The Eagle and the Sun Read online

  Gathering the reins, she swung up on to the mare's back, making unnecessary adjustments to one of the stirrup leathers in order to avoid looking at Miguel. For even the sight of him unsettled her, made her pulses race and her heart thud unevenly. And now, with the imprint of his lips still fresh on

  hers, she was having to fight a yearning she had never before experienced.

  He brought the stallion alongside and they started back down the trail. 'I have to fly to Mexico City for the day,' Miguel announced after several minutes of silence. 'Do you wish to come?'

  His tone gave no clue to his own feelings, yet, Cass reasoned, he would not have mentioned it had he not been prepared for her to accept.

  Without hesitating she replied, 'Thank you, but no. I prefer to spend today at the hacienda. The garden is very beautiful and the views are spectacular. I'll probably do some sketching, maybe start developing a few ideas for designs.'

  'Very wise,' he agreed blandly. 'You have much to think about, do you not?' He leaned towards her, tall and perfectly relaxed in the saddle, his narrowed eyes glittering. 'Like a snail you have withdrawn into your shell, Cassandra. But you cannot hide from me.'

  Her head snapped up. She was overwhelmed by sudden apprehension and the horribly familiar feeling of being pushed into a situation she didn't know how to handle. 'What do you want from me?' she cried.

  The smile that lifted the corners of his mouth only emphasised the intensity in his eyes as they raked her from head to toe, returning to linger on her flushed face.

  'Everything.'

  The single word, uttered with flat finality, made Cass's heart skip a beat. The blood roared in her ears as she tried to grasp the full meaning of what

  he had said, but the task proved beyond her. Instead she seized on the only other explanation. It was a joke. He was teasing her and she, gullible as ever, had fallen for it.

  Raking her scattered wits together, she flashed him a wry smile that trembled only slightly. 'But surely you already have everything: wealth, position, a lovely house, a fascinating career that you enjoy, and,' Cass inwardly steeled herself, 'a beautiful fiancée.'

  Miguel's reaction startled her. There was a sardonic note in the laughter that rebounded from the encircling hills. 'Indeed,' he agreed, expertly gentling the spirited stallion who had started at the sudden sound. 'I have all those things. And what more could any man ask for than a woman prepared to bow entirely to his wishes and pander to his every whim?' The clear note of cynicism puzzled Cass, but she had no time to think further as he went on, 'And what of you, Cassandra Elliott? Would you behave so for the man you loved?'

  'No,' she said truthfully. She knew she could never totally submerge her own needs, her own personality, to please someone else, no matter how much she cared for them.

  'I thought not.' She could not tell from his tone what he was thinking. 'But then, you would not love a man who could demand such a sacrifice.'

  'No,' she admitted. 'Though to many women it might not seem a sacrifice. After all, to be lavishly clothed, fed, pampered and housed in return for one's undivided attention appears a fair exchange.'

  One corner of his mouth tilted. 'What finesse!' he

  mocked. 'How gently you drive home the blade.' Cass's face flamed. 'However,' he continued, 'the relationship you describe applies equally to loyal servants or even a trusted dog.'

  Cass shrugged lightly. He had said it.

  'You, on the other hand,' he taunted, 'are quite independent.'

  Cass glanced uncertainly at him, sensing something unpleasant was coming, incapable of forestalling it.

  'You live alone?' He asked. She nodded.

  'Where?'

  'I have a small flat not far from the company building.'

  'You, like me, have a career you enjoy at which you are very successful.' He waited, clearly expecting confirmation, so she nodded again.

  'Then what hold has Prentice got over you?' The question, put in cool, quiet tones, hit her like a slap.

  She gasped. 'I don't know what you—'

  He didn't let her finish. 'Do you think me stupid?' The demand was harsh with barely suppressed fury. 'You tell me there is nothing between you, then he announces your engagement and you say nothing. I do not understand why you permit this unless you lied to me.'

  'No,' Cass's voice was a strangled croak. 'No, I didn't. You don't underst—'

  Miguel cut straight through her shocked denial. 'You are right. I don't understand. Prentice is using you and you are allowing it.' He glared at her, plainly finding it difficult to contain his disgust, a

  muscle jumping at the point of his jaw.

  Her churning emotions vivid on her face, Cass tilted her chin to meet his eyes. 'Yes,' she said defiantly, 'I have been used. Misplaced loyalty is my only excuse. That, and a reluctance to believe that a person I considered a colleague and friend could—' Her voice broke and she stopped, lowering her eyes and swallowing hard.

  Blinking away sudden, scalding tears, she lifted her head to look at Miguel once more, her pain erupting like a lava flow and equally uncontainable. 'Derek is what he is. He drinks too much and no doubt that influences his behaviour.' Her chin lifted a fraction higher. 'But what's your excuse, Senor Ibarra?' She flung the words at him. 'How do you justify your hypocrisy?'

  Miguel visibly paled then his proud features tightened to granite hardness. His eyes were flint. Lightning-fast he reached out and seized the mare's reins, bringing both horses to an abrupt halt. 'Explain.' The word was rapped out a terse, icy command.

  'I should have thought it was obvious,' Cass flared back. 'Your opinion of me must be rock- bottom if you believe I would be a willing party to Derek's plans—'

  'I didn't say you were willing,' he cut in coldly. 'No, you asked what hold he had over me. That

  implies blackmail, and to be blackmailed I'd have to have done something of which I was ashamed. So it amounts to the same thing, doesn't it,' Cass cried, 'my rotten character. Yet that didn't stop you sampling the merchandise,' she mocked bitterly,

  'before turning on the righteous indignation.'

  Unable to stop the tears that spilled down her hot cheeks, Cass snatched the reins back and with a reckless disregard for her own safety, or the steepness of the track, she slammed her heels into the mare's side.

  With a squeal the animal leapt forward, her ears laid back, the whites of her eyes showing. Cass clung on as they hurtled in an avalanche of earth and stones down the lonely path. Her vision was blurred by tears and sobs of anger and humiliation wrenched her throat and chest.

  'Cassandra!' Miguel's voice taut and urgent, echoed around her and she heard the stallion's hooves drumming as he gained on her.

  She darted a glance over her shoulder. He was about ten yards behind and coming up fast.

  'Leave me alone!' she cried.

  His face mirrored anger and anxiety. 'All right, all right. Go on by yourself,' he shouted. 'But in God's name, slow down. If the mare breaks a leg I'll have to shoot her. Do you want that on your conscience?'

  His words had the shocking effect of ice water. Realising the enormity of what she had done, the danger in which her desperate flight had placed both herself and her mount, Cass pulled back on the reins. Tense, trembling with effort and reaction, she gripped the saddle with her thighs while the mare skidded and slid on the loose dirt and pebbles.

  Miguel kept his word and remained some distance behind as they passed beneath the stand of oaks and approached the stable yard.

  When Cass slid from the mare's back her legs shook so much she could barely stand. She rested her forehead against the animal's sweat-sheened neck as Miguel clattered into the yard.

  Two grooms appeared from one of the store rooms. She handed over the reins to one and the mare was led away to her stall. Cass turned to go and came face to face with Miguel.

  Tightly controlled emotion had tautened the bronze skin across his high cheekbones. His eyes were splinters of ice that stopped her breath in
her throat and made her take an involuntary step backwards.

  'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I should not have put the mare at risk. She must be very valuable.'

  'She is.' He was brusque. 'However, she is replaceable. You are not.'

  Cass's eyes widened but before she could frame any sort of reply he said, 'Go on back to the house. They will all be down for breakfast soon. It is your decision whether or not to speak of our ride.' His tone was abrupt, impersonal. He gave the impression of not caring one way or the other.

  But Cass knew without having to think about it that she would say nothing. Despite the way it had ended, and the raw pain and humiliation she had felt, watching the sun rise and listening to Miguel talk of his ancestors had been a profoundly moving experience. One too precious ever to share. He treasured the solitude and spiritual communion with the past that his morning ride provided in an otherwise busy and demanding life. She had been privileged to share it this once. Regardless of the

  way things stood between them now she would not abuse that privilege.

  As he held her gaze, searching her eyes intently, she made a brief, negative movement with her head, and sensed quiet satisfaction in him.

  Were his reasons for preferring silence on the matter the same as her own? Or was it simply more convenient that by remaining in ignorance Teresa and her parents would have no cause to question his motives for taking a woman other than his fiancée riding in the hills at dawn?

  Weariness washed over her like a wave. What did it matter? She had given her word freely. She would keep it. Lowering her head, suddenly aware of her tear-stained cheeks and dishevelled appearance, she started past him. But one strong brown hand shot out to grip her wrist.

  'There is much still to be said between us, Cassandra.' He spoke quietly.

  Hurt flared again, a sharp stabbing. 'On the contrary,' she responded tightly, 'I think you said it all.'

  His face darkened. 'I do not like women who sulk.'

  Cass's head flew up, her eyes blazing at this brazen arrogance. Sulk? After the things he had said? The accusations he had made? 'And I can't stand men who patronise,' she retorted at once.

  To her amazement and chagrin he began to laugh, a deep, full-throated laugh of genuine amusement. Angry, he was imposing, but laughter transformed him, adding a dimension to his devastating handsomeness that made Cass's heart

  lurch.

  Raising her hand Miguel dropped a warm kiss on her palm, gazing at her from under his dark brows as a treacherous weakness assailed her. 'We will talk again, you and I,' he promised. Then with a mocking bow totally at odds with the intimacy of the moment before, he strode across the yard to speak to one of the grooms.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After taking a shower, Cass had dressed once more in shirt, slacks and sweater. As well as washing off the dust and tear-stains the hot water had soothed away her tormenting confusion, leaving a numbness that was oddly peaceful.

  Adding a touch of colour to lips and eyelids, she brushed her hair to a coppery sheen and left it loose on her shoulders. Then, deliberately concentrating her thoughts on possible places to do her sketching, she went downstairs to breakfast.

  Everyone else was already seated around the enormous table and Cass noticed immediately that they were all dressed for the city.

  'You certainly slept well,' Derek said as she entered, his tone accusing.

  'Yes, thank you,' she replied evenly, refusing to be drawn.

  Miguel half rose from his chair. He too had showered. His black hair, curling thickly on his crisp shirt collar was still damp and his blunt jaw was freshly shaved. He wore his dark business suit with the same ease as his breeches and sweater, yet the air of distinction and authority it lent him was undeniable.

  Cass shook her head, carefully avoiding his eyes, hoping the betraying heat in her cheeks was less

  visible than it felt. 'Please don't get up. I'll help myself.' She went to the sideboard.

  The physical exertion of the ride, the crisp fresh air and the emotional upheaval of the morning had combined, much to her own surprise, to make her hungry. Helping herself to eggs, tortillas and sweet rolls, she carried the plates to the table and slid quietly into the only vacant chair. This time she was between Derek and Senor Morelos, directly opposite Miguel.

  'I knocked on your door a couple of times,' Derek went on, staring hard at her, 'but you never answered.'

  'I expect I was in the shower,' Cass replied lightly and reached for the coffee pot.

  'What, for half an hour?'

  Realising Derek was in one of his argumentative moods and determined there would not be another scene, Cass turned to face him. 'Was there some important reason you wanted to speak to me so early?'

  Taken aback by her unexpected directness, Derek fumbled for words, 'Well, no, not exactly. But—'

  'Then it really doesn't matter, does it,' she interrupted pleasantly and Derek's mouth thinned to a hard, white line.

  Having fetched another sweet roll from the sideboard, Teresa lowered herself with studied elegance into her chair and leaned towards Miguel, pouting provocatively. 'And you, no doubt, were out on your beloved Diablo.'

  'What's a Diablo?' Derek demanded, but before

  Miguel could reply, waved him to silence with a careless gesture. Closing his eyes and making a visible show of thinking hard with one hand pressed to his forehead, Derek announced, 'No, hang on, it's one of those new racing bikes, isn't it?' His eyes flew open and he sat back in his chair, a self- satisfied smirk twisting his mouth. 'I think one won some trophy or other at Silverstone a couple of weeks back. Mind you, I don't think they're up to much, all show and little substance if you ask me. Still, if you're happy with it…' He shrugged.

  Miguel remained silent for several seconds and only by the whiteness around his nostrils and the imperceptible deepening of the creases on either side of his mouth was Cass aware of the deep displeasure Derek's manner was causing him.

  'I know nothing of this machine,' he said at last. 'My Diablo is just a horse.'

  A dull flush spread over Derek's face.

  'For shame, Miguel,' Teresa scolded. 'Just a horse indeed!' She turned to Derek. 'Diablo is a very valuable stallion.' Her kohl-darkened eyes sparkled. 'He is worth many thousands of dollars. Lots of people want to buy him. Miguel could ask any sum he wanted, but he will not sell.'

  Cass stole a quick glance at Teresa. The girl had not mentioned the stallion's beauty, spirit or intelligence. Had she not noticed the satin gloss of his coat? The harnessed power in his flowing movement? Did she see everything only in terms of its monetary value?

  Cass let her glance linger. Despite the relatively early hour Teresa looked as though an army of

  beauticians had been at work on her. Her gleaming hair was swept up into an elegant French pleat and her lavish make-up was flawless. She was wearing a pencil-slim black skirt with a split up the side to just above her knee, emphasising her shapely nylon-clad legs, hand-made court shoes in black patent leather, and a batwing-sleeved sweater of fine mohair, boldly patterned in cyclamen and black.

  Turning her attention to Miguel, Teresa rested her chin on one smooth white hand and Cass noticed that her nail varnish had been changed to match her sweater. Gazing at the tall, dark man beside her, Teresa demanded petulantly, 'Why don't you ever take me on your dawn rides?'

  Miguel gave her an indulgent smile. 'Because you and I both know that the sun would have been up an hour before you had even decided what to wear.'

  Despite her determination not to dwell on matters she was painfully aware were none of her business, Cass could not avoid noticing that Miguel's attitude towards Teresa resembled that of an elder brother. There was nothing of the ardent lover in either his speech or the looks he directed at the raven-haired girl. Yet they were betrothed, and Cass knew enough about Mexican customs to realise that such an arrangement was not entered into lightly, nor was it easily broken.

  So what of this morning? What of tho
se things he had told her, things she sensed he spoke of rarely, if at all. He had said he wanted everything from her. What had he meant? What could she ever be in these circumstances?

  Knowing she had no right to condemn him for the treachery of her own heart only increased the helpless misery welling up in her.

  Teresa tossed her head angrily. That is not fair, Miguel. Look at the time. It is barely nine o'clock. Am I not ready for the day?'

  'Indeed,' he agreed smoothly, 'and you look…' he paused fractionally, 'wonderful. But I was saddling Diablo three hours ago. Where were you then?'

  Cass's stomach muscles tightened as she wondered where the conversation would lead.

  Then their eyes met. His gaze was smoke-dark, gleaming with silent laughter and something else, something that sent a flood of warmth tingling through her. Her heart thudded unevenly and her mouth grew dry. She looked away quickly, shaken, unwilling to believe he would take such a risk, yet unable to deny what she knew to be true.

  Quite deliberately, and in front of all his guests, though they were unaware of it, he was reminding her of what had occurred between them, and of his promise that things were by no means settled.

  Salvation came from an unlikely source. 'Enough, Teresa,' her father said gruffly. 'Miguel

  and I have a busy day ahead of us. A man needs peace to gather his thoughts and decide his course of action. If Miguel finds tranquillity riding like the charros, you must respect his wishes and let him be.' 'Miguel is not a cowboy,' Teresa objected hotly,

  interpreting her father's remark as insulting.

  'Oh, but I was once,' Miguel corrected her. 'I rode with the men, ate the same food, looked after my own horse and took orders from the foreman.'