lacking.
An agreement such as that written between Garcia and Charles Montgomery for the hand of his daughter would not hold water if the girl were claimed, married and bedded by another. A man might be obliged to offer recompense, but the bride herself would be considered damaged goods.
She would be ruined in the eyes of Juan Garcia, unfit for marriage. And if Rafael McKenzie had any luck at all in this venture, Juan Garcia would never get his hands on the maiden.
The idea of claiming a missing heiress was certainly enticing, but then, who would believe Rafael McKenzie had any right to such a woman? Certainly not the flock of black-garbed nuns and the whitehaired priest who seemed to be the guardian of said flock, for he would warrant they possessed more than their share of intelligence. And so it seemed he must take matters into his own hands and solve the dilemma himself.
The mass appeared to be at an end, for, arms outstretched toward his small congregation, the priest uttered words of blessing. At least, that was the general consensus of the worshipers surrounding him, for they stood and shuffled slowly and ceremoniously from the chapel.
Not willing to be conspicuous by his deviation from the expected, Rafael followed the three men who had shared a pew with him, and managed to keep a watchful eye on the woman he believed to be Isabella. She was alone, not by choice apparently, but by purpose, for even as she made her way down the aisle, she walked alone, segregated from the others who had attended early mass.
Once outside the door of the chapel, Rafael stood to one side, watching as the girl walked sedately down the two steps and onto the path that led to the larger building to his right.
Last evening, upon his arrival here, he’d found a beautiful oasis in the midst of the surrounding arid countryside, and inside a dormitory of sorts he’d been given a small room in which to sleep. Hidden in a veritable Garden of Eden, the buildings, the bare dormitory and the stark, almost unadorned chapel, were simple, in a setting worthy of more ornate structures.
Perhaps a cathedral, he thought, his mind wandering as his gaze focused on the figure that walked away from him. She would be more suited to a cathedral, a setting that would enhance her beauty.
But not as a nun, not as a Sister of Charity, which was what she appeared to be on the verge of becoming, here in this dingy bit of solitude. Instead, he could envision her walking down a long aisle, her garb that of a bride, her hair long and lustrous beneath a veil, for surely they had not yet cut that glorious mass from her head. Her body adorned in a white gown of silk, sewn to fit the perfection of her form, completed the vision he wove, wishing that even now he could see through the gray garb she wore.
He almost laughed aloud as the thoughts flitted through his mind. She might very well be far from perfect, for her form was not to be seen beneath the all-enveloping folds of her garment. Yet, he knew. Knew with a sense he could not explain, that the woman he watched was perfection personified.
Woman? Perhaps. Or a girl just hovering on the brink of womanhood, a virginal beauty who waited only for the proper man to toss her over the brink into the settled, safe world of marriage. Or failing that, perhaps the swirling waters of sin.
And at that idea, he cleared his throat and consciously drew his features into a solemn visage of a man contemplating his final resting place. Surely the sermon just delivered in the chapel behind him was meant to put even the most jaded man on the straight and narrow.
Not that Rafael was jaded. Only weary of the effort to find a virtuous woman, one who would fit the formula set forth by his family for the future mistress of the Diamond Ranch. Virtuous women were not difficult to find, for he’d seen them in every town he’d passed, usually left on the shelf when the plum choices had been scooped up by more discerning men.
Virtue was not what he sought. He would accept it as a bonus, but his thoughts were more on a woman—a girl, perhaps—who had a face he would welcome in his bed. Not in the dark of night, but in the light of morning, when only the clear, honest eyes belonging to a woman he could live with for an eternity would look up from the pillow beside his and meet his gaze.
Unless he took a hand in things, such an outcome was not likely. He was sought after by the mothers who wanted their daughters to make a fine marriage, who knew he was a man of wealth, of good family, a trophy to be proud of should their female progeny be adept at snagging his attention.
Even his own mother, before her death, had pushed him in the direction of several such young ladies, creatures he had shunned with barely any effort, knowing they would not measure up to what he wanted in a woman. And so he had followed the tale of a sequestered woman, a story told by men who had caught sight of her as a girl, here in her present setting. Kept from public view, she had become a legend of sorts, a woman who lived in a convent, yet was not a nun. Perhaps intending to form such a vocation, but as yet, simply a resident.
Now that he’d seen her for himself, he felt a sense of exultation. For the woman he’d dreamed of had become a reality. What he wanted was even now walking before him, heading for the building where he suspected she also lodged.
He would see to it that she was not left here to become another one of the creatures who walked solemnly to and fro, hands folded and eyes lowered in a pose of sanctity and prayer. She would not be wasted thusly. He had decided it would not be, and those who knew Rafael would not have expected any less from him, than that he rescue her from her fate.
No matter that it might be her own choice that had brought her here.
He walked slowly toward his destination, intent on gathering his clothing, his pack of belongings and seeking out Isabella’s whereabouts. The cell where he’d slept was small and unadorned, a stark example of the usual accommodations here, he was certain, for every room he passed seemed to be formed of the same components as his own private cubicle. And such was no doubt the type of place where the object of his search slept. He envisioned her in a white gown, engulfed in yards of cotton fabric, lying on a virginal bed, probably not any softer than the one he had arisen from just an hour since. She slept alone, of that he was certain. For the look on her face was that of a woman unawakened.
The long hall leading off to his right was the dining room, he recalled, and thinking of the breakfast that would fill the empty place in his middle, he went through the doorway and found a seat at the end of the table. The front of the room seemed to be reserved for those who lived in this place, the robed figures looking much alike to his undiscerning eye.
Except for the girl who sat across the table from him, perhaps twenty-five feet distant, hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast, as if she prayed for the food she hoped to find before her.
His own bowl of porridge arrived within minutes, and he looked around for guidance as to whether or not he should commence eating or perhaps wait until some robed figure would pronounce his food fit for consumption. Saying grace over his food was not unknown to him, for his parents had duly blessed each and every repast that graced their dining room table in his youth, and he was not averse to such a thing taking place now. Except for the fact that the porridge bowl already felt barely lukewarm, and as such, did not merit a prayer spoken over its contents. Aware that his thoughts were not suitable here, he sought to tame their wayward direction and concentrate instead on the goodwill of those who had allowed his presence here last night. For though they had demanded, and received, a suitable recompense for his stay, he had not been turned away, but treated as any other traveler seeking lodging for the night.
Rafael was not any other traveler, but a man who had sought out this convent with purpose in his mind. A man who owned the loyalty of three men who even now watched from a wooded area close by, awaiting a signal from him.
A
