Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) (25 page)

Roman yanked his arm away from Sarita and strolled into the house ahead of her, ignoring his uncle. He needed to see Rachel. He had to tell her not to leave her room until these
bandidos
departed the rancho.

Pacing into the house, his thoughts tumbling with Sarita’s accusation that he’d fathered her child and General Vallejo now a prisoner in Sonoma, Roman decided he would move Rachel to his room this very hour.

Her room was near the stairs. Much too dangerous. He knew what men like Lopez and the three-fingered Juan Garcia were capable of doing to a woman. He wasn’t about to leave her unguarded with such evil men roaming the hacienda tonight. He would order the maids to hide as well. And he would tell Tia Josefa to lock his sisters in their rooms until these terrible men were long gone.

Tio Pedro followed him into the house, filling his ear with talk about rescuing General Vallejo. “Ramon Carrillo is the brother of Francisca Vallejo. He is out there with those men. He is one of Castro’s lieutenants along with Padilla. Padilla’s band are irregulars for Castro, I tell you! We must join our brothers to free General Vallejo!”

Roman turned impatiently on his uncle. “Vallejo is probably their willing prisoner. You know the general wants the United States to annex California. Vallejo is most likely in the pot with the Americanos, stirring up war to move this acquisition forward for the United States.”

“Think about what you are saying, Roman,” Tio Pedro pleaded. “Padilla says the Osos are a motley, wild-eyed gang of adventurers in greasy buckskins. They admire the terrible grizzlies. This is why they call themselves the Osos. Governor Pico has accused these Americanos of the blackest treason the spirit of evil could invent in their hearts. We have all been called to arms to fight this evil. We must ride with Carrillo to free General Vallejo.” Tio Pedro panted in exertion, trying to keep up with Roman striding down the hall.

Roman stopped searching for Rachel and Tia Josafa long enough to deal with his uncle. He put a hand on Tio Pedro’s shoulder. “Please, Tio, you must calm down. Being upset this way is not good for your heart.”

“Si,”
Tia Josefa agreed, sweeping around a corner, holding her skirts out of the way of her rushing slippers. “Pedro, you cannot be serious about riding with these men. They are building fires in the yard even as we speak. Can’t these filthy men go to the fields to set up their camp tonight?”

“No, Josefa, I will not send these men to the fields. I would invite these soldiers of California into our home if there weren’t so many of them,” Tio Pedro huffed.

“Not one of these ruffians will step foot in this hacienda,” Tia Josefa said with a sternness that surprised Roman. “I have hidden our daughters and even the maids. These men are no good. I feel this in my bones, Pedro. I am afraid.”

Relief flooded through Roman upon hearing that all of the women were safe. He’d always appreciated this about his aunt. She was wise and quick to deal with trouble.

“Do not speak unkindly about these men, Josefa.” Tio Pedro straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “They are Californio soldiers assembled by Castro.”

“Are you sure these are Castro’s men?” Roman asked grimly. “Garcia and Lopez are outlaws. I know this for certain. The rest of these men I do not know, but they do not look like
hijos del pais
to me. They appear to be highwaymen at the dawn of opportunity.” Roman did not hide his disdain.

“The dawn of opportunity is to rescue General Vallejo!” Tio Pedro cried. “I will ride with these men at first light. And tonight I will share my brandy with my brothers.”

“There isn’t enough brandy in California to satisfy these
bandoleros
burning fires practically on our porch,” said Tia Josefa. “The men are chasing the chickens. Most certainly to roast them on their fires. The dogs are scared and the servants terrified too. Please, my husband, think of your
familia.
Who will protect us from the Osos if they come here to pillage while you are off with these highwaymen?”

“These are not highwaymen, Josefa,” Tio Pedro spoke passionately. “These are sons of the country, Castro’s finest. I will drink with these men tonight and ride with them tomorrow.
Viva
California!” Tio Pedro shouted. Then he stomped through the hacienda yelling, “
Viva
California!”

Tia Josefa began to weep.

“Please don’t cry, Tia.” Roman took his aunt in his arms to comfort her.

“You must go with him, Roman. Promise me you’ll ride with my foolish old husband,” Tia Josefa begged him.

Roman let out a long sigh. “Tia . . . I cannot ride with these men.”

“Please. You must! We have raised you as our very own son all these years. Please,
mi hijo
, you must take care of my husband,” Tia Josefa pleaded tearfully.

“Enough. I will go.”

Tia Josefa had always been kind to him. She did her best to keep the hacienda running smoothly, even with her husband often drunk these days. Once Tia regained her composure in his arms, Roman resumed his search for Rachel upstairs.

He found her in her room quietly reading her Bible in a chair.

“What has happened?” she asked as he silently closed the door behind him upon entering without knocking. He wanted no one else to hear their conversation. Especially not Sarita.

“A band of Americano adventurers calling themselves the Osos have captured Sonoma. They’ve taken General Vallejo prisoner. The ruffians claim to be Castro’s soldiers. I doubt they are, but Tio is hell-bent on riding with them, so I have promised Tia Josefa I will look after my foolish uncle.”

“You will be leaving with these men?” Rachel’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Tia Josefa has hidden Maria and Isabella away. She has even concealed the maids for the night. I want you to come to my room, where I can protect you.”

“I cannot stay in your room.” Rachel sat her Bible down on the table beside the carved wooden chair and straightened her skirts quite primly.

“Then I will wait out in the hall and guard your door. Give me your chair. I know several of these men. They are desperados who hate Americanos. One of them has taken an interest in you.” Roman did not want to say more. He only wanted to frighten her enough that she would agree to stay in his room tonight.

“Where will you sleep if I am in your bed?”

“I will not sleep.”

“You cannot go without sleep if you must leave with these men in the morn.”

“Will you accompany me to my room, then? If you come, I will try to sleep tonight,” he promised.

“I hate the gringa. I want her dead,” Sarita told Luis out in the darkness that night. She pulled out a golden cross, holding it upside down in the firelight as she handed it to him. “If you kill Rachel, I will give you this cross. It was given to me by Chula who taught me the dark magic of Tohic. She stole it from the mission the day the Indians rose up and murdered the padre. It is the death cross.”

Lopez took the cross, weighing the gold in his hand. “I cannot kill the gringa right now. I must ride north with Padilla. But I will come back, and we will decide how to get rid of her then.” Holding the cross upside down, just as she had, Lopez returned it to Sarita.

“You must kill her now,” Sarita insisted.

Lopez laughed. “I am not so wasteful. I will not kill her until I have had my fill of her. Perhaps then I will kill her.”

Neither Rachel nor Roman undressed that night. They slept in their clothes. Outside, the men’s raucous laughter around the campfires kept the dogs barking till well after midnight. Roman went to the elaborately carved chair in the corner of the room and tried to make himself comfortable. After kneeling in prayer beside the four-poster, velvet curtain-draped bed for some time, Rachel finally lay down on the feather-filled mattress. Roman blew out the candles and returned to the chair. They remained silent for a while before he quietly spoke, “I won’t let anyone hurt you,
pequeña
.” With moonlight pouring through the window, Roman could see her lying on her side, wide awake, watching him.

“You look uncomfortable in that chair,” she said. “There is room here for the both of us.” She scooted as far as she could to one side as he came and stretched out beside her.

The whoops and hollers and boisterous laughter outside around the fires carried through the open window. Roman felt sick inside. He knew how Lopez had treated women in Texas, saw how Lopez and the rest of the men leered at Rachel this afternoon. She was an enemy woman, desired and hated at the same time. To those men, this made her irresistible. If the desperados stormed the hacienda, he could not stop all of them. He closed his eyes.
Do not let them come,
he prayed.
Please keep Rachel safe tonight. Keep all the women safe, God.

After the simple but heartfelt prayer, he opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Rachel lying beside him so quietly. Why should God answer his prayer? As a boy, he had prayed for God to save his mother from the dreaded fever. She died anyway.

Did God merely toy with men when they prayed? Sometimes granting them mercy, sometimes taking away what they loved most in this world?

He felt toyed with tonight while staring into Rachel’s soft blue eyes, knowing that if she died, he would die too.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“That God entertains himself with mankind.”

“Satan entertains himself with mankind. God intervenes on man’s behalf.”

She looked toward the window. “Satan is entertaining himself tonight with those men out there. The devil will tempt them to do evil. If God does not intervene, wickedness will have its way tonight.”

Roman reached out to feather his fingers down her cheek. “You are so full of goodness and light.”

She turned her cheek into his hand and pressed it there, closing her eyes, appearing to savor his touch.

He cupped her face. She smiled against his fingers. His throat tightened. He realized he no longer cared that she was American. Looking at her face, all he cared about was keeping her safe. Circumstances unfolding now had turned destiny against them. War had come to California, just as he’d known it would. And then there was Sarita’s claim that she carried his child. Perhaps Sarita did have his son or daughter in her womb. He removed his hand from Rachel’s face. “
Buenas nochas, Yanquia pequeña
,” he said, rolling onto his back, aching inside like he’d never ached before in his life.

“Do not doubt God’s goodness,” she whispered.

Not knowing what to say, he lay there until he knew for certain she’d fallen asleep. Once her breathing evened out, he rolled over onto his side and tried his best to memorize her sleeping features. Light from the full summer moon poured into the window, turning her blond hair silver. Turning his heart inside out by her beauty. Tomorrow he would leave her. The wheels of war and his sin with Sarita turned sharply now. Tearing them apart. How he wanted to hold her. Love her. Never leave her. All these things that could not happen now.

He thought of Steven. The man of God who loved her too. He should send for Steven. Ask him to take Rachel back to New England, where she’d be safe from war and Sarita’s wrath. Ask Steven to marry her and protect her forever. That would be the right thing to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

During the night, Rachel had a nightmare. He pulled her close and cradled her in his arms. “Shush,
chica,
” he whispered in her ear. “It’s just a bad dream. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I would die to keep you safe,
mi amor
.”

He kissed her temple, wondering why someone so full of light would have such dark dreams. To his surprise, she fell back to sleep like a trusting child in his embrace. He lay there holding her, with sleep eluding him.

Just before dawn, he kissed her lips lightly. He did not want to wake her. Then he rose and, without making a sound, gathered his things and departed the hacienda.

The band rode hard, bent on destroying the Osos in Sonoma. Tio Pedro, on one of Rancho de los Robles’s finest palominos, galloped in the rear of the party. Roman rode at his uncle’s side, cursing the dust, his uncle, and these ill-bred Californios they accompanied north.

He tried to pray for Rachel’s safety, but this ride with Padilla’s band troubled him so much his thoughts careened in all directions. Every twenty miles or so, the band stopped and traded out horses. Roman was grateful he’d left Oro at home. The horses on this journey were being ridden into the ground. The ones that broke down were left on the side of the road.

Tio Pedro had insisted on taking a dozen Rancho de los Robles horses along, all magnificent palominos. The farther they rode, the angrier Roman grew over the treatment of the horses. Riding hard this way was common in California. Horses were branded and, if found abandoned along the road, returned to their owners by helpful neighbors. But these men rode the horses so hard some would certainly die on this trail.

Hours into the journey, as horses began to break down, rather than leaving them along the road as they had earlier, both the three-fingered Garcia and Lopez began shooting the horses that could no longer run with pistols they kept in their waistbands.

When Garcia and Lopez chose Rancho de los Robles palominos to ride into the Sonoma Valley, Roman used every ounce of self-control he could muster not to interfere with the outlaws saddling his stallions.

“I will not tolerate the killing of our palominos,” he warned Tio Pedro.

“Horses are but horses, Roman. Do not fight with these soldiers. Save your fire to liberate General Vallejo.”

“These men are not soldiers. They are desperados
.
You should not have brought our palominos along.” Roman untied his riata from his saddle and laid it around his saddle horn as the band moved out once more.

“Do not draw attention to us,” Tio Pedro ordered. “Why do you prepare your rope?”