UN SABOR DE ESPANA, PART TWO

Rob woke to the smell of brewing coffee.

. . . coffee?

He opened one eye, peering through a tangle of hair at the daylight coming in his window.

Coffee?

With reluctance he pushed the covers aside and swung his legs out, then stumbled to his feet and into the kitchen.

Lucy stood at the small stove, setting the hot water kettle in place. Her plain skirt and blouse were covered by a large white apron, and her hair was pulled back into a thick braid. She looked very much as when they had first met some months ago.

"What the hell are you up to?" he asked, squinting at her and then the stove. Lucy laughed in a manner he considered offensive in the extreme.

"Housekeeping," she said with a grin. "I made some coffee."

"We don't have any coffee," he informed her, watching as she sipped from the steaming cup in her hand.

"You know the market opens early. I've been there already, slugabed." She opened the firebox door and stuffed in some pieces of wood, poked and prodded with obvious expertise, set the damper at half and wiped her hands.

"Go get dressed," she suggested, picking up a wooden spoon. Rob eyed it with suspicion.

"You aren't going to use that on me, are you?"

She giggled. "Go on," she scolded him. "Breakfast is almost ready."

He found fresh water, a flannel and a new cake of soap on the washstand; he splashed himself awake, ignoring the soap and cloth, and got into his clothes, giving his hair a few token passes with the comb.

None of which met with Lucy's approval. She looked him over and shook her head.

"Nope."

"I beg your pardon?" Rob felt annoyance rising.

"Nope."

"Nope what?"

"Nope you're not getting any breakfast looking like something the cat dragged in. I put new soap and the last clean cloth out for you to use, and I bet neither one of them is even damp." She gave him a cool stare. "What are you, five years old?"

"I don't need--"

"Yes you do," she folded her arms with the spoon in one hand, looking militant, "or else no coffee and certainly no breakfast."

"You are my housekeeper, not my nanny!"

"If your nanny was here she'd be hauling you to the wash basin by your ear handles." She nodded at the bedroom door. "Get busy."

Rob opened his mouth to argue and was upstaged by a long, low growl from the vicinity of his stomach.

"Someone near and dear to you is talking," Lucy said, the seriousness of her tone belied by an odious twinkle in her eye. She pretended to listen, putting a hand to her ear. "What's that? You're Rob's belly? You say you're empty? That you begged him to wash up earlier--"

"Oh bloody hell!" Rob drew up what little dignity he had left and went back into the bedroom, wishing he had a door to slam.

It was the worst kind of blackmail, he grumbled to himself as he soaped his hands and face. He would have put up more of a resistance, but he knew it would be less trouble on his end to just go along with her orders for now. Later on perhaps he could stage some kind of revolt, when she wasn't expecting it ...

At least my mother gave me training for this kind of thing, he told himself with a resigned sigh.

He stalked back into the kitchen five minutes later and presented his hands with a sarcastic flourish. "Will I do?"

Lucy gave him a leisurely once-over.

"Sit," she announced. "Breakfast is served."

"Just coffee will do--"

"Nope."

"That word again," he muttered.

"You're way too thin, I know you haven't been eating properly. I made some oatmeal--porridge," she amended, setting a bowl of the stuff down in front of him.

"I don't--"

"Eat." A spoon was placed in his hand. "I went to all this work for you, the least you can do--"

"Very well, very well!" He raised his voice over hers. "I'll eat it!" He dug the spoon into steaming cereal and blew on it, then took a tentative taste. Green-gold eyes widened in surprise.

"This is . . ." He swallowed and took another spoonful. "This is good!"

"Well don't sound so shocked. I'm not the world's best at keeping order, but I do know how to cook," Lucy said, chuckling.

"He finished the entire bowl and took the cup of coffee she held out to him. As he sipped at it Lucy went out of the kitchen and came back to stand behind him. When he felt the comb in his hair he jumped a little, startled.

"What--?"

"Just relax--man, you're tense," she put her hands on his shoulders and eased him back around. The comb slid through the thick locks, settling them with neat precision.

"It won't stay," he said, knowing all too well how his hair behaved.

"You need a decent cut, that's all." She wound a half-curl around her finger. "Actually it looks rather nice this length."

Rob gave a humorless laugh. "You must be joking."

"You have pretty hair," Lucy protested. She let go of the curl and watched it settle against the nape of his neck. Rob did not trust the innocent smile she gave him.

"I do not want 'pretty hair'."

"Well, I could take the shears to it tonight if you want." She resumed her work. "Who's been cutting it?"

"No one." He drained the last of his coffee and stood, wincing as the comb yanked on a lock just below his crown. "Ouch!"

"Serves you right," Lucy informed him. She looked him up and down. "At least you look halfway decent now."

"I looked just fine before this!"

"Jeez, you're touchy in the mornings huh? Must be low blood sugar," Lucy turned back to the table. "I'll have some lunch ready for you if you want it before siesta, and dinner is at sundown."

"I can go to the cantina." Rob felt the need to assert some independence over his actions, only to have his attempt thwarted.

"You are not drinking your dinner at that place. God alone knows when they washed those glasses last anyway. If you want something alcoholic to go with your food, Marta sent along a bottle of wine."

"She did?" Annoyance faded, though he ignored the feeling of pleasant surprise this news imparted."What--"

"Doctor Helm!!" There was a frantic pounding on the office door. "Doctor Helm, please!"

~~~~~

Lucy watched Robert run for the office. She set down her cup and followed him; it was almost second nature to do so.

There were five people crowded into the room. One of them lay covered with blood on a dirty tarp. Robert pushed through the group to kneel beside the still figure.

"He was working on the roof repair at the stables--a beam fell on him." A young groom leaned over Robert, his hat clutched tight in his hands. "We brought him here as fast as we could--"

"Everyone out." Rob's voice cut through the babble of explanations and questions the groom's words had raised. "Go on! I need room to work on this man!"

Lucy did not leave with the others. She knelt by Rob as he lifted tattered cloth, exposing a crushed leg.

"Tourniquet," Lucy said, and felt the slam of adrenaline rush as it smacked her heartrate into overdrive. She put the heels of her hands down hard atop the sluggish pumping of the torn artery. "He's bleeding out! Hurry!"

Rob had his belt off and was fastening it about the man's thigh. While he tightened it Lucy got to her feet and ran to the kitchen, bringing back the wooden spoon she had used to stir the oatmeal earlier.

"Good girl." Rob quickly began to wind the tourniquet tighter. "Check his pulse."

Lucy moved up to the man's head and put her fingers to his neck.

"No pulse!" And no respiration either; she tilted his head back and opened his mouth, probing for anything that might impede breathing. When she was sure his airway was clear she pinched off his nose and began mouth-to-mouth, frantic with fear that he had been too long without air.

"What the hell are you doing?" she heard Rob ask. She ignored him and began heart compressions, counting silently, the routine familiar, almost reassuring.

Two agonizing minutes later she was rewarded with a ragged intake of breath and a few feeble heartbeats that slowly took on a regular if thready rhythm. Lucy sat back on her heels, panting and lightheaded.

"My god." Rob's voice was an astonished whisper. "You must teach me that technique."

"Glad to." She looked down at her hands. They were covered with drying blood, as was her apron. She stared at them a moment longer, then got to her feet, a bit shaky.

"His leg has to come off," Rob told her. "Go ask the men to help me move him to the examination room."

Lucy nodded and went to where the others waited, hiding her hands as best she could under the apron.

It didn't take long to remove what was left of the leg. Lucy kept track of the man's vitals as best she could and wondered if he would live out the day. She tried to think of some way to rig up a primitive i.v for a blood tranfusion; as an O positive she could donate, but there was nothing suitable to use for the transfer process, no way to even get the blood out of her in the first place . . . So she could only assist when possible as Rob stitched up the stump and bandaged it carefully, packing soft lint around the wound.

"He'll need close observation," Rob said softly. "I think you're more than qualified, Lucy, if you'll do it."

"Of course. If you can stay with him for a few minutes I'll clean up." She indicated the bloodstained apron, and Rob nodded.

The rinse water felt cool and good on her sticky hands as she put the apron into the basin. A cloud of pink billowed through the water, darkening as she squeezed the fabric. Fascinated, she watched it swirl around her stained hands--hands that could not come clean, they never came clean, no matter how hard she scrubbed them, there was always blood somewhere--under the nails, in the cuticles, folds of skin--everywhere . . .

She snatched up a brush lying beside the basin, almost unable to hold it because she was shaking so hard.

Have to get them clean, she warned herself, there's more on the way, you can't go into surgery like this, remembering all the times she had pulled gloves on over the gore of two days work--

She came to herself in the quiet morning, brush arrested in midair.

Stop it! She stared into the bloodied water. Get a grip. You worked all this out with the shrink years ago, remember the one who sat there and told you it was PTSD and nothing to worry about, here, take a pill? So who are you to tell her she was wrong?

Lucy threw the brush from her and backed away from the basin, then dropped into the nearest available chair. A snatch of song echoed in her head out of nowhere.

I think you like to be the victim
I think you like to be in pain
I think you make yourself a victim almost every single day
you do what you do
you say what you say
you try to be everything to everyone

"Oh, shut up," she muttered aloud, and took a deep breath, then stood up and went back to the basin. She looked down at it for a moment.

It's only blood . . .

"You are neurotic and depressed/it doesn't mean that you're sad," she sang under her breath, and managed a slight smile. Maybe if she said it enough times she could begin to believe it.

The cloth of the apron was rough beneath her fingertips, but she gathered it up anyway, concentrating on the physical sensation of water and cotton and air, the alchemical mix that would bring back pristine whiteness.

"Lucy?" She heard Rob's voice, low and questioning from the other room.

"Coming," she called back softly, and picked up the basin. The bloodied water went out into the alley, to be replaced with clean from the cold kettle; she wiped her hands, careful not to look at them, and left the apron to soak a bit longer.

I get closer
to the place inside
where I can be complacent

I get closer
to the place inside
where I can be sedated . . .

~~~~~

Rob lit the oil lamp and moved to the sickroom door. It was growing dark; the day had gone swiftly, with both he and Lucy caring for the patient in turns. She was there now, sitting by the bed with one of his shirts in hand, attempting to mend it in the semi-dark.

"Here now, you'll lose your sight doing that." He set the lamp on the table beside her and caught her wince.

"Is your head worse?" he asked. Much to his surprise, she gave a brief nod.

"I need an hour or two of sleep. Can you manage?" she asked, her soft voice filling the still room.

"Of course." He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll take the night watch. No arguing," he smiled down at her pale face. "You've had a long day. Go to bed."

"There's food in the pantry if you get hungry," she rose, clutching his shirt. Rob removed it from her grasp.

"I'll be fine. You can work on this tomorrow if you feel you must. Good night," he propelled her to the door.

~~~~~

Lucy sat on the edge of her cot, her skirt off and her blouse half-undone. She ached all over, and her head was throbbing; she groped for her backpack and dug deep, searching.

The bottle was in the pocket where she kept it. With unsteady hands she popped the top, thanking god she had asked the pharmacist for a non-childproof cap. One small white pill and a cup of water to wash it down; she finished undressing and lay back in her chemise, not sure she could navigate the few steps to the chest where her nightgown was stored . . . She closed her eyes, remembering strong arms holding her, soft Spanish words stroked over her--

"Stop," she warned herself, and rolled over to try for sleep until the painkiller kicked in and she could drift off on a dreamless dark tide.

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the translation of the Gaelic lyrics will be revealed eventually. Of course if you want to cheat, you could go out and get the album they come from, Ossian's "The Carrying Stream." Excellent Scottish folk music, with some of the most beautiful harp and whistle playing I've ever heard.

~~~~~

"I don't care how many patients he's got in his sickroom! He's my personal physician and I need him here now!" Luis shook off the guards helping him into a chair. "Bring him back here by force if necessary, just bring him back, do you understand?"

"Si, Colonel!" "Yes, of course, Colonel Montoya!" The soldiers couldn't escape fast enough. Luis sank down, wincing as his swollen ankle jarred against a chair leg.

"Damnation!" He unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, grimacing at the cloud of dust his actions caused. A day spent in the desert always meant his uniforms had to be cleaned, and finding a decent valet had proved an impossibility . . . but he had bigger problems to concern himself with now.

He had arranged for the gold shipment to leave that morning instead of the evening as he had told Grisham; his worst suspicions were confirmed when the stage had been left unmolested. He did indeed have a traitor in his guard . . . and it was his second in command.

Fool, he thought in weary disgust. You could have had so much more than just the gold, if only you'd tried to learn the things I've shown you . . . Pearls before swine, indeed.

He eased himself back in the chair, even as the office door opened to admit the guards he'd sent to fetch the Doctor--and senora Sparhawk, flanked by both men. They were smiling, Luis noted in disapproval.

"Doctor Helm is unable to leave his patient, Colonel." Lucy's soft, cool voice held nothing but deference. "I am here in his place." She turned to the men, her whole demeanor changing. "Thank you for escorting me here, gentlemen."

Gentlemen! Luis thought to himself with some sarcasm.

"Private Rodriguez, would you please find the maid and ask her to get a cool bath ready for the Colonel?"

"Si, senora!" Rodriguez' smile widened; Luis had the feeling if he hadn't been there, the fool would have saluted. "Right away!"

"Thank you." She moved to Luis' side as the first guard left the room, knelt down by his chair and with great care lifted his foot into her lap.

"You can go about your duties," Luis ordered the second guard, then paused. Lucy was looking at him, eyes wide.

"Colonel, you aren't suggesting the corporal should leave us alone, are you?" She turned to Lopez, all dismayed femininity, and Luis couldn't help but admire such expert dissembling.

"Forgive me, senora. He may stay." Luis tried to moderate his peremptory tone, but he had come off the loser in this small tussle of wills, and everyone in the room knew it. Lucy inclined her head in apparent respect.

"Thank you, Colonel." Luis saw the amusement lurking in the depths of her dark blue eyes as she bent to examine his ankle once more.

"Well?" he demanded after a few moments. "Is it broken?"

"No." Slender fingers removed the stocking; her touch was light and gentle.

"What's wrong then?"

Lucy finished her examination, then straightened with a wince--a very slight one and well hidden, but there all the same. "It's a bad sprain, but nothing that a few days rest won't put right, Colonel." She started to say something else, but stopped herself.

"You wished to speak?" he prompted, but she shook her head. A strand of golden-brown hair floated loose from the neat braid pinned into a knot at the back of her head; she tucked it behind her ear with an impatient hand. Luis found himself tempted to reach down and take out the bone pins holding everything in place, undo the plait just to watch those glossy locks fall over her shoulders . . . though having her at his feet was an entertaining thought as well.

Luis was jolted out of his reverie by the gentle ouster of his foot from Lucy's lap.

"What are you--"

"I have another patient to see." She smoothed down her apron and stood up. As she rose Luis caught a better glimpse of her hands. They were red and chapped, as if she'd been scrubbing floors . . . The knowledge that she was doing menial work vexed him. Why had she chosen an occupation so beneath her, when she could be mistress of the most beautiful hacienda in Alta California?

He had a sudden image in his mind's eye of Lucy sitting beside him on the terrace at Mountain View, her kisses tasting of the wine they drank together--

"Who is this other patient?" He used the question to pull himself away from such imaginings.

"Someone rather important." Luis caught the implication of that statement as she headed for the door. "I'll be back to strap your ankle after you've had your bath, Colonel."

"Who are you going to see?" He tried to twist around in the chair to watch her and grimaced as his injury protested.

"Salan," she answered, and was out of the room before he could say a word.

~~~~~

One of the regiment's outbuildings had been converted into a temporary stable after the collapse of the wall at the livery. The interior was quiet and cool, a powerful contrast to the heat and dust of the square outside. Lucy shut the door behind her and walked past the makeshift stalls. She wasn't really quite sure she was doing the right thing; some breeds did not take kindly to strangers, and that rule went double for stallions.

"Senora, what are you doing here?"

The head groom was walking toward her, his tanned features creased in a frown. Lucy gathered up her courage and gave him a bright smile.

"Buenas dias, Senor. I've come to look after Salan."

"Salan? You must be joking! Only the Colonel takes care of him."

"Colonel Montoya sent me," she said, and put one hand behind her back to cross her fingers against the lie. "Could you please show me where he's kept?"

"Senora, I cannot believe the Colonel would send a woman to look after his horse." The man was openly hostile now, and nervous with it, something Lucy filed away as of potential importance. He was hiding something . . .

"Please, I really mustn't disappoint Colonel Montoya," she let her hips sway as she walked toward the groom. "Can't you help me out just a little?"

"Well..." His beady eyes were watching her movements and Lucy stifled a shudder of distaste. "As long as you don't go in..." He turned and she followed him to the last stall at the end of the row. In the dim light she could just see Salan. He faced away from the front of the stall, head hanging down in apparent dejection. Lucy's kind heart ached in empathy for him. Without hesitation she brushed past the groom and opened the door.

"Senora!" The man attempted to stop her. "Are you mad? He won't let anyone near him--"

"Quiet!" she whispered. "Either help me or leave!"

Salan's head was up now, ears clicked back as he turned his head to look at her. Lucy stood against the door and waited, her posture relaxed.

"Senora, please! He'll kill you!"

She ignored the groom and put a hand in her apron pocket.

"Salan," she said in a soft voice. "We haven't been introduced, pequeno. My name is Lucy." With a casual movement she brought her hand out of the pocket. In her palm was a peppermint candy--one of several she had filched from a pottery bowl Rob kept on his desk.

"You've worked very hard today, chiquito," she said, and took several small steps forward, stopping only when Salan grew restless and gave a nervous snort. "It's all right, sweetheart. I brought you a treat. Would you like to smell it? It's very good..."

She took another set of steps forward and lifted her arm, palm up with the peppermint placed in the middle. Salan shook his head and stamped a foot, but Lucy did not show fear or move back. She stayed where she was, waiting for him to take the candy. After a few moments he moved toward her, his gait stiff and slow. In the low light Lucy could see what appeared to be abrasions on his knees, and a scrape high across his withers. The sight angered her, but she stood still and waited. Patience was the key to establishing a friendship.

She was rewarded at last with a nose snuffling her hand; the candy was nibbled out of her palm with delicate precision. Lucy allowed herself a smile, careful not to show her teeth.

"Clever boy," she flattered Salan, who was now crunching the peppermint with every sign of enjoyment. "You and I are going to get along just fine, mi caraidh."

"Senora," moaned the groom, wringing his hands, and Lucy turned her head.

"You monster!" Her voice was chill and condemning. "How could you leave this animal in such a state?"

"He wouldn't let me in the stall!"

"Then how is it I'm in here? Make yourself useful and go tell Colonel Montoya his horse is being cared for in proper fashion."

There was a disbelieving silence, and then the sound of footsteps receding. Lucy turned back to Salan in time to find him nuzzling her palm in search of more treats.

"One more and then we get you set to rights," she warned on a soft laugh, digging in her pocket for another peppermint.

~~~~~

"What do you mean, she went into his stall? You idiot! Why didn't you stop her?" Luis glared at the groom. "He'll have battered down the door by now!"

"I did try, Colonel," the man protested, "but--"

"No excuses! If either one of them is hurt I'll hold you personally responsible! Now go back and get senora Sparhawk out of that stall! And make sure of Salan as well!"

"Yes, Colonel."

Luis drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, afire with impatience and concern. The woman was a menace! In the space of three days she had usurped his authority with his personal guard, disturbed his sleep by causing vivid dreams that woke him in the middle of the night, sweating, erect and frustrated--and now she was attempting to get herself killed. And by his own horse!

The minutes ticked on. Luis gave in to temptation once and attempted to stand. The result persuaded him to sit without moving, as well to use every bit of bad language he had learned during his career in the military.

At last the doors opened to reveal Lucy, looking much the same as she had an hour previous.

"What the devil have you been up to?" he demanded. She said nothing as she came into the room. He saw then she carried what looked to be a linen sheet in her hands.

Without ceremony she knelt by his feet and shook out the fabric, then began folding it into a long narrow strip on the diagonal. As she worked she started to sing under her breath in Gaelic--an action she knew he found provoking.

thug mi'n oidhche raoir's mi bruadar
mar ri nionagan na buaile
b'fhinealt uasal min na grugaich
seinn nan duanag anns an airidh

Her gentle hands began to strap his ankle, taking care to jar the swollen flesh as little as possible. Luis gritted his teeth and concentrated on watching the small hands guide the linen about his foot, the strapping firm but not too tight.

's cianail dusgadh an fhir-fhudain
'se sior-ionndrainn tir a'bhruadair
's tiamhaidh buan da thar na stuadhan
ceol na grugach anns an airidh

They were alone, Corporal Lopez having been dismissed to the barracks some time back; Luis put a question he would not have been able to ask with anyone else in the room but Doctor Helm, or perhaps Grisham.

"Are you ever going to tell me what the words mean?"

Lucy looked up for a moment. A faint smile came and went; she shook her head and continued with her work.

"Why not?" he persisted, wincing as she gently tightened the strap across his arch. "Is it a bawdy song?"

A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. "No." She passed the last part of the linen over his heel, then fastened it with a pin.

"You must keep it elevated," she said, "and stay off it for a few days. Doctor Helm will stop by to see how you're progressing." She got to her feet and turned away, ready to leave.

"Lucy," he said. She hesitated, her back to him.

"Lucy," he gentled his voice, "don't go."

She might have been carved of stone, so still was she--and then he saw her chin lift.

"I brought you a treat." She turned to face him. Her hand was outstretched, and in it was what looked to be a candy. Luis eyed it with suspicion. She said nothing, only offered it to him. He took it from her palm and smelled it. The familiar scent of peppermint filled his nostrils. He tasted the candy; it was sweet and cool on his tongue. Lucy smiled a little, started to turn away once more. Luis caught her hand, unwilling to let her go.

"Stay," the low voice sent a chill of longing through her. His fingers were warm and callused, guiding her to him, and it would be so easy to let him take over, let him settle her on his knee, put her arms about his neck . . .

Lucy took his hand from hers and moved aside, avoiding his sprained ankle.

"I'm needed elsewhere," she said. "Good day to you, Colonel."

As she turned to go he caught her hand once more and tugged. The unexpectedness of the action caught her offguard and she fell against him, her hands on his shoulders to prevent herself from dropping into his lap. The skin under her palms was warm and clean; she could feel his heartbeat as he sought her mouth, slow and inexorable.

His kiss tasted of cold sweet fire, demanding an answer she was all too willing to give him. For a moment she was his once more, she was real again; her defenses were ready to fall without a sound--and then Lucy backed away, almost running to the door, her heart shot through with pain. Behind her she heard Luis call her name, but her only thought was to put as much distance between them as possible.

She hurried down the manor steps and across the square to the safety of Rob's quarters, going through the alley to the back door so as to avoid a waiting room full of patients. Her room was a small storage pantry on the north side of the building, cool and dark; she lit a lamp and pushed aside the curtain.

A candle burned on the small stand beside her bed, revealing a visitor. Lucy's mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

Marcus Grisham thrust a hand into her backpack. Grinning, he held up a CD, examining the cover. When he spoke, his tone was as mocking as ever.

"No Def Leppard?"

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: an event in this section is tied in with the challenge I wrote a couple of months back, entitled "Healers" if you wish to refresh your memory. Also, my apologies for not posting for a week--packing, cleaning and sorting are taking up a great deal of my time right now, and to be honest, I needed a break from Un Sabor to step back and take a look at the story, get some perspective.

~~~~~

Grisham watched the woman with vindictive satisfaction, enjoying her apprehension. Not a bad looker, if you liked the homegrown type. Why Montoya had a harden for her was a mystery though.

"I checked out your tunes. Nothing but country. What are you, a redneck?" He shifted the backpack a little closer to him as she took a step forward.

"Give me back my stuff." Her voice was cold and unyielding. He shook his head in mock dismay.

"Is that any way to talk to someone from your own time?"

"Keep your voice down!"

"What's the matter, senora Sparhawk? Afraid everyone here will find out what a fraud you are?"

"I don't want to end up being hung in the village square for a witch," she looked him in the eye, "but if there's a possibility of it happening, I'll take you with me."

"Your word against mine? I don't think I have anything to worry about." He stood up and stretched, a little stiff from sitting on the low bed. "Tell you what--meet me in the stables tonight, after sunset. Show up and you get your stuff back."

"No deal." She folded her arms across her chest and he remembered the feel of her breasts in his hands, her racing heartbeat, her fear. "I don't trust you."

"Yeah? I could care less." He held the backpack a little tighter, though she hadn't made a move toward it. The look in her eyes kept him wary of sudden moves on her part. "Meet me there anyway. We need to talk."

As he went by on his way to the door he bent down as if to kiss her. She didn't flinch, but he heard her undrawn breath and chuckled.

"Things would be so much better for us both if you'd just let yourself like me," he whispered.

"If you don't want to stay intact, keep talking."

He laughed as he touched her hair, smoothing a lock back from her forehead. Such a nasty little bitch . . . but she was all his now.

"See you later," his mouth hovered a few inches from hers, and then he was gone.

~~~~~

Lucy moved into the room and sat down on the cot. Her head was throbbing now, and her stomach was attempting to turn itself inside out. She felt violated and very much alone. And scared witless too, if she was honest with herself.

Discovering he's a traveler can't be the reason I'm here, she thought in some desperation. If only I could figure out what happened to send me back! She had tried remembering on several occasions since her arrival, but always the roaring blackness waited, ready to swallow her whole . . . Lucy shivered and pushed the memory away.

Part of her wanted to run to Luis. He would deal with things, she knew that beyond a doubt; there would be a price to pay for his help, but maybe she ought to forget her pride and give in. Who would be hurt by her actions if she did as he asked?

You know what your mother would say to that. 'A woman without self-respect lets her man fight her battles.' Or something like that anyway. She leaned forward and rested her aching head on her crossed arms, wishing she could escape her thoughts for a few hours.

God, this is like being back in the Gulf . . . Immersed in a hell both universal and utterly personal, discovering herself powerless to leave; how many times had she wanted to sleep without dreaming?

Enough, she said to Whoever might be listening, enough! Stop fucking with me and give me a sign, or leave me the hell alone!

"Lucy?" Robert's voice came clearly from the sickroom, where Elio, their surgical patient, was staying. She sat up and wiped a few loose strands of hair out of her face, wincing as pain jabbed at her temples.

"I'm here," she called back. He would need help with Elio, and she had supper to start soon.

"So you think perhaps in two weeks he'll be able to come home, Doctor?"

Juanita sent Robert an anxious look, and he sighed. They all wanted miracles from him and he had none on hand.

"The next day or two will tell us," he gave Elio's sister a kind smile. "In the meantime he'll have the best of care, I promise you that."

"I can come and stay with him for a few hours in the afternoon so that you and senora Lucy can have a bit of time for yourselves." Juanita returned his smile from a careworn face. "And Mama insists on bringing you dinner."

"That's not--" he began.

"Your mother is a generous woman, Juanita. She makes the best empanadas I've ever tasted. Please thank her for us." Lucy came into the room, her words soft so as not to disturb the sleeping patient. Rob opened his mouth to argue and received a glare of such magnitude that he closed it again. "I'll stay with him, I'm sure you're tired."

"I'll come right after chores tomorrow," Juanita promised, and turned back to her brother. Lucy's smile faded.

"You need me, Robert?"

"Would you go into my room and bring me my waistcoat and bag? I'm late for my meeting with Montoya." He lowered his voice, "I'd like to make sure the incision is all right before I leave. Things can go wrong very quickly, you know that."

Lucy nodded and offered him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Be right back."

She took all of five minutes to return. He was about to send some acerbic comment her way until he caught a look at her face.

She was glowing--well, not literally, but there was a light in her dark eyes he had never seen before, and her pale cheeks were a faint pink. Rob started to put on the vest, then took it off to look it over.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, turning it front and back. Lucy shook her head.

"Nothing's wrong with it."

"Then what are you smiling about?" he demanded. "It took you ages to find this! Wasn't it on the chair where I left it with my bag?"

To his further annoyance she ignored his questions, reaching into her apron pocket to bring out a small object. "I found this under your bed. Where did it come from?"

He took it from her, frowning a bit. "Senorita Alvarado brought this to me some time ago. It's a, what d'you call them--oh yes, a kachita."

"Kachina," Lucy corrected. The word was said with reverence. Rob glanced at her.

"Badger is a warrior healer." She said the words with pride. "His medicine is very strong."

"I didn't know you had studied the subject." Rob handed the figure back to her. "We can talk about this some other time, I'm late--"

"Just tell me this. Was this made for you? I mean for you specifically?"

"Well--yes," he remembered the rather odd conversation--usually Maria Teresa was such a flighty young thing. "One of Senorita Alvarado's workers carved it for me."

To his complete astonishment Lucy slipped her arms about him for a brief, fierce hug, then stepped back. "Thank you, Robert."

He could hear tears in her quiet voice. "I--you're welcome," he said, bewildered. "I think." He looked down at her, concerned. "Is everything all right?"

"Couldn't be better." Her smile was radiant. "Oh, one more thing." She put his bag in his right hand, took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and put it in his left.

"Please give this to Colonel Montoya." To Robert's keen gaze, that brilliant smile took on a slight edge. "It's for his eyes only."

He gave her an assessing look, but she didn't back down. After a moment he shrugged.

"Consider it delivered." He tucked the note into his waistcoat pocket and headed out the door. Apparently his stock of miracles wasn't completely exhausted, though he had no idea how this one had worked. Perhaps it was better if he didn't know.

Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss, he reminded himself, and set out across the square.

~~~~~

It was a lovely night--cool, with a slight breeze that ruffled Luis' unbound hair in a most pleasant manner. He sat in his leather great chair, ankle propped, a glass of cognac in hand. Now and then the wind brought with it the scent of roses from his courtyard. He savored the fragrance, along with the taste of fine liquor.

He picked up Lucy's note and read it through again.

Your place, tonight. I need to talk with you.
L.S.

Written in her firm, neat hand, it was brief and businesslike, but somehow he detected a sense of . . . 'exhilaration' would come the closest to the word he was seeking--

A faint rustling sent him reaching for the pistol he kept by the chair. Someone was climbing the trellis, and with enviable efficiency too--almost no noise.

A slight figure gradually came into view--a youth, if the rough pants and simple shirt were anything to go by. Then the intruder turned profile. Faint torchlight showed the swell of breasts, half-hidden by a pair of boots slung about the woman's neck. She dropped to the floor in near silence and looked about her.

"Tomboy." Luis set the pistol back down. "I never knew you could climb so well, Lucita."

He was sitting in the wing chair he kept for use at his desk; it was more than obvious he was waiting for her, and had been for some time. There was a quality of aloneness about him, a stillness that touched her in a way she found impossible to describe . . .

~~~~~

He stood by the window, watching the snow fall. She put her hand on the pillow beside her. The cotton case was cool . . . he had been up for a while.

She pushed aside the covers and went to him. He did not acknowledge her approach, but when she came to his side he brought her close, his hard palm cradling her hip. She slipped an arm about his waist, laying her cheek to his shoulder. Beyond the window the storm sighed and hissed, pushing thick swirls of white here and there.

"So beautiful," his voice was low and soft. "So cold . . ."

She kissed his collarbone but said nothing. The hand on her hip caressed her, brought her closer.

"I must go back soon."

"Yes." She put her hand over his and gently twined their fingers. "But not yet."

He turned to her, their bodies pressed close so that she could feel his need for her.

"Not yet." It was agreement and declaration. She guided him back to the bed then, and he did not resist.

~~~~~

Lucy shook off the memory and took the boots from around her neck, setting them on the floor.

"How else was I supposed to get out of the house at night when I was a kid?" She perched herself on the edge of the ottoman, next to his injured foot. "How's the ankle?"

"First you run away from me, then you request a midnight meeting to ask after my injury." Luis sat back in his chair. "You'll forgive my language, but what the devil are you up to?"

"I'm behaving myself, but your second in command isn't." She leaned forward a bit. "Luis, he's planning your murder."

"I'd say he's been doing that for quite some time."

"I'm serious!" She snapped the words out at him.

"So am I." The affable tone mocked her. "Do you think I don't know he's the one who has arranged the theft of the gold shipments? Even the Queen can't figure out what he's up to, which is rather amusing." He sipped at the cognac. "It would be a simple step for him to set up a killing." He tilted his head to one side, watching her closely. "How do you know all this?"

"I had a meeting with him." Lucy took a deep breath. "I had no choice. He took my things and made it pretty clear he would use them against me if I didn't show up to reclaim them. I couldn't take the chance that he was bluffing." She sat up a little straighter. "He's like me, Luis. A traveler."

The pale eyes narrowed.

"That would explain much," he said after a moment. "From your time?"

"About thirty years earlier." She looked down at the floor. "There was a war--a terrible mess, one we had no chance of winning, and yet somehow we couldn't walk away . . . he was in it."

~~~~~

"We ended up crossing the border into Cambodia. Stupid damn lieutenant went crazy, decided what was left of our platoon was gonna win one for the gipper, y'know? He had us good and lost. In the end I had to shoot him. Motherfucker would've gotten me killed."

~~~~~

"Somehow or other he found a timegate."

~~~~~

"There was this ruined temple--well hell, there were more ruined temples there than I had lice, but this one . . . My buddy, Joe Mankiller--he said it had strong medicine. All I knew was my head was ringing like someone had thumped me with a sledgehammer."

~~~~~

"Gates work differently than the method I use. You can stay as long as you want, and go back and forth as much as you want . . . but you have to give the stones blood every time you go through." She saw the fleeting look of distaste in Luis' eyes and nodded. "Yes. Nasty, but then the stones are old, and blood was the preferred medium of exchange by some ancients." She folded her arms across her chest. "Eventually he found a gate here . . . in the caves at the beach."

~~~~~

"Joe told me how it worked. Lucky for me he was already on his way to being dead. It saved some time, though I did have to help him along in the end."

~~~~~

"I cannot believe Grisham would tell you all of this voluntarily." Luis offered his glass to Lucy. She took it, surprised by the action. The liquor was warm and a bit resiny but agreeable. After what she'd had to do tonight, a little alcohol was welcome.

"He wouldn't have revealed a thing if I hadn't declared war on you."

That made Luis sit up. He winced as his injured ankle moved. "You what?"

"Sit still, you'll undo all my good work." Lucy put a gentle hand on the long shin. "I told him I'd had it with the way you propositioned me and that whatever he had planned was what you deserved."

"Close enough to reality to sound plausible." There was palpable bitterness in the light, cool voice, and her amusement at his consternation evaporated.

"How can you say something like that?!"

"It's the truth."

"It is not!" She glared at him, indignant. "Luis Ramirez Montoya, you idiot! I love you!"

Sea-green eyes gleamed. "You have an odd way of showing it."

"I do? You wanted to make me your--your--" she spluttered, unable to find the proper word.

"Housekeeper?" Luis gave her a look of innocent inquiry. Lucy set the glass down on the floor beside her with a thump. My god, could he actually be jealous of my staying with Rob?

"Joke all you like. You made me--" Her breath caught in her throat on a surge of pain.

"You made me feel like a whore," she said at last, after a long and awkward silence. "All the talk about station and breeding . . . You've been to my time, you know things are different. Giving myself to you doesn't make me a loose woman." She blinked back tears. "If you have no respect for me . . ."

"Lucy."

She clasped her hands around her knees and looked away.

"Lucita. Look at me."

Her gaze lifted to his and was trapped in an unexpected blaze of light, forceful and yet tender.

"My offer is a way for us to be together," he said quietly. "If I hurt you with what was said, then I am truly sorry--but you are no longer in your time, you are in mine, and the things I spoke of are important." He sat back. "Sharing at least a part of our lives with each other is better than nothing, is it not?"

"Sharing stolen moments, you mean." Lucy fingers tightened. "Forgive my plain speaking, but I don't want to be your afterthought."

The light in his eyes turned from silver to steel in an instant.

"You presume too much."

"Luis--"

"Come here."

Slowly she stood. Much as he had some hours earlier, he took her hand in his and tugged her toward him.

"I can't--"

She found herself perched on his lap, his arms about her in a firm hold.

"Quiet," he growled, "you've provoked me enough for one day," and then she was being kissed by someone who was making it obvious she was not an afterthought.

His ankle was killing him, but it was worth it to have her close once more. Luis permitted himself a small smile as she submitted without a struggle, her delightful curves pressed up against him.

"Baggage," he chuckled when she put her arms about his neck. "I swear you take delight in trying to drive me mad."

"Luis," she wound a strand of his hair about her fingers, "I'm worried about what Grisham might do. I don't trust him."

"Of course you don't. Neither do I. So you must tell me everything he said to you, and we," he pressed a kiss to her soft lips, "will discuss it thoroughly . . . later."

"But your ankle--"

"My injury needs examination. Perhaps if you were to help me to bed, you might oblige?"

She hesitated and he held his breath, waiting for her to think it through.

"I believe that could be arranged." Her musical voice held a faint edge of amusement under the concern. Luis knew a stab of savage delight.

Oh yes, she was his.

~~~~~

Grisham waited until he saw the light of the lamp in the bedroom before he turned back to his own quarters, satisfied.

The trap had been set. Now all that was required was for the rat to take the bait he had prepared with such care . . .

~~~~~

"The supply ship is in!"

Tessa hurried into the yard, her features bright with excitement. Marta pushed a sweat-soaked curl from her forehead and gave her charge a look that was composed of equal parts irritation and affection.

"I suppose you want to go into town right away," she said, and put another sheet into the cauldron. Tessa frowned at her tone of voice.

"Marta, we're both in the middle of chores. Perhaps early tomorrow morning." Her dark eyes shone. "I wonder if that green silk I ordered has come in yet."

"You would do better to worry about whether we'll have enough flour and salt to see us through to winter." Marta turned back to her laundry, stirring it with the pole she used to maneuver the washload in and out of the scalding water.

"You can't fool me, you're just as excited as I am," Tessa retorted. Her tone grew soft and wheedling. "Besides, there's someone in town you'd like to visit, isn't there?"

"The blacksmith won't have time to chat." Marta transferred some sheets into cool rinse water, hiding a smile at Tessa's disgusted snort. Truth be told, she was looking forward to a morning in town. Perhaps there would be a chance to see how Elio was doing . . . maybe talk to Lucy . . . and if the doctor just happened to be there, well, she couldn't be rude and ignore him, could she? She smiled a little, recalling green-gold eyes and strong, lean hands.

"I'll bet you're not thinking of the blacksmith," Tessa said with a cheeky grin. Marta pointed the laundry pole at her ward.

"Never mind who I'm thinking of, stop pestering me and finish your chores!"

Tessa gave her a smart salute. "Yes ma'am!" She turned to go and Marta couldn't resist landing a light swat across the girl's rump.

"Ouch!" Glowering, her ward rubbed her backside, then scampered out of reach as Marta brandished the pole, chuckling.

"Get busy!"

"All right, all right!"

~~~~~

It was mid-morning by the time Rob finished with his patients.

"Not many today," Lucy commented when he came into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. Rob watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was very pale; in the way she carried herself was a deep sadness that made him want to find Montoya and punch the man insensible.

"The supply ship is in." He sipped at the coffee, savoring the rich taste. "I'm surprised you haven't heard everyone talking about it. It'll be the only topic of conversation for the next week." There was a plate of fresh scones on the table beside the coffeepot; he took one, then another. He could eat them on the ride down to the beach. "Speaking of which, I must go and see if my new instruments arrived. Will you stay with Elio?"

"Of course. Bring back some apples and I'll make you a pie." She smiled at him. "Here, give me those scones. By the time you get to the beach they'll be nothing but crumbs if you don't put them in something."

He handed her the breads and watched as she put them in a clean white cloth, tying the ends together. "I'd rather you rested today. You were out late last night?" In truth he knew her bed hadn't been touched; he'd found her in the sickroom, asleep in the chair beside Elio.

"I was. Please Rob," the pain in her soft words increased his anger at El Colonel another few degrees. "I'll tell you about it later. Lunch will be waiting when you get back." She gave him back the scones, now neatly wrapped in the cloth.

"Only if you promise me you'll get some rest." He set down his cup and headed out of the kitchen, pausing to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "The headaches are worse?"

Lucy hesitated, then nodded.

"Any other symptoms?"

She spoke with reluctance. "My joints ache most of the time. And there have been a few dizzy spells."

"Sore throat? Rash? Intermittent fever?" He tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. The irises were clear, though her lids were red-rimmed with weariness; he suspected she had been crying as well, but said nothing. What purpose would it serve? She had already asked him to leave it be, and he had no wish to cause her further distress.

"No, no and no."

"Hmm." He stepped back, mystified. "I'll see what I can find in my journals later on tonight. Perhaps someone has encountered this kind of thing before."

Lucy said nothing, only turned away and went into the sickroom. Rob watched her for a moment, then headed out the door, the cloth parcel held with care.

~~~~~

Luis sat back with a sigh and regarded his desk with subdued satisfaction. He'd managed to get every scrap of paperwork done. Amazing, considering his powers of concentration were lacking this morning.

His thoughts drifted back to a few hours previous . . .

~~~~~

She lay curled beside him despite the warm night. They had both abandoned clothing some while back, a dangerous thing to do in case they were discovered, but the chance to feel skin against skin was too precious to pass up.

He let his hand drift down over her side, stroking the silky curve of her hip. She stretched a little, laying her cheek to his breast, her slender arm about his waist. Her slight weight was comforting in an odd sort of way. He didn't try to analyze the feeling or push it from him, simply enjoyed it. It was a breach of his usual discipline, but exceptions to the rule were bound to happen now and then.

"Luis."

"Hmm?" He smiled at the sound of her soft voice in the quiet room.

"What are we going to do about Grisham?"

He kissed her temple, tasting the sweat there. "Let him go to the devil."

"I'm serious." She trailed her hand down to his thigh. "He expects me to set you up for some trap he's planned, but he wouldn't give me any real details. All he said was to wait till he sent word, then I'm supposed to get you to Aguo Pequito somehow and he would take care of the rest."

"I'll meet him there with a score of soldiers and arrest him on the spot. Nothing could be easier."

"Luis . . . " She lifted her head a little, the end of her thick braid tickling his chest. "There's something wrong. I can feel it. He's setting us up."

"Of course he is, mi corazon. So we'll outguess him." He smoothed a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her cheek. "Your concern for me is touching."

He had meant the remark to be a joke, but she reached up to take his hand in hers and press his fingers to her cheek. He could feel her trembling.

"I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you," she said. There was real fear in her voice, and he knew a faint astonishment that anyone should care enough to be afraid for his safety. The emotions were becoming too intense, too close to the surface for his liking. He sought refuge in more teasing.

"How like a woman to worry about things that are of no consequence," he chuckled as she tensed.

"You think I'm being foolish?" She was angry, one of her quick flares of temper. She let go of his hand and moved away from him. Luis watched her search for her clothes, his amusement fading.

"Grisham is easily outmaneuvered," he pulled himself up against the pillows, wincing as his ankle protested. "He doesn't have the patience to think things through or wait for results. It will not be difficult to defeat him, whatever he has planned."

Lucy paused in the act of pulling on her jeans.

"You think you know him." Her voice was low and hard. "You don't know a damn thing about him. Not one thing."

"I don't suppose you care to explain that remark," he snapped, annoyed with her for getting up. She hunched her shoulders and stood.

"It's pointless. You won't listen to me anyway." She turned to face him with a blazing frustration he had never seen in her.

"Because I'm a woman I don't know about war, is that what you think? That I don't understand what happens to cannon fodder?" He could barely hear her. "I served in the army two years, trying to patch up men and women shot or blown to pieces, without arms, without legs, without testicles or breasts, without faces. Men and women with fourth degree burns, their lungs destroyed . . . their eyes--" Her throat tightened on a spasm. Luis did not interrupt. She had never talked about her wartime experience before, and now he saw something akin to his own battlefield memories in her haunted eyes.

"It never ended," her words hammered in helpless protest at immutable memories. "For days we'd work on them. They'd pour in like a river, a river of blood, bodies and pieces of bodies, and it wouldn't stop. Some of them would make it, but most . . . It didn't matter what we did, they'd die anyway. Begging for water, for their mothers . . ." She bowed her head, hiding from him in the only way she could. He knew what she was doing--forcing it all back inside, deep down where she didn't have to look at it any more.

"Just remember this," she said after a moment. "Marcus knows how to play the fool. He'll use the few brain cells he's got to outwit you when you least expect it. If the VC taught him anything, it was that much." She tugged her top down over her breasts. "The fact he survived that whole goddamn nightmare is proof."

"I tend to think of it as sheer luck." Luis reached out when Lucy would have moved from the bed and hooked his finger in the waistband of her jeans. "You're running away again."

"Maybe I am." She looked down at him, her ordinary features stern and somehow sad. "There's no getting around it, is there? You'll never have any respect for me."

"Perhaps I might," he retorted. "If you would come to terms with who and what you are here." He allowed his scorn to show. "I find it difficult to respect you when you live with a man who is not your cousin as you claim. Yet you have scruples enough to refuse my offer and inform me at every opportunity that I make you," he paused, "what was that charming sentiment again? Oh yes--I make you feel like a whore."

Lucy stood motionless. When she spoke at last, her words dropped into the stillness like shards of ice.

"I know exactly who and what I am. You don't and never will."

Luis let her go.

"Instruct me then," he kept his tone neutral. She turned away. "Coward!"

The slender back stiffened, but she only picked up her boots and went to the balcony. With the same expertise she had shown earlier she eased herself down the trellis. It was then that Luis realized his clothes were draped over the back of a chair across the room, and he had no way of getting to them.

~~~~~

At least the chamber maid found it amusing. He picked up his pen to finish signing a requisition order even as the door opened to reveal his second in command.

"Good morning, sir." Grisham eyed the neat piles of paper with mock admiration. "You've been busy."

"What of it?" He signed the paper and set it aside. "How goes the training of the new conscripts?"

"As well as can be expected, considering they're idiots."

"Then you should be ideally suited to work with them." He watched the barb go home with satisfaction. "Continue the training, Capitan. If Monterey won't help us defeat the bandits and the Queen, then we must help ourselves."

"I thought you already were." It was just loud enough to be heard. Luis gave him a wintry smile.

"Dismissed, Grisham."

"Yes sir." He turned, then paused. "Um, Colonel, there is one more thing."

"Well, what is it?"

"The supply ship is in."

"Ah." Luis picked up his pen once more. "You will have to meet with the ship's capitan in my place--"

"I've already done that." Grisham grinned at him, his blue eyes bright with amused malice. "There's something I think you ought to know about this shipment, sir--"

"Out with it!" Luis snapped. "What kind of problems have you caused now?"

"Really, Luis! Biting the man's head off when he was the one who came to greet me. Your behavior is as insufferable as ever!"

The light voice was crisp with annoyance. Luis felt a bolt of recognition transfix his heart.

Oh no . . . She's not really here . . . She can't be here . . .

He lifted his gaze, letting it travel the length of a dress made of pale lavender silk, a mantilla of black lace cascading about an oval face of exquisite loveliness. Lustrous black eyes glared at him, the rosebud mouth thinned by a frown.

"The lady says she knows you," It was obvious Grisham was having a hard time keeping his laughter in check. Luis fought a burgeoning consternation.

"Capitan," he found his voice at last, "may I introduce senorita Ana Elena Cenobia Gertrudis de la Vega . . . my betrothed."

~~~~~

"Oh dear . . . "

Lucy looked up from the pile of clean bandages in the basket on her right. Vera Hidalgo stood by the open window, watching with faint distaste as Lucy wound them into neat rolls.

"Must you do that?" she asked, her sweet voice plaintive. "How do you bear it?"

"Good afternoon, senora," Lucy said, and wished the woman elsewhere. It wasn't that she didn't like Vera, but she just wasn't in the mood for a gossip session.

"Have you heard?" Vera gave her a dazzling smile.

"The supply ship is in." Rob was right; no one wanted to talk about anything else.

Vera's cornflower blue eyes opened wide.

"Ah, but more than the supply ship came to Santa Elena this time. An acquaintance of mine told me just this morning that Colonel Montoya's betrothed is here all the way from Madrid!"

Lucy paused, the bandage in her hands half wound. "His . . . betrothed?"

"Yes, isn't it romantic? Such a dreadful journey," Vera shivered. "I was sick for weeks after we arrived. If Gaspar hadn't arranged the best of care for me I probably wouldn't be here talking to you right now."

Lucy continued her work, making sure the edges lined up.

"How long have they been promised to each other? Colonel Montoya and his fiancee, I mean."

"Oh, probably since they were in their cradles. You know how it is, these things are arranged years in advance." Vera smoothed a curl in place. "I hear the Colonel is holding a dinner at the manor tomorrow night so that the Dons and their wives can meet senorita de la Vega. I'm sure you and Doctor Helm will be invited as well."

"I'll be looking after Elio, senora." Lucy smiled a little and kept her eyes on her work. "You'll have to tell me all about it afterwards."

"Oh, but you must come!" Vera put a gloved hand over hers, then withdrew it hastily. "I'm sure you will be expected to attend."

Lucy set the finished bandage into the basket on her left and picked up another linen strip. "Perhaps."

"Well, I'd better be going," Vera's disappointment at Lucy's lack of response was palpable. "I hope you will be there tomorrow evening!"

"Buenas dias, senora." Lucy watched Vera flounce out of sight, not really seeing her at all. She sat in silence, aware of a numbness spreading through her, like anesthetic--a familiar sensation, one she was helpless to stop . . .

"You've heard."

Rob stood in the doorway, watching her. Lucy couldn't meet his gaze.

"Yes." She began winding the bandage, her chapped fingers red against the white fabric. "Senora Ojeda wants to send over a half dozen of the chicks that hatched the other day, but I don't know where we could keep them." She stopped to straighten out a wrinkle, waiting for the lecture she knew was on the tip of Rob's tongue. "Maybe if we gave them to Juanita's mother . . ."

"I think that's a good idea." Rob came into the room and glanced through the doorway at the patient beyond. "How's Elio?"

"He's doing very well." At least there was some genuine good news to impart. "The stump is dry and clean, and he isn't spiking a fever. I'd say he can go home in a few days--" She caught a glimpse of Rob looking away, a grin creasing his lean features.

"What?" she demanded. "What is it?"

"Thank you for sharing your diagnosis, Doctor."

Lucy saw the teasing light in his eyes and couldn't stop a faint upward curve of her lips. Rob whistled softly.

"Well what do you know, she can smile."

"Shut up." She said it under her breath, but he heard it and chuckled.

"Hand me one of those," he said after a moment. Lucy gave him a bandage and he began to wind it with the expertise of long practice. He located a chair and sat down, folding his long legs under the rungs as he concentrated on his task. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"About last night," Lucy said at last. She didn't look up. "I was afraid for him. I let my fear do the talking and we ended up in a fight."

"'Afraid for him'," Rob repeated. He sent her a keen look. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure." Lucy let her hands rest in her lap for a moment. "It's just a sense of something coming... something..." She shook her head, unable to define the nebulous feeling. "Whatever it is, I didn't know how to handle it. So I got mad and we fought, and now his fiancee is here." She couldn't stop a mordant little chuckle.

"Who's cheatin who, who's bein' true, and who don't even care any more," she sang softly. Rob tilted his head.

"Sounds like a song full of wisdom."

Lucy met his knowing gaze. She set aside the bandage and stood up, holding out her hand.

"There's a little dance that goes with it--well, I guess you could call the Boot-scootin Boogie a dance, sort of . . ."

~~~~~

Marta finished tying the reins of the buckboard to the rail and glanced down the street, frowning at the sound of faint laughter coming from the direction of the doctor's quarters.

"Sounds like someone's having fun," Tessa grinned at Marta. "Let's go find out."

"We have supplies to--"

"Maaaarrrrrtaaaaa!"

Marta sighed and started down the street.

The sight that met their eyes was truly astonishing. Robert and Lucy stood side by side, arms linked as they attempted to perform what appeared to be an intricate dance step, looking down at their feet and giggling like two children. Juanita hovered in the doorway, her thin face bright with laughter as she watched. Rob looked up as the two women peered in through the open window. He gave them one of his rare brilliant smiles, teeth flashing white in his tanned face, hazel eyes twinkling. Marta felt her heart stop and then rush on, bringing color to her cheeks . . . and it was then she saw the figure behind the dancers, insubstantial but still there somehow. Strong, blunt hands rested on Lucy's and Rob's shoulders; his dark gaze met Marta's, direct and full of humor. He nodded, and the light from the window glimmered in the eyes of the badgerskin draped over his arm.

As quickly as he had appeared he was gone, but warm laughter and healing energies filled the small room to overflowing, and she knew he was still present. It was an oddly comforting knowledge.

Tessa looked both ways, then hiked her skirts and clambered over the windowsill.

"Tessa!" Marta hissed, but the girl was already arm in arm with Lucy, watching as she was shown how to execute the steps.

Everywhere you look,
you can write a book
on the trouble with a woman and a man;
but you cannot impose,
you can't stick your nose
into somethin' that you don't understand.
Still you wonder: who's cheatin' who,
and who's bein' true?
And who don't even care any more?
It makes you wonder who's doin' right
with someone tonight--
whose car is parked next door . . .

~~~~~

"You really ought to get yourself a decent cook, Luis. You can certainly afford one, and yet you insist on serving this swill at your table. It's ridiculous!"

Luis took a large swallow of wine, not tasting it. "I can hardly fire my own aunt."

"She should be at home in Spain, supervising your cousins." Ana pushed her plate away and threw her napkin down beside it, her lovely face petulant. "No one to meet me at the ship and now a dreadful dinner as well. What's next? A bed in the stables?"

"Had I known you were coming I would have made the proper arrangements," Luis said through gritted teeth. "You'll be staying at the hotel."

Ana sniffed. "I sent you a letter."

"Letters take months to arrive," he pointed out.

"That isn't my concern!" She glared at him. "Perhaps it's a good thing I did come, Luis. You look positively seedy. If I didn't know better I would swear those are the uniforms you left with years ago."

Luis returned her stare, keeping his temper with an effort.

"My dear, as you will find out quickly enough, this is not Madrid. Niceties are of less importance here than at Court."

"Well then some things haven't changed." Ana took a sip of wine and made a face. "Including your taste. You always did have dreadful ideas. I can see you need a woman's influence."

Luis finished the wine and held out the glass for more, watching the steward fill it. "I suppose I ought to thank you for your concern."

Ana's mouth tightened with annoyance.

"Don't exert yourself," she snapped. "Are you going to have someone escort me to my rooms, or do I have to find them alone?"

Luis glanced at Alfonsa, Ana's much put-upon lady's maid. "You are hardly alone--but," he raised his hand to forestall the protest he saw forming, "my second in command will take you safely to the hotel." He gestured. The guard at the door nodded and slipped out into the hallway, headed off to find Grisham.

"How inconvenient." Ana rose, sweeping her skirts behind her with a graceful gesture, well practiced. "I could almost wager you injured your ankle on purpose, Luis."

"Don't be ridiculous." He glanced at the opposite end of the table and remembered candlelight illuminating a plain face filled with quiet strength. "It's getting late and you've had a long day, my dear. We can discuss matters further tomorrow morning, if you would meet me for breakfast in the rose courtyard?"

Ana inclined her head. "Of course. And make sure Beatriz serves something edible. I will have to engage a cook worthy of your standing after we are wed."

"Good night," Luis took the proffered hand in his and brought it to his lips. Ana tugged her hand free and flounced out of the room, Alfonsa following her like an afterthought. Luis waited until the door shut behind them, then leaned back in his chair and sighed, relaxing for the first time that evening.

"You may go," he told the steward. "Tell Aunt Bea the dinner was excellent."

"Yes sir." The man made good his escape. Luis knew how he felt and commiserated. He lifted his wineglass and saluted the now-empty room.

"Whatever I did to deserve this, if I find out what it was, I vow never to do it again."

NOTE: The poem used is one of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnets. An anachronism for Luis--but not for Lucy. ;)

~~~~~

"I don't know about this, Rob."

Robert glanced at Lucy as she walked along with him. In the ruddy light from the torches lining the manor's walls she looked far younger than her years; only on close examination were the fine lines at the corners of her eyes visible.

"What is it? Are you worried about Elio? Juanita will take good care of him."

"I know that." She didn't look at him. "I mean--this. The party." She took a deep breath. "Maybe it isn't a good idea--my showing up."

"Why?" Rob asked as they passed a knot of giggling girls. "Are you afraid there will be a scene of some kind?"

"Yes." Lucy's arm was tense under his touch. "I don't want to embarrass this woman, or you."

"That would be rather difficult, since I'm not engaged to El Colonel."

"You know what I mean." Her gaze met his, and he was saddened by the bleakness he saw there. "I could turn around right now and no one would be the wiser--"

"Ah, the good Doctor and his cousin! I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Too late," Rob murmured. "Colonel Montoya," he said aloud, his voice polite and unrevealing. "How's the sprain?"

"Improving, Doctor, improving. Senora," Montoya leaned on an elegant silver-headed cane as he reached out to take Lucy's hand. She offered it with obvious reluctance; Rob felt her tremble, and fought down a surge of anger. "A lovely evening, enhanced by your presence."

"Thank you, Colonel." Her voice was quiet, almost inaudible. "You're too kind." She hesitated. "I'm glad to hear your injury is healing."

"The senora is as compassionate as she is charming." He bowed and lifted her hand to his lips. Lucy breathed an almost soundless little sigh, and her trembling increased. Rob was furious with what he perceived as provocation on Montoya's part.

"Where is your fiancee, Colonel?" he asked. The question was innocuous, but with an edge sharp enough to cut. Too late he thought of Lucy. She stiffened and withdrew her hand from Montoya's clasp. The Colonel sent Rob a quelling look; still there was something else to it--a nervousness he wouldn't have thought possible in the man.

"We are receiving our guests in the courtyard. Please join us." The remark was addressed to both of them, but the grey gaze held Lucy's with what could only be called regret. He turned then and made slow progress back into the party. It was obvious he was still in some discomfort, and that Lucy was concerned despite herself.

"I'm--" Rob paused. To apologize would only cause her more hurt. "We don't have to stay," he said at last.

"Rob," she patted his arm, "It's all right."

"You look very nice." And she did indeed look delightful; the sage green dress had been carefully cleaned and paired with a shawl of darker green, embroidered with delicate pastel flowers of every color. She wore her hair in a simple knot low on her neck, and no jewelry except for a pair of small gold earrings.

"Flattery, idle flattery." She smiled a little, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You look nice too. Marta will approve."

"And that reminds me," he tried to pin a stern look on his face. "What was all that business about this afternoon?"

"What business?" Lucy stopped to smell a rose. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean flinging Marta and me together for luncheon the way you and senorita Alvarado did!"

"Good grief Rob, can't you bring yourself to call her Tessa yet?" Lucy moved forward, touching another perfect bloom. "And we didn't fling you together. What a thing to say!"

"It's the truth." He nodded greeting at a passing Don and Dona. "I'm a grown man, I can take care of my own affairs."

"That's a very interesting word to--" She stopped. Rob felt her hand clench on his arm in a single hard spasm. He lifted his gaze to the courtyard before them blazing with light from torches set along the walls, as well as dozens of fine tapers set in gleaming candelabras on serving tables laden with food and drink. At the opposite end of the courtyard was Montoya. Standing next to him was a young woman, her beauty enhanced by the richness of her mantilla and the dark blue silk dress she wore.

Dark blue silk . . .

"Oh my god!" Rob couldn't believe what he saw. "That's your dress, isn't it? The one he gave you?"

Lucy did not answer. She was looking across the courtyard--not at the Colonel's fiancee, but at Montoya himself. They stared at each other across the distance, ignoring the noise and the music--and then Lucy's chin lifted. She moved forward, forcing Rob to keep pace.

"I'll kill him," he muttered, outraged on her behalf. "This time he's gone too far--"

"You will be polite or I'll blister your arse." She meant it--the words were soft enough for him alone to hear, and ice-cold.

"Yes mum," he replied with all the sarcasm he could muster.

They joined the reception line and moved toward the couple standing at the center of attention. Rob studied the senorita as she greeted the guests. The woman was indeed lovely; large brown eyes, lustrous dark hair arranged about a flawless oval face, small hands with slender fingers that had never seen a day's work. Her skin was like cream and just as pale . . . and yet there was a haughtiness, an arrogance that crept into the pleasing features and made them disagreeable. Perhaps it was the subtle contempt with which she greeted each couple, as if the Dons and their wives were no better than peasants--or maybe it was the discontented droop of her mouth.

"And this," he heard Montoya say, " is our town doctor, Robert Helm. Doctor, my betrothed, senorita de la Vega."

They were next up in the line. He came forward and felt Lucy's warning pinch.

"Senorita," he bowed, "it is my pleasure to meet you."

"Doctor." She invested the word with a faint air of puzzlement, as if she could not understand why he was there. Rob gritted his teeth.

"May I introduce my cousin, Lucy Sparhawk."

"My lady," with perfect manners Lucy curtsied--not too much, just enough to be considered polite. "Welcome to Santa Elena." She smiled, and somehow it was genuine. Rob wondered if either of the people in front of him would ever know how much it cost her to be sincere. "And may I say that color suits you very well, Senorita."

"Thank you." The answering smile held something of a sneer. "I don't suppose you've ever worn silk, senora." At her side Montoya stirred, but his features remained impassive.

"Once, my lady." Lucy's smile did not falter. "It was a rare privilege for someone of my standing. I shall never forget it."

Rob had had enough. He fixed a cold stare on the Colonel and the creature next to him.

"I promised to introduce my cousin to several of the Dons. If you will excuse us," and he led Lucy away. She leaned on him for a moment, her eyes closed in a pale face.

"Are you all right?"

She let go of his arm. "I'm livid. Let's go meet and greet."

"She's a nasty piece of work," they moved around the courtyard with several other couples. "Montoya deserves her."

Lucy said nothing, only matched her steps to his. It took Rob a moment to realize she didn't agree with him.

"After everything he's done to you, you can't defend him," he protested.

"Did I say anything?"

"You don't have to."

"Oh, so you're psychic now too."

"Beg pardon?"

"Never mind." Lucy bit her lip. "Rob, please. I'm having a hard enough time maintaining social graces as it is. Nagging me isn't helping."

"We can leave," he offered. She shook her head.

"That would be running away. I've been accused of that too often in the last few days."

"But how can you bear to have that wretched excuse for a woman standing where you ought to be?" he burst out, earning them a few curious glances from several of the other couples.

"Keep your voice down!" Lucy glared at him, her cheeks pink. Rob swallowed his retort with an effort. Humiliating her further would be cruel.

They walked in silence for a few moments, offering the musicians polite applause when the ballad they played ended. Rob noticed Lucy was careful not to look in the direction of the Colonel and his lady, though she smiled and chatted with several of the Donas who condescended to speak with her. Vera seemed the least reticent; she appeared to have a real liking for Lucy.

Luis watched as the doctor and Lucy moved about the courtyard. He hadn't been flattering her when he'd said she looked lovely; the green dress suited her, changed her dark eyes to a brilliant sea-blue and complemented her golden brown hair.

"Luis, you're not paying attention to me. You might at least make the effort."

Ana's hand was heavy on his arm, her fingers clutching at his sleeve. Luis was tempted to move away, but he stood his ground. "What is it?"

"If you could pry your gaze from the women for a moment--"

"You have my attention now," he said with exaggerated courtesy. "What do you require of me?"

Ana sighed. "I'm perishing of thirst. You could at least get me a glass of what passes for wine here."

"Of course." It was an excellent opportunity for escape, however brief.

"Don't be long!" It was a command, not a request. Luis clenched his teeth on a hot reply and moved down to the table where his steward was handing out glasses of wine. He hoped his instructions on watering it down a bit had been obeyed. This party was costing him a quarter of his acrefully acquired cellar.

"Evening, sir."

Grisham stood next to him, resplendent in an immaculate dress uniform.

"Capitan." Luis accepted the glass of rioja and took another for himself. "Attempting to impress the ladies? Or one in particular at any rate?"

"Just upholding the image," he fell into step with Luis. "Something you asked me to do, if you remember."

"Yes, yes. Tell me, Capitan," they maneuvered around the table's edge,"do you think your men are ready to escort the second shipment of tax money to Monterey?"

It was not really a serious inquiry, more in the line of a rhetorical question, but Luis felt the other man's interest sharpen and hid a smirk.

"Of course, sir." Grisham looked at him, all innocence and stolid duty. "Say the word."

"Not here," Luis was enjoying himself. "See me tomorrow in my office. In the meantime," he glanced at a group of young ladies, "there are other diversions waiting."

"Yes sir!" Grisham grinned at him and sauntered off. Luis started to move away toward the other end of the room and paused.

Lucy was standing some distance from him. She was talking with the Alvarado girl and her servant, Marta. The conversation was quite animated; the three of them looked like nothing so much as his roses nodding in the soft evening breeze, delicate and delightful. The doctor stood on the other side of Lucy, his angular features expressing self-consciousness but also an expectancy all the more powerful for being hidden. Lucy leaned in toward him and gestured, smiling even as Maria Teresa brought an unwilling Marta forward. Helm faced her now; he took her hand and bowed over it, a ridiculous and unnecessary courtesy considering the woman was a gitano and a servant. But he meant it, that much was obvious. What drew Luis' gaze however was Lucy's reaction. She was smiling like a proud mama with social ambitions and a lovely daughter who has attracted a wealthy, aging suitor . . . certainly not the attitude of a jealous lover. Luis turned away, fighting the smile curving his own lips, and moved the length of the courtyard back to where Ana waited with ill-concealed impatience.

"It took you long enough." She tasted the rioja and grimaced. "These California wines will never amount to anything--they're so lacking in character."

"You're welcome," Luis turned away from her a bit and sipped at his own glass. "You've met everyone?"

"Yes, I've endured the attentions of what passes for aristocracy here. Surely they won't be so vulgar as to stay much longer?"

Luis turned back to face Ana, wincing as his ankle twinged.

"My dear Ana Elena, you must realize that manners are an essential requirement of civilisation, especially on the frontier. It would be good of you to demonstrate yours for the resident ignorant savages, so that we may emulate your example."

Ana reddened and took a too-large mouthful of wine. She glared at him.

"You sound as though you've swallowed a dictionary, Luis. I never knew you could surpass your old levels of pomposity."

"You drive me to it with your attitude!" he snapped. "I suggest a bit more honey and a little less vinegar. Otherwise those frown lines will engrave themselves in your features permanently and you will look even older than you are."

Her dark eyes burned with fury but she said nothing, only set her wineglass on the table beside her.

"I believe I shall retire for the evening," she snapped her fan open, preparatory to leaving. Luis took it from her, ignoring her gasp of outrage.

"You will stay until I give you permission to go." He clasped her hand in an iron grip. "Struggle, and you only make yourself look foolish."

"Brute!" she hissed, then drew herself up as the Hidalgos came forward. Luis wondered why on earth Ana had made the long journey from Spain if she found him and his situation so objectionable in the first place.

"Perhaps you would like to find a comfortable chair, senorita," Don Gaspar was suggesting. "These functions can be so fatiguing, and you are only recently arrived after a long and arduous journey . . ."

"You are too kind, Senor," Ana said with a tight smile. Her glance dared Luis to keep her there by force. "I would be glad of the Dona's company."

He let her go then, watching as she walked off with Vera, and turned in time to see Lucy slip out of the courtyard and into the porch under the balcony.

Lucy paused one last time at the gate. She touched a crimson rose, the petal like velvet under her fingertip, and remembered a similar bloom offered to her with a smile and a long look from knowing grey eyes.

My one experience with silk, she thought, and turned away. At least she had to have the bust taken in. She's a 30 double A, I'd bet ten bucks on it.

"Senora Sparhawk."

She heard the low voice and a shiver went through her. When he had kissed her hand earlier she'd wanted nothing so much as to caress his cheek, pull him to her . . . The sadness in his gaze had almost been her undoing.

"You are well?"

She nodded, unable to face him.

"Please reconsider leaving. The evening is very fine, and you will be missed."

She was about to reply when she caught a slight movement in her peripheral vision. Someone was standing in the shadows. She had a glimpse of a white cuff and gilt-edged lace before the spy moved back and out of sight . . . almost.

Grisham. She turned to Luis once more.

"How dare you even speak to me?!" She filled her words with venom. "After how you've treated me, you--you--" She glared at him, heartsick at the way his expression tightened with shock and then anger, his grey eyes dark and stormy. "Grisham was right!" She put as much emphasis on the name as she could, letting her gaze track to the corner where the second in command hid. "Grisham said you would treat me like a streetwalker! I should never have listened to your lies in the first place!" She moved her hand into the folds of her skirt, leaving it half hidden, and pointed to the corner. Luis' dark brows knit together in a faint frown as he stared at her in confusion--and then, to her immense relief, understanding dawned. The corner of his mouth twitched, and the cold gaze warmed with amused comprehension.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he spoke with smooth courtesy. "It was not my intent--"

"I don't care what your intent was!" Lucy drew herself up, biting her lip to keep from laughing aloud. The anger and humiliation she had felt earlier in the evening had dissipated in the face of Luis' sadness, unspoken as it was. Whatever had happened concerning the dress, she knew deep inside he would not willingly plot to hurt her in such a fashion. "We have nothing to say to each other, senor! Good evening!"

She turned and flounced off into the night, pulling her shawl tight across her shoulders as she struggled to keep her composure.

Luis watched her go and shook his head.

Too clever by half, he thought with admiration as she strode toward the doctor's office. Suppressing laughter the entire way, no doubt.

He remembered her laugh--clear and musical, generous, very like the sound his mother's silver wishing bell had made.

"When you ring the bell you ask the saints to grant you a wish, Luis. But you must not ask too often, my son. Greed will gain you nothing in the end."

He stood still, imagining the sweet note trembling in the cool air. Then he turned and went back into the courtyard, where Ana and his guests waited.

Continued in Part Three