curls.
Pausing beneath the black shade of a live oak, she savored the moment of peace. Across the valley from her she spotted a line of trudging figures, shrouded and shapeless, that she knew must be Indian women. It made her feel suppressed just to look at them, to contrast them to herself.
She wondered what kind of lives they led, if they ever rebelled against the drudgery and restraints, if they ever yearned for the freedom that was now hers. Or were their traditions so strong that those women had no idea that anything existed other than the confining life they led?
The very thought of leading that kind of life repulsed Kathleen. The image of what marriage constituted -- submission to the debasing intimacy, fettered to the will of one man, a mere servant of his passion -- made her tremble with revulsion so that she swung her hand forcefully across Estrellita's rump.
The mare reared and sprang forward along the foothills. Dejectedly, Kathleen turned the animal back toward the hacienda. When she once again encountered the road that wound its way like a snake toward the hacienda, Kathleen found she was not the only traveler using the track.
Apparently Simon had had visitors in her absence, for a black carriage pulled by a bay rumbled slowly down the road toward Kathleen. At the carriage's side cantered a lone horse, whose rider sat like a giant in the saddle. At first, Kathleen thought the man whose face was shadowed by the wide brim was Simon, and her breathing quickened.
But the man, a battered-faced Mexican, was presumably a guard, with a pistol strapped to his hip and a rifle sheathed at the saddle.
Kathleen reined Estrellita to the side of the road as the carriage drew near. She was curious to see the occupant, who obviously disdained riding horseback. However, instead of continuing, the woman in the carriage pulled the bay to a halt.
Chocolate-brown eyes looked Kathleen over with condescending amusement, and Kathleen's lips tightened with chagrin, realizing how unappealing she must look at the moment, with her hair tangled in a mass about her shoulders and her boy's clothing clinging to her body, wet with perspiration that even the wind, which was dying somewhat with the end of the day, did not dry.
The finely plucked brows in the magnolia-white face arched. "So you're working for Simon now?" Gemma asked.
Kathleen stiffened in the saddle. La Palacia's proprietress recognized her -- from the brief meeting at the bordello, or from the reward posters? Kathleen inclined her head as royally as an empress. "I'm the tutor for Valle del Bravo."
Gemma smiled coldly. "Oh, then the bed is not the only place you earn your livelihood, señorita?"
Kathleen heard the guard's snort of laughter, but she continued to gaze evenly at the woman. "How one earns a living is no measure of good manners. And I must say yours are an excellent example of the manners of a puta."
She saw the woman's eyes blaze and heard the hissing intake of her breath and knew she now faced an enemy. But she did not cower.
"No wonder Simon prefers to bed another woman." Kathleen added, with a contemptuous smile. "A lady of quality."
The guard's uproarious laughter was cut short by the woman's sharp command of "Cállate!"
Calmly, Kathleen urged Estrellita past the furious woman, towards the hacienda. Lady of quality! she thought bitterly.
She certainly had not behaved like one. Her gentle-bred mother would have blushed with shame at her daughter's brazen conduct. She could not imagine what had prompted her to act so rudely. Unless it was just to dent the woman's haughty self-assuredness. She wondered what Gemma had been doing there. And if Simon learned of her own atrocious behavior -- would he dismiss her?
As Kathleen dismounted, she realized that her hands trembled with anger. And she knew her anger was not for Gemma -- for she herself was no better than the proprietress, now that Simon had had his way with her. No, her anger, her hatred, was
Pausing beneath the black shade of a live oak, she savored the moment of peace. Across the valley from her she spotted a line of trudging figures, shrouded and shapeless, that she knew must be Indian women. It made her feel suppressed just to look at them, to contrast them to herself.
She wondered what kind of lives they led, if they ever rebelled against the drudgery and restraints, if they ever yearned for the freedom that was now hers. Or were their traditions so strong that those women had no idea that anything existed other than the confining life they led?
The very thought of leading that kind of life repulsed Kathleen. The image of what marriage constituted -- submission to the debasing intimacy, fettered to the will of one man, a mere servant of his passion -- made her tremble with revulsion so that she swung her hand forcefully across Estrellita's rump.
The mare reared and sprang forward along the foothills. Dejectedly, Kathleen turned the animal back toward the hacienda. When she once again encountered the road that wound its way like a snake toward the hacienda, Kathleen found she was not the only traveler using the track.
Apparently Simon had had visitors in her absence, for a black carriage pulled by a bay rumbled slowly down the road toward Kathleen. At the carriage's side cantered a lone horse, whose rider sat like a giant in the saddle. At first, Kathleen thought the man whose face was shadowed by the wide brim was Simon, and her breathing quickened.
But the man, a battered-faced Mexican, was presumably a guard, with a pistol strapped to his hip and a rifle sheathed at the saddle.
Kathleen reined Estrellita to the side of the road as the carriage drew near. She was curious to see the occupant, who obviously disdained riding horseback. However, instead of continuing, the woman in the carriage pulled the bay to a halt.
Chocolate-brown eyes looked Kathleen over with condescending amusement, and Kathleen's lips tightened with chagrin, realizing how unappealing she must look at the moment, with her hair tangled in a mass about her shoulders and her boy's clothing clinging to her body, wet with perspiration that even the wind, which was dying somewhat with the end of the day, did not dry.
The finely plucked brows in the magnolia-white face arched. "So you're working for Simon now?" Gemma asked.
Kathleen stiffened in the saddle. La Palacia's proprietress recognized her -- from the brief meeting at the bordello, or from the reward posters? Kathleen inclined her head as royally as an empress. "I'm the tutor for Valle del Bravo."
Gemma smiled coldly. "Oh, then the bed is not the only place you earn your livelihood, señorita?"
Kathleen heard the guard's snort of laughter, but she continued to gaze evenly at the woman. "How one earns a living is no measure of good manners. And I must say yours are an excellent example of the manners of a puta."
She saw the woman's eyes blaze and heard the hissing intake of her breath and knew she now faced an enemy. But she did not cower.
"No wonder Simon prefers to bed another woman." Kathleen added, with a contemptuous smile. "A lady of quality."
The guard's uproarious laughter was cut short by the woman's sharp command of "Cállate!"
Calmly, Kathleen urged Estrellita past the furious woman, towards the hacienda. Lady of quality! she thought bitterly.
She certainly had not behaved like one. Her gentle-bred mother would have blushed with shame at her daughter's brazen conduct. She could not imagine what had prompted her to act so rudely. Unless it was just to dent the woman's haughty self-assuredness. She wondered what Gemma had been doing there. And if Simon learned of her own atrocious behavior -- would he dismiss her?
As Kathleen dismounted, she realized that her hands trembled with anger. And she knew her anger was not for Gemma -- for she herself was no better than the proprietress, now that Simon had had his way with her. No, her anger, her hatred, was
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