by James, Dana
Derek, like Senor Morelos, was wearing a dinner-jacket, and Teresa's hand with its scarlet nails looked very white resting on his sleeve.
'Why did you have to wear that cowboy suit, Miguel?' she tutted.
'I would look out of place in the parade if I wore anything else,' he replied mildly.
'The parade,' she snorted, 'surely you should have outgrown such things. It is not in keeping with your position.'
'Teresa,' her father warned.
Miguel stopped and Cass saw his face granite- hard, its planes emphasised by the harsh artificial
light and deep shadows.
'Throughout Mexico San Miguel is known as the cradle of independence. Were it not for the men who died fighting for freedom from Spanish rule, I would not be in my position. Besides, I believe in honouring the past. The charros, whose costume you scorn, are the backbone of this country and my roots here are much deeper than yours.'
'That is irrelevant,' she said at once. 'It is today that is important, not last year or three centuries ago.'
He gave the slightest of shrugs. 'Today we are at the fiesta, and I wear the charro costume to ride in the parade.'
Teresa snorted in exasperation but Miguel had already moved on, dragging Cass with him through the milling crowd towards the central plaza.
As they looked at the displays of goods for sale many people spoke to Miguel and Cass noticed affection and respect from peasant and well-to-do alike. They strolled slowly past several groups of dancers, then a band of yellow-coated musicians a little distance away struck up a lively melody and Miguel guided Cass to the front of the crowd and stood close behind her, one hand resting on her waist.
The female dancers wore crinoline dresses of flounced layers edged with lace or ribbon that reached just below the knee. Their bodices had elbow-length puffed sleeves with a frill and a frilled collar. The male dancers wore charro outfits plus a huge sombrero.
'This dance is called Jarabe tapatio,' Miguel
murmured in her ear. 'It's a courting dance that originated in Guadalajara.'
Cass watched, fascinated as the couples moved around one another in set patterns, always maintaining a reserved distance from each other. As the dance moved towards its climax the music quickened, becoming gay and flirtatious. The men placed their sombreros on the ground and followed the girls as they danced around them. As each girl stooped to pick up the hat, her partner passed his right leg over her and the dance ended in a burst of clapping, laughter and noisy shouts as each couple stole a kiss behind the sombrero.
'I have to go now, to take my place in the parade,' Miguel said. 'You will be all right?'
'Of course.' She smiled up at him. 'I shall watch the dancing until it arrives.'
'Then you will watch me.'
'That sounds like a royal command,' she observed drily.
He raised one dark brow. 'Naturally.' And with a flashing grin he vanished into the darkness.
Cass glanced around. Senor and Senora Morelos were a few feet away deep in conversation with another couple in evening dress. On the other side, separated from her by a mother and her three daughters, Teresa was making eyes at Derek as she laughed at something he was saying.
The music started again and the dancers whirled into an intricate series of steps. Cass watched, utterly absorbed by the colour and the spectacle, unaware of time passing.
When the dancers eventually stopped, the crowd
began to move away seeking amusement elsewhere. Cass was caught up in the press of bodies. She craned her neck, but could see neither the Moreloses nor Teresa and Derek.
The sound of a larger band playing martial music was drawing nearer and the crowd began to move faster. Cass was pushed along, nudged, elbowed and kicked. Men, sucking on cans or bottles, staggered and fired pistols into the air, laughing crazily. Swept along in this torrent of excited humanity, Cass began to feel afraid. She wanted to get out. She tried to fight her way free, clutching her bag and cashmere shawl as if her life depended on them.
Over the heads of the people she could see the parade, led by a marching band in red jackets. Gloriously decorated floats, banked with masses of flowers, trundled slowly across the plaza. Then the jingling of spurs and harness and the clopping of hooves echoed from the tall buildings around the plaza. Instinctively Cass began struggling towards it, towards Miguel.
But like a pack of hyenas, the drunken men recognised Cass as both a stranger and a woman alone. She was jostled and pawed. One man pushed a bottle towards her face, saliva running down his chin as he urged her to drink. She knocked it away and tried to run. Coarse, excited laughter followed and she knew deadly fear.
CHAPTER TEN
The parade was halfway across the plaza. Cass could see the riders about fifty feet away. Spurred on by terror she tried to fight her way forward. But the crush of bodies was impenetrable and the noise deafening.
Then she saw Miguel. He was on the side nearest her, third in the column. She shouted but could not even hear her own voice above the din.
A rough hand gripped her shoulder forcing her around. The man with the bottle had followed her. His loose, wet mouth stretched in a leer that revealed blackened teeth and his small eyes glittered with feverish excitement. With all her strength Cass pushed him away. He stumbled, falling backwards. All around people laughed, then ignored them both.
'Miguel! Help me!' Cass screamed, at the top of her lungs, stretching her arms towards him.
She saw him stiffen. He stood in his stirrups, scanning the crowd.
'Miguel! Here, I'm here!' Her voice cracked and her throat was raw, but he heard her. Breaking out of the formation, he set his horse at the crowd, scattering them left and right.
She was sobbing with relief, tears streaming down her face as he reached her. His face thunderous, he leaned down and swept her up
behind him.
'Hold on to me,' he commanded. 'I will take you home.'
All around them the crowd cheered and shouted. Cass fastened her arms around his waist and buried her face against his broad shoulders.
By the time they reached the house she had regained a little of her composure but still trembled uncontrollably.
Miguel dismounted quickly and held up his arms to her. As she fell into them, she sensed barely controlled anger emanating from him.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered, her mouth quivering. 'But I was so scared—'
'Quiet.' He was brusque, and she fell silent as he bellowed for one of the servants. A man came running and Miguel handed him the reins, issuing a stream of orders. The man nodded quickly and led the horse away at a trot.
With his arm around her shoulders, Miguel supported Cass into the salon. Her knees felt like jelly and she clung to him with one hand. In the other she still clutched her bag and cashmere shawl like talismans. She sank down on to the brocaded sofa and he went straight to the bar, returning with a glass of brandy which he thrust into her hands.
'Drink it,' he rapped.
The rim rattled against her teeth as she took a sip, shuddering as the fiery spirit burned her raw throat. She raised her eyes and tried to smile, to reassure him that she was all right now. But to her utter dismay scalding tears filled her eyes, brimmed over and dripped off her chin. She lowered her head
quickly, pressing her lips tightly together to stop them trembling, clutching the brandy glass between white-knuckled hands as her chest heaved on a muffled sob.
Muttering an oath, Miguel seized the glass, heedless of the antique brocade as the fine old brandy fell in scattered drops on to the gold material. Slamming it down on a nearby table, he yanked Cass to her feet, his hands grasping her shoulders with painful strength.
'Don't,' he rasped, his expression anguished, and folding his arms about her, crushed her to him. 'Don't, Cassandra. I cannot bear to see you weep.'
She tried to push him away, her movements automatic, self-protective, conscience and instinct combining to warn her they were on dangerous ground. But he
ignored her efforts, pressing his lips to her hair, her forehead, her temple and the side of her neck.
'No,' she whispered hoarsely.
Raising his head a fraction, with gentle fingers he lifted her chin. Their eyes met, hers tear-washed, vulnerable, his heavy-lidded and smoke-dark.
'Cassandra. ' Her name vibrated in his throat then his mouth claimed hers, warm and briefly tender. Suddenly the dam burst. The crackling electricity and unspoken desire, the pent-up emotions both had tried to deny combined in an elemental torrent to sweep away everything but the moment.
As his mouth grew more demanding, so his hands moved over her body with a possessive intimacy that made her shiver with helpless delight. She moaned softly, clinging to his shoulders as his
hands slid down over her hips forcing her hard against him, holding her there with arms like steel hawsers. His body was taut, trembling with his need for her. Melting, boneless, she moulded to him in a fever of mounting excitement. Her lips parted to his probing tongue and her blood roared in her ears as her heart pounded with such force it threatened to burst from her body. His breathing harsh and ragged, Miguel was a man almost beyond control.
The front door slammed. The sound of raised voices froze them for an instant then they sprang apart. Cass's legs simply gave way and she collapsed on to the sofa, head bowed, hands clasped tight as she struggled for control.
Cursing with quiet and bitter fluency, Miguel strode to the bar and poured himself a brandy with hands that were not entirely steady. The salon doors flew open and Teresa stormed in followed by Derek.
'How could you make such an exhibition of yourself! ' she cried.
Cass's head flew up. She winced and moistened her lips, only to realise that Teresa's wrath was not directed at her, but at Miguel,
'What will all our friends think?' Teresa's fists were clenched, and there were hectic patches of colour on her cheek bones. 'You playing the gallant knight to a stupid English girl who has caused trouble ever since she arrived.'
'Teresa!' His voice was a whip-crack and his anger terrifying to behold. 'I answer to no one.' His words fell like pebbles into a still pool and in the shocked silence the ripples spread. 'You are a guest
in my house, but you may leave whenever you wish.'
'Leave?' she shrieked. 'I have a right to be here. We are to be married, you and I. It is she who must leave,' she pointed a stabbing finger at Cass who felt deathly cold, 'that…that…' She turned and collapsed against Derek, sobbing wildly.
Miguel was unmoved. 'You abandoned her, you and Prentice. There is a fever, a delirium that infects the people at this time.' His tone was glacial, relentless. 'You know that, Teresa! You have seen it for yourself. Yet the two of you deserted—'
'Steady on, Ibarra,' Derek broke in, 'you can't blame Teresa. If Cass chooses to go wandering off on her own, it's nobody's fault but hers if she gets into trouble. For all you know she may have done it deliberately.' His mouth twisted in sly cynicism and he darted a glance of pure venom at Cass who recognised that he would grab every opportunity to discredit her, knowing she would not stoop to his tactics to hit back. 'After all, it got her what she wanted, didn't it?'
As Miguel, his face an impenetrable mask, turned to Derek, Diego Morelos hurried in followed by his wife. '¿Que hay? What is all this crying and shouting?'
Teresa pulled away from Derek and hurled herself at her father, who rocked backwards beneath the impact. 'Papa! Miguel is so unkind! He shames me in front of everyone.'
'Hush, hush now, chiquita,' Diego comforted his daughter, patting her plump shoulder. 'It is nothing but a lovers' tiff. Soon you will be married and all
this silliness will be forgotten.' He looked over Teresa's head. 'Perhaps Meestair Prentice, you will pour a small brandy for my daughter and myself. And something for my wife if she wishes it,' he added as an afterthought.
'Coming right up.' Derek's brightly artificial chirpiness did nothing to dispel the tension.
'Miguel,' Diego met his host's stony gaze, 'my daughter means everything to me. It may be I have indulged her a little too much. But,' he looked fondly at the girl in his arms and gave a helpless shrug, 'what father, indeed what man, could deny such beauty?' Teresa preened. 'She is a precious jewel who deserves a setting worthy of her. If she is a little wayward it is only her lively spirit which needs a firm hand to guide and control it. Miguel, it is time a date was set for your marriage.'
'Oh, Papa!' Teresa squealed happily and threw her arms around her father's neck.
Derek looked up from pouring the brandy to shoot Cass a glance of malicious triumph.
Cass felt as though she were falling into a black, bottomless pit. Echoing in her mind she heard Miguel's words … 'a fever, a delirium that affects people at this time'. She had been touched by it, held in thrall by the fiesta's spell, heedless of the future, living only for the moment. And each moment had been filled with Miguel. Unconsciously she raised an unsteady hand to her lips, still feeling the heat of his breath and the pressure of his mouth. Oddly light-headed, she felt the last faint glimmer of hope die. Now there was only paralysing despair as Miguel spoke.
'Diego, you are right.' He sounded grimly determined. 'What better time than this to settle the matter once and for all. Come, we will speak privately.' And without a backward glance he strode out of the salon, a tall, imposing figure, his regal bearing lending even greater dignity to his black and silver charro costume.
Teresa, her tears rapidly drying, was laughing and talking excitedly with her mother. Derek handed them each a measure of brandy, then lifted his own glass. 'A toast to the beautiful bride,' he proclaimed. 'And to the beautiful bride's beautiful mother!' He bowed smartly to Senora Morelos, who smiled and simpered.
Gathering the remnants of her dignity around her, Cass stood up. Picking up her bag and shawl from the corner of the sofa, she started towards the door. It took all the willpower she could muster to hold her head high and not run.
Hadn't she known, deep in her heart, that something like this would happen? Her pain was her own fault, she could blame no one else. She loved a man bound to someone else. All her dreams, her half-formed hopes and wild yearnings had contained no more substance than the mists that veiled the valleys at night only to be dissolved by the rising sun.
Miguel was her sun. For a while her soul had blossomed in his warmth. But he was also the eagle, soaring far beyond her reach, leaving her earthbound and alone.
She had to say something. Courtesy and her own pride demanded it. Her throat, still sore, was stiff
with grief, and her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. 'I wish you every happiness, Teresa.'
The girl swung around, her eyes narrowed and full of spite. 'I do not need good wishes from you,' she spat.
Cass flinched and Derek grinned. Senora Morelos stared into her brandy glass.
'You have them nonetheless,' Cass murmured painfully. 'Good night.'
No one answered. Teresa turned her back in a calculated snub. As Cass crossed the hall she heard laughter then Derek's voice, '… quite pathetic really.'
Closing her door, Cass leaned against it. She felt unutterably weary. She walked slowly over to the bed and taking off her dress and petticoat, laid them on the counterpane. As she fingered the turquoise frills, her face crumpled and helpless tears slid down her cheeks. Such stupid, stupid dreams.
She picked up her velour robe. What now? She was clearly unwelcome here. Derek and Teresa were actively hostile, and the Moreloses barely polite. Only Miguel had sought her company and treated her— as what? A friend? No, the sexual tension that vibrated between them mocked mere friendship. But nor had he taken advantage of their mutual attraction to become her lover. Unable to restrain himself entirely, he had gone no further than kissing her. And how his kisses had stirred her, fanning the flow of newly awakened desire to white heat. He wanted her, she knew that, and she wanted him. But he had chosen Teresa and the marriage date was being set at this very moment.
/> How could she stay here now? How could she bear to see Miguel every day and pretend she felt nothing? And if he wanted to be alone with her, would she be able to deny him or herself? Yet what damage would be done by such furtiveness? There was only one thing she could do.
Dropping her robe, she crossed quickly to the wardrobe and took out her emerald Viyella shirt, a pair of chocolate-brown stretch slacks and a matching cable-knit sweater. Once dressed she unpinned her hair and shook it free, letting it fall about her shoulders.
Her tears had dried and her eyes felt hot. Concentrating on the physical act of packing her case kept her thoughts at bay, thoughts too painful to bear. There was a point beyond which agony became meaningless and an automatic survival reflex took over. Cass had reached it. Her decision to leave had brought a strange peace to her. Part of her had died. Nothing would ever hurt as much again.
As she snapped the case shut there was a soft knock on the door. She tensed.
'Si?'
'Con supermiso, senorita,' the maid's voice filtered through the door. 'Don Miguel ask if you like something to eat or hot drink maybe?'
His thoughtfulness was like a knife turning in her heart. 'No, thank you.' Cass fought to control her voice 'I wish only to sleep. I—I have taken a pill.'
'Si, senorita. At what time you like your breakfast?'
Cass thought rapidly. 'Not before nine.' She
would be out of reach by then, the break clean and final.
'Gracias, senorita. Buenas noches.'
Her footsteps receded and Cass let out a long shuddering breath. Tearing a sheet from her notebook, she picked up her pencil with shaking fingers and, after a moment's hesitation, wrote four words. Signing the note simply 'C', she folded it, addressed it to Miguel and propped it up on the chest where it would be easily seen. Then, after a final look round to make sure she had forgotten nothing, Cass snapped off the light. Quietly easing the armchair around to face the window, she curled her legs under her and stared out at an inky sky streaked with firework flashes of orange, emerald, silver, and gold. Gun shots echoed across the valley. Laughter, singing and the ceaseless rhythm of drums and guitars were borne away on the night wind.
