UN SABOR DE ESPANA

by brig
bliteheart42@aol.com

RATING: PG-13 for language, some sexual situations, occasional graphic descriptions. Viewer discretion is advised *g*.
SYNOPSIS: A friend unexpectedly returns to Santa Elena...
NOTE: Many thanks to everyone who encouraged me to bring Lucy (from brig's 'Feverdream') back for another story; Anthony deserves a special thank you for being a terrific cheering section! Also, this could not have been written without the help of a wonderful CD, highly recommended to one and all: Govi's "Andalusian Nights". Go out and get it, it's a great soundtrack to read by. *g*
DISCLAIMERS: Everyone except my OFC is owned by Fireworks Entertainment, Paramount, etc ad nauseam ad infinitum. More's the pity. No money is made by me writing/posting this story. All song lyrics used without permission.

~~~~~

"Colonel?"

Luis Ramirez Montoya looked up from the barricade of paperwork arranged on his desk. Three days spent chasing the Queen, with nothing to show for it but a backlog of requisitions, daily orders and other minutiae of a military leader's life... sometimes it hardly seemed worth the effort. Whether he referred to the paperwork or chasing the Queen was something he hadn't decided yet.

"Well?" he demanded when the guard hesitated. With haste the man dug in his pocket and produced a note. Montoya was pleased to see the hand that held the paper was trembling.

"I am to stay and receive your answer, sir."

"Are you indeed." Luis unfolded the ragged sheet, its edges worn and stained with ink.

Come to my office immediately, it's urgent. R. H.

The Spanish was indifferent as to grammar, and the writing looked as if it had been done with the wrong end of a quill, but the gist of the message was plain enough. Montoya frowned. The doctor was not a man given to alarm over small incidents... Perhaps he was even now ministering to a wounded Queen and wanted Montoya to know, having come to his senses at last--

He pushed the thought away as a foolish daydream and crumpled the note in his hand. "You may tell the doctor I'll be there directly." He rose from his desk and the guard saluted, then fled. Montoya chuckled. At least some things were as they should be.

The early morning already promised to be miserably hot. Nearing the small office, the Colonel fought an urge to cover his nose with a handkerchief. Most of Doctor Helm's patients were peasants who did not understand the necessity of frequent baths. In this weather the results were dire.

The crowd parted as he strode to the door and pushed it open.

"Doctor?" he called, finding no one in the office itself. "Doctor Helm?"

"Stop bellowing," a muffled voice cautioned from the back of the room, "or you'll have every nosy parker in the pueblo spying on us, trying to figure out what's going on!"

"Sending a guard with a note will have done that already. What is going on?" Montoya asked, lifting the rough-woven brown curtain separating Helm's office from the examination room. Further back were the personal quarters, and that was where the voice seemed to be coming from.

"In here..."

He moved into the tiny cubicle that served Helm as a bedroom and stopped, unable to go a single step further. Lying atop the doctor's cot, her pale face relaxed as if in sleep, was Lucy.

Robert watched as Montoya's gaze flickered over Miss Sparhawk, his face blank with profound shock; then it was gone, hidden by cool grey eyes that dared him to comment. Well, he moved forward from his perch by the back door, El Colonel wasn't expecting her. That's one explanation crossed off the list.

"Is she--is Senorita Sparhawk--she is well?" Montoya's voice was calm, but Robert had the memory of that brief flash of astonished delight darkened by anguish, and so wasn't taken in by the casual tone of the inquiry.

"She appears to be unharmed," he said, keeping his voice pitched low to avoid having anyone nearby overhear--one of the disadvantages of a climate where windows were kept open much of the time.

"Why is she here?" That light, fierce gaze lifted to include him. "Do you know?"

Robert shook his head. "I was hoping you did." He gestured at the heap of objects piled up by the bed. "I don't think Santa Elena was her destination."

"What makes you say that?"

"She was wearing a heavy coat over a jumper and thick trousers, as well as gloves and a hat. And," Robert picked up the odd-looking black sack next to the coat, "there was snow in the folds of her hood--and on top of this thing." He let it drop back to the floor, amazed at how heavy it was. Montoya was silent, looking down at the sack, his expression unreadable.

"How long till she wakes up?" he asked at last.

"It could be a while. It's quite plain to me that she's worn out and has been for some time."

"What do you mean?" The question was whipcrack sharp.

"You know, I could almost believe you care." Robert's tone was reflective and hid his smile at the Colonel's obvious anxiety. He was not prepared for the bleak look that crossed the other man's features.

"God help me," Montoya said, his words almost inaudible. "I do."

And then the Colonel was moving to the door. "I can't stay," he said, his back to the room, "but if she rouses, send someone for me. Otherwise I'll come back tonight, Doctor."

Robert nodded and realized Montoya couldn't see him. "Of course."

The other man turned a bit to give the figure on the bed on last look. This time he had his features schooled to impassivity, but it was still possible to see the fire banked behind that brief assessment.

"Doctor." He nodded once, then turned to stride across the dusty street, his back very straight. Robert sighed and glanced at his unconscious patient, then went out into his office to begin his day. Crisis or not, there were still people who needed his help.

~~~~~

Lucy woke to a fading pain at the back of her head and the feel of sweat trickling down the valley between her breasts. What the hell? Heat? Landlord must have gotten the thermostat fixed... She pushed away the sheet covering her and sat up, wincing as her temples throbbed. With care she opened her eyes. Whitewashed walls reflected soft gold light from a small oil lamp. The little room was austere--a chest of drawers, an armoire, the cot she lay on. It was not her bedroom.

A figure stood by a shuttered window, remote and unapproachable. Lucy felt a shock of disbelieving recognition go through her. "...Luis?"

He turned, the lamplight gilding his dark auburn hair, and memory stirred...

He crouched by the fireplace, stirring the embers under a new pile of logs, waiting till they caught. Her gaze lingered on lean flanks and tight, dimpled buttocks, smiling as he straightened with unconscious graceful strength. Wavering light played over broad, well-muscled shoulders.

"What, are you laughing at me already?" His glance was quizzical, but he was smiling.

"I'm not laughing." She lay back in the bed as he came to her, noiseless as a cat. "More like admiring."

"Flatterer."

She kissed his collarbone and watched as goosebumps rose on his skin. "You must be freezing. Here," she lifted the bedclothes in invitation, "get under the covers."

"If you insist..." He eased himself in beside her and she gave an exaggerated shiver as his cold flesh pressed against hers.

"God, Luis, you're like ice!"

Muscular hands slid down her back, pulled her to him gently. She felt the hard length of him against her belly and couldn't resist a little wriggle of anticipation.

"I know a way to get warm." Teeth nipped at her earlobe.

"That old remedy," she put plenty of disdain in her voice.

"How do you say it? Oh yes... give it a try first." He chuckled and then silenced her by an ancient method indeed...

"Luis," she whispered. It occurred to her that this was just another dream, a construct made from a longing she had pushed deep down inside. In a sort of wild despair she closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up in her big comfortable bed with Riley-cat snuggled in behind her knees.

"This isn't real," she told herself, and jumped when strong fingers took her hand in a gentle grip.

"Lucy," her name was brushed like a caress over her skin. "I promise you, this is real enough."

She was startled into opening her eyes and found his face close to hers. The molten silver of his gaze revealed the man within, the warm and passionate man she knew so well.

"How," she asked, "how did this happen?" Her hands touched his face and he kissed her fingertips. She could feel him trembling a bit.

"What do you remember?" he asked. She frowned at his question.

"Remember? I don't know..." She drew in a shaky breath, afraid. "Luis..."

"Try," he said softly. "What's the last thing you can recall?"

She moved nearer, wanting him close.

"It was morning," she said after a moment, then shook her head. "I don't--"

"You must try," he insisted. She sighed.

"Work," she said after a few moments. There was a growing pressure above her eyes and she rubbed at it, frowning. "I was headed for work--"

She found herself standing at the edge of a vast black void. Unable to stop herself from looking into it, she was terrified by a sudden grinding shriek. It enveloped her, pulled her deeper, down into the darkness--

"Doctor!"

Robert was at Montoya's side almost before he had finished calling. "What happened?" he asked, lifting Lucy's wrist to take her pulse.

"She was trying to remember." Montoya held her in his arms, her cheek resting against his shoulder. Robert noted the protective embrace.

Well well... not quite so indifferent as he would like everyone to believe, including himself. Will wonders never cease! Aloud he said, "Her pulse is a bit fast but she'll be all right." He didn't look at Montoya.

"What's wrong?" The Colonel paused. "Do you have any idea what the problem could be?"

Robert shook his head. "I'm afraid my best guess would be useless, considering that we don't know all the pieces of the puzzle."

"That's not good enough, Doctor." He was subjected to Montoya's best intimidating glare. "I want answers!"

"As soon as I have any to give you'll be the first to know." His tone was sharper than he had intended; the pallor of Miss Sparhawk's face, the hollows under her cheekbones--they worried him far more than the fainting spell, though that was bad enough.

A soft sigh interrupted their exchange. Lucy stirred, then lifted her head, wincing.

"What...?"

"You blacked out." Robert made it a matter-of-fact statement and saw her relax a bit.

"Again?" She sat up straighter, ignoring Montoya's gentle attempt to restrain her. "Did you check my vitals?"

"Vitals? Oh," he caught her meaning. "You breathing was a little shallow and your pulse rather fast, but otherwise everything was normal, as far as I can tell."

"Yes, she was only unconscious," Montoya added, the words heavy with sarcasm.

"Luis," Lucy touched his lips with her finger. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about their relationship. "There has to be a reason why this happened." She smiled, her pale cheeks taking on a tinge of color. "If nothing else, it means we are here together." the last word held a slight tremor. "I never thought to see you again."

Robert took that a his cue to leave. In silence he slipped from the room, closing the door behind him.

~~~~~

"And I never thought to see you again outside of Purgatory." Luis was surprised to hear himself say the words, though they were true enough.

"Ah, so you're not going straight to hell?" Lucy's full lips curved upward just a little. "And you think I'm not going to heaven?"

"You don't believe in heaven, heathen woman," he said, beginning to smile now himself. "What difference does it make to you?"

"I want to be where you are," she said. Her arms slipped about his waist. "Doesn't matter where we end up, as long as we're together."

"Lucita," he began, unwilling to examine the feelings her simple statement brought up, "it's a dream, it cannot be--"

"I know," she stopped him with a kiss to his jawline. "I know . . . but for now, we are together, Luis." She hesitated.

"What is it?" he asked, letting his fingers stroke her cheek. She had the softest skin; it reminded him of his roses.

"Can you stay?" Her words were hesitant. "I know I shouldn't ask-"

"I can stay," he said, smiling once more. "For a little while, at least."

"Good."

Lucy sat up and faced him. It was his first real look at her while awake, and he was concerned at the evidence of weariness in her pale features: shadows under her eyes, faint lines etched here and there...

Slender fingers tugged at his jacket, trying to ease it from his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, attempting to take her hands in his."You should be resting."

She lifted her gaze. He found himself lost in dark blue depths filled with a love so profound it shook him to the core. It was always the same each time it happened; this was something new and a bit frightening he had never known could happen to him at all. He still wasn't sure if this course of action was at all wise...

"You must be warm," she was saying, busy slipping his arms out of their sleeves. "You look very handsome in this, but--"

"Lucy," he warned. She took no notice, having succeeded in removing the jacket. She folded it with neat precision and set it on the table next to the bed, then went to work on his waistcoat.

"Stop..." His protest died in a breath as she pushed the scarlet brocade vest aside, then began unbuttoning his shirt. He looked at her, saw that under the thin sleeveless top she wore her nipples stood out, the dusky aureoles almost visible through the stretchy white cloth.

As her hands slid under the linen he cupped her small, full breasts, thumbs stroking her with slow, gentle thoroughness. She sighed, eyes closing in obvious enjoyment. When he bent down to suckle a hardened nub through the sheer fabric she moaned, her hold on his sides tightening. She was trembling; he paused, worried that this might be too much for her, but she shook her head and urged him on.

"Don't stop, Luis..."

His tongue delved into the enticing gap at the top of her shirt. Dios, how he loved the taste of her! She was a delicious melange of salty sweat, a trace of soap and a scent that was hers alone, subtle and exciting. He drank her in, letting his mouth move up to her collarbone, tracing the line of muscle and tendon.

She lay back on the bed and brought him with her, her hands gliding over his shoulders as their lips met. This time the kiss was not gentle; more like a wave of pleasure that eased aside awareness of anything except the feel of skin against skin, slick with sweat.

Slender fingers fanned his hair over his shoulders, and he did the same with hers, fascinated as always by the golden glitter of Lucy's long honey-brown mane. It surrounded her head like a crown of light, revealing the hidden grace of her features--the high cheekbones and deepset eyes, the long straight nose and strong, stubborn jawline. He took her chin in his hand, thumb brushing her bottom lip.

She looked up at him unsmiling. The intensity of that look sent him down to steal another delicious kiss from her soft lips.

"This is real," he said, and felt a fierce joy at her trust in him as she relaxed. He started to roll on his side, the better to explore her other charms, and almost fell off the bed.

Lucy made a grab for him, her small hands on his arms.

"Are you all right?" she asked, grinning.

"You insist on making sport of me," he growled, and kissed her with satisfying throughness.

"No," she protested when he allowed her to draw breath. "I would never make fun of you."

"You laugh at me all the time," he pointed out.

That's different." she kissed the corner of his mouth. "Luis, you're forcing me to consider making sentimental statements we'll both regret." She stroked his cheek. "We'd better stop."

He sighed, sweeping a strand of hair from her forehead.

"A fine time to call a halt to proceedings," he grumbled under his breath. Lucy kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she said, her words quiet. "I never meant--"

"I know what you never meant," he said, and sat up. Lucy eased herself onto her side, her back to the wall.

"Here," she patted the spot in front of her. Luis looked at her with suspicion, but she didn't appear to be teasing him. With some reluctance he lay down with his back to her, so that they were arranged spoon-fashion on the narrow bed.

"This way when you have to leave you can just get up and not have to climb over me," her breath tickled his ear and he bit his lip.

"Thoughtful," he agreed. He closed his eyes, trying not to feel her small, full breasts pressed against his back.

A slender hand patted his hip. He tensed as it moved, traveling over his thigh to come to rest, light as a feather, on his trapped erection. A wave of heat suffused him; he felt as if he was at the door of a blast furnace.

"Lucy..."

"Shhh."

"What are you--"

"Shut up, Colonel." A kiss between his shoulderblades took the sting out of her words.

With maddening slowness she began to unbutton his fly. Sweat trickled down the side of his face as he was liberated from confinement bit by bit. When fingertips trailed the length of him he groaned, not sure he could hold back much longer.

"Shhhhhh . . . "

He was taken in a gentle grip that tightened to exquisite friction, working him in a steady rhythm as soft lips whispered half-formed words against his skin. Teeth grazed the pulse in his neck and he shuddered, feeling the release gather in his belly and thighs. With a hoarse cry he tensed, spilling himself over a small palm before a wave of sweetness engulfed him.

Lucy buried her face in unbound auburn locks and felt Luis exhale, then ease himself back against her. She kissed his shoulder.

"Lucy," he said, and she heard everything he couldn't bring himself to say.

"Go to sleep," she said, smiling.

"You as well," he caught her hand in his. She let her eyes drift shut, content to feel him close despite the heat.

"Luis?"

He gave an exasperated sigh, but he didn't mean it, she could tell. "Yes?"

"Sweet dreams."

"Go to sleep."

~~~~~

It was well past sunset when Lucy knocked at a familiar door. She noted the absence of guards as she smoothed down her finery, loving the feel of the soft fabric under her fingertips. With a sweep of anticipatory elation she remembered its arrival that morning.

Robert had handed her the reed basket, his expression inscrutable. "From El Colonel. He requests the pleasure of your company for dinner this evening."

Lucy pushed aside the calico lining and gaped at the sight of dark blue silk. "For me?" She blinked. "A dress?"

"Well, you can't go naked, much as the pueblo might enjoy it. And you certainly can't wear what you have on now. People will think Luis has gone queer and started buggering boys."

Lucy held up a lace shawl the color of old ivory, entranced by the delicacy of the pattern. And it isn't machine-made either, she thought with delight. Somewhere, sometime, human hands created this. Probably a woman's hands.

"I've never had anything so exquisite," she whispered, and caught Robert's look of mild surprise.

"I don't get to wear dresses much," Lucy defended herself. "They aren't practical." She lay the shawl over the lustrous silk with reverence, admiring the beauty of the contrasting colors.

"Practical." Robert shook his head. "Ah well, never mind. I take it you'll need a bit of help putting it on then?"

She turned the garment over and sighed. "No zipper..."

"Beg pardon?"

"Forget it." She glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "You have expertise as a lady's maid?"

She was rewarded with a derisive snort.

"Just mind you hold still when I stick the pins in for the alterations, that's all I ask."

Lucy patted her curls, making sure her updo was skewered in place, then gave the door a few nervous, light taps. She felt elegant, a little wicked, and above all, cherished; the dress fit her to perfection thanks to Robert's rather unexpected skill, but something told her it was Luis who had made sure of the basic measurements himself. He certainly knew hers well enough by now...

Why did he have a dress made if he thought he would never see you again? a small voice at the back of her mind asked. She ignored the question as the doors opened to reveal Montoya, resplendent in a black uniform trimmed with gold braid that made the most of his broad shoulders and lean hips. Lucy let her gaze travel over him in open admiration, something he acknowledged with a slight bow, grey eyes gleaming.

"Welcome to my home." He took her hand in his, bestowing a kiss that promised much.

"Colonel," she said, and sketched a half-curtsey. His smile widened as he placed her hand on the crook of his arm and escorted her to the dining room.

His table was illuminated by beeswax candles set in silver sconces; their honey-fragrance hung over a gleaming service of porcelain and gold flatware set out on damask linen.

"Luis..." Lucy hesitated. Her hold on his arm tightened just a bit. When he glanced at her profile her features were radiant with enchantment. "This is lovely!"

For answer he selected a rose from the bowl of flowers set at the center of the table. He stripped off the thorns, then tucked the stem behind her ear with care. She reached up to touch the flawless velvet crimson petals; Luis smiled at her and her blush deepened, rivaling the rose.

"Lucita," he drew a chair back and settled her in it. "I will be attending to things tonight, as it would be imprudent to have a servant here."

"Yes," she agreed. They had managed to keep her presence in Santa Elena a secret for the time being; it was a wise course of action, saving them from complications.

Luis took a bottle from the clay steward placed off to one side. He eased the cork from the opening. "Some wine?"

She held out her crystal goblet. "Please."

"Such a well-brought up little girl," he poured her a full glass.

"My mother taught me how to behave." She watched as he began to place slices of roast duck on her plate. "I turn my cell phone off at the movies and I don't break crackers into my chili. What more could you want?"

Luis paused with a spoonful of sauteed mushrooms poised over her plate.

"Indeed," he said at last, mystified but still polite. Lucy chuckled, meeting his inquiring look with a saucy grin. He wondered yet again at the blend of innocent mischief and fire sitting before him, her soft brown hair tumbling in gilded curls to her shoulders, sapphire eyes sparkling...

He took a lock of hair to wind about his finger, letting the fine strands slip from his hold. "Like silk," he murmured, and felt her shift position a bit. Her breath warmed the hollow of his throat.

"Glad you like it."

"You should wear silk," he trailed his fingers over the back of her neck. "Dark blue, to match your eyes."

She yawned and snuggled closer. "At least you didn't say red. Some days it would be a better choice." Her rounded bottom pressed against a very unrounded area of his own anatomy.

"Lucy..."

"Yes?" Her sleepy response held a ripple of amusement.

"You are inciting certain factions to riot, you know."

"Power to the people..." She giggled when he nipped at her earlobe, his hands sliding under her shirt . . .

"Luis? Is something wrong?" He came to and found Lucy looking up at him, concerned. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he continued filling her plate, concentrating on the task while he willed his hands not to shake. Gods above, how he wanted her! Soon enough, he told himself.

Lucy took up her glass as Luis raised his.

"To you, my dear," the promise in those words sent a delicious shiver down her spine. She saluted him in return and drank, savoring the delicate dryness of the wine.

It was an evening she would never forget. The soft, wavering light of the candles, the excellent dinner, the smell of roses and lavender mingling with the rustle of silk . . . and above all, the man opposite her. She admired the sheen of his dark auburn hair, the casual intelligence of his conversation, the way his bright gaze held her, with the promise of so many evenings like this one waiting for them both...

"Now to the business at hand," he was saying, and she came out of her reverie rather abruptly, her wine glass halfway to her lips.

"Business?"

"Yes." He sat back, frowning a bit. "We must talk about your situation."

She took another mouthful of wine, then set the goblet down with a sudden faint chill of foreboding. "Go on," she said when he was silent.

"Your visit has many unpredictable elements, has it not?" His look held speculation. "But even though you do not know if you are staying here, there are realities which must be faced."

"What do you mean?" she asked, and found herself trembling; she laced her fingers together tight, hid them in her lap and waited.

"I have a proposal to make," he said, and Lucy drew in an unsteady breath, filled with astonished joy and saddened at the same time.

"Luis--"

"Hear me out." He held up a hand, then went on.

"When I marry, I have many obligations to consider. The woman I choose must be of a particular background. Her lineage will be one of nobility, and her family must have favorable connections with the Court in Madrid. Wealth would also be of benefit, that goes without saying. And she must be able to give me sons." He paused to sip his wine. Lucy watched him, unable to speak. She shivered, though the evening was warm.

"So the plan I have in mind for you--for us--is a simple one," his knowing smile trapped her in unwilling thrall. "I own a small hacienda several hours north of here. It's a beautiful place. You can see the ocean from a hill behind the house, and there's a sizeable vineyard. Unfortunately, I am not able to attend to it as much as I would wish." He leaned forward a bit. "It needs someone living there, Lucita."

She looked away from him, feeling as if someone had brought her to the edge of a high cliff and shown her the rocks waiting below, then put a hand between her shoulderblades, ready to push.

"How generous of you," she said after a moment.

"I am only thinking of your comfort, my dear."

"Are you? I wonder." She struggled to keep her words measured. His smile faded when she stood, unable to sit a moment longer.

"Supposing I can't get back to where I belong, and you decide to marry. Would you keep me at this hacienda of yours?" Lucy made herself look at him. "And would your wife know about me?"

"Really, you cannot be this naive. Surely the people of your society have similar arrangements."

Lucy shook her head. "Probably, but no one I know ever had anything like this going on." She lowered her gaze to the tablecloth.

"Given the circumstances an offer of marriage was always out of the question, and we both know it . . . but wanting to make me your whore, now that's a very interesting idea."

"Lucy!" He looked pained. "Please, such language--"

"It's the truth though, isn't it? And whose comfort are we talking about?" She stopped, fighting an urge to wound him as deeply as he had her. "There aren't many women who wouldn't be insulted to the core by such a suggestion."

"Come now, you are exaggerating. Any woman of your station would be grateful for such consideration."

"Station?" Her voice rose despite her efforts to remain calm. "I'll tell you what my station is, Luis. I come from a thoroughly respectable middle class family--my father was a maintenance electrician and my mother was a nurse!" She glared at him. Her head was beginning to throb, but she was too upset to notice.

"Mi corazon," his voice was all sweetness, "I'm certain you are everything you claim, but surely your indignation is a mere matter of form." His gaze lingered on her breasts. "You allowed me liberties enough when I came to visit you. You cannot say I've outraged your respectability and virtue when you had none to begin with."

It was as if he had slapped her. Lucy felt her heart squeeze hard and stop, then begin a ragged thumping against her ribs that made her dizzy. All the while he watched with unperturbable calm, cool and remote.

I know things are different here, she told herself with some desperation, I know what he wants is a commonplace arrangement in this era . . . but there's no staying with him if he thinks of me as some tart he picked up along the way. A new realization pierced her and she winced, fingers rubbing her temple.

He has no respect for me. And there's nothing I can do or say to change that.

"Thank you for dinner at least," she said after a long and awkward silence. She had to force the words past the huge lump in her throat.

"You ought to thank me for a great deal more," the reasonable tone pushed her temper to flashpoint. "I've offered you an opportunity to better yourself. If you are in truth the intelligent woman I believe you to be, you'll accept it."

Her Spanish, never much more than adequate, suffered a complete breakdown.

"You son of a bitch," she whispered. Shaking fingers reached up and took the rose from its perch by her ear, laid it next to her plate with enough force to break loose a few outer petals. They scattered across the snowy damask like drops of blood. "You goddamn bureaucrat... I should never have come here!"

"Lucy--"

"NO!" She closed her eyes for a moment, pulling the torn edges of her dignity together as best she could--and then she was through the door before he had even risen from his chair, skirts gathered in one hand as she fled down the stone steps, half-blinded by unshed tears.

Montoya settled back and took another sip of wine. Really, this was an excellent vintage; he was of a mind to have another order brought in by Don Santiago in a few weeks time. Santiago would be grateful for the minuscule respite from his taxes; as a result Luis would be able to set a better table than any of the aristocrats in the valley at no expense to himself. He crossed his legs and glanced at the half-full glass abandoned at the opposite setting.

How magnificent she was in a temper! He had enjoyed the entire performance, from heaving bosom to flashing eyes--and performance it was, of that he had no doubt. Once or twice she had worried him a bit with the unconscious way she touched her temple, but it was undoubtedly something that would be put right with care and attention. It had to be a temporary after effect of her journey through time.

Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he quoted, and laughed under his breath. He hadn't understood all the English words she had hurled at him, but several of them he knew from Grisham's frequent use.

So he was a female dog's offspring, was he? Luis chuckled. Of course it was only right that she would put up a token resistance to his suggestion; even women of her breeding knew that was proper... but when the time was right, he would offer again, and she would accept. She would have to... what other choice did she have?

Luis stood and moved to stand beside Lucy's empty chair. He picked up the shattered rose, careful not to smudge the bright color into the tablecloth, and tucked it along with the loose petals into the pocket of his waistcoat.

She will be mine in the end, he thought with considerable satisfaction.

~~~~~

Robert found Lucy early the next morning, her finery laid out on his bed. She wore the thin undershirt and heavy trousers she had arrived in, though her feet were bare. Sitting crosslegged on the floor next to the bed, her head tipped back, she was listening to the music player she had shown him the day previous. He thought perhaps she was asleep, but as he approached, she opened her eyes.

"What happened? Care to talk about it?" he offered, sitting on the bed to face her. She shook her head and winced in obvious pain. It was enough to bring a vestige of color to her pale cheeks.

"Nothing to tell. I was stupid and now I get to live with it." She glanced away, and he was struck by the enormity of her pain, carefully hidden though it might be. "Would you make sure the dress is returned?"

"You must have known what he wanted when he gave it to you." Robert tried to be gentle; he had no wish to wound her further.

She sighed. "Maybe I didn't want to know."

"What will you do?" he asked after a little silence.

"I'm forced to ask you if I can stay here. You can have your bed back, I'll sleep in the office or something."

"You certainly will not sleep on the floor," he informed her, and was rewarded with a real smile this time.

"I'm not a hothouse flower, Robert. If living in a tent in the Sahara for four months didn't kill me, then sleeping on a pallet in your office won't either." She levered herself up off the floor. "We'll need to cook up some reason why it's all right for me to cohabitate with you, you know. Here," she put the--what had she called them? oh yes, earphones--on him. "I've had enough of reminding myself how foolish dreams can be." She stretched a bit, still not looking at him. "I assume there's some Bachelor Chow in the cupboard over the sink? Some Cheerios? Oatmeal? Anything..."

She wandered off into the 'kitchen', muttering to herself in more incomprehensible jargon. Robert looked at the silver object connected to the pads on his ears. With a lean finger he touched the button marked "play" and jumped as music filled his head from unseen instruments. It was raucous and uncouth, at least by his standards, and he couldn't understand all of what was being said, but there was a compelling edge of weary truth in the singer's voice that caught at him, however unwillingly.

I am still dreaming of your face
hungry and hollow for all the things you took away
I don't want to be your good time
I don't want to be your fallback crutch any more
I'll walk right out into a brand new day
insane and rising in my own weird way
I don't want to be the bad guy
I don't want to do your sleepwalk dance any more
I just want to feel some sunshine
I just want to find some place to be alone
We can live beside the ocean
leave the fire behind
swim out past the breakers
watch the world die

The sentiments were anguished, even despairing, and she had been flaying herself with them... an occupation he knew all too well.

Damn Montoya, he thought with a fair amount of anger. He doesn't seem to understand how fragile she is--what the devil's the matter with him? He was worried enough about her when she first arrived...

He resolved to find out. Lucy was his colleague, as well as a friend--at least he considered her to be so, even with their limited acquaintance. He owed her a debt he couldn't begin to repay, but perhaps he could help in some manner.

"Robert, there isn't a thing to eat around here! You'll have to..." Lucy's words trailed off when she found herself in an empty bedroom. Through the window she could see him striding across the street, dark, untidy head bowed under the already fierce heat of morning.

She sat down on the bed, feeling helpless and not liking it much. Her belly was rumbling too; with a sigh she opened her pack and searched for some granola. There was usually a container of the stuff down at the bottom, where it was hardest to get at--.

Her fingers encountered something small and smooth. She pulled it free of the pack and examined it, puzzled. It was a piece of obsidian about the size of a walnut. In the middle of the stone was what looked like a bubble of clear liquid. Lucy peered at it, holding it up to eye level. A stray beam of sunlight fell through the colorless window within the stone.

"About time you called on us."

The man who sat across from her leaned back a bit, black eyes twinkling.

"We were starting to wonder if you think we're stupid, Speaks."

"Uncle?" Lucy stared at the man. "Did I call you?"

He gestured at the stone. "You know how it works."

"I don't remember this one being in the collection."

"There's a lot you don't remember."

She set the stone down between them.

Why is that? What happened? Uncle, how--"

"Uh uh, can't do it that way. Nice try though." He chuckled. The eyes in the badger-skin's head resting atop his left shoulder glittered. "You know how to deal with that as well."

Lucy sat up too fast and winced. "This is a joke, right?"

"Nope. Make it soon, Speaks. Your time is short."

Lucy exhaled in exasperation.

"What does that mean exactly?" she asked. There was no answer. When she looked, she was alone. The sunbeam illuminated the place where he had sat across from her.

Lucy picked up the obsidian. It glowered up at her from the palm of her hand, the round window winking. She sighed.

"Shit."

~~~~~

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Doctor?" Luis admired the half-opened rose arranged in the crystal vase by his plate before sitting down to his breakfast. "Would you care to join me?"

"Thank you, no." Helm folded his arms across his chest. "I've come to talk to you about a mutual acquaintance, Colonel."

"Indeed? And who might that be?" Luis unfolded his napkin and frowned at a grease stain on the rolled edge. Really, the servants were becoming far too lazy. Perhaps he ought to make an example of one of them, reinstill some fear and respect.

"You know to whom I refer." The low voice was calm, but there was ample evidence of anger in the doctor's controlled tones. Montoya drank some coffee and took his time in replying.

"Perhaps it would be better if this mutual acquaintance came to me directly."

"That is not possible and you know it." Hazel eyes narrowed. "I'm here to find out if you realize how fragile our friend is."

"Fragile?" Luis frowned. "I thought any ill effects were merely the result of... extensive travel."

"That might explain part of what's happening, but not all." Helm sat down opposite him. "Something is wrong physically and has been for a while, I told you that when sh--when our acquaintance first arrived."

"And do you have an idea what the problem might be?"

"Not yet," the doctor admitted. "But whatever it is, you certainly aren't helping!"

"On the contrary, Doctor Helm." Luis selected a roll from the basket. "I have been nothing if not helpful throughout this entire incident."

"Then why was Lucy white as a sheet this morning? She could barely move without hurting!"

"Keep your voice down! And just what are you implying with that statement? I offered her a situation that would have been to our mutual advantage, and she refused me. There is nothing more I can do." He sat back, breaking the roll in half with a neat gesture. "You must forgive me if I'm not the miracle worker everyone believes me to be."

"So she wouldn't dance to your tune. And because of that you abandoned her." Lean features darkened with contempt. "You're a bigger fool than I thought, Colonel."

"Doctor..."

"Stay the hell away from her, Montoya. I'll take care of her if you won't. Santa Elena owes her that much, even if you don't happen to agree!"

"Please, I must insist--"

But it was too late; Helm was already out of the courtyard. Luis sat back, frowning, and took another sip of cooling coffee. "People keep leaving before the conversation is concluded," he said aloud. Such altruism on the part of the good Doctor was only to be expected, and easily dealt with--but the talk of Lucy being ill, that was something he hadn't wanted to hear.

The sooner she is mistress of my hacienda, the better off she'll be, he thought, and let memory take him from the heat of the pueblo to a very different place and time...

~~~~~

"Dios!" He gasped as the cold enveloped him, penetrating the thick layers of the parka he wore. Lucy laughed and pushed him out onto the porch, closing the front door behind her.

"You've really never seen snow before?" she asked as they trudged with care down a narrow pathway.

"Only on mountaintops." He squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to tame the glare.

"Here," she gave him a pair of spectacles with smoked lenses. "This should help." He put them on, feeling a bit self-conscious, and almost sighed with relief.

"Don't want you going blind," Lucy said, and bent down to scoop up a bit of snow. She held it out, smiling. He took some in his fingers, examining it with interest.

"So ephemeral," he watched it melt, the drops running over his skin. A slight sound made him look up in time to catch the full brunt of a snowball right in the chest. It exploded, leaving a white splash over his heart. The culprit stood grinning at him, her blue eyes alight with triumph.

"Woohoo!" she crowed, then gave a squeak of dismay as Luis snatched a handful of snow and flung it at her. A curtain of crystals obscured his vision for a moment--and then two slender arms slipped about his waist to draw him close for a hard, quick kiss. He savored her warmth in a world of cold, his hands coming up to cradle her head, holding her gently in place-

His coat was rucked up in the back and a quantity of snow dumped down his jeans. He grabbed at her as she flung herself away, laughing.

"Witch! You'll pay for that!"

In her haste to escape him Lucy tripped and fell headlong into a snowbank. Luis half-slipped, half-ran to kneel beside her, concerned. She rolled over, the hood of her navy blue coat framing reddened cheeks. He brushed a crust of transitory diamonds from her lips, revealing a smile that warmed him like the sun.

"El fuego y el hielo," he whispered, and took his kiss. She gave it to him freely, her pliant body settling under his as he eased himself down.

"Luis," she said after a few more kisses, "if we stay here we'll freeze to death."

"And your point would be?" He quoted one of her favorite lines back at her, smiling.

"I certainly don't want you to freeze." She kissed the tip of his nose. "Parts of you might be damaged. Frostbite and all that."

"That would be most unfortunate," he agreed.

"I have hot chocolate waiting in the kitchen," her words were soft and beguiling. "And fresh scones... I baked them myself this morning."

"Is that why you were up so early?"

"Mm-hmm."

He sighed and kissed the corner of one eyebrow. "We had better go back then," he let her up, then pulled away as she moved closer. "No tricks!"

Lucy held up her hands. "I promise. You need to be brushed off, or the snow will melt and soak your clothes."

"That is already occurring," he growled, but submitted to her ministrations, objecting only when she lingered over the seat of his jeans longer than he felt was necessary.

"Lucita," he warned, fighting a smile. She finished her work and snuggled in at his side, her face glowing with exertion and happiness. They walked along together, the crunch of snow underfoot accompanied by distant shouts and laughter of children playing a few yards over. As they came up over a small hill the fieldstone farmhouse where Lucy lived was revealed, golden in the slanting sunlight, and Luis felt a peculiar sensation in the region near his heart.

Home, he thought to himself in considerable surprise. A second realization came on top of the first one: home was not the house before him, but the woman beside him.

~~~~~

Luis stretched a bit and contemplated the rose gracing his table.

I thought then that such an idea was nothing more than sentimental nonsense, but now I see the truth of the matter. She is mine, and so she has returned to me across oceans of time... things must be set right. With patience and opportunity, they will be.

He cast aside the napkin and stood. "Sergeant Garcia!" he called.

Moments later a small man in a large uniform stood at attention in the archway. "Colonel?"

"Have today's roster of men ready for inspection in an hour. And send for the laundress. I want her here in five minutes."

"Si, Colonel."

Luis watched the Sergeant head in the direction of the back courtyard, his pants in full sail, and sighed.

"Why do I often feel I am in a comic opera?" he asked with some weariness, and set about readying himself for the day ahead.

~~~~~

Lucy wriggled herself down deeper into the shadow of the boulder and watched heat waves shimmer over the beach.

A day, a night and almost another day here, she thought with a mental sigh, and still nothing. She glanced over at the canteen, buried in wet sand a few feet away. At least there's some water left. I can hold out a bit longer. She closed her eyes.

Hope Robert found my note... A cold Corona would taste so good right now... I'd be sitting at Kelly's with the guys from Squad 18... I bet Sean's played that Garth Brooks song a million times already.

She smiled a little, lifting her voice to sing above the roar of the surf.

Just the other night at a hometown football game
My wife and I ran into my old high school flame
And as I introduced them the past came back to me
And I couldn't help but think of the way things used to be
She was the one that I wanted for all time and each night I spend praying
That God would make her mine and if He'd only grant me
This wish I wished back then I'd never ask for anything again...

~~~~~

"I won't marry you."

She watched his dark eyes lose their light.

"Lucy..." He groped for the words, and she hated herself for not softening the blow somehow.

"I'm so sorry, Tonio." She looked down at her plate.

"Why are you doing this?" It was a dry whisper. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that, I've told you--"

"There's someone else." She could hear herself; cool, remote. "Anthony--"

"Someone else--what the hell? What do you mean, 'someone else'?" The anger was rising now. "I thought--" He stopped, then went on, his words deliberate. "You told me once that the only last name you ever wanted was Mueller."

"I... I haven't known him long. A few weeks--"

"A few weeks?! We've been together since grad school! Since the Gulf!"

"Yes," she said, wretched. "Yes."

"You can't have feelings for this man in so short a time! Not like we do for each other." His hand reached to grasp hers, gently removing the napkin she was twisting. "Lucy, please--"

"Don't," she warned. "Don't try to talk me out of this. We both know you could, but it wouldn't be right." She swallowed and plunged on, saying what needed to be said. "I love him."

There was a long, dreadful silence. When she dared to look up at last he was watching her as if he had never seen her before.

"Have I met this man?" he asked after a time. "You plan on going to him?"

She looked away. He swore under his breath.

"It figures you'd find a way to sacrifice yourself for some bastard who doesn't deserve it."

"He's not a bastard," Lucy retorted, stung. Then she thought about it. "Well--"

"I knew it! Lucy," Anthony lowered his voice, "don't do this. Don't throw yourself away on him--"

"Tonio, stop!" She could feel herself beginning to lose the battle against tears. She reached down into her purse and brought up a red velvet box, handed it across the table.

"Please," she said softly. "give it to someone who deserves both this and you."

He hesitated, but only for a moment. The beautifully-shaped mouth thinned.

"I hope you know what the hell you're doing." She heard bitter resentment and deep hurt, but love was there, still. "If you ever change your mind, no matter what happens, call me." He pocketed the ring. "I'm saving this for you, just in case. No one else will ever wear it."

She started to rise, but before she could stand he leaned forward and kissed her. Not a peck on the cheek either; she allowed herself one last moment of the old dream, felt his arms come up to hold her close--

She fled the restaurant, barely able to see for the unshed tears in her eyes.

~~~~~

Lucy rested her forehead against her knees. Her voice faltered; a sob escaped her, then another as the words of the song echoed in her mind.

Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers
Remember when you're talkin to the man upstairs
Just because he doesn't answer doesn't mean he don't care
Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers

It was a long time till the tears ran out and she had no more to offer the memory of the past.

"Goddamn stupid sentimental hillbilly songs," she muttered. "I thought this was supposed to help make things clearer, not worse." She pushed a lank strand of hair out of her eyes.

Unanswered prayers... so what does that make El Colonel after our little tete a tete the other night? She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I wonder if he remembers that night we talked by the fire--the night before he left.

~~~~~

"Luis . . . "

"Yes?" His thumb stroked her cheek.

"Do you believe God answers prayers?"

He was silent for a time. Lucy watched the glowing embers in the grate, content to be within the circle of his arms.

"Yes," he said at last. "Perhaps not always in the way we might wish, but yes. And you? What do you think?"

"I think mostly we get what we need, not what we want." She kissed the join of his neck and shoulder. "But sometimes, when we're very fortunate, we get both."

"Do you believe that has happened to you?"

She looked up into his face. The rippling light from the last of the fire only served to make his features more harsh and proud than ever. But his gaze was not proud; those winter-grey eyes watched her closely as he waited for her answer. She saw the vulnerability he was always at such pains to keep hidden.

"Yes," she whispered. "I need you, Luis. And I want you too."

The strong, solid arms about her tightened; his lips sought hers, and talk was forgotten, for a little while at least.

~~~~~

Lucy closed her eyes.

You can't always get what you want

she sang softly,

But if you try sometimes you just might find--

"Hello? Is someone there?"

A woman peered at her around the boulder. Startled brown eyes took in the unorthodox clothes and disheveled appearance.

"Hello," Lucy offered, feeling foolish.

"Are you all right? Were you--" The woman started to come a bit closer, then stopped dead at the edge of the circle drawn in the sand. Lucy got to her feet and brushed down her jeans.

"My name is Lucy," she said with a smile. "You must be Marta."

"How do you know that?" The suspicion in the lilting voice told her she had better find a good explanation.

"Uh... Doctor Helm mentioned you." "It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't an outright lie either. Lucy crossed her fingers and lifted her chin under Marta's appraising look.

"I don't understand," Marta said at last. "You came here from the pueblo dressed in boy's clothes? And you're a friend of the Doctor's?"

"It's a long story," Lucy said, and leaned back against the boulder, feeling a bit lightheaded.

"You are not well," concern sharpened the musical voice. "Perhaps you'd better come with me. Can you ride?"

Lucy hesitated. She was rumpled and sweaty and in need of a good meal, but...

Well, is this the sign I've been waiting for? she asked. Of course no answer was forthcoming. She sighed and set to work.

It took only a moment or so to smooth over the sand and gather up her things.

"The earth, the fire, the air, the water, return return return," she whispered. "Thank you, Mother." As she turned she found Marta watching her, a speculative look on her face. She said nothing, only swung atop the horse and helped Lucy up. As their hands joined she felt Marta tense, but the other woman said nothing. Within moments they were headed down the beach, leaving behind nothing but sand and sun-warmed rocks, and the eternal sursurrus of water.

~~~~~

"I just don't understand why you don't like her." Tessa sat down and handed Marta her brush. "We spent the whole evening talking. I thought she was nice."

"Nice!" Marta gave a derisive snort and drew the brush through Tessa's hair with gentle precision. "I told you what I saw when I touched her hand. Whether you believe me or not is up to you."

Tessa looked at Marta's reflection in the mirror, rather confused. It was not a feeling she cared for.

"I believe you, but--she's sweet and funny and kind . . . we can't both be right, can we?"

"She was with Montoya, and they were lovers." Marta sniffed. "How can she lie with that dog and not have fleas herself?"

"Marta!" Tessa twisted in her chair and flinched as the brush pulled her hair. "Are you sure about this?"

"I saw them together." Marta put her hands on Tessa's shoulders and turned her back around, then began the braiding process once more. "If she is a spy for the Colonel, you must be on your guard."

"Perhaps you ought to read her cards," Tessa suggested with an impish grin.

"Perhaps you ought to take my warnings to heart for once!" Marta gave Tessa's head a light thump.

"Hey! I'm not five years old any more!"

"I would never know it by the way you act sometimes," Marta replied, her words tart even as her hands gently tied the braid. "Now go to bed. Everyone else has, even doctor Helm." She unbent enough to smile a little. "He made quite an entrance, didn't he?"

"Ai, he was so angry with senorita Sparhawk! I've never heard him shout the way he did tonight." Tessa stood and stretched, yawning. "I wonder why he was so very upset with her?"

"It wouldn't have anything to do with being made to ride all the way out here after a hard day's work, I'm sure." Marta gave Tessa's rump an affectionate smack. "Go to bed!"

~~~~~~

Robert took off his jacket and waistcoat with a sigh of relief. The day had been a long one, spent battling heat and dust and fear while searching for Lucy, and his backside ached abominably as a result.

Miserable woman, he thought, not really meaning a word of it, and poured some water into the wash basin.

Once he had managed to clean off the top layers of dirt he went across the hallway to Lucy's room and tapped at the door.

"Are you awake?" he called softly.

There was no answer. Upon entering he found Lucy lying atop the bedcovers. She too had taken advantage of the chance to clean herself up; with her hair in a braid and wearing a white cotton nightgown, her features relaxed in sleep, she looked like a little girl. Robert sighed and left her to her dreams. Time enough to sort things out in the morning.

~~~~~~

He stood outside the bunker, oblivious to the danger he was in, and she knew she had to protect him. In frantic haste she began releasing the catches on her mask, intent on giving it to him.

"Get inside! Hurry up!"

He couldn't hear her. She ran to the door and yanked on the latch handle. It was locked.

"Shit!" She pounded on the latch in an agony of frustration, jumping as the alarms sounded once more. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, snicked the bolt back and dragged the door wide open.

"Get in!" she shrieked. "Now! Come on!"

She stumbled forward, grabbed his arm and tried to haul him into the bunker with her. He resisted; she could feel him trembling, so hard that he shook her with the force of it. "INSIDE!" she screamed, and dragged him willy-nilly into the bunker, kicking the door shut behind her. The alarms were continuous now, and somewhere in the distance the first concussion of falling scuds rumbled, like summer thunder.

"Oh man," she groaned, and eased the soldier onto his back.

Bloodshot grey eyes stared up at her, wide and unseeing, the familiar, beloved face covered with small yellow blisters. Lucy blanched, unable to breathe.

Oh no . . . no . . .

~~~~~~

Luis stirred, awakened by something--some indistinct feeling of fear and pain. He lifted his head from his pillow, then sat up a bit.

"Lucy?" he whispered. Her name echoed in the silent room.

~~~~~

She took the mask dangling down her back and detached it from the suit, intending to protect him, but it was too late, everything was too late, and she had failed again . . . Her trembling fingers felt for a pulse in the livid neck and found none.

"No," she coughed and spat stained mucus, shuddering. "No more! Take me, I'm to blame, TAKE ME!"

~~~~~

"Lucy! Lucy, wake up!"

She gasped, trying to catch her breath. Gentle hands held her shoulders and she fought, still half in the dream-memory.

"I have to get help," she protested, trying to stand. "He's dying, I need help!"

"Lucy . . ."

Her head gave a vicious throb even as she was eased back down.

"Garcia? Is that you?" she asked, trying to see. "Did you get everyone into the suits?"

"Yes." Lean fingers stroked her forehead. "Everything is fine."

"The masks have to be sealed," she closed her eyes. God, she ached all over! "And the suits, Garcia . . . check the suits . . ."

"I will."

"Don't humor me . . . " She felt herself sinking and couldn't fight it any longer. " . . . important. Make sure it gets done . . ."

"I'll attend to it right away."

~~~~~

Robert settled the coverlet over Lucy, then straightened at a quiet knock on the door. He went to answer it and found Marta in the corridor, her tired face surrounded by a cloud of untamed curls.

"What happened?" she asked. Her musical voice was better than a tonic, restoring his jangled nerves, and he had all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms.

"Bad dream," he said, closing the door softly. "She's not well."

"Yes--headaches, but there is something else."

He sighed. "Probably. I don't know what it is yet."

"Where is she from, doctor?" There was an indefinable edge to the simple question.

"She's American."

"And what else?" The edge was more obvious now.

"Can it not wait till morning?" Robert wasn't up for verbal sparring. "I promise you, she's no danger to anyone."

"That's as may be." Marta turned away. "Good night, doctor."

"Good night." He paused. "Thank you for helping Lucy."

There was no reply. With a sigh Robert went into his own room and closed the door, stripped off his dusty shirt and trousers for the second time, then collapsed across the bed, asleep before he could even think of getting under the covers.

~~~~~

Marta finished the last of her tea and picked up the basket she used for the kitchen garden. It was just a little past sunrise; she would be the only person awake besides a few other servants, and it was pleasant to have an hour or so to herself, even if it was spent weeding herbs and watering vegetables.

She paused on the steps to watch the sky brighten and stars fade. This was a magic time of day, as potent in its own way as twilight . . .

She breathed in clean cool air and moved past the fence, to pause just outside the gate.

Their visitor stood in the middle of the garden, facing the rising sun. Her arms were outstretched a little, palms up. As Marta watched, one leg extended to the side with slow grace, the knee bending to place a bare foot behind a thigh--an excruciating posture, but one she held without moving, her back straight, shoulders relaxed. The new sunlight flooded over her, illuminating her figure; there was a strong element of reverence in the silent attitude. Marta stood irresolute for a few moments, wanting to get her chores done but loath to disturb the woman.

The problem was solved when a pair of farmhands passed by the garden fence, their voices loud in the quiet surroundings. Marta turned her head to follow their progress; when she looked back the woman was standing on both feet, watching Marta.

"Good morning." Her soft voice held a hint of apology. "I hope I'm not in your way."

"You aren't." Marta set down her basket with a thump. "Isn't it a little early for you to be up?"

"I like mornings." Much to Marta's annoyance the woman sat down facing her. "It's the best time of day, don't you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," Marta snapped. "I have to be up whether I want to or not." She sent the woman a hard look. "One thing I did always like was peace and quiet."

The visitor paused--and then, much to Marta's surprise, she rose, inclined her head briefly and walked to the gate, bare feet noiseless on the dirt path. Marta sat back on her heels, watching her go. She didn't sense anger or hurt, something which surprised her; there was . . . how to describe it? An aloneness that ran bone-deep. She was not sure the other woman even knew of it herself.

Haven't I taught you better than this? Her mother's voice echoed in her head. You must see beyond what even the Sight gives you, and look to the soul within.

It was a short time later that she entered the kitchen, laden with the spoils of the garden, to find their visitor pouring hot water into a cup. She glanced at Marta, set the steaming kettle back on the stove and took the cup, plainly intent on leaving. Marta sighed.

"You needn't run off," she said, knowing it sounded ungracious. "Stay and drink your tea."

The woman hesitated, then sat down at the table.

"Thank you." That quiet voice grated on Marta's nerves.

"You needn't thank me for a common courtesy."

The woman sighed.

"It doesn't matter what I do, does it? You don't like me."

"I don't have an opinion about you one way or the other."

"Oh please! Ever since you touched me yesterday you've been acting like I'm a plague carrier." The dark blue eyes were direct. "Have the decency to at least be honest with me."

"Only if you are honest with me as well," Marta said, stung by the accuracy of the accusation. "When I took your hand I saw you with Colonel Montoya."

She paused, but the only reaction was a resigned look.

"You weren't exactly exchanging small talk--"

"I know what you saw." There was sadness in the calm voice now. "And you think I'm in league with the devil, do you?"

"How else can you explain it?"

The woman stirred her tea.

"Marta," she said after a few moments, "you know I believe in the Mother."

"Yes," Marta remembered the circle in the sand and the power of the wards protecting it.

"'An it harm none do as you will.'"

"A philosophy not shared by El Colonel."

"Yes." The spoon made idle circles in the darkening brew. "You think I would be a party to the things he plans?"

"Why are you his lover?"

"Was." For a moment the pain showed; grieving, hopeless. "Was."

Marta drew in a slow breath, startled.

"What happened?" And why would you want to be with him of all people?

Lucy closed her eyes. "The truth bit me in the ass," she said, and Marta was startled into an unwilling laugh.

"He refused you?" she asked, not wanting to cause further hurt but needing some clarification.

"I didn't agree to those plans of his, especially the one he had in mind for me." There was a faint warning in the simple words: don't ask.

"What will you do?" Marta ventured finally. Her opinion of this woman was beginning to change a little. Perhaps Tessa was right after all . . . time would tell.

"I don't know." Lucy sipped her tea. "Any suggestions would be gratefully received."

"Well, you certainly can't go about in those clothes. We can do something to help with that at least."

"I've presumed on your hospitality enough as it is," Lucy protested.

"Yes, and will doubtless presume even more before you leave us," Marta leavened the harshness of her words with a slight smile. Lucy sat back, her blue eyes twinkling now.

"Well then, perhaps we could make an exchange of some kind to ease the pain a bit."

"What sort of exchange?"

Lucy looked down into her cup.

"I've been studying herbs for some time," it was not a boast, only a statement of fact. "I can show you what I know, and you could do the same."

"You're a curandera?"

"Something like that, though I'm still in training." Her smile was self-deprecating. "So much to learn, so little time, and all I seem to really know for sure is that I know nothing."

Marta chuckled.

"Then how can we exchange knowledge?" she teased. Lucy smiled. It brought light to her pale face and made her almost pretty.

"All right, I'll come over to . . . let's see . . chop wood every weekend for a month. Deal?"

"Someone's chopping wood? Did the fire go out in the stove again? Does that mean breakfast isn't ready yet? I'm starving!" Tessa wandered into the kitchen, yawning. Marta groaned.

"How anyone so small can eat so much and not get fat is beyond me." She winked at Lucy, who turned a chuckle into a polite cough. Tessa glared at them both.

"You make me sound like a glutton."

"Who couldn't get into her favorite party dress last week?"

"The sleeves were too tight, not the waist!"

"That's probably from excess dancing, senorita. I hear that can lead to enlargement of the biceps." Robert stood in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame. "Good morning, ladies. Glad to find you all here. We have important matters to discuss."

~~~~~

There was silence in the kitchen for some time after Robert spoke.

"Well?" he asked at last, making a point of not looking in Marta's direction. "What do you think? Can we do it?"

"I think--" Tessa's soft voice was hesitant, then grew stronger. "Yes. And we'll help you in any way we can. Perhaps your memory will come back to you in time."

"And perhaps then you will be able to tell us why you are here." The gentleness in Marta's voice was a point of light in a dark and uncertain future.

"You'll be the first to know, right after me." Lucy smiled a little at Marta's chuckle.

"So--we need to find you proper clothing." Tessa frowned in thought. "There are some dresses in the armoire that would be suitable . . ."

"Robert can alter them," Lucy said. Marta glanced at him, eyes widening.

"Alter clothes? You mean you're a seamstress?"

"I would rather be called a tailor." Robert finished off the last of his coffee. "If we want to get back to town we'd better be on our way soon."

"How like a man to try and hurry things along," Marta took the empty cup from him. "I certainly hope you plan on making yourself useful."

Tessa glanced at Lucy, who gave her a conspiratorial wink, her smile growing.

"You could help with the fittings," Lucy suggested, all helpful innocence. "You're very good at taking in seams. And hems, you do hems almost as well as my mo--"

"I'll be in the stable if you need me," Robert interrupted, getting to his feet very quickly indeed. "Ladies," and he was gone. A delighted giggle escaped Tessa. Marta shook her head, but she was smiling.

"Something tells me you won't have much trouble making him behave," she said, and joined Tessa and Lucy in laughter.

~~~

It was late afternoon by the time Robert and Lucy began the journey to Santa Elena.

"Since the doctor is a bachelor I'm sure his cupboards are empty," Marta handed Robert a saddlebag. "I packed some supper for you both."

"We'll stop by to see you when we come to town," Tessa promised, and gave Lucy a warm hug. "The supply ship will be in soon I think--we could go shopping, and have lunch together." The eagerness in her voice touched Lucy. So young to know so much loneliness . . .

"I'll look forward to it," she said, and let her glance shift to Marta. The older woman nodded, her dark gaze holding a hesitant friendship.

~~~

"Supply ship," Lucy said later. They were traveling side by side on the road, and it annoyed Robert no end that the woman was a competent rider. She kept up without effort and didn't seem to be in any discomfort at all, while he was already sore after an hour's steady travel.

"Beg pardon?" he asked, trying not to think of his bruised fundament.

"I was just thinking out loud. Supply ships . . ." Lucy looked around her. "Someday most of this will be nothing but parking lots and strip malls. Taco Bell, Jack in the Box, MacDonald's, Seven-Elevens . . ." She shook her head. "Supplies everywhere you look."

It sounded like gibberish to Robert."You don't seem too happy about it."

"In my time the whole planet is in danger of being paved over." She glanced at him, frowning. "Are you in pain?"

"I'll be quite all right."

"Who taught you how to ride? You're terrible."

"Thank you so much for that observation."

Lucy chuckled. "You don't need to bite my head off." She reined in her mount. "You sit down too far in the saddle so your spine is taking a pounding. Doesn't your back ache?"

"I am fine." He gave each word a precise enunciation, indicative of his rising annoyance.

"Apply some pressure with your knees and use it to lever yourself up a bit," she suggested.

"If I want advice I'll ask for it!"

Lucy shook her head but said nothing further, only started moving once more. They rode in silence for a time.

"Stop sulking," Robert said at last.

"I'm not."

"Say something then."

"I did. You yelled at me."

"I did not yell."

"Where I come from, that's called yelling."

"That is not yelling. This is yelling." He took a deep breath and let loose with a shout that echoed from the canyon walls.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

He turned to her with a smirk and encountered a disbelieving gaze.

"Do you want to bring every bandit in the territory down on us?"

"There's no one around for miles."

"And you know that how, exactly? You're psychic?"

"We're only about an hour from Santa Elena. Montoya's men patrol this area frequently. No self-respecting thief would spend any amount of time here," Robert told her. Lucy gave a derisive snort.

"These are the same men who have never caught the Queen of Swords."

"The Queen is much more intelligent than Montoya's soldiers. And she isn't a common thief." A reluctant smile tugged at Robert's mouth. "More like a remarkable woman."

Lucy said nothing, her silence eloquent.

"What now?" he protested. "If you know of her, you must also know she is no bandita."

"I wasn't thinking of her record," Lucy said in a tone Robert found most provoking. "I was thinking, first Marta and now the Queen. Typical man."

"What do you mean, 'first Marta'?" he demanded. Lucy removed her hat and fanned herself with vigor.

"Hot today," she commented. "Must be random hormones in the air," and nudged her horse to a somewhat faster gait. Mystified, Robert did the same, praying he wouldn't end up falling out of the saddle.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all," he muttered to himself, somehow knowing it was.

~~~~~

Their first glimpse of town came a short time later. Lucy reined in her mount, staring at the huddle of buildings. What would this mean for her, living in Santa Elena?

"Second thoughts?"

Robert's voice was gentle. Lucy shook her head and winced as the ever-present throbbing flared for a moment.

"The headache--is it getting worse?"

"No," she lied. "Just a twinge."

"Something's wrong."

"It's just--" She stopped, then went on, needing to say it to someone. "I don't know what will happen when I meet him again."

"I'll be with you."

"This time . . . but I'll see him almost every day." She shifted a bit in the saddle. "He's as stubborn as a rock."

"Then you must be water." Hazel eyes watched her, bright with compassion. She thought about it.

"'The path of least resistance,'" she quoted finally, and he smiled a bit.

"Well," he said after a few moments, "let's go home." Lucy swallowed, her throat dry, and urged her horse forward. Robert nodded in approval.

"There's a brave girl."

"I'm not a girl."

"That explains why you wear trousers."

~~~~~

Luis saw Lucy and the doctor enter the pueblo; indeed, it would have been hard to miss them since they arrived just before sunset, when activities were at their height after siesta. He watched as they rode into the square, peasants milling around them and all talking at once, so that the noise was considerable. Doctor Helm's extensive absence had been noticed, and of course the well-dressed young woman accompanying him was someone to meet and then talk about for days on end. In a small town it was a chance for gossip far too enticing to resist.

After a few moments he finished the last of his cognac and left the balcony, striding down the steps of the manor and across the square to meet the two travelers as they gained the doctor's office door. Amazing how the crowd melted away at his approach . . .

"Welcome back, Doctor. To what do we owe the honor of your presence?" he asked with all the sarcasm he could muster, letting his gaze travel over Lucy. She would not look at him, which allowed the opportunity for his gaze to linger where he liked.

She wore a simple dress of soft sage green; even dusty and creased from her travels the color became her, as did the wide-brimmed hat she wore, her thick hair tucked up underneath it. Still, she looked rather pale despite the heat, and there were slight shadows under her eyes.

"Permit me to introduce my cousin, Lucy Sparhawk." Robert's voice was a model of polite gentility.

"Cousin?" Luis shot the doctor a sharp look and was met with an innocent stare.

"Yes--she's from a rather obscure branch of the family located in Philadelphia. Traitors to the Crown at one point I'm afraid, but we don't hold that against them now."

"You must be the Colonel Montoya I've read about in Rob's letters." Lucy spoke at last; she sounded cool and a little disinterested. "How delightful to meet you, senor."

Dark blue eyes regarded him, their depths enigmatic, shuttered. Luis stepped forward and took her hand in his. He had been at first surprised and then irritated by this ridiculous attempt to sidestep his plans, but now he found himself reconsidering his tactics. Perhaps this could work to his advantage after all . .

"Senorita . . . Sparhawk?--what a peculiar name! So very English," he bowed, brushing his lips over her skin. Her fingers lay cool and dry in his clasp, but he was pleased to feel a tiny little tremor when he kissed her hand. She wasn't nearly as indifferent as she pretended . . . "It is an honor to meet you." He straightened, smiling. "If I may be so bold as to ask, why would a young woman wish to brave such an arduous journey for a distant relative?"

"I am recently widowed, Colonel." She told the lie without hesitation. "Too many memories in Philadelphia . . . I wanted to start a new life. Is that so unusual?"

"Not at all, senora. I hope you will be happier here, though I fear housekeeping will be an occupation with which you are unfamiliar."

Lucy's gaze flicked up to his, startled by the faint edge of teasing in his words. Luis let his smile widen just a bit, inviting her to remember . . .

~~~~~

"There isn't a thing in the house to eat. We'll have to go shopping."

Luis turned on his side, the better to watch Lucy root about in a pile of clothes for something to wear.

"No food, no clean clothing . . . where are the servants?"

She fished a pair of jeans from the pile. He admired the soft curve of her hips as she stepped into the trousers and pulled a sweater over her head, her golden-brown hair a glossy tangle. She combed it with her fingers in a vain attempt at order, yawning. Luis reached out to hook his finger in a belt loop and pull her closer. She did not resist, smiling as she toppled next to him. His hand slid up under the bulky sweater to find her breast, cupping it in his palm. She sighed and arched closer to him, welcoming his touch.

Her trust was nothing short of amazing; no one had ever given him such a gift, but then he had never expected anything beyond simple physical release from the women he had known. He wasn't all that sure he wanted this complication, but he had to admit the situation was intriguing, to say the least . . .

"My maid is lazy," she said a bit later. Luis nuzzled her neck, enjoying the scent of her smooth, pale skin.

"Is she indeed?" He nipped at her ear and she smiled, her fingers trailing over his cheekbone.

"I think she sits around all day watching tv and eating bonbons."

"You ought to have her dismissed."

Lucy giggled. "Then you wouldn't be here, since she's me." Her smile faded as she regarded the pile on the floor.

"I guess I'd better get a load started," she sighed with a martyred air any saint would envy, and moved away from him with reluctance to stand by the bed. Luis watched in confusion as she scooped up an armful of clothes and took them into the other room. Intrigued, he rose and walked to the doorway, stretching.

She was opening the lid to what appeared to be a large white box. In went the clothes, along with something he supposed was some kind of soap; she turned a dial, slammed the thing shut, and headed into the kitchen. He followed her, bemused.

"This is how you do laundry?" he asked. "Who does the scrubbing? Who boils the water?"

Lucy turned to face him as she filled the teakettle from the tap. "The machine does it for you."

He shook his head. "And yet you cannot keep yourself in clean clothes? The women of my day would welcome such a device."

It was obvious she was about to debate him, her mouth open, ready to argue, and then she stopped.

"You're right," she said. Luis blinked.

"I usually am," he replied equably. "What made you realize it this time?" He thought to tease her a bit, but was startled to see a faint blush color her cheeks. "Lucita? What's wrong?"

The blush deepened; she turned off the water and took the kettle to the stove, her back to him.

"I'm really not much of a housekeeper." Guilt touched the quiet words. "There never seems to be enough time to get things done . . . I'm sorry, Luis."

For answer he came up behind her and turned her around, put his fingers under her chin to lift her downcast face.

"Apologies are for peasants." He kissed her once, a sweet, lingering kiss, almost chaste--and then kissed her again, this time with an intensity that left her trembling. "I don't care about your lack of housekeeping skills," he said, the words dark with delicious intensity. "This is why I am here." He swung her up into his arms. "Let me demonstrate," and he took her back into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him, leaving the washing machine to work all by itself in the dark.

~~~~~

She remembered. Her cool gaze warmed, a spark of laughter in the lapis depths. A smile touched her full lips--

"Colonel, I took the men out for maneuvers as you--what the HELL?!"

Grisham stood staring at Lucy, mouth practically agape. She in her turn was staring back, what little color she had draining from her face.

"I know you," he said slowly, eyes narrowing. "You're that b--"

"You must be mistaken, Capitan." Luis raised his voice above Grisham's. "This is Doctor Helm's cousin, Miss Sparhawk."

"Cousin? She's his cousin? Since when?!" Grisham pulled himself up a bit straighter. Lucy removed her hand from Luis' clasp and faced the Captain, lifting her chin, her soft mouth a grim line.

"Since I said so." Luis gave Lucy a slight bow. "You will excuse us, senora." He hurried Grisham away before he could say any more. The Captain stared at Luis in disbelief.

"Come on, Colonel, you know she's a lying little--"

"That's enough, Grisham! One more word and I will do you an injury!" He swung around to face the younger man, annoyed. "It is sufficient that I know who and what she is, do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal, sir." Grisham glanced at him with a knowing smirk. Luis shook his head.

"Somehow I doubt that, Capitan. But it doesn't matter." He gestured toward the manor. "You have a report to make."

"Yes sir." They began walking once more. "The maneuvers are working, Colonel. Another week of intensive training and I think the men will--"

"We don't have another week. The shipment must go out, and very soon." Luis kept his voice casual. "I believe we have a traitor in our ranks."

"Only one?"

That earned the Captain a hard stare. "Humor, Grisham? And at my expense?"

"I only meant--"

"I know what you meant. Fortunately for you, I am a tolerant man." They had reached the steps leading to his office. "If we don't succeed in stopping this latest affront to society you and I will be out of work, Capitan." Luis sighed. As if the Queen weren't enough to deal with . . . "The shipment will go out tomorrow night, but don't make anything ready until the last minute, and don't tell the men." He glanced at Grisham. "My reputation is riding on your competence. Do not let me down."

"I'll do my best for you, sir."

"That's what I am afraid of."

~~~~~

TRANSLATION NOTE: "Mi halcon . . . los ojos son mis lamparas" means "My hawk . . . your eyes are my lamps."

~~~~~

Lucy finished putting her things into the small chest Robert had given her. Tessa and Marta had been more than generous; she was now the possessor of three dresses, two skirts and blouses, a pinafore apron and several articles of underclothing, with a promise from Marta for more if needed . . . Added to what she had brought with her in her backpack, she had enough to see her through.

But what does that mean? she wondered, folding a blouse with care. How long will I be here? What happened to send me back in time in the first place? She sat on the cot set up for her, aware of an ache in her chest that had nothing to do with tiredness or anything physical. And why must I be without him, even here?

She remembered well the scene Luis had referred to earlier . . .

~~~~~

He carried her to the bed as if she were no more substantial than a feather pillow; when he settled her beneath him she held out her arms, bringing him down to her, wanting his body against hers. He lay beside her, his hands, muscular and callused, lifting to frame her face.

"Mi halcon," she traced his brow, "los ojos son mis lamparas."

The cool grey gaze took fire at her words. He brushed his lips over her temple, then demanded another fierce kiss, heated with his need for her, and she welcomed him without hesitation.

She had learned he was a passionate man, a fact he was often at great pains to keep hidden; she admired his tremendous capacity for restraint, and an equal ability to loose that restraint when desired . . . She let her fingers slide over his ribs to explore the small of his back and was rewarded with another kiss, this one even less controlled. When he nudged her thighs apart she opened willingly to him, tugging her jeans down over her hips.

He was also a skilled lover, considerate and inventive, another trait that had surprised her at first. Now she sighed as he entered her, his thrust a little rough. She tightened herself around him and delighted in the low groan she got in return. As they began to move together she gave herself up to him, trusting that he would do the same. His lips whispered half-articulated words over her skin; his body was warm and strong as he explored her, exacting submission while at the same time exalting her clear to heaven.

When they brought each other to climax it was like a sun expanding, like a fall into still water from a great height, with one bright moment of being one--every hokey phrase she could remember from the romances she'd read, and none of them came even the remotest bit close to the truth of being with him, of feeling those powerful hands tighten on her, then relax, his forehead pressed to her cheek while his moan of pleasure and release echoed through her . . .

~~~~~

"What am I going to do?" she whispered. For one terrible moment she knew she wouldn't have the strength to go on day after day, with him so close and yet out of reach . . .

You had your chance--he did offer, the voice of reason reminded her. You are the one who found the terms unacceptable. Are you so desperate that you'll compromise everything you've gained for yourself, just to be with him? And how long do you think it would last?

Lucy exhaled a long, slow breath and opened her eyes. All too true . . . she had chosen the only way she felt open to her, and all that was left was to walk it unflinching.

She let go the blouse she clutched, intending to shake it out and refold it--only to find Robert standing in the doorway of her room, watching her.

"Dinner is ready when you are," his voice was gentle. "Marta did us proud."

~~~~~

"I bet she was thinking of your stomach when she packed all this," Lucy said much later. The remains of a substantial meal lay on the table. Robert sat back with a sigh of repletion.

"Whatever her motivation, thank god for it. I haven't eaten such a meal in quite some time." He eyed Lucy with a speculative air. "If you can cook like that I'm doomed. They'll catch me going across the square and next thing you know, I'll be roasting in a pit with an apple in my mouth."

Lucy chuckled. "For me to be able to cook we have to have supplies, Rob."

He dug in a pocket and flipped a coin to her. "Look sharp, housekeeper."

She caught it and found a gold reale in her hand. He grinned at her. "That's enough to keep us in tortillas for the next three months. Don't spend it all in one place."

"Oh, very funny." Lucy turned it over, watching the light play over the markings. "I haven't held real money in a long time."

"You don't use it in--I mean, where you come from?"

"Yes and no. We have currency, but it's easier to use credit." She thought of the cards in her purse. "Sort of like carte blanche, only with a high rate of interest."

"Your society values swiftness, doesn't it?"

Lucy gave him a sidelong glance and got an innocent look from wide hazel eyes in return.

"In some things, yes. Gold's still popular though," she tucked the reale into her cleavage. "Shall I make you a batch of porridge for breakfast?"

"Hmm? What? Oh--porridge," Rob blinked. "Yes, well, I don't usually eat a morning meal."

"You do now," Lucy said firmly.

"But we don't have any porridge--do we?"

"I'm the housekeeper, remember? You let me worry about that." She thought of the small bag of oats Marta had sent along with the supper, and smiled.

~~~~~

It promised to be a pleasant evening. Luis paused in the courtyard as the last light of day faded, leaving behind a dark blue sky as clear as Lucy's eyes. The scent of roses was heavy in the air; he moved to the biggest trellis, smiling as scarlet blooms nodded in the slight breeze.

"Hello my beauties," his fingers caressed a petal here, a leaf there. "And how are we this evening, eh? You should all be very pleased with yourselves, considering the amount of water and food I gave you this morning."

"You know sir, if those things start answering back we're in big trouble."

Montoya leaned forward to savor the scent of a perfect specimen, the bud not quite half-blown.

"What do you want, Capitan?" he asked with some reluctance, desiring only to spend an evening in peace and quiet for once.

"Nothing, sir. Just wanted to wish you a good evening, is all."

And gloat over the day's events, Luis added silently.

"How thoughtful of you, Grisham. And the same to you as well." He turned away, but Marcus stayed where he was.

"If I might ask, sir, what are you going to do about her?"

"By 'her' I presume you mean senora Sparhawk."

"If she's Helm's cousin I'll eat my hat."

"Your hat is safe, Capitan." Luis let his impatience settle. "However, it suits me to let her stay where she is for now. There is no harm in a bit of playacting, is there? You of all people should know that."

Even in the near-darkness he could see the other man's stare grow cold.

"Good night, sir." Grisham turned on his heel and left the courtyard. Luis smiled, then glanced up at the heavens.

"Nice to know it isn't only me you torment."

Continued in Part Two