Disclaimer: The characters in this story are copyrights of Paramount and Fireworks Productions. No infringement is intended. The story plot is original and copyright to the author, Maril Swan.

Author's Note: For a more complete understanding of this story, please read my story Gitano as there are references here to those events which helped shape Tessa's life.

The Hand of Fate
by Maril Swan

Part One of Two

Madrid August 1812

"Wait until you see the hacienda, Marta. It is huge, set on the shoreline of the Pacific, with high rocky cliffs, and white sandy beaches. Then as you go further inland toward the villa, there is a wide mesa with many beautiful, exotic plants. You will have your work cut out for you to learn all the new plants and their healing properties." Tessa turned just as Marta was about to secure a lock of her hair with a large pin. She chuckled at the Gypsy woman's hiss of impatience.

"If you don't stay still, Tessa, I will have to start all over getting your hair done for this party."

Tessa made a wry face at her reflection and caught Marta's eye in the mirror. "Why do I have to attend this function anyway, Marta? It's just a lot of old people that Papa knows. I would rather read than spend a whole evening among those stuffy businessmen."

"You already spend too much time with your nose buried in those romance novels. Swordfighting and duels of honour, righting the wrongs of the world. A waste of time, filling your mind with such stuff." Marta shook her head in exasperation. "Since Antonio left for the war, you have become a hermit." She stood back and surveyed her handiwork, nodding in satisfaction. "You look like a queen," she said with a proud smile. "Your Papa will soon be here to bring you down to meet the guests. You must be the hostess for him tonight. This party is his farewell to his friends for a long time."

"Oh, I know what this party is really about, Marta. Most of the guests have sons of marriageable age." Tessa fixed her companion with an impish grin. "I'm to be paraded around like a mare at an auction, hoping for the highest bidder."

"Tessa!" Marta gasped and turned abruptly but Tessa could see her shoulders shaking in uncontrolled laughter. Encouraged by Marta's reaction, she began to giggle herself.

"Maybe one of the young men will want to examine my teeth, or check my hoofs," Tessa added as she watched her friend collapse onto a chair, laughing so hard tears streamed from her eyes. Marta didn't laugh often and it was good to see.

Marta wiped her eyes, and tried to look serious. "Your Papa is only trying to make sure you marry well. But tonight, in the absence of your mother, you must take her place. He is very proud of you and wants to show you off. There will be young men in California too. As soon as they see you, there will be no end of offers."

With a swish of satin, Tessa stood up and began to pace the room excitedly. "Finally, I am going back to California! How long I have waited for this." Her eyes shone with happiness. "Marta, you will love Alta California. It is a new world with lots of new sights and experiences, so big and beautiful. I can hardly wait." Her face clouded for a moment as she recalled that Marta had a family in Andalusia whom she would miss. "Of course, if you would rather stay in Spain, Marta, I would understand. This is the land of your people."

Marta made a derisive sound. "My people have no country. We are just living here until the next expulsion," she said bitterly. She waved at the chair and said, "Sit down and let me finish. I must set the comb in your hair and then attach your mantilla."

It was with an ill-grace that Tessa plumped back down in the chair to allow Marta to complete her ensemble. Staring at her image in the mirror, Tessa had to admit she did look very elegant with her black hair coiffed neatly behind her neck, and the deep blue satin gown that hung so smoothly on her slim body. She seemed older than her seventeen years. She thought, 'I look like the portrait of my mother that hangs downstairs in Papa's study. She was only ten years older than me when she died.' That sad recollection was soon banished as Tessa contemplated the sea voyage only a few days away. Her excitement knew no bounds and she fidgeted in her chair while Marta tried to finish getting her ready for the party.

Marta set the comb in Tessa's hair and was about to attach the black lace mantilla when a rap sounded on the bedroom door. She crossed quickly and opened it to one of the servants. "Don Alvarado wishes to see you right away, Marta," the young girl said then hurried away down the staircase. Marta paused for a moment, glancing toward Tessa who was regarding her with a quizzical expression.

"What does my father want of you, Marta?" she asked.

"There is only one way to find out," Marta replied as she went out and closed the door behind her. She was back in a few minutes, her face set in a worried line. "Tessa, we must hurry and get you finished so when your Papa comes, he can escort you down." She stepped behind Tessa and lifted the mantilla, preparing to lay it carefully over the comb.

"What did Papa want?" Tessa watched her guardian's face in the mirror, noting her uneasiness since returning from Don Alvarado's presence. "Was it something to do with the party?" Marta shook her head and the younger woman persisted. "About our ocean voyage?" She saw Marta avert her eyes quickly, almost guiltily, then recover. Tessa stiffened. "What did he say about the trip, Marta?" she demanded.

"Your father will discuss it with you later," Marta said quietly. "He will be here in a minute."

Suddenly Tessa bolted from the chair, tearing the comb from her hair, and flinging it across the room. It bounced off some porcelain figurines lined up on a shelf on the wall. "No!" she shouted. "Not again! He will not leave me behind again. I'm going with him this time. I'm seventeen. I've had enough education, enough of this horrible city. I hate Madrid!"

The anguished dark eyes pierced Marta's loyal soul, but she remained silent. A quick rap on the door made her start and she opened it to admit Don Alvarado.

"Is she ready?" he asked with a warm smile.

"She is ready for something," Marta said wryly as she exited quickly, closing the door behind her.

Tessa whirled to face her father. "Why won't you take me to California?"

Don Alvarado's face darkened, and he growled, "Marta wasn't supposed to tell you. I was going to break it to you after the party."

Tessa fumed, "She didn't tell me -- I guessed!" She moved closer to her father, tears welling in her eyes. "You can't leave me again, Papa. I want to go back to California, back home. Please take me with you."

Her father felt his own heart breaking as he watched a tear trickle down his daughter's cheek. He compressed his lips, and tried to draw a breath against the heaviness in his chest. "I just received a despatch from Santa Helena. There are some problems, disputes, violence. I can't take you into that. It's too dangerous right now. In a year or so..." his voice trailed off as she turned away and strode across the room.

"How can it be more dangerous than here? There's a war going on in Spain, in case you haven't noticed!" Tessa inhaled quickly, biting her lip as she realized her impetuous tongue was making things worse. Her father's face flushed with sudden anger. She amended her tone, moving to embrace him, and added, "Whatever the danger, I want to be with you, Papa." She could see his resolve wavering and felt the lift of hope in her heart.

Her hopes were dashed in the next second as her father said sadly, "Tessa, there are things going on in the territory that make it too dangerous for you. I have enemies, and you could be used against me. I would live in constant fear for your life. No, you will be safer here, now that the British have control of the city. I want you to continue your education and learn to be a proper Spanish gentlewoman."

"What good is it to learn to be a lady in a rough territory like California? While I was with the gitano, I learned skills that I really need to know, not philosophy or literature, but real life things." Tessa paused and swallowed hard when she realized what she had said. Her father's eyes hardened. Her heart started to race in fear; her face coloured hotly. She tried to speak but her voice failed as she searched for a way to undo the damage, to recall the confession she had blurted out in anger.

He gripped her arm tightly. "What time spent with the gitano? What are you saying, Tessa?" She tried to shrink away from his inflexible gaze, but he trapped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "You will tell me what you meant. When were you with the gitano?" His voice was a low growl. She had never seen him so furious, and it frightened her.

Tessa swallowed and tried to moisten her dry throat. His eyes bored into her, waiting for her explanation. 'What have I done,' she thought in horror. 'How can I get out of this, and what about Marta?' She licked her dry lips; her voice trembled, as barely audibly, she said, "Before you returned, I spent nearly a year with a gitano band."

Don Alvarado pushed her away abruptly, making her stumble. He rubbed his hand over his face, and across his eyes, studying her as if she was a stranger. His voice faltered as he tried to speak; he shook his head as if to clear it. "You dare tell me this!" he rasped out finally. "All this time, when you were sending me letters about your studies in Madrid, you were not here?" He flung his hand out in an angry gesture. "You were with a band of vagabonds and thieves, roaming around the countryside? In the middle of a war?" His voice rose and he stepped toward her as if ready to strike. His face was suffused with blood, a vein stood out starkly in his temple, its pulse beating rapidly, like her own heart.

But she stood her ground, lifting her chin and defying him with her eyes. "They're not vagabonds and thieves, anymore than Marta is. They're poor but they share everything they have, even with a stranger like me." Breathlessly, she continued, "It is the closest I have ever had to a real family. They accepted me and loved me." The memory evoked a sudden rush of tears, and Tessa turned away so her father would not see the emotions she could not contain.

He grabbed her arm and spun her back to face him. "I trusted Marta and this is how she repays me? Letting my daughter run wild with a band of Gypsies? Well, no more. She will be dismissed. Tonight. I will not have her under my roof for another day." He turned to go, but Tessa grasped his coat sleeve.

"It was not Marta's fault, but mine. I ran away and found her people. She came to get me and I convinced her to let me stay with them. Punish me, but forgive Marta. She is not to blame."

Don Alvarado glared at her coldly. "Marta is a grown woman, you are a child. She should have known better. She betrayed my trust. I cannot forgive that."

"I am not a child! You treat me like one of those porcelain dolls on that shelf." Tessa grasped one of the elegantly dressed dolls and shook it. "Pretty to look at, an ornament – but an empty thing." She hurled the doll against the wall, glaring at her father defiantly. "If you send Marta away, I will hate you for it."

A look of shock crossed her father's face as the smashing of the china doll and her harsh words seemed to reverberate through the room. Abruptly, he turned and strode toward the door. "Get ready and come down to the party. My guests will be here soon. We will talk more of this later."

Tessa remained paralysed, staring at the door, trying to think clearly, trying to calm herself. A heavy dread lodged itself in her heart as she waited to face Marta again. I have betrayed her, and let the blame fall on her. What can I do? Papa is so unreasonable when he's angry.

A few minutes later, Marta returned. Tessa could see by her paleness and the tight look of shock on her face, that Don Alvarado had already spoken to her. She crossed quickly and embraced Marta, but the woman was rigid, trembling with emotion. Her mouth was set in a hard line as she looked at Tessa with stricken eyes.

"Marta, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say anything. It just came out." Tessa hugged her more fiercely. "If I could call back those words, I would. I told Papa it was not your fault..."

Marta moved away with a sharp intake of breath. "What's done is done. There is no calling it back." She gave Tessa a weak smile. "Perhaps it is for the best. I have felt guilty every time he asks me about your studies in Madrid. To lie and then to keep lying, adding deception to deception. It is a relief that it is over." She seemed to shake herself. In a dry whisper, she said, "Now let us finish getting you ready. You must go down to the party."

"I can't," Tessa murmured almost inaudibly. "After this, how can I face those guests and pretend to be happy?" She moved across the room and sat down heavily on the brocade coverlet of her bed.

"Querida," Marta said as she crossed to Tessa and sat next to her. "That is part of being a noble lady. You must face whatever comes with your head held high, and your emotions under control." She put her arm around Tessa's shoulder. "Be brave. You can do this. Make me proud of you." She kissed the younger woman's cheek and felt the moisture of tears on her lips. Her own heart was breaking as she thought, I have to be brave too, for her sake.

Tessa sighed resignedly. "So now, you will go back to your people, Marta?" When the Gypsy woman nodded, she said sombrely, "I will never see you again, will I?"

Marta swallowed several times, and drew in a deep breath. With false brightness she said, "Of course you will. And we will write to each other. All the time." She stood and retrieved the comb, setting it into Tessa's hair, allowing her hand to rest affectionately on the dark head for a second. Then she picked up the mantilla and attached it, carefully draping it over Tessa's shoulders. She drew Tessa to her feet; the girl seemed to move leadenly, as if in a trance.

"Do your duty, Tessa, and do it with courage." With a warm kiss on the cheek, Marta led Tessa to the door, and accompanied her out into the corridor. From the balustrade, she could see the elegant salon below, brightly decorated for the party. The crystal chandeliers shimmered a warm light over the long table, set with gleaming plates and silver cutlery. Liveried servants moved among the early guests offering wine and hors d'oeuvres. She glimpsed Don Alvarado in his elegant dark suit, talking with an older couple. His face was grave, sorrowful and her heart went out to him. It is better that I leave. I have come between the father and daughter. Without me, perhaps they can reconcile. He loves Tessa, and is hurt by her deception. But Fate has a way of working things out.

Marta gently nudged Tessa toward the staircase, giving her arm an encouraging squeeze. She noted the girl's wan face and the melancholy expression in her eyes. The young men will be drawn to her; she looks especially beautiful tonight with her air of wistful sadness. Aloud she said, "Sometimes things happen and we don't know why until much later. This is for the best. Now, go to your father and be the daughter he loves so much." She turned quickly and went down the corridor to her own room, not trusting herself to keep up the brave front for much longer.

The lid of the small steamer trunk latched with a click. Marta stood back and glanced around her room. In the grey light of early dawn, it had an empty, bleak feeling, as if its occupant was already gone. All the personal touches that made this room her home were taken down and packed. Ten years, she thought as she looked at the furnishings that had become so familiar, the pictures on the walls, the dark bedstead with its fringed canopy, the big armoire that had contained all her possessions.

Now all those possessions were pressed into the trunk that she had packed to cross the ocean with her. Instead, it would be carried in the wagon that Don Alvarado had arranged for this morning — the wagon that would carry her also, back to her people.

Marta placed her few remaining personal things into a bag, then sat on the neatly made bed. For ten years, this was my home. And now it is not. She shook her head wonderingly at the speed with which life can change. A dull ache behind her eyes reminded her of the sleepless night behind her and the long dreary ride ahead of her. Somehow, I will get through this day, she promised herself. She closed her eyes as the room brightened with the sun; its radiance did not warm her. In her mind, she could hear the sound of a little girl's laughter ringing through the villa, the sound of childish feet pounding down the halls. I could never get her to slow down. Marta smiled wistfully to herself. Always in such a hurry.

A hard rap at the door broke into her reverie. Heavily, she arose and went to open it, thinking, It must be Tessa. It is too early yet for the wagon. Another rap sounded just as Marta reached for the door. She pulled the door open quickly and found Don Alvarado standing there in his dressing gown. He shouldered his way past her and looked around her room. His face was set in a scowl and he snapped, "Where is she?"

At her confused look, he said gruffly, "She left this note." With that, he thrust a crumpled piece of paper at her.

Marta read it aloud after scanning the brief line several times. "I am going where I am loved." She felt her scalp prickle for a moment as the meaning sank in. "Madre de dios!" she exclaimed with a frightened glance at Don Alvarado.

"What does she mean...?" Don Alvarado demanded. "Going where she is loved? She is loved here. I love her." He brushed his hand over his face; his voice was rough with anguish. "I was going to speak with her this morning, to try to reason with her. I tapped on her door. She did not answer when I knocked several times, so I went in. Her bed had not been slept in and this note lay on the pillow." He watched Marta for a long time, then asked more quietly, "Where is she? Where has she gone?"

"I think ...where she went before when she ran away ...to the gitano camp. I am sure that is where she would have gone." The dull ache in her head became a throbbing pain as she thought of Tessa alone on those dangerous roads. The war still raged in Spain but the French had been pushed back to beyond the Ebro. Still there were many guerillas roaming the countryside as well as the English. They were as bad as the French. Marta shivered with sudden dread. "We must leave right away. She has had a long headstart, but was riding in the dark. We may overtake her if we hurry."

Don Alvarado hesitated for a moment as if considering her suggestion. "You know the way to the camp?" Marta nodded and he asked, "And can you ride a horse, Marta?"

She smiled wryly at this. "Don Alvarado, I am gitano. I was practically born on a horse," she said as she ushered him to the door. "Let me dress and pack some provisions for us. I will meet you at the stables."

Less than a half hour later, Marta hurried out into the stableyard, with a couple of packs slung over her shoulders. She stopped in surprise as she noted the two other men with Don Alvarado, waiting by the saddled horses. Even more startling were the weapons carried by all the men – pistoles, rifles and swords.

Don Alvarado observed her uncertainty and said, "For our protection. We do not know what may be lurking out there on the highways during these dangerous times."

Marta shrugged and lifted the packs onto the horse, then swung up into the saddle. The small party cantered out of the gate, the horses' hoofs striking sparks off the cobblestones as they clattered down the empty streets of Madrid heading for the open road.

Around mid-day, the small search party came to a wide stream. It sparkled in the mid-morning sun, its grassy embankment lush and green. An ancient Roman bridge arched over the water. Lichen and moss covered the old stones underpinning the bridge and a variety of flowers grew around each end. Marta reined her horse to the side of the stream and slid off, heaving a sigh of relief. It had been quite a while since she had ridden for so many hours on a horse. Her legs felt weak and she held onto her horse for support.

Don Alvarado frowned down at her. "Why are you stopping? How much further is it to the camp?"

"Señor, the horses need rest and so do we. For just half an hour. We will eat the food I brought. Unsaddle the horses."

The don leapt from his horse and strode to her. "We're going on. We can eat while we ride."

"Don Alvarado, a horse isn't just an animal. It has a spirit. If you treat it with love and kindness, it will break its great heart for you. Or you can treat it with harshness and cruelty, and you may get what you want from it. Horses are like people that way." Marta turned away and uncinched the saddle, sliding it off and dropping it onto the ground. The horse huffed a great sigh as she led it to the stream. It slurped the water noisily. She wandered upstream from the horse to refill her canteen and wash. The cool water was bracing, invigorating. It cleared her head a little, but the ache still tormented her. I should have taken something,' she thought, 'but there wasn't time. A movement downstream attracted her attention. She saw Don Alvarado pacing anxiously along the bank, his face taut with distress. Marta considered going to him, to comfort him, but his coolness toward her made her decide to leave him alone for now.

Returning to the other men, she noted they were now lounging on the ground near their saddles. Marta went to the packs she had brought and opened them. Inside were loaves of bread, some cheese and sausage. The men took portions and ate hungrily.

Marta ate lightly, then laid down on the soft grass. The soft summer breeze stirring the leaves and the murmuring of the stream lulled her tired mind. Almost instantly, she was asleep, having slept little the night before. A dream invaded her rest; a sense of dread pervaded her as something large and terrifying came inexorably closer. She couldn't seem to move her limbs; they were like lead. Suddenly, it held her in its grasp. She woke with a start, staring into Don Alvarado's eyes, his hand shaking her arm. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she struggled to get up.

"You seemed to be having a nightmare, Marta," he said gently. "And it is time to move on." He moved away to his horse and tightened the cinch.

Marta noted her own horse was already saddled. At least my headache is gone, she thought with relief. Her head felt a little fuzzy but the rest seemed to have invigorated her. She checked the cinch, then swung up into the saddle, and kneed the horse into line behind Don Alvarado's mount.

A few hours later, Marta thought she detected the smell of smoke. Not our camp, she decided, too close. Might be soldiers or guerillas, she thought worriedly. A mile further on, they passed the remains of a campfire by the roadside, still smouldering slightly. Marta reined her horse and jumped down. A quick survey of the area told her there had been at least three people here, with horses. The piles of horse dung were still fresh. If Tessa passed here while they were still in their camp, what might have happened. She closed her eyes, searching for the Sight, but it would not come. She was too anxious, her mind too distraught to concentrate. With an exasperated sigh, she gave up. She kicked dirt over the embers of the fire, and remounted her horse.

"Someone was here recently, Don Alvarado. It seems they left in a hurry without burying their fire. Or they are very careless of forest fires." She could see the same thought in his agonized eyes as had entered her own mind. Keeping her voice carefully level, she said, "Our camp is about an hour ahead. Before we jump to any conclusions, let us go there first."

Marta urged her horse ahead of Don Alvarado's and kneed it into a canter. She almost dreaded arriving at the camp to discover what she already suspected. The miles seemed to crawl under the horse's hoofs though it kept up a good pace.

At length, they rode into a wide clearing around which was ringed a dozen colourful wagons. Their sudden arrival caused all activity in the camp to stop. Marta leapt from her horse and ran to Uncle Tonio. He arose from his workbench, and set down the leather-working tool. The pleasure on his face at seeing her turned to worry as he noted the distress in her eyes.

"Uncle Tonio," she asked anxiously, "Is Tessa here?" Before he could answer, Marta knew. Behind her, she heard Don Alvarado groan in despair.

"Why would she be here?" Uncle Tonio asked. "Are you not going to California soon?" His warm eyes showed deep concern and he embraced Marta who leaned against him, seeming to draw on his strength. "Who are these others?" he asked, gesturing to the mounted men.

Don Alvarado dismounted and strode to them. "I am Tessa's father." With a slight hesitation, he gripped Uncle Tonio's proffered hand. "We passed a campfire back on the trail. Perhaps, if they are guerillas or worse, they have taken my daughter." The don's eyes were haunted by agonized thoughts of his daughter in the hands of savage, brutal men. He staggered under the impact of those images.

Uncle Tonio put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He turned to the gitano band and said, "Everyone who can ride, saddle a horse. We are searching for Tessa." With a grim smile, he assured Don Alvarado, "We will find her."

Concluded in Part Two