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Before Roman could join them at the table, there was a commotion outside, and Joaquin burst through the door, followed by Dewey and Rousseau. Dewey was still tucking his shirt into his trousers.
“You’re a damned sight for these old eyes, León,” Dewey said. They called him Lion now and again, a term of affection more than anything.
“We didn’t believe it for a minute. Not when the words were coming from the mouth of that worm Belgrano,” Rousseau added.
“Waving a piece of paper and a-claimin’ it was a pardon from the king. I knows a lie when I hears one,” Dewey said.
“Sit. Eat with us. There’s plenty for all,” Roman said. He introduced everyone and they sat down at the table.
“Begad! You found your brother!” Dewey said.
“And Commodore Hightower. Which brings me back to you two. Why aren’t you with Shelene, since you knew Belgrano was back in Spain?” Roman asked. He wanted to be angry and a bit stern about it, but he was too relieved knowing everyone on this side of the Atlantic was at the very least, well and happy.
Roman’s reappearance was the rock in the well, disturbing the waters in untold ways. Tomorrow, he would find out how much he’d disrupted life at Las Colinas. He would have time to celebrate his son and reunite with Shelene, but like before, he had to address the danger Belgrano presented to anyone who threatened his existence.
Of course, he could just kill the monster. A kingly pardon was a big issue, though. An English spy, a former English spy, could not easily kill a Spanish citizen without consequences for him or the English crown. Let alone how it would affect Shelene and her aunt. Commodore Hightower would spit on the body as he walked by. They’d had opportunities aplenty to discuss the man during their travel home.
Someone poured wine. Mrs. Spencer sliced the hearty loaf, then poured some olive oil onto a few plates for dipping. There were cheeses and warm empanadas. A large crock of gazpacho sat in the middle of the table, and one of the house servants ladled that into bowls for each of them.
“Your wife’s no fool, sir. Knowing what she knew and knowing why we’s here in the first place, she sent us away. Not that we or your missus were afraid of Belgrano. She thought it best he didn’t know we were your men,” Dewey added. “Rousseau, the clever bastard, says the estate next door is looking for laborers, so we came here, but were close enough to still keep an eye on things.”
Rousseau laughed. “Belgrano was never the wiser.” He couldn’t fault their decisions. Belgrano’s arrival must have put everyone in an uncertain state.
“Then word comes you be dead. And blamed if we weren’t flummoxed about what to do when Mrs. Forrester wants to marry that other bloke,” Dewey said.
“We talked about killing them both. Belgrano and that Navarro fellow. Not your wife.”
Oliver choked. When everyone glanced in his direction, his face was buried in a napkin. Roman thought Oliver was laughing. Roman picked up the bottle of wine and poured another round for everyone.
“Considering the circumstances, I don’t think you could have done better. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Roman lifted his glass in a toast. Tomorrow would be soon enough to lift the new burdens and worries to his shoulders. “Thank you, friends, for doing your part.”
“And to you, brother. To a new life,” Oliver said.
* * * * *
The walk from his home back to Las Colinas took about thirty minutes. Roman didn’t hurry. The sky was dark with no hint of the sun peeking over the horizon, only the stars lighted the way since the moon had also set. He wasn’t in the mood to hitch up the horse and carriage. An early morning walk would clear his mind.
Sleep had been impossible, though his room and his untouched bed were both large and comfortable. Several times he told himself he wasn’t worried but knowing Shelene was sleeping under the same roof as her crazed uncle did not give him any peace.
Worse, his son might be a tempting target for Belgrano if he had a mind to hurt Roman. He was certain Belgrano would not hurt Shelene as long as she cooperated with him. Force and fear were his primary weapons. Oh, and murder.
Too many ifs. Too many pieces on the wrong side of the board.
He arrived at the large house, the festivities completed, the candles doused. Roman slipped into the foyer through the unlocked front door. He removed his dirty boots and well-worn dusty jacket. The neckcloth he wore was loose, casual and a little damp. Nothing like the exquisite garb he tended to wear while in London.
His son wouldn’t care what he wore.
Roman crept up the staircase and walked along the interior balcony, assuming his son slept near his mother. The fountain still tinkled and there was a single candle on a table at one end of the atrium, which added a soulful ambience to the large, open area.
He walked to Shelene’s door and then on to the next one, opening it slightly and listening. There was movement in the room and the sound of a cooing baby.My son!Our son! He’d always believed he and Shelene would have children. Many of them, he’d hoped.
Another candle was lit and he saw the outline of his son’s nanny, rocking the baby. She gasped when she saw Roman. The chair stopped moving.
He held out his hand, in a calming gesture and spoke quietly in Spanish, much improved over the past several months. “I am Señor Forrester. I am here to see my son.”
“Señor, I should get Señora Forrester.”
“That’s not necessary. She needs her sleep.”
