Treasure of the Sun (33 page)

She gaped. "What?"

"You made me a laughingstock."

Her fury rose swift and sure. "Is that what this is all about?

You're angry because I didn't obey you?"

"A man should control his own wife."

"I'm not your horse or your dog. I have a mind, and I do what I think best."

"What is sensible," he sneered.

"Yes."

"You wouldn't know sensible if it smacked you in the face."

"Sir, you insult me."

He took her by the arms. "Listen to me. You could have been killed today. My heart leapt in my throat when the gunfire started." She tried to interrupt, but he shook her. "Listen! I haven't waited all my life for you to have you shot for some high-minded ideal of yours. From now on, we'll live by rationality-my rationality. I ought to leave you here at Rancho Donoso and go after the gold alone."

"You wouldn't dare."

"No, I wouldn't. Because you would find a way to get in trouble no matter where you were. My father hasn't a chance against your 'sensibleness' and your wilfulness. But take heed. From now on, you'll do as I say or take the consequences."

She had trouble comprehending what he meant, why his cheeks flushed with ruddy color and his hands trembled. She only heard the fury, not the frustration and fear behind it. "Are you threatening me?"

"Yes. I am. The way I feel right now, I'd take great pleasure in giving you what you deserve."

She jerked from his grasp. "Leave me alone."

He jerked her back to face him. "We have to go after that treasure. It doesn't matter how we feel right now, we have to find the source of the gold."

"I agree."

''There's danger if we don't." "I'm not arguing."

"Very well." Taking his hands away, he looked at them with distaste. "Call for a bath. It will be the last warm water we see for a long time, and I wish to wash this blood from beneath my fingernails. "

"Will you sleep here?"

"Where else would I sleep, bride of mine?"

"Your bedroom," she faltered.

"No. Perhaps we'll not finish that unfinished business of ours tonight, but we're married, and sleep together we will."

As he turned away, she whispered, "Even if we have to stay awake all night to do it."

2 June, in the year of our Lord, 1777

The great weight of the gold inhibits our speed. It's heavy, so heavy. I carry the chest filled with the worked gold of the chapel. Each of the three women carries a pouch on her back. They are bowed with the strain, for some of the nuggets are so big that they fill my hand and weigh down my arm.

In his weakness, Fray Lucio staggers like a drunken man and has slowed us almost to a crawl. The women assist him, but the narrow trails of this mountain range make walking in single file a necessity.

I fear the Indians of the interior still pursue us; I fear they pursue us even more vigorously now that their women are gone. Yet I will not abandon one bit of this gold with which God has blessed us. When I return to the mission with this great wealth, the interior will be settled with good Catholic Spaniards and the Indians' souls will be saved through continual contact.

Then will my goal of settling the interior be justified.

-from the diary of Fray Juan Estevan de Bautista

Chapter 15

The wide bed hadn't been nearly wide enough for two people intent on never touching. Damian awoke tired, snappish -and aroused. All the night through, he'd thought about Katherine. Awake, asleep, she'd been in his mind, and his body didn't understand his anger. He still wanted her.

Rolling over, he looked at her. Even in sleep, she clung to the side of the mattress with her hands, staying as far away from him as possible, and he understood why.

He knew he'd been rough and unfair last night, but when he remembered how close Katherine had come to disaster, he wavered between panic and a strong desire to lock her away. What he wouldn't do to return to the time when no one knew the whereabouts of Tobias's widow. What he wouldn't do to be able to keep her safe.

Now the newest de la Sola couple were undoubtedly the talk of Alta California. They had to leave this hacienda before a wedding celebration arrived on their doorstep--a wedding celebration with a possible murderer in its midst. Instead, they would go seek the gold, exposing themselves to that same murderer and dangers of perhaps a greater nature.

He smoothed her hair away from her lips, parted slightly with her breath. When she sighed and stirred, he lifted his hand and slid from the bed.

"Charming." Don Lucian held one of Katherine's hands out and looked her over. "Absolutely charming."

She made the effort to smile as she descended the last two steps of the porch. "Thank you for the riding habit. I assure you, I've never had anything so fine."

"The midnight blue of the jacket changes your eyes from green to the misty azure of the ocean. Don't you think so, Damian?".

Damian turned from the saddlebags he was strapping on Confite and inspected his wife. "She looks very neat," he approved, but his gaze lingered on the coat that fit tight at her waist and hugged her bosom. With a slight bite in his tone, he said, "The gold makes her look quite Californian."

The reprimand found its mark, and she looked down at the fanciful pattern of gold braid. Cleverly hidden in the folds of the skirt was a pocket for her watch, its silver chain looped up into the design to hook on securely. She fingered one of the gold buttons to hide her dismay at his indifference.

With a flourish, Don Lucian presented a hat box. "I have the finishing touch."

"You are too good to me," she protested, but she snatched the box greedily. "I can't remember the last time I had a new-oh!" She graced Don Lucian with a heart-stopping grin. "I love it."

Lifting her full skirts, she leaped up the steps into the hacienda. At the hall mirror, she pulled out the midnight blue velvet hat. Shaped like a vaquero's, its flat brim sported an intricate trim of gold braid that matched her jacket. Its box crown was wrapped with a misty gold scarf that trailed in two tails off the back. "A Californian," she muttered. "This will show him a Californian." She settled the whole fashionable, jaunty creation across her forehead. A matching scarf for her neck completed the outfit, hiding the pink scar on her throat. She saluted herself before marching out to show off.

"The perfect touch," Don Lucian hailed her. "Eh, Damian?"

There seemed to be something about the way she posed at the top of the stairs that gave Damian pain. As if flames were licking at his toes and he could hardly wait to flee, he turned to tie the saddlebag with one more knot. "We need to leave if we're to get to San Juan Bautista this afternoon. If you're ready, Dona Katherina?"

His unemotional suggestion punctured her exuberance. "Of course."

Don Lucian gave up. "What will you do if you find nothing at the mission?"

"Go to another mission," Damian said briefly. "And keep going until we find what Tobias found."

"Are you sure you have enough supplies?"

"I packed for two weeks on the road and possibly in the mountains, and covered every contingency I could think of. I've got rope, blankets, food."

"Your pistol?" Don Lucian's mouth was puckered with wry amusement.

"Yes, Papa." Damian's grim mouth eased into a smile. "I'll give it one more chance. You have to admit it performed well after that first misfire yesterday."

Don Lucian sobered. "Many times, my son, there's no chance for a second shot."

"I have my rifle and my other pistol, too," he assured him.

"At least the Americanos are gone, and if they should return, you will have your own trusted pistols with you."

Don Lucian agreed. "The vaqueros patrol every inch of our land like hounds with noses to the ground. Thank God for their support."

Damian turned to Katherine. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. She didn't know what to say. She hadn't known what to say all day. She and Damian were speaking; yes, they were. So politely, so logically, they'd discussed their best plan. To the mission, first, then into the mountains. Damian would organize the supplies. She would pack the clothes they needed.

They'd smiled stiffly at each other, for all the world like passing acquaintances, then they'd separated to do their duties.

Now her mare stood waiting at the mounting block and the activities that had buffered their silence were at an end. She placed a quick, shy kiss on Don Lucian's cheek, then strode to her horse. Damian met her there and, before she could step up, put his hands on her waist. Her eyes flew to his; they stared for one awkward moment. The warmth of his palms radiated down to her skin; she blushed. Then he lifted her into the saddle.

Under Don Lucian's concerned gaze, they rode away. Eight vaqueros would accompany them, for their safety seemed precarious. Their formality affected the spirits of the men, making it a quiet three-hour ride through the warming afternoon.

The whitewashed buildings came into view and Damian broke the silence to point with his whip. "There's the mission."

"I see," she said. "It looks well kept."

"One of the best," he agreed. ''It's not what it once was, but the buildings were returned to the padres three years ago, along with a portion of the land. See?" As they rode closer, he indicated a long building. Wide arches graced its whole length, and the red tile of the roof swept above like the bold brushstroke of an artist. "There's the chapel and the library. There we'll find our clue."

"We hope," she reminded him.

"We hope." At the tall entrance to the church, Damian rang the bell. "Some of you vaqueros stay close, some of you patrol the area. Keep an eye out for-" He hesitated.

"For more Americanos?" one asked. "For anyone who shouldn't be here."

The vaqueros nodded, separating to do their duty.

A tiny old man dressed in a rough brown cowl shuffled out of the darkness behind the open doors of the tall foyer.

Damian bent with a smile. "Fray Pedro de Jesus, do you remember me?"

"Of course I do, my son." The Franciscan brother adjusted his spectacles on his nose and squinted at the mounted man. "I haven't heard your confession since I had you weed the mission garden, saying an Ave with each weed you pulled as penance for your sins. Little Damian, isn't it?"

Katherine covered her mouth to keep in her laughter as her husband turned a dull red. The vaqueros nearby snorted and coughed.

"I should have known you would never forget me," Damian grumbled as he slipped from the saddle and reached for Katherine. "I brought you my wife."

"Your wife?" Again the glasses were adjusted, again the faded eyes squinted. "I hadn't heard you were married."

"Only a few days ago, by the alcalde in Monterey," Damian answered.

The bald head turned his way. "Not a Catholic wedding?" Gently, Katherine said, "I'm not a member of your faith, Padre."

Taking her hand in his veined, spotted one, Fray Pedro told her, "That we must remedy at once. Come with me, my dear." He led her into the dim entry. "To cohabit without the blessing of God is a sin. I've worked too hard to keep Damian in a state of grace to concede defeat now."

She threw a helpless glance over her shoulder. Damian leaned against the hitching post, satisfaction on his face as he watched her disappear into the cool gloom.

Leading her down the quiet corridor, Fray Pedro gestured her into a tiny room lit by the sunlight shining through a small, high window and by the flicker of a candle. The silence of the mission made her whisper, "Is there anyone else here?"

"A few Franciscan brothers. We are few and old. You'll disturb no one with your talk, though. It's a joy to hear young voices." He smiled as the shouts of the vaqueros drifted through the open window, adjusted his glasses, and looked her over carefully. "You've married Damian in a civil ceremony. That surprises me, for young Damian's faith was deep and sure. He must love you very much to accept you in such a temporal union." He paused, but she had nothing to say to that. "Did you understand when you married him that you'd have to convert?"

"Yes, I know that," she admitted.

"Do you have any objections to the Catholic faith, my daughter?"