Once A Wolf (25 page)

"Is that a joke, my lady? Excelente." He tugged on her hand. "Come with me."

"What about Esperanza?" She realized with a start that the girl was gone. She must have

slipped out during the heated discussion, embarrassed or frightened by it.

"She can come to no harm in the cañon," he said.

"Not even from Sim Kavanagh?"

"I've spoken with him. He'll not bother her again."

Rowena felt a rush of gratitude. Tomás's loyalty to his violent friend apparently had its limits.

"Thank you."

"De nada. "He led her into the bedchamber and knelt beside the carved wooden trunk set

against the wall. He lifted the lid with a flourish.

Within was an array of colorful clothing—women's skirts, blouses, and petticoats. He drew out

a skirt of bright green cloth and shook his head. "Too big." He rifled through the garments until

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he found another skirt, in brilliant red, and a white, short-sleeved blouse embroidered along

the low neckline. "Ah. Perfecta."

He held the skirt and blouse against his body for Rowena to inspect. "What do you think?"

"Are you asking whether or not I think it would flatter you?"

"Very funny." With a sly smile he held out his arms and laid the garments along the front of her

dress. "Only you could do them justice, dulzura."

Rowenas mind went blank, and the empty space filled with the memory of those fierce, erotic

visions of the other Rowena, wanton and hungry. She dressed like this. No stays, no bustle, not

even proper underthings—only the loose, flowing, sensual brush of cloth on bare skin.

And he wanted her to wear these clothes. He knew exactly what they represented. Who but he

had put the visions in her mind?

"Your fine gown will become rags soon enough," he said. "You can barely move in it. With

these, you'll be comfortable. Free."

Free. She shuddered and pushed the skirt and blouse back at him. "I… cannot. It is out of the

question—"

"Why?"

She could not possibly answer honestly. "You must have stolen these from some poor woman."

"Not at all. They were gifts to me from women in a village very much like Rito Pequeño."

Gifts in exchange for his stolen largesse, or for other "favors"?

"Women in my country," she said, "don't wear such garments."

"I see." He nodded solemnly. "You are too fine for the simple attire of my countrywomen. You

would be ashamed to dress as they do and be thought one of them."

"No! I mean…" She floundered. "It would not look at all…" She flushed. "I should look

ridiculous."

"You? Never." He smiled wickedly. "You would look magnified beyond all words."

That was what she was afraid of. "I shall… give it some thought."

He laid the skirt and blouse across the top of the chest. "Take all the time you need. I wouldn't

have thought you'd be content, like cattlemen or miners, to wear the same clothes for a

month."

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She turned away. "I said I would consider it. I assume that Esperanza may find something to

wear in that trunk?"

"She may take her pick."

"Thank you for the dinner. Please thank Nestor again for me. And if you see Esperanza, I would

appreciate it if you would send her back."

He gave her an ironic bow. "I shall give some thought to your request for children's dresses. I

hope we reach similar conclusions."

Before she could ask him if he intended blackmail, he was gone. The front door clicked shut.

She forced herself to look again at the skirt and blouse. Wearing a corset underneath would be

highly impractical. And as for the skirt…

With a sharp sigh she fell back on the bed and rested her arm across her forehead. This felt

altogether too much like the first step down a very long and slippery slope to dishonor.

She laughed. No; she'd taken that step when she met Tomás Alejandro Randall. Her only choice

was to climb back up or let herself fall.

Tomás watched the casa from his vantage behind a screen of trees by El Rito de las Lagrimas.

He'd found Esperanza beside the stream, kicking her bare feet in the cool water. She'd looked

up at him with a slight frown and nodded at his request that she return to Rowena, but he

could see that something was troubling her. He simply didn't know what it was.

Rowena might have better luck. And he hoped for luck of his own.

Though it was dark in the cañon, he could see the door of the casa clearly. He knew his waiting

might be in vain, and yet something told him that he'd be rewarded for his patience.

His notion proved correct. The door opened, and Rowena emerged. She paused and turned her

face up to the night sky.

Victory.

The red skirt and white blouse caught the moonlight, caressing the curves she'd hidden so

carefully under layers of tight English clothing. He couldn't tell if she'd kept her stays, but her

breasts seemed fuller, plumping above the scooped neckline of the blouse. The skirt revealed a

small waist that required no cinching. Even her hair flowed loose about her shoulders.

She was glorious, and the single false note was her insistence on wearing her walking boots.

He'd teach her the pleasure of going without shoes. And without any clothing at all. One day

she'd run at his side as a silver-gold wolf, abandoning herself to the moment.

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He winced at the tightening in his groin. When he rode out to retrieve the goods for the

children, he should seek out one of the many women who'd be more than happy to lie with El

Lobo.

It wouldn't work. He—of all men—had been chaste since he'd stolen Rowena away from Cole

MacLean. And he couldn't imagine any other woman in his bed.

Of course his mention of marriage had been a jest. He'd known she'd see it as an insult. Once

he bedded her, he'd leave this yearning behind, and send her on her way a very different

woman. One who'd never marry Cole MacLean. And MacLean would know who had changed

her.

He adjusted his snug calzoneras. Some diversion was what he needed now. Tonight he would

run as a wolf, and in the morning…

In the morning he would get a much closer look at his newborn Lady of Fire.

Rowena woke to the sound of singing.

She lay still, half asleep and unwilling to stir, as the song washed over her. Though nine in ten of

the words and the melody itself were unfamiliar, the voice that sang them was unmistakable.

As were its sentiments. Rowena stared up at the adobe ceiling of the bedchamber and tried not

to listen. Esperanza sat up beside her. She cocked her head toward the small window and

glanced at Rowena.

She knew, as must everyone in the village, for whom Tomás Alejandro Randall sang in that

golden voice. As the deceptively homely tune coiled like a lazy breeze about Rowena's body,

raising gooseflesh on her arms and forbidden longings in her heart, she vowed that she would

not go to the window and look for the singer.

The song began its third verse. The thin sheets on the bed seemed far too warm even for a cool

dawn. Esperanza pushed them away and slipped from the bed. She was dressed in skirt and

blouse and out the door before Rowena found the wit to stop her.

Esperanza's presence offered no safety, after all. Not even the most rigid duena could protest a

subtle incursion such as this.

What was he declaring with his music, to her and all the residents of this hidden valley? His

intentions for romantic conquest? Never had a man done so more sweetly. Rowena found

herself humming the refrain and unsuccessfully tried to quell the impulse by covering her head

with a pillow.

"Senorita?"

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She came up for air to find Nestor's brown eyes regarding her from the doorway. He looked

away politely while she straightened her nightgown and pulled the sheets to her shoulders.

"I hope I did not disturb you," he said. "Your breakfast is prepared."

Evidently he expected her to be an early riser… or he'd known perfectly well when and how

Tomás planned to wake her. She abandoned any idea of feigning sleep until he gave up and

went away.

Somehow she wasn't surprised to find her soiled traveling suit absent from the place she'd left

it last night. That was the risk she took when she'd decided to try the garments Tomás had

provided for her. The skirt and blouse were still neatly folded on top of the trunk.

If Tomás had his way, she'd wear those and nothing else.

Fortunately, she'd had the foresight to hide her corset and petticoat under the bed. She fitted

the corset over her chemise as best she could, well aware that the lacings were too loose to

provide anything other than a degree of modesty under the thin peasant blouse. She fastened

the bustleless skirt with a sigh of resignation.

Yet, just as last night when she'd first put them on, she was unavoidably aware of the

movement in the garments, their lightness and lack of binding over her body. They had the

additional advantage of being far less hot than her suit—and they were clean.

She was struck by an immodest desire to dance about the room to Tomás's sultry tune, swirling

the skirt from side to side in a solitary waltz.

Instead, she sat down to don stockings and her once-elegant half-boots, aware of how

incongruous they looked with the rest of the ensemble.

Esperanza was already at the breakfast table. The food was, as usual, simple but delicious, and

Rowena should have had ample distraction from the noise outside the casa. She gave up eating

after the third bite.

"Do you hear that singing, Nestor?" she said.

"Si, señorita."

"Could you tell me… what it's about?"

"The song?" Nestor pulled up a third chair and sat down, setting aside his usual formality. "It is

a love song."

No more or less than she'd feared. She'd be a fool to ask for details.

"What does it say?"

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He smiled and began to recite:

"En una mesa te puse,

Un ramillete deflores.

Rowena, no seas ingrata,

Regalame tus amoves.

"I placed for you on a table A bouquet of flowers. Rowena, don't be ungrateful, Give me your

love."

Rowena held her breath, waiting for another verse. It didn't come. The song was finished.

Nestor sighed and gathered up the plates. Only when he left the room did she jump up from

the table and run to the window.

It was not Tomás who stood there, eyes snapping with mischief and seduction, but the dark

brown wolf she'd seen once before. He opened his mouth wide and waved his tail from side to

side. Gracefully he stretched out his front legs, performing a bow for her benefit.

"Am I supposed to applaud?" she said.

His wolf's jaws opened as if in a laugh. With an agile twist he leaped sideways, dashed toward

the wood along the stream, spun about and regarded her with unconstrained invitation. Her

arms tensed on the windowsill, as if she braced herself against the urge to follow him.

She wanted to follow him, run with him, explore the world at his side. As a wolf.

As his mate.

Stifling a cry, she stumbled away from the window and fled into the bedchamber. She flung

herself full-length upon the bed and beat her fists into the mattress until her arms were too

numb to lift.

Esperanza's inquiring touch was gentle, but it nearly made Rowena jump out of her skin. The

girl looked genuinely frightened; did Rowena appear as much the lunatic as she felt? She was

afraid she knew the answer to that question.

"I'm sorry," she said, making a halfhearted attempt to tidy her hair. "I didn't mean to disturb

you."

Esperanza shook her head. Rowena climbed from the bed and went to the window. It faced a

different direction than the one in the main room, but she knew Tomás was gone.

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"What am I to do, Esperanza?" she whispered. "I find myself in an untenable situation." She

leaned her forehead against the cool adobe wall. "I'm a fool. Why is it that knowing one is a fool

doesn't provide a cure?"

Esperanza joined her by the window, a warm and comforting presence. Rowena faced her with

grim resolution.

"It seems I am as susceptible as any woman to a certain combination of good looks and charm,"

she said. "But it is all on the surface. Meaningless." She touched her mouth. "I know he doesn't

care for me. Not… personally. Any woman would do as well, if she were promised to Cole

MacLean."

Esperanza's lips parted on a sigh that might have been denial.

"It's all right," Rowena said. "One cannot hope to fight one's weaknesses without recognizing