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“Yes, but, Jess, I’m told they are American Indians—and look at the pretty with the braid. Why, it is so long it is nearly dusting the floor. Deuce take it if that isn’t some kind of animal skin she is wearing.”
Jessie considered the dark lean girl in the unusual costume. “Yes, but why shouldn’t she? Her culture is very different than our own, and she should be proud of it.”
“Aye, but no doubt that scalp hanging from her waistband isn’t real. ‘Tis all done for affectation and show.”
“Yes,” Jessie agreed, and looked around at the bustling crew of rowdy gentlemen. “Everyone seems very much in spirits for this early in the afternoon, don’t you think, Pauly?”
“Aye, been worrying about it. Think perhaps it is time to get you out of here,” he said with some concern.
“But, Pauly,” Jessie started to object, although common sense told her he was very right, and her great-aunt would have both their heads for even being seen near this particular inn.
“No buts, Jessie-girl. I think we had better pike off right now.” He stood and gave her his arm.
She got to her feet and allowed him to lead her outdoors, however, a rough individual with more height and weight than manners or breeding eyed Jessie and declared her ‘a looker’ and took it into his head to halt their progress.
“’Ere now, flash, where would ye be going wit the prime mort?” asked the brawny giant.
Jessie saw Pauly’s eyes widen as they traveled from the tip of the man’s uncovered shock of hair to the man’s worn boots. She also saw her poor Pauly gulp but take a firm stance. He shoved Jessie behind him and faced the giant.
Evidently, the brute took grisly exception to the meaning behind this act, for he was too drunk to think of the consequences of mistreating the quality. He was on his own turf with friends at his back. “Curse ye, lad, is it insult ye be offering me, then?”
Unfortunately, the young viscount did not have the opportunity to use his diplomatic tongue and calm the fellow down, as the giant didn’t wait for an answer but shoved Pauly backwards, whereupon he landed hard on the stone floor just outside the inn’s open doors.
It was inevitable that the greatest part of the inn’s celebrating and assembled company decided this was the time for a great-go. There were some wiser few who took to corners, their fives up to protect themselves, but for the most part, gentlemen, bullies, cits, and youths swung freely, merrily, and in great earnest as they attempted to bludgeon the fellows they had just shared a bumper of ale with.
Pauly was up, and spent a great deal of his time dancing on his feet as he dodged one blow after another from the giant. Luckily, the man was too large to be as agile as he was powerful.
“Go outside and call a hack!” Pauly shouted out to Jessie, who was now attempting to stay out of the fray. “You have to get away.”
“Yes, but not without you,” she called back, and moved towards the curbing.
~ Thirteen ~
RODRIGO CLIMBED INTO HIS STYLISH curricle and closed the door. He leaned out of his window and threw Simon Bolivar’s wife a long kiss, and laughed to see his friend clench a fist at him. He motioned to his driver to move on, and sat back against his leather squabs with a sigh. The meeting with the prime minister had gone nicely. Soon, he would be able to return home.
This should have brought a sense of pleasure, but instead, the thought produced a frown. Home, his ranch, San Jacinto, his gauchos and peons, his stout and garrulous Maria, who ran the household for him, and his father were there waiting his return. Thoughts of them should have had him smiling. His father, crippled from his last stroke, was content to sit back and allow his cousin to manage the ranch for him in Rodrigo’s absence. Rodrigo didn’t mind. His cousin was hardworking and honest.
The youthful image of his father’s English wife, his mother, deepened his darkling frown and drove him further into the past. His father had said he had loved her deeply and that she was a gentle creature, but their marriage had been forced on her. His memory of her was of a loving mother, and he had adored her. Rodrigo realized when he was only twelve she was unhappy. He saw that although she displayed a quiet façade, she was restless. There had been things about her Rodrigo had never understood back then, and then Facón had arrived on the scene. He was a gaucho as wild and dangerous as the sound of his name. Indeed, he had been a knife that eventually cut out his father’s pure heart and buried it. It had been Facón who had stolen Rodrigo’s mother away. He still felt a sure bitterness when he thought of it. She had left not only his father, but him, her son, who she had always professed to love. She had done so without a backwards glance. She had gone, left him for a gaucho, and one that was half-Spanish, half-Indian, without any prospects.
A year after her flight, she had died in the mountains. The fever had taken her, and Facón turned into a drunk and was killed within months of her death. It was so long ago.
Jessie was nothing like his mother. Jessie spoke her mind. She was spirited and made no secret of it. She was innocent and honest. She was...not for him. In truth, he believed she deserved better. Rodrigo considered himself damaged.
And then, there she was, standing by the curbing, looking furious and just a bit confused all in one, and it was no wonder. At her back was the young viscount, fists up, ducking and dodging and shouting for her to go while a brute of a man swung hard and fast at the dancing Pauly.
The brute finally landed a punch, but Pauly picked up a board and managed to do some damage. A group of young men were throwing punches at one another, and Jessie looked as though she were about to run to Pauly’s defense.
Rodrigo cursed out loud and called his driver to a full stop. In a flash, he was outside his carriage, taking Jessie’s hand and pulling her away from the scene.
“Stop! I...we must help Pauly!” she cried, much distressed.
Rodrigo held his temper as he looked back at Pauly slamming the wooden board into the mountain’s knees. “Pauly will be fine, but I have to get you away from this scene...can’t you hear the beadles’ whistles?”
“But that dreadful scoundrel is so big...” Jessie still attempted to stay him. “Don’t you think you could go land him a facer and save Pauly?”
Rodrigo laughed. “Take a quick look. Pauly is doing himself proud. That brute will go down for the count before long, but, Jessie...sweetheart, I must get you away.” He opened the door of the hackney and pushed her up onto the steps and attempted to see her safely inside.
“I just can’t leave him...’tis cowardly,” Jessie objected.
