Tears of Gold (9 page)

“Just don’t be getting yourself drunk, or we’ll be having to watch
your
tongue instead.”

Brendan laughed as he rubbed his stubble of whiskers. “I’m an Irishman, mavournin, and Irishmen are never drunk, just a bit blind to the world, that’s all,” Brendan defended himself.

“That’s all?” Mara questioned him with a contemptuous laugh. “More like blind drunk, why, I’ve seen you sewn up tighter than a—”

“Ye’ve not!” Brendan interrupted in outraged pride. “I’ve never been fuddled in me life. But then, ye be so perfect, Mara, me love, that ye’ve not got any vices, have ye?”

“Enough!” Jamie cut in, an exasperated look on her tired face. “Ye be carryin’ on like guttersnipes. A fine example ye be settin’ for Master Paddy with your squabblin’ all the time. No wonder ye can’t be holdin’ onto a job longer than it takes to be openin’ your mouths.”

Brendan stared at the little woman with a jaundiced eye. “One of these fine days I might be gettin’ rid of you,” Brendan warned, “so you’d best be curbin’ your tongue.”

Jamie snorted derisively. “Not likely, Master Brendan. Who else but me’d be puttin’ up with the likes o’ ye and Miss Mara? I ask ye that? To be sure, no one in their right mind would take such abuse from the two of ye, and the pay bein’ even more insultin’. If it wasn’t fer the promise I made ye mum, God rest her soul, I’d have washed me hands o’ the two of ye O’Flynns long ago.”

Laughing as he caught the last of her words, Paddy chanted loudly, “Washed me hands o’ the O’Flynns! Washed me hands o’ the O’Flynns, o’ the O’Flynns, washed me hands o’ Mara, o’ Mara!”

“Paddy!” Mara broke into his made-up song, silencing the childishly high-pitched voice that seemed to reverberate throughout the room.

Scowling, Brendan looked down at his son. “If certain young men aren’t knowin’ how to behave themselves, then they’ll be feelin’ the bite o’ me hand on the back of their breeches,” Brendan threatened.

Paddy stared up at his father, his lower lip jutting out rebelliously. He apologized, but a moment later Mara heard snatches of the same tune beneath Paddy’s breath as he sipped his orange juice.

“Well, he’s your son, isn’t he? What else would you be expecting?” Mara said softly, a smile warming her eyes.

Brendan shrugged. “Seeing how you’ve more than raised him, I be expecting nothing less,” he retorted with a grin. “Of course, there be some people around here, not havin’ a likin’ for the O’Flynns, who’d be saying ’tis what they deserve,” Brendan added with a devilish look of innocence aimed at Jamie.

“Hrrmph. Ye be knowin’ as well as me that’d I’d not be happy with anyone but the O’Flynns, so I be deservin’ what I get as well,” Jamie admitted grudgingly.

Mara had a slight smile on her lips as she turned to refill her glass of juice. As she moved, she became aware of a woman standing in the doorway. At Mara’s sudden stillness Brendan turned to find the cause and stared in silence as well.

The woman backed up a step, smiling nervously as Mara and Brendan continued to gaze at her, her smile wavering and fading as she felt their full, concentrated stare.

“Please, you will forgive me for intruding,” she spoke softly and slowly, her English heavily accented and barely understandable. “I have waited the long hours of years, wondering if you would return with Don Luís, wondering what you would be like, and you have finally come. You are Amaya Vaughan. You are too beautiful,” she added almost to herself as her soft brown eyes took in every detail of Mara’s appearance.

Her expression was almost sad as she gazed with longing at the fashionable, striped dress in pale gold colors that accentuated the gold in Mara’s eyes, the elegant deep flounce of crisp lace that edged Mara’s sleeves, and the fichu that crossed over her breasts and was a perfect frame for her fragile neck.

“I am Feliciana,” she introduced herself, and came shyly into the room. As she moved from the shadow of the doorway, the light from the windows fell on her, revealing a small figure dressed totally in black. The perfect oval of her face contrasted startlingly with the rest of her somber appearance. Her eyes were darkly luminous and unreadable behind hastily lowered lashes. Her smooth, wide brow and rounded chin, blending with her soft, slightly curved lips, created a picture of almost untouchable serenity.

“You will not have heard of me, but I am Don Andres’s ward, and his third cousin. I live here on the rancho,” she said almost defiantly, as if daring them to repudiate her claim. Her mouth trembled slightly as she ran her hands over the black cloth of her gown. In explanation for her dark appearance, she said, “I am in mourning for the death of my father.”

“I am very sorry, Doña Feliciana,” Mara said inadequately, and for some strange reason she felt guilty as she saw the wounded look on the young girl’s face. “This is my cousin, Brendan O’Sullivan, and his son, Paddy.”

“And charmed I am to be meeting you, Doña Feliciana,” Brendan greeted her, his bold appraisal causing a vivid blush to color her pale cheeks.

She mumbled something unintelligible, then smiled as Paddy said in exact imitation of Brendan, “Charmed I am to be meeting you, Doña Felice-ch—Felice.”

“A fine young son, Señor O’ Sullivan,” she complimented him.

“Please call me Brendan. I am almost one of the family,” he said audaciously, continuing despite Jamie’s snort, “and we must get to know one another better.”

“I must leave,” Feliciana spoke hurriedly, looking flustered as she heard voices in the courtyard. “They bring your traveling things, sí? Adiós, Señor O’Sullivan.” Her eyes lingered on Mara for a moment before she added on a sigh, “Doña Amaya.”

“Well, and what are you making of that?” Brendan declared in amusement as he watched her small figure retreating across the patio, her black skirts rustling provocatively despite her demure walk. “A shy little dove, to be sure,” he added, a speculative gleam in his eye.

“And one you should leave in peace,” Mara warned softly as she directed the servants where to put her trunks. “You’d best be seeing to yours, Brendan. This one isn’t mine.”

Brendan scowled. “Do I have to be doin’ everything meself? Hey, listen you, wait up! My good man, come back here,” he called after the servants as they left. When he got no response, he muttered something and, picking up his own bag, carried it out of the room.

Mara turned to Paddy who was leaning sleepily against the back of the bed. With a nod to Jamie she said, “I think we might have a look at your room, Paddy, and see if your bed is as comfortable as mine.”

“I think we could all be usin’ a rest after that bone-shakin’ ride,” Jamie said firmly as she went around the room gathering up Paddy’s belongings before guiding him to his own room.

It was later that evening when Mara awoke to find her room silent and dark. She shivered as she felt the coolness of the evening shadows. She curled her toes in surprise as her bare feet touched the smooth coldness of the tiled floor. She yawned, flexing her tired shoulder muscles as she walked to the window and stared through the half-light of dusk at the rolling hills in the distance. Suddenly the twilight silence was shattered by the eerie howling of a coyote. Mara strained her eyes as she saw a doglike shape skulk along the ridge of a hill in the distance.

“Seems a lonely land,” Mara murmured as the outline of the hills faded into the darkness and a stillness hung in the night air. She nearly cried out when an abrupt knocking sounded on her door, disturbing the quiet. An Indian servant entered holding a lighted taper and a candelabrum. She shouldered open the door, placed the heavy, silver candelabra on a table, and lit the candles. The flickering flames gradually lit the indistinct shapes within the room and created an illusion of spreading warmth. Another Indian followed her, a towel draped over her arm, bearing a large bowl of water. They hurriedly left, casting shyly inquisitive glances at Mara’s silent figure, the jade green silk dressing gown shimmering with threads of gold.

Mara pulled her hair free from its chignon, sighing in relief as she felt the heavy weight of it fall to her hips. She splashed the cool water on her face and hands, working a small, fragrant bar of soap into a lather as she rubbed her face clean of dust and tiredness. She indolently brushed her hair until it crackled with electricity, and tossing it over her shoulder, she sauntered from the room, feeling relaxed without the tight lacings of her corset. She breathed deeply of the night-fragrant garden, its perfumed scents intensifying as darkness enfolded it.

Mara entered Paddy’s room, finding him still asleep despite the loud, gurgling snores coming from Jamie, on a small bed next to his.

“Jamie,” Mara whispered, but received no response. “Jamie,” she said in a louder tone of voice as she leaned closer to her, remembering that Jamie was having trouble hearing. She would not admit to it, of course. “Wake up, Jamie.”

Jamie awoke with a start as Mara gave her a gentle shake. “Wh-what time is it?” Jamie demanded as she quickly slid from the bed and straightened her bright orange dressing gown.

Mara smiled. “I don’t know. But why do people always ask that when they wake up suddenly, as though they’ve a guilty conscience or something? Besides, there’s nothing you can do about lost time, once it’s gone, well…” she said with a shrug.

“Well, I know what I should be doing now, and that’s gettin’ young Paddy up and dressed, so ye’d best be doin’ the same,” Jamie told her with a critical look in her gray eyes as she took in Mara’s appearance. “It’s shameful the way ye be runnin’ around half-dressed all o’ the time. Ye be askin’ for trouble. Why, ye’ve not even got shoes on. To be sure, ye’ve got the heathen in your soul, and to think ye was brought up proper-like, to have respect for—”

“All right, Jamie, I’m going,” Mara told her as she padded to the door, her bare feet making no sound. “But I won’t apologize for liking to feel free,” Mara added defiantly as she rubbed the soft silk of her robe, loving the feel of it against her naked skin. “And I am free, Jamie. Free to do as I wish, and no one can say nay to me. ’Tis one of the advantages of bein’ born a bastard. There’s no one there to give a damn,” she said recklessly as she left the room.

Mara knocked on Brendan’s door but there was no reply. After waiting a minute, she opened his door hesitantly, then went inside when she saw him stretched out on his bed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey standing open on the table beside it. How like Paddy he looked in his sleep, Mara thought sadly, his hair in disorderly curls and a slight smile softening his hard mouth. He seemed as innocent as his son.

“Brendan,” Mara murmured. “Brendan, wake up now. You’ll be wanting to change your clothes.”

His shirt was wrinkled and open, revealing the vulnerable column of his throat. Brendan pulled his shoulder away protestingly from Mara’s hand and hid his face in his arm as he murmured something.

“What?” Mara asked as she barely caught his sleepily mumbled words.

“Molly, me darlin’ Molly,” Brendan slurred the name.

Mara’s lips tightened at the sound of the name. “No, ’tis Mara, me darlin’ Brendan,” she said sharply, “and you’d better get up now. You need a shave and a wash. You smell like the inside of a whiskey bottle.”

She was leaving the room as he struggled to his elbows and shook his head to clear away the hazy thoughts. “What a hair-raising dream,” Brendan groaned as he swung his feet to the floor and held his head in his hands.

“Your hair is standing on end,” Mara confirmed. “Even as fine an Irishman as yourself can only be holding so much before finding himself pickled and full of blarney.”

Brendan looked up, the light from the candles softening the jaded expression on his face. “Ye’ve got one fault, Mara, me love, that you ought to be trying to change before someone decides to do it for you. And that’s not knowin’ when to curb that sharp tongue of yours. In other words, mavournin—shut up.”

Mara’s lips parted in a half-smile. “To be sure, it gets the right results sometimes in clearing the fog from some people’s minds.” Turning on her heel she flounced from the room, the half-smile still on her lips as the door closed behind her and she started along the dark passage to her room.

An hour later Mara stared at her reflection in the mirror as she fastened dangling, jet earrings into her ear lobes and slipped several matching bracelets onto her wrists. In the candlelight her bare shoulders gleamed as luminously as pearls above the pale yellow glacé silk gown. The skirt was gathered in flounces and caught by loops of black velvet ribbon that matched the deep ruffles of delicate black lace that edged the tight-fitting bodice that was cut low and off the shoulder. A caul of black silk net shot with gold was draped over her chignon and caught the light, glowing softly.

Mara touched her favorite scent to the inside of her wrists and the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. Lily of the valley floated around her as it was warmed by her body. Picking up a black satin reticule, she placed a dainty lace handkerchief inside and, drawing the strings, gave her reflection a last, searching look.

She was folding a black lace shawl over her arm when Brendan knocked on the door with his special knock, hitting it once, then again, then twice in rapid succession. He sauntered into the room, pausing to look Mara over critically, a smile curving his mouth as he found nothing to fault in her appearance. He had shaved and washed, and brushed his curls into order. He wore fresh linen and a sky blue silk scarf adorned with a gold pin. In blue trousers and a coat of superfine, with a dark blue velvet collar and a scroll-patterned, gold silk waistcoat, he looked very elegant and highly respectable, quite different from the man of an hour ago.

“Shall we go and face our audience?” Brendan asked in good humor as he glanced around the room curiously. “Where’s Paddy? Isn’t he dressed yet?”

“Jamie’ll be bringing him over,” Mara replied patiently. “And if he’s looking as fine as his father, then he’ll be doing us proud,” Mara complimented her brother, smoothing over her harsh words of an hour earlier.

Brendan smiled widely. “D’ye think so, now? I’ve been thinking, so as not to become too bored with this charade, that I just might be playing me finest dandy. Besides, playing the fool sometimes is the best way of disarming a person. In me role as a Jemmy Jessamy I shall be me lady’s fondling, and confidant to all of her secrets. Who knows what I might learn about Don Luís and the others in this household,” Brendan said slyly, a gleam of mischievous anticipation in his dark eyes.