The Sometime Bride (13 page)

Cat swallowed hard, her unwavering gaze never leaving Blas’s face.

“
But Thomas may never be as strong as he once was,” Blas continued gently. “There may be internal injuries . . . possible head injuries. It is too soon to know. It is foolish to tell you to be brave, for you have been nothing else in all the time I have known you. But you must smile when you look at him. Think only of the time you have been granted and not of what may be lost.” Blas’s voice turned brisk as he registered the pallor of Cat’s skin, the blank shock in the depths of her green eyes. “Go to him,
cara
. Do what Dona Blanca tells you. I will sit with him tonight, but now I must assess the damage here and see what I can do.”

Blas, concentrating on Catarina and her pain, gave no indication of the burden which had just fallen on his young shoulders. There was no one else who had the knowledge, skill, and gift of command needed to run Thomas Audley’s spy network.

But Cat knew. Inwardly, she sighed. Always it would be like this. Blas doing what must be done, no matter how strong the personal demands on his time. So she would endure because she must. As Dona Blanca was doing.
Dona Blanca!
Cat grabbed Blas’s sleeve as he started to turn away.

“
Blas? I do not know what to say to Dona Blanca. I have no words. She has lost her husband, her care of Papa has saved his life. But I think—I am not sure—but I think more happened here, things no one will speak of. I must not ignore it, but I do not know what to say.”

“
Dear God, Cat, I wish I knew.” Blas groaned.
Hell and the devil! Was there no end to this disaster?
At twenty-two he had thought himself immortal. Until he saw his mentor’s nearly lifeless body, shrunken from vivid color to pale nothingness. And now . . . what Cat was trying to tell him was far beyond his experience. “You might ask Dona Blanca if she has spoken to Brother Basilio,” he ventured. “He strikes me as a man who is able to understand the darker side of this world.

“
And, Cat,” he added, suddenly recalling their conversation in Lisbon at the beginning of the occupation. “Tell Dona Blanca what Thomas and I told you. About survival. If you had been here with those French beasts, and I rushed back to find you nobly dead by your own hand, it would have been the end of my life as well as yours. How could such a senseless sacrifice benefit God or man?”

Wordlessly, she stared at him. Was it possible Blas truly loved her? Certainly, she had never loved him more. In the midst of tragedy she had found a shining gem of hope. Cat stood on tiptoe, kissed him lightly on the mouth.

Neither recognized the moment for what it was. The last emotional intimacy they would share for months to come.

A pall of pain, as thick as the permeating stench of charcoaled timbers, clung to the occupants of the Casa Dominguez. Thomas Audley’s quick mind made a rapid recovery, but his body was slow to follow. In the first days after the disaster at the winery his three devoted attendants submerged their own problems in the demanding routine of his care. By the fifth day of his confinement Thomas was recovered enough to confirm what they already suspected. Blas the Bastard must take over Thomas’s far-flung intelligence network. Blas, who had had time to come to terms with his new responsibility, was eager to comply, obeying a whisper from Thomas Audley far more readily than he had ever obeyed a roar from his father.

As much as he exalted in his new power, a cloud dimmed his excitement. He was going to have very little time for his young bride. Perhaps no time at all. Which was probably a good thing, considering the thoughts which continually insinuated themselves into his mind. And, besides, Cat would be busy with Thomas, and had Dona Blanca to watch over her. So no need to suffer guilt. They were, after all, at war, and wars took precedence over personal considerations. Of that, he had no doubt.

Blas was off to Lisbon within the hour, leaving Cat and Dona Blanca to stare after the cloud of dust diminishing in the distance.

During the first nightmare days after Thomas was injured, there had been little time for conversation. Catarina, Blas, and Dona Blanca had taken turns caring for Thomas with no thought beyond how to keep his feverish tossing from injuring him still further or what medicinal drafts, foods, and soothing herbal washes might give their patient ease.

With Dona Blanca totally absorbed in Thomas’s needs, Cat was relieved of the terrible urgency of her fears for Blanca’s life. And her soul as well. For Cat was confident Blanca Dominguez would never willingly leave this world while Thomas Audley needed her. But on the morning after Blas’s departure, as Catarina gathered her courage to face another day, she wondered if she was fooling herself. Was she creating a fantasy to excuse her own cowardice, her failure to ask Dona Blanca what had happened that night? And yet, Cat reminded herself, Blanca Dominguez was twice her age, mistress of the house in which they were living. How could a girl of fifteen years initiate a conversation of such adult immensity?

But now, with Blas gone and Thomas well enough to begin issuing orders, life was becoming more normal. Servants were allowed to assist with the invalid’s care, particularly the chore of sitting with him while he slept. On the first night of their new freedom Catarina and Blanca shared the luxury of a formal meal in the dining room before withdrawing to the elegant vastness of the salon.

Alvaro Dominguez had been a wealthy man, his country home a mecca for those who enjoyed good company, good food, and refined entertainment. Fortunately, the formal rooms and the family bedrooms above had been untouched by the flames. At night, when the blackened ruin of the north wing could not be seen, only the terrible lingering odor of smoke and charred wood remained as an unrelenting reminder that none of their lives would ever be the same.

Two candelabra of four candles each had been set on parquet tables near a grouping of chairs and a sofa. Their glow illuminated so little of the immense room Cat felt as if she were walking into the wine cellars under the mountain rather than into the Dominguez drawing room. Adding to the gloom were the women’s dresses. Each was swathed in yards of black silk in the Spanish style. At that moment Cat doubted she would ever again wear clothes designed in the graceful Grecian column popularized by Napoleon’s empress Josephine.

With a faint sigh Dona Blanca sank down onto the sofa and spread her skirts about her. Cat was not above her own silent sigh of envy as she eyed the older woman’s voluptuous figure, which was lush enough to arouse the admiration of a saint. A tiny bit plump, perhaps, but was that not the fashion in Portugal? Men preferred an ample armful. Which, Cat conceded, she herself most certainly was not.

“
I like your Blas,” Dona Blanca declared. “I admit I had grave reservations about this wild plan of a marriage and did not hesitate to say so. You have been kind not to remind me of all the warnings I gave you. I did not think you too young for a
true
marriage, but for a travesty of marriage? No woman would be ready for such a thing.” Dona Blanca smoothed the black silk of her gown before once again raising her dark eyes to her young guest. “I feared you would not be sufficiently wary, that he would take advantage of you. That only pain could come of such a marriage. But in the months he has been coming here to report to Thomas—and now with his so kind help in this time of trouble—I must tell you I like him. Is he good to you, child? Are you happy?”

Happy
. Cat ran the toe of her slipper over the finely patterned carpet, shifted her weight in her chair. She had been too young for woman-to-woman talks before Elspeth Audley died. And since then there had been no one. The three weeks she had spent at the Casa Dominguez prior to her marriage were as close as she had come to having a woman to talk to, someone in whom she could confide. But she had remained aloof. Angry that this older woman who was not of her family could criticize her beloved Blas. Who was Dona Blanca Dominguez to question her marriage? To counsel Thomas Audley against giving his only child, and his lucrative business, to a stranger?

But now, Cat acknowledged, she was older and wiser. Though not older and wiser enough. She had led a solitary existence in a household of men, her petite frame constantly hiding bottled-up emotions she refused to let others see. But had not Thomas taught her that confidences given elicited confidences in return?

Her small stubborn chin jutted forward. Perhaps shock was the best weapon. “I wish to be truly married,” she declared.

Dona Blanca had to repress a smile. Ah! But of course the child wished to be truly married. To so fine a man as Blas, what woman would not? “So he has not touched you?” was all she said aloud.

“
No.” Cat’s defiant stance crumpled, her reply so faint Blanca almost missed it.

“
Do you believe he loves you?” the older woman challenged.

“
Sometimes,” Cat whispered. “There is a way he looks at me, I can scarcely breathe. But most of the time he is a brother,” she added with disgust. “A bossy brother. Giving orders. Do this, do that. No, Cat! And again, No! He is almost as bad as my old
governanta
.”

Dona Blanca continued her relentless catechism. “Does he ever speak of the future?”

This was something Cat had tried to ignore. A numbing chill crept into her heart as she considered Blanca’s question. “No,” she admitted. “No, never has he spoken of any time beyond the war.”

Ah, bah! This was not good. “He looks at you with great affection,” said Blanca hastily, regretting the pain she had caused. But surely it was best for Catarina to see reality more clearly.

“
We do not speak of
affection
,” Cat declared with the fully affronted dignity of the very young.

The subject was closed. Each women understood the matter was too painful to be discussed again unless the need was urgent.

“
Dona Blanca?” Tentative, uncertain, Cat raised the dreaded topic.

“
Surely we are friends now, Catarina. It would give me pleasure if you would call me Blanca.”

“
Thank you,” Cat murmured, still frantically searching for a way to introduce the unthinkable. “There is . . . there is something I have wished to ask you. Please do not think me impertinent, but when I came here that first night, I felt your pain went beyond the death of Don Alvaro, beyond the injuries to my father. That there was something more . . . “ Cat’s voice trailed away. At last she had given Dona Blanca an opportunity to speak. She could not find words to go farther.

For a moment Blanca sat very still, a rush of tears threatening her dark eyes. It was not right a child of fifteen should bear the burden of such knowledge, and yet . . . “You are not to worry yourself, Catarina,” Blanca demurred. “Your father and Brother Basilio have already spoken to me. I admit your instincts were sound. You have inherited your father’s gift of perception. Blas spoke to Brother Basilio of your fear for me. Your father, like you, needed no one to tell him.”

Blanca paused, the silk of her skirts rustling under her restless fingers. She had been mistaken. Catarina was not a child, but a ravishingly tempting target for male lust. She needed to understand it was not just men who suffered the violence of war. Blanca sighed. “You are old enough to hear of this thing, Catarina. May you never have to endure what I did, but you must know your father is right. You and I, women everywhere, are made for life, not death. We are the givers of life, we do not take it away.”

The windows were open. An errant breeze blew through the room, causing the candlelight to flicker and dance. With it came the nasty stench of charcoaled wood. Death. And terror.

“
Rape is an ugly thing, Catarina. Only those who have endured it can truly comprehend the horror. It is rape of the soul as well as of the body. And yet Portuguese men see this ugly thing only as a dishonor to themselves. If my Alvaro had lived, I do not think he would have touched me again. That is why it is assumed a woman will kill herself before she is dishonored. And if that is not possible, then surely afterwards she must do so.

“
You perhaps heard about poor Adela, the scullery maid. She had only thirteen years, but there are many knives in the kitchen . . . and she did not hesitate to use one.” Blanca’s voice trailed away as the horror came rushing back, the young girl’s body lying on the kitchen tiles in a pool of blood. Blanca’s personal stab of guilt because she had not done the same.

Cat sat in absolute stillness, unable to move. She should be offering comfort but was stunned into silence. She had not heard about the maid, younger by two years than herself.

Blanca’s slumped shoulders straightened; she stiffened her back into a rigid line. “But Alvaro did not live to know of my disgrace,” she continued. “And I knew I must care for your father. By the time the worst of the crisis was past, I had been strongly reminded of the sanctity of life by Brother Basilio. And only a day ago, your father has given me his more earthly views on the matter of a fate worse than death. He can be very profane, your father. But of course you know that,” Blanca concluded with a faint smile.

Cat rose and crossed the short space between them, kneeling at Blanca’s feet. In the tones of one who makes a solemn vow, she said, “I am very glad to have you as a friend. And I am exceedingly glad you have had the good sense to listen to my father. We need you, Blanca. Both he and I.”