Carly straightened her spine. To hell with Ramon. In the end things would work out. In the meantime, she would just ignore him.
Staring straight ahead, she let him take her hand, heard his soft vows of marriage, repeated the words herself. He slid something onto her finger. She looked down to see a heavy gold ring, blood red stones surrounding the de la Guerra crest. Then all too soon the ceremony ended.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” the priest said, “I pronounce that you are man and wife. You may kiss your bride, Don Ramon.”
A cynical smile curled his lips. He pulled her hard against him and covered her mouth with a hot, steamy kiss. Carly gasped at the cruel invasion of his tongue, at the anger that shuddered through his tall lean body.
Dear God, he was madder than she thought. He released her so suddenly she had to grip his shoulders to keep herself from falling. “Ramon, please, if we could only have a moment to speak.”
Hard brown eyes bored into her. “The afternoon grows late. A storm threatens and it will be dark before we reach home. There will be time to talk once we arrive at Las Almas.”
“But—”
Taking her arm, he thanked the priest for his service, dropped some coins into the offering box, and started down the aisle toward the wide double doors, Carly running along beside him. Pedro Sanchez followed in their wake, escorting the two older women, his craggy face creased with lines of worry.
Her uncle strode along at the rear, exiting the doors and coming to a stop when he reached Ramon’s carriage. He took her hand and gave it a surprisingly gentle squeeze.
“Good-bye, my dear.” He stared at the stone-faced don. “I hope to God you know what you’re doing.”
So did she. Dear Lord, she hadn’t counted on any of this. “I-I’ll be fine.” Impulsively, she reached over and hugged him. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”
He faltered a moment at the unexpected gesture. “My fault,” he muttered gruffly. “Damn, but I wish you had let me guide you in this.”
Carly just nodded. Right now she wished she had. Even marriage to Vincent seemed preferable to the Spaniard’s mounting fury.
She glanced in his direction, watched him help his aging mother and aunt climb aboard the once-grand carriage. Now a faded, weathered black, its red leather seats were spider-webbed with cracks of age and the floorboards creaked beneath the old women’s weight. Standing a few feet away, Pedro Sanchez came toward her, holding his hat in his hands.
“I wish only the best for you,” he said gravely.
“He’s so angry, Pedro. If he would just let me explain—”
His callused hand came up to her cheek. “You have suffered his temper before,pequeña.You should not have done this thing.” He looked over at Ramon, took in his angry features and released a weary breath. “Then again, perhaps God has had a hand in this and in the end, it will all turn out as He has planned.”
“It isn’t as it seems, Pedro. If he would only listen.”
The old vaquero just nodded. “In time, his temper will cool. You will have your chance to explain.” But he didn’t really look as if it would matter.
Carly felt a churning in her stomach. She had underestimated Ramon when she had first met him. She prayed she hadn’t done it again.
The women spoke little on the ride back to Rancho Las Almas, just a cursory welcome to the family and best wishes on her marriage. Ramon spoke not at all. Pedro rode beside them on his high-spirited dapple gray stallion. By the time they reached Ramon’s small rancho, a light rain pattered on the roof of the carriage, and darkness hid the burgeoning clouds. Still there was enough light to see it, nestled in a grove of sycamores, a bubbling, willow-lined creek meandering off to one side. The buildings were mostly of adobe: a barn, an outdoor kitchen, a smoke house, and several sturdy corrals.
“I hope you are not disappointed,” Ramon said coolly, reaching up to lift her down. “There are only five hundred acres—not the twenty thousand of Rancho del Robles. But I suppose in time you will get used to it.”
“It’s lovely here, Ramon.” Unwilling to endure his condemning expression, she glanced away from him toward the two old women who had made no move to leave the carriage.
“Pedro will take care of them,” he said. The aging vaquero had dismounted from the stallion and tied his horse behind the carriage. As Sanchez took his place in the driver’s seat, Ramon’s lips parted in a chilling half smile.
“My mother and aunt will be staying with friends for the next few days… so the newly married couple can get to know each other.”
A queasy ripple slid into Carly’s stomach. This had gone far enough. Beyond far enough. “We have to talk, Ramon. This won’t wait a moment longer.”
A sleek black brow arched up, followed by a slight curl of his lips. “As you wish…mi amor.”
“And damnit, Ramon, please stop calling me that!”
For the first time his look held something other than fury, then it was gone. “Come. We will speak inside the house.”
Thank God.Her limbs went weak with relief. At last they could talk things over, straighten things out. She let him lead her inside the small adobe dwelling, which was warmed by a fire and lit with soft oil lamps. The smell of burning cedar drifted toward them from the hearth, and a light repast of bread, cold meats, and cheeses sat beside a flagon of wine on the table in front of the sofa.
