Surrender by Moonlight Read online

  But I can't close my eyes to them, Leonor thought miserably. Something has to be done!

  "Senorita Leonor?"

  Leonor turned to find Paquita, her maid, hovering over her.

  "Senorita, what is the matter? Are you ill?"

  Ill? Yes, Leonor thought, I'm ill with outrage and grief. Every time I think of Tobias a wave of nausea overcomes me! But she shook her head. "I'm not ill, Paquita, but—"

  Paquita, shocked by her mistress' white, tear streaked face, waited. She was only a few years older than Leonor and she had never seen her mistress so upset since the master's death. "Is there anything I can get for you?" she asked gently, wondering frantically what had happened.

  "Information, Paquita." A cold shaking hand took Paquita's and gripped it tightly. "I saw Tobias being whipped today," Leonor said shakily. "Does he live? Or—"

  "Oh, senorita," Paquita breathed, "why were you there? You should not . . ."

  "I should not see one of my people being whipped? You sound like my stepfather, Paquita! If I do not see it, if I do not recognize that it exists, then it does not exist? No," she cried angrily, "it happened. I saw it happen. Does he live?"

  "I—yes, he lives but—"

  "But what?"

  "He is old, senorita, and one can only wait and see."

  Leonor bit her lip, withdrawing her hand from Paquita's comforting clasp. "There have been others, haven't there? He has whipped many others."

  Paquita looked frightened and glanced behind her to be sure the door was closed. "Senorita, there have been many others as you say but this is not something you should ask about."

  "But I must know, Paquita, and do something about it."

  Paquita's eyes rested compassionately on her mistress's distressed face. "There is nothing you can do about it, senorita. He is master here. If you try to interfere—" She let the sentence trail off suggestively.

  "I will find a way, Paquita. I can't ignore it, pretend that I don't know and wait until I come of age. Eight months. . . . it seems like an eternity!"

  "Then you will do what is right," Paquita reassured her. "Then you can do something—"

  Leonor, understanding all too well Paquita's warning, let the subject drop but she knew that she could not sit idly by for eight months, ignoring the growing misery around her. yet, as Paquita pointed out, what could she do about it? She dismissed her maid and tried to calm her thoughts, making herself give full consideration to the problem. Did it consist of an occasional beating? Or were matters worse than that? Leonor looked at the solemn faced girl in the mirror, who was regarding her with haunted eyes. She could begin by discovering the truth, the entire truth. Only then could she do anything to help.

  So Don Gilberto thought her a silly child, incapable of understanding estate policies? He thought that child would meekly obey his order to forget what had happened today and accept his authority? After today, that carefree child was gone forever, Leonor thought sadly. In her place stood a young woman who had a great deal more of her father in her than Don Gilberto imagined!

  The sheltered cove lay in silence, any small sounds hidden beneath the subdued roar off the waves pounding against the rocky headland. Pale moonlight slipped like a silken cloth over the sea, gleaming softly, its fabric patterned with darker patches of deep blue. The tall, darkly clad man stepped from the small boat, ignoring the frothing water swirling about his ankles. The wan moonlight turned his blond hair to a pale silver and dimly illuminated his face as he reached the dryer sand and turned to wait for the bulky man following him. It was a strong face, one not easily forgotten. The broad high brow balanced the decided jaw and chin. High cheekbones accentuated his well marked brows, which were several shades darker than his hair. An aristocratic nose was in keeping with the strength of his face. A handsome face, showing clearly the breeding of a long line of kings, but made remarkable by his eyes. They were blue, tinged with gray; well set, expressive, a weathervane to the inner man for those who knew him well. A cold, steely ice blue, when he was angry; a warm, soft blue, just the shade of the Volga River on a summer's day, when he was relaxed and amused; and a deep, stormy blue violet when he was passionately stirred, caught in the grip of deep emotion. Just now they appeared dark gray in the wan light as he turned to wait for his companions but a closer inspection would have revealed glints of amusement as he watched the two men splash toward shore. The evening breeze whipped his cloak around him and he pulled it more snugly across his chest as he looked around the silent, lonely beach. It was not the first time he had arrived in a strange land in the dead of night and by stealth. After spending half of his thirty years in the service of his cousin, the Czar, landing on this foreign beach caused him little anxiety. He lifted his head and lightly sniffed the air. It was a curious mixture of the scents of the vegetation clinging to the headland above and the tang of salt. It reminded him of a particular stretch of shore along the Spanish coast yet this was subtly different. Curiously enough, something in the smell felt right. He shrugged, unable to put a name to that unexpected surge of emotion.

  He suppressed a smile as he watched his servant, Sergei, stamp ashore, trying to remove the water from his boots.

  ''You are like a cat, Sergei! A touch of water will not harm you."

  Sergei, not nearly as tall as his master but twice his girth, approached, grumbling. "It is unseemly, my lord! I have said so before and I say so again. What His Highness would say if he could see you thus, I do not know."

  "His Highness," Dimitri said dryly, "would be approving, since he gave his permission."

  Sergei shook his mane of dark hair, heavily streaked with gray, and ignored the interruption. "Sneaking ashore like a thief in the night! You, Dimitri de Corderras, Baron Varanov, son of a duke, cousin of the Czar himself—"

  "Enough! You have said it all numerous times on the voyage, Sergei, and it changes nothing. Do you forget all the times we arrived without ceremony, and, in fact, like thieves in the night, on various shores? You did not bleat of my consequence then!"

  Sergei drew himself up and said reprovingly, "That was different, my lord! That was war!"

  Dimitri grinned. "Different, was it? We are not in Alta California for a long rest! Our work here is important, too, and could, without stretching the truth any at all, be classified as war!"

  "And it is a task that could have been handled by someone else, my lord. It was not necessary for you to come yourself! Even your father said so. There we were, after so many years of effort, finally settled at home—"

  Dimitri snorted. "Dancing attendance at Court and stifling slowly, you mean! After so many years of campaigning, it was like finding an ever tightening noose around my neck! I was not cut out to be an overdressed puppet, dancing to the tune of someone else's piping, Sergei. I was never so bored in my life!"

  "So what do you do," Sergei demanded, looking scornfully around the dimly lit beach, "but seize the first opportunity that arises to dash off across the world, to a wild, barbaric place, and involve yourself with who knows what kinds of people—"

  "At least I won't be bored!" his master retorted, turning to greet the third man approaching them. "We still have far to travel tonight and you would do well to save your strength for the ride."

  The captain panted up, breathing heavily from his hasty landing, in time to hear Dimitri's last remark. "And here, my lord, if I'm not mistaken, are your mounts."

  All three turned to watch the sailor making his way down the beach, leading two horses and a mule. As the sailor reached them, Dimitri ran an experienced eye over the horses and nodded. "They were waiting for you in the village?" he asked the sailor.

  The sailor handed him the reins. "Yes, m'lord, just as you said. I spoke your name to the innkeeper and he gave them into my care. He said a boy brought them this morning and left them, saying you would call for them within the next day or two. I paid him for their keep, as you instructed."

  "Did you manage to get directions to this farm?"

&n
bsp; "The innkeeper said to join the road, which runs past the village, and ride north. You will reach the Mission by dawn and the farm you seek is just past the Mission, on the right side of the road. He said the directions were given him by the boy who delivered the horses and he was told to be sure and explain the way to you. He was very curious but I did not answer any of his questions."

  "Well done." Dimitri slipped a coin in the man's hand and dismissed him. He watched as his trunks were strapped on the mule by two men from the ship riding at anchor in the little cove, then gave Sergei the reins for one horse and the mule's. "It is time to go." He glanced at Captain Pokovich. "I will send a message."

  "Send it north to our people at Fort Ross and they will see that I get it."

  Dimitri clapped the captain on the back. "I'll do that. Do Suidaniya."

  The captain repeated the farewell and stood back and watched the tall nobleman mount.

  Dimitri led the way up the narrow beach but after a few paces he stopped and looked behind. "Sergei?"

  "The mule will not go, my lord."

  "You have sworn at it in Russian, Sergei. It is a Spanish mule. Speak to it in Spanish."

  Casting the mule a glance of deep dislike, Sergei sternly ordered it to come, in his heavily accented Spanish. To his surprise, it complied, albeit reluctantly. Dimitri chuckled and, urging his horse forward, rode on.

  Once they had joined the main road, which paralleled the wild, rugged coastline, and were heading north, Dimitri considered the two letters that rested in his breast pocket. The first, written by the old steward who had cared for the de Corderra lands for forty years, had been sent to him by way of the Russian settlement in the north. Old Miguel had implored him to come to California. A personal visit had become urgent. Dimitri had trouble deciphering the lines of shaky writing but, as far as he could tell, something was amiss at the Hacienda Azahar. Someone was trying to steal the de Corderra lands and he must come without delay and prevent it. The second letter was short and more lucid. It was from Cesar, son of the steward Miguel, and his assistant. His father had died shortly after sending the letter. The Baron's presence was urgently needed. There was a plot to take legal claim of the lands from the de Corderra heir.

  Sergei had been outraged by the fact that the letter urgently asked that they do not come openly, not making their presence known until after his lordship had met with and talked to Cesar.

  It appeared that Sergei was also thinking about their first task. "My lord, I like this not at all. You are the heir to your mother's lands, no one could dispute that."

  "It seems someone is trying to," Dimitri commented.

  "But on what grounds, my lord? She was an only child and inherited them legally from her father and she left them to you. Why should someone try to take them? This smells, my lord. It could be a trap. When this man Cesar's letter came, you wrote to him saying you were sailing for this benighted place and he sends back a message telling you to sneak ashore! Why did he not, at least, come to meet us in the cove? Why must we ride through the dark to this farm to meet him?"

  "That is one of the things we will soon find out. He sent horses to that village, as I instructed him, but it may be that it was not safe for him to come there and wait for me himself. There is a great deal going on here that I do not understand, Sergei, but I will, in time, discover it all. Most of my questions can only be answered by Cesar himself so we will not know those answers until we speak with him at this farm. Can you not make that mule go any faster?"

  "No, my lord, I cannot. He does not understand my Spanish. He is like the rest of this barbaric land: unused to traveling in civilized company!"

  Dimitri smiled and twitched the reins from Sergei's hand. "Come, you," he said in fluent Spanish. "Increase your pace or I shall leave you to the wolves."

  Recognizing authority in Dimitri's voice and the jerk on the reins, the mule broke into a trot.

  It was nearly dawn when they passed the sleeping Mission and turned into the dusty yard of the small farm. Dimitri remained mounted while Sergei went up to the door and beat a loud tattoo on it. After a few moments, it opened and a slender youngish man, in his middle thirties, came out into the yard. He glanced up at the silent, waiting man and bowed. "Don Dimitri?" he said, his voice clearly expressing relief.

  Sergei turned, outrage written on his florid face. "He is the Baron Varanov, muzhik!"

  Dimitri waved him to silence. "It is Dom Dimitri, here, Sergei. Are you Cesar?"

  "Si. If you will step inside, I will put your horses in the barn."

  "I will deal with the horses," Sergei growled.

  Dimitri dismounted and handed Sergei the reins and followed Cesar into the small adobe farmhouse. As he entered and looked around, his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. The room was empty. It was the main room of the house where the family spent most of their indoor time. Small rooms had been crudely partitioned off at the back and Dimitri could hear a snore issuing from one. A soup pot simmered on the hearth and he sat down on the rough bench near the fire. Cesar handed him a brimming tankard. Dimitri sipped the lukewarm ale and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Still, it eased the dusty dryness of his throat.

  "I would be very interested to learn," he said quietly, when Cesar returned and sat down across from him, "just why I've landed in darkness and come secretly to this farm. You do have a reasonable explanation, do you not?"

  Cesar met the Russian's intense gaze and nodded. "If you had come openly, your presence would quickly have been known and they would have been forewarned."

  "They?"

  "The de Corderra lands are extensive, Don Dimitri. They are also productive, wealthy lands, or they were. Things have been difficult of late but I will explain that later. Men covet such lands. Two such men are Don Carlos Balsas, the Consul General of the South, who is both the military and civilian authority here; and Don Gilberto Ramires y Sabada, who is your nearest neighbor. Don Gilberto has wanted the de Corderra lands ever since he married Dona Juana de Reyes and gained control of the de Reyes lands."

  "Don Roderigo de Reyes is dead? I have heard my mother speak of him often."

  "He died three years ago and two years ago Don Gilberto married his widow, Dona Juana. He acts as guardian to Senorita Leonor, who is heir to the lands. When news arrived that your mother had died and you had inherited, they saw a way to gain legal possession of the land. It has been two full years since you inherited and you did not come and file your claim to the estates. My father, the steward of the estates, did file the claim in your name but those two saw this formality as a loophole. They have persuaded the governor to declare your claim invalid since it was never legally entered on the records with your signature on the deed. They would then purchase the lands from the Crown for a fraction of what they are really worth."

  Dimitri's expression had grown increasingly colder as he listened.

  "If you wish to keep the lands of your mother, Don Dimitri—"

  Dimitri interrupted, his voice clear and convincing. "Those lands have been in the de Corderra family since the first settlements were made here! They will remain in the family!"

  "Then you must get to the governor, file your claim and persuade him not to recognize their claim on the land. He has not yet authorized it. They do not know that my father—or I—sent for you, so they believe there is still time."

  "I was sorry to hear of your father's death, Cesar. He spent many years serving the de Corderra family."

  "And died serving it." Cesar's dark eyes fearlessly met and held Dimitri's gaze. "He discovered their plan and opposed it and was foolhardy enough to let them know it. My father did not die of old age; he was murdered, killed before he could do anything to stop them. They do not know that he wrote to you or that I am aware of their plot or I would also be dead now. You must get to the governor before they discover that you are here. The governor is in Monterey. You must go there swiftly, file your claim, before the rumor of your arrival precedes you. Even here, news tra
vels quickly, my lord. They are determined to have that land and I do not believe they will stop at anything to get it. You are safe only as long as they do not know you are here and intending to see the governor. As for after that," Cesar shrugged, "unless you have an heir—"

  "You think they will attempt to harm my lord?" Sergei, returned from the stable, now burst out. "They would stoop to that?"

  Cesar glanced from one to the other. "I personally think they would do whatever they have to do to acquire the land. There is a great deal of potential wealth at stake, you understand. It is rich land and very extensive. If they owned it, it would not only give them much monies, it would also increase their power here in the south. As it is, Don Carlos, as the commander here, can do much as he likes. As for Don Gilberto, as long as he's in control of the de Reyes lands, which are as extensive as yours, my lord, he is also in a position of power. It is this that persuades the governor. You were not here and they are. They hold much of the south between them, and the only other landowner that would wield that much power here is the owner of the de Corderra estates. The other estates are smaller and more scattered. The governor, during these difficult days, is going to do whatever he can to stabilize this region. You are aware of our political situation?''