Natchez Flame (17 page)

“The huntin’ is good here, too, Miss Wills,” the judge put in. “Cain’t hardly go a mile or two without seeing venison on the hoof. There’s rabbits big as dogs, partridge, and prairie hen—man can pret-near live off the land.”

“That’s right, Miss Wills,” Noble chimed in with enthusiasm. “Texas is the richest land on earth. My father intends to claim a goodly portion of it—me along with him. I’m sure you’ll come to love it, too.”

“I’m sure I will,” Priscilla said softly, recalling Brendan’s love of the land.

“If it weren’t for the Indians,” Noble continued, “the Mexicans, and some of that wild Texas scum—”

“That’s enough, Noble,” Stuart cut in. “Miss Wills has seen enough of that side of the country. From now on she’ll be nurtured and protected. She won’t have to worry about those sorts of things anymore.”

Noble looked properly chastised. In fact, he looked
mortified.
Is pleasing his father all that important?
she wondered.

“I’m sure Noble meant no harm,” she found herself defending. “In a way, maybe it’s good I’ve experienced some of the harsher side of this land. When I’m away from the ranch, I’ll be more careful.”

“Nonsense,” Stuart scoffed. “You’ll remain within the compound at all times from now on. Should you wish to ride or see some of the country, you’ll do so with an armed escort. Tomorrow you’ll become my wife. I won’t have you putting yourself in danger.”

Priscilla’s fork hit the table with a resounding clatter. “Tomorrow?”

He smiled at her indulgently. “Judge Dodd generously agreed to stay here until your arrival. He’s been at the Triple R for quite some time already. Aside from that, there’s your reputation to consider. We’re a bachelor household here.”

An odd look crossed his features, then it was gone. “Considering your somewhat unorthodox arrival, the sooner the wedding takes place the better. There’s been quite enough gossip already.”

Priscilla’s mouth felt so dry she could barely speak. “But I assumed we’d spend some time getting to know each other.”

“And I assumed you’d be well chaperoned.” There was a lengthy pause, and then he smiled. “I know you’re exhausted, my dear, and barely recovered from all that has happened. But believe me, I know what’s best. Trust me, Priscilla. From now on I’ll take care of everything.”

“I … I had hoped we’d be married in a church. Or at least by a man of the cloth.”

“There’s a service performed here on the ranch every Sunday by one of the hands. The priest stops by whenever he can, but that’s all there is this far from a city.” Stuart smiled again. “I’m afraid Judge Dodd is the best we can do for now. If you like, we’ll remarry in church a little later.”

Priscilla said no more. With trembling fingers, she reached for her long-stemmed wine glass and took a steadying sip. How could he expect her to marry him tomorrow? By a judge, no less?

Then again, what difference did it make?

Sooner or later she’d have to face the inevitable and become Mrs. Stuart Egan. There was really no other choice.

“The meal was delicious,” she finally said to the men. “I hope you’ll all understand if I excuse myself and retire a little early. As Stuart pointed out, I really am quite tired.”

“Of course, my dear.” Stuart slid back his chair, rounded the table and pulled out hers. The other two men stood up.

“What time is the wedding?” she asked woodenly.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow evening.” Stuart flashed a smile that could only be called triumphant. “After the workday is finished, we’ll all be able to enjoy the celebration.”

Priscilla’s smile felt wan. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, so I suppose this is good-bye until then.”

“Nonsense, my dear. You can sleep late, gather
your strength, and then I’ll show you around your new home. Surely you’re eager to see it.”

Priscilla forced herself to answer. “Of course.” She started to leave, but Stuart caught her arm.

“I’ll walk you up.” Taking her hand and placing it on the sleeve of his expensively tailored coat, he guided her up the wide staircase to her second-story bedchamber and stopped outside the door.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you more time, Priscilla, but after we’re married, you’ll see it’s for the best.”

Priscilla just nodded. She started to move away, but Stuart turned her gently into his arms. “A kiss for your future husband shouldn’t be too much to ask.”

Before she could answer, he lowered his mouth and kissed her. His lips felt as cold and unyielding as she had imagined. With a jolt of desperation, Priscilla slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back, willing herself to feel some of the passion she had felt with Brendan. Instead she felt nothing.

Stuart pulled away, an assessing look on his face. “I’ll mince no words about this, Priscilla—you are in fact a virgin?”

She blushed, the warm heat spreading all the way to her toes. “Of course.”

“With our wedding night approaching, I felt it important to know.”

Where was the gentleness she had expected? The tenderness she had read in his letters?

“I wouldn’t have accepted your proposal if I weren’t,” she said a bit defensively.

Stuart seemed pleased. “Of course not, my dear.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “Good-night, Priscilla.
Sleep well.” While Stuart held open her door, Priscilla stepped inside.

“Good-night, Stuart.” When the door closed solidly behind her, Priscilla started to cry.

“Buenos días, Señorita
Wills.” Consuela drew back the heavy pink draperies to admit the late morning sunshine. “I have brought your breakfast.
Señor
Egan is expecting you to join him downstairs in one hour.”

Feeling more exhausted than she had last night, Priscilla shoved back the covers. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late. I hope I didn’t inconvenience anyone.”

Consuela’s wide girth swayed rhythmically as she walked to Priscilla’s marble-topped bedside table to set the breakfast tray down. Beneath the white linen napkin she drew off, a cup of coffee steamed beside a plate holding a slab of fried ham, scrambled eggs, and deep-fried corn dodgers. After the night Priscilla had spent tossing and turning, they only made her stomach churn.

“I’m really not very hungry. I think I’ll just have coffee.”

“Today is your wedding. You must eat. Everyone eat good on Rancho Reina.”

Priscilla smiled at that. Wearing a borrowed cotton nightshirt, she swung her legs to the edge of the bed, her long thick braid falling over one shoulder. “It’s good to know Stuart takes care of the people who work for him.”

“Sí, señorita
, that is so.” A light knock sounded at the door, and Consuela rumbled over to open it. A
pretty dark-haired girl stood in the hallway, holding Priscilla’s few salvaged dresses, cleaned and freshly pressed.

“This is my daughter, Dolores,” Consuela said with a touch of pride. The dark-skinned girl, no older than seventeen, with a pretty face, shapely figure, and shiny black hair, peeked around her mother’s broad girth.

“Hello, Dolores. I’m happy to meet you.”

“Buenos días, señorita.”
Looking shy and a little embarrassed, she handed her mother the dresses and slipped quietly back out of sight.

“She worries you will not like her.” Consuela’s black eyes searched Priscilla’s face. Since the first time they’d met, Priscilla felt as if the woman were sizing her up.

“Why in the world would your daughter think that?”

Consuela shrugged her beefy shoulders in a gesture of nonchalance, but the expression on her face seemed wary. “Dolores is young and pretty; you will soon be
el patrón’s
wife. Wives often worry about such things.”

“But surely you don’t think I would be jealous?”

Another beefy shrug.

“Consuela … is there something I should know that you aren’t telling me?”

For a moment Consuela seemed uncertain, Another appraising glance went from the top of Priscilla’s dark head to the bare feet peeping from beneath her nightshirt, then Consuela squared her shoulders.

“Whether I tell you now or someone tells you later,
sooner or later you will know. I pray my judgment of you is correct.”

“Please, Consuela, tell me what it is.”

“Dolores was
el patrón’
s woman.”

Priscilla’s hand trembled against the folds of her nightgown.

“Several weeks ago,” Consuela continued, “when he learned you would be his wife, he stopped seeing her. Dolores’s life became as it was before and she is happy. But now that you are here, she is afraid you will send her away.” There was challenge in the cool black eyes.

“Your daughter was Stuart’s … mistress?”

Consuela glanced toward the window, her gaze somewhere in the distance. “There are few women out here …
el patrón
is a man of strong appetites.”

Priscilla swallowed hard, her fingers unconsciously twisting the nightgown. “Was … Dolores … in love with him?”

“No,
señorita.
That was not the way of it. My husband was killed some time ago—in the days when Don Pedro owned Rancho Reina del Robles. There were many problems…. Don Pedro was forced to sell, and
el patrón
was kind enough to take us in. When Dolores grew older,
Señor
Egan began to desire her. After the kindness he had shown us, my daughter had no choice but to go to him.”

She looked at Priscilla with the eyes of a mother whose child might be in danger. “Now that he takes a wife, she is free to marry Miguel, the boy she has fallen in love with … if you will let her stay.”

A knot of tension curled in Priscilla’s stomach. Everything was so different here. Nothing made sense
in the way it had before. “Is my say in the matter really that important? From what I’ve seen so far, Stuart’s word is law. What I think would mean very little.”

“In most things that is true. In this, I believe he will do as you wish.”

Priscilla wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse. “Then of course she may stay. She’s little more than a child. What happened wasn’t her fault.”
It was Stuart’s. How could he take such unfair advantage?

Consuela’s large frame sagged with relief. A wide smile split her face, making her look a little younger. “Tonight is
fandango.
We will all celebrate your marriage. I think you will make
Señor
Egan a very fine wife.”

But what kind of a husband will he make?
“What’s
fandango?”
Priscilla asked, picking at the now-cold food, though she felt less hungry than before.

“Fiesta.
We roast whole bullock; there will be dancing and singing. Big celebration for your wedding to our
patrón.
” She turned a sympathetic eye on Priscilla. “He is a hard man, but he looks after his people. You will be happy here.”

Priscilla didn’t answer.

“You are young,” Consuela continued, “not much older than my daughter. You will learn to adjust to the way of things … besides, what does it matter? Your husband will take care of you and he will give you sons. A woman can always find happiness in her children.”

“Yes …,” Priscilla reluctantly agreed, but she couldn’t help thinking of Brendan, of the kind of warmth that could exist between a man and a
woman. In his own rugged way, Brendan’s power was just as imposing as Stuart’s. Would he have taken advantage of a young girl’s gratitude, of her need to repay her family’s debt? Would he have slept with her and tossed her aside when she had served his purpose?

After the Indian attack, as they had lain beneath the oak tree, Brendan could have taken her—she wouldn’t have stopped him—and both of them knew it Instead, he had held back, protecting her from the consequences of their actions, looking after her as he had from the start. How could two strong men, so much alike in some ways, be so very different?

“Call me when you have finished eating and I will help you dress,” Consuela said. “When you return from your ride with
Señor
Egan, we will prepare you for your wedding.”

Priscilla nodded, and Consuela left her alone. Beyond the window beside the bed, the harsh Texas landscape seemed to ripple in the heat of the fast-approaching noonday sun. Inside the thick-walled house, it felt cool and inviting. Priscilla would have traded the comfort for the swirling dust and frying heat, the insects, and the Indians if it meant another chance to be with Brendan.

And freedom from her stone-walled prison.

“Well, my dear, what do you think of it?” Since Priscilla couldn’t ride—Stuart almost seemed pleased about that—he sat beside her on the seat of a small black buggy, atop a rolling hill that overlooked the bustling compound below. Workers milled industriously between the huge two-story stone mansion, the
outbuildings, corrals, and stables, none without a task, all intent upon seeing it done.

“It’s like a small city, isn’t it? You’ve created a world of your own out here on the plains.”

“This is only the beginning,” he said proudly. “By the time our sons are grown, I’ll own three times this much land. I intend to build an empire so vast no one will be able to ignore it.” Wearing buff-colored riding breeches and a white linen shirt, Stuart propped an expensive black boot on the brake, his sandy hair ruffled by the hot Texas wind.