Marco and the Devil's Bargain by Carla Kelly Page B

good will that she had been thinking of practicing on him. This would never do. She grasped his hand and tugged him down the hall into Luisa Gutierrez’s sala , which she knew was empty now, all the knitters gone. He did not resist as she towed him along, a little woman dragging a tall man who put up no resistance. Good thing the governor could not see his juez de campo now.
    She closed the door behind them and sat down on the earthen bench that was part of the inner adobe wall. She patted the spot beside her. When he sat down, she took his hand and clutched it to her breast. “What is it, Marco?”
    He tried to smile, then obviously gave it up as a bad business. She could almost see him thinking something through; she knew him that well.
    â€œ I have very good news, my love. That man”—he nearly spit out the word, then collected himself with great effort—“that man is a physician. He has the capacity to inoculate you, and he will.”
    Paloma closed her eyes and felt herself melt like butter, so great was her relief. “ Gracias a Dios ,” she murmured, and touched her forehead to his shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked at him again, mystified by the expression of vast disquietude. Surely he should be happy at this news. True, inoculations themselves could be dangerous, but that was a chance everyone took. There must be more.
    â€œ What else?” she asked.
    â€œ Nothing else,” he said too quickly. “We’ll take him with us and see how many of our people, Toshua included, will agree to inoculation. We’ll probably have to wait here a day while he inoculates my nephews, but then—”
    She put her fingers to his lips, stopping the flow of words. “What else?” she asked again.
    â€œ Nothing else.”
    â€œ Don’t you dare lie to me!” She hadn’t meant her words to come out with such force. He winced, and Paloma knew he had never heard that tone of voice from her before. Well, too bad. He was not telling her what was written so clearly in his eyes and in the way his hands still trembled. “Not to me, Marco. Not ever to me.”
    He leaned back against the wall, something he seldom did, this man who sat so straight, as though he were always in the saddle. He banged his head gently against the wall with increasing force until, horrified, she put her hand behind his head to cushion the blows. He stopped.
    â€œ What is he making you do?” she asked.
    â€œ Nothing.”
    She shook him. “If you don’t tell me the truth right now, you can … you can sleep in the sala when we get home. I didn’t marry a liar, and I certainly didn’t marry a coward!”
    He winced and put his hand over hers. “Paloma, you have a grip. Suppose I have a bald spot now?”
    She let go, then deliberately stood up and sat on his lap, straddling him so he had no choice but to look her in the eyes. “Well?”
    Her presumptuous action in a place not remotely close to their own bedroom startled him, a man of typical Spanish dignity and some rectitude. Maybe that was what he needed, Paloma reasoned, to yank him out of his peculiar state of mind. He blushed like the newlywed he wasn’t. “I am not as brave as you are, Paloma Vega. We already know that. It’s not my bloody sandals hanging in our sala .”
    She sat back, hoping no one would come into the sala and see them like this, but less worried about propriety than she would have thought possible. She willed herself to sound conversational now, in light of his obvious distress.
    â€œ I’m staying here just like this until you tell me the truth. You think I cannot manage whatever you have to tell me? I watched my mother and my unborn brother die by degrees as I hid under her bed and tried not to scream. God help me, I could not look away. What can you possibly tell me that I cannot face?”
    He made no effort to coax her into a less