The Tiger Lily (36 page)

Both
men looked up when she appeared, and Alejandro called out, "Ah, there you
are! I wondered where you had disappeared to. We were just discussing different
dates for the wedding. Your
novio
is an impatient man—he wants the
wedding before the end of the month!"

The
amber-gold eyes were empty, the beautiful features strangely lifeless, as
Sabrina said flatly, "I've changed my mind. There will be no wedding.
I
will not many him."

Throughout
the emotional, exhausting scene that followed her startling announcement,
Sabrina remained unmoved, wrapped in an icy shell. Nothing seemed to matter to
her anymore. Confusion, disbelief, and finally anger washed over her, not
touching the tranquil emptiness that kept her from feeling anything but mild
indifference to Alejandro's reactions. That Brett said nothing, his hard face
dark and unrevealing, didn't even arouse a twinge of interest within her. He
belonged now to Constanza—he was nothing to her, meant nothing to her . . .
would never mean anything to her.

If
she had been more aware, she might have seen the spasm of pain that had flitted
swiftly across his face, might have recognized the brief flash in his eyes as
bitter disillusionment. But as the moments passed, he seemed to retreat within
himself, seemed to become a different man. Certainly he was no longer the man
who had held her in his arms the night before. Now he was a stranger—an enemy,
if the cold, hard glitter in the jade-green eyes mirrored his feelings.

When
Alejandro finally stopped shouting, when he realized that nothing he could say
would change her mind, Sabrina inclined her head politely and murmured, "If
you will excuse me now? I have other things to do." Helplessly Alejandro
glanced- from one set face to the other. Almost angrily he demanded of Brett,
"Haven't you anything to say? Aren't you going to try to persuade her
differently?"

"Why?"
Brett returned curtly. "The lady knows her own mind. If she won't listen
to you, I doubt anything I say will change her feelings."

Sabrina
felt something stir deep within her. Objection? Pain? She couldn't tell, and
she didn't want to know; she wanted this comforting emptiness to continue.

Alejandro
threw up his hands in despair and marched away, leaving an oppressive silence
behind him. Against her will, Sabrina's eyes strayed to Brett's still figure,
and the icy shell that had kept emotion at bay slipped just a little.

Ah,
God, she thought painfully. Is that the deceitful face I loved? The lying mouth
that set me aflame?

He
looked very large and virile as he stood there staring at her, his harsh
features seeming as if carved in stone, and Sabrina was powerless against the
storm of emotion that suddenly shattered the shell she had erected around
herself. Pain and fury, revulsion and rage, came sweeping through her body, and
unable to trust herself, afraid she would fling herself scratching and clawing
at his face, she spun away, intent upon as much distance as possible between
herself and Brett Dangermond.

Two
steps was all she took. For a big man, Brett moved like lightning, and his hand
curved bruisingiy around her arm, jerking her back to face him. "Don't run
off so quickly, sweetheart," he drawled in a dangerous voice. "I
think you and I have a little talking to do. Like why you've suddenly changed
your mind."

Barely
in time she remembered her promise to Constanza not to say anything about their
meeting. Taking refuge in fury, she spat, "I don't have to explain myself.
Certainly not to you!"

His
eyes narrowed. "Wrong, sweetheart. Especially to me!"

Futilely
she clawed at the hand that kept her captive.

Panting
slightly from her efforts, she hissed, "Let me go! I don't want to talk to
you—
ever!
"

He
gave a bitter laugh. "No, your kind never does, do they? They just play
with a man's emotions, and then, when they grow weary of the game, they destroy
him." He loosed his hold on her arm and caught her chin between his strong
fingers. The dark green eyes, black with some indefinable emotion, bored into
hers. "And to think I believed in this lovely face—to think I almost
trusted you, tiger lily."

His
fingers hurt where they pressed brutally against her jaw, and her hands came up
in an attempt to break his hold. "Don't call me names!"

"Why
not?" he taunted. "Tiger lily is a lot nicer than some of the other
names I have in mind for women like you. Names like . . . jade, cheat, and
lying slut!"

Sabrina
gasped with outrage, her fingers digging into the hand that held her jaw. Brett
only smiled, a cold, mirthless smile that didn't touch the hard eyes.

"You
almost fooled me," he snarled softly. "Almost had me believing—"
He stopped abruptly, his mouth twisting. "What does it matter? You were an
illusion after all."

PART
THREE

PRIDE
AND DESIRE

Spring,
1806

Revenge,
at first thought sweet,

 Bitter
ere long back on itself

  recoils.

John
Milton

Paradise
Lost

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

April
of 1806 was a lovely month in Nacogdoches. Everywhere Sabrina walked in those
warm, golden days, she saw signs in the meadows and woodlands that life was
renewing itself. Spotted fawns trotted daintily alongside their watchful
mothers, the demanding cheep of newly hatched birds filled the forest air, and
once during her lonely walks Sabrina surprised an elegant tawny puma sunning
herself while her two furry kittens slept nearby.

Along
the stream banks and in the marshes the fragrant white swamp lilies bloomed,
and in the forest and meadows other spring flowers burst forth in bright hues.
Scarlet and lavender "prairie pointers," wild blue phlox, and
delicate tulip-shaped pasqueflowers sprang up everywhere. Even the trees were
covered with blooms—the creamy white flowers of the dogwood, the bright pink of
the redbud, and the pale yellow clusters of the small sweetleaf tree were vivid
patches of color against the many shades of green of the forest.

Seated
in the gazebo this particular day in mid-April, Sabrina was aware of a
heaviness of spirit, a gnawing depression that was at odd variance with the
lovely season. She should have been happy, feeling at one with the season, but
instead she found herself withdrawing from it. But then, she admitted glumly,
it was normal for her to feel this way this particular time of year. She felt
this way every April. Every April since Brett Dangermond had come into her life
six years ago.

Six
years, she thought with a start. Could it really have been that long since that
day in the meadow when he had surprised her . . . and kissed her? With an
unfortunate flash of pleasure, she also remembered that she had stabbed him.

Incredible
to realize that six long years had passed since that time, six years in which
so much had happened. Not only to her but to the world. Napoleon was emperor of
France; Spain and her possessions were a mere pawn in the new emperor's hands.
Louisiana was no longer Spanish. It wasn't even French anymore—Napoleon had
seen to that! Now it belonged to those brash Americans. Those gringos, Sabrina
thought with a curl of her lip. England and France were still at war, a war
that encompassed most of Europe and that was, many believed, inexorably
dragging the fledgling United States into its conflagration. Thomas Jefferson
was in his second term as President of the United States, and it was hoped,
despite the impressment of seamen from American ships by the British and the
disastrous effect the war in Europe was having on American trade, that he could
steer his country unscathed through these perilous times.

There
was an even more immediate danger that faced Jefferson closer to home, though:
the Spanish had not been pleased with the way Napoleon had sold the Louisiana
Territory, and they were even more displeased that the United States had had
the temerity to declare that the western boundary of the territory was the Rio
Grande River, that the United States in fact owned all of Texas. Spain insisted
angrily that the boundary was the Sabine River and that they were in fact
prepared to defend the lands west of the Sabine River with force. The threat of
war hung in the air, and for weeks now, Spanish troops and supplies had been
pouring into Nacogdoches. Daringly the Spaniards had been sending their troops
across the Sabine River into American territory, and the situation between the
two countries was tense and volatile.

But
somehow all of those events seemed a long way from Sabrina on this beautiful
day in April. There were other occurrences, painful incidents, that had marked
the passage of time since Brett had ridden so suddenly into her life six years
ago. And ridden just as suddenly from it, she reminded herself savagely,
ignoring the curious twist of pain in the region of her heart.

He
had left within the hour, had gone before Sabrina even realized it, and she had
told herself fiercely that she was glad. Glad that she didn't have to look
again on his treacherous, lying face. But she knew that she lied. Sometimes
during the past six years, when her spirit was low, when she was aware of a
crushing loneliness, she would think that it might almost have been worth it to
marry him, knowing what she did, rather than live without ever seeing him
again.

The
days following Brett's abrupt departure, except for the period following
Elena's death, had been the most miserable of Sabrina's life. Her situation was
made even more painful this time because, when her mother had died, she and her
father had at least been able to comfort one another. Not so after the ending
of her exceedingly brief betrothal to Brett Dangermond. Alejandro was deeply
upset with her and perhaps just a little hurt and bewildered that she could act
so capriciously. A dozen times she nearly blurted out Constanza's secret, but
the promise she had given the older woman sealed her lips.

Her
father did not reproach her, he didn't berate her, he merely shut her out, his
displeasure obvious from the very way he kept her at a distance, the cool way
in which he met her attempts at reconciliation. Even the servants seemed to
radiate disapproval, Bonita saying forthrightly some two weeks after Brett's
departure, "I do not understand you,
chica!
What were you thinking
of to act as you did? It was disgraceful and unkind!"

Torn
between anger and resentment, Sabrina had glared at Bonita, the promise to Constanza
stilling the furious words that choked her throat. But she could not let the
comment pass, and sharply she demanded, "Why does he have everyone's
sympathy? Why does everyone believe that it was
all
my fault? Haven't
any of you thought that perhaps I might have had good reason to act as I
did?"

"Did
you?" Bonita had asked in a softer tone, her brown eyes shrewd and
considering.

"I
thought I did," Sabrina had said flatly.

Bonita
had looked thoughtful, and after that, Sabrina had noticed that there was a
slight lessening of the disapproval that had seemed to follow her. Alejandro,
too, unbent somewhat, love for his daughter overcoming his own disappointment.
He had appeared puzzled and hurt, but gradually some semblance of their old
relationship had been re-established, although it was never quite the same
again. Sabrina had had too many secrets to be able to act as she once had, and
Alejandro had been aware that some barrier lay between them.

The
news that Constanza had left the area had been relayed to Sabrina via Carlos.
Three days after Brett had left, Carlos had arrived at the hacienda, and
finding her alone, had mentioned casually that Senora Morales had suddenly
packed up ever3^hing she owned and had departed for New Orleans. At least, he
had thought it was New Orleans—she had once stated that she longed to go to
Spain, and he wondered if that might have been her ultimate destination. Of
course, Carlos had said, she could have gone anywhere, with anyone. . . .

After
Carlos had left, Sabrina had run away to the gazebo, and there she had wept
bitter, angry tears, hating Brett for being what he was and hating herself for
loving him in spite of it.

The
knowledge that she might be carrying Brett's child had kept her vacillating
between terror that she was pregnant and the equally fervent hope that one day
she would hold their child in her arms. But then, some ten days later, proof
that she was not pregnant had appeared, and with a strange blend of regret and
relief she had begun bleakly trying to gain some control over her life.

At
first she had had little success, the wound too new, too deep, too raw to heal
easily. Reminding herself over and over again of Brett's ugly duplicity hadn't
helped at all, and she had learned painfully that love is an obstinate,
unpredictable emotion and that one cannot, despite the best intentions, always
love wisely.

A
great deal of the time in those first painful days she had spent alone, much of
it at the gazebo, and it was there nearly five weeks later that Ollie Fram had
found her. She had been staring moodily out at the blue waters of the lake and
had watched with open-mouthed astonishment as Ollie had ridden up to the
gazebo.

Her
heart had been beating with heavy, uncomfortable strokes, but she had managed
to say with credible calm, "Why, Ollie, what are you doing here?"

Ollie
had sent an oddly furtive glance around and then had slid from his horse. He
had handed her an envelope and had muttered, "The guvnor said I wasn't to
let anyone but you see me. Said you was to 'ave this and that I was to wait for
your answer."

The
missive was curt and short:

If
there is to be a child, tell Ollie that your answer is yes. If it is yes, I
will return at once and marry you.

Brett

For
one tiny, weak moment, Sabrina had wished passionately that she could say yes,
but then Constanza's tragic face had risen up before her and her mouth had
twisted. Deliberately she had torn the note to shreds, the amber-gold eyes hard
with purpose. Coldly she had said, "You can tell the 'guvnor' that my
answer is no!"

Ollie
had been obviously disappointed. His brown eyes had fixed hopefully on hers,
and he had asked, "You won't change your mind?" When Sabrina had
remained icily silent, he had gone on more forcefully, "Miss, these past
weeks have been—well, I'll not wrap it in clean linen—they've been bloody
awful. I don't know when the guvnor has been more cast down and yet so ripe and
ready for trouble. Never know what is going to set him off! And I can't say
that I've liked the accommodations we've 'ad across the river either!"
Speculatively he had eyed her. "Why he insisted we stay there is beyond
me! But every time I've suggested we move on, he's thrown me one of those black
looks of his and growled something about 'unfinished business' with you. Said
once I delivered this note and returned with your answer, we'd be moving—one
way or the other."

Sabrina
had supposed she should have been touched that Brett hadn't left her to face
the aspect of a child alone, but she wasn't. The knowledge that he hadn't
thought anything of leaving Constanza alone in the same condition had eaten
like acid in her heart. And to know that all these weeks when she had been
suffering so dreadfully, wondering where he was and what he was doing, he had
been just across the Sabine River in the small outpost of Natchitoches in the
Louisiana Territory hadn't sat well with her. Stiffly she had said, "You
can tell him I'm sorry he's had an unpleasant time of it—especially since it
was so needless. But it doesn't change my answer."

Disgustedly
Ollie had stared at her. He had shaken his head and said gruffly, "I'll
never understand you gentry! 'Ere's the guvnor pretending that he don't give a
fiddler's damn, that you mean nothing to him, and 'ere you ate doing the same,
when it's plain as the nose on your face that you're both lying through your
teeth!"

Sabrina
had drawn herself up angrily. "You're impertinent!"

Ollie
had grinned. "That I am, miss, that I am! But it seems to me that someone
'as to take a 'and in this affair, and being as 'ow no one else seems to be
doing it, I thought I'd best take a stab at it."

He
had spoken with such disarming sincerity that Sabrina had felt herself
unbending. A small, sad smile had flitted across her face, and she had said
softly, "Ollie, it won't do any good. My answer is still no. Tell
him."

Ollie's
grin had faded, and his brown eyes had searched her face intently. What he had
seen there must have convinced him that his case was hopeless, for he had
sighed heavily and had said glumly, "Very well, miss." He had turned
away and had remounted his horse. Gnawing nervously on his bottom lip, he had
suddenly said with a rush, "Miss? Would you be so kind as to pass on a
message to Lupe for me?"

"Lupe?"
Sabrina had repeated dumbly.

Nodding
his head vigorously, Ollie had said rapidly, "Lupe Montez. She works in
the kitchen."

"Oh,
yes, of course—Bonita's godchild," Sabrina had answered, curiosity in her
expression. "What do you want me to tell her?"

"Only
that I wasn't bamming her when I said the things I did," Ollie had
muttered shyly. "Tell her to wait for me. I might be gone only a year, it
might be ten, but if she feels the way I hope she does, she'll be waiting for
me when I do return. And I will." He had stopped speaking, his monkeyface
troubled and unhappy. "I don't want to leave her, but the guvnor needs me
more than he ever did. Tell her that just as soon as I get the guvnor settled
I'll be back for her—
I swear it!"