and servants. A two-story building that fronted south, it had a ceramic-tiled peaked roof and a hulking, thick-walled construction that had successfully repeated assaults by Indians, bandits and marauders over the decades. Its imposing white bulk gleamed in the moonlight. It was trimmed with ornate black iron grillwork.
Lorena entered through the high, arched portal of the front double doors, crossing the tiled floor of the entryway and passing under an archway into the Great Hall.
The hall was long, with a lofty ceiling. It was centered by a long banquet table with chairs. On the right-hand side, a long wall was lined with portraits of Castillo forebears and distinguished ancestors. Some of the paintings were several hundred years old and had been brought over from Spain.
The opposite wall was lined by tall, narrow windows that opened on a western view. The windows were each hung with a double set of dark, ironbanded wooden shutters several inches thick, thick enough to stop bullets. The shutters were now open and folded back against tan stucco walls, framing the windows like pairs of dark wings. The walls between the windows were decorated with religious-themed paintings and carved wooden statues of various saints.
At the opposite end of the hall was a stone fireplace big enough for a grown man to step into without bowing his head. It could hold a blaze mighty enough to heat every inch of the spacious room, but tonight only a modest-sized fire was laid there, sufficient to heat that end of the hall. Several thronelike armchairs were grouped around the hearth.
The fireplace was flanked by a pair of suits of antique armor worn by the conquistadors, complete from helmeted head to iron-booted toe. Armatures inside the suits held them upright. On the wall above the top of the fireplace was mounted a crossed pair of spear-bladed lances. The lances bore banners, one the flag of Spain and the other bearing the Castillo coat of arms.
A man stood facing the fireplace, holding a pumpkin goblet of brandy in both hands. He gazed into the glass in a kind of meditative reverie, watching the serpents of fire curling around the blazing hearth logs through the medium of rich, reddish-brown brandy in the cut-crystal goblet. Hearing Lorena approach, he turned to face her.
He was Don Eduardo, patriarch of the House of Castillo, padrone of Rancho Grande, and Lorena’s father-in-law. She’d been married to his first-born son Ramon, dead these last seven years.
Now in his mid-sixties, Don Eduardo remained every inch the aristocrat, ever-aware of that status. Pride of rank and heritage of blood showed in his straight-backed, stiff-necked stance, in the aura of command stamped on the features of his face.
Tall, slim, with a full head of silver-gray hair, he had a long sharp-featured face, hooded brown eyes, and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper mustache and goatee. Somber black clothes contrasted with a white ruffled shirtfront.
He gave the impression of a man of strong passions held tightly in check. His eyes glared, the lips of his downturned mouth were tightly pressed. The woman halted a few paces away, facing him.
“Lorena, have you gone mad?” he demanded.
“And a very good evening to you too, Don Eduardo,” she said lightly. “Greetings on your return. I hope your cattle-buying trip met with success.”
Don Eduardo had been away from the ranch on an overnight trip east to Palo Pinto County, to examine some blooded stock being offered for sale by a rancher there. An escort of some of his most formidable pistoleros had guarded him against the dangers of the overland trip. He’d returned to Rancho Grande little more than an hour ago.
“My concern is what has happened during my absence,” he said. “Diego told me what you have been up to.”
“He would,” Lorena said, her upper lip curling. Diego was the padrone ’s younger son, long a grown man.
“Never mind about that,” Don Eduardo said. “I know there is no love
Lorena entered through the high, arched portal of the front double doors, crossing the tiled floor of the entryway and passing under an archway into the Great Hall.
The hall was long, with a lofty ceiling. It was centered by a long banquet table with chairs. On the right-hand side, a long wall was lined with portraits of Castillo forebears and distinguished ancestors. Some of the paintings were several hundred years old and had been brought over from Spain.
The opposite wall was lined by tall, narrow windows that opened on a western view. The windows were each hung with a double set of dark, ironbanded wooden shutters several inches thick, thick enough to stop bullets. The shutters were now open and folded back against tan stucco walls, framing the windows like pairs of dark wings. The walls between the windows were decorated with religious-themed paintings and carved wooden statues of various saints.
At the opposite end of the hall was a stone fireplace big enough for a grown man to step into without bowing his head. It could hold a blaze mighty enough to heat every inch of the spacious room, but tonight only a modest-sized fire was laid there, sufficient to heat that end of the hall. Several thronelike armchairs were grouped around the hearth.
The fireplace was flanked by a pair of suits of antique armor worn by the conquistadors, complete from helmeted head to iron-booted toe. Armatures inside the suits held them upright. On the wall above the top of the fireplace was mounted a crossed pair of spear-bladed lances. The lances bore banners, one the flag of Spain and the other bearing the Castillo coat of arms.
A man stood facing the fireplace, holding a pumpkin goblet of brandy in both hands. He gazed into the glass in a kind of meditative reverie, watching the serpents of fire curling around the blazing hearth logs through the medium of rich, reddish-brown brandy in the cut-crystal goblet. Hearing Lorena approach, he turned to face her.
He was Don Eduardo, patriarch of the House of Castillo, padrone of Rancho Grande, and Lorena’s father-in-law. She’d been married to his first-born son Ramon, dead these last seven years.
Now in his mid-sixties, Don Eduardo remained every inch the aristocrat, ever-aware of that status. Pride of rank and heritage of blood showed in his straight-backed, stiff-necked stance, in the aura of command stamped on the features of his face.
Tall, slim, with a full head of silver-gray hair, he had a long sharp-featured face, hooded brown eyes, and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper mustache and goatee. Somber black clothes contrasted with a white ruffled shirtfront.
He gave the impression of a man of strong passions held tightly in check. His eyes glared, the lips of his downturned mouth were tightly pressed. The woman halted a few paces away, facing him.
“Lorena, have you gone mad?” he demanded.
“And a very good evening to you too, Don Eduardo,” she said lightly. “Greetings on your return. I hope your cattle-buying trip met with success.”
Don Eduardo had been away from the ranch on an overnight trip east to Palo Pinto County, to examine some blooded stock being offered for sale by a rancher there. An escort of some of his most formidable pistoleros had guarded him against the dangers of the overland trip. He’d returned to Rancho Grande little more than an hour ago.
“My concern is what has happened during my absence,” he said. “Diego told me what you have been up to.”
“He would,” Lorena said, her upper lip curling. Diego was the padrone ’s younger son, long a grown man.
“Never mind about that,” Don Eduardo said. “I know there is no love
Similar Books
