Awaken My Heart Page 8

  Once they reached the horses, Diablo rushed from the opposite side of the corral. His bridle, saddle, and blanket lay near the gate. As she led her stallion from his cell, Marianne felt Armando staring at her, yet she could not allow herself to acknowledge him.

  “The diablo and the ángel,” he finally said.

  Confused, she whirled around to see what Armando meant.

  “If you were a man,” he said, “I would ask you to join us.”

  Chapter 10

  Marianne took a ragged breath and lifted her chin. “I apologize for deceiving you. I…I promised Juan when he taught me your language that I would not speak it without his permission.”

  Armando stiffened. “And why have you done so now?”

  “You have made a great sacrifice in allowing me to go free. I want you to know my gratitude, and to be honest.”

  “You have heard every word.” His words were devoid of emotion.

  “Si.” She hesitated. “Without the knowledge, I would not have known your compassion for La Flor.” She glanced down at Diablo’s bridle in her hands and attempted to focus on the pendants dangling from the leather straps. Fighting her inner turmoil, she met his dark eyes. “Never have I seen such unselfish devotion.” As Armando stepped closer, the stallion raised his head and snorted. “Hush, Diablo,” she said in Spanish and stroked his neck.

  Armando ceased his stride, and he smiled. “Does he not care if you speak to him in Spanish or English?”

  Marianne smiled in return and relaxed slightly. “No. He knows my voice.”

  A cloud of silence fell about them. She wanted to finish saddling Diablo before someone or something changed his mind.

  “There are many things I would like to say to you,” he said. “Many things I would like to ask. I should be angry that you know so much about me, for now it’s harder to let you go.” He studied her. “Saddle your horse, señorita. The time has come for me to escort you home.”

  “Gracias. My name is Marianne.”

  “A pretty name for a pretty solidat.”

  She turned to finish preparing Diablo for the ride home and saw Emilio bringing the dun gelding to Armando.

  “We are ready to leave,” Armando said to his friend. “I’ll be back late this night or mañana.”

  “Be careful, Armando. Señor Phillips’s men could be waiting for you.”

  “I will. I realize this marks the beginning of more trouble. Felipe has not taken my decision lightly.”

  Emilio nodded. “I will pray.”

  “We will leave for the mission at San José as soon as I return. Keep men posted in case of attack.”

  Marianne mounted Diablo unassisted while the two men conversed. She knew Papa would not give up pursuing ownership of their valley. He might use her abduction as an excuse to take revenge upon Armando and his people. Greed ruled her father’s motives. Nothing more. If only Papa would look beyond her gender and see how much she needed him.

  Marianne and Armando rode up the worn path away from La Flor. Freedom awaited her, and she praised God for His deliverance and for touching her life with His spirit.

  Armando stopped his horse at the top of the winding path and took a long look back at the valley. She too turned and studied La Flor, perplexed at her mixed feelings of what had happened over the past three days. How could life change so quickly in so short a time? A part of her wanted to stay. A part of her wished she’d never met Armando Garcia and witnessed his devotion to his people.

  If you were a man, I’d ask you to join us. She had earned the respect of her father’s enemy.

  “Que bonito. La Flor is lovely,” she said. “I too would not want to leave a home as delightful as this.”

  “The beauty of the valley and the people living here are the same. Apart, the land would become overgrown and useless. And without our homes, we have no purpose.” The sunlight glistened on his black hair and framed his face and shoulders. To Marianne, he appeared noble, a true leader.

  She turned to gaze at a small flock of sheep in the distance. “I will do everything I can to persuade Papa.” She remembered her betrothal to Don Lorenzo and wondered if she possessed bargaining power for the valley in her upcoming marriage. The thought of spending the rest of her life with the Spanish aristocrat left her feeling empty and longing for a sweeter life. She could only hope the marriage offered a blessing.

  “I am sure Señor Phillips does not appreciate his daughter taking sides against him.”

  “This is not the only matter that he and I have disagreed on.” She paused before saying more. “Juan Torres has been more of a papa to me than my own.”

  “I know. He came to the village yesterday.”

  Her eyes widened. “Juan? But his leg—”

  “You are like one of his children.”

  She swallowed her tears.

  They reined their horses toward the east. Diablo tossed his head, anxious to run, but Marianne soothed him. “Hush, my prince. It’s too soon to race.”

  “How did you tame him?” Armando cast an admiring glance at the white stallion.

  She patted the animal’s neck. “My father caught him with a herd of mustangs. When he refused the bridle and saddle, Papa labeled him crazy, a diablo. His independent spirit intrigued me, and when no one was around, I made my way to the stables to see him. He responded well to my voice and touch, and I simply used kindness until he trusted me. For some reason Diablo has never let anyone but Juan or me near him. It has always frustrated Papa.”

  “I see. You have a special way with wild stallions?”

  “No.” She smiled. “I prefer to think Diablo wanted someone to love and who would return his affections.”

  “The stallion is no different from many men.”

  Her cheeks warmed. Had he referred to himself?

  The horses picked their way over the hilltop until the flat plain stretched out before them. Both animals pulled to run, but Armando and Marianne preferred them to walk.

  Against the slow clop of the horses stepping around the rock, Armando turned to her. “Señorita, I wish our paths had crossed under better circumstances. I regret the differences separating us.”

  “And I do as well,” she said, amazed at her boldness. “The valley…if only Papa could perceive how much it means to your people.”

  He drew a heavy breath. “La Flor is not the only problem. I am your father’s enemy. He has already sworn to kill me.”

  “But I will tell him how you set me free,” Marianne said. “Perhaps he will listen.”

  Armando laughed. “Señorita, have you forgotten who broke into your home, abducted you, and stole horses and weapons? Felipe may have been the one to seize his daughter and his property, but I am the leader. I have no intentions of returning any of those things but you. Señor Phillips will not rest until I’m dead. Be certain of that.”

  The gravity of his words stunned her. Even so, he spoke the truth. She felt naïve, simple-minded. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t considered everything.”

  Distress etched his brow, and his dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t blame you. It’s the ruthless Spanish and men like your father who are greedy.”

  Marianne glanced away. “I know what Papa is, Armando. There’s no need to remind me.”

  “Have I angered you?”

  “No. Papa’s ways grieve me. I wish he were different.” Marianne shrugged. “He wanted un hijo, not a daughter. And he’s always been disappointed. You see, Papa would never have bargained with you for La Flor.”

  “He does not realize his treasure.” He halted his horse and looked across the sparsely grassed land dotted with junipers and mesquite. He wiped the perspiration from his face with his bandanna and glanced up at the sun slowly moving toward the west.

  In one breath he was humiliated that a mere girl had deceived him, almost angry that she’d been privy to all his babbling. In the next breath he realized, for her sake, he should not say more. The idea of becoming more acquainted with her, even the mere
chance of seeing her again, warred against his logic and reasoning. The mestizo and the elite. The fugitive and the innocent. Diablo and the ángel.

  For the first time in his twenty-five years, Armando had an inkling of how his parents might have felt. He realized that if he had stared into the depths of Marianne’s blue-gray eyes a moment longer, he would be tempted to see her again. Perhaps his father had done all he could for Armando’s mother and lost. Armando remembered the man had been affectionate and giving, and had treated his mother with love, but still he had abandoned them and never returned.

  “Marianne, forgive me for tearing you from your home and exposing you to danger. Spur on your magnificent stallion and ride back to your life at the Phillips Hacienda.”

  “Armando, I will pray for you.” She smiled, an image he would seal in his memory.

  “And will you go to the missions and light candles for me?” Melancholia tore through him. “I’m afraid the padres do not think highly of me and my hombres.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not Catholic, although I know my father had to declare an allegiance to your faith in order to acquire his land. But my pleas will go to the same Dios y Salvidor. I’ll pray for your safety and for the people of La Flor.”

  “Very well. My people need prayers for what lies ahead.” May life be good to you, Señorita Marianne. “Do not linger. Who knows what evil men may be lurking.”

  “I shall be careful. Adios.” She dug her heels into the side of the stallion that carried her away from him forever.

  Chapter 11

  Armando watched Marianne and Diablo vanish into the distance. As fleetingly as she had stepped into his life, she had left him, leaving a bittersweet agony in his heart. He stood alone, hearing nothing but the call of a distant crow and the echo of their parting words that she would pray for him and his people. Must he be destined to live his life in solitude?

  A warm breeze swept across his face, and for a moment its coolness refreshed him. How long before his memory of Marianne faded into obscurity, until she became a fond passing of a sweet señorita who had touched his life? Armando clenched his jaw. He could not cast her aside as casually as she had tossed her burned gown from the fire. His heart would not allow it.

  He resented the pain and discomfort he’d knowingly inflicted upon her. She should loathe him, vow to have him punished for subjecting her to his ill treatment. Yet Marianne’s first words to him in his native Spanish spoke of her respect for his cause. Did she truly possess such a spirit of forgiveness? He remembered the softness in her eyes and the smooth flow of her voice.

  If his life had not been wrenched from him by his commitment to his people, he would have begged her to stay. But the insurmountable walls dividing them had prohibited such folly. He had nothing to offer such a woman—no title, no vast estate, not even a firm belief in anything except the toil of his hands.

  He rode toward the valley. Felipe and his followers, who advocated violence, were frustrated over Marianne’s release and were certain to spread dissension. Those same men questioned Armando’s leadership and looked to Felipe for guidance. If Armando’s position was challenged, who would stand with him, and who would stand with Felipe? Would civil unrest divide the people of La For?

  Armando had agreed to appeal to the padres at the San José Mission, but he felt the endeavor was foolish. The padres possessed less power than they once did with the Spanish aristocrats, though the dark-robed men were still highly respected. A Spanish gentleman always listened to the wisdom of the padres, for they knew Dios’ laws and the mandates of Spain. However, Armando believed the padres would soon be mere administrators of the sacraments and teachers.

  In the last few years, the missions had slowly deteriorated. The farming and ranching around the fortress, which had kept them alive in the past, now dwindled. Most of the mestizos had been converted, and many of them wanted land of their own, despite the advantages of living behind stone walls that protected them from marauding Comanches and Apaches. Armando sympathized with the mission inhabitants as well as he understood the people of La Flor. If the mestizos must subject themselves to Spanish rule, then those in control should allow the poor to live on their own land.

  Stealing, kidnapping, and threatening murder fell under the jurisdiction of the Spanish, and for Armando to plead the dire circumstances of La Flor to the padres sounded useless, but he had promised to try. Yet seeking help for his people might get him hung.

  Armando took a labored breath and focused his attention on the problems before him. Could he delude the padres about his lack of faith and convince them to act favorably toward La Flor? If he’d truly dedicated himself to his people, then why did he hesitate to lie to the padres about his relationship with Dios?

  Even Armando Garcia had his limitations.

  Shortly after dusk, he reached the top of the ridge overlooking the valley and stopped to gaze out over its twilight beauty. The placid scene never ceased to inspire and swell his heart with pride. He believed its splendor held the meaning of his life. Without this cause, a home for his beloved people, he possessed nothing.

  His thoughts kept returning to Marianne. Willing the sadness to flee his mind, Armando began the winding descent to the village. Tonight he needed to hear Emilio’s convictions about approaching the padres at the San José Mission.

  He waved at Pepe stationed with a torch at a point above him. “Everything quiet, mi amigo?”

  “Nothing to report but grazing cattle.”

  “Bueno, cows do not carry weapons.” Armando chuckled. “Do you know where I might find Emilio?”

  “On the far ridge.” Pepe stood and pointed.

  “Gracias. We’ll ride at daybreak.” Armando reined his horse to the northern lookout and hoped Emilio guarded the post alone. As he rode closer, a light from a small fire revealed his friend’s position.

  “Emilio, are you asleep?” Armando suppressed a laugh.

  “I was until a wild vaquero woke me.”

  Laughter rose from deep within Armando, the first today, and he felt its release from all his burdens. He dismounted and led his horse toward the flickering light.

  “I didn’t expect you back this soon,” Emilio said. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  The sound of the crackling fire lulled Armando into low spirits. “I saw no use in tarrying with the señorita.” He shrugged. “What are a few days? I will forget her.”

  “Will she forget you?”

  Armando tossed a dry stick into the fire. “Of course. I’m sure she has many suitors. Certainly none who held her against her will—threatening to kill her.”

  “None like Armando Garcia,” Emilio peered into his face. “I know you would like to see her again.”

  He shook his head in an effort to deny his heart. “She told me adios. We have our own worlds.”

  “Wise. But it still saddens me for you.”

  A coyote cried out on the next hill, and Armando acknowledged its solitary wail with a grim look in the animal’s direction. “He knows how I feel. But I didn’t come here to grieve. I need to discuss plans for tomorrow.”

  Emilio nodded. “Who is the best choice to sympathize with us?”

  “I have been thinking about that. San Antonio de Valero may be dangerous with the presidio located nearby. We’re not well liked by the Spanish solidats, and if Governor Juan Bautistade Elguezábel has learned of the kidnapping, we could be arrested.”

  “I too have considered arrest.”

  “Or shot…or hung.” Armando studied the face of his friend, expecting him to flinch, but Emilio remained calm. “Padre Bernardino Vallyo has been kind to our people. I believe he would try to help. The padres usually side with us in matters of dispute.”

  Emilio took a swallow of water from a canteen. “You have been educated to speak properly. Perhaps you can word what happened with Señor Phillips and his daughter in a convincing manner.”

  Armando considered the request. “I’ll prepare an accounting of
our problema.”

  “How early do you wish to leave?”

  “At daybreak. With you and Pepe. The rest need to stay here and protect the valley.”

  “We have to trust Dios to protect those we love.”

  “For you that is good.”

  Armando talked with Emilio late into the night, forming the entreaty to the Padre Vallyo. When the wording was finished, they turned to reminiscing about their younger days, teasing and reminding each other of boyhood pranks.

  “Remember when Felipe put a frog in the padre’s chalice?” Emilio laughed.

  “And how angry the padre became when none of us would confess?”

  “I will never forget the expression on his face when he reached for the chalice during Mass. The whipping was worth seeing the padre angry.”

  After their laughter subsided, Armando glanced up into his friend’s face. “I missed you after our schooling.”

  “The valley was empty without you. Someday our sons will create the same kind of mischief.” Emilio paused. “I’ve forgotten. How many years did you spend at the mission under the padre?”

  “To train for the priesthood,” Armando whispered. “Far too long—four years.”

  His friend leaned into the fire. “And you’ve been gone from there for seven. What happened? One day you were full of love for our Dios, then it disappeared.”

  “I had no reason to continue. My father deserted us, and my mother died.”

  “So you blamed Dios?”

  “No. I cannot cast the guilt on something I do not believe in. I woke one morning at the mission and realized a Dios did not exist. My veil of love for all men didn’t encompass my Spanish father or the wealthy landowners. So I gathered my belongings and came home to Rosa and Manuel.”

  Emilio stared into the firelight then lifted his gaze to Armando. “I’ve always prayed for you, whether you desired it or not, and I will continue. I believe in Dios, and He alone can quench the restless spirit.”

  “I should be grateful.”

  Emilio smiled into the firelight. “You are honest, mi amigo. One day you will see the truth.”