The Bastard (5 page)

"Your word's enough," Manuelo said. "Friends don't betray one another."

 
"No, but it's best to have everything written. I intend to do exactly that with Don Francisco."

"You'll insult him!"

"I hope not.
But
written it must be or there'll be no marriage. Come,
we'll
have a drink at the cantina before we part. I have a bit of unfinished business to attend to there."

"Ah, the lovely senorita!"
Manuelo shook his head in mock disapproval. "And you about to be married."

 
Diarmid shrugged. "I didn't say I’d enjoy the marriage."

"Your bride-to-be must be nearing forty, by all accounts."

 
"She looks it. But in the dark--what difference?"

 
"As you say.
I can see
you're
determined to have the land and I understand. Still, I wouldn't wish to trade places with you, not for all the gold in
Spain
."

To Diarmid's disappointment, Stella was not in the cantina when he and Manuelo entered. A middle-aged Mexican served them a tot of rum willingly enough but his only answer when Diarmid asked where Senorita White might be, was, “
Quien
sabe
?”

"That's the trouble with pretty mariposas, butterflies," Manuelo commented. "They flit here and there and never light anywhere long enough to be caught."

"Anything can be caught with the right bait," Diarmid insisted. All the same, Stella
didn't
return by the time they finished the rum and he had no idea where to look for her.

"I'll be getting on," Manuelo said.
"A fortunate meeting."

"Certainly for me."
Diarmid followed his friend from the cantina, watched him mount his black horse and
start off
.

"Hasta la vista!"
Manuelo called back to him.

Diarmid waved. He glanced at the cantina and shook his head. Never chase
after a lass
, he told himself.
Best to keep her wondering whether you want her or not.
He untied Bruce, swung into the saddle and turned him toward the rancho.

He reached the casa at dusk, hungry and out of sorts. A chicken enchilada with beans helped the hunger but did nothing to improve his temper. He was certain Stella was only playing hard to get but when he wanted a
woman
he had little patience with games.

At this hour, Don Francisco
could usually be found
reading in his study, but Diarmid had no desire for the don's company. He wandered restlessly into the courtyard, smelling the heavy sweetness of the white flowers
he'd
learned were gardenias. Their perfume was almost too
strong,
he preferred the more delicate scent of roses. As he walked under the huge old pepper tree, its spicy
odor
mingled with the perfume of the flowers. A bird roosting in the branches overhead chirped drowsily. Dried berries and dead leaves from the tree crunched under his boots.

By the shadowy bushes near the wall, something white shifted, and he knew immediately what it was.
Who it was.
Alone?
Diarmid eased toward the white figure with the single-mindedness of a wolf stalking a lamb. When he was sure he blocked her line of retreat, he spoke. “You look like a white moth fluttering in the night."

He heard
Concepcion
draw in her breath but she said nothing.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked bluntly, tired of all the shilly-shallying.

"No." Her voice was so low he scarcely heard her. Damn it, why
couldn't
she speak up? "Why won't you talk to me, then?"

"I--I'm not used to men.
Except papa."

"He wants me to marry you. What do you want?"

She was silent so long he thought she
wouldn't
respond. "First tell me what you wish," she said at last, surprising him. Maybe she
wasn't
stupid, after all.

"I'd be
honored
to have you for my wife." Deliberately, he made his tone as formal as the words.

"I accept."

He blinked at the quickness of her answer.
No hesitation there.
"I don't intend to deceive you," he said, "so I won't mention love."

"I don't expect you to. It's not necessary." Her voice was thin and high but calm.

What was she thinking? Diarmid
couldn't
see her face in the darkness and he wondered if she was as cool and detached as she sounded. "You do want to marry me, though?"

"Oh, yes!"

Pleased that
he'd
forced a bit of enthusiasm from her, Diarmid reached for her, supposing 'twas now his duty to seal their bargain. Under his hands, her shoulders felt as thin and brittle as a
bird's
. Carefully, hoping he
wouldn't
frighten her, he bent to brush his lips against hers. He was flabbergasted when she flung her arms around his neck and clung to him, pressing her lips hard against his. Her embrace might be awkward and virginal, but it sure as hell was fervent.

 
Good God, he thought, more repulsed than aroused, what am
I
getting myself into?

Chapter Three

Far from being angry, Don Francisco approved of Diarmid's request to put their agreement into writing. "It's best there be no misunderstandings on either side," he said
, "
as well as proof to stand up in a court of law."

A Mexican lawyer
was retained
to draw up a paper stating that upon Diarmid
Burwash's
marriage to Concepcion Gabaldon and subsequent proof that a male child had been born of the marriage, the ownership of the rancho would be conveyed to Diarmid. By the
time
the agreement was completed and Diarmid and Don Francisco signed it, a month had passed.

"We'll be married as soon as possible," Diarmid told
Concepcion
after the signing.

"Oh, yes, but I must have the gown made and the relatives must be notified," she said. "There's food to be prepared and--"

"You have four weeks from today. That leaves time for the banns to
be read
and for your gown to be finished. As for the relatives--I was under the impression you didn't have many."

"That's true." She spoke deferentially, as she always did to him. "I have two widowed aunts, Tia
Gracia
, in El Cuidad de Mexico and Tia
Anuncion
in
San Diego
. There's one cousin--"

"I know of your father's sister in
Mexico City
. She
won't
be able to come for the wedding; he's told me he plans to visit her afterwards. Who is Tia
Anuncion
?"

 
"She's the widow of my father's brother. We have little to do with her because my father sided with my grandfather when he
forbid
the marriage."

"And the cousin?"

"I don't even know if he lives. He went to sea as a sailor some years ago. My father--" She sighed. "He doesn't forgive easily. I'd best not anger him by asking if I may invite Tia
Anuncion
to the wedding."

"If you wish to have her attend, invite her. I'll speak to your father; I have no fear of his anger." Because he could feel no fondness for her, Diarmid did his best to be kind to
Concepcion
.

Over in the corner, old
Rosa
snorted. Diarmid swung around to look at her but her eyes
were closed
and so he dismissed the noise as a snore. She was but a servant, and Indian at that, she
wouldn't
dare risk antagonizing him. He
didn't
much like her but, since
Concepcion
's mother had died when her daughter was two, Rosa had brought the lass up and
Concepcion
loved the old woman.

He was surprised to hear Don Francisco had a nephew--the lad
had never been mentioned
. Would he have any claim to the rancho?

"None!"
Don Francisco growled when Diarmid confronted him. "My father disowned my brother Ramon for his scandalous
behavior
,
behavior
that led to a duel over a married woman.
think
of the disgrace when Ramon killed the woman's husband, then married her. My brother's son, if he's still alive, has no rights to the property, none at all, and this he knows."

While he waited for his wedding day, Diarmid rode Bruce early every morning, inspecting one parcel or another of the ranch land. When Don Francisco had shown him the original Spanish land grant papers, Diarmid had been astounded and awed at the immensity of the property. Measured in leagues at that time, it was, by his figuring, close to 90,000 acres. That he, Diarmid Burwash, would soon own so vast an acreage was almost
beyond belief
.

He knew he must make
plans, that
he couldn't merely drift along, expecting the ranch to survive on starving cattle. The cattle
hadn't
afforded a living for the don these past few years and they wouldn't for him. The only animals on the ranch that seemed at all thrifty were a small flock of sheep the don had acquired in payment of a debt and had since ignored. Should he kill off the remaining cattle, sell the hides and use the money to buy more sheep?

Unlike the scrawny Spanish cattle of the don's, sheep provided a good supply of meat. Diarmid knew his former
San Francisco
store never had enough meat on hand to furnish the demand. Sheep
could be driven
north and slaughtered there--meat on the hoof.
Also
, those not killed for meat could be sheared for their wool and live to produce another crop year after year.
And
he knew from his childhood in
Scotland
that sheep could thrive on land where cattle would starve.

He planned to discuss his idea with Manuelo when he arrived for the wedding but it seemed a prudent first step in improving the rancho.
And
one he could afford. His mind churned with questions to ask Manuelo.
The sheep.
What about orange trees?
A few thrived near the hacienda and
there'd
be a market in
San Francisco
for oranges.
The same for grapes.
Could water be diverted from streams
rising
in the mountains so other crops could be grown whether the rains came or not? He hoped his friend knew some of the answers.

He'd
sounded the don out on a few of his ideas but the old man shrugged the questions away. "It's true the land has provided for me most of my life but my interests lie elsewhere. I leave everything for you to decide."

Don Francisco loved reading, loved his books and hated to be distracted from them. Diarmid realized the old man had little real interest in anything he might do except provide him with a grandchild
who'd
someday inherit the land. The don also looked forward to an extended visit with his sister in
Mexico City
.

"I'll meet with old friends,"
he'd
told Diarmid enthusiastically. "Some I've not seen for over forty years."

Diarmid was as eager to see Manuelo and
they'd
only been parted for a little over a month. It was impossible for him to imagine not seeing a friend for forty years.
A lifetime!

A week before the wedding, Diarmid rode on his customary morning inspection tour, halting Bruce on the summit of one of the many round hills--duns, his mother would have called them--and surveyed his golden land. To the east the summits of the higher hills, mountains really, marked the edge of the property. The don had told him that survivors of the mission Indians converted by the Spanish priests lived in those mountains. Since he owned to the summits, the Indians were squatters on his property.

"I have no use for the mountain land," Don Francisco had said, "so I permit the Indians to live there. As long as they
don't
bother my cattle, I leave them alone.
Rosa
is one of them. My wife tried to train several Indian girls as servants, but
Rosa
is the only one who stayed."