The Bride. Carolyn Davidson
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her clothing, just as he spoke her name. She looked up, sighting him through the branches, and headed to where he waited. “I’m finished,” she said quietly. “Is there any water I can use to wash my face and hands?”
“The stream looks to be clean, or else you can use water from the canteen.” She motioned quickly at the flowing stream before them and he released her hand, allowing her to kneel at its banks. She splashed water over her hands and arms, washed her face and dampened her hair before she rose again.
He led her back to the place where the men had settled down to partake of the food. They’d left a good portion of the blanket empty for her use and she nodded at them as she sat down, arranging her skirt around herself. From his horse, Rafael brought a canteen of water, offering it to her. She drank deeply, the water relatively cool and fresh from this morning’s pumping.
She looked up to find Rafael’s gaze on her, his eyes half-shuttered, his nostrils flaring. Water dripped from her lower lip to her bodice and she lifted a hand to wipe at it, unable to take her eyes from his.
“Let me have it,” he said, taking the canteen from her and lifting it to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face, as if he would imprint upon her the pleasure he found in her taste on the metal container. He stood, hanging it on a branch, then settled beside her, lifting a piece of cheese cut from the wedge they’d purchased. The bread had been sliced by one of the men, the slices ragged and thick, but welcome.
Rafael lifted the towel holding the bread and Isabella took a piece, inhaling the fragrance as she took a bite. “She must have baked this today, probably this morning,” she said. The piece of cheese Rafael had chosen was placed in her hand and he added a length of the sausage before he settled beside her.
“Eat well, Isabella. We’ll not stop again until nightfall.” His eyes scanned her face and he smiled gently. “I hope the food will not overtax your stomach. I want you to hold it down this time.”
With his warning ringing in her ears, she ate the cheese, then wrapped the bread around the sausage and took a bite. From his saddlebag, Rafael had brought forth another bottle of sarsaparilla, and offered it to her, removing the cap first. She drank deeply, then handed it back to him. The other men had already raided their own saddlebags and were enjoying the cool drink, their attention on their food, their eyes carefully focused on all else but the woman who shared their blanket.
Rafael wrapped four cookies from his stash in a bit of the cheesecloth and handed them to Isabella. “You’re in charge of these. We’ll eat them as we ride, a bit later on.”
She tucked them into the front of her dress where they would not be crushed or dropped from the horse, and nodded her agreement.
“Do you want to change into one of your new dresses?” Rafael asked as he pushed himself to his feet. “We can wait until you change, if you like.”
“No. I’d rather wait until I can wash up well. There’s no sense in wearing clean clothing on a dirty body.” It was something that had been drummed into her in the convent, where she had bathed daily, then donned clean clothing every morning. The nuns were clean, their habits healthy, and she had enjoyed what sparse pleasure she gained in the bath she took every evening.
“Your body is far from dirty,” Rafael said, bending to speak in her ear, lest any of the men should hear him.
He was rewarded by a smile from her soft lips and he felt a shaft of pure desire touch him from the top of his head to his toes. The knowledge that he would soon own her as his wife, that her body would be his, gave him a pleasure beyond description and he bent a look of possession upon her.
Her eyes widened and she spoke but a single word, yet it was readily understood. “What?”
That she had caught his look and deciphered it accurately was no surprise to him. Isabella was a woman of intelligence, and it wouldn’t take an inordinate amount of that quality to figure out that he was claiming her as his own, and his eyes were merely registering the fact.
She stood, brushing crumbs from her skirt, and waited for him to mount the black horse he rode. The men folded the blanket and gathered the remains of the food, wrapping it and settling it into a saddlebag, where it would be handy when they stopped again.
Manuel stood beside her, a silent figure of a man, as if he knew his assignment was to watch over her and keep her where she belonged while Rafael made ready for riding. Once her captor had settled himself in the saddle, she was again lifted and placed across his lap, his hands pulling her dress to cover her legs. But the breeze thwarted his intentions, blowing the fabric aside, revealing her calves and ankles. The soft slippers she’d donned upon leaving the convent were wearing fast, their fabric better suited to the hallways and chapel of the convent than the rough country they traveled through.
“We’ll get you some decent shoes as soon as we get to Diamond Ranch,” Rafael said, looking down at the thin covering she wore on her feet. “You’ll have bruises on your feet from walking on stones and harsh ground.”
“I’ve been bruised before,” she said tautly, only too aware of his gaze resting on her feet and legs. His hand reached to smooth the fabric of her dress over her legs and she flinched from his touch.
“Do you fear me?” he asked quietly, as if the gathering of herself as his fingers measured her legs beneath the homespun fabric had bothered him. “Don’t draw away from me, Isabella. I have no intention of hurting you. All you must do is cooperate and do as I say. We’ll live through this long ride, and you’ll have a soft bed to rest in tomorrow night. I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”
“I don’t fear you, Mr. McKenzie. Only what you will do to me when we reach your home.”
He looked puzzled at that, she thought, for his forehead puckered a bit and he looked down at her with a question in his eyes. “What do you think I’ll do to you? Beat you or treat you badly?”
She bit at her lip, not wanting to answer his query, yet unwilling to back down from this encounter. “I fear you taking me to your bed.”
The words lay between them, the color leaving her cheeks as she spoke, his own eyes seeming to become warm and searching as he sought out her face, one hand tilting her chin upward, the easier for him to look into her eyes. “I’ll not hurt you, Isabella. I’ll marry you before I touch you, before I make you my wife. Has no one ever spoken to you of this?”
She laughed bitterly and opened her eyes fully, the better to see his puzzled look as she spoke taunting words. “And who would speak to me? Perhaps Sister Agnes Mary? Or the Mother Superior? Should they have told me what they have experienced of marriage and the taking of a woman’s innocence at the hands of a man?”
“You know nothing of being a wife, do you?” He seemed to be bothered by this, she thought, as if he wished for some woman of great wisdom to properly tutor his bride-to-be.
“Nothing.” The single word was spoken in a hushed manner, and Rafael looked down at the girl he held. Old enough already to be wed and perhaps more than old enough to have already borne children, she seemed today to be but a child herself. A creature of innocence, of purity, not meant for the marriage bed. And yet, she was far from what he’d expected a nun to look like. At his first glimpse of her, Isabella had given him pleasure, her face and what parts of her form he had seen. She was beautiful, serene and quiet, a woman fit for the position he would offer her.
Still, his heart stuttered when he thought of the days to come, the wedding to be organized, the great bedroom where she would sleep for the rest of her life, in the bed where he’d been born. For now, the man who had fathered him lived in a room closer to the kitchen, where his needs were easily attended to by the staff who cared for him. Where his nurse’s call could be heard should he need help. The man owned a heart that refused to supply blood to all the parts of his huge body. A stubborn man who would only be limited in his activity by the frailty of his body, no matter what the doctor told him. A man who would soon find his place in the family graveyard, out beyond the orchards.
And to that end, he had demanded that Rafael,