The Eagle and the Sun

by James, Dana

  A sudden heavy shower drove her to the stables for shelter. She sought out the mare's stall and after obtaining, through a mixture of sign language and broken Spanish, the groom's agreement, she spent some time brushing the satiny coat, talking softly to the animal, trying to make amends for the morning's headlong dash.

  Later, she went out again and walked up the hill that looked down on the hacienda. There she stayed, each stroke of her pencil engraving the scene on her heart, until the fading light and cooling air drove her up to her room to shower and change for dinner.

  Once back in the house tension formed a knot in her stomach that began to twist and turn. The hours alone and the deep satisfaction she always obtained from her preliminary sketching, knowing she was laying the foundations for new, exciting designs, had given her some much-needed peace. But they would all be back soon. What would happen then?

  As her imagination threw up one horrific scene after another, her appetite disappeared and she grew more and more nervous.

  She could of course stay in her room, but that would be tantamount to an admission of guilt or

  shame. She had no regrets about the stand she had made. But did she have the courage to sit through dinner under the condemning gaze of five pairs of eyes? For condemn they would, Derek would see to that.

  Maybe they would all ignore her, simply pretend she didn't exist. No, Miguel would not permit it. Whatever his private thoughts, she was a guest in his father's house and as such would receive his courtesy.

  Miguel. Cass pressed cold hands to her flushed cheeks. He was beginning to matter far too much, and that road could only lead to heartbreak. Common sense counselled distance, both physical and emotional. Yet even Derek, for all his self- absorption, had noticed the magnetic pull that drew Miguel and herself into each other's orbit. And when he touched her—she wrenched her thoughts away. This was pointless. Worse, it was self- destructive. She was free, he was not. That was all there was to it. No matter how she felt, and she wasn't sure exactly what she did feel, she could be nothing more to him than a passing attraction. Somehow she had to scrape up enough willpower, pride and dignity to keep him at arm's length.

  Of course, if he accepted and believed Derek's version of events, the problem would no longer exist, for there would be no teasing warmth in his eyes, no challenging light, only icy disgust.

  How would she bear it? Her head swam and she sank down on the bed, hugging her arms across her body. The soft velour robe provided neither warmth nor comfort as she shivered uncontrollably.

  There was a light tap on the door. Before Cass could answer it opened and Consuelo put her head in.

  'Senorita, is phone call for you.'

  Cass stared blankly at the housekeeper. 'For me?' 'Si, senorita. Is Don Miguel. He call from

  Mexico City. Is very bad line.'

  Cass's heart gave a wild leap and hammered against her ribs. Not daring to imagine what it might mean, she ran barefooted down the stairs.

  After taking a deep breath that did nothing to stop the tremor in her hands or the deafening thunder of her heartbeat, she lifted the receiver from the mosaic table.

  'H-hello?'

  'Cassandra? We will not be back tonight.' It was impossible to discern any expression in the disembodied voice.

  She swallowed. 'I see. Thank you for letting me know.' She was gripping the phone so tightly her hand was wet and slippery with perspiration and her knuckles ached.

  Why were they staying over? Was it for a celebration? Or to spare everyone further embarrassment? Was it because of her? She had to know.

  'Are the meetings running late?' Even to her own ears the desperate casualness rang horribly false.

  '… finished for the moment.' His words were almost drowned by a loud crackling. '… not… worry… been… accident… calling… hospital…' More crackling cut him off.

  'Miguel!' she shouted, her voice hoarse with

  strain.

  'Are you still there? Miguel?' What had happened? Who had been hurt?

  '…row morning,' was all she heard, then the line went dead.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As she toyed with the delicious meal Consuelo had prepared for her, Cass forced herself to think logically. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be that serious if they were all coming back in the morning. And as it was Miguel who had phoned, he couldn't be badly hurt. In fact, he might not have been involved at all.

  She caught herself, realising the significance of her thoughts. He was the only one who mattered. She had to stop this.

  After a restless night punctuated with dreams she could not remember, but which had filled her with a deep sense of unease, she eventually fell into an exhausted sleep, only to be woken three hours later by Consuelo bringing in her breakfast. She forced the food down then stumbled, heavy eyed, into the shower.

  Dressed in a cinnamon blouse, her Aran jacket and cream pants tucked into her tan leather boots, she was trying to disguise her pallor and the violet shadows beneath her eyes, when she heard the helicopter approaching. Leaving her hair loose and her make-up scattered all over the top of the chest of drawers, she flew downstairs and out on to the drive as the helicopter touched down gently between the paddock and the house.

  Teresa was the first one out, her mink-lined raincoat bundled under her arm. She was followed by her parents. Cass's anxious eyes could detect no sign of anything wrong with any of them as Teresa's high heels crunched importantly across the fine gravel. That could only mean one thing.

  'What happened?' Cass started forward.

  'After what you did, you need to ask?' Teresa delivered the words with a scathing glare and swished past in a cloud of expensive perfume.

  Nodding politely to Senor and Senora Morelos, who stared stonily ahead as they passed her, Cass hurried towards the helicopter.

  Her heart soared as she saw that Miguel had climbed out of the pilot's seat and was leaning into the cabin. It immediately plummeted as she realised the casualty had to be Derek and, judging by Teresa's reaction, the blame had been laid very firmly on her shoulders. But Miguel was safe. He had flown them back. She touched his arm, relief and pleasure at seeing him again overpowering all her intentions to retain a barrier between them.

  'Can I help?'

  He swung round and she gasped, 'Oh, no,' her eyes widening in shock at the purple swelling on his temple bisected by four neat stitches holding the edges of an inch-long cut together.

  For an instant his eyes softened and he looked pleased to see her, but the impression was fleeting for within a heartbeat his features had set in a cold mask.

  'Don't worry, I'll live.' The deep voice was tired and the sardonic tone did not quite hide an

  undercurrent of anger. His eyes, meeting hers for a moment, were narrowed with strain, and Cass guessed he had a blinding headache. 'Which is more than will be said for him if he doesn't pull himself together.' His distaste was plain as he reached in to finish unbuckling Derek's seat belt.

  Cass caught a brief glimpse of Derek's face, paper-white and sheened with perspiration, before he slumped forward into Miguel's arms.

  'Is he hurt?' she whispered.

  'Not as much as he deserves to be,' came the grim reply.

  'What happened? ‘Cass asked. As Miguel heaved the barely conscious Derek out on to the drive, her nose wrinkled at the smell of stale alcohol, stronger than the pungent antiseptic.

  'Close the door,' will you?' Miguel said over his shoulder. She slammed it shut and hurried to take Derek's other arm and relieve Miguel of some of the load.

  'You mean you don't know what's behind all this?' Miguel threw a cynical glance across at her as they dragged Derek up the steps, into the hall and towards the stairs. 'Haven't you used him shamefully? Misled him, into believing you loved him and intended to marry him, only to throw him over when a better prospect appeared on the horizon?'

  Cass went cold then hot all over. Her face burned and dismay and rage boiled up in her. Although he had threa
tened, she had not been able to convince herself that Derek would actually go through with it. It had clearly taken a lot of alcohol to boost his

  courage. For a split second she longed to throw off the weight of Derek's arm and slap his face with all her strength.

  But Miguel was talking again, his voice calm, level and quite expressionless. 'Apparently, he poured all this out to Teresa and her mother over lunch. Then, not wishing to burden them further with his troubles he said he would spend the afternoon sight-seeing alone.'

  'In the nearest bar, no doubt,' Cass muttered, ashamed, hurt and furious all at once.

  'He came to the bank where Don Diego and I were attending a meeting.' Cass felt a chasm opening up beneath her feet. 'The staff could see he had been drinking and tried to pacify him, but he broke into our conference. It seems he has somehow conceived the idea that I am responsible for your change of heart towards him.'

  Cass closed her eyes briefly and kept her head down as they manoeuvred Derek through the door and across the room on to his bed.

  Consuelo appeared in the doorway and addressed Miguel in a flood of Spanish, tutting and shaking her head. Teresa pushed into the group.

  'Miguel, I will attend to this.' Without waiting for his assent she turned to the housekeeper. 'Fetch Juan or Tomas from the stables to undress Senor Prentice and help him to bed. The hospital said he must rest for twenty-four hours in case of the concussion.'

  Consuelo raised her eyebrows in silent query as she looked to Miguel and when he nodded, she shrugged and left.

  'This need not affect our arrangements for the

  weekend,' Teresa announced briskly. Derek should have recovered tomorrow and we can fly down in the afternoon as planned. Perhaps the festivities will help him forget his unhappiness.' She shot a venomous glare at Cass, who flinched. 'I think, Miss Elliott, you should leave now—'

  'Teresa!' The word left Miguel's lips like a pistol shot, and she stopped abruptly, switching her gaze to him. He continued in quiet warning, 'Do not presume too much.'

  Her dark eyes widened. 'Querido,' her tone was stricken, 'I only want to help. You have so much on your mind.' She came towards him, laying one slim hand on his lapel, smoothing the expensive material. 'I know Papa values your advice concerning the takeover. There is also the estate to run as well as the business, and your own father must be much on your mind. Unexpected guests at this time have only added to these worries.' She pouted up at him. 'What kind of fiancée would I be if I could not at least take the running of the household from your shoulders?'

  Watching his face out of the corner of her eye, Cass saw it assume the expression of wry amusement mixed with cynicism he habitually wore when talking to Teresa. It piqued her curiosity like a snagging thorn.

  'Your concern for my responsibilities does you great credit, Teresa.' Miguel plucked her hand from his lapel and after touching it lightly to his lips, released it.

  At that moment, Tomas, the groom from whom Cass had obtained permission to visit the mare, entered the room, somewhat reluctantly, in front of

  the housekeeper. As Miguel gave him instructions in Spanish, Cass found herself puzzling over Miguel's words to Teresa. Then it dawned. It was not concern for him that prompted Teresa's display of organisational ability. In any case, her concern seemed more for Derek than Miguel. Teresa, anticipating her future role as mistress of the hacienda, wanted to use this opportunity to establish herself as such. But Miguel was warning her off. Why?

  With a gesture that brooked no argument, Miguel ushered Teresa, the housekeeper and Cass herself, out of the room and closed the door. 'Consuelo, please take coffee to the sitting room for Senor and Senora Morelos.'

  'I will have mine in my room, Consuelo,' Teresa announced haughtily. 'I have a million things to do before we leave for San Miguel.' She swept a frosty gaze over Cass before turning once more to Miguel. 'You have no objection if I check on Derek's progress now and then? It is not right that he is left entirely alone but I do not think he would wish any visitors.' She flashed Cass a barbed glance that was full of accusation.

  'You do not need my permission if you wish to play the nurse,' Miguel said coolly and again Cass was aware of the strange undercurrent.

  How could Teresa not be aware of it? Or was she simply choosing to ignore what she did not wish to hear?

  Miguel glanced at his watch as Teresa stalked off down the passage. Cass, painfully aware that she was out of place, backed away. ‘If you'll excuse

  me,' she mumbled. 'I'll—' She got no further.

  Miguel's hand shot out, his strong fingers closing around her upper arm. 'You come with me,' he announced, hustling her towards the stairs.

  'What for? Where to?' Her heart was hammering and her knees felt weak. There was an implacable determination about him.

  'To my study. I want to talk to you without any interruptions.' With easy strength he half dragged, half pushed her across the hall and through the heavy oak door, closing it firmly behind him.

  Once inside, he let go of her arm and raked both hands through his hair. It was a gesture of weariness that tugged at Cass's heart even as she rubbed the place where his fingers had closed with bruising strength on her arm.

  Afraid he might see the feelings she was unable to hide, she turned from him and, taking a couple of steps away, traced with restless fingers the gold embossing on the edge of the heavy leather-topped desk. Its entire surface was piled with books, invoices, letters, circulars and other paperwork relating to a large, productive estate. Though clearly a masculine environment, the spacious room was comfortably furnished with leather armchairs on either side of a stone fireplace. An antique bookcase with glass doors stood against one wall. On the opposite wall, leather-bound ledgers were stacked on modern shelves. Two grey metal filing cabinets stood beside long windows that opened out on to the flower-decked veranda, and Indian rugs were scattered over the polished wood floor.

  Cass wrenched her attention back to the

  problems facing her. There was only one course of action she could take. Clasping her hands tightly together, her nails digging into her flesh, she turned towards him.

  'I—' Her voice faltered and she had to start again. 'I can't tell you how much I regret what has happened.' Her voice sounded as though it belonged to someone else. Her eyes were drawn to the ugly wound on his temple. He would carry the scar for life. The pain in her chest was like a knife. 'I will pack my things and leave today. I can go to an hotel in Queretaro.' Her voice faltered again. 'I should have done that as soon as I realised your father was not here and that you did not expect me—us.'

  He gazed intently at her for several moments and she sensed he was weighing something in his mind.

  'Regardless of what Derek may have told you,' she added quietly, 'I did not receive your father's letter. Had I done so, I would not have come. It was not for a business deal that I planned to visit Mexico. I was coming on holiday. Yes, I intended to gather ideas and materials for new designs, but there was no urgency about it.' She broke off.

  'No,' he said abruptly. 'You will not leave. I will not permit it.'

  She raised startled eyes to his. 'Why not? We have caused you nothing but trouble since we arrived.'

  'The other things Prentice said, is there truth in them?' Miguel rapped out the question with the cold incisiveness of an interrogator. His features were stone-hard and his eyes burned like black coals beneath his heavy brows.

  Cass flinched. 'What does that matter—if you believe him.'

  'I want to hear from you,' he grated. 'Answer me, Cassandra.'

  'Wh-what are you going to do about Derek?' she stammered.

  He shrugged lightly. 'I have not yet decided. But why should you concern yourself?' He studied her intently.

  'I—I'm not. It's just—'

  'Aaaah,' he broke in, comprehension lifting one corner of his mouth in a surprisingly gentle smile. 'You fear for your job perhaps, if Prentice thinks we have discussed all this? Do not worry. I g
ive you my word. Nothing that has happened here will make trouble in your work.'

  Cass's lashes fluttered down to hide her quick dismay. 'Th-thank you,' she managed. He did not know Derek had sacked her and she could not tell him. That would place him in a position of feeling responsible for her, and she had been, albeit unwittingly, the cause of enough problems and embarrassment for him.

  'Now, answer my question.'

  Her mind still whirling, she glanced up at him, nonplussed.

  'Prentice's accusations.' A hard undertone threaded his barely controlled impatience.

  Her face flaming, she looked him straight in the eye. 'I have never at any time given Derek reason to believe he was anything more than a friend and colleague.' She moistened her lips which were paper-dry. He had to believe her. He had to. 'The

  engagement announcement was taken without my knowledge or consent, and any hints or insinuations that he and I were or are… close… in any way are figments of his imagination.'

  'Why did you not tell me this before?' he demanded.

  Cass shrugged helplessly. 'I did try, once. But it was a private matter. Something I had to sort out and put a stop to myself. It would have been quite wrong to involve you.'

  He raised one hand to the swollen gash on his temple, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. 'Oh, I think I'm involved.'

  Cass flushed even more deeply, her eyes falling away from his. She hugged her arms across her body. 'Please—how did it happen?' The words came out with a jerk.

  'He threw a marble inkstand at me,' Miguel replied evenly. 'An impressive aim for one so— upset.'

  Cass gulped. 'A-and the m-meeting?'