Authors: Shirl Henke
* * * *
Nicholas came in from the range at twilight, covered with dust, sweat-soaked and saddle sore. All his thoughts centered on a bath—a long, lovely soak in a big tub of warm clean water. He walked into the arched entry hall and headed toward the kitchen, expecting Angelina to be busy cleaning up from dinner. There was probably a feast set out for him if he knew the old cook, but at this point, he was too tired to even be hungry. All he wanted was that bath.
Before he got halfway down the hall, Lupe emerged from one of the side doors and curtsied shyly for the
patrón.
She was a small young woman with a round face and merry brown eyes. “We were expecting you late, Don Lucero. Your dinner—”
“That's all right, Lupe. Dinner can wait. Please have Lazaro fetch bathwater to the bathing room and then have Baltazar bring me my razor, soap and some fresh towels along with a change of clothes.”
She nodded in acquiescence and he began to stroll across the courtyard, feeling too dirty and foul-smelling to remain indoors to search for Mercedes and Rosario. He ambled by the fountain and loitered in the shadows of a fig tree while Lazaro filled the tub with fresh water. Then he went into the long narrow room reserved for bathing, stripped off his clothes and slipped into the large tub. It was specially made of copper with a porcelain interior, large enough for two.
In the unadorned adobe room with simple plank floors and tiny windows, the tub was rather out of place. His father had ordered it from Spain with plans to build an elaborate bathing room on the second floor of the family's private quarters but after the war started, Don Anselmo quickly lost interest. Besides, it was more discreet for him to philander with serving wenches here at the opposite end of the courtyard rather than to do so near the angry disapproval emanating from Doña Sofia's room just across the hall.
Nicholas sank beneath the heavenly water and laid his head back on the rim of the tub, remembering all Lucero had told him about his family,
their
family. Much of it was not pleasant, although the picture of decadent wealth his brother painted seemed to overshadow any problems to a boy raised in a series of succeedingly more sleazy brothels.
Luce had hated his cold mother but doted upon his wild carousing father. Although Nicholas empathized with what it meant to miss a mother's love, he hated Don Anselmo even more than his brother hated Doña Sofia. Don Anselmo had planted his seed and carelessly walked away from the foolish young mistress he had kept for a passing amusement.
Suddenly his troubling reverie was interrupted by the low purring voice of Innocencia. “I see the war has scarred that perfect stallion's body. I only pray one vital part of you has not been wounded.”
She licked her carmined lips provocatively and swished into the room, carrying an armful of towels. Having overheard his directions to Lupe, she had quickly decided this was her perfect opportunity to appeal to Lucero before his bitch of a wife further poisoned his opinion of his old mistress. Blessed Virgin, if only she had noticed that the brat was his child before acting so foolishly!
He watched her deposit the towels beside the tub, then pose seductively at the edge. She leaned forward to give him a better view of her heavy breasts which hung almost out of a low-cut blouse. He smiled wearily at her posturing. “That part of me is no longer your concern, Cenci.”
She pouted. “I do not believe you will say so in a few weeks when you tire of that shrew you married. Let me see how she has been taking care of you,” she said as she reached beneath the water and seized hold of his staff with quick clever fingers.
He clenched his teeth and cursed as her unexpected ministrations had the natural effect on his body.
“I am good for you, no?” By now she had pulled free the drawstring at the neckline of her
camisa
and one large pendulous breast with its dark brown nipple spilled free.
“You are
no
good for me,” he whispered, reaching down to disengage her hand from his private parts. When he pried her fingers loose and raised her hand from beneath the water, she tangled her other hand in his hair and leaned forward over the tub in an attempt to push her bare breast against his mouth.
“Baltazar said you wanted—” Mercedes’ breath caught in her throat as she saw the steamy tableau when she opened the door. Throwing his clean clothes and toilet articles on the floor, she said in an icy voice, “Now I can see very clearly what you want.”
Chapter Nine
Mercedes turned and walked out of the room, refusing to give in to her impulse to run into the night. She kept her back rigidly straight and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes, trying not to think of the humiliation.
Again. Just like it was when I first saw them.
She forced herself to stop. Focusing on the anger was easier. And she was very, very angry.
Lucero had ever been a gamester and this whole new seduction ritual was only a bedroom game to amuse him. Bitterly she wondered if he had described to Innocencia his wife's maidenly modesty, her awkwardness, her coldness. A grim smile twisted her lips. She hoped he had thought her cold. How they would be laughing at her if he suspected she was weakening and beginning to desire him. She had come much too close to revealing those feelings. Never again would she risk making a fool of herself.
She walked across the courtyard and entered the family's side of the house, heading to Don Anselmo's study where she knew he had kept his guns.
Nicholas shoved Innocencia away with a vile oath and climbed out of the tub. “Get out of my sight before I snap your filthy little neck. I've told you it's finished between us, Cenci, and I meant it.”
The water that had splashed on her blouse had turned the sheer fabric translucent. She pulled it tightly over her nipples so they stood out, dark and large. Her mouth formed a pout as she watched him dry off with swift angry movements. “Surely the
will not run after his skinny little convent girl? After all, she cannot refuse you her bed, even if she is so frigid and foolish as to try.”
He looked at his brother's mistress with utter contempt. What could Luce have seen in the slut? He had allowed her to grow exceedingly bold for one of her low station. “What is between me and my lady is of no concern to you, Cenci,” he said in a silken tone that was all the more deadly for its seeming civility. “I am the
patrón
and she is my wife. You are a servant—a servant in grave danger of banishment from Gran Sangre if you ever do anything like this again. Do I make myself clear?” His eyes bored into her, sharp as French bayonets.
Innocencia stepped back, her expression fearful. “Yes, yes,
patrón
. I don't wish to be sent away.” She let her eyes tear and her voice quiver as she added, “I have nowhere to go, no family, no one.” She did have family in Guyamas, but they were desperately poor fishermen. The thought of cleaning fish for a living was infinitely worse than any household chores.
She did not understand what was happening. Before Lucero had left, everything had been so wonderful. The sloe-eyed beauty studied him from beneath thick black lashes as he jerked on his clothes, turning his back on her. She had the urge to reach out and caress the scars on his body but intuitively knew to do so when he was this angry would be a dangerous blunder. Her expression hardened as she slipped silently from the room, vowing to have the master back in her bed and to have revenge against the pale little
gachupín
who had robbed her of his attentions.
Nicholas walked across the courtyard, pausing beneath the fig trees by the fountain to collect his thoughts. Luce would never run after his wife or offer explanations for his infidelities. Just when he was beginning to make headway with her, she had been given more reason to mistrust him. Shit, he wasn't even guilty of anything! He damn well could tell her that. And she damn well would listen. But it would be totally out of character to rush after her immediately. Cenci had set the whole artful little scene up to connive her way back into his affections and it had hurt Mercedes.
A drink would give him time to calm his nerves and give his wife time to cool down. If he knew Mercedes—and he was beginning to know her pretty well—she was spitting mad about now, fashioning her hurt into anger. He grinned in the darkness. Ah, what fun they would have making up tonight.
Nicholas stopped by the kitchen and found Angelina scrubbing pots and pans. “I smell something heavenly. After the day I've put in, I could eat a wolf!” he said.
“No wolf, , but roasted lamb. We were able to hide a few of the sheep and their spring lambs when the last soldiers came. I have saved this finest delicacy for you. Your favorite, the
macho
.” Her wide face was split with a prideful smile as she set before him the fatty intestines from the lamb, looped and tied in a ball, then roasted until the whole mass was brown and crispy. Alongside a fresh stack of steaming hot tortillas and the platter with the
macho
on it, she set down a bowl of chilies and tomatoes.
Nicholas swallowed, remembering the first time he had watched Mexican soldiers devour a
macho
. It was a taste he had never acquired, but then in North Africa he had not much liked goat's eyes boiled in cream either. However, he had known better than to offend his host by not indulging. Luce loved this greasy mess, so Nicholas would eat it.
A good thing I am starving
, he thought ruefully to himself as he took a seat at the table, wishing he had followed his first impulse and gone directly to the study for a drink. The fortification would have helped.
Manfully he dug in, trying not to think about what he was eating, taking large spoonfuls of the hot vegetables to kill the fatty taste. “You are still the finest cook in Sonora.”
“And you are very hungry,
patrón,
” she replied, beaming at the compliment. “Did you gather many horses and cattle?”
“We found more than we had hoped, but the vaqueros we've hired are young and inexperienced. We drove a dozen head of sturdy longhorns into a box canyon off the Yaqui but one of our best stallions and his herd eluded us. There were seven foals and two colts with them, fine and strong. Enough to begin rebuilding.”
“I am very glad
.
This war is a terrible thing. The
patrona
has worked so hard to hold Gran Sangre for you. It's good that she has not sacrificed in vain.”
He looked up at the shrewd old cook. There was subtle censure behind her earnest words. “I know about war, Angelina. It's changed me—taught me to value things I never appreciated before.”
"Such as your wife?" she dared to ask.
“Yes, particularly my wife,” he echoed. “One day she'll be the lady of a grand
hacienda
again.”
She measured him with her warm dark eyes. “Yes, I do believe the war has changed many things,” she replied obliquely.
Upstairs, Mercedes paced back and forth in her room clutching the pistol she had taken from Anselmo's gun case. Her eyes kept returning to the door leading to Lucero's room, which she had bolted as she had the hall door. He would not dare come for her tonight Yet what would she do if he did? All the servants would overhear them.
Well, let them.
It was scarcely as if there were a soul on Gran Sangre who did not know about Lucero and Innocencia.
“I will shoot him if he dares set foot in this room,” she murmured aloud. The words echoed false on the cool night air.
She stared out the window at the starry night, so tranquil and lovely, trying to draw strength from the peaceful scene. Only calm and rational thought, free of emotion, would serve her now.
You can't revert to being the shocked and hurt little convent girl you were the last time he and Innocencia laughed at you
, she scolded herself. Steeling her nerve, she lay the pistol down on the bedside table and massaged her temples with her fingertips.
At first she had half expected that he would come storming after her, demanding that she accept what she had seen. But he had not even cared enough to pursue her. Why was she surprised? Before retiring to her room, she had gone over the bookkeeping accounts and had discussed the plans for the irrigation project with Juan. Then she had come upstairs to read Rosario a fairy tale and tuck her in bed. And still he did not return to his room.
Obviously he was with Innocencia in the servants' quarters across the courtyard. At least she should be grateful that he did not bring the
puta
upstairs into the bed he had shared with her. An unholy light shone in her eyes, darkening them to polished bronze as she thought of Lucero and that woman right next door to her. “If he dares bring her up here, I'll burn the mattress with them on it!” she gritted out, then realized how shrewishly jealous she sounded.