The Bastard (6 page)

The western boundary was the low ridge of hills that hid the ocean. To the south, the seaward hills dipped to form a narrow passage and there the land rolled down to the very edge of the sea.
He'd
explored this passage, finding a hidden cove with a pleasant sandy beach.

 
I'd
like to bring Stella to this cove someday, he thought, but then shook his head.
He'd
have little time for her in the weeks and months to come.

Evergreens twisted by the wind grew down the seaside slopes of the hills almost to the sand itself. Last week he'd climbed a hill to take a closer look at the largest of the trees and came across a
hole
extending under its roots that he thought might once have been a bear's den. Though the don assured him no bears had been seen on the property for many years, he meant to make certain that hole would never be used by a bear--he'd have it filled in.
But
there was no hurry.
First things first.

Scanning the seaward hills, Diarmid caught sight of a rider cresting the summit of one. Not a vaquero of the
don's
unless the man had been to El Doblez. Could it be Manuelo, returning early?
God, how he hoped so!
He had no qualms that what he was doing was anything but right. Still, as the wedding day approached, more and more he felt the need to have a friend by his side.

 
Kicking Bruce into a lope, Diarmid rode toward the western hills but, as the distance between him and the oncoming rider narrowed, Diarmid frowned, slowing his mount. That was a bay, not Manuelo's black stallion.
And
the horseman rode awkwardly, unlike Manuelo. He
wasn't
dressed as a vaquero, either. Who was he?

"Ho!" the man shouted. "Diarmid Burwash!" Diarmid's jaw dropped as he recognized the voice. God save him, it was Myron
Muskatt
!

Sitting on a blanket in the cove,
Concepcion
carefully brushed every grain of sand from her feet before pulling on her stockings. She reached for her slippers. One of the great joys of her life was riding to this cove to wade in the ocean.
She'd
been taken here to play as a little girl but no one except
Rosa
knew she still indulged herself in such childish amusements. When she married Diarmid, would she have to give it up?

The thought of him made her pause with one shoe half
on
. He was the most handsome man
she'd
ever seen in her life, far better looking than any of the three men she'd been betrothed to before.
She'd
mourned them, of course, but it was true she'd scarcely known any of the three.

Diarmid she saw every day. How she loved looking at him! Often she watched him when he
didn't
know she was anywhere about. She knew how his thick dark hair curled at his neck, how he smiled to himself when he thought no one saw, his strong teeth flashing white against his tanned face, his upper lip curving so sweetly she longed to kiss him.

After they were married, perhaps
she'd
be so bold as to press her lips to his as often as she wanted. She could hardly wait to be his wife.

What matter if he
didn't
love her? She had enough love for two. Together
they'd
make babies--how she yearned for a child! She
wasn't
altogether clear on how a man gave a woman children.
She'd
seen bulls mounting cows and dogs mounting bitches but surely what happened between husband and wife wasn't so crude. Never mind if it was, she looked forward to whatever came.
She'd
all but given up hope of ever being a wife and she could hardly believe in her great good fortune. This time, she was determined that nothing would stop the marriage. She meant to become Mrs. Diarmid Burwash and woe betide anyone who tried to prevent her.

Concepcion
eased on her slippers and glanced at
Rosa
, lying on a blanket, head propped on a pillow, sound asleep. For some reason
Rosa
didn't
trust Diarmid.

"He'll bring you pain,"
Rosa
had warned.

Let him!
He'd
be her husband and that's what mattered. "Rosa, wake up,"
Concepcion
said, nudging the old woman. "I'm ready to go home."

It took a few minutes to pack the blankets and pillows and the food basket
Rosa
always insisted on bringing. After tying everything securely to the saddles, the two women mounted their horses. Both wore divided skirts and rode astride because
Concepcion
could see no sense in having to ride
sidesaddle
when
Rosa
didn't
. After all, she
wasn't
where anyone could see her. Since her father
didn't
know, he’d never had occasion to object. What, she
wondered,
would Diarmid think of this unladylike practice? Urging her chestnut mare into the lead,
Concepcion
started away from the sand beach. Before the horses had climbed to the top of the slope that led away from the water, she halted and waved
Rosa
to a stop.
Voices!

Dios, it was Diarmid!
Riding to the cove!
She
didn't
recognize the voice of the other man but that made little difference, it was Diarmid who mattered. She
didn't
want him to see her, not like this, riding astride. She turned the mare and hurriedly retreated,
Rosa
following, to the far end of the sandy beach where a rocky outcropping hid them from view. She
didn't
expect Diarmid to stay long at the cove; she and Rosa would outwait him.

Before the two men reached the sand, they stopped. Because they spoke loudly, angrily,
Concepcion
could hear every word, though she
didn't
understand all of them because Diarmid and the other man were
quarreling
in English.

That she knew any English at all would have surprised her father.
But
one winter when her brother Diego was sixteen and recovering from a broken leg, it had amused him to teach his nine-year-old sister what English he'd learned. Concepcion, who shared everything with
Rosa
, had taught her the words, too. It was a secret and
Concepcion
loved secrets. Even today, she and Rosa occasionally spoke English to each other in private.

Diarmid and the other man shouted at each other until
Concepcion
was tempted to put her hands over her ears. Instead, she listened carefully, eager to catch the sense of what the argument was
about
. Whatever affected
Diarmid,
affected her.

 
"Give me the knife you used to cut the cheese," she whispered to
Rosa
, determined to rush to Diarmid's
defense
if the need arose.

"You knew damn well Miriam was carrying your child," Myron told Diarmid after
they'd
halted their horses halfway down the hillside above the beach. His voice was loud and furious.

"You ran off like the cur you are. Ran off and left her to weep."

"I never promised to marry your sister." Diarmid tried to keep his tone level but he was rapidly losing patience with Myron.

"Maybe not.
But
you will, oh, yes, I'll see to that, all right. There ain't going to be any bastards in the
Muskatt
family."

 
"I refuse."

 
"You don't have a choice.
I
ran you down, didn't I?
Sent your description to the mayor of every miserable hamlet in the state.
Got lucky in
Los Angeles
, found out you stayed with some Mexican there named Tomas Valdez. When I got off the stage I went right to
Valdez
and he told me the news about you being engaged to some fancy senorita."

 
"That's none of your business!"

 
“Either you come back north with me or I go to her father and tell him about Miriam." Myron smirked triumphantly. "You can't tell me the news wouldn't kill your chances."

 
It well might, Diarmid realized. The
Californios
had rigid notions of
honor
and hearing
he'd
left a pregnant widow in
San Francisco
could convince the don to call off the agreement. He
couldn't
take the chance. Yet he sure as hell
wasn't
going to marry Miriam. Thinking desperately, he came up with an idea.

 
"Look, Myron," he said
, "
I stand to own 90,000 acres if my marriage to the senorita goes through. You could have part of it.
And
Irv. All
he'd
have to do is marry Miriam. You and he get land, she gets a husband,
the
baby has a father. Think about it."

Myron stared at him. "You--you--" In too great a rage to speak, he yanked the rifle from the saddle scabbard, leaned sideways and swung it at Diarmid. Diarmid ducked and the barrel caught Bruce across the withers.

Bruce whinnied and reared, Diarmid slid off his back and rolled quickly away. He sprang to his feet in time to see Bruce's front right hoof knock the overbalanced Myron from his bay, who promptly bolted. Before Diarmid could move, Bruce's forelegs came down, trampling the screaming Myron.

Diarmid grabbed Bruce's halter, led the frightened horse aside and tethered him before returning to kneel beside Myron. He was dead, the left side of his head shattered, bone splinters, brains and blood oozing from the wounds made by the horse's hoofs.

 
"Dear God," Diarmid muttered, struggling not to vomit. Despite his shock and his sickness, he forced himself to think. If Myron
was
found dead, there'd be a great to-do.
And
Diarmid's connection with him might well be discovered.

Disaster!
That meant Myron's body
must be hidden
.
Where?
Diarmid looked about frantically and the twisted evergreen on the hill to his left caught his eye. The bear den under the roots.
He'd
put the body in that hole and cover it over. Since
he'd
already discussed filling in the hole with the don, no one would think it odd.
He'd
have to find the damn bay and make certain all of Myron's belongings wound up in the hole, too.

Taking a deep breath, Diarmid rose to his feet, finding the sea breeze suddenly chill.

Much later, after she was sure Diarmid was gone,
Concepcion
motioned to
Rosa
and the two of them emerged from hiding. Riding back to the ranch,
Concepcion
spoke sternly to
Rosa
.

"We'll tell no one what we heard.
Ever."

“He killed the man."
Rosa
's voice was sullen.

"He buried him
,"
Concepcion
corrected. "We don't know how the man died because we didn't see what happened."

Rosa
slanted
her a
dark look. "I don't forget the name. Myron."

“I say you will forget that name. If anyone ever asks about the man, you know nothing. Do you understand?"

“I understand you will marry a murderer."

"He is not!" She halted her horse and, when
Rosa
stopped, fixed the old woman with an impassioned gaze. "Swear on the blood of Christ that you'll never reveal what we heard today."

"I swear,"
Rosa
muttered after a moment. "Have I ever gone against your wishes?"

They rode on,
Concepcion
's mind whirling with the frightening fragments of what
she'd
overheard. She
hadn't
understood everything but she knew Myron meant to stop Diarmid from marrying her, meant to take him north to marry a woman called Miriam.
She'd
never wished a man dead but she couldn't be sorry Myron had been silenced. Nothing, no one must interfere with her marriage to Diarmid.
He'd
been promised to her and she was determined to have him.

"Mine!" she exclaimed. "He's mine."

"He belongs to no woman,"
Rosa
warned. "He never will."

"Perhaps not, but he'll be married to me."