A glittering curtain of rain covered the dark cave mouth. Above the roar of the rain, a tumbling cascade of water rushed down the mountainside and funnelled onto the plain, creating swollen, muddy streams. Now and then, sheet lightning illumined the darkness outside, making strange silhouettes of the trees and hills. Chico pranced restlessly with each rumble of thunder though the Queen tried to quiet him. Sighing impatiently, she thought, We've needed rain for weeks, but why tonight? Irritably, she stroked her anxious horse's sweating neck. He responded to her touch with a shiver and a loud heave through his nostrils as he shifted from foot to foot. Tessa smiled and settled herself more comfortably on the saddle. Nothing to do but wait it out.

Thunder crashed just as a flash of lightning dazzled her eyes. Her mount bellowed mournfully, becoming more fractious. Maybe I should move further back,Tessa thought, though the idea of leaving the cave entrance was scary to say the least. Behind her, it was utter blackness. Tessa shuddered, suddenly aware of how easily her imagination could get the best of her, thinking there could be something else in the cave - like a bear. Though she tried to shake it off, she could not rid herself of the feeling that Chico was nervous of more than the thunder. Maybe there was something or someone else in the cave.

She straightened her shoulders, shivering with the chill that ran up her spine. With each flash of lightning, she looked back quickly into the cave interior, searching for any sign of movement. I'm scaring myself with fantasies, she chided herself, taking hold of the reins more firmly. If anything comes after me, all I have to do is urge Chico out of the cave and we're free. She shrugged, trying to ease the tension from her neck and stared intently at the rain. If it would only let up for a while, I could get out of here and go home. Marta warned me not to go out tonight. I should have listened to her. She always seems to know about the weather.

Tessa patted the bundle of papers securely fastened inside her saddlebag. It had been a daring escapade to retrieve young Señor Simon Borges' deeds and tax documents, but she had rummaged in Montoya's office until she discovered the papers. Now the young man had proof of his ownership to the property he had come from Spain to claim. Montoya had declared that Borge's grandfather had taken illegal possession of the land and was really just a squatter. When the old man died, Montoya, in thename of the Crown, had seized the property and had been renting it out ever since. Probably pocketing the money too, Tessa thought wryly. When the young Borges had arrived to claim his inheritance, his father having died in the war of independence, he found he was landless and friendless in a strange country.

Friendless, until I heard about his problem, Tessa reminded herself with a glow of satisfaction. She had heard about the young man's plight from Dr. Helm to whom he had gone for some headache medication. He had told the doctor the whole story. Dr. Helm was incensed but knew he could not help young Borges. Only the Queen of Swords could. Since they were speaking together on the street where others might overhear, she had left the doctor with, Isn't that a shame, Dr. Helm. Too bad no one can help him, but at least I could offer him the hospitality of my hacienda.

Her offer was relayed to Borges and he had been staying at the hacienda ever since. Tessa had waited until Borges had been settled at her place for nearly two weeks before she began to plan the invasion of Montoya's office. She knew the colonel would be expecting her, so she waited until he might think the Queen would not bother with this particular case.

Tessa glanced around quickly at the cave walls as lightning flashed again. She had to rein Chico in from moving toward the cave mouth to escape. It was still raining too heavily to try for home. The water turned the roads into a thick sticky mud that could easily result in her horse breaking a leg. She was determined to stay put until the storm at least subsided a little.

The roaring rain echoed inside the cave, a maddening clamour that seemed destined to go on forever. What's the matter with me, Tessa wondered. I'm not usually afraid of the dark. Marta is the one with the fear of dark, enclosed places. Maybe it's rubbed off on me somehow. Tessa laughed aloud, the nervous, high sound shocking her into sudden silence. I will not give in to it, she thought with fierce determination. I'm just tired and a bit overexcited, that's all. I had a narrow escape and this is just a reaction.

Indeed, it had been a narrow escape. After she had found the documents, in her haste to get out of the office, she had knocked over a vase of roses. The resulting crash seemed loud enough to wake the dead. It was certainly enough to wake Montoya, who arrived within seconds with a pistol in his hand. Tessa had made it to the door leading to the balcony when the colonel fired at her. He missed and hit a pane of glass, showering her with tiny shards.

Escaping onto the balcony, she had dropped to the ground, nearly slipping on the rain-soaked earth. She whistled for Chico and he came trotting towards her. The sentry tried to catch the horse's reins, then failing that had shouldered his rifle to aim at her. The horse nudged him just as he pulled the trigger and his shot went wild. Meanwhile, Montoya had stepped onto his balcony and raised the alarm, calling his guards out. Three men seemed to appear from nowhere. The Queen vaulted into her saddle and charged at two of the men standing together, getting ready to fire their muskets. They broke rank as Chico bore down of them, then turned and fired. At that range, they should both have hit her, but the rain caused the spark to die before it hit the flash pan.

Behind her, she could hear Grisham shouting, "Get mounted, you idiots. After her." The hiss of the rain deadened all sounds, but she knew the men would be scrambling for their horses and would be on her trail in a few minutes.

Under the curtain of rain, she had headed for the mountains, knowing that Grisham could not track her. The hoof prints would be washed away almost immediately in this downpour. Arriving at a creek she could usually ford, Tessa had to halt. The stream was swollen and looked dangerous. She would not risk Chico by trying to cross. Instead, she had followed the stream, finally coming to a cliff and eventually finding the cave in which she was now sheltering.

Soaked and shivering, she had been waiting for a break in the storm, it seemed, for hours. I'll be lucky if I don't die of pneumonia. Then Marta can say, "I told you so". Tessa sneezed and then smiled. At least if I catch a cold, there will an excuse to bring Roberto out to the hacienda. She laughed lightly, then sneezed again. Longing thoughts of hot chocolate and warm blankets teased her into considering going out into the torrential rain, but good sense prevailed. She leaned over Chico's withers with a heavy sigh and another sneeze.

Chico began to whinny and strain at the reins, his nervousness heightening. Tessa could see the white rims of his eyes as lightning flashed again. A subtle sound came from somewhere nearby and Tessa reached for her sword. Suddenly, her mount bucked, throwing her back off the saddle. She landed on the hard rocky floor and hit her head. As the lightning illumined the cave, she saw a dark figure hovering over her, then utter blackness.

Act One

Something was digging into her back and her head hurt. She tried to shift to a more comfortable position. Light danced in front of her closed eyelids. Tessa forced her eyes open and was nearly blinded by a small blaze that lit up the entire cave. Its welcome heat reached her though she was several feet from it. Across the flickering firelight she could see a man-like shape. Fully awake now, she thought, I guess I'm not home in bed or this is one hell of a vivid dream!

Focussing on the shape, she could see it was a man. Sitting as he was, with his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, she could not tell if he was tall or small. Tessa guessed he might be in his thirties though it was hard to judge in the uncertain light. His chin rested upon his knees and his eyes were closed. His light brown hair reached below his shoulders, to the same length as his shaggy beard. A dark jacket, frayed at the shoulders and cuffs, covered his spare frame. The hands clasped in front of his shins, were long and slender, almost effeminate. His trouser hems were a fringe of dark threads. Though old and threadbare, his clothes seemed to be clean.

Tessa moved to ease the discomfort to her back of the hard rock wall against which she was leaning. The sibilant whisper of her silk blouse alerted him and his eyes opened. He stared across the fire at her with his icy blue gaze. Tessa met his eyes with her own unwavering look while waiting for him to speak.

Instead, he merely turned a long stick on which something dark and contorted-looking was spitted over the fire. The aroma of cooking meat made Tessa's mouth water, and she swallowed. He noted her movement with a satisfied smile.

"You want some of this?" he asked. His Spanish was underscored with another accent which Tessa could not define.

"What is it?" Tessa wrinkled her nose slightly.

"If you have to ask, you cannot be very hungry," he replied with a wheezy-sounding chortle.

Suddenly, she recognised the accent. "French!" Tessa snapped. "You are French!" Bitter memories surfaced of hearing that accent. She had heard it in Madrid from arrogant soldiers, strutting around like demi-gods, stealing whatever they wanted and beating or killing anyone who tried to stop them. That accent had followed her with catcalls and lewd suggestions as she and Marta hurried to their carriage. That accent had read out proclamations from their new King, Joseph Bonaparte, who thought it was his destiny to bring enlightenment to benighted Spain.

Tessa struggled to stand, then wavered dizzily while reaching for her rapier. Her sword and main gauche were missing. "Where are my weapons?" she demanded hotly. She leaned against the rock wall for support.

"Sit down, sit down," he replied calmly, a smile breaking through the beard and moustache covering most of his lower face. "You had a bad fall. You should wait until your head is better before you try to kill me with your sword or knife. I'm not going anywhere." He pulled the spitted meat from the fire and began to tear at it delicately with his white teeth. "You are sure you don't want any?" he asked, holding the small dark carcass toward her.

Tessa subsided to the rock floor, her head throbbing and a darkness beginning to edge around her vision. I won't faint again, she resolved to herself. Who knows what that French bastard will do when I'm helpless? In her mind, she heard again the screams and gunshots following the May 2nd rising in Madrid. The French soldiers had unleashed a bloodbath against the populace for their revolt against the occupying army of France. All through that terrible day and night, the volleys continued as rebels and innocent civilians were rounded up and shot by the hundreds. I was only nine at the time, but I remember the terror, the fear they would take Marta. Tessa shivered and looked away.

The Frenchman paused in his eating, staring at her with an unreadable look. "You hate me enough to kill me, don't you, señorita? I can see it in your eyes. Why?"

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head. The movement caused an explosion of pain and she grunted and gripped her temples. "Madrid," she murmured without looking at him.

"Oh, I see," he said quietly. A long silence hung between them, broken only by the snapping of the wood in the fire. Finally, he said in a low voice, "I was never in Madrid but I have heard it is a beautiful city." He stood up and came around the fire to stand in front of her. Looking up, she forced herself not to shrink back, realising he was tall and very strong-looking. "In fact, señorita, I come from Quebec and have never even been to France. Nor have I ever been a soldier."

His gaze never shifted and Tessa was forced to allow that he might be telling the truth. Chagrin made her glance down, avoiding his eyes. "I apologize, señor, for my rudeness."

Until now, she had never realised how intensely and bitterly she had learned to hate the French. Though the war had been over for more than four years, it had scarred her deeply. Young men who had courted her, with whom she had casually flirted at dances and parties, had died or come back mutilated by the war. Whole villages near Madrid had been demolished, churches and castles wantonly destroyed, their treasures stolen and sent back to France. The powerful emotions stirred by those memories made her head throb more painfully.

He squatted in front of her, blocking out the light and warmth of the fire. Taking her hand in his slender fingers, he said softly, "I heard about the war of independence, and the atrocities that were wreaked upon the Spanish. I am glad to say I had no hand in it. Though I am French, I am not proud of Napoleon or the terror he spread through Europe."

"What are you doing in Alta California, so far from your homeland? Why do you live in this cave?"

He withdrew his hand and sat beside her. For several moments, he stared into the fire. "I made a terrible mistake and had to flee. I killed the seigneur of my township. He was trying to molest my sister and I tried to protect her. I was so angry, I just hit him with what I had in my hand. It was a chopping axe and he died right there. My family helped me get away and I boarded a ship in the St. Lawrence."

Standing up again, he moved around the other side of the fire and threw on more wood. Tessa was impressed by a sense of his fluid strength as he moved. His gaze was thoughtful, introspective as he prodded the logs, sending up a shower of sparks. A waft of heat enveloped her and she slid further away from the fire.

"Where was the ship bound for?" Somewhat less afraid of him, Tessa was intensely curious. Though he could not be called handsome, the Frenchman had a warm smile and gracious manner that was appealing. She wanted to know more about him, partly she had to admit, through guilt at misjudging him through her entrenched prejudice.

"The Indies, Haiti, Jamaica, then back to Halifax and up the St. Lawrence again. I jumped ship at Jamaica, then made my way to Panama." The Frenchman walked away from the fire toward another part of the cave and returned with a wineskin. Uncapping it, he expertly squirted a steady stream of red liquid into his mouth. Wiping his beard, he offered the wine to Tessa.

She managed to get most of the wine into her mouth, spilling some onto her neck and blouse. "Marta will wonder what I was doing tonight," she laughed, " when I come home covered in red wine."

"You must let her wonder," he said with a merry wink. "It is not good for your sister to know everything."

"Marta isn't my sister, she's sort of a guardian, or maybe a duenna." Tessa gave up trying to think how to explain Marta to him. "What is your name, señor?"

"How gauche of me," he said with a low bow. "I am Marcel de Beauville. My father owned one of the largest properties in the township. It had timber, ore, cattle, everything." He turned away with a sound of disgust. "Now I have nothing. But," he added brightly, "I have travelled almost all over the world and seen many marvellous things. So, maybe that was my destiny. As the younger son, I could not have inherited much anyway."

He fixed Tessa with a searching look and she knew what question was coming next. She had not long to wait. "Who are you?" he asked, returning to stare down at her. "Why do you go about armed and wearing a mask?"

Tessa was suddenly weary. She had no desire to explain herself to him. She had no wish to even think about why she was doing what she did. All she wanted to do was sleep. The heat from the fire seemed to be draining her energy and involuntarily, her eyes closed.

Someone shook her, making her head throb. She tried to fight him off. "Señorita, you must not sleep yet," a voice called from far away. "You may not waken if you sleep." She felt herself being picked up and set on her feet. Opening her eyes, she saw de Beauville's concerned face near hers, felt his strong thin arms supporting her.

"Please, I'm so tired. Just a little sleep." Her eyes closed again. Suddenly, she was cold and wet. She came awake, spluttering and furious. They were standing outside the cave in the pouring rain. "Are you crazy?!" she snapped, trying to get loose from his grip. "I just got dried and now I'm soaked again."

"But you are very much awake, no?" he laughed. The water dripping from the cave mouth cascaded over her head, drenching her right down to her boots. Her hair lay lankly over her shoulders, plastered like her blouse to her body.

"I have to get back home somehow. Rain or no rain, it will soon be morning. I will be missed if I'm not where I should be."

"The rain is lessening. In a few hours, it should have stopped. Then I will help you get home." He took her arm and led her back inside the cave, and beside the fire again.

Tessa shrugged off his hand and sat down, uncomfortably aware of what a sight she must be. "Are you always so masterful with women, señor de Beauville?" she asked with a diffident smile.

"At times. Why? Do you like it?" He smiled down at her eagerly.

"I can't stand masterful men," Tessa said bluntly. She was pleased to see the smile disappear from his face.

"And I can't stand women who think they are men, dressing like them, wearing weapons and masks," he said with a scornful laugh. "Why don't you tell me who you are, and why you wear this curious outfit?"

"You really don't know who I am?" Tessa asked, a little crestfallen.

"I live in a cave. How would I know what goes on in the towns?"

"Then, I guess it doesn't matter who I am. Call me Maria." Tessa stood up and moved to the fire, turning to dry the back of her blouse and trousers. She could feel the water sloshing around in her boots but was reluctant to take them off in his company. It just seemed too intimate.

A thought struck her and she voiced the thing that was bothering her. "Why are you living in this cave? You must be far enough away from your pursuers to have lost them."

"The seigneur was a powerful man, very high up in the government. His family has sent agents everywhere looking for me. I am sure I have been followed to these shores." De Beauville prodded the fire with a stick, stirring the embers, then adding more wood. "So, until I am sure they have given up, I will hide here." He gestured around the cave. "I have everything I need--food, water, a roof over my head."

"What about company? Don't you get lonely?" As soon as she said it, Tessa regretted the words. He turned with an eager look, his gaze intensifying as it moved over her slowly.

She tensed, and her head throbbed more painfully. Tessa held her ground, almost afraid to take a step back in case he thought it showed fear.

"I have company now," he said genially, a slow smile breaking over his lips. "You must not leave yet...because of your head."

Something began to gnaw at her stomach, some intuition of wrongness. What had made Chico rear like that? He was not that afraid of lightning and thunder and she had him under control. Something had frightened him, something that she did not see, but he sensed or smelled. Had de Beauville tried to grab the horse or rushed at him? She recalled the sound but nothing after that. Now she wondered...if she attempted to leave, would de Beauville try to prevent her?

Tessa casually bent and lifted a blazing brand from the fire and moved toward the back of the cave. Holding it aloft, she used its flame for a light. The interior was not as large as she had thought. As the torch flickered over the walls, she noticed scratches and marks where, it seemed, implements had been used. This is not a natural cave, she thought. It must have been hewn out of the rock by some ancient people. And there was only one exit, the cave mouth. As she stepped carefully over the rough floor, she noted a mound of something near the far wall, covered by a blanket. That must be where he has hidden my weapons, she decided, edging slowly toward the pile.

Continue to Part Two

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