Fortune's Bride (Heiress, Book Four) Page 9

  The mare seemed perfect on this score and in temper. She withstood Robert’s probing most equably but did not seem to be broken-spirited for she stared with prick-eared interest around her and at anyone who spoke. Moreover, she responded to being stroked by Esmeralda by nuzzling at her and then took a tidbit from Esmeralda’s hand with accustomed care.

  “What will you call her?” Robert asked.

  “I’ll call her Boa Viagem,” Esmeralda said, smiling. “Boa for short.”

  Robert grinned. He knew that much Portuguese, and it seemed characteristic of Esmeralda that she would choose a name like “Good Journey” rather than something silly like “Fairy.”

  The next step was the saddle, and by the time that was examined, placed on Boa Viagem, and both Robert and Esmeralda had agreed that it was unfortunate that her riding dress was not ready so that she could try the mare’s paces, it was time for dinner.

  In the most natural way possible, without specific invitation or any indication that it was not already an established pattern, they dined together. Then, since neither had any acquaintances in Oporto, Robert obtained a pack of cards, and they whiled away the evening in the most pleasant way playing piquet. At first, Robert had deliberately underplayed, but he soon discovered there was no need for holding back, and they lost and won huge imaginary sums with a great deal of laughter.

  Both were surprised when the mantel clock chimed nine, and it was with obvious regret that Robert rose and said that they had better retire for the night because they would have to be on the road as soon as the sun was up. His voice was just a trifle constrained as he spoke, but Esmeralda did not notice. It was not until that moment that she remembered her order to the dressmaker.

  Her mind was immediately filled with the need to have her riding dress ready, so it was only when she and Robert were parting at the door of her chamber that she recalled her wedding and the briefest flicker of regret passed through her because Robert was not coming in as he would have done had the marriage been real. But by the time the dress was finished, Esmeralda was too tired to think of anything. She could barely stay awake long enough to ascertain that Robert had paid the dressmaker the preceding afternoon. She brushed her teeth and tumbled into bed.

  Like a good soldier, Robert could sleep anywhere and at any time. However, this night when he got into bed he lay awake for a full fifteen minutes thinking over the events of the day. He felt considerable surprise at how much he had enjoyed himself. Miss Talbot…no, Esmeralda, was a delightful girl. No one could be more rational, and her pleasure, without cries of surprise or embarrassing flattery, at the most common polite attentions was most gratifying. She said thank you with genuine sincerity, and that was that, God bless her. She didn’t go on and on about things or giggle or bat her eyes, and she knew horses and played a vicious game of piquet…

  Without realizing what he was doing, Robert sighed as he wondered why he had originally thought Esmeralda so plain. She had looked very attractive in that new dress. Of course, her nose was too little and too round and her mouth was too wide, but it had been pleasant to kiss. Robert sighed again as a strong sexual urge caught at him. Wrong time, wrong place, he thought. Not the kind of hotel where such girls worked, and even if it were, he just couldn’t, not with Esmeralda in the place.

  He uttered a last sigh and tried to fix his mind on the duties of the next morning. Instead he found he was thinking about Esmeralda again, and it wasn’t calming him down at all. Damn! Women, even the best of them, were always a nuisance. He wasn’t married to her, and he had better remember it, especially since she clearly hadn’t liked the idea and had only accepted it when she realized there was no alternative. Robert flopped over on his belly with an irritated grunt and determinedly began to calculate the probable cost of fodder and compare it with his available funds, which was so fruitless an exercise that he was soon asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Although it was still dark when a maid wakened Esmeralda, she suffered no fright or disorientation. Nor, although she had had far too little sleep, did she feel in the least reluctant to rise. She hopped out of bed at once, washed, and donned her new riding dress with a delicious sense of excited anticipation. It took her only a few moments to roll her toilet articles into her new undergarments, fold her morning dress around those so that it would not crease excessively, and then wrap the bundle in a blanket Robert had sent up with the maid.

  The fact that Robert’s greeting was barely civil and that he promptly buried his head in a newspaper did not trouble Esmeralda, either. She assumed that he was bitterly regretting what he had done because he was imagining all sorts of horrors on the journey stemming from her presence. Owing to past experience, she was perfectly confident that there would be none. Thus, his grumpiness made her feel like giggling. That, however, would be most unwise, Esmeralda knew. One does not laugh at a gentleman at breakfast, particularly not a predawn breakfast, a time when the male sense of humor is at a low ebb.

  In decorous silence, then, Esmeralda herself consumed a very substantial meal, interrupting her own stoking only to butter toast, refill Robert’s teacup, and add slices of cold beef, ham, and eggs to his plate whenever the tide ran low. She also instructed the waiter to pack two hampers with additional cold meats, bread, and cheese, several bottles of wine, sufficient crockery, eating utensils, plus glasses for two, and a couple of flasks of water.

  Realizing at last that his plate was exhibiting the characteristics of the miraculous loaves and fishes, Robert looked up. “Thank you,” he said snappishly, “but there is no need to serve me anymore.”

  “I should hope not,” Esmeralda replied too gravely. “I was beginning to wonder whether you had hollow legs.”

  “I meant in a general way,” Robert retorted sharply.

  Apparently breaking his fast had not restored Robert’s good humor, but Esmeralda was still unable to resist teasing him. “But,” she said most innocently, widening her eyes, “it would be most peculiar, indeed, if a wife did not do so.” She saw his nostrils flare with temper and was aware he was about to say, “You are not my wife,” so she went on hurriedly, “You did tell me, did you not, that we must behave as unexceptionally as possible to avoid talk?”

  His guns effectively spiked, Robert rose from his seat in dignified silence. He was somewhat ashamed of behaving like a boor, but there was no explanation he could think of immediately to offer Esmeralda that would not be offensive. It was impossible, after all, to say he had found her company sexually stimulating and was annoyed at himself, not at her. Had they really been married, it would have been a compliment. As it was, to say such a thing would only alarm the poor girl needlessly since he meant her no harm and was scarcely so attracted as to be in any danger of ravishing her.

  Still, it was annoying, particularly since he could not blame Esmeralda for doing anything deliberately to cause the effect. Even worse, the situation was not likely to improve. Robert thought she looked very handsome indeed in the tight-fitted, bright-blue jacket of her riding dress. A nice figure… Damn!

  Esmeralda also rose with unimpaired calm, since she could not read Robert’s mind and still believed him to be distressed about the coming journey. “I have ordered food for the trail,” she said. “Would you prefer to have a pack mule brought to the hotel so the hampers can be loaded here, or would you like me to instruct them to send a servant to wherever the animals are being assembled?”

  Jolted out of his bad humor by her practical forethought, Robert exclaimed, “Good God, I had forgot! Thank you, Miss…er…Esmeralda.”

  “Not at all,” she replied, smiling at him. “I am sure you have far more important things to worry about than picnic lunches. Papa always left the food and drink for our journeys to me, and I will be very happy to take that burden from you. I only arranged for our own needs, however. If you wish me to order for the cattle drivers—”

  “No. Why should you? They are being handsomely paid, far better than they would be by their own pe
ople. We are not responsible for their keep.”

  “I’m glad of that,” Esmeralda admitted. “I did provide for our Indian servants, but to speak the truth, I have no idea what would be proper here in Portugal.” Robert turned to go, and she laid a hand on his arm. “Will you send a mule? And what of your baggage?”

  Robert barely controlled an urge to jerk his arm away. It was not that he found Esmeralda’s touch unpleasant. He was merely surprised by the odd little quiver that ran up his arm. He wondered irritably what the devil was wrong with him and reminded himself yet again that the wedding ceremony was meaningless—certainly meaningless to Esmeralda. Her behavior could not be more natural or unaware.

  “Yes,” he said, “I will send one of the men with a pack animal. The hotel porter has my portmanteaus. Can you be ready in an hour’s time?”

  “I am ready now and will gladly come with you if that will save time,” Esmeralda replied.

  Robert had to smile. “You are entirely too agreeable and efficient.” Then he pulled out his purse and extracted several coins from it. “Since you have more time than I, would you see to the vails for the servants? And you had better keep whatever remains, in case there is something you wish to purchase on the road. I will not be able to be with you much of the time, I’m afraid.”

  Esmeralda accepted the coins and assured him she would not only see that the tips were distributed properly but understood completely that his first duty was to the animals under his care. Obviously it would be necessary for him to range the line of march, making certain the beasts were not allowed to roam or that their drivers did not decide to accept the small prepayment as a sheer profit and go off to sell the horses and mules all over again.

  Robert shook his head, smiling. “You are going to ruin me for dealing with ordinary women, Esmeralda—that is a pretty name, but quite a mouthful.”

  She laughed, her voice a little too high-pitched with the shock of hearing Robert put his finger so accurately on her plans. However, it was clear that he was not thinking of what he had said in the same terms she was, and she managed to keep her voice controlled and natural when she spoke. “Call me Merry, then. Most of my friends did so when I was a girl.”

  “When you were a girl?” Robert’s brows rose. “You aren’t exactly an aged crone now, but Merry it is—and very appropriate, too, for you certainly like your little jokes.”

  He went out without saying any more, and this time Esmeralda let her eyes follow him, knowing he would not look back. Merry…no one had called her that for many years, nor had the name been appropriate since then. But it was just right now, for there was a well of joy bubbling inside her. For now… For as long as she could hold him… Esmeralda shook herself. She would not think about that. She would enjoy every minute as long as she could, she vowed to herself.

  Esmeralda had no trouble at all fulfilling her vow. Despite the heat and dust and the stench of the animals and sweat-drenched men, she had never in her life been so happy—not perfectly happy. There was a worm in the heart of her rose and she knew it, but it was sleeping now and she did nothing to disturb it. Instead she blessed her father over and over, often chuckling when she thought that she would learn to love him at last not for the luxury she would someday enjoy at his expense, but for the hardships he had inflicted on her. Whatever the discomforts of this ride, they were nothing compared to those she had endured in India, and the company was much better.

  The journey had set out on the right foot. When she was informed that her mare and the pack mule had arrived, Esmeralda went out at once. For a moment she was very startled because it looked as if the animals had come to the hotel on their own. Then she noticed a pair of small, bare brown feet between the two sets of front hooves. Curious, she went around to the front, where a diminutive Portuguese boy with large, bright black eyes regarded her soberly. He was completely dwarfed by the two animals, but his air was one of confidence. Esmeralda smiled. Shyly he smiled back.

  “I have brought your horse and the mule, senhora,” he said.

  “I thank you,” Esmeralda replied formally. She glanced at the boy and repressed a smile. Clearly he could not lift her to the saddle. “Would you be so kind as to take the mule to the kitchen entrance?” she asked. “There is food to be loaded, two portmanteaus, and a small parcel.”

  When he returned with the loaded animal, Esmeralda was already mounted. She noted with approval that two large flasks of unglazed and porous clay were slung on either side of the mule. The clay was already dark with moisture. This would evaporate under the hot sun, keeping the water within relatively cool. Seeing her mounted, the boy led the mule forward, and Esmeralda followed without comment until they turned south toward the bridge.

  “Wait,” Esmeralda said. “Where is Captain Moreton?”

  “He will meet us at the bridge, senhora,” the boy replied. “The cattle go by barge and ferry, but we will go ahead of them so as not to be choked by the dust.”

  “We!” Esmeralda exclaimed. “Surely you will go home to your parents.”

  The brightness of the boy’s eyes dimmed. “I have no parents,” he said softly, “and my sister, who I lived with, was…was taken away by the French. I was hiding Luisa here in the hills to keep her safe from them, and Theresa was not there when I came back. She never came home, although I waited many days. So when the bishop’s men came to ask for mules, I brought Luisa. I go with you to fight the French.”

  “Have you spoken with Captain Moreton?” Esmeralda asked.

  The boy’s eyes dropped. “He chose Luisa,” he said stubbornly. “Where Luisa goes, so do I.” His voice trembled just a little on the last words.

  Esmeralda bit her lip. The mule was probably the only thing in the world he owned besides his breeches, his shirt, and the brown cloth jacket flung over one shoulder “Have you no aunts or uncles?” she asked gently. “You are a fine, strong boy. They would be sad if any harm should come to you. You will surely be needed for the flocks or the farm. It is not right that you—” The expression in his eyes, now turned up to her again, choked off Esmeralda’s words.

  “The French, they fed their horses and mules—no, our mules—on the standing grain. They killed our sheep. There is no time to grow new crops and no money to buy what cannot be harvested. If I eat, someone else will starve.”

  His mouth was set in lines of bitterness far too old for it, and the trembling of his voice was more apparent, but there was no pleading in it. Esmeralda knew he had stated the case exactly as it was. The boy’s village must have been close to Oporto, and the French had stripped it bare. Old Pedro’s village had suffered, too, but being farther from Oporto and supplied with fish from the sea, its condition was not nearly so desperate. She also knew she should tell him at once that it was impossible for him to accompany them.

  “If there is no feed,” the boy said more softly still, “they will sell Luisa. Or if no one will buy, they will slaughter her for meat. So I took her. I must go with Luisa.”

  Esmeralda’s breath drew in. He had taken the mule without permission. Probably the animal was his, or had been his sister’s, but the adults of the village would not care about that, not in a time of extremity. If he went back without the mule, he would be terribly punished. Esmeralda looked down at the bent head, and all the misery of her own youth after her mother’s death welled up in her.

  “Luisa is a very fine mule,” she said, “and I am sure you know best how to care for her. I think I will keep her for my baggage and my husband’s. You may call me Senhora Moreton.” Esmeralda’s voice trembled just a little over the last two words. It was the very first time she had said them, and she was a trifle concerned over Robert’s reaction when he heard the boy speak of or to her that way. Then her lips firmed. Whatever Robert’s initial reaction, it was best that he become accustomed. She brought her eyes back to the boy’s face and asked, “What is your name?”

  Great shining black stars filled with a passion of gratitude were turned up to gaze on Esm
eralda. “I am Carlos Cerca,” he said, “and I am twelve years old and very strong. I will care well for Luisa and for the baggage. I can find firewood and do many other things for you. Also, I have good eyes and ears. I watched and I listened. That is how I knew they were coming to rob us again and had time to take Luisa away.”

  The words tumbled out in a torrent of joy, and Esmeralda felt a dreadful pang of guilt. If Robert forbade the boy to go with them, it would be worse for him because she had given him hope. Down the long avenue, the bridge was in sight. To her relief, there seemed to be no one waiting there, although some traffic was already passing over the river.

  “You go to the other side of the bridge and wait for me there,” Esmeralda said. “I must talk to Captain Moreton before he sees you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Esmeralda’s fear that Robert would forbid Carlos to accompany them was wasted. Robert was familiar with the results of war, and when he arrived, he made nothing of the matter at all beyond a single, sympathetic, “Poor little beggar.” And when she had finished the story with the request that Carlos be her servant, he nodded, smiling. “Yes, keep him with you. He’ll be safer in the tail of the army than back in that village. At least he’ll be fed—more or less—while he’s with us, and being with the army will make him feel he’s doing something. Lads like that often run off and join the native army and get killed.”

  “Join the native army!” Esmeralda echoed. “He said he was twelve, but I doubt it.”

  Robert shrugged. “Our drummer boys aren’t much older, and there are babes in arms with the women. I think they’re mad myself, but they fight to come with the men. You should have seen the rage when they were told only one out of five of the married women would be shipped with the troops. More than half say they’re married but never bothered to go through the ceremony, so actually we only took one in about twenty. They chose by lot, and then we had to call out a unit to protect the ones who were going. Sir Arthur doesn’t like it, I know, and neither do I, to speak the truth, but it’s army practice. You can’t stop them.”