Tears of Gold (6 page)

“As long as you remember to call me Amaya, and there won’t be much else you’ll have to say…” Mara paused thoughtfully, a teasing light entering her eyes. “If you’d rather, I can tell them you’re a mute, and then you won’t have to say anything at all.”

“Hrrmph!” Jamie snorted contemptuously. “The day I can’t be rememberin’ me lines I’ll be past breathin’. I may not have acted before an audience in near over a quarter of a century, but I can still be playin’ me part. Mute, indeed,” she sniffed.

“I have complete faith in you, Jamie,” Mara declared innocently, hiding her satisfied grin behind a casually raised hand.

“And don’t be thinkin’ ye bird-limed me, missie,” Jamie snapped. “I knew what ye was up to all along.”

“Of course, Jamie,” Mara answered.

Later that evening, after Paddy was warmly tucked up and asleep in his berth, Mara left her cabin, Jamie nursing her favorite cup of tea laced with brandy, and met with Brendan and Don Luís in Brendan’s cabin. Brendan was staring into his whiskey glass and Don Luís was taking a sip of richly colored red wine when Mara entered. Don Luís rose quickly to his feet and offered her a chair at the table where Brendan still sat, a morose expression on his lean face. Mara eyed him curiously, wondering what had happened to send him into one of his famous black moods.

“Please, señora, will you not partake of some of this excellent wine? I brought it from France.” Don Luís poured the dark red liquid into a crystal goblet and solemnly presented it to her. “I am always comforted to have my own possessions around me when I am traveling. Being accustomed to a certain standard of living, I prefer to maintain it no matter how uncivilized the conditions I find myself in.”

The incongruity of the crystal next to Brendan’s bottle of brown whiskey and plain glass caused Mara to smile. She accepted the wine from the Spaniard, nodding graciously.

“I am reassured, señora, to see your change of spirit,” Don Luís commented, misinterpreting the reason for her smile. “But I must get accustomed to calling you by your new name, Doña Amaya.”

“
Doña?
” Mara frowned at his words.

Don Luís’s thin lips widened in a grin, but the smile did not reach the black depths of his eyes. He explained, “It is merely a form of address, like miss or madam, and shows respect. You will become used to it. Please, Señor O’Flynn, some wine,” Don Luís invited as Brendan was about to pour himself another whiskey.

Brendan shook his head as he filled his glass with the brown liquid. “No, thank you, I can’t abide that sweet stuff. It’s
uisge beatha
, the water of life, or nothing for any decent Irishman.”

Mara shivered as a cool draught of air swept through the cabin and touched her shoulders. She took a deep swallow of wine and felt it lick like fire through her blood. It left her cheeks flushed as the chill left her body.

“It is fortunate that Amaya left California at so young an age. It will not be expected that she would speak Spanish,” Don Luís began, his black eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at Mara’s flushed face, “and a young girl changes much in the years approaching womanhood. Few will remember exactly what the young Amaya looked like. In fact, I did not recognize Amaya when I saw her in England. And oddly enough, you look more like the Amaya I had expected to see. It will work out fine, and as you are an accomplished actress,” he added, his tone sounding insultingly superior to Mara’s sensitive ear, “I need have no fears regarding your ability to play the role.”

“Then they’ll not be expecting me to remember them?” Mara inquired politely, masking her dislike of the man.

“No, it would not be likely that you would know all your relatives after this great length of time. However, you should be aware of the immediate family. I am, of course, your mother’s brother, Don Luís Cristobal Quintero,” he spoke his name proudly, “and my home is the Casa de Quintero. My wife is Doña Jacinta, and I have a son, Raoul. We will be staying at the Villareale rancho with you. That is the home of Don Andres Villareale; his mother, Doña Ysidora; and a cousin, Doña Feliciana. There are numerous other relatives constantly visiting, but they are unimportant.” Don Luís explained all this with patience, despite Brendan’s obvious inattention as he poured himself another whiskey.

“Oh—there is also staying at the rancho an American called Jeremiah Davies. He is Don Andres’s secretary.”

“Is it from the American that you learned your English, Don Luís?” Mara asked, having been surprised by the Spaniard’s almost flawless English.

“No, it was from the father of Señor Davies that we learned our English,” Don Luís explained. “He was a shipwrecked sailor off one of the fur-trading ships that used to sail our waters, and he decided to stay in California. He was not a sailor by trade, but had been a Yankee schoolteacher in a place called Boston. The father of Don Andres, Don Pedro, had the foresight to hire this Yankee to tutor his children and teach everyone English.” Don Luís smiled cynically as he added, “He must have foreseen this invasion by the gringos.”

“So the cast of characters have been named, and the players assembled on stage,” Brendan spoke suddenly into the uncomfortable silence. “And how long a run are we being booked for, Don Luís?”

Don Luís shrugged complacently. “Of that I am not certain. We will have to let these matters develop as they will. We Californians do not rush through life. We take our time, and consider things carefully. Don Andres and his family will, of course, want to take the time to get acquainted with you. Then there will be the festivities and visits to relatives,” Don Luís explained with a satisfied smile curving his thin lips. “All very time-consuming.”

“Time-consuming for what purpose?” Mara asked curiously, wondering what in the world she had committed herself to.

Don Luís stared arrogantly down his narrow, high-bridged nose at Mara. “That need not concern you, señora. All that involves you is to successfully act the part of my niece. You will be paid for that, and nothing more. Do I make myself understood?” Don Luís answered haughtily. “You will not meddle in affairs that are none of your business. You will confine yourself solely to acting your part.”

Mara shrugged, a devilish glint in her eyes that Brendan recognized and knew meant trouble. She’d like to see the pompous Don Luís cut down a size or two, and with that thought in mind she placed her elbows on the table, propping her chin in her palms as she stared up at Don Luís with a saucy look. Winking at him broadly, she spoke.

“Ye’re right, luv. Fer’ow’d the ’ell would the likes o’ me, a bit o’ fluff, be knowin’ about the affairs of gent’men likes yerself? Leastwise their business affairs, if ye knows what oi means,” she hinted audaciously. “Why, ’twas bloody ’are-brained o’ me to be even askin’ such a question. Cooee, what a nerve oi’ve got, ducks,” Mara said in her broadest cockney accent, her voice sounding coarse and vulgar even to her own ears. She picked up her wineglass, silently toasting the don’s stunned face. Swallowing a hefty swig, she hid her grimace of distaste behind the back of a hand raised to wipe her lips.

“Mara!” Brendan hurriedly intervened, his dark eyes glinting angrily as he glared at Mara’s triumphant and unrepentant face. “Please, Don Luís, you’ll have to excuse Mara. She sometimes speaks without thinking of the consequences,” Brendan apologized, “but she is always sorry afterward. Aren’t you, Mara?”

“To be sure, mavournin,” Mara replied, smiling innocently, “I seldom am.”

“Mara! How can you—”

“Enough!” Don Luís spoke abruptly, his voice shaking with anger. “I have never been treated with such contempt by anyone, and never by a woman such as this. Were you a true relative of mine, heaven forbid, then you would soon know your place, señora. But this does little good. If I cannot trust you, if you do not do as I wish, then,” Don Luís paused, looking at them malevolently, dislike evident on his face, “I shall have no choice but to prosecute Señor O’Flynn for not paying his debts to me. It is hard for a young mother and child alone to make a living in a strange land. I would not envy you, señora,” Don Luís said silkily, a contemptuous look in his black eyes as his gaze roamed over Mara’s face and body. He turned without another word and walked to the door, his back stiff with outraged pride.

“Don Luís,” Mara spoke softly, looking into the dark red depths of her wine. “You need have little fear that I, Amaya Vaughan, will let you down. As your very properly brought-up English niece, I shall do nothing to cause you or your family embarrassment or concern. My conduct shall, of course, be impeccable and above reproach,” Mara told him, her voice coolly cultured with just the right hint of hauteur.

Don Luís turned slowly from the door and stared at her in amazement. She sat demurely before the table, her hands folded and her small, chignoned head bent slightly, as though in prayer. The madonna herself could not have looked more serene or pure. Don Luís was incredulous. Mara looked up as she felt his eyes on her. Her tawny eyes were warm and softly luminous as a single teardrop clung to her lashes before dropping to her cheek. Her parted lips trembled slightly as she solemnly returned his stare.

“
¡Madre
de
Dios!
” Don Luís exclaimed. “I compliment you, señora, for you are indeed an accomplished actress.” He bowed in deference. “You have set my mind at rest, and I have the utmost confidence in your abilities now that I have just witnessed a miracle. Never would I have believed it possible for a person to sound and act so differently,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “One moment a shrew, and the very next instant an angel.”

Brendan laughed, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Mara is full of surprises, Don Luís. I’m sometimes believing she doesn’t know who she is, or what she wishes to be, eh, me little darlin’?” Brendan taunted, anger still smoldering behind his dark eyes.

“As long as she is Amaya, that is all that need be important,” Don Luís interjected quickly, afraid a row would erupt between these wildly unpredictable O’Flynns. “There is one small thing I must know: The child will not be confused to be calling you Amaya?” Don Luís inquired, a worried frown crossing his high brow. “It would not do to have the little señor give the game away.”

“You needn’t worry,” Mara answered quickly, lest he suggest some alternative arrangement for Paddy. “As an actress, I must be conscious of my public image. I must appear to them perpetually young and beautiful, and having a child of six calling me mama would be quite ruinous to my career,” Mara prevaricated as she vainly smoothed the heavy chignon at the base of her neck in an affected manner.

“Of course, it never has been a problem. The boy has always called me Mara, for I am, after all, not his mother. He’s from Brendan’s first marriage. Oh, you thought he was mine?” Mara laughed, pretending to pout. “But how could you really believe he was mine? Surely I don’t look old enough to have a child, Don Luís? Why, I’m hardly more than a child myself.”

“My apologies, señora. I naturally assumed the boy was yours. This, of course, will simplify matters. We need have no fear of the child committing some indiscretion.
¡Bueno!
It is all settled then, and soon we shall be in California.” Don Luís sighed in evident relief. “With your permission?” he asked as he collected Mara’s empty wine goblet, the other glasses, the bottle of wine, and carefully restored them to a leather traveling case, “I bid you
buenas noches
, then,” he murmured, and left the cabin with a very contented expression on his face.

The loud clapping of Brendan’s hands disturbed the silence and startled Mara from her thoughts. “Well done, Mara, me love. An extraordinary performance, to be sure, and one that nearly threw me behind bars,” Brendan said harshly, anger burning brightly in his eyes. “Why d’ye do these things? You dare everyone to call your bluff. I think you enjoy pushin’ a person until they’re near to their tether’s end. One day you’ll be pushin’ someone too far, and it’ll be too much for even your insolent tongue to handle.”

Mara remained silent. She had no defense. Brendan was right. Her cursed temper and tongue would be sure to get her into trouble one of these days.

“I’m sorry, Brendan.”

“And so you should be. A fine time it is to be playing games, what with our future at stake and Don Luís not havin’ much of a sense of humor,” Brendan complained, a sour look on his face.

Mara’s eyes glinted. “A fine thing indeed, to be blaming me. Who was in his black looks before I even came in? Such a melancholy face I’ve yet to be seein’. What caused you to be brooding?” Mara demanded.

Brendan hunched his shoulders despondently, then ran a hand carelessly through his hair. “I come halfway around the world to make me fortune, risking death on this damned ocean, only to have the gold out of me reach. I might as well be back in London or Paris for all the good this is going to be doing me,” Brendan spoke bitterly.

Mara stared at his dejected expression in puzzlement. “I don’t understand? We’ll be in California, won’t we? There’s gold everywhere. You don’t have to be going anywhere special to get it.”

Brendan snorted in disgust. “A lot you don’t know. There’s no gold on Don Luís’s rancho, or on this other gent’s. It’s far away in the mountains. The Sierra Nevada he told me. Now, how am I goin’ to be getting there if I’m confined to the rancho looking after you? I can’t trust you enough to turn my back for an instant,” Brendan accused her, shifting the blame easily to Mara.

“That’s unfair and untrue,” Mara said huskily. “You know I’d never let you or Paddy down. Take it back, Brendan,” Mara commanded, a slight quiver of hurt in her voice.

Brendan rubbed his eyes tiredly. “All right, just don’t start cryin’ on me. I can’t abide a woman in tears.”

“I never cry, at least not for real,” Mara answered shortly as she got to her feet. “We’re in this now, so we might as well be giving it our best and hope it’s over soon. Then you can get to your damned gold mines.”

“Mara,” Brendan called out as she opened the door.

Mara turned partly back to look at him, a cold, withdrawn expression on her face.