The next morning Vittorio came to her cabin to visit. He carefully studied the baby sleeping in her arms. “She will be fairer-skinned than you. And her eyes are so blue! Those eyes will not turn dark, like yours. What color were the father’s eyes?”
“Green.” Green as new leaves, she thought with a swift tugging in her chest.
“I predict that the babe will have her father’s eyes.”
She wouldn’t say the words to anyone, but deep inside she hoped so. It would be a measure of comfort to look into her daughter’s eyes and see Justis there. But Vittorio’s tone of voice bothered her. “You sound as if you’re glad she won’t look so much like an Indian.”
He nodded. “We must accept the facts, Catalina. The Californios will never consider you an equal, but your half-caste daughter may fare well, especially if she is pretty. Perhaps she will even be able to make a good marriage.”
Katherine frowned. “What would she do instead? Do you think my daughter will become some Californio’s mistress? She will marry a fine man—if she wishes to marry. Perhaps I will encourage her to take a husband from my own people, someone who will not congratulate himself for being noble when he marries a half-breed woman.”
Vittorio’s slow, patient smile annoyed her. She was finding him less likable these days. Once they reached California she would organize her future and relegate him to an insignificant part in it.
“What have you decided to name her?” he asked.
Katherine sighed happily, her pique forgotten for the moment. The babe’s real name would be Dahlonega. It was the Cherokee word for gold. “I am naming her after my parents,” she told Vittorio. “Mary Jessica.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “She will be Mary Jessica Gallatin. I shall call her Mary.”
He nodded. “Maria. A fine name.”
“Not Maria. Mary.”
“Catalina and her daughter, Maria. Yes. I like the sound of those. They will serve me quite well.” Vittorio left the cabin as she stared at him with slowly dawning concern.
JUSTIS DESPISED BEING cooped up on the schooner, and he vowed that if he ever reached California, he would never leave again, at least not by ship. The problem at this point, however, was that the damned schooner had taken a lot of storm damage off the western coast of South America after rounding the Horn. The captain had barely gotten it to a safe harbor.
Now he and the other passengers were marooned in a tiny village while they waited for a passing ship to take them on to California. By Justis’s calculations, Katherine’s ship must have arrived there within the past month. Even if he got another passage right away, he would be more than three months behind her.
He had never been much for praying, but now he spent a considerable amount of his time asking God to protect her from Vittorio Salazar.
CHAPTER 17
THE FIESTA at Rancho Mendez was like nothing Katherine had ever seen before. After several days of near-nonstop festivities it continued in full force, with picnics, bullfights, dances, horse races, and a dozen other entertainments that ranged from genteel to wildly bawdy. The families and guests of every rancho within a two-day ride had come to the event, along with many of the Yankee traders from the coastal village of Yerba Buena and the village of Sonoma to its north.
Adela’s husband, Miguel, a sturdy, dark-skinned patriarch of medium height and cheerful, rounded face, had organized the fiesta in honor of his wife’s homecoming. Katherine had expected to be treated pleasantly by her open-minded California hosts, but Miguel Mendez’s old-world courtesy surpassed her highest hopes. Judging by his sincere and formal manner toward her, she might have been a Mexican aristocrat.
Don Miguel, as everyone respectfully called him, was typical of the men who commanded the huge cattle-and-sheep estates of the balmy northern California wilderness. Flamboyant by American standards, he decorated his clothes with colorful braid and gleaming studs of gold and silver.
He wore fancy ruffled shirts under short jackets, and snug vests that displayed his rotund physique; his trousers flared from knee to ankle, and the insets were ornamented. He frequently and boisterously waved a wide-brimmed hat the Californios called a sombrero, and when the air grew cool at night he draped a bright-colored serape over his shoulders.
He rode his equally ornamented horses with fascinating grace, looking more like a centaur than a man. Everyone—men, women, and all but the tiniest children—rode in California, often at nothing less than a fast gallop. Horses were plentiful and spirited, like much else to be found in the region where cattle flourished untended and fortunes could be had simply by shipping the hides east.
Katherine found the California women just as exotic as the men. For the fiesta Adela excitedly outfitted her in their style, and each time she looked into a mirror Katherine was amazed by the change in her appearance. No corsets for these women—they let their curves jiggle and their waists grow. And no solemn colors. Today Katherine wore a bright blue shawl over a scoop-necked white blouse with puffy elbow-length sleeves. The blouse tucked into a gay print skirt and rustling red petticoats. On her feet she wore delicate blue slippers; on her head she wore a white lace mantilla.
Head to foot she was a California woman now, she told herself. It was a heartening notion, though she wasn’t sure whether the future promised more happiness than the past. The Californios had various social castes, just as any group of people did, and she couldn’t predict what position they would assign to her.
It was true that the ranchos existed almost entirely on the labor of her kind—Indians—and mestizos, mixed-bloods. But the workers, everyone from house servants to the rowdy vaqueros who herded cattle, were employees, not slaves, and they mingled with their patróns in a way that hinted at respect, if not equality. Among the rancheros Katherine had seen one or two who had wives who were obviously of Indian ancestry.
That gave her hope. Her new home wasn’t perfect, but at least it bore signs of being hospitable. Hospitable. She thought of Vittorio. Lately he had returned to his more accommodating, reliable behavior, and her reservations about him had faded.
“If you are not happy at Vittorio’s home you must come straight back here,” Adela told her during the fiesta’s fifth and final night. “It is only a day’s travel.”
Seated in the cool adobe grandeur of the great room in the Mendez hacienda, Katherine smiled. She felt comfortable and optimistic. “I’m sure he’ll be an excellent advisor and host while I acquire my land grant from the governor.”
“He will. Do not let my husband’s opinion worry you. They have always disagreed on everything.”
Miguel Mendez was decidedly cool toward his deceased sister’s husband. Judging by Miguel’s cheerful tolerance of everyone else with whom she saw him, Katherine couldn’t understand his distaste for Vittorio. “What does Vittorio do that angers Don Miguel so often?”
“My husband accuses Vittorio of being too harsh with his vaqueros, but I think it is just that they manage their workers in different ways. Vittorio’s methods are not Miguel’s or my own.” She took Katherine’s hands and laughed. “But you are a guest, not a cow herder, and you will be treated very well indeed. I will visit you often, and you will always have the company of many fellow guests at Salazar’s home. In California the wilderness would swallow up travelers if we did not take them in. Vittorio is kindhearted that way. You will meet many fascinating people.”
That night, as she lay in bed with Mary asleep at her breast, Katherine allowed herself the luxury of memories and tears. Ten months had passed since her last day with Justis in New York. His betrayal hurt just as much now as it had when she’d learned of his marriage.
She dreamed about him that night; she saw him so clearly that he seemed within reach of her arms, and she ached to hold him again. Don’t go with Salazar, he told her. It’s not safe. Trust me. I love you.
Katherine woke up crying. He didn’t love her and never had. The dream’s warning must therefore be just as much a lie.
ADELA?
??S DESCRIPTION HAD been accurate—there were fascinating people at Vittorio’s beautiful rancho. The impressive two-story adobe hacienda overflowed with interesting travelers, some of whom Katherine had met at the Mendez rancho during the fiesta. At most times of the day or night she could look out the small window of her upper-gallery bedroom and see people strolling in the courtyard or conversing around the fountain at its center.
The estate provided wonderful food and wine, thanks to the labor of several hundred workers who cultivated the orchards and vineyards that covered its gentle hillsides. The guests, who included the governor’s cousin, a pair of burly Russian fur trappers, and a Mexican merchant traveling to Santa Barbara with his family, enjoyed a life of carefree overindulgence. Much as did Vittorio, Katherine quickly discovered.
With her gold in his safe and her presence guaranteed at his side, he was in no hurry to discuss the business of helping her acquire a land grant. After two weeks of growing impatience, she wanted no more of his silky evasions.
One evening after the other guests had gone to bed she stayed up to play chess with him in his private library. In the light of a small table lamp she watched boredom flicker across his handsome, patrician face. Now was the moment, she decided.
“Would you mind discussing my plans for the future?” she asked pleasantly. “With fall coming on, I think I should start investigating the land hereabouts. I understand there are some beautiful valleys farther inland.”
“Our fall is hot and dry. There is no hurry.”
“I want to start planning a house. Can you at least find a craftsman to discuss the design with me?”
“Catalina, this is a rough land for a woman by herself. How would you fare with a large house and many servants to manage? Who would command your vaqueros and take your cattle hides to market?”
“I’m going to concentrate on farming, not ranching. I want to start orchards and vineyards. The inland valleys are perfect for that, from all I’ve heard.”
“But you have everything you need here.”
“Except a sense of home.” She smiled at him wistfully. “I have to create my own future in my own home.”
“Hmmm. You are insistent. Then it is time we talked seriously about your future. Yes.”
“Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate your compassion.”
Abruptly Vittorio rose and went to the library door. Katherine watched in bewilderment as he shut and locked it. He cut a dark, commanding figure in his tight jacket and trousers. Silver spurs clinked on his boots as he crossed the room to an ornately carved cabinet. His black hair had grown long during the ocean voyage; in the style of his people he wore it pulled back in a queue.
From one of the cabinet drawers he retrieved several black silk scarves. “Hold out one of your hands,” he said as he turned to her, smiling a little. “Before we talk I want to show you an entertaining trick of mine.”
Katherine sighed in exasperation but did as he asked. He bent over her hand and quickly knotted one end of the scarf around the wrist. “Now let your arm rest on the arm of the chair. Yes. Like that.”
He tied her wrist to the thick wood. She shifted impatiently on the upholstered seat. “If there were a fire, I would certainly roast, sir. I couldn’t drag this heavy chair one inch. Hurry with your parlor trick.”
“Be calm, querida. I have much to show you.”
He tugged on the big chair, sliding it around on the red-tiled floor to face him. “Your other hand, please.”
She frowned as he secured it to the chair’s other arm. “Aha,” she said. “These are some sort of magician’s knots. If I pull a certain way, they’ll come free.”
“No,” he said softly. “I’m certain that they won’t.”
His game struck a chord of alarm in her as he slipped a scarf around her ankle. “Let’s forego this silliness and talk business,” she said as he tied her ankle to the chair leg. “I have to check on Mary soon. I don’t like to leave her with the servants too long—”
“Just a moment more.”
He tied her other ankle to a chair leg, then rose, studying her intensely. Her throat went dry as she saw a flush darken his olive complexion; his eyes burned with a fervor that seemed almost sexual. “Untie me,” she ordered as fear raced up her spine. “This is an undignified game.”
“You will learn to like it. I promise.”
Suddenly he rested his fist against her mouth and shoved hard. She gasped, and he jammed his knuckles so far between her teeth that her jaw stretched with painful pressure. She stared up at him in utter shock and struggled against the chair’s bindings. With silent rage and terror she cursed her naiveté.
Her blue silk dress had a wide, rounded neckline. Vittorio sank his free hand into the front of it and tore the material open. She screamed uselessly and bit into his knuckles.
His low moan of pain and pleasure horrified her. Dark eyes glittering under half-shut lids, he casually ripped her undershirt down the center and jerked the torn halves back on either side. She made a high-pitched keening sound of fury that changed to distress when he twisted the nipple of one milk-swollen breast.
“Now listen to me, Catalina,” he murmured. His fingers went to the other breast and repeated the torture. Sweat broke out on Katherine’s forehead and pinpoints of light danced in her vision. “Listen, my beautiful Catalina.” His chest moved swiftly. She groaned with more horror when she noticed the thick bulge straining at the front of his trousers. She bit into his knuckles and tasted his blood, then bit harder.
He shivered in his strange, delighted way but squeezed her breast so viciously that tears came to her eyes. “I will bruise you until you cannot nurse your child,” he promised. “Enough biting. A lady does not bite.”
She relaxed her aching jaw and gazed at him with hatred. He shook his head. “You must depend on my influence now, Catalina. You are alone in a foreign place. You are nothing but an American—and not even a white American. It is not legal for Americans to settle here, but our government ignores the law to encourage trade. The law, however, can be enforced if we wish.”
He slid his hand back and forth on her naked shoulder, stroking so roughly the skin burned. “Adela would never believe you if you tell her about tonight, so do not think of it. You should not risk insulting one of the few true friends you have. I know that you are shocked, but that will pass. Besides, you don’t really want to leave me. You and your beautiful daughter. You love her very much, don’t you, Catalina, and would never want to see her hurt. No. We will enjoy a very amicable relationship, Catalina. Very beneficial for you.”
He put his hand on one of her wrists, caressing the black scarf with his fingertips. “This is the only kind of pleasure I will ask from you. I will never use you in the ugly way other men demand of ladies. You will learn to appreciate the honor I am doing you.” He hesitated. His gaze was tender as it moved over her. “You are so special. Such a fine lady, and yet you have the needs of a savage. How do I know?”
He smiled and raked his fingernails down her chest. “No woman of delicate sensibilities would have married a man as low and coarse as your husband. Oh, Catalina, I revere the contradictions in your nature. From the very first I knew I would never find another woman with such a perfect blend of desire and control.”
She twisted her head and struggled to keep from gagging. He ground his fist deeper into her mouth and crooned soothing words. She willed herself not to panic. A mind such as Vittorio’s was capable of rationalizing any cruel deed. She had to remain calm enough to bargain with him. She had to remain calm for Mary’s sake.
What if he were telling the truth about Adela’s reaction? Perhaps Adela had known about his sick nature all along—perhaps she even considered it normal. That didn’t seem likely, but Katherine couldn’t trust anyone but herself at the moment.
“I adore you, Catalina,” he whispered. “I will treat you as if you were my wife. Better than that, even, because I never shared these honors with my wife. Do
you understand how precious you are to me? Does that please you?”
Katherine’s stomach roiled. She gazed up at his utterly gentle eyes and forced herself to nod. When trapped, she would play by his rules. When free, she would plot her escape—and her revenge.
“No hysteria?” he asked, watching her closely. “If I remove my hand? No indelicate screaming?”
She nodded again. Slowly he pulled his fist from her mouth. Her jaw had been growing numb; now shards of sensation ran through the joints like knife pricks. “You drive an interesting bargain, Vittorio,” she finally managed to say.
He laughed. “I should have known you would not be offended. Your Indian blood makes you more difficult to hurt. You are strong.” He stroked her face with the back of one finger. “That will make our games more interesting.”
“Are we finished for tonight?”
“Yes. I know you have much to think about. I also know that my kind of pleasure is particularly exhausting. Go and rest.” He brushed a fingertip over her mauled nipples. “I will not hurt you in this way again until after your daughter is weaned. I am not a cruel man.”
She nearly choked. As she stared at him in shock, he untied her. When she was free she made herself move calmly, though her hands trembled as she pulled her torn clothes back together. Vittorio watched with a pleased expression.
“I see your fear and doubts,” he murmured hoarsely. “They do honor to the more sensitive aspects of your nature. I treasure them.”
“You are … remarkable. Buenas noches.”
He bowed, then went to the door and unlocked it. Katherine walked numbly from the library. When she reached her bedroom she ignored the servant girl’s curious stares and took Mary from her without a word. After the girl left, Katherine sat by the window and gazed at the sleeping baby, holding her in a streak of golden moonlight.