Once A Wolf (13 page)

musicians began without fanfare. Their melody was uncomplicated and rhythmic, similar to the

one Tomás had sung yesterday. Rowena recognized a waltz, vastly different from anything

she'd ever heard in England. Couples formed quickly. There was no more formality here than

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there'd been at dinner: no dance cards, no scrutinizing of rank or social suitability, and no

chaperons other than the older women who watched from the sidelines. Even the children

danced.

Before she had a chance to sit down in the fragile hope that she'd be ignored, a young village

man in well-worn shirt and trousers approached with an invitation. It was impossible to refuse

without blatant discourtesy. She flung a helpless glance at Tomás. He was already dancing—

with the elder Valdez daughter, who fluttered her lovely eyes at him.

Blast him. He could certainly dance; she remembered that last evening before the battle at

Greyburn, when she had played waltzes on the piano in the drawing room and "Don Alarico"

had asked Cassidy to join him.

Far better that she should dance with a stranger. She allowed the young villager to lead her to a

clear space on the floor. The man was eminently respectful of her; his manners were

impeccable, despite his humble appearance. Soon they were only one more part of the mass of

color spinning to the quaint and pretty music. The stiffness in her spine began to relax.

When one melody ended another began almost without pause, but this time Don Pablo himself

claimed her. He was more vigorous than the young man and less strictly proper. He swung her

about with a gleam in his eye, as if he knew a secret she did not. That was nothing new.

He guided her past another laughing couple. Rowena recognized Tomás with a new village girl

in his arms. She gazed up at him with a son of odious infatuation.

"Seguramento no esta celosa de su marido, señora?" Don Pablo asked.

"I beg your pardon," she said. "I don't understand."

He shook his head and chuckled. "No se preocupe. Todo occure como Dios quiere." The song

ended, and she found herself passed like a sack of grain to the next man.

That man was Tomás. He pulled her close with the manifest intent of provoking her. Her heart

fell into the trap and tripled its speed.

"I am proud of you, my lady."

"Then I can die in peace, knowing that my life had purpose."

He clucked. " Vamos, vamos. Don Pablo thinks very well of you, and so do the others. They say

you're worthy of El Lobo, for all your foreign ways."

"I don't dare guess what inordinately high opinion they have of you. They must not know what

you are."

"A thief?"

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"A… werewolf."

"It surprises me that you dare speak the word. What if it should corrupt the purity of your

resolve?"

"Will you answer my question?"

"Don Pablo knows. A few others suspect. I see no reason to frighten those who do not."

"Then you admit it is a shameful thing to be."

"Al contrario. It is very useful to a man in my profession."

"You have made my case perfectly." She smiled up at him and stepped away as the third song

came to a close. The musicians stopped to rest and take refreshment. Older villagers gathered

about the guests while younger men and women drifted off to snatch a moment or two of

furtive courtship.

If not for the way she continued to notice every pretty young partner Tomás chose, Rowena

might have enjoyed the rest of the baile. Rank and position had always been important to her,

yet for a time she was able to forget the vast gulf that lay between her and these good people.

The dancing and celebration went on until well past midnight. People drifted back to their

homes reluctantly, exchanging exhausted but happy farewells. Rowena and Tomás were shown

back into Don Pablo's house, where Tomás was offered a nightcap while Asunci6n made up a

bed in another room.

Rowena took advantage of the privacy to wash and pull her crumpled nightgown from her

saddlebags. It was much the worse for the journey, but she couldn't bear another night in her

corset and traveling clothes. She undressed as best she could. The cambric was cool against her

skin. At least tonight she would sleep in a bed, however lumpy it might prove.

A small mirror hung from one of the thick walls. She'd put up her hair last night, by feel alone,

with the extra pins she'd had the foresight to pack in the saddlebags. It was a perfect fright. She

let out the pins. Most of the tangles were gone—thanks to Tomás.

Even handling her own hair brought back the feel of his touch, his surprising gentleness. She

tried to banish the memory with hard, painful jerks on the last remaining knots. The method

proved ineffective. Grimly she persevered until her hair fell thick and shining at her back.

Already her skin had begun to take on the subtle glow of a tan. Tomás had told her that she

ought to enjoy the sun, which was ample reason not to. If he thought he could mold and shape

her to his specifications for his own amusement…

The vivid Indian blanket hung over the doorway shifted aside at the touch of a hand. Tomás

walked in without warning and paused to gaze at her, hands on hips.

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Rowena snatched the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around herself. "What are you

doing here?"

He yawned behind his hand and tossed his hat on the bed. "Looking forward to a good nights

sleep."

"Leave at once!"

Off came his coat, leaving him in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. "But this is our room, dulzura."

"Our room?"

He unbuttoned his waistcoat. "This is not a hotel in New York." He folded the waistcoat and

placed it over the back of one of the room's two chairs, the other of which was already

occupied by Rowena's things. "Don Pablo insisted on giving us his room."

"This is his—"

"The only one with a real bed. I had no intention of straining his hospitality, so I simply told

him"—he unwound the sash at his waist and released the upper two buttons of his shirt—"that

we are newly wed."

He'd caught her unaware too many times with such outrageous pronouncements. "You have

lost your mind," she said calmly.

"In what way? I've eaten well and danced and now I'll share the night with a beautiful woman."

Another button came undone. Dark, curling hair showed in the vee of his open shirt. If he

continued, he'd very shortly be naked.

She'd seen unclothed men in the past—her brothers, when they Changed, though she'd

avoided them at such times when she grew older. Braden had always claimed that there was no

disgrace in nudity among their kind.

This was not the same. She and Tomás were both loups-garous, but he was not preparing to

Change.

Cole had never appeared before her with more than his coat removed. She hadn't considered

what he might look like beneath the expensive and respectable attire. Now her unruly

imagination was well on its way to completing the job of undressing Tomás.

His chest and shoulders were broad, but not heavy. He would be sleekly muscled under the

shirt, long and lean. His hips were narrow, buttocks firm. His legs would be made for riding and

running. And as for his—

"I'm glad you like what you see," Tomás said. He pulled the hem of his shirt from the waistband

of his trousers. "Don't you think it's your turn?"

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Horrified at her own thoughts, Rowena stepped back and bumped into the bed.

Tomás left his shirt hanging loose and sat down in the chair. "You don't mind if I remove my

boots?"

She struggled to keep her gaze from straying to his chest. "Very well. If you insist on remaining

here, I will find somewhere else to sleep—"

"And insult our hosts? I think not." He stood his boots in the corner of the room and laid his

stockings over them. His bare feet were soundless as he crossed the room. "What would

become of my reputation if it were known that my new bride abandoned my bed?"

Rowena edged around to the back of the bed. "You should have thought of that before telling

such a ludicrous falsehood."

"But they were all so pleased for me, that I'd won such a lovely bride."

"I doubt that the señoritas were pleased," she said. "You have falsely claimed a victory you

could not possibly achieve, not in a hundred lifetimes."

He leaned on one of the plain wooden bedposts. "Be warned, my Lady Ice. I can't resist a

challenge."

"Don't come any closer."

"And if I do? Will you fight me?"

"That's exactly what you want, isn't it? That's what you find… exciting."

"I'm far more interested in what you find exciting, Rowena. What brings the fire to your eyes

and the color to your cheeks, besides aristocratic indignation." He leaned far over the bed.

"Shall we try an experiment?"

She was not hard-pressed to guess what sort of "experiment" he had in mind. "You lied about

me to these good people. How many times have you lied to me since you revealed yourself as a

thief and outlaw?"

"Odd as you may find it, I have not lied to you."

"I find that not merely odd, but inconceivable."

The teasing, half-dangerous gleam in his eyes went out like a snuffed candle. He straightened

and pulled off his shirt with unnecessary force. The muscles in his back and arms flexed and

rippled as he flung the shirt over the chair.

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Rowena refused to retreat even an inch when he came for her. He scooped her up effortlessly;

she compelled her body to go limp and boneless. The blanket slid to the floor. She thought her

body would shake apart with the violence of her heartbeats.

But his gaze didn't stray to her breasts and hips and legs so clearly delineated under the fine

cambric. He all but dropped her into the bed. His arms formed a cage to either side of her; his

breath scorched her with its heat.

"As inconceivable as you may find it," he said roughly, "I have never taken an unwilling

woman." He threw the blanket over her and drew it up to her chin. "This room is too chill for

me. I think I'll seek warmer company."

"Those many doting señoritas?" she snapped. "I doubt that Don Pablo will thank you for

despoiling his daughters."

"Do not worry. I prefer a woman of experience—and full-blooded passion. Hasta mañana."

Long after he'd left the room, Rowena lay rigid and bitterly cold in spite of the mild evening air.

"Don Tomás!"

He woke with a pounding head to the urgent voice and blinked against the bars of light filtering

into the stable. The horse with whom he'd shared the night stomped and snorted as if to agree

with his opinion of the morning.

More than just his head ached. He'd attempted to sleep— hours after leaving Rowena—in the

crowded village barn while fighting an arousal that had become his constant companion. It was

his worse luck that he woke with the same arousal.

And what had he expected last night? An easy conquest? Where was the challenge in that?

He groaned and spit straw from his mouth. No; he hadn't really believed Rowena would share

her bed. Not without considerably more encouragement. But it had been worth a try.

He found himself remembering the curiously potent touch they had shared in the pass, jolting

him like lightning out of a clear sky. It had been like the culmination of the act of love, though

they'd done no more than brush each other. He hadn't known what to make of it.

Maldicion! Such thoughts were not helping. Now, mi amigo, he addressed his uncooperative

member, if you'll just go away until I need you…

"Don Tomás! Are you here?"

He sat up, scrubbing at his hair. They should have left the village before dawn, in case Weylin

had managed to find their trail. If the caller were one of his men, he might have reason to

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worry. But this one was female, and elderly. Don Pablo wouldn't send an old woman to warn

him of danger.

"I'm coming," he called out, reaching for a shirt that wasn't there. Well, la mujer vieja had

undoubtedly seen as much as Rowena had, and appreciated it more.

He found the woman waiting just outside, wringing her hands. The instant she saw him she

launched into a monologue that took all Tomás's concentration to follow. He nodded, smiled,

and assured her of his help. When she had left, he visited the stream and washed himself

quickly. Then he went in search of his men.

Rowena was awake, groomed, and dressed when he found her. Someone had already provided