Stronger Than Passion (31 page)

Yet, despite his extra time-consuming care, they sill arrived at the banks of the Nueces in under two days. As they were tired and hot - even though the November weather had cooled - their first glimpse a few minutes later of the House of the Two Rivers was welcome, despite its rough and semi-neglected exterior.

Penny declared the old hacienda charming. Christina thought it a disgrace.

It looked more like a fortress than a home. The walls were thick and scorched, the front door was massive. There were no exterior balconies, such as Christina’s own home featured. This place seemed closed in on itself.

The outbuildings all looked to be in decent repair, and although there was no decorative garden to speak of, the grounds were somewhat neat. All the fences were in excellent condition, and off into the distance there was cattle - a lot of it. Far away figures on horseback were riding among the cattle, and one or two of them seemed to be heading back toward Dos Rios.

Then several people spilled out of the house and its environs and approached them as they rode in.

Julian raised his hand in greeting to the only male present, a black man who was grinning. The man waved and called out, “It sho’ is a surprise seeing you here, Cap’n Torrance. We wasn’t expectin’ you back fo’ a long time!”

“I’m a bit surprised myself, Jefferson. Get someone to take these horses. They’ve been ridden hard.”

Two boys, one black and one Mexican, ran up to hold the reins of the horses as Christina and Penny dismounted. The two Indians continued around back of the house. Julian got off his horse and surveyed the anxious group of women who stood waiting on the steps of Dos Rios.

“Señoras and Señoritas,” Julian said with a gracious - for him - nod of his head.

“Welcome home, Monsieur,” murmured a quiet voice with a slurred French accent. The woman who spoke was slender, and at least part black. Next to her stood a large Mexican woman, who echoed her greeting; and three younger girls of differing races, who smiled nervously but said nothing.

“Allow me to present to you all our house guests - the Doña Señora de Sainz, and her companion, Penny. They will remain here for several weeks. You must see to their comforts.”

The women curtsied, the black man, Jefferson, bowed. Christina stood thunderstruck at the novelty of Julian’s behavior. He sounded, almost, like a gentleman! What kind of game was he playing, before his own household? She looked at him suspiciously, but the dark eyes were wide and bland. Yes, he was certainly playing a part!

Just then a stately dressed lady pushed through the group on the steps, which scattered to allow her passage. She was obviously of Mexican origin, but when she spoke her English was good and hardly accented.

“Señor Torrance, you must come inside now. We are glad to have you home, although it is a shame you have not brought Lord Michael with you! It is so long since we have see him . . . Ladies, if you will please follow me, I shall arrange rooms for you. I am sure you are fatigued. Señor, my husband is out with the herd . . . he will return soon.”

Still talking the formidable woman - whom Christina correctly assumed was the housekeeper - led them inside a cool, high-ceiling entranceway. Julian gathered the ladies in ahead of him; another odd, courteous act of which Christina had not thought him capable.

Nothing that Julian Torrance did should have surprised her at this point. Nevertheless, his transition from rude half-breed guerilla Captain to urban Lord of the Manor was startling, to say the least.

He introduced her to the housekeeper, Señora Martinez, with manners so flawless as to reduce even that talkative lady to silence, explaining that the Doña Señora de Sainz was an honored guest of both him and his cousin Miguel, and was to be afforded all the courtesies of the house. He then instructed that Christina be given the large front room - an unusual act, judging from the astounded expression on the housekeeper’s round face - which was to be prepared at once, so she could bathe and rest.

But then he smiled threateningly and, discarding his gentlemanly attitude, added, “of course, Christina isn’t to leave the immediate grounds once I’ve gone.
You’ll have to have her watched, Manuela - she’s a clever girl.”

Before the even-more bemused housekeeper responded, Julian took Christina’s hand and dragged her through the entranceway and down a dim hall toward the center of the house. He pulled her out onto a tiled patio, shaded by planted fruit trees and rose-covered trellises, and sat her down on a cushioned stone bench by a fish pond. Penny had not followed them; Christina spared a brief hope that she was made comfortable, before allowing anger to wash over her in humiliating waves.

“That was unnecessary and crude!” she said, turning on Julian. “There is entirely no need to set the servants to watching me!”

“Yes there is. I don’t trust you to stay here a day after I’ve departed if you can acquire a horse, despite the fact that you might be killed or sold into slavery if you ride out of here alone.”

“I am quite aware of that, and I will be happy to rest here a while, as long as either you or Michael promise to eventually take me home!”

They were sitting in the shade, and Julian took off his hat and reached down to remove hers as well. Her braided hair had been tucked up under it, in lieu of pins; now the braid spilled down her back. He smiled at the picture she made - green-gold eyes snapping, face dust-streaked and flushed, bodice heaving in controlled outrage, hair disheveled. The Lady Contumacy.

But no, he still didn’t believe her. He shook his head. “Sorry, Christina. A few days ago I might have taken your word not to attempt to escape - although probably not; I’m sure Miguel extracted
a similar promise, in Washington, and it didn’t mean much then, did it? But now, now that you’ve killed, no. You’ve become more aggressive and I don’t like it. I’m headed back to Mexico tomorrow, and to ensure that you don’t follow me, I’ll turn the entire household into guards, if I must.”

She sat, looking away from him, and wondering if it was true that she was more aggressive now that she had killed. She didn’t feel any different, only still horrified . . . and a little more impatient, and a little less able to control it. Julian Torrance was an insensitive beast with no idea of what one should or should not say to servants. They would never respect her, if they were forced to spy on her constantly! Even Michael Brett had attempted to spare her that!

It was true Michael had assumed she would keep her word and go to Texas with his aunt, and that was no doubt why he had not put her under direct guard when he left Washington. And she had broken that word. But with just provocation, certainly.

A young Mexican girl brought out a pitcher of orange juice and two glasses on a tray, and set the tray down on the tiled edge of the pond. Julian introduced the girl as Graziella, and Christina responded with a cool nod. The girl fled as Julian poured them both a drink.

Julian gulped his, and then stood. “I have things to attend to, Christina. You may stay here, if you like, until Manuela comes to take you to your room. It shouldn’t be long.” He waited for her reply. When none came, he stalked off, leaving her sitting alone.

She glanced around, for the first time noticing her surroundings.

It struck her forcibly, then, that she was in Julian’s home. His and Michael’s. And this time, there would be no escaping . . . until Michael came to take her away!

But when would he come? And how would he react when he did? Would he remember their last night together, or would his anger at her for leaving Washington with Manzanal wipe out any tender memories he might have had? Did it really make any difference what he thought and felt?

It made a difference to her own well being. Michael was probably furious with her. And although Julian, in his own way, had treated her far more kindly than she could ever have expected . . . Michael might not. What if he did decide to take Julian’s earlier advice, and have her killed? Who, in this half-empty desolate land which he owned, would deny him the right? Who would stop him?

No one. But in spite of any fear she might possess at the knowledge of his absolute power over her, she knew one other thing. She wanted to see him. God help her, she really did.

*

There was no doubt the rooms Julian had ordered her installed in belonged to Michael Brett, although at first glance they seemed merely eccentric. The suite was comfortably and oddly furnished, with Indian blankets on the floor as rugs and fur pelts on the bed as blankets. The bare dressing table was English, the beautiful armoire looked to be French, and the huge crudely-carved bed could only be of local or American make. But the row of masculine clothing in the wardrobe was European and cut for a broad-shouldered man. And the handkerchiefs folded into a drawer bore the initials M.A.B.

No wonder the housekeeper had looked so shocked. Probably no one but Michael ever used this suite!

But she was too greedy for a proper bath to spare much time worrying over Julian’s little joke. A pleasant dressing room adjoined the bedroom, and inside it another young maid - this one Negro, with a pretty smile - poured hot water into a big copper bathtub, doubtlessly imported from England. There was even a delicious smell emerging from the water; the maid, Gaby, must have thrown in a sweet oil or perfume.

Christina lay back in the tub for a full five minutes before washing. It had been weeks since she had immersed herself in a bath; weeks of dirt and sweat, and even blood. The hot, scented water felt as good to her now as anything on earth she could imagine.

It was also wonderful to be dried with thick cotton towels, and wrapped in a man’s - Michael’s? - silk dressing gown, while her wet hair was patted dry and combed by the soft-spoken Gaby. A tray of refreshments was brought to her, and after she had picked through it, she stretched out on the solid feather bed amongst the furs and closed her eyes. Michael’s bedroom was high-ceilinged and cool, and Gaby drew the curtains closed over the narrow, front window, making the room dim. Then the girl left, shutting the door behind her; and Christina fell almost immediately asleep.

*

Penny awoke her in time to dress for the evening meal. The girl was bright-eyed and full of gossipy chatter, and as she brushed out Christina’s sleep-tangled hair, she expressed her excitement at coming to Dos Rios.

Ain’t it just grand! The whole place used to belong to a Señor Vilasquez, but when Santa Anna’s soldiers came through here a couple of years ago - burning out the Texans who lived nearby - they told the Señor he must leave if he wanted to remain loyal to Mexico. Probably the poor Señor thought he’d be killed if he stayed! So he packed and left, selling the house and all his cattle to Lord Brett. That’s who really owns the place - Lord Brett, I mean. Captain Torrance stays here some, and he even brought in some more cattle. But Suzette - she’s one of the cooks - said that the deed is in My Lord’s name, even if he does say that Captain Torrance owns half. Although neither one of them comes here very much. Señor Martinez’ husband is the foreman, and he takes care of everything.”

Penny paused for breath, and to inspect the simple yet elegant way she had twisted up Christina’s hair. Satisfied, she nodded to herself - without bothering to consult Christina - and put down pins and brush. She walked over to the wardrobe, opened it, and inspect the meager handful of newly-pressed gowns and riding habits inside.

“I expect there must be someone nearby who can make up some new dresses, m’ lady. You’ll be needing pretty clothes here. Carla says that Lady Antoinette is apt to drop in anytime, to inspect the servants - she hired them all, you see, and most of them come from her own estate - now that she has returned to Texas. She’s only a good day’s ride away, in San Antonio! And she’ll be wanting to entertain.” Penny pulled a green silk low-necked gown from the armoire, one of the two evening ensembles Christina had purchased ready-made in New Orleans, and which she had worn once each on board the steamer. As Penny shook out the dress, she continued talking. “Of course I told everyone that we were already acquainted with Lady Antoinette, as we had all shared Lord Brett’s home in Washington. Mighty surprised they was, too! Even that stiff Señora Martinez came into the kitchen to hear me.”

“I hope you are careful with your confidence, Penny. It would be best if you said very little about us.”

“Of course, m’ lady! Nobody needs to know. That’s none of their business! I expect they assume we’re here on a visit. Unless Captain Torrance says anything different, which he just might. I know he’s been nice to you, m’ lady, but he scares the devil out of me!”

Christina grimaced, thinking of the remark, Julian had made to Señora Martinez concerning the need to keep an eye on his “guest.” The entire household must be discussing and speculating about that! But she remained silent as she rose and removed the robe she wore in order to dress. Then a thought occurred to her.

“Are we dining alone tonight, Penny, just the Captain and me?” she asked, thinking it unlikely that Julian Torrance would submit to the civilized nicety of a formal dinner. But why should she bother to dress, if she were to eat by herself?

“I don’t know, m’ lady. Some gentleman came inside the house a little while ago, just as I was coming up here. But I didn’t recognize him. You’re to go down to the main sala, whatever that is, whenever you’re ready; I’m sure you’ll find out then.”

No doubt. But the possibility of a quiet, relaxed meal eaten in Julian’s company was not unpleasant. They had argued and conversed for hours on the way here, mainly about Texas and Mexico; and although Christina often found his views to be prejudiced and vexing, they were always stimulating. And as she was curious to find out more about the man, observing him in such an unusual-seeming place as his own dining room should prove interesting.