Authors: Shirl Henke
“Perhaps we should have brought her today,” Nicholas murmured thoughtfully, troubled at leaving the child at the house with Lupe.
“We agreed it would be best. He...he was not kind to her and she has no reason to mourn him. No one outside Gran Sangre knows for certain whose child she is and she will always believe that she is yours. The young have such strong convictions, such faith...but I...I'm not that way...I'm just a weak and foolish woman.”
“Rot! You are the strongest and bravest woman I have ever known,” he said, taking her chin in his hand and lifting it so she met his eyes.
Her hand touched his cheek softly as she gazed into those fathomless wolf's eyes. “Everything will be all right. It's only the babe, making me weepy and foolish. Angelina assures me it will pass.” She raised his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against his palm. He returned her troubled yet loving gaze.
The sound of Father Salvador clearing his throat as he approached the carriage broke the spell. The priest studied them with his pale blue eyes, uncertain of how to broach the delicate subject.
Nicholas could feel Mercedes tense, and knew the priest's silent censure had cost her dearly since they had returned yesterday and arranged for Lucero's burial. “Thank you for what you said about my brother,” Fortune said simply.
Thank you for what you did not say about me
, his eyes communicated to the priest.
Father Salvador nodded. “Don Lucero did a noble deed at the last, better than any of us expected of him, the Lord's work, no doubt. There is a matter of some pressing urgency about which we must speak. If I might meet you in the library after the noon meal?”
Mercedes could eat nothing, pushing the juicy slices of beef across her plate with a tortilla, dreading the confrontation to come with Father Salvador. She listened to Nicholas tease Rosario, drank in the musical peals of the child's laughter and watched as her love surreptitiously slipped bits of meat from his plate to Bufón, who lay beside his chair, waiting patiently. What a perfect picture of domestic contentment they made.
If only they could remain a family. But what would she do if Father Salvador demanded she stop living with Nicholas? Their relationship was a mortal sin, for he was her brother-in-law. Yet she knew with a fierce, sweet inner certainty that the love she and Nicholas Fortune shared was right and good. She would refuse to give him up. After coming so close to losing him in Durango, Mercedes knew that she could not live without him.
Sending Rosario off to play with the dog under Angelina's watchful eye, her parents walked silently down the long hall to the library. “Whatever you want to do, Mercedes, I'll do it,” he said in a husky low voice.
She squeezed his hand. “You are the husband of my heart. I won't lose you, no matter what he or anyone else says.”
The intensity of her voice stopped him. He studied her face and read the love in the depths of her golden eyes. A sudden surge of gladness infused his soul. “Trust me. I don't plan to be lost.”
When they entered the library, the priest was waiting for them. Did he seem a bit nervous, uncertain? Nicholas again wondered at Father Salvador's request to meet them on their ground, not in his quarters, surrounded by all the trappings of his holy office.
“I don't know of any way to broach this delicately,” he began without preamble, pacing across the carpet onto the polished hardwood floor.
Nicholas seated Mercedes in a high-backed easy chair, then stood protectively behind her. “I impersonated my half brother and took his wife. She is innocent in all of it, but it's my child she carries and I won't give the baby or her up, no matter what your canon law says.”
“It is a troublesome matter. I have been praying about it and giving it thought for many weeks. I even wrote a letter to the archbishop who forwarded it to the Holy See. Now that Lucero Alvarado is dead, the issue is somewhat simplified.”
“But my widowhood cannot loosen the blood tie between Nicholas and Lucero. Nicholas is still my brother-in-law,” Mercedes said, confused yet daring to hope.
“Read these. Perhaps they will clarify the issue as I see it.” The priest handed the documents to them. “These, of course, are copies in Spanish. The originals in Latin have gone to Rome. If you agree in your own good conscience that what I have petitioned is the truth, then you may sign such a declaration and I will forward it with all dispatch.”
Nicholas scanned the papers quickly, his eyes skimming over the description of Lucero and Mercedes’ arranged marriage, a union neither of them wished. She had earnestly tried to fulfill her duty but Lucero had shirked his, utterly disregarding the seriousness of the sacrament into which they had entered.
“If he had lived, it might have proven difficult to secure his signature on the petition,” Father Salvador said as Nicholas handed the papers to Mercedes, then looked back at him.
“What you're saying, in effect, is that there never was a true marriage between them—that it can be declared null and void.”
“Yes, that is how it appears to me.”
“Then...then Nicholas never has been my brother-in-law—we could—” She broke off and looked up at him with a blaze of joy on her face.
“Only if you examine your conscience and know in your heart that you and Lucero never had a true marriage,” Father Salvador explained.
Mercedes read the description of their relationship, outlined in stark narration. “Yes, what you say here is true, more than true.”
“But will Rome see it that way?” Fortune asked, still unable to relinquish his cynicism. He could not bear to have her hopes built up and then dashed.
“Annulments have been granted for reasons of political expediency. In such a clearly moral dilemma as this, there should be no question. I've sent word to the archbishop about Don Lucero's death, which should greatly aid our petition. We should receive word in a month or two.” The old priest's eyes moved to her belly, then were quickly averted as his pale complexion bloomed with color.
“In time for us to have our union blessed before our child is born?” Mercedes asked, knowing that she had an ally now, not the adversary she had feared.
“Yes, my daughter. I shall pray for a swift resolution.”
“Where do we sign?” Nicholas asked, smiling at the flustered old man.
* * * *
“I knew you'd come back to us,” Rosario said sleepily as Nicholas closed the book of fairy tales and pulled up the covers around her. “I prayed every night for you. Why did you have to go away, Papa?”
He stroked her hair and placed a kiss on her forehead. “You know about the war.” She nodded gravely. “I found out some evil men planned to kill President Juarez and I had to stop them.”
“Father Salvador says President Juarez is a godless republican,” Rosario replied, waiting patiently for further clarification.
Nicholas smiled ruefully. “Even such a staunch imperialist as Father Salvador would not condone murder, would he?”
“Oh, no! He would never permit that,” she responded. She then asked, “Are you a godless republican, Papa?” Rosario did not seem particularly troubled by the possibility.
He chuckled at the resilience of youth—and the flexibility. “I am a supporter of the president, yes, but that doesn't make me completely irredeemable—or so your mama says.”
“I'm glad.” She yawned again. “Papa, does all of this have something to do with why you changed your name? The servants all call you Don Nicholas now.”
“Someday, when you get a little bit older, your mama and I will explain why I had to use my brother's name,” Nicholas said tenderly, tucking her in and watching as her eyelids fluttered closed.
“I suppose I shall...just...have to...wait.”
Mercedes watched the child drift off to sleep as Nicholas walked silently across the room to where she stood in the doorway. Bufón watched them from his usual place beside the bed. As they closed the door, his tail thumped good night against the thick rug.
They walked arm in arm to their quarters. When they reached her door, he bypassed it, continuing on to his, then guiding her inside. Last night, upon their homecoming, the household had been in such pandemonium over the news of Lucero's death and Nicholas’ return, that he had simply sent her to her room with Angelina to see that she drank a soothing sleeping draught and got some rest. He had made all the explanations and the arrangements with Father Salvador for his brother's burial, then retired to his own room much later.
Suddenly Mercedes felt shy and uncertain. It had been months since they last came together. She had tried to seduce him in that awful prison cell, but he had refused her. What if he found her body misshapen and ugly now? His voice, low and troubled, broke into her self-conscious thoughts.
“I told Rosario I had to use my brother's name. I couldn't tell her it was because I have none of my own. How will I ever explain it to her?”
Or to you?
“You didn't steal Lucero's name. You have just as much right to the Alvarado name as he did—as Rosario does,” she said, taking his hands in hers and drawing him to sit on the heavy oak settee by the window. Outside a night bird called to its mate and a brilliant Sonoran moon silvered the landscape with its glow.
“Sometimes I wonder which is worse—being Lottie Fortune's boy or finding out about the other half of my ancestry. If Sofia and Anselmo are what the House of Alvarado stands for, it's small wonder Luce ended up being the way he was.”
“Not all the Alvarados were so bad. Even Lucero had some good in him at the end. I think I should tell you about your grandfather.”
He looked at her with a startled expression on his face. “My grandfather Alvarado?”
“Yes. I never met him, of course. He died when Lucero was only a small boy, but he was a great
hacendado
—the kind who made the wilderness bloom with his own sweat and blood—a man like you. I've read about him through the diaries and letters of his bride, Doña Lucia Emelina Maria Nunez de Alvarado.” At his curious look, she explained, “When I was first brought here, there was little to do but become acquainted with the family I was to join.
“Lucero didn't want to bother with me, nor did Don Anselmo, and Doña Sofia was hardly hospitable.”
“I can imagine,” he said dryly, waiting for her to continue her tale.
“Doña Lucia was only fifteen when she arrived. The place was little more than a frontier outpost then. Don Bartólome added both wings to the main
hacienda
as well as having the dairy, blacksmith stables and granary built. Most of the horse stables and corrals were his work, too. He imported fine Andalusian horses from Spain and improved the quality of the beef cattle, even introduced sheep to supplement the
hacienda
diet of beef and pork.”
Nicholas listened as she described the labors of past generations of Alvarados, good men and women who loved the land and dealt fairly with its people. A new sense of pride and purpose infused him. “I realize now that we'll carry on their work. And our children after us,” he said in a husky voice.
“Don Nicholas Alvarado and his lady, Mercedes,” she said with a soft smile, turning into his embrace. “I always wanted to be like Doña Lucia, a pioneering wife.”
“You've already proven your mettle, holding this place together all these years.” He drew her into his arms, tilting her face up to his, brushing her mouth with his own until she opened her lips. His tongue lightly rimmed them, then stroked inside delicately, as if he were wooing his bride for the first time.
And she would be his bride, truly, as soon as the petition was approved in Rome. But for now, Mercedes only knew that she would pledge her love with her body and her soul.
Nicholas felt her response. Standing up, he swept her into his arms and carried her over to the big bed, which the maid had turned down for them. Like him, Mercedes had bathed and donned a robe before retiring. But hers was of soft sheer muslin, yards and yards of it. Gathered high above her waist, its voluminous folds concealed her pregnancy. The deep sea-green color enhanced her sun-kissed skin and golden hair.
He reached up and began to unfasten the small hooks holding it together, kissing her soft, sweet-smelling skin as he bared it. “You always have the essence of lavender clinging to you, like fairy magic,” he murmured as his mouth grazed the pulse at her throat and it beat wildly for him.