This Fierce Splendor (27 page)

“No.” But there had been moments when Malvina had thought she had seen flashes of Shamus’s power in those pale gray eyes of Silver’s. Imagination, she assured herself quickly. If Shamus said Silver was not their kin, then it must be true. Relief surged through her and she relaxed against him. “You’re probably right. Turn out the lamp, it’s time we were sleeping.”

Shamus reached across her and turned down the wick of the lamp. “Sleeping?” Tender amusement threaded his words in the darkness. “And it was you who were telling me how lucky you were I could still pleasure you? Now, you can’t expect to challenge a man of my temperament like that, and then roll over and go to sleep.” He moved over her. “Love me, Malvina.”

Her arms went around him, holding him with more tenderness than passion. Passion would come, it always did, but she wanted the tenderness first. Her hands slid over his shoulders, enjoying the play of muscles beneath her palms. He was almost as strong now as when she had first taken him into her body those many, many years ago. God in heaven, she was lucky to have a man like Shamus. “I do love you, Shamus,” she whispered. “I always will.”

The light in the old man’s room blinked out.

Ramon Torres leaned back against the corral post and drew in deeply on the thin brown cigarette between his lips and then exhaled slowly, thoughtfully. He had watched the lights go out one by one, and now the big house was entirely dark and silent.

In an hour everyone would be asleep and he would find a way to get in. He had already inveigled the information from Rosa as to which room Dominic Delaney had been given. He could take off his boots and creep barefoot through the halls. No one would
hear him, for he had taught himself to move with the stealth of his Navajo mother. Would he be able to surprise Delaney was the question. The old man’s son was a very dangerous man; his instincts had been sharpened by many years of living as a hunted man.

Torres smiled in the darkness. Ah, he knew all about the hunt. He had been a hunter all his life. He had hunted for money, lust, revenge, and many other things, and he knew the ways of game. The secret was never to attack the prey on foreign ground, where he would be uneasy and on guard. If the hunter staked out and waited until the victim came back to his home watering hole, he had a much better chance of putting him down. This method took patience and perseverence, but then, Torres was a very patient man.

He drew again on the cigarette. Now Dominic had returned to his home watering hole. Should he take him tonight? If he did, he’d probably have to kill everyone in the house to be safe from pursuit. Five women and old Shamus, besides Dominic Delaney. The women would be easy. A knife, silent and quick between their ribs as they slept. It was a pity he would have to kill Rosa too. Besides information, the plump widow had furnished him with many enjoyable romps in the past three months.

Shamus and his son would not be so simple to dispatch. They both had the warrior instinct and might be more difficult to catch off guard. Torres was sure Durbin would not object to the additional deaths, but he doubted if he would pay any more for them. He might do better to wait until his prey was alone. It would be the wise and cautious way to proceed.

Torres felt a sharp pang of disappointment as he took the cigarette from his lips and flipped it away. He stood still, looking broodingly at the orange tip glowing in the dirt of the stableyard. He was tempted to forget about caution and go after Dominic now. The blood hunger was upon him, as it always was when the kill was at hand. It was a sign he recognized and
was usually able to subdue, but it was more difficult this time. He had waited too long for his prey to come into view and the hunger had sharpened to an unbearable intensity. When that happened, he, the hunter, was almost as much a prisoner as the prey.

He took a step forward, extinguishing the cigarette with the toe of his boot, grinding the tobacco thoroughly into the dirt until there was not a spark left. He did everything with great thoroughness; it was a quality in which he took pride. If something was worth doing, it was worth doing well.

He mustn’t be impatient, he told himself. According to Rosa, he had three days to accomplish his kill. Then he would be five thousand dollars richer and able to ride down to Mexico and have a fine spree. The money would not last long, but perhaps that was good. The end of the money meant the start of a new hunt and the dark excitement of the hunger it brought with it. Lately he had begun to realize that he looked forward more to the hunt than the weeks of debauchery it paid for. He laughed softly to himself as he turned and began to stroll toward his horse tethered a few yards away.

It wasn’t every man who was lucky enough to enjoy his chosen labor as much as he did. Yes, he was one very fortunate man.

P
atrick strode out of the smoking room and headed for the front door. His expression was stormy and the sharp click of his boots on the tiled foyer reflected the rebellion he had not allowed himself to express in the presence of his grandfather.

“Wait, Patrick!”

He stopped and glanced at the woman coming down the steps. “Elspeth.” His frown disappeared as his gaze ran over her slim figure dressed in a dark blue riding skirt, brown calf-high boots, and a white cotton blouse. He grinned. “Where’s our little blackbird? You look a lot like Brianne in that outfit.”

Elspeth pulled a face. “I should. These are her clothes. Rising Star, Brianne, and Silver got together last night, and suddenly I had a new wardrobe.” A tiny frown wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know if I should have taken advantage of their kindness, but they insisted. Perhaps I can find a way of repaying them.” The frown faded and she smiled at him. “It’s good to see you, Patrick. Are you well?”

He nodded, his gaze on her face. “I don’t have to ask if you’re better. You’re a little pale, but otherwise you look as fit as you did when you came to Hell’s Bluff.” He glanced down at her boots. “I gather you’re going riding.”

She nodded. “I’m going to make the attempt. I thought I’d better really learn to ride before I start for Kantalan.” Her expression brightened. “Perhaps
you’d be good enough to take me to the corral and show me how to saddle one of those horses. I promise not to bother you after that.”

“No bother.” He opened the door and let her precede him. “I was going to the corral anyway.” He scowled. “Gran-da tells me Dominic is down there looking at the new mare Cort bought for Brianne.”

Elspeth cast a sidewise glance at him. “You don’t seem to be pleased about the prospect of seeing him. Silver told me he sent you away from the cabin.”

“He didn’t send me away,” Patrick said, stung. “
I
decided to leave.” He smiled. “Let’s just say that he can be very persuasive when he makes his mind up.” His expression darkened. “Like Gran-da, who sent for me this morning and told me to settle my differences with Dom and make him feel welcome here.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“Yes,” he said grudgingly. “As I said, Gran-da can be very persuasive. He has a tongue like a bullwhip and the stubbornness of a mule.” He paused, and there was a short silence before he burst out, “I would have done it anyway, I just don’t like to be pushed.”

And he also didn’t like the humiliation of knuckling under to his grandfather, Elspeth thought. It said much for the loyalty and respect Shamus commanded that Patrick had given in to his demand. But the boy was definitely chafing and her glance wandered around the courtyard, searching for a way to change the subject. “Is that a chapel?” She pointed to a small stucco structure slightly apart from the main house. “I wouldn’t have thought the Delaneys—” She broke off, but it was too late.

Patrick’s eyes were already dancing with amusement. “You didn’t think a family as iniquitous as the Delaneys would have any use for a church?”

“I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No offense taken.” Patrick chuckled. “Gran-da probably wouldn’t have had the chapel built if it hadn’t been for Manuela. She raised all tarnation until he finally gave in. She even had her own priest brought up from San Felipe and wanted him to live at
Killara, but Gran-da wouldn’t have it. He built Father Benedict a house in the village and lets him say mass in the chapel for the vaqueros and their families on Sunday, but that’s as far as he would go.”

“That seems very generous.”

“Oh, Gran-da can be generous.” He scowled. “When he’s not being a son of—” He stopped and then substituted “difficult.” He stiffened. “There’s Dom.”

Elspeth followed his gaze. Dominic straddled the top pole of the corral fence, watching a sorrel mare in the corral. He glanced down at the vaquero on the ground beside the fence and said something, then laughed as the man answered. The vaquero had to be an old and trusted member of the Killara household, Elspeth thought absently; his expression held far too much affection for Dominic for the situation to be otherwise.

Then Dominic’s gaze rose and he saw her and Patrick walking toward him. The smile curving his lips faded and then was gone. “Hello, Elspeth.” He inclined his head. “Patrick.”

Patrick was equally formal. “Welcome home, Dom.” He looked from his uncle to the sorrel on the far side of the corral. “What do you think of her?”

“She’s fast, but I’ve heard the Kentucky horses don’t have the stamina we need out here and their temperament causes them to do some pretty stupid things.” His gaze met Patrick’s. “You know Killara can be pretty unforgiving of mistakes.”

Patrick stood looking at him and then a slow smile lit his face. “I haven’t found that to be true. You’re usually allowed one mistake as long as it’s not repeated.”

Apology tendered, apology accepted, Elspeth thought with amusement and the pride of both men remained intact.

“I’ve been trying to get Brianne to let me ride the mare, but she’s being damn selfish.” Patrick glanced at Elspeth. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Elspeth cast an apprehensive glance at the spirited
horse. “I wouldn’t want to ride a horse Brianne valued. Besides, it looks a little … large.”

“You’re going riding?” Dominic’s tone was sharp. “You don’t even know how to ride. Where the devil is Silver?”

“Silver is spending the morning with Rising Star. I decided it was time I learned and I’m sure it isn’t as complicated as—”

“Is Rising Star sick?” Patrick asked, his gaze anxiously on the house.

“No, but I understand they get little opportunity to spend time together and I didn’t wish to intrude.” She turned to Patrick. “Will you choose a horse for me?”

Patrick hesitated. “I don’t think we have any horses that are right for a tenderfoot.”

“Maybe the gray,” said the vaquero Dominic had been speaking to as they arrived. “Nina is very old and has not the energy to cause the señorita trouble.” There was a gentle smile on his round moon face. “Shall I saddle her? I don’t think she would hurt you.”

“Yes, please.” Elspeth smiled gratefully at the Mexican. He was of medium height and garbed in dark denim trousers and a bright blue cotton shirt. A blue bandanna banded his forehead and held back the shiny dark hair that fell to his shoulders. His large black eyes were gazing at her with eagerness and warmth. “That would be very kind of you, Señor …?”

“Ramon Torres,” Patrick supplied. “This is Señorita MacGregor, Ramon.” He looked again at the gray mare Ramon had indicated. “I think she’ll do for Elspeth. Cut her out, Ramon.”

“
Sí
.” Ramon nodded quickly and grabbed his lariat from the corral post. “It will only be a minute.” He opened the gate and slipped among the milling horses.

“I don’t like this, Patrick.” Dominic’s voice was tight.

Patrick looked at him in surprise. “Ramon’s right. The gray is the gentlest horse on the ranch. All she’ll have to do is hold on.”

“I don’t like her going riding at all. For God’s sake, she isn’t strong yet. What if she gets tired and takes a fall?”

“Will you kindly stop speaking of me as if I weren’t here?” Elspeth asked in exasperation. “If I get tired, I’ll stop. If I fall off, I’ll get back on. It’s very simple.”

Patrick’s lips twitched. “Yes, Dom, what’s wrong with you? You heard her, you’re building mountains out of molehills.”

“I was the one who had to pick her up when she fell off one of those mountains, and I don’t want to have to do it again.”

Elspeth felt a swift jab of pain at the hardness of Dominic’s voice. “You needn’t worry, I have no intention of asking that of you.” She turned to watch Ramon Torres stalk the gray with surprising grace and swiftness for a man of his stolid, squat proportions. “He’s very good at this, isn’t he?”

Dominic’s moody glance left her face and shifted to the Mexican in the corral. “Has he been at Killara very long, Patrick? The last time I was here, old Tomas was taking care of the horses.”

“About three months. We didn’t really need anyone, but he was a wonder with the animals, so we took him on. It was a good thing we did, because we found Tomas in the stable with his head split open two weeks later. We figured he must have fallen from the hayloft and hit his head on the anvil.” His face became shadowed. “I liked old Tomas.”