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Lucas gave a smothered snort of laughter that made me throw my head back angrily. He had no right to place me in such an embarrassing position, and poor Julio as well.
But surprisingly Julio seemed equal to the occasion. “Not yet, mamacita, but it is not improbable that I may think about it soon.”
Lucas stopped smiling and started to frown. I saw his eyes narrow at Julio.
I stepped forward boldly and stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at this beautiful, proud-looking woman, who looked as young as I, and carried herself like a duchess.
“Since your sons have neglected to perform the common civilities, I suppose I must introduce myself,” I said, keeping my voice even. “My name is Rowena Dangerfield. You knew my father.”
If my rather blunt announcement had startled her, she hid it well. I noticed only the arching of her dark brows, and then, with a reproachful glance at Lucas, she hurried down to steps to me, both hands extended.
“You are Rowena? Guy’s daughter? But how thoughtless of my sons not to have sent ahead to tell me—they are both barbarians, I am afraid.” She touched my hands, dropped them, and then, taking me by surprise, put one soft hand under my chin, tilting my face slightly to one side.
“Forgive me, but your eyes are so like your father’s! Ah, yes—I should have noticed your eyes, in spite of the Apache ceremonial dress you wear.” She laughed softly. “It was my father’s idea, I suppose. So like him. But it was good of you to indulge him, all the same.”
There was no trace in the woman who stood before me now of the half-wild Apache girl she had been. Except for her slight Spanish accent, Elena Kordes would have fit very well in any London drawing room.
“Your father was very kind to me. And the ceremonial dress of the Apache women is beautiful.”
I heard Julio’s grunt of approval behind me. “My little sister has adapted herself well to our ways. And she is Apache, now that the shaman our grandfather has adopted her as his other daughter.”
I heard Elena’s sharply drawn breath, and saw her turn her head to look at Lucas, who lounged negligently against one of the carved wooden posts that stood on either side of the stone steps.
His voice was noncommittal. “It is true. The shaman and Guy Dangerfield were blood brothers, remember? Seemed to take a liking to her.”
“I’m sorry that I cannot say the same thing with regard to my feelings toward you, Lucas Cord!” I snapped.
“She’s got a nasty temper, and the tongue of a shrew,” he said to his mother over my head. “Still, perhaps Ramon can make something of her!”
I saw the bright glitter of Elena Kordes’s eyes as her look went from one to the other of us.
When Julio, his voice heavy with significance, said suddenly, “You forget, brother, that I am also a Kordes by blood,” it was Elena’s sudden frown that held Lucas silent.
“That’s enough! You will not begin your visit by squabbling like children! Rowena, please… Come with me. You are here, and I am happy. As for my sons, it is sometimes best to ignore them!”
I had had a biting retort on the tip of my tongue when Lucas had spoken. Now I bit it back, and went with Elena. I was here, with the mountains that ringed us reminding me that this valley could be a prison as well as a refuge. For the moment, protest would not only be pointless but foolish as well. “Know thine enemy…”
It seemed as if I was to be given both the time and the opportunity to know mine!
No whit perturbed by my tight-lipped silence. Elena Kordes continued to speak as she led me through the large entrance hall and up the shallow staircase that connected it with a kind of gallery, running along three sides of the room.
“This house is simply built, as you see, but I chose the Spanish style, which is so much better suited to our climate here. You like the idea of a gallery? It makes for coolness in the summer, and for a feeling. I think of—what is the word I seek? Spaciousness, yes, that is it. The bedrooms open off the gallery too.” She moved her hand, and I saw the deep, rich gleam of an enormous pigeon’s-blood ruby, embedded in an antique setting. “That wing is kept for my sons and their guests. On this side Luz and I have our rooms. You’ve heard of Luz?”
I shook my head, wondering why I felt that her expansive, friendly chattering was somehow at variance with the real nature of this woman. Was it only because my mind had already been prejudiced against her? She frowned slightly, pushing open a door that must surely lead into her own bedroom—large, and beautifully furnished, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed.
“They have neglected to tell you anything, I see! Luz is… the daughter of a very old friend. After her father died, Lucas brought her here, and she has lived here ever since. A sweet child, and I am glad of her companionship. When my son is ready to give up his wandering ways… well, I have always hoped they would marry some day. Luz imagines herself in love with him, I think.” Again, I had the strange impression that I was being tested in some way; that Elena watched for my reaction.
I shrugged, moving farther into the room. “If they are to marry, I suppose it would help if she imagined herself in love with him. But if I am to be frank, I can only say I feel sorry for the poor girl. Does she know about Flo Jeffords, and what happened to her?”
I think it was at that moment that the pretense dropped between us. We faced each other fully, her hand on the door of a heavily carved armoire that stood in one comer of the room.
“You don’t like Lucas. That is strange, for most women do. Perhaps you’re only angry because he brought you here. Or is it because you really imagined yourself in love with Todd Shannon?”
It had been said, at last. Todd’s name fell between us like a stone, and although I think she hoped to disconcert me, I was relieved that I could be myself again. “I don’t know if I love Todd Shannon or not. I am engaged to marry him. It seemed the most practical thing to do. Why should love enter into it? I am more practical than sentimental, I’m afraid.”
“And that is why you are here, is it not? Yes, you look like Guy, but you are not like him. Guy had too much sensibility, he felt too much.”
“Perhaps I am more like you,” I said softly. “I can bend, if I have to, but I will not break.”
