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They rode up the rest of the winding hill in silence. Roman didn’t mind. With Shelene safe at his side, he could let his mind wonder to the other important issues at hand. He’d taken the time to speak with Shelene’s aunt Ana-María, Francisco’s sister. There was no mistaking the caution and fear in her gaze when Roman asked an innocent question about Belgrano.
He’d also found Brahim, or Brahim had found him, anxious to provide an accounting of his time and his family’s time at Las Colinas. Roman had no doubt that the estate was run with patriarchal perfection in order to please the matriarch. He promised Brahim that in a few days they would pursue all the farming and estate matters, along with the commodore. Brahim wasn’t betraying or criticizing Shelene’s handling of the estate, but he was wise enough to recognize any authority who could disrupt the smooth running of it. Had Belgrano made any demands that Roman should be aware of? Roman suspected that there was only one man on the entire estate who would never betray Shelene or accept some bride or do anything other than keep his word, and that was Brahim. He’d been at the estate since she was a baby, and his family long, long before that.
At the top of the hill, Roman drew the small carriage to a halt. Joaquin met them and took the horse’s bridle. “Señor Forrester, why did you not tell me you were leaving? I would have traveled with you.”
“I just went down the hill. You’re not to worry.”
“But I must. I am your man now,” Joaquin said.
Roman was appreciative of Joaquin’s dedication, and he was going to make it up to the young man. He walked around the carriage and assisted Shelene. “What is all the chatter about?” Shelene asked.
He turned an ear and heard the boisterous noise coming from the back of the house. “I don’t know. Joaquin, would you bring Señora Forrester’s basket, please.”
“Oh, sí!”
“Is that my father’s voice?” Shelene asked.
“Sí, Señora. The commodore arrived about an hour ago.”
“An hour? I didn’t know he’d left.”
Inside, Roman and Shelene followed the happy sounds through the house. “You’ve been here before,” Roman accused, as she led the way.
“Curiosity is a womanly flaw. I had to know what it looked like. When the workers were gone, I rode up to the house twice. Had I known who the owner actually was, I might have taken a different tact.”
“Burning it down?”
She laughed. “No, of course not.”
There were several people gathered on the portico. Five dressed chickens rotated on the spit. Oliver sat beside Mrs. Spencer, Dewey and Rousseau each had a mug of ale, Joaquin hurried in to help. Yes, Commodore Hightower was there, mug in hand and telling tales of daring-do.
“Father Etienne, what are you doing here?” Shelene asked.
“Oh, my dear Señora Forrester.” He jumped up and took her hands. “I was on my return to Arco de la Frontera, and I was impressed with the need to visit my wounded brothers to see if I could provide assistance or prayers.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“There is a matter I would like to discuss with you,” Father Etienne said. “May I?”
“In a moment, Father. I need to greet some friends.”
Roman stared after Shelene as she walked away, thinking he’d made some small progress. When he turned back, his solicitor Herman Fisk, stood there. “Fisk? Is the whole of Spain descending on my home?”
“I did not know you were alive let alone home. I arrived early this morning for Señora Forrester’s wedding to Señor Navarro. I felt an obligation to you and your son to attend, if not for posterity, at least to confirm to your family what had happened. Of course, I arrived to a cacophony of gossip and hysteria, so I came here expecting you to be in residence.”
“We must have just missed each other. It is good to see you, Fisk. I expect we have much to talk about.”
“Well, we might as well enjoy whatever celebration is going on here.”
“By the smell, I would say the chicken is about ready. Sit, Fisk.” They sat on the portico and were served drinks along with a plate of empanadas. But they sat alone. “You look as tired as I feel. I was planning on leaving for Cadiz this afternoon to see you and make a few arrangements,” Roman said.
“Let me guess. Belgrano?”
“What have you heard about this hellish pardon?”
“I’m sure the same wild stories you’ve heard.”
“A king’s pardon? It is too fantastical to believe. Do you have a way to verify? Is there someone you know close to Ferdinand who could confirm such a preposterous thing? Does Ferdinand have no clue at all the opposition Belgrano arranged to take Ferdinand out of the picture and support that weasel Joseph Napoleon? No one believed the Treaty of Valencay would stand, but Ferdinand can’t be supporting former guerillas just to resist France,” Roman said.
