Marco and the Devil's Bargain by Carla Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

er hands to her mouth, Paloma watched Toshua wheel his horse and dig his heels into the animal’s flanks. The guards had gathered closer, some of them as indecisive as she was, and others with their swords already drawn. Another began to run toward the open gate, where a small boy stood, pushing against one of the massive doors, which slowly began to shut.
    Dios, what have I done? Paloma asked herself as her heart thundered in her breast. In a few seconds Toshua would be trapped and surrounded. She knew he would fight, but there were too many.
    She watched in horror and then amazement as Toshua, guiding his horse with his legs, reached for an arrow behind him, fitted it to his bow in one motion and shot at the boy.
    The child wore a loose-fitting poncho. The arrow slammed into the fabric and nailed him to the gate so he could not push. His mouth opened and closed in terror as he tugged on the poncho, the gate forgotten.
    As soon as he had loosed the arrow, Toshua dropped to the far side of his horse, away from the hacienda’s guards, until only his heels could be seen. They had no target, and the boy at the gate was powerless to trap him. One second, two seconds, and the nearly invisible Comanche raced through the gate and vanished. Even his horse’s hooves seemed to be silent.
    Paloma sagged against the doorframe. She put her head down in shame, knowing that she would see the hurt and disappointment in Toshua’s eyes in her dreams. What have I done? she asked herself again.
    She dragged herself inside the hacienda, her misgivings multiplying with every step she took. Don’t show it , she ordered herself, as she looked in the sala where the women had tidied themselves after a hasty awakening and were beginning to knit again. It would have been easy to skulk down the hall and hide herself in Luisa’s room, but she could never do that to Marco Mondragón, the husband she adored.
    She stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, as her mama had taught her. “I deeply apologize for any disturbance that my cousin may have caused,” she said, holding her head high, looking around the room at the ladies who had suddenly given her all their attention. She looked for meanness and found none.
    One of the Borrego twins—she must learn to tell them apart—put down her knitting and patted the empty space beside her. “You have been too busy to knit socks for the juez ,” she said. “Sit here and knit, or he will have bare heels this summer. Is that your yarn over there? Fetch it, Dolores,” she asked her twin.
    Ah, then this was Chaca. “Thank you, Chaca,” Paloma said and sat down, her heart full. She smiled her thanks at Dolores and continued where she left off.
    â€œ Paloma, take it from me,” said an older woman, someone from an outlying hacienda she did not know. “A year and few months is no shame or crime. You will yet give the juez a child or two.”
    â€œ Or three,” said Cecilia Chávez, from her seat closest to the fireplace, as suited the oldest among them. She looked around at her friends. “Some say the water from Rio Santa Maria explains why there are so many children here, but we do not think it is the water.” The other ladies chuckled, the crisis of Maria Teresa over. “As for your regrettable cousin, too little cannot be said about her.”
    Paloma winked back her tears in the face of such kindness. And the Comanche who thinks he must protect me? How do you feel about him? she wanted to ask, but hadn’t the courage. She turned her attention to the mohair stocking. If she couldn’t be wise, at least she could be diligent.
    She began to relax as her fellow knitters returned to idle conversation and laughter, and marveled how much more cheerful everyone seemed, now that Maria Teresa Castellano had left. She will probably whine and cry and nag Alonso until he pays a visit to my husband to complain about me