A Lady Bought with Rifles (11 page)

“Like Sewa's father,” I said, looking at the child, who had drowsed off with the raven crouched against her arm.

Cruz nodded. “Yzábal is killing babies, prostituting girls, and enslaving men and women. He thinks he will grind the Yaquis into the earth, but we are
of
the earth and we will be here after he's dead—he and his friend Ramón Corral, who devised this. Corral is rotting even now of a disease he caught from a whore. I wonder if he thinks his blood gold will comfort him in hell?”

Cruz also told me that he wasn't a witch but a
sabio
, “one who knows.” He hadn't worked for the power or wanted it, and even now it wasn't completely under his control. Sometimes he “saw” what was happening, or what would happen, or where a lost thing was, or what sickness a person had and what would cure it. It was when he hadn't been able to heal the brother of one of the governors of his pueblo that he was accused of being a witch.

“And Yaqui law is that a condemned prisoner shall spend three days in the jail, arms tied, without food or water. Three
madrinas
and three
padrinos
, his godparents, make him a brown burial robe and each puts a Yaqui rosary about his neck. The
maestros
chant the funeral liturgy for three days and then most prisoners are shot. But a witch is tossed, bound, into the fire. And so, in my second night in the jail, I worked my bonds loose and escaped by the help of one of my
madrinas
who didn't know whether or not I was innocent but didn't want me to die in either case.”

“Was that long ago?”

“One forgets. It was before Cajeme drove out the Mexicans in 1876. Call it thirty years.”

“And you've never gone back?”

He gave me a wry look with those ash-colored eyes. “No. I am a bigger witch than ever since I got away. But some of the villagers come to me now and then and have all gone away cured.” He laughed. “A few very love-afflicted ones have come for ways to make their sweethearts love them, but in that witchcraft I do not meddle.”

I thought of Trace, that marvelous yet separated way we had made love, and asked before I could stop myself, “Can you see my future, Cruz? Any of it?”

“I have seen you high in the Sierra after great danger.”

“Do you know what will happen to Sewa?”

“I have seen her wedding with
pascolas
and a feast and you there watching.”

“Are you ever wrong?”

“Not that I know of.”

I wanted to ask about Trace, if there would come a time when we would marry, but I felt I had no right. Sewa woke then and we played a game we had begun that morning wherein she named things in Yaqui and I in Spanish. When Trace came with twilight, she played one of the tunes she had learned. Ku fluttered excitedly and joined in with cries that made Sewa stop playing and burst into giggles that flushed her cheeks, showed her dimples, and made her look like a happy child for the first time since I had met her.

Trace sang for us that night, cowboy songs that I understood little better than Sewa and Cruz because of the peculiar phrases. What, for instance, were “firies and snuffies”? Or little dogies? Surely one didn't “ride round 'em slow” if they were actually dogs. But he sang one I understood, which was lovely and sad as the old English ballads I loved so well, and his eyes were on me so I could scarcely breathe. I longed for his mouth and hands till I burned as if with fever.

Eyes like a morning star, cheeks like a rose,

Laura was a pretty girl, God Almighty knows;

Weep all you little rains, wail, winds, wail—

Up along, all along the Colorado trail.

When Sewa had her sleeping draft, we went to our beds, but I was restless, anxious about the return to Las Coronas and how to find a home later for myself and Sewa. Most of all, I couldn't put the refrain of Trace's song out of my mind or forget the way his black head tilted back as he sang—how gentle he was with Sewa when he had carried her out to see the moon and smell the night scents for a while. What I would have given to have been in his arms like that again and not have him stop because of concern for me or his debt to my parents.

When I fell at last into shallow, dream-filled sleep, I seemed to be with a witch, a
bruja
, who was like Cruz but not him. And I asked for a philter, asked for a charm, the way to make Trace love me.

Then the witch's eyes were turquoise, and he spoke to me in a voice I knew, in Trace's voice, and he said, “I can give you a charm, but it would cost you more than you can pay.” And then he faded into the shadows, except for those blue-green eyes and the echo of his words.

Two days later Trace took Sewa and me back to Las Coronas. Cruz walked beside our horses to the end of his canyon and then gave me a bag of herbs I was to brew for Sewa till her leg was completely healed.

I didn't realize how fond I'd become of the old Yaqui, how I'd come to depend on him, till that time of farewell.

“Oh, Cruz,” I said, breath catching hard. “Oh, Cruz, thank you—”

“It was my joy to help the child.” His eyes twinkled like pale bright stars. “And to hear the song at last of that miraculous Ku of a thousand colors!” He touched my hand to his heart, then spoke softly, strongly to Sewa, who watched him with beautiful grave eyes. He put a staff into her hand, set with turquoise in the top. Then he crossed himself and kissed her forehead before he shook hands with Trace.

The men had rigged a kind of sling on Sewa's saddle so that her stump thrust forward in a cushioned split of bamboo. Ku nested in a basket molded against her saddle horn, cawing hoarsely at the excitement.

We traveled slowly, so that the late moon had set when we rode at last through the gates of Las Coronas. Dogs raised a bloodcurdling din and a man loomed out of the cottonwoods, his rifle barrel reflecting the little light there was. When Trace called out who we were, the guard bowed, escorted us to the house, and held the horses while Trace carried Sewa through the patio to my room and placed her on the couch. She was so tired that I didn't make the tea, but told her good night and moved Ku's basket close to her.

“You need to get to bed yourself,” Trace told me when I would have walked back to the horses with him.

“Will I see you before you go back to the horses?”

His teeth flashed in faint light from the bedside candle. “Unless you sleep till noon. Good night, Miranda. Have sweet dreams.” Before I could move, he dropped a swift light kiss on my cheek and strode across the patio.

My head and shoulders were being shaken violently. Wrenching away as I opened my eyes, I stared into my half-sister's constricted face.

“Why did he leave without seeing me?” she demanded. “Why?”

I realized with shock that she'd been crying. Her eyes were swollen and her ivory skin had that mottled look that follows heavy weeping. At the same time I felt a stab of hurt disappointment.

“Trace?” I asked, sitting up. “Are you sure he's gone?”

“Of course I am! The guard says he left a few hours after bringing you and this little scarecrow back.” Reina watched me narrowly. “He didn't tell you he was going?”

I swallowed, forcing my head high. “No. In fact, he spoke as if he'd be here till noon.”

“Ah,
you
feel like crying!” she exclaimed with brutal satisfaction. “So you must be speaking the truth.” She glanced at Sewa, who watched with wide dark eyes, cradling her raven. Reina's gaze snagged on the bandaged stump. Her lips curled in disgust. “My God, your contribution to Las Coronas is a crippled savage. All this fuss for a girl who won't even be able to work.”

For a moment I was too outraged to speak. Flashes of the last days, that first horrible night with the saw grating bone came back with dizzying force. Springing out of bed, I pointed to the door.

“Get out!”

“This is my home.”

“And mine, too, if you have any respect for our mother's wish.” Checking, I brought my voice under control and tried to speak reasonably. “As I have told you, Reina, I intend to stay here no longer than is necessary.” Did Trace's leaving so abruptly mean he had decided not to be concerned with my problems, where I went from Las Coronas? That he regretted making love to me? I writhed inwardly at that thought. “When Sewa is well, I shall take her and go.”

“Where?”

“That is none of your worry.”

She stared at me as if her probing eyes could pry out my thoughts. “Has that
pistolero
promised you help? The help you will get from that sort is a bastard.”

“I can't imagine why you're so interested in Mr. Winslade if you have such a low opinion of him,” I said. “This is a large house. If you'll stay out of my room, you needn't even know I'm here. Also, since you grudge it, I'll leave money for our food when I go.”

“Is this how you speak to your guardian?”

“Guardian?” It was my turn to stare. My heart felt as if cold steel had closed around it.

“You will not be eighteen for another six months.” Reina smiled coldly. “Oh, yes,
hermana mía
, I remember very well when you were born. A useless ugly scrap, but everyone making such a fuss! Until then, as the oldest of your family, I'm responsible for you and also in charge.”

“But you don't want me at Las Coronas.”

“True, but at least I can watch you here, take care you don't disgrace our name.”

It had the horrid ring of fact—a woman seemed always under the command of men, fathers, brothers, or husbands, and a woman under legal age might as well be feebleminded. Desperately thinking back to the reading of the will, I challenged Reina.

“You may be my guardian, but I recall that any important decisions had to be agreed upon by Mr. Sanders, the lawyer, and Mr. Winslade.”

“Important matters, yes.” Reina smoothed together her beautifully kept hands. “The sale or buying of land, a change in livestock, acquisition of a fine stallion or bull. But who will question a sister's loving concern for a head strong girl who does not understand the country or its ways?”

Before he broke his promise and left during the night, I would have counted on Trace to defend me if he knew Reina was abusing her position. But his abrupt departure seemed to say louder than words that he'd decided not to be bothered with me. I felt abandoned, utterly friendless except for the child, crippled, almost as helpless as her skinny raven. Cruz was our friend, but he was far away.

Struggling to maintain outer calm. I strolled over to the grilled window to look out on the patio and for the first time experienced the bars as those of a prison. Careful. I knew with instinctive wisdom that unless and until Reina took the plunge into being wholly oppressive, she had only the power I accorded her. And she was answerable to the men appointed by our mother to help manage our affairs.

“I don't understand you,” I said slowly. “We would both be happier if I left Las Coronas.”

“You will leave in time,” she assured me with a patronizing smile. “Unless I decide it best for an unbalanced sister to remain in the secluded peace of my home.”

My blood chilled. Remote as we were, Las Coronas was a private kingdom. It was horribly possible that I could live out my years there as a captive. Only I didn't think Reina could bear my presence, constant reminders that I existed. My history lessons, full of unhappy heirs and hostages spending their entire span in more or less close captivity, sprang into mind: the Pearl of Brittany, pacing the battlements of Corfe Castle so as not to imperil the crown of her wicked uncle John; the princes in the Tower, once again killed at an uncle's behest; Elizabeth Tudor, kept close by Bloody Mary, her half-sister, and in her turn imprisoning her tragic kinswoman, Mary Stuart—there was no end to the parade of wasted youth, of walled-in lives. And most had been confined by close relations, those who should have nurtured them.

I didn't know how far Reina would go. She might simply be exercising her power. My continued presence at the ranch could be only a problem and irritation for her, and I didn't really believe her capable of murder. If I seemed to accept her authority, to apparently resign myself to the fate of a young woman still under the tutelage of her kin, she might weary of the game, even exert herself to help me find an alternative dwelling.

If she didn't—well, my acquiescence would throw her off guard. When I had a chance, I'd get away even if it meant Sewa and I had to hide out in the mountains like Sierra Yaqui. If we could get to Cruz, I was sure he'd help us. I thought of Trace and clamped my jaw tight. If I turned up begging on his doorstep, he'd doubtless do
something
, but I'd rather take my chance with strangers. Why had he made such a business about settling me in Hermosillo and then left without a word? He'd seemed genuinely fond of Sewa—one would think he'd care what happened to her if not to me.

Could there have been some reason for his sudden departure? There might have been hundreds, but surely he could have left a message, some kind of explanation with the watchman. No, he must have thought the problem over and decided to keep clear. I shouldn't blame him too much. After all, his best interests lay in getting along with Reina. It was possible that her feeling for him might conquer her pride of name and blood so that he would by marriage acquire wealth no man could scoff at.

Now, turning from the window, I summoned an indifferent shrug and met my sister's inquisitorial look with what I hoped seemed boredom.

“I'd no idea you took your responsibility so much to heart,” I told her. “It was only dislike at staying where I seemed unwelcome that ever made me think of going elsewhere. Since I was mistaken, let me thank you for your concern and go have some breakfast. I find I'm very hungry.”

Her eyes widened suspiciously but found nothing to cast doubt on my bland rejoinder. “We must discuss your future in detail at another time,” she said.