The Eagle and the Sun Read online

  'Are you feeling better?' There was a touch of acid in her tone.

  'A little,' he grudged, rubbing one hand over his stubbly chin.

  'Enough to tell me what you are playing at?' She kept her voice low but made no effort to hide her anger.

  Derek glanced nervously over his shoulder and put a warning finger to his lips. 'Don't you see? As Ibarra's guests we can call the tune.'

  'Derek, we can't accept his hospitality,' she whispered fiercely. 'For a start, it was his father we had both arranged to see. The fact that he's not here changes everything.'

  'I don't see why,' Derek argued. 'In fact as far as I'm concerned it might be better this way. After all, if Miguel is going to be running the show, which he obviously is if his father is that sick, it makes far more sense to deal direct with him.'

  'But can't you see that staying in his house, as his guest, while you talk finance blurs the dividing line between business and friendship,' she paused, adding quietly, 'not that Miguel Ibarra seemed particularly friendly.'

  'Yes, to our advantage,' he hissed. 'Now don't be awkward, Cass. Remember, I take over the company when my father retires next year. You're a good designer—one of the best—nobody knows that better than I. But you are an artist, not a businesswoman. So don't interfere in matters which don't concern you.'

  'As I'm being made a party to whatever you have in mind, I think it does concern me.' Cass struggled to contain her anger. 'In fact, it worries me rather a lot. And another thing,' she shot a glance towards the cockpit, 'why did you call yourself my fiancé? You had no right to do that.'

  'Don't be angry, Cass,' Derek pleaded. 'You know how I feel about you.'

  'Derek, we've been through all this before,' she began hopelessly, but he wasn't listening. He had closed his eyes once more and his head was lolling against the headrest. His complexion was pallid and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and upper lip.

  Cass fervently hoped he wasn't going to be sick. Miguel Ibarra's opinion of them was low enough already, which made her wonder yet again at his insistence on taking them to his home.

  What on earth would Matthew Prentice have thought if he could see them now?

  She visualised the short, plump little man who was Derek's father, peering over the half-moon glasses he wore perched on the end of his narrow nose, his mouth pursed as he tutted over some flaw in a gemstone. One of his habits was to smooth with his fingertips the freckled skin on his skull, which was quite bald save for a fringe of white hair running around the back of his head like a cake frill. Cass had first met him eighteen months previously after coming second in a national design competition sponsored by De Beers. He had written to her expressing interest in her work and inviting her to call and see him.

  They had taken to each other at once. He had introduced her to Sam Hart, his chief designer, and Cass had been ecstatic. It had been an exhibition of Sam's work, interpretations of Navajo designs executed in raw silver and turquoise, that had captured Cass's imagination and kindled in her the

  desire to work with gems and precious metals.

  Already fretting under the restrictions imposed on her designs by the firm employing her at that time, she could hardly believe her good fortune when Matthew asked if she would consider working for him. She had leapt at the offer and never regretted the move.

  She loved her work, loved the feel and colours of the stones and metals, as with patience and flair she fashioned them into intricate and beautiful items of adornment. Her admiration for Sam was unbounded and he, recognising her talent, had helped it to flower. It had not taken long for one of her designs to catch the eye of a wealthy and discerning young aristocrat searching for a very special gift for his wife to celebrate the birth of their baby son. Now, owning a Prentice ring, necklace or brooch designed by Cassandra Elliott was something of a status symbol.

  Matthew had been generous, both in financial and artistic terms, allowing her the freedom to develop. She received frequent overtures from other jewellery manufacturers offering all kinds of inducements to leave Prentice's, but politely, though firmly, turned them down. Professionally, she had everything she wanted. There was only one cloud on her horizon: Derek.

  This trip was to have been an opportunity to put some distance between them, to give herself a breathing space to consider the future. For she knew, whatever her decision, change was inevitable, and there was so much to consider, so much at stake. But nothing had worked out as she planned.

  She had been looking forward to a pleasant, peaceful month studying the wildlife and history of Mexico, sketching the wealth of exotic plants, learning the legends and visiting the Indian markets. She had hoped to absorb the essence of a country whose history was written in blood and gold, to distil it later in a series of new designs. Jorge Ibarra had promised her a visit to his opal mines and had advised her to attend a fiesta.

  But Jorge was in a Texas hospital fighting for his life. Derek, who had announced his intention of accompanying her only ten days previously, too late for her to change her arrangements, was spinning his own web of intrigue, and all her plans lay in fragments.

  A gentle bump and the immediate change of engine note brought her out of her reverie. They had landed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cass sat up with a jerk. Still dazed with sleep, she could not remember where she was. Then it all came flooding back: being met at the airport by the impatient, forbidding Miguel Ibarra, the news that his father was ill, and Derek's insistence that they accept Miguel's graceless invitation to stay at the hacienda.

  She glanced down, fingering in bewilderment the jade velour robe which was all she had on. She was lying on top of the bedclothes, yet some time during the night someone had placed a warm blanket over her while she slept. Who? A shiver pricked her skin as she imagined Miguel Ibarra watching her with those cold dark eyes as she slept. She shook her head, banishing the vision, irritated by her wayward imagination and annoyed at the apprehension and unease the brief image had stirred in her.

  Doubtless Consuelo, the housekeeper, or one of the maids had come to see if she needed anything, and instead of waking her, had spread the blanket over her and let her sleep on.

  She rubbed her temples. She could remember Miguel leading the way up the wide, curving staircase. He supported Derek while Consuelo, a short, stout woman dressed entirely in black, with grey-streaked hair drawn into a braided knot on the

  nape of her neck and eyes sharp with curiosity, bustled about fetching clean towels.

  Ignoring Cass's half-hearted protests, she had unpacked her case, then vanished to reappear a few minutes later with a mug of hot chocolate. Flavoured with cinnamon and sweetened with honey, it was the most delicious drink Cass had ever tasted. Her open gratitude had surprised and touched the housekeeper whose stony expression had softened into a gratified smile as she muttered 'De nada, is nothing,' in response to Cass's tentative but heartfelt 'Gracias, es muy bien.'

  After Consuelo had gone, Cass had taken a shower. The white-tiled bathroom had no bath, only a shower stall, hand basin and toilet, a reminder that in the highlands water was precious and not to be wasted. But there were hot rails for the fluffy towels and the cork tiles on the floor were warm to the feet. Then, cool and fresh and liberally dusted with honeysuckle-scented talc, she had slipped her robe on once more and returned to her bedroom to lie down for a moment while she decided what to wear

  for dinner. She remembered nothing more.

  Cass looked at her watch. It was six o'clock. She had slept almost twelve hours! What would Miguel Ibarra think of her? She had missed dinner without a word of explanation or apology.

  Burying her face in her hands, she groaned. It had been a bad enough start with Derek being drunk and their arrival unexpected and clearly unwelcome. No wonder the housekeeper had been merely polite instead of welcoming. As for Miguel—Cass shivered again, recalling her vivid awareness of him

  as he strapped her into her seat in the helicopter. An aw
areness tinged with trepidation. Yet what possible reason could she have for being nervous of him?

  Wide awake now, Cass pushed the blanket aside and slid off the bed. Her bare feet touched the beige short-piled carpet and she glanced around the room, observing her surroundings through eyes no longer clouded by exhaustion and strain. The first rays of the rising sun filtered through open-weave curtains of green, beige and gold, illuminating with a soft radiance a picture of the Virgin and Child hanging on the white-painted wall opposite the brass bedstead. The heavy carved wardrobe was clearly antique and the chest of drawers and bedside cabinet, on which stood a pretty lamp with an onyx base, revealed their Spanish origins in both shape and size. Though criss-crossed with massive beams, the wooden ceiling was so high it only added to the impression of airiness and space.

  Cass padded to the long window and pushed back the curtains. In the east soft hues of rose and gold were fading. Purple shadows melted and the outlines of trees and hills grew sharper under the harsh brilliance of the morning sun. Even, as she watched, the sky changed from primrose and pale green to a hard clear blue.

  She could bear it no longer. She needed to get out of the house, to feel the warmth of the sun and smell the first breath of the new day.

  Tossing her robe aside, she pulled on bra and panties then, opening the double doors of the wardrobe, quickly scanned the contents. Not that

  there was much to choose from. She preferred the feel of natural fibres against her skin and for simplicity's sake stuck to a colour scheme of brown, fawn and cream with touches of cinnamon, emerald or coral for contrast. Thus from a few basic items she could create many different outfits. As she wore her clothes with expediency rather than impact in mind, it never took her long to dress. Within minutes she had washed and was creeping downstairs clad in a pair of tan wool pants tucked into matching low-heeled, calf-length leather boots, an emerald Viyella shirt and a cream Aran jacket with a shawl collar over which her hastily brushed hair spilled in heavy waves to her shoulders.

  The huge front door had two enormous bolts. Cass held her breath, terrified of waking anyone and having to explain her impulsive behaviour, but they slid back without a sound.

  Stepping out on to the paved drive in front of the house, she couldn't help smiling as she carefully closed the door behind her. Anyone would have thought she was a criminal trying to steal away unseen. All she wanted was to be alone for a while, to greet the morning and relish the fact that after all the planning and problems, and in spite of the difficulties she knew had to come, she had made it. She was in Mexico!

  She strolled past beds of pink, scarlet and white geraniums, over a manicured lawn bordered with flowering shrubs and a profusion of marigolds. The sweet blend of fragrances filled her nostrils as she rested her arms on the wooden railing enclosing a small paddock.

  On their arrival the previous day, a mare and her young foal had occupied the paddock, the mare grazing peacefully while her offspring cantered about on long, spindly legs uttering shrill whinnies and kicking up his tiny heels for the sheer joy of being alive. The paddock was empty now and dew spangled the grass, reflecting the sunlight like a million scattered diamonds.

  Cass turned to look at the house. The morning sun had washed the white walls pale gold, and the tiles above the veranda and on the roof were the colour of blood. An ivy-like creeper spilled glossy green leaves over the veranda arches, emphasising the jewel colours of the blooms in terracotta pots resting on the carved balustrade below.

  She moved on past the paddock, trailing her fingers lightly over the rough wooden rail, enjoying its texture. She felt wonderfully alive, all her senses finely tuned. The air was cool and fresh on her skin, yet when she lifted her face to the sun, its gentle warmth penetrated her very bones. Among the chirping, twittering birds, she could hear doves cooing. Drawing in a deep, lingering breath, she smelled not only the flowers, but the sweet mustiness of hay and the richness of damp earth.

  At the far end of the house she hesitated, glancing into a courtyard surrounded on three sides by buildings. A quick look down the right-hand side revealed six stable doors, all closed except one which was fastened back against the wall. The other sides each had a set of double doors plus a single door in them. Cass guessed they held feed, tack, cleaning equipment and the other paraphernalia

  connected with horses.

  The walls of the stable block were as pristine as those of the main house. The doors were freshly stained and varnished, and stone troughs of flowers stood in the centre of the spotlessly clean yard.

  Such care reflected the investment of a great deal of money. Were the horses another of Jorge Ibarra's business interests, Cass mused, or did he keep them purely for pleasure, a hobby, albeit an expensive one, to take his mind off the pressure of work?

  Beyond the stable block the ground sloped away down a gentle incline marked by a small stand of oaks. Lost in her thoughts, Cass followed the trail down. The horses had to be Jorge's. She simply could not see his son possessing the necessary patience. He radiated forcefulness and drive and appeared to have his temper on a permanently tight rein.

  Enjoying an unaccustomed sense of peace and well-being, Cass sighed happily. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe he'd just had a bad day. Maybe underneath that arrogant, forbidding exterior he was gentle and tender.

  And maybe pigs flew!

  She was aware of an irregular, muffled thudding, but it did not register on her conscious mind until she reached the bottom of the slope and emerged from the trees. The ground opened out into a natural grassy basin and at the far side, roughly fifty feet away, Miguel Ibarra was trying to control a magnificent chestnut stallion whose black mane and tail flew as it plunged and reared.

  Cass stood perfectly still, realising that any

  distracting move on her part could startle the animal into even greater efforts to unseat its rider.

  With flattened ears and rolling eyes the horse skittered sideways, tossing its head and, as it jerked and sidled towards her, she could see great dark patches of sweat on its chest and shoulders. Flecks of foam flew from the sides of its mouth as it plunged its head down between stiffened forelegs.

  Beneath close-fitting cream breeches, Miguel's thigh muscles tautened as he exerted a steady pressure against the animal's heaving sides. The sleeves of his yellow sweater were pushed halfway up his forearms, exposing sun-browned skin covered with dark hair. He held the reins lightly, his wrists low, restraining the violent movements with gentle firmness as he urged the stallion forward, talking softly and continuously. The deep, soothing tones reached Cass quite clearly on the still air and, although she could not understand what he was saying, the sound was hypnotic.

  She wondered what it would be like to be made love to in this liquid, lyrical language. At once a fiery tide flooded her face as she recognised the direction of her thoughts and saw how close Miguel and the horse had come.

  She offered a tentative smile, expecting nothing more than a brief 'good morning,' but he passed within a few feet of her without so much as a sideways glance.

  Cass was acutely uncomfortable, and the sense of rejection stung like a slap. She felt like an interloper, as though she had been caught somewhere she had no right to be. Staring

  unseeingly at her feet, she tried to rationalise her feelings. She was overreacting. He obviously had his hands full, and the spirited animal, which was doubtless extremely valuable, required his full attention.

  The stallion had calmed considerably. While it was still trying to fight the curbing bit, Miguel had coaxed it into a canter. Its hooves drummed a rhythm on the coarse grass, muscles bunching beneath the gleaming, sweat-darkened coat.

  Miguel moved as one with the horse, his back straight and his shiny black boots quite still in the stirrups. As the stallion finally acknowledged its master, Miguel guided it into figures-of-eight, forcing it to change the leading leg at each turn. The stallion responded faultlessly and Cass felt an unexpected lump in her throat. The
re was no victor and vanquished in the battle of wills. Man and animal had reached a new understanding. Miguel Ibarra had demanded and received the stallion's obedience without in any way damaging its spirit.

  Instead of swinging into another loop, Miguel suddenly turned the stallion towards her and, before she could move, was alongside.

  She could feel the stallion's hot breath, see the steam rising from its glossy flanks. The creak of leather and jingle of the bit were loud in her ears.

  Miguel said nothing as he gazed down at her from the saddle, apparently waiting for her to speak. He appeared totally relaxed, yet her one brief glance upward had not missed the sweat that dewed his forehead and dampened his thick hair into curls at neck and temple.

  'He's magnificent,' she said softly, reaching out to stroke the stallion's arched neck, aware of the massive strength beneath the hot, satiny coat. The horse tossed its head and she talked to it and blew gently into its nostrils, smoothing the velvety skin of its muzzle.

  'You are not afraid of horses?' Miguel sounded mildly surprised. Her hackles rose, but she did not allow her pique to show.

  'Why should I be?' she responded, gazing in unfeigned admiration at the stallion's beautifully shaped head. 'I've ridden since I was a child.' She shifted her gaze to find him staring at her, a frown drawing his brows into a thick black line.

  'Tomorrow you may accompany me,' he announced with the air of someone conferring a great favour. 'Come to the stables at six and we will ride into the hills to watch the sunrise.'

  His gaze swept over her. She had no idea what he was thinking. He seemed to have total control over his expression, but Cass's intuition told her he was issuing a challenge which he expected her to turn down.