Liberating Fight Page 13

  Fernándo delivered one of his typical shrugs. “Then you would learn to love Spain, and that will teach you to love this inheritance.”

  Amaya controlled an urge to leap to her feet and shout at him. Instead, she said, “I do not intend to join Mr. Valencia. I am not certain he is cautious in whom he attacks.”

  “It is of no importance,” Fernándo said. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, wobbling slightly, and gestured toward the door. “Walk with me. I will show you your inheritance.”

  Amaya did not believe Fernándo capable of walking far, so she did not demur. It was not until they neared the stables that she understood Fernándo’s intent. Inwardly, she sighed. She was certain Fernándo would not allow her to run beside him as he rode, but this did not make her like horses more than before.

  Word had apparently gone before them, for two beautiful horses, one roan, the other the kind of white horse lovers call grey, stood saddled and ready in the yard behind the house. Amaya mounted without assistance, wishing as she usually did that she might wear trousers rather than a gown, and turned the white horse to follow Fernándo out of the yard.

  They followed the deeply rutted road that led to the house back to the main road, where Fernándo turned left, and rode in silence for several minutes. If Fernándo intended to sway her opinion, he had chosen some method other than conversation. Amaya surveyed the landscape. It was beautiful, she had to admit; fields green with summer’s growth spread out as far as she could see, which was very far indeed.

  Beyond the fields, the Tagus River flowed lazily past Toledo, which in the sunlight was as beautiful and golden as she had guessed it might be yesterday in the drizzle. Large spired buildings stood at the top of its low hill, and she amused herself by wondering what they might be—palaces, churches, or even remnants of the Moorish civilization she had been told once ruled Spain? She wished she had not promised Fernándo three days, because she was seized with a desire to explore those places.

  Fernándo pulled his horse up short and waved a hand at the distant fields, dotted with tiny workers. “The land is what sustains us,” he said. “I was not too proud to work the fields when I was a youth. It is your heritage.”

  Amaya doubted Fernándo had ever done the back-breaking labor of a field worker. More likely he had pulled a few weeds before leaving the rest to the servants. But she said only, “I have always wondered what it would be like to grow crops. In my home, the crops grow in terraces on the hills because there is little flat land such as this.”

  Fernándo scowled. “You persist in believing Peru is your home?”

  “The Incas sheltered me and cared for me. They are my family.”

  Despite her care, Fernándo said angrily, “You do not know what family is. I—”

  “You persist in saying that,” Amaya said, finally goaded beyond politeness. “You treat your daughter like a slave, you are indifferent to the dashed hopes of your grandson, and you disowned my father for ignoring your wishes. It is you who does not know what family is.”

  Fernándo’s jaw tightened. “We are Salazars. Our duty is to something greater than ourselves. The people depend on us not only to provide their livelihood, but to defend them against enemies. We fought off the French and we fought off guerrillas who believed themselves justified in taking what was not theirs.” He brought his horse around so he could look Amaya in the eye. “You have a powerful talent you should turn to protecting others, if you refuse to take up an Extraordinary Shaper’s traditional role. But this can only happen if you stop deluding yourself that none of this has anything to do with you.”

  Amaya, taken aback by his sudden intensity, said nothing. She still did not like Fernándo, but his speech showed her she had been wrong about at least one thing: Fernándo’s devotion to his family name ran far deeper than personal aggrandizement.

  Fernándo looked past her shoulder, and his eyes hardened. “And these companions,” he said. “You should not need the English to give you protection.”

  Amaya turned to see Edmund approaching. She did not know enough to know how good a horse it was, but he sat it well, and it eased her heart to know she would no longer endure Fernándo’s demands unaccompanied. “They are my friends,” she said.

  “Nevertheless,” Fernándo said.

  Edmund drew up even with them and saluted Fernándo. “Don Fernándo, I thank you for the privilege of taking out one of your horses,” he said. “They are all excellent animals.”

  “You are quite welcome,” Fernándo said stiffly. “I must return to the house now. I am in need of rest. But you must both continue your ride. The land for miles around is Salazar land; feel free to explore it.” He looked meaningfully at Amaya as he spoke, then wheeled his horse around and trotted back toward the house.

  When he was well out of earshot, Amaya said, “I believe you have rescued me.” She spoke in English, just in case.

  “Don Fernándo is no villain, unless I miss my guess.” Edmund sat gazing after the old man’s retreating figure. “But he has imposed on you, I believe.”

  “He wants me for his heir. I do not know what I am to do. Edmund, what will come to this place if I am not heir?”

  Edmund nudged his horse into motion, and they followed Fernándo, slowly. “I do not know Spanish inheritance law, but I am aware the dotados owe much to the government. It is possible the Crown will take the lands and the money on the grounds that there is no other direct line heir. On the other hand, Doña Graciela is herself a dotado, and she might inherit in her father’s place.”

  The idea cheered Amaya. “We must learn which is true, because I would wish my aunt to inherit. It is what is due her if she has been a servant for many years.”

  “Then you will not accept Don Fernándo’s demand.”

  He sounded too neutral, as if he harbored an opinion he did not wish to share—an opinion she would not like. Amaya, feeling nettled at his unexpected reticence, said, “You do not believe I am to be heir?”

  Edmund shrugged. “You are legally entitled, and I wondered if you might not like the idea of regaining some of what was lost to you.”

  Amaya laughed. “I would feel…I do not know the word. I am a stranger who comes to the house and takes it over.”

  “A usurper.”

  “Is that the word? It is a strange one.” Amaya sighed. “May we return now? Riding bores me, and as you will not permit me to run alongside, I have little pleasure in it.”

  “It is a skill you should master,” Edmund chided her in a friendly way. “And you are not dressed for running.”

  Amaya sighed again, more deeply this time. “I do not know why my aunt Ynes wears men’s clothing, but I feel I should ask, because perhaps it is a thing I can do here.”

  They turned the corner to the stables, where they found Mrs. Paget speaking to one of the stable hands. “Miss Salazar, Mr. Hanley, I regret not seeing you before you left,” she said in Spanish. “I feel much recovered, and considered taking a ride—but of course I will not impose on you, if you are finished with yours.”

  “I would be happy to ride out with you,” Edmund said. “Miss Salazar, however, has had her fill of riding for the day.”

  Amaya resisted the urge to make a face at him and slid down from her horse, not very gracefully. “If we were on foot,” she began, then was distracted by the sight of approaching riders, moving very fast and throwing up clouds of dust. “Who is that?”

  She had not addressed anyone in particular, but the stable hand walked past her, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun, and stared at the oncoming crowd of what Amaya could now see were ten or twelve riders. They dressed much as Valencia’s people did, in plain clothes and slouching hats, and they were riding at a full gallop, as if desperate to reach their goal—or desperate to escape a pursuer.

  Then the stable hand lowered his hand with an oath Amaya did not recognize, spun on his heel and ran for the stables at top speed. “Raiders!” he screamed. “’Ware raiders!”

/>   Amaya immediately grabbed her horse’s reins and urged it toward the dubious safety of the stables. Edmund rode past her, dismounting when he reached the stalls. “You must return to the house immediately,” he told Amaya. “Take Mrs. Paget.”

  “And what do you intend to do? Edmund, you are unarmed—”

  “I will see if I can rouse Mr. Valencia’s men.” Edmund turned to Mrs. Paget, who seemed not to have understood the cries, because she still stared at the raiders as if fascinated by them. “Mrs. Paget, we must get to safety!”

  Mrs. Paget turned at that. The crack of a gunshot rang out, and the high-pitched whine of a rifle ball whizzed past. Amaya started for Mrs. Paget as more shots exploded. Men rushed from the servants’ house, and the noise redoubled as they found sheltered spots and began shooting at the attackers. Some of them could find no better shelter than the sides of the buildings. Amaya had never felt more exposed than she did in the open yard.

  She had almost reached Mrs. Paget, who had her arms over her head as if that would protect her, when another rifle ball grazed Amaya’s shoulder, far too close to her head. Amaya let her body deal with the wound and ducked low to make herself a smaller target. “Mrs. Paget, get down!” she shouted.

  Mrs. Paget nodded and began to crouch. Then she jerked, and a spray of red exploded from the back of her head. The crouch became an uncontrolled fall, and she hit the hard-packed earth without trying to stop herself. Drops of blood flew everywhere. Amaya, sliding to a halt on her knees beside the woman, saw Mrs. Paget’s eyes staring back at her, glassy and dead.

  Chapter 12

  In which Edmund and Amaya experience a change of heart

  Amaya cried out and reached for Mrs. Paget’s hand. Then Edmund’s hands were around her waist and he dragged her away. “She is dead,” he shouted over the noise of rifle fire, “beyond even an Extraordinary Shaper’s power to restore. We must get inside, quickly.”

  Amaya freed herself from his grip, and the two of them ran for the entrance to the garden, ducking and weaving to make themselves less desirable targets. “What are we to do?” Amaya exclaimed in Spanish. “We cannot permit these men to kill others, or destroy this house.”

  “You have never used a gun, and I am a poor shot,” Edmund replied. “We both of us are better at hand-to-hand fighting. Which in this case might be fatal.”

  Amaya peered around the edge of the maze. The riders milled about some distance from the yard, shouting and taking shots at anyone visible. From what she could see, most of their shots flew wide as their horses jigged and moved restlessly. As she watched, one of the defenders’ shots found its mark, and a raider jerked backward before falling off his horse. The horse backed into another rider and jostled a second before finding its way free.

  Then, as if in response to some unheard signal, the raiders wheeled their horses and rode away in a great clamor of shouting. A few of the defenders continued to shoot, but it was clear even to Amaya that the raiders were well out of range. One final crack of dull thunder, and the yard was silent.

  Amaya and Edmund emerged from the shelter of the hedges and crossed the yard to where Mrs. Paget lay. Blood pooled beneath her head, which was shattered at the back. Edmund was right; she was clearly beyond the help of even the most skilled Extraordinary Shaper. Amaya crouched beside her, her mind numb. Mrs. Paget had not been a close friend, but Amaya had liked her, and she could not help thinking of Lady Kynaston, to whom Mrs. Paget had been dear.

  “Three dead, including Mrs. Paget,” Edmund said. Amaya looked up at him; he was surveying the yard, his expression grim. “Something is not right about this.”

  Amaya stood. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Edmund said, “those men had no hope of doing real damage to this place, or even of killing many. Anyone who died was the victim of bad luck. This yard is not highly defensible, but it is secure enough. Well, you see it yourself. Only three dead, and I believe the defenders accounted for two.”

  Amaya chose not to comment on why Edmund understood the situation so well. She looked at where the fallen raiders lay. “Two,” she agreed. “But then what was the purpose of the attack?”

  “I cannot say. I have heard nothing to suggest that this kind of raid is common, or that Don Fernándo has enemies who are interested in harassing him.” Edmund put a hand on Amaya’s shoulder. “There is your uncle Leocadio,” he said. “I wonder if he knows more.”

  Leocadio was hurrying toward them, his odd full skirts billowing as he ran. “You are—” he began, then noticed Mrs. Paget and recoiled. “God have mercy,” he said, crossing himself. He crouched beside Mrs. Paget’s body as they had, then stood as if he had realized there was nothing to be done for her. “What happened here?”

  “The men said it was raiders,” Amaya said. “Does that happen often?”

  “Not often. Not since the guerrillas, two years ago.” Leocadio mopped sweat from his forehead. “There are those who believe that my father, being old, is an easy target. I daresay those men, whoever they were, did not realize Alejandro’s people were here.” He shook his head. “I would laugh at their consternation had their violent behavior not cost so many their lives. Including your companion. I sorrow at your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Edmund said. “But you say this is unusual?”

  Leocadio blinked at him. “Unusual? I did not say that. Unlikely, perhaps. Spain suffers still from the depredations of war, and there are those who claim the guise of freedom fighters who rampage through the countryside, taking what they will and killing many who attempt to stand up to them. It is why Alejandro’s work is so vital. He is a true hero.”

  “I would not call myself hero,” Valencia said, coming up beside them. “It is simply what must be done. And when this brave lady lies dead before us, I feel my limitations most keenly.” He, too, crossed himself and bowed his head briefly.

  “It was a terrible accident, and you should not blame yourself,” Amaya said. She saw servants approaching with armloads of tan or white cloth. “We must return to tell Lady Kynaston what happened.”

  “Permit these men to care for the body,” Valencia said. “I believe Don Fernándo would like to speak with you.”

  “What could Don Fernándo have to say? He was not present,” Edmund said, sharply.

  Valencia smiled, one side of his mouth curving upward to make the expression wry. “I believe you will find Don Fernándo possessed of strong opinions on many topics. In this case, however, he wishes only to see that you are unharmed.” He shot a glance at Edmund. “Both of you, naturally.”

  Edmund’s neutral expression was the one Amaya recognized as how he looked when he was concealing a strong emotion. She wished they were alone so she might ask him what was wrong. She stepped back to allow the servants to wrap Mrs. Paget’s body in sheets. “We will attend on him,” she said with a nod.

  Fernándo was not seated when they entered the drawing room. He paced before the fireplace, where tiny fires ignited, blazed high briefly, and merged to make larger flames that encompassed the logs laid there. “This is an outrage,” he exclaimed. He brandished his stick as if he could beat the raiders into submission. “An outrage! That these fools, these cowards, think to attack me—despicable, craven men who think of nothing but their own foul needs!”

  “Norales says he recognized two of them,” Valencia said. “They work for Enrico Solano.”

  Fernándo spun to face him, faster than Amaya believed the old man could move. “Solano,” he hissed, drawing out each syllable as if testing it. “Solano. That brute. Was he not defeated last year, and driven out of Castile?”

  “I believed so,” Valencia said. “I must beg your forgiveness for having failed.”

  Fernándo waved this away. “It is typical of such men. Chop off one head, and two more sprout in its place.”

  “It will not happen again,” Valencia said. “I intend to ride out today in search of him.” He looked at Amaya, then at Edmund. “Solano will be well-armed, and
will have many fighters at his command. I would not reject your help if you chose to give it.”

  Amaya drew in a sharp breath. To fight? And yet her duty was not to Spain, it was to Elinor, and also to Mrs. Paget’s memory.

  “We must leave for Madrid today,” Edmund said. “Mrs. Paget’s body should be returned to her friends.” He sounded polite, but distant, and once more Amaya wished she knew what was truly in his heart.

  “Of course,” Valencia said immediately. “Miss Salazar, will you return here?”

  “I do not know.” Amaya resolutely did not look at Edmund. “Eventually, yes.”

  “Eventually?” Fernándo exclaimed. “What is this ‘eventually’? You have a duty to this family—”

  “Don Fernándo, Miss Salazar has made promises she must keep,” Valencia said. “She knows where her duty lies.” He bowed to Fernándo. “I must see to my men, but they would appreciate your presence when we set off in an hour.”

  “Of course.” Fernándo sounded less angry, but he did not look at Amaya again. Amaya took this to mean she was dismissed and hurriedly followed Valencia out of the room before Fernándo could renew his angry commands.

  “Don Fernándo feels strongly about his family,” Valencia said in a quiet voice when they reached the antechamber. “Do not judge him too harshly.”

  “He seems unfamiliar with the notion of his will being thwarted,” Edmund said drily.

  Valencia chuckled. “You will see us off?” he asked Amaya. “My men respect Extraordinaries and view them as good luck.”

  “I—yes,” Amaya said. Once more Valencia’s presence, his intent expression, flustered her.

  “Good.” Valencia nodded to both of them and left the antechamber.

  Amaya let out a deep breath as if Valencia’s overwhelming presence had struck her to the heart. “I will be glad to return to Madrid.”

  “I wonder,” Edmund said. He was looking in the direction Valencia had gone. “He is…”

  “Is what?”