Golden Paradise (Vincente 1) Page 29

  Marquis knew he had hurt Valentina and that was the last thing he had wanted to do. He wanted to take care of her—to cherish her as she deserved to be cherished. But this was made impossible because of the weakness brought on by his injury and his bitter feelings about the child she carried. He would have liked to have forgotten about the child, but it stood between them like a wall of stone. He hoped that as time passed he would accept the child as his own. Yet Marquis dreaded the time to come when Valentina's stomach would swell from the baby.

  Today was his wedding day. Already, in the distance, Marquis could hear the mission bells pealing in his honor. As his eyes skipped across Valentina's golden hair, which had come loose from the ribbon and was blowing freely in the soft wind, his heart overflowed with love. How beautiful she was—almost too beautiful. She was wearing the same riding habit she had worn in the cave-in. Salamar must have cleaned it because, even though it was tattered and torn, no dust or soil remained.

  Marquis felt guilty for the way he had been treating Valentina. She was a bride today, and yet he had done nothing to make this day special for her. Holding up his hand for everyone to halt, he instructed one of his vaqueros to pick a bouquet of wildflowers from those growing beside the roadway.

  The small meadow was dotted with golden flowers, and their aroma sweetly danced on the wind. The vaquero gathered an armload of the blossoms and approached Valentina, smiling broadly, honored that he had been chosen to pick the flowers for his patron's lady. Doffing his wide-brimmed sombrero, the man held out the brightly colored flowers to her.

  "Your wedding bouquet, Valentina," Marquis said softly, losing himself for the moment in the shimmering depths of her silver eyes.

  Lowering her head, Valentina breathed in the strangely sweet aroma. "These are lovely. What are they called?" she asked.

  "We Spaniards call them 'copas de oro'—cups of gold. There is a legend that says these flowers grow nowhere but in California."

  Valentina smiled up into his dark eyes. "This is a most appropriate bouquet for my wedding then, Marquis. I will become a Californian by marriage."

  Marquis felt warmth in his heart as the blood went throbbing through his body. He wanted to take Valentina in his arms and wipe away the doubts he saw on her face. Instead, he moved forward in the saddle and gave the signal for them to proceed.,

  Clutching the sweet-scented flowers, Valentina turned her head to hide the tears that fell on the petals. She remembered that it had been Marquis's style to give a single rose. She wished with all her heart that she could turn back the sands of time to when Marquis had teased her and offered her his friendship. At least then he had respected her and called her Silver Eyes.

  They rode on in silence, each lost in his own thought, both painfully aware that this was not the wedding day they had envisioned.

  As the wedding party topped a hill, Valentina saw the green valley below. Nestled in a grove of oak trees was a small, insignificant-looking mission, its crumbling adobe walls in need of repair, its bells beckoning Marquis and Valentina to the welcome they would find there. As they drew near, the bells fell silent and a small, white-haired padre wearing a plain brown robe and crude leather sandals came rushing out to them.

  While Tyree came forward and helped Valentina from her mount, two vaqueros assisted Marquis from his horse. When Marquis was placed on his feet, he felt the world tilt and stabbing pain left him breathless. Pride was pushed aside as he gripped the vaquero who stood nearby.

  "Jose, you and Enrique carry me up the steps," he ground out, hoping he could make it through the ceremony standing on his own two feet.

  Valentina rushed to his side and took his hand. "Marquis, you are in a great deal of pain. The wedding can wait until another day."

  "It will take place now," he managed to say. "Everything is in readiness."

  Valentina watched helplessly as he turned away from her to lean heavily on Enrique's shoulder.

  The padre walked behind Marquis, assuring him how honored the mission was to have been chosen as the site for a Vincente wedding. He blessed the day, he blessed the wedding party, he blessed Providence for having sent him the grandson of Don Alonso Vincente.

  Tyree took Valentina's arm and led her up the steps, giving her a reassuring smile. When they entered the mission, they were greeted with welcome coolness provided by the thick walls. A musty odor proclaimed the adobe structure to be very old. The walls, which had been painted with scenes from the book of Genesis, were chipped and peeling. Valentina could not help but be saddened that the artwork of another time was being lost from either neglect or lack of money for repairs.

  "Smile. You don't look like a bride is supposed to," Tyree gently warned.

  Valentina stared down at the crumpled wildflowers clutched in her hand. "I don't feel like a bride. I fear I am making a terrible mistake, Tyree. I have the strangest urge to leap on a horse and ride for my life."

  Tyree looked deeply into her eyes. "Do you love Marquis?"

  "Yes. That seems to be the one thing that hasn't changed. At least I think it's love."

  "Marry him then, Valentina. Put your doubts aside and smile. I am about to have the great honor of giving you away to my best friend."

  Valentina felt overwhelming pity as she watched the two men helping Marquis to walk. Although his back was to her, she could tell he was in pain. She could only imagine what that walk down the aisle was costing him. "He is a strange, stubborn man, Tyree. I don't really know him at all."

  "He is a man who is bound by honor and tradition. He has a great capacity for loving and giving. I believe you will bring out his best qualities. Give him time, Valentina."

  By now they had drawn even with Marquis, and Valentina had no time to reply. One of the men still stood beside Marquis, and he leaned heavily on him. When Tyree handed Valentina over to Marquis, she felt his warm grasp and knew he was feverish. She felt frantic, knowing Marquis was ill and needed to be in bed.

  Marquis drew her closer to him and, for the first time, smiled at her. "You cannot get away from me now, Valentina," he whispered next to her ear. "I will never let you go."

  The padre had opened his tattered black Bible and began to recite the wedding rites. At one point Valentina felt Marquis sway and her hand tightened on his. Tyree, seeing that Marquis was weakening, moved forward and stood behind to brace him.

  When the padre asked if Marquis would take Valentina as his wife, Marquis could do no more than nod his head. Valentina was so concerned for Marquis that she hardly remembered replying to the padre's words. There, in the quaint old mission, with the blessing of the kind little padre, Valentina became the wife of Marquis Domingo Vincente.

  At the precise moment that they were pronounced husband and wife, Marquis collapsed. If Tyree and Enrique had not grabbed him, he would have fallen. Tyree lifted his unconscious friend in his arms and told Enrique to run ahead and make the wagon ready.

  Valentina cried out when she saw how pale Marquis was. Leaving a startled padre to wonder what was happening, she dashed down the aisle and outside. Climbing into the wagon, she helped Enrique arrange the feather mattress so there would be no lumps. When Tyree gently placed Marquis in the wagon, Valentina took his head in her lap and tucked a blanket about him. She softly pushed the dark hair, wet from perspiration, from his forehead.

  "Is he going to live, Tyree?" she asked frantically. "He is just weak from the journey, isn't he?" she questioned, needing assurance.

  The padre was saying a prayer for Marquis's recovery, as well as bestowing a blessing on the newlyweds. Valentina could only imagine what the little man would be thinking about the strange wedding he had just performed.

  Her eyes sought Tyree's. "Marquis is a strong man. It will take more than a little accident to lay him low," Tyree told her. "He needs a few weeks—perhaps a couple of months—to heal properly." Tyree knew he was telling Valentina what she needed to hear. Nothing would be gained if he told her of his own fears. If the infection was no
t cured, Marquis could lose his legs, or even his life.

  Valentina grabbed Tyree's hand as she searched his face. "Have I done the right thing, Tyree? Will Marquis forgive me when he learns that I have tricked him?"

  "I don't know, Valentina, but you will have to tell him sometime."

  He shifted his eyes, feeling guilty for having gone against Valentina's wishes and telling Marquis that Jordanna was having his baby. He decided to warn Valentina about what Marquis's reaction toward the baby had "been. "Valentina, bide your time and choose the right moment to tell Marquis that you are Jordanna."

  "Why?" she questioned, looking down at her new husband.

  Tyree had trouble meeting her gaze. "Because I told him that Jordanna was having his baby."

  Her face whitened. "You didn't ... he doesn't know that—"

  "No, he does not know that you are Jordanna."

  "What was his reaction when you told him, Tyree?"

  This time he met her gaze squarely. "I won't lie to you, Valentina. He wanted me to give money to Jordanna to take care of her and the baby. He suggested she might move away from San Francisco."

  Her silver-blue eyes darkened with pain. "I see," she said in a dull voice. "I see, but I don't understand. Why would Marquis turn his back on Jordanna and offer me marriage?"

  "I believe you know the answer to that, Valentina."

  Her eyes burned as she glanced down at Marquis. "Yes, I do understand. He is Marquis Vincente, Spanish blue blood; therefore, Jordanna was not good enough for him."

  "Knowing that, handle the situation with care, Valentina. Tell Marquis the truth, but choose the time wisely," he warned. Turning to Enrique, Tyree told him to drive the wagon slowly and to avoid bumps whenever possible. Reaching out and grasping Valentina's hand, he smiled at her softly. "I will remain behind and settle everything with the padre."

  "Aren't you coming with us?" Valentina asked with panic rising in her voice.

  "No, you don't need me any longer. You are only a few hours from Paraiso del Norte. You will be there shortly after dark. Don Alonso has the doctor waiting." Stepping back, Tyree waved the wagon forward. As they moved away from the mission, Valentina felt as if a door had just slammed shut on her past life. She was going into a frightening new world with no friend or family member to stand beside her.

  As the mission faded in the distance, Valentina glanced down at the face of her husband. He was so pale and haggard looking. Closing her eyes, she gripped his hand, praying for his recovery. She willed her strength to pass from her body to his. She could not lose Marquis to death. He was a part of her. She carried the proof in the baby he had fathered.

  Placing a cool hand on Marquis's forehead, Valentina found it much hotter than before. She yelled for the driver to stop, realizing she had to get Marquis's fever down. Once the wagon came to a halt, she spoke to Enrique in Spanish.

  "I want a cloth and cool water. Your patron is burning up with fever."

  The vaquero lost no time in obeying her order. Several grim-faced men gathered about the wagon as Valentina washed Marquis's face from the canteen Enrique held for her.

  "Should we stop and make camp for the night, Senora Vincente?" Enrique asked, concern on his wrinkled face.

  It was the first time Valentina had thought of herself as a Vincente. Since Marquis was unconscious, it was natural the vaqueros would look to her for guidance. "No, we must go on. He needs a doctor. How much farther is it?"

  "At the slow pace we are going, about three hours," one of the men answered.

  "Let us get started then," Valentina said, trying to remain calm. "One of you ride ahead and inform Don Alonso that his grandson is gravely ill. Tell him we will be there as soon as we can. We dare not drive the wagon very fast, for fear it might further harm your patron's legs."

  Slowly the wagon moved forward as the sound of hoof beats faded in the distance. Valentina kept her vigil, wetting the rag and applying it to Marquis's forehead. Her legs were cramped and she was stiff and sore, but she did not feel the discomfort. All that mattered was that they get Marquis home as quickly as possible.

  Once in a while, she would place her hand on his chest to make sure he was still breathing. Looking at his right leg, she saw that blood was seeping through the bandages, staining them bright red. There was no time to stop and reapply bandages. Even if there had been time, Valentina would have been hesitant to remove the splint, fearing she could not redress the wound as well as the doctor had.

  The sun had gone down, and a bright moon was riding high in the sky. After what seemed an eternity, Valentina saw lights in the distance. When the wagon drew nearer, she could see the Vincente house lit up like one of the lighthouses of Cornwall sending its beacon out to a floundering ship. Feeling Marquis's pulse, Valentina found it to be very faint.

  "Hurry, Enrique, drive faster," she urged fearfully. Never had she felt so helpless. The man she loved was dying in her arms and there was nothing she could do to save him. Was it possible that she would become a wife and a widow in the space of one day? No, she would not allow Marquis to die. He was her husband—the father of her baby. She would will him to live.

  As soon as the jostling wagon came to a halt before the huge Vincente house, an army of servants descended on them. Marquis was lifted into gentle arms as two of the vaqueros carried him into the house. Don Alonso hobbled up the stairs after them, leaning heavily on his cane, while Marquis's mother followed, wringing her hands in distress.

  Valentina was dazed for the moment. No one had paid the slightest attention to her. It was as if she had been invisible. Standing up, she stretched her cramped muscles and climbed out of the wagon. When Valentina reached for her crumpled wedding bouquet, she caught a glimpse of Marquis's sister, Rosalia, walking slowly down the steps toward her. The young girl's face was streaked with tears as she held out her arms to Valentina.

  "Welcome home," Rosalia sobbed as the two of them cried on each other's shoulders. When at last their tears were spent, Valentina turned to the house. "I must be with Marquis now. Show me where they have taken him."

  Rosalia slipped her arm around Valentina's waist. "You will not be able to see him just now. The doctor is with him. I will show you to your room."

  "I cannot go to my room until I know how Marquis is. Take me to him," Valentina demanded.

  Rosalia nodded. "You are his wife. It is right that you should see him."

  Leading Valentina past a large arched hallway, Rosalia took her up a winding stairway. "Marquis sent word that this wing should be made ready because he was bringing you home as his bride. The servants have been working all day to make it comfortable."

  "I never knew about this wing," Valentina said, only half noticing the richness of her surroundings. She paid little attention to the thick red rug into which the heels of her riding boots were sinking.

  "This wing was built so the heir of Paraiso del Norte and his bride could have privacy. It has been a custom in my family that when a man is newly married, he and his bride will live for one year apart from the rest of his family. Grandfather says it has been a tradition in the Vincente family for over four hundred years. No one knows why the tradition was first begun."

  When Valentina had last stayed there, her room had been on the opposite side of the house. She reasoned that since the house was built in a square, with the courtyard garden in the center, this wing made up the whole north side of the house.

  As they moved forward, Valentina was aware that the hallway was larger than most rooms she had seen in other homes. There were heavy wood couches and chairs covered with white velvet, and the tables, which had been carved by a master's hand, gleamed from polishing. Brightly colored exotic flowers were arranged in heavy crystal bowls that had probably been in the Vincente family for generations. Valentina paid no attention to the sweet scent of the flowers that wafted through the air. Her eyes were fixed on the line of servants who stood anxiously before a thick double door. She did not have to be told that this was
Marquis's room.

  The servants moved aside, making a path for Valentina and Rosalia. Pausing at the door, Valentina was uncertain how to proceed. Rosalia, sensing her confusion, opened the door and waited for her to enter.

  Valentina saw Don Alonso sitting quietly in a corner chair, while Marquis's mother stood beside the bed, assisting a man she recognized as the doctor who had treated her ankle. Hesitating only a moment, she moved across the room. Her eyes fell first on Marquis's face, and with a sinking heart, she noticed that he had not regained consciousness.

  Dona Anna was holding a pan of bloody water, while the doctor bent over Marquis's leg. Valentina gathered her courage and moved forward. This was her husband, and she had no intention of being shut out of his life. "I will hold the pan," she said with more authority than she actually felt.

  Dona Anna's eyes suddenly filled with resentment. Her grip tightened on the pan. "No, I will hold the pan," she answered defiantly.

  Knowing this was no time to argue the point, Valentina glanced at the doctor. "I am sure you remember me, Doctor Anza. I am now Marquis's wife. What can I do to assist you?"

  If the doctor was startled by her announcement, it did not show on his face. Without looking up, he spoke to her. "You are not one of those ladies who faint at the sight of blood, are you?"

  "I can assure you I am not," she answered with confidence.

  "Then you can hold your husband's leg. It wouldn't do if he were to regain consciousness and move while I am stitching him up."

  To demonstrate that she would never faint at the sight of blood, Valentina moved around the bed. She felt her stomach churn when she saw the angry red gash that ran from Marquis's knee to the calf of his leg. It was easy to see that the jagged cut was inflamed and infected. Firmly gathering her courage, Valentina gripped Marquis's leg, holding it as tightly as she could.