Authors: Jane Toombs
The Bastard (3 page)
After he dressed and came downstairs, a middle-aged woman he
hadn't
seen before served him ham, beef and beans. When
he'd
eaten all he could hold, a man-servant entered the dining room. "Don Francisco awaits you, sir," he said in Spanish.
The old don waited in a courtyard where birds sang in flowering bushes and trees, exotic scents perfumed the air. Diarmid, caught off guard by the unexpected beauty of his surroundings, blurted, "
Paradise
must have been like this!"
Obviously pleased, Don Francisco smiled. "Would you like to have me show you the rest of my holdings?"
"I'd be
honored
, sir."
As they turned to re-enter the casa, Diarmid saw a lass in white hurrying down the corridor ahead of them.
His watcher of last night?
Had she been secretly observing him again?
"Concepcion!" the don called and she stopped, turning slowly.
Diarmid,
who'd
been intrigued by the idea of a lass spying on him, was disappointed. From her slight figure,
he'd
expected her to be young and perhaps pretty. Instead, she looked to be at least forty, sallow and plain, her dark hair pulled into a knot at the back of her lace-covered head. Her brown eyes flicked one timid glance at him,
then
didn't meet his gaze again.
The don introduced her as his daughter, Senorita Gabaldon.
A spinster
, then.
Rather a surprise.
Though she was no beauty, Don Francisco must be able to provide a lavish dowry. What had kept suitors away?
She fancied
him, that
was plain. As for him, even if
she'd
been a beauty, he wouldn't dream of laying so much as a finger on Don Francisco's daughter if she begged him on bended knee.
Californios
,
he'd
learned, took offense if a man so much as looked sideways at their lasses.
Luckily
the senor who'd challenged him had a terrible aim.
He greeted her courteously and dismissed her from his mind.
Mounted on Bruce, Diarmid rode with the don to the treeless hill behind the hacienda. Since
he'd
traveled from El Doblez in the gathering dusk, he hadn't really seen the rancho. When the don reined in his black stallion at the summit, Diarmid pulled up beside him.
"From here one sees most of the property," Don Francisco said with a wave of his hand.
As Diarmid's gaze followed the gesture, he clutched Bruce's reins, stunned. He
couldn't
speak, he could scarcely breath. Spread out below him and stretching into the distance was the golden valley of his dream, beautiful beyond belief, more desirable
than any lass
. Blood thrummed in his ears, muffling the don's voice so he only heard bits and pieces. "...grant from the crown...ocean...cattle...drought…hides...ships..."
Finally
aware Don Francisco waited for a response, Diarmid did his best to gather his wits.
"'
Tis
a wonder, sir.
A wonder and a glory."
Before he could stop himself, he added, "God knows how much I wish 'twas mine."
Instead of taking offense, the don gave him a long, measuring glance. "I will tell you I've considered selling," he said at last. "I'm no longer young and my sons--" he sighed. "They are dead, my sons. There's only
Concepcion
."
Diarmid heard but one word clearly.
Selling.
Was it possible--? No, he
hadn't
anywhere near enough saved. "I'd offer for it if I had the money," he said honestly. "To own land is my fondest dream." He gestured toward the valley, his gaze yearning. "But this--this is far beyond my means."
"Perhaps not," Don Francisco said.
Diarmid's head whipped around to stare at the old man.
"You're a strong and healthy young man
,"
the don went on, "capable of working hard, able to sire sons."
Confused as to where they were heading, Diarmid nodded in agreement but said nothing.
"I prefer to keep the land in the family," the old man continued. "Are you a Catholic?"
Blinking in puzzlement, Diarmid admitted he was, not mentioning he
hadn't
been inside a church in six years, not since his mother died.
The don nodded in satisfaction. "When I see how your spirit reaches toward this land, my heart tells me you should have it. That you are not one of us may prove to be an advantage. If the rancho belongs to you,
you'll
find a way to keep the land, you'll discover a way to overcome the problems I've struggled against too long. I make the assumption you
haven't
a wife. As for
Concepcion
, she'll obey me."
"
Concepcion
?" Diarmid echoed, the unbelievable truth beginning to dawn.
"My daughter.
She's
young enough yet to bear at least one child. Marry her and my rancho will, in
time,
be yours once she bears you a son."
Diarmid's head whirled. Marry that dried-up stick
of a lass
? Compared to
Concepcion
, homely Miriam was a beauty.
But
even as he rejected the idea, he knew he'd eventually come to embrace it as he'd be forced to embrace her. To own
this
land he'd wed the daughter of the devil himself.
In a daze, he followed the don back to the hacienda. As they stepped onto the veranda, Diarmid finally began to believe 'twas really true that the rancho could be his, if he agreed, and he quelled a sudden, wild impulse to step inside ahead of the old man, turn to him and say grandly, "Mi casa
es
su
casa."
Chapter Two
At Don Francisco's insistence, Diarmid remained at the rancho as a guest. "You must have time to become acquainted with
Concepcion
before you make a final decision," he told Diarmid. "And I wish to show you all my holdings."
More
likely
he wants to be sure he hasn't made a mistake about me, Diarmid thought, not blaming the don. He still
couldn't
believe the
Californio
meant to turn his land over to a virtual stranger.
"Becoming acquainted" with Don Francisco's daughter
was complicated
by having the old Indian woman, Rosa, present on every occasion as a chaperone. Never once
was Diarmid permitted
to be alone with
Concepcion
.
Do they think
I'll
seduce the lass in the courtyard?
he
wondered. Leap on her and take her by force in the parlor?
He'd
never once forced a lass--what need, when so many of them were so willing? As for seduction, the pickings would have to be damn sparse for him to
be overcome
with desire for such a skinny, sallow lass, without even youth to recommend her.
He'd
tried to be polite and talk with her, but
Concepcion
was either too shy or too stupid to say more than a word or two, and those in answer to a direct question. Yet he was certain she fancied him. If she thought he
wasn't
looking, her deep-set dark eyes followed his every move with a yearning gaze he'd seen before. In Miriam Goetz's eyes, before she began seeking him out as he slept.
Not that he believed
Concepcion
would have the daring to come secretly to his room at night. For one thing, unlike Miriam, she was undoubtedly a virgin. She might think she wanted him, but he
didn't
think she understood what that wanting meant.
The morning rides exploring the property with the don strengthened Diarmid's resolve to persist with the awkward chaperoned meetings with
Concepcion
in the afternoons.
But
on the fifth morning he balked. Instead of returning to the hacienda with the don, he excused himself and rode off for El Doblez, saying
he'd
return the following morning. Feeling like a caged hawk suddenly set free, he sang an old Robbie Burns song as Bruce loped over the grasslands toward the low hills that hid the ocean.
"Robin was a
rovin
' boy
Rantin
'
rovin
'
rantin
'
rovin
'
;
Robin was a
rovin
' boy
Rantin
'
rovin
' Robin..."
For all
that
he craved the don's rancho, for all his need for his own land, at the moment Diarmid was one with
Rovin
' Robin. No cage for him,
he'd
do as he pleased, choose his own company, find his own lass.
He'd
begun to wonder, too, what he'd do once he took over running the rancho. He knew nothing at all about cattle, but the skinny, horned beasts that roamed the don's grasslands looked unhealthy to him.
And
wasn't it spring?
To the
north
the grass was green and growing. Here, it remained dry and golden.
A beautiful color, but not a life-giving one.
He could learn quickly, he always had, but would that be enough?
Once he topped the hills and gazed down at El Doblez, he found it even smaller than he remembered--a few adobe houses. One stood one on a rise behind the cantina and there were a scattering of shanties near the two wooden docks extending into the blue waters of the tiny bay. No boats rocked at their moorings, no doubt the men were fishing. The adobe cantina, Diarmid's destination, was the largest building in the hamlet.
Inside, an old man, in tattered and filthy clothes, nursed a mug of aguardiente at a table near the door. There were no other customers. At a table in the back of the cantina, Stella White and another woman were making tortillas. With an apron tied loosely over her gown and her blond hair in a single braid down her back, she looked younger than she had the night they met--and even more desirable.
Stella glanced at Diarmid when he approached, and her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed slapping the corn dough.
"You're too early for dinner," she said by way of a greeting.
He smiled. "I didn't come to eat.
Or
drink. I came to see you."
"So now you've seen me."
"And talk to you." He bowed. "May I invite you to take a stroll with me?"
"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm busy."
"When aren't you busy?"
She looked sideways at him. "In my cantina, I sell food and drink.
Nothing else."
"I wasn't asking to buy.
Just to talk."
"In my experience, men usually have only one thing on their minds--and in their conversation."
Ah,
she's
not to be easily won, Diarmid told himself, more intrigued than ever. "What I want is a friend." His voice was soft, persuasive. "Robbie Burns says it better than I." Dropping onto one knee, he tried to look mournful as he clasped his hands over his heart and intoned:
"
Wae
is my
heart,
and the tear's in my
ee
;
Lang,
lang
, joy's been a stranger to me:
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear,
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear..."
Stella turned to stare at him.
Diarmid rose to his feet. "'
Tis
the plain truth--I need someone to talk to."
Her lips quivered and he decided she was trying not to smile. Good,
he'd
interested her. Best to keep his
mouth shut for the moment and see
what she'd do.
"Heaven help me, I know better," she said. Switching to Spanish, she asked the older woman next to her, "Should I go for a walk with this man,
Lucita
?"