Once A Wolf (22 page)

sense.

"Where is Pilar?" she asked.

"Trying to make a doll." He made a face. "I am going to go help Isaaque with the sheep, up

there." He gestured at the mesa topping the western cliff. "I know all about sheep."

So the boy had a trade of sorts, and had learned to speak English. Perhaps the children were

not so badly off…

"I will not always be un pastor. Some day, I will be like Don Tomás."

Rowena frowned. "What do you mean, Enrique?"

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"I will be un caballero, a man of importance whom others respect," he said, lifting his chin.

Was that what he believed Tomás to be? "What does Tomás do that you admire so much?"

"He punishes the wicked, who steal from the poor," he said proudly. "They are all afraid of him.

I was at Los Valerosos when the Tejanos came. I want to fight them with Don Tomás."

She didn't grasp the significance of the part about Los Valerosos and Tejanos, but the rest was

clear enough. Tomás deceived the boy, or allowed others to deceive him. Enrique actually

admired his outlaw patron.

"Do you know why I am here, Enrique?" she asked, hiding her consternation.

"Oh, yes. You are like Don Tomás—un hombre-lobo. I mean, una mujer-loba." He thought for a

moment, then grinned. "A… werewolf."

Good Lord. "How did you know?"

"Nestor told me. Don Tomás told him. I wish I could be like you and Don Tomás." He smiled

wistfully. "Then I could run as silent and swift as moonlight. You are muy a fortunada."

Fortunate? How could she begin to make this boy understand? "It is not what you—"

"There are not many like Don Tomás in our country," he interrupted. "Now that you are here,

he will no longer be lonely."

Rowena closed her eyes. Nestor knew the truth about her presence here, but even he seemed

ready to play matchmaker. Enrique assumed a relationship that did not, could not, exist. Good-

hearted the boy might be, but he was badly misguided. He lacked both manners and a suitable

mentor.

"You are pretty enough for Don Tomás," he said, as if to encourage her. "You will make him una

buena esposa."

She'd begun to learn how to pick out the roots of Spanish words, and she was appalled to

realize what he implied. Esposa. Spouse. Wife.

It was absolutely essential to set him straight—and anyone else who labored under this gross

misapprehension. "Enrique… there is something you must know—"

"I am sorry, señorita. I have to go to Isaaque now. I will talk to you later!" He bounded away like

a young deer, without a backward glance.

Rowena wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. This was not going well at all. She was in

no state to meet one of Tomás's men now.

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She walked back to her house, eyes fixed on the ground. She pushed the door open without

really noticing that it was already ajar.

A little girl, hands full of white fabric, started up with a guilty expression as Rowena crossed the

threshold. Pilar. The garment in her hands was Rowena's nightgown.

Pilar pushed it onto the table and backed away. "I am sorry, señorita," she whispered.

Closing the door behind her, Rowena smiled reassurance. "It's all right, Pilar. I was just speaking

with your brother."

The girl's face remained wary. She was, Rowena observed, barefoot and still clothed in worn

and patched trousers and shirt. She must have rifled Rowenas saddlebags to find the garment.

But Rowena felt no indignation, only pity. Far from a surprise that the child was drawn to a

woman's garments. She was just at that age.

"Won't you sit down?" Rowena asked. She moved casually to the table and retrieved the

nightgown, draping it over the back of a chair. "I'm glad to have visitors."

Pilar edged into a seat. "You are not angry that I looked at your dress?"

"Not at all." She sat across from the girl. "I see that you speak English as well as your brother."

Pilar's face relaxed. "Si." She squirmed. "You are such a pretty lady. You have such pretty

clothes. I have never seen such things before."

"Thank you." She touched the nightgown. "This is a… dress to sleep in."

The girl's eyes widened. "Oh. It is so soft." Her gaze ran hungrily over Rowena's much-stained

and battered traveling suit. "Do all the ladies wear dresses like yours?"

How was she to answer that? "Some do." She cleared her throat. "Do you have a dress, Pilar?"

"I did once." She sighed. "When mi madre… before we came here."

Rowena felt a renewed indignation. It was not right that a girl her age should be forced to wear

a boy's attire, driven to creep about a stranger's dwelling just to see what she might wear under

normal conditions.

"Enrique said that you were making a doll," she said.

The girl dropped her gaze. "I am not good." With a shamefaced glance, she withdrew

something from her trouser pocket. The misshapen form was made out of scraps or rags, with

wide uneven stitching, one leg longer than the other, and no clothes.

"How did you learn to make it?" Rowena asked gently. "Did someone teach you?"

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"No. I know it is ugly." She tossed the awkward doll onto the floor, scooted off the seat, and

fled for the door.

Rowena caught her there. "Pilar… it isn't ugly. It's just that you haven't the right materials to

work with."

Pilar turned a tear-streaked face to her. "I could learn, señorita. I could."

"Of course you can."

"Will you show me?" A hopeful smile quivered about her mouth. "I will not touch your tilings

again, I promise."

Rowena swallowed hard. She'd meant to comfort the girl, and somehow had presented herself

as a teacher. Goodness knew the child had no skill in stitching, and probably had never so much

as embroidered a handkerchief in her short life. Those were the least of her disadvantages.

She needed a woman to guide her. Rowena made an impetuous and dangerous decision. "You

would like a dress, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Let me see what I can do. I cannot promise, but I'll do my best. And perhaps, then, you will

have what you require to make a dress for your doll as well."

Pilar was speechless. She rushed back to her doll and scooped it up, cuddling it possessively.

"Gracias, señorita. Gracias!"

"You are quite welcome."

Once Pilar was gone, she collected her scattered wits. How had it come to this? Now she must

move heaven and earth to see that the girl got her dress… and there were the other children to

consider. Yes. The girls, especially, must have at least some of the benefits of womanhood.

She would have to ask Tomás. Even beg, if necessary. But first she intended to make him face

his responsibilities. Humiliating herself, and putting herself in Tomás's debt, was a measure of

last resort.

After a moment of painful self-reflection, she looked up to see Esperanza by the bedchamber

doorway. The young woman was sleepy-eyed, but Rowena sensed she'd witnessed some part

of her conversation with Pilar.

"Well," Rowena said. "What do you know of needlework, Esperanza? Do you think you could

help me teach a few children how to stitch and embroider?"

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Esperanza smiled and nodded, more animation in her eyes than Rowena had seen in days. It

occurred to Rowena that purpose was the very thing the girl needed, distraction from her own

sorrows through helping others.

Purpose. Tonight's dinner with Tomás would certainly have a purpose, and that would make her

stronger in facing him again. She would maintain the upper hand.

Tonight Tomás Alejandro Randall would learn just how determined she could be.

Ten

Tomás found Sim tossing stones from the mouth of a natural cave halfway up the eastern

canyon wall, where there were enough footholds for an ordinary man to climb. Considering the

reek of smoke from Sim's favorite cigarettes, even an ordinary human could have located him

by scent alone.

He pulled himself up over the ledge of the shallow cave and crouched beside his friend. Sim

continued to blow smoke and toss pebbles in meditative silence, but his acknowledgement of

Tomás's presence needed no words.

"A fine morning," Tomás said.

"You've come about the woman."

All the contempt in Sim's voice was for Rowena, not for him. He bristled nonetheless. The

reaction was alien and unpleasant, as if he'd looked in a mirror and seen, not himself, but the

twisted features of Cole MacLean.

God save him from such a fate.

"Her name," he said mildly, "is Lady Rowena. I would ask you to remember that."

Sim ground the cigarette butt under his palm. "Lady. She must have been mighty fine in bed."

Tomás bit back his anger. "What's wrong, Sim? Too long since you had a woman?"

"That's your problem, not mine. You always had too many scruples."

"They can be inconvenient at times."

"Scruples, or women?"

Tomás forced a laugh. He studied Sim's ragged profile under the black slouch hat, the scars and

creases of many years. And the bitterness. "You have little enough use for either," he said.

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Sim rolled another cigarette. "Females are good for one thing. The ones like your bi—" He

broke off and spat into the canyon. "Your lady, ain't good even for that."

Tomás stood up, half bent to keep from hitting his head on the cave ceiling, and circled behind

Sim. Only the slight stiffening of Sim's shoulders revealed his wariness.

Not fear. Simeon Kavanagh wasn't afraid of anything, or anyone. He didn't care enough. That

was one thing he and Tomás had in common. As he'd told Rowena, it was simply their methods

that differed.

"I saw what passed between you and Lady Rowena this morning," Tomás said softly.

"Did she go running to you after all?"

"What did you say to her?"

"I was trying to strike up a conversation with the little señorita. The lady took exception."

Tomás had seen the way Sim's gaze followed the girl Esperanza, and how Rowena had kept the

child securely under her wing like a quail hen with one chick. He'd never thought Sim's interest

in Esperanza was genuine. In the years they'd ridden together, Sim kept his dealings with

women to himself. The last woman Tomás had seen him visit was a cheap whore in Santa Fe. A

mute child like Esperanza wouldn't interest him.

Except as a way to provoke Rowena. Since the minute they'd met in Colorado, he hadn't

bothered to hide his hostility. He scorned the fairer sex, but this blunt hatred was something

new.

Tomás circled around to Sim's other side and stood braced against the wall of the cave, staring

across the canyon. "Don't lie to me, amigo. It was Rowena you wished to offend."

Sim took a long drag on his cigarette. "Offense isn't what I had in mind."

Tomás dug his fingers into the pitted stone of the cliff. He wanted to laugh and shake off this

tension that filled his body. He had no use for such seriousness. Since his mother's death, he'd

resolved never to mourn again; laughter served him far better. Only the MacLeans could rouse

his darker passions, and those did not last beyond the moments of triumph when he took one

more small part of his revenge.

Revenge was his life, and all life was a grand joke. A challenge to defeat death as long as

possible, and take the MacLeans down with him when he went to hell.

This did not feel like a joke.

"There is one thing you must understand," he said. "The lady is under my protection—"

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"Your protection?" Sim snorted. "You kidnapped her. Done a helluva lot more than that, I

reckon. MacLean'll piss himself when he finds out you already picked her cherry."

The vulgarity left a foul taste in Tomás's mouth. It had never bothered him before. "I asked you

not to speak of her in that way," he said.

Sim twisted his head to regard Tomás. "Don't tell me you kept your hands off her?"

"I don't take unwilling women."

"Good for you." Sim narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you're smarter than I thought."

Tomás knelt level with Sim. "Speak your mind, amigo, or I may become angry."

They stared at each other. "All right," Sim said. "You're too damned blind to see the danger.

You kidnap this female because she's Cole MacLean's woman, and bring her here—"

"You know the reason."

"I know what you started out to do. I warned you at the beginning—"

"That it was a bad idea." Tomás hung his legs over the ledge and kicked the rock with his boot

heels. "I don't understand this caution. It isn't like you."

Sim cast him a stony look. "Someone has to keep you from getting yourself killed."

"You?" Tomás laughed in astonishment. "How many times have we risked our lives together,