The Spaniard's Untouched Bride

“Cam,” she said, giving the name that she had given to everyone else here.

“Well, do your very best to stay awake, Cam. It won’t do to have you falling asleep and not waking up, right?”

She tried to shake her head, but it hurt. “Yes,” she said.

She tried to hold her eyes open for the rest of the drive across the property, and then he put the truck in Park, getting out quickly and rounding to her side of the vehicle, opening the door and grabbing hold of her, pulling her into his strong arms. Holding her against his broad chest.

She suddenly felt weaker, but it wasn’t because of the lack of blood, or from the hoof to the head. No, this weakness was squarely related to the fact that Matías Navarro was holding her close, like she mattered. Like she was special.

No, fool, he’s holding you close like you’re an injured child. Because that’s what he thinks you are.

“I sent for a local doctor,” he said, laying her down on the couch in the sitting room.

She took a moment to take in all of the details, as best she could. It was one way to try to keep her eyes open. One way to distract herself from the heat and strange tremors that were rolling over her.

Shock.

It had to be shock.

“Calling for emergency services would have taken too long. If we need to send you to a hospital, we can do that. But I would feel better if we brought someone directly to look at you now.”

Just like that, she felt suddenly much more awake. Because being examined by a doctor would be problematic, all things considered. And going to a hospital, even more so.

But she couldn’t say that. Anyway, she was in no fit condition to spring up off the couch and do anything. Much less run away and deny that she needed any medical attention.

She lay back, looking around the room. At the ornate scrollwork on the crown molding, at the way that it was mirrored in the wood carvings on the plush, pale blue upholstered chairs.

“Not my design choice,” he said. “My flat in London and my penthouse in Barcelona look different.”

“I...Nothing seems strange about it.”

“Of course not,” he said, his expression opaque. “Tell me, how long were you homeless?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t. I mean, I was certainly in danger of becoming homeless once Cesar died.” Her heart clutched with grief. Because, after all, even though she was playing the part of a stable boy from her father’s rancho, she was not. It was her father, and she still couldn’t speak of him without feeling pain.

“And before you came to work for Cesar Alvarez?” he asked.

She bit her tongue. Because she was simply going to have to fabricate from here. They had a boy that had worked at the rancho for a while before her father had paid for him to go away to school. His parents had died, and he had fallen through the cracks of child welfare. It felt wrong to steal his story, but it was also the easiest thing to do under the circumstances.

“I never knew my father,” she said, the line tasting like acid, particularly as she had just been thinking about the loss of her father. “My mother died when I was only nine. I was on my own for a while, but then I wandered onto Cesar Alvarez’s ranch. He gave me work. He gave me purpose. Education. But horses are what I love. They’re what I know. I followed the horses.”

Matías nodded. “I love them, too. It is in my blood. My family has had this rancho for generations. It means a great deal to me.”

“If this is your place, why don’t you redecorate?”

Matías crossed to the armchair across from her, picking up a crystal decanter full of sherry. He poured some into a glass. He did not offer any to her. But then, that was because he thought she was fourteen.

Well, probably also because he didn’t want her to fall asleep.

“It is not mine,” he said, taking a sip of the liquid, then swirling it slightly. He set it down on the table with a decisive click. “It will be. But as it is now, my grandfather is very ill and he has laid out terms. Depending on what my brother and I do before he dies, that is how he will decide who gets what. If both of us comply, we will split it down the middle. If only one of us does, then to the victor goes the spoils.”

“What are his terms?” she asked, blinking.

“It’s good that I’m keeping you awake with my story, but it might be a little bit too much information. Suffice it to say, I have low expectations that my brother will be able to complete said terms. My brother is not a good man.”

“They say...”

He tilted his head to the side, his expression no longer passive. “What do they say?”

Immediately, she regretted starting that line of conversation. “I know about your brother.”

Everyone did.

“Of course.”

“They say he was responsible for the death of his wife.”

“Yes, they do.”

She tried to straighten. “Do you believe it?”

“When it comes to Diego it is difficult for me to disbelieve much of anything. Except...” He frowned, hesitating for the space of a breath. “I don’t believe he murdered Karina. I will not say he didn’t have some level of responsibility for it. But he has also never tried to clear his name. Which is also just very like him. And difficult to apply a motive to.”

“They talk about you, too,” she said, realizing that this perhaps was not the best line of conversation. But she blamed her head injury. Also, the fact that when he was near it was difficult to breathe. And it made her feel dizzy.

“Do they?”

“They say you don’t... That you don’t hire women to work for you.”

It was a deadly game that she was playing. At least, it felt that way to her. But Matías never looked at her closely. He looked at her the way he did the rest of his staff. Dismissively, though, not unkindly. He was energetic, and always seemed to be looking around, his focus never bound to one place for too long.

She had a feeling that if he was to ever truly look at her he would see much more than she wanted him to.

“It’s true,” he said, inclining his head, his arrogant mouth curving upward.

“Wh-why is that? You don’t think women are good with horses?”

“Of course not,” he said, waving his hand. “The problem is, they always fall in love with me.”

The words hit Camilla in an uncomfortable space. Because she wasn’t neutral to him. Of course, she wasn’t in love. That was ludicrous. But she certainly wasn’t immune to him, and she could see how it was possible that women might position themselves to get a job at the rancho simply to gain access to him.

“Perhaps,” Matías said, “it is something you will understand when you’re older.”

Irritation prickled her face. “I understand it well enough now.”

Matías chuckled. “Of course.”

“That’s very closed-minded of you, actually,” she said.