The Wildest Heart

The major’s lady, when she took me to her room to freshen up before we resumed our journey, was less discreet. I thought I saw pity mixed with curiosity in her eyes as she watched me combing my hair.

“Will you be going to live back East now? I wish I had never come out here. It’s so lonely, and one always lives in fear. I miss the changing of seasons in the Midwest, and even the snow. We came here from Kansas, and it was very different there.” Her voice turned wistful. “I suppose you must miss London, with all its gaiety. I have always longed to travel, and Burton says we will one day—but on a major’s pay…”

I could almost feel sorry for the poor, discontented woman, and her husband who must risk his life for meager pay and very little glory.

“London is no gayer than any other city,” I answered her casually. “It all depends on what one enjoys doing. I have always liked the outdoors and the sunshine. I was brought up in India, which is not very different from this part of the world. No, I think I will continue to live in New Mexico. It offers a challenge and adventure, which is sadly lacking in the so-called civilized parts of this country.”

I met her shocked eyes in the mirror and smiled. Why did I suddenly feel so defiant? Was it only because everyone expected me to be shamefaced and reticent?

I was in a strange mood, and it kept me silent and uncommunicative for the rest of our journey that day, straining even Mark’s understanding.

He was upset when I insisted upon going directly to my own house, instead of to the palacio where Todd waited for me.

“But Rowena, why? Surely you realize that the sooner you face him—you do not want him to think that you…”

“Are guilty? Is that what you meant to say, Mark?” I saw his hurt, puzzled expression and moved my hand impatiently. “I’m sorry. But I’m tired, and in no mood for either quarrels or defending myself this evening. Since Todd was content to wait until I was brought to him, he can wait a few hours longer, until I am ready to receive him. You can tell him I said so.” I looked straight into Mark’s eyes as I added, “I have nothing to apologize for. And if you are afraid for me, then don’t be. Your uncle will find it no easier to browbeat me now than he did in the past.”

I was being unreasonable, and I knew it. Todd would be angry, and vent his fury on Mark. But I had spoken the truth when I said I was tired, and Mark, after a long and searching look that seemed to take in more than I wanted him to, said nothing more to dissuade me from my purpose.

And so, at last, I returned to my inheritance. Home—the house standing square and strong against the backdrop of sky and mountains. This was mine, I had come back home.

With his usual tact, Mark stayed only long enough to make sure that I would be taken care of.

I remember that

both Marta and Jules had tears in their eyes. It felt strange to be called patrona again, to see Marta crossing herself, muttering happily under her breath as she followed me from room to room, pointing out that nothing had been changed, everything was exactly as the patrona had left it.

“And we knew you would be back safe and unharmed, ma’am,” Jules said in an unusual burst of volubility. “I told Marta—as soon as they find out she’s Mr. Guy’s daughter, they wouldn’t harm a hair of her head.”

I loved them both. As soon as Mark had left, refusing a glass of wine, I walked around the house, finding that everything was, indeed, unchanged. Here was my father’s study, with the window open before his desk, and the locked drawer that still held his journals. And now, I thought, I would read them all. No more procrastination and lazing in the sun.

To take my mind off what lay ahead of me, I wandered back into the living room, finding the unfinished chess game that I had started with Mark so long ago, the ebony and ivory pieces in the same positions that they had been before.

The night, like other nights I remembered, had already started to fold down upon us with smoky wings, and I watched for a moment as Jules lit the lamps, whistling under his breath.

“I have made your bed every single day,” Marta whispered to me. “The linens are fresh and aired.”

Here, too, it seemed as if I had only left the day before. My bed made, with the covers turned back in readiness. My gowns hanging in neat rows in the carved armoire. Was it possible that I had really been away? That so much had happened to change me? Involuntarily I glanced upward, and found the trapdoor leading to the roof still bolted firmly shut.

Oh, God! Why must I remember that? I told myself later that I must have grown irrational from sheer weariness, but I heard myself call to Jules.

He looked puzzled when I told him what I wanted.

“Take the bolts off that trapdoor, ma’am? But…”

Marta, coming in close behind him, said softly, “Would you argue with the patrona? This is her house, to do with as she pleases.”

And I pretended not to notice the long look that they exchanged; Marta frowning fiercely, and Jules’s puzzlement smoothing out into a deliberately blank expression before he turned his face back to me. How much had they heard; how much did they suspect? And did it matter? There would be time to find out later—for the moment all I needed was a hot bath to take the travel-weariness from my body; a bowl of soup, and the haven of my own bed. I would think no further than that tonight.

I slept deeply and dreamlessly, until the heat of the sun outside and the sound of voices raised in argument forced me back to wakefulness.

Marta usually knocked softly before she entered my bedroom, but now she burst in precipitately, and had barely time to wail: “El patron—he is here, and insists…” when he filled the doorway behind her, pushing her roughly out of the way.

Todd Shannon. As big, blond, and invincible-looking as always, his bushy brows drawn together in an ominous frown. “An’ what in hell was the meaning of that message you sent me? By God, woman, I ain’t surprised that you’d want to hide yourself from me, but I see you’ve lost none of your high an’ mighty ways either! Well, let me tell you something…”

I sat up angrily, wishing I did not need to rub the sleep from my eyes, and realized, belatedly, that I had been too tired last night to put on the prettily embroidered nightgown Marta had left out for me.

I saw his blue-green eyes narrow dangerously as I said pointedly: “I see that you have not changed at all! And surely whatever it was you came to tell me could have waited until I was dressed and ready to receive you?”