When the Heavens Fall (28 page)

“I'm sure there are. Rosa says this girl isn't happy. She doesn't want to marry an old man.”

“How would she know that? She's a servant.”

“Well, she has a friend who is maid to Señorita Dolores Mendoza. She told me everything. Said the señorita is a romantic and is very unhappy to be forced to marry a man old enough to be her father.” Philemon came over and watched as Brandon ate heartily. “It's plain to see that you've got the woman in your sights.”

“Don't be a fool, Smith.”

“Well, that's what you'd be if you tried to marry that girl. Her father's an old pirate anyway. He'd have your throat slit or run you out of the country.”

Brandon chewed thoughtfully on the tender steak. He raised one eyebrow and a smile turned the corners of his lips upward. “I admit, it began as a plan to extricate her. But now…I'm intrigued by her. What do you suggest, Philemon?”

“Forget her. Women are pretty much alike. You can find another one just as good-looking. But I don't suppose you will pay any heed to my advice.”

“Do you expect me to?”

“No, I don't. A wise man will attain wisdom, but stripes are for the back of a fool. I suspect you've got your stripes chasing after women, sir.”

“I suspect you know too much.”

“Yes, sir. Well, finish your meal. I'll dress you, and then you can make a fool of yourself over this Dolores Mendoza. I wish you'd give me enough money for a passage home. I'll need it after they cut your gizzard out.”

Brandon dismounted from the sleek black horse and spoke to the guards who came to greet him

“Good morning, Bartola, and you, José.” Both were tough-looking men armed with swords and pistols and looked like a pair of highwaymen—which they probably were. “I need to see your master about the horses.”

“He's not here, señor,” Bartola said. “He's gone to Avila.”

“To look at horses?”

The two men laughed, and the shorter of the two said, “No, he has a woman there. He won't be back for a day or two.”

“Well, maybe I can speak to someone else about the horses. Just to look at them, don't you see. I'm deciding today between two different stallions.”

“You know where the stables are. Ask for Mateo. He knows all about the horses.”

“Thank you.” Brandon nodded pleasantly and entered the compound. It was surrounded by an eight-foot wall with carved wooden spikes studded along the top. There were only two entrances, and both of them were kept well guarded. As Brandon moved around, he studied the situation from a military standpoint.
I think I can forget about a plan to kidnap Eden Fairfax. It would be difficult even if I had a troop of soldiers. Too many armed
men, and then I'd still have to travel all the way to the coast with a screaming woman.

The thought discouraged him, but he went on to the stables, where he found Mateo, the Mendozas' horse master

“I'd like to try out that stallion I was looking at the other day. The bay.”

“His name is Capitán, señor. A fine horse.”

“He looks like he's big enough to carry my weight.”

“He is one of the prizes of Señor Mendoza's herd. I don't know if you would be willing to pay the price he is asking.”

“If he's the horse I want, I'll pay it. I'll come back a little later.”

“I'll have him saddled, señor.”

“Thank you, Mateo.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Brandon moved around the compound. He was somewhat discouraged, for he could not think of a way he could break into the house, obtain Eden, then get her all the way to the coast. If he did get her out of the compound, there would be an alarm, and a troop of these ruffians working for Mendoza would be on his trail, all mounted on the fastest horses he'd ever seen

He stopped at a beautifully arranged garden and admired the flowers. They made a colorful display in the bright morning sun. He had hoped to see Dolores Mendoza, and he was pleasantly surprised a few moments later to see her come out of one of the large oak doors. A servant bowed as she passed through. Brandon saw at a glance that she was wearing a riding outfit. He pulled his hat off and approached her

“Good morning, señorita. A fine day, is it not?”

“Are you here again to look at horses, Señor Winslow?”

“Yes. I thought I might. I'm going to take one called Capitán out for a ride.” A quick thought came to him and he said, “I wish we could ride together, but as I learned from our first meeting, you can't accompany a man without a duenna.”

“I think you're a man who doesn't pay much attention to rules.”

“Why, señorita, you wound me! I always keep to the rules—unless I want to break them.”

“I sometimes feel the same way, Señor Winslow.”

“You do not know a man's confinement.”

“No,” Dolores said, tossing her head as a rebellious light came to eyes, “I know worse. You are a man, and you have no idea how a woman is bound by a thousand rules. I think sometimes I'm in a prison.”

“What would you do if you were not bound by rules?”

“I'd do what you and all men do—I'd be free.”

Brandon studied the woman. Her face was a mirror that changed often. He had seen her laugh a few times and knew that she had a great deal of pride. That much was obvious. Yet sometimes a sadness seemed to touch her like a cloud. Impulsively he said, “Ride with me, señorita. Break one of the rules.”

“It is up to you,” she said with a shrug. “If my father catches us, he may have you whipped.”

“It's worth the risk.”

Mateo saddled both animals. Hers was a mare. She gave Brandon a slight smile but did not speak. Brandon followed her to the big stallion, who bucked a couple of times, then settled down to accept his saddle

As soon as they were outside the gate and away from the walls of the compound, Dolores smiled at him. “Would you like to race? I always like a race. You see that big tree out there? It's about half a mile from here. Are you ready?”

“Any time you're—”

Brandon blinked as Dolores touched the mare with her spurs and gave a sharp cry. The mare shot ahead as if propelled from a cannon, while his big stallion, startled by the action, bucked and turned sideways. Quickly Brandon got him under control, but by that time, Dolores was fifty yards ahead. He
kicked the sides of the big horse, and the animals sped over the terrain. It was impossible to catch her, and when he reached the tree, she watched him approach with a triumphant smile

“You are slow, señor.”

“I think you have the better animal.”

“Yes. She's the fastest horse on the place. She's won many races. Come along.”

She did not say where they were going. She led him down a well-worn path and then they climbed a gently rising slope that grew sharper as it rose. When they reached the crest, Brandon saw a beautiful valley on the other side, with a clear stream running through it

“That's the prettiest thing I've seen in Spain.”

“Do they have nice scenes like this in your country?”

“Oh, yes. Many of them. But this is beautiful.” A thought came to him, and he asked, “What was your life like—as a child, I mean?”

Dolores didn't answer at once; the question seemed to trouble her. Finally she said, “I never knew my real parents.”

“Señor Mendoza isn't your father?”

“No. He saved me from a wreck at sea. He took me as his daughter.”

“Do you remember anything about your real parents?”

“I—sometimes dream of them.” Dolores turned her eyes on him, and he saw a longing and a sadness there. “Of course, I can't really remember what they look like, but I wish I could have known them.”

“Forgive me. It must be very hard.”
If I can take her back to her parents, it will benefit her as much as Uncle Quentin. She's miserable here, and she'll be even worse off if she's forced to marry an old man.
“Shall we go on?” he asked

She didn't answer but led him down a path. When they got to the river, she let the horses drink. She did not speak for a time. Then she lifted the mare's head and walked her slowly
along the river. When they came to a grove of trees, she dismounted and tied the mare to a tree. Brandon tied his horse and followed her into the trees. The shade of the trees made the air cool. She sat down on a fallen tree

“I come here to fish sometimes.”

“Do you catch any?”

“Oh, yes. The river's full of fish. I let most of them go.” She turned to him and asked, “Tell me about your life in your country.”

Brandon cast about for something appropriate to tell her. “Well, I was a soldier for quite a while.”

Her eyes lit up. “That's what I would be if I were a man. A soldier. Tell me about it. The battles and the adventure.”

Her eyes were wide open, and she seemed to be hungry for something—what? “Well, it's not as romantic as most people think. As a matter of fact, I had rather romantic notions when I joined the army. Mostly it's days of tedious boredom broken by short periods of sheer terror.” Brandon laughed and said, “That's not very romantic, is it?”

“Tell me, were you truly afraid in battle?”

“There's hardly time for it, at least for me, but I found out I was afraid after the action stopped. Once we had a terrible battle with some Irishmen. There were dead people all around, and I had a couple of wounds myself. I didn't even think about dying or getting hurt while it was going on. There was no time for it. But when it was over and everything grew quiet, I started to walk away.” He shook his head at the memory. “My knees suddenly got weak as water, and I had to lie down flat on the ground.”

“What were you afraid of, Brandon Winslow?”

“I realized I could have died and I would be in no condition to meet God in judgment. It frightened me.”

“I never heard of such a thing as that. Tell me some more about the battles.”

As the cool breeze touched his face, Brandon told some stories of battles, but finally he shook his head. “War is a terrible thing.”

“What about your family?”

“Oh, you would like them, Dolores.” He forgot to add
señorita,
but she seemed not to notice. “They've been married for years and years, and they love each other like a pair of youngsters falling in love for the first time.”

“Really?”

“Yes. My mother is miserable when Father's gone, and he's miserable when he's away from her.”

“Do they ever argue?”

“Oh, yes, they argue. They make each other laugh, and they make each other cry.”

“Why should you cry if you love someone?”

“My father says to love is to put yourself into the hands of another person. Sooner or later they'll fail you.”

“Your mother cries sometimes?”

“Not very often. Father's very careful. He brings her flowers and he tells her how beautiful she is. But once he paid a little too much attention to a pretty woman, and Mother got jealous. She cried then. I was just a child, but I asked her why she was crying, and she couldn't tell me. But then when Father came in he saw her crying. He ran over and fell down and held her, and they made things right. I was just a child, but I saw that there was magic in my parents' relationship.”

There was silence for a moment. Brandon listened to the sibilant murmur of the river as it flowed by. He was trying to figure out what she was thinking

“Do you know any more poems like the one you quoted for me the other day?”

“Well, I know one that's been a favorite of mine for a long time.”

“Would you tell it to me?”

“All right. I'll tell you some of it. It's about a man and a woman who are in love, and the first thing she says is, ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for our love is better than wine.'”

“I'm not sure this is appropriate.”

“Oh, it's a good poem. They love each other dearly. She describes him. She says, ‘A bundle of myrrh is my wellbeloved unto me. He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.' And he says, ‘Behold thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes.'”

He continued to quote the poem and said, “I told you that lovers cry. That's in the poem too. They had a quarrel. The man came one night when the woman was asleep. He whispered, ‘Open to me, my love, my dove, my undefiled.' But she would not. She said, ‘I have put off my coat. How shall I put it on? I have washed my feet. How shall I defile them?'”

“What did he say?”

“He didn't say anything, but when she left her bed and she saw he was gone, she said, ‘My beloved has withdrawn himself. My soul failed when he spoke.' And then she began looking for him, and she couldn't find him.”

Dolores said, “This isn't a fit poem for a man to say to a woman.”

“Why, Dolores, it's from the Bible.”