first married, my wife would shave me on occasion. I found it very relaxing," Don Alonso said, watching Valentina's smooth movements. "You have a light touch, my dear. I can see you have done this before."
Valentina wiped the razor on the drying cloth before gliding it across the lower half of Marquis's face. "No, this is the first time I have ever shaved a man," she announced with confidence. "It is good to know I am doing it correctly."
Marquis's eyebrows quirked briefly, and his grandfather fell into stunned silence. When Valentina applied the razor to Marquis's face again, both men flinched.
"There," Valentina declared, wiping Marquis's face with the cloth. "You look much better now. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if you felt better."
Don Alonso laughed with delight. "She may be right, Marquis. If I had just been shaved by a beautiful woman, I would certainly be feeling on the mend."
Marquis was not even remotely amused. His eyes were cold as he looked at Valentina. "If you are finished ordering my life, you can leave. I told you before I do not want you here."
Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) Page 32
