Marco and the Devil's Bargain (5 page)

“
Looking around won't do any good,” he told her. “We must be patient, you and I.”

To his secret delight, Chica heaved herself down against his stocking covered feet and settled in, apparently for as long as he intended to drink in the
sala
. After another pull, Marco set down the bottle and picked up the cat. He found her purr so soothing. Perhaps if she purred in his ear on Paloma's pillow, the night wouldn't seem so long or the bed so empty.

By keeping her head down and knitting quickly, Paloma finished one sock before Luisa's housekeeper announced dinner. There was a dining room, of course, but she knew Luisa preferred the kitchen, as her guests did.

All of her guests except Maria Teresa moved toward the kitchen. Her cousin murmured something about “always eating in
our
dining room,” low but not quite out of earshot.

When Maria Teresa said that, in addition to the other not-quite-inaudible pricks and barbs she had delivered
sotto voce
all afternoon, Paloma watched the others. There was no mistaking that Luisa's other knitters were ignoring Maria Teresa.

The worst moment came when they began to file into the kitchen at Luisa's kind invitation. Teresa sidled up to her, grabbed Paloma's hand, and placed it on her swelling belly. In a loud voice, she exclaimed, “
Mira
, cousin, you can feel my baby!”

Shocked, the other women looked at each other, as though they had no antidote for such blatant unkindness to a woman—a relative, no less—already whispered about to be barren. Hadn't Paloma Vega been married to the obviously fertile
juez de campo
for more than a year? It was not a subject to be discussed, especially when that second wife stood right there.

Paloma felt the blood drain from her face and saw the triumph in her cousin's eyes. An afternoon of slights was about to be avenged.

Only if I allow it, Paloma advised herself. What would Marco have me do? He would have me kill you with kindness.

She pressed her hand against her cousin's belly and felt the child within kick back. Paloma smiled, because it
was
a miracle, no matter how unpleasant the vehicle. She patted Maria Teresa's obvious evidence of her own fertility. “How sweet. I hope someday that I will be as fortunate as you are. I pray to the Virgin daily over the matter.” Paloma removed her hand and walked into the kitchen with her head held high, even as her heart broke.

“
Such forbearance,” her sister-in-law said much later, as the two of them prepared for bed. “If you had snatched out every hair on her head, you would have had a roomful of willing accomplices.” She unbuttoned Paloma's dress. “Why oh why did Maria
say
that?”

“
I would never give my cousin the satisfaction of knowing that her darts struck home,” Paloma replied, pulling on her nightgown. All she wanted to do was crawl into Luisa's bed and not wake up for three days.

“
Pobrecita
,” Luisa murmured. She pulled back the covers for Paloma. “I didn't fetch my first son until seven months of marriage, if that is any consolation.”

It wasn't, but Paloma loved her sister-in-law. She settled into bed with a sigh. With a yawn, Luisa joined her.

Luisa laughed. “Funny how no one wants to share a room with your odious cousin. Did you see how fast the Borrego twins and their sister Refugio insisted that they enjoyed sleeping three to a bed?”

Paloma had noticed. She also noticed how the light went out of her cousin's eyes when everyone paired off and left her all by herself in a room for two. Anyone would acknowledge that the woman only got what she deserved, tit for tat, but Paloma couldn't help—and barely understood—her own sympathy. “She is not a happy woman.”

Maybe this was a good time to ask Luisa about the afternoon's treatment of her cousin. “Everyone ignored her. Some even laughed behind their hands. What is it that amuses everyone about my cousin?”

Luisa stared at her. “You don't know? You, of all people?”

“
Me, of all people, I suppose,” Paloma replied, puzzled. “What did she do?”

Luisa looked around as though the room were full of scribes taking notes, and whispered the tale of how Maria Teresa Castellano had evacuated her bowels right on her own doorstep last year when Marco and her husband Alonso brought the news that Comanches had been killing their cattle.

Paloma sat up in bed and stared at her sister-in-law through the gloom. “I never heard a word of this from Marco!” She sank down in bed, remembering the incident of the cattle. “But … but … only a few days later, Alonso's own herder confessed to the deed. It wasn't Comanches.”

“
No, indeed, but the damage was done.” Luisa giggled, then turned her face into the coverlet. “So Marco never said a word?”

“
You know my husband—your brother—is too much of a gentleman to mention such a thing.” She thought a moment. “The servants!”

Luisa nodded. “The word spread from the housekeeper, who delegated two servants to clean up Maria's mess.” She counted on her fingers. “Up and down Valle del Sol it went, everywhere but the Double Cross, I gather.”

Paloma slowly let out her breath. “I was so afraid of Maria Teresa when I came here, but I knew that at some point she would muddy her nest.” She laughed into her sister-in-law's shoulder. “Never did I think she would do it literally!”

They chatted a few more minutes in companionable conversation until the sentences stretched farther and farther apart and then stopped.
I miss you, Marco
, Paloma thought as she closed her eyes,
but think of all the socks
.

She woke as the room was beginning to lighten, startled to see Luisa dressed and bending over her. There was an unreadable expression on her face that had Paloma reaching for her dress as she threw back the coverlet in one quick motion.

“
Luisa, what—”

“
The guard sent an alarm to my housekeeper. Hurry.”

Even in the low light of dawn, there was no mistaking Luisa's pallor. Paloma yanked on her dress. Barefoot, she let Luisa Gutierrez drag her down the corridor and out the front door. Paloma shivered, but noticed that Luisa had not bothered with her cloak, either. Luisa ran to the wall and scrambled up the ladder, Paloma close behind her, every nerve on edge.

The guard pointed over the parapet and Luisa nodded, her eyes serious. She gestured to Paloma, who saw her fears and knew she was thinking of other desperate days.

“
Mira!
Is it your Comanche? Tell me quickly or my guard will shoot him.”

Paloma squinted into the distance. “Don't shoot,” she said. “I cannot tell yet, but it might be. Please don't shoot.”

“
He's too close. I'm shooting him,” the guard said and raised his musket.

Paloma shoved him and the gun discharged in the air over her shoulder. Paloma reeled from the concussion and lost her balance when the guard jerked her around, his eyes wide with fright and something more. They steadied themselves, staring at each other.

“
The
juez
was a fool to marry you!” the guard shouted in her face.

From beyond the gate, she heard a man's voice call out, “Paloma, help me!”

“
It's Toshua,” Paloma said. The look she gave the guard must have been fierce because he backed away. “Open the gate.”

She hurried down the ladder, not caring if every guard in the courtyard saw her bare legs and beyond. When the guard wouldn't lift the heavy bar, she yanked the smaller bar off the smaller man gate and stooped through the narrow opening. To her terror, it slammed shut behind her.

“
Paloma, stop! It could be a trap.” Luisa pleaded with her from the parapet.

She knew Luisa was right; she still couldn't see clearly. The Indian had called her name, but she was known in the valley now. She peered closer as she walked toward the man carrying a lance and stopped, thinking of her mother and remembering how Mama had squared her shoulders and walked toward an entire horde of Comanches.
Mama, you were braver than I
, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry. Staying where she was, she moved from one bare foot to the other, because the winter grass stubble hurt.

The Indian had a man slung over his lap, head down, hands trailing. The darkness began to lift, and she let out the breath she must have been holding since she opened the man gate, grateful to God. It
was
Toshua.

“
Paloma, does this make four times you have saved my life?”

She ran closer now, unafraid, even though the danger wasn't over. “Make it five, Toshua,” she said as she stopped directly in front of the horse and rider, her hands out in what she hoped was a commanding gesture to stop the guards who had not lowered their weapons.

Paloma looked over her shoulder at Toshua and the burden he bore. She sniffed. The man had either been dead for days or smelled worse than a herd of javelinas. Gingerly, she patted the foul lump of rags.

“
I'm alive,” the man said in Spanish so poorly accented she wondered where he had come from. Did they speak Spanish on Mars?

She was on sure ground now. “You are headed for a bath, señor,” she told him, then smiled at Toshua. “You remember your own bath, I trust?”

“
I remember,” her Comanche said. “You need not remind me. You cut my hair, too.”

“
Open the gates,” she called up to the guards, still poised to shoot. Even though she was barefoot and trembling, and her nighttime hair wild around her face—Marco would have laughed—Paloma willed herself tall and brave.

Her heart went out to Luisa Gutierrez, too soon a widow because of a morning much like this one. Her sister-in-law stared at her from the parapet, then put her hands over her face.
I am sorry, my dear
, Paloma thought.

“
If the
juez de campo
were here, he would tell you to open the gates in the name of the crown,” she said, speaking most distinctly. “This is
my
Indian and there is a wounded man. Do as
I
say.”

W
hen the gates opened, Toshua handed her the reins and she led him and his stinking burden through the gates. As frightened women and servants began to fill the courtyard, he bent down and spoke to her alone. “You are the
juez
now? Your man will know about this before another day passes. I know you Spanish. Word travels faster than smoke.”

“
Don't be silly,” she whispered back, not surprised that everyone in the courtyard kept their distance, including the guards. Paloma looked at the man in Toshua's lap. “Who is he? Where did he come from?”

The Comanche dismounted. “He was staggering around in the
arroyo seco
beyond the hay stacks.” He ignored the crowd that had gathered as he took Paloma by the arm and kept her moving toward the stables. “To show you the measure of his desperation, he did not back away from me.”

Luisa's guards stood their ground by the stable door until Paloma fixed them with a stare that she borrowed from her absent husband, the stare that made people do what he ordered
. Please let it work
, she prayed silently.
My arsenal of stern looks is limited
.

Maybe it had worked. One guard turned away, his shoulders high with disapproval. The other gestured them inside the stables, his hand on his sheathed dagger.

The stranger was a small man. Toshua took him by the back of his filthy coat and slid him off the horse, while Paloma steadied him, turning her head away because he reeked.

The stranger shook his shoulders, which Paloma took as a sign to let go. Happy to oblige him, she backed away, but not too far, because he swayed, then held out his hand to her. She took a shallow breath, then put her arm around his waist and led him to a grain bin, where he perched, looking around and blinking his eyes.

“
I have not been inside a building in six months,” he told her. At least she thought that was what he said.

“
What is your name?” she asked.

“
Antonio Gil,” he replied.

“
Antonio? I doubt that,” she said. “I really do. Your Spanish is awful.”

In spite of his obvious exhaustion—she saw no fear—the stranger managed a smile. “Should I say Anthony Gill instead? I am from Georgia.”

“
Gill. Gill. Guh?” She couldn't even pronounce it.

As it turned out, Anthony Gill couldn't manage ten steps on his own. With Toshua on one side and Paloma on the other, he made slow progress toward the hacienda, where Luisa stood, eyes wary, her mouth pressed in a firm line that reminded Paloma of Marco.

“
Please, dearest, he needs food and a bath,” Paloma said to Luisa, then stepped back in surprise as her cousin Maria Teresa ran from the hacienda, screaming, pushing the other women aside in her panic.

“
Where did everyone go? What is wrong?” Teresa shouted. “Why is everyone ….” She gasped, her hand to her mouth, and stared at Toshua.

Paloma gaped at her cousin as she flattened herself against the wall of the hacienda, her eyes huge, her thin face draining of color.