“You must stay here, as my guests,” Father Miguel said. “There are plenty of rooms. I wish to know more about the people who are taking Tesoro, and I am sure you have questions for me.” He hopped off the fence and headed for the courtyard. “Come, Senhor Langston. It is time for lunch and siesta. Senhor Perez will send someone to tend to your horses—all of them—and then join us.”
“If you’re sure it won’t be an imposition,” Harriet said. She hopped off the fence, stepped around a pile of droppings, and followed the priest.
“It wasn’t so long ago that an army garrisoned a unit here with more than fifty troops,” Father Miguel said. “Three guests won’t even require us to change how much food to prepare.”
Household staff escorted them to guestrooms. Zach’s room was between hers and Nick’s, Harriet noted with a grin. They took a few moments to freshen up before joining more than a dozen people seated around a long table in an enormous, sunny dining room with a view to a garden terrace and the valley beyond. Introductions were made—a dizzying collection of unfamiliar names in a language with unfamiliar sounds—but the winery managers, top staff like cellar master and public dining room manager, and three other priests were welcoming to the English visitors, especially when Nick greeted them in their own language. Senhor Perez arrived and took the last open seat. He assured them grooms were tending to their four horses.
Platters and bowls of food were already set about the table. Everyone served themselves and passed each dish to the right. Father Miguel had seated Harriet and Nick to either side of himself with Zach directly across the table and endeavored to translate as needed. She heard Portuguese, English, and Spanish, and noted the priest steered the conversation to general topics related to England and the rebuilding of Portugal, which had been ravaged in war by the French and English. She also noticed he avoided using any pronouns or titles for her, introducing her only as the child of Giles Chase, one of the owners of Tesoro.
It did not escape her attention that everyone else seated at the table was male. The only women she saw were the maids in bright red skirts, white blouses, and black aprons who quickly and quietly replenished the food and drink.
Harriet put her attention on enjoying the meal. She was determined to try at least a bite of each, no matter how unfamiliar the appearance. Like fried octopus. The meat was moist and light but she found the suckers off-putting, so she mostly ate the rice and black-eyed beans beneath it. Several dishes were new to her, like bacalhau, the salted cod that was so popular in Portugal. Eel stew was tasty. Strong cheeses were paired with walnuts and dried pears, and there were at least four kinds of olives.
The beer served with the meal was cleared away when the maids brought out port to go with the custard-filled pastries. Harriet dared not take more than a sip or two of each drink. She had become used to grog on the ship, and the beer she could probably handle, but the port was likely to make her silly. In present company, that would just not do.
She’d been so focused on escaping others’ notice that she didn’t realize Nick had hardly said a word since greeting their hosts until Father Miguel accepted a steaming teacup from one of the maids and urged Nick to drink the contents.
“A tisane of my own recipe,” Father Miguel explained. “It will ease your headache, meu senhor.”
Nick accepted the cup, not bothering to deny having a headache. The light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows was making his head pound. He’d tried to ignore the throbbing since regaining consciousness on the side of the road, but it was reaching the point where he was in danger of losing what little lunch he’d managed to choke down. The tisane was spicy and warming, with ginger and other notes he couldn’t identify.
The meal ended and people returned to work or went upstairs to rest. Footmen escorted Nick and his party back up to their rooms, where their saddlebags and Zach’s small portmanteau had been brought. Nick kept his cup, sipping the pungent brew as they walked.
“I’m Jasper, milord,” said the footman who followed Nick into his room. “Father Miguel asked me to check yer bandage and see yer comf’table.” He set his armload of supplies on the dressing table and insisted on helping Nick out of his coat and boots, even though there was a bootjack by the door.
“Ooh, lawdy, that’s a nasty one,” Jasper said after he untied Harriet’s makeshift bandage and got a good look at the gash on Nick’s brow.
Nick grunted. He hadn’t seen it yet and wasn’t eager to do so. It would just make him angry at Marlow all over again. His headache was already sapping enough of his energy.
He sat on the edge of the bed and sipped the tisane while Jasper worked. The servant’s accent seemed familiar but the throbbing in Nick’s head made it difficult to concentrate.
Jasper cleaned the wound with a cloth soaked in gin, talking under his breath as he worked, describing each step. Norton would approve of the gin, Nick thought, wincing at the sting. “New Orleans!” he suddenly blurted.
Jasper smiled, his teeth bright white against his ebony skin. “Yessuh, I’m from Nawlins.”
“My ship’s purser is from New Orleans. Thought the accent was familiar.”
“Hope I can go back someday for a visit. Jambalaya here just ain’t the same.” He wound a clean bandage around Nick’s head and tied it off.
Nick peered into the bottom of his now-empty cup. Miraculously, the pounding in his head was gone. In fact, he felt light, as though gravity was doing a poor job of keeping him from floating off the bed. “Just what did the priest give me?”
“Ooh, lotsa good stuff in that particular tisane. There’s ginger root and lemon, cinnamon, willow bark, chamomile, and valerian.” He silently ran through the list of ingredients again, counting them on his fingers, and nodded. “Should help whatever ails you and make you sleep right tight.”
“I don’t need to sleep,” Nick said, even as he felt himself slowly falling backward on the bed. “I feel fi—”
* * *
Nick opened his eyes and sat up. The blanket covering him fell to his waist. He didn’t remember falling asleep, Jasper lifting his legs onto the bed, or covering him up. He had a wispy memory of a gentle touch to his forehead and cheek, but it was tied to the scent of lemon and leather. Had Harriet come to check on him? It was his job to check on her.
Shadows indicated almost three hours had passed, but it was still light out. His boots were beside the door, freshly polished. His coat, hat, greatcoat, and change of linen had been hung in the clothespress. He felt barely a hint of headache, and not the least hungover from the potent brew.
He made himself presentable, approved the rakish tilt of the bandage Jasper had applied, and went in search of Harriet and Zach.
He found them at the pasture. As he approached, Harriet brought Tesoro to a halt in the center, jumped down and handed the reins to Zach, who then swung up into the saddle and began putting the horse through more training maneuvers. Harriet climbed to sit on the top rail of the fence next to Senhor Perez. She was so intent on watching Zach, she didn’t even notice Nick’s approach until he climbed the fence to sit beside her. He was feeling a tad grumpy that she had been smiling as she chatted with Zach. Then she turned that smile on him, and it was like the sun coming out after a rainstorm. He felt his breath hitch.
Odd.
She stretched a hand toward him but dropped it to keep her balance on the fence rail. “How is your head? We stopped to check on you before we came downstairs.”
