“…this fast-paced storyhas plenty of action,intrigue and some goodsex. I found it fascinating,unpredictable.”~RomanceReviews“Blake, who providesenough passion, lust andadventure to satisfy eventhe most voracious ofromance consumers,triumphsagain...”

~Kirkus“Blake’sstyleisassteamyas a still July night on thebayou, as overwhelminglyhotasCajunspice.”~ChicagoTribune

This is a work of fiction.The characters, incidents,anddialoguesareproductsof theauthor’s imaginationand are not to beconstrued as real. Anyresemblance to actualeventsorpersons,livingordead, is entirelycoincidental.No part of this book maybe reproduced ortransmitted in any form or

by any means, electronicor mechanical, includingphotocopying, recordingorbyany informationstorageand retrieval system —except in the caseof briefquotations embodied incritical articles or reviews— without the writtenpermission of publisher orauthor, except wherepermittedbylaw.

Copyright©1990and

2012byPatriciaMaxwellFirstEdition:August

1990FirstMassMarketEdition:1993

E-ReadsEdition:2003SteelMagnoliaPressDigitalEdition:2012

Cover Design by LFDDesignsForAuthors

Dedication

Formyhusband,JerryRonald;

Mysons,RonandRick;Andmysons-in-law,RoddyandRob—Southerngentlemenandheroes,all—

withlove.

1

PILARMARIESANDOVALY SERNA knew that whatshewasdoingwasnothingless than madness. Tomeet the brigand El Leon,the lion of the Andalusian

hills, by chance and indaylight was dangerousenough,buttoinvitehimtocome toheratmidnight inadarkpatiogardenwastoplace her honor and herlife in his hands. Thedanger did not matter;some things were worththerisk.

Pilar drew her shawlaround her as she pacedback and forth over thepatio tiles. The night was

chilly, as it often was inlate December in Seville.That coolness was,naturally, the only reasonfor the tremors that ranover her in waves. Whyshould she fear El Leon?Her stepfather DonEsteban was far moredespicable, a devil inhumanform,yetshedidn'tshake when she facedhim. He thought he hadconquered her, her

stepfather, but she wouldshowhim.Shewould.

It was a quiet night.From the town streetsbeyond the garden wallcame only the occasionalrattling of a passingcarriage as late revelersmadetheirwayhomeward.Somewhere far away adog barked. Nearer athand, perhaps three orfour houses down, alovesickswainstrummeda

guitar, softly serenadinghis lady with an oldAndalusian melody. Themusic was intricate andflowing, the voice low anddeep,richwithsuppressedlonging.

The moonlight shonedown into the enclosedpatio, filtering through thebranches of the jacarandaandmaking deep pools ofshadow under the glossy-leaved orange trees. It

caught the water spoutingfrom the tiered stonefountain, turning thesplattering droplets toliquid moonstones. Ittraced the intricate patternof the Moorish floor tilesand bleached the flowersofthetrailinggeraniumsintheir pots attached to thewalls from rose to palestpink. Under its light thehoneybrownofPilar'shairturned to gold, while her

cheekbones were washedwithapearlsheen,andthewarm chocolate brown ofher eyes acquired moremysteriousdepths.

Pilar's pacing slowed.Shestood still, listening tothe distant serenade.Therewassomething in it,in the man's voice, thatdrew an answeringresonance from deepinside her. The empathywas unwanted, yet

inescapable,movinghertotenderness and despairthat was near tears. Shefelt she knew theserenader's pain, but alsothat he understood andshared hers. It helped,somehow, to still herapprehension.

The song came to anend. The last notes of theguitar died away, and allwasquietagain.

Pilar gave her head a

quick shake, as if to ridherself of the peculiarmoonlight fantasy.Frowning up at that brightlight, she moved deeperintotheshadowsundertheloggia of the house. Shemust not be seen frominside. Her stepfather wasatsomeofficialdinner,buther duenna was still up,workingat her tatting.Theduenna, a sister to DonEsteban who was terrified

of her brother's shadow,thought Pilar was safelyasleep.Thatwasthewayitmuststay.

Where was El Leon?Surelyhehadreceivedhermessage?

It was possible he hadnot;therehadbeensolittletimetogiveit,andnohopeof repeating it. That shehadfoundthechanceatallwas a miracle. Now shewasinneedofanotherone

— that El Leon wouldanswer her summons. Hemight well have decidedagainst it. It would benearly as insaneof him toshowhimself at thehouseofDonEstebanIturbideasit was for her to send forhim. Her stepfather wouldkill him on sight, as hemightastraydog.

There came a quietrustling from thepalm treeat the corner of the patio

garden. Pilar stopped,goingstill.Shestrainedhereyes in the darkness untilthey burned, her everysense alert for furthersound.Therewasnone. Itmust have been the coolnightwindcomingoverthegardenwall, orelseabirddisturbedinitsrest.

Her chest rose and fellin a long sigh. She drewher shawl closer oncemore and resumed her

measuredpacingalongtheloggia.

Theamazing thingwasthatherstepfatherhadnotyet killed her. The deedwould not have troubledhim; he hadmurdered hermother, after all. Pilar hadnoproofthatwaswhathadhappened, nothing excepther suspicions and herknowledge of DonEsteban; still, she wassurethatitwasso.

Pilar had despised thestrutting littlemanwith hiscruel eyes and pointed,perfumed beard from themoment her widowedmotherhadintroducedhimto her as a prospectivestepfathersixyearsbefore.She had not troubled tohide her feelings in hispresence and, moreover,had done everything a girlofsixteencould topreventthe alliance between him

andhermother. Ithadnothelped; her mother hadbeen infatuated. DonEsteban was a lonelywidowerandalsoamanofcharm and address, hermother had said, smilingfondly down on Pilar,smoothing the silk of thegirl's hair as she sat on astool at her knee. Therewould be honor andprivilege in being his wife,for he was destined for a

great position at court inMadrid.With theweight ofher wealth behind them,combinedwithhis,thetwoofthemwouldshinethere.It was natural for Pilar toresent themanwhowouldtake the place of her ownfather whom she hadadored, but she wouldgrowusedtoDonEstebanin time. And in a year ortwo, when she was a bitolder,itwaspossiblethere

might be a marriagearrangedbetweenherandDon Esteban's son by apreviousmarriage.

Never, Pilar haddeclared. No, not ever.She had met DonEsteban's beloved sonduring a visit. The youngmanhadcorneredherinadarkened salon, sneeringat her protests, squeezingandpinchingherbody,andhad cursed her when she

kicked his shins and ranaway. She would neveraccept such a vicious,egotistical suitor — norcould she think the fatheranybetterthantheson.

The choice had notbeen presented to her.Don Esteban hadrevengedhimselfuponherfor what he called hermeddling the moment themarriagecelebrationswereover.Hehadescortedher

to convent school wherehespokepersonally to themother superior, claimingthat Pilar was waywardandspoiledandinneedofsevere discipline. He leftinstructions that she mustbe taught to respect herelders, to curb her tongueand stifle the unladylikefierceness of her spirit.Then within a fewmonthshadcome thenewsof thedeath of Don Esteban's

son in a duel. Pilar hadbeenforcedtostayonherkneesinprayerforhissoulforhoursbecauseshehaddaredtosayaloudthatshewasgladhewasdead.

In the end, Pilar hadlearned her lessons ofobedience. She hadlearned to appear meekand compliant while rageburnedinsideher.Shehadlearned to bow to athousand petty rules while

searching for ways tocircumvent them.She hadlearned to acceptpunishment withoutflinching,assumingasmileofforgivenessevenassheplotted vengeance. Shehatedtheduplicity,butshelearned.

Forthesixyearsofherincarceration she was notallowedtogohome,neverpermitted to communicatewithhermother.Still,Pilar

heard rumors from theother girls who came andwent. Don Esteban, itseemed, was of the oldschoolwhichbelievedthat,women should be keptshut up in their housesasinthedaysoftheMoors,abeliefhehadtakentroubleto hide before hismarriage. There had beenno shining at court forPilar'smother, forhernewhusband decreed that his

wifemustnotflauntherselfabroad, but staysubmissivelyathome.Shemustnotmindthatheworefine lace and rareemeralds. She must notquestion his expendituresor the whereabouts of herwealth which he hadclaimed as his own, orwonder about hissupposed fortune. Shemust obey his everycommand, accept his

every dictate. His wordwas law, and he did notwantPilarinhishouse.

It was in the past yearthat Pilar had receivedword her mother was illwith a wasting sickness.Pilar had written, beggingto be allowed to comehome,butsilencewasheranswer.Shehadappealedto her only other relative,her dead father's sisterwho lived in Cordoba, in

the hope that her auntcould intervene. Herfather's sister had madeinquiries, but it had doneno good; Don Estebanassured the lady all waswellandthatPilarwasonlytrying to make trouble.Pilar had then written toher mother's confessor,FatherDomingo,butcouldreceive no satisfactoryanswer to what washappening, no permission

for her release from theconvent.

Then her mother haddied. It was FatherDomingo who had finallyprevailed upon DonEsteban to allow Pilar toprayat the funeralbier forthe reposeofhermother'ssoul.Peoplewould think itodd, the priest said, if thedead lady's daughter wasnot there. They mightbegin to wonder why she

was being kept away,wonder what it was DonEstebanwastryingtohide.Father Domingo was nolonger welcome in DonEsteban Iturbide's house,but an escort had beensent to bring Pilar toSeville.

The house wherePilar's mother had beenkept aprisonerandwhereshe had died had been inPilar's father's family for

more than five hundredyears,sinceFerdinandtheSainthaddriventheMoorsfrom Seville. Pilar hardlyrecognized it when shereturned. Where once theSandoval family arms hadbeen emblazoned abovethe door, there was agreat, ugly Iturbide crest.Supercilious servants hadtaken the places of theretainers who had beenwith the Sandovals for

countless years; Pilarcould find not a singlefamiliar face. The roomsand halls had beenstripped of their fine oldfurnishings, their carvedfurniture, tapestries, andgold and silver plate. Hermother's clothing, hericons, her few pieces offine gold jewelry weregone.

Everything had beenlootedtofillDonEsteban's

purse,orelsetofurtherhisambitionsatcourt.Hehadapparently achieved thesuccesshewanted, forhehad been given a positionas pena de camara, orkeeperof fines,oneof theregidores of the Cabildo,the governing body of thecity ofNewOrleans in theSpanish colony ofLouisiana.Since hewouldwield considerable power,as well as retaining ten

percent of the finescollected, the postpromised to return to himfarmore in bribes thanhehadexpendedingainingit.There were some whowhisperedthatthepositionitselfwasabribemeanttoridthekingofDonEstebanand his ceaselessconniving for favor. If DonEstebansawitinthatlight,he hid it well; he preenedhimselfasifhehadgained

thehighestofhonors.Pilar's mother, ill for

manymonths,haddiedthedayafterDonEstebanhadreturned from Madrid withthe news of hisappointment. It hadseemed a convenientcoincidence, for a sicklywifecouldneitherbetakentoLouisiananorleftbehindwithout it appearing thatshe had been deserted.Then Pilar had learned

from her duenna, DonEsteban's sister, that DonEsteban had, somemonths before, brought aspecial tonic from Madridfor his wife. He hadorderedher to take it, andissuedstrictrulesthatitbebrought to her every day.On the morning of herdeathhehadadministeredit to her with his ownhands. Immediately afterthe death rites, he had

returned to the house andcommenced his packingfor the voyage toLouisiana.

The night air of thepatio garden swirledaround Pilar as she cameto a halt inmid-stridewithher fists clenched in thecloth of her shawl. Hadthat shadow moved, therewhere the giant ceramicolla caught thewater fromtherooftop?Shecouldnot

tell; itmighthavebeenthewindswayingtheoleandershrub which grew behindit. Or it could be only herimagination and thewaiting. She had waitedthe night before and thenight before that, and ElLeon had not come. If hedidnotcomesoon,tonightor the night after, it wouldbetoolate.

Deliberately, indefiance of the fear she

would not acknowledge,Pilar turned her back onthe shadowed corner andbegan to walk again.Somewhere a cat yowled,andfromthestreetbeyondthe garden wall came thesoundoflowvoicesastwomen carried on amurmured conversationwhile walking homeward.Thesoundsceasedandallwas quiet oncemore. Tooquiet.

Pilar shivered. In anassumption of self-control,she directed her thoughtstootherthings.

She had kept hersuspicions about hermother's death to herselfduringthefuneralrituals.Ithad been such a strain tohold her bitter grief andangerinside,however,thatafterward she allowedherself to be drawn into aquarrel with Don Esteban

over the looting of herfather's house. It was hisright to sell what hepleased, he said; thehouse had come to hermotheronthedeathofherhusband, Pilar's father,since there were no maleheirs, and these samebelongings became DonEsteban'sontheirweddingday by the weddingcontract. But what did itmatter? he inquired. Pilar

would have no use forfurnishings and jewels intheconvent.

Pilar, retreating intocaution, had questionedwhy she must return. Shewastoldthatshecouldnotstay in the house alonewhile DonEstebanwas inLouisiana, and there wasnowhereelseforhertogo,no one to see to herwelfare. She had noprospects for marriage,

and was indeed an oldmaid at two-and-twenty.The convent would be arefuge for her, and DonEsteban would himselfprovide an endowment forthe church in her name, achestofgoldworthseveralthousandpesos.Thisgold,tobesentwithheronherreturn, would assure hercomfort and gain for herthe position within theconventhierarchytowhich

she was entitled bybreedingandbirth.

Pilarwasnotimpressedby either the spuriousconcern for her welfare orthe possible endowmentthat was less than afraction of the estate thatshould have been hers onher mother's death. Shedeclared firmly that shehad no intention ofreturning to the convent,and that, moreover, she

had a place to go andsomeone to lookafterher.Shewouldtakerefugewithher aunt in Cordoba. Ashouting match hadfollowed. At the end of it,Don Esteban had shoutedforhismajordomo,andthetwo men had picked Pilarup bodily and carried hertoherroom.Shehadbeenthrust inside and the doorlockedbehindher.

Two nights later she

had awakened at thesoundofakeyinthelock.Thedoorhadswungopenand a man had creptinside. She had sat up inbed,callingout,buthehadnot answered. He movedto thesideof thebedandgrasped her leg. Shewrenched from his holdand slid from the bed. Hecaught her and theygrappledinthedarkness.Itwas then that her

stepfather had burst intothe room. He was holdingacandlestick,andwithhimwere several men andwomen,as if hehadbeenhaving guests for dinner.The candlelight hadrevealedthemanwhohadattackedhertobealackeyofherstepfather's,aloose-lipped and pimpled youngmannamedCarlos.

The wrath of herstepfather had not fallen

onCarlos,however,butonPilar. She had lured thelackeytoherbedchamber,heshoutedinoutrage.Shewas depraved, a disgraceto his house. She mustmarry Carlos or he, DonEsteban Iturbide, wouldsend her back to theconvent that very night,before she brought furthershameuponbothhimandherself.

It was a trick and Pilar

knew it; still, she wascompromisedbeyondhopeof recovery. Herstepfather's guests,standing behind him andstaringwith avid eyes, didnotappearlikelytobelievehersideofthestory.IfshemarriedCarlos, shewouldgain nothing except afumbling, lasciviouslygrinning nonentity for ahusband, one who wouldhavelegalrighttoherbody

as well as everything shemight own. Carlos was somuchunderDonEsteban'sthumb that any portion ofher mother's estate thatmight come to her legallyon her marriage would beturned over to herstepfather at once.On theother hand, she might atleast buy a little time withan agreement to return tothe convent. With the lastin mind, she had made

herself appear crushedand contrite. Shepretended to sob as shebegged tearfully to returnto her little cell with itssingle bed, where shewould be surrounded bythe gentle sisters andeverything she had cometo know and love. Soappealinghadshemadeitsound that for an instantDon Esteban hadappeared reluctant to give

hispermission.Ithadnotbeeneasyto

maintain that air ofdrooping defeat while herheart corroded inside herwith bitter rage, but Pilarhad managed it. Herreward had beenpermission togo toFatherDomingo's church formorning mass each dayuntil her departure. Thereshe had accosted thepriest,pouringouthertale.

The good father had onlysighed and shook hishead, counselingobedienceandsubmissionto her fate. Don Estebancould not be so black asshepaintedhim;hadn'tthegrieving husband pledgedhimself to erect a stained-glasswindowinthechurchinmemoryofhiswife?Theways of God weremysterious. Perhaps Pilarwasmeanttobeabrideof

Christ and this was Hiswayoftellingherso?

Pilar had no vocation,and she knew it well. Shewasmuch too fond of thepleasures and luxuries ofthe world, had missedthem too intensely duringher incarceration to evergive them up willingly.There was no thought ofsubmission in her mind,but rather a teemingmultitude of plans for

vengeance and wildpossibilitiesforescape.

One of the last hadbeentriggeredbythesightof a young man namedVicente de Carranza yLeon. He was a theologystudent at the universitywho in better days hadlived in the neighborhoodand still returned thereevery morning for mass.Vicente was a stalwartyoungmanwithakindand

attractive face, but onewho seldom smiled. Hehad little to smile about.Hisfamilyhadbeenruinedby Don Esteban Iturbidesomeyearsbefore,shortlyafter thedon'smarriage toPilar'smother.

TheCarranzasand theIturbides were hereditaryenemiesinafeudthathadbeen going on for fourgenerations.DonEsteban,it was said, had hired

assassins to kill Vicente'sfather. More, DonEsteban's son, the youngmanwhowastohavewedPilar, had abducted andviolated Vicente's sister,after which the girl hadcommitted suicide. WhenVicente's older brother,Refugio, had challengedDon Esteban's son to aduel for the crime againsttheir sister, then spittedhim on his sword during

thefight,DonEstebanhadused his recently gainedcourt connections to haveRefugio charged withmurder. Refugio's refusalto surrender to the mensent with the guardia civilby Don Esteban for hisarrest had resulted in afight:inwhichthreeofDonEsteban's hirelings werekilled.Refugiohadbecomean outcast, a brigand witha stronghold in the

mountainswhowascalledEl Leon, the lion, after thebig and deadly wildcatsthat roamed the hills, andalso for his mother'ssurname,whichmeant thesame. The hatred ofRefugio de Carranza yLeon for Don Esteban atleastequaledPilar'sown.

ThenexttimePilarsawVicente standing outsidethe church, she walkedquickly toward him. She

outdistanced the duennawho hurried after herthrough the early morningcrowds. As Pilar nearedVicente de Carranza, shelooked into his thin,earnest face then let hershawl slip from hershoulders and slide to theground. Vicente knelt topick it up. She did thesame. She murmured afewwordsasshe took theshawlheoffered.Hegave

herasharplookfromdark,expressiveeyesbeforeheinclinedhisheadinabow,but the young man madeno answer. Pilar turnedawayasherduennajoinedher, and walked into thechurch.

Had Vicenteunderstood her? Therehadbeensolittletimeandno chance to be certain.Didheknowwhoshewas,know anything about her?

Or if he did not know,would he trouble to findout?Ifhefoundout,wouldhe do as she asked, orwould he shrug off theincident as being of noimportance? So muchdepended on that oneshortencounter.

Of course, evensupposing Vicente passedon her plea to his brothertomeet her in the gardenofDonEsteban'shouse in

the midnight hours, therewas no guarantee that ElLeonwouldcome.Itwouldtakea rare combinationofhatred, curiosity, anddaringtobringhim.

The hours of darknesswere slipping past. Pilar'sfootsteps dragged. Shewasweary fromher three-night vigil, yes, but it wasthe waning of hope thatpressed hardest upon hershoulders. She had been

so sure she could evadeDon Esteban's plans forher, so positive she couldbest him. She would do ityet, with or without ElLeon; still, shehadplacedso much dependence onthe aid of Refugio deCarranza that it wasdisheartening to think shemustfindanotherway.

How she wished thatshe were a man! Shewould defy her stepfather

with sword in hand, thendemand an accounting forhermother'sdeathandthelooting of her heritage.What a pleasure it wouldbe to run Don Estebanthrough with a steel bladeandwatchthesneeronhisfeatures give way toshocked surprise. Odious,strutting,vicious littleman!Tobeforcedtobowtohisdictates would be beyondendurance. She would do

anything,anythingatall,toescapeit.

Asoftsoundcamefrombehind her, like the rustleof cloth. She started toturn. There was a single,swift movement, and shewascaught frombehind ina firm grasp, with an armclamped like a band ofToledo steel around herribsandahandsealinghermouth. She drew in herbreath, instinctively

thrustingbackwardwithanelbow.Sheconnectedwiththe folds of a cloak and,under it,abelly likeawallof stone. The hold uponher tightened abruptly,driving the air from herlungs. Her back waspressed tight against ahard male form while thewarmthofhisbodyandthesoft wool of his cloakenvelopedher.

“Be still,” camea voice

quietanddeepagainstherhair. “Asmuchsatisfactionas it might give me todefile a woman of DonEsteban's house on hisown patio tiles, I'm not atpresent in the mood.Provokeme,andthatmaywellchange.”

ItwasElLeon; it couldbe no one else. Anger forhis distrust and his close,hard hold burgeonedinsidePilar,banishingfear.

Sheshookherhead,tryingto dislodge his hand fromhermouth.

“Youwant tospeak,doyou? Now that'sencouraging, for I wantnothingmore than to hearyou. But I would advisethat the words be as softanddulcetasthedove.”

Thehandonhermouthwasliftedbydegrees.Shewaited until it had beencompletelyremovedbefore

she spoke, and the wordswere low and scathing.“Let me go. You'rebreakingmyribs.”

“AndshallIalsolaymylife at your feet all tied upwith ribbons and fadedroses? Thank you, no.Besides, I'm stillentertaining the idea ofreprisal. Intimate, ofcourse.”

“Youwouldn't!”“Tell me why I should

not,” he said, his voicesuddenly losing its softtone, becoming harsh.“The last rape was by anIturbide upon a Carranza.Itmustbeourturn.”

“I'mnotanIturbide,nordo I have anything to dowithyourquarrel!”

“You are in the houseofIturbide,andthereforeofit.” The words wereuncompromising.

“Not of my own will.

Besides, it was once myfather'shouse.”Pilarcouldfeel the firm beat of ElLeon's heart against herback. His implacablestrength, his scentcompounded of wool andhorse, of fresh night airand his own maleness,crept in upon her senses.Shewantedtoturnto lookathim,butcouldnotmove.

“Iamawareofthat,justas I know your name and

stationandrecenthistory.Ihavemade itmybusinessto know, being neither anidiot nor a quixotic fool.What I don't know iswhatyouwantofme.”

He released her waistin a sudden movement,then caught her wrist,spinning her around tofacehim.Pilar,offbalance,put out a hand, bracingagainst his chest. Shecould feel the bands of

muscle that sheathed it,sense the overpoweringsolidity of his presence.She stared up at himwithher voice caughtsomewhere in her throat,stifledbydoubt.

He was tall and broad,his shape exaggerated bythe length and fullness ofhis black wool cloak. Thefeatures of his face werefirm and regular andprecisely molded, sun-

bronzed even in themoonlight, but his eyeswere no more than darksockets shadowed by thewidebrimofhishat.Therewas about him an air ofstringent control coupledwith an edge of danger.There was not a shred ofsympathy.

Refugio de Carranzalooked at the woman heheld, and felt as if a handhad squeezed his heart

inside his chest. He hadcome to this rendezvousout of purest wantoncuriosity, to see whatmanner of woman couldrouse Vicente from hisstudies and persuade himto use methods ofcommunication that werereserved,usually,fordirestemergencies.Hesaw.Shewas beautiful,with the fairskinandhail thatspokeofthe blood of Visigoth

invaders in her veins,coloring thatwas commoninnorthernSpainwherehewas born, but more rarehereintheAndalus.Therewas pride in the tilt of herhead and the set of hershoulders, and alsodetermined bravery.Rememberingthesoftnessofher,thefragranceofherskin and silkiness of herhair against his cheek, hefound it necessary to

subdue a strong need togather her close oncemore. He had thoughthimself invulnerable to theallure of her kind. It wasincensing to be provenwrong.

“Well?” he said whenshe made no sound. “Didyouhaveapurpose,orisita game? Shall I seek torelieve your tedium, orwould it be best if I guardmyback?”

“I—Iwouldneverbetrayyou.”

“Your assurance easesmy mind. That, and myinspection of this finegarden.Icanonlysupposethat if there's an assassinpresent,itmustbeyou.”

“No!”“It's a tryst, then. And

here I ama laggard lover,behind in my embraces.Come and let me tasteyoursweetlips.”

She gave an abruptshake of her head,resisting the pull on herwrist that he still held. “Itpleasesyoutomakefunofme,thoughwhyitshouldIhavenoidea.”

“Why not? There's littleenoughfunintheworldformeandmine.But itwouldpleasememore tobe toldwhyIwasbidtocome.”

“Iwant—”Shestopped,horribly uncertain of the

wisdomofwhatshemeanttosay.

“Yes, you want…?Everyone wantssomething. Shall Icompletewhatyouaretoobashfultosay?”

“No!”shesaidinhaste.“Iwantyou—”

“Iknewit.”She glared at him in

annoyance andembarrassment.

Then she saw,

projecting over oneshoulder, the neck of aguitarthathecarriedslungacross his back by itsshoulder strap. It came toher abruptly that he wasthe serenader she hadheard; the timbre of thevoice, its soft power, wasthe same. The knowledgeeased the doubts insideher, though she could nothave explained why. Shedrewashallowbreathand

spoke quickly and a littletooloudly.

“I want you to abductme.”

His grasp slackened.Pilar twisted her wrist freeand stepped back. Thatshe had surprised himgave her a fleetingsatisfaction.

Itwaspremature.“Byallmeans,”hesaid,

sweeping his hat from hishead as he bowed with

consummate grace. “I amat your service.Shall it benow?”

“I wish it might, but Ihavenomeanstopayyouat this minute. If you willwait and takeme as I ambeingescortedbacktotheconvent, there will be achest of gold, theendowment to be paid inmyname.Youmayhaveitasyourreward.”

His stillness was

complete, like that of astalking cat before itstrikes. When he spoke,the words had a slicingedge. “I am to berewarded? Surely to haveyouwouldbeenough?”

Angry confusionwashedoverherinawaveofheat.“You—Youwon'thave me,” she said. “Youwill deliver me at once tomyauntinCordoba.”

“Will I?” The question

wassoftlysuggestive.Theman in frontofher

had once been a grandeeofwealth and title,with allthe instincts and mannersofhisclass.Nowhewasabandit, an outcast whomade his way by preyingonhisfellowmen.HewasEl Leon, a leader ofthieves and outlaws whocouldonlyhavegainedhisposition by being strongerand harder than the men

heled.Howcouldshetrusthim?

Howcouldshenot?“You must help me,

RefugiodeCarranza!”shecried, stepping towardhimandclutchingtheedgesofhiscloakinherhands.“I'msaying thisallwrong,but Ihad no idea how it wouldbe.Imeantnoinsult;Ionlythought that you wouldhave use for gold. I don'tdoubt that if you agree to

doasIask,itwillbeforthesake of striking a blowagainst Don Esteban. Itwould be a great injury tohis pride to have hisstepdaughter abductedfromunderhisnose.Andifit happens in the opencountryside, as thecaravan takes me to theconvent, there will be nowayhecanhideit,nowayhecandenyit.”

He said nothing for a

long moment. Finally, hespoke. “Don Estebanhimself will be with thecaravan?”

“So I understand. Hewants tomakecertain thatI am safely locked awayagain.”

“You realize,” he said,lifting his hands to closethemonherclutching fistsand loosen their hold,clasping them withimpersonal firmness, “that

what you ask will meanyour ruin? There isn't aperson in Spain who willbelieve that your chastitysurvivedthisabduction,nomatter howshort the spanof time you remain in mycompany. The enmitybetween my family andthat of your stepfather istoowell known for it tobeotherwise.”

She lifted her chin asshemet the dark glitter of

his eyes. “I don't care, ifyou don't. I have alreadybeen compromised, somore talk can't harm me.”Shetoldhimquicklyofherstepfather'sscheme.

Refugio listened to theyoung woman in front ofhim with only half hisattention. He had heardsomethingofwhatshewassaying already, and knewenoughofDonEsteban toguess the rest. He was

much more aware of theclearsoundofhervoice,ofthe translucent purity ofher skin in the moonlightand the flashing life in hernight-black eyes. The feelofherslenderhandsinhis,the memory of her curvesagainst him, clouded histhoughts, creating insidehim a slow-growing needto know more of her.Aligned with it, however,was compunction as

uncomfortable as it wasinevitable.

“That may be how itwas,”hesaid,“butwillyouraunt believewhat you sayandtakeyouin?”

“Ibelieveshewill,prayshewill.”

“Evenifsheshouldgiveyoushelter,willsheprotectyou from whatever DonEsteban may doafterward?”

“I can only trust that

she may. There's no oneelse.”

“Not even the church,theconvent?”

The tenor of hisquestions, the evidencethey gave of his swiftconsiderationofherplight,gavePilarhope.Hervoicerang as she answered.“Never. I was not born tobeanun,andrefusetobeforced to become one atDonEsteban'sbidding.”

“Andwillyoubecontentto be a spinster, adowerless female spurnedby men who want a wifethey can be certain ischaste?”

“If they are foolsenoughtowantmeonlyformy money or judge mefrom no more than rumor,then I have no use forthem.”

“Proudly spoken, butpridewon't keep your feet

warm on a long winter'snight.”

The doubts heexpressedweremorethanfamiliar to Pilar. However,she had counted the costof what she was about todo already and would notturn back. She lifted herchin,staringhimstraightintheface.“Willyoutakemeornot?”

“Oh, yes,” Refugio,Carranza y Leon said

softly as he watched herthere in the moonlitstillness.“I'lltakeyou.”

2

THE CARAVAN TAKINGPILAR to the conventwasnot a large one. Itconsisted of the old andcumbersome carriage inwhich she was shut upwith her duenna, DonEsteban cantering

alongsideuponanArabianstallion, and eight lackeysriding guard, four beforeand four behind. It wouldhave been even smaller,Pilar was sure, but forconsiderations of safety.Don Esteban was not acoward,butneitherwashea fool. He muttered aboutthe thieves and brigandswhoprowledtheroadsandhisfearsforthegold,initscheststrappedontheback

of the carriage beside thetrunk holding Pilar'smeager possessions.Regardless,shesuspectedthattheoutridershadbeenhired against his enemy,Refugio de Carranza, forthere was no safety fromEl Leon once they beganto climb into the hills. Herstepfather's vigilancetroubled Pilar, but therewas nothing she could doabout it. She could only

trust that Refugio knewDon Esteban's habits andwould take them intoconsideration as he madehisplanofattack.

Don Esteban hadinsisted on an early startand permitted few stopsalong theway.Hewantedto get this journey behindhim. If they made goodtime, theywouldreachthehill village where theconvent was located

before dark. Then, after anight spent at the villageinn, he could return thefollowing day to Seville.Even if he had not beenwary of trespassingoverlong on El Leon'sterritory,hehadnotimetowaste. He had receivedorders from the king'sminister to proceedimmediately to Cadiz,whereaship forLouisianawasmakingreadytosail.

Thecarriage joltedandbounced along the dusty,rutted roads. Thecountryside around them,which in summer was asoft green highlighted bytheredofpoppiesandtheyellowofwattle, laybrownand barren under thewinter sky. Now and thenthere were the grayshapes of olive trees or apatch of silver-greenweeds, but the only other

color was in the hills thatspread in long sweeps ofblue and lavender againstthehorizon.Nowandthenthey passed a farmerplodding along, leading adonkey piled high withsticks for firewood, or elseaboyherdingafewsheeporgoats.Scarcelyanythingelse moved except thewind blowing over plowedfields and stirring up thelittle whirlwinds of loose

soilknownasdustdevils.The afternoon was

waning. They had turnedoff the main road sometime ago to follow a trackwindingintothehills.Soonthe spires of the villagechurch would appear, thechurch that sat beside theconvent. Where was ElLeon?

He had given his wordhe would come. Pilardared not let herself think

he might fail her, but shecould not prevent herselffrom drawing aside theleather carriage curtainevery fewminutes to peeroutthewindow.

“What is it, señorita?”the duenna asked at last.“Issomethingamiss?”

Pilar let thecurtain fall.“Not at all. I'm just . . .anxious to catch sight oftheconvent.”

“Youwillseeenoughof

it, I'm sure,” the womananswered with an edge ofirritationinhervoice.

“Only the inside,” Pilarsaid, her own tonesubdued.

Her role of quietsubmissiveness wasbeginningtowearonPilar.She longed to shout herdefiance and announceher approaching freedomto the woman who hadbeensettowatchoverher.

She could not permitherself that luxury. Shemustbearwiththerestrainta little longer before shecould escape DonEsteban.Howsurprisedhewould be.His egowas sogreat that he could notconceiveofher findingthewill,much less themeans,to do so. How she wouldlove to see his face whenhe realized he could notbendhertohiswill.

She had doneeverything she could thinkof to ensure that all wentwell. The day gown shewore was of wool in agray-blue color withoutstripesorfigures,rufflesorlace to attract attention,and her cape waschestnut-brown, trimmedonlywith a bit of braiding.Bothweresuchasbefitteda novice, but they werealsowarm.Morethanthat,

shehad left off her cul deParis, thecrinolinedbustleused to add fullness toskirts, since itmightmakeridinghorsebackawkward.Her shoes were of sturdyleather and withoutbuckles,incaseshehadtowalk over rough ground.Her hair was perfectlyinnocentof ahairdresser'sskill since there had beennoopportunity to have theservices of one either in

the convent or in DonEsteban's house.She haddonenomorethandrawitbackintoaneatknotatthecrownofherhead.Atleastitwould not be a bother ifshehadtomovehastily.

Thecaravanroundedabend.Directly in front of itwas a flock of sheep. Thecoachman shouted andswore, applying the brakeas he sawed on the lines.The animals leaped here

andthere,bawlinginalarmasthecarriagerockedtoastop in the middle of theflock. A dog of uncertainbreed nipped at the heelsof the milling sheep,barking in excitement andthrowing looks at hismaster,theshepherd.Thislastwas an oldman, bentand hobbling and carryinga crook, and dressed infaded rags and a hoodedcloak. He crept along in

themidstoftheseaofdirtywool, but seemed to payno heed to sheep or dog.He appeared not to hearthe shouts of thecoachman nor thecommandsofDonEstebanthat he clear the way. Intruth, there was no placefor him to move his flock,for thehillsides rosesteeponeitherside.

The carriage horsesreared and whinnied,

jerking the carriage backand forth. Don Estebanscreamed out an order tohisguards,whohad fallenback beside the strandedvehicle,andtheymovedtothe heads of the carriagehorses to calm them.Pilar's stepfather thenplowed through the sheeptoward theoldman.For amoment Pilar thought hemeanttoridetheshepherddown,but insteadhe lifted

the short whip of braidedleather he always carriedand slashed it across thebent shoulders. The oldman cringed, ducking hishead as he turned. DonEsteban raised the whipagain.

The braided leathercamewhistlingdownoncemore, but it never struck.The shepherdstraightened, catching theslashingthongandwhirling

itaroundhiswrist.Hegavea hard jerk, and Pilar'sstepfather was draggedhalf out of the saddle. Atthe same time the oldshepherd's hood fell back,revealing a harshlyhandsomefacesetinlinesof aversion, and dark,windblownhair.

“Carranza!” DonEstebancried.Hecastthewhip from him, staringwild-eyed down at the

shepherd. Abruptly, hecalled back over hisshoulder. “Kill the girl! Killher,Isay!Atonce!”

“ElLeon!ElLeon!”ThecrycamefromDon

Esteban's guards, but itwas picked up by men inthe hillsides above thecarriage. Pilar heard thefull-throated shouts thatseemed to ring from theskies themselves, saw themen of Refugio de

Carranza'sbandappearasfromnowhere,calling theirleader's name. Her heartleapedwithsickeningforceinside her. Her handtrembled as she clutchedthecurtain.Itwashere,thetime of her abduction. Ithadcome.Itwasnow.

There was one of herstepfather'sguardsmovingtoward the carriage door.Hewasdrawinghissword,though he was hampered

by the frightened sheepeddying back and forthunder his horse's feet. Itwas the lackey Carlos,Pilar saw, the man whohad invaded herbedchamber on DonEsteban's order. As shestared at him, the wordsDon Esteban had calledout took on meaning. Herstepfatherhadorderedherdeath. He meant to seeher killed rather than

allowingher to fall into thehandsofhisenemy.

She looked around herin frantic haste, searchingforsomething,anything, touse to defend herself.Therewasnothing.Acrossfromher,ontheotherseat,her duenna was gabblingherprayers,hereyeswideinafacegonecolorless.

Herstepfathercriedoutagaininstridentoutrage,acry that was suddenly

broken off. There was notime to look. The lackeyCarlos was surgingthroughthesheep,leapinghishorseoveralargerain.He reached out with hissword, thrusting throughthe window. Pilar flungherself backward as theblade slashed through theleather curtain. Shesnatchedupa fat carriagecushion,andas theswordcame slicing inside again,

deflected the sharp bladewith the thick, soft weight.Downfeatherseruptedintothe air, swirling, drifting inawhitecloud.

The sword did notpenetrate the carriageagain.Outside,therecamethe clang and scrape ofsteel on steel.Amanwitha hooded cloak hangingdownhisbackblockedtheview with his broadshoulders. In an instant

therewasagaspinggrunt,thenthebodyofthelackeyCarlos tumbled from hishorse as El Leon whirledaway.

Therewereshoutsandyells from every quarternow,followedbythesoundof hoofbeats as a numberof the lackeys in escortracedaway in retreat.Thecarriage rocked as a manclambered up its side. Atthe same time there came

the sound of a heavyweight falling on the roof,asifoneofRefugio'sbandhad leaped from the rocksabove. Blows thuddedfrom the direction of thecoachman's box. Sheepbleated and the dogbarked.Mencursed.Shotsrang out. The duennascreeched and clutchedher rosary as the carriagejerked back and forth withthe plunging of the team.

As Pilar reached for thecarriage door, the duennasnatchedatherarm.

“Whereareyougoing?”she cried, clutching Pilar'swrist. “Come back. You'llbekilled,orworse!”

Pilar shook off thewoman'shold.Shepushedthe door panel open andeased outside, using theiron step as a viewingplatform as she clungtightly to the swinging

door.Thenoisehadbegunto

quiet. The coachman wasbeing held at pistol point.Four of the eight guardswere being trussed up,seated with their backstogether. Carlos lay stilland unmoving with asplotchof blooddarkeninghis ripped coat, while theother threehadapparentlytaken to their heels andwere nowhere to be seen.

Don Esteban was facedownintheroadinfrontofthe carriage, with thesheep dog sniffing withwrinklednoseathisbeard.

There was no time toseemore.Therecamethethud of hoofs behind her.Asshe turnedherhead,aman mounted onhorseback swept down onher. El Leon caught herwaist in a hard grip andheavedherfromherperch.

Surprise drove a cry fromher as she was liftedacross the horse's neckand settled in front of hercaptor.

“This wasn'tnecessary!”shegasped.“Iwouldhavejoinedyou.”

“It must appear anabduction indeed, for yoursake. Your duennawill beyourwitness.”

The words were hard-edged with irony. She

turnedherheadtolookupintothefaceofElLeon.Itsstrongplanesweresetandstern,givingnothingaway.Hiseyes,shesaw,wereabright-faceted gray andburned with clearintelligence and fierce,exacting determination. Awaveofdoubtmovedoverher,oneswiftlyfollowedbydismay. To hide the last,she quickly turned herhead.

Before her on theground was the sprawledformofDonEsteban.Shemoistened her lips beforeasking,“Ishe...dead?”

“No, thanks to Satan'sown luck,” Refugioanswered. “He'sunconscious, since he fellon his headwhen I pulledhimfromthesaddle.”

“Youhatehimsomuch,but failed to kill himbecause he wasn't

conscious?”“I prefer him to know

whostrikestheblow.”The horse under them

was restive, sidling,tossing its head. Refugiode Carranza controlled itwith ironmuscles that shecould feel in his thighsunder her and in the hardarms clasped around her.Hervoicewastightasshesaid, “It's a courtesy thatcouldmeanyourdeath.”

“Shall I letyoudowntofinishhim?”

“Ihavenoweapon.”“I'lllendyoumysword.”The temptation was

great, but she knew thedeed was beyond her.“Thankyou,butno.”

“Courtesy or fault, youshare it, then,” he pointedout.

“Yes.”“Shallwego?”The question was

grave, without haste, as ifthey would linger as longasitwasherwish,asifhewasgivingher thechanceto draw back, to return tothe carriage if she sodesired.

She did not dare putthe matter to the test.Quite suddenly she couldnotbeartotarryaninstantlonger.

“Yes,” she said with abreathless feeling in her

chest,“letusgo.”He wheeled the horse

withashoutedordertohismen. There were onlythree of them, thoughbefore she would havesworn there was a dozen.They leaped to theirleader's bidding, one tyingdown the last strapon thepack saddle of a muleloaded with Pilar's trunkand the money chest,anothergatheringthereins

of the extra horses, whilethe last jerked the finalknot tight on the ropeholding the capturedguards. In an instant thethree had mounted andthey were all thunderingaway from the strandedcarriage. The duenna,putting her head out thewindow, screamedinvective mixed with shrill,despairing pleas afterthem. They did not look

back.They rode in grim

silence formileuponmile,threading intricate,branching paths throughthe hills and avoiding allhabitation. At first Pilarexpected them to regainthemain road toCordoba,the fastest way to reachher aunt. She soonrealizedthatthecautionoftheir passage forbade it.She began, instead, to

make calculations ofdistance and time in herhead, wondering how latein the night it would bebefore she was with heraunt.Sheknewthatitwasa two-day journey fromSeville to Cordoba bycarriage under the best ofconditions. Horsebackwould be considerablyfaster,butshehadnorealideahowmuchthewindinghillroadswouldaddtothe

journey. She finally cameto the conclusion that itwould be dawn at bestbefore she reached herdestination.

The track theywereonseemed to be gettingrougher and steeper, as iftheywereheadingintothemountains instead ofmaking their way backtoward the valley of theGuadalquivirRiverandtheCordoba road which

followed it. Moreover, withthe overcast sky andlateness of the evening,she could not tell whethertheywereeventravelinginthe right direction. Thedoubtanddismayshehadfelt earlier returned toplague her.What had shedone? The refrain beat inhermindwiththerhythmofthe horse's hoofs. Whathadshedone?

The arms of the man

who held her were warm,buttheirenclosingstrengthfelt like a hold that mightwell be unbreakable. Shewas aware of warringinstinctsinsideher;onebidher to fight free, while theother urged her to accepthis protection. She couldnot understand her ownambivalence.WhatwasElLeon doing, except whatshehadasked?Therewasnothing wrong in that. In

addition, he had slain themanwhowas trying to killher, and for this shemustbegrateful. If it seemed inretrospect that he hadagreed too readily towhatshe proposed, there wasthechestofgoldbouncingalong on the mule withthem for an explanation.Shewassafe;howcoulditbe otherwise? Whatpossible reason would hehave for betraying her

trust?There could be no

reason, and yet she couldnotrelax.Topermitherselfto accept his support, toleanagainsthisbody,wasfar too intimate a gesture.Shedidnotknowhim,norhe her. He seemed toohardanduncompromising,too formidable a man, forsuch a thing to even bepossible.Themilespassedand her muscles burned

andachedwiththeeffortofremaining erect within hisgrasp,yetshestill refusedtoyield.

To distract herself sheturned her attention to themen who rode with them.The communicationbetween them had beenbrief, the causticcomments of men whokneweach other and theirduties too well to needlong speeches. There had

been enough banter,however, to give Pilarsome idea of their names.The one on her left hadbeen called Enrique, shethought. He appeared inhis early thirties and hishair was light brown andwildly curling. His eyeswere the brown that wasnear black, the chocolateeyesofAndalusia, likeherown. He had no greatheight, being hardly more

than two inches taller thanshe was herself, and hisformwasslight.Hismouthwas outlined by a thinmustache that he touchedoften, almost like atalisman,andashecaughther glance he gave her asmile that was drollycheerful. Of them all, heseemed mostapproachable.

On the right was anolder man addressed as

Baltasar,whowasbearlikeinsizeandgruffinmanner.His face was craggy, witha deep line between hisbrows and a series ofpitted scars in his face,perhaps from smallpox.His eyes had the weary,faded look of a man whohad seen much,experienced much, andmost of it out in theweather. The gaze heturnedonherasshe rode

with Refugio was shrewdyettroubled.

Following in the rear,leading the extra mounts,wasatallandlankyyoungman in his twenties whorodewithhishatbouncingon his back, held by athong around his neck, sothat his dark hair floppedonto his forehead. Hissaddle was odd, with ahigh pommel anddecorations of silver

medallions in a style Pilarhad never seen before;still,hesatuponhishorseasifhehadbeenbornatagallop. Of an age withRefugio,justoverthirty,hislight blue eyes were clearand watchful, though hecarried with him an air ofrecklessness that vergedonbravado.HewascalledCharro, if she had caughtthe word correctly, onesignifying some kind of

horseman, apparently nothisrealname.

Refugio had nottroubled to introduce Pilartothesemen.Shedoubtedit was an oversight, sinceshewasbeginningtoknowsomething of him. It wasmorelikelythathethoughtthelesssheknew,thelessshecould tell.She tried toconvince herself that itdidn't matter, that shewould never see any of

them again after today.Regardless, she found theprecautionannoying.

It was a relief whenRefugio called a halt. Itappeared, from the waythemeninstantlybegantotransfer the saddles fromthe spent horses to thefreshmounts,oneof themher stepfather's whiteArabian, that the respitewould not be long. Pilarhad done more than

appraise El Leon'sfollowers: she was readywith a suggestion for herownsatisfaction.

AsRefugioloweredherto the ground and swungdown to stand beside her,she gestured toward oneoftheextramounts.“Icanride now, and relieve youand your horse of myweight.”

“You're far from heavy.Besides, there's no ladies'

saddle, and these brutesarelikelytoshyatflappingskirts.”

“I'm sure I canmanage,”sheinsisted.

“How could I face youraunt if you were thrown?No, I can't allow it; I havemyreputationtoconsider.”

She glanced at himfrom under her lashes,wondering at theundercurrents she sensedin his answer. There was

stringency in it, and alsodeft reassurance for herthat could only bedeliberate.Added to thosethingswasanalertness,asif he stood ready to dealwith any resistance shemightraise.

“Really, I'll be quitesafe,”shesaid.

Hewasquietamomentbefore he smiled. “Haveyou been souncomfortable?”

“Not at all, but surelyyouwere?”

“How can you think it?Maidens who fail to kickandscreamdon'tcomemywayeveryday.”

There was that flick ofironyagain.Hehadfeltherapprehension. He was aman of acute perceptions;she must remember that.Being perceptive did not,of course, make himtrustworthy. This she

wouldalsoremember.“You would not—” she

began,thenstopped.Refugio, studying the

pure lines of DonEsteban's stepdaughter'sfeatures and the gravelook in her large, lash-fringed dark eyes,watchingthewindteaseata strand of her hair thecolorofoldgoldcoins, feltanunaccustomedqualm.Ithad been years since he

had traded banter with awoman, or at least awoman such as PilarSandoval y Serna. Shewas beautiful andintriguingly willful and hadmore than her share ofcourage.Therehadbeenatime when he might haveapproached her withgallantry and wit,serenades and a touch ofreverence. Perhaps shewould have responded

with smiles. But that waslong ago, and he had notimeforregrets.

“I would not what?” hesaidabruptly.“Betrayyou?I couldmake you a prettyspeech full of solemnoaths and protests ofhonor,butwhyshouldyoubelieve it? Brigands havebeen known to lie.Besides, you are right tobe on your guard.We arenot headed toward

Cordoba.”“What?” Her eyes

widened as shock rippledalong her nerves. “Butmyauntwillexpect toseemeby late this evening, or atleast by an hour or twopast midnight. I—I wouldnot like to disappoint her,since she went to greateffort to send word of mywelcome when FatherDomingocontactedheronmybehalf.”

“I believeDon Estebanknows that you onceintended to seek refugewith your aunt?” At hernod,Refugiowenton. “Hewillalsoknowandfeartheinfluencesucharespectedlady may bring to bear tohave an inquirymade intothe circumstances of yourmother's death and yourown disinheritance.There's little that he won'tdo to prevent you from

persuading your aunt tothat course. Assuming heregains his senses asexpected, hewill nodoubtrideatonce toCordoba tointerceptyou.Itwillbebestif you tarry along the waylong enough for him tothink youmay have foundothersanctuary.”

“You mean, I shouldstaywithyou?Overnight?”

“Orlonger.Don'ttellmeyouareconcernedforyour

goodname? I thoughtyouabandonedthatinSeville.”

“I did not leave behindmycommonsense!”

“Your common sensetells you that I mean youharm?”

Therewasastinginthesoftness of his tone, onethat sounded awarning inPilar's mind. At the sametime,shesensedthecloseattention Refugio's menwere paying to the

confrontation. The threemaintained attitudes ofindifference as, their taskscompleted, they loungedagainst a tree or leanedwithashoulderproppedona horse's flank. Yet theymade no unnecessarysound to draw attention tothemselves,hadnothingtosaytoeachother.

Pilar met Refugio'sgaze,herownunwaveringthough her heartbeat

inside her chest wasuneven. “The fact is,” shesaid, “it was you yourselfwho mentioned thepossibility.”

He lifted a brow, hisfeaturesrelaxingafraction.“So I did. I didn't think itmadeanimpression.”

“Youthoughtwrong.”“Mymistake. IbelieveI

also explained why Irefrained. My mood is thesameas inDonEsteban's

garden, which is to say,disinclined. I'll tell you if itchanges.”

His gaze swung to hismen,hardeningashesawtheir suspended interest.“What?” he said, his voicelikeasoftlash.“Areyousobored you're reduced toeavesdropping? I have aremedy.Mountup!”

The others groanedand muttered as theyobeyed, but there was

none who was slow inmoving. Pilar stood still.She had not agreed to gowith El Leon, and wasincensed that her consentwastakenforgranted.Butwhat else could she do?To wander these hillsalone, without means ofprotection ortransportation, would bemore dangerous than thealternative. Besides, herpredicament was

something she hadbroughtonherownhead.

Refugio de Carranzaswung into the saddle ofthe white Arabian, thenwalked it to where Pilarstood. He leaned down tooffer her his hand. Shegazed up at him for longseconds with mutinouseyes, thensheputoutherhand and lifted her foot toplace it on his boot. Heclaspedherwristanddrew

her up before him in onesmooth, effortless motion.His arms closed aroundher once more. As shesettled into place theymoved off down the trackwith the others followingbehindthem.

Dark came, closingaroundthemasiftheyhadridden into a dense blackfog. There was neither amoon nor starshine toguide them, due to the

overcast heavens. A fitfulwind arose, whipping intotheir faces. After a shortwhile it began to rain. Itwas hardly more than amist,butitwassteadyandhadawindblownchill.Thedroplets swept into theireyes and dripped fromtheir chins. Pilar huddledintoher cape,holding it atthe neck with her armsinsidetokeepthewetfromseeping to her skin. It

madeitdifficulttobalance,andnowandthenshewasjostled back againstRefugio. However, shealways struggled boltuprightagain.

Finally he breathed asoft imprecation andcaughtherwaist,draggingher under his heavy cloakand against his chest. Asshe stiffened and tried topull away, he spoke withimpatience in her ear. “Be

still, before we both getsoaked.”

It was only practical toobey. She sank her teethinto her lower lip asmuscles, cramped forhours in her unnaturalposition,relaxed.Atremor,totally involuntary, ranalongherthighs.

His arm tightened ather waist. “To mortify theflesh for the sake of anideaistheactofafanatic.

Areyousureyoushouldn'tbe a nun, counting beadswhile kneeling on beansand thinking of glory? Itisn't too late to repent ofthismomentarymadness.”

“Oh, I think it is,” sheanswered.“Anyway,Idon'trepent.”

“Then forget pride andlean on me. I promise I'llnottakeadvantageofit.”

“I never thought youwould,” she said, turning

her head slightly as if tolook at him, though shecould not see him in thedarkness. She could notthink how he followed thetrack ahead of them,unlesshecouldsee in thedark or else knew it as apeasant knew his tinypieceofland.

“Didn't you? Possiblyit's true you have novocation.”

“What do you mean?”

shedemanded.“Nunsshouldn'tlie.”She was silent a

moment, then said, “Areyou always so quick toaccuse?”

“Youthinkmeunjust?”“There could be other

reasons for keeping somedistancebetweenus.”

“Suchas?”“A disinclination to

burdenyou.”“You are all

consideration.”Stungbythedrynessof

his tone, shewenton, “Orit might be the lingeringsmellofsheep.”

Somewhere nearby,Pilar heard the snort of amuffledlaugh.

“I make you myapologies,” Refugio said,“but some things areinescapable.”

Thesoundofhisvoice,matter-of-fact, even

shaded with humor, wasoddlycalming.Sheputherarm along his, which wasclamped around her,easing back a degreemore against him as sheagreed.“Soitseems.”

“Precisely. Sleep if youcan.”

Shegaveafaintnod.She did not sleep,

however,didnot feeleventhe slightest drowsiness.Shewasstillpainfullyalert

and on edge when theyrode into the yard of asmallstonehousebuiltintoahillside.

Yellow lamplight spilledout as the door wasopened, shafting throughthe swirling mist of rain,outlining the shape of ayoung woman. The oldermanofthegroup,Baltasar,called out to the womanandsheanswered, thoughboth kept their voices low.

Refugio swung from thesaddle, then reached tocatch Pilar's waist, liftingherdown.Sheslidintohisarms, gripping hisshoulders with convulsivefingers until the crampseased from her legs. Shethoughtofaskingwherehehadtakenher,butwastoodoubtful of a satisfactoryanswer,andtoowearyandmiserablywet tomake theeffort.

Refugio turned hertoward the doorway. Theother woman, young andwithanxiouseyes,steppedbacktoletherpassinside.There was a call fromoutside for Refugio. Hereleased Pilar and movedbackintotheyardagain.

“I'm Isabel,” the youngwomansaidtoPilarinsoft,hesitant tones. “You mustbeworntothebone.Cometo the fire and dry

yourself.”Gratitude for the

consideration behind theofferwelledupinsidePilar.She moved toward theblaze on the blackenedstone hearth that took upthe back wall of the one-room house, holding outher hands to the warmth.Over her shoulder shegave her name andmurmured herappreciation.

“I have some soup,”Isabelsaid.Sheclosedtheopendoorandmovedwithlight steps to swing acaldron over the fireplaceflames. The soup sloshedover,sizzlingonthecoals.Isabel seemed not tonotice. Giving Pilar aglance from thecornersofher eyes, she went on, “Itwillbehotsoon.”

“That soundswonderful.” Pilar was

ravenous, she realized,thoughshehadnotknownit until that moment. Thetwowomensmiledateachother, though withconstraint. Isabel wasslight of figure andattractive in a piquant,gamine fashion withoutbeing actually pretty. Herhairwasasoft,darkbrowncloud caught back with awornribbonjustbehindherears, and her eyes, the

colorofspringgrass,weretilted at the corners. Withher quick, impulsivemovements and tentativemanner, she seemedsomehow kittenish andvulnerable.

The stone house,perhapsonceashepherd'shut, was older and largerthan it appeared from theoutside.Thoughtherewasonlyonemain room, therewere curtained alcoves on

either side of the fireplacewhichseemed toserveassleeping quarters. Thefloor of earth was packedto stone hardness bygenerations of feet. Theceiling was black with thesmoke of countless fires,and from the exposedrafters hung strings ofdriedonionsandgarlicandalsosmallhamsdry-cured,withthepig'shairstilluponthem. The smells of these

things hung in the air,blendingwiththearomaofham and bean soup. Thefurnishings were meager,onlyatableinthecenterofthe room under a hanginglanternandapairofcrude,handmadebenchseatsoneithersideofthefireplace.

Isabel stirred the soupwithanironladle.Thetwowomen did not speakagain, though Isabel'sgaze, wide and

speculative, returnedmorethanoncetoPilar.

Behind them the doorsprang open again tocrash against the wall.Isabel gave a cry andswungaround.PilarturnedfromthefiretoseeRefugiostriding inside carrying thebrass-bound chest holdingthe endowment to theconvent.Hesetitdownontherough,handmadetableandflungbackthelid,then

tippedthechestsothatthecontentsspilledacrossthetabletop. With his handsbraced on either side, hestared across the room atPilar.

The chest was three-quarters empty. The coinsit contained were not goldatall,butthinnestsilver.

“Pledges are cheap,”Refugio said, his eyesglittering as he stared atherabovethechest,“andI

shouldhavebeenwarned,considering that I knewfrom where you came,Pilar Sandoval y Serna.Still, if this is therecompenseyoupromised,itmaybe I prefer toexactmyown.”

3

“IDIDN’TKNOW!IswearIdidn'tknow.”

Pilar moved slowly toface Refugio across thecenter table. She spokethe truth, yet felt as guiltyas if she had deliberatelyset out to cheat the

brigandleader.Sheshouldhave known, she thought,should have guessed thatthe generosity of DonEsteban's offer was not inhis nature. No doubt hehad meant to present themeager endowment to themother superior of theconvent in private,representing himself asacting for Pilar's deadmother to remove allblame from himself. Pilar

would naturally have beenleft in ignorance of hisparsimony until it was toolate.

“I might believe you iftherewasmoonlightandadarkgarden,”Refugiosaid,“but unfortunately for you,there'sneither.”

“Why should I lie?Therewasneverachancethat Iwouldhave thegoldformyown.”

“But the promise of it

was such a powerfulincentive, or so youseemedtothink.”

Thewordshadaslicingedgeofsarcasmundertheaccusation. His face,enameled blue and yellowby the flickering firelight,was like an image carvedin bronze, impenetrable,unrelenting. Rainwatertrickled from his hair,tracking slowly down thefrown lines between his

eyes.Pilar moistened her

lips. The followers of ElLeon — Enrique, Charro,and Baltasar, who hadenteredthehutbehindhim— avoided her gaze,staring at the floor, at theceiling, everywhere exceptat her and their leader.They eased around thetwo of them there at thetable, heading toward thefire, where they held their

hands to the flames andpretendedgreat interest inthe warming soup. Theonly person who watchedthem was Isabel, whoseeyes were wide andstaring in her pale face.Pilar's voice was strainedas she spoke. “It wouldhave been stupid topromise something that Icouldnotsupply.”

“Yes, unless you didn'texpecttobefoundoutuntil

you were safely with youraunt.”

“I wouldn't stoop to sobaseatrick!”

“You are of DonEsteban's house. Whyshouldyounot?”

“And you are a nobleoutcasttowhomgoldisaninsult,” she returned withheat. “Why should youcaresomuch?”

“Though your charmsare considerable, I did not

risk the lives of the menwho ride with me for theirsake, nor for a few paltrypiecesofsilver.Werequiregold for horses, for foodand shelter, and for thebribes which can, atcarefully chosen times,unlockprisondoors.”

“I'm sorry if you weredisappointed,but I tellyouIhadnothing todowith it!There's nothing, not asingle thing, that I can do

to change whathappened.”

He watched her for along instant. When hespoke, his words wereedged with feathery quiet.“Perhaps there'ssomethingIcando.”

Isabel took a stepforward. “Refugio,” shewhispered,“don't.”

The leader of thebrigandsdidnoteven lookattheothergirl.“Iwonder,”

hesaidtoPilar,“whatyouraunt would pay to haveyou delivered to her,healthy, happy, and, ohyes,untouched?”

Pilar could feel herheart jarring inside herchest. “You mean to holdme for ransom? Howsordid.”

“Isn't it? And ignoble.But I never pretended tobe otherwise. It's youwhotook me for a figure of

tragedy, a righter ofwrongs.”

Isabel'sfaceturnedredand tears rose toshimmerin her eyes. “Oh, Refugio,don'tsaysuchthings,”shecried in dismay. “Why areyoudoingthis?Why?”

Pilar, distracted by theother girl's distress, spokebaldlytothemaninfrontofher. “Apparently I made amistake. As formy aunt, Ihavenoideawhatshewill

orwill notdo formysake.Youwillhavetoaskher.”

“My next objective, Iassureyou.”

He broke off as Isabelmoved closer to clutch hisarm with white-tippedfingers, drawing hisattention.Thegirlspokeona quick, indrawn breath.“You'redoingthisbecauseyouwantthiswomanhere.You want her, instead ofme.”

Refugio looked at theothergirlandnotamusclemovedinhisface,norwasthereatraceofemotiononthe silvery surface of hiseyes. Holding her piteous,beseeching gaze, hespoke a single word overhisshoulder.“Baltasar?”

The older man wasalready moving to Isabel,puttinghisarmaroundher.“Comeaway,my love,”hemurmured. “It will be all

right.”“Oh, Baltasar,” Isabel

said as she spun aroundand caught the big man'sshoulders in a convulsivegrip. “Make him stop.Refugiodoesn'tcareaboutthe gold; he'll only give itaway. It'sher, I know it is.He'll do something terriblebecauseofher.”

“Hush,” was the onlyreply as the burly outlawturnedherandwalkedher

backtowardthefire.“Hushnow.”

Refugio, swung withdeliberation back towardPilar. She met his gazewithout flinching,butcouldsee nothing except herown reflection in its wintrysurface.

He said, “You were, Ibelieve, anxious to beunitedwithyouraunt.Thatis nowmy dearest desire.Isn'titwonderfulhowthese

things work themselvesout?”

She had not realizedshewasholdingherbreathuntil she heard his brisktone. It was an effort tocontrol the rise and fall ofher chest without beingobvious. Her voice wastight as she agreed, “Yes,isn'tit?”

“Iwould tell you it'smysole desire — but thatwould be to assume you

are concerned. You arenot,ofcourse.”Therewasagratingedgeofmockeryinhisvoice.

“No,”Pilarsaid.He pushed away from

the table. “I thought not.You had better eatsomethingandtrytosleep.We ride for Cordoba atmid-morning.”

“Morning!But I thought—”

He swung back on her

so quickly that the hemofhis wet cloak made apattern of water dropletson the floor. “Yes? Youthought?”

“Haven't thingschanged? Aren't you . . .anxioustoseemyaunt,toarrangematters?”

“Itwillwait.”His attitude of barely

contained impatienceshaded with menacegrated on her nerves, but

sherefusedtobecowed.“Icouldn't sleep. I would assoonrideon.”

“Into possible dangerfrom your stepfather'shirelings?”

“It seems no lessdangerousheretome.”

Light seeped into hiseyes, making them shinewithcoolamusement.“Youareconcerned,then.”

“It seems to me thatthat'swhat youwant,” she

said tightly. “I don't knowyou well, hardly at all infact, but I'm beginning tothinkthatyouusuallyhavea reason for what you do.That being so, I have aright to be wary until Idiscover what you intendtowardme.”

“In light of what Isabeljustsaid?”

She lifted her chin, hereyes steady on his. “Andyourownthreats,yes.”

“And do you think,” hesaid pleasantly as herounded the end of thetable and moved towardher, “that your warinesswouldstopme if Idecidedtoapproachyou?”

It was a test of nerve,that slow advance. Shewould not move, Pilarthought, as he camenearerandnearer,walkingwith the long-limbedgraceof perfect physical

condition and musclesoiled with constant effort.She didn't care if hewalked over her, shewouldnotmove.Hermindsought here and there foran answer to the questionhe had asked. She couldnotfindone,butnomatter,she would not move.Behind her, the clink ofdishes stopped. Isabel'ssoft murmurs of distressdied away. The only

soundswerethecrackleofthe fire and the lightdrumming of the rainoverhead.

Pilar had little defenseagainst the bandit leader.She could fight, but givenhis superior strength, hewould overpower her inshort order. She wassurrounded by his friendsand companions, mentrained to do his biddingwithout question and who,

equally without question,wouldstandasidewhilehetookhischosenpleasures.Of her own free will shehad placed herself in thepowerofElLeon. Itwouldtake an extraordinarycombinationofwitandluckto escape from the lair ofthis lion, unless he chosetolethergo.

He stopped in front ofher,standingsoclosethatthe ragged edges of his

cloak swung against herdamp skirts. He reachedout his hand to cup thetender curve of her checkinhisstrong, long-fingeredhand. She flinched, amovement instantly stilledas she felt the heat of histouch, the hard ridges ofthe calluses that lined hispalm and toughened hisfingertips, and the joltingsensationofthatdeliberatecontact. She drew a quick

breath,herlipspartingwiththe intake. His gazenarrowed upon theirsmooth surfaces anddelicate curves, and hebrushed his thumb acrossthem in a movement ofgentle and absorbedexploration that left themtingling. She shivered, herjaw tremblinga littleunderhishold,whilesheloweredher lashes to hide herstartledconfusion.

Hereleasedherwithanabrupt gesture, loweringhishandtohisside.Whenhe spoke, his voice waslow and derisive. “Vigilantandvaliant,andwettotheskin — what makes youthinkI'msodesperateforabedmate that I would takeone who is wild-eyed withaversion and haschattering teeth? Or that Ihavesolittleacumenastolower the value of a

hostage by a quicktumble?”

Sheswallowedhard,sochilled inside herself thatshe felt the ripple ofgooseflesh at the removalof hiswarm caress. “Thenthe things you said weremerelytofrightenme.”

“To encourage quickand clear answers topertinentquestions.Iadmititwascrude.”

“But successful. Or

should I worry that whatyou're saying now is yetanothereffort,onetomakemebiddablewhileyouandyourmenrest?”

“Would you prefer itthatway?”

“Iwouldprefer thatyouabide by our agreementwithout detours andthreats.”Shehadbeguntotremble in every musclefrom purest reaction, andhidherknottedfistsamong

thefoldsofherskirtsintheattempttohideit.

“There was nothing inour agreement that said Ihad to die for you,señorita. That's leavingaside the question of thevanished gold. You keepyour bargains, and you'llfindthatIkeepmine.”

“Therearesomethingswecan'tcontrol.”

He stood looking downat her for a long moment

beforeheswungaway.“Orescape,” he said in tightacceptance. “I believe weare in agreement on that.Butcometothefire.Ifyoumean to count theseuncontrollable andinescapable things, let usatleastdoitincomfort.”

His tone did notencourageeitherrefusalordelay. If hewere resignedtotakingnomorethanthesilver for the service he

had performed for her, hegave no outward sign. Hehad himself arranged theirclose quarters of the nextfew hours, and had alsoproposed that he face heraunt. What else wasthere?

There was theaccusation Isabel hadmade, that Refugio hadbrought her to the stonehut for his own purpose.But no, Pilar could not

believe it. Therehadbeenlittle in his manner tosuggest he was attractedto her, much less that hemeant to keepher againstherwill.Shewasnomorethanameanstoanendtohim, a way of striking atDonEstebanwhilegainingthewherewithaltokeephisbandofmenalive. If therewas some plan in whichsheplayedapart, formingbehind theopaquegrayof

his eyes, it had nothing todo with her as a woman.The girl Isabel had upsetherselffornoreason,nonewhatever.

Pilar told herself thesethings, and yet it almostseemed that Refugiointended to prove herwrong.Hedrewupachairforhernexttohisownand,going to one knee, ladledoutabowlof soup forherand passed it to her with

his own hands. The smilehegaveher,asherhandsbrushed his upon thecrude earthenware bowl,held a suddenconcentrated warmth thatwasdisturbing.Beforeshebegan to eat, he reachedout and unfastened hercape, drawing it from hershoulders. Then taking offhis own cloak, which hadbeguntosteamintheheatof the fire, he hung them

both side by side on pegsset into the stones of thegreatchimney.

Isabel choked on hersoup. Baltasar thumpedher on the back, but shethrust her bowl into hisrough hands and jumpedtoher feet.Her eyes filledwithhurttears,shewhirledfrom them all to plungebehind the curtain of oneofthealcoves.

Themen lookedatone

another, then away again.Refugio, for all theattentionhepaid,mightnothave noticed. He ladledsoup into a bowl forhimself with apparentunconcern. Still, as astifled sob was heard, hechecked. The knuckles ofhis hand tightened towhiteness, then relaxedonce more. Faceimpassive, he finishedfilling his bowl and sat

downtoeat.Pilars'appetitehadfled.

She swallowed a fewmouthfuls of the savoryconcoctioninherbowl,butused the piece ofearthenware mainly towarmher hands.Shewasstill shaken now and thenby a shiver of combinedchill and tension, butsuppressed each onewithvaliant effort. Rainwateroozedslowlyfromthehem

of her skirt, soaking intothe earthen floor aroundherfeet.

She feltRefugio'sgazeon her from time to timebut refused to lookathim,staring instead either intoher soup or else at thepulsing red heart of thefire. Her nerves leapedwhen he got suddenly tohisfeet,butheonlyswungawayanddisappearedintothealcoveontheopposite

side of the fireplace fromthe one where Isabel haddisappeared. He returneda moment later, however,and in his hand was aman's dressing gown ofquiltedvelvet.

“Here,” he saidabruptly, holding it out toher. “Take off your wetthingsandputthison.”

She looked at thedressinggowninhishand,then slowly lifted her gaze

tohisface.His expression did not

alter, and yet softweariness crept into hisvoice.“Notpublicly,unlessthat'syourwhim.”

“No,” she said, hervoice husky. “I . . . thankyou.”

“We'll leave you whileyou change.” He sent alook toward his men thatbrought them hastily totheirfeet.

“There'snoneed; Icango in there.”Shegesturedtoward the alcove he hadjustleft.

“You'll find it warmerbefore the fire.But Imakeyou free of the bed you'llfind behind the curtain. I'llhavenoneedofit,sinceitwill be late when wereturn.”

Pilar stared at him,heeding the unspokenreassurance he was

extendingevenashegaveher other news. Finally,she said, “I thought youweregoingtorest.”

“Ihaverested.Wehaverested.”

“Butsurely—”“Don Esteban's

recovery interests megreatly.Don't fret. I'll leaveBaltasartowatchoveryou.Andifyouaredisturbedbymy return, I will forfeit thesilver.”

Did he mean that heintended to disturb her solittle he had no fear ofhavingtogiveuphishard-won payment? Or was itthat, if he decided to joinher in his bed later, hewould renounce his claimtothecontentsofthechestinreturnforherfavors?Bythe time she had, withgreat irritability for theeffort,concludedhemeantthefirst,hewasgone.

Baltasar left the hutwith the others, mutteringsomething about checkingoutside. Pilar waited untilthe sound of hoofbeatshad died away, then gotstifflytoherfeet.Thecold,combined with her tense,overstrained muscles,made movement an effortasshestruggledoutofherdamp clothes. She hungher things on the dryingpegs then picked up the

dressing gown. The velvetwasoffinequalityinarichmaroonworkedaroundthelapels with gold thread. Itwashardlywornatall,asifit had been kept as amementoofanother,bettertime, perhaps whenRefugio's father had beenalive. It smelled faintly ofthetobaccoleavesusedtopreserve it from moths,with also a whiff ofchocolate,asifithadonce

been favored breakfastattire.

It was soft and warmagainst her skin. Thesleeves were far too long,and the hem dragged thefloor; still, its envelopingfoldscarriedanoddsenseof security. It was only asshe wrapped the velvetaround her, hugging itclose, that she realizedhowcoldshewas,bothonthe surface and deep

inside.Therewasamovement

of the curtain across theother alcove. Isabelpushed it aside andsteppedintotheroom.Shehesitated as her gaze fellon Pilar in her envelopingdressing gown, and aspasm of grievedrecognition crossed herfeatures. A moment latershe dropped the alcovecurtain behind her and

cameforward.“Havetheyallgone?”“All except Baltasar,”

Pilar answered the othergirl, though she wascertain Isabel could nothavehelpedhearingeverywordthathadbeenspokenintheroom.

“Iwishtheyhadstayed.Idon'tlikeit.”

“El Leon must knowwhatheisdoing.”

She gave a slow nod.

“He'salwaysonhisguard,which is why he is stillalive. But I've never seenhim quite so— so distantand hard.” The other girlgave a shiver. Her facewaspuffyandhereyesredfrom weeping. There wassomething forlorn abouther, like a child scoldedunfairly.

“He is ratherformidable.”

Isabel's lips tightened.

“Not always, not with me.He's a man of deepfeelings,deeperthanmost.He receives the pain ofothers andmakes it his. Itisn't good for him to dothis,butheknowsnootherway.Sometimestoprotecthimself he pretends to beunaffected, but it isn't so.It'sneverso.”

“Itseemsyouknowhimwell.” It was a leadingstatement, Pilar knew, but

it stemmed from self-protection rather thancuriosity. The more sheknewofthemanwhoheldher,thebetter.

“I know him,” the othergirl said with a touch ofpride. “He is the son of ahidalgo,amanwhoownedthe most famous finca inAndalusia, one dedicatedtoraisingthebravebullsofthearena.Refugiousedtoplayatbeingamatador,a

game for which his fatherpunishedhim,since itwasnot only dangerous, ittaught thebullsmore thanthey should know aboutthebullring.Refugiocametowatchme once,when Idanced the flamenco withtheGypsies of Seville. Hesang a serenade for meandgavemearosewithapearl inside. Later, yearslater, he killed a man forme, a man who beat me

andsoldmybodyonstreetcorners.Fora short time IwasElLeon'swomanandslept in his bed, thoughnow,IbelongtoBaltasar.”

The simplicity of theconfession robbed it ofoffense and even of mostof its horror. Before shecould stop herself, Pilarsaid,“YouloveElLeon.”

“How could I not?” theother girl said, her smilesoft. “But I wish I had not

told him. He put me fromhim then, said he hadmade a mistake. Refugiodoesn't want women tolove him. He avoids itwhen possible, for hecannot,inhonor,offerloveinreturn.”

“Because he hasnothing to give themexcept — this?” Pilargesturedattheroughroomaroundher.

“Sohesays.ButIthink

he has such love hiddendeep inside him that thewomanwhocan release itwill hold his soul in herhands. He fears this as aweakness, and so allowsonly women whom hecannot possibly love nearhim, thosewhowill notbehurtbythelack.”

“Except for you,” Pilarsaid.

The other girl loweredher lashes, looking at the

floor. “It's what he meantby a mistake. I neededsomeonesobadly,andhecould not refuse mewithout causingmore painthan he thought I couldbear. I knew that, so thefaultwasalsomine.”

Guilt for drawing theothergirloutwhenshehadbeen so upset crowded inupon Pilar. She said, “I'msorry,Ididn'tmeantopry.”

“Don't be sorry. I miss

having another womanhereinthehills.Baltasariskindbeyondwords,andhelistens when I talk, but hedoesn't know how to askthe little questions that goto the heart of things thewaywomendo.As for theothers . . .” Isabelshrugged.

“Have you all beentogetherlong?”

“All? There are manymore beside Baltasar and

Enrique and Charro whoride with Refugio in hisband.Thesethreeareonlythe ones he trusts most,his compadres whosometimespasshisordersto the others. But yes, it'sbeenmore than two yearsthat we've all beentogether.”

Isabel moved to swingthe still simmering soupcaldron from over the fire,then added a chunk of

wood. As the flamesleaped up again, Pilarsettled herself onto thechair Refugio haddeserted.Itseemedunkindtogetupandleavethegirlafter what she had just;said. In any case, Pilarwasnotsleepy.

“These others youspoke of, they don't stayhere?”

Isabel smiled. “No, no,there would be no room.

There are other places forthem, some in themountains, some in thetowns.”

“I hadn't realized thereweresomany.”

“But haven't you heardthe songs, the legends?”Isabel asked it with apuzzledfrownbetweenherbrows.

“I thought— I supposeI thought they were justtalessomebodymadeup.”

Even in the conventPilar had heard the songsthat were sung about theway EL Leon had unitedthe hill bandits, the pettythieves and crooks andthosewhohadrunafoulofthe law throughno faultoftheir own, how he hadforged them into a forcethat could strike fear intotheheartsofthevenalandcorrupt. It was said hebarred those who had

committed murders orrapes,orwhohadharmedchildren or used violenceto take what was nottheirs.Butforthosecaughtbetween starving andstealing, those accusedunjustly or punishedwithout cause, he hadprovided refuge andleadership and,sometimes,retribution.

“Enriquewrotesomeofthe songs, yes, but they

would not be sung in thetaverns and whispered inthe churches if theyweren'ttrue.”

“Thesmallerman?”“The one with the

narrow mustache. Howproud he is of it, thatmustache,andhowvainofitseffectonwomen!Butheis so droll that he makesme laugh. He's Refugio'sfriend because he makeshim laugh also, and

because they both have apassion for words, one towrite,theothertosay.”

“It's hard to think thatEnrique'sacriminal.”

“But he isn't!” Isabelsaidindignantly.

“But— why else is hehere?”

“Enrique was with atraveling fair. He was partof a teamof tumblers andalso sometimes pretendedto be a Gypsy in order to

tell fortunes. Itwasaway,you understand, to holdthe hands of the ladies.But he told the wrongfortune to the wrong lady.He said she would berobbed and her husbandkilled. The lady toldeveryone what the Gypsyhad said. Then,when thatvery thing came to pass,she wept and lamenteduntil everyone thought theGypsy had foretold only

what he meant to do.Enriquehad to flee for hislife. What Enrique didn'tknowwasthattheladyhadaloverandwantedtobeawidow.”

“And Baltasar, is healsoinnocent?”

Isabel pursed her lips.“Notexactly.Hewasonceasailorona treasureshiprunning betweenCartagenaandSpain.Theship's captain was a man

who enjoyed watchingother men flogged.Baltasar caused a mutiny,which was bad enough,but he also took a largeportion of the king's goldwith him when he left theship.Helostitinapirate'sden in the Caribbean andfound his way back toSpain,but thepriceonhisheadishigh.”

“I would imagine itmightbe.”

“You want to knowabout Charro, too? Hisname is really Miguel,Miguel Huerta y Cisneros,buthetalkssomuchaboutthecharros,theriderswhoherd the cattle on hisfather's estancia in theTejas country of NewSpain, that everyone callshimby thatname.Hewassent here toOld Spain byhis father for educationandPolish, and to end an

unsuitable attachment toan Indian girl. He onlyfoundtrouble.”

“Naturally,”Pilarsaid.Isabel smiled her

agreement. “Poor Charrohad the misfortune toattract the attention of acountess who likedunusual young men. Herhusband found out andchallenged Charro to aduel. Charro should haveallowed himself to be

sliced here and there tosatisfy the man's honor,but was too new to thegame to follow the code.Hekilledthehusband.Thecountess, not to mentionthe count's relatives, wasnotpleased;someonesentan assassin. Charro wasnearly killed, and wouldhave been if Refugio hadnot been there to preventit. By the time Charro'swounds healed, he

decided he could learnmore with Refugio than attheuniversity,andbesaferthaninSeville'ssociety.”

“Did Charro perhapsknow Vicente at theuniversity?”

“Idon'tthinkso,thoughRefugio had been to see“Vicente the night hefought off Charro'sattacker. He keeps closewatch over his brother.Vicente is studying for the

priesthood. I thinkRefugiofeels it may be anatonement.”

“Vicente regrets hisbrother's way of life somuch?”

Isabel shook her head,her green gaze troubled.“It's more that he worriesabout him, and would joinhimifRefugiowouldpermitit.Sincehewon't, it'sas ifVicente would strike abargain with God, would

offer his life to the churchin return for his brother'ssafety.”

“Some would find thatadmirable,” Pilarsuggested.

“IttroublesRefugiothatVicente might besacrificing himself for his,Refugio's, sins. Refugioprefers to make his ownatonements.”

“By sacrificing himself,youmean?”

“Notatall!Heisnotso—so—”

“So mystic?” Pilarsupplied the word withcertainty thoughshemadeitsoundlikeaquestion.

Isabelnodded. “Asyousay. Refugio atones everydayby thegooddeedshedoes for others — thepoor, the sick and hungry,and those who have nooneelse,nootherway, toright the wrongs done to

them.”“He is, in fact, a

paragon.” The other girlwas obviously besottedwith the brigand leaderstill, even if he had castheroff.

“Yes,” Isabel saidsimply.

There seemed nothingtosaytothat.Outside,thewind moaned around theeavesofthecabinandrainspatteredagainstthedoor.

Pilar thought of Refugioand the others ridingthrough the wet darknessoncemore after their longhours in the saddle duringthe day, and knew anunwilling sympathy. Thelifeofabrigand,itseemed,was not an easy one.Baltasarwasalsoouttheresomewhere, making surethey were all safe. Heshould be coming backinside soon. She would

rather not have to sit andmake awkwardconversationwithhimalso.Anyway, she was finallybeginning to feel warmagain, and with thatreturningwarmthshecouldfeel the slow creep ofexhaustion.

She feigned a yawnthat turned, suddenly, intothe real thing. Smotheringit with her fingers, shesaid, “I think maybe I

should find that bedsomeonementioned.”

Isabel gave a slowassent. “Youdon'thave toworry. Even if Refugioreturns, he will take ablanketbythefirewiththeothers.”

“So he gave me tounderstand.” Pilar's wordsweredry.

“Oh, Refugio says agreat many things, mainlytoseehowpeoplewilltake

them,toseewhattheyaremadeof; hedoesn'tmeanhalfofit.”

“It's the half he doesmean that worries me,”Pilarsaid.

“What?”Pilaronlysmiledwitha

shake of her head, as ifshe had been making apoorjoke.Strugglingtoherfeet, stretching cramped,sore muscles, she saidgoodnight.

The bed inside thealcovewasneatandcleanand monk-like in itssimplicity. It was alsounexpectedly comfortable,withitshorse-hairmattresscovered by linen sheetswhich were worn to silkensoftness and a coverlet ofsheepskins sewn togetherwith leather thongs. Pilarlay for long momentslistening to the rainpattering on the low roof

andwatchingtheflickeringof the firelight comingthrough the thin curtainasitplayedontheceiling.

She thought of hermother lying alone nightafter night, accepting thelife of an imprisonedinvalid, slowly dying. Shewondered what DonEsteban had told his wifeabout her daughter'sabsence, what excuse hehadgiven.Pilar doubted it

was the truth. That hermother might have feltherselfneglected,desertedinher lastdays,filledPilarwith such helplessfrustration, such renewedpain and grief, that shecould not contain the slowseep of tears from thecornersofhereyes.

Allhermother'sdreamsof court life had come tonothing. What a shock itmusthavebeenwhenshe

realized her husbandmeant to deprive her ofthat boon he sought soeagerlyforhimselfwithhermoney. How horrified shemusthavebeenwhensherecognized the nature oftheman she hadmarried.Hadsheguessedshewasbeing poisoned? Had shetriedatall toescape?Hadshe clung desperately tothehopethatherhusbandwas not evil, or had she

lainhourafterhour, lost inthe apathy of despair,wonderinghowsoondeathwouldcome?

Don Esteban hadordered Pilar's death. Hehad screamed out for hismen tokillher. Ifevershehad entertained the leastdoubt of his guilt in thedeath of her mother, shehad none now. But shehadnotbeenkilled. Itwasa fact Don Esteban would

learn to regret. She, PilarSandoval y Serna, wouldseetothatpersonally.

She wiped at the teartracks on her cheeks,scrubbing their wetnessinto her hair, swallowingtheir saltiness as shefought with heaving chestfor the control on whichshesopridedherself.SheowedherlifetoRefugiodeCarranza. He was aninfuriating man, high-

handed and devious andconfusing in his suddenshiftsbetweenhostilityandconcern, threats andmagnanimity; still, shemust not forget that debt.She had not thanked himproperly, an error thatshouldberemedied.

She thoughtofElLeonlying where she lay now,his long form filling thenarrowbed.Therewasanuncomfortable intimacy in

theidea,oneshefeltinherpores. She tried to decidewhat she would do if heshould return and sweepthecurtainasidetoreclaimhis sleeping place. Shewould protect herself, ofcourse, but how? Beforeshe could settle thequestion, her eyes beganto burn. She closed themfor an instant, just tosoothethem.

It was sometime later

that a soft, rustling soundpenetrated the haze ofsleep. She shifted in thebed, aware of thedisturbance, yet too deepin layered darkness torespond further. Warmcomfort surrounded her.Shewassafe.Shesighedandslepton.

4

SHE CAME AWAKE withevery sense tingling inalertness. Her eyelidssprang open. The light inthe room was gray anddim. In it she saw thematching gray gleam ofRefugio's eyes as he lay

propped on one elbow,staringdownather.Therewas appreciation in hisgazeandafaint,bemusedsmileonhisfirmlips.

“Good morning,” hesaid, the words quiet, yetinsouciant. “I took a rainbath to remove the sheeptaint.Youcannowhavenoreasonforcomplaint.”

Pilar waited until shewas certain her voicewould be steady before

she answered. “You'remistaken.”

“What is it, my soul? Iwas certain sleep wouldsweeten your outlook, ifnotyourdisposition.”

“There's nothing wrongwith my disposition! Youpromised—”

“On pain of forfeiture.AndhaveIdeceivedyou?”

She stared up at himwith an odd breathlesssensationinherchest.She

could feel the hardmusculature of his bodyagainsther, pressedclosein the narrow bed.His leftarm was draped acrossher waist in a casual holdthat might be for balanceandaccommodationto thenarrow width of the bed,but felt like an embrace.Heworeashirt;thatmuchshe could see. What elsehe wore, and whether helayunder thecoversoron

topof them,shecouldnottell. She would have likedto know, but refused tolookforfearofshowinghertrepidation. Instead sheconcentrated on the darkcentersofhiseyes,onhislasheswhichgrewso longthey tangled together asthey curled down to touchthe skin, on the individualwiryhairsofhisbrows.

“You know very wellthat you said Imight have

this bed for my use, minealone.”

“HowwasItoknowthatIwouldmeetaroundscoreofmenwhorequiredadryspot to roll up in theirblankets? There's notspaceforanewbornpupinthe outer room, I swear it.Besides, I required to becertain that you remainedas undisturbed as I hadsworn, regardless of thenew arrivals. It was a

matter of pride,overweening andmy own,ofcourse.Thisseemedthebestwayofassuringit.”

“No doubt you think Ishouldbegrateful.”

“No, no, onlyunderstanding.”

Sheconsideredit.“Thatmay justbepossiblesinceI'm now wealthier by achesthalffullofsilver.”

“Half empty. But thepledge was to leave you

undisturbed, notnecessarily alone. Tell meatwhattimeIjoinedyou—and also why you allowedit—andyoumayclaimthesilver.”

It was irritating howquickly and casually hecould create his wordtraps.With a terse phraseor two he had made itimpossible for her to saywhen he had arrived. Shethought she knew, but if

shehadbeentrulyroused,she would not havepermitted him to stay. Toclaim otherwise would betoleaveherselfopentothequestion of why she hadnot protested, and howmuch more she mightaccept from him. She hadbeen exhausted; that wasthe answer, though it wasfarfromsatisfactory.Ifshecould hardly accept thatexplanation herself, how

couldsheexpectitofhim?“You are the most—”

she began, then stoppedas she remembered thatthismanhadsavedherlifeand, moreover, had nottouched her during thenight hours he had spentbesideher.Oratleastshethoughthehadnot.

“Oh, come, don't beshy. I'm a collector ofpersonal epithets,preferably unusual. Give

me one I haven't heard.”Refugiowatchedher therein the semidarkness asshe held back what shehad meant to say bycompressing her lips. Theurge to leanand touchhisown to hers was sosuddenandviolentthathewas startled, and alsoannoyed by the heart-pounding effort it took torefrain.

She was beautiful as

she lay therewithherhairspread in shiningabundance over the pillowand the soft morning lightreflected in the darkmirrorsofhereyes,buthehad seen many nearly asbeautiful. The situationbetween them at themoment was provocative,but he had weatheredothers more compellingwithout the stirring offlagrant desire. Itwas true

that she had morerefinement of manner andfeatures than the womenhe had known these pastfew years, but whatrecommendationwasthereinthat?

His motives for beingthere beside her wereexactly as he said. Hecould have left before shewoke,indeedhadmeanttodo just that. Then hadcome the impulse to see

what manner of steel shehad insideher.Sonowheknewthatshewasstalwartand honest and not giventoscreaming.Buthadthatbeenall?Mighthenotalsohave wanted to see howshe would react to beingclose to him in a moreprivate setting than theback of a horse or in aroomful of people? It wastrue,butunfair.Itwasalsotime to call enough.There

were times when ananalytical tendency couldbeinconvenient.

He threw back thecloak that covered himthere on top of thesheepskin coverlet. Risingto his feet with lithe ease,he reached to catch herhand. “Up with you. Thesun would be shining onCordoba, if there was asun,andit'stimeyouwereplacedwithyouraunt.”

Pilarwaspulledupwardso quickly that thesheepskin coverlet fellback and the over-largedressing gown of stiffquilted velvet she woregaped open to the waist.Feelingthewaftofcoolairon her bare flesh, shejerked back against hisstrong grasp, amovementthat threw her so offbalance she toppled overthe edge of the bed. He

caught her, his handssliding inside the dressinggown, skimming over herwarm and fragrant curvesto clasp her against him.Fora stunned instant theywere still, while he slowlyspread his fingers wideover the satin skin of herback and flattened hispalm upon the smoothexpanse of her lowerspine. His gaze flickereddownward over the blue-

veined paleness of thesmall, perfectly formedglobes of her breasts withtheir peach crestsburrowing into the softlinen of his shirt, over thesilken swath of her hairwhich trailed along hisarm. A tinge of dull colorappeared under his sun-darkened skin. Pilar,watching it, slowly closedher hands on the tautmuscles that ridged his

arms while every drop ofbloodinherveinsmountedswiftly, frighteningly, toherhead. Her heart jarredagainst her ribs and shecould sense deep insidethe slow riseof somethingunwarranted,unwanted.

She drew a raggedbreath, wrenchingbackward as she gaspedinaccusation,“You—”

“No!”hesaid, thewordharsh with the violence of

his denial. “I never meantthis.Clumsy Imaybe,butnotentirelyvenal. Ipledgeyouthismuchonmywordofhonor.”

His hold, unbreakableuntil that instant,slackened,allowingPilartosink back onto the bed.She drew away, clutchingthe edges of the dressinggown together at herthroat. She met his gaze,brown eyes clashing with

gray, and saw the fleetingbafflement followed byself-derision mirroredthere, saw the squaring ofhisshoulders,asifhewasbracing himself for eitherher screams of outrage orherscorn.

It came toPilar thathespoke the truth, that hehadnot intended thatbriefembrace. She lifted herchin,hereyessteadyuponhishardfeatures.“Iaccept

yourpledge.”“You accept it?” he

said, the words tentativeashewatchedher.

“I can do no less,” shesaidwithdignity.

“Butwhy?”“I have benefited from

your . . . hospitality. ACarranza would not, Ithink, press his attentionsupon a woman under hisownroof.”

“Ah.Myhospitality.”

The current ofunderstanding betweenthemwasstrong.Shewasconceding to him full righttothehonorinherentinhisproud name and formerstationasagrandee,alongwith the manifoldobligations of the code ofconduct that went with it.Hemust, in return, remainboundbythatcode.

He inclined his headwith a shadow of

admiration lurking in hiseyes. “Accept mygratitude, and myapologies.”

“Not at all,” she said,loweringher lashesbeforeshe continued. “You werespeakingof leavinghere, Ibelieve. No one could behappier to be on the roadthan I, butmy clothes arein there by the hearth. Idoubt your men will wantto have their sleep

interrupted for the sake ofapetticoat.”

“What they wantmattersnotatall.Butdon'tstir; I'll bring both yourclothes and your trunk.WhileI'matit,doyoutakeyour chocolate strong ormilky?”

“There's no need foryoutotrouble,”shesaidasshe swung her feet fromthebed.“MaybeIsabel—”

“She's asleep, and it's

my whim, taken thismoment, to have youshare my morning repast,andmyprivacy.”

Sheglancedaroundthealcove. “Oh, I'm keepingyou from your retreat. I'llgetupandleaveyoutoit.”

“Bynomeans,”hesaidover his shoulder as heswung to brush aside theprivacy curtain, “unlessyouprefertheoddsontheother side of this barrier?”

Asshedidnotanswer,hegaveanod.“Ithoughtnot.Be patient, and I'll bringwhatyouneed.”

It was possible shemightbesafer intheotherroom, Pilar told herself ashe ducked under thecurtain and dropped itbehind him, closing herintothealcove.Othermenmight be less trustworthy,but were not sodisconcerting in their

speechand theirattitudes.Theideaofhisservingherwhile she waited in bedmade her acutelyuncomfortable, especiallyin light of what had justhappened; a man of finersensibilities and lessconfidencewouldhave lefther to recover in private.Joining her in his quarterswas in essence aprotective gesture, or sohe implied, yet there was

something almostpossessiveinit,withahintof testing the trust sheprofessed. She didn't likeit, but there was little shecoulddo.Atleastsheneednotendurethesituationforlong. A few hours moreandshewouldbewithheraunt. Once safelyestablished in Cordoba,there was no reason sheshould ever see Refugiode Carranza again. None.

That would make herextremely happy. Ofcourseitwould.

She was combing herhair with her fingers whenhe returneda fewminuteslater. Hurriedly bundlingthethick,wavingmassintoaknot,shepinneditathernape,thenreachedtotakethe cup of chocolate heheld out to her. As heseated himself on the footof the bed, she pushed

backward to lean againstthe wall behind the bed'shead. He gave her a lookofsardonicamusement,asif he suspected her ofputting as much distancebetweenthemaspossible,butmadenocomment.

It was possible hewasnot entirely wrong. Heseemed so large there inthe tiny alcove, such anoverpowering presence.To be shut awaywith him

again behind the curtain,separate from the others,was unexpectedlyprovocative, as well asuncomfortable.Thathefelttheconstraintalsoseemedevident from the stiffnessof his movements and hiscomparativesilence.

Hismannerwasneutralas he handed her a pieceof the bread he hadbrought wrapped in anapkin and balanced on

top of his own cup. Shetook it with a murmur ofthanks, adding in anattempt at lightconversation,“Ididn'tknowbanditry allowed suchluxuriesasthis.”

“We live well enough,though the bread is madewithcoarsegrainsandthechocolatewithgoat'smilk.”

“You seem to managebetterthanmost.”

“Whydoyousaythat?”

Shegaveabriefshrug.“I'veheardthestories.”

“You shouldn't believethem.”

“If I hadnot,” she said,her gaze on the piece ofbread,“Iwouldneverhavesent for you, never haveescaped my stepfather. Iam grateful, in spite ofeverything.”

Hestaredathera longmoment. When he spoke,the words were soft. “I

wouldhavedoneitwithoutthe promise of gold, youknow. It's just that I objecttobeingtakenforafool.”

“Iwouldneverdothat.”“At leastnomoreoften

than necessary,” heanswereddryly.

“No, really,” sheprotested.

“Iwilltrytobelieveyou.HowcanInot?”

She met his gaze inbrief acknowledgment of

that tenuous pact. A slowsmile lighted his eyes,warming their gray colorwith rich humor andcreasingthehardplanesofhis face. It also brought adegree of ease to theatmosphere betweenthem.

They ate in silence afew moments before Pilarspoke again. “Did youdiscover what became ofDonEsteban?”

“Hewasgone from theplace of attack. Heapparently recoveredenough to be taken awayin the carriage, or so itappearedfromthesigns.”

She nodded herunderstanding, herexpressiongrim.

“You don't seemsurprised.”

“Iknewhecouldnotbedead; that would be toofortunate.”

“So bloodthirsty,” hesaid with a droll shake ofhishead.

Her answering smilewasbrief.“Itcomesfromalong association with DonEsteban.Things justseemtoalwaysgohisway.”

“Not always, but toooftenforcomfort.”

There was in thecomment a reminder ofhow much he had alsolost. Recognizing it, Pilar

hastily changed thesubject.“I'vebeenthinking.If my mother had notmarried Don Esteban, hewould not have had themeans to pursue hisambitions — or his feudwith your family. It'spossible you have reasontodistrustme.”

Refugio watched herwith a faint curve at onecornerofhismouthbeforehespoke.“IftheCarranzas

had not inspired suchhatred and need forrevengeinyourstepfather,he might never havepursued and married yourmother, never havecaused her death or sentyou into exile. This swordhasadoubleedge.”

“Thatmaybe,butthereis more. If you had notkilledDonEsteban'sson,Imight havebeen forced tomarry him. I owe you a

greatdeal.”“You might, if I had

killed the son for yoursake. Since I did not, youowe me nothing. Nor isthere any real question ofblame. Shall we call thatmuchsettled?”

She inclined her headin uneasy acquiescence.“Ifyoulike.”

“Ido.”Pilar from under her

lashes looked at the man

sitting so near. Hisshoulders were broad,straining against the wornmaterial of his shirt. Hishairlayindark,softwavesagainst his head, and hisgaze from under thickbrowswas steady yet hadrapier-sharp perception inits depths. His featureswere perfectly balanced,and there was strengthand grace in the shape ofhis hands as he held the

crude earthenware cup.Despite his guise as abandit and the edge ofdanger it gave him, therewas also a sense ofbreeding, of ancientlineage about him. For afleeting instantshewishedthings were different,wisheditwerepossibleforher to continue heracquaintance with RefugiodeCarranzayLeonunderother, more proper

conditions. She lookedaway, disturbed by thetenorofherthoughts.

The silence betweenthemstretched.Inthenextroom aman coughed androsefromhisblanketswitha muttered imprecation.Thequietcrackleofthefirecould be heard assomeone placed morewoodonthecoals.

Refugiodrainedthelastof his chocolate. “As

pleasantasthisis,it'stimewe began to plan inearnest for Cordoba, tothink of a ruse to get youinsidethegates.”

“Aruse?”“What did you expect?

A grand processionwith agilded carriage, outriders,and the town fatherswaitingtogreetyou?”

“Hardly,”sheanswered,hertonetart.

“Good. Then you won't

be disappointed.” Sheenteredtheancient,walledcity in a two-wheeled cart.If she had been travelingalone, she could haveridden through the greatcarvedgateswithoutworryorhindrancebeyondgivingher name to the guards.But she was not travelingalone;Refugiohadagreedtoseeher to thehouseofher aunt, and he intendedtodoexactlythat.Pilarhad

not considered, when shemadeherproposal tohim,howElLeonwouldbeableto keep his bargain. Sheknew that folk tales hadsprung up crediting himwiththepowersofaghostto pass where he wouldwithout being seen. Shehad also heard rumorsabouthismanyfriendsandsympathizers in thecountryside and smallertowns who helped him

come and go, and thebribes that weresometimespassedtoallowhim to enter and leaveSeville at will. What othershiftshemightbeforcedtousehadneveroccurred toher; certainly she hadneverexpectedtobecomeapartofoneofthem.

The cart was old andworn out, so that its tallwheels of solid woodsquealed on their axles

with nerve-shatteringregularity. Its load offirewood, the sticks andstumps and odd-shapedbranches of deadwoodcarefully scavenged fromthe forest, was almost toomuch for the ancientdonkey plodding betweenthe shafts. Pilar rode onthe seat while Refugiowalked to one side, withthe donkey's lead rein inone hand and a staff that

was stouter than it lookedintheother.

They had found theirdubioustransportationatafarm well outside the city.Thefarmer'swifehadalsosupplied the rebozo ofblack wool that coveredPilar'sheadandshoulders,and the piece of charcoalthat had been used tomake the dark, agingcirclesunderhereyesandthe hollows in her cheeks.

Where Refugio had foundthe peculiar conical hatthat he wore pulled lowover his eyes, and theshort, ragged breechesand rough shoes thatmade him look the part ofa peasant, Pilar did notask.Sheonlystaredathimfrom time to time,wondering in amazementtinged with respect at hisattire, and also at theroughthatchhehadmade

ofhishairandthelookofadullardinhiseyes.

Itwas earlymorning ofthe third day, a marketday, before they madetheir attempt to enter thecity. They joined a streamof carts, barrows, anddonkeys headed towardthe gates, all of themloaded with something tosell, from cured leather tojars of olive oil, freshcabbage to trussed and

squawking geese. Behindthem, at some distance,trailed Baltasar, Enrique,and Charro amidst a herdofgoats.

Pilar and Refugio, withtheotherthree,hadlainforwhatwasleftofthesecondnightatthefarmer'shouse,sharing its one room withthemanandhiswife,theirnine children, five dogs, ablack hen, and a liberalsupply of fleas. After such

anight,Pilar thought, theysurely looked as slovenlyand unlike themselves asanyone could wish.Refugio still wasn'tsatisfied, however. Heinsisted she carry thelatest addition to thefarmer'sfamilyinherarms,a fineboyofsevenweekswho had protested at thetop of his lungs at beingremovedfromhismother'sarms. The child had not

ceased to scream sincetheyleft thefarm,andhadmade three wet spots onPilar's lap in spite ofseveral changes of therags that served fordiapers. His mother,trailing with her husbandbehind the herd of goats,had come forwardonce tonurse the baby. He hadquieted only a fewminutes, beginning to cryagain the instant he was

given back to Pilar. Hesensed her inexperiencewithhim,shethought,andherfearofwhatwasgoingtohappen.

Ahead of them lay theGuadalquivir River. Thewater flowed greenish-brown and placid arounditsislandsthatweredottedwith oleanders, beforegliding through the greatarches of the old Romanbridgethatgaveaccessto

the city. The cart trundledpast the tower fortress ofCalahorra and began tocross the bridge. Beforethem Pilar could see thestone-pillared,Romanesque puerta delpuente. There were twoguards at the gate. Onewas talking with anattractive and vivaciousyoung girl with a gooseundereacharm.Theotherstood watching their

approach with his handsclasped behind his backand a look of dyspepticgloomonhisface.

Thecartdrewcloser,itswheels shrieking as if inalarm. The guard stirredand released his hands toplace them on his hips. Afrown drew his browstogether. Nearer the cartcame,andnearerstill.Theguard tookastep forward.Pilar sent Refugio a swift

glance.Thebrigandleaderseemed oblivious of theirdanger, only ploddingonward with his gazestraightahead.

“Stop!”Refugio gave no sign

he heard. Pilar ran hertongueoverherlips,atthesame time joggling thecrying baby in the hopethathewouldbequieted.

The guard moved infrontofthemwithhishand

upheld. “I mean you, oaf!Stop!”

A species of panic ranover Refugio's blankfeatures.Hehauledontheleadheheld,nearlyjerkingthe donkey off its feet. Asthe animal halted,Refugiosnatched off his hat andstood with bowed head,almostvisiblytrembling.

“That's better,” theguard said, thrusting hischest out. “You're making

a racket fit to wake thenobles in their beds. Forthe loveofGod,get somegrease for your wheels.And you, woman, put thatchildtothebreast!”

“Yes, your honor, butyes. Instantly,yourhonor,”Refugio replied in serviletones. He bent himselfalmost double bowing, atthe same time makingfrantic motions towardPilar. The actions flapped

the lead in his hand andcausedthedonkeytostartforward again. The guardstepped back out of theway, though he stared sohard at Pilar that sheflushed and lowered hergaze, fumblingat the frontof her dress under theends of her rebozo.Mercifully, the baby foundtheactionand thewayhewas being held familiar,andloweredthevolumeof

hiscries.They rolled onward,

mingling with the crowd.Pilar sat stiff and straight,expectingatanyminute tobe called back, or else tohear Baltasar and theothers behind themchallenged. It did nothappen. They were insidethe city walls; they hadreachedCordoba.

They moved along thestreet,pastthewallsofthe

ancient mosque that hadbeen built by the Moorishruler of Cordoba over athousand years ago andturned into a cathedralsome four and a halfcenturies later with theconquest of the Catholicking. Its majestic archestoweredabove them, solidand enduring andharmonious in theirsymmetry. Refugio andPilar scarcely looked up.

The baby howled withoutceasing.Refugio, ploddingalongbesidethecart,senther a quick slanting look.His voice shaded withquietamusement,hesaid,“Iseeyou'renotmaternal.”

“Being maternal hasnothing to do with it,” shesnapped. “The poor littlething knows somethingisn'tright,andhewantshismother.”

“No more than I want

hertohavehim.”“You don't like

children?” she askedpointedly.

“I dote on the littletreasures, but not whenthey are attractingattention.”

“Bringing himwas yourchoice,”sheremindedhim.

“Yes, well, he adds acertainvaliditytomyimageas a lack-wit with ascolding wife, don't you

think?”Pilar scowled at him.

“I'mnotyourwife.”“Wonderful playacting!”

hecongratulatedher. “Theworld can see you have aproper regard for yourmate.”

“Itoldyou—”“Soyoudid.Andtellme

this,why is it youhavesolittle concern for propriety.Why did you refuse to bemade the wife of this

Carlos?”“I don't knowwhat you

mean,” Pilar said, jigglingthe baby vigorously, butwithnoeffect.

“Most women in yourplacewouldbeyellingforapriest and demanding thesecurity of aman's name,anyman'sname.”

She gave him a sharplook. “I have enoughproblemsalready.”

“The purpose is to

solve them, not makethem,oratleasttopretendthata ringhas thatpower,that marriage is an estateto be longed for by awoman.”

“Itcanalsobeasnare,”Pilar said, thinking of hermother.

“Such heresy will seeyou hounded from thesociety of thosewho havemade that bargain andhave no choice except to

celebrateit.”“You sound no more

ready formarriage than I,”shetoldhim.

“It appears a blessedestateforthosewholove;Irememberhow itwaswithmymotherandfather,yousee. It's only that love israre.”

“Yes,” she said, hervoicelow.“Anyway,I'mnotsure thataringandavowcould restore me to

respectability.”“Therefore you scorn

them?”A reluctant smile

touchedhermouth.“Isee.Youaredoubtless thinkingofsourgrapesandfoxes.”

“No, no,” he answered,“onlyhoneyandbees.”

“What?”sheasked,buthe was looking behindthem for signs of pursuit,andmadenoanswer.

They wound through

theoldtown,pastwrought-iron gates that revealedglimpses of green andsecluded patios, undergeranium-hung balconiesand along streets plantedon either side with thepointed and dark greenshapes of ever- greencypresses. On a sidestreetintheshadowoftheAlcazar, the old palacewhere Ferdinand andIsabelle had seen

Columbus off on hisvoyage to the Americasand where the HolyInquisition was housed,they stopped. Across theway lay a narrow housemade of stonewith a tiledroof, projecting balconiesrailed with iron, and aheavy, blue-painted door.Itwasacomfortablehouserather than an imposingone. Itwasalsoextremelyquiet.

Baltasar, with Enriqueand Charro behind him,caughtupwiththem.Theyall stood looking at thehouse. Pilar gathered upher skirts and prepared toget down from the cart.Refugio put out his handandtouchedherarm.

“Wait,”hesaid.Pilar hesitated.Refugio

haddiscardedhisdullnessas if it were a piece ofworn out clothing. His

manner was alert, poisedforinstantaction.Hisgaze,under the ridiculousconical hat, moved overthe face of the house,searching every windowanddoor, thentraveledonto its neighbors'. A straycat, ambling down thestreet, saw them andstopped. It hissed, bowingupitsback,thenfled.

“Stay here,” Refugiosaid.

He did not wait for areply, but strode away,crossing the street andanglingforanalleyway.Heglanced both ways, thenglided into the dimpassage.Pilarwaited onlyuntil he was out of sight,then she motioned towardthe baby's mother, whohad trailed up behind thegoats,andhandedher thebaby. Jumping down fromthe two-wheeled vehicle,

she followed Refugio. Thehousebeforeherbelongedto her aunt, her only realrelative. Pilar wasprepared to take allnecessaryprecautions,butthe endless delays hadbeen maddening. Therewas no sign of eitherDonEstebanor theauthorities,and she could not wait tosee her father's sister amomentlonger.

There was a second

alleyway leading off thefirst, one that meanderedpastthebackofheraunt'shouse. Halfway along itslengthwasawoodengateset intoawall, a servant'sentrance from allappearances. Pilar sawRefugio pause at the gateandpushon it,saw itgiveunder his hand to swingsilently inward. He stoodlistening a long moment,then stepped through in a

single swift movementbeforespinninginstantlytooneside.

He was inside a patio,for through the open gatePilar could see thebranches of shrubs and astretchofstonetiles.

Somewhere a birdsang, a shrill, discordantsoundatthisseason.

She moved forward,easing through the patiogate. Inside, the garden

had a dank, dispirited air.The fountain was still, sothatthelongreflectingpoolthat caught the overflowlayasdarkandglassyasasteelmirrorinthegraylightof the overcast day. Thepatiowasdeserted.

Pilar stood in theshadows, watching asRefugio crossed to thehouse and tried a backdoor. It was locked. Hemoved away, out of her

sight, and there came thetinkle of breaking glass.She waited a momentlonger,thenfollowedinthedirection he had taken. Alongwindowsetwithsmallcircles of stained glassstood swinging open. Shecrossed to it with quickfootstepsandclimbedoverthesill,slippinginside.

She was in some kindof reception room, one ofimpressive size and

stultifying formality. Giltand redvelvetchairs linedthewallsbeneathdarkandformal portraits. The lightcoming through thecolored glass of thewindows made blue andgreen stains on the stonefloor.Theairwaschillandsmelled of cold fires,cracked leather, andancientdust.

There was a stair hallthroughdoubledoors,with

astairwaywindingupwardinto the shadows. Movingtoward it, Pilar heard thefaint creak of a step andthought that was the wayRefugio had gone. Shepicked up her skirts,climbingafterhim.

The body was aroundthe firstbendof thestairs.It was an elderly servant,or so it appeared from therough cloth of his nightshirt, perhaps her aunt's

majordomo. He was icycold and his eyes werewide and staring, whileblood from a stab woundsplotchedhisnightshirt.Hehad died at night, for inadditiontothenightshirtasindicator, the candle hehad been holding hadgone rolling as he fell,scorching a lower stairtread before burning itselfout.

Pilar swayed a little as

shehoveredoverthedeadman. The apprehensioninside her blossomed intohorror mixed with dread,while something cold andhard closed around herheart.Whathadhappenedhere? Where was heraunt?

Hearing another softfootfall above her, shemadethesignofthecrossover the man, thenstepped gingerly over the

sprawled form. Movingwith care, staying close tothe wall, she mountedupward.

The upper floor was amaze of sitting rooms andbedchambers opening intoeachother.PilarcouldnottellwhichwayRefugiohadgone. She opened hermouth to call out to him,then closed it again, sinceto disturb the silenceseemed wrong as well as

unwise.She moved in and out

of one suite and thenanother,comingfinallytoaset of doors that werelarger and more ornatelycarved and fitted than theothers. She penetrated anantechamber to reach asmall salon dominated bya massive stove ofFlanderstiles,thenpassedthrough a doorway hungwith sea-green portieres.

Inside was a bedchamberholding a bed raised upona dais. The bed had agilded and paintedheadboard and poststopped by gently wavingostrichplumes.

On the floorbeside thedais lay a maid with ashawl over her nightgownand her gray hair trailingdown her back. Themaid,like the majordomo, hadbeenstabbed.

Pilar's aunt waspropped in the great bed,sittingupagainst a pair ofpillowswith a bible acrossher lap. She wore on herhead a beautiful nightcapof Alençon lace trimmedwith pink ribbon. A redribbon of blood circled herneckwhereher throathadbeen cut. Standing overher with his hand acrossherfacewasRefugio.

Pilar gave a soft,

gaspingcryofshock.Refugio whirled. He

swore vividly, fluently, andwithout repetition. In aninstanthehadsprungfromthe dais, striding downupon her.Hewheeled heraround with his handgrasping her upper arm,thrusting her from theroom.

Pilar caught thedoorjamb, digging in herheels. “No,don't! Iwant to

know. I have to know ifshe's—”

“Alive? No, positivelynot. She's dead, and hasbeenforatleasttenhours,possibly longer. Can youhelp? No. I closed hereyes. It'sallwecanaffordtodo.”

“YouthinkDonEstebandid this?” she asked, hervoicefaint.

“His hirelings, at aguess. Either that or else

the fatesareonhisside. Iprefertothinkthefirst.”

She shook her head,not in disbelief but in anattempt at negation. “Howcould he? How did hedare?”

“How?Easily. It comesfrom thinking that hiswishes,hisneeds,andhiswill are supreme. As fordaring, why not? He hasserved so many with theirdeath notices that it's far

frombeinganovelty.”There was a corrosive

edge to his voice thatstruck through her horror.“I'm sorry,” she said. “Thismust be a reminder foryou.”

His face there in thedim light of the shutteredroom was shadowed withself-contempt. “It's afailure.”

“Why? There wasnothing you could have

done.”“Oh, but therewas, if I

had taken thought.Instead, I ran prancing incircles around a chimera,yearning after animpossible consummation.I should be flayed, as abeginning.”

“This was not of yourarranging,” she said, hervoice stark. “If I had notinvolved my aunt, shewouldbealive.”

Hewatchedherforlongsecondswithasuspendedlook in his eyes. “Wouldyou rob me of my self-immolation, or only shareit?Eitherwaymaynotbeakindness; I needsomethingtodriveme.”

“I thought you hadhatredenoughforthat.”

His facial muscles didnot change, yet hisexpressionbecamemerelypolite. “Yes,” he said,

“though there areinducements of equalvalue and greaterpleasure.Todiscuss themcould be stimulating, butnot just now. Deathbedsrequire morecircumspection, as ageneral rule, and this onemorethanmost.”

The hint was delicate,butshetookit.“Iknowyoucannot be found here, butthere are things that I

should do.Someonemustinform the police, send fora priest, arrange for thedeath notices and thevestments, so manythings.”

“For you to be foundhere with me could alsohavegrimconsequences.”

“Then you must leaveme now, before someonecomes. I—I'llbeall right,reallyIwill.”

“Whatmakes you think

so? What if the personwho comes is theassassin? Or yourstepfather?”

“I can't just leave,” sheprotested with a glancebacktowardthesilentbed.

“Youcan'tstay.Doyoureally think that DonEsteban, having gone thisfar,willletyoulive?Lingerhere, and there will beanother body with knifewoundsbymorning.”

“It isn't yourresponsibility. I'm sure theauthorities—”

“The authorities areconscientious, those nottoo intimately acquaintedwithDonEsteban,buttheycould not protect youraunt.”

“But I can't justgowithyou back into themountains!”

“Why not? Your auntmust have had other

relatives,otherfriendswhowillseethatthenecessarythingsaredone.Youcan'tafford to let the guilt youfeelbecomeatrap.”

“It isn't just that. Whatwill I do if I go with you?Whatwillbecomeofme?”

“Isn'tittoolateforsuchworries? Whatevercontamination you aregoing to suffer has beendonealready.”

“I didn't mean it like

that,” she said, her eyesdark with worry.“Regardless,youmustseehowimpossible—”

Thewordswerecutoffas he gestured for silencewith a swift, slicingmovementofonehand.Hestood still, listening. Pilarcouldhearnothing,thoughshe held her head up,barelybreathing.Thenshecaughtit,thequietshrillingof a warning whistle from

thestreetoutside.Refugio reached to

clamp an arm of steelaroundherwaist,swingingher toward the oppositeend of the house. Hesweptherwithhimthroughthe silent, dusty rooms.Their footsteps clatteredon the stone steps of aback staircase, then theywere dodging among thetables of a scullery andkitchen. A great wooden

door loomed before them.Refugioputbothhandsonthewide ironbar thatheldit closed, leaning his rightshoulder into it. In aninstant thebarwasraised,the portal easing inward,letting in the light from thebackpatio.

They paused at theedgeofthereflectingpool.Fromthestreetsallaroundthe house could be heardthe drumming of horses'

hoofs. There was ashouted order that wasimmediately repeated fromsomewhere near the backpatiogate.

“Is it the police?” Pilarwhispered.

“The good God aloneknows,forIdon't.”Refugiodid not look at her as heanswered, but swept thetreesnearthepatiogardenwallwithhisnarrowgaze.

“Wherearetheothers?”

“Taking care ofthemselves, as we must.”He touched her shoulder,then pointed toward ajacaranda tree that grewagainst the wall, reachingupward along the side ofthe house next door. Justbeyond its highestbrancheswasaflatrooftopin the Moorish style, onethat in summer was usedfor taking the evening air.Refugio's meaning could

not be plainer; this wastheirescaperoute.

She couldn't do it, sheknew she couldn't. Beforeshecouldmakethatclear,she was being boostedamong the tree branches.She grasped a limb andpulled herself upward inpurest self-defense, thenreached for the next limbas she sought a footholdout of the need to makeroomforRefugio,whowas

climbing up after her. Amoment later he wasswinging past her aroundthe tree trunk, thenpassing hand over handalongthelargesttreelimb.Hedangledasecondovertherooftop,thenletgo.Heplummeted downward,landing in a crouch.Straightening at once, hemotioned for her to followhisexample.

Ithadtobedone;there

was nothing else for it, notime to think, no time fordoubts. Behind her shecouldhearthepoundingofbootedfeetintheroomsofher aunt's house. In amoment she would beseen.If themenhadbeensent by her uncle, thatcouldmeandeath forbothRefugio and herself. Buteven if it was only thepolice, even if there wasno danger for her, she

must not set them onRefugio's trail. She couldnot be the cause of ElLeon being captured, notafterwhathehaddoneforher.

She swung herself outalongthetreelimb.Settingher teeth together, she letherselffall.Refugiocaughther,absorbingtheshockofher weight withoutapparenteffort,holdingheramomentuntilshecaught

her breath. Then they setoffatarun.

Theyskimmedovertheflat roof to thenext,wheretheyclimbedajointedclaydrainpipe and clamberedacross a series of steepslants on their hands andknees. At the edge of thelast they swung over theside to reach a narrowbalcony. A quick glanceinside showed that thebalcony opened into a

ladies' bedchamber andtheladywasstillabed,fastasleep. Refugio sacrificedhis coat for a makeshiftrope,andshortlyafterwardthey were strolling awaydownanalley.

They found Baltasarand Enrique waiting in aside street a few blocksaway, though Charro, andalso the farmer and hiswife with their squallingchild and squeaking cart,

were nowhere to be seen.Theymovedswiftly towardthe city gate where theyhadentered,eachof themon guard lest there hadbeen a general alarmgivenandallgatesclosed.

The gate stood open.The sight of it standingwide, with the samedyspepticguardondutytowave them through, wasdisturbingtoPilar.Itmeantthat themen at her aunt's

house this morning musthave been sent by herstepfather. It meant thattheir purpose in beingtherecouldonlyhavebeento kill her. That being thecase, she had noalternative except to gowithRefugio,tojoinhiminhis mountain stronghold.Noneatall.

Less than a mileoutsidethegatestheymetCharroontheroadleading

the horses they hadstabled nearby against anemergency.Theymountedupandswungbacktowardthemountains.

The small bandreached the stone hutagaininthesmallhoursofthe followingmorning.Thejourneyhadbeen fastandunrelenting.ToPilaritwasa blur of rough trails,snatched bites of foodtaken at the gallop, and

brief stops for changes ofhorses in lonely places.She was so weary sheseemed tobemoving inafog.Howshestayedinhersaddle, she did not know,for her muscles had gonefrom aching cramp tonumbness so completeshe felt paralyzed. Sheswayed, clutching thehorse's mane, but did notfall. At the hut she couldnot get down by herself,

but had to be lifted bodilyfrom her horse. As shetookastepandthefeelingbegan to return, shestumbled and would havefallen if Refugio had notcaughther.

Pilar saw Isabelstanding in the doorwayholding a lantern, saw thelook of consternation thatcrossed the girl's pale,agitated face as she sawher in the bandit's arms,

but couldnot seem to findthewilltobeconcernedorto feel anythingother thangratitude for his support.Allshewantedwasaplaceto lie down, a solid placethatdidnotmove.

Isabel hurried towardthem.Hervoiceseemedtocomefromfarawayasshespoke, and it was amoment before the senseof what she was sayingpenetrated. It was

Refugio's sudden stillnessthat pierced Pilar'sexhaustion so thatsuddenly, unbelievably,sheunderstood.

“Oh, Refugio!” the girlcried, then faltered. “It'sVicente. I'm sorry, sosorry.”

“What is it?” Refugio'svoicewasquiet,yetcarriedthecrackofawhip.

Isabel wrapped onehandinherapronsotightly

the cloth split. “Themessagewas brought thisevening from Seville, fromDon Esteban. He sentword that he — he hasabducted Vicente, takenhim as he walked on thestreet.Hesaysthathehasbranded your brother ashis slave and means totakehimwithhimwhenhesails for Louisiana. And ifyou ever want to seeVicente alive, then you

must make sure that thewoman you hold, hisstepdaughterPilar, causesnotroubleuntilhereturns.”

5

SILENCE CLOSED INupon them. Refugio's facehardened, his featurestaking on the sharp edgesof an image cast inmetal.The tremulous light fromthe lantern Isabel heldcaught in his eyes with a

silver-gold reflection ofvirulent pain. His grip onPilar's arm tightened,becoming a vise capableof crushing bone. Thenight wind that driftedaround the eaves of thestone hut made a softsighing sound and diedaway.

Behind him, Refugio'smen stood in arrestedmovement: Baltasarholding the saddle that he

had just taken from hishorse, Enrique wiping thedustfromhisfacewiththetail of his cloak, Charrorubbing his mount downwith a handful of straw.Isabelpressedonehandtohermouthwithasick lookin her eyes, as if themessage she had spokenhad been a blow she hadtakenherself.At thesametime, therewas fear inherface as she watched the

banditleader.Theywere allwatching

him, waiting, and theywereallwaryifnotactivelyafraid. But of what? Whatdidtheyexpectofhim?Didthey look for some violentact of rage against them?Did they fear hewould dosomething thatmightdrawthem all into aconfrontation that woulddestroythem?Orwastheirconcern thathemight turn

his destructive urge uponhimself? Whatever it was,they made no move todeflect what might come.Nordidtheyshowsomuchas a hint of thecompassion that mustsurely be the first impulseoflong-timecompanions.

Pilar put her free handonRefugio's fingerswherehe grasped her arm. Hervoice low, she said, “I'msorry.”

Slowly, he turned hishead to look at her. “Areyou?”hesaid,hisvoicenolouderthenthenightwind.“Are you indeed? And areyousorryenough?”

Pilar flinched, not onlyat the raw lash of thewords, but also at thebarely contained ferocitysheglimpsedinthedepthsof his eyes. She drew herhand back as though shehad been burned. She

could feel the sickeningthud of her heart in herchest and the rasp of theairinherlungs.

Abruptly, he releasedher. Swinging away, hemoved with long, swiftstridesintothedarkness.

Pilar drew a gaspingbreath. One of the threemen sighed and swore,Baltasar dropped thesaddle he held to theground, then moved to

take the lantern fromIsabel's trembling hand.Isabel began to cry withthe quiet, hopeless soundofa lostkitten.Theothersgathered close together,not quite looking at eachother.

“What is he going todo?”Pilarasked,hergazegoing from one to theother.

ItwasthetallandrangyoneknownasCharrowho

answered.“Whocansay?”“He will kill Don

Esteban,” Enrique said,giving a shrug of oneshoulder which said thattheanswerwasobvious.

“Or die in the attempt.”Isabel gasped the wordsonafreshsob.

“I mean now, thismoment,” Pilar said. “Youcan'tjustlethimgo.”

“How do you suggestwe stop him?” Enrique

watchedherwithan ironicliftofhisbrows.

“Youcouldgoafterhim,bewithhim.”

“Yes, if we did not solovelife.”

Pilareyed theone-timeacrobat with irritation forthat hint of melodrama.“He'samanlikeanyother.Itcan'tbethatbad.”

“If you think so, thenyou are free to offer himcomfort.”

“I hardly knowhim, butyou are his friends, hiscompadres.”

“Ifyouhardlyknowhim,señorita,” Baltasar saidwithslowreason,“whythisconcern?”

“I'm not—” she began,then stopped. She liftedher chin before shecontinued. “MaybebecauseIfeeltoblame.”

“Yes,” Baltasar saidwith a nod of his massive

head.“Don Esteban protects

himself from all angles, orso it seems,” Enriqueagreed. “He kills the lady,your aunt, to prevent youfrom enlisting her aid andinfluenceagainsthim,thenseizesVicente as hostageagainst Refugio's goodbehavior, ensuring that ElLeon will do nothing tofurther your claims beforeDon Esteban departs

Spainorwhilehe isoutofthe country. At the sametime, Don Esteban hasavenged himself againstboth Vicente and Refugiofor their interference in hisprivate affairs. He has, infact, injured El Leon andeffectively caged him atthe same time. He haswon.Tellushowwearetosolace Refugio for thisdefeat?”

There was accusation

ineveryfaceturnedtowardher. Pilar felt the heat ofguilt rising to hercheekbones.“Ididn'tmeanit tohappen thisway.Youmustknowthat.”

“We know,” Baltasaranswered.

The words were flat.The sound of them madePilar wonder at hismeaning, wonder ifperhaps they all doubtedherinnocenceintheaffair.

It seemed beyond beliefthat they could think shemight have conspired withher stepfather to placeRefugio in his presentposition. Such anelaborate charade couldhardly have beennecessary, even withoutthe danger from Refugio'sretaliationasadeterrent.

Sheglancedawayfromthem, staring in thedirection Refugio had

taken. If his followersbelieved the worst of her,what must El Leon think?He had suspected her ofenticing him into a trap attheir firstmeeting. It couldwell appear that the traphadclosed.

Lifting her skirts, shetook a step into thedarkness. Charrostraightened from wherehe slouched against thedoorframe. “Wait,

señorita,” he said, anurgent sound in his voice.“You don't know whatyou're doing. You'd farebetter facing a band ofTejas country Apache inwar paint than going outthere.”

“Thatmaybe,”shesaidover her shoulder, “but Ihave to go.” Withoutlooking back, she movedawayintothenight.

She couldn't find him.

Shecircledthehut,movinga few yards at a timebefore stopping to listen,then taking another fewsteps and listening again.Returningto theplaceshehadstarted,somehundredyards from the frontof thehut, she turned in a slowcircle, her every sensealert for movement. Sheprobedtheshadowsunderthe scattered trees andscanned the rocks

silhouetted against thenight sky. She evenbreathed the soft nightbreeze for a scent. Therewas nothing. Nothingmoved, not a nightcreature,notatreebranch.The very light of the starsin the velvet-lined domeoverhead seemedstationaryandunblinking.

Longmomentspassed.Finally,Pilarbegantowalkagain, straightahead.She

penetrated farther andfarther into the darkness,until she began towonderif she could find her waybacktothehut.Butasshepaced,thefirst inklingofasuspicion came to her. Itgrew inside her, formedpartlyof instinctandpartlyof acquired knowledge ofthe man she sought. Shewalked on another step,and another. She slowed,stopped.

She stood unmoving,almost without breathing.When the silence hadstretched to its greatestdepth, when the stillnessaround her was nearunbearable and thedarkness seemed to beclosing in, ready tosmotherher,sheknew.

“If you touchme Imaywell scream,” she said.“Not,youunderstand,fromsurprise or even fear, but

fromsheervexation.”“Who would hear? Or

hearing, come?” heanswered from so closebehind her that his warmbreath disturbed the hairsonthebackofherneck.

“Noone,ofcourse.ButI would hate to waste theenergy when I have solittleleft.”

“You have mysympathy. But that waswhatyoucametoofferme,

wasn'tit?”“In part. For the rest, I

wanted to explain aboutVicente.”

The choice of wordswaswrong;sheknewittheinstanttheylefthertongue.Sheexpectedviolence,anexplosion of wrath anddenial. Instead, she felthim receding from her,leavingher.

She swung around,crying out, “Wait! I know

I've involved you insomethingfarbiggerthanIexpected, but I give youmy word I didn't intend it.And I swear that I nevermeant that Vicente shouldbe caught in it. Pleasebelieveme.”

“Ibelieveyou.Ifitwereotherwise, you wouldneverhavebeenleftatmymercy.Assuming thatDonEsteban would value youas an accomplice, of

course. There is thepossibility that you havemerelybeendeserted.”

“Iassureyou—”“There is also the

chance that Iammeant touse you formy retaliation,meant to injureyou,brandyou, ravish you in thewildness of my rage. Thetemptation to return thetransgression committedagainst my sister must bestrong, must it not? More

thanthat,itwouldservetoblacken the polish on thecountry legends, so thatthere would be less hueandcryifmybodyweretobe foundhangingatsomeremotecrossroad.”

The even,expressionless sound ofhis voice as he laid thepotential in the situationbaresentachilltothecoreof Pilar's being. Sheopenedhermouthtorefute

it, but hiswords continuedwithoutpause,relentlessintheirlogic.

“The situation is notquite the same. My sisterwas seduced away fromher home by a madattractiontoDonEsteban'sson, in addition to a headfull of romantic idealsinspired by Shakespeare'stragedies and a familyinclination toward self-sacrifice. She meant to

heal the rift, you see?When she discovered thedepths of her error, shewasextinguishedinside;totake her life was only asmall added sin. You, Ithink,aremadeofstrongerstuff. You would neverpermit yourself to love anunsuitable man, neverallow your spirit to beviolated along with yourbody.”

“Is that what you think

ofme?”“It is, though it's not

possible to be sure. Shallwesee?”

He had moved neareragain as he spoke. Therewasnowarningofwhathemeanttodo,nopreludetohis lastwords.Hestoppedspeaking,andabruptlyshewas whirling, falling. Thebreathwasjarredfromheras she struck the ground,thoughthestonyearthwas

cushioned by a long, hardform. Strong arms closedaround her and she wasrolled to her back. Hismouthdescendedonhers,its molded firmnessseeking,burningitsimprintinto her memory. Whitebeat flared inPilar'smind.She made a convulsivemovement,asifshewouldbreak free, then forcedherself to stillness by anact of stringent will. She

would not give him thesatisfaction of overcomingher resistance, would notencourage him in hisexperiment by even afractionofresponse.

And yet his kiss wastantalizing as its pressureeased. His lips upon herswere warm and smooth,subtly inviting. The touchofhistongueonthetendersurfacesofherownmouthwas sweet, its invasion

oneof infinitegrace ratherthandemand.Pilar felt thesurge of the blood in herveins, heard it begin topound in her head. Herlower body grew heatedand heavy. Her breasts,pressed against the hardplanesofhischest,tingledwith exquisite sensitivity,so that it seemed shecouldfeeltheweaveoftherough peasant's shirt hestill wore and the

interlocking bands of themuscles that layunderneath. His thighswererigidagainstherown.Hisweightwasconstrictingso that she felt incrediblyvulnerable, as ifsomewhere deep insidethere was a place whereshe was defenseless,where if touched just soshe might be enticed toyield.

Alarm, silent but

strident, swept throughher. She drew a deep,gasping breath andpushedhimviolentlyawayfromher.He lethergo. Inthe same movement herose to one knee, bracinghisforearmacrossitashehovered above her whereshe supported herself onone elbow. He gave ashort, breathless laugh.“You see?” he said.“Stalwart and inviolate

inside yourself.How coulditbeotherwise?”

It was a long momentbefore she could trust thesteadiness of her voiceenough to speak, beforeshecouldforcehermindtofunction.Shewantedtorollawayfromhim,butrefusedtogivehimthesatisfactionof that retreat. “Howindeed?” she answeredfinally in husky tones.“There must be another

reason, then, for thisdisplay. If it's the price tobe paid for daring to pityyou, Imust tellyou it's toohigh.”

“On the contrary, it'swonderfullylow,adecisiontaken in deliberation.Unlike some, I have nodesire for a brandedhostage.”

“I'mnotyourhostage.”“Aren't you?” He

reached to catch her

hands. Rising in a singleswift movement, he pulledher to her feet with suchforce that she wascatapulted into his arms.Holdingherpalmspressedagainst his chest, he said,“Tellme,how longdoyouthink it will take me toexchange you for mybrother?”

If he returned her toDon Esteban, there waslittle doubt that her

stepfather would kill her.With the blood slowlycongealing in her veins,she whispered, “You —Youwouldn't.”

“You don't deny that Icould.Doesthatmeanyouaccept that I hold you, oronly that you perceivemeas capable of anyiniquity?”

Anger stirred at havingthe knowledge of herposition forced upon her

with such unremittingintention.“Neither. It'sonlythat I had not thought youwouldsurrenderso tamelyto Don Esteban'smanipulations.”

“It'saquestionofalife.Mybrother's.”

“Andwhatofmine?”“The choice, I admit, is

difficult. Tell me why Ishould preserve youinstead of the fruit of mymother's womb, a sibling

who venerates and trustsme, and who waits evennow, uncomplaining andburned like crisp beef, formetocomeforhim.”

“You are asking forpayment?” She could notkeep the shock from hervoice.

“If the form canguarantee forgetfulness, itwillbeconsidered.”

Hisvoicewasclearandcool, yet there was buried

inside it a crackling edgethat caught at herattention. She was silentas she listened to itsechoesinhermind.Itwas,she thought, the sound ofdeniedpain.

“No,youwon'tdothat,”she said with certainty.“You will do something, Idon't doubt, but not that.After all, you are El Leon,thebandit leadertheysingabout in the mountains.

How difficult can it be foryou to defeat DonEsteban? I expect that ifyouexertyourself,youcanpreserve me and Vicenteatthesametime!”

A sound like a drylaugh left him. “Whoknows?” he said in slowacquiescence. “It mightevenbeworththeeffort.”

Refugio, staring downat the woman he held,seeing no more than the

palecurveofher cheek inthe darkness, wantedsuddenly to strip her bare.He wanted to see not herbody,buthermind,wantedto know what she thoughtand felt and believed, andhow hewas placed in herview. He could do it withforce and sharp, double-edgedwit, butwhatwouldbe the purpose? The actitselfwouldcausechange.Therefore, he must wait,

must accomplish what hewanted by stealth. Hewould ply her with wordsandsweetpossibilitiesuntilshe revealed herself. Andwhen his curiosity wassatisfied, then he would,must,dismissher.

She was different. Shedidn't cling with lovesickentreaties,nordidshelurehim with crude gesturesandpromises; shewantednothing to do with him, in

fact. On the other hand,she didn't shrink from himor act the coy, retiringmaiden. She had strengthof purpose, more than hisband, it seemed, or shewould not be there. Shecouldnotbebullied,andifshe was frightened,refused to show it. Shemet his more outrageoussallieswithwitandflashesofunderstandingthatweredisconcerting.

He thought she wasexactly as she had said,butcouldnotbesure.Sheintrigued him, and wastherefore dangerous. Itwas imperative that hediscover everything therewas to know about her.Always before, that hadbrought boredom andsatiety.Itwould,prayGod,again.

When she made noanswer to his taunt, he

stepped back, gesturingtoward the faint light thatshone from the hut as anindication that they shouldreturn to its shelter. Themovement wasexaggerated in itsgallantry, but no lesssincereforthat.

Pilar moved ahead ofhim toward the hut. Thereshould have beensatisfaction in the fact thatshe had distracted him

from his worry aboutVicente, but she could notfeel it. It seemed, instead,that she had gained not aconcession,butareprieve.There was to be no rest.Refugio, brisk with ordersand exhortations, waxingacerbicanddulcetbyturnsandwithneithermoodsafetoquestion,gotthemallupon their feet again andback in the saddle. Pilarthought she would be left

behind, until she wasdirectedtoherhorsewithastinging rebuke.They tookthe small chest of silverbecause, she surmised,their leader felt it mightprove useful, and tookIsabel because the youngwoman refused in nearhysteria to remain behindagain.Theywerefaralongthe road, with the sunclimbing ladders of pinkcloud into a sky of purest

cerulean, before anyonethought, or dated, to askwheretheyweregoing.

Cadiz was theirdestination. Cadiz of athousand years and tenthousand ships, wherePhoenician merchantsonce dreamed of Tyre,where Carthaginians andRomans had saluted theirdancinggirlsinthewineofJerez, and where theyellow wealth of Aztec

gods had been draggedashore with grunts. Cadiz,where the sea surroundedthe Alameda and theAlameda edged thehousesofthetown,andallwas guarded by the rockyheadlandsofLosCochinosandLasPuercas.

They were headed forCadiz,whereDonEstebanwas to take ship forLouisiana.

No one asked what

they would do when theygot there. They failed toaskbecause therewasnoleisure for it, no breath orwill.Pilar thought theyhadtraveled fast before; shehad been mistaken. Theycareened along themountain roads, crowdingless desperate travelersinto the ditches, tramplingchickensandgeeseundertheir horses' hoofs andsendingcursyipping.They

rode tough hill ponies intoheaving,windbrokennags;they ate and drank withonefoot inthestirrup,andthey did not close theireyesforfearthecakedgritoftheroaddirtwouldblindthem.

Shadowy figures gavethem food, led away theirexhausted mounts andbrought freshones.Thesemen talked to Refugio, inlowvoices,pointing south,

explaining, absolving.Sometimes there wassilver passed, sometimesnot.

The leagues fell awaybehind them. The daywaned and night cameagain, and still they rodeon. Pilar, tired before theystarted, felt fora long timeas if she were on a rack.Gradually she wasovercome by a blesseddaze through which she

couldhearandseebutnolonger feel. Her fingerswere claws made to holdreins, and there werepatches on her thighs andhipsthatmightnevergrowskin again. Unlike theothers, particularlyBaltasar, who snored withclosed eyes as he rode,she could not sleep in thesaddle. She remainedupright on her horse bysheer strength of will, that

and a carefully nurturedhostility.

ItwasRefugiowhowasthe focus of her wrath, ElLeon, the man who rodewith unflagging strength,who never swayed, neverstumbledon thedismount,who continued alert andwatchful and endlesslyenduring. It was he whodrovethem,whowouldnotlet them tarry or dawdle,not let themstop to sleep,

hardly let them breathe.She refused to complain,andbitbackeverymoanofpainandweariness.But inher mind she castigatedthe man who gallopedahead as inhuman andunfeeling, a monster ofarrogance. And she kepther mind half alert byplottinghervengeance.

They came to Cadizlate on the second dayfrom when they had

begun. The town wallswere insuchdisrepair thatthey were falling down,and there was no one atthe single landward gate.They threaded their waythrough the streets untilthey reached the outeredge of the docks of thebay. They drew up beforea low tavern with acreaking sign showing arooster riding a dolphin.Inside it smelled of sweat

and brine, stale tobaccoand sour wine. Theproprietor was huge, agrossly fat behemoth whosatbehindatableswattingflies and the backsides ofany barmaid in reach withequal impartiality. Helaughed when he heardthe name of the ship theywere inquiring after. Hisbody shook with hisamusement, rolling inwaves, cresting here and

therelikeabilioussea.Therehadbeenagreat

hustleandbustleabouttheloading of the ship, hesaid, for it carried a manwho thought himselfimportant and made sureCadiz had the sameopinion. The dockgrapevine said he wasquicktoorderthewhipandmean with his money; henotonly laidstripesonthebacks of the stevedores

hired to load his carriage,but also on a youngmanservant he had withhim whom he calledVicente. Besides that, hehadcheatedthedockmenout of their reward of aration of grog. Themightyhad their weaknesses,however. The nobleman'scarriage had mysteriouslybeendropped into theseaas it was being loaded onthe ship. It had been

draggedoutagain,but thegilt trim and velvetcushionshadbeen ruined.The young manservantwas whipped over theincident, but he didn'tseemtomind.

Wastheshipstill inthebay?By all the saints, didthey see it? The vesselhad cleared the harborwith the morning tide. Bynow it was far out to sea,wellonitswaytotheWest

Indies!The tavern was not

designed to accommodateovernight guests. Therewas a single room undertheeaves,but itwasusedby the barmaids toentertain the customerswho wanted somethingmore stimulating than adrink. The tavern keeperdid not want to let themhave it, and seemedinclined to question why

they did not go to an inn.That was until Refugioleanedcloseandasked ingentlysatiricaltonesabouttheincidenceofsmugglingin and around the harbor.The fat man choked andand wheezed and lookedcloser at his customer. “ElLeon,” he muttered, hiseyesgogglingasheturnedblue about the mouth, “ElLeon.”

The room was theirs.

Therewasanoffertoclearthe taproom of the tavern,but it was refused since itmight cause questions.Food was brought: a halfof a roast pig, a dish ofpaella the size of a cart'swheel, several beehiveshaped loaves of bread,andtwopitchersofwine.Afire was made on thesmoke-blackenedhearthofthe fireplaceatoneendofthe room, a few tallow

candles appeared. Whenall was prepared, theywereleftalone.

Pilarateasliveror twooftheroastporkanddrankacupofwine,butwastootired formore.Theheatofthe firewassosoporific incombination with the sourdrink that she felt dazed,disoriented. She wasuncomfortably aware of astrongneedforabath,butsince it didn't seem

possible to arrange one intheir present crampedquarters, she made nomentionofit.

Therewerefourbedsinthe room. They saggedhere and there, and thesingle sheet that coveredeachwas less than clean.Pilar, after inspecting thebed on the far wall awayfrom the fire, grimaced,then stripped off the dirtysheet and threw it into a

corner. Picking up thecoverlet, she wrapped itaround her and sat downon the side of the hairmattress.

For the four availablebeds, there were sixpeople.Itwasobviousthattwo people would have toshareabedwithsomeoneelse. Who it would bedepended on a number offactors, none of whichseemed terribly important

at the moment. If no oneobjected to the bed shebadchoseninthenextfiveseconds, Pilar was goingtofall into it.Afterthatshedidn't really care whojoinedher.

Isabel was alreadyasleep, sitting upright in achairwith hermouth openin away that should havelooked ridiculous butmerely made her appearfrail. Enrique, his

ebullience dimmed, wasblinkingsleepilyatthefire.Charro was rebraiding araveling leather lariat withlip-pursed concentration.Baltasar sat forward on astoolwithhiselbowsonhisknees and his chin in hishands.Thebrigand leaderhad stayed below, talkingto the tavern keeper forsome time before herejoined them. Now heleanedbackinanarmchair

withhislonglegsstretchedout toward the fire andcrossed at the ankle. Herested his head on thechair back, gazing up attheceiling.

Refugio had beendrinking;hiscuphadbeenrefilled times withoutnumber.Theplanesof hisfacewerealittleslackandhis eyes had a blind,inward-searching look.Regardless, therewas not

atremorinhishandsashecarried the cup to his lips,and his manner was ascommanding as ever. Hisvoice, when he broke thesomnolent stillness, wasas clear and commandingasaconventbell.

“What say you, mycompadres,”hesaid, “toaseajourney?”

“No,” Baltasar said.“You don't mean—” Thebig peasant stopped as

Refugio turned his head,impaling him with a steel-grayglance.

“Why not?” their leaderasked gently. “What isthere here that you can'tlivewithout?What joy thatcan't be replaced?Or is itthat you relish beinghunted?”

“If you mean to followDon Esteban, we musthave money to pay ourpassage. Then we would

need something more forthe voyage than theclothesonourbacks.”

“We have the silver,andthehorseshavevalueeveninaquicksale.”

“Aship'sasmallplace,”Baltasar argued, “onewhere it would be easy tobe cornered if some fooldiscoverswhoyouare.”

“Fools are distressinglycommon, but are seldomdangerous unless

someone is careless. Wewillnotbe.Otherthanthat,not everyone knows myface, and names can bechanged.” The voice oftheir leader was patient,yet held a firmness thatwould not be denied. Itwas plain that the timewould soon come when achoicemustbemade.

“It may be a year ormorebeforeanyofuscanreturn, if then. There are

people who depend on ElLeon.Wouldyouleavethebandtofendforitself?”

“Howwould they fare ifI were captured thisevening and hanged atdaybreak?Our calling hasno guarantees, either ofallegianceoraleader.Andyoumust know that thosewho require these thingsdon'tlastlonginit.”

Baltasar stared atRefugio a long moment,

then gave a deliberatenod. “It looks as if you'resetonit.Sobeit,then.”

RefugioturnedhisgazetoCharro.Theyoungmangrinned with a slowcreasing of the lean sidesofhis face.“Ismellawindfrom the Tejas country,and it's calling me home.TrytokeepmeinSpain.”

“Enrique?”Theslightmangavean

elaborate shrug,

smoothing his mustache.“It will be different. Thewomen will be different.You speak of changednames,andIhaveadesireto beagrandeeandhavepeopleaddressmeasDonEnrique. Promise me this,and I am, as always, yourman.”

Refugiosmiledwith thebright flicker of firelight inhiseyes.“Done.”

Pilar rose to her feet.

Holding the coverletaround her shoulders, shemoved toward the others,deliberately pushing intotheircircle.Hervoicecalm,shesaid,“Whatofme?”

“You?” Refugio shiftedhis shoulders so he couldturntofaceher.

“Yes, me! I have aninterest in tracking downthe man who killed bothmy mother and my auntandwhocheatedmeofall

Iown.”“Except the chest of

silver.”“Apaltryamount.”“ButIthoughtyouwere

claimingit.”Therewassomethingin

Refugio's gaze upon herthat sent a ripple ofwariness along her skin;still, she could see noreason to withdraw herrequest. She answered,“True, but Don Esteban

tooksomuchmore.”“Then you won't mind

playing the Venus de laTorre in order to try toreclaim it? Naked, if needbe?”

TheVenusde laTorre,Pilar knew, was a famoussculpture, therepresentationofawomantotally unclothed andimprisoned inside an ivorytower.ThemodelwassaidtobethemistressofCount

Gonzalvo of Cordoba, abeautiful woman who hadbeen kept a prisoner foryears by the eccentricnobleman. So perfect washerformthatthecounthadhired an obscure marblecutter tomake a life-sizedstatue of her. The poorartisthadfalleninlovewiththe mistress, however.Whenhiscommissionwasdone,hehadgoneawaytomakeacopyoftheoriginal

work from memory, amasterpiecethathadbeenpurchased and displayedbyKingCarlosIII.

Pilardrewherselfupaswellasshewasableinherraggedcoverlet.Her voicescathing, she said, “Don'tbeabsurd!”

“There is no absurdity,onlynecessity.”

Refugio's gaze wasstern, though there was aglint in its depths that

might have been causedby either satisfaction orwine. Of one thing therewas no doubt, he meantwhathesaid.Ifhismannerhad not told her so, Pilarwould have been warnedbytheswiftnesswithwhichhe had answered herproposal. He had knownshe would ask to go withhisband,andhehadbeenready. Itwas galling to beso maneuvered, but there

wasnothingshecoulddo.“I suppose you will be

thecount?”shesaidinchilltones.

His face was bland ashe inclined his head. “Imean to go as CountGonzalvo, aman heard ofbymany,butseenbyfew.To complete thismasquerade, I require aVenus. You will travel asmy imprisoned mistress,keeper of my heart,

señorita,oryouwillnotgoatall.”

6

SHE WENT AS THEVenus de la Torre; therewas no other choice. Shedid not go naked, but insilk and velvet and aplumed hat, and with herbare throat draped withfaux pearls, though they

were fine quality of theirkind. She went as theinamorata—incomparableinbeauty,ofcourse—ofanobleman of great wealth,unstable disposition, andflamboyant habits, DonGonzalvo, whose nameandcrestwere recognizedinstantly, though not hisvisage.ShetraveledwithamaidnamedIsabeltocarryher jewel box, amanservantcalledBaltasar

tohold thecushion forherfeet andperform theothertasksthatmightaddtohercomfort,andwithapairofgallants known as DonEnrique and Don Miguel,friends of Don Gonzalvowho could be trusted toamuse her withoutencroaching, and also tokeepothermenatbay.

Pilar was thetouchstone, the key, theone who justified the

disguises of them all. Sheaccepted the position, butthe knowledge wasincensing. It angered her,not because of theinvidious position in whichshe had been placed, butbecause it was furtherproof that she need neverhaveaskedtojoinRefugioand his men. Theschemingbandithadneverintendedanythingelse,buthad used her appeal as a

levertopersuadehertoanimpersonation she mightnot otherwise haveassumed. More than that,her role was a constantreminder that she was hishostage.

If she had thought thattheimposturetheywereallundertaking would beconducted with somedegreeofmoderation, shesoon learned her error.Moderation played no part

in Refugio's plans. Hewanted her, and thenobleman at her side, tobe the focus of all eyes,the subject of suchsurprise and amazedconjecture that no onewould have the time toconsider that they mightnotbewhotheyseemed.

It was Enrique andBaltasar who provedmostcapableatcreatinginterestin the tale of Count

Gonzalvoandhismistress.Withguileandcompetenceandstrongheadsforwine,they spread the story ofhow the count was takinghis Venus away to theCaribbean to remove herfrom the notorietysurrounding their loveaffair, and also from theimportuning of the menwho were enraptured byher loveliness, both inmarble and in the flesh.

They spoke of the terriblejealousy of the count andwhisperedofthemenslaininduelsforthesakeofhisVenus. They hinted atwealthbeyond thedreamsof mortals, wealth thatgaveample license for hisviolent temper and oddwhims, such as bathingevery day, eating no fruitother than pomegranates,and commanding themanservantBaltasartoact

as his food taster on theoddoccasion.

It was also Enriquewho, with Refugio, visiteda discreet Moorish Jewwho dealt in ersatz jewelsandclothingcastoffbytherichduetoennuiordeath.Itwas there that theentireparty had been outfitted,and at minimal expense.ThegreaterpartofthecosthadbeenappliedtoPilar'swardrobe. Neither man

could understandwhy shewas not more grateful forthat fact, or so theypretended.

There was no shipembarking for LouisianafromtheCadizharbor,andwouldnotbe forat leastamonth, possibly longer.There was, however, avesselcalledtheCelestinawhich was bound forMexico by way of theisland of Cuba. If they

landed at Havana harbor,they might then findpassage to Louisianaaboard a coastal traderplying between the island,and the ports of MobileandNewOrleans.Itwouldbe a roundabout way ofreaching their destination,but could well be fasterthan waiting for the latership. Moreover, it was asafer alternative forRefugio, and the others

than remaining in Cadiz.The chance that one ofthem might be recognizedby the authorities wasalways with them. Thesooner they took up theirnew identities, the soonertheywereoutofSpain,thebetteritwouldbe.

It was Charro whoprovided the carriage fortheir arrival at the docks.He had borrowed it, in aphrase, from its owner, an

invalidwhoseldom lefthissick room and would notmiss it for a few hours.Therewas a crest paintedonthedoors,butitwassoartfullysplatteredwithmudas to be undecipherable.The coachman andfootmenwhoaccompaniedit wore livery of burgundyvelvet laced with gold. Iftheir faces weresuspiciously red with theeffects of strong drink and

therewasa jingleofsilverin their pockets, no onecame close enough tonotice.

Thegazeof the five orsix other passengersalreadyonboard the ship,as well as that of thegreatest portion of thecrew and every drunkenseaman and waterfrontlounger in Cadiz, was, onRefugio as he descendedfrom the carriage. He

moved with animal grace,yet there was about himthehauteurofaprince.Hewas splendidly visible in ajacket of red velvet pipedin burgundy and set withsilver buttons the size ofapples. With it he woregolden-yellow breeches,gray stockings, and blackshoes with silver buckles.His tricorne hat, set onlightly powdered hair, hadaburgundyplume,andhis

cane of polished malaccawas as long as theaverageman was tall andhadaheadformedofgoldfiligree. His cloak wasembellishedbyamultitudeof capes, each fuller thanthe next, so that his wideshoulders appearedbroaderstill.

With magnificentindifference for hisaudience, he brushedaside theaidofa footman

and,turning,gavehishandto Pilar to help her alight.She was his match indemure splendor, outfittedinatravelinggownofgrayvelvetlinedwithpinksatin,and wearing a wide-brimmed hat of gray felttiedwithawidepinkgauzeribbonunderherchin.Thefaux pearls gleamed onher bosom with anopalescent sheen thatmade her skin appear

luminous—andtherewasa great deal of it to beviewed.Thegownwaslowcut,withapink-laceedgingat the neckline that actedasa frame for thedisplay.Pilar kept her eyeslowered, though she sentRefugio, a fulminatingglance from under herlashesashebentoverherhand in a gesture nicelycalculated to indicatehomage and adoration.

She felt he wasmaking aspectacle of her, turningher into something shewasnot.At thesame timeitseemedhewaslaughingather, though it could justas easily have beenhimselfhemocked.

They swept up thegangplank. Behind themcame Isabel, simplydressedandcarryingwhathadeveryappearanceofajewel chest but was

actually the last pitifulremnants of the silver.Enrique strolled after thegirl, a refined courtier in ablue vest and breecheswornwithapalegraycoat,a diamond in his sky-bluecravat and his hair whitewith powder and with itsbacklengthcaughtinasilkbag.

Baltasarwasperfectionas the manservant. Hisraimentwassober,evena

little rough; his hair wasnatural, his expressionstolid, and he carried thefirst of a number of boxesbeing decanted from thecarriage. Charro wore ashort black riding jacketthat matched his shadow-stripedblackvestandalsohis breeches, which weretucked into gloveleatherboots. With his flat-crowned hat and lariat ofbraided leather coiled

around his shoulder, heappearedtheconsummatehorseman. The quality ofhis attire hinted, perhaps,atsomehaciendadevotedto the breeding ofArabians,orofbullsforthearena;still,hisrolewassonearlyhisownidentitythatheseemednaturalinit.

Thecaptainof theshipcame forward to welcomethem. He bent himself inhalf, his face wreathed in

ingratiatingsmiles.“To have you traveling

with us is an unexpectedpleasure, Don Gonzalvo,”theship'sofficersaid.“Youdousgreathonor.Wewilldo our utmost to makeyour journey comfortable,andmemorable.”

Thecaptainwouldhavepresented the otherpassengers, but Refugiowaved the suggestionawaywith a languid hand.

Later, perhaps. Theseñorita was fatigued, hesaid, and he wished topersonally inspect hiscabin for cleanlinessbeforetheshipsailed.

Pilarhadneverbeenona ship before. The fewpicturesthathadcomeherway had failed entirely toprepare her for the smallsize of the one she wason, or for the crampedquarters allotted to

passengers.Thecabinsheand Refugio were showncontained a narrow berth,acornerwashstandwithabasinset into the top,andaminuscule tablewith twochairs. There was hardlyspace for a full stepbetween any of thefurnishings, and this wasthe most lavishaccommodation on theship, next to that of thecaptainhimself.

The space allotted tothe others was apparentlyon a lower level, forBaltasar set down the boxhe carried, then withEnrique, Charro, andIsabel, followed after thesailor who had beendetailed to see them allinstalled. Pilar would havetrailedafter theothers,butRefugio put his hand onherarm.

“One moment, my

dove,” he said with amelting smile, then closedthedoorbehindtheothers.Turning, he leaned hisshouldersagainstit.

Pilar looked at him, atthe lingering elationunderlinedbygaiety in hiseyes. She tilted her head.“You'reenjoyingthis,aren'tyou? This playing of partsandrunningrisks?”

“It'sbearable.”“Morethanthat,Ithink.”

Heinclinedhishead,asif in recognition of herinsight.“ToberestrictedtothehillsofSpainandtotheplaces that have beenmade safe by money orloyalty is a kind ofimprisonment. Prisons arenotoriously dreary. Tobreak free even for a dayisgratifying.”

“Butdangerous.”“The prospect of

weeks, even months, at

large is a gift from thegods. Such gifts are bestaccepted without countingthecost.”

“That's all very well,”she said, her brown eyescool with condemnation,“but there are some of uswho don't enjoy fear. Orwalking into possibletraps.”

He tilted his head.“Suchas?”

“This room. I have the

strangest feeling that youare waiting withanticipationforthemomentwhen I must concede thata man's mistress usuallyshareshisquarters.”

“Hardly anticipation.More like consideredinterest.What took you solong?”

She gave him a tightsmile. “I thought youusually slept alone andpreferred it that way. I

thought that the supposedeccentricity of yournobleman would surelyextend toseparatecabins.Failing either, I thoughtsharing accommodationswith all your followersmight be so ingrained ahabit that you would notthink of doing otherwise. Ithought a great manythings, none of them, itseems,quitecorrect.”

“You have nothing to

fear from me,” he saidsoftly.

“You have held meagainstmywill,threatenedme, and forced yourattentions on me. Tell mewhyIshouldbelieveyou.”

“My attentions,” herepeated, the wordsmusing.

“Doyoudenyit?”“Bynomeans.Butyou

might realize that theattentions you mention

were an exercise inrestraintcomparedtowhatIcouldhavedone.”

It was true, that muchshe would admit. Shetransferredhergazetothewood grain of the doorbehind his right shoulder.“That doesn't make themacceptable.”

I repeat, you havenothing to fear. All that'srequiredistheappearanceofintimacy.”

“I don't like it.” Thestatement was bold withstrain.

“Why?Evenifthoseforwhom the masquerade isbeingplayedoutfoundoutwho you are, it could notharm a name alreadydamaged beyondreckoning. As it is, whyshouldanew-madeVenuscare?”

“Don'tcallmethat,”shesnapped.

“Then trust me,” hereturned, the reasonablequality dying out of histonetobereplacedbylightacerbity. “If I werebreathing prayers andpleas to taste your sweetfavors, you might havereason for complaint. I amnot.”

“Forthemoment.”“Oh,agreed.Isthatthe

objection?”“Not at all!” She could

feel the heat of the hotflush thatmade its way toher hairline. It was sheerrage that caused it, andnot themental images hiswords conjured up in hermind.

“Proving that you arenot pining to nestle at mysidewithgentlecooingandsoft, intrepid explorations?Ifthereisneitherdreadnoryearningbetweenus,whatcantroubleourslumbers?”

“Weareforcedtotraveltogether. We are notforcedtosleeptogether!”

Hisgazenarrowedandhis voice grew quieter,both warning signs. “Oh,but we are. Unless youprefer to change placeswith Enrique. Charro Irefuse tohave foraberth-mate; he wears his spurstobed.”

“Youmean—”“That'sthechoice.”

“WhatofIsabel?”“Baltasar is unlikely to

agree to her leaving himalone. She mightexchangeplaceswithyou,however, and Baltasarmight permit it, but thequestion is whether youwould find thearrangement animprovement.”

“You think I shouldprefer you?” There wasderisioninthechallenge.It

hid thesudden flutternearher heart that the wordsbrought.

“Oh, I'm sure of it,” heanswered in unimpairedself-esteem. “You see, Idon'tsnore.”

“I am not proposing tosleepwithBaltasar!”

“No?NeitheramI.”She swung away from

him,movingtostandattheporthole with its small,thick, salt-smeared panes

ofglass.Fromthatpositioninthestemoftheship,shecouldseethestretchofthedockwithitsmillingactivityand, beyond that, thecurveoflandthatwouldbeherlastviewofSpainforalongtime,possiblyforever.

“You think it's easy,”shesaidoverhershoulderinavoicethatwasunevenwith weariness and theanxiety she was tryingvaliantlytohide.“Youdon't

mind setting out for acolonyontheothersideoftheworld.Youareusedtobeing thrown togetherwithBaltasar and Enrique andtheothers.Theprospectofbeing crammed togetherwith another person in aspacehardlybiggerthananun'ssinglecell forweekson end is, to you, only aninconvenience. I can't bethatway.”

“You misjudge me. I

haveneversharedaspacethis small with anotherhuman being, and thethought affects me withdoubtamountingtoterror.Iam aware, you see, thatthiscabinisnot,andneverwillbe,anun'scell.”

His choice of wordswas odd. For Refugio, theoddity could only bedeliberate. She swung tofacehim.

There was no one

there.Thedoorpanelwasjust closing. It shut with abrittlesnap.

They sailed within thehour. The backs of themenwho bent to the oarsof the boats that pulledthem from the bayglistenedinthesun.Dropsofwater,dripping from thestraining ropes, fellglittering like lostdiamonds. Cadiz recededin the glare, shimmering

above the water as ifdancing a farewell bolero.The ocean beyond theharbor greeted them withswells. The sea birdsfollowing,cryingabovetheship'stopmostsails,tippedtheirwingsandglidedbackshoreward with the tenderboats.Theocherandgraygreen of the land thatnestled gently against thepureblueoftheskyturnedmisty. It faded into purple,

becameagrayhaze, thenvanishedinaninstant.Theturquoise of the seadeepened and darkenedand became the color ofnew-made ink. Twilightapproached from behindthemandbecamenight.

Pilar was reluctant toleave the cabin. Shedeploredtheapprehensionthat held her there, butcould not deny it. Thesmall roomhad becomea

refugewhereshewassafefrom weighing, judgingeyes. She felt the urge togatherthemall,IsabelandBaltasar, Enrique andCharro, and especiallyRefugio, inside, as if thatwould protect them. Theconsequences if Refugioor any of his men wererecognized seemed toodiretoriskmovingaround,exposing themselves topassengers and crew. For

herself, she had littleconcern. The likelihoodthatshewouldseeanyonewhoknewherwasremote;shehadbeenshutawayinthe convent too long forthat. And yet, her safetydepended on the othersremainingsafealso.

Sheknew thesenseofsecurity in the room wasfalse, knew that to remainhiddenwouldbethesurestwayof attractingattention.

She couldn't help it. Sheneeded time to adjust tothisnewdangerandtohernewposition.

It felt strange, knowingthat people thought shewasRefugio'swoman.Theidea aroused such a hostof feelings inside her thatshe could not separatethemall.Thatshehadnotobjected more stronglywas peculiar, even toherself. The reason, she

thought, was thatsomewhere inside herselfshe trusted that it wasmerely a subterfuge.Added to that was theneed to belong. She hadno one, neither father normother, relativenor friend.She would grow used tothat,factgiventime,butfornow there was comfort inbeing a part of Refugio'sband, in sharing thewarmth and the jokes as

wellas thehardships.Sheneed not be alone.Moreover, there wassomeone else whounderstood her aims,needs, and enmities,someonewhowouldcometo her aid if need be.Shemight resent the fact thatRefugiomeanttokeepherwith him against her will,might be incensed that hewoulduseherforhisends,but she depended on the

strength of his intention.That she also resentedthat dependence wasnatural.

ThewayRefugiomadeherfeel,hersheerphysicalreaction to him as aman,troubledher.Shecouldnotseem to control it, whichdistressed her evenmore.No good could come ofsuccumbing to aninfatuation with a brigand,a man whose most likely

future was an ignobledeath. Whatever he mightoncehavebeen,thatmuchwasclear.Addedto itwashisownresolvetoavoidallentanglements exceptthose without emotionalcomplications. To lovesuch a man could onlybring pain.Her own futurewas uncertain enoughwithoutthatburden.

Pilar did not join theothers for dinner, but

pleaded exhaustion as anexcuse to keep to thecabin. Refugio dined withpomp and affectations ofgrandeur, and withBaltasar standing behindhis chair to taste eachmorsel on command.Enrique was voluble andcharming, talking of hisjaunts about Europe,though without mention oftheacrobat troupe.Charrospoke a great deal about

the Tejas country and hisfather'sholdingstherenearthenortherncapitalofNewSpain known as SanAntonio de Baltasar. Heheld forth in particularaboutthemenwhoworkedthecattle, roping, throwingthembytwistingtheirgreatlonghorns,brandingthesebeasts descended fromSpanishancestors.

Isabel, when shebrought Pilar her evening

meal on a tray, told herabouttheordeal.Pilarwasjust as happy not to havebeen there. Inviting Isabelto share her dessert, shepliedthegirlwithquestionsabout the otherpassengers.

They were five innumber, Isabel said. Theyincluded a young andhandsome priest going toreport to his bishop inMexico City, a merchant

who owned a tannery inHavana and was travelinghome with his giddy newwife, just fifteen years old,andalsohiswife'smother.There was, in addition, awealthyyoungwidowwho,like themselves, was enroutetoLouisiana.

Thelastladyseemedtohave earned Isabel'sdislike. The womandressedherself in silk andlace,thoughitwascolored

theblackofmourning.Shehad intended to depart onthe ship taken by DonEsteban, but had beenpreventedfrommakingthesailing by an accident onthe road fromMadrid.Thewidow was going out tooversee the dissolving ofan estate left her by herlate husband. She hadmarriedhim,anolderman,some five years beforewhilehewasinSpain,and

hadintendedtojoinhiminthe colony. She had, shesaid, been prevented fromthisaimbyalongstringofdifficulties too tedious tomention. Isabel, however,thoughtthewholetalelessthan truthful. The widowwas a poser of the firstorder, Isabel declared, afrivolous woman mostlikelydelayedinjoiningherhusband by parties andother amusements at

court.Why,thewidowhadtakenoff her black veil forthe sole purpose of flirtingwith Refugio across thetable.Shewasshameless!

Refugio was latereturning to the cabin. Hedid not light the lanternswinging from its hookoverhead, but disrobed inthe darkness. Pilar shuthereyesasshesawwhathe was doing; though thecabin was dim, there was

the glow of moonlight onthe sea coming throughtheporthole.Shecouldtellfrom the soft rustling andquiet thuds when heremoved his coat andtossed it aside, when hetook off his shirt andremovedhis boots.As thesounds faded sheclenchedherteeth,waitingfor him to approach theberth.

Therewasonlysilence.

She opened her eyes bydegrees to see him at theporthole. He wassilhouetted against theglass while shifting silvergleams outlined the widthof his bare shoulders andslid along the muscles ofhis arms and downwardoverhislightlyfurredchestto the narrow flatness ofhis belly. He had retainedhisbreeches,forthegleamof his skin ended at the

waist.He thought himself

unobserved, it appeared.Lifting a hand, he pressedit to the glass and,spreading the fingers,slowlybenthisheadtorestit onhiswrist.Hepressedhiseyelids tightly together,his breathing even,noiseless thoughcompressed,asifitwasanefforttokeepitthatway.

The minutes ticked

away.Pilar foughtanurgetositup,toaskifhewasinpain, to offer help,consolation, something.However, it would be anintrusionuponanintenselyprivatemoment,sheknew,andsolaystill.

At last Refugio moved.He stepped to one of theboxes and, going to oneknee, lifted the lid. Hereached inside and tookout a bottle; after drawing

its cork, he raised it tohislips. He drank again, thenreplaced the bottle andtook out a blanket.Wrapping thisaroundhim,he lay down against thewall.

Pilar had thoughtRefugio de Carranzainvulnerable, his strengthand endurance endless. Itwas not so. Everyone, itseemed, carried aroundwith them their pains and

their griefs. Some allowedtheirs to be seen, othersdidn't. If they chose thelattercourse,itdidn'tmeanthey felt less, perhapseventheopposite.

It was sometime laterwhen Pilar finally closedher eyes, later still whensheslept.

Thewidowwaspresenton the afterdeck whenRefugio, rejuvenated andgorgeous in lime-green,

escorted Pilar up to takethe air. He introduced thetwo of them with allcourtliness. The widowwasLuisaElguezabal.Shewas in her early thirties,with red-brown hair andeyes of bright hazel thatsaw everything and wereavid for more. Short instature, rounded in form,she carried herself in amanner that thrust herbosom outward, like a

pigeon. Her gaze as itrested on Refugio washungry mid amused andslyly arch. She had noattentiontospareforPilar,but smiled up at thebrigand in his gentleman'sclothing.

“I've been waiting foryou,” she said, her voicelowbutlilting.

Refugio's bow waspolite,thoughPilarthoughtshe saw a flicker of

wariness in his eyes. Hesaid, “This is a boon, onesurely undeserved. Hadwe known you woulddisplaysuchgraciousness,mycompanionandIwouldhave made haste to joinyou.”

The other womanignored that reference tohis semi-attached state.Her voice low, she said,“How very gallant asentiment, my brave man.

Andatotal lie.YouknewIwouldbewaiting.Thetruthis,youknewmetheinstantyou saw me last night,Refugio de Carranza.Admit it, you did. HowcouldyouthinkIwouldnotknow you, or that I wouldlet our meeting passunacknowledged?”

“There must be somemistake.”

“No,none. It isn'teveryday that I discover an old

lover I thought never tosee again— or that I ampresented with theopportunitytobeardalion,thegreatElLeon.”

Refugio remained theunperturbed grandee. Hisface was still, a mask forthecogentthoughtpassingbehind it. Pilar inhaled thescent of musk andhyacinths thatwafted fromthe other woman and feltthe rise of sick, baffling

dislike inside her. Shewanted to slap the widowfor putting them injeopardy, though she wassure she need not exertherself. Refugio, was notsurprised; he must haverecognized the woman,also. Pilar waited withconfidence for hisannihilationofthewidow.Itwould be swift andcomplete, and verbal, ofcourse.Regrettably.

Refugio, laughed, asound of rich amusementand rueful pleasure. “Wasthere ever such felicity asthismeeting? I feared youmeant to deny me, DoñaLuisa. Puerile romancecanbeforgotten,andourswaslongago.”

“Notsolong.”“Andyoulookasnubile

nowasthen,inspiteofthewidow's trappings.” Thecompliment rose easily,

without apparent effort, tohislips.

“What a charmer youwere,” the widow said,fingering her black veil asshesighed.

“May I charm younow?” Refugio offered hisarm to Luisa Elguezabal,his dark gray gazesweeping sightlessly overPilarashedesertedher.

It was a surrender, acapitulation without

skirmish or defense andunder the most vulgar ofterms.Therewerereasonsfor it. If Doña Luisarecognized Refugio, thenshe could harm them all,andhemustpreventthatifhe could. The lady had,apparently,decidedontheprice she required for hersilence. Refugio had nochoiceexcepttopayit.

Pilarwatched theothertwo walk away, watched

Refugio bend his headtoward the widow with aguilelessandgentlesmile.She watched, andaccepted the necessity,andevenunderstoodit.

Understanding did notprevent thedesolationthatassailedher.Orexplainit.

7

THE NARROW ROOMWHERE the passengers,aswellas thecaptainandofficers of the Celestina,took theirmealswasusedbetween timesasa salon.Toward afternoon of theirthird day at sea, Pilar

found the widowElguezabal ensconcedthere. Doña Luisa hadeveryappearanceofaladyready to receive visitors;her hair was elaboratelycoiffed and covered by afinemuslincapedgedwithblack lace, her day gownas freshas if shehad justchanged. There was aplate of bonbons at herelbow, and in her handswasapieceofembroidery

to while away the time.Shewas,however,alone.

Pilar'sfirst impulsewasto go away at once. Sheovercame it with an effort.Her manner casual, shemoved to takeaseatnearthewoman.Sheessayedapleasantry, and it wasansweredwith a commentbothblandandbanal.Shetriedagain.

“Please accept mysympathy on the death of

your husband. His lossbeforeyouhadthetimetoknowhimmusthavebeenagreatblow.”

The widow smiledpiously with lasheslowered. “Indeed, yes. Sosad.”

“Whatanironyit isthatyoumustnowtravelouttotheLouisianatoattendhisaffairswhenyoucouldnotbefore.”

“These things happen,”

cametheanswer,thoughitwas accompanied by asharpglance.

“But to have such achoice forced upon you atthis time is terrible. Iwonder you support it sowell.”

“Wedowhatwemust,”thewidowagreed,hertoneacid.“Therewas,yousee,an unexpectedencumbrance upon theestate, the matter of my

husband'smulattomistressand her two daughters,quadroons,ofcourse.”

Pilar felt the rise of aflush. A part of it wasembarrassment,butapartwas also annoyance, forsheknewverywellthatthewidow meant her to benonplussed. “Howunfortunate,” was all shecouldfindtosay.

“Isn't it? The daughtersare twelve and fourteen.

One feels sorry for them,ofcourse,buttheycan'tbeallowed to interfere withwhatshouldbemine.”

“I see. Thearrangement seems tohave predated yourmarriage. Did you notknow of it?” Since DoñaLuisa had introduced thesubject, there could benothing wrong in pursuingit.

“Of course I knew. It

would be folly to contractan alliance withoutinquiring into thecircumstances of theprospectivegroom.”

Thewordswereblandlycondescending, while thelook in thewoman's hazeleyes mocked Pilar'sdelicate attempt todiscomfort her. Pilarpretended not to notice.The hostility she felttoward the woman had

good cause, she thought.Doña Luisa seemed to beenjoying her position ofpower among them. Shehad taken to orderingIsabel about when the girlwas present, and hadappropriated Enrique andCharroforheramusement,keeping them inattendance upon her withdemands that they play atcards with her, or regaleher with tales of El Leon

couchedasfables.“You married the man,

regardless,” Pilar pointedout.

“I did not require to beloved, at least by ahusband, but only to bekept in reasonablewealth.Itseemedafairbargain.”

“Andwasit?”Doña Luisa stared at

Pilar a long moment,unsmiling.Finallyshesaid,“You know that Refugio

and I were oncebetrothed?”

Pilar had not known.Hergazedeliberatelyclearandundisturbed,shesaid,“Wereyou?”

“It was arrangedbetween our fathers,though we two were notopposed. Oh, no, far fromopposed.Heusedtocomeand sing beneath mywindow in a voice to rendthe heart. He would have

climbed up tome, I know,with the leastencouragement. Hispassionsweresoviolentinthose days, yet so tender.Now that's all done. Itendedwhenhehadtofleeafter the death of DonEsteban's son in the duelbetweenthem.”

“Hedidn'ttrytoseeyouagain?”

“If you think he would,you don't know him. Pride

kepthimaway.”“And responsibility.

And,perhaps,caring?”“Whatwasthat?”“Nothing,” Pilar said.

“Youdidn'tcontacthim?”“I couldn't, any more

than I could invite him toclimb to my bedchamber,though sometimes I havewished that I—Butnevermind. I had not seen himsince then, not until hecame on board this ship.

Still, I knew him at once.HowcouldInot?”

Thewoman'svoicewastoo loud for suchconfidences. Pilar loweredher own in an attempt atcompensation. “You arekeeping your own counselnow out of — affection,then?”

The woman smiled.“That,andtheprospectof,shallwesay,diversion?It'sa long and tediousway to

Louisiana.”“You aren't afraid that

the diversion might provehazardous?”

Theotherwomandrewback. “My dear girl, areyou daring to threatenme?”

“Not at all,” Pilar saidwith acerbity. “I wasthinking of what mighthappen if someone elselearnedwhatyouknow.”

“I shall denounce

Refugio at once, and vowthatIwasdeceived.”

An odd distress roseinside Pilar. “Would youreallydothat?Perhapsheshouldbewarned.”

“What a child you are,my dear; Refugio knowsthis very well. He wouldexpectnothingelse.”

“And is that a goodbargain?”

DoñaLuisagaveher aplacid smile. “So longas I

ampleased.”Thecloyingsmellofthe

woman's perfume was inPilar's nostrils, threateningto choke her. She rose toher feet. “There is a manyou may have seen atcourt, Don EstebanIturbide. Do you knowhim?”

“Indeed, yes,” thewidow said, a spark ofinterest in her eyes, as ifshe saw further

opportunitiesfordiversion.“Ithoughtyoumight.”Pilar turned and would

have walked from thesalon, but her way wasblocked. Isabel stood justinside the room. Hoveringbehind her in the doorwaywitha troubled lookonhiscraggy features wasBaltasar.

“Did I hear right?” thegirl said to Pilar, her facepale. “Does this woman

know — does she knowthat—”

Isabel had trouble withthe new cognomen thatRefugio had taken. Shecould seldom rememberwhat it was, and found itdifficult to address him byit. “It's all right,” Pilar saidquickly. “Everything is allright.”

“But she said he sangtoher.”

“So he did,” the widow

saidwithaliftedbrow.“Hesangtome,”Isabel

declared, “when I was alacemakerinCordoba.Heused towatchmewith thebobbins, and play tunesthat would make therhythmofweavingtheminand out and over eachothereasier.”

Pilar, touched by thesoftness in Isabel's face,spokealmostatrandom.“Ithought you were a

dancer?”“What? Yes. Yes, he

sang then, too. That wasbefore he saved me frombeing sold to a Moor andtakentoAlgiers.”

Puzzlementsurfaced inPilar'seyes,butbeforeshecould express it, DoñaLuisa said, “You seem tohave had an interestinglife,foramaidservant.”

“And you, too.” Isabelscowled at the widow.

“Unless you're lying. Areyou sure your husband isdead? Are you sure youeverhadahusband?”

“Good heavens!” DoñaLuisa exclaimed, beforeturning to Pilar. “Thecreature is touched in thehead, I do believe. She'syour maid; have you nocontroloverher?”

Baltasar, fidgeting inthedoorway,madealungeinside, catching Isabel's

elbow. “Come sweeting, Itoldyoutherearethingstobe done. Come and helpme.”

Isabel gave him adistracted look. “What isit?”

“I'llshowyou,”theolderman said, his voicesoothing.Hetuggedgentlyat her arm. Isabel wentwith him obedientlyenough. Throwing Pilar alook of apology, Baltasar

ledIsabelaway.“Well!” the widow said

indudgeon.Pilar returned no

answer to the comment,only staring after thedeparting couple with afrown between her eyes.She had not heard Isabelspeak quite so vaguelybefore. She was,apparently, distraught withfear for Refugio. With amurmured request to be

excused, she moved fromthe salon, following afterthe other two members ofRefugio's band. BaltasarwaswalkingtooquicklyforPilar to catch up with himand Isabel, especiallysince she didn't want it toappear that she waschasing them. He ledIsabel to the cubicle theyshared. By the time Pilarreachedit,hehaddroppedthe curtain that closed it

off, and from behind itcame the deep rumble ofhis voice in censure andIsabel's tearful protests.Pilar could not intrude,evenifshewasconcernedfor the other girl; it wouldbetoomuchlikeinterferingin a squabble betweenhusbandandwife.Turningaside,Pilarmade herwayback up toward the deckagain.

The open air was cold

and damp and left thetaste of brine on the lips,butitwasfresh.Pilarstoodholding the rail, facing intoit, until the disturbance ofher mind had blown awayand she was calm again.She could not quiteunderstand why she hadpermitted herself to be soupset.ItwasnotasifDoñaLuisa and Isabel, or theirrelationships with Refugio,had anything to do with

her.She was growing used

to the rise and fall of theship, to the constantnoises of creaking timbersandsnappingsailsandthebass song of the winds inthe sheets. There wassomething hypnotic aboutthe lift and surge of theship as it pointed its bowtoward the horizon andstrained to reach it. Itwasfascinating to know that

somewhere ahead lay theCanary Islands off theAfrican coast, that theywould land there for freshwater and fruit andvegetables before headingout across the sea to thenewworld.

Pilar had been afraidshe would not like seatravel,afraidshewouldbehomesick for Spain, thatshewouldbeill,orthatthevast reaches of water

wouldmake her feel punyand afloat in nothingness.She had beenwrong. Thefar-stretching emptinessand the open sky suitedher. Somehow, thisdiscovery about herselfwas satisfying. It was justas well, since little elsepleasedher inherpresentsituation.

Borne on the windcame the faint sound ofmusic.Shelookedaround,

expecting to see a sailorwith a squeeze box, orperhaps a mouth organ.Shecaughtaglimpseofaflapping cloak half hiddenbehindtheforwardmast.Ithad a familiar look.Clasping her arms aroundheragainst thedampchill,she moved in thatdirection.

Refugio stood with hisback to the mast, leaningagainst it as he cradled a

guitar in his arms. Helooked up as Pilarappeared beside him, butdid not stop playing. Themelody he plucked fromthe strings was slow andsweet. She had heard itbefore, though she couldnotquiterememberwhere.

“Iunderstand,”shesaidin clipped tones, “that youare known for yourserenades.”

He looked at her,

squintingalittleagainstthewind that ruffled his hairandflappedtheendsofhiscravat.“Whosaysso?”

“The widow, for one.Isabel,foranother.”

“It'safinethingtohavefame, no matter howundeserved.”

“Are you denying it?”Topress thematterwasamistake,nearlyasmuchofone as opening thequestion in the first place.

Sheknewit,butknewalsothatitwastoolatetodrawback.Morethanthat,therewas an ache inside herthat needed theassuagement of ananswer.

The tune he wasplayingwasacounterpointtohiswords.“IsangIsabeltosleeponce.”

“I'm sure.” Her lipstugged at the corners in awry smile. “After which

rescue?”Hekepthisgazeonhis

intricate fingering. “Doyoususpect me of concoctingherdaydreams?Oronlyoftaking advantage ofthem?”

“Areyousayingthatthestoriesshetellsaren'ttrue,that you never kept herfrombeingsoldonastreetcorner, or being taken toAlgiersbyaMoor?”

The first mate,

somewhere behind them,bawled an order. Seamenscampered past, leapinginto the shrouds likemonkeys, swayingas theyswarmed upward to bendonsail.Refugio turnedhisattention to the climbingmen, assessing theirprogressasheanswered.

“I found her shiveringandbruisedinanalleyonerainynight.Howshecameto be there, she never

said. I'm not sure sheknows.”

“Butwhy—”Hestoppedplayingwith

a twanging discord. “Whynot? Why shouldn't shechange her past to suitherself? Are yourmemories all so fair youwould not make asubstitute or two? If so,thenbeglad.”

Pilar ignored thequestion, since she knew

that he was aware of theanswer. “The changesIsabel has made involveyou. Doesn't that troubleyou?”

“My past is not sospotless thatanother stainortwocanmatter.”

“Youmighthavetriedtoconvinceherthatyouwerenot her heroic savior, herEl Cid who vanquishes allherdemons.”

“Oh, but I tried. I

supplanted her withanotherrescuedmaiden.”

Her eyes widened assheacceptedhismeaning.At the same time, sheremembered Isabel'sdistress on the night shehad arrived at the hut inthe mountains. Reasons,therewerealwaysreasonsforwhathedid.

Shestaredupathim,atthe dark hair that wasruffled by the wind, the

chiseledplanesofhisface,the width of his shouldersunder his flapping cloak.Hisscentcametoher,onemadeupofcleanlinenandmasculinity and the freshtang of salt air. The forceof his presence broughtthebloodbeatingupinherthroat and caused a floodof warmth in her lowerbodythatshewashelplessto prevent. And yet, therewas more to him than

handsome features andwide shoulders and mereanimal attraction. Therewas the swift, sharpshifting of his mind to bereckoned with, and thefebrile intensity of his will.Armored in intelligence, infierce competence andsuperiorintentions,hewasformidable. Therefore, thequestionpresenteditself.Ifhe had reasons for whathedid,whyhadhe lether

knowhispurposeintakingher to his mountainretreat? The probableanswer made asking toodaunting a prospect tocontemplate.

Her voice compressed,Pilarsaid,“Isee.”

“Yes,” he agreed, hiseyes somber, “I thoughtyoumight. Tellme,was itcruel,orkind?”

“Towhom?”“ToIsabel,ofcourse. It

seemsunlikelythatIfigureas your savior, heroic orotherwise.”

“No,” she answered,glancingawayoutovertheheaving sea. Finally, sheanswered, “I suppose itwasmeantasakindness.”After a moment sheswallowed, then lookedback at him. “But what ofthe widow? She seems tothinkthatyouaretheloverofheryouthreturned.”

“You suspect her ofdaydreaming, too? Nevermind, Iwillattend toDoñaLuisa. Her dreams havenothingtodowithyou.”

His eyes as she metthem were opaque, nomore toberead than ifheweremadeofstone.

Pilar decided, withpainfulacknowledgmentoftherisk,topersevere.“Youshould be aware that sheknowsDonEsteban.”

“Manydo.”“Don't you think it's

strange?”“No,”hesaid,anoteof

irritationrisinginhisvoice.“I thinkit'sunfortunateandwearisome and damnablyinopportune.ButLuisaisacreature of the court atMadrid, as was yourstepfather, so no, I don'tthinkit'sstrange.Why?Doyoudislikeher?”

She had known she

was making a mistake.There were ways,however, to deflectquestions.Shegavehimawry smile, meeting hisgaze with everyassumption of frankness.“Oh, the lady is amiableand worldly-wise, and asfreewithhergossipassheiswith her bonbons.Morethan that, she knew youwhen you were tender.HowcanIdislikeher?”

Hewatchedherforlongmoments with speculationand reluctant amusementrising in his eyes. Finally,hesaid,“Shesmellsgood,too.”

“Doesn't she?” Pilar'sanswer was given withunimpairedcomposure.

He made a sound thatmight have been asmothered laugh, thenbenthishead,beginningtostrum the strings of his

guitaragain.Pilar, finding it possible

to retreat without feelingthat she had beenrebuffed, turned andwalkedaway.Asshewent,the melody that followedher was the same that hehad been playing minutesbefore. It was a hauntingtune,mellowandyearning.It raised an image in hermind of a garden anddarkness, and the close

presenceofaman.She stopped, standing

still with her skirts blowingaround her. That was it.The song was theserenade she had heardon the night Refugio hadcome to her, one sung inthe street outside whileshewaited.Howlikehimitwas, she knew now, todeliberately draw attentionto himself in that way. Atthe same time,

remembering that rich,warmvoicefillingthenightwith yearning and pathos,she was oddlydisconcerted by themessageitseemedtoholdnow.

She walked on againmoreslowly.

There were a greatmany things that she hadheardandseeninthepastfew days withoutcomprehending. She had

been so immersed in herownproblemsandworriesthat there had been littletime to consider whatmight be taking placewiththe rest of the band. Inaddition,shehadassumedthat the time she wouldspend with them waslimited, that they wouldsoon part company andnever see each otheragain. Under suchcircumstances, people

seldombecomepersonallyinvolved.

Matters had changed.Long weeks of closeassociation stretchedbefore them all. Theywere, in their presentquest, dependent on eachother for support andcompanionship and, mostof all, for safety. A slip ofthe tongue made by anyone of them could meandeath for some,

imprisonment for the rest.InthisPilarhadnoillusion;she would, after thisescapade into falseidentities, be consideredone of the band andtreatedaccordingly.

She realized that shewas travelingwithagroupof people of whom sheknewnexttonothing.Morethan that, what little shedid knowhadbeen told toher by a woman who

appeared to be at bestunreliable, and at worstunbalanced. Or was she?Either way, it made herown position extremelyprecarious.Theremustbesomething that could bedoneaboutit,somewaytolearn more. Theknowledge of who andwhat each one of themwere had suddenlybecomevital.

Of them all, Baltasar

seemedclosesttoRefugio.Hewasnotamangiventotalking, however, and itwasprobablethathistight-lipped manner and close-held loyalties would makeit difficult to learnmuch ofvalue from him. He wasalsoshutawaywith Isabelfor the time being, or hadbeenthelasttimeshesawhim. That left Enrique andCharro. Neither of themwas likely to tell her

anything of real import;still,theywerefareasiertoapproach than Refugio.Fromhimshecouldexpectnothing except what hewantedhertoknow.

Shefoundthetwomenplaying at cards, arespectable game ofReversi with the Havanamerchant and one of theship's officers in a cornerof the salon. Doña Luisawas still there also, and

washoldingthemerchant'schildish wife and hismother-in-law enthralledwith thegossipconcerningthe dissolute behavior ofMaria Luisa, theNeapolitan princess whowasmarried to the heir tothe throne.With the ladieswas the young priest whosippedaglassofwinewithan imperviousairwhile helistened.

Pilar did not want to

attract too much attention,nor give her questions toogreat an emphasis bydraggingeitherof themenshe sought from theirgame. She found a booklyingona table,acopyofManrique's poems,includinghisCoplasontheDeath of his Father. Shesettled down with it in achair that was made fromhalfawinebarrel.

She sat patiently

reading for some time, allthe while listening toEnrique and Charroexchange comic quips,slurs on each other'splaying,andotherassortedinsults. Her reward cameperhapsanhourandahalflater, when another officertook Enrique's place. Theacrobat,hisfaceastudyindisgust, came and flunghimself down at her feet.Drawing up his knees, he

clasped his arms aroundthem.

“The luck of somepeople is enough tomakethe Pope himselfsuspicious,” he growledwith a backward glance atCharroandthefirstofficer.

Pilar,whohadgainedastrong suspicion in thetime she had beenwatching that Enrique andCharrowerebusilyfleecingthe others, gave him a

smilewithoutreplying.Enrique reached and

took her book from herhand. Scanning thecontents, he flipped itaside. His beatific smilewas emphasized by thenarrow line of hismustache. “Mediocrewhere it isn'tmorbid,”washiscommentonherchoiceofliterature,“thoughIgrantyouthemanwritesagoodpoem on death. But the

poetisdeadalso,andIamalive.Talktome.”

“Are you boredalready?”sheasked,morewillingthanheknew.

“Whynot?There is thewidow who sees only ourRefugio, and the youngwifewithwhomitwouldbeunwisetomeddle.Youareleft, our Venus, to receivethebenefitofmycharms.”

“I'mhonored.”“No, you are diverted,

you are entertained, youareevenamused,butyouare not honored.” Helowered his voice.“ThereforeIamsafe.”

“Safe? Fromentanglements? But Ithought the absence ofthose is what you weredeploring?”

“Yes,” he said, andsighed.“ButIamalsosafefrom Refugio's wrath, solong as I can talk to you

andyouonlylaugh.”“He requires that you

becircumspect?”Hegaveheralonglook

with a lifted brow thatmight have meantanything.“Itseemswise,ifnotnecessary.”

“Forusall,”sheagreed.“But do you think Refugiowould really mind if DoñaLuisawascharmedbyyoualso?”

He glanced over his

shoulderattheladywithaspeculative light in hiseyes. With one finger hescratchedathismustache,thensmootheditsthindarkline. “Do you think shemightbe?”

“How can she fail?”Pilargrinneddownathim.

“Cruel, cruel female!”he accused. “You areplayingwithmyaffections,raising dreams that theladyovertherewouldrend

like the rind of an orange.IfRefugiodoesn't rendmybodyfirst.”

“Surelyhewouldn't?”“We were warned last

night, all of us, Charro,Baltasar,andI”

It was fitting, perhaps,that the answer shereceived to a question sofar from her real purposeshould be oblique. “Don'ttell me he fears beingsupplanted?”

“I think he is moreconcerned with discretion.Intimate moments have away of bringing out thetruth,don'tyoufind?”

“I wouldn't know,” shesaid,thewordsatriflestiff.She would have to bemore careful; it seemedshe was also beingmeasured.

“Endearing, if true.” Hetilted his head with itspowdered and tightly

curled wig to one side,watching her with brightbrowneyes.

Shesmiled,holdinghisgaze. “Isabel tells me youwere an acrobat with atravelingfair.”

“A tumbler, to beaccurate. But I have beenmany things.” The lastadmissionwasexpansive.

“Among them,aGypsyfortuneteller. Iwould thinkyouwouldbegoodatthat.”

He put a finger to hislips, looking around him,then leaned forward. “Iam,” he said, and gave amodest flutter of hislashes.

Keeping her voice aslow and conspiratorial ashis own, she bent towardhim. “And you are also agood grandee, though Ishould tell you that mostI'vemet think toomuchoftheir dignity to sit on the

floor.”Afrowndrewhisbrows

togetherover,hisnose.“Isthisreallyso?”

“Igiveyoumyword.”He nodded, then

pursedhismouth.Hesentaglancetowardthecornerwhere Doña Luisa heldcourt, then shifted hissidelong gaze to the cardplayers.HelookedbacktoPilar. A lithe flexing ofmuscles, made without

touching so much as afinger to the floor, and hewas on his feet andmoving to draw a chairnext to theonewhereshewasseated.

“There,” he said,lowering himself into it,crossing his legs at theknee and smoothing hisbreeches.“Howisthis?”

“Excellent,” sheanswered,hervoicegrave.

“Dignity. I must

remember that. And if Imake any other errors, Iwill trustyou topoint themout.”

“I'lldothat,though,asIsaid, you are doing verywell. Charro also, thoughhis part is not so difficultsince he has only to playhimself.”

“I doubt he could doanything else. You'venoticedhisspeech?”

“Youmean theway he

sometimes forgets theCastilianlisp?”

“Exactly. The oafrefuses to admit theelegance of it, says itcomeshardtohistongue.”

“Theydon'tuseitintheTejascountry?”

Heshookhishead.“It'sabarbaricplace.”

“The polish his fatherwanted for him seems tohavebeenafailure.”

“Not precisely. He

discovered a few thingsabout the company ofolder women, and I havetaughthimalittleabouttheyounger ones, amongotherthings.”

“I'msurehe'sgrateful.”“He isn't grateful at all!

In fact, he accuses me ofstealing his women awayfrom him while displayingmy technique. It isn't true,and you must not believehim.”

“No, I won't,” she saidsolemnly.

But neither could shebelievewhatEnriquesaid.His answers to herquestions were giveneasily enough, andseemed to bear out mostofwhatIsabelhadtoldher;still, hewas not as simplea man as he pretended,noneofRefugio'sfollowerswere. Enrique might wellmislead her for the fun of

it, or else might tell herwhat he thought shewanted to hear out ofcourtesy.Hewasalso,shethought, capable ofclouding the issue forpurposesofhisownoronRefugio's orders, or elsefor what he conceived tobe the good of the group.She would have to talk toCharro.Perhapsshecouldthen compare what eachmanhad tosayandarrive

at something near thetruth.

With these thingschurning in her mind, shesaid softly, “Do you thinkRefugioisstillenamoredofthewidow?”

“Still?She'saravishingcreature, but I've neverheard her name pass hislips before this voyage.More than that, though anindolentattitudeandafundof idle chitchat have an

irresistible appeal forsome, I would have saidthese things would driveourleadermadinlessthananhour.”

The niggling gladnesshis words brought wasquickly repressed. Pilarpursed her lips. “Still, sheishislostlove.”

“A fatal allure, yes.Doña Luisa also has thegoad for his oxheld firmlyinherlittlewhitehand.”

“But is he a man toaccept the goad? I thinknot,unlessitpleaseshim.”

Enrique gave a swiftshake of his head, hisbrown eyes grave. “Youthink he would choose anoose about his neckinstead of a woman'sarms? He might, out of agrandee'spreciousdignity,except for one thing. Hewouldnothangalone.”

Itwasapoint.Refugio's

care for those who rodewith him was legendary.He had, more than once,risked his life to save oneofhisown from thenooseorfiringsquad.

Pilar had no chance toanswer. There came aquiet footfall from thedirection of the doorbehind them, thenRefugiobentoverthemwithahandon the backs of each oftheir chairs. “Clacking like

two crones over thechocolate pot,” he said.“How gratifying it is thatyouhavefoundacommoninterest.Iam,ofcourse,allfluttery delight to bechosen.Whatapity if youshould run out of subjectmatter. Never fear, I willnotfailyou.”

Straightening, hewalkedtowherethewidowsat and took a placebeside her. And for the

next few hours thecompany was entertainedby as fine a display ofaccomplished flirtation aswas ever presented forpublicviewing.Therewerecompliments of sonorousgrace and gestures ofdelicate homage; therewere glances and sighsand looks of languishingand improper intent. Thewidow coyly retreatedbeforethecourtlyadvance;

the brigand, withdrawing,enticedher tobebold.Hetook her fan and,spreading it, fanned herflushed cheeks. Sheretrieved it and rappedhisshoulder, then drew thefurledlacealongthestrongjutofhischinwith itsdarkshadow of beard. DoñaLuisa fed Refugio abonbon, and he chewed itslowly, savoring the taste,before running his tongue

along the inside edges ofhislips.

Pilar refused to watch.She laughed and jokedand allowed herself to bedrawn into the cardgame,andonlyglancednowandthen at the performancegoing forward at the otherendoftheroom.Somehowtheeveningpassed,dinnerwas consumed, and thehourcamewhenshecouldreasonably excuse herself

andgoofftobed.Sleep was slow to

come.Herheadached,thecabin seemed close andairless, and the rolling oftheshipmorepronounced,as if somewhere on theocean there was a stormbrewing. As the nightdeepened and the shipgrew quieter, shewondered where Refugio,was and what he wasdoing. Delighting himself,

probably, she thoughtwithsour cynicism. Punchingher pillow in anattempt tomake it softer, she closedher eyes withdetermination.

It was after midnightwhen Refugio entered thecabin. He closed the doorbehind him with noiselesscare and stood listening.The night had grownovercast;therewasneithermoonglow nor starshine

beyond the cross-hatchingof panes at the porthole.Hemovedbyinstinctinthesea-black darkness to thesingle berth.Going to oneknee, he leaned over thewomanwhowaslyinginit.

Pilar's breathing waseven and nearly withoutsound. She was, he saw,quite safe, and deeplyasleep. She lay in trustingrepose, wearing nothingmore than a thin shift, for

hecouldseethepaleedgeof the neckline across herbreasts. He put out hishand to touch the silk ofher hair spread over thepillow. It was warm,vibrantly alive under hisfingertips. He drew back,closing his fingers slowlyintoafist.

He was, ten times ten,the fool. This evening hehad allowed irritation anddespair and a species of

jealousytospurhimintoacrass exhibition of apassionhedidnotfeel.Hehad thought that if hewasto be damned, then hemight as well be damnedcompletely. He had notknown how much thecondemnation in anotherperson's eyes could hurt.Orhoweasilythesicknessinhismindcouldreachhisheart.

Theimpulsetoliedown

beside Pilar, to curl hislengtharoundherandwaitfor sleep or the morning,whichever came first, waslike a grinding pain in thetop of his head. She wassosweetandinnocentandbeautiful that itwould onlybenatural.

She might, if he werepatient, wake and turn tohim. One touch and hewould be lost. He wouldtaste the rosy smoothness

ofhermouth,andlearnthegentle curves of her bodywith delicate, wanderingcare.Blindanddeaf,muteand without memory, hewould seek in her hisprivate salvation. Withdiligence and rigorouslyhelddesire,hewould leadher in the dance of loveuntil she felt the music,until she joined him in itspassionaterhythmandthemelting wonder of its

finale.Itwasimpossible.Even

if she would permit it, hewas not innocent andcertainly not sweet. Hemoved, in fact, in a fugueof sweat and secondhandperfume with a scent ofdecaying hyacinths, bothmanured with generousladling of self-pity andregret.Hecouldnotafford,or abide, forPilar to catchawhiffofanyofit.

A saltwater bath atdawnwouldcleansehimofthe smell of this night'swork, and the self-pitywouldvanishwiththeearlylight, of this he had nodoubt. For the regret,however, there was noremedy.

8

THECORSAIRCARAVELappeared at first light,lifting silently out of thenight mist. It might havebeen a Portuguese shipfrom its lines, but waslanteen-rigged with asingle square sail on the

foremastinthestyleoftheAfrican Mediterranean. Bythe time the ship wassighted by the lookout ofthe Celestina, it was soclose upon them it waspossible to see theturbaned heads and dullywinking weapons of themen who lined the rails,perchedonthecrosstrees,and swarmed upon theratlinesasthickasliceinabeggar'sblanket.Fromthe

mainmast flew a greenbannerwithacrescent,thesymbol of the sons ofIslam known as theBarbarypirates.

Theovercastskyoftheday before had becomeblue-black, and there wasa sprinkling of cold rain inthe rising wind. TheSpanish captain was acautious and somewhatindolentman;hisshipwasriding thewaveswith sails

reefed for the comingstorm, and had been forhours. Roused from hiscomfortable berth andapprisedof thedanger,hedithered and called on hissaints,andstaredoverthequarterdeck rail at theother ship. He discussedthe situation with hisofficers in high-pitchedtones, but rejected allsuggestion that he standand fight. He could not

quite decide if there wastime to make an escape,however; Spanish shipswere notorious for theirsluggish maneuvering,though they rode well inheavy seas. In themeantime the eager,babbling cries of thepirates began to be heardacrossthewater.

Thecaptain,inafrenzyof fearful anger, called anorder. A brass trumpet

squawked and died away.There was a flurry ofsecondary commands,followed by shouts andcursesandthethudoffeetasmenpoundeduptothedecks. Seamen ran hereand there with pale facesand eyes bulging withexcitement. They leapedinto the rigging and sailsflapped and boomed,bloomingwhiteagainstthesky. The ship floundered,

wallowingasitcameaboutunder a confusion ofcontradictory commands.Then with ponderousdeliberation it caught therising wind. A salvo wasordered by the captain toslow the pirates. A singleshot was all that could begot off. The reportthundered.Thesmokeofitdrifted in a pall over theshipwhile theballskippeduselessly across the sea

like a stone over a millpond. Raising itsfigurehead above thewaves, the Spanish shipbegan to surge forward ina desperate bid forescape.

It was too late. Thepirate ship was closing.Neareritcame,andnearerstill. Arrows whistled likean endless flight of thinandviciousbirds.Boomingfire from muskets spat

downon the decks. Therewere yells and screams ina half-dozen languages.The blue-water gapbetween the two shipsgrew more narrow.Grappling hooks werebrought out by the piratesand set whirling. Theywhined through the air,rattling and skidding asthey fell to theCelestina'sdeck, biting into the woodwithascreechingcrackle.

The pirates hurledthemselves upward andover the rails, tumblingonto theSpanishshipwithknives and swords in theirhands and blood lust intheir eyes. In a momentthe decks were cloggedwith the fight. Menstruggled, grunting andcursing, heaving andslashing before sinking ingurgling death. Swordswhipped the air to clang

and scrape inengagement. Bloodsplattered, spread,gathered into trails thatcrept along the deckseamsandseepedintothescuppers.

Pilar,ondeckwhentheBarbary corsair wassighted,hadbeenorderedbelow to her cabin. Shehad gone at first, but theconfinement had been tooclose, the dread of being

cornered there too great;she had stayed only amoment.Sheventuredfirstinto the passageway, thento the salon. The youngpriest was there, kneelingbeside a chair with headbent over his claspedhands and his low voicedroning in fervent prayer.Shethoughthewasalone,untilshesawthemerchantcowering under a tablewith his eyes squeezed

shut and his hands overhisears.Pilarstoodstaringatthemforamoment,thenpicked up an empty winebottle by its neck andmadeforthehatchthatledtothedeck.

She had no idea whatshe meant to do with thebottle; it was just that shefelt theneed foraweaponofsomekindandthatwasall that lay to hand. Shehad scant idea of being

much help in the meleeabove, but could not bearto remain shivering belowlike a rabbit in a hole, orlike theHavanamerchant.The Barbary piratessometimes took capturedships back to port, butmore often they tookpassengers and crewcaptive thenset fire to thevessels. She could notbear the thought ofperhaps being trapped in

the flames,and ifshewasgoingtobecomeaslaveinthehouseofsomeMuslim,it would at least not bewithoutresistance.

As she emerged ondeck, she heard theshouting that rose abovethetumult,strong,exultantvoicescryinganameoverand over like somebenison of faith.“Gonzalvo! “ they cried.“Gonzalvo!Gonzalvo!”

It was a magnet, thatsound.Itdrewherforward,thoughshekept in the leaof the poop deck with herback flattened against it.There on the larboardquarter where thegrappling hooks werethickest and the piratesswarmed like flies on acarcass, she saw aphalanx ofmen, a fightingwedge with Charro andBaltasarandEnriqueat its

triangularcoreandRefugioatitshead.Theircallshadbrought others running,strengthening the humanplow theypushed forward.With savage tenacity andvicious force they wereholding their place andslowly, irreversibly,pushing the turbanedpirates back. At the sametime, Refugio's voice,incisive and carrying, rangout with an order that

brought the ship'sscattered contingent ofmusketeers clambering tothe poop, where theyformed ranks. A momentlater therecame thecrashofamurderousvolley,thenanother,andanother.

There was a stretch ofbreathless time when itseemed thatnothingcouldend the fighting exceptdeath to all, that theferocity and the prodigal

spending of strength andwillandbloodwouldgoonuntil none were left alive.Then came a sway in theline of turbaned attackers.A man fell back, thenanother. A beardedLevantine threw down hisbrokenswordwithacurse.Hewhirledandfled.Ahalf-dozen more followed. TheSpanish surged forwardwithredoubledeffort.

Aboard the pirate ship

the watching corsaircaptain, marked by thefeather held in his turbanby a winking jewel, criedoutanorder.Nubiangiantsstationed on the decksdrew sword and began toslash the grappling linesfree. Suddenly it was arout of yelling, scramblingmen.TheyleapedfromtheCelestina, swinging on cutsheets, springing from therailing, diving into waves

so that great fountains ofblue water spouted.Surfacing, they swamtowardtrailingropesasthetwoshipsdrewapart.

Refugio and hisfollowers harried theretreat, wading into thethickest of the stragglers.The firing began to dieaway. The acrid smoke ofgunpowder swirled aboutthe masts, obscuring thewounded and the dying

and the figures that stillstruggled here and therealong the deck. Refugio,with sweat streaming fromhis hair, and his chestheaving with effort, begantodropback,toturnasheswept the deck with acomprehensive andvigilant glance. Hisquesting gaze stopped,became fixed. Stillnesstouched his features. Hislips parted as if he would

callout.A last muffled shot

exploded.Refugioflinched,staggering back as bonesplintered and muscleruptured in a bright reddecoration on his chest.He lowered the tip of hissword to the deck withslowgrace.Inthemidstofthe fulsome shouts for theSpanish victory, his eyesclosed. He sank bonelessand heavy toward the

deck.It was Baltasar who

caught him, who loweredhim to the planking.Enrique and Charro, theirfaceswhite, closed inwithswords in their fists,uselessly protective astheyblockedhisbodyfromview. The shouting diedaway. For a brief instantthere was stunned andwearysilence.

Pilar dropped the wine

bottle she held. It rolledacross the slanting deckand plunged into the sea.Along thedeck the injuredgroaned and cried out.Spanish seamen, savagein the release of fear,moved here and there,kicking the bodies of thepirates over the side, andalso those not yet dead.Noonemoved tohelp theinjuredSpanishseamenortend the dying. No one

movedtohelpRefugio.Pilar felt as if herheart

had burst. The burningpain erupted inside her,takingherbreath,dimmingher sight. She could notmove,couldnot think.Hervoice was trapped,suffocatingly, inher throat.The morning receded, sothat the cries and groansaround her grew distant,withoutmeaning.

Abruptly, she

shuddered, drawing airdeep in her lungs. Herhead cleared so thateverything she saw andheard was sharp-edged,crystalline and bell-like inits clarity. Withoutconscious thought, shemoved toward Refugio,then she was running towherehelay.

Enrique, his hands redto the wrist, was bendingover him with a wadded

sash pressed to thewound.Thebrigandleaderlay unmoving, withshadows forming likebruisesunderhiseyes.

“Ishe—”Pilarbegan.Enrique spared her a

glance.“Alive,barely.”Warm energy pulsated

alongherveins.“Bringhimbelow,”shesaid,hervoicefirmandclear.

The band hoveringaround their leader looked

ather, thenateachother.Baltasar nodded. As onethey bent to Refugio andbegantolifthim.

“Takecare!”Pilarsaid.They looked at her

again, but made nocomment.

In that instant thepriest, emerging frombelow,movedtojointhem.In quiet helpfulness healigned himself beside theother three men. Sliding

theirhandsunderRefugio,theyformedasupportwiththeir linked arms. Movingas carefully as a youngmother with a new babe,they started toward thehatchway.

Therewasnophysicianaboardtheship.Theship'sofficers and seamen tooktheir illnesses and injuriestooneoftheirnumberwhohad someexperiencewithsuchthings,orelsetreated

themselves. Passengerswere expected to do thesame.

AttheconventPilarhadattendedtherehadbeenanunwho, in an attempt toensurethatPilarhadsomedegree of usefulness, andperhaps out of an impulseof kindliness, had taughther to tend wounds, andalso the recognition andcultivation of healingherbs. Pilar was by no

means sure that hersketchy knowledge wasadequate for the situationconfronting her, but couldnot think it greatly inferiorto what was otherwiseavailable.

She directed thatRefugio be placed on theberth in the cabin theyshared. Enrique she sentinsearchofbrandyorrum,while she set Charro totearing the single linen

sheet into strips. Sheherself made a pad ofEnrique's sash, holding itfirmly in place. She hadturned to ask Baltasar togo forabasinofseawaterwhen from the door therecameathinanddespairingscream.

Itwas Isabel.Hereyeswere desolate and hermouth a circle of woe asshe stared at Refugio onthe berth. Starting forward

with a throat-wrenchingsob, she flung herself atthe red-stained and stillform.

Baltasar caught herbefore she reached theberth, dragging her upshort so that her hairswung in a wild tanglearound her red-splotchedface. He gave her a hardshake. “Stop it, stop thatnoise!Heisn'tdeadyet!”

Isabelgulpedandtears

streamed from her eyes.“Oh,” she said, shivering.“Oh,”shewhisperedagain,then threw herself uponBaltasar's chest, crying innoisy sobs. He held her,soothingherwithawkwardpats on the back. In hiseyeswasa lookofbaffledandangryanguish.

For an instant Pilar feltthe rise of tears, but sheforced them back. Therewasnotimetocry,notime

to inspect thedistress thatpoured like an endlessstream through therecesses of her mind.Refugio was bleeding, thered tide soaking into theclothsheheld,wettingherfingers with its warm flow.Somethinghadtobedone.Shewoulddoit.

Charro was themember of the band whowasmostusefultoher.Hisfather's hacienda, he said,

was far from a town orother people. Everyonethere, including his family,saw to their own injuries.He had helped hismotherin her makeshift infirmaryfrom the time he wassmall. Later he hadperformed rough andready surgery on animals,and also on themen whorode for his father, thecharros who had beengored by the longhorn

cattle or torn by the wiryshrub growth known asmesquite, or whosometimes settled theirdifferences with knives ormusketfire.

Together, Charro andPilar exposed the wound,examining the damage.They found the ballwhereit had come to rest,nestling against a lungafter tearing a furrow fromleft to right across the

chest and shattering tworibs. They extracted thepiece of misshapen ironand cleaned the woundwith brandy. Hoping thatthe welling blood hadcleansedwheretheycouldnot reach, they pressed athick pad to Refugio'schest,strapped it tightly tohim with strips of sheet,andlethimbe.

He had not regainedconsciousness.Helaywith

his chest rising and fallinginsogentlearhythmthatitwas necessary to starehard to see it. His handswere lax upon the blanketthat covered him, and hislashes made thickshadows on his cheeks.His lips were bloodless,their firm molding edgedwithblue.

Noonewantedtoleavethe room. They satwatching, waiting. Isabel's

tears had diminished to afewdismalsniffs.Nowandthen someone coughed orshifted in his seat with arustle of clothing.Otherwisetheymadenotasound.

The impending stormswept over them withthunderandhighseasanddriving rain, A lanternwaslighted against thegathering darkness andRefugiowaswedgedinthe

berthwithrolledbeddingtokeep him still against thepitching and tossing. Hiswound, which had nearlystopped bleeding, openedagainundertheonslaught.There was a desperatehour while they wrappedhimwiththickerandthickerbandaging.Thenthestormslowly eased off. Themovementoftheshipgrewless violent. The bleedingfinallystopped.

The day, marked bygray drizzle and roughseas, passed. Now andthen intimation of a frowntwitched Refugio's flaccideyelids, or else his fingerscramped as if at theremembered heft of asword.Thatwasall.

The bright subtropicalsun came out just atsunset, burning away thelastofthecloudsandmist.Its rose-red glow flooded

thecabin,rousingthemall.The men slipped out oneatatimeforfoodanddrinkand fresh air. Invariablythey came back within ashorttime.

Those returningbroughtbitsofnews,ofthemountingdeath tollamongthe injured seamen, theminordamagedoneto theship, the hystericaldemand of the merchant'syoung wife to be returned

to Spain — and hervirulent language andviolent tantrum whendenied.

DoñaLuisacametothecabin as the eveningwaned toward night. Hereyes were soft with pityand she held ahandkerchiefof laceinherhand as she stood staringdown at Refugio. “I can'tbelieve it,” she said, hervoice tremulous. “One

would think he had hadmisfortuneenough foroneman.Ifhehadnotbeensobold—but then hewouldnot have been the lion,wouldhe?Still, it's suchawaste, such a terriblewaste.”

Therewassomethinginthe woman's tone thatdisturbed Pilar, as if thewidow counted Refugioalready dead. Still, shewas polite as she spoke.

“Perhapsyouwouldliketosit with him for a time?Since you and he kneweachotherwell,itcouldbehewillrespondtoyou.”

Alarmcrossedtheotherwoman'sface.“Oh,no!I'mno good at all insickrooms, really Iamnot.I never know what to do,and the sight of bloodsendsmeswooning,whilethe odors—” She raisedher handkerchief to her

nose.Isabel, sitting quietly in

acorner,spokeup.“Nevermind. We don't need you.Refugiodoesn'tneedyou.”

“I'msurethat'sperfectlytrue,”DoñaLuisasaidwithundisguised relief.“Perhaps later, when —when he is better, therewillbesomethingIcando.Perhaps I can amuse himthen.”

“Yes, later,” Pilar

agreed, and this time hervoicewascool.

Isabel, for all herprotectiveness and goodintentions, was useless.She could not control hertendency to drip tears ontheir patient, and herhandsasshetouchedhimwere so unsteady thatonce she nearly drenchedhisbandagingwithabasinof dirty water. She wouldhave choked him as she

tried to make him drink,too, if Pilar had notwhisked the glass out oftheothergirl'shand.

The presence of somany in the tiny cubiclemademovement difficult ifnot impossible. Theirrecommendations, thoughmeant to be helpful, weremerely worrisome, sincetheymadePilar doubt herown instincts. The air,heavy with the smell of

dried blood and brandy,grewhardtobreatheinthecramped quarters. Finally,whenshehadtrippedoverBaltasar's longlegsforthetwentieth time, Pilar hadhad enough. Promisingthem each their allottedturn atwatch, she beggedthem all to leave. Theywentaway,butreluctantly.

It was just aftermidnight when the feverbegan. She wiped

Refugio's dry lips with acool cloth and bathed hisface and arms; still, theheat of his body dried thecloth in her hand and hisface grew flushed. Shewasbrushingbackhishair,layingherfingersalonghishot cheek for thehundredth time to test itsheat, when his lashestightened, shivered, thenlifted.

His gaze was bright

and liquid with fever, butlucid and searching. Pilarsawhimgatheringhimself,as if to speak.To forestallthe necessity, she saidquickly,“You'vebeenshot,andyou'reinthecabin,ourcabin.”

“Iknow,”hewhispered,andclosedhiseyesagain.

“Is thereanything Icando?Would you likewater,ormorecover?”

He shook his head in

slownegation.Pilar bit her bottom lip

as she tried to think whatelsetosaytoholdhimwithher. It would be stupid toask if he was in pain; ofcourse he was, but therewasnothingshecoulddo.Ifsherantobringsomeofthe others, he might slipawayagainwhileshewasgone.

He opened his eyeswith infinite effort. “You

saw—”She knew precisely

what he was asking. Howhad he known? She hadnot realized he was evenaware she was there onthe deck during thefighting.“Itwasnotapiratewhofiredatyou,thatmuchIknow.ButIdidn'tseehisface.”

He sighed and hiseyelids dropped as ifweighted. Long moments

later he whispered sosoftly that it might havebeen no more than abreath, “Stay. Don't leave.Don'tleavethecabin.”

“No,”shesaid,“Iwon't.”There was nothing

more. She thought that,afteratime,heslept.

She sat watching in achair beside the bed withher hands folded in herlap. Her neck ached, herback hurt and her eyes

burned, but she was notsleepy. She sat boltupright,staringat thewall,while fear ran through herveins like some pervasivepoison. Over and over inher mind she saw themoment when from theknot of musketeers firinginto the mob of retreatingpiratestherehadcometheshot that had felledRefugio.Shehadnotseenwho the man was, but

Refugiohad.Hehadseen,and he knew as he layinjured that the man whoshot himhadbeenneitherpiratenorknownenemy.

SomehowDonEstebanhad hired a man to kill ElLeon. Yet how could thatbe when her stepfatherhad gone on ahead?Howwas it possible when hecould have no idea thatthey had sailed on theCelestina?

There were severalpotentialexplanations.Thefirst was that DonEsteban's hirelings hadfollowedafterthem,oneormore of them picking uptheirtrailinCordobaatheraunt'shouse,thentrackingthem to Cadiz and takingpassage on the ship tocomplete the taskassigned.Thesecondwasthat some hireling of thedon, following after them

as far as Cadiz, had paidone of the ship's seamentodothedeed.Itwasalsopossible that the hirelingwas a renegade from ElLeon's band, perhaps aman who had providedhorses on the ride toCordoba, then contactedDon Esteban to offerhimselfforthejob.Anotheralternative was thatsomeone traveling on theship was, by unfortunate

coincidence, in the pay ofthe don, and had eithertakenupamuskethimselfwhentheopportunityaroseor else hired a seaman todoit.Afinalpossibilitywasthat it was one of theirparty, Enrique, Charro,Baltasar, or Isabel, whohad arranged to have theshot fired. Of the last twoideas, she did not knowwhichwasmostunlikely.

She had felt so safe.

The ship had seemed anoasis in a time where thefearofstealthydeathneednottroublehermind.Itwasa shock to find it was notso.

Stay,Refugiohadsaid,as if even in his extremityhe was concerned for hersafety.Itwashe,however,who had nearly died.Whyshouldthatbe,ifitwasherstepfather who had sentthekiller?Shewastheone

hewanteddead.Vengeance was the

obvious answer,vengeance for thehumiliation Refugio hadheaped upon him,vengeance for thwartinghis plans for Pilar. Whatelse could it be? Whatother enemies couldRefugio have who wouldgo to such lengths toremovehim?

But why had the killer

not shot her also? Pilaraskedherself.Whyhadhenot knifed her in thepassageway during theconfusion, or even thrownher overboard in the darkofnightasshewalked thedecks?

There was nothing tokeephim from it, notnow.There was an illusion ofsafety there in the cabinwith Refugio, but nothingmore than that. He could

not protect her, nor couldshe protect him, thoughshe stayed, as he hadasked, for that purposeasmuchasanyother.

She should go for oneof the others. They couldkeepRefugiosafe.

Orcouldthey?Soon one of them

wouldcometorelieveher,tositbesideRefugiointhedark hours toward thedawnwhenspiritandbody

were weakest and easiesttosnuffout.Howcouldsheallow it when she hadpromised? Was there anywaytostopit?

It was Charro whocame,duckinghisheadashe entered, giving her aquiet grin. His hair wastousledandhiseyesheavywith sleep. He seemed sonormal and unthreateningas be smothered a yawnandshookhimselfthatshe

felt the brush of guilt forthetenorofherthoughts.

He refused the chairshe offered, waving herback into it. Placing hisbacktothewallbesidethedoor,he loweredhis lankyform to his heels,hunkering there with hishands dangling betweenhisknees.Hisbalancewasrock steady in thatposition, one that seemedperfectly natural for him.

His gaze on Refugio, heasked,“How'shebeen?”

“As you see. His feverisrunninghigh.”

“There would besomethingwrongifhehadnofever;it'snature'sway.”

“Butstillworrisome.Hespoke a few words.” Shedidnotelaborate.

“A good sign.” Charrosurveyed her with theghost of concern in hiseyes.“You looktired.Why

don'tyousleep?”“I'mnotsureIcould.”“Youcouldtry.”“Perhapsinamoment.”

To refusewouldmakeherlook overly concerned, asifshedidn'ttrustCharro.Itmightalsomake it lookasif she was forming anattachmenttoRefugio,andthat would not do. If sheonly postponed her rest,there should be no causeforsuspicion.

“Refugio is lucky tohaveyouwithhim.”

She sent him a swiftlook, but there was onlyapproval in his face. Thecornerofhermouthtuggedin a wry grimace. “I'm notsure he would agree withyou. If it were not for me,hisbrotherwouldnotbeaprisoner, he wouldundoubtedlynothavebeenshot,andhewouldstillbeinSpainat theheadofhis

band.”“It's all your fault, in

fact. He had no choiceabout what happened, nowillorreasonsofhisown.”

“As to that, I don'tknow; I suppose he did.Butyou'llhavetoadmit—”

“YoudidsomethingthatI've been trying to do formonths, and that'spersuadeRefugio to leaveSpain.Therewasnofuturefor him there, no hope

except that when deathcameitwouldbeswift.Oh,he had his band and histroubadour to sing of hisvictories against injustice.Butthemanisageniusatorganization, a fiend forwork, and a wonder atbringing out the best inmen. He is capable of somuch more. He deservessomuchmore.”

“There are laws andauthority inLouisiana,and

news from Spain comesoften. What makes youthink his past won't arrivewith him, and be countedagainsthim?”

“Who's talking aboutLouisiana?IspeakofNewSpain, the Tejas country.And yes, there are lawsthere, and authorities. Butthe road between thereand Spain is long andslow. Letters andmessages must travel

overland to Mexico Cityand then to Vera Cruz onthe coast of the Gulf ofMexicobeforebeingputona ship for Spain. Answersandordersmustmake thejourney in reverse. It cantake a year, sometimestwo, for a request to besent from the townofSanAntoniodeBexarnearmyhome to Madrid, and ananswer received. There isdanger from Indians, wild

animals, disease,accidents, storms, andpiratesalongeverystepoftheway. The route acrossthe land fromLouisiana toSanAntonioisevenlongerand more treacherous,mainly because of theIndian tribesknownas theApache. Muchcommunication is lost,andevenifit'snot,it'spossiblefor theanswers that finallycome to be ignored or

forgotten.”“Ignored?”“Why not? Spain cares

little for her most distantoutpost; she hardly feedsand clothes the handful ofsoldiers who guard itsopen spaces, and ignoresthe missions begun withsuch labor to convert theIndians, since they have,for the most part, failed.Themenandwomensentby the crown to settle and

civilize the country havebeen as good asabandoned for a hundredyears. They have all,soldiers and priests andcolonizersalike, learnedtomake their own rulesbased onwhat people areandhowtheylive,notwhothey are. The others whohave come on their ownare not grandees and not,truthtotell,withoutastainor twoon their ownpasts.

Whatmatters is livingwellenough to make Godfrown,butnotsowellastomake the devil smile; therestisnothing.”

“And yet,” she said,“youweresentallthatlongway to acquire the polishofSpain.”

“MyfatherstilllovestheideaofSeville and the lifethere. He believes in thebenefits of a classicaleducation and of rubbing

shoulderswith the sonsofnoblemen. Itwas amatterof pride to him to be abletosendhisson,thoughhehimself would never leaveNew Spain. There aremany, however,who evenafterthreegenerationsandmorestillplanandschemeand talk about returning.Formost,it'sonlyadream.Forme,itwasamistake.”

“You weren'timpressed?”

“Oh, yes, Seville isbeautiful, and I have anaffection for her. And myhead is stuffed withknowledge that I'll bedigesting for years. Still, Ihad never learned theknack of bowing my headto every passing hidalgowho felt the need forhomage, nor of playing atlove.”

“Isabel mentioned yourduchess.Itseemsshehad

taste,atleast.”He stared at her, his

eyesshadowedthoughtheflickering lantern hung justabove him. “You're verykind,señorita.”

“Not at all. I supposeyouwill be traveling on toyour home from Louisianasoonafterweland,then?”

“As soon as I canpersuade Refugio to gowithme.”

“He . . .willhaveother

thingsonhismind.”Charro lifted his

shoulders. “I'm innogreathurry.”

They talked of othermatters, of the flat countryaround his homeland withits mild, dry weather andwaving grass watered bythe San Antonio River; ofthegrapevinesshadingthewalls of his home, whichwas built like a fortressagainst the raids of the

Apaches; of the horsesraisedonthehaciendaandthe cattle herded by thecharros which sometimesstood taller than aman attheshoulderandhadgreatspreading horns that weresharp as spears; of themission fathers and theirirrigationditcheswhichhadchanged the land; and ofthe mission Indians whowere docile and God-fearingandnothinglikethe

Apaches of thewide openplains. Pilar listened andasked questions withbemused interest. To herthe Tejas country wassomehow unreal, like aplaceinalegend,onethatwas beautiful and magicalyettroubledbydemons.

They were still talkingwhen the gray light ofmorning, seeping in at theporthole,made the lanternlight unnecessary. Charro,

in the midst of a tale ofhow his aunt, his father'ssister, had been capturedby the Indians as a child,and how his grandfatherhad been killed trying toget her back, stood andsnuffed the light. Hestretched, raisinghisarmsabovehisheadsothathisfists brushed the ceiling.Claspinghishandsbehindhisneck,heglancedattheberth.Hestiffened.

Pilar followed hisarrested gaze. Refugiowas awake and watchingthemwithquietcare.

It was one of his fewmomentsofawareness.

Refugio did not rouseagain, not in the day thatfollowed,orthenext,orthenext. He wanted nothing,needed nothing, requiredonlytobeleftalone.Helaywith eyes closed for longperiods, though it was not

possible to tell if he wasconscious or unconscious,asleep or awake.Sometimes he stared atthe ceiling or gazed atwhoever was talking, butseemedneither toseenorhear. It did not appear tomatter who came andwent, what was said ordone. He did not respondto Isabel'spleasforhimtodrink or to Baltasar's gruffdemands toknowwhathe

thought he was doing,starving himself. Therewas no sense that he didnotknowwherehewasorwho was with him, onlythat he no longer caredenough to acknowledgethese things. He hadretreated somewhereinside himself and wasentrenchedthere.Whetherit was the result of feverand his injury incombination with years of

upheaval, or only of hisown inviolable will, theycouldnottell.

DoñaLuisa,someforty-eight hours after her firstvisit, brought Refugio aposset. She had made itwith her own hands, shesaid, an art she hadlearnedfromhermother.Itwas made of wine andspices and a few otheringredients that wereguaranteed to give him

rest. Pilar, who was alonewith him at that moment,eyed the cup of dark andsteaming liquid withdistaste and more than alittlesuspicion.

“Rest,” she said, “issomething Refugio hashad in plenty. What heneedsisnourishment.”

“What do you know ofsuch things?” the otherwoman said, her eyesflashing in annoyed

chagrin that someonewould contradict her.“Underyourcarehe fadesawaybeforeoureyes!”

The strain of the longdayshadhad its effect onPilar's temper. “That maybe,but Iwillnotallowyouto force your witch's brewonhim.”

“Witch's brew! Howdare you! You forgetyourself, my girl. You areonly his woman, not his

wife.”“And what are you,

pray?”“Hisfriend!”“Oh,yes,solongashis

friendship provides youpleasureandthepriceisn'ttoohigh.”

“Why, you little — Iwould know what to callyou if Iwerenot toomuchthe lady. He can't go onlike this, orhewill die.Hewill die and you will be to

blame,ifyouwillletnoonehelphim.”

Pilar was suddenlytired, as if she carried agreat weight that nonecould remove. “Just goaway,” she said. “Takeyour posset and drink ityourself,useitforamouthrefresherorhairrestoreroranything you please, onlygoaway.”

Sheshutthedoorintheother woman's face. After

a moment there came amost unladylikeexclamationfromtheotherside of the door panel,then the clack of heeledslippersinwithdrawal.Pilarstood listening a moment.She almost wished thatshe had taken the posset,if only in order to disposeof it herself. Itwasalwayspossibleforanotheronetobe made, of course, so itwas unlikely to make a

difference. This constantvigilance was wearing. Itwouldbenicetobecertainthatithadapurpose.

She turned from thedoor,glancingat theberthin what had become afixed habit. Refugio laywatching her. His face,though flushed with feverand shaded with thestubble of his dark beard,was set in stolidcomposure. Yet for an

instant she thought shesaw the sheen ofamusementinhiseyes.

Shemovedtotheberthand knelt beside it in abillow of skirts. Reachingfor thecloth lying inapanofwaterleftclosetohand,shemoistenedhisdrylips.Hisregardwasfocusedonher face but was lifelessonce more, as though thedirection of his gaze wasnomorethananaccident.

Putting down the cloth,shetookupacupofwaterand held it to his mouth,tipping it a little so that asmallamount ranbetweenhis teeth. He swallowedonce, twice, his strongbrown throat moving withdifficultybutplainly,thoughit was hard to say if theaction was from thirst orsimplereflex.

She straightened,considering him. She put

the water cup aside, thenturned back. Her voicequiet, almost reflective,she said, “What is it?What's wrong. I knowyou'rehurtandweak,butIcan'tbelieveamanofyourstrength can't mend. Irefuse to believe that youwanttodie.”

There was no answer,no recognition that hehadheard. She went on. “Youcan't die, I won't let you.

We all need you. Withoutyou, what hope doesVicente have of beingfreed? What chance isthere that Charrowill everreach his home again, orthat he and Baltasar andIsabelandEnriquewillnotbe taken up by the policethe minute they reachHavana?AndwhatchancedoIhaveofcatchinguptoDon Esteban or gettingback even a portion of

what he has taken fromme? And if I don't get itback,howwillI live?Whatwillbecomeofme?”

The reply she waitedfor did not come. After atime she closed her eyes.She was so tired, so verytired. She felt as if shewere moving in a fog offatigue, and her nervesjangled with what seemedlike endless eons of beingunabletosleep.Morethan

that, she was angry, yes,angry, at Refugio for hiscontinuedlackofresponseto all they had done andwere doing for him. Butmost of all shewas angryathisdesertionofthem.

He was so strong, sovital. It did not seempossible that he wouldsimply give up, no matterhowextensive his injuries.What could his passivebehavior mean, then,

except a deliberatewithdrawal?Thathehadareason, she could notdoubt,andyetshewasnotsure that his body couldsustain the effort he wasrequiring of it, the lack ofreal nourishment ormovement. She did notcare what he was doing;he must be made toabandonit.

It seemed as if theremust be something she

could do to reach him,some words or act shecould use to startle himinto an awareness of hisdanger, some way shecouldseducehimfromthecoursehehadsethimself.So much depended on itthat it seemed, in theconfusion of herexhaustion, that whatevershe might try would beworththecost.

She reached for the

cloth again, squeezingsome of the water from itbutleavingitfairlysodden.Drawing down the blanketthat covered Refugio, shebegan to bathe his faceandneckasshehaddonea thousand times over inthe past days in theconstantattempttocontainhis fever. As she workedshe spoke, almost toherself.

“It's possible, I think,

that your lying here likethis has a deeper reasonthanjusttheattempttokillyou.Isometimesthinkthatit may be because youknow who did it, or thinkyouknow.Maybeyousawsomething, heardsomething,thatgaveawaythe identity of whoeverpaid your assailant.Possibly you are so soul-sick at the knowledge thatyou have no will to be

well.”Was that a fleeting

shadow of responsebehindhiseyes?Hadshe,somehow, gained hisattention?

She drew the coolingcloth down his neck andover his shoulders withslowcare,hergazerestingon his face. There wasnothing there.A thoughtfulfrown between her eyes,she returned to what she

wasdoing.She turned the cloth

over,thendippeditintothehollowsathis collarbones.Her movements smoothyet lingering, she trailedover the broad, hard-muscled planes of hischest on either side of hisbreastbone. She brusheddown first one arm, thenthe other, and holding hiswrists, wiped his hands,the broad backs and

callused palms and eachseparate, well-formedfinger.

Bending, she swishedher cloth in the coolingwaterandsqueezeditout,thenreturnedtohertask.

“What is it you want?”she asked in quietcontemplation as shecircled his bandaging withcare, then brushed acrosshis abdomen underneath.“Areyoumakingatargetof

yourself, is that it?Doyouthink that you can drawwhoever tried to kill youhere? Do you think yourweakness will encouragethemtotryagain?”

Therewasanextrawetcorneronthecloth.Itleftatrail of water across hisabdomen that trickled topuddle inhisnavel. Itwaswetting the waistband ofhis linen under-breeches.Noticing it, Pilar swiped at

the water but could notquite reach his navel, forthe waistband covered it.Dropping the clothback inthe pan, she began tounbutton the waist of hisunderbreeches.

Hedrewasoft,hissingbreath.

Pilar'smovementstilledas she realized what shewas doing and hisconsciousness of it. For alongmomentshegazedat

the area of flesh she hadexposed, an area paler incolor than his chest andmarked by a line of tightlycurling dark hair thatdisappearedunderhis lastbreeches buttons, an areathat was board-hard withtaut muscles. The slowbeat of seconds passingseemed to soundwith herheart's throbbing in herears.

Quickly,beforeshelost

her courage, she raisedher lashes tostareathim.Therewassentientwarmthin the dark gray of hiseyes,andaccusation.

She drew a shakybreathandletitoutslowly.“I really think that's it,”shesaid. “I think that thisweakness of yours isfeigned, a deliberate posedesigned to enticewhoever wants you deadtothiscabin.”

Thedarkcentersofhiseyesexpanded,butstillhemadenoanswer.

Shemoistenedherlips,which had a tendency totrembleatthecorners.Hervoice no more than awhisper, she said, “I thinkthat'sit,butIcan'tbesure.There must be a way tomakecertain.All Ihave todoisfindit.”

9

SHEWAITEDFORMOSTof another week. Shedelayed until Refugio'sfollowers had had severalturns at watching with herthrough the long nighthours, until they had eachtried with useless pleas

and commands, attemptsat humor and even angerto rouse him. She waiteduntil her wearinessbecamesodensethatsheseemed tobewalking inadream, until she wascertain there was nothingelse to be done, or elsethat she would go madfromweighingthedecisionif she did not act. Shewaiteduntilshecouldwaitnolonger.

She almost abandonedthe idea out of themisguided hope that itwould not be necessary.On the morning after herconfrontationwithRefugio,his fever broke.Perspiration made a wetsheen on his bronze skin.It trickled from his hairlineandpooledunderhiseyesand in the hollows of hiscollarbones. Thedangerous flush faded

from his face. His eyesbecamecalmer.Hetookalittle broth as nourishmentandpermittedhimselftobebathed and shaved andchanged into a fresh pairofunderbreeches,sincehehad no nightshirt in hiswardrobe. Still, hisacceptance of theseattentions was listless. Hewas as detached fromthemasiftheyhadnothingtodowithhim.Andhedid

notspeak.It was his silence, the

loss of that bantering,caustic, vigorous voice,that troubled Pilar themost. Itwasasif themostvital part of him had beenextinguished,forthatvoicewas the reflection of thecomplex operation of hismind. That it might bestilled by his ownwill wasinfuriating;that itmightnotwas insupportable. The

strainofnotknowingwhichwas more than she couldbear. It was that loss,finally, that compelled hertogoforward.

It was late evening ofwhat had been a perfectday. They had spent thebest part of forty-eighthoursinportintheCanaryIslands, loading fruit andwine and Turkey carpets,plus another passenger ortwo. Then they had sailed

with that morning's tide.The seas had been calm,the air balmy, and thebreezes from the rightquarter.Therehadbeenared sunset that splashedroseandcarmine,lilacandviolet-blue and orange-gold across the westernsky,andstained thewaterwith opaline reflections.The last lingering flares ofcolor shone through theopenportholeofthecabin.

Theymadepinkgleamsonthe walls and dappledPilar's arms and face withthe iridescence of mother-of-pearl as she satfinishing her dinner, whichhad been brought on atray. Refugio, who hadalreadybeenfedthesmallamount of gruel he wouldtake, lay propped onpillows, watching her. Therefracted light, catching inhis eyes, gave him a

deceptive look of dazzledappreciation.

The lightbeganto fadewith the swift fall of nightcommontotheselatitudes.As shadows gathered inthe cabin, Pilar rose fromthe table, picked up hertray and set it outside thedoor. Shutting the doorpanel, she locked it. Asshe turned away shebegan to take the pinsfromherhair.Ituncoiledin

a thick rope that slowlyloosened,becomingadarkgold swath across hershoulders and down herbacktowellpastherwaist.Loosening it with herfingers, she moved to thecornerwashbasin.

She pouredwater fromthe can sitting ready intothebasin,thenwashedherbands. Taking up a cloth,shewet itandsqueezed itout, then ran it over her

face and neck with slowcare. Tossing back herhair, she put down thecloth,thenbegantounlacethe bodice of her softgreen silk gown with itsopen-frontedskirt.

There was a polished-steel looking glass abovethe basin, small butadequate for the purpose.Pilarkepthergazeonitasshespreadthelacesofherwhaleboned bodice wide,

thenslippedherarmsfromthe sleeves and lifted thegown off over her head.She tossed thegownontoa chair. Next came herdecorative top petticoat ofyellow silk embroidered inforest-green. She kickedoff her shoes and peeledthe stockings from herlegs,thenuntiedthetapesof her under petticoatsbefore letting them fall tobillow around her ankles.

She stepped out of themwith swift grace anddraped them on the chairalso.Cladonly inher shiftwith its low neck, three-quarterlengthsleeves,andshort length which barelycovered her knees, shetook up her washing clothagain.

Pilar had grownaccustomed tomakinghertoilette in front of Refugio;therehadbeennohelpfor

itsincehis injury.Shehadalways preserved hermodesty by taking care todrawonepieceofclothingoff only under theprotective covering ofanother. She had alsochosen times when shethought her patient slept,though sometimes shethought she heard achange in his breathing,which drew her attention,or else turned to find that

he had shifted positions.When she looked,however, his eyes werealways closed. Gradually,she had become used tohispresence.Almost.

She didn't know ifRefugio was watchingnow. He had not beenasleepwhenshebegan,ofthatmuchshewascertain.She feltexposed,as ifhershift was transparent. Thebreeze from the open

porthole blew the thinmaterial against her so itoutlined every curve. Itdried the moisture left onher skin as the clothpassed over it, causinggoose flesh from thecoolness and the pricklingof her nerves inanticipationof themomenttocome.

Finallyitwasuponher.Her heart swelled

inside her, pulsing with a

heavy, jarring beat. Herhands shook, and shecouldfeeltheslowburningrise of a flush making itsway to her hairline. Sheswallowed hard. Quickly,before she could changeher mind, she opened thenecklineofher shift, slid itfromhershouldersand letitdroptothefloor.

She closed her eyestightly, as if shutting outher own view would hide

her nakedness. Doubtabout the wisdom of whatshewas doing swept overher. If shestoppednow, ifshepickeduphershiftandskimmed back into it, shecouldpretendthat lettingitfall had been an accident.She could go on just asbefore; everything wouldbethesame.

But what would thathelp,whatwould it prove?No. She had discovered

theonesmallweaknessinRefugio's armor, and shemust pursue it. She must,ortheymightallbelost.

She bent her head sothat the shining curtain ofher hair slid forward,offering a degree ofconcealment.Behinditshereached to squeeze outthe cloth once more. Sheranitwithminutecareoverher breasts and down hersides toherabdomenand

thighs, which under theirslender turns shimmeredwith dampness like palestalabaster. Moving in self-consciousgrace,she liftedeach leg, smoothing overthe calves and ankles,bending to wipe even thesoles of her feet. Herablutions completed, shedropped the cloth andpicked up her hairbrush.With lashes lowered,faintly quivering, she

began to draw it throughher tresses, removing thetangles,polishing the thickstrands so they glowedwith the sheen of old goldcoinsthereinthegatheringdusk.

When she was done,she put the brush down.Shebreathedslowlyonce,twice, then turned withprecision and care. Liftingher chin, she walkedtoward the berth where

Refugiolay.Hewasawake,andhe

waswatching.Pilar, seeing his gaze

uponher,faltered,withtheblood draining from herface. There was rage andfrustration inhiseyes,andsomething more that hadthe look of hunger. It wasthe last that gave her thecourage to take the stepthat brought her to theedge of the berth. She

refused to look at himagain,however,asshesatdownbesidehim.

He recoiled fromher inhaste, retreating until hisshoulderswereagainstthebulkhead. His movementleft her more room. Shetook it,because itseemedthatifshedidnotliedown,shemightwellslideofftheedge of the berth to thefloor. Trembling in everyfiber, she lowered herself

to recline on themattress.She turned toward him,supporting herself on oneelbow, then swung herlegs up and stretched outbesidehim.

For long momentsneither of them moved orspoke. The breeze fromthe window flowed overthem, ruffling the sheetthatcoveredRefugiotothewaist, lifting tendrils ofPilar's long hair so that

theydriftedtowardhimlikedelicately searchingfingers. The bunk was sonarrow that their legstouched from the thighdownward. Themovementof the ship rocked themcloser still, easing themtogether with a slow,plungingrhythm.

His breathing washarsh, the rise and fall ofhis chest under hisbandaging rapid. Concern

touchedPilar.Withafrowngathering between hereyes, she reached outtoward him, placing hercoolfingertipsonthepulseat the strong hollow of histhroat.

Heshotouthishandtocatch her wrist in a bone-wrenching grip. His voicehoarse,gratingwithanger,hedemanded,“Why?”

Triumph moved deepinside her, a counterpoint

to the strained terror thatgripped her. She had tomoistenherlipsbeforeshecould speak. “Vanity,whatelse?” she answered withmore bravado than shefelt. “What woman couldresist the possibility ofbringing a man back tolife?”

“Tryagain.Trymaudlinself-sacrificebroughtonbypity in barrels, topped offwith a layer of

compassion.”“Oh,no,I'vediscovered

the price for pitying youalready. As for the rest, Iwouldn't dream oftrespassing on yourterritory.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ihavemy reasons for whatI'm doing. They havenothing to do with self-sacrifice or compassion.Orwithyou.”

“But they must if I'm

required to playhandmaiden and nursingdrudge, not to mentionsleepingonthefloor.”

“The floor is hard, as Ihave reason to know, butthat doesn't explain whatyou're doing here besideme.”

“Will you acceptcuriosity?”

“You are here to trywhetherwhatyouguessedthe other night was right?

You could have done thatfrom across the room justnow, if you had cared tolook. Perhaps you areconcernedforyoursafety?Surely you know that mymen will protect you.Indeed,afterwatchingandlistening to them with youtheselastfewdays,I'mnotsure they wouldn't protectyoubeforeme.”

“Maybe I object tobeing set up as bait with

you?”“Inthatcaseyoushould

goelsewhere.”“And leave you

defenseless?HowcouldI?Besides,youaresupposedtobemyprotector.”

“So you play at beingthe mistress, all hoveringconcern and sympathy,whileplottingtounderminewhatever Imight be doingout of sheer interferenceandjuvenilerevenge.”

She met his gazewithout flinching, thoughthe pounding of her bloodinherveinsmadeher feelill. “Youare trying to insultme so I will leave youalone. What is it you'reafraidof?IsitwhatImightdo,orisitjustme?”

“Takecare,cara.Theremaybemore life thanyoubargain for left inme, andless judgment. I warn youthatIhaveaheadachelike

a Norse god's ownhammer beating in myhead, and inclinations thatifturnedtowindcouldblowthis ship to Havana bymorning.AndIhaveneverbeen more your protectorthanatthismoment.”

“I'lltakecare,”shesaid,her voice low and soft, “ifyou'llrejointheliving.”

Refugio stared at herfor long moments, whileinside he felt the slow

loosening of the bindingsof his will. This sweettemptation was more thanamanshouldbeexpectedtoresist.Thathehadscantstrengthtotrywasnotduetohis injurysomuchastothe long days of livingclose to Pilar. It had beenpurgatorytobesoclose,towatch her dress her hairwhile the movementsstretched her bodiceacross the fullness of her

breasts, to catch herdelicate female scent asshe brushed past him, tolie and listen to her softbreathingasshesleptandknowthattotouchherwasforbidden to him by everyruleofdecency.

She had breachedthose rules, deliberatelydiscarding them. Heunderstood the reasonsshe gave, but though hedoubtedtheyweretheonly

ones, did not dare ask formore.Whatshewasdoingwasnotlightlyundertaken,of this much he wascertain. Nor could it belightly dismissed, notwithout causing her greathumiliation. She might beable tobear that;hecouldnot.

It was possible hewasweakerthanheknew,elsesurrender would not haveso potent an allure. He

was defeated. He hadknown it from themomentshe turned and walkedtoward him, the momenthe realized that she hadnotforgottenhewasthere.Dear God, but the imprintof that moment would beburned forever into hismind.

Shewasmagnificent inher determined seduction,lying therewith conqueredfear and some strange

exultation in the dark andmysterious depths of hereyes. Her skin was likerare pink marble in thedying light of the day, herbreastsasperfectassmallsweet melons, her waistslender and sculpted as ifto fit his hands, her hipsgently curving with theirown delicious symmetry,beckoning with every riseand fall of the ship. Therich, wild silk of her hair

gleamed, enticingwhere itlay over her shoulder,shimmering with the quickbeat of her heart. Soenticing.

He drew a raggedbreath, letting it out on aslow, soft sigh. Lifting ahand,heclosedhisfingersin the skein of her hair,winding the silken strandsabouthisfist.

“Is it stalemate, then?”he whispered in aching

tendernessasbedrewhernearer. “I could alsoprotectyoubyholdingyounaked inmyarms. I couldsay itwas to improvebothourdisguises,could Inot?Did I warn you about myimpaired judgment? I'mawash in sophistry andexcuses and passionategood intentions, or elsegood, passionateintentions—”

The last word was

smothered against hermouth. The touch of hislips was warm and a littledry from the fever, sweetand tender and rigorouslyrestrained. Hemolded hermouth to his, tasting themoist honey, tracing thetender curves with the tipof his tongue while hereleased her hair andencircled her with hisarms. With soft hesitationher lips parted under his.

His grasp tightened and ashudder ran over him.Raising himself on thepillows, he shifted so shewas rolled to her back.Delicately invading, hetouched the small, sharpedgesofherteethwiththetip of his tongue, thenpressed deeper as ifseeking the source of hersweetness.

Pilar strained againsthim, sliding her arms

upward to clasp themaround the strong columnof his neck. Her breastspressed against his chest,flattened on the hardplanes and the roughswath of his bandaging.Fueledbyurgentneedandvestiges of the self-sacrifice she had denied,she felt the swift rise ofardor. It burned along herveins so that her skinseemed heated from the

inside, glowing withawakening sensitivity. Shecurled her fingers into thedarkwavesofhishairwithasoftmurmurinherthroatof confused and flustereddesire.

She accepted histongue, twining it with herowninsinuousexploration.Then,ingrowingboldness,she followed his retreat totaste the smooth innersurfacesofhislips.Lostin

awondrous blossoming ofthe senses, she felt timeand place recede. All thatwas left was thedescending darkness andthe man who cradled hertohim.

His hold loosened. Foran instant she knew afluttering disappointment,then her breath caught inher throat as she felt theopen palm of his hand onthe skin of her abdomen.

He spanned its flatness,smoothing the firm, fine-grained skin in gentlecircles before trailing hisfingers inexorablydownward toward the softtriangle at the apex of herthighs. At the same time,he bent his head andpressedthewetheatofhismouthtoherbreast.

The nipple tightenedunder his circling,smoothing tongue. Her

breast swelled toward thatravishing caress. Thetingling pleasure spreadthrough her in waves. Herheartbeat quickened,throbbinginherchest.Thelower part of her bodygrew suffused and heavy.Then she felt the firstshockofhisintimatetouch.

Her abdomen musclescontracted in spasms andshecaughtherbreath,butdidnotmove,didnotdraw

away. Inside she couldsense the unleashing ofincalculable impulses.Shewanted him, wanted toknowwhat itwas tomakelove with this man. Hadshefooledherselfwithherreasons and causes andsacrifices?Diditmatter?

Hisshouldersunderherclasping hands were wideand strong, the musclessupple as they glidedwithhis movements. The aura

of power he carried withhim,unquenchableevenininjury, surrounded her. Itaffected her with an oddweakness, a languor thaturged her toward asurrender of inescapablecompleteness. There wasmore than the loss of hervirginity at stake, and wellsheknewit.

Shewasnotthekindtoforget,neitherwasshethekind for half measures.

Whispering his name, shetouched his face. As hetook her lips once more,shegaveherself inferventand silent offering, a giftwithoutencumbrance.

Tenderly marauding,Refugio explored thecurves and hollows of herbody, always returning tothe seat of her utmostdelight.Shedrewherhanddown his chest, touchingthe flat nipple of one pap

tentatively with just herfingertips. His rib cageswelled with his indrawnbreath,andheadjustedhisposition to allow greateraccess. She spread herfingers wide, feeling thestrong beat of his heart,the bands of muscle thatencased his ribs, skippinglightly over his bandagingto the flat expanse of hiswaist. Greatly daring,equally dexterous, she

unfastened hisunderbreeches.

He skimmed from thehampering garment,tossing it aside. As hedrew her to him oncemore, he spread his handover her hip, drawing heragainsthishardlength.

Shewas beguiled, andsuffused with moist,pulsating heat. But shewas not quite withoutconcern. She whispered

againsthisneck,acatchinhervoice.“Isit—willitbeallright?”

“It will be glorious,” hesaid with shivers oflaughterinhisvoice.“Itwillstupendous, a brightreflection of heaven, but itwon'tbeallright,ever.”

“I mean— can you . ..?”

“Who can say? But Imust try, or else give youleave to take my guts for

leadingstringsfor the idiotI must become, and bidyoubeagentlekeeper—”

“There is no danger,”shesaid.

“And yet,” he went onas if she had not spoken,hisvoicelowandnotquitecontrolled, “bid me cease,andIwill.IpromiseIwill.”

She did not doubt it.“It's I who need a gentlekeeper,”shesaid.

“Why,”hesaid,“whenI

amhere?”Andhewasgentle.He

was also firm andspringing and resilient.There was hardly aninstantofpainathisentry,and it was eased bymyriad caresses and thefree flowing of beatitude.She held her pent breathwhile the core of herdissolved, coalescingaroundhim.Shedrewhimto her with a hand at his

waist,pullinghimdeepanddeep and deep and evendeeper,as if therewasnoendtoherdepths.

He whispered hername,brushinghereyelidswith his lips, thenhe liftedhimself higher above her,preparing for the deepestplunge.

It came, and she criedouthisname.Inrisingandfalling tumult he gatheredher close and swept her

withhim into rapture.Withtightly closed eyes shereveledintheclosenessoftheunion,feltthemountingecstasy of it vibratingthrough her, recognizedherownsensual joy inhisdesire for her. There wasno fastness leftunbreached. She gaveherself without stint,enclosing him in vibrantheat. So intense was theecstasy that the sudden

spiraling pinnacle of itcaught her by surprise.She cried out again, andhis hold tensed while hefilled her, prolonging thepleasure to the edge ofinfinity.

Then, dynamic andelemental, they soared,locked together inpromised grandeur. Vividwith perception, theyplumbed sensation andfound it immense enough

tofill theworld.Therewasonly the two of them,unclothed,splendidintheircommunion, unheeding,unneeding, sufficient intheirglory.

Pilar felt the rise oftears. In themidst of theirliquidheatheplunged intoheroncemore,twice,thengathered her to him,holding the bond as herolled to his side and wasstill,deathlystill.

Their chests heaved,their hearts thuddedtogether in double time.The ship under themseemed to plunge withthem in rememberedrhythm, rocking them insoothing reassurance.Refugio, his handunsteady,brushedherhairfromherfacesoshecouldbreathe more easily. Sheclenched and unclenchedherhandonhisarm.Then

slowly,byminutedegrees,theybegantosubside.

Concern shifted insidePilar. With a smallexclamation she lifted herhand, reaching to press ittohisbrowasiftestingforfever.Heclosedhisfingersabout hers and broughtthemtohislips.Hismouthwarm against them, hesaid, “I'maspeacefulasatwice-shriven monk andblithesome as a petted

puppy, with good reason.Andyou,cara?”

“The same,” she said,herlipscurvinginahiddensmile.

“Then sleep while Iwatchforachange.”

Shedidasshewasbid,and did not wake untilEnriquecamepoundingonthe door and shoutingaboutbreakfast.

Theyarrived inHavanaon the island of Santiago

de Cuba some threeweeks later. Theremainder of the crossinghad been without incidentandblessedwithunusuallyfair weather. Under theendless parade of sunnyskies and days of brisksalt-laden winds, Refugio,had made rapidimprovement. He hadabandoned his nearcatatonic state withoutapparent effort and with

little explanation. Hismanner casual and hisdressneatandevenlordly,he had sauntered into thesalon in mid-afternoon ofthe day following his nightwithPilar.

“My dear count!” DoñaLuisa said, rising to herfeet and hastening to takehis arm. “Welcome,welcome, how we havemissedyou!Tellus, if youplease, to what we owe

thismiraculousrecovery?”“Why,whatelseexcept

sea air and the solicitudeof friends, and thatsovereign remedy for allillsoftheflesh,thecareofabeautifulwoman.”

“You were certainly inmy prayers,” the widowsaid, “but I fear you flatterme.”

“Not at all,” heanswered, and as hebowed, turned his gaze to

exchange a long andfaintly smiling glance withPilar.

He entertained thecompany with stories ofcunning and wit, withmusic from his guitar andsoft songs that flowed inendlesssuccessionfarintothe evening. If theunaccustomed exertiontired him or pained hiswound, therewasnosign.The following morning he

changed his bandaginghimself, then spent thehoursbeforenoonstrollingthe deck with Doña Luisaon one arm and themerchant's young wife ontheother.Bytheendoftheweek he was exercisingwith swords with his menon deck while entertainingthe watchers with causticquips.

His temper had notmended with his body.

There were times whennothing seemed to suithim. On such occasionshiswordsandphraseshadan edge that sliced to thebone.Smallthingsirritatedhim beyond bearing: asloppily fastened line, theway the cook had withbeans, the scent of DoñaLuisa's handkerchief asshe flapped it in his face,thesightofPilarplayingatcards with Charro and

Enrique. He could not besatisfied until he had tiedthe line again, decreasedthe amount of grease inthe beans, thrown thewidow's handkerchiefoverboard, and broken upthecardpartywithaspateof orders that sent CharrotooneendoftheshipandEnrique to the other. Theresult was that therewerelong hours when bothpassengers and crew left

him alone. That, at least,suitedhim.

A certain amount ofrestlessness was naturalforamanlikeRefugio,oneused to action and broadspaces, not only coopeduponavesselatsea,buthaunted by fear for hisbrother. There was alsothe specter of his failedduties, the strain of themasquerade, and theconstant arch comments

and calls upon his personand his patience of DoñaLuisa. Another reason,Pilar thought, was theheadaches whichremained with him. Shelearned to recognize theirsymptoms, the heavy-lidded eyes, the tightnessat the corners of hismouth. She learned alsothat it was possible towithstand both his coldmanner and his cutting

words. All she had to dowas ignore them, shefound; there was seldomanger behind them, andthey were never personal.Atleastwithher.

His followers realizedthat she had less to fearfrom him than others; still,they rallied around her,deflecting as many of hisbarbed comments aspossible. Sometimes theyeven protested at what

they felt to be his cavaliertreatment. They meant tohelp, but Pilar thought itonly made matters worse.He accused her, in hismore savage moods, ofbeguilingthem.Itsmackedof jealousy, thesecomments. She wouldhave liked to believe it. Itwouldhavebeensomuchmore satisfactory thansupposing they stemmedfrom mere irritation of the

nerves.Sometimesatnightshe

massagedhistemplesandthe taut muscles of thebackofhisneck;itseemedto help.He swore itmadeit better, also, to have hersleepingbesidehim.Oncewhen he had made herangry by some commentabout her propensity forthe company of Charro,she had moved herblanketsbacktothecorner

of the cabin. By the timehe returned from a latetéte-à-têtewith thewidow,shehadfinallymanagedtodrop into restlessslumber.She was awakened,however, by a sudden joltas she was lifted againsthis chest. Carrying her tothe bed, he sat downwithher in his arms and sethimself to cajole her withhoneyed words andbeguiling caresses until

she joined him oncemoreonthemattress.

Afterward, as he layholding her in the hardcircleofhisarms,hesaid,“Count Gonzalvo was awiseman.”

“Was he? How so?”Somnolent with content,she smoothed the dark,curling hair on his chestwith one finger to keep itfromticklinghernose.

“He kept his Venus

safe, and his ownmind atease.”

“Butwhatofher?”“He worshiped her, or

so they say, and providedeverything she coulddesireforheramusement.”

“Is thatsupposed tobeenough?”

Hebenthishead,tryingto see her face. “Do youthinkit'snot?”

“To be loved and leftfree seems better.” She

kept her eyes lowered,refusingtomeethisgaze.

“What, no purdah foryou, no harem with highwalls?Haveyounodesireforsafety?”

“If I did, I wouldn't behere. I would be in theconvent where mystepfatherwantedme.”

“True.”“Besides, if women

can't keep men in towers,why should men be

allowed the privilege ofkeepingwomenthere?”

“Why, indeed? Wouldyouliketokeepamaninatower?”

A smile curled her lips.“It sounds dangerous tome, though there is acertainappeal.”

“You would, then,” hesaid, his voice low anddeep. “Shall we go insearchofatowerandkeepeachotherthere?”

She raised her eyes tomeethisthen,expectingtosee the light of laughter.Instead she saw herselfreflected in their graydarkness. There was alsoa line between his brows,one etched by pain. Sheliftedherfingerstosmoothit, then trailed them downthecontourofhischeektotherigidturnofhisjaw.Hereached to catch herfingers, carrying them to

hislips.“No?” he said, his

breath soft and warmagainst theirsensitive tips.“ThenIwillmakeawallofkisses around you and letit keep us safe for now, ifnotforever.”

It was a task she waswillingtoaid.

Pilar didn't knowwhether Refugio was alsosharing the bed of thewidow.Shedidn't thinkso,

butnotcaringtobeprovenwrong, didn't ask. Sheliked to think that hemustlack the strength, andcertainly the inclination,after leaving her bed. Shewas aware, however, thatthis was not necessarilyso.

Inanycase,shehadnoright tocomplain.Shehadthrownherselfathim,afterall. Regardless of herreasons, this could not be

denied. He owed her nofidelity,evenifthesafetyofthemalldidnotdictatehiscontinuedacquiescence tothewishesofthewidow.

Therewas no questionoflovebetweenherandElLeon.Ofcoursetherewasnot.Theirunionwasbasedonproximityandavirulentattraction of the senses.And self-protection; shemustnotforgetthat. Ifsheever allowed herself to

think otherwise, she hadonly to recall what Isabelhad said — that Refugiowould never involvehimself with a woman forwhom he cared deeply.There was comfort, in anodd way, in that memory,since his attendance uponDoña Luisa could beviewedinthesamelight.

Havana was stifling.The sun had a yellow-white, metallic glare as it

reflected from the shore-boundwaves, theshelvingbeaches, the hard greenfronds of the palm trees.The deck of theCelestinasoaked up the heat andsent it radiating upwardaround the party ofgovernment officials, therepresentative of thecustom house, the harbormaster, tax collector,notary, and a petty clerk,whocameaboardassoon

as the ship had droppedanchor.

There was a momentwhen Pilar, watching themen stride along the decktoward where she stoodwith Refugio and thecaptain, felt the brush ofalarm. It faded as theofficialscametoahaltwithstiffbowsandtheroundofpresentations andobsequiesbegan.

Refugio was polite but

distant, as became asupposed aristocrat withvastholdingsinSpain.Theofficials were deferential;theirwelcomes,particularlyto Pilar, were fulsome.Noone tried to stop Refugioas he turned from themwith languid inattentionand strolled away withPilaronhisarm.

If he had thought toavoidpeople, however, hesoon discovered his error.

Itwasnoteverydaythatagrandee arrived in sleepyHavana-town,andnewsofit quickly spread. Bynightfalladozeninvitationshad been deliveredoffering everything frombreakfast with a wealthyplanterknown tohave fivedaughters of marriageableage to a ride about theisland with the governor.The breakfast could begraciouslydeclinedwithout

suspicion, but not so theride. Returning from itsome time later, Refugiopronounced it pleasantenough. It had resulted inyet another invitation,however. This one was toa masked ball at thegovernor'spalace.

The invitation was notforRefugio,alone,butalsoincluded as many of hisentourage as he mightcare to bring. It was

assumed this extended toPilar, since it was wellknown that CountGonzalvo attended nofunction from which hisVenus was excluded. Itwas, in part, this attitudethat had made him soreclusive. The invitationcould also be accountedforbythefactthatitwasamasquerade ball forcarnival; conventionswerenever as strict on such

occasions. As for thedangerofgoingamongsomany who might haveknown either Refugio deCarranza or the count, itwas slight, for they wouldall wear costumes andmasksforthegreatestpartof the evening. Someexcuse for leaving couldalwaysbefoundbeforetheunmasking.

Doña Luisa wasdelightedattheprospectof

society, no matter howprovincial; she hadreceived a separateinvitation through theoffices of a friend of herlate husband's, agentlemanonceamemberof themunicipal council ofNewOrleansandwhonowserved in some similarpost in Havana. SeñorManuel Guevara, mostunexpectedly,hadmet theship and extended a

request for her presenceunder his roof until thecramped coastal vessel towhich they would all betransferring was ready tosail, a matter of a fewdays. He would bedelighted to extend theinvitation to Refugio andthe others. She had toldthe thoughtful soul theywouldallaccept.

“Youmanage thingssobeautifully, Doña Luisa,”

Refugio said, inclining hishead in ironic compliance.“Such efficiencymust giveyouimmensesatisfaction.”

If the woman felt thestingoftheirony,shegavenosign.Withasmiletiltingher hazel eyes, sheanswered, “It does, onoccasion.”

“What do you thinkwillhappenifthisgentlemenisacquaintedwiththecount?Or if he may have seen

Refugio de Carranza, orEnrique, or Charro, inpassing?”

“Or if he was once thelover of your Venus? Oneseems as unlikely as theother; he has been out ofSpainforyears.”

Hisfacebland,Refugio,gaveashrug.“Ah,well,noneed to trouble ourselves.If he should dredge uprecollectionsuncomfortabletoanyofus,

we can always dispatchhim and his householddown to the last crawlingbabeandscullerygirl.”

“What a crueldesperado you are,” thewidow cried with a trill oflaughter.

“Andwicked, too.Whataspectacle I shouldmakeas the hangman fits mewithmy hood.Or perhapsyou prefer an auto-da-fé;theHolyInquisitionhasno

monopoly on consigningmen to the flames.Anything,my lady,so longasyouareentertained.”

“Firesareexciting,don'tyouthink?”thewidowsaid,hereyesshining.

Pilar, watching them,following their brittlebanter, shivered with thesudden awareness of achillaroundherheart.

10

THE HOUSE OF SeñorGuevara was built ofblocks of white corallimestone, a solid andfoursquare structuredesigned to withstand thetropical storms that roaredinduringthefallseasonof

gales.Itsmanyfloor-lengthwindowsonall sideswereprotected by gallerieswhich shaded them fromthe hot sun as well asallowingthemtobethrownwide for air during lighterrains and to catch the fullbenefit of the constanttrade winds. Standingisolated on a headland, itenjoyed magnificent viewsoftheturquoisesearollingtoward it, and was

surrounded by fruit treeswith exotic names whichshaded garden paths laidout in geometric patternsandedgedwithbright,boldflowers. Some fewhundred yards distancebehind it was a wavinggreen sea of sugarcane,for Señor Guevara wasalsoaplanter.

The hospitality of theofficial could not befaulted; Pilar and Refugio

hadbeengiventhebestofthe guest rooms, with theothers nearby, and hadbeen plied with food andwine and regaled withsongs by the daughters ofthehouse.Theneedoftheseñor and his large familyfor news of Spain, anynews,was so great that itseemed they would haveentertained a blind beggarto get it. The questionsthey asked were endless,

particularly those of theplanter's older son Philip,who fancied himselfsomethingofarakewithaneed for larger fields ofconquest. The ladieswanted to know aboutfashions and colors andwhich of the women atcourt was setting thestyles.SeñorGuevarawascurious about variousscandals among the courtministers. Everyone

wanted to know about thelatestdancesandmusic.

Count Gonzalvo'ssupposed reclusive habitsproved their value sinceany lack of knowledgecould be blamed uponthem.Refugiomadeupforthis deficiency, however,by sitting down at thejangling harpsichord onenightandplayingamedleyof the newest airs withsuch verve and grace that

there were cries formore.Heobligedwithaseriesofold ballads and nurserysongs of such nostalgicsweetness that the entirecompanydissolvedintearsofhomesickness.

It fell primarily to DoñaLuisa to satisfy the thirstfor the latest tidbits andgossip, though she had asurprising amount ofsupportfromEnriqueinhisrole as a grandee. It had

been his part to gatherintelligence for Refugio, itseemed. In the process ofmoving around Spain onthis assignment, he hadlearned much else. Thetwo of them, the widowand the Gypsy acrobat,were wicked, and oftenhilarious, in theirassassinations ofcharacter and descriptionsofsartorialfolly.

Costume balls were a

favored pastime on theisland, and clothing forthem was plentiful in theGuevara household. Theparty from the Celestinahad only to make theirchoices from among theplenitude, if they sodesired.Theydid.

For Refugio it waseasy; the robes of aMoorish prince suited himperfectly. However, PilarrefusedtogoasaMoorish

princess, wrapped to theeyes in stifling draperies,or as a dancing girl inconsiderably less veiling.Thehabitofanundidnotplease her at all. Sheconsented at last to theenormously wide pannierscovered by midnight-bluesilk, whalebonedstomacher trimmed withrows of pale blue bows,and the stiff-neck ruff of acourt lady of the previous

century.Refugio put on his

snow-white robes andheaddress with gold cord,thenleftPilarandIsabelinpossession of thebedchamber. His purposewas togive themroom forthe difficult business ofgetting Pilar into thebasketlike panniers, acourteousgesturethatwasnot uncommon for him.Pilarwatchedhimgointhe

looking glass over thedressing tablewhile Isabeldressed her hair in a highpile of pomaded curlsready for the powder. Helooked restless and onedge, she thought, andalso incredibly foreign. Inhis flowing costume heappeared some desertchieftainreadyforrevelryifit presented itself, but justasreadyfordestructionifitbecamenecessary.

Pilar emerged from thebedchamber onto thegallery a short while later,moving through the doorwith an awkward sidle.Turning in a sweep ofwide-held skirts, shesailed, billowing, towardwhereRefugiostoodatthefar end of the coveredpromenade.

As she neared, thererose sudden loud wails ofgrief.Thenoisecamefrom

the opposite direction,around the far corner ofthe house. Refugio turnedin that direction, thenmoved away out of sight.As Pilar came to thecorner,shesawhimgoingto his knees in front of achild,asmallboynomorethanthreeyearsoldwhosefacewasscrewedupinanexpression of woe. It wastheofficial's youngest son,the lastofhis large family.

Theboyworeatinypairofknee breeches and a shirtthatwascomingoutatthewaist. There were bucklesonhissmallshoes,andhisfine silky hair was pulledback in aminute club. Hewas holding out his fingeron which was a tiny beadof blood. Behind the boy,following him in stolid,pigeon-toed determination,was a yellow-headedgreenparrot.

“He bited me!” the boysobbed.“Hebitedme!”

“Who did?” Refugioaskedashetookthesmallpink finger between hisown rough, brown onesandwiped thebloodawaywiththecornerofhisrobe.

Theboyswungtopointwith his other hand at theparrot.“Thatmeanbird.Hebitedmefinger!”

“Yes, I see,” Refugiosaid in grave tones. “And

whatdidyoudotohim?”“Ionlyplaywithhe.”“Maybehedoesn'twant

toplay.”The boy said nothing,

only giving a mighty sniffand scrubbingat the tearsonhis cheeks.Theparrot,reaching the boy and theman, began to circlearoundthem.

“Is he your parrot?”Refugioasked.

The boy shook his

head.“Madre's.”“Shallwe tellherabout

this and let her punishhim?”

“Won't.”“I see,” Refugio said.

“This has happenedbefore,then.”

The boy looked at thefloor without answering.Theparrot, tiltinghis headto one side, said withcheery hoarseness, “Hola,Mateo.”

“Isthatyou?Mateo?”The boy nodded and

duckedhisheadagain.“Well, what does this

mean bird deserve forbitingyou?Shallwecutoffhis head and put him in astewpot?”

Alarmappeared on theboy'sface.“No!”

“No?Maybeweshouldtieuphisbeak?”

The boy shook hishead, cutting his eyes to

wheretheparrothadfounda convenient fold ofRefugio's robe and wasclimbing up it toward hisshoulder.

“Would you like to bitehisfinger,then?”

“Doesn'thaveafinger.”“Hehasaclaw.Twoof

them.”A smile dimpled the

boy's cheek. He gave alittlecrowof laughter. “No!Toodirty.”

Refugioheaveda sigh.“ThenIdon'tknowwhattodo.”

“I do!” the boyshouted.Reachingout, heheldhisarminfrontof theparrot.Thebirdhoppedonwith practiced ease andwalked up to the boy'sshoulder. Mateo whirledaround and ran awaywiththe parrot wildly flappingasifinflight.

Refugio got to his feet.

Hisfaceashestaredafterthe boy was softer, lessharriedthanithadbeeninalongtime.Watchinghim,Pilarwasawareofanachesomewhere deep inside,and also an oddemptiness.

Refugio turned. Hesurveyed her, his gazemoving leisurely from thepowdered crown of herhair,downoverthesquarebodice which exposed the

rounded tops of herbreasts and the corsetednarrownessofherwaist,tothe panniers which juttedout to the ridiculous widthofafullyardoneitherside.He smiled, with slowenjoyment rising in hiseyes. “You look majestic,”he said at last. “Andbeautiful, of course. Ithought I preferred thenun's habit for you, but Ibelieve this one is better

afterall.”The compliment was

unexpected and intriguing.Keeping her voice lightwith an effort, she said,“Whyisthat?”

He extended his handand she reached out thefull length of her arm inordertotakeit.Turning,hepromenadedwithherbackdown the gallery, still withtheirarmsatfulllengthoutoverthewidthofherskirts.

“Because,” he said, “withwhatyouhaveon,nomancan get close enough toyoutomatter.”

“Unless I help him.”She gave him a quickglance from under herlashes.

“There is that chance,butIdon'tthink,givenyoursoft heart, that you willextend unwiseencouragement.”

“What has my heart to

dowithit?”“You would not like to

bethecauseofadeath.”She held his intent

gaze a long momentbefore she looked away.“What would be onemore?”

“What?” His voice wassharp.

“After my aunt's, Imeant.”

“That's another matterentirely. You aren't to

blame for a madman'sdecisions.”

“No? Nor are you,then,” she replied in quiettones.

Hestaredatherasshemovedbesidehimwiththegold of the sunset in herhairandcalm inhereyes,buthedidnotanswer.

Dinner was served instate. Itwas apparent thatthe official's wife, havingacquired the presence of

what she thought was amember of the Spanishnobility, intended toimpress her neighbors. Alarge number of them hadbeen invited to fill thetable, along with the oldermembers of her family.Everypieceofsilverinthehouse had been polishedto a glassy sheen and setoutinthediningroom.TheVenetian crystal glittered,theEnglishchinagleamed,

and there were so manycandles down the longboard that their heat hadmade the short-livedtropical flowerswilt in theirSévres vases. There wassuchanexcessofpeople,utensils, and candelabra,in fact, that the table wasfar too crowded for theelegance the lady hadobviously hoped toachieve.

Refugio was seated to

the right of the hostess,andDoñaLuisatotherightofthehost.Pilarwasdownthe table from Refugio,betweenanelderlyman inrusty black on one sideand the elder son of thehouse on the other. Theolder man applied himselfto his food with noisyappreciation and littleinclination to talk. PhilipGuevara was not at allinterestedinfood.

“Señorita,” he said intones low enough to becovered by the hum ofconversationandrattleandclink of dishes aroundthem, “I feel sucha fool. Ipray you will forgive myignorance, but I had notrealized who you are. Tothink that the famousVenus de la Torre hasbeen under the same rooffor two days, and I notaware.”

The youngman besideher was handsome in arefined Castilian manner.He seemed also to beratherspoiled,withamorerakish and experiencedmanner toward womenthanheshouldhaveathisage. Pilar said, with exacttruth, “Please, I wouldrathernotspeakofit.”

“I should have known;whydid Inotguess?Yourform, your shape, so

beyondcompare.It'snottobe wondered at that thecount keeps you shutaway, for I would do thesameifyouweremine.”

“I should remind youthat the reason is thecount's extreme jealousy.”Pilar nodded in thedirection of Refugio, whowas watching them overtherimofhiswineglass.

The young man barelyglanced in the direction

she indicated. His darkeyesglowing,hesaid,“Doyou fearhim?Shall I saveyou?”

“Certainly not! You willnot think of anything sofoolish.”

“Foolish?Youspeakasif you think me incapableofit.”

Pilar, recognizing theaffronted vanity in hisvoice, made her voice assoothing as possible. “Not

at all. I simply have noneedforachampionsinceIamquitecontent.”

“Youareafraid,rather,Ithink. Do I dare hope thatyourconcernisforme?”

“Ihardlyknowyou,”sheprotested.

“Men andwomen haveloved in less time, from aglance shared in thepromenade, a brief wordexchanged at morningmass.” His face was

flushed. The took he gaveher was meant to conveypassion.

Shewasachallengetohim, a mystery to bepossessed; she could seethat. To him she was acourtesan whose charmshad enslaved a noblemanassurelyas thenoblemanhad imprisoned her. Itappeared that merelyspeakingtoherexcitedtheyoungman.Theattemptto

seduce her could well beirresistible.

“Not I,”shesaidcoldly.“Ihavenouseforlove.”

“Awomanwholooksasyou do cannotmean suchharshwords.”

“Iassureyou,Ican.”“You prefer to be

adored,asinthepastwiththe count; I understandperfectly. It would be myextreme pleasure to kneelatyourfeet.”

“Thankyou,but itwon'tbenecessary.”

“Ifit'swealthyouwant,Ihaveit.”

“Your fatherhas it, youmean.Andwhatofatitle?”

“It pleases you to becruel, but that will make itall the sweeter when yousurrender.”

She was wasting herbreath and, probably, herconsideration. Feigning ashrug of indifference, she

turned away. Her gazecaught that of Charro justdown the table. He musthave been following theexchange, for he grinnedather,hisblueeyesbrightwithamusedsympathy.

Itwaswellintothenightbythetimethelastcourseof the enormous dinnerwas finished and theguests had refreshedthemselves and gatheredto be transported to the

ball. The younger menwould ride on horseback,carrying torches to lighttheir way. The older menandtheladieswouldtravelmore sedately in thecarriages that werearrangedinaline.

Refugio elected tocovertheshortdistanceonhorseback, as did Enriqueand Charro. Baltasar, intheguiseofamanservant,would ride on a perch on

the back of one of thecarriages. SeñoraGuevara, with her eldestdaughter and the girl'sduenna, a cousin of somedegree,weretorideinthefamily carriage. Thewoman was about toassign the fourth place toPilar, or so Pilar thought,when the widowElguezabal joined thegroup with a mask in herhand and a mantilla over

herplumpshoulders.“Do you go, Doña

Luisa?” the older womaninquiredinsurprise.

“Assuredly,” the widowanswered in the sametone, then went on. “Oh,you are thinking of mywidow's weeds. I will notdance, of course, but Imust have gaiety to keepmymindfrommyloss.Mydear husband would havewishedit,Iknow;hewasa

mostunselfishman.”Enrique, standing

nearby, said sotto voce,“He was, without doubt, asaint.”

“So he was,” DoñaLuisasaid.

“Was that why youcould not abide him orabidewithhim?”

The widow turned aplump shoulder to theacrobat, paying him nomore attention than if he

hadbeenafly.Noddingatthe empty carriage seat,shesaid toherhostess, “Isee you have left a placeforme.”

“If it pleases you.”There was a trace ofcensure in the voice ofSeñoraGuevara.

Pilar was entertainedby the widow's single-minded pursuit of her owndesires, and also byEnrique's baiting the

woman about them; still,she was disturbed at thesame time. She herselfwas not even wearingmourning for her deadaunt, much less preparingto forego the pleasures ofthe evening. The situationwas difficult, it was true,but theremighthavebeensome way to show herrespect.

Señora Guevara wasspeaking to Pilar, though

her manner was no lessstiff than that shown toDoñaLuisa.“Iamsorryforthe imposition, señorita,butIfearImustaskyoutoride withmy good friends,ourneighbors,the—”

Her son spoke then.“Yourpardon,Mother,butIwill drive the lady. It willonly take a moment tohave thehorsesput tomycaléche.”

Thewoman frowned at

her son before glancingaroundat her guests,whowere watching theproceedings with avidinterest and varyingdegrees of disapproval.Her face reflecting herchagrin, she said to Pilar,“This is satisfactory toyou?”

Pilar was aware ofRefugio'sgazeonherfromwhere he was alreadymounted on a dancing,

sidling black stallion. Itseemed, in truth, that halfthose in earshot werewaiting for her reply. Hervoicecomposed,shesaid,“Perfectly.Ihadthoughttotake my maid Isabel incase of problems with mycostume. This way will bemore comfortable for herthan ridingon topwith thecoachman.”

Philip appearedsomewhatdiscomfited,but

did not withdraw his offer.He was definitely notpleased, however, whenRefugio, Charro, andEnriqueclosedinoneitherside of the small carriage,ridingescort.

The drive to thegovernor's palace waspleasant. It took themalong the edge of theharbor, in view of the oldcitadel of La Fuerza, withitswatchtowercrownedby

aweather-vaneintheformof an Indian maiden thatwas known as “LaHabana,”andpastthetwofortressesthatguardedtheharbor entrance, MorroCastle and La Punta. Thefortifications, including thatof La Cabana behindMorro Castle and the citywalls, had been built, soPhilip informed Pilar, todiscourage pirates andalso to confound the

English. They had servedwellforthefirst,notsowellfor the last. Havana hadbeen captured by theEnglishalittleovertwenty-five years before, duringthe Seven Years' War. Ithad been returned a yearlater, at the war's end, inexchangefortheterritoriesoftheFloridas.

The governor's palacewas an imposing pile ofbaroque splendor located

on the eastern side of thetown center which wasknown, as usual inSpanish colonial cities, asthePlazadeArmas.Itwasnewly built, and parts of itwere still underconstruction. Its roomswere large and richlyfurnished, in keeping withthe consequence of theman who had finaljurisdiction over allSpanish officialdom in the

newworld.The ball at the

governor's palace was agala affair, for Mardi Graswas a day of revelry andmirth just prior to theabstinence of the lentenseason.Theballroomwaslong and narrow, with acavernous ceilingenlivened by a religiousfresco touched with gilt,and French doors on twosides which were thrown

open to the night air. Thelustersofenormouscrystalchandeliers tinkled in thedraft from the doors. Themusic of violins andguitars, a flute,harpsichord, drums andcastanets, was spritely,with an edge of passionthat seemed to vibrate inthe air. The guests,gleaming with jewels andshimmering with costlysilks and velvets, danced

constantly, crowding thefloor as if they craved theabandon of movement intime to the music. Menbowed, women plied theirfans and smiled withflashing glances frombehindtheirmasks.

Regardless, proprietywas firmly in place, withduennas and anxiousmothers fanningthemselves as they satalong the walls, and stern

husbands on guard. Therepressed nature of thepassionsonlyaddedtotheair of licentiousnesshovering over thegathering, increasing thehint of barely restrainedimpulses and only half-spurnedtemptations.

Pilar danced first withSeñor Guevara. It was,she thought, both a dutydance from her host andanattemptbytheseñorto

establish for her a degreeof respectability. Hismanner was stiff withdecorum, scrupulous in itsadherence to the rules offormal conduct.Immediately afterwardPhilip insisted on leadingPilar onto the floor for aquadrille. It seemedimpossible to refuse afterhis father's gesture, andespecially since he hadtaken the trouble to drive

her. She regretted heragreement immediately,however. His attitude wasof someone showing off aprize.Hiscostumewasthevelvet doublet with thehose, breastplate, andhelmetofaconquistador.Itwasfitting,sinceitseemedhewasintentonconquest.Though Pilar had felt alittle self-conscious fromtime to time on the shipwithherroleasthecount's

Venus,shehadneveruntilthat moment feltdemeaned by it. Theburning looks Philip gaveher, the lingering touch ofhishandsasheguidedherthrough the dance, werelike a public declaration ofthe kind of woman hethought her to be, and ofhis desire and intent topossessher.

“If you do not stoplookingatmeinthatidiotic

way,” she said to himthrough her teeth, “I'mgoingtoslapyou.”

“I don't knowwhat youmean.” The gleam in hiseyesbeliedhiswords.

“Ithinkyoudo.Iamnotsome silly maiden to fallswooningatyourfeet.Thegame you are playing isdangerous,Itellyou.”

“Are you sure? I thinkyou may place too high avalue on yourself. I don't

see your protector leapingto your side to take youaway.”

“Because he wouldprefernottomakeapublicspectacle of himself, or ofme.”

“Or else he doesn'tcare. Men do tire of theirmistresses.”

It was, of course, apossibility,butsherefusedtoconsider it. “I'mamazedyouwouldbe interested in

discardedgoods.”“To me you would be

fresh and new, besidesbeing far more beautifulthan any lady of the nightHavanahastooffer.”

Her face congealed inanger, she said, “Youflatterme,I'msure.”

“Impossible.”“Youaretheonewhois

impossible!” she said in achill undertone, andrefusedtospeakagain.

The music came to anend.Charro,byaccidentordesign,wasbesideher.Hebowed to Philip andoffered Pilar his arm tolead her away. For amoment it appearedPhilipwouldrefusetoreleasehisgrip upon her hand. Hescowledashesquaredupto Charro, staring into hiseyes. Something he sawthere, however, gave himpause,forheexecutedthe

briefestofbowsandturnedaway.

Pilar, curtsying to hernew partner as the musicbegan, gave him a warmsmile. “The rescue wastimely.Thankyou.”

“He'smaking a pest ofhimself,thatone?”

“It's no great matter.He'smerelyyoungandfullofhimself.”

“I can send him home,ifyoulike.”

“I'd rather not attractattention.”

He laughed,hisnarrowface creasing withamusement as he movedwith her into the countrydance just beginning. “It'stoolateforthat.”

Charrowasdressedasa Knight Templar, amedieval Christian warriorfrom the monk-like orderbased on the island ofMalta. His militant

appearance, with the redcross on his tunic, suitedhim somehow. Hiscomments on the otherguestswereaptandfunny;his manner was admiringyet carefully, perhaps toocarefully, impersonal. Hisbow as his dance wasended carried that extradegree of depth anddurationthat lifteditabovemere politeness. His lightblueeyesseenthroughthe

slitsofhishalfmask,ashegave her into Refugio'skeeping, held dedicationtingedwithregret.

Refugio, watching thebyplay, was disturbed butnot surprised. For theeffectPilarhadhadonhisfollowers, there was noone to blame excepthimself.Shewasbeautiful,persecuted, and alone inthe world; the result wasinevitable. He himself felt

the warring instincts ofprotectiveness andexploitation. Why shouldhe expect the men of hisbandtobeanydifferent?

WhatdidPilar feel?Hewished he knew.Shewasflushed from heat and theexertion of the dance; herskin was moist and warmand her breathing quick.He took her hand andcurled the fingers into thecrook of his arm as he

movedtostandinanopendoorway. He gave her alittle time before he finallyspokeinblandwarning.

“Devotion fromadmirers improves thecomplexionandwarmstheheart, but has a way ofexactingitsprice.”

Pilar glanced afterCharro, knowing it was tohim Refugio referred. Shewas aware of theway theotherman sought her out,

butfeltsureitwasonlytheclose association of thelongvoyagethatcausedit.Refugio's attendance onDoñaLuisa,however,wasnot quite so innocent. Hertone was cool as sheanswered.

“You speak, of course,fromexperience.”

“Ofcourse.”“And what form does

thispriceusuallytake?”“The devoted require

bits and pieces of you,chosenatrandom.”

The words were exactandastringent.Hewasnotspeaking ingeneral terms.Couldhebethinkingofthepast days with the fiancéhe had lost? She said,“Can't a person defendthemselves?”

“It requires a strongstomach and an aptitudeforgivingpain.”

“The alternative could

betotalacceptance?”“Yes, there is that, if

you have a taste formartyrdom.”

“Or if martyrdom isforcedonyou?”sheasked,her gaze on the hardplanes of his face, thoughher thoughts wereelsewhere.

“There is usually achoice.”

“Except when othersareinvolved.”

“Even then. Cleanwounds heal and babesweanedinseasondon'tcryafterthebreast,andafastdeath carefully selected isbetter than a stinkingprogression to the sameend.”

He was telling her agreatmanythings,noneofwhich she was sure sheunderstood. Slowly shesaid, “I see why you don'twanttobeloved.”

“Who was speaking oflove?” he answered.“That's another subjectaltogether.”

Dancing with Refugiowas an exercise inprecision and the glory ofperfect timing. There wasknowledge and guidancein it, but most of all therewas untrammeled instinctand limitless grace. Heenjoyed it. Themusicwasan exultation inside him

which he translated intomovement, taking hispartnerwithhim.

Pilar, making thesediscoveries, felt her ownpleasure rise triplefold.She had her instincts andthey met his and matedwith them.Thatshecould,with some small effort,match his exacting pacewasaprivatetriumph.Shelooked into his silver-grayeyes as they advanced

and retreated with thesteps, and what she sawthere, half hidden by hislashes, made her fingerstighten in his grasp. Hemightnotwishtotakeloveor to return it, but he wasnotindifferenttoher.Itwasapotentconsolation.

The eveningprogressed towardmidnight, the hour thatwould bring the ending ofMardi Gras and the

beginning of AshWednesday. Then wouldcometheunmasking,also,thoughtherewouldbefewsurprises. Shortly beforethathourtherewasservedalastsupperofmeatsandpastries and all the richcomestibles that would beforbidden during lent. Thegovernor of the island,resplendent in silver lace,afullwigofwhitesilk,andshoes with red heels, led

the way into the diningroom. He was flanked byscarlet-clad guardscarrying silver maces.Laughing, joking, in fineappetite considering theshort period of time thathad elapsed since dinner,his guests trooped behindhim.

Refugio tookPilar in tosupper and found a chairfor her. By the time heturned to go in search of

food for them both, Philipwasthereprofferingafilledplate. Not far behind himwasCharro,alsobearingaselectionofdelicacies,andbehind him came Enriquewithanextraglassofwine.To be surrounded bymenwas gratifying, even if theintentions of several ofthemweremoreprotectivethan amorous. It was alsoludicrous,fortherewasfarmore food than she could

eat. The only way toprevent hurt feelings wasto taste something fromeach offering. It did nothelp that it must be doneunder Refugio's sardonicgaze.Still,shenibbledfirstone confection and thenanother,andsippedat thewine, all the while makingpleasant chatter designedto alleviate theawkwardness between themen.

EnriqueandCharrodidnotseemtocareforPhilipor his presence. Theymade a number of slycomments,onlyhalfjoking,about the provincialism ofthe island, the blandnessof its food, and thecomplexionsof itswomen.In a final closing of ranks,they disparaged the isled-bred horses, thehorsemanship of theriders,andevencastdoubt

on the local level ofexpertise with a sword.Philip, at first inclined toagree with them and tolongfortheexcitementandadventure of a sojourn inSpain, began togrowpinkintheface.

Pilar lookedtoRefugio,expecting him to put anendtothebaiting.Itwouldbe unwise to start animbroglioat thegovernor'spalace, especiallywith the

son of their host in themiddle of it. The banditleader, however, seemedtohavefoundsomethingofsupreme interest in thebottom of his wineglass;his concentration upon itwastotal.

The commentscontinued. Pilar herselfattemptedtoredirectthem,but to noavail.AsPhilip'svoice in defense grewhotterandhis faceredder,

she sent Refugio a fiercefrown.

It was then, during atemporary lull, that anelderly woman nearbyspoke, her tone querulousandpositive.

“The man is animpostor,thisItellyou!Heis far too handsome, forone thing; for the rest, helacksfire.IfhewereCountGonzalvo, therewould notbe this cluster of men

aroundhisVenus,ohno!Ifhe were the count, therewould have beenswordplaybynow.”

Refugio stiffened, thenturned slowly to face hisdetractor.Therewasabouthim, in that moment, theunyielding pride ofgenerations of grandees,with also the chill hauteurof the Moorish prince thathe was portraying for theevening. His face behind

his mask was dark withanger.

Around them thespreading silence grew,broken only by the softsibilance of whispers.Those guests who werenearest turned to look,pausing with their supperplatesintheirhands.

The apprehension thatrose inside Pilar was asmuch for how Refugio,intended to answer the

woman as for the dangerthat had suddenly caughtup with them. An angrydefense, or one of coldand formidable formality,would be wrong, shethought; it would give theoldwoman'sidlewordsfartoomuchweight.

Shemoistenedherlips,gathering her courage.“Ah,my love,” she said toRefugio in a tone of low,humor-tinged intimacy,

“how little the lady knowsyou.”

He swung his head tolookatherinsurprise,thenhesmiled,arealignmentofthe features that broughtthelightofimpatientdesiretohiseyesandcurvedhismouth with sensualremembrance, caressingpromise. He answeredsoftly,“Oryou,cara.”

Returning his attentionto the elderly woman with

what appeared to be aneffort,heinclinedhishead.“Iwouldnotseek to justifymyconducttoyou,señora,for there is nothing thatcompels it. However, Iwouldnothaveyou think Ivalue my Venus less nowthaninthefirstdaysofmylove. Think you that it isimpossible to trust awoman? You would bewrong. But there is more.Show me which of these

men around her is worthyof her smiles.You cannot,for she is too far abovethem,justassheistoofarabove me. Slaying themwould be as sensible astrying to slay every manwho gazes with longinguponthemoon.”

“If you were CountGonzalvo, you would try,”the old woman said,thoughtherewasacertainapprovalinherfadedeyes.

“How can I?” Refugio,asked,allruefulfrankness.“To spill the blood of theson of my host would bean intolerable breach ofconduct, nor can I thinkthat the governor wouldappreciate a gory endingforhisball.”

Behind Refugio, Philiputtered a sharpexclamation. “The bloodspilled might well beyours.”

“It might, if your skillwas equal to the task,”Refugiorepliedpolitely.

“I also have strengthandyouth.Whatwouldyouwager on the chance?”Theyoungman'sfacewaspurplish red, his stancebelligerent. His gazeflicked to his mother andfather, who stood chattingonthefarsideoftheroom,thenmovedawayagain.

“Do you expect me to

place my Venus as aprize?Avulgarnotion,oneshe would doubtlessrefuse.”

“I would,” Pilar said asthe twomen looked toherinspeculation.

“Youneedhavenofearof paying the forfeit, Iassure you,”Refugio said,his tone light, before hisgaze moved above herhead towhereCharroandEnriquestood.

Some communicationpassedbetweenthethree,Pilar thought, somesemblance of an ordergivenandreceived.

A frisson of purestalarm ran along hernerves.Refugiowasup tosomething, but what wasit? She wished she knew,wished she could tellwhethershewasmeant toindulgehimbyagreeingoraid him by opposing him.

She thought the latter,though she despaired ofever being certain of theconvolutions of hisreasoning. Her voice lowwith her indecision, shesaid,“Ihavenofear.”

“Howverygratifying.”“Not to me!” Philip

Guevara declared. “Idemandameeting.”

“I also,” Charro said,suddenly.

“AndI,”Enriqueadded,

drawing himself up inimitation of Refugio's rigidstance. “The honor of usall has been besmirched,aswellas thatof themenof Santiago de Cuba. Werequireredress.”

“No,” Pilar said, hereyeswideningasshesawthe direction that wasbeingtaken.“Iwillnotbeapartofsuchmadness.”

“But yes,” Enriquedeclaredwithfervor.“Have

I not been insulted, alongwith the horses and thewomenofthisisland?”

“Horses?” the oldwomanwhohadbeguntheincident said inpuzzlement.

Refugio shook hishead. “This growsridiculous. It would berepetitious to fight you all.Besides, what would itprove, the private anddeadly settlement of this

issue?No,no,Iwillnotbeguiltyofsuchdisregardforhospitality.”

“Youmust,”Philipsaid.“It would be infamous torefusenow.”

Refugioheavedamocksigh. “I have no need forfurther infamy. But shouldthe governor and hisguests not gain somefurther entertainment fromthe contention? What sayyou to a public trial, one

morenearlyequal?What'sneeded is a tournament,the splendor of a passageat arms, a contest pittingmenagainsteachother.”

“A tournament?” Philipsaidindisgust.

“Precisely. Doesn't itplease you to think ofdemonstrating your skillbefore all, particularly theladies?”

A speculative gleamappeared in the young

man'seyes,thenheshookhis head. “That might be,but it would take too longtoarrange.Now,aduel—”

“What arrangementsarenecessary?Wehaveanightandclearsandattheedgeof the sea.Wehavehorses and men andswords, and even amoonto light the field. Theprospect is perfection.Unless you have nostomachforit.”

“Youmean—tonight?”“Whatbettertime?After

thegovernor'sball isover,ofcourse.Iwouldnotwanttooffendhim.”

“But what honor cantherebeinthis?”

“Thesameas inbattle,thedefeatofaworthyfoe.”

“Youwillparticipate?”“Itwillbemypleasure.”

ThegoldcordofRefugio'sheaddress gleamed as heinclinedhishead.

Charro spoke then.“What shall bedemonstrated, skill atswordplay orhorsemanship?”

“Need it be one or theother? The ancienttournament was a test ofskillinboth,amockwar.”

A murmur rose fromthose listening. In it wasintrigued interest,andalsoadmiration. From thephrases that emerged, it

appeared that mostthoughttheexercisewasawonderfully concoctedexcuse by the count, onedesigned tosupplyhimanaudience for the drubbinghe meant to give theadmirerofhisVenus.

“I don't like this,” Pilarsaid, propelled to her feetbyburgeoningfear.

“But I do,” Refugio,said, his eyes bright withchallenge. “And you shall

be judge, if not also theprize.Whatcouldbebetterthan a veritable moongoddess,fairestofthefair,impartial,incorruptible,andalso endlesslyaccommodating.”

“Stop this!” shedemanded. “It can't benecessary.”

“Butitis,Ipromiseyou.Proofisrequired,don'tyousee?ProofthatIvaluemyVenus, and am, therefore,

who I say. Proof for themall.Andforme.”

Who had heard thoselast soft words? No one,she thought, exceptherself. Her voice equallyquiet, she said, “I'll havenothing to do with it.Nothing.”

“No? The loss will befelt; how could it beotherwise? We requirewatching and favors, aswell as judging. And you,

my sweet Venus, unlikethegoddessof justice,arenotblind.”

11

THE NEWS OF THECONTEST flashed aroundthe ballroom as swiftly asthe reflected light of alooking glass. SeñoraGuevaracriedoutinalarmas she heard, but for themostparttheprospectwas

greeted with delight for itsnovelty. So great was thepreoccupation of thegovernor's guests that themidnight unmaskingbecamea perfunctory rite,a signal for the beginningof the entertainmentinstead of its end. Thatwas, doubtless, Refugio'sintention, though not hisonlyone.

Refugio and his men,withPhilipandanumberof

hisfriends,leftimmediatelyafter dropping their halfmasks. They were closelyfollowed; few felt inclinedtomissthespectacle.

The ball guests floweddown the steps of thegovernor's palace and,calling their servants fromtheir private party,mounted to their horses,their carts, and carriagesand galloped after thecontestants. They headed

for the seashore beyondthe neck of the harbor.Their passage through thetownattractedtheattentionof others, the late revelersof lesser rank and station,mulatto servants, streetvendors and musicians,seamen and stevedoresfrom the docks. Thesefollowed on foot, laughingand drinking and shoutingback and forth to find outthereasonforthefrolic.

Pilar found a ride withSeñora Guevara, piling inahead of Doña Luisawithout waiting for aninvitation. Her welcomewas chilly. The olderwoman'sgazeas it restedon her in the light of thecarriagelanternwassharp,asifsheknewPilarwasatthecenteroftheaffair,butshe made no accusation.Requesting that DoñaLuisa stop dithering about

the possibility of her gownbecoming crushed in theovercrowded vehicle andget in ifshewanted togo,the official's wife gave theorder for the carriage tostart.

Somehow, Pilar hadthought Refugio, and hismen meant only to sparamong themselves, withPhilip as one of theirnumber. By the time shereached the beach,

however, the scheme hadchanged. Philip hadbroughtthreeofhisfriendsinto it. Among them, theyhad collected enoughmounts and swords andmakeshift shields for alleight of the contestants.Two of themwere helpingCharro outfit the horseswith blankets by way ofprotection, while PhilipaidedBaltasarandEnriquetoblunttheswords.

Pilar leapeddown fromthe carriage and pushedher way through thelaughing, chattering crowdtoward where Refugiostood.HehadremovedhisMoorish robe andheaddress, retaining thesleeveless tunic overbreeches and boots. Hewascheckingthebitofthehorse he was to ride,calming the animal, whichwasexcitedbythenoiseof

the gathering crowd andthe flaring,windblown lightof the long torches thathad been thrust into thesand at both ends of thedesignatedfield.

Hesawhercoming,butcontinued with what hewas doing until shestopped in front of him.“You decided to bring usyour denied blessing?” hesaid, his voice light. “Or isitmeremorbidcuriosity?”

“The last, of course,”she snapped. “Will youplease tell me what youthinkyouaredoing?”

“Why, yes, cara, I will,since you hold some rightto demand answers.Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”

Hisironycarriedastingthatmade her lips tighten.“It's my life you'reendangering as well asyour own. Why? Why areyoudoingthis?”

“I had in mind toescape mingling after theunmasking,butitseemstohave gone awry. Nevermind.Thefieldwillbedarkwhen the torches are putout.”

“Is that supposed toreassure me? You couldbekilled,andsocould theothers!”

“And you would weepandrideoffwiththevictor.”

“That's the most

ridiculous thing I've everheard you say. What usehaveIforPhilipGuevara?”

“I did wonder thatmyself.”

The words werepensive, and a deliberateincitement to mayhem.Shecontrolledthe impulsewith an effort. “You'reenjoying this. You can'twait to hack and slash atsomebody.”

“Not having had my

quota of blood for theday?”

“Havingnoone to ventyour bad temper on sinceDon Esteban eluded you,exceptyourownmen,whonow need some outlet fortheirownviolentimpulses.”

“I did say you weren'tblind.” His tone was dry.“Oh,Iunderstandyouverywell, if that's what youmean. You might havewanted to leave the ball,

andyoumayhavedecidedtopresentyourmenwithause for their energies, butmore than these youwanted to prevent thebloodlettingofaduelwhileteaching the son of ourhostalesson.”

“In swordplay andhorsemanship?Ihaveitonthebestauthority,hisown,thathe is thechampionatbothontheisland.”

“I would have said the

lesson was to be, indiscretion.”

“Now there'sa thought.And if in defeat he learnstocurbhis tongueandhisamorous penchant,will henot be a betterman?Andwill therenot be cause forrejoicing if, afterward, wefind ourselves homelessbutsafer?”

Shestaredathimwhilethe wind blew her skirtsabout them both and tore

at the elaborate curledstructureofherhair.Itwasprobable, as he wassuggesting, that theywould not be welcome inSeñora Guevara's houseafter tonight. No doubtlodgings elsewhere wouldbebetter,sinceaquestionhad been raised about hisidentity and the Guevarafamily would be watchingthem more closely. It wasthe widow who had

procuredthemtheircurrentplace,however.

Pilar said, “What aboutDoñaLuisa?”

“She must do as shepleases.”

“And what if it's youwhoaredefeated?”

“It's been agreed thatthe winners have leave tokissalltheloveliestladies.”

“That isn't what Imeant.” Her eyes wereshadowedasshewatched

him.He smiled with slow

and singular sweetness. “Iknow, having eyes. Andears. You have ribbons tospare; I claim one for afavor.”

The ribbon, one of arow forming bows andnestling between herbreasts at the top of herstomacher,wasuntiedandslippedfreeofitsfasteningbefore she could form an

answer.She felt thewarmtouch of his fingers, thenthe loosening of herbodice. She brought herhand up quickly to coverthebarespace,givinghima tight-lipped stare for histacticsofevasion.

He met her gaze and,still smiling, wrapped theribbonaroundhisarmandtied it, leaving the endsfluttering.Hetookherhandthen, and led her to a

place thathadbeenmadefor her at the edge of thesand.Itwasachairplacedon a blanket on the ledgeof scrub-covered landoverlooking the field. Heseated her, then bowedand moved away.Watching him go, Pilarrealized that the seat hadbeen made ready beforeshe arrived, that he hadknown shewould come inspiteofherdenials.

The other contestants,taking their cue fromRefugio, began to moveamong thecrowd, seekingfavors. Young Havanaladies blushed and hidsmiles as they gave awaytheir scarves and ribbonsto their gallants. Baltasartook a sash from Isabel'sdress.Enrique,with comiccourtliness, sought outDoñaLuisawithaplea forthe ribbon from her

widow's cap. Perhapsbecause she was pleasedto be a part of theproceeding, or perhapsonly to put an end to asupplication that wasembarrassing to her, thewidow gave it up with acarelessgesture.

Pilar, turning fromwatching that encounter,foundCharroononekneebefore her. There wasdaring in his eyes and a

certain bravado in the setof his shoulders as heimportuned her. “A ribbonalso, my lady, to increasemyhonor?”

How could she refuse?This was playacting atchivalry, for themost part,with no deeper meaning,no obligation, attached.Sheslippedanotherribbonbow free and tied it to hisshield, a round piece ofwood covered with bull

hide of the kind used forpractice in soldiers'barracks. He knelt there,watchingher,untilshewasdone. He reached thenand caught her hand,carrying it to his lips. Hismouth was warm andlingering on her skin, andthelookinhiseyesoneofreverence.

At lasthereleasedher.“Iwillmakeyouproud,”hesaid as he sprang to his

feet. A moment later hewasgone.

Thecombatantsmovedup and down, pacing offthe field and marking it,testing the ground andtheir equipment. Theydiscussed strategy in lowvoices in groups of twoandthree.ThecrowdgrewthickerbehindPilar.Notfarfrom where she sat, thegovernorandhisladyweremade comfortable in

chairs.Themusiciansfromthe ball, augmented by afew street hawkers withmouth harps andconcertinas, struck up alively tune. Orange sellersand pie men plied theirwares, all the whileinsisting with mendaciousvehemence that AshWednesdaywith its lentenabstinence actually beganatdawn.Therewasabrisktraffic inthestoolsbrought

by an enterprisingcarpenter, and on theoutskirts of the gatheringan even more lively tradein the wares of certainwomen. Still, the mostfrenziedactivitywas in thebetting, with the oddsrunningstronglyinfavoroftheislandmen.

That was until thecrowd saw what washappening.

Refugio and his group

had gathered at one end,huddling in a circle.Whenthey turned, their shirtsand tunics had beenremoved, and their faces,arms, and upper bodieshad been blackened withgrease and soot. Theywould fight nearlyunprotectedfromtheblowsof their opponents, butthey would blend with thedark, making it harder tofindthemtostrike.

Pilar was grimlyamused, thoughshecouldnot shake herapprehension. The sootwas for disguise, as wellasweighinginthefavorofRefugio's team. At thesame time, the removal ofhis tunic exposed thepurplish scar of Refugio'sinjury as a dark streakacross his chest, areminder of his pastweakness.Whatifhewere

struck there again? Shecouldnotbeartothinkofit,was not sure she couldstand to watch. That therestofhisaudiencehadnosuchqualms,andthattheyapprovedofthetactic,wasplainfromthesuddenshiftinthebetting.

Philip and his force didnot take it so lightly. Theyprotested, only to beoffered grease and soot.Grandly, the younger man

declined. Hewould not sodemeanhimselfas to takerefuge behind dirt. WhatRefugiorepliedwas lost inthe shoutingof theothers,but Philip turned andstalked away to join hisfriends. He sent Pilar alookcompoundedofangerand hunger and baffledsuspicion, but made nomovetoapproachher.

Refugio steppedforward, facing the

gathering like a gladiatorabout to take the field.Hisfeet spread wide, hissword held as lightly as adance master's baton inonehandandhisshield inthe other, he addressedthem.

“Greetings, mywanderers of the night,dwellers of theseenchanted isles!” hecalled. “We welcome youto this last revel of a

carnival season that isspeedingfromus.Intokenof our esteem for yourhospitality, we pledge youa contest of skill andstrength and equinecommand. Let all thosewhohaveeverdreamedofdaring deeds and knightlyhonor join us. And if youwill not fight at our sides,then cheer friend and foealike. For we come not tospill blood, but only

conceit;nottotakelife,buttosaluteit!”

He continued with therulesofthegame.Itwasatourneyinthetruestsense,a war to the finish. Theswords were blunted butcould still inflict damage.There would be slashingblows in plenty, but nothrusting allowed. A manwho was bloodied waspresumed dead and mustretirefromthefield.Aman

who was disarmed couldbetakenprisonerandheldfor ransom. A manrendered unconsciouscouldeitherberemovedbyhis friends or takenprisonerbyhisopponents,whoever reachedhim first.Therewasnoobligationfora man who unhorsedanother to dismount tofight.Amanunhorsedwaspermitted to steal themount of another, if he

could. The last man orteamleftstandingwerethewinners, though the fightcouldbeendedatanytimeby the surrender of theopposing team. It couldalso be stopped by thejudge, who, in this casewasa fair lady, theVenusde la Torre. She wouldgivethesignaltobegin.

It was simple yetgrandiose,proudyetplain.Refugio, in clear, incisive

tones, invited theparticipation of theaudience while setting thelimits of what they mightexpect. The crowd wasentranced by hispresentationandthescentof a rare treat, and roareditsapproval.

What Refugio did notsay, but which hadbecomeobvioustoPilarashe talked, was that thestrippingawayoftheouter

garments of his men andhimself hadbeendone forone last reason. In a realsense, it evened the oddsfor Philip and his friends.Refugio knew his men tobe superior in age andexperienceandthekindofskill learned by viciousdrilling and scant praiseand honed by fights thatcould leadtobloodydeathor hanging. He was a fairman,andsohehadgiven

away an advantage. Tomake him and his menbleed would be easiersince they lacked theprotection of clothingagainstthebluntedblades.Recognizing what he haddone,Pilarfeltherheartjarin her chest, then begin aslow,sickeningthrob.

Refugio sketched abriefbow, then turnedandleaped to the back of hismount with lithe,

accustomedease.Hesatitinthecenterofthefieldasone by one the otherscame forward to beintroduced and to maketheir obeisance to judgeandspectators.Thatdone,the combatants swungtheir horses and movedback intoplacebehind thelinesdrawnateitherendofthe field. The tall torcheswere upended in the sandto extinguish them, and

darknessdescended.In the sudden quiet

there could be heard themurmurous sound of thesea and the whisper ofblowing sand. A horsesnorted and a bit jingled.Somewhere far away adog barked. Nearer athand,amansneezedanda woman smothered alaugh.

Inthedimnesscouldbeseen the double line of

horsemen, dark shapeslike shadows in the palelightofthemoon.Thewindruffled the manes of thehorses and also flutteredthe full sleeves of theshirts,whitelygleaming,ofthe four men lined up ontheright.Beyondthemthesea rolled endlesslyshoreward, glistening withthe moon's faint track onitsgentlyshiftingbreast.

Pilar had not been told

beforehand that she mustsignal, had no idea how itshould be done.Somewhere behind her adrummerhadbegunalightroll that slowly grew involume. She glancedaround her for somethingto make a loud noise, forsome final light toextinguish, forascarforahat to be thrown. Therewas nothing that could beseen in the darkness.

Abruptly she noticed thegleam of the pale ribbonson her dress. There wasone more that could besacrificed. Quickly shestripped it free, untied it.Rising to her feet, shelifted it high above herhead so that it caught thesheenofmoonlightandthelift of the offshore wind.Then with a wide gestureshe tossed it toward thecenterofthefield.

It floated, gliding,shining, collapsingearthward. As it touchedthe sand the drummingstopped with a finalboomingthud.

Thenightexplodedwithshouts and yells andpounding hoofs. The mencame together with ashock that threw half oftheirmounts back on theirhaunches.Swordsclangedand grated. There were

grunts and cries andcurses. The thump andcrash of blows caught onshields was a dullundertone.Ahorsereared.Another broke from thefray and was hauled backagain.Itwaseverymanforhimself, a hacking, cuttingmelee.

The crowd, finding itsvoice, began to screamand call encouragementand to shift this way and

that forabetterview.Menpummeled each other inexcitement. A few womenshrieked and jumped upand down while othersturned their heads, unableto watch. Pilar did notresumeherseat,butstoodwith her hands clenchedinto fists in front of her.She could hardly bear tosee, but neither could shebringherselftolookaway.

A horse went down.

Theriderjumpedfree,thenscrambled out of the wayof the others. It wasEnrique from his size andthe sheen of dark greaseon his torso. There was amoment when he scurriedthiswayandthat, tryingtocatch his panicked mountas he was pursued by amounted man from theother team. His horsegalloped away down thebeachandhe turnedback

toward his attacker. Hedodgedandducked,swordfirmlygrasped inhishand.Then swiftly he tumbled,rolling under the belly ofhis opponent's horse,coming up on the otherside to drag theman fromthe saddle. Therewas theflash of a blade in themoonlight and a darkstreak appeared on theman'sshirt.Enriquepulledhimself into the fallen

man'ssaddleandsent thehorsebackintothefray.

The drum beat a quicktattoo. The injured manstumbled to the edge ofthe field,wherehis friendsstripped off his shirt inorder to patch the wound.The fighterswere reducedtoseven.

Pilar,straining to followthe movements of theshifting phantoms, thoughtshesawablowaimedand

caughtonashieldthathadnot been between friendand foe, but between twoof Refugio's men. It musthave been an accident, amistimed hit as the menshifted at speed; still, itmadehercatchherbreath.Anythingcouldhappenoutthere in that twisting,turning morass of blowsandhoofsandunprotectedflesh.Anythingatall.

Now there could be

heard, beneath the harshgasps for breath and theexplosive exclamationsthatmarked a hit, the riseof a calm, objective voiceapproving, disdaining,correcting, explainingeverymove,everycutandparry, every error. It wasRefugio, harrying theenemyinhisownwayandalso giving them freeinstruction which theycouldput touseornot,as

they chose, and whosevalue they might notrecognizeuntilalatertime.The gathered throng,hearing it, laughed andcheered. The engagementtook on a different, slowertempo. The combatantsbecame more wary, theblows more deliberate asanger and blood lustseeped away to bereplaced by grimendurance.

Then the moon beganto go behind a cloud. Thefield grew slowly darker,then darker still. Themoonlight wasextinguished. All that wasleft was the gleam ofstarshine on shiningleather tackle and silverbits,andonthepaleshirtsof Philip's three men.Refugio's followersbecame mere wraiths thatadvanced and retreated

and struck from nowhere.Thebladesoftheirswordswere like flails, inconstantmovement, spewing arcsof orange sparks as theyscraped and clanged. Theisland horses, fine-heartedbeasts but not trained forsuchfightingorconditions,became more and morenervous, rearing andscreaming as they caughtslashes meant for theirriders. Then Charro was

out.Pilar did not see it

happen. One moment hewas in the thick of asavagehackingmatch,thenext, Refugio was rappingout an order that causedCharro to lower his shieldandwrenchhismountfromamidst the struggle. Theman from the Tejascountry slid from thesaddle and stood gentlingthe animal before slowly

walking the horse up theincline to where Pilarstood.Ashecamenearer,shesawthetrickleofbloodalonghisjawfromthedarkline of a cut across hischeekbone. She put outher hand as if she wouldtouch it, but he turned hishead quickly and steppedback out of her reach. Hedid not speak, but stoodwatching the fight withnarrowandintenteyes.

Pilarwonderedbrieflyifhe blamed her for thecontestgoing forthand forhisinjury.Itwas,inaway,her fault. If Philip had notbeen attracted to her, theprotective instincts ofRefugio's men would nothave been aroused andthe whole thing would nothave started. She couldnot think what she mighthave done tomake thingsturnoutdifferently,stillshe

feltsomehowatfault.It was possible, of

course, that Charro'sbehaviorhadnothingtodowith her, but rather wascaused by hisembarrassment at beingeliminated from thetournament. His pridewould not permit him toeasily accept defeat or toacknowledge the injurythat caused it as anythingmorethanatrifle.

On the field theknowledge of men andarmsofRefugio'sfollowerswasbeingbroughttobear.Matchedmanperman,theshirtless ones werepushing back the others,forcingthemtoretreatstepby step, to break andregroup. Their superiorskill and unflaggingstrength carried themforward inexorably. Philipand his two men fought

well,butitwaseasytoseetheywereoutclassed.

“Twice damned devil,”Charro said, adding ashort,sharpepithetwithouttaking his gaze from theaction.

“Whatisit?”Pilaraskedas she felt the brush ofalarm.

“I just realizedwho putmeoutofthegame.”

She stared at thetwisted frustration on his

face and the way hefollowed Refugio with hishard gaze. “You don'tmean...?”

“Who else? It appearshemeanttoeventheoddsbefore inflicting hispunishment.” He touchedhis fingers to his face. “Ormaybe this was a part oftherest.”

“ButIdon'tseewhy.”Charro looked at her,

his gaze bleak. “Don't

you?”hesaid.She refused to accept

it. She stared at him forlongseconds.Shewasstilllooking at him when thetumult of screams andshouts rang out aroundher.

She swung back withher heart pulsing in herthroat. Three, no, fourhorses were down. Theythrashed and kicked in amadtangleofsaddlesand

riders.Itappearedthatonehad injured his knee andfallen, taking the otherswith him. There was awhite-shirted rider lying tothe side, with one legtwitching. The other menwere ducking among theplunginghorses,tuggingatbridlesas they tried togetthemto their feet,dodgingflying hoofs, bending,searching for andretrieving swords dropped

or throwndown in the fall.And then the moon cameout.

In its light Pilar sawPhiliprise fromthegroundwith a sword in his hand,almost from underRefugio's feet. The bladeglittered, the light runningalong theedge fromhilt totip with a wicked, honedgleam. The whine of theslash he aimed at thebrigand leader was a

malicious sound in thenight.

Refugio caught thestroke on his shield, andthe tough leather thatcoated the wood split likerotten silk. Then he wasparrying, retreating beforea hail of blows driven byrash fury and suddenconfidence. The edges ofthetwomen'sswordsrangtogether with a bell-liketolling,hissingandshrilling

as they whirled aroundeach other, then clankinglike two iron pots throwntogetherastheylockedhilttohilt.

The two men facedeach other with inchesbetween their faces.Refugio spoke, a low-voiced warning. Philiplaughed, thensprangbackwith his sword poised andready. An instant later heattacked.

The crowd drew acollective breath. Therewas not a person therewhohad failed to see thattheswordPhilipheldmustbe unblunted, who couldnotguessthatRefugiohadtold Philip and that theyoungmanhad refused toacknowledgeit.

And suddenly the paceof the fight between thetwo men shifted whilearound them horses

struggled to their feetunaided and the othercombatants stood staringwiththeirswordtipstrailingontheground.

Refugio, met Philip'sassault with controlledforce and sparemovements executed withblindingspeed.Itwasplainto see that he hadreleased some internalrestraint and was callingon reserves of art and

proficiency that had beenheld in abeyance until thismoment. His movementsdictated by hard andpotentjusticemadedeadlyby rage, Refugio began aslow and steady advance.He dominated hisopponent, giving him noroom for error. Philipstumbled backward,desperately defending, hisfaceaswhiteashisshirt.

Pilar's eyes burned as

she strained to see. Shebecameawareofawomanpraying. It was Señora,Guevara. Beside her wasDoña Luisa, her eyesshining with horrifiedexcitement. The crowdwas calling, warning,yelling, while somewherein the rear frenzied betswerebeingplaced.Charrowas standing with hishands clamped on hissword. As he felt Pilar's

gaze,heturnedhishead.“He'll kill him,” he said.

“Before God, Refugio willkillhim.”

Philip was backingamong the trampling,jostling horses. Sweatpoured down his face, hisbreathraspedinhisthroat.His ripostes had becomeleaden, his parriesperfunctory. He wasdemoralized by the coldfury of the offensive that

had been unleashedagainst him, his skill andtrainingforgotten.Theonlything that prevented hisdefeat, that had held it offfor longmoments,wasthewhim of the man whofaced him. And then thatwhim settled, congealed,andmovedinfortheend.

The moonlight skatedonthewhisperingbladeasit swirled in Refugio'shand, catching on that of

the other man, skimmingwith a blue diamondsparkle toward Philip'sheart.

Pilar saw the momentapproaching and knewterror. Refugio must bestopped, he must, buthow?Thenshesawit.Shewas the judge. She hadbeengiven the right toputan end to this appallingtrial. “Stop,” she said in ahoarse whisper. Then she

jerked taut muscles intomovement, runningforward. “Stop! Stop it!Now!”

Refugioneverwavered.Sooty black and glisteningwith oil and sweat, hecontinued in his drive. Hisfinal thrust was perfectlylaunched and as preciselytimed and directed as itwas lethal. Philip twisted,tryingtoparry,tryingtoslippast the vicious sighing

steel.Itwastoolate.Philipcriedout,sagged

to his knees. Refugiosteppedback.Hisfaceset,expressionless,hepushedhis sword into the ground.With deliberation, heturned and walked towardwhere Pilar stood. Shewatched him come whilepain engulfed her in abitter tide, rising likeblackestgall to force tearsintohereyes.

Then, behind Refugio,Philipstaggeredtohisfeetwithafriendoneitherside.On his shirt, directly overhis heart, were raggedtears caused by a swordpoint, tears in lines thatwere staineddark redandformed in the sign of across.

Pilar looked fromPhiliptoRefugioashecametoahaltinfrontofher.Shemethis heated gray gaze, her

own vulnerable, troubled,andyetglad.

He reached out tograsp her arms, drawingher against him. He benthis head and touched hermouth with his in a kissthatwasfleeting,yetfiery.

His voice soft anddeep, he said, “I havestopped, my lady, and Iclaimtheforfeit.Thegameisover.”

12

THEY ARRIVED IN NEWORLEANS four daysbefore Easter, after avoyage of stultifyingboredom.Thelast legwasthe hardest to bear, thejourney up the MississippiRiver with its endless

leagues of rolling, yellow-brown water, itsprogression of curves andunbroken vistas of treesandmud.Therewassomenovelty, at first, in thehumid landscape, themarsh birds and snakes,frogs and alligators, andthe myriad varieties ofviciousinsects.Itwasalsoa relief to enter calmerwaters on the sluggish,wallowing vessel in which

they had taken passage.Still, theywere all anxiousto reach their destination,to be released from theconfines of the crampedcommon quarters wherethey had been sleepingpractically on top of eachother, and to come withingrasping distance, finally,oftheirquarry.

One reason they wereso heartily sick of thecoastal shipwas that they

had spent the last threedays of their sojourn inHavana under itssweltering decks. Theyhad quitted the Guevarahouse directly after themidnight escapade on thebeach, pausing only togatheruptheirbelongings.ThiswaswhatRefugiohadintended, of course; thesurprise was that DoñaLuisawentwith them.Shedid not intend to stay

behind,shesaid,andhavethe recriminations ofSeñora Guevara heapedonherheadalone.Philip'smother was in a hideousrage over the incident,which had not only comeclosetokillingherson,buthad stained his honor aswell.

But theaccommodations, a singlecabin lined with berthsstacked one on top of the

other with only a greasycurtaindividingthesectionfor ladies from that for themen, had not suitedDoñaLuisa's notions of comfortor her consequence. Shehad demanded the use ofthecaptain'scabin,onlytobe refused. The details ofthe acrimonious quarrelthatensued,alongwiththeinsults the captain hadspoken, his disgustingappearance and personal

habits, comprised the bulkofherconversation for therestofthevoyage.

The other recurringsubject was thetournament. Itwasworriedbetween them all like aparticularlyjuicybonebyalitter of bored puppies.Conclusions were scant.No one could say wherethesharpswordPhiliphadacquired had come from,whetheritwasabladethat

had somehow missedbeing blunted in thedarknessandconfusionofthe swift preparation —one in use by one ofPhilip's friendsallalong—orifithadbeensecretedinthe accoutrements of oneof the riders. If the first, itseemed unlikely that theman using it had notnoticed, for the islanderschosen to participate hadbeen experienced in

defending themselves inthenot infrequent duelsoftheir class. For the manwith it tohavenoticedandkept quiet was notimpossible, but wasconduct outside the codeofhonor. Inaddition, if thesword had been presentthe full time, theswordsman who hadwielded it had been mostinept, for there had beenno sign left by a sharp

bladeonanyoftheshieldsof the band, nor had theyfelt its effects on theirswords.

It appeared, then, thatthe sword had surfacedduring the melee with thedowned horses. The firstanimaltofallhadhadacutknee. It could be claimedthat the injury wasdeliberate, but strangethings happened in battle,and it could just as easily

have been caused by awild downswing. If it hadbeen planned, however, itcould have been for thepurposeofbringingoutthesharpweapon.

Philip claimed to havefound the sword close tohishandafterhisownwasknocked from his grasp.Was that a lie? Had heplanned and made theexchangehimself?Hadheprovided himself with the

sword for later use as ameansofeveningtheoddsshould the game goagainsthim?

Charro tended tobelieve Philip innocent ofmurderous intent.Butwhoelsewasthere?Oneofhisfriends could have actedfrom the same motive ofangrypride,butplacedtheswordnearPhilip'shandtosave his own honor. Hecouldalsohavebeenpaid

bysomeoneactingforDonEsteban. The questionwas,who?

As with the shot thatfelled Refugio, it seemedthat theremusthavebeenanagentofthedonontheship with them, someonewho had followed themfromSpain.Thattherehadbeen no other attempt onRefugio's life since theysailed from Havana mightindicate that this person

had been left behind onthe island, or only thattherehadnotbeenanotherconvenientopportunity.

The nature of theattacks thus far wassuggestive. It seemed thatthe agent was toocowardly to perform thedeedhimself,butpreferredto pay someone else. Itcould also mean that thepersonwastooweaktogoagainst Refugio in a

personal encounter,perhaps an older person,someone unfamiliar withfirearms or swords, suchas a clerk or merchant—or,possibly,awoman.

Refugio seldomparticipated in thediscussions of the twoattempts. Whateveropinionshehadofthemhekept to himself, nor couldhe be drawn. He did nothold himself aloof; he

played cards with them,gave them music, toldstories of pointed hilarity,madeextravagantlygallantgestures to the ladies andchivied his men toexhibitionsofwrestlingandswordplayonthedecksaswell as leading themscampering like monkeysaboutthemastsandcross-trees. Still, when thesubject of the attackscame up, he either gave

the conversation an adroitturnor found reason tobeelsewhere.

Andhesleptalone.The narrow bunks in

the open sleeping cabinmade anything elsedifficult, but Pilar was notcertain he would havechosen to have itotherwise. His manner inprivate toward her sincethe tournament was politeyet distant, though she

sometimes caught himwatching her with aspeculative light in hiseyes that was intenselydisturbing. There wassome satisfaction in thefactthathismannertowardDoña Luisa appeared nowarmer. Pilar wondered ifhewasnotjustassatisfiedtohaveanexcusetoavoidprivate sessions with thewidow also. That may, ofcourse,havebeenherown

wishfulinterpretation.The ship dropped

anchor in the crescentbend of the MississippiRiver before the town ofNew Orleans just beforemidday. It was lateafternoon by the time thecustomsofficialshadmadetheir cursory inspectionand issued landingpermits. The banddisembarked as a group,leaving the city as night

fell. Their destination wasDoña Luisa's holdings,located some distanceoutside the city, along awaterway called BayouSaintJean.

The house the widowhad inheritedon thedeathof her husband was arambling, whitewashedstructure in the FrenchWest Indies style. It hadtwo floors with six roomseach, and a hip roof that

projected out over upperand lower galleries on allfoursides.Therewasalsoa connecting wing knownasgarçonniere,whichwasusually used for the olderboysinafamily,orelseforindigent relatives orvisitors. Thewalls were ofvertical logs with theinterstices filled withbousillage, a plaster ofmud thickened with mossandanimalhair.

There was a mulattohousekeeper and her twoteenage children installedin one of the downstairsrooms of the wing. Theyappeared not tounderstand Spanish, butDoña Luisa, using hercourt French, soon madeher husband's formermistress understand whoshewasandwhyshewasthere. The mulatress wasinclined to be sullen, but

soonacceptedthefactthatbedchambers must bemade up, bath-waterheated, and a mealprepared.

Doña Luisa made acircuit of her new abode,walkingquicklythroughtheinterconnecting rooms.Immediately afterward shebegan to assignbedchambers. For herselfshe chose one of thecornerroomsattherearof

the main house. Refugioshe directed to the frontcorner bedchamber whichconnected to her own,while she gave Pilar theother front bedchamber,oneseparatedfromthatofRefugio by a sitting room.Baltasar and Isabel shesent to the upper floor ofthe garçonniere, withEnrique andCharro in theremaining rooms of thewing. Having arranged

everything to hersatisfaction, she turnedand began to order themulatressandherchildrentocarrythepiecesofhandbaggage stacked on thefront gallery to the variouschambers.

“No.”The objection, simple

but firm, came fromRefugio.

“I beg your pardon?”Doña Luisa's brows were

raised to her hairline asshefacedhim.

“Forgive me, but no.You have been everythingthat is kind, and haveearned our gratitude foroffering hospitality at thistime. I am desolate atbeing forced tocountermand yourarrangements; still, I havea greater duty to protectthose who have come sofarwithme.”

Doña Luisa brushedaway the politeness withan impatientgesture. “Youprefer to sleepelsewhere?”

“I prefer to have thosewho are dependent uponmesleepcloser.”

“Such as?” Theirhostess'svoicewasharsh.

“Pilar will share myquarters.”

“Oh,butreally—”“Nothing else is

acceptable. It will also bemore convenient if theothers are in the mainhouse. I suggest Enriqueoccupy the chamber nextto your own, Doña Luisa,withBaltasarandIsabelonthe opposite corner.Charro can then have theotherfrontchamber.”

“Whatimpertinence!I'mnotsureIcanallowit.NextyouwillbetellingmewhenImaycomeandgo.”

“Notatall.Youarefreeto do as you will. If ourpresence displeases you,wewillofcoursefindotheraccommodations.”

Thetwoof themstaredat each other across thedusty,candlelit roomwhilethe others shuffled theirfeet and gazed around atthe rough walls andshuttered windows, thehandmade furniture andthe few pieces of pewter

andfaiencethatservedasdecoration. Pilar did notlookaway, but dividedherglancesbetweenRefugio'sexpectantfeaturesandthepale face of the widow.Shewas the cause of thecontention between them,but she could not seeRefugio's reason formakinganissueofit.

Abruptly, the widowthrewupherhands.“Haveit your way, as usual! I

don't remember you beingso hard all those yearsago, Refugio, and thechange is not for thebetter.”

“Am I to blame for theinevitable? You woundme.”Thewordswerelacedwithmournfulhumor.

The widow eyed himwith disfavor. “I wish Imight thinkso,but I doubtit!”

They retired to their

respective rooms soonafter dinner; there wassomething about reachingthe end of their journeythat was wearisome; andthey all knew they mustbegin early the nextmorning on the missionthey had come so far toaccomplish.

Pilar was standing inthe middle of thebedchamber she was tosharewithRefugio,staring

attheplainbedofcypresswood with its gauzelikecurtains of mosquitonetting when he entered.He paused on thethreshold, then cameslowly into the room andclosed the door behindhim.

Sheturnedherheadtolookat him, andher voicewas cool as she spoke.“You angered our hostessover these sleeping

arrangements. Was thatwise?”

“No,onlynecessary.”“But you have been at

such pains to keep herhappy.”

“And so I should havewaitedhere,panting likealapdog for the joy ofreceiving her caresses?Doña Luisa has given usshelter; that fact does notcarry extraordinaryprivileges.”

“Onlyordinaryones?”He inclinedhis head in

agreement. “There arelimits. She can commandme, she cannot commandyou.”

“That's a privilege youprefer to retain foryourself.”

He moved closer, hisbody loose-limbed andpowerful, his gaze darkgray and intent. Softly hesaid, “You object to my

protection?”“Is thatwhat it is?” she

asked inmocksurpriseasshe held her ground. “AreyousureI'mnotprotectingyou?”

“Occasionally, thoughnotoftenenough.”

There was the shadowof a smile in the words. Itwas enough to bring heatto her face as sheremembered her frenziedattempt to stop the

tournament. “You know Ididn'tmeanthat!”

“Didn't you? But youmust have, or else I'm leftto believe that yourvexation is from pique, orworse.”

The implication wasthat she was jealous. Ithad been a mistake tochallenge him on thismatter of the rooms whenshe was so uncertainherself what she wanted.

Therewasonlyonewaytoretrieve the situation. Shelifted her chin, her gazesteady upon his as shespoke. “I have no claimuponyou.”

“And would scorn tomake one. I understandperfectly.”

“I don't think so. I'mtryingtosay thatwhatevermayhappentome,itwon'tbe your fault. I asked youto take me with you that

night in the garden, andregardless of where thatrequest may finally lead, Iwoulddothesameagain.”

The angles of his facewere still, impassive, butthere was a flicker ofsomething bright and vitalin the depths of his eyes.“Endearing,” he said, “butwhile you are busilyabsolving me, you mightconsider that there aremore recent obligations

betweenus.”“Youmeanmy attempt

to rouse you from yourself-imposedparalysis?”

“Rather,yoursuccess.”She kept her voice

eveninspiteoftheimageshis words conjured up inhermind. “Either way, thesituation is the same. Itwasmychoice.”

“And mine. Do youthink I could not haverefused your tender

sacrifice? It might haveimperiled sanity and soul,butwasapossibility.”

“Iamaware,now.Whydidn'tyou?”

“Courtesy,fatalism,andintemperate logic. Theycanallbevices.”

“Intemperate,” shemurmured.

“Violent, and for myownends.Doesthatmakeit more acceptable, orless?”

“What?” Her gaze wasfocused somewherebeyond his left shoulder,herthoughtselsewhere.

“Myprotection.Areyouinclinedtoacceptit?”

Shemethisgraygaze,taking careful note of thederision half buried there,andthepurpose.“Youaskso courteously; why do IfeelthatIhavenochoice?”

“Youarealadyofsomediscernment.”

“Thenwhypretend?”“Illusions can be

comforting.”Holding courage close,

she said, “Who do youthinkhasneedofthem?”

“I do, of course,” hesaid without hesitation ashereachedtocupherfacein his hands. “Will youallowmethisone,thatyoucare?”

Once more he thoughttospareher.Inthefaceof

suchgenerosity,howcouldsherefusehisprotectionorthe desire cloaked withinit? It was far too late formaidenly scruples, and inany case she lacked thewilltoinvokethem.

This could not last. Inhis world, women werefleeting distractions; hehad no time, no wish formore,andwastoosteepedin notions of honor tofollow a different

inclination. One day soon,perhaps tomorrow, hewould either kill DonEsteban or be killed byhim.Whicheverhappened,he would be gone. Thismomenttheyheldbetweenthem, then, might well betheirlasttogether.

“I will do more,” shesaidquietly,“Iwillshareit.”

Sheheardhiminhale,asharp breath of surprise.Unable to meet his eyes

for fear of what shemightsee, she let her lashesflutter downward. Helowered his head, and hislips, warm and sweetlyrewarding, touched hers.Her sigh wafted over hischeek, and she movednearer, pressing her firmcurves against him. Hecaught her to him for along, aching moment soshefeltthehardbeatofhisheartand thecoolsteelof

his coat buttons. Then hebent swiftly to put his armunder her knees and liftherhighinhisarms.

Sheswunggiddily,thenfelt the soft brush ofmosquito netting abouther. A feather mattressgave under her hips andshoulders.He loweredherto the surface, thenstripped away coat andcravat, waistcoat, shirt,and breeches, before

joiningherthere.Hisbroadshouldersblockedthelightof the single candle thatburnedonthetablebesidethe bed. It gilded his skin,rimming his form in aglowing nimbus whileleavinghisfaceinshadow.He turnedand stretchedalongarm through the foldsofnettingtosnufftheflamewith his fingers. All wasdark.

Pilar kicked off her

slippersso they landedonthe floor; there were nostockings to trouble withsinceshehadnotreplacedthem after her bath. Shelifted her hands to fumblewith the hooks of herboned bodice. He stilledher movements byclaspingherwristswithhislong, sword-callusedfingers.

“Allowme,“hesaid,hisvoicerichanddeep.

The hooks gave waybeneathhistouch,andthebodice, which acted alsoas stays, was tossedaside.Heuntied the tapesthat held her skirts andpetticoats and drew themdown her hips, pushingthem loweruntil she couldfreeherankles.Ittookonlya second to strip her shiftoff over her head. He laypropped on one elbowbeside her for long

moments afterward whilehe smoothed the smallridges and channelspressedintotheskinofherwaist by her stays, thenslowlyheloweredhisheadand began to follow themwith soft kisses and theheatedtouchofhistongue.

He was a gentlemarauder, but a relentlessone. With flowing phrasesand delicate guidance, hepersuaded her to be the

same. He cupped herbreasts in his handswhilehesuckledtherosycrests.She trailed her fingernailsthrough the silky mat onhis chest, flicking andtasting the erectsweetnessofhispaps likesun-dried peach rounds,soothingthepuckeredscarbetween them with hertongue. He brushed thecream-smooth innersurfacesofher thighswith

his lips, dipping towardtheir apex and the secretand fragile convolutions offragrant skin there. Sheexplored the warm andresilient length of him,measuring, cupping,saluting his indomitablefirmness. Together uponthe mattress they turnedand twisted, matchinghardness and softness,muscled curves andmoisthollows, until the blood

surged hot and throbbingin their veins andwhisperedintheirearsandtheir rasping breaths weretaken in plundering foraysfrom each other's mouths.When finally the meldingcould no longer bepostponed,wasfarbeyonddenial, he sank into herwelcomingsoftness ina fitthatwasaswrenchingasitwas consuming. Togetherthey moved, shuddering

with pleasure, lost inuntrammeledbliss.

Pilar's mind was onfire, her body dewed withmoisture. There wasnothingintheblacknessofthe night except the manwho held her and themagic of their joining.Sheached with fullness andher muscles quivered withthe intensity of her need.Hisimplacablerhythmsenther spiraling higher and

higher into realms offeverish joy. She hovered,straining, clenching herhands on his shoulderswhile inside she felt theslow unfurling of herinnermostself,theultimatereleaseofherbeing.

Itcameliketheburstingofan internaldam, flowingin heated flood, carryingher with it on a tide ofpurest pleasure.Rising onits crest, she wrapped

herself around him andtook himwith her,mightilystriving,intooblivion.

Their bodies entwined,they lay as if they hadbeen slain. Sleepovercame them while hishands were still entangledin thetarnishedgoldcloudofherhair.

They woke towarddawn and enjoyed eachother again in slow,smooth communion. Their

lips curved in smiles ofgentle pleasure, thoughthe lightwas a distraction.And as it grew brighter,pressing against theshutters, they used theirlashes as shields for whatlayhiddenintheireyes.

13

IMMEDIATELY AFTERBREAKFAST on thefollowingmorning,Refugioand the other men wentinto the town of NewOrleans. Their purposewas to seek thewhereabouts of Don

Esteban, to find out whatkind of household he hadestablished and where. Atthesame time, theywoulddiscover as much aspossible about how thetownwaslaidoutandhowit was policed, and howoftenthemainstreetswerepatrolled. All this could beimportant in what layahead.

The men had beengonenomorethananhour

when a message camefromthecolony'sgovernor,EstebanMiro,ordering thewidowElguezabalandherguests to presentthemselves at thegovernment house. Thecoastal vessel's captainhadinformedofficialdomoftheir arrival. Theymust bequestioned to determine ifthey were of suitablecharacter to remain inLouisiana and had the

means to settle any debtsthey might incur duringtheir stay. If theexamination wasfavorable, they would beissued a permit to remainfor a specified period. Itwas a formality, but onethatcouldnotbeomitted.

At Pilar's insistence,Doña Luisa sat down atonce and wrote a note tothe governor, setting atime when they would

appearbeforehim,subjectto thegovernor'sapproval.Itwouldnotdo togive theman reason to sendsoldiers after them. IfRefugiodidnotcareforthetime the widow appointedforhim,hecouldchangeit.

The band returnedshortly before noon. NewOrleans, theysaid, thoughit appeared to containupward of six thousandsouls, had the style of a

French country village. Itwasahaphazardcollectionofdwellingsofoneandtwostories, most of them oftimber and bousillage,though therewas a newerhouse here and there ofplastered brick decoratedwithwrought iron importedfrom Spain and featuringarched doorways andenclosed courtyards. Theresidences were scatteredover only half of the sixty-

six blocks laid out foroccupation within thepalisadedtownwalls.Theywere, for themost part, tobefoundalongtheriverorelsesetaboutthePlazadeArmas. It was on thissquare that the prison, orcalabozo, and also theguardhouse were located,standing cheek by jowlwith the church of St.Louis.Ontheothersideofthe church was the house

of the Capuchin fathers,while the soldiers'barracks, built in a rathergrand French baroquestyle, faced the square atrightanglesoneitherside.

NewOrleans, likemosttropical ports, was notknown for beingsalubrious. There was aplaceoutsidethecitywallscalled the Leper's Landwhere these unfortunateswere isolated, and a

Charity Hospital to takecareofthemanyindigentswho persisted in dying inthe streets. These streetswere standing in waterbecause there were nodrainage ditches, apossiblecontributiontothehealth problems. Asadditional drawbacks topublic welfare, there wasnoarrangementforlightingthe streets at night, noorganized municipal

services such asfirefighting, and no regularpatrols of the streets bypolice. At least two ofthese civic failures wereseen by the band aspossiblebenefits.

DonEsteban, they haddiscovered, had taken ahouse near that of thegovernor, on ChartresStreetcloseto thesquare.His housewas built in theFrenchstyle,withthefront

door opening directly ontothestreet.Theroomsusedfor entertaining were onthe front and thebedchambers in the back,while the kitchen was aseparate building lying atthe rear edge of a large,open garden area. Thewhole was only lightlyguarded; it was apparentthe don did not expectvisitors of a troublesomenature.

Theyhadnotbeenableto catch sight of Vicente,but theyhadheardacookinthebackcallingouttoascullerylad,givinghimtheFrench formof that name.Casual conversation at awine shop had gained theinformation that DonEsteban had a youngbondsman who stoodbehind his chair at mealstoservehim.

The order from the

governor requesting theirpresence came as nosurprise,fortheyhadbeenwarned by a shopkeeperabout the need for aresidencypermit.Theyhadheard that Governor Mirowasasevereandexactingman,onewhoplacedgreatstore in rules andregulations andpaternalistic gestures; ontaking office he hadproclaimed that the ladies

of New Orleans mustrestrict the excessiveornament in their dress,and that women of colorwereforbiddenjewelryandplumes and compelled towear turbans known astignonsasabadgeoftheirstate. Answering such anofficial's questions mightbe awkward, but thedanger of recognition wasnothigh.Thegovernorhadserved in this colonial

outpost of Louisiana, invarious capacities, forsomeyears.

Still, with any luck,Refugio said, they wouldnot have to trouble thegovernor for a permit.DoñaLuisamustkeep theappointment with him, butmake the excuses of herguests. If she used herconsiderable charm, shecould persuade thehonored gentleman to

accept another date forRefugio and his men.Before that date arrived, itwas likely that theirbusiness in New Orleanswouldbeconcluded.

It would be interestingto know if Don Estebanhad made Vicente'spresence known to thegovernor on his arrival,and in what capacity.PerhapsDoñaLuisacouldinquire, delicately of

course.There was much

discussion over theluncheontableaboutwaysand means of mountingtherescue.Baltasarwasinfavor of a full-scale frontalassault on the house, butthe suggestion was setaside as being toodangerous forVicenteandtoo likely to cause officialrepercussions. Enriquewanted to sneak into the

house by night, spiritingthe boy away. Theinformation gathered,however, seemed toindicate that Vicente waskeptchained to thewall inthe house at night. Inaddition, there was also aheavier guard posted atthat time. Charro was forinfiltrating the house,taking Don Esteban bysurprise, perhaps at ameal where Vicente was

serving.Refugioconcededthelastasapossibility,buthow,heasked,wasittobeaccomplished? How werethey to approach thehouse without attractingthe attention of DonEsteban'sguards?

“We could pose asstreet entertainers,”Enrique said, the wordstentative. “We might begthe pleasure of playing forthedon.”

“Or bribe soldiers forthe use of their uniformsfor a few hours,” Baltasarsuggested.“Thenwecoulddemand to see DonEsteban's permit whicheveryone must have,claiming dangerouscriminals had come intothecolonybystealth.”

Isabel, sitting playingwith her dessert of breadpuddinginabrandy-pecansauce, spoke under her

breath. “It all sounds sodangerous, toodangerous.”

Refugionoddedateachsuggestion but made nocomment.Hismannerwaswithdrawn, as if his youngbrother's plight weighedheavilyuponhim.Italmostappeared that his fear forVicente made himreluctant to move with hisusualdecisiveness.

Silence crept in upon

them. When Pilar spoke,her voice seemed loud.“Today, there was an oldwoman who came by thehouse here driving a cart.She was selling freshgreensforsalads,andalsoherbs, parsley, andscallions, and somethingshe called file for gumbo.When Doña Luisa's cookcalled out to her, the oldwomandrovehercartrightup to the kitchen at the

back of the house andstayed there drinking tafiaforoveranhour.Shewasonly one of several whocameby.”

Baltasar and Enriqueglancedather,thenlookedat each other with liftedbrows, as if her wordsmade no sense. Charrokepthisgazeonhisplate,wherehewasusinga tineofhisforktoturnapieceofbread into crumbs. Isabel

looked receptive butpuzzled.

Doña Luisa turnedaroundinherchair tofacePilar. “Really, my dear,”shesaid,“Idon'tsee—”

“Let her speak,”Refugio said, his gazeintentonPilar'sface.

“Ionlythought,thatis,itseems to me that streetvendors make themselvesvery free of households.They come and go at all

hours,sellingallmannerofthings, eggs and milk andvegetables, hotcakes andpies; they collect ragsandsharpen knives andscissors and mend pans.Some of them carry theirwares on trays, of course,but others drive carts thatare quite large, largeenough to hold a man, ortwomen.”

As she finishedspeaking, she met

Refugio's gaze. He held itwith his own for longseconds. A smile touchedthe firm curves of hismouth, then was gone.Speaking directly to her,hesaid,“Thistime,thereisno crying babe for ouruse.”

“No,”sheagreed,“butImightmakeafinehag.”

“No.”Shehadbeenafraidof

hisrefusal.“Whynot?”she

askedwithmutinyrising inher eyes. “I was able tohelpatCordoba.”

“So you were, but thisisn't Cordoba. DonEsteban will not give upVicente easily, even iftaken by surprise. It couldbedangerous.”

“There was danger inCordoba.”

“I remember it well,whichiswhyIprefernottohave todividemyconcern

betweenyouandmyback.Or between you andVicente.”

“I don't ask you toprotectme!”

“But if you are there, Imust.”

“Really, Pilar,” DoñaLuisasaid.“Youshouldnotbe so bold. Let the menattendtothis.”

“I have as much atstakeas they!”shesaid inabriefaside.

“Not quite,” Refugioanswered her. “Not yet.AndIcannotallowtheretobemore.”

“SoIamtodonothing?Doyouthinkthatafteryouhave taken Vincente fromDonEsteban by force,mystepfatherwillwelcomemewith openarmswhen I gotoaskformydowry?”

“We will undertake torelieve Don Esteban ofyour dowry as well as

Vicente.”“You'retookind.ButI'm

quite aware that gold willnot be your first objective.NorwouldIexpectittobe.On theotherhand, Icouldsearchforitwhileallofyouarebusyelsewhere.”

“Impossible.”Charro cleared his

throat. His face as hespoke was troubled butearnest. “WhyshouldPilarnot come with us? She's

proven her usefulnessbefore.”

Refugio turned slowlyto face theotherman.Hisvoice as he spoke wassoftlysavage.“Becauseit'smywillasyourleader,andthat is reason enough.Unless you would like totakemyplace.”

The silence wassuddenly thick withunspoken warnings.Charro held his leader's

gaze for long momentswhile the blood suffusedhis lean face. At last helookedaway.

ThedifferencebetweenRefugio's tone to her andthe one he used withCharro was an indicationofhisunusual forbearancetoward her. She could notallowittomatter,however.She met the gray steel ofhis regard, her own gazeclear and steady though

herbloodthrummedinherveins and her handswereclenched on the arms ofher chair. “You willunderstand, then,” shesaid, “if I make my ownarrangements.”

“Before the arrival ofthe street vendor, ofcourse?”

“Itseemsnecessary.”“Realizing thatanyvisit

from you will put DonEstebanonhisguard, that

it will jeopardize ourassaultonhishouse?”

“What of mine? I haveno way to live without themoneyowedtomebyDonEsteban.”

“You have been livingfor these many weekswithoutit.”

“On your sufferance,”she said tightly. “It can'tlastforever.”

“Can'tit?”She refused to answer

the quiet question.“Anyway, it isn't just themoney.ThedonhastakeneverythingIhad,myhome,my way of life, as well astheonesIloved.Irefusetolet him keep what he hasgained by his cruelty. It'smineandIwantit.”

“And you will putVicente in danger to getit?” Refugio's voice wasdistant,immutable.

Down the table Isabel

made a soft sound ofdistress, but no one elsespoke or gave any signthat they noticed thedisagreement. Theyavoided catching the eyeof either Refugio or Pilar,and did their best topretend that they weredeaf.

“Of course not, not bychoice,” Pilar said with atired sigh. “But thealternative isobvious.You

cantakemewithyou.”Refugio's facewas like

hammered bronze in theafternoon light comingthrough the open floor-to-ceiling windows of thedining room. “I have givenyoumyanswer.”

“Andyouhavemine.”“It would be a pity,” he

said, “if it becamenecessary to prevent youbyforce.”

Pilar got to her feet,

pushing back her chair. “Itwould be worse than that;it would be criminal. But Ishould have expected noless.”

If the taunt touchedhim,hedidnot flinch fromit, but neither did heattempt tostopherassheturnedandleftthetable.

He walked outside thehouse, moving along thesidegallery to the farend,well away from the dining

room. The daywaswarm,witha softwindoutof thesouth. A honeysuckle vinetwining around one of thecolumnsof thehousewasladenwithsmallwhiteandyellow blossoms thatspread their perfume onthe air. In the yard belowwas a red and brown hensurrounded by chicks likeyellow puffballs that ranhither and yon among thedecaying leaves of the

previous winter and theclumps of dark greenspringgrass.Shestoodforlong moments, breathingdeepof thesoftairasshetried to control the erraticpoundingofherheart.

The peaceful scenebeforeherturnedsuddenlygrim as the long blade ofshadow, of a hawk camesweepingover theground.Thehensquawkedandthebaby chicks came running

toshelterunderherspreadwings. The hen crouchedlowandmotionlessexceptfor a faint trembling. Thehawk flitted on past. Itcircled and passed again.Finally,itsweptaway.Pilarstoodclenchingthegalleryrailing, watching the flightof the hawk until itdisappeared over thetreetops. Itwassometimebefore she left the galleryandwenttoherroom.

Refugio made noimmediate effort to carryout his threat. He and theothers remained in thedining room for hours; thesoundoftheirvoicescouldbeheard,alowrumble,asthey made their plans. Asthe time crept by, Pilarbegantowishshehadnotbeen so impetuous. Shewas so used to beinginvolved in all theirdiscussions and plotting;

shedidnot like feeling leftoutinthisway.

Refugio was being sounreasonable. Why wouldhe not permit her to lendher help? He pretendedthat itwasconcern forherthat was at the bottom ofhis refusal, but was it?Orwas it simply that he didnotwantherinhisway?

She should not havespokenasshehad,shouldnothavesuggestedthathe

was a criminal. But hisimplacable attitude, hiscalm assumption that hehadtherighttodictateheractions, was infuriating.The fact that she hadshared his bed did notmakehimhermaster.Shewas her own person, andmust act for her ownbenefit. She could dependonnooneelse.

Themen left thehouseagaintowardthemiddleof

theafternoon.Ashorttimelater Pilar heard Isabelmoving about in the nextroomandwenttojoinher.

She had grown to likeIsabel, in spite of thedisjointed history of herpast, and had done herbest tobefriend thegirlonthelongvoyage.However,herpurposeinseekingherout nowwas a shamelessquestforinformation.

Theothergirl could tell

her little. She had left thetable shortly after Pilar togoand inspect thekitchenwith Doña Luisa. She didsay that Refugio hadassigned Enrique the taskof hanging around thetaverns and drinkinghousesneartheriverleveein order to discover whenthe next ship would besailing for Spain. Enriquewas also to search out acontactwiththesmugglers

said tooperateamong thebayous and bays of thegulf, importing goods intoNew Orleans withoutpaying the official tariffs.These contacts could beimportantsince itmightbenecessarytomakeahastydeparture once they hadVicente safe. GovernorMiro could not bedepended on to see thejusticeoftheirattackonhisnewest regidor, especially

if the governor came toaccept Don Esteban'swordforRefugio'sidentity.

Itwas far into thenightwhen Refugio and theothers returned, and thentheycamewiththesqueakof cartwheels and thebraying of mules. It gavePilar a certain grimpleasure to realize thatthey had been outcollecting the means touse her idea for entry to

DonEsteban'shouse.Shelaylisteningastheyledtheanimals to a shed on theback of the property. Ashort time later theyreturnedtothehouse.

The door of thebedchamber creaked alittle as it swung open.Refugio carriednocandle,but moved with soft, surefootsteps in the dark.There came the rustle ofhis clothing as he

undressed, then the bedyieldedtohisweightashesettleduponit.

Pilar lay stiff and stillandwellonhersideofthemattress. She kept hereyes tightly closed andbreathed inaslow,steadyrhythm, in and out, in andout. She need not havebothered. He made nomove to reach for her.Within minutes his ownbreathing grew deep and

regular. By degrees sheallowed her muscles torelax.Shewasrelieved.Ofcourse she was. At lastsheslept.

When she awoke, hewasgone.

Itwasdifficulttorealizethat the holy season ofEaster was upon them.The timespentatseahaddrifted past, hardlyseeming to count, and yetthewinterwasgone.Itwas

Good Friday. Doña Luisawas going to morningmass at the church of St.Louis, after which shewouldseethegovernorasarranged. A rather worncabriolethadbeenfoundinthebackoftheshed,andahorsehadbeendiscoveredpastured behind theramshackle building. Shemeant to have herselfdrivenintotown.Pilar,shesaid, might join her if she

wished.Pilar was delighted at

the opportunity. Shedressedcircumspectly inagown of gray with a whitebodice and threw a whitemantilla over her head.Withherfacesetinlinesofdetermination,sheclimbedinto the two-wheeledcarriage beside DoñaLuisa.

There were no churchbells ringing to draw the

faithful to mass on thisday; by hallowed custom,they were silent inreverence for its holiness.Pilar said her prayerswithduedevotionbutcouldnotconcentrateonthesanctityoftheoccasion.Shehardlyheard the words of theservice, scarcely noticedthe rather primitive interiorof the church except forthe carved figuresdecorated in the French

manner,whichseemedtoobrightly colored, toooverblown and worldly tohereyes.

As they left thechurch,Pilar parted from DoñaLuisa. She had a fewerrands to take care of,she told her, and wouldseetheotherwomanbackatherhouse, in time foralate luncheon. Doña Luisawas inclined to protest,demanding to know

precisely where Pilar wasgoing.Pilaronlyshookherhead and walked awaywithacheerfulwave.

Itwasgoodtobedoingsomething, finally, aboutherstepfather.Atthesametime, it felt strange to benearing the end of herquest after so long a timespent travelingtoward it. Itwas peculiar, but shewasn't afraid to confronthim. Don Esteban had

committed many crimesand had ordered othersdone, but he had neveroffered her violence withhis own hands. It was notthathewasincapableofit,she thought, but merelythat he was prudent. Hepreferred that someoneelse perform such choresrequiring violence, and doit well away from him. Hehad no taste for physicaldangertohimself,butmost

ofall,hemeant toprovideno evidence of his directinvolvement in the crimes.Themerest hint of such athing could be ruinous tohis chances foradvancement; this waswhy he had been at suchpains to remove Pilar andthose who might help herprove the cause of hermother's death. Pilartrusted that suchwarinesswould be her protection

still.His house, pointed out

to her byapasserby,wasmuch as Refugio, hadsaid, with whitewashedwalls, a roof of weatheredwood shingles, andshutters at the windowspainted green. The streetin front of it was aquagmireofmud,centeredbyagutterfilledwithwaterin which floated kitchenrefuse and the emptyings

of chamber pots. Therewas no sign of DonEsteban, and the windowshutters that were firmlyclosed against the freshand balmy south windseemedtoindicatenoonewasathome.

Pilarwalkedslowlypastthehousealongtheraisedwooden sidewalk as sheconsideredwhat shemustdo. She must move withcare for, in spite of what

Refugiohadsaid,shehadno intention ofendangering Vicente. Notagain.

Just down from thehouse of the don she hadto pause as a manemerged from a doorway.He was obviously a townofficial of someimportance,forhenotonlyborehimselfwithimmensedignity, but carried in hishand the tall gold-headed

canethatwashisbadgeofoffice. He turned back tospeak to a woman whomust have been his wife,fromher velvet dress, finelacecap,and the ringsonher fingers. Behind theplump housewife and totherightcouldbeglimpsedthe doorway leading to asmallprivatechapel.Insideit,inhonoroftheholyday,the altar was laid with acloth of lace. Tall wax,

candles in candelabras ofsilver burned there, whilebehinditwasafinecrucifixof carved and paintedwoodframedoneithersideby lace curtains. This wasplainly the more wealthysectionofthetown.

Regardless, just a littlefarther along the streetwas an apothecary shopwith itsmortarandpestlesand bottles of oddmixtures. Beyond it Pilar

skirted the tables thatspilled out of a wine shopwherebottleswere rankedagainst a back wall thatcontainedCatalonianwine,the Cuban brandy calledaguardiente, and also theFrench brandy known aseau-de-vie. Next to thewineshopwasthewindowofajeweler.

Shewanderedinsidetolook at a tray displayingbuttons in bone and gold

and ivory, fans with ivoryand gold sticks, rings andearrings with stones thatthe shopkeeper sworewere from Thrace, andalso point-lace veils andwalking sticks with goldheads. Most of theshopkeepers lived eitherbehind or above theirbusinesses, for from thesequarters came the criesofbabies and raised voicesof mothers calling to

playing children. Betweenthe buildings could just beseen the gardens in therear,wheretreesliftednewgreen leaves to the sunandplotsofflowers,herbs,and vegetables flourishedinthedark,moistsoil.

The language heardeverywhere was French,with only a smattering ofSpanish filtering throughnowand then.Shop signswere in French, themusic

that came from streetmusicians or drifted fromopenwindowswasFrench,and the food thatcouldbesmelled cooking for thenoonmeal hadadistinctlyFrencharoma.Thereasonfor the lack of Spanishinfluence was not difficultto comprehend. Three-quarters of the populationwere, even after twenty-five years of Spanishdominion, still of French

extraction. The majority ofthose of Spanish bloodwho had come to thecolony were men, menwho had since marriedFrench women; even thegovernor had a Frenchwife. Children in theircradles were taughtFrench, fed French food,sent to schools withFrenchteachers.Addedtothis was the fact that theSpanishregimehadbegun

with a revolution of theFrench populace that hadbeenputdownwithbloodyforce. In order to preventthe same thing happeningagain, and to keep peacein this distant yet strategicoutpost, the Spanish hadadopted a policy ofbenevolence, going tounusual extremes toplacate the people. Thefiery residents descendedfrom the original

adventurers andmalcontents who hadsettled Louisiana, feelingtheir French pride was atstake,hadmadelittleeffortto adapt themselves toSpanish ways. The resultwas an entirely differentkind of Spanish colonialtown. Certainly NewOrleans bore littleresemblancetoHavana.

Asshecametotheendof the street called

Chartres, Pilar could seelittle ahead of her. In onedirection was what shetook to be the powdermagazine, while in theother was the customhouse. Directly oppositewhere she stood was thepalisade, the thick polewalls that surrounded thetown on three sides, butlefttheriverfrontopen.Thestreet that shemust crosstoreachanyoftheseother

points was standing inmuddy ooze. She tarriedfor a long moment,enjoyingthewarmthoftheday and the strong southwind that caressed herface, fluttered her lashes,and tugged fine tendrils ofhair loose from her tightchignon. It brought thesmell of flowers bloomingand green growing things,a fecund miasma straightfromtheswampsaboutthe

town,onethatwasforeignyet enticing.She breatheddeep of it and felt aneasing somewhere deepinside.

There was no point ingoingon,shedecided;shehad seen enough. Sheturned and began toretracehersteps.

As she neared thehouse of the town officialagain, she saw a familiarfigure approaching. Her

stepfather was dressed inblack andwore a bagwigthat shone with powder,and his coat buttons andshoe buckles gleamedsilverinthesun.Hestrodealong, givingway tonone,his face set in grim andhaughtylines.

He had not seen her,but he would at anymoment.

AnodddismaygrippedPilar. She was not ready.

She was assailed by asuddendoubtthatshewasdoing the right thing, by aconviction that once shestood before herstepfather, she would findnothing to say to him andthe whole interview wouldgo wrong. So great wasthe feeling of impendingdisaster that she stoppedwhereshestood.Aheadofher lay a cross street, thelastbeforetheblockwhere

Don Esteban's house waslocated. Forcing herself tomove with normal strides,she walked toward thatthoroughfare, then swungquicklytotheleft,crossingthemuddyintersectionandheading the opposite wayfromthehouse.

The relief at being outof sight was so great thatshe took several deepbreaths and wiped at theperspiration on her

forehead with the back ofone hand. She could notlinger, however. At anymoment Don Estebanwould reach the crossstreet also andmight lookdown it in her direction.Picking up her skirts, shewalkedonatafasterpace.Ifshecouldreachthenextstreet,orevenanalleywaybetween the houses, shewould be all right. Therewasoneofthelatterahead

ofher.She looked back over

her shoulder at theintersection some yardsbehind her. Any momentnow her stepfather wouldappear.Therewereonlyafew more steps to go. Afewmore.Therehewas!

Hard hands closed onher arm. She was whirledaround and half dragged,half thrown into thealleyway between two

houses. She came upagainst a plastered wall.The jolt scraped hershoulder blades andcausedbrightfragmentsofgoldenlighttoflarebehindher closed eyelids. A cryrose in her throat but wastrapped by a firm handover her mouth. A man'sbodypressedagainsthers.

“Curse me quietly,”Refugio said against herear, “and I'll do the same

foryou.”

14

ANGER SURGED UPINSIDE Pilar. She shovedat Refugio with bothhands, bracing hershoulders against thebuilding wall for purchase.He stepped back, butretained her wrists in a

loose clasp, standingbalanced and ready toforestall any attempt atescape.

“What do you thinkyou're doing?” she cried.“You nearly frightened metodeath.”

“You had everyappearance of trying toavoid Don Esteban, and Isought only to aid thecause. If I was wrong, Icanwithdraw.”

“Oh, yes,” she saidbitterly, “you were aidingthecause.Yourown!Iwasnotquitereadytomeetthedon,butthatdoesn'tmeanthatyoucanstopme fromseeing him. My reasonsare as compelling asyours,andyoucan'tmakemestandaside.”

“Standaside?Oh,no,Iwouldnotdreamofaskingthat.”

She stared at him with

suspicion rising in hereyes. “What do youmean?”

“Myhope,mydream,isthatyouseeDonEsteban.Imaginemyjoytofindyoustillintendtodoit.”

“Iam trying todo that,”shesaidinheavyirony.

He releasedher,givingher a taut smile. “Nevermind.Come letusputourheads together like a pairofthieves,anddecidehow

you are to deliver yourselftoourenemy.”

She stared at him ascomprehension seepedintoherface.

“You're going to letmehelpyou?”

“Help me? No, no, mylove, how could I be sounfair?It'sIwhoamgoingtohelpyou.”

She raised her chin,nevertakinghergazefromhisface.“Why?”

Why, indeed, Refugioasked himself. Thedecisionhadbeensuddenandinstinctive,andcausedby fear. He was afraid ofwhatmight happen to thiswomanifshewerenotwithhim. He had refused herhelp before because hewanted to keep her safe.Tomnowbetweenadesireto strangle her and theneed to close her in hisarms and banish the

lingering fear behind hereyes, he recognized hisdefeat and dismissed it.Changing his plans andintentions toward DonEsteban at speed, hesmiled.

“Whynot?”hesaid.The explanations did

not take long. WithinminutesPilarwasstandingalonebeforethefrontdoorofDonEsteban'shouse. Itopened to her knock, and

a manservant, herstepfather's majordomo,appeared in the opening.The man's eyes widenedas he saw her, but heinvited her to step inside.From a room not too faraway came the clink ofsilver and glassware andthe murmur of familiarvoices,as ifherstepfatherwas at his noonmeal. Nodoubt he had beenreturning home for that

purpose.She was shown into a

salon,aroomofsomesizelaid with a Moroccancarpet.Thechairsgroupedhere and there werecushioned in green velvettrimmedwithgold cord.Attheshutteredwindowweregathered and pouredtaffeta draperies, and achandelier of crystal andbronze hung from theceiling. The

embellishments wererather like lace on aneveryday gown, however,for thewalls were of plainwhitewashed plaster andthe floors of unpolishedcypress.

Thesalonwasthemainroom of a house built, intypical French fashion,much like that of DonaLuisa, with all the roomsopening into each other.Access to most of these

other rooms appeared tobegainedfromthiscentralsalon, for a number ofdoors were set into thewalls. Though the frontdoor opened directly ontothe street, the houseappearedtohaveagalleryacross the back thatoverlooked the garden.This outdoor area wasopen, without enclosingwalls, and connected withthegardensof thehouses

oneitherside.Pilar moved to the

window. The casementwas open for air, and shereached to push theshutters open also, inorder to look out. Comingtowardthehousealongtheoutsidestreet,movingataslowpace,wasacartpiledhigh with the gray, curlingmossknownasCapuchin'sbeard, which grew on thetrees along the river and

was used for stuffingmattresses. The man onthe seat, a hunched andpathetic figure, wailed athin and quavering song:“Fine moss, softmoss/Moss for bride'sbeds andaccouchements/Moss fitfor babies and dear oldones/Buy my moss, finemoss!”

Footsteps wereapproaching at a hurried

pace. Pilar pulled theshutter gently closed andturned to face the room.She moved to standbeside a chair with a tallbackonwhichwascarvedthe lions and castles ofSpain. A tremor of dreadran over her. She put herhand on the chair arm, asif the lion's paw thatformed it could give hercourage.

Her stepfather

appeared in the doorway,coming to a halt. He stillheld the napkin from hisinterrupted meal in hishand.Hewipedhismouthwith the cloth and handedit to the majordomo, whohovered behind him.Waving the man away indismissal, he walkedforward into the room.Hisface creased in a harshfrownashespoke.

“Soitisyou.Icouldnot

believe it. How did youcometobehere?”

“Byship,asyoudid.”“Iamamazed.”“Yes, you thought me

safely in Spain. Or safelydead.”

“Anunjustcharge.Howcan you think such athing?”

He was speaking atrandom, it seemed, as iftrying to collect hiswits. “Idon't just think it, Iknow. I

heardyouordermekilled.”“You must have

misunderstood,” he said,the words pompous, hismanner overbearing. “Youare my dear dead wife'sdaughter whom I wasattempting to place safelywith the nuns during myabsence. Your kidnappingbythebanditElLeonmusthave left you confused inyourmind.Whereishe,bythe way? How did you

managetoescapehim?”“My mind is perfectly

clear, I assure you,” shesaid. “As, for El Leon, Ihavenothingtosayofhim.Ihavecome to talk toyouabout my mother'spropertywhichyoutookasyourown.”

“Yourlackoftrust,yourlack of gratitude for mycare of you, saddens me,but Iamnotsurprised. It'sof a piece with your

attempttoseducemymanCarlos. You are a willful,irresponsible female, onedoomedbythecravingsoftheflesh.Iwouldwashmyhandsofyou if itwerenotfor the love I bore yourmother.As it is, Iwill takeyou back into myhouseholdoutofcharity.IfI do this, however, youmustsubmityourselftomywishes and to thedisciplineIwillimpose.”

The words sent a chillalong her spine, eventhoughsheknewsheneednot heed them. Her voicesteady, tinged withsarcasm,shereplied,“Youareeverythingthatisgoodand compassionate, asalways, but I don't requireaplace inyourhousehold.Irequirewhatismine.”

“Ah.” He turned away,circling a table on hisshort, stout legsbeforehe

faced her again. “Did youtravelherealone?”

“Iamnotafool.”“Who is with you and

wherearethey?”“That is no concern of

yours. You will give mewhat I ask, now, thisminute,orelse Iwill go toGovernorMiroandtellhimthat you are unfit for theposition you hold. Thegovernor, I understand, isan exacting official, one

who likes to go by thebook. He will not bepleased to learn of youractivities before cominghere.”

“Hewon't listen to you.Inthefirstplace,youareawoman,andinthesecond,you have been disgracedand discredited by yourtimespent in thecompanyof a notorious bandit. All Ineed do, is let it beknown.”

There had been a timenot too longagowhenhisassurance, along with hisposition and therecognition of his enmity,would have been enoughto make her retreat. Nowshe thought of hermotherand her aunt and thewaytheyhaddied,andrefusedtobeintimidated.

“Youmayberight,thenagain, you may not,” shesaid. “It should be

interesting to see, don'tyou think? But I don'tbelieve you really want tomake accusations. Youhaveaweakness,yousee,the presence of El Leon'sbrotherinyourhouse.”

Don Esteban's smileshowed too much teeth.“The young manindentured himself to mebecause of a debt. Hechanged his mindafterward, so has to be

restrained.”“What kind of debt?

One whose payment is inblood?”

Her stepfather's smilefaded and purple colorfilteredintohisface.“Whatdo you know of it, of thepain and sorrow inflictedon my family by thosewhoresons, theCarranzas?Theymustandshall be exterminated,destroyedrootandbranch.

In no other way can I liveinpeace.”

“Exterminated,” sherepeated. “But not beforeyou have the, pleasure ofinflicting pain andhumiliation upon them, asyou have done withVicente.”

“It's a right I haveearned. But you aremightilyconcernedwiththeyoungerCarranzabrother.”

Fromsomewheretothe

rear of the house therecame a dull thud. Sheignored it. “Does it seemso?” she said, holding hisgaze. “Perhaps it'sbecauseIfeeltoblameforhis plight. I assume he isstillwithyou?”

“Naturally.He isnotsoexperienced in escape ashisbrother.”

Nearer at hand,perhaps in the diningroom, there was a

strangledcallfollowedbyacrash. Pilar steppedforward in haste to catchher stepfather's arm,speaking in louder tones.“Never mind Vicente, Iwantmydowry!HowcanIlive without it? You haveleftme nothing, no one ofmy own, no way to live.You have takeneverything. I don't requiremuch, just my rightfulshare.But Iwill have that,

orelse Iwill houndyou tothelastdayyoulive!”

He shook her off, hislook baleful before hestrode toward the door,calling for his majordomo.“Alfonzo!” he shouted.“Whatisthisdisturbance?”

Asnoanswercame,heswungback toher. “It'sElLeon,isn'tit?You'vejoinedforceswithhim.He'scomefor his brother. That's it, Iknowit.”

She must distract him,delayhim, ifonlyforafewsecondsmore. “What do Icare for Vicente?” shesaid. “Or for El Leon, if itcomes to that. But I wantmy gold. Where is it?Where have you hiddenit?”

Don Esteban's facetwisted with contempt. “I'llnotgiveyouapeso,notalivreorapiaster.Wemighthave dealt well together,

youandI, ifyouhadbeenquiet and obedient, if youhad kept your place. Youchose instead to defyme.You cast your lot with abandit and his band ofcutthroats and whores.Youwentwiththemofyourown will. Well, then, staywith them. That's whereyoubelong!”

A smile curled her lips.“Oh, yes, I went with ElLeon. More than that, I

sent for him. Now I haveno other place, no otherchoice; you have seen tothat. But where do youbelong? What place isthere on this whole wideearth for a killer ofwomen?”

Don Esteban cursedher, a virulent sound thatwasnearlydrownedbythesudden clash of arms inthenext room.The look inhiseyeswassavageashe

whirledawayfromher.He did not reach the

door. He was met by thesharp tip of a sword asRefugioroundedtheframeoftheopeninginasmoothglide with his weapon inhishand.

“Whatapitytointerruptthischarmingmeeting,”thebanditleadersaid,hisgrayeyes chill, “but I have aninterest in any question ofgold.”

TheblooddrainedfromDon Esteban's face as hestared down at the swordpoint nudging under hischin. He held himself asstifflyerectashispaunchybody would permit. “Howdidyou—”

“Easily. Annoying, isn'tit,tobetakenbysurprise.”

“I'll have somebody'searsforit!”

“Not,” Refugio saidsuccinctly, “if I cut your

throatfirst.”Don Esteban

swallowed visibly. “It isn'tyour way to kill anunarmed man, or I'veheardthat'syourboast.”

“You should neverdepend on gossip.” Theswordtipdidnotwaver.

“If— If it'sVicenteyouwant, take him and getout!”

“I have yourpermission?Howgracious,

butIhavehimalready.Mymenareevennowstrikinghis chains and tying upyour stalwart hirelings.What Iwant is thewomanbehind you, and yourgold.”

“I knew the bitch waswithyou,Iknewit!”

The sword point sank:into the fleshy neck of thedonuntil a bright reddropwelled. “Whatwas the titleyou gave her? I don't

believeIheardcorrectly.”“The — lady,” the don

saidwithahoarsegasp.“Andthegold?”Refugio

proddedhimgently.“I—Ifyouwantit,you'll

have to let me show youwhereIhaveithidden.”

Refugio withdrew thesword point a shortdistance. “I have beenwaiting with hopefulpatience for nothing else.ButI'dadviseyoutomove

carefully.Itwouldbeapityiftherewereanaccident.”

SweathadappearedonDon Esteban's face,gathering at his hairlineand caking in the powderthathadsiftedfromhiswigonto his skin.Hewipedatit as he turned, leaving awhite smear across hisforehead. He stumbled inthedirectionofasidedoorleading out of the roomwith Refugio stepping

softly beside him. Pilarfollowed close behindthem.

They moved into abedchamber at the rear ofthehouse,thedon'sownifthe size and richness ofthe furnishings were anyindication. The older manpointed toward a massivearmoire of French design.Refugio, indicated with abrief jerk of his head thathe was to open it. Don

Esteban took a key fromhis waistcoat pocket andput it in the lock. Drawingthe tall doors, he bent todelve inside. With a gruntof effort he lifted out asmall brass-bound chestwith a dangling lock. Hestaggered as he turned,then flicked a malevolentglanceatPilar.

“Lookout!”shecried.Don Esteban cursed

and heaved the chest at

Pilar.Refugio reached to

drag her aside, but shewas already leaping backout of the way. The chestcrashed to the floor at herfeet,overturningwithadullrattle. She stumbled, offbalance from Refugio'sgrasp.

In that instant DonEsteban thrust his handinto the armoire andsnatchedoutasword.The

steel of the blade rang ashe whipped it from itsscabbard.

Refugio sprang in frontof Pilar, engaging thesword of the other manwith a clang that vibratedthrough them both andbrought echoes from thecorners of the room. Theirweaponsslashedandrangina flurryofblowsasDonEsteban sought to profitfrom his moment of

surprise. There was noadvantage to be gained.Refugio's guard wasimpenetrable. DonEsteban wrenched himselfbackoutofreach.Thetwomen circled, steppingwarily.

Refugio studied hisopponent's eyes, his ownnarrowed and intent. DonEsteban's lips were drawnback inagrimaceofeffortand malice. Pilar, judging

her moment, bent downand dragged the goldchest out of the way.Standing well back, herhands clenched into fistsbefore her, she watchedwith sick hatred forswordplayinherheart.

Don Esteban was nountriedyoungmansuchasPhilip Guevara. He hadexperienceonhissideanda thousand tricks learnedfrom the Italian masters

who had their salas dearmas in Madrid. Inaddition, he was cunningand unscrupulous. Thelanguidpaceandrichfoodof the Bourbon court hadtaken its toll, however,making him corpulent andshortofwind.

Refugio had theadvantage of reachbecauseofhisheight,andalsoofthekindofstrengthgained by hard physical

exertion. There was nodoubt that his skill wasequaltotheotherman's,ifnotsuperior.Regardless,ithad been no great lengthof time since he wasdangerously ill from hischest injury. Despite hisheroics during thetournament in Havana,Pilar was afraid that aprolonged contest wouldtax his stamina. Protests,warnings, rose up inside

her, but she stifled them.He did not need that kindof tax upon hisconcentration. All shecould do was pray for aswiftconclusion.

The two men feintedand parried, testing eachother's striking ability, will,and resistance. Their feetscuffled back and forth onthe rough boards of thefloor. Their breathing ggrewdeep.Themusclesof

their arms stood out inridges under their coatsleeves while their wristsremained as pliant andsuppleasstrikingsnakes.

Don Esteban tried awily stratagem. Refugioparried it in seconde,laughing.

“That one has a beardon it,” he said. “Tryanother, and while you'reconstructingit,tellmethis:What made you move

against my brother? Hehad been in Seville formonths. Why turn on himafterallthattime?”

“He'saCarranza,whichisreasonenough.Besides,I had been watching him,saving him for the timewhen I might need ahostage.”

“Holding my brotherwas supposed to preventme from championingPilar'scause?”

“Imayhaveerred.”Thedon's voice wasbreathless. “Besides, Isuspected I had beenduped by Pilar; she wentwith you so willingly, yousee.Vicentewasthemostlikely go-between,according to Pilar'sduenna,mysister.Forthathehadtopay.”

“You did err,” Refugiosaid, and mounted anattack thatdrove theother

man, panting, desperatelyparrying, from one end oftheroomtotheother.

The bedchamber waslong and narrow, withFrench doors opening outonto thebackgallery.DonEsteban, with his back tothe doors, wrenched upshort with a defense thatmade Refugio skip backthreequicksteps.Thetwofaced each other withsweat beading their faces.

Refugio's breathing wasfast, while Don Esteban'shadawheezingsound.

In the lull, there camethe sound of quickfootstepsfromthedirectionofthesalon.Vicentecamebursting into the room.Hewas thin and dressed inrags. On the left cheek ofhisdistraughtfacewastheredscarofabrand,aletterG, for guerra, one usuallyreserved for captives

duringwar.“Refugio!” he cried.

“Stop them! They havebeatenAlfonzoinsensible,and now they are tearingthehouseapart!”

The distraction wasbrief, but Don Estebanabandoned honor to seizeupon it. The handle of theFrench door was behindthem. He shoved it downand whirled through theopening. Refugio caught

the door before the otherman could slam it shut.They pushed back andforth, thenRefugio gave ashove that sent the donstumblingback.

AsRefugiosnatchedatthe door, Vicente caughthis shoulder. “Let him go!He's an old man, and thekillingcan'tgoonforever!”

Refugio stared at hisbrotherwithblanksurpriseon his features, then he

jerked his arm free. “I amnotthekiller,butitwillendwhen Don Esteban isdead.”

“Or when you are,” hisyoungbrotheranswered.

“Don'tbesoretiring,mysibling. There will still beyoutocarrythename.”

“Not if I'm a priest,”Vicentesaid,butthewordswere spoken to empty air.Refugioleapedthroughthedoorway with the ease of

escapingsmoke.The thudof his footsteps sounded,thenhewasgone.

Pilar touched theyounger Carranzabrother's arm. “Tell theothers to stop. The goldthey are after is in there,on the floor.You can takechargeofit.”

“I? But whose is it?Whatdotheywantwithit?”

“Nevermind,”shesaid,already moving out the

door.“Justkeepitclosetoyou, no matter whathappens.”

It was fear that droveher, that made her followthe two fighting men.Thoughthepitiless,ringingblows of the swords andthe thought of the razor-sharp points sinking intoflesh made her cringeinside,shehadtobethere.She could not bear not tobethere.

Shesprintedacrossthegarden behind the house,which was planted withflowers and neat rows ofvegetables. She searchedthe open area with hereyes, seeking among theranksofhousesandshopsfor some sign of menrunning or fighting. Therewasnothing.

Thencamethescream.It reverberated from thehouse just down from

where Pilar stood, on herright. She swung in thatdirection, stumbling a littleasshebegantorun.

Thebackentrancedoorstoodopen,swayingonitshinges.Shepushed insideand became aware of thechimingofbladesevenasshecrossedabedchamberand stepped into a salonmuch like that in DonEsteban'shouse.Awomanstood in themiddle of the

floor with her handsclamped to her pale face.Pilar recognized in herplump and well-dressedfigure the wife of thecolony official whom shehad seen earlier in herwalk down Chartres. Thewoman's eyes were wideand glazed with her fear.She was staring at theentrancetothetinyprivatechapel that was attachedtothehouse.

Inside, Don Estebanhad his back to the altar.Hisswordtipdartedinandout as he sought to keephis guard firm. Sweat ranin streams down his face,dripping from the tipofhisnose. His cravat wasaskew,hiscoatwasrippedin two places, and hisbreathing was a harshgasping in the hallowedstillnessofthechapel.

Refugio's coat was

damp between hisshoulder blades, and hishair had awet sheen.Hismovementswerestillquickand forceful, but had lostthatfineprecisiontheyhadshown earlier. He wasflagging.AsPilarwatched,the quick shuffle of hisbootedfeetinadvanceandretreat seemed to slow.Hisfierceconcentrationonhis opponent's bladewavered as he, became

awareofPilar.Don Esteban smiled in

triumph and sprangforward. Immediately hewasthrownback,forcedtodefend against Refugio'svicious counterattack withan awkward frenzy ofparrying maneuvers. Hestaggered backward inretreat, coming up againstthe altar. Rigorouslydefending,heslidalongitsedge, dragging the lace

cloth with him. Thecandelabras rocked. Theflames of the burningcandles trembled on theirwicks, and hot wax randown in small rivers tocongeal on the silverbases and puddle on thealtar cloth. Don Estebanstaggered again, going toonekneebeforewrenchinghimselfupwardagain.

“You need not kneel,”Refugio, said, his voice

deadly quiet. “There is nopriest here to give yousuccor or unction, nor istheresanctuary.”

“Youcan'tkillmehere,”Don Esteban said on apantingbreath.

“Why not?” Refugiosaidsimply,andclosed in,carrying his sword beforehiminadazzlingsteel-bluewhirl.

It had been a trick, apretense, Refugio's

moment of weakness.Annoyance and richgladness ran together inPilar's veins as sherealized it. Her heart beatwith a jarring thud insideher chest and the fear inher veins circulated withthe cold ache of poison.She paid no attention totheladyofthehouse,whocontinued to screambehind her, nor to themurmur of the crowd

beginning togatheron thestreetoutside,attractedbythe screaming of theofficial's wife and theclanging of the swordfight.Pilar could not breathe,could not think, could donothing except strain tofollow the shiftingmovements of the menbeforeher.

They foughteachothertherebeforethealtarwhilethesun'sglow through the

onehighwindowsiftedsoftgoldlightdownuponthem.Thecandlelightraninfierygleams along their bladesandtintedtheirdampfaceswith glassy shades oforange and blue andyellow. Their coarsestriving in that place wasprofane, and yet carriedalso a trace of loftypurpose, as if the issueoflife and death had its ownennoblement.

Don Esteban washarried and worn, withcruelty lingering in hiseyes. Refugio's featuresreflected intent, pitiless ppatience. It was thepatience of the stalkinglion.HewasElLeon.Whatreason was there to fearforhim?

What reason, exceptthat if hedied,Pilar knew,apartofherwoulddiewithhim?What reason, except

love?Shelovedhim.That truth of it hardly

had time to penetratebefore Don Estebanclenched his hand on thealtar cloth and gave it ahardjerk.Thecandlestickstoppled. The candlesspilled,rolling;fallingtothefloor. The don swirled thealtarcloth likeamatador'scape and tossed it atRefugio, trying toentanglehis blade. In quick reflex,

Refugio knocked it aside.Hecaught theend todragit from the other man'sgrasp,tossingitinhisturn.Don Esteban thrust at thesoft white folds with asavageswipethatsentthecloth lofting back towardthe altar and its flickering,smolderingcandles.At thesame time, he heavedhimself around with hisback to the end of thealtar, then darted behind

the heavy piece, settingthe lace curtains thatflanked the crucifix toswirling.Refugiododgedtothe other end. The donscrambled to the reverseside once more, tearingthe lace curtains downfrom their fastening andflinging them betweenhimself and Refugio. AsRefugio sidestepped thedragging mass, the otherman dived along the wall,

overturning chairs, circlingtowardtheentrancedoors,towardPilar.

Refugio called out toher as he sprang after hisopponent, but she hadalready seen herstepfather's murderousintention. She backedswiftlyaway, searching fora weapon. The nearestonewasatallcandlestandof wrought iron, withunlighted candles on the

spikes of its branchedarms. She skimmedbehind it and picked it up,using it like a pitchfork toward off her stepfather.Don Esteban growled acurse,butranpasther.Hecaught the wrist of theofficial's portly wife,twistingitbehindherback,thenhepressedhisswordpoint to her well-paddedribs.

“Stop there, Carranza!”

heshouted.Refugio skidded to a

wrenching halt. Pilar putdown thecandlestandandstepped to his side. Thefourofthemstoodstill.Thebreathing of the two menwas ragged. The airwhistled in Don Esteban'sthroat while his chestheaved. The official's wifebleated with every breath.Behind them came anominous fluttering sound

andtheflareoflight.Fire!The altar cloth had

caught from the fallencandles. The flames hadignited the sagging lacecurtains and they wereflaring high, setting thosestill attached to the wallalight. There was a softexplosion of fire thatleaped to the ceiling. Asthey stood there, the drywoodenboardingbeganto

smokewhilesmalltonguesof flame licked along itsedges.

As she turned back toDonEsteban,Pilarsawthesneerofsatisfactiononhisface.“Youdidit,”shesaid.“Youdiditonpurpose.”

“Wasn't it clever ofme?” he said, and gavethe official's wife a hardpush that sent hercatapulting into Refugio'sarms.Spinningaround,he

leaped for the door andflungitopen.

“El Leon!” he shoutedto those gathered outside.“It's the bandit, El Leon,scourge of Spain! He'srobbed the house ofTreasurerNuñezandsetitonfire!”

15

AN OUTBURST OFCALLS and yells followedDon Esteban'spronouncement. Cries of“Fire!Fire!”couldbeheardas one person afteranother picked it up andsent it on down the street

withtheaccusationagainstRefugio. The noise roseliketheangrybuzzingofadisturbed beehive. A manappeared in the opendoorway, and thenanother,andanother.

“Out theback,”Refugiosaid.

The words held rageanddistastefortheretreat,but were spoken withouthesitation.Hewasright,ofcourse;therewasnoother

way.ForRefugiotoforceafightonDonEstebanwhilea fire raged and his pastrose to confront him wasimpossible.Totry tobattlehis way out the frontthrough the growing massof people would be adangerous incitement, andto remain behind suicidal.Don Esteban had won hisfreedom and alsoredeemedhislife.

Refugio cast a harried,

frowning glance at thechapel where the light ofthe burgeoning flamesreflectedonthewalls.

“There's no time,” Pilarsaidquietly.

“No,” he answered ingrudging agreement. Hecaught her hand as heswung toward the rear ofthehouse.

Pilar plunged with himthroughtheroomsatarun.They emerged from the

backdoorandcleared therear gallery with a fewsteps and a soaring leap.They raced across theopen ground with theirheads down, jumpingacross rows of beans andpeppers, circling drainageditches filled withscummed water. Behindthem came the peculiarrumbling roar of a mobgathering for pursuit. Thefirst of the men swarmed

out of the treasurer'shouse.Therecameashrillyell as Pilar and Refugioweresighted.

Charro, Enrique, andBaltasar dashed out tomeet themas theynearedDonEsteban'shouse.Withdrawnswordsattheready,the three closed in behindPilarandRefugioasarearguardas theydove inside.Orders, succinct anddetailed, flowed from the

lips of the brigand leader.By the time they passedthrough the house andspilled out the front door,Baltasar had beendispatched for Isabel,Enrique sent to find DoñaLuisa, and Charro andVicente assigned toremain,nomatterthecost,atPilar'sside.

Refugio, vocal andincisiveattheirheadonlyamoment before, was not

with them when theyreached the street. Theydid not pause to questionwhy,butsetoutataruninthe direction of the river.They were far down thestreetwhenPilar,overhershoulder, saw Refugio,slidefromthefrontdoorofDon Esteban's house,gesture behind himwith ashout, thenlopeawayinadifferentdirectionfromthatthey had taken. A tight

knot formed in her throatasshesawtheangrymobpour out the door he hadjust left, swarming afterhim. He was leading thepursuitawayfromthem.

All around them wasclamor and confusion.Smoke rose in a darkcloudbehind them.Minuteby minute it grew darker,boiling higher. They couldsmell it as it was driventoward them in a haze

along the streets, backedby the warm wind out ofthe south. Soldiers inuniform came runningtoward the smoke. Theyshouted orders and calledfor help, for buckets andwater barrels, ladders andaxes. The words were inSpanish,however,andtheFrench shopkeepers andclerks and housewivesrunning to view thecommotion shrugged in

incomprehension.“The church bells! The

priestsmustbetoldtoringthe bells, to spread thealarm!” someone wasyelling as they neared thechurch of St. Louis at thePlazadeArmas.

“They will not,” camethe answer. “It's GoodFriday.”

“They must! The townwillburn!”

“It's Good Friday. The

bells are silent on GoodFriday. They will not ringthebells.”

The bells did not ring.They did not ring whilePilar and the otherspounded past the ricketystalls of the marketplace.They were not ringingwhile theyracedalongsidethewallsof theconventofthe Ursuline nuns. Theystill had not rung as theysteppeduponthelowand

curving river levee andslowedtoawalk.Theydidnot ring as they reachedthe boats that would takethemthroughtheswamps.

Refugio was not there.Thetwoboatmenwhohadbeen hired to guide themwere standing on thelevee, staring at theswirling column of darkgray smoke that rose intotheskyabove thehouses.Theyaskedquick,anxious

questions of Pilar and theothers, for they hadrelatives in the town.Theyseemed not to like theanswerstheygot,becausethey drew off a few yardsto talk it over betweenthem.

Behind themen, at thefoot of the levee, lay thetwo boats. They werehardly more than dugoutcanoes, but must havebeen cut from trees of

enormous height, for theywere at least thirty feetlong. They appearedclumsily built, with themarks of the ax still onthem,yetrodeeasilyinthewater. They provided nooverhead protection fromthe elements, but thebulwark-likecrosssectionsofwoodleftinthreeplacesto strengthen the boatmaderudimentaryseats.

Enrique joined them a

short time later. DoñaLuisa would not come, hesaid. She wished them afondfarewell,butcouldnotleave her property claimsinthecolonyunsettled,nordid she have any reasonfor,or intentionof,bravingthe sea voyage again sosoon.

Baltasar arrived justafterwardwithIsabelathisside. She had with her anumber of bundles

containing their clothes,and also a few sacks ofprovisions,sincetherewasno way to tell how longthey might have to waitbeforemakingcontactwitha privateer willing to takethemtoHavana.Theothergirl fell on Vicente withcries of joy, hugging himuntilheturnedscarlet.Shewas full of exclamationsabout the fireand thewayit was spreading, and

asked every two minuteswhere Refugio was andwhyhewasnotwiththem.

The smoke grewthicker, becoming a pallthatdarkenedtheskyasitclimbed into the heavens.It driftedout over the riverin acrid, throat-burningrolls that hid the anchoredships and flatboats fromsight. Above the rooftopscould be glimpsed leapingorange arrows of flame.

The sound of yells andshouts came on the wind,along with the mutedcrackleandroarofburningwood.

Refugio came walkingout of the smoke from theopposite direction of thatwhich theywerewatching.He had removed his coat,andhis shirtwas torn.Hishair was tousled and hisskin gray with soot. Helooked at the provisions

piled around Isabel's feet,and a frown creased hisbrow.

“Spectacles areenthralling,” he said, “buthardly worth the risk ofstarving. If I am forced toload these wares, theneverything not my owngoesintotheriver.”

They converged uponhim, but before they couldanswer his unspokencharge of slothfulness, he

spoke again. “Where isDoñaLuisa?”

Enrique explained withasadshakeofhishead.“Itried to tellher itwasyourorder that she come withme. She still refused. Shewasnotimpressedwiththereasons I gave her, andwhen I threatened to takeherby force, she laughed.I could not harm her, so Ilefther.”

Baltasar grunted. “Let

herstayhere,then.”“To die?” Refugio said

quietly. “She has donenothing to warrant beginleft to Don Esteban'srevenge.”

“You think he wouldstrikeather?”Pilarasked.

“Sincehewillbebalkedof striking at us, there isnothing more likely. Morethan that, Doña Luisamight find herselfanswering questions from

the governor about herrecent guests. DonEsteban's ruse is a greatsuccess. There's scarcelya person, child or crone,who isn'tnowwatching forthe fiendish bandit, ElLeon. It makes fordifficulties.”

“The sooner we leavethen, the better,” Charrosaid in lowtones,“andthemore likely it is that we'llhaveourtransportation.”

Refugioglancedbehindthe other man at theboatmen near the water'sedge.“There'saproblem?”

“They seem to behaving second thoughts,”Charroanswered.

“Let them go wherethey will,” Refugio saidafter brief consideration,“butkeepthelargestoftheboatsatallcosts.”

“We need the men forguides,” the other man

said,thoughthewordshadatentativering.

“Only ifwe try tomakeour way through theswamps.”

“If?”Baltasargrowledindisbelief.

But there was noanswer. Refugio hadvanished into the smokeagain.

“Where is he going?”Isabeldemanded,hertonequerulous.

“Ataguess,afterDoñaLuisa.”ItwasEnriquewhoansweredinavoiceheavywithdisgust.

Charro agreed. “Ten toonehebringsherback.”

“I'mnot sogreat a foolas to bet against acertainty,”Enriquesaid.

“I don't see what hewants with her,” Isabelcomplained.

“A conscience sop? Ahair shirt?” Charro

answered.“Takeyourpick.OurRefugiocollectsboth.”

Vicente steppedforward,afrownonhisthinface. “Who is this woman,DoñaLuisa?Whathasshetodowithmybrother?”

It was Enrique whoexplained. Pilar hardlyheardwhathesaid.Charrowas right, she was sure;RefugiowasafraidtoleaveDoñaLuisabehindforfearof what might happen to

her. Butwas that all therewastoit?Theattachmentsformed early in life,especially those thwartedin some way, were oftenstronger and moreenduring than those oflateryears.HehadgonetoDoñaLuisa so readily thatday on the ship,without aword of protest or abackward glance. Thatcouldmean that ithadnotbeen a totally distasteful

sacrifice. To have refusedwouldhavecauseddangerforhismenandforher,butdid he have to go soeasily, with such smilingcharm?

What a terrible thing itwastolove.Itcausedsuchdoubts, such fears. Shewas suddenly jealous ofthetimeRefugiohadspentwithDoña Luisa, butmostofall sheenvied theotherwoman her knowledge of

him when he was youngand without care. What acharming young grandeehemusthavebeen, full ofwit and laughter, musicand uncomplicatedsentiment. She wouldnever know him like that.Never.Ithurt.

How long had it beensince she began to feelthis way? Had it begun inthepatiogardeninSeville?Orwas it in themountains

when Refugio discoveredhisbrotherhadbeentakenby Don Esteban? Therehadbeensomethingthere,some painful awareness,some current of attractionthatshehadtriedtodeny.

That night on the ship,when he lay injured andnear death, or so shethought— how easily shehad made the decision tooffer herself, to use herbodytorousehimfromhis

reverie with death. Shecouldnotthinkofitwithoutfeeling her face burn. Sheshould have known then.Perhaps she had known,but had kept theknowledge carefullyhidden, even from herself.Howelsetoexplainit?

Whatpointwasthereinthinking of it? He was abandit,anoutcastwhowasnow wanted in the newworld as well as the old.

He had no future that hecouldsharewithawoman.He kept herwith him, andDoña Luisa, because hefelt responsible, but eachwas another burden, theirsafety a duty doggedlyassumed. He might makelove to them on occasion,but itwasnomore thanaway to pass a pleasanthour, a means offorgetting, or else it wasyetanotherduty.

She must not let himknow. She was not quitecertain what he would do.Hemight turn on her withscathingreminders thathehad never intended toenticeher,nevermeant tobed her. Or he might justas easily smile andpretend with sweet andaching tenderness that hereturned what she felt.Either one would bemorethanshecouldbear.

Tears burned in herthroat, rising to her eyes.She wiped them fromunder her lashes, hopingthat anyone who sawwould think they werecausedbythesmoke.

They well could be.NewOrleanswasburning.Driven by the wind, theflameswerespreadinginawide swath. People werefleeing in panic, streamingout of the town gates

carrying whatever theycould salvage, or elsetaking to boats andpaddling out to the safetyofthemiddleoftheriver.Itappeared that the houseDon Esteban had beenstaying inmust beon fire,alongwithmostoftherestof Chartres Street abovethe Plaza de Armas.Severaloftheshipstiedupat the levee near thesquare had caught fire

also, the flames leapingintotheircrosstreeslikesomanytorches.

Abruptly, somewherenear the far side of thepalisade, an explosionerupted. The thunder of itboomed with a crackingroarthatechoedbackfromacross the river. Debrisspouted into the air alongwithagreatfountainoffirethatlituptheskywithluridorangeandyellow.

Isabel gave a smallscream, crying out. “Whatwasthat?”

“Acacheofgunpowder,ataguess,”Charrosaid.

“The powdermagazine,”Baltasarsaid.

Charro nodded. “It willspreadthefire.”

He was right. Nor wasthat the only explosion.Gunpowderwasnecessaryfor hunting, and huntingwas a way of life in the

colony. The shopkeeperswho sold it, and thehunters who stockpiled it,providedstoresthatintheireruptions increased theconsuming fury ten timesover. Itbegan to lookas ifthe entire city might beengulfed.

There was a furtivemovement behind themandafaint, lappingsound.The boatmen, under thecover of the explosions,

were making ready toshoveofftheirboats.

“Hey, you! Wait!”Charroyelledasheturned,leaping down the gentlyinclinedsideofthelevee.

“Sorry,my friend,” theycalled.“Wecan'twasteourtime here while there'smoneytobemadeferryingpeopleawayfromthefire!”

Charro's sword raspedashedrewit.EnriqueandBaltasar whipped out their

own as, seeing theproblem, they took arunning jump after him.Vicente, though unarmed,wasn'tfarbehindthem.

Charro reached theboatsbefore the twoothermen, presenting the pointof his sword so theboatmen jerkedawayfromthe dugouts, standingerect. However, Baltasar,holding his sword abovehishead,madenoattempt

to slow his progress, butslammedintotheboatmen.They went sprawling. Thebig outlaw bent over one,catching the front of hisshirt, smashing his swordhilt into the man's jaw.Enrique snatched hisdagger from his belt and,reversing it, struck theother boatmen alongsidethehead.Thebanditsbentover the men on theground, but they lay

groaning with no fight leftinthem.

“Tardy but efficient,”Refugio said, hisbreathless, acerbic voicecoming from some yardsdown the levee as heapproached at a lope. Heleveled a finger at thelargest of the crafts.“Everybody into that boatandshoveoff.Now!”

Hewas coveredwithacoat of gray ash, and

sweat made wet tracks inthesootonhisface.DoñaLuisawasdrapedoverhisshoulder, sobbing andpounding his back with adull and monotonousthudding. Behind him, juststorming out of the smokecloud,wasarabbleofmencarryingscythesandrakesandshoutinginrage.

“Arsonist! Murderer! ElLeon!Killhim!Killhim!”

Charro swung with his

sword in his hand, calling,“Theguides?”

“Leave them. Shoveoff!”

As amazement madethem slow to obey,Refugio, reproved themwith imprecations thatwere inventive, virulent,and efficacious. Theyswung to fling themselvesinto the dugout even asEnrique bent in haste totossaboardthreeorfourof

themostimportantbundleslying still unloaded.Baltasar used his greatstrength to free it of themuddy levee bank andpushitouttofloatfree.Asit caught the current,Baltasar waded after it toleapaboard.

Refugio, neverslackening his stride,scattered a few pieces ofsilverinthedirectionofthegroggy boatmen as

payment for their craft.Hebounded down the inclineand splashed into theriver's flow, kicking waterhead high while DoñaLuisa spluttered andchoked and screamed interror.Hegraspedthesideof the boat with one handandwith the other heavedthe widow up so thatEnrique could catch heraround the waist. Theacrobat dragged her over

thegunwale likeasackofwetflour,thendumpedherin a heap at his feet. Hewould have helped her tosit up if she had notslapped him. Immediatelyafterward she burst intotears.

Refugiovaultedupwithwater streaming down hislegs, then somersaultedoverthesidetolandonhisfeetinthebottom.Baltasarand Charro, taking up the

paddles, began to pull outinto the race of the river.Behind them the shoutingmob came to a halt ankledeep in the water andstood cursing and shakingtheir weapons after them.Refugio rose to a crouch.Keeping low, hemade hiswaytothestem,wherehetook up the steeringpaddle.

The boat veered underhis powerful strokes,

leading away from thedirection Baltasar had set.“What are youdoing?” thebig man called back. totheir leader. “You'repointingusupstream.”

“What liesdownstream?” Refugioreplied, his voice carryingstrained calm. “Spain isonly a receding dream,and Havana will welcomeus no more. We arewanted again, and not for

joy. Can you think that—now Don Esteban hasmadeussowell-known—Governor Miro will not seta watch for us at everyship, that our descriptionwillnotresoundaroundtheWest Indies? We aredenied both passage andrest every direction weturn.Exceptone.”

“Whatplaceisthis?”“A distant land of myth

and magic, peopled by

strange beasts andsavages, made lovely bygoldensunsets.”

“The Tejas country,”Charro breathed, his facelighting so that his eyesglowedbrightblue.

“Oh, mother of God!”Doña Luisa groaned,rockingwithsobs.“We'llallbekilled.Orworse.”

“Or saved,” Enriquesaid.

“Or forgotten,” Baltasar

muttered.“It will be a test,”

Vicente whispered tohimself.

Isabel, her voice small,said,“Butit'ssofar.”

Pilarturnedonherseatto stare at Refugio. Shewonderedwhat was in hismind, wondered if he wasas certain as he seemedthatheknewwhathewasdoing.

He was looking back

over his shoulder, staringat the burning town thatwas New Orleans. Hisgrim-streaked facereflected the red of theflames, and thewater thatglitteredonhis lashesandlay beaded on the planesofhischeekshadthe lookoftears.

16

REFUGIO SENT HISPADDLE plunging deepinto the yellow-brownwater of the river, steeringtheboattothelefttoavoida half-submerged treetrunk that was floatingtoward them. The boat

responded well, themorning was bright andclear. The sun was warmand the wind at his back.There was relief in thehard physical labor ofpaddling, like a penancefortheexpiationofsin.Thedemands of the river,fighting the currents,watchingforwhirlpoolsandlogs and staying alert forriver pirates and Indians,required most of his

attention. There was littletime for thinking, forremembering.Itwasbetterthatway.

He had gotten used tohandling the boat theevening before. They hadtraveledlate,makingcampon the bank only whenthey were many milesupriver fromNewOrleans.Theycouldhaveaskedfora night's lodging fromsome planter along the

waterway, and wouldprobably have beenmadewelcome, but it had notseemedworththerisk.Thefewer people who knewwhich direction they hadtaken, the better it wouldbe.

It had not been acomfortable night. Forhimselfandhismenithadnot mattered that theground was hard anddamp and the mosquitoes

likeahoardoftinystingingdevils. He regretted it forthewomen.Theywerenotusedtosuchroughliving.

On the seat just aheadof him Pilar sat weavinghats for them all from thepalmetto palm branchesshe had picked theevening before, onlylookingupnowandthentowatch the shoreline slippast. Luisa slumped downbetween the thwarts at

Pilar's feet. In front of thetwo women were Vicenteand Baltasar, with Isabelperchedonabundleinthehollowed-out sectionbetween the thwart onwhich they sat and thenext, where Enrique andCharro were in the prow.The paddles wielded bythemen roseand fell in arhythm that was bothsoothing and invigorating.Luisa had fallen silent,

apparently taking a nap,which was a mercifuldispensation. It was thefirst time she had ceasedto complain since he hadhauled her on board. Shewasnotawomanwhowasat her best in difficultsituations.

Pilar was such awoman. She haddemanded a turn at thepaddles several timesduring the day, spelling

Vicente. She had tendedthevariousinjuriesofthemall the night before, andlainbesideRefugio,onhiscoarseblanketthroughthedarkness hours, merelycovering her face againstthe marauding insectswhen she could standthem no longer. She hadeven managed to sleep alittle. She had sat on thehard boat seat hour afterhour, weaving with

palmetto that pricked herfingers and helping watchforhazards.Therehadnotbeen a word from herabout the discomfort orwhere they were going orhow long it might takethem to get there. Herforbearance did not makehim feel less guilty atbringinghertothispass.

She deserved better.Shedeservedit,butitwasunlikelythathewouldever

beable togive it toher. Itwas possible, evenprobable, that they mightnever see civilizationagain, much less Spain.Hehadbroughtheronthiswild quest for a dozenreasons, most of themselfish ifnotactivelybase.Hehadmadeanoutcastofher, had endangered heralongwithalltherest.Theregrethefeltwaslikealivecoalinhischest.

The sun gleamed inPilar's hair, turning thestrands to filaments thecolor of old gold. Its rayscaught the curve of hercheek, the turn of herneck, her slender forearmbelowhersleeve,touchingthem with a silken sheen.Hethoughtofthewayshehad felt against him in thenight, of the trust withwhich she had lain therewith her back to his chest

and her thighs alongsidehis. He dug his paddledeeperintothewater.

She would besunburned by mid-afternoon,earlierifthesunstopped retreating off andon behind the clouds thatwere drifting in from thesouthwest. They all wouldbe burned. Perhaps thehats she was weavingwould at least shade herface. His concern wasn't

just thediscomfort for her,but the danger of illness.Forhimselfandhismen,itdidn't matter; they wereused to thesun.Pilarwasdifferent. And Luisa andIsabel,ofcourse.

Pilarturnedherheadtoglance back at him. Shesaid, “Is somethingwrong?”

Refugio realized hewas frowning, and madehis features relax with a

conscious effort. “You seeme as merry as a mulewitha loadofdryhayandnowhere to take it. Whatcouldbewrong?”

“A great many things,”she answered, “but nonethat can be helped byworryingaboutthem.”

“But then, I havenothingbettertodo.”

“If you're thinking ofNew Orleans, it wasn'tyourfaultitburned.”

“Nowthat'sapossibilitythat had not occurred tome.”

“Isomehowdoubtit.”“Iseewhat it is.You're

afraid that I'm going tolapse into a stupor again,and leave you to makeyourwayalone.”

She stared at him withcooleyes.“Notatall,sinceI doubt your will was everbeyondyourcontrol.”

“Youflatterme.”

“I think not. But youunderestimateme,Ithink.Ifeel sure I couldmakemyown way. Not totallyunaided or in completesafety, perhaps, but onewayoranother.”

An odd emotion herecognizedas fearseepedinto his mind. His voicewas more slicing than heintended as he answered.“You are warning me ofsome substitute

arrangement alreadymade, I presume. Do youintendtotellmeaboutit,orshallIguess?”

“Neither. Not everyoneisascomplicatedasyou;Iwassimplystatingafact.”

“Asyouseeit.”“Howelse?Thereisno

other person who canspeakforme.”

“Meaning you will notbeboundbymywishes.”

“Meaning you are not

bound by responsibility forme.”

She was getting verygood at picking up thetenor of his thoughts. Hewould have to watch that.“You are wrong. I havebeen responsible since Iaccepted your suggestionin a dark garden. Nothingyou can say will absolveme.”

“Ifyouinsistonbeingamartyr,Ican'tstopyou.”

“But I play the role sowell, don't you think?” Heheard thebitterness in thesoft words, though hehopedshedidnot.

“Excellently, which iswhy I feel sure you thinkNew Orleans is in ashesbecauseofyou.”

“It seems logical.” Hepulled hard with thepaddle.

She shook her head.“Because you think you

should have stopped DonEsteban?Ican'tseehow.”

“IcouldhavekilledhimasIwouldasnake,withoutgiving him a chance tostrike.”

“You aren't made thatway.”

“No, and isn't that afault?” He waited patientlyto hear what she wouldsay.

Hereyeswereclearastheymethis. “Somemight

think so; it doesn't seemthat way to me. To killwithout thought wouldmake you as ruthless asDon Esteban. But I couldalwaysclaimmyportionofblame. If I had not beenwith you, you might haveapproached mystepfather's housedifferently, with morequietnessandbetterluck.”

“Or never have beenable to approach at all?

Never mind. The decisionfor how we went about itwasmine.”

“But I caused youdanger by my presenceand contributed to the fireas well. Theremight havebeen no crossing ofswordswithDonEstebanifI had not interfered, nofightinthechapel.”

“Thatwould have beena pity, since I required anexcuse to kill him,

especially after seeingVicente.Itwasn'tyourfaultIfailed.”

“Will you robmeof thepleasures of guilt, as wellas responsibility formyself?”

“It was never myintention to rob you ofanything.”

The words hungbetween them as theireyes, soft brown and coolgray,metandclung.Color

thathadnothingtodowithsunburn rose slowly intoherface.

“Intentions change,”shesaid.

He gave a short nod.“Andpeople.”

“What are you twoarguingaboutbackthere?”Vicente asked over hisshoulder.

“Robbery and goodintentions,” Refugioansweredinclippedtones.

“The box of gold? Ilookedinside,youknow.”

There wascondemnationintheyoungvoice. Refugio's reply wascontrolled,yetshadedwithweariness. “Not exactly,no.”

“I think we shouldspeakofit.YoumighthavegivensomethoughttohowI would feel about beingmadeaparty to theft.”Hisbrother's gaze was

earnest,yetuneasy.Refugio sighed. “I

wouldhave,ifIhadknowntheyhad turnedyou intoaself-righteous dolt at theuniversity.”

Vicente managed agrin. “That's right, takemyhead off. I'm used to it;SeñoritaPilarisn't.”

“Your address for thelady,” Refugio said, “isinformal for such recentacquaintance.”“Iknewher

beforeyou,mybrother.”“Didyou?”The words held that

degree of politeness thatcould be translated as awarning.Vicenteignoredit.“Shecametomefirst.”

“Then why did you notrescueher,bearingheroffacross your saddle likesome gallant Moorishprinceoflegend?”

“She did not ask myhelp.Alas.”

The implication in hisvoicewasguileful.Refugioignored it, inclining hishead in Pilar's direction.“Felicitations.Youseemtohaveacquiredachampion.Anotherone.”

“I'mhonored,”shesaid.“I thought you might

be,” he answered bitinglybefore turning back to hisbrother. “But what of thegold? I haven't seen thecasket.”

Vicente's face cloudedagain. He gave a swiftshake of his head. “Icouldn't take it, of course,once I knew what was init.”

“Youleftit?”Vicente gave a slow

nod, his gaze caught bythe amusement rising inhisolderbrother'seyes.

“How brief is the reignof champions,” Refugiosaid,hisvoicechokedwith

the rise of rich laughter.“The gold belonged to thelady, my gallant, and shehaduseforit.”

“Youleftit,”Pilaraskedin disbelief. “You left itbehind in Don Esteban'shouse?”

“It — It seemed theright thing to do.” Vicentesquirmeduncomfortablyontheboatseat,lookedtohisbrother for support.Refugiowasunresponsive.

“And the houseburned,”Pilarsaid.

“I believe it did,”Vicente agreed, his voiceweak.

Pilarstaredathim,thenthe frown between hereyes faded as her gazenarrowedtothescaronhischeek. She shook herhead.“IsupposeIhavenoright to complain. I injuredyou far more by involvingyou in my troubles. I . . .

shouldapologize.”“There's no need.

Refugiowouldneverallowme to join him before, butnowhecan'tdenyme. I'mgratefultoyou.”

“Hewouldn'tallowit?”Vicente flashed his

brother a glance bothdefiant and warm. “Heseemedtothinkonebanditinthefamilywasenough.”

“It is,” Refugio saidshortly.

Pilar and Vicenteexchanged a wry smile,then turned away, facingforwardoncemore.

Refugio, thinking ofwhat Pilar had said,watching the determinedstraightening of herbackbone, felt compassionand something more shiftinside him. He was sorryforherdisappointment,butat thesame timeawareofa niggling, shameful

triumph. She needed himstill, and would for sometimetocome.

Afteramomentheliftedhisvoiceinachansonthatsetaneasy,evenpaceforthepaddle.Hismenpickedit up, and they sent theboat skimming north andwest,followingtheriver.

It was dark once morewhen they made camp.Afterward, when theyshould have been

sleeping, they sat aroundthe glowing coals whichwere fingered by blueflames. It was pleasant torelax from the vigilanceneeded on the river, theirhunger satisfied by a fishstewthat Isabelhadmadefrom two peculiar-lookingfish with whiskers thatVicente had caught usingone of Pilar's hairpins.Besides that, the smokehelped to keep the

mosquitoesatbay.Aroundthemthenightpulsedwiththesoundsofcricketsandpeeper frogs and othernight creatures. The blue-black sky overhead wasdusted with stars. Thehunting cry of a swamppanther rang out once ortwice, a sound like awoman'sscream.

They had passed bythevillageofBatonRougenot long after dawn that

morning. In the hourssince, they had seen littlesign of habitation. Theyknew they must watch forthe village and fort ofNatchez on its high bluff,butfornowitseemedtheymust be the only humansin this vast near-emptywilderness.

There was somethingintriguing in that thoughtforRefugio. Itwasnot likeSpain,this land; itwastoo

flat and damp, thevegetation too abundantwith its dense thickets oftrees and tangles of vinesthat cut and scratched.There were too manystrange animals, fromalligators and snakes topointed-nose, scraggly-furred creatures thatcarried their young inpouchesintheirstomachs.Yet the singing solitudehad an insidious appeal.

He thought he could growusedtothesoftnessoftheairandthedensequalityofthenights.

Spainhadhadherday.For all the glitter of thecourt at Madrid, all theships that sailed theoceans and the coloniesstill held in far quarters ofthe globe, the goldenmomentofsupremacywaspast.Hiscountryhadbeenin decline for nearly a

hundredyears.Spain had founded an

empirebasedonbeingthebest,thebravest,themostintelligent, themost noble.Having established it, thepowers at the top hadfounditperfect.Theyfeltitto be so perfect, in fact,that they refused tochange, refused to acceptnew ideas. They hadbecome narrow in thoughtand action, suspicious of

innovation and bitterlyprotectiveof theoldways.The wealth gained in thenew world had slippedaway, dissipated in wars,lost as colonies changedhands with the signing oftreaties. Spain was dying,and men such as DonEsteban, like relativesgathered around a deathbed, were feasting on itsdwindlingestate.

By contrast, this new

country seemed rich withpossibilities and wideenough toencompassanynumberoffreshideas.Forthe first time in yearsRefugio, felt little need tolook over his shoulder orsearch the shadows infront of him. Here, for themoment,therewasnothingexcept the night, nodanger beyond thatbroughtbynature.

Doña Luisa slapped at

a mosquito on her arm.The sudden blow jarredthe wooden bowl of coldstew she still held in herlap. It tippedover, pouringgreasy gravy down herskirts.She jumpedupwitha wail, dropping the bowl,then kicking it with thesharp-pointed toe of hershoe so that it rolled intothefire.

“I hate this!” she cried.“Iambeingeatenalive,my

skin is burned so that Icould be mistaken for myhusband's mulattomistress. Ihavenothingtowear except what I standin,andall I'mgiven toeatis swill not fit for swine. Idemand that you take meback!Iwillgiveathousandpesos, two thousand, tothemanwhowill takemebacktoNewOrleans.”

Refugio bent swiftly totakeastickofkindlingand

knock the wooden bowlfrom the flames. Hepushed it to one side,where it lay smoldering;they had only one bowleach and there was noway to tell when theywould be able to getanother.

“You have asmuch asany of us,” he said toLuisa. “However, if youwant to die, we can leaveyouhere. Itwillbeagreat

deal less trouble thanreturningtoNewOrleans.”

“Here! That would bemurder!” She gave him alookofangryhauteur.

“Maybe not,” Enriquesaid, joining theconversation with a slyglanceatthenoblewoman.“YoumightbefoundbyanIndian savage and takenintohisbed.Hewouldnotwork you overmuch,except for the daylight

hours, nor trouble you foryour favors after the firstfour or five little savageswereborn.”

Doña Luisa looked atthe acrobat under herlashes.“Disgusting.”

“You may find it so atfirst, but I expect youwouldgetusedtoit.”

“You are an ignorantlittleman.”

“And you are vain andspoiled,butIforgiveyou.”

“I didn't ask yourforgiveness!”shecried.

“Isn't it generousofmetogiveittoyouanyway?”

Pilar, sitting with herelbows propped on herknees as she followed theexchange, sat up straight.“Your life is in danger,DoñaLuisa,andwillbesolong as my stepfatherremains in New Orleans.He is not a reasonablemaninhisvengeance.”

“Your stepfather, yes,”the other woman said,curling her lips. “I mighthave known this was yourfault.”

“Don't blame Pilar,”Enrique said in sterntones. “You threw in yourlot with us of your ownchoice aboard theCelestina.Thereasonwasthe thrill of flirting withdanger. It's not our fault ifthings turned out more

dangerous than youexpected.”

“Your Pilar might beused to the company ofbandits, señor, but I amnot.”

“No?” Enrique inquiredwithirony.“Youknewwhatwewereon theship.Thatwasfinesolongasnooneelseknew.”

“Quarreling,” Refugiosaid, “can be such sweetenmity. I give the two of

you leave to enjoy it, butthereisnoonetosparetoreturnyoutoNewOrleans,Luisa. Pilar is right. I tookyou from there to spareyou the revenge of DonEsteban. There is noreason to think that thedangerhaspassed.”

Shetossedherhead.“Ican't believe he wouldharmme.”

“Somysisterthoughtofhisson.Butcome,youare

awomanofvalor.Ifitwerenot so, you would neverhave embarked forLouisiana. We have needofvalornow.”

“I hate beinguncomfortable,” DoñaLuisa said, slapping at amosquito. “I despiseseeing only water andwaterandmorewater.”

“Wewill leave the riversoon enough, and thenyou may long for water.

Butyoucanbearwhatevercomes because youmust,and because you havestrength inside that hasneverbeenused.”

“You think so?” sheasked without looking athim.

“Naturally. It's in yourblood, thestrengthofyourancestors who fought anddiedontheplainsofSpainto oust the Moors andbring holiness to the land,

who marched against theIndians of strange landswith their swords in theirhands and a prayer ontheir lips and returned totheir mother country withgold in their purses andthanksgiving in theirhearts.”

“Yes,” Doña Luisaagreed,sittingdownagain,afarawaylookinhereyes.“Do you know if there isgoldinthisTejascountry?”

Charro, who was sittingbehindDoñaLuisa,begantoshakehishead,openinghis mouth to speak.Refugiostoppedhimwithasmallgestureofonehand.His expression calm, hesaid, “The illustriousFrancisco Vasquez deCoronadomarched acrossthe western lands insearchofthewealthoftheSevenCitiesofCibola.Henever found it, but does

that mean it isn't there?Does it,when in the landsfarther south the Indiansonce dressed themselvesin sheets of beaten gold?There are also rumors ofsilver.”

“That would besomething, to return fromthis far country with afortune.” Doña Luisa gaveasmallsigh.

“Wouldn't it?” Refugiomurmured as Charro and

Enrique exchanged a drolllook.

Doña Luisa said nomore, but there was aspeculative gleam in hereyes.

“My father had gold,”Isabel said, her voice soft,musing. “I used to playwith it, stacking the coinsinpileson the table.Thenhe gambled it all away,and we had nothing. Wewere thrown from our

house and left to wanderthe street in rags. It wasthere that Refugio foundme.Hesavedmefromtwocart drivers who weretrying to carry me into astable.”

“Don't think about it,Isabel,” Baltasar said, hisvoice rough with wearytenderness. “Don't talkabout it,either.Let'sgo tobed.”

Isabel lookedatthebig

man a long moment, thengavehimasadandtendersmile.“Yes,”shesaid,“I'mready.”

Refugio watched themgo, and his gray eyesnarrowed with what mighthave been a defenseagainst pain. They allsought their blanketsshortlyafterward.

Refugio lay for longhours, staring up into thenight sky. A cynical smile

curved his mouth as hethoughtof thegoldhehadspoken of to Luisa. Gold.DearGod.Hesoughtinhismindforsomehopeforthefuture, much less wealth,and could find none.Ahead lay only theunknown.

Hope was not, ofcourse, a commodity withwhich he was overlyfamiliar. He had beenresigned to a short life for

some time. Or so hethought. Circumstanceschanged. Foolishaspirations were notrestricted to dissatisfiedwidows.

For the moment,however, he was content.It was a sensation bothforeign and unsettling.Wakeful, he lay besidePilar and watched as sheslept. He listened to thesoftsoundofherbreathing

andreachedoftentobrushmosquitoesaway fromherface.

It was as they weregettingintotheboatsagainthenextmorningthatDoñaLuisalookedatPilar.“Howdoes it happen that youhavealmostnowelts frommosquito bites on yourface. I have so many myface feels as swollenasafrog, and the itching isdrivingmemad.”

Pilar touched her face.“Idon'tknow.”

“If you have somespecial cream orsomething that saves you,Ithinkit'smeanofyounottoshareit.”

“It's nothing like that, Ipromiseitisn't.Maybetheyjust don't like the way Itaste.”

Doña Luisa lookedskeptical as she steppedintotheboatandsatdown.

“Really”, Pilar said, “if Ihad anything to guardagainst the mosquitoes, Iwouldshareit.”

Refugio,turnedawaytohide his wry smile. Theyreached the Red River afew days later and turnedinto this more westward-flowing tributary. On anafternoon just under twoweeks from the time theyhadleftNewOrleans,theypaddled up to the landing

at the old military postknown as Saint Jean deBaptiste de laNatchitoches.

Awarmrainwasfallingastheypulledtheboatsupontheshore.Itpockedthesurfaceoftheriverandfellwith a soft clatter throughthe brilliant new, greenleaves on the trees. Theairhadagreencastasthefresh, rich color wasreflectedfromtheprismatic

raindrops. This was aidedby the warm and waterysun that peered now andthen through the clouds.Regardless of the heat,however, they were allmiserableintheirdrenchedclothing.

They were approachedwith caution, but withfriendliness; any travelerwith news from downriverwas apparently welcome.Nevertheless, they kept

the tale of the burning ofNew Orleans tothemselves. They couldgive no idea of exactdamageorlossoflife,andtoexplainwhy ithadbeennecessary for them toleave the city before thisinformation becameavailablewouldbe sure tocallupquestionsdifficulttoanswer.

There was somethingseductiveaboutthesleepy

littletownwithitsbuildingsthat were rustic butinviting, its warmhospitality and gentlevoices lilting in a patoisthat mingled French andSpanish, Indian andAfrican words. It seemedthat this outpost mustsurelybetoofarfromNewOrleans for interference,farenough forsafety.Still,if they could reach it soeasily,socouldothers.

Theysoldtheboatforagoodly sum. They addedthattothelastofthesilver,and with it bought horses—mostofthemcheapbutfleet and sturdy plainsponies, though Vicentefoundayoungstallionwithan appearance of finebloodlines which heinsisted on having. Theyalsoboughtflouranddriedcorn, dried beef, baconand beans and peppers,

plusanothermusketortwoto increase their storeandan additional supply ofammunition. Finally, theybought a pair of packmulestocarryeverything.

Doña Luisa tried toinsist that a change ofclothingbeboughtforeachof the women to replacethose left behind in NewOrleans. The only thing tobe had, however, was afew lengthsof cheap cloth

suitableonly for the Indiantrade. ItwasEnriquewho,disappearing in theafternoon,returnedashorttime later with a collectionof blouses and shirts andeven a day gown inDoñaLuisa's size.Hewouldnotsaywhere the itemscamefrom, but they were stilldamp, as if fresh from awashline.Nevertheless,hebasked in the approval ofthe ladies, at least for a

while.Atdawn twodaysafter

they had landed, theymountedupandrodetheirhorsesawayfromthepostandalong the trail that ledto the Sabine River andtheTejascountrybeyond.

17

THEY LEFT THEMOSQUITOESbehind, forthe most part, once theycrossed the Sabine. Theytraveled for several moredays through rolling hillscoveredwithdensestandsof pineandhickory, sweet

gum and ash trees, andwhere wild plum bushesand haw trees were hungwith small green fruit.Slowly the trees becamemoresparseandthepinesand ash and gums gavewaytoscruboak.Thehillsbecame flatter, morespreading. The windingwaterways grew fartherapart and narrower. Theswampy bottomlandsopenedout to stretchesof

long grass blowing in thewind.

Charro became theirguide,pointing themalongthe faintest of paths in asouthwesterlydirection.Hedidnotpretendtoknowtheway, however; this he toldthem plainly. He had onlyheard talesof the trail thatwas a part of the old ElCamino Real, the king'shighway, and could recallbut a few landmark

mentioned during storiestold of caravans that haddisappeared andmassacres by Indians atlonelywaystops.HeknewtheroutebeganatNatchezon the east bank of theMississippi, crossed theriver and passed overlandto Natchitoches andthrough what had oncebeen the missionsettlements along theSabine, including old Los

Adaes near Natchitoches,and then continued on toMexico City. There hadbeen a time when therewasmuchmovementonit.In the days of the FrenchinLouisiana,ithadbeenafavorite contraband routefor men bent on cheatingthe king of Spain of thesilver from his mines inNew Spain, or of theproceeds of the tradebetween the two colonies,

a trade that was illegalunder Spanish law. Therehad also been diplomaticmissions between theFrench commandant atNatchitoches, St. Denis,and the Spanishsettlements along the RioGrande.Duringoneof thelatter St. Denis had beenarrestedforsmugglingandimprisoned by a Spanishmilitary commander, thenhad married the military

commander's daughter.Since the closing of theSabine missions somesixteen years earlier, afterLouisianabecameSpanishandtheareaceasedtobeoneofcontentionbetweenFrance and Spain, trafficonthehighwayhadslowedto a trickle and nearlyceased. Travel along itwasdangerousforanotherof the reasons that themissionshadclosed—the

depredationsoftheIndiansoftheTejasplains.

The man inNatchitocheswhohadsoldthem the horses hadthoughttheywerecrazytobe setting out on the ElCamino Real alone. Theyshould wait, he said, atleast until another groupcame along heading intheir direction. Thereweresometimes traders whomoved among the Indian

tribes, men whoexchanged muskets andtheaguardiente, knownasfirewater, for buffalo hidesand other furs, men withknowledgeandexperienceinthevastcountrythroughwhich they would betraveling. Such traderswere not exactly personsof respect, but the largertheparty,thelesslikelytheIndians were to attack.There was a quartet of

traders and their helperswhowereduetoleaveinaweekorso.

It was decided amongthebandthattheymustgoon.Thenewsofwho theywere and what had takenplace in New Orleansmight reach the townbefore the traders wereready to depart. Inaddition, the kind of menwho would arm savageswithmusketsmightwellbe

more dangerous than theIndians.Theydidnotneedmoretroublethantheyhadalready.

The men were glad tobe on horseback again.They showed it by stagingimpromptu races anddisplays of horsemanshipin which they dideverything except maketheirmountsstandontheirheads. Such high spiritssoon waned, however,

under the day-to-daytediumofthejourney.

Pilaralsoenjoyedbeingback in the saddle. Shehad grown used to thehard pace Refugio setduring her few days withthe band in Spain, andthough it was exhausting,the tiredness it broughtwas healthy. It was alsowelcome, since itprevented her fromthinking.

Doña Luisa wasshocked that she wasexpected to ride,something she had neverdone in her life. She had,at first, refusedtogoatallunless a carriage, or atleastacart,was found forher use. No argumentsabout the unsuitability ofthe country ahead forcarriage traffic or theslowness of that mode oftransportation moved her.

OnlyRefugio'sthreattotieher facedown across asaddle broughtcapitulation. It also addeda bitter note to herceaselesscomplaints.

The woman sat herhorse like a bundle ofsoiled linen ready for thewash. She moanedthrough the first two days,cataloging her every soremuscle and bruise andrubbedsectionofskin,and

castigating Refugio as abeast for dragging heralong on his flight fromprosecution. It took twomen to help her onto hermount, and three to haulher down again, and shewas so insecure in thesaddle that their rate oftravel was reduced by athird.

On the morning of thethird day Enriqueinterrupted the woman's

grumbling with asuggestion. Doña Luisacould ride pillion with him,he said; he rode light, sothe two of them togetherwould not overburden hismount. She refused, sheprotested, she cried andeven cursed. Regardless,shewashoistedupbehindthe acrobat. Enriquekicked his horse into agallop.The ladyscreamedand flung herself against

him, wrapping her plumpwhite arms around hisnarrowwaist.Grinning likea dog with a new bone,Enriquewheeled inawidecircle, then came high-steppingbacktorejoin theothers.

Doña Luisa's endlesscataloging of hergrievances did not stop,but only found a newoutlet. Enrique, unlikeRefugio, did not ignore

them, but took issue withevery word she said. Hequestionedherreasonsforgrumbling, cracked jokes,ridiculedherlackofequineprowess, and generallygoaded her into rage. Theresulting quarrels andshouting matches seemedto give him vastsatisfaction, and at thesame time so wearied theladythatsheceasedtorailathercircumstances.

Whether Refugioapproved or deplored thearrangement,noonecouldtell. He was distant,preoccupied. He oftenranged for miles ahead,bringing back informationon diverging paths andwatering holes andinstructions on restingplaces. Sometimes hebacktracked, circlingaround in a wide loop towatch the trail behind

them.It did not seem to

trouble him that Charrohad taken a position ofleadership. The two ofthem consulted togetheroften and long, holdingmidnightsessionsinwhichRefugio went overeverything the Tejas-bornman knew about thecountry and its dangers.He extracted detailsconcerning the route they

were following thatCharrowashardlyawareheknew,thenamesandlocationsofrivers and distancesbetweenthem,thedetoursfor dry stretches and bestways to cross the openprairie lands, and thecharacteristics ofprominent landmarks. Healsodelvedintothenature,habits, and tricks of thedifferentIndiantribes,fromthe forest-dwelling, sun-

worshiping Caddo Hasinaito the cannibalisticKarankawa of the coastalareas; from the primitiveCoahuiltecans of thesouthern desert andnonmalignantTonkawasofthe grasslands, to thewarlikeApachesandhard-riding Comanches whohad made the plains theirown by driving all othersfrom them.Of the last twotribes,itwasdifficulttosay

whichwasworse.The Apaches, Charro

said, feared nothing thatbreathed or walked. Theywere cunning and deviousand renowned for theircruelty. All efforts toconvert them toChristianity had failed.They had, during the two-hundred-odd years ofSpanish occupation of theTejas country, been thegreatest single factor

preventing the settlementsfromprospering.

The Comanches weremore recent arrivals,sweeping down from themountains to the northwithin the last hundredyears. Incomparablehorsemen, aggressive,swift, and deadly, theywere competing with theApachesformasteryoftheplains, and so were theirenemies. Caught between

the Comanches on oneside and the Spanish ontheother,theApacheshadbecomemoredaring,morevicious, as they waged acampaign to the deathagainstboth. In retaliation,the Spanish hadformulatedtheirownpolicyof extermination of theApaches.Toward thatendthey had attempted tocreate alliances with theother Indian tribes,but the

rate of success was notimpressive. Spanishexpansion in the vastregion bounded by theSabine, the Rio Grande,andthewesternmountainshad officially stopped;unofficially, it was inretreat.

Regardless of theIndiandanger,theleaguesslid past without a hint oftrouble. The weather wasdryandmild,asuccession

of perfect days. Birdscalled, bees hummed inthe wildflowers and theclover, and the sun shonedownwithheat thatslowlyincreased. Rabbits withtails aswhite and fluffy ascotton were flushed fromthegrassbeforethem,andcoveys of quail flew upsometimes from directlyunder the hoofs of theirmounts.Inthedrowsyheatof the afternoon they

watched the languidcircling of sparrow hawksand buzzards, while duskoften brought the call ofcoyotes. It did not seempossible that there couldbe savages somewherebeyond the haze-shadedhorizon, savages waitingforachancetokillthemorinflict the horrible torturesCharro described.Imperceptibly, the fears ofthe past weeks receded,

as if they were being leftbehind as surely as themountains of Spain andtheMississippiRiverwhichcurled around NewOrleans.

Vicente grew brownand healthy. The scar onhis face faded to a paledesign, one they allceasedtonoticeandwhichhe ignored as if it weren'tthere. Gradually, thesolemnintrospectionofthe

boy'smannergaveway tointerest in hissurroundings. He seemedtotaketolifeonthemove,especially the changes inthe countryside.Sometimes he rode withhis brother, sometimeswithoneof theothers,butoften he sought out Pilar.She thought it wasbecauseshesharedsomeof his growing fascinationwith the strange flowers

andgrasses,thebirdsandanimalstheycameacross.

Vicentewas ridingwithher and Charro oneafternoon when theytopped a rise and sawbeforethemanopenplain.A shallow streamwandered through itandafew trees stood here andthere,but itwas thegrassthat made them draw uptheir mounts to look. Itgrewgreenand thicknear

thewaterandmoresparsefarther away, but minglingwith it, like bits of fallensky, were patches of low-growing wild-flowers ofdeepest blue. The colorwas so intense it hurt theeyes,yetatthesametimeitsoothedthesoul.

“Beautiful,” Pilar saidsoftly as she placed herhandsonherpommelandeased her weight in thesaddle.

“El conejo, we call it,”Charro answered.Stepping down from hishorse, he bent to pick aflower from the grass attheirfeetandhandituptoPilar. “You see the whitetip inside the blue? That'sthe rabbit's white tail, elconejo.You'llseeacresofthem from now on.” Hegestured toward the lowerendoftheplain.“Andovertherearewildcattle.”

Pilar had been sobemused by thewildflowers that she hadnotevennoticedthecattle.She raised a brow as shelooked in the direction heindicated. “Is it myimagination, or are theylargerthaninSpain?”

“No, you're right.They're descended fromanimals thatescaped fromtheherdsthattraveledwiththe great entradas, the

expeditions andexplorations into thiscountrymadebymensuchas Coronado. The landhere was well-suited tocattle, but not without itshazards, so only thebiggest, the toughest, andthosewith the longestandsharpesthornssurvived tobreed. Now they areformidable.”

Theywere indeed.Thelargestoftheherd,agreat

dun-coloredbull,appearedto stand as tall at theshoulder as a horse, andhad horns with a span farwider than a man couldreach with both armsoutstretched. The twentyor thirty cows the bullwatched over also hadhorns, and they were notmuchsmaller.

“You say they're wild?”Vicentesaid.

Charro nodded as he

remounted and gathereduphisreins.“Theyhavetobe, out here so far fromany settlement. All suchcattle belong to the king,according to the law, butanymandaringenough toput a brand on one canclaim itwith fewquestionsasked.”

“This is the kind ofcattleyourfatherraises?”

Again Charro agreed,with a trace of pride. “As

you can see, they are notanimals that could beherded by a man on foot,likesheep.Theyaremeanand crafty, they run likehorses,andtheyrangeformiles every day as theygraze. It's thesecattle thatmade the charro, thehorsemen of the Tejascountry, foronlyamanonhorseback can handlethem.Andasthegrandeesof Spain have always

known, putting a man onhorseback makes himdifferent. It makes himlordly, gives him courage— and creates in him thedetermination to ride anyhorsethatlives.Wehaveasaying: 'To be a charro isto be a hero; to be arancheroistobeaking!'“

“That explains whyyou'resolordly,then,”Pilarsaid, sending him alaughingglance.

“Am I?”A smile lightedhisblueeyesasheturnedhisheadtolookather,andinitwasgratificationatherpersonalnotice.

“Only now and then,”sheanswered,relenting.

Vicente said toCharro,“According to what yousay, your father's estanciamustbefairlylarge.”

“Not really. Hismercedes, his grant givenat the king's mercy which

he inherited from mygrandfather, containssome twenty-squareleagues.Itstretchesasfaras the eye can see, butthere are others that arelarger.”

“The cattle are raisedforthehides?”

“Asyousay,andforthetallow. The meat's a bitstringy, but tastes likesomething out of paradisewhen sliced thin and

cooked with peppers andonions.I'dgivehalfmylifetohaveaplateof itbeforemerightnow.”

Pilarmet his gazewithsympathy; she was alsotired of their spartan diet.Thethoughtcameto themboth at the same time.They blinked, thenamusement rose into theirfaces. They turned theirheadstostareattheherd.

“I feel such a fool,”

Charrosaid.“Ishouldhavethought of it at once,instead of sitting heretalking.”

“Will you wait for theothers?” Pilar asked. Thethree of them had beenriding ahead of everyoneelse.Refugiohadleftthemto search their back trailandhadnotbeenseenformostofthemorning.DoñaLuisa had demanded arest stop to attend the

needs of nature, andasked Isabel to comewithhera fewyardsof the trailto screen her from view.Baltasar and Enrique hadremainedbehindonguard.It should not be long,however,beforetheotherscaughtup.Charroreachedto pick up the braidedleather lariat he alwayshad with him. Looseningthe coils, he said, “I canhave a cow butchered

before they get here.Besides, we're downwind.Theherd is a little curiousabout us, but notdisturbed. If the otherscome riding up, they mayget spooked, takeoff. Thetimeisright.”

“I suppose you knowwhat you're doing,” shesaid.

“Can I help?” Vicenteasked with a shading ofeagernessinhisvoice.

Charro replaced therope and took his musketfrom its saddle scabbard.As he attended to theweapon's priming, heshookhisheadattheboy,saying, “Stay here withPilar.”

The younger manobeyed, but watched withsomethingclosetoenvyasCharro nudged his horseintomovementandrodeatanobliqueangledownthe

slope.The bull watched him

come,twitchinghistailinarestive rhythm. A cowsomewhat larger than theothers also raised herhead to eye the intruder.She snuffled, testing thewind. She did not seemunduly alarmed; still, shebegantomove.Shemadeherway to the frontof theherd, stopping betweenCharroandacalfthatwas

separated from the othersby a few feet of grassscattered with bluewildflowers.

Pilar, watching, hopedthat Charro would notchoose that cow and hercalf.Therewassomethingindomitable, yet curiouslyvulnerable, about themthere in the hot springsunshine. Quite suddenlyshe was no longer sohungryforfreshmeat.

Vicente's horse, theyoungroanstallionhehadchosen in Natchitoches,hadapparentlyneverseencattle before. It snortedand sidled, trying to rear.Pilar reined the mare shewasridingtooneside,outof theway. Vicente's roanwhickered and fought thebit, plunging on stiffforelegs down into the flatvalleyashis riderclung tohisback.

Ontheplainbeyondthebull bellowed and loweredits head. The cattle werebeginningtomill,shiftingincircles. They watchedCharrobutdidnotseemtoidentify him as a danger.Charro had dropped hishorse toawalk, sittinghissaddle with his musketacross his thighs. He wasclosingin.Afewfeetmoreand he swung down fromthe saddle. Leaving his

mount on a ground tether,he crept forward throughthe tall, waving grass. Hedroppedtooneknee, thenlifted his weapon to hisshoulder.

The shot shattered thestill morning air. A cowbellowed and dropped toher knees, then keeledslowly to the ground. Theherd surged forward, thecows bounding andleaping, bellowing as they

ran a few yards up theshallowvalley towardPilarand Vicente, beforeslowing down and millingto a walk. The great bulltrotted after them, thenstopped and threw up hishead. He pawed thegroundandbawledouthisrage.

The explosion of theshot sent Vicente's roaninto paroxysms of wildterror. The horse reared

straight up, then camedownon its front legswithits heels flying skyward.Vicente sailed over thehorse's ears. He landedwith a thud, rolling in thegrass in a sprawl of armsandlegs.Helaystill.

Pilar cried out inconcern as she swungdown fromherownhorse.The mare danced at theend of her reins, her eyesblaring with nervousness

as she tried to follow theroan that was gallopingaway back down the trail.Pilar spoke to themare insoothing tones, draggingher toward Vicente. Shewent down on her kneesbeside him. Refugio'sbrother shuddered, thenbegan to rock back andforth in agony. There wasa twisted grimace on hisfeatures, and hewas palebeneaththenewtanofhis

face.“Whatisit?”Pilarasked

in urgent tones. “Whereareyouhurt?”

Vicentegaveasudden,wheezing gasp, thenbegan to breathe inheaves. He stoppedwrithing. “Breath —knocked—outofme,”hemanaged.

Relief brought a lowlaugh from Pilar's ownthroat. She reach out her

handtohelpVicentesitup.“Areyousurethat'sall?”

“I think — so. Feelstupid—gettingthrown.”

Pilaropenedhermouthto reassure him, but wascutshortbyashout.ItwasCharro. He was sprintingtowardhishorse,yellingasheran.Atfirstshethoughtit was the joy of triumphthat moved him, then shesawitwasfear.

The great long-horned

bull was charging. It wascharging, but not atCharro. Something aboutthe rearing of Vicente'shorse, or Pilar's being onfoot, or perhaps even theflappingofherskirtsinthewind, had attracted theenragedanimal'sattention.Now it was lumberingstraight at them. Its hoofsmadeadull thunderingonthe ground, throwing upclods of dirt and bits of

grassandbluewildflowersbehind it. Its horns shonein the sun, glinting at theneedle-sharp tips. Themuscles in its powerfulshoulders bunched andrippled. It snorted withdistended nostrils, andthere was death in itsblaringeyes.

Pilarjumpedtoherfeetand caught Vicente's armto drag him upright. Shewhirled to her mare, but

the horse sidled, neighingin terror. It took both Pilarand Vicente to hold hersteady. She motioned tohim to go first. Vicente,recovering at speed underthe impetus of necessity,pulled himself into thesaddle,thenreacheddownto Pilar. She looked overher shoulder as she washauled up to the pillion.Thebullwassocloseshecouldseethebrindlehairs

of his forelock. She hadbarely caught Vicente'swaist when he swung themare around and kickedher into a gallop backtowardthecrestoftherise.

Itwastoolate.Thebullslammed into the belly ofthe mare. The horsescreamed. The jarringimpact broke Pilar's graspandsentherhurtlingtotheground. She lay for astunned instant with her

cheekpillowedonstinginggrass, then she whippedover, scrambling to herknees.

Themarewasshriekingasthegruntingbullharriedher. The smell of bloodwasintheair,pouringfroma gored place in thehorse's side. Vicente wasstill in thesaddle, trying toavoid the bull, trying toleadthemaddenedanimalawayfromwherePilar lay.

He threw her a frightenedglance. “Run!” he yelled.“Run!”

“No, don't run!” Charroshouted as his horse boredown on her at a hardgallop. He was swinginghisbraidedropeabovehisheadsothatanopen loopwas forming, growinglarger. “Don't run! Don'tmove!”

There was nowhere torun, no shelter that she

mightreachbeforethebullcouldcatchher.Pilarstoodstill,whilevividinhermindwas the memory of thatmomentwhenshehadfeltthebull's longhornplungeinto the soft belly of themare like a thick, sharpspear.

Charro's rope whippedthrough the air. The wideloop settledover thebull'shornsandwas jerkedtightaround its neck. Charro

gave the rope a swift turnaboutthehornofhisTejassaddle as his horse joltedto a halt and sat back onitshaunches.Vicente, freeof the bull, rode thestumbling mare a shortdistance away, where shecrumpled slowly forwardand fell onto her side.Vicente jumped free, thenwhirledtofaceCharro.

The bull was kickingand huffing and bellowing,

fighting the rope whilefoam dripped from itsmouth. The braided ropeflapped and snapped tautagain and again, twistingwith the strain. Charrocould not hold the animalfor long, that much wasplain. What was neededwas another horseman,anotherrope.

The horseman cameover the rise, riding fast,leading Vicente's young

stallion behind him. It wasRefugio. He took in thescene at a glance andswept forward, alreadyloosening the lariat at hisownsaddlehorn.

In that moment thebraided rope holding thebullsnapped.Theendflewback,wrappingaroundthehead of Charro's mount.The horse reared withforefeet pawing the air.Thebullstaggeredbackas

it was released, thengathered itself andwheeled away from therearing horse andthundering hoofs of theapproaching horseman.Lowering his head, theanimal pawed the groundonce, twice, then chargedstraightatPilar.

Refugio loosed thereins of Vicente's youngstallionandswervedawayfrom his brother in the

same smooth movement.Riding low, alreadyreaching, he raced towardPilar.

Man and beast,shoulder to shoulder, theybore down on her as insome fabled contest ofright and wrong, carryingwith them power and fury.Pilar watched them comeand steeled herself tomotionlessness while thesun caught gold gleams

from the loosened tendrilsof her hair and the windfluttered her skirts likesignal flags. The smell oftrampled earth and grass,horses and blood, was inthe air, and the pure blueofthewildflowersflowedather feet. Behind her thecows bawled and shiftedthis way and that.Somewhere, as if from faraway, she could hearCharro shouting, his voice

crackingwithstrain.Then Refugio was

there. His arm caught herat the ribs with a grip ofiron. She felt the tug as ahorn ripped her skirt, thenshe was hoisted upward.She clungwith her fingersclenched in the folds ofRefugio's shirt and herface buried against hisshoulder.He held her thatway for a breathlessinstantbefore,mercilessin

his strength, he draggedher across the saddle infrontofhim.Controllinghismountwithhardhandsandrigid thigh muscles, hesent the horse wheelingaround, leaping back theway he had come. TheywerejoinedbyCharroandVicente, and the four ofthemhurledthemselvesupthe slope. At the top theylooked back. The bull, stilltrailing the rope, had not

stopped running.Gathering his cows, hewas harrying them downtheplain.

They drew up, lettingthe horses blow. “Youcouldonlyhavebeenmorewelcome just then, myfriend,”Charrosaid,“ifyouhad been Jude, saint oflostcauseshimself. Itwasmiraculous.”

There was an edge ofwhat might have been

resentment orembarrassmenttoCharro'svoice. Refugio's featuresstilled as he registered it,yet his voicewas even ashe answered. “There wasno miracle. I was ridingafter you when I foundVicente's horse. UnlessVicente had become apilgrim, doing penance onfoot,itmeanttrouble.”

“Iwas thrown,”Vicenteexplained, “though it was

nogreatmatter.ButIdon'tthinkPilar'smarecan live.Someone should go backand— and put her out ofherpain.”

“Someone?” Refugio'sgaze was unsympatheticasitrestedonhisbrother.

Vicente's face paled,but he said, “You werespeaking of penances, Ithink?Yes,Iwilldoit.”

“I'll come with you,”Charrosaidshortly.“Ihave

tofetchourbeefanyway.”They swung their

mounts and rode backdown toward the plain.Refugio did notmove, butheld his horse still in themiddle of the track.Turningherheadtolookathim, Pilar found that hewas staring sightlesslyafter his brother and hisfriend. His face was rigid,the skindrawn tightly overthe bones so they stood

outinrelief.Theveinsrosein ropelike blue-grayprominence across hishand where he held thereins, though his graspupon her was now asgentle and cradling as agrandmother holding anewborn.

A shiver ran over her,followed by another, andanother. They werebeyond her control, thedirect result of delayed

fear. She closed her eyesforalonginstant.

Whensheopenedthemagain,Refugiowaslookingdownather.Hiseyeswereshadowed and his mouthheld the suggestion of asmile. “The wrong gallantagain,”hesaid.

“I'mnotcomplaining.”“No, you would never

besoimpolite.”“Orsoinsulting.”“Youcan'tinsultme,my

love;it'sanimpossibility.”“Icouldthankyou,”she

said.“Oh, yes, any way you

please.”“Butyouwouldn'tcare.”“Do you want me to

care?” His voice carriedsoftdoubt.

She shifted hershoulders. “As youplease.”

He bent his head tobrushherhairwithhislips,

andhisgazewaspensive.“But that's the question,isn't it? When will I beallowedtopleasemyself?”

She thought she knewwhat he meant, but couldnot be sure. It tookcourage to seek theanswer. “Why do you saythat?”

“Manifoldexasperationsand my own too obvioushumannature.”

“That isn't a reason,”

shesaidinacerbicreproof.The exchange, she found,had calmed her as itredirected her thoughtsand emotions. Shewondered if he hadintendedit.

“It is,” he said, thenadded as if it was of onlyslight interest, “andanothermight be becauseI discovered on thismomentous morning thatDonEstebanisonthetrail

behindus.”She stiffened against

him as dismay floodedthrough her. “You meanhe'sfollowingus?”

“Asfastashecanride.”“Why? Why would he

doit?”“To bring us grief, no

doubt,andbecausehehasasoullashedbypride.Andpossiblybecausewehavesomething, still, that hewants.”

“But—whatcould thatbe?”

“What else, my dove,”he asked in quiet tones,“exceptyou?”

18

DON ESTEBAN HADLEFTPilarbehindinSpainbecause he thought herdiscredited,losttodecencyand any society thatmattered. The situationhad not changed for herthat she could see. That

being so, why would hepursue her now? No,Refugio was wrong. Or ifhewasnotwrong,hehadeither been attempting todistract her with hissuggestionorwastryingtoconceal something. Shedidnotliketothinkitcouldbe the last; she did notwant to distrust him. Still,he was a bandit, a manused to living by his wits,taking any advantage

offered, avoiding the lawand most rules of politeconduct.Hehadacodeofhisown,yes,butitseemedmore flexible than not.There was no way todecide, then, if it wassomething Refugio haddonethatwascausingherstepfathertofollowtheminthisway.

Of course, if she wasrightthatDonEstebanhadtwicetriedtohaveRefugio

killed, her stepfather'spurpose in coming afterthemmightbetofinishthetask. Perhaps he had lostfaith in whoever he hadentrusted with the job, oragain,mightonlyhavelostcontact.Regardless,wouldhe really sacrifice hiscomfort and endanger hisownlifeforthesatisfactionof defeating an enemy?Was the hate that drovehimthatvirulent?

The fact that he wasback there behind themsomewhere cast a darkdreariness over Pilar'sspirits. She had begun tohope, and his presencewasproof that ithadbeena useless exercise. It hadseemed to her that thevast distances in leaguesand time that separatedthem from Spain, whenadded to the scantnumbers of people in this

unendingwilderness,mustgive the band and herselfsome kind of protection. Itseemed possible that theTejas country couldbecomeasanctuarywherethey might all start anew.Asthelongdayshadfallenaway behind her, she hadput aside thoughts ofriches and revenge andoccupied her mind withdreams. They had notbeen grandiose or even

particularly unusual, thosedreams,butgivingthemupwaspainful.

The question of whyDon Esteban wascontinuing to hound themremainedwithher,naggingat her mind. There hadbeenlittletimetodiscussitwith the others, however,fortheyhadbeentravelingatspeedsincethemomentRefugio had broken thenews to them. It was not

just the pursuit by DonEstebanthatgaveimpetusto their progress, but theintelligencethathewasnotalone. He had joined theIndian traders, those whohadbeenrecommendedtothem in Natchitoches.Since the traders werekeeping to the El CaminoReal rather than followingthe more usual northerntrade routes, it seemedprobableDonEstebanhad

enlisted these men in hiscause. The traders,according to Refugio,numbered a half-dozenmen, all well armed. Thebandwould fight this forceif it proved necessary, butthey preferred to at leastchoosetheirownground.

Itwasatareststoplatein the afternoon that Pilarwas finally able to asksomeofthequestionsthattroubled her. Vicente was

wipingdownhishorsewitha handful of dried grasswhenshecameupbehindhim. She spoke quietly,without the preamble ofpolitechitchat.

“Tell me the truth, didyoureallyleavethecasketof gold behind at DonEsteban'shouse?”

Refugio's brotherstraightenedfrombrushinghismount'swithers. “I toldyou so, didn't I? Why

wouldIlie?”“Gain,”shesaidsimply.“I have no interest in

suchthings.”“Oh, please! Few are

immune to the appeal ofgold.”

“I know that, but still Ididnottakeit.”

“Wasthereanyoneelsewhocouldhave?”

Uneasiness rippledover his features, whichhad so much the look of

Refugio's, though withoutthe chiseled firmness ofmaturity. “There mighthavebeen.”

“Enrique? Baltasar?Charro?”

“Any of them, Isuppose.”

“Did you see anythingthatwouldmakeyou thinktheydid?”

He shook his head inslow consideration.“Nothing. But what makes

you think it's just the goldthedon'safter?Itmightbeme.”

Shedidnotspeakforamomentassheconsideredwhether what she wouldsay might be wounding.“Surely you were only apawn?”

“Probably. Still, DonEsteban hates beingtestedatanything,hates itintensely. I wonderedmany times if he was

sane.”“Because of the

branding?”Hetouchedthescaron

hischeekasifsoothingthememory of long-vanishedpain. “Alsobecauseof thethreats he used to make,to castrate me and sendthe — the results toRefugio; to sell me intoNorthAfrica,whereIwouldbe put to use in a haremserving peculiar tastes; to

feedmea slowpoison forthe pleasure of watchingmydeath.”

“Dear God,” shewhispered. Her distresswasnot just for thenatureof the threats, or evenVicente'senduranceof thefear that must haveaccompanied them. ItwasalsofortheknowledgethatRefugio,duringthevoyageon board the Celestina,must have guessed what

DonEstebanwas capableof doing, and had beenforced to live with hisdreaduntil themomenthehad found Vicente in NewOrleans. It accounted formuch.

Finally, she said, “Tohave injured you wouldhave been to lessen yourvalue as a hostage forRefugio'sgoodbehavior.”

“Yes,solongashewascapable of thinking that

clearly.”“You truly think he's

mad,then?”“Ithinkit'spossiblethat

his reasons for followingus,fordoinganything,maynotberational.”

It was an explanationthatremovedagreatmanydoubts. Pilar did not quiteaccept it, and yet therewas in it a certainundeniablecomfort.

The others had

accepted thenewsofDonEsteban's pursuitaccording to their natures.Baltasar and Enriqueswore, one withresignation, the other withdisgust. Charro wanted togo back and set up anambuscade along the trailto get rid of the threat forgood, a plan Refugiorefusedastoorisky.Isabelwas inclined to cry, whileDoña Luisa developed a

hunted look and was thefirst upon her horse whenthe order was given tomount.

Weathered by sun andwind, callused in placesthat did not bearexamination, they put theleaguesbehindthem.Theyfaced with stolid purposethe knowledge of the longway that still lay ahead.Whether by determinationor sheer, dogged

persistence, they keptahead of Don Esteban'sparty. What that meantwasdifficult tosay;evenifthey outdistanced himnow, they must stillconfront him when theyreached San Antonio deBexar. At least thelikelihood of beingsurprised somewhere onthe spreading plainsbecamemoreremote.

Theywere ridingsingle

file one morning along anarrow track through adense, pale green oceanof rough shrubs Charrocalled mesquite. TheTejas-country native hadgone on ahead to scouttheway out of the thicket,and to make sure thatthere were no wanderingherds of cattle ahead todispute their passagealong the trail. Thedrumming sound of

hoofbeats, coming fast,was the signal for hisreturn.Whenhecameintoview around the bend inthetrack,theysawthathehad lost his hat, his facewas redwithexertion,andthere were red trickles ofbloodonhishandsandononecheek.Ashepulledupbefore them in a swirl ofdust, the others drew upalso, bracing themselvesformoretrouble.

“Don't tellme,”Enriquedrawled, “that you metanother bull, and this onemakes the other look likeaninfant?”

“Notlonghorns,”Charrogasped,dippinghischinashetriedtocatchhisbreath.“Apache!”

Refugio,whohadbeenbringinguptherear,trottedhis horse forward. Hisvoice incisive, he asked,“Howmany?”

“I'm not sure. All I sawwastheirsign.Noprintsofwomenandchildren. It'sawar party. Twenty braves,maybemore.”

“You think they knowwe're behind them?”Baltasar asked, his largebrowfurrowed.

“Not behind them, butbesidethem.They'reridingparallel to us. It's theirway.”

Therewassilence,until

Doña Luisa spoke in shrilldisbelief. “You mean theyare keeping up with us?Watchingus?”

“Exactly.”Charro'sblueeyes were shadowed andhisvoicegrim.

“We'll all be killed!” thenoblewomancried.

Enrique placed hishand on her arms, whichwere clasped about hiswaist,asiftoreassureher.Doña Luisa rested her

forehead against his backa brief moment beforestraighteningwith a furtivelook around her to see ifanyonehadnoticed.

Pilar watched Refugio;they all did in one way oranother.DonEstebanwasbehind them and anApache war party wasshadowing them. Therewerewildcattletocontendwith and endless leaguesof country where there

would be no helpforthcoming if anyoneshould fall illorbe injured.Inthemidstofthesemanydangers, someone mustdecide what they weregoing to do. Thatsomeone, they knewinstinctively, was thebanditleader.

Refugio eased hispositioninhissaddle,thensquared his shoulders.Turning to Charro, he

asked, “When are theApacheslikelytoattack?”

“Could be any second.Or at dawn tomorrow. Ormidday next week. Orevennotatall. It dependson what the war chiefdecides,andifthewarriorswith him are inclined tofollowhissuggestions.”

“It'sthatarbitrary?”“Leaders among the

Apache, including warchiefs, rise to their places

because of proven abilityand sound judgment. Ifeitherofthesethingsseemdoubtful, no one follows.Theyarefinished.”

The twomen stared ateach other for longmoments. There wasbetween them a subtleundercurrent,asuggestionof significance in theexchange of informationthat was not apparent onthe surface. Charro

seemed to have gainedstature since entering hishome territory, and with itan extra measure ofassurance. It seemed thatnew confidence mightincline him to challengeRefugio's leadership,thoughnot,perhaps,atthepresentmoment.

Refugio looked awayfrom the others, his gazeunseeing as he surveyedthefinelycutfoliageofthe

mesquite surroundingthem. At last he said, “Isee no option except toride on. The Apachesknow this terrain betterthan we do. Theyoutnumberusthreetoone,or more. If we mount anattack in this kind ofcountry, they would mostlikelyvanish into thescrubat the first sign the fightwas going against them,then reappear when we

least expect it. If we tarrytoo long,DonEstebanwillbe treading on our heels,andwhile thepossibilityofleadinghimintoanApachetrap isenticing, I doubthewouldtakethebait.”

“Youthinkheknowsweare close ahead of him?”DoñaLuisaasked.

Refugio gave her abrief glance. “We havebeenmaking little effort tocover our tracks, since

there is only one route. Iteven seems possible thedon is aware of theApachesonourtrail,sincehe is traveling with menfamiliar with thecountryside and theIndians. It could be he'shoping the Apaches willfinishus.”

Doña Luisa shuddered,fallingsilent.

“That leaves advancingthen,”Charrosaid.“Dowe

simply wait for theApachestoattack?”

“Unless you have anidea to suggest that'sworth the hazard to eightlives, including threewomen.”

“But Refugio,” Isabelsaid urgently as shenudgedherhorse forward,“if you are allowing thewomen to keep you fromacting,youknowyoumustnot.”

He turned his head tolookather,and therewasa hint of softness in hisgaze. “How can it beprevented?”

Isabel shook her head.“I don't know, unless youstop feeling and onlythink.”

“I'm tired of doing that.It may be I will leave it toCharro.” He turned to theotherman.“Well?”

Charro hesitated no

more than an instant,staring at Refugio withbafflement in his eyes.Thenhesaid,“Weride.”

What followed over thenextweekwasamarathonof stamina and wits andragged, protesting nerves.The band slept little. Adouble watch wasmounted on the horses; itwasa favorite tacticof theIndians to leave their preyafoot and therefore easier

toovercome.Everyinchoftheiradvancewascarefullystudied, as well as everyfootoftheirbacktrail.

Perhaps because oftheir caution, the Apachesseemed aware of theirknowledge of theirpresence. The Indianwarriors began to showthemselves for briefmoments, flitting acrossthe trail, ghosting throughtheouterdarknessbeyond

the campfire at night, orelse allowing themselvesto be silhouetted againstthe skyline after themesquite thicket was leftbehind them. The tacticwas wearing, for everyglimpse could as easilypresageanattackasnot.

Fear could only last solong, however, before thebodyrebelledandnumbedthat response. Exhaustionalso did its work, so that

after a while they all rodein stoic silence, watchfulbutoncemoreenduring.

One of the hardestthings was losing theillusion of freedom. Therehadbeensuchpleasureinit, while it lasted, that itslack was painful. Pilarhated the sense of beinghemmed in on both sides,of being contained andcontrolled and observed.Like Refugio, she often

wondered indespair ifshewould ever be able toplease herself, ever beable to come and gowithouttrepidation,orbuildalifesolelytosuitherself.

They had stopped oneeveninginasmallgroveofscrub oaks, the onlyprotection on what hadonce more become openplains with a hauntinglyfamiliar lookofSpain.Theshadewaswelcome, for it

had grown hot and dry asspringadvanced intoearlysummer. Flies dronedaroundthemwithaheavy,indolentsound.Theleavesoverheadwhispered in theconstant breeze. Thegrove had long been afavoritestoppingplace, forthecharred remainsofoldcampfires were scatteredhere and there, and theyfound a rusted breastplatehalf buried in the sandy

earth.Pilar and Isabel sat

somewhat apart from theothers,sharingaseatonatree trunk felled by somelong-past stormwhile theyatetheirlatemealofbeansand bacon. After a timeIsabel sent Pilar a glancefrom under her nearcolorlesslashes.

“ForgivemeifIpryintowhatdoesn't concernme,”thegirlsaid,hervoicesoft,

“but is there somethingwrong between you andRefugio?”

“Wrong? What do youmean?”Pilarputapieceofbiscuit into hermouth andcheweditslowly.

“Youhardlyeverspeakto each other, almostnever touch. You sleepbesidehimeverynightandhe covers you with hisblanket, but if he doesmore,noonecantell.”

Pilargavetheothergirla long look as sheswallowed.Hervoicecool,she said, “Should anyonebeabletotell?”

“You are angrybecause you think I'mprying.Iswearit'sonlythatI'mconcerned,asafriend.”Isabeltossedwhatwasleftof her biscuit away in thedirectionofahoveringbirdbefore she went on. “Ithoughtyoucared forhim;

itseemedsoontheship.”“A great deal has

changedsincethen.”“Has it? How?” Isabel

persisted.“How can you ask?

With the fire, the voyageupriver,DonEsteban, andthen the Apaches, therehas been neither time norstrengthforindulgingin...lovemaking.”

“Butwouldyou, if therehad not been all these

things?”“What do you care?”

Pilar asked in hard tones.“You are only concernedabout Refugio. Do youthink Ishouldservehim inbed simply because I amwithhim?”

“It isn't bed I wasthinking of,” Isabel said insoft reproof. “He needssomeone.Heneedsyou.”

“I haven't seen heneeds anyone, least of all

me.”“Youaremistaken.You

saved his life on the ship.He willed himself to livebecauseofyou.”

“Don't be ridiculous.AllI did was force him toabandon his pose ofillness.”

“You think so? Therewas more to it than that,much more. I don't knowwhat you did, but youchanged him. He isn't the

same,notatall. I toldyouonce that he is a manmore sensitive than most,though he has learned tocontrol it for his ownprotection. Because ofyou, he is living muchcloser to the edge thanever before, and thereason is because he ispermitting himself to feelmore than since his fatherand his sister died. Youcan'tdeserthimnow.”

“He has you to be hischampion. Why would heneedanyoneelse?”

“I . . . don't know theanswer to that. I used tothink he feared that hislovewould bringme harmbecause I might be usedas a hostage to entraphim. Or else that he washolding himself aloofbecausehehadnothingtooffer except a name thathad been dishonored.

Sometimes I even toldmyself that he thought Iwas not strong enough tobearthegreatpowerofthelove he had locked insidehim. Itwasall foolishness.The truth, as I have seensince you came, was thathe could not feel for mewhatIfeltforhim.”

Therewassuchpaininthe other girl's face thatcompassion rose insidePilar. With it was an

answering pain. “It maybe,”shesaid,“thathefeelsnothing for me, either.Have you consideredthat?”

Isabel shook her head.“Youhavehurteachother,I know. There are thingsthathehashad todo thatare hard to understand,much less forgive. Hemakes a sacrifice ofhimself so easily that itsometimes seems he

doesn't care. That isn'ttrue. You must be carefulnottohurthimanymore.”

Isabel spoke sologicallythat itwasdifficultto remember that shesometimestoldartisticlies,thatshelivedinaworldofher own fantasies. Isabelsaw things not as theywere, but as she wantedthem to be. To believewhat such a person saidwould be stupid. Yet for a

brief instant Pilar wanteddesperatelytobelieveher.

Out of the irritationcaused by her ownweakness,shesaid,“Whatof Baltasar? You arehurting him, too, with thisinfatuationforRefugio.”

“Iknow,butIcan'thelpit. I didn't ask him to loveme. I don't know why hedoes.”

“You could help by nottalking aboutRefugio as if

hewasyoursavior.”“But he was!” Isabel

cried.“Was he really, or is

that justa story youmadeup? And even if he didsave you in some way,must you talk about it infrontofBaltasar?Can'tyouthinkofhisfeelings,evenifyoucan'treturnthem?”

Tearsrose,glisteninginIsabel's eyes. “I don't hurthim on purpose, it just

happens.”“That doesn't make it

easierforhimtobear.”“I know, I know. But

sometimes I have to talkaboutwhatRefugiodidjusttomakehimnoticeme fora small moment. Refugiodislikes it as much asBaltasar, I can tell, but Ican'thelpit.”

Maybe Isabel couldn'thelp it, Pilar thought, justasthegirlcouldn'tseemto

stop weaving her tales ofbeingsweptaway fromanexistence of misery andhumiliation by Refugio.People did strange thingsto soothe the hurting theyfelt inside, nomatter whatthecauseofitmightbe.

Itwasaquietnight.Nocoyotes howled. The windwhispered in the leavesofthe scrub oaks. The pieceofamoonsailingoverheadwaspaleandkept its face

turned away. Pilar laywakeful for a long time,though she slept finallywithhercheekpillowedonRefugio'sarm.

The Apaches attackedatdawn.

They rode down onthem over the wavinggrass of the plains just asthe light was turning fromdark blue to gray. CharroandEnriqueweresaddlingthe horses, which were

tied to the trunks of thestunted oaks they hadcamped underneath.Baltasar was making upthe packs for the mulesthat had been brought inbutwerestillhobbled.Thethreewomenwere pickingupandfoldingthebedrollsto be placed in the packs,whileVicentescrubbedoutthe breakfast skillet withsand.Refugiohadalreadymounted and ridden out a

short distance. It was hewho saw the Indianscoming, their bobbingblack forms silhouettedagainst the skyline.Whipping his mountaround,hesentitgallopingbacktowardthecamp.

They had made theirplans, knowing itmight beonly a matter of timebefore they must defendthemselves. Baltasar, themoment he saw Refugio

turnandracetowardthemand heard the distant,pippingyells,pulledouthismusket and shot thenearest mule. Charrodraggedtheotheroneintoplace and killed it. Theythrew the loaded packsaddles into the spacebetweenthedeadanimals,forming a bulwark. WhileBaltasar reloaded atspeed, Pilar and Vicenteyanked the extra powder

andmusket balls from thepacks, then Vicente tookup their extra musket.Isabeldugoutthetworollsofbandagingtheyhadwiththem, and she and Pilarlaid everything out on ahastilyspreadcloth.Withinseconds they werethrowing themselves downbehind the makeshiftrampart.

Everyone except DoñaLuisa. The noblewoman

had been instructed inwhatsheshoulddo.Itwasher job to be sure theirwater barrel wasconveniently to hand andnot exposed to fire.Instead, shewas standingwith her hands clenchedand her wide eyesfastened on the swiftlyapproachingenemy.

“Luisa!” Enrique called.“Getdown!”

She turned toward him

aninstant,butswungbackimmediately toward theIndians.Herfacewaspaleand her lips writhed in asoundless tirade ofimpotentrage.

Enrique leaped to hisfeet and ran to catch thewoman'sarm.Hedraggedher bodily toward thebarricade of dead mules,shoving her down besidehim.“Getdown,Isaid,”hetold her in rough tones.

“You are to reload.Remember it, and think ofnothing else if you valueyourlife.”

Doña Luisa gave himan angry stare, but therewas also a degree ofcomprehension inher facethat had not been therebefore. Looking aroundher, she found the waterbarrel and rolled it closerbehind the nearest packsaddle.

Theshrieksandyellsofthe Apaches had a thin,eerie sound in the coolmorning air. It was not alarge war party; still, theirpainted faces, streakedwith white and black andocher, we're fearsome inthepalelight.Fiveorsixofthem cradled musketsacross their bodies. Onewarriorshoulderedhisandfired at Refugio as heraced ahead of them. The

soundof theshotboomedacross the rolling ground,thoughtheballwentwide.

Refugiocrouchedlowerover his mount's neck,looking back over hisshoulder. The horse wasrunning flat out, his eyeswild. Refugio looked backat the barricade, thenswervedhardtohisleftoutoftheband's lineof fire.Ascattering of arrowswhistled after him, burying

themselves in the groundto one side of him. Morearrows followed, whistlingin every direction, anarcing fusillade that fellaround the barricade in adeadlyshower.

AtthatmomentanotherApache raisedhismusket.He held it steady againstthe motion of his horse,then got off a shot. Theblue-gray smoke billowedback over his shoulder. In

the same instant Charrogaveashoutandthegunsof the men of the bandroared out in unison.Refugio was struck. Thestraw hat he wore waswhippedfromhishead.Heweaved, trying to stayupright, then fell inboneless grace to landfacedown in the grasssomethirtyyardsaway.

Beyond Refugio twoApaches threw up their

arms and catapultedbackward off their horses,and a third reeled backbefore flinging himselfforwardtohughismount'sneck.Theotherscameon,whooping and firing andbrandishinglances.

Pilar,franticallypushinga patch and ball intoCharro's musket, sparedtheattackersnomorethana glance before twistingaround to look toward

whereRefugiolay.Hewasstirring, lifting his head,trying to drag himselftoward thebarricade.Pilarrose to her knees only tobepulleddownoncemoreby Charro. Beside herIsabel was screaming, thesound grating with griefand fear.AsCharrocalledin impatient haste for hismusket, Pilar turned backtothrustitintohishands.

Thebandfiredagainat

near point-blank range.Two more Apaches wereflung backward off theirmounts. The rest wheeledin ragged formation,pounding away to theirright past the bulwark.Theycircled inawidearc,streaming one behind theother in wild and recklessabandon.

“Refugio,” Isabelmoaned, struggling upfrom beside Baltasar the

instant thewaywas clear,her eyes blinded by thetearsthatoverfloweddownhersplotchedface.Thebigman tried to hold her, butshe wrenched her armfromhisgrasp.Sheputherfoot on the top of a packsaddleandjumpedoverit,running toward whereRefugio was haulinghimselfalong.Vicentealsothrew down his musketand leaped up, sprinting

after Isabel. Charro wasreloadinghis owngun, hisattention on the Indiansgalloping in a wide circlejust out of range. Pilarrolled away from him andcame to her feet. Liftingher skirts, she cleared thebarricadetofollowVicente.

Isabel was kneelingover Refugio, sobbing asshe dabbed at the bloodthat gleamed wet and redin his hair. Vicente, as he

reached his brother,caught one arm, trying tohelp him to his feet.Plunging forward the lastfew steps, Pilar graspedthe other to draw Refugioupward with desperatestrength.

The Apaches werecharging again. Theground vibrated underfootwith the pounding of theirhorses' hoofs. Their shrillcries pierced the air,

makingthehairriseontheback of Pilar's neck. Theywere moving so slowly,she and Vicente andRefugio. They started andstopped and blunderedover theground.Refugio'slegs would not quitesustain him, so that hestaggered, keepinghalfway erect only byfiercely sustained will.Isabel, trying to hold hishand, kept getting in the

way.Abruptly, Isabel

released him. “His hat,”she cried, and whirled,runningback theway theyhadcome.

Pilarswungherheadtostare back over hershoulder.TheIndianswerebearing down on them,screaming and yelling,firing wildly with bow andmusket. Their faces werestrained copper masks

daubed with paint. Morenaked than not, ridingwithout saddles or bits,they seemed like demoniccreatures part man, parthorse, and whollymalevolent.

Isabel paid theApaches no more heedthan if they had been apart of the band returningfromamorningride.Therewas smile on her face assheran,andjoyinherred-

rimmedeyes.Shereachedthe hat and bent to pick itup. Turning with it in herhand, she plucked at theholeinitscrownwherethemusketballhadtornitfromRefugio's head. The windflapped her skirts aroundher legs and sent longtendrils of her hair, teasedfromtheknotonhernape,flying about her face likespiderwebs loosened fromtheirmoorings.Shestarted

toward them at a slowamble.

Baltasar was shoutingIsabel'sname,risingtohisfeet. Charro and Enriquestood up to pull Refugioover the bulwark of themule carcasses and lowerhim to the ground. Theythrew themselves downbeside him then, liftingtheir muskets. Vicentescuttled back to his place.Pilar went down on her

bellybesideRefugio,tryingto look at his wound andkeepherheaddownatthesametime.

“Never mind,” he said,his voice husky buttrenchant. “Where is mymusket? Help me intoposition.”

He did not wait for herto comply, but twistedaround, looking for a gun.Itwas thenhesaw Isabel.“DearGod,”hesaidinsoft

beseechment. “I ask you,dearGod,why?”

Baltasar was stillhollering and waving.“Isabel! Look behind youfortheloveofGod!”

The girl heard andstarted, then turned herhead. Her footstepsfaltered before she brokeinto a stumbling run.Baltasar, swearing, leapedover the barricade andstarted toward her.

Abruptly he stopped as aflying arrow came whiningdown, thudding into him.He bent double as itshafted into his side andthrough his body so thebarbappearedintheback.Slowly, he dropped to hisknees.

Isabel screamed. Shewent on screaming as theIndians thundered downupon her. She wasbuffetedthiswayandthat,

spinning around. The hatwas knocked from herhands and trampled, but,miraculously, she did notfall.Dazed, she staggeredbehind the attackers withher hair sliding from itspins,driftinginherface.

The band opened fire;they had no choice. Thepowder smoke, blue andacrid, obscured the viewforaninstant.Thenasthewindwhippeditaway,they

saw the Indians swervingaway again, while anotherApache lay twitching onthe ground and a secondwas being held on hishorsebyacompanion.

The Apaches wheeled,ridingatbreakneckspeed,bending low to snatch uptheirdeadfromwheretheyhad fallen and haul themacrosstheirlaps.

Then Isabel's screamstrailed to a despairing

moan.There was a warrior

riding down on her. Heswooped low and caughther hair, twisting it aroundhishandasheheavedherupward and across histhighs. She dangled withher head down, her armsflopping as the warriorkicked his horse intoheadlongflight.

Baltasarbellowedoutingrief and rage. Charro

swore, rising to one knee.Enrique squeezed DoñaLuisa'sshoulderasshesatwhite and appalled.Vicentelookedsick,buthislips moved in silentprayers.

Refugioreachedforthemusket that lay, freshcharged, in Vicente's laxgrasp. He steadied it ontherumpofthedeadmuleandsightedat thebackofthe retreating warrior.

Carefully,hesqueezedthetrigger.

The musket boomed.The Indian flinched at thesound, but only bent lowover his captive, lyingalong his horse's neck ashespedaway.

SlowlyRefugio loweredhis head, resting it on thehot musket barrel as heclosedhiseyes.

19

THEYSTOODLISTENINGto the echoes of recedinghoofbeats and staring ateachother.Itdidnotseempossible that it could beover just like that. It wasbeyond belief that Isabelcould be gone, that the

Apaches had taken herwith them. Everything hadhappened so quickly, oneterrible thing piling onanother, that they couldnotseemtoacceptthem.

“I should have goneback for her,” Vicentemurmured almost tohimself. “We should haverun out to help her. Weshouldhavesavedher.”

“How?” Enrique asked,the word blunt. “Just one

second's less attention,less firepower, and thesavages might haveoverrunus.They couldbehappily mutilating us rightnow.”

“Shediditherself,poorthing,” Doña Luisa added.“Onceshe turnedback forthe hat, therewas nothinganyone could have doneforher.”

“For a hat,” Pilar saidsoftly.“Shewentbackfora

hat.”Baltasar groaned and

benttothegroundwithhishands pressed to the sideof his belly where bloodoozed around theprotruding shaft of thearrow. Therewas horrifiedanguish in the sound thatcamefromhim.

The reminder of hisinjury jarred them fromtheir dazed introspectioninto frantic action, as if it

would compensate for thehelplessnesstheyfeltoverIsabel.Pilar swung towardthe big man, touching hisarmtourgehimtoliedownon his good side. Vicenteand Charro came forwardto help him stretch out,while Doña Luisa madepads of the bandaging.The two men sliced thebarbed head from thearrow and jerked it free.Enrique, standing ready,

quickly applied the thickbandage pads to bothsides. He held themwhileDoña Luisa, flinching yetvaliant under Enrique'ssardonic gaze, wrappedmore bandaging tightlyaround them. The woundwasugly,butBaltasarwastough.Onlytimewouldtellwhetherthearrowhadtornanythingvital.

Pilar left the others totheir taskwhileshe turned

to Refugio. He had notmovedorspokensincehehad fired the last shot.Hewas breathing, however,his chest rising and fallinginasteady,iffast,rhythm.Withapotofwater inonehand and a cloth andbandage roll in the other,she knelt beside him.Reaching out, she placedherhandonhisshoulder.

Refugioraisedhisheadand lifted his lashes to

stare at her from heavybloodshot eyes. Hesustained her clear gazeonly a moment before helowered his own. Still, hepushed himself up to lieagainstasaddlepack,andmade no protest as shewashed thebloodandbitsofgrassfromthefurrowinhis scalp. The ball hadstruck at an angle,glancing off the skull.Though the bleeding had

beencopiousatfirst,ithadnow nearly stopped. Shethoughtheprobablyhadaheadache and would forsometime.

There was somethingodd about the wound,however. She touched itgently with her fingers,drawing back the hairgrowing on each side tosee better, as she tried todecide what it was.Refugio moved restlessly

under her ministrations,drawing away from her.Pilar turned to reach forthe roll of bandaging. Inthat moment she knewwhatwaswrong.

She sat back on herheels,herhandsclenchedtightonthebandagerollasshewatchedtheslowseepofRefugio'sdarkredbloodfrom the furrow. It wasdeepest toward the front,closesttohisface.Itcould

not have beenmade by ashotfiredfrombehindhim.Slowly, she swung herhead to look at the othermen, at Charro andBaltasar and Enrique, andevenVicente. It had to beone of them, for thewomen had touched themusketsonlytoloadthem.

It could not have beenan accident; they were alltoo expert, too drilled inaccuracy and the

importance of not wastinga shot. Which one wascapable of this thing?Andwhy?BeforeGod,why?

Refugio was staring ather,hisgazecommanding,insistent.Shemethisgrayeyes, and her own werestark with knowledge,intentwith cogent thought.Shecouldseethestrainofthe past days and of thisnew injury in the pared-down refinement of his

featuresandthenewlinesaround his eyes. Apervading ache begansomewhere deep insideher, risinguntil shehad togrind her teeth against it.Howlongcouldhegoon?she wondered. How longcould she, with thisknowledgeinsideher?

Hegaveaninfinitesimalshake of his head,gesturing with one handtowardthegash.Hisvoice

so soft only she could,hear, he said, “Cover it.There is cleanliness anddecency in that, and noneinanythingelse.”

She hesitated a longmoment, her lips firm asshe resisted the force ofhis implacable will. Itseemed, however, thatthere was nothing to bedone if he would nothimself make anaccusation. Taking up the

bandaging, she made apad and held it in placewhile she wound thebandaging slowly aroundhis head. When she wasdone, he caught herfingersand raised them tohis lips. Pilar was moved,thoughsheknew,evenasshe felt the warm touch,thatthegesturewasoneofgratitude and nothingmore.

Charro was also

injured, a graze from anarrow in the fleshy part ofhis calf, though he tendedit himself with Vicente'shelp.Enrique,finishedwithBaltasar, went to see totheir horses. He reportedback that they were safethere among the stuntedoaks, the only woundswere the scrapes andnicks they had sustainedfromtheirownrearingandplungingattheendoftheir

ropes.Leadingouthisownmare, soothing hernervousness with quietwords and soft caresses,he swung into the saddleand set out to see if hecould come up withRefugio'shorse,whichhadbolted.

DoñaLuisacalledafterhim.“Don'tgofar!”

“I won't,” he said,waving over his shoulderas if that expression of

concern was an everydayoccurrence.

Hewasasgoodashisword. He returned in lessthan half an hour, leadingRefugio's stallion by itshalter. The moment hewalked into the camp, itwasasifasignalhadbeengiven. Baltasar, strugglingup to one elbow fromwhere he lay pantingagainstthepaininhisside,looked at them all one by

one.Finally,hespoke.“All right,” he said.

“Whatarewegoingtodo?”Nooneanswered.They

looked at Refugio, but hewas staring out over theplains.

“We have to dosomething,” the big mansaid, a note of pleadingunderlying thewords. “Wecan't just let them haveIsabel.”

Enrique turned to

Charro. “What is the warparty likely todonow?Doyou think they may beback?”

Charro lifted hisshoulders. “It's possible.Thenagain,theymaykeepriding. There's no way totell.”

“What—whatwill theydo to her?” Doña Luisafrowned to cover herapprehension as sheaskedthequestion.

“Maybe nothing exceptmake a slave of her, or awifeifthewarriorwhotookher grows enamored ofher.”

Enrique took him upsharply. “But you don'tthinkthatwillhappen.”

“Theymayalsostopassoonastheythinkit’ssafeand...taketurns.”

“Andthen?”“Andthentakeherwith

themback to their camp if

she survives, and if shedoesn't make too muchtrouble. Otherwise, theymay cut her throat. Oragain, they may save herfor special torture inretaliation for their defeathere.”

Enriqueswore.Vicente,sitting with his handsdangling between his bentknees, turned even morepate.

“We're wasting time

talking about it,” Baltasargrowled. “Let's ride afterthem.”

“It would be to risk thelives of all, including theother women.” It wasEnrique who spoke thewarning.

“That doesn't matter,”Pilarsaidquickly.

“But it does,” Charroanswered, his voice quietashisgaze restedonher.“Itmatterstous.”

Baltasar spoke again,his voice dogged. “If wecan't catch up with thembefore they reach theirmaincampor theirvillage,itwillbenouse.There'snopossible way we couldsneakinamongthem,andto attack would be likestirring up an ant hill. Wehavetogonow.”

Enrique looked fromCharro to Baltasar, thenturnedhisseekinggazeon

Refugio.Theacrobatgavea backward jerk of hisheadwithabrowraisedinquery. “Well, my friend?Whatshallitbe?”

Refugio, sittingcontemplating his hands,looked up. His voicequietly scathing, he said,“WhyisitthatIamalwayspresented with theweighingoflifeanddeath?Is there no one else whowants tosharethe failures

of good intentions goneawry, or whowill bear theguilt of injuriesunanticipated,unintended?Someone else take aportionofregret.Someoneelsedecide.”

“You are the leader,”Enrique answered, as ifthatwasenough.

“I say we go,” Baltasarsaid in tones gruff withconcern.

Nooneelsespoke,nor

did they meet Refugio'ssearchingglance.

“My gratitude then,Baltasar,” their leader saidgravely.“Itseemswego.”

Theyrodeout,followingthe tracksof theApaches,less than a quarter hourlater. They traveled light,after burying the packsaddleswith their suppliesamong the scrub oaks. Iftheyweresuccessful, theywouldcomebackforthem.

If not, theywouldhavenouse for them. In eithercase,theydidnotneedtheextraweightnow.

Doña Luisa had herownmount,theoneIsabelusually rode. There hadbeen some discussion ofleaving her and Pilarbehind,but itwasdeemedtoo dangerous without astrong guard, and therewasnotenoughofthemtotakesuchprecautionsand

still have a chance ofrescuingIsabel.

The pace Refugio setwasrelentless,harderthanany they had so farendured. The only reasontheywereabletokeeptoitwasthecertainknowledgethat the Apaches wereriding just as hard, if notmore so. The weeks theyhad spent in the saddleshowed their worth, fornone of themwere unduly

strained, at least in theseearly hours. How DoñaLuisa was standing upunder it, Pilar was notsure. For herself, shewasdetermined to bear withanything that the injuredmen among them wereabletotolerate.

They knew that whatthey were doing wasfoolhardy to the point ofmadness; there was noquestion of that.

Regardless, they feltcompelled to dosomething. They had allcome so far together, hadsuffered so much, that itwould have been abetrayal to go on withoutIsabel. No one voiced thistruth,butthefactthattheyfelt it was obvious in thelack of real opposition tothequest.

Thinking of what theywere actually doing could

make the hair rise onPilar's head. She tried notto think about it. She onlyset her face forward andconcentratedonstaying inthesaddle,stayingabreastoftheothers.Bodilyachesand discomforts weresomething to be ignored;there were other thingsmoreimportant.

She could not helpwondering, however, whatIsabelmustbefeeling, the

terror and the pain, thehumiliation and despair.Would sheexpect them tocomeafterher?Wouldshebe watching for them?Isabel knew Refugio wasinjured, and also Baltasar.She might not think themable to make the attempt.Moreover, she hadappearedsoconfused justbeforeshewastaken,andso nearly unconsciousafterward, that she might

be incapable of realizinganything.

Poor Isabel. Therewere some people forwhom things never wentquite right, who neverfound their way to peace,much less happiness.They always wantedsomething more,somethingelse,somethingtheycouldnothave.Itwasa lamentable way to live,but not one that could

always be avoided. Pilarwas beginning to fear thatshe herself was becominglike Isabel, alwaysyearning.

They reached theIndian encampment justafter dark. It was thesmoke, rising fromdozensofcookfires,thatledthemto it. The gray cloudhovered over the shallowvalley in which the villagelay, with the last rays, of

thesunsetreflectingredonitsunderbelly.

It was Charro whovolunteered to go andinvestigate. He knew thecountrysideand the Indianways; they let him go. Heleft them on foot, fadinginto the darkness. Theothers dismounted in asmall draw and collapsedontheground.

When Charro rejoinedwith them a short time

later, there was an ill andhaunted look on his face.They bombarded him withquestions,disturbedbythewhiteness around hismouth, and his silence.When he answered, hisvoicehadtheraspofafile.

“The warriors whoattacked us are there allright, along with maybe adozen others, plus a fewoldermenandtwentyorsowomen. Isabel is with

them. It appears she hasbeen given to the womenfor torture. She — Thereareburns.Andcuts.”

Baltasar had beensitting on the ground,holding his side. Hestruggledtohisfeet.“Whatareyousaying?”

“Youheardme.”Charroturnedandwalkedawayashort distance, standingwith his back to them andhisheaddown.

“Let'sgo,”Refugiosaid.They moved as swiftly

as they could withoutraising an alarm. A shortdistance from the campthey came upon the stillbody of an Indian sentryCharro had silenced,something he hadneglected to mention. Afew yards more and theydroppedtoacrawl,makingtheirway to the crest of ahill overlooking the

encampment.It was not large, just a

cluster of huts built ofpoles and brush set wellback from the edge of atiny stream. Therewas noorder to them, or to thefires which burned likesmall yellow beaconsbefore them. A herd ofhorses huddled nearby.There were a few dogsand a number of childrenscattered here and there.

Most of the men weregathered around a singlefire in the center. Thewomen were nearer athand,atthecamp'sedge.

They were too late.Isabel lay sprawled andunmoving beside a dyingfire. Most of her hair hadbeen singed from herhead, except for a singlestrand at the crown of herscalp,andthelittleclothingshestillworewascharred.

Great bruises marked herlegs, and between themwere the red gashes ofcuts without number. Oneleg lay at an odd angle,perhapsanexplanationforwhyshehadnotbeenkeptaliveasaslave.

Refugio lay watchingfor longmomentbeforehereleased his breath in asigh.Turning,hemotionedforaretreat.

“Wait!She'smoving.”

It was Baltasar whospoke in that harshwhisper. His eyes werewatering with the intensityof the gaze he kept onIsabel. And he was right.She was twitching, tryingto shift her hand.Even astheywatched,shemadealow, groaning sound. Oneof the Indian womenlooked over at her, thenreached for a stick whichlayclosetohand.

Baltasar had hismusket in his hand. Helifted it to his shoulder,sightingalongthebarrel.

“No! Charro hissed,clamping his hand onBaltasar's shoulder. “You'llbringthemalldownonus.”

“Idon'tcare!”“I do! It's too late, my

friend.Evenifwecouldgetdown there to her, andthen escape with her andour own lives again, she

couldn't ride. I doubt shewouldlivemorethanafewhours.”

Baltasar resisted forlong seconds, then slowlythetensionwentoutofhimand he slumped over themusket. Tears gathered inhiseyes,tricklingdownthesides of his nose. Finally,he straightened oncemore. “I'm not leaving herlikethat.”

“You have to, there's

nothing else. Unless youwanttodiewithher.”

“I would, if it wouldhelp.ButIcanatleastseeshedoesn'thurtanymore.”

They saw what hemeant,sawthat therewasrightnessinitinspiteofallthelawsagainstit.Noonetried to stop him as heaimed the musket at thewomanheloved.

Heaimed,buthecouldnot fire. The hands of the

big man began to shake.Tremors ran along hisarms, invading hisshoulders, making hishead jar against the stockof his musket. His lipsdrewbackinagrimaceashefoughtit.Sweatbeadedhis forehead and ranbetweenhiseyestominglewith the wetness on hischeeks,whilehisbigbodyshook as if caught in aviolentpalsy.

He letouthisbreath ina grunting groan andlowered the barrel of themusket once more. BelowthemtheIndianwomangotto her feet and began towalk toward Isabel,swinging her stick.Baltasar shuddered, thenslowlyhe turnedhis head,searching.

His gaze foundRefugio. “El Leon,” hesaid.“Youmustdoit.”

The sound of his voicewas tormented, pleading.The distant campfiresreflected yellow upon hisface, shining in the liquidslowly tracking down itsbroad, weatheredexpanse.

The spasm that ranover Refugio's face wasbrief, instantly controlled,impossible todecipher.Heclosed his eyes, thenopenedthemagain.

His voice when hespoke was zephyr quiet,but the edge in it wasannihilating. “I will. Foryou, Baltasar, and noother.ButtheApacheswillswarm up herewhen theyhear the shot. The rest ofyoumustbe ready to ride.Go now. Leave me. I'llcatchupwithyou.”

They obeyed. Whatelse was there to do? Itwas a relief to go, a relief

to know they did not haveto perform the task thatRefugio had accepted.They stumbled often asthey hurried back towardthe horses, however, forthey were waiting for thebooming roar of themusketshot.

They had reached thehorseswhenitcame.Theyfollowed their orders,throwing themselves ontheirmountsandwhipping

themintoagallopbacktheway they had come. Theyrode as if demons wereafter them, as if pursuedby every childhood horroreverconceived.AndwhenRefugio rejoined themsometime later; riding infromthenorthaftercirclingwidetoeludehispursuers,it seemed they were notsure those fears had notcaughtupwiththem.Theyneither spoke to him nor

looked at him, and theyincreased their pace astheyrodeonintothenight.

They stopped toretrieve their supplies.They did not linger therewhere the mules lay likediscarded mounds ofcarrion, but continued on.They stopped again for ashortwhilebeforedawn,tosnatchalittlerestandcooldown the horses beforeletting them drink. By the

time the sun had clearedthe horizon, they weremovingoncemore.

It was late afternoonbeforetheyceasedlookingback over their shoulders.Therewassmallreasontodoubt that the Apachescould have found them iftheyhadwanted,orcaughtup with them if theywished; it appeared thatthe Indians hadabandoned the chase.

Whether the reason wasthe damage the band hadinflicted, or something todo with traveling at night,or Isabel's death, theycould not tell. They couldonly be thankful that therewas no dust cloud behindthem,nooneontheirbacktrail.

The trail behind themwas clear of Don Estebanas well as the Indians.They could only guess

whathadhappenedtohim.He could have beenattackedbyApachesalso,orelsehaddiscoveredthesurveillance of the Indiansandturnedbackoutoffearfor his own neck. It wasalso possible that he andthetradershadcomeuponthe scene of the battle atthe scrub oaks andfollowed their tracks in thedirection of the Indianencampment, then

somehow missed theirreturn in the dark. Or, ifthey had failed to see thesigns of battle, since theoakshadbeenoffthetrail,they might have riddenpast and could now beahead of them. Anotherpossibility was that thetraders,being familiarwiththe country, could haveguessed the band'sdestination and left theIndian dangers of the

Camino Real for someother, perhaps moresoutherly,route.

The band was thankfulfor the respite but did nottrust it, not entirely. Theymade no fire when theystopped for the night, andtheychosethe location fortheircampwithevenmorecarethanusual.Charro,asone of the three able-bodied men, volunteeredfor the first watch, but in

reality they were all onguard. In spite of theirexhaustion, they were toostrung up to sleep. Theyshifted this way and thatandrakedrocksandsticksfrom under their blankets.They sighed and clearedtheir throats and flexedsoremusclesandcountedthe stars hanging closeoverhead. Vicente couldbeheardmutteringprayersunder his breath. Nothing

seemedtohelp.The guard changed,

with Enrique takingCharro's place. Finally,somewhere towardmidnight, Baltasar beganto snore as usual, andDoñaLuisatobreatheinaheavy and regular rhythm.Charro turned on his sideand gave a long sigh.Vicente was silent whilehis older brother, asalways, lay completely still

beside Pilar. Pilar herself,with her eyes tightlyclosed, began to feel thequiescence that precedesrest.

Shewasdisturbedbyasoft rustle. Goose fleshrippled over her. Sheopened her eyes by slowdegrees.

Refugiowasgettingup.He picked up his blanketand moved soundlesslyaway,climbingtheslopeof

the small hollow in whichtheyalllay.Sheheardhimspeak quietly to Enriqueafterhewasoutofsight,abrief exchange. Pilarwaitedamoment,thensherose also and left thehollow.

Enriquewassittingonasaddle,punchingatthedirtwithastick.Inasoundjustabove a whisper, Pilaraskedofhim,“Refugio?”

The acrobat pointed

intothenight.Shenodded,and moved away in thedirectionheindicated.

The moon was like aslice of melon with theendsupturned.Itfloatedinbenign splendor, not toobright,nottoodark,neitherretiringnor intruding. In itslight she saw Refugiowalking ahead of her.Insects, disturbed by histread, flew out from hisfeet. Somewhere a night

birdcalled.At some distance from

the camp, near anoutcropping of rock, hechecked for possiblesnake, then spread hisblanket. Sitting down, hedrew up his legs andleaned his back againstthesun-warmedstones.

Pilar stopped a shortdistance away. She wastryingtothinkofsomewayto announce her presence

whenhespoke.“Ifyouhavetrailedafter

me with offerings of pityand reproach, you cansaveyourself thetrouble;Ihaveenoughofbothofmyown.”

“I only have mycompany,”shesaid.Whenhedid not reply, shewenton,“Ifyouwouldratherbealone,Icangoback.”

“No. Please.” Thewords were stark with

appeal. He moved asideon the blanket to give herroom.

She took the place heoffered,sittingdownontheblanket with her backagainst the rock, andresting her hands on herdrawn-up knees. Shethought of sayingsomethingblandabout thenight air or the weather,anything to ease thetension,butitdidnotseem

right.Nothingdid.She glanced at him, at

the swath of bandagingabout his head showingwhite against his bronzeskin in the darkness. Shewondered if his head washurtinghim,ifthatwasthereasonhehadgot up, butwould not ask for fear itwould sound like the pityhe had refused. Instead,she said, “I'm sorry aboutIsabel.”

His chest rose and fellbefore he answered. “SoamI.”

“You cared for her, Ithink.”

“NotasmuchasIcouldhave.Notasmuchasshewanted.”

“Whywasthat?”He turned his head to

stare at her in thedarkness. “Why do youask?”

“Idon'tknow.Maybeto

make what happenedseemreal.”

He looked forwardagain.“Shewaslikeabirdyou find with a brokenwing,onethatneverhealsquite as it should. Youhavetoprotectsuchbirds,because they can't protectthemselves. If you fail, acat or a hawk comesalong, and there is noescape.”

“Therefore, her capture

was your fault, her deathyourburden.”

“Denyit,ifyoucan.”“What happens to

crippled birds who areneverrescued?”

“Oh, I'm quite capableof making thatrationalizationmyself,butitdoesn'tabsolveme.”

Sheswungherheadtostare at him. “You werefaced with an impossiblechoice, to let Isabeldieby

cruel degrees or give herthe grace of a swift end.There was no release forany of us so long as shelived, and the longer weremained where we were,themore likely it was thatwe would be discoveredand killed. You wereelected executioner bydefault, a position you didnotshirkandscornedtotrytopasstosomeoneelse.Ifthere is guilt, it belongs to

therestofus,becausewewere so relieved that youagreed and because weleft you to do the taskalone. And now we areashamed of our relief andlackofcourage.”

“I should never haveleft Spain, never havefollowed after DonEsteban.”

“Now you areencroaching on myregrets.”

“Not at all,” he saidpolitely. “You are includedinthem.”

“Thank you verymuch,but I thought we settledthis before. I amresponsibleforwhatIdo.”

“I would like to insist,but I'm weary of fighting,Pilar.”

“Then stop. This Tejascountry is an untamedwilderness so big itstretches to the edge of

forever. There must be aplace in it where DonEstebancannot reachandno one cares about ElLeon.”

“I allowed myself tothink so, to even begin toplan, until your stepfatherfollowed after us. Butwhere there are villages,there are authorities, andwhere there areauthorities, there isaccountability to the king,

and where there isaccountability to the king,Don Esteban will haveinfluence and Iwill alwaysbeanoutcast,abandit.”

“Youdon'tknowthat.”“How can it be

otherwise? Unless I killDon Esteban. And I amtiredofkilling.”

“What of yourrevenge?”

“I have sought it formore years than I can

count, and what has itbrought me? To live forrevengeisaformofdeath.One by one you loseeveryone you love,everything that gives youpride, everything that youarewithinyourself.All thatis left is hate. I am wearyof hate and the death itbrings.Icravelifeinstead.”

“Is this what you havebeen thinking about todayasyourode?”

“Youmean, will it passwhen I no longer think ofIsabelandhowshedied?”His voice was soft, lessstringently monitored thanbefore.

“Yes,Isuppose.”“Thentheanswerisno.

No,itwon'tpass.Andno,itisn't what I have beenthinkingofasIride.”

“What,then?”He shifted slightly to

faceher,andhisvoicewas

deep and not quite even.“Ah, Pilar, you make it soeasy.Isitonpurpose?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”He reached to touch

her face, drawing hisfingertips along the curveof her cheekanddown itsgentleinclinetotheturnofher neck before droppingdelicately to the roundglobeofherbreast.

“You are life, is what Ithink, and within you is

renewal. I envy you that,for it's a lack in me. Willyouletmeseeklifeinyou?Willyougivemerenewal?”

“Youmean—youwantme?”

“It's what I'm trying tosay, in words I can hidebehind if you shouldrefuse.”

“I'monlyawoman.”“I meant that, too, but

you are more. You arespecial to me. I have

missed holding you, beingheldinsideyou.Ineedyounow, this moment, as Ihave never neededanother human being orever want to need oneagain.Loveme,orkillme,forwithoutyouIam—No.Pay no attention to thebabbling of extremity. Irefused pity, didn't I? Willyou love me for thepleasures of the night if Ipromise to make them as

unendingasIamable?”How could she refuse?

Besides,shehadnodesiretodenyhim.Whyelsehadshe followed him awayfrom the others except forthis?Hehadnouseforhercompassion orexoneration, but therewere ways of offeringsurcease other than bywords.

The ground beneaththeblanketwas rockyand

hard, but they did not feelit. The night air was cool,but they did not know.Nothing mattered, nothinghindered; they weremindful only of each otheras they came togetherunder the clear white lightof thestarsand themelonmoon. With caresses assubtle as theirunderstanding, asexquisite as their concern,theysoughtthewellsprings

of passion and theforgetfulness it can bring.Prodigal of time andselflessintheir jointquest,they remembered pastlessons and used themwell.

Their mouths clung inslow, deep, sweetsearching while theyundressed each other.They fitted their nakedbodiestogether,thecurvesand recesses, hardness

andsoftness,withthecareof those studying anancientandexactingcraft,and gloried in sensationsunforgotten, yet neveradequately imagined. Thecrisptriangleofhaironhischest tickled and wasrough to the tongue,whilehishalf-coveredpapswereflat and satinyuntil teasedto crinkled nubs. Themuscles of his backshifting under her hands

were like buried silkenropes. The smoothness ofher thighs upon hiswas athing of revelation, andexultation. His breathmade warm, moist tracksonherskin,andraisedthegoose flesh of anticipationanddelight.

Together they moved,reaching for and finding aslow and steady rhythmthat stretched time andspace and the limits of

endurance.Heclaspedherhands, palm to palm andfingers entwined, andpressed his lips to thethrobbing pulse in thetenderturnofherneck.Hecupped her breasts andspannedherwaistwithhislong hard swordsman'sfingers,andreached lowerto send spirals of fiery joyto the center of her being.The joining was heatedand liquid and fusing; he

wasapart of herandsheofhim.

The tumult grew, aninvasionofexcitementthatsuffused her body withurgent need. She liftedherself against him,answering his force withher own, striving with himtoward the ultimatecompletion. The shocks ofhis thrusts shudderedthrough her. Her breathrasped in her chest. She

wanted him deep insideher, immeasurably deep,soundingly deep. Shewanted him to reach thatpart of her that only sheknew, the inner sanctuaryof her most carefullyhoardedself.

He touched it, and thebrilliance burst over them.Weightless and beatific,theysoared,knowingeachother,twopartsofawhole,lostinthewonder.

She had given him asnear to what he asked asshe could find withinherself. He had kept hispromise.

20

THEY CAME TO THEMissionSanJuanatdusk.The vine-crowned, sun-warmed walls of cream-colored stone thatsurrounded it enclosedthemlikeanembrace.Thesightofthechapellooming

inthedimnesswiththelastrays of the sun glazing itsbelfry,ofthepadremovingtoward them in his dustyblackhabitwhilethesoundof a choir of rich,beautifully blending Indianvoices rose in theeveningstillness, was enough toswell the heart with reliefand thankfulness. Herewas safety, for the firsttimeinweeks.

They could have gone

tothetownofSanAntoniodeBexar,or toanyoneofthe other missions strungalong the San AntonioRiver like beads on anecklace. However, theirdestination was not thetown, but the estancia ofCharro's father. San Juanwas not only the favoritemission of Charro'smother, where she hadlearnedhercatechismasachild and where her

peninsular parents,descendants of settlersfrom the Canary Islands,had always gone, butwasthe lastonebelow thecityon this side of the river.The good padre could bedependedon togive thema decent meal and a bedfor the night, Charro said,and they would be thatmuchclosertohomewhenthey rode out in themorning.

The mission was morethanjustachapel.Itwasacomplex of buildings builtof adobe, including thehouseofthepriestandhisassistant friar and thecubicles of the principalIndianworkersagainst theinside walls, plus agranary,stable,blacksmithshop,weavingshed,andavariety of smallerstructures such as fowlroosts and outdoor ovens.

Thechurchwas,however,the central focus of thecommunity, the reason foritsbeing.Thepadreinvitedthem to enter to givethanks for theirdeliverance. The entirebandcomplied,partiallyasa gesture of respect, butalso out of very realgratitude. For some itwastheir first time in a churchinyears.

The chapel building

was not a grand structurenor a large one, but wascuriouslysatisfyingwith itsrough stonework arches,its solid simplicity. Thestations of the cross werehandcarved,thealtarwasof native wood barelytouched with gilt, thestatue of the Virgin wasbeautifully and brightlypainted.Thereweretwooilpaintings which had thelook of being imported

from Spain, but the resthad thevigorandstrengththatseemedtosuggestthenew world. It was easy tosee why Charro's motherpreferredit.

It was strange, seeingthe Indians come and goso peacefully about themission compound. Manyweredescendantsoftribesfrom farther south, closerto Mexico City, convertswho had journeyed to the

areaashelpersforthefirstSpanish priests. Otherswere members of a half-dozenfairlydociletribesofthe vicinity, from theBorrado to the Tacame,though a few were LipanApaches who hadaccepted the teachings ofthe Christ. According toCharro,thereweredozensof different tribes ofApache. Not all of themwere dedicated to endless

war, though mostconsideredittheonlyroutetohonorforawarrior.

Thebandwasprovidedwith food, just as Charrohadsaidtheywouldbe.Hehimself ate in state in thepriest's quarters, asbecame the son of an oldfriend of the church, andDoña Luisa was alsoincluded in that invitation.Refugio and Pilar couldhave participated in the

mealalso, since thepriestwas anxious to hear asmuch as possible abouttheirlongoverlandjourney.Refugio had asked to beexcused, however, andPilarhadchosentodothesame. Refugio, shethought, feltuncomfortablepretending everything wasasitshouldbewithhim.Allshe herself wanted was achance at the waterprovided for bathing,

without the distractingpresenceofDoñaLuisa inthe cubicle she had beenassigned tosharewith theother woman. She hadacquired a grudgingrespect for Doña Luisa inthe last days on the trail,buthadhadenoughofhercompany to last fora longwhile.

Refugio had notprotested the sleepingarrangement. He could

not, of course, withoutbranding her as a womanof loose morals; still, shethought he might havedeplored it privately if ithad mattered to him. Shewas not sure it did. Thenearer they had come tocivilizationagain, themorewithdrawnhehadbecome.Since that night afterIsabel's death, she hadsleptinRefugio'sarmsandhehadheldherclose,but

therewasseldomanythingmore between them. Shewas warmed by hisconsideration for her, byhis refusal to chanceexposing their intimatemoments to the otherssleeping around them. Atthesametime,hisabilitytodenyhimself,andher,wasdaunting. She was forcedto the hurtful conclusionthat shewas littlemore tohim than another female

presence, one comfortingat times, but alsoburdensome now that hervalue as a hostage forVicente's safety was past.As a result, there was asmall fastness inherheartthat she kept inviolate,where she nurtured herdoubts and fears and hidherpain.

What was going tobecomeofherhere,sofarfromeverythingsheknew?

The question had troubledher on the long journey,but the worry of stayingalive had been toopressing for otherproblems to seemimportant. Now that theywere nearing theirdestination, a decisionwouldhavetobemade.

The first considerationwould be money, somemeans of keeping herself.She would have to find

work of some kind, and aplace to stay.Perhaps thepriestatthemissionwouldhave some suggestion, orelse Charro's parentsmight be able to adviseher. She did not knowwhereelse to turn.Ofonething shewas certain, shewould not depend onRefugio. Pride made thatimpossible,ifnothingelse.

Sometimes shedespaired of

understanding how hismind worked, of knowingwhat guilts and emotions,faults and obligationsmoved him to behave ashe did. Still, she had toconcede that he was notalone in his sense ofconstraint. She hadworried herself that shewould be judged harshlyhere in this harsh land.Somehow, the people ofNew Orleans, perhaps

because they were soFrench still, had notseemed as likely to besevere over lapses ofconduct.ThethingsCharrohad to say about hisfamily, and even his ownattitudes at times, hadmade her think thosewholived here would bedifferent.

She could not helpwondering how Charro'sparents would feel about

having their son's friendsthrust upon them.He saidaloud that they would bedelighted, quite ready tooverlook any littleirregularities of pastbehaviorinthemall,forthesake of having their sonsafely home again. Pilarwasnotsurethatwaswhathereallythought.

Such concerns werethe cause, she was sure,of her disturbed night.

Also, she had grown usedto having the open skyabove her, and it wasdifficulttoenduretheclosewalls of the cubicle towhich she was assigned.She was troubled as wellby nightmare images ofIsabel as she thought ofhow thegirl had longed toreach safety. Moreover, itwas undeniable that lyingonastrawmattressnexttoDoña Luisa was not the

same as sleeping besideRefugio. It was a habit,that was all. Habits werestrangethings.

As she ate thebreakfast of fresh-bakedbread and hot chocolateserved to them, Pilarglanced down the table atthe bandit leader. He wastalking quietly withBaltasar. The older manseemed to have shrunk inthe last days on the trail.

His wound had been slowtoheal,andhestillfavoredhis side. He had spokenlittle and spent much timeriding alone and staring atthehorizon.

Refugio appearedrested and fit. He hadceased wearing thebandaging around hishead, declaring it was nolonger needed. Perhaps ifwasn't;theonlysignoftheinjurywasthedarkpathof

the scab running throughhis hair. He reboundedquicklyfromhiswounds,atleast those that werephysical.

He looked up, catchinghereyealmostasifhehadknown she was watchinghim. He smiled, a faintmovement of the lips,before turning back oncemore to Baltasar. Thatsmall instantofrecognitiongave Pilar an odd feeling.

Itwasalmostas if hehadlooked at her because hecouldnothelphimself,butthen deliberately relegatedher to some portion of hismindwhereshewouldnotinterferewith what he hadtodo.Ashivermovedoverher there in the warmsummerdawn.

They left shortlyafterward, riding out withthe blessing of the priestupon them and the

farewells of the Indianchildren ringing in theircars. They crossed theriverashorttimelaterandheaded toward thesouthwest.

The dust cloudappeared shortly aftermidday. It lay ahead ofthemandwasmovingatafastpace in theirdirection.Their first thought was ofIndians; attacks along thisroad leading to San

Antonio were notimpossible, or evenuncommon. They left thetrack, except for Charroand Refugio, who circledforwardtoinvestigate.

Thetwomenrodebackattheheadofacavalcadeofhorsemenwhowhoopedand hollered and evenfired off a few shots incelebration.ItwasCharro'sfather and a group of hischarros. They had ridden

outtoescortthemsafelytothe hacienda. The priesthadsentwordtheeveningbefore of their arrival, andSeñorHuertahadnotbeenabletowaittoseehisson,nortobearthethoughtthatsome mishap during thelast hours of travel mightprevent the homecoming.Hehadsetoutatdawn tobecertainthatallwaswell.

Charro's home, thehousewherehehadbeen

born, was built like afortress to repel Indianattacks,andhadserveditspurpose well on severaloccasions over the years.Theadobewallswerethickand tall, and everythingneededtosustain lifeovera long period wasenclosedwithin them. Thejacales, or huts of theIndianlaborers—builtwithadobe walls and roofs ofpeeled poles coveredwith

brush plastered with mud— were located outsidethe walls in randomgroupings, but there wasample space inside fortheir protection in time ofneed.Thebackwallofthehouse itself, rising twostories without windows,formed the rear of thestockade, so that theenclosurewas like a largecourtyard.Thestablesandother outbuildings were

placed around theperimeter, while in thecenter was a splashingfountain in a basin oflimestone.

Themainhousewasofwhitewashed adobe andbuilt with a long andnarrow balcony along thefront of the upper floor,with a loggia of archedopenings underneath it.Projecting out from justabove the arches was a

roof of latticework built ofpeeled poles. An ancientgrapevinegrewupon it, itsluxurious leaves providingshade, while long runnersalso grew up to thebalcony tomake a curtainof greenery around it. Onthe floor of packed earthunder the latticework wasset a long, rough-hewntable flanked by benches.Bulbs of garlic andpeppers of many kinds

hung in strings from thelattice.Enormousclaypotsmade from cracked ollas,or water jars, were sethere and there and filledwiththebrightredandpinkofgeraniums.Thedwellingwas certainly Spanish indesign, and yet theroughnessof thematerialsused, the brilliantwhitewash and obviousarrangements for outdoorliving,gaveitaflavorofits

own.Charro's mother was

waitingundertheloggiaastheyrodethroughthegreatdouble gates into thecourtyard. She cameforward as Charro swungfrom the saddle, a plump,short womanwith a roundface creased by a softmaternal smile. She tookher son into her arms,kissing his cheeks againand again and exclaiming

overhowhehadfilledout,how broad his shoulderswere and how rough hishands. She greeted themallwithdelightedwelcome.Still exclaiming andthanking God in equalmeasure, she led them allinside. Looking around,shebeckonedtoanIndianmaidservant who hoverednearby, giving rapidinstructions for theircomfort.

“Benita!” Charro calledout with pleasure, andstrode forward to take themaidservant's hands.Holdingherarmswide,heshook his head. “You'vegrown up while I wasaway,andverynicely,too,I must say. You werealwayspretty,butnowlookatyou.”

Benita flushed underthe cream of her skin,flashing a glance at

Señora Huerta. Then sheturned her enormous darkeyes back to Charro as ifshecouldnothelpherself.Therewas the softness ofaffection, and perhapsmore, in her square face.Charro grinned down atherintotalunawarenessofhis mother's frowningglance behind him. Itseemed likely that the girlwas the Indianmaidservant for whose

sake he had beenbanishedtoSpain.

“Attend to me, Benita!”Señora Huerta said, hervoice sharp. “There ismuch to be done ifeverything is to be readyforthefiesta.”

“Fiesta?”Charroasked,dropping the girl's handsand turning from her withhis facealight. “Youmeanit?”

“But of course,” his

father answered as hemoved to clap him on theshoulder.“Itisn'teverydaymy son returns, especiallyby way of the overlandroute from Louisiana. Wemust celebrate such anauspiciousevent.”

“Tonight?”“Naturally tonight. This

isthedayofyourarrival,isitnot?Everyonehasaskedwhere you were and whatwashappeningwithyouso

many times since you leftthatitwouldbeashametokeep the news from themtoolong.”

The riders withinvitationstothefiestahadbeensentoutat thesametimethatSeñorHuertahadleft to meet them.Neighbors and friendsbegantoarriveshorthourslater. They came, most ofthem, on horseback, withladies and children riding

pillion or else perchedupon gentle donkeys orgailycaparisonedmules.Afew came in carts,squeakingalong,andtherewere even one or two incarriages, greatcumbersome vehicles builtmore for durability overbadroadsthanforcomfort.Many of them showed uptogether. They hadtraveled in groups forsafety,one familymerging

withanotherastheyjoinedthe passing caravan orovertookeachotherontheroad, so that the finalcompany was someseventyoreightystrong.

They brought guitarsand mandolins andconcertinas, small drumsand castanets and Indianrattles. They brought giftsofgroundcornandstringsof red peppers, goat'scheese and homemade

wine and confectionscreated with milk andchocolate and sugar andnuts. The older womenwore black and coveredtheir hair with caps; theyounger ones had pinnedflowers in their hair andhad on dresses withflouncesandlaceincolorsand styles only three orfour yearsbehind thoseofMadrid.

The great wide gates

were left standing openuntil the last stragglerscameamblingin.Whennoone arrived for a half-hourstretch, they were shuttightandthefiestabegan.

The foodwassplendid,on the scale of somemedieval banquet. Therewas beef simmered in asauce of peppers andhoney, flavored withtomato to make it tender,andwholepigsand lambs

cooked over an open fire.Therewerericedishesandbean dishes and dishescombining something ofeverything, all of it to beeaten with unleavenedcakes of flour and also ofcornmeal. The dessertsbegan with the traditionalflansandendedwithcakesdripping with honey andbutter, or else rich withdried fruits and flavoringsof rum and vanilla.

Everyone ate until theycouldholdnomore,sittingelbow to elbow at tablesbrought out into thecourtyard under the starsand set with flickeringpotteryoillamps.Thenthemusicanddancingbegan.

They played thefandango, the bolero, theSevillanas, and also thecontradanzaimportedfromFrance by the Bourbonswho sat on the throne.

When they had need tocatch their breaths, theyslowed the pace to agentleminuet.Thewomenin black nodded andtapped their feet and keptcareful watch overdaughters andgranddaughters andnieces while leaning thisway and that to hear thelatest gossip. The oldermen stood to one side,smoking foul-smelling

cigarros and talking ofcattle and horses and thelatest news to come thelong distance fromMexicoCity. The young womensatbesidetheirmothersorelse congregated ingiggling,chatteringgroups.From that safety they sentbright, challengingglancesto the young men wholeaned against the archesof the loggia and favoredthem with appreciative

appraisals.Pilar, having been

provided with an eveningcostume for the occasionby Charro's mother,danced with the partnerspresented to her by thethoughtful lady. DoñaLuisa, though given blacktowearbySeñoraHuerta,did the same.Most of themen of the band alsoperformedtothemusic,aswas expected of them as

unattachedmales,andhadno lack of partners. Theonly exception wasBaltasar, who retreated tothe stableswith a plate offood in one hand and abottleofwine in theother.He was not seen for therestoftheevening.

The night had scarcelybegun before the tale ofRefugio's championing ofCharro during his trials inSpain,oftheirperiloussea

voyage and long overlandjourney, had circled thecourtyard.Itaddedalusterto the band, increasinggreatly the appeal theyalready had by virtue ofbeing strangers in acomparatively narrowsociety.Thegatheringwasnot made privy to thewhole story, however.There was no whisper ofRefugio's identity as ElLeon. This was a part of

Charro's past his parentshad apparently thought itbesttokeephidden.

Señora Huerta,watching the proceedingsfromavantagepointunderthe loggia, was seen nowand then to rest her gazeuponRefugiowithalookofworryinhereyes.Itdidnotaffect her manner towardhim, however.Hewasherson's deliverer, andmoreover, a man of no

small personal attraction.She smiled upon him andintroduced him to herneighbors who happenedto have daughters. Andonce, as she and thebanditleaderstrolledaboutthe courtyard in quietconversation, she wasseentostopandreachupto make the sign of thecrossonhisforehead.

Refugio danced withPilar,aswiftbolerothathe

executedwithpassionandgrace. His dark gray gazewas intent as he watchedher, but he smiled seldomand his touch wasimpersonal. Afterward hepermitted Charro to claimher with no more than amild protest, a tokenexpressionofregret.

Pilar and Charropromenaded around thecourtyard, speaking atrandom of his home, the

guests of his parents, thepleasuresofthefiesta.

“I had not known howmuch I missed all this,”Charro said with a wavetoward the musicians andhis friends and neighbors.“I wasn't anxious to gowhenmy fathersuggestedit;still,Ithoughtitwouldbefine toseegreatbuildings,listentolearnedmen,meetelegant women, do greatthings. I'veseenanddone

enough. I'll be content tomarry and raise littleHuertas, and stay here allmydays.”

“In spite of theApaches?”

“There are dangerseverywhere. If it was notthe Apaches, it would besomething else, yellowfever, fires—bandits.”Hegaveheradrollsmile.“Butwhatofyou?Whatwillyoudonow?”

Theywerewalkingnearthe fountain. She reachedto trail her fingers alongthe deep, damp stonebasin surrounding it. “Idon'tknow.Muchdependsonmy stepfather, whetherhe is coming here and, ifhe is, what he intends todo.Evenifhedoesn'ttrytoharmme,whathemaysayof me could make meunwelcome.”

“Impossible,” Charro

declared.Shegavehimagrateful

smile. “If all goes well, Ithought I might find work,sewing,perhaps.”

“Sewing!”“Iwaswelltaughtinthe

convent.”“So were most of the

women here; they maketheirownclothing.Butyouwerenotmeant formenialtasks.”

“I have to do

something!”“WhatofRefugio?”“I—Whocansay?”Hewatched her a long

moment. “Yes, Iunderstand. But . . . youknow that if itwerenot forhim,andifyouwereoneofthe daughters of ourneighbors,thatwalkinglikethis with me would beconsidered a prelude tobetrothal?”

She sent him a swift

glance.Hisgazeuponherwas warm. She smiled alittle,“I'vegrownsousedtobeing without a duennathatIhadn'tthoughthowitmight look.Shallwe rejointhe others to save yourreputation?”

“To save me from mymother's wrath, maybe.But you might think aboutit.”

“Aduenna?”“No, Pilar, a betrothal.

There will always be aplaceforyouhere.”

Behind them themusicwas gay and the shufflingofthedancer'sfeetlightasthey moved in time to it.Charro'sslenderfacegrewserious as he slowed hispace, moving with ahorseman's grace in hisclose-fitting rider's clothes,which on this occasionwere sewn with buttonsmadeofIndiansilver.

“That's a . . . very kindgesture.”

He grimaced. “It isn'tkind at all; I'm thinking ofmyself. I will say nomorebecause Refugio is myfriend. But you willremember,please?”

The declaration,oblique thought it mighthave been, was warming.She had no idea of takingadvantage of it, but shewasgrateful.Shesmiledat

him in the dimness of thecourtyard as they turnedand strolled back towardtheloggia.

It was when the musicwas at its loudest, thedancing at its fastest, andthe merriment at itshighest, that a poundingwasheardatthegates.

Charro ran to the walland swung up onto theguard platform beside thewide entrance to take a

look. When he reportedback that there was asquadron of soldiersoutside, Señor Huertaordered the gate opened.The soldiers marchedinside while Indianservants ran to hold theirmounts.

Señor Huerta steppedforwardas themilitaryunitdismountedanddrewupinformation.“Welcometomyhome, gentlemen. You

come upon us during atime of rejoicing, as youcansee.Wecelebrate thesafearrivalofmysonfromSpain after a longabsence. It would give usgreatpleasureifyouwouldjoinusandalsoacceptourhospitality for whatremainsofthenight.”

The leader of thesquadron,ayoungcaptain,bowed. “You do us greathonor,señor,andmymen

and Iaremostgrateful foryour kind offer.” Hestoppedtoclearhisthroat.“However,Ifearmyerrandis not a happy one. I amhere on an officialassignment at the requestofhisexcellency,GovernorRamon MartinezPacheco.”

“How is this?” SeñorHuerta'sstancehadgrownstiff.

“You have staying with

you, I understand, a manbythenameofRefugiodeCarranza y Leon, and awoman who is travelingwithhim,theSeñoritaPilarSandoval y Serna. Is thisnotso?”

Behind Charro's fatherthemusichadcome toanend with a flourish. Thecaptain's words rang outloudandclear,so that thedancers turned tostareasavidly as those who had

notbeendancing.Charro'sfatheransweredsimply. “Itis.”

“ThenImustaskyoutoproducethem.”

“Forwhatpurpose,mayIask?”

“The governor ordersthat they appear beforehim to answer questionsconcerning their activitiesinSpainandLouisiana.”

“Buttheyhaveonlyjustarrived,” the older man

protested. “How has theirpresence come to thegovernor's attention soquickly?”

“Information has beenbrought concerning themby a traveler, one DonEsteban Iturbide. Thereare charges, I fear, ofgrave import. I must askyou again to give up yourguests into my custody. Ifyou refuse, I have theauthority to take them by

force.”It was a formal arrest.

The soldiers, armed withswordsandmuskets,wereblocking the way to thegates. To escape, Pilarsawinaswiftglance,theywouldhave to fight. Itwaspossible that many ofthose gathered inside thecourtyardwouldbeinjured.She saw Enriqueexchange a long lookwithRefugio, then look to

where Charro wasstanding just under theguard platform. He waswatching Pilar with hishands balled into fists.Enrique turned back toRefugio, but their leaderslowlyshookhishead.

Moving with a firmtread, Refugio walkedforward. His voice wasquiet yet carried as hespoke. “There will be noneedforforceorviolations

ofhospitality.IamRefugiodeCarranzayLeon,and Iplace myself at yourdisposal. As for the lady,there isnopossibleblamethat can be attached toher, therefore no need forher presence. You mayleaveherhere.”

Pilar moved then,slipping through thecrowdto stand atRefugio's side.Her chest was tight withthe terrible sense of irony

shefeltforbeingcaughtbyDon Esteban at last, herewhere they had thoughtthey might be safe; still,she did not hesitate. “I donot ask for suchconsideration,” she said.“The governor hasdemanded my presencealso, and it is mystepfather who hasattached blame to me byinvolving me in thecharges which require our

appearance. I would notdisappoint eithergentleman.” They werereceivedinthestudyofthegovernor's palace. Theyhad set out at dawn,reaching San Antonioduring the siesta hours.After a short period torefresh themselves fromtheride,theywerebroughtbefore the officialrepresentative of Spain intheprovince.

The governor's palacewas a grandiose name fora low-built, whitewashedbuilding which faced themilitary plaza of SanAntoniodeBexar,with thechurch of San Fernandonearby. GovernorPacheco's private quarterswere in the house, forthere were domesticnoises coming frombeyondthestudy,perhapsout in the walled patio at

the rear, the sound of awoman scolding, theclatter of pots around acooking fire. The shuttersof the floor-to-ceilingwindows in the governor'sstudy stood open to catchthe evening air. Theylookedoutoverthesquarewherethelastraysofaredsunset streamed throughthetreesaroundtheplaza,casting long, vermilion-edgedshadowsacrossthe

dusty quadrangle. Peoplewere just beginning togatherthereinthefirsthintof evening cool, youngwomenwith their duennaspromenading in onedirection and the soldiersin faded uniforms walkingin the other, so that theymet twice each time theymadeacompletecircuit.

Governor Pacheco satbehind a heavy table ofdark oak. His chair,

cushioned in red velvetand with velvet paddedarms, rose up behind himwith a back incised withcrudecarvingsof the lionsand castles of Spain.Besideshim,standingwithone hand resting on acorner of the table wasDonEsteban.His featureswere burned by the sunand wind and his clothinglacked his preferreddegree of richness. The

expression in his smallblackeyes,however,ashewatchedRefugioandPilartaketheirplacesinfrontofthe governor with theirescort of soldiers aroundthem, was one ofmalignantsatisfaction.

That look turned towarinessashediscoveredthat they had not comealone. Crowding into theroom behind them wasCharro, Baltasar, and

Enrique,withSeñorHuertaand a good dozen of hisbesthorsemenbehindhim.Though Refugio wasunarmed, the others werenot, and their stances astheypositionedthemselvesabout the room werebellicose.

The governor rose tohis feet. “What is themeaning of this intrusion,Señor Huerta?” he asked.“Youwerenotsummoned.”

“The twowhowerearefriends of my son. But forthem, he might now bedead. Therefore, they arefriends of mine whodeservewhateverImaybeabletodotoaidthem.Forthepresent,Iofferonlymysupport.”

Don Esteban, his facesuffused with dawningrage, brought his fistcrashing down on thetable. “This is

insupportable! I will nothave such interference! Idemand these people beremoved.”

Thegovernorturnedhishead deliberately to givethenoblemanahardstare.In thatmoment it couldbeseen that therewas someslight friction between thetwo men. Perhaps DonEsteban had been toodemanding since hisarrival,orelsehad tried to

overawe thegovernorwithhis court connections.Either course must havebeen unwise. Thegovernor, an austeregentleman with a proudnose, did not look like aman easily impressed bythreats.

“Imustremindyou,sir,”the province's highestofficial said to DonEsteban with icypoliteness, “that I am

conducting this interview.Youwillallowmetosettheconditions.” His lipssnapped shut and heturned back to Charro'sfather. “Since you are anoldandrespectedmemberof this community, SeñorHuerta, I will permit youand your followers toremain.”

Charro's father bowedin acknowledgment of thegesture. “I thankyou,your

excellency, and my sonalsothanksyou.”

“Yes,” Charro said,bowinginhisturn.

The governor droppedback into his chair. “Nowthat we have that settled,letusproceed.”

He shuffled throughseveral sheets of foolscapwhich lay before him,readingoveran itemhere,an item there. DonEsteban fidgeted at his

side, but the governorwould not be hurried.Finally, the official placedthe sheets aside in a neatpile and folded his hands,resting them in the exactcenter of a largeblotter ofCordobanleather.

“There have been anumber of charges madehere today. The mostserious ones are againstyou,RefugiodeCarranza.Don Esteban Iturbide

claimsthatyouare,infact,the notorious banditwanted inSpainunder thenameofEl Leon.You areaccused of committing anumber of crimes againstDon Esteban personally.Accordingtohim,onadayin December of this pastyear, you abducted fromhis keeping hisstepdaughter, SeñoritaPilar Sandoval y Serna,andmadeoffwithher into

the mountains, where youkeptheragainstherwill.”

“That is totally untrue,”Pilar interrupted. “I askedRefugio to remove mefrom my stepfather'shousehold because I wasin fear of my life, for Isuspected he hadmurdered my mother. Iwas forced to stay withRefugio because DonEsteban had my auntknifed in her bed so I

would have no place elsetogo.”

“Preposterous!” DonEsteban exploded beforeshehadfinishedspeaking.“She is deranged frombeing forced to live withcutthroats and scum suchasCarranza and hismen.They have totallydestroyedhermindaswellashermorals.”

“Who,” Señor Huertasaid,takingastepforward,

“are you calling cutthroatsand scum? I take leave toinformyouthatmysonhasbeen with Carranza, andheisneither!”

“Gentlemen, if youplease!”thegovernorsaid.

“Señor Huerta is right,”Pilar insisted.Ihaveneverseen any of Refugio'sfollowersdoavileorunjustthing, which is more thancan be said of mystepfather.”

“Thank you, señorita,”the governor said inexasperated tones. “Maywecontinue?”

“Iassureyouit'sso!”“That may or may not

be. For the moment, weare enumerating thecharges against Refugiode Carranza. Pleaseremainsilent.”

Pilar swallowed herprotests, though angerroseinsideher.

“Where was I? Yes.While holding SeñoritaSandoval captive,Carranza, it is suggestedthat you seduced her intoimmoral and sinful ways.Thiswasdonewithmalice,because of your vendettaagainst Don Esteban, oneof long standing. Thisgentleman further claimsthat you followed him tothe Louisiana colony,where you consorted

openly with hisstepdaughter for thepurposeofdiscreditinghimin his new position. Youthen broke into his housewith the help of hisstepdaughter, whom youhavesubornedtoyourwill.While there, you searchedoutthehidingplaceforthesmallbagofemeraldsthatrepresentedthefortunehehad amassed over thecourse of a lifetime, and

also tortured him intorevealing the hiding placeofhisreadygold.”

“Emeralds?” Pilar said,the word drawn from herbydisbelief.

Thegovernorturnedhisgaze upon her. “A highlyportable form of wealth,onetowhichDonEstebanhadreducedaratherlargeestate.”

“And Refugio issupposed to have taken

theseemeralds?”shesaidslowly.

“That is the charge.”The words weredismissive,aswasthewaythe governor turned awayfrom her. He continued,“DonEstebanalsoisreadyto swear that Refugio deCarranza attempted tomurder him in a highlyirregular altercation withswords, and when thatfailed, deliberately set fire

to a private chapel for thepurpose of making hisescape with the stolengoods. This firesubsequently caused thevirtual destruction of thetown of New Orleans, aresultalso laidat thedooroftheaccused.”

Pilar barely listened tothese last charges. Sheturnedherheadtolookupat Refugio. Was itpossible? Was it? Could

he have found theemeralds and pocketedthem during his search ofDonEsteban'shouse?

Butifhehad,surelyhewouldhavesaidso.Surelyhecouldnothavefailedtomention gems of suchvalue when he knew theycould only represent whatDon Esteban had stolenfrom her, the reason shehad followed after DonEstebantoLouisianainthe

firstplace.It was impossible to

think that Refugio couldhavehadthemwithhimallthistime,andyetitmadeaterriblekindofsense.Whyelse would Don Estebanhave followed them atsuch risk and effort? Whyelse, except for that onethinghevalued,wealth?

Refugio,as ifdrawnbyher stare, swung his headslowlytolookdownather.

Hemetthewarmbrownofher eyes, and his ownwere bleak with painfulself-derision.

Abruptly, Pilar's doubtslefther.Refugiohadstolenthe emeralds. He hadtaken them, then haddeliberately kept theknowledge from her. Hehadbetrayedherandtheirjointquest,betrayedeverytender moment they hadshared for the sake of a

handful of gems. He hadtaken the emeralds, hadhadthemallalong.Andhehadthemstill.

21

“I AM GOING TO PUT aquestion to you, Refugiode Carranza,” GovernorPacheco said, his voiceeven, yetwithahardnoteunderneath it. “Areyou,orare you not, known inSpainasElLeon?”

Refugio'slipstwistedinasmile. “Iamno lion,andnever was,” he answered,“though I may have been,onoccasion,ajackal.”

“There!” Señor Huertasaid. “Whatyouhavehereis oneman'swordagainstthatofanother.Thisentireexamination has been adisgrace, based oncharges brought out ofspite, and with theintentiontowound.”

Don Esteban flung uphis head. “Are youaccusing me of lying,señor? If so, I tell you theliar is there.” He flung outhisarmtopointatRefugio.“The examination hasbeentooweak,ifanything.Carranza should be put tothetest.”

Thegovernorturnedhishardstarefromonemantothe other. “I see no needfor torture to get to the

bottomof thisaffair. Ithasbeen conducted with alldue regard for both thegravity of the accusationsand the welfare of theaccused. If, gentlemen,you do not approve ofmyhandling of it, I suggestyou take your complaintsto Mexico City. Or toMadrid.”

Señor Huerta wasunabashed. “Carranza isthefriendofmyson,anda

man of great honor andcourage. Not one claimmade by this noblemanfromSpain can be provenagainst him. Don EstebanIturbide's actions arenothing more than anattempt to use the officialmachinery of this provincein a private vendetta, oneof long standing betweenhis family and that ofCarranza. I say it shouldnotbeallowed!”

“And who are you tosay anything at all?” DonEsteban demanded. “You,señor, can know nothingand less than nothing ofthis matter, stuck here asyou are in this provincialdesert. Iwouldadvise youto allow Carranza to fighthis own battles, or youmay find yourself in awarnotofyourchoosing.”

Charro's father drewhimself up. “Are you

threateningme?”“Take it as youwill.As

for proof of what I say,there is my stepdaughterat Carranza's side. Whatmoreisneeded?”

Charro moved forward.“What if Pilar is here withus?”heasked.“Afinecareyouhaveforher,whenyoustandthereblackeninghernamebeforetheworld.”

Don Esteban sneered.“YouridewithCarranzaso

mustbeoneofhisbandits.What possible weight canyour opinion hold? Ofcourse you support him,since he may save yourskinbysavinghis.”

“A vicious lie!” SeñorHuertacried.

“Come,wearestrayingfromthepurposeathand,”the governor said, hisexpressionharassed.

“I must speak,” Charroinsisted. “Have you never

heard,DonEsteban,oftheaffections of the heart?Your stepdaughter wouldnot be the first women toconsort, as you soelegantly put it, with theenemyofherfamily.”

The governor triedineffectuallytocallthemallto order. Don Estebanignored the official as hegave a harsh laugh.“Affections? Is that whatyou call it? You mistake

Carranza's sentiments,myfriend. He knows nothingexcept how to hate. Hehas kept my stepdaughterwithhimsolelytomakemelook foolish, because hershameismyshame,anditpleaseshimtohaveitso.”

“No,” Refugio said, thesingle word cutting like ahoned sword through thebabbleofvoicesasCharroand his father tried torefute Don Esteban's

statement and thegovernor attempted torestore order. “No,” hewent on in a quieter toneasthevoicesbegantodieaway. “Pilar Sandoval ySerna has traveled undermyprotection,it'strue,andmy behavior toward herhas not always been themost honorable, but thismuch I swear: I nevermeanttocauseherharm.Iwouldlikenothingsomuch

as to have her with me,besideme, allmy days. Itismymost ardentwish tomakehermywife.”

Silence descended asthe men turned towardPilar. The governor, histones clipped, spoke first.“Isthistrue?”

Was it? Pilar didn'tknow, nor could she bringherselftotrustthatitmightbeso.Thereasonwastheemeralds. It was not their

value, the wealth theyrepresented,thatmattered;quite suddenly thatseemednottocountatall.The important thing wasthat Refugio had not toldher about them. He hadkept the knowledge fromher, allowing her to thinkshe had no way to live,denying her the freedomfrom want and care thattheyrepresented.Ifhehadbetrayed her by keeping

themtohimself, thenwhatelse in the long list ofchargesDon Esteban hadmade might not also betrue?

Had Refugio kept herwith him from thebeginning merely to bringdishonor on herstepfather?Couldhehavemadelovetoher,acceptedher offer of herself merelyfor the sake of the addedshame to his old enemy?

Had he kept herwith him,notbecausehehadbegunto care, as she had daredhope,butratherbecauseithadsuitedhisschemesofvengeance?

And yet even if it wastrue, she had only herselfto blame. Had she notoffered him just such abargain that night in thepatiogarden?Shehadnotmeant it to go so far. Shehad thought the

embarrassment to DonEstebanwouldbenomorethanafewhour'sduration,adayatthemost,untilshecouldbeleftwithheraunt.Still, the principle was thesame. She did not, then,have grounds forcomplaint.

But she did havereason to put an end tobeingused.Shecoulddoitnow, this moment. Sheclasped her hands

togetherinfrontofheranddrewadeepbreath.

“Wait,”Refugiosaid,hisvoice softly urgent. “Therearemorereasonsthanyouknow,andmorepledges.”

Charro, standing nomore thananarm's lengthaway, turned toward heralso. “Let her speak,” hesaid.“Shehasthatright.”

Pilar looked from oneman to theother.Charro'sface was open and calm,

with a steady light in hisblue eyes in Refugio'sfeatures there wasremorse,hopeanddespairin equal measure, and ahundred other things shedid not understand. Histhinking was tooconvoluted,hisfeelingstoocomplex, for her to meethim easily on commonground. The effort at thismomentwastoopainful. Itseemedthatthebestthing

to be done for him — forthem all — was to denythat there had ever beenanything approachingintimacy between Refugioandherself.

When she spoke, hervoice was clear, andedged with the anger thatgave her courage.“Refugio, Carranza hasbeen of great service tome,and Iamgrateful.Butif he intended more, then

he failed to tell me. I amvery sorry. I have beenpreviously honored by arequest for my hand fromSeñorMiguelHuerta.”

“You mean to marryhim?” the governor asked,hisvoicesharp.

Pilar looked at Charro,gazing into his wide eyes.Still,shewasawareoftheabortive movementRefugio made as hestartedtotakeastepafter

her, then restrainedhimself. “Yes,” sheanswered,“Ido.”

Charro suddenlysmiled. He moved to herside,puttinghisarmabouthershoulders,drawingherclose against him, awayfrom Refugio. “Ah,querida,” he whispered, “Iwillbeagoodhusband.”

The governor clearedhisthroatandstraightenedthe edge of the foolscap

nearhiselbow. “Yes.Thatseems to dispose of that.Maywenowcontinue?”

“Precisely,” DonEstebansnapped.

The governor gave theman a glance ofannoyance before turningoncemoretowardRefugio.“It appears, SeñorCarranza, that you didindeed abduct Señorita.Sandoval — whether atherrequestorforyourown

purpose is beside thepoint. The escapade itselfseems to indicate thatacting outside the law inthis manner was notunknowntoyou.”

Refugio was silent asthe governor paused. Itappeared that his mindwas elsewhere, or that ifhe had any defense tomake, he had lost interestinpresentingit.

“It is plain then,” the

governor went on, “that Icannot absolve you of thechargesmadeagainstyouout of hand. It's also truethat the fact that youabductedtheladydoesnotprovethatyouareElLeon.Therefore,Ihavenocausetoholdyou.”

Araggedcheerwentupfrom the men gatheredaround, the members ofthebandandVicente,andalso Señor Huerta's

charros. Don Estebancursed and pounded thetable, making thegovernor'spapersscatter.

“Quiet,” the governorrapped out, straighteninghis papers once more.“That will be enough. Thismatterisnotsettled.”

“What do you mean?”SeñorHuertaasked.

The governor ignoredhim, speaking to Refugio.“While I cannot hold you,

señor,neither can I, inallconscience, ignore thepossibility that there maybe some truth in theaccusations against you.Myonlyrecourseseemstobe to send to Spain for adescription of this bandit,ElLeon.”

“This is an outrage,”Don Esteban shouted. “Idemandthatyouplacethismanunderarrest.”

“Do you, señor?” the

governorsaid, risingtohisfeet. “And would you alsolike to remain here incustody in San Antoniountil word arrives fromSpainon thismatter? Justin case Refugio deCarranza would like tobring charges of slanderagainstyouiftheanswerisinhisfavor?”

“Youwouldnotdare!”“Would I not?” The

governor looked down on

the don from his superiorheight.“Iwouldremindyouthat I am the supremeauthority north of the RioGrande.”

“For the interim only. Ihave friends who can seeto it you never receiveofficialappointment!”

“I hope they may, DonEsteban,” the governorreplied, tight-lipped withrage,“sinceIwantnothingmore than to leave here

and return to Spain!” Thegovernor swung from thefuminggrandee.“Youhaveall heard my decision. Iextend my deepestappreciation for yourprompt response to mysummons, and now I bidyougoodday.”

They were dismissed,and theywerenotsorry togo. There was muchshouting, much riding incircles and general

celebration on the wayback to the hacienda. Theruling of the governorwasfelttobeavictoryofsorts.The request to Spain forinformation must go,laboriously, southwardacross Sonora, and alongthetwistingtrailstoMexicoCity, then from there toVera Cruz and across theocean to Spain. It wasalways possible that itwould be lost somewhere

alongtheway,orelsethat,onbeingreceivedinSpain,it would be shuffled ontothe desk of some minorofficial and forgotten.Failing that, it seemedpossible that thedescription of El Leon,even if it finally made itsway back to New Spainafter a year and a half oreven two, might be sovague that it would bedifficult toapply itwithany

certainty.Of course, it was true

that most of the countrypeople between Sevilleand Cordoba knew, andmany town peopleguessed, that RefugioCarranza was El Leon.However, SpanishofficialdominMadridmightnot beawareof it, or elsewould find it difficult toprove.

Whatever might come

ofitall,forthemomentthethreat Don Estebanrepresented had beenreduced to less thannothing.Refugiowas free.Theywereall safeandontheirwaytogoodfoodandawarmbed,andtherewasgoing tobeawedding.Sothey whooped and theylaughedandcrackedjokesin their joy.Theonly oneswhoweresilentwerePilarand Refugio, and the

prospectivegroom.Señora Huerta, once

thehaciendawasreached,greeted the news of thecoming nuptials withsomething less thandelight.

“Is this the truth, myson?” she asked, cradlingCharro's facebetweenhertwohands.

“Yes,madre.”“Andyouwill behappy

andremainwithushere?”

“Yes,madre.”Shegazedintohiseyes

a longmomentbeforeshegaveaslownod.“Itiswell,then. If there is to be awedding,wemustbegintomakeready.”

“There is no hurry,”Pilarprotested fromwhereshestoodtooneside.

The older womanturned on her. “Is therereasontodelay?”

“None at all,” her son

answered for Pilar, “thesooner,thebetter.”

“You agree?” SeñoraHuerta asked Pilar withliftedbrows.

Whatelsewas there tosay? She summoned asmile, echoing in awhisper, “The sooner, thebetter.” They began thefollowingmorning.

Charro's mother cameto Pilar's room with themaidBenita trailingbehind

her. In the maid's armswas a pile of gowns forevening in pale blue,cream, and yellow, alsoone of white embroideredwithtinyblueflowers.Theywerethebridalgownsthathad been used bymembers of the señora'sfamily, her own gown andthat of her daughter,Charro's sister, who hadmarriedthesummerbeforeand moved with her new

husband to a home belowthe Rio Grande. Therewerealsooneortwoothergowns belonging toCharro's sister which shehad left behind as tooyouthful in style for amarriedwoman.Pilarmusttry themall on.When shehadmadeherchoiceforawedding gown, and alsoforotheroccasions,Benitawouldalterthemtofit.

Asshespoke,theolder

woman gestured towardthe curtained bed,indicating, that the maidshould lay out the gownsupon it. The señora thenwalked to the narrowdouble doors that openedonto the upper balcony.She pulled them shut,closing off the view, thenmovedawaytotakeaseatbeside the large armoireagainst the wall oppositethe foot of the bed. She

folded her hands, waitingto see that her wisheswerecarriedout.

It made no greatdifferencetoPilarwhatshewore;still,shedidherbestto appear cooperative andto show her appreciation.The gown that hadbelonged to the señorawas far too short for heruse.TheonesbelongingtoCharro's sister were toolargeinthewaist,butfitted

wellelsewhere.Aftersomediscussion the white withthe blue flowers waspronounced by the señoraas suitable for theceremony. It would betaken up first, with theotherstofollow.

PilarstoodstillwithherarmsheldstifflyoutbesideherwhileBenitaadvancedupon her with needle andthread.Pinswerescarceinthe Tejas country, it

appeared; the maid wouldusebastingstitchestotakeup theseams thatneededalteration.

The girl had nimblefingers.SeñoraHuertahadtime for only one or twoquestions about Pilar'sfamily and her conventschooling before the girlfinished one seam, thenmovedaround tobeginonanother.Shedrew the silkand cotton material tight,

sothatitconstrictedPilar'swaist, then plunged theneedle into it. Pilar felt asudden excruciating stingin her side. She yelpedand jerked away from thegirl.

“A thousand pardons,señorita,” the Indian girlsaid, but there was noregret in her dark, red-rimmed eyes. Pilar,meeting her gaze,recognized jealousy

mingled with resentmenton Benita's broad face.The girl was in love withCharro; she was foreverdoing some smallsomething forhim,dustinghis hat for the sake ofholding it, bringing himwater or some specialtidbitfromthekitchen.Pilarwas suddenly contrite, forshe realized she had notconsidered what herunexpectedannouncement

might mean to anyoneexceptherself.

Señora Huerta rose toherfeet.“Clumsygirl,”shesaid in anger. “You havecausedaspotofbloodonthegown.Finishwhat youare doing, quickly now.Then go and soak out thestain.”

Pilar did not flinch asthe girl approached heroncemorewiththeneedle.It had been a small act of

revenge, that stab, oneintended to attractattention. It hadsucceeded.

The incident was notrepeated. As Pilar stoodand allowed herself to besewn into the gown shewould wear for herwedding, it seemed that itwas her future that wasbeingstitchedup,andthatshemightneverbeabletobreathefreelyagain.

Pilar was not the only,one who noticed Benita'sdistress over thewedding.DoñaLuisabrought,upthesubject when she joinedPilar later in the morning.“You seemed to havedestroyed the little maid'sdream world,” the widowsaid to her as shewandered out onto thebalconynibblingapieceofcandy. “I just saw herscouring the table in the

kitchenandusingtearsforsoap.”

Pilar agreed as shestepped out onto thebalcony behind her. “I feelterribleabouther.”

“If I may say so, youdon't look much happierthan Benita.” The otherwoman'sgazewasshrewdinitsappraisal.

“I'm trying to catch mybreath. Everything ishappeningsofast.”

“Yes,thatisit,I'msure.And you are not at allworriedaboutRefugio.”

Pilar moved to thebalcony railing. Over hershoulder she said, “WhyshouldIbe?”

“Hemade you a publicproposal of marriage andyou refused him. Aren'tyou curious to know howheacceptedthataffront?”

“Hehadhispurposeformaking it; I had mine for

refusing. He is very goodatdecipheringthereasonspeople do things. I'm sureheunderstood.”

“Understanding andacceptingare twodifferentthings.But Iwonder if youdon't misjudge Refugio?Hemayhaveapurposefordoingmostthings,yes,butthe fact that his brainfunctions extremely welldoesn't mean that he isincapable of feeling. He is

an extraordinary man. Iwould think carefullybeforeIsenthimaway.”

“Wouldyou?”Pilarsaidwith a great show ofindifference.

“Iwould,thoughIwouldprobably choose to marryCharro just the same, asyouaredoing.”

“Why would you saythat?”

“He has the betterprospectsatthemoment.”

“You are forgetting theemeralds, aren't you? I'msure Enrique told youaboutthem.”

Doña Luisa laughed.“So he did, how could Iforget? It must beEnrique'sgoodinfluence.”

Pilar turned to face theother woman, with herback against the balconyrailing.“Youadmitit?”

“Oh, yes. Isn't itamusing?”

Pilar frowned. “Youaren't just-playing withEnrique,areyou?”

“He is not a man forthat kind of thing,” theother woman said with awry smile. “Oh, he's drolland funny and tolerantbeyond most, but he hashighstandardsandaquicktemper. He keeps thesestandards for himself aswell as for me. I find thatendearing.”

“I see,” Pilar saidslowly.

Doña Luisa laughed. “Idon't suppose you do, butitdoesn'tmattersinceIamhappy.”

“What of yourhusband'sestate?Willyougobacktoclaimit?”

“No!” The widowshuddered, adding, “No,not if thesaintsarekind. Ineverwanttosetfootonashiporahorseagain.”

“It's strange that youneed never have left NewOrleans, that you couldhave remained withoutharmfromDonEsteban.”

“Strange,yes,butsomethingsaremeanttobe.”

Pilar gave the otherwoman a long look. “Butwhatofthemoney?”

“Enrique will see to it.He doesn't mind travel,and he will have the rightas my husband to handle

myaffairs.”“Your husband! But

what of—” Pilar stopped,unwilling to put somethingthat had only been anebulous dread in hermindintowords.

“Refugio?” The widowgave a comfortable laugh.“Hewas kind on the ship.He saw how frightened Iwas of being alone, andhow hurt at having beenmarriedtoamanwhoonly

wanted to get an heir onmy body while clinging tohismulattomistress.Later,he ceased to be so kind.He had a reason, ofcourse; he wanted me toturn to Enrique. He isdiabolical,butalsowise.”

Was it possible, Pilarwondered, that Refugiohad wanted her to turn toCharro? Did he feel acompulsion toestablishallhis discarded women with

someone else? She didnot really think it could betrue, but the chance wasstrong enough that shemight be able to use it tohelpherforget.

“You will remain here,then?”

“Oh, yes, in spite oftherebeingnofabledcitiesof gold. I suspected thatwasa trick, you know; I'mnot stupid. But I alsowanted to see if Refugio

wasright, if IwasstrongerinsidethanIknew.Noonewasmore surprised than Itofindit'sso.TheApachesterrifymestill,but Iwillbeall right with Enriquebeside me. When myhusband'sestateissettled,he and I will find a placewhere we can grow cattleand babies. I will becomefat, and Enrique will notcare.”

“And you will be

content? You will nevermissthecourtatMadrid?”

“Of course I shall missit! And sometimes I willstampmy feet and cry formy old friends and theparties and fine clothes,and wonder why I everburied myself in thiswilderness. But I willalways know that Enriquemust live far away fromSpainandthepast.Hewillunderstand, andmakeme

laugh,anditwillpass.”“You expect much of

him.”“Yes, and he will give

memore.That'sthewayofit.”

“Charro will also be agood husband,”Pilar said,liftingherchin.

“Yes, probably. Butwillyoumake a good wife forhim?”

That was, of course,the question. Pilar

considered it with careafter theotherwomanhadgone. She would try, butwoulditbeenough?Itwaslate evening when Pilarheard the first strains ofthe guitar. She wanted toshutoutthesoundbutshecouldnot.Themelodywasthe old Andalusian lovesong Refugio had playedthat night in Seville, andagain on the ship. Thesound went on and on,

bringing images offountains and lemon treesshining in the moonlight,and of other things shewouldas soon forget.Andwhen she thought shecouldstanditnolonger,hebegan to sing, the wordsandthetonessoftandrichandincrediblypoignant.

She moved from herbedchamber through thenarrowdoorsandoutontothebalcony.Shecouldnot

see him among thescattered shadows of thecourtyard below. Still, hisvoice rose in endlessrefrain.

Therewasnooneelseabout for the moment.CharrohadriddenoutwithhisfathertoinspectaherdofcattletheIndiancharroswere gathering, and thetwo had not yet returned.Vicente, Enrique, andBaltasar had gone to

witness a cockfight to beheld at the nearest groupof Indian jacales. Theseñorawasoverseeingthepreparations for theeveningmeal,harryingtheservants in the lowerregions of a connectingside building. Doña Luisawascompletinghertoilettefortheevening.

Pilarmoved farther outonto the balcony, thebetter to see. She trailed

herfingersalongtherailingas she walked alongbeside it to change hervantagepoint.Theglowoflight from candles leftburning in generousdisplay in Doña Luisa'sroom slid over her as shepassed the widow's door,gleaming in the darkhoney-gold of her hair,shimmering along theslender turns of her armsandthroat,exposedbyher

evening dress. The nightbreeze, delicately scentedwith sage, rustled thegrape leaves that fringedthe balcony overhead.Fromsomedistanceawaycame the lowing of cattleand thecriesof the Indianchildren at their jacalesbeyond thecourtyard.Andthrough it all, like somehaunting memory, ran themusicRefugiomade.

Pilarreachedtheendof

the balcony where thegrapevine grew, andturned in the otherdirection, aimlesslystrolling.Shehadgiventipon discovering Refugio'slocation below, since itseemedhedidnotwanttobe found. She wishedCharro and the otherswouldreturn,bringingtheirlaughter and teasing tobrighten the night. Shewished the dinner bell

would ring, though sheknew well it would not forat least an hour. Shewished that Doña Luisawould finish dressing andcomeand talk to her.ShewishedthatSeñoraHuertawould find some task thatneeded her help. Shelonged for something tohappen, anything to stopthemusicandthesinging.

She reached herbedchamber again and

stepped inside.Deliberately, she closedthe narrow doors behindher. The music faded,dying away. She could nolongerhearit.

Or had it reallystopped? She stoodlisteningforlongmoments,butcouldnotquitetell.Thewalls of the house werethick and the balconydoorssosolid.

She drew a deep

breath, then closed hereyes and let it out slowly.Lifting a hand to rub theback of her neck, shemoved farther into theroom.

She busied herself,straighteningawayherfewbelongings. However, shewas soon uncomfortable.The closed doors shut outthe cooling breeze of thenight, and there was stillheat trapped in the room

from the long hot day. Itwassillyofhertoendureitmerelybecauseofapieceof music and her ownirritatedsensibilities.

Turning in a swirl ofskirts, she moved back tothedoors.Shegraspedthehandles and pulled thesolid panels open, lettingthenightairsweepinside.

With the wind cameRefugio. He glidedsoundlessly around the

doorframe and halted withhis back to the open doorpanel that lay against thewall.

“Accommodating andendlessly hospitable,” hesaid, his voice resonantwithwarmth.“Willyoualsobeloving?”

22

PILAR BACKED AWAYFROM Refugio. Almostafraid of the answer, shesaid,“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Iamasking,inmyownway of course, if I amwelcome?”

“Howcanyou thinkso,

whenIamtobemarriedtoCharro?”

“As a ploy to persuadeGovernor Pacheco to feelcompassion for me,spurning my suit couldhardlyhavebeenbettered.Iwould have foregone theaid, however, if it hadallowed me to avoid therackofit.”

“You hid your tormentwell.”

“Practice gives that

facility.”“Nevertheless, the

decision was made, and Iamtobemarried.”

“Then you intend topledge fidelity?” he said insardonictones.

“Ofcourse!”“Ididwonder.”She lifted her chin as

she caught his meaning.“You feel that I shouldhavebeenfaithfultoyou?”

“I had somehow

expected it.”Heshrugged.“Ican'tthinkwhy.”

“Nor can I, when youtrustedmeinnothingelse.”

“You mean theemeralds,”hesaidinstarkacceptance of the changeofsubject.

She turned away fromhim, pacing a few stepsbefore swinging backagain. “What else should Imean?Youkeptthemfromme, knowing fullwellwhat

they meant to me. Youhoarded them over allthose long, weary miles,and never said a word.Howcouldyou?”

“And what they meantto me, what of that?” Hisgaze was intent upon herflushedface.

“What do they mean,indeed? The Carranzaestates in Spain are goneforever. There might be ahaciendahereintheTejas

country, cattle and horsesand charros to follow yourorders. But what do suchthings matter against thewayyoubetrayedme?”

“Nothing and less thannothing,” he answeredimpatiently. “For me tohave given you theemeralds would have putyou in danger from DonEsteban the instant hediscovered you had them.More than that, they were

awayof keepingyouwithme.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ifyou intended to use themto bribe me into staying,then you have a strangeideaofmycharacter.”

“Notatall.As longas Ihad them, your legacyfromyourmotherwassafefromDonEsteban. But aslongasyoudidnotknowit,you would not have themeanstoleaveme.”

His features weredefenseless as he waitedfor her answer. He stoodperfectly still, leaning onhis hands, which werepressed flat against thedoor behind him as if hewould permit himself nogestureofappeal.

Pilar,watchinghim, felthis meaning penetrate tothecenterofherbeing.Hehad not wanted her toleave him. He had risked

everything against thechanceofkeepingher.

Finally, she said, “Youthought, when you cameacross the emeralds inNew Orleans, that if youshared them with me, Iwould immediatelyabandon all of you andreturntoSpain?”

“Share?” he said, thewordtentative.

“Naturally, I would nothave taken them all. You

hadlostasmuchasI.”His face tightenedover

the bones. “So generous.But still, you would havehad what you came after.Therewouldhavebeennowaytoholdyou.”

“Mustawomanbeheldby force or money, andnever of her own desires?Can't she decide of herown will whether she willgoorstay?”

“The temptation to use

the means at hand isstrongwhenthealternativeisunbearable.”

It was, perhaps, anattempt at an explanation,or even justification;certainly it was not anapology. It came to her,fleetingly,thatitmightalsobeadeclaration,thoughofwhatkind itwasdifficult tosay. She had alwaysknownthathewantedher,though she had never felt

before that, for him, theobstruction of his desirewas something he wouldbeunabletobear.

Sheloweredherlashesassheconsideredit.“ThatnightafterIsabeldied,”shesaid, “when you spoke ofstayinghere inNewSpain— itwasnot just idle talk,wasit?Youknewthenthatyou had the money to dothat,ifyouwished.”

He was extremely

quick. “I could not haveuseditwithoutmakingyouwonder where it camefrom.Iwouldhavetoldyouwhenthetimecame.”

“You would have toldme something; I don'tdoubt that.”Ahintof ironytouched her lips and wasgone.

He pushed away fromthe door, taking a steptoward her. “What can Isay to make you believe

me, to make youunderstand?”

His words were nearlylostintheclatterofhorses'hoofs. It was Charro andthe others returning,sweeping into thecourtyard through thegatesthatsomeservantonwatch must have thrownopen. Their voices rangagainst the walls of thehouse as they exchangedlaughing insultsandcalled

outinexuberancefordrinkto clear the dust of theirridefromtheirthroats.

“You had better go,”Pilar said, meetingRefugio'sgazewithsteadybrown eyes. “Charro willnotlikefindingyouher.”

“He has become apossessivebridegroom?”

Atroubledlookcrossedher face. “He doesn't saymuch, but I see himwatchingus.”

“No doubt I would dothe same in his place.”Refugio's voice indicatedacceptance, but he madenomovetoleave.

“Please,”shesaid,“youreallymustgo.”

“Must I? I could alsostay. And you could tellCharro that you made amistake, that you havechangedyourmind.”

“I made a promise.”The words were firmer

thanshefelt.“Promises can be

broken,andoftenare.”“Not without good

reason.”“What reason would

serve, I wonder?” Therewas a hard light in hiseyes.

“Nottheemeralds,”shesaidquickly, afraid that hemightofferthem.

“Ah,Pilar,youmisjudgeme. I have better sense

than that, and also plansfortheiruse.SeñorHuertatells me there is anestanciathatjoinsthisoneto the south that may beboughtforafairprice.Theowner grows old and tiredof fighting Apaches, andwants to die in Spain. Inanycase,Ihavemore...sentiment within me.” Theastringency that crept intohis voice was a reminderthat the last phrase had

been used at the meetingin the governor's study.Who had said it? Was itDonEsteban?

Her husband-to-be hadentered the house; shecouldhearhisvoicebelow,calling her name as hesearched for her. Thesoundwasfollowedbythequick tattoo of hisfootsteps on the stairs.Panicbeatupinsideherasshethoughtofthetwomen

coming face to face witheach other in herbedchamber. There wassomething in Refugio'sstance, some incipientrecklessness in hismanner,thatfueledit.

On a quick, indrawnbreath,shesaid, “Refugio,pleasedon'tdothis.”

He tilted his head, hiseyes steel-gray with thedarkness behind them.“Have you no interest in

mysentiments?”“Not at this moment,”

she said, clasping herhands into fists at hersides.“Nothere.”

Hewatchedherforlongseconds asCharro's treadcame nearer, thudding onthefloorofthesittingroomthat connected to herbedchamber. Abruptly hesaid, “Then I am left torequiemsandrevengeandmy unrequited love. It

couldbethatit'sfitting.”Therecameathumping

on the bedchamber door.“Pilar?”Charrocalled.

She glanced in thatdirection but did notanswer. Turning backtowardRefugioasifdrawnby a magnet, she said,“Love?”

There was no answer.Hewasgone.

Itwasamomentbeforeshe could bring her taut

muscles to move, couldforce herself to reach toopen the door for Charro.He stood there lookingdown at her, studying herpale face, before hesearchedtheroombeyondher with a glance thatlingered on the balconydoor. Finally, he steppedinside.

“What is it?” he asked.“Don'tyoufeelwell?”

She summoned a

smile.“Yes,fine.Iwasjust...resting.”

He closed the doorbehindhimwithslowcare.When he looked at heragain, there was theshadow of trouble in hiseyes.“Hewashere,wasn'the?Refugio?”

“Yes,”sheanswered. Itwould be wrong to persistinherlie.

“Begging you toreconsider?Makingloveto

you?”“Explaining,” she said,

“ortryingto.”“Andthat'sall?”She inclined her head.

There was no need to tellhim that there might havebeen more if he had notreturned.

Hemovedclosertoherand reached to take herhands in his.He caressedthe smooth backs of herfingerswithhisthumbs,his

gaze upon that smallmovement.Hisvoicedeep,he said, “Refugio is myfriend. More than that, hehas been as a brother tome. He took the scaredboy that I was when Icame to him, and turnedhim into a man. He gavemebackmyprideandmysense of who and what Iwasinside;thereisnooneI respect more. But,querida, I cannot permit

himtovisityoulikethis.IfIdo,itwilldestroyus.”

“I know,” she said, hervoice coming low anduneven from herconstricted throat. “And Iwould do nothing to — tohurt you. I tried to tell him—”

“I'm sure you did, butRefugio listens to no onewhenitcomestoyou.Youare his weakness. Wealways thought he had

none, those of us in theband, but that was beforeyou came.Hewill have togo. He will have to leavethe hacienda. We can'tstay here together, thethreeofus.”

“Yes,” she whispered.“But what if he won'tleave?”

“Then he must learn,somehow, to let yougo. Ifhe cannot, if he will not,then we will eventually

have to fight. And either Iwill kill him or he will killme.”

“Oh, Charro, no!” shecried, her eyes huge asshesearchedhisface.

Hebenthishead,liftingher hands to press herfingerstohislips.Hisvoicewas hoarse, his warmbreath moist against herhandsashesaid,“Thereisnootherway.”

“There must be,” she

protested.Hemadenoansweras

he caught her in his armsand pressed his mouth tohers. His lips were sweetand gentle, and he heldher with care. But Pilar,shivering in the strongcircleofhisarms, feltonlyfear. Pilar did not sleepwell when bedtime finallycame. The things thatRefugio and Charro hadsaid repeated endlessly in

her mind. She knewRefugiowasright,thatshewasmarryingCharrooutofpique. Did that make itwrong when Charrowantedher,andwhenshehad no one else, no otherplacetogo?

She realized also that,in spite of what Refugiohad said, he had notofferedheraportionoftheemeralds. She didn't wantthem,notreally,but itwas

a damning omission. Orwas it? Might he not beprotecting her from DonEstebanstill?

Hehadspokenof love,though in his own obliquefashion. Had he meantwhat she thought, or wasthere some othersignificance in it that shecouldnotsee?Whatwasithe had said before abouthis speech? That he usedit to hide behind? What

washehidingfromnow?The long sleeves and,

thicklinenofthenightgownSeñoraHuertahad loanedPilarwastooheavyforthewarmth of the night. Shethoughtof taking itoff,butdecided against it. Thenight breeze comingthrough the open doorsonto the balcony wasslowlygrowingcooler.Shejerked the thick folds fromunder her, straightening

the long length that hadtwisted about her as sheturned in restlessness.Closing her eyes tightly,shewilledsleeptocome.

It seemed endlesshours later that she wasstartled into awareness.There had been a noisesomewhere nearby, likethe faint scrape of afootstep. She thought ithad come fromoutsideonthe balcony, or possibly

from just inside herbedchamber.

Slow anger seepedover her. That Refugiocould think that he mightcome and go in herbedchamber as hepleased, even in themiddle of the night, waspast bearing. She wouldtell him so in words thatcould leave no possibledoubt.

Sheopenedhereyesto

slits.Thebalconydoorwaymade a gray rectangle inthe darkness. There wasno sign of movementthere,noshapeofaman'sform.Theroomaroundherwasdensewithblackness,but she could sense nomovementinit.Wherehadhegone?Orhadhebeenthere at all? Perhaps shehad only imagined thatfootfall,orelsedreamedit.

There came a quiet

rustle from just above herhead. Before she couldturn, before she couldmove, a thick, smotheringblanket descended. Itcovered her head andshoulders,andhard,roughhands pressed it downover her face. She struckout, and her arms wereentangled in the folds.What felt like a knee wasthrown across her legs,pinning her to the

mattress. She drew in herbreathtoscream.

Thesoundwastrappedin her throat as a handcame down hard acrossher face. She felt herupperlipbruiseagainstherteeth. Then the darknessexploded with points oflight as a blow smashedinto her jaw. The lightpoints faded, and therewasnothing.

Pilar roused once. She

waslyingfacedownacrossthe saddle of a horse thatwas just jolting to a halt.She was wrapped in theclose folds of a blanketsmelling faintly of sheep'swoolandwoodsmoke.Herfeet were bound togetherat the ankles, and herhandswerefastenedatthewrists. Her head poundedwith a ferocious, pulsingpain. She heard the creakof leather as someone

dismounted.Thenshewasdragged backward, acrossthesaddle.Hermidsectioncrampedandthepoundinginherheadincreased.Thedouble pain took herbackward once more intodarkness.

Voicesdrewhertowardconsciousness the nexttime. They made a deeprumbling that seemed tohavenowords.Sheturnedher head slightly, catching

her breath as painthrobbed in her temple. Itwas amoment before sherealized that the voiceshadceased.

She opened her eyes.Shewaslyingonafloorofpacked earth. An Indiantradeblanketwaswrappedaround her, though it hadbeenpulledawayfromherface. Above her was anunsealed roof of crossedpoles. For an instant she

thought she was in thecourtyard at the hacienda,thenshesaw that the roofhad a hole in one cornerthrough which could beseen the star-filled nightsky, and the crumblingadobe walls about herwere smoked black fromcountlessfires.Therewerenofurnishings,nobedrolls,no pots around the centerfire hole. She was in anabandoned hut, perhaps

anIndianjacal.The light for her

inspectionwasprovidedbya single lantern of piercedtin. It sat on the floor wellaway from the saggingentrance door. Two menstood beside it, looking inher direction. For amoment their featureswere blurred, then shebegan slowly to makethemout.

“Soyouareawake,my

dear Pilar,” Don Estebansaid. “We were beginningto be worried about you.My large friend, here,feared he had struck youtoohard.”

Shesawtheothermanstandingthere,heardwhatDon Esteban said of him;still her mind refused toaccept it. She blinked,trying to clear the odddenseness from her mind.She moistened dry lips to

speak, though the wordshe said was only awhisper.

“Baltasar?”shesaid.“Are you really

surprised?” Don Estebansaid. “I would not havethought he had that muchability to play a part. It'sinterestingwhatpeopleareabletodowhentheyhavegoodreason.”

Pilar could find noanswer. Her hands were

now unbound, shediscovered, though thereseemed to be a braidedleatherthongstillaboutherankles. She closed hereyes, lifting a hand to herhead.

“I didn't mean to hurtyou,” Baltasar said in abass rumble. “But I had todo something to get youawaywithoutanynoise.”

She liftedher lashes tostare at him. The lantern

light below him shone onthe white of his shirtfrontand made a soft glowunder his chin, glinting onhis beard stubble. “Why?”sheasked.

“My orders,” herstepfather answered forBaltasar. “I had to haveyou, because you are theonly one who can bringCarranza — and theemeralds.”

“What—” she began,

then stopped. Appalledcomprehensionroseinhereyes.

“You see it, don't you?Just as he went after hislittle friendIsabelwhowastaken by the Apaches, hewillcomeafteryou.Hecando no less, because he isElLeon.”

She shookherhead, agravemistake.Swallowingupon the sickness themovement brought, she

said, “How will he knowwheretocome?He'smoreacute thanmost,butnotamindreader.”

Baltasar answered her.“Ileftanoteonyourpillowgivingtheplace.AndItoldhim tocomealone. Itmaybe a long time before thepaper is found and takentohim,buthewillcome.”

“On your pillow,” DonEsteban said in coldamusement. “That should

worry him, don't youthink?”

Pilar ignored him, hergaze on Baltasar. “I don'tsee how you did it, howyou got me out of thehacienda, Imean.Whatofthe guard? How did yougetpasthim?”

“Itwaseasy,” the largeman said with a sardoniclook that sat strangely onhis broad face. “You arelight and the grapevine at

your balcony is strong. Asfortheguard,therewasnoproblem.Iwastheguard.”

“But if you could takemefromthehacienda,whycouldyounotjuststealtheemeralds, if thatwaswhatmystepfatherwanted?”

Don Esteban laughed,aharshsound.“Takingtheemeraldswouldhavebeenmuch more difficult sinceCarranzakeepsthemnearhimatalltimes.Difficultor

not,itwouldnothavebeenenough. You of all peopleshould know that I don'twantjusttheemeralds.”

“It's insane to take thissofar,”shesaid,hervoicequerulous with distress.“Youhaveriskedsomuch,and for what? Hate and afew jewels that came fromsomethingyoustole in thefirst place? Why couldn'tyou have just let us gowhen we left New

Orleans?”“Because I did not

choose to,” the portly andgrayinglittlemansaidwithahardglitterinhiseyes.

She stared at him forlong moments. “Thenwhatever happens whenRefugio comes, that toowillbeofyourchoosing.”

Don Esteban turnedfrom her, motioning toBaltasar with a negligentgesture, as if her words

had no power to disturbhim. The two of themmovedaway, conferring inwhispers.Pilar, feeling toohelpless lying flat on thefloor,pushedherselfupbydegrees to sit with herbackagainstthewall.Aftera moment her headstopped pounding andsettled to a dull ache. Itbecameeasiertothink.

Would Refugio reallycome?Theanswer to that

was simple; of course hewould. He would comebecause he was theleader, and thereforeresponsible for her plight.He would come, possibly,for the sake of a nightspentonashipatsea,andanother beside a rock onthe dark plains. He wouldcome because she wouldnotbewhereshewas if itwerenotforDonEsteban'svendetta against him. Oh,

yes,hewouldcome.Wouldhecomealone?He well might. It was

just the kind of sacrificethat he could consider ithisdutytomake.

How long would it bebefore he arrived? It mustbeclosetodawnbynow.Ifno one had seen Baltasartake her away, if no onehad discovered herabsence during the night,then she would not be

missed before breakfast.She had no idea how farthis jacal was from thehacienda, but assumedthat it was within two orthree hours; surely shecould not have beenbrought farther than that.Any closer, however,would have been toodangerous.

The middle of themorning, then, or perhapsmidday, was the soonest

that Refugio could beexpected.Surelytherewassomethingshecoulddotorelease herself, or changematters in some way,betweennowandthen?

Under the tradingblanket Pilar flexed themuscles of her calvesslowly,puttingpressureonthe thong of braidedleather knotted about herankles. It bit into her skin,but she ignored the sting.

Shethoughttheremightbea little give in the leather.Baltasar may have left itloose because he had notwantedtocutoffthebloodcirculation to her feet. Orhe may have onlyconsidered the possibilityof any attempt at escapeas unlikely. What shewould do if she managedtofreeherfeet,shedidnotknow,butat least itwouldhelp her feelings to do

something.DonEstebanswunghis

head to look at her,demanding,“Whatareyoudoing?”

Pilargavehimhermostlimpidlook.“Nothing.”

“Don't think you canfoolme.Undertheblanket.Whatareyoudoing?”

“Thetoesofmyleftfootare numb,” shecomplained.

“Toobad.Keepstill,orI

willseeto ityouarenumballover.Forever.”

Pilar obeyed, at leastuntil he turned his backagain. Then she beganverycarefullytostretchthethongoncemore.

Refugio came withoutwarning. There was nosound of hoofbeats, nofootsteps,nochangeinthenight stillness. Theramshackledoorofthehutsimplycreakedopenonits

leather hinges and hesteppedinside.

Baltasarswungaround,instincts honed by yearswith theband causinghimto draw his sword in thesame powerful movement.DonEstebanturnedwithacurse on his lips. Refugiofaced them at his ease.With his cloak fastened atthe neck and flung backbehind his shoulders, itwas easy to see that he

wasunarmed.“I bid you good

evening, gentlemen,” hesaid,“orisitmorning?”

“How did you get hereso quickly?” Don Estebansnapped.

“I rode, of course.Weren't you expectingme?”

Refugio moved a fewsteps farther into the hut.His gaze flicked to wherePilar sat. It rested on her

foronlyamoment,butshefelt there was no detail ofher appearance that hemissed; not her hairstragglingonhershoulderswith strands caught,glinting,onherlinengown;nottheshadowsunderhereyes and the bruiseshading her chin, nor thedingy trader's blanket thatwas bunched around her.Shecouldonlystareathimwhileherheartsank likea

weightofstoneinsideher.Baltasar, frowning,

echoed Don Esteban'squestion. “How could youhave found this place sofast,unless—”

“UnlessI followedyou?Did it never once occur toyou,myformer friend, thatyour midnight abductionwastooeasy?”

“Whatareyousaying?”Baltasargrowled.

“You thought you were

baitingatrap,butyouwereonly taking thebait left foryou. Didn't you wonderwhy you were left as theonly guard? I trusted youthat much once,compadre, but that waslongago.”

“YouwantedmetotakePilar?Idon'tbelieveit.”

Refugio's smile wasplacid. “You will thinkdifferently, I expect, whenyou discover that you are

surrounded.”Don Esteban

exclaimed, his gaze goinginstantly to the nightbeyond theopendoor.Herecovered at once. “It's afabrication, itmust be.Buteven if it were not,” hepointed out, “you areunarmed.”

Refugio glanced downathimselfas if insurprise.“SoIam.Willyoutakethataslicensetocarvemyhide

into thin slices? Do that,and Icanpromiseyou thesame fate before you canwipeyoursword.”

“Empty threats,” DonEstebansneered.

“Possibly. Shall wesee?”

Baltasargaveadoggedshake of his head. “Youwould never let Pilar runthedangerofbeingcaughtbetween us and anybodyyoumighthavebrought.”

“Youmean because ofa few nights of sharing aberth or a blanket? Shemade a lovely companionfor the journey, but alljourneysend.”

Baltasar glanced atPilar,thenbacktoRefugio.“Idon'tthinkso,notforyouwhen it comes to thiswoman. I heard you askher to marry you just thismorning;wealldid.”

Refugio gave a quiet

laugh. “It was well done,wasn'tit?I'mdelightedyouappreciatedtheruse,sinceit was for your benefit.Yours,andDonEsteban's,of course. I needed somewaytoforceyou,Baltasar,to expose yourself as themember of my band whohad turned traitor. At thesame time, I needed topersuade Don Esteban totearhimselfawayfromtheprotection of the governor

and official authority. Irather thought anabductionwould appeal tomy old enemy, that hewould enjoy serving methesametrickIhadservedhim in Spain. I needed toconvince the two of you,then, thatPilarwouldbeaworthy hostage. Whatbetterwaythanaproposalofmarriage to indicatehervalue to me? What betterway than a proposal to

suggest that she wasworththetaking?”

23

REFUGIO HAD USEDHER. The knowledgeburned in Pilar's mind,along with all the thingsimpliedbyit.Hehadriskedher life for his revenge; itmeantnomoretohimthanthat.Inthatcase,hecould

not possibly love her, andall his half-formed vowsmeant nothing. They werefalse coins dredged up totry to persuade her tosurrender to him oncemore. Doubtless his pridehad been hurt by herpublic refusal to be hiswife,orelse,seeingheronthe point of slipping awayfrom him, her value hadsuddenly increased in hiseyes. His desire for her

had been rekindled then,andhehadsoughtherouttosatisfyit.

None of it seemed likethe Refugio she thoughtshe knew, yet he hadcondemned himself by hisown words. Theconclusions she hadreached had followedinescapablyfromthatfact.

Baltasarwas less easyto convince. He askedskeptically, “You will not

mind if Don Esteban killsher?”

“What does killingprove,exceptthatthekillerhas strength and aweapon?”

“Nothing,” the big managreed, “but it would hurtyou, as you hurt me. Ishould have taken Pilarback there on the trail,should have given her tothe Indians andmade youkillher,too.”

Refugio shook hishead, his gaze steady onBaltasar.“Ididn'tkillIsabelatyourcommand.”

“No? I remember itdifferent.”

“Thatmaybe,”Refugiosaid, his voice soft. “Formyself, I consider that Iwas forced to kill herbecauseyoufailedher.”

Pilar, watching them,felt her own confusedheartache recede as she

witnessed the depths ofthe pain that lay betweenthe twomen.But shesawsomethingmore. She sawDon Esteban watchingthem, saw him smiling tohimself.

She spoke quickly,before she could lose theconvictionrisinginsideher.“I don't think either of youcausedthedeathofIsabel.I think the man who isresponsible is standing

therebesideyou.”Baltasar turned

ponderously to face her.“Whatareyousaying?”

“If it had not been forDon Esteban, none of uswould have left Spain. Itwas he who started thelong string of events thatbrought us here. Hisinterference can be tracedback to the death ofRefugio's father, andbeyond. It includes my

mother, but the mostimportantthingisthis:ifhehadnotkidnappedVicenteand taken himwith him toLouisiana, none of uswouldhaveleftSpain,andIsabelwouldstillbealive.”

“If Carranza had nottakentheemeralds—”DonEstebanbegan.

“An error, it has to beadmitted,” Refugio said,“one more among many.And yet, Don Esteban, I

think that Isabel's deathcanbebroughtevencloserhometoyou.”

“How'sthat?”Baltasar'svoicewaswary, yet roughwithsuspicion.

“It's a trick,” DonEsteban said quickly.“Don't let himconfuse youby twisting things to suithisownends.”

“Twisting them how?”The big man's voice wasdogged.

“There's no mystery,”Refugio said, “only anexercise of logic. DonEstebanwastravelingwithIndian traders, Frenchmenwhowere familiarwith thevarious tribes, who spoketheir language and hadsteelhatchets,knives,andmuskets to exchange forwhatevertheIndiansmighthaveofvalue.TheApachewar party trailed us first,youremember,trackingus

as if theirs was a missionof vengeance — or as ifthey needed to be certainwhowewere.”

“You are saying theywere paid to make theattack?” Baltasar's facewascreasedwiththought.

“In muskets, with moreto be provided, I expect,when they produced ourscalps.”

Baltasar turnedonDonEsteban. “You sent those

murdering devils after theband? You sent them,knowing that I was withthem,andIsabel?”

“Certainly not!” theolder man said, drawinghimself up as if he wouldoverawe the other man.“You were attackedbecause you weretraveling across Indiancountry. I had nothing todowithit.”

“Butyouandyourparty

were not attacked,”Refugio pointed outquietly.

“A fact that provesnothingatall!”

“Refugio, doesn't saythings without a reason,”Baltasar said, his voicedogged.

“Yes,andhis reason isto put us at each other'sthroats,”thedondeclared.

“Could be that's wherewe should be,” Baltasar

said.“Butwhatofhim?”Don

Esteban asked, his voicerising. “I thought you saidhe was the one whodecided on the overlandtrail.”

Baltasarmadeno replyfor a moment. In thesilence,PilarmetRefugio'sgaze. She knew then thatwhat Don Esteban saidwas true: Refugio wantedtheother twomenatodds

for some reason of hisown. Did that mean therewas no one else in thedarkness beyond thejacal? She did not darethink it could be so, for itwould also mean he wasunarmed against two menwhowantedhimdead.Andit would mean thateverything he had saidabout setting a trap withherasbaitwasalie.

But if it was true, then

hemight need her help inwhathewasdoing.

Deliberately, she said,“If you are looking forsomeone to blame,Baltasar,whatofyourself?IfyouhadnotshotRefugioduring the attack, Isabelwould not have left thebarricade, and theApaches could not havetakenher.Butyoudid,justas you hired someone toshoothimduringtheattack

ofthecorsairsontheship,and just as you replacedthemockswordintheduelin Havana with a sharpone. Why did you do it?What in the name ofheavenmadeyoujoinwithmy stepfather against theband?”

The big man gave ahollowlaugh.“Refugiotookmy Isabel's love andtreated it as if it werenothing. He took

everythingshehad,buthewouldnotlethergo.”

“I tried,” Refugio said,histonereflective.

“Oh,yes,youtried.Youbroughtaladytothecabininthemountainstoshameher. You brought Pilar toshow Isabel how far shewasbeneathyou.”

“To show her the kindof woman I needed, toconvince Isabel that Imeant itwhen Isaid that I

could not love her. Ithought she would turn toyou.”

“She did, but forcomfort, not love. I gaveher all the love insideme,and all she had for me inreturnwaspity.”

“That isn't true,” Pilarsaid to the big man. “Shelovedyou.”

“She loved me as shemightapetdog.”

Pilar shook her head.

“You think she lovedRefugio? It seems to meshe worshiped himbecausehehadsavedher,because he was the firstmantomakeherfeelsafe.Thatisn'tlove.”

“Maybe. But that waswhat I wanted from her,that worship, and I knewthataslongasthegreatElLeonwasalive,shewouldnever be able to give it.Sheasgoodastoldmeso

the night you came, whenRefugio forced her toaccept you by giving youhisbed.”

“So you offered yourhelptohisenemy.”

“That was done weeksbefore you came, afterRefugio let me haveIsabel, after I saw how itwouldbe.”

“You—itwasyouwhokilled my aunt, that nightwhen I came to the hut in

the mountains, when youweregonesolong?”

“No,howcouldthatbe?The don sent others forthat.Until thatnight, Ionlylet him know, now andthen, what little I coulddiscover about themovements of the band; itwasn't much since onlyRefugio knew where wewould go, what we woulddo. Then I saw howRefugiohadhurt Isabelby

bringing you. I saw shewould never love me aslongashewasalive,andIwanted him to die. IthoughtthatifIarrangedit,DonEstebanwouldrewardme.”

“You tried to kill him,afterallhehaddone.”

Baltasar looked awayfrom Pilar. “I wanted themoney for Isabel. Forafterward.”

“Now there will be no

afterward, for Isabel isdead; Don Esteban hasseentothat.”

“How affecting,” DonEstebansaidwithacurlofhis lips, half hiddenbyhisperfumedbeard.“Buttherewill be no afterward foryou, either, my dearstepdaughter. Or forCarranza.”

Baltasar stiffened, thefrown deepening betweenhiseyes.“Youpromisedto

let Señorita Pilar go ifRefugiocame.”

“Of course I did,because you would nothave brought herotherwise,” the don saidimpatiently.“Butitcan'tbe.She would go straight tothe governor with thestory.”

“If Refugio is killedtrying to keep you fromtaking her fromhim, that'sonething,sinceshe'syour

stepdaughter and you canclaim to be protecting herhonor by saving her fromhim. But what excuse canyou give the governor forkillingher?Youhadbetterthinkagain.”

Don Esteban's facetightened. “She's donenothing except maketrouble since she left theconvent,andI'vebeenputto enough inconveniencebecause of her. It can be

an accident. PossiblyCarranza will attempt touse her as a shield frommy wrath, or maybeCarranza himself will killher in a jealous rage. Nomatterthestorytold,Iwantherdead.”

Refugio, his gazesteadfastonthefaceoftheman who was once hisfriend,said, “YougavemeyourwordinyournotethatPilarwouldgofree.”

“The note was writtenbyDonEsteban.”

“Butitwasyouwholeftitforme,youwhogavemethe terms of surrender. Iholdyoutothem.”

“Paynoattention,”DonEsteban said in stridenttones. “Thinkhowgloriousa revenge it will be, if heknows she will die withhim,becauseofhim.”

Baltasar studiedRefugio, then turned back

to Don Esteban. “It's notright,” he saiddoggedly. “Idid giveRefugiomyword.HewouldnothavecomeifhehadnotbelievedwhatIsaid.”

“What difference doesthatmake?” theoldermandemanded, smashing hisfist into his hand, his facegrowingpurple.“Thisisnotimeforsuddenscruples!”

“By all means let usdispense with scruples,”

Refugio said. “If I can'thave an honorable friend,let me at least have asuitably dishonorableenemy.”

Baltasar's browsknotted in a frown. “Iwanted Refugio dead, butnot Señorita Pilar. I don'tholdwithkillingwomen.”

“It would make yourrevenge perfect, muchmore than justkillinghim,”Don Esteban said in

virulentpersuasion. “Ifsheis first, he will suffer for afew seconds as yousuffered when your Isabeldied.”

Pilar, watching the bigman's face, saw thereluctance reflected there.She spoke in abruptcomprehension. “What isit,Baltasar?Do you find ithard to kill a friend whenhe'sfacingyou?EspeciallywhenthefriendisElLeon?

The honorable thing to dowould be to give him asword and match yourselfagainst him. You neverwanted that, did you?Youtriedthreetimestokillhim,andthreetimesyoufailed.Are you sure you want tokillhimatall?”

“Shutup!”DonEstebansaid, the words vicious.Refugio said nothing, onlywatchingherandtheothertwo men with taut

attention.Pilar went on, her

concentration on the bigman and the struggleinside him, which twistedhis face and made himclenchhisgreathandsintovein-corded fists. “It wasDon Esteban who causedIsabel's death, just as hekilled my mother and myaunt and now wants medead. He finds it easy toattack women. They don't

matter tohim; theirdeathstroublehimnomorethaniftheywereanimals.”

Don Esteban drew thesword that hung at hisside.“Yours,”hesaid,“willtroublemeevenless.”

Pilar barely glanced atthenakedbladepointedather, though she spokemore quickly. “Will you lethimgetawaywithwhathehas done, Baltasar? Willyou lethimuseyou toget

what he wants, eventhough he would have letyou be killed by theApaches with the rest ofus? The solution is easy.Give Refugio your sword.Give it to him and let thetwomenwhohave injuredyoutrytokilleachother.”

“An excellent idea,”Refugio said, his voicesoft, as if he fearedanything louder wouldswayBaltasarinthewrong

direction.At the same instant,

Don Esteban took a steptoward Pilar, shouting, “Itoldyoutoshutup!”

Baltasarmoved quicklyto match Don Esteban'sstride, and Refugio keptpace at his side. Thelanternlightraninasilver-blue gleam down thelength of the sword Pilar'sstepfatherheld.

She pushed herself up

with her back pressed tothewall behind her.Usingits support, she roseunsteadily to her boundfeet.Shejerkedatherrightankle with desperatestrength, trying to loosenthe thong. She felt thewetness of warm bloodcreeping clown her instep,dampening the leatherbinding.Sheincreasedthepressure, oblivious to thepain. Abruptly, the thong

slipped.Her right footwasfree, though it was sonumb she was not sure itwouldholdher.

Don Estebanadvanced another step ashesawshehad loosened,her bonds, though at thesame time he glancedback over his shoulder atthedoor.Itseemedhewasnot quite certain whetherthe jacal was surrounded,not certain he was free to

act. He cursed, Baltasar,saying in tones ofcontempt, “You came inwithmeon this plan.Nowstop playing the fool andhelpmecarryitout!”

Pilarsaidquickly to thebigman, “It isn't foolish toadmityoumadeamistake.You owe Don Estebannothing — unless it'spayment in kind for whathedidtoIsabel.Youcouldgivehimthat.”

“Listen to her,Baltasar,” Refugio, said insoft entreaty, “listen, andeithertakeyourmomentofvengeanceasPilarsaid—orelsegiveittome.”

“Stupid fools, all ofyou,” Don Esteban said,his lips curling in agrimace. He tightened hisgrip on his sword, movingwith it pointed at Pilar'sheart. She gathered hertrembling muscles,

knowing any evasion shemight make would be nomorethanadelay.

Baltasar moistened hislips as he listened toRefugio. “You will kill meforthis,later,”hesaid.

“No,” his leader saidhurriedly. “Escape isthroughthedoor.”

“Don't be an imbecile!”Don Esteban cried with asudden note of fear in hisvoice.“There'snoneedfor

this.”Thebigmanshookhis

head, obviously wavering.“The band will shoot metheminutetheyseeme.”

“Theymaytry,soyou'llhave to be quick. But Ipledge you a recompensefor Isabel's pain and herblood.” Refugio's voicewas steady. “And Pilar'slife.”

“Not if I take it first!”Don Esteban drew back

hisswordforthethrust.Baltasar made a

strangled sound,muttering, “Pray God thebandshootsstraight.”

He dragged his sword,screeching, from hisscabbard,andslappedthehilt intoRefugio's hand. Inthe same instant hewhirled around and divedforthedoor.

Refugiosparedhimnota glance, but lunged full

lengthwiththeswordinhisgrasp, catching thedrivingblow Don Esteban hadbegun, wrenching theother man's blade upwardin a rasping scrape thatshoweredthedirtfloorwithorange sparks. Theglittering point struck thewall above Pilar's headeven as the guards of thetwo weapons lockedtogether with a viciousclang.Refugiograbbedthe

older man's shoulder andshoved. The don plungedoff balance, coming upagainsttheadobewallinascattering of loose dirt,twistingaround to facehisopponent.

Refugio stepped back.Catching the hem of hiscloak, he swirled it aroundhisleftarm,outoftheway,then stood balanced andready.

Pilar,herbreathingfast

anduneven,slidalongthewall away from the men.She bent to snatch theblanket up from the floorunder Refugio's feet,where it might be animpediment.Heglancedather, a swift andcomprehensive appraisal,then he settled into hisposition, intentonlyon themanbeforehim.

Don Esteban attackedin fury, trying to take

advantage of the smallconfines of the jacal, toforce Refugio back intoPilar or else trap him in acorner. Pilar retreated inlimping haste to thedoorway, ready to stepthrough. She could notbring herself to movefarther,however,butstoodwatching with her fingersdigging into the blanket.From the night beyondcame the dull noise of

hoofbeats fading away asBaltasar fled. There hadbeennoshots,noshouts.

Refugio had beenbluffing. He had comealone.

DonEstebanfoughtlikean enraged animal caughtin a trap, using everydesperate ruse at hiscommand, every tricklearned from the NewOrleans encounterbetween them. Refugio

was fighting for two; hisdefeat would mean deathforPilar.Hiscountermoveswere smoothly efficient,butcautious.

The lantern cast theirshadows, dancing intriplicate on the wall. Itmade shifting pools oflayered darkness in thecorners that were moretreacherous than pureblackness would havebeen.Theceilingwaslow,

and uneven with itssagging poles; both menhad to watch above themas well as in front and tothe sides, or they werelikely to bring crumblingthatch, scorpions, andspiders cascading downthebacksoftheirnecks.

Refugio made not asound. Don Estebanbreathed like a faultybellows, gasping in thewarm air. Perspiration

appeared on the olderman'sface,beadingonhischeeks and forehead,running down his nose. Itmadeawetpatchbetweenhis shoulders on the backof his jacket. Refugio'shairline grew damp andcurling, and there was asatin sheen ofmoisture attheopenneckofhisshirt.

Theirfeetshuffledbackand forth on the earthenfloor, stirring up dust that

glinted in soft gold eddiesin the flickering light. DonEsteban grew moreaggressive, his footfallsheavier,asifhewantedtoslash Refugio to quiveringribbons and grind him intothe dirt. Refugio evadedhim, giving ground,expending a minimum ofeffort.

Backing swiftly, theyounger man unfurled hiscloak from his arm and

dipped his left hand intothe garment's pocket. Hedrew itoutwithhis fingersclenched around a smallleather bag. His gazenarrowed on the point ofhis opponent's sword, heput the bag to his mouthand used his teeth toloosen the string that heldit closed. With the bag'sneck open, he abruptlyturneditbottomsideup.

Gemspoured from it in

a stream as green andshining as the new leavesof summer. They hit thefloor, bouncing andskitteringunder the feet ofthe two men, buryingthemselves in the dustysurfacewheretheywinkedlike cat's eyes in the dimlight.

“You wanted theemeralds in exchange forPilar,”Refugiosaid.“Thereyouhavethem.Somemay

be a trifle marred beforewe're done, but I do keepmybargains.”

Don Esteban cursed insavage fury. He mincedback and forth on tiptoe,darting quick, agonizedglancesatthefloorwithhisteeth set together as if inanticipationofpain.

He trod upon a greenstone and it made anominous crunching noisein the gritty dirt. The don

flailed in a suddendesperate feint, circlingRefugio's blade, his ownadhering, locking with itonce more to the hilt. Heshoved at Refugio as heleapedback,disengaging.

“Stand clear,” heground out, his chestheavingwitheffort.“Imustpickupmyproperty.”

Refugio inclined hishead in politeacquiescence. “By all

means.”Don Esteban squatted

down, reachingout topickup the sparkling emeraldsfrom the dirt one by one,collecting them up in hisleft hand. His hastygathering was clumsy, forhe picked up quantities ofdryearthwiththem.Asheworked,hesnatchedquickupward glances atRefugio,asifhesuspectedhim of some ruse or was

planningonehimself.Disquiet rose in Pilar's

mind. Before she couldstop herself, a warningrosetoherlips.“Takecare—”

There was no need tofinish it. Refugio waswatching, waiting in long-held knowledge of the slycunning thatunderlayDonEsteban'sactions.

Thedonsprangupright,flinging the handful of

jewels and dirt intoRefugio'sface.Hefollowedthem with a hard, straightthrustofhis swordwithallhis strength behind it.Refugio bent swiftly underthehail ofgreenstones intheircloudofdust,meetinghis opponent's sword witha parry that jarred themboth to the elbow, thenleading into an Italianmaster's feint that slippedpast Don Esteban's guard

like an eel sliding intowater.

DonEsteban cried out.The two men held theirplaces while the dust thedon had thrown settled,lazilybillowing,tothefloor.It appeared for a momentthat the two wereembracing, with Refugiosupporting the older man.ThenRefugioretractedhissword. Don Estebanstaggered back, sprawling

to lie in the dirt with acrimson stain spreadingoverhisjacketfront.

Pilar let out her pentbreath and closed hereyes. Tears threatened tooverwhelm her, and sheswallowed them down.Shefeltsickandspentandempty.Shehadwitnessedan execution. She hadknown how it would be,must be, as surely asBaltasar had known when

hegaveRefugiohisswordand departed. Refugiocould have drawn out theagony, could havetormented his old enemyasthewildcatforwhichhewasnamedmightplaywitha mouse. He had not. Hehad permitted the don alast chance at escape, achance to call it even andwithdraw from thecontest,and even take his stolenproperty.DonEstebanhad

not been able to resist alast foul ruse, a lastattempt tocatchhisswornfoe unaware. And so hehaddied.

Hehaddied,anditwasover.

Pilar opened her eyes.Refugio was on one kneein the dust, sifting throughit for the emeralds. Hismovements weredeliberate, precise. Hecupped the shining stones

inhishand, touchingthemwith his long, callusedfingers, meticulouslycounting. A bleak painsettledinPilar'schest;still,she moved slowly to joinhim. She sank to herknees,reachingtolocateahalf-dozengreenjewels.

“That's all of them.”Refugio'sfacewasstill,hiseyes shadowed in thedimness.

Pilarheld theemeralds

to the light, then bent herhead to carefully blowaway the dust adhering tothem. With them lying onthe blue-veined whitesurface of her palm, sheheldthemouttoRefugio.

He reached for herhand, taking it in his.Withhis closed fingers aroundthe emeralds he held, heput his fist over her palmthen released his grasp,adding them to those she

had recovered. Removinghis hand, he curled hisfingersaroundherssoshepossessed the wholeshimmering green hoard;thenheheldthemthere.

“What are you doing?”she said. “I don't wantthese.”

“Youdidonce.”“Not anymore. You're

the one who risked yourlife for them, the onewholost the most; you should

havethem.”She tried to push them

toward him, but he wouldnot let her. His clasptightened until she couldfeel the polished edges ofthe stones biting into herskin.Abruptly,hereleasedher and rose to his feetwith decision. He steppedback.

“I don't want to seethem again,” he said.“They are a reminder of

things best forgotten. Imake you a present ofthem, a dowry. Now, shallwego?”

“But what of you?” sheasked.

Hewasalready turningtowardthedoor.Helookedbackwithonehandbracedon the frame. His grayeyeswerecloudedandhisface lined with wearinessas he answered. “What ofme? Dowries are

convenient things, I havenodoubt,butI...havenouseforone.”

24

THE FUNERAL FOR DonEsteban was held thefollowing day. They buriedhim in the piece ofhallowed ground beyondthe walls of the haciendawhere the charros andtheir families were laid to

rest, and also Charro'sgrandfather,whohadbeengiven the land. The oldman had wanted to watchoverhismercedes, thoughlater Huerta familymembers were buried inthe cemetery near theMissionSanJuan.

It was Señor Huertawho had pointed out thatPilar was now, mostprobably, Don Esteban'sheir.Hissonwasdeadand

there were no other livingrelatives of close degree,so her claim should bestrong. There was acertainbitterhumor in thatknowledge. It matteredlittle to Pilar, however,beyond the fact that therewould likely be no one todispute her possession oftheemeralds.

Governor Pacheco hadbeen present at theservice. Vicente had been

sent to inform him of thedeathandawaithisordersastowhathewishedintheway of investigation intothe affair. It had been agreat concession for thegovernor to comepersonallytothehacienda,one due to the status ofSeñor Huerta in thecommunity, Pilar thought.After the ceremony, whilethegravewasbeing filled,the governor had

convened a hearing. Pilarhad not attended for thesimple reason that neithershe nor any of the otherwomen of the house hadbeen informed of it. It hadbeen of no great duration.Thegovernor,Charrosaid,had decided after hearingthe evidence, that DonEstebanhadbeenkilledinanhonorablemeetingwithswords,andthatnoblamecould be attached to

Refugio for the tragicoutcome. GovernorPacheco had taken avirulent dislike to the don,and was not inclined towastemanyminutesofhistime in worry over theman'sdemise.Thewonderwas not, according to theofficial, that someone hadkilledhim, but that noonehad done it sooner. Therehadbeensomesuggestionthat the death be blamed

on the Apaches, with onlythe arrival of Carranzapreventing the usualmutilation of the body.Refugio would not agree.The responsibilitywashis,and he would not deny it.Hehadseemedinclinedtoobject to calling it ameeting of honor, but hadbeen prevailed upon toagree to it as the wisestcourse.

Vicente had been

troubled by the findings ofthe inquiry, thoughhewasglad that his brother wasfreed from the threat ofpunishment in the matter.Hehad felt itnecessary tospeak to a priest about it.That was not difficult, forthe good padre fromMission San Juan hadcome to the hacienda forthe funeral rites and hadstayedovernightafterward.The two had sat up until

nearly dawn discussingthis and a multitude ofother theologicalquestionsas propounded in Seville,and also the problems ofmission life, frompersuading the Indians toaccept the glories ofChristianity to keeping thesystem of canals thatwatered the fields openand running. Whenmorning came, Vicentehad ridden with the padre

back to the mission, aspart of his escort. Vicentehad not returned. Instead,therehadbeenamessagesayingthathewouldreturnwiththepriestintwodays’time, when he came tocelebrate the weddingmass, but then wouldmake the mission hishome.Therewasneedforhis help there, and it waspossiblehewouldbecomeanassistantfriarintraining

tothepriest.The message was a

reminder of how close thewedding was upon Pilar.All that was left was thisnight and one more, thenshe would be wed toCharro.Pilarwanted tobehappy, to feel someanticipation, but she couldnot. She was fond ofCharro. More than that,she respected him andknewhewould be a good

husband to her. Still, thethought of the wedding,and the night afterward,filledherwithdread.

Adozen timesshehadstarted out to find him, tobeg off from it. A dozentimes she had stopped.She was reluctant to hurtandembarrasshimbyherrefusal to go through withthe ceremony after sheherself had dragged himinto it. She hated to admit

that she did not know herown mind, that she hadacceptedhisverytentativeoffer out of pique anddesperation. Moreover,she could not think whatelse she would do, whereshewouldgoandhowshewould get there over thedangerous roads to SanAntonio. If she could notleave, couldnot commandanescort,itwouldbemostuncomfortablestayinghere

to face Señor and SeñoraHuerta,aswellasCharro.

She thought Charrosuspectedhowshefelt,forshe had caught himwatching her with concerninhiseyes.Hewasmoodyand withdrawn, though hekept close beside herwhenRefugiowasnear.

When Charro was notwith her, he spent muchtimewithEnrique.Thetwoof them, she thought,

missedBaltasar.Itwasnotsurprising; they had beentogetherforalongtime.

The big man had notreappeared, nor had anysign of him been foundaround the hacienda bytheIndiancharros.Noonecould say where he wasstaying, what he wasdoing, how he was living.Hecouldbeanywhere.Hewas used to living off theland. It was possible, too,

that he had gone to SanAntonio, or that he hadridden away either southtoward the Rio Grande orback east towardLouisiana.

Pilarhadthoughtofhimoftensincethenightatthejacal. He had done muchthat was vile, yet he hadsaved her life by hisrefusal to kill her. Shewouldneverforgetthelookinhiseyesasheleft,orhis

whispered prayer of hopethat the band was waitingoutside,waitingtokillhim.

Baltasarhadwanted todie.Itwasnot just Isabel'sdeath and his part incausingit,shethought,butalso his betrayal of theman who had been hisfriend and his leader. Solong as he could holdIsabelupashisreason,hecouldlivewithit.Whenshewas gone, he could not.

Shewonderedwhatwouldbecome of him, though itseemed likely she wouldneverknow.

She could not sleep. Itseemed endless agessince she had really slept.She had been so restlessthis evening that she hadnot even donned hernightgown when sheretiredforthenight,butstillworethedaygownofgraystripes with a black

stomacher that she hadput on that morning. Shehad tried to work on apiece of sewing Charro'smother had given her, apetticoatforhertrousseau,but soon tossed it aside.Leaving the candlesburningonthetablebesidethe bed, she had pulledher chair out onto thebalcony. Somehow, itseemedmore restful therein the corner where the

grapevinesgrewinathick,rustlingcurtain.

Thenightwascalm,theair fresh and dry yet soft.The stars appeared close.Themoonhardlymovedinits arcing track across theheavens. There was aguardontheplatformnearthe gate, but she thoughthe was asleep; there hadbeen no flicker ofmovement from there insome time. Now and then

amoth,drawnbythelight,fluttered past and into thebedchamber. She couldhear the insects flyingagainst the candle's glassshade,bumpingintoitwithafaintmusicalchiming.

The first notes of theguitar were so soft shewasnotquitesureshewasnot hearing the mothsagainst the glass. Theygrew louder by degrees,but still seemed to be

coming from far away,perhaps from a roomunder the far end of theloggia, perhaps even fromoutsidethecourtyardwall.

Then, as sherecognized the melody,Pilar felt something hotand tight closearoundherheart,slowlysqueezing.

Why?Whydidhehavetodoit?Didheknowwhatpain that sound broughther, what memories it

stirredsothattheydanced,hauntingly, in her head?Thatnighton theship, theinstant the planes of hisface softened before hereached to take her in hisarms.Thewayheknelt tocomfort the little boy whohad been bitten by theparrot.Thefeelofhisarmsaround her as he lay withher in the bed at DoñaLuisa's house in NewOrleans. The look in his

eyes as New Orleansburned. The infinite graceofhisfallfromhishorseashe was shot during theApache attack. The starktimbre of his voice as hebargained for the comfortof her body with promisesof pleasure. The carelesscascade of green gems,shininginthelanternlight.

The quiet strummingcame nearer, as if theplayer was walking at a

slow, even pace. It almostseemed that Pilar couldfeel the chords vibratingdeep inside her, drawingout the same sweetresonance as before. Atthesametime,sheknewaburgeoning panic. What ifRefugio should come toher?Whatwouldshesay?What would she do?Wouldshebeabletodenyhim, to send him away?What would happen if

Charro should find himthere?

How could Charro notknow he was there, whenEl Leon was announcinghis presence, if not hisintentions, so clearly withhismusic?

ItmightnotbeRefugio.Itcouldbeanymanwithaguitar who had heard thesong he had played andremembered it, or beenremindedthatheknewit.

No, she knew it wasRefugio. No one elseplayed with thatcombination of precisionand hidden fire. No oneelsecoulddrawoutthejoyandpathoswithinthesongandmake themring in theair. No one else knew sowell how to breach herdefenses and, musicianand master swordsmanthat he was, pierce herheartwith a single singing

note.She closed her eyes,

listening in tightconcentration, as if shewould memorize everyphraseandcadence,everydelicateintimationofclose-heldemotion.Shelistened,scarcely breathing. Shelistened and felt,somewhere insideher, thehotgatheringoftears.

Shecouldnotdoit.She could not marry

Charrowheneveryparticleof her being could beawakened to hopelesslonging by the sound of aguitar. To stand with himbefore a priest andexchange vows of fidelityand love would be tobetrayeverythingshewas,everything she felt forRefugio. Where could itlead, except to disaster?For if Refugio came forher,shemustgowithhim.

There was nothing thatcould prevent it exceptdeathitself.

Was he coming? Wasthe music louder, nearer?She got to her feet,drawing farther backamong the vines. Shecould see nothing in thecourtyard below exceptlong rectangles ofblackness and the faintshimmer of the moon'slight among the spattering

droplets falling from thefountain. There was noquiet tread, no stealthymovement.

Orwasthere?Hadthatbeenthegracefulslideofashadow along the highwall? She strained hereyesbutcouldnotbesure.

If he did come for her,what then? What wouldbecome of them? Wherewould they go? GovernorPacheco might have

looked the other way overthedeathofDonEsteban,but that did not mean hewould forget to send toSpain to learn about ElLeon. They might have ayear, possibly two, andthen Refugio would be awanted man again. Theycould run away, headfarther south in thedirection of Vera Cruz orMexicoCity,butsomeday,somewhere,thelongreach

of the king would touchthemandthatwouldbetheend.

But they would havethe time until then. Theywould have the glory. Ayear couldbea long time.Inayear,therecouldbeachild. In two, there couldbe another. She wouldhave something left ofRefugio to cling to, someliving chalice to hold theessenceoftheirlove.

Ifhewascoming.The song was ending.

There were only a fewnotes more. She drew adeep breath, preparing tomove forward from herconcealment into themoonlight, to beckon tohim.

And then the musicceased.

It stopped with adiscord, a twangingviolationof thestrings that

rasped Pilar's nerves torawness and sent ashudder along her spine.Shedidnotmove.Disquietechoed through her. Sheopened her eyes so widethey ached as shesearched the dim cornersofthecourtyard.

What was happening?Who was out there? Theurgetocalloutroseinherthroat,butshehelditback.She thought of going

inside, of making her waydownstairsandoutintothecourtyard. She hesitated,uncertain it was wise,almost sure her presentvantagepointwasbetter.

Then there came therustle of grapevine leavesfrom the far end of thebalcony. They shookagain,amovementthatsetthe vines farther alongnearPilartoquivering.

The agitation was too

violent to be a lizarddarting along the vines, oreven the kitchen catascending them as itstalked some nightcreature.Therewasamanclimbingupfromtheloggiabelow.

Hewasmoving swiftly,without pausing to searchoverlongforhandholds,asifhehaddone thisbefore.Hewashoistinghimselfupwith the athletic ease of

hard muscles and well-honed reflexes. It wouldtakehimonlyamomenttoreach the balcony railing.Pilartookastepforward.

His head appearedamong the vine leaves, abobbing shadow. He drewhimself upward, his broadshoulder musclesbunching with the effort.Reachingfortherailing,hegrasped it for support ashe levered himself close

enoughtoputafootontheedge of the floorboardsunderneath.

Pilar moved with aquick tread, stepping intothe shafting light of themoon. Her voice suddenlybreathless, she called outinsoft,tentativewelcome.

“I'mhere,Refugio.”Below in the courtyard

a man ran from theshadows. His head wasbare, his features

contorted with rage andfear, and he carried amusketinhishands.

“Get back, Pilar!”Charro shouted. “Stay outoftheway!”

Theman at the end ofthe balcony was movingnow with urgent speed,disentangling himself fromtheconcealingvines,liftingalonglegtoputitovertherailing even as he bracedhishandsbehindhim.Ina

momenthewouldvaultthetoprailandlandonhisfeeton the balcony. Downbelow, Charro brought hismusketuptohisshoulder.He sighted down thebarrel,readytofire.

Pilar saw what washappening and could notbelieveit.Ascreamrushedinto her throat, swelling ittobursting.Ittorefromherinshrilldespair.“No!”

The musket shot

cracked out, becoming abooming roar. Orange fireblossomed around thebarrel, then wassmothered by a cloud ofdark smoke. Anothermusket boomed from adifferent quarter, and yetanother.Thevivid,blindingexplosionsshookthenightand drowned every othersoundintheirthunder.

The musket ballswhined, thudding into the

man on the shadowedbalcony.Hegruntedashewas flung backward withblack splotches spreadingonthewhiteofhisshirt.Hecaught himself with hishands on the railing,weaving.Thenhereleasedhis hold and fell, heavyand lax, into the courtyardbelow.

Pilarheardthecrashashe broke through thelattice over the patio area,

then a solid impact as hestruck the ground. Sheswayed,tryingtocatchherbreath in her raw throat,trying to make her mindand her body obey herfrantic will while red mistswambeforehereyesandshe could feel her heartdraining.

“No,” she whispered,withaviolentshakeofherhead.“No!”

Then as if released,

she whirled and flungherself throughthedoorofher bedchamber andacross the room. Shesnatched open the innerdoor and ran with flyingskirts to the salon wherethe stairs descended. Sheflew downward and outontotheloggia.

There,sheslowed toajerkywalk,movingas in adaze towardwhere amanlay stretched on the

ground with Charro andEnriquebendingoverhim.Behindher thehousewasblooming with light asvoices called out indistressand fear.Througha haze of tears she sawthe maid Benita comerunningfromalowerroom,sawSeñorHuertawalkingfrom a dark corner of thecourtyard with a smokingmusketinhishand.

Charro turnedhishead

as he heard Pilarapproach. His face wasgrayandhismouthsetinastraight line of pain. Hestraightened, stepping infront of the body. Puttingout his hands, he tried tocatch her arms, to stopher. “Don't,” he said, hisvoice thick. “Don't look.There's nothing you cando.”

She evaded him,refusing tomeet his eyes,

jerking the arm he caughtfrom his grasp. She wentto one knee beside theman on the ground in abillow of skirts. Her gaze,quick and desperate, ranover the spreading redwetness that colored thewhole front of his shirt. Atremor ran over her,quivering in her hand asshe reached and turnedhisfacetolight.

A small crywas forced

from her, and after it along,tremuloussigh.Tearsspilled over her lashes,runninginwarmwettracksdownherface.Sheplacedher hand on his foreheadandbroughtitdownslowly,gently,toclosethestaring,glazingeyes.

The men above hershifted. There was a softtread behind her, then afigure knelt in swoopinggrace at her side. “I pray

you are near, cara,”Refugio said, “to be thelast thing on this earth Isee, and to shut out thenightforme.”

He put his arm aroundher shoulders, holding hertightagainsthimforalongmoment before he drewher to her feet. He waswarmandwholeandalive,thoughhisfacewasdrawnand there was darknessbehindhiseyes.

Charro took a stepforward.“Wehadtoshoot.Baltasar was going forPilar again. God knowswhy — revenge, for theemeralds — but wecouldn'ttakeachance.”

It was not only Charro,but also his father andEnrique who had fired.Theycarried theirmusketsorelsehadlainthemdownnear the body. Refugio,Pilar saw, had no firearm.

He had only the sword athis side. The leather strapthatcrossedhischesthelda guitar slung behind hisback.

“Shall I thank you forexacting my revenge forme?”Refugiosaid.

Charroblinkedasatideof angry color rose in hisface. “It seemednecessary.Youwouldnot.”

“Maybeforareason?”“Yes, because you

overflow with misplacedcompassion,Baltasar triedthree different times to killyou,andmighthaveagainthe next time self-pitymuddled his brain. Hemanhandled Pilar once,putting her life in danger,andwasabout to trymoreof thesame.Therehad tobeanendtoit.”

“I don't think he meanttohurtme,”Pilarbroke in,her voice husky. “He kept

me from harm before,when my stepfatherwanted me killed. No, Ithink he knew all of youwere out here watching,waiting. I think Baltasarwanted—”

Refugio's arm clampeddown on her shoulders, awarning pressure instantlyreleased.Hissmoothvoiceintervenedasshefaltered.“Baltasar wanted a few oftheemeralds,doubtless,to

make his path smootherwhereverhedecidedtogo.It'stheobviousanswer.”

Itmightbeobvious,butit wasn't correct. Baltasar,she was almost sure, hadwanted to die, and hadappointed the band hisexecutioners. Refugioknew itaswellasshe;hehadbeentheretohearthebig man's whisperedprayer that night at thejacal. To tell the band the

truth, she saw belatedly,would not be a kindness.Theyhadenoughguiltandpain to handle withoutaddingmore.

Charrowasshakinghishead. “Hemight havehurtPilartogetthem.”

“He might,” Refugio,agreed, his voice flat withcareandweariness.

Baltasar, Pilar thought,had also known thatRefugiowasnotonguard,

for he had heard himplaying his serenade. Hehadgivenhis leader,then,this one small mercy,perhaps in return for themannerofIsabel'sdying—that Refugio need notshare in the death. Thisalso Refugio must know,andbear.

Pilar had thought oncethat she disliked thecomplicated mentalprocesses of the man at

her side. She was wrong.She loved the complexitythatwassomuchapartofhim, for within it weredegrees of tolerance andunderstanding unknown tomost. She had benefitedfrom it as much as any,and would, pray God,again.

“It'sovernow,”Enriquesaid, the brusque wordshiding whatever he mightfeel. “We should cover

him, bury him, and makeanendofit.”

“Yes,” Señor Huertasaid with a glance towardwhere his wife and DoñaLuisahovered,withBenitabeside themand theotherservants nearby. Hebeckoned toward one ofthe Indian men, and alsotowardtheguardsquattingon his platform, watchingthe proceedings. They rantodohisbidding.

“Thisway,”hiswife,theseñora, said, indicatingthat the body should becarried into a small roomused for guests on thelowerfloor.

Charro moved towardPilar.His facewas stiff ashis gaze rested onRefugio's arm still abouther, but he held out hishand. “Come, Pilar. Thishas been distressing foryou. Iwill seeyouback to

your room and your bed,andmaybe findaglassofwinetocalmyou.”

“No.”It was Refugio who

spoke, the word simple,final.Hedidnotreleasehishold, but kept Pilar at hisside.

Charro searched hisface.“Youhavenorighttointerfere. She is mybetrothed.”

“Notany longer. Ihave

apriorright,andI'mtakingherwithme.”

“Prior right? If youmean because you madeher yourmistress, I refusetorecognizeit!”

“No, my friend.Because of promises andpledges made in twohemispheres, unblessedbut no less binding.Because of nights sharedand dangers met and twomindsthatleapasonetoa

singleconclusion.Becausesheisbeautyandstrengthandtruth,andIhaveneedof them. Because sheholdsmysoulinthehollowof her hand and keeps itsecure when there is noother who will, or can.Because I must. Becausesherequiresit.”

Charro stood tall withthe moonlight striking theprominent bones of hisface and leaving his eyes

inshadow. “Iwon't letyoutakeher.”

“Stopme,”Refugiosaidquietly, and brought hissword sighing from itsscabbard.

Benita screamed.Señora Huerta moanedwhile her husband sworeunderhisbreath.Themenremoving Baltasar's bodyput it down and stoodwatching,alertfororders.

Charro did not move a

muscle though his chestroseand fellwithhis rapidbreathing. His voice wasstrained as he made hisanswer.“Icancommandadozen men with a singleword. The gates arelocked. There is no wayyoucanwinfree.”

“Fighting is not afavorite pastime, but I cando it,” Refugio answered,hisswordpointsteadyandonly inches from Charro's

heart. “There are horseswaiting beyond the wall,and Enrique will open thegate.”

Theacrobat,asCharroturnedtolookathim,gaveashrugandanod.

“I forbid it,” the son ofthe Huerta estancia said,“andmywordislawhere.”

“Not to me,” Enriquesaid in sorrowful, butmeasured contradiction.“Refugio is still, and will

ever be, my leader. He isstillElLeon.”

Charro'sfacetightened.He swung sharply towardPilar and his eyesnarrowed as he tilted hishead, studying her paleface. “This was planned,then,” he said in gratingtones. “I might haveknown.Didyou?”

Pilar began to shakeher head, but Refugiospokefirst.

“The betrayal is minealone. An abduction wasplannedfortonight,buttherest — washappenstance.”

“Conspicuously gallant,as usual, but yours is notthe answer I seek. Youdon't protest, Pilar, nor doyou beg to stay. If Imisunderstood you whenyou said in front of thegovernorthatyoumeanttomarryme, youmight have

toldmeso.”“You didn't

misunderstand. It's just —I'msorry,Charro.Ithoughtit would be best foreverybody.Iwaswrong.”

“Thenyou'regoingwithRefugio?”

She made a smallgesture of distress.“Please don't try to stophim. I couldn't bear thatthere should be any morekilling.”

“Butifyouareunwilling—”hebeganurgently.

“No, not unwilling.Never — quite —unwilling.”

Refugio signaled withhis sword to Enrique. Theacrobatleapedtoraisethebar of the gate. Step byslow step, Refugio drewPilarbackwithhim towardthe wide opening. Charromoved after themwith hishands clamped into fists

and his jaws so tight themusclesstoodoutinrelief.Therewasindecisioninhiseyes,however.

“Let them go,my son,”came the quiet counsel ofSeñoraHuerta. “You haveinterferedenough.”

“Yes,” Benita said intoneslacedwithangerandgladnessasshemoved toCharro's side. “Let themgo.”

Refugiodidnotwait for

more.HeswungwithPilar,sweeping her out of thecourtyard toward where apairofhorseswere tied toa hitching post. He threwher up into the saddle,tossed up her reins, thenswungtohisownhorse.Inan instant they hadgathered theirmountsandsent them pounding awaydown the long and dustyroad that led to SanAntonio.

They rode swift andhard. Pilar did not askwhere they were going,she did not want to know.It was enough that shewas beside Refugio, andthe road ahead, silver inthe light of themoon,wasopen before them. Themomentwashers, aswasthe great, swellingexhilarationofloveshefeltinside her. Nothing couldtake it away, nothing

changeit.Shewouldkeepthememoryalways.

Theyhadgoneperhapsfivemileswhenshelookedback.Theroadbehindwasclear,andyet therewasahaze rising above it, aroiling cloud that caughtthe moonglow with a paleglinting. It seemed to bemoving fast, caused by agroup of horsemen of nosmallnumber.

Her eyes were

shadowed as she lookedtoward Refugio. “We'rebeingfollowed,”shecalled.

“I know.” Theacknowledgmentwasgrim.

“Apaches, do youthink?”

He shook his head.“Charro.”

They increased theirspeed, galloping throughthe night. The wind wascool in their faces, the airtingedwitha sweet, sharp

scent of sage. Rabbitssprangfromtheirpathandsprinted away. Birds withlonglegsandlongernecksraced beside them forshort stretches beforeveeringintothegrass.Themoon leaned towardsetting, then finally, as ifletting go, dropped belowthehorizon.Still,theyrodeon.

The horsemen behindthem kept pace. They did

notclosethegapbetweenthem, but neither did theyfall back. On and on theywent as dawn spreadslowlyintothesky,liningitwithpinkandrosesilkandveils of blue gauze. Thesun came up, sending itssearching, life-giving raystoslantintotheireyes.Andthen, when the world wasbrightest, they heardfloatingtowardthemonthemorning breeze the sound

ofchurchbells.Vicentewaswaiting for

theminfrontofthemissionchapel. The two brothersclasped each other'sshoulders, both grinning.Vicente, when Refugioreleased him, steppedforward to salute Pilar onthecheek.

“Enough of that,”Refugio said in mockdisapproval. “We haveneedtohurry.”

“There's a problem?”Vicente inquired, hishumordisappearing.

“You might say so.Charroiscoming.”

“Then come this way.Thepadreiswaiting.”

As Vicente steppedinside the church, Refugioturned to Pilar. Therewassudden gravity in his eyesas he offered his hand,and with it an open,unshielded look that she

hadneverseenbefore.Hedrew a deep breath,squaring his shoulders. “Ididn't mean it to be thisway,” he said. “I meant totakelonghoursconvincingyou that all the things Isaid to Don Esteban andBaltasar that night wereliesmeanttopreserveyourlifeandmysanity. Imeanttowooyouwithsoftwordsto make up for all thoseunspoken these long

monthswhenIhadnorightto declaremyself, to courtyou with caresses andpromises of eternaldevotion. Only if thosefailed did I intend to stealyouaway.”

“Only then,” she said,staring past his shoulder,“because you thought Imightrequireit?”

“Quick, so quick,” hemourned. “I knew betterthantosaythataloud.But

canyoudenyit?Couldyouhave brought yourself towound Charro's tenderpride with a blunt refusalwhen theweddingwas sonear? Could you haveovercome the outcry ofyourconscienceinordertotellhim?Imeanttodoitforyou.”

“To save me frommakingamistake?”

“I am not so noble. Tosaveyouforme.”

“I heard the reasonsyou gave to convinceCharro,” she said in softdistress as she met thepenetrating gray of hiseyes,“butareyousurethisiswhatyouwant?”

“It'swhatIneed,whatImust have, or become araving maniac trying tohold the world at sword'slengthwhileIkeepyou.”

“Youcould travel fasteralone.” The words were

starkwithself-denial.“I'mgoingnowhere.”“You must, eventually.

What of when GovernorPacheco receives wordfromSpain?”

“He has decidedagainst sending adispatch; he toldme soatthe funeral. The Tejascountryneedssettlers,andit's not as if there hasneverbeenabandit in theprovince.Accordingtohim,

half the officials in thecolonialsystemqualify.”

“He knows then, aboutyou?”

“Rather, he refuses toknow. So long as there isdoubt, he is content. Hedidn't care for yourstepfather. Not only didDonEsteban infuriatehim,but he had heard of him,nottohiscredit,inMadrid.And itseems thatheonceknewmyfather.”

“Thenthatmeans,”shesaid in slow, mountinggladness, “that you'resafe.”

“We're safe. For themoment. There's still thematter of a jiltedbridegroom, and time isslippingaway.Shall Ibeadead abductor or a deadhusband, my sweet Pilar?What will it take to havetheanswerIseek?”

“Only ask,” she

answered, her eyes richlybrown, perfectly clear asshesustainedthe intensityofhissearchinggaze.

He smiled in slow, richamusement. “I prefer myway,”hesaid,andbent toplace his hand under herknees, lifting her high inthe strength of his arms.Hesteppedwithherinsidethechurchdoors.

There, he halted. Hisvoicedeep,heasked,“Will

youmarryme?”“Immediately,” she

answered, for she couldhear the drumming ofhorses' hoofs, a muffledroar above the quickbeatingofherheart.

“Yes,” he said softly,“immediately.”

The priest was in hisvestmentsandthecandleshad been lighted. Thekneelingbenchwasplacedbefore thealtar.Thesmell

of incense, dry wood, andsanctity hung in the air.The mission Indians, theirfaces expectant, filled thehand-hewn pews. Thebells had stopped ringing.Allwasready.

It took nomore than afewscantmomentsforthenames to be repeated forthepriest.Theirvowsweremade while candlelightshone on their faces,reflecting serene and

golden in their eyes. Thepriestmadethesignofthecross in blessing overthem, intoning hiscommand to be fruitful.Theywerewed.Thepriest,his voice gentle buthurried, faintly harried,began to intone the finalprayer.

The church doorsopened. The tread ofbooted feet could beheard, echoing on the

wooden floor. Then camesilence.

The priest's voicefaltered, but he continuedcourageously to the end.Withafinalbenediction,heraisedhishead.

Pilar, with Refugio'sarmaroundher,gotslowlyto her feet, then turned tofacethechurchaisle.

Charro stood there,with Enrique at one sideandhisfatherontheother.

Behind them were thecharros, some twentystrong.Therewasdust ontheir shoulders and in thelines of their faces, andthey all held their hats intheirhands.

“We could not let youride all this wayunescorted, even if wewere somewhat tardy,”Charro said, his facecreasing inawrysmile. “Itseemed that itwouldbea

shameiftheApacheswereallowed to stop thewedding. It's onewe have— all of us — thoughtshould have beencelebratedlongsince.”

His father clapped himontheback.“Wellsaid,myson.Andwewill celebrateitasonlywecancelebrateweddingshereintheTejascountry. My wife andBenita are preparing afeast, and riders have

been sent to bring theguests. By the time wereturn, they will haveprepared the nuptialchamber,wherethetwoofyou will stay as long asyouwish,oraslongasyouare able! Come now, andletthejoybegin!”

It was unending, thatjoy. The music and thefood, the wine and thelaughter continued for twodays and nights. Enrique

and Doña Luisa, watchingit, stated their unalterablepurpose of taking upresidence in San Antoniobefore they were wed.Theywerenotcertaintheycould survive anotherestanciafiesta.

Charro's gaiety wasforced at first, then as thedaughters fromneighboring estanciasstrolled past him, lookingat him from the cornersof

their dark, liquid eyes, hebecame more resigned.And he was often seen indark corners with Benita.Consoling him in myriadways, with soft words andinviting glances andaccess to her downstairschamber, had become themaidservant's mostpressingduty.

Benita came to Pilarduring the first night.Leaning over the chair

where Pilar sat under theloggia, the maidservantwhispered, “Tomorrowyoumustgrindcorn.”

“What?” Pilar turned tolookatthegirl.

“Among my mother'speople,whocamewiththepriests from far south inMexico,ayoungmanoftensteals a bride. If shedoesn't run away, if shebegins to grind the corn,it'sallright.”

“I'll remember that,”Pilarsaid,smiling.

“Oh,yes, it's funny,butalsowise.ShallIbringyoua grinding bowl and somegrain?”

“Please,” Pilar said,thinking of what Refugiowouldsaywhenhesawit.

“Iwill,”thegirlsaid,andwent away to see whoCharro was dancing withnow.

Whatwould becomeof

Benita? Pilar wished sheknew. It seemed unlikelythat Charro's parentswould countenance amarriage between them.And yet, they had nearlylost Charro once becausethey tried to separatethem. Perhaps somethingcould be worked out; shewould have to think aboutit.

In themeantime it wasgrowing late, andRefugio,

standing with Enrique andSeñor Huerta, wasignoring the conversationoftheothertwomenwhilehewatchedherwithalookthat brought heated bloodtoher face.Shemadeherexcuses and good-nightsto her hostess andmovedwith unhurried stepstowardthestairs.

Refugio joined herwithin the quarter hour.She was waiting, lying

nakedinthecurtainedbedwith her hair brushed andspilling around her on herpillow in the light of asingle candle, and thesheetpulledupandtuckedover her breasts. Hepausedinthedoorway,thelight in his gray eyesbecoming steely withintentness. Closing thedoor behind him, hestepped into thebedchamber.

Itwasthenthathesawthe small bag of emeraldsthatlayinthecenterofthesecondpillowofthebed.

“What is this?” heaskedquietlyashebegantostripoffhisshirt.

“My dowry,” sheanswered.

“To offend you is mylast wish at this moment,butIhavetotellyouIdon'tfeel like sharing my pillowwiththem.”

“We must decide howtheyaretobeused.”

“Mustwe?Now?”She ignored the

seductive depth of hiswords.“Thereisthematterof the estancia that joinsthis one, with an ownerwhomaysell.”

“You would like anestancia?”

“I thought you might,since you mentioned itbefore.”

“The emeralds areyours.Dowhat youwant.”He tossed his shirt asideand began to lever off hisboots.

She gave him anirritated look. “How can Ibuy land unless youagree?I'mnottheonewhowill have to tend it or fighttheIndians!”

“You require that Idecide?”

“I don't require

anything!”shesaid,raisingherselftosweepthebagofgems from the pillow andflingthemathim.“Dowhatyouwillwiththem!”

He left off unbuttoninghis breeches to catch thebag in a deft grasp. Hisgaze went to the expanseof softly curving, pearl-tintedfleshexposedasthesheet over Pilar wasdislodged.Hisvoicequietlyquestioning, he said,

“Anything?”“Yes, I don't care. I

neverdidcare,exceptthat—”

“I know, cara, I alwaysknew.There'snoneed foryou to tell me.” Heskimmed from hisbreeches, then, splendidlynaked, sat down on thebedbesideher.

She glanced at him,thenawayagain.“Thenlettheemeraldsbeours.Let's

decide together what's tobedone.”

“Eventually,” hemurmured, taking thesheetsheheldandtuggingit from her grasp beforestrippingittotheendofthebed. “I've thought ofsomething else to do withthemjustnow.”

He leaned over her,supporting himself on oneelbow. Pressing herbackwardsoshelayflaton

the mattress, he openedthetopofthebagheheld,thenupendedit.

She jumped a little asthe cool stones touchedher skin, rolling into thevalley between herbreasts, bouncing in atrickle over her abdomento the flat expanse of herbelly, with the last brightstone coming to rest neartheapexofherthighs.Andyet, guessing his purpose,

sheknewtheslowsurgeofexcitement in her veins.She watched inbemusement as Refugiobent over her and tookbetween his lips a gemthat rested on the side ofthe mound of her breast,before tasting the skinunderneath.

Withslowreluctanceheliftedhishead,thenturnedand spat the emerald intohishand.

“Gritty,” he said, “butunaccountablydelicious.”

“Unaccountably?” shequeried,hervoicelow.

He smiled with a slowcurvingofhisfirmlips.“It'spossible I might accountforitifpressed.”

“I love you,” she said,reachingto touchhis face,trailing her fingers throughthecrispwavesofhishair,feeling the rising swell ofjoy and passion and hope

that came from deepinside.

“I know,” he answered,his gaze darkening as hewatched her face, “but Ithought you would neversay it. If you tell me athousand times, it willneverbeenough.”

“Shallwesee?”“Not . . . right this

minute.”“Ah. You prefer this

other thing you thought

of?”“Possibly.”Heleanedto

takeupanotherstone,butspat it out more quicklythan the last. “Very gritty.Thisideamayhavebeenamistake.”

Pilar lifted a brow, thelook in her dark eyessultry. She picked up thethree or four sandiestemeralds in her fingersand rubbed them on thesheet to clean them.

Returning them to theirformer places with care,she reached for thecandlestick from the tablebeside the bed, bringing itto her lips to blow out theflame.

Shesettledbackonherpillow in the darkness.“Oh,” she said softly, “Idon'tthinkso.”

Author’sNote

I’VE NEVER BEEN TOHavana; let me confessthatatonce.I'dhavegonewillingly, if Icould—thereare few places I wouldn'tgoatthedropofanybody'shat—butpolitical realitiesbeing what they are, itdidn't seem too smart tocarry research that far. I

did visit Spain and SanAntonio,andNewOrleans,of course, prior to sittingdown to write SpanishSerenade.Thetruthis,thestory grew out of afascination with thingsSpanish that began on atrip to Spain in 1985. Itwould never have comeintobeingwithout the timespent prowling around thepatios and cathedrals andcountry inns of Spain, or

the missions, museums,and Tex-Mex restaurantsof San Antonio. I herebyexpress my publicgratitudetomyclosefriendSue Anderson for luringme away from my pastpreoccupation with Frenchhistory and culture andencouraging me, andjoiningme,inmysamplingof the flavors and gloriesthat are derived from OldSpain.

Thereneverwas,tomyknowledge,anobleoutlawknowninSpainastheLionoftheAndalusianhills,norwas thereawomancalledtheVenus de la Torre. Allother characters in thestoryarefictionalalso,withthe exception of KingCarlos III of Spain,Governor Miro andTreasurer Nuñez of NewOrleans, and GovernorPachecoofSanAntonio.

TheGreatFireof1788that nearly destroyedNewOrleansoccurredmuchasdescribed. It began whenlacecurtainsnearthealtarintheprivatechapelofthehouse of TreasurerNuñezcaught fire, and wasspread by a fierce windfrom the south and theexplosion of caches ofgunpowder. Damage wasmuch greater than it needhave been, due to the

failuretosoundthechurchbells in alarm because ofthe religious holiday ofGood Friday. All otherevents in the story areimaginary.

A number of sourceswere consulted forbackground in each of thestory locales. Spain, theRoot and the Flower byJohn A. Crow wasparticularly valuable for itscolorful and concise

historicaloverview,aswellasitsinsightsintoSpanishcharacter, both regionaland national. Morecharacter-types, pluswonderful samples ofatmosphere,weregleanedfrom the old Tales of theAlhambra by WashingtonIrving. The section onHavana sent me to theBritannica and an atlasandoldtravelbooks.Thenthis summer, in one of

those coincidences thathappen so often towritersthey almost take them forgranted, NationalGeographic did a specialarticle on Old Havana,complete with pictures ofancient buildings and amap of the old city. Thisnew information confirmedimages I had conjured upfrom dry, printeddescriptions.

So many of my stories

are set in New OrleansthatIsometimesfeelasifIspend half my daysperchedontopofaladderin front of the Louisianasection in my ownlibrary/study. I pull booksout and put them back,read a little here, a littlethere—someofitactuallyhaving a bearing on theworkinprogress—butit'sallsohaphazardthatIcannever recall all of the

books consulted for anyparticularstory.Still,twoofthe most helpful for thisbookwere thewonderfullydetailed Louisiana, aNarrativeHistorybyEdwinAdamsDavis,andLeonardHuber's New Orleans, aPictorialHistory.

The list of booksgathered together for theSan Antonio sectioninclude New Spain's FarNorthern Frontier, Essays

on Spain in the AmericanWest,1540-1821byDavidJ. Weber; MercedesReales, Hispanic LandGrants of the Upper RioGrande Region by VictorWestphall; Cycles ofConquest by Edward H.Spicer; Lone Star, aHistory of Texas and theTexan by T. R.Fehrenbach; A Place inTime, A Pictorial View ofSan Antonio's Past by

DavidMcLemore;TheSanAntonioRiverbyMaryAnnNoonan Guerra; and TheIndianWars by Robert M.Utley and Wilcomb E.Washburn. I am alsograteful to Houston-basedresearcher Linda Hard-castle for her efforts intracingdownthenameandcircumstances of thegovernor of New Spain inthe summer of 1788, aswell as one or two other

questions.Finally,aspecialthanks

to Lynne Murphy ofEdmond,Oklahoma,betterknown as westernromance writer GeorginaGentry, for supplying mewith the Spanish name ofthewildflowerknowntodayas Texas Bluebonnet, foran informative andhilarious telephoneconversation concerningPlains Indian habits, but

most of all for being therein the best tradition ofwriters'camaraderie.

JenniferBlakeSweetBrierQuitman,Louisiana

AbouttheAuthor

Since publishing her firstbookat age twenty-seven,New York Timesbestselling and award-winning author JenniferBlakehasgoneontowriteover sixty-five historicaland contemporary novelsin multiple genres. Shebrings the story-telling

power and seductivepassionoftheSouthtoherstories, reflecting hereighth-generationLouisiana heritage.Jennifer lives with herhusband in northernLouisiana.

~~~To find out more aboutJennifer’s books and topurchase direct from your

favorite outlet, see theSteel Magnolia Presswebsite atwww.steelmagnoliapress.com

~~~Subscribe to FreshLeaves, the SteelMagnoliaPressnewsletter,to be notified of newreleases and subscriber-only specials:http://eepurl.com/gCgrX.

(You can also subscribefrom the Steel MagnoliaPresswebsite.)

~~~Jenniferwouldlovetohearfrom you! Other places toconnectwithher:Website:www.JenniferBlake.comFacebook:https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000468533638&ref=ts

Twitter:@JenniferBlake01

~~~If you enjoyed this work,please leave a review tohelp other readers decideifit’sastorytheytoowouldlike to read! A couple ofsentencesareallyouneedtowrite.Thankyou!

~~~MuchofJennifer’sbacklist

is still available in printand/ordigitalformat.Inthelatterhalfof2012,thirty-sixnovels are being re-released in new-editionebooks.

OutNow

3MoreeBooksIn

THELOUISIANAHISTORY

COLLECTION

~~~

FierceEden

Whathashedone

withhisdevil’sbargain…?

Reynaud,ofboth

FrenchandNatchezIndianblood,enduresadeadlyslurfromthelovelywidow,EliseLaffont.Becauseof

it,hedemandsshebecomehisbedmateinreturnforsavingherandherfriendsduringa

dangerousuprising.How

washetoknowshedreadedaman’spossession?

Eliseexpectsthesame

brutaltreatmentfromthehalf-breedbrotheroftheruleroftheNatchezthatshereceivedfromherdeadhusband.Instead,sheispresentedwitha

dubiousbargain:Reynaudwillnottouchher—as

longassheexploreshismagnificentbodyeach

nightinstead.

Theirsensualpactturnstofierydesire,

forgingabondastenderasitisstrong.Butthewar

betweenFrenchandNatchezescalates,forcing

desperatechoicesbetweenhonorandduty,

loyaltyandlove.

~~~

LouisianaDawn

Lifewouldbeperfect

ifshecouldberidofhertiresomevirginity…

Whilelivingwithher

guardians,theBretonbrothers,ontheirMississippiflatboat,

Cyrenesavesaninfamousrakeandwomanizerfromdrowning.It’sanaccident:shethoughthimdeadand

meanttorescuethevaluablesilverlaceonhis

coat.YetthereissomethingRené

Lemonniercandotorepayher.HecanrelieveherofherinnocencesoshemayescapetheBreton’skindly

interference.

Renémayplaythepartofarogue,butheisn’twithoutprinciples.ThelovelyCyrenewillsurelybecomepreytoevery

lowlifeinNewOrleansoncehedoesassheasks—unlessheappointshimselfherprotector.

Intrigue,corruptionandbetrayalarerifeinthebrilliantcourtkeptby

Louisiana’sFrenchcolonialgovernor,andnooneisimmunetotheirthreat.Inthisdangeroushot-houseatmosphere,loveisa

fool’sgamethatfewcanwin—nomatterhowexquisitethepassionof

themoment...

~~~

EmbraceandConquer

Thehandsome

mercenarydemandshersurrender…

FélicitédespisestheSpanishandtheir

mercenarieswhomarchintoNewOrleansto

subduetheFrenchCreolesrevoltingagainst

Louisiana’stransfertoSpain.Still,sheisnotfoolishenoughtoinsultthem.It’sheradoptive

brotherValcourwhodoesthat,thoughshegetstheblame.Becauseofit,andinadesperatebidto

preventtheexecutionofherfatherfortreason,shebecomesthemistressofruthlessIrishprivateerandSpanishofficer,Lt.Colonel

MorganMcCormack.

MorganregretshismisjudgmentofFélicitébut

cannotlethergo,notevenafterherfatherfacesafiringsquad.WhenshefleesNewOrleanstojoinbrotherfollowingthetragedy,hesailsinherwakeaboardhisvessel,

theBlackStallion.

Félicitélandsonatropicalislandthat’sapiratehavenwhere

desperatemenvietohave

her.ThoughclaimedoncemorebytheIrishprivateer,shemustrescuehiminherturn,forsomeonewillstopatnothingtoseethembothdead.Cancourageanddesperatedesireeverleadtotrustandlove?

(Note:containsscenesofforcedseduction)