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 Two of Two

Tessa wrinkled her nose at the faint scent of smoke. She slowed the horse to a walk as the smell grew stronger. 'A campsite ahead,' she thought with a clutch of fear. 'Perhaps I can find a way around it, just in case.' Even as she was considering another route, two men stepped out from behind some trees beside the trail. Their sudden appearance made her horse prance nervously. A glance passed between the two coarse-looking men; their hungry eyes seemed to take in her expensive clothing and splendid mount. She reined her horse hard to the right and nudged it urgently into a canter, leaving the trail. Shouts followed her as the men tried to pursue her for a short distance on foot.

The sound of other hoofbeats behind her alerted Tessa to another rider closing fast. She urged the horse into a gallop, keeping her head down to avoid the low hanging branches while guiding the horse through the forest. Branches whipped past her, scratching her cheeks, tearing her blouse but she kept on. Trees blurred by in her headlong rush but still her pursuer followed. Her tired horse was panting hard; its laboured breathing was loud in her ears as Tessa searched for a way to escape.

A short distance ahead, she saw a branch stretching across her path. It was too high to reach but if she stood on the horse, she might catch it. Perhaps, she hoped, her pursuer would not see her leap off the horse and climb into the tree. She checked his distance from her as she prepared to stand up. Marta's brother, Rafael, had shown her this bit of trick-riding but she had not practised it in months, and never at this speed. With her heart in her throat, Tessa pulled herself up to kneel on the saddle, balancing precariously. As the branch came within distance, she stood and reached for it — and grasped it. For a perilous few seconds, she dangled over the ground. Recalling the technique the gitano acrobat had shown her, Tessa swung a few times on the branch, then hauled herself up onto the limb. She began to climb up into the denser foliage. Rasping breaths seared her dry throat as she clung to the tree trunk while settling on a stout limb. That was a close one, she thought, as the blood still sang in her ears from her near escape.

The other rider sped by underneath, making Tessa chuckle with relief. Her trick had worked. But her horse was gone, and she had no idea where she was now. And there were still two other men lurking about somewhere back where she had come from.

While she was thinking of a plan, she heard the measured clip-clop of horses coming back toward her. The pursuer was returning, leading her horse by the reins. She watched in trepidation as he glanced all about, slowly looking for her on the ground. So far, he had not thought of looking up in the trees. She hoped she was well concealed.

From her vantage above, she had a good view of him as he passed underneath again. His face was lined and deeply tanned. A jagged white scar parted the dark hair on his skull. His clothing, though filthy and tattered, seemed to be the remnants of several uniforms from different armies. A guerilla, Tessa thought with a jolt of fear. Most guerillas fought against the French, but some were ruthless brigands who used the guerilla army as a cover for pillaging and murder. I only saw three, but are there more?

The two horses whickered nervously and the rider stopped. Tessa held her breath as the guerilla seemed to be listening while looking intently around. Finally, he raised his eyes to the trees, and spotted her in her white blouse and black trousers. A wide, nearly toothless grin accompanied his discovery.

"Señorita!" he lisped. "Come down. We won't hurt you." A harsh laugh followed. It sounded more like a wheeze.

"You'd better move on," Tessa called down. "I passed a troop of soldiers coming in this direction."

Another wheezy chuckle gasped out of the guerilla, as he slapped his knee in mirth. "Soldiers! There aren't any soldiers on this god-forsaken trail. Only foolish señoritas travelling alone." His bloodshot eyes looked up at her avidly, taking in the torn blouse that exposed her honey-coloured skin. He licked his lips. "You better come down, or I'll come up and get you."

"You can try," Tessa retorted.

With a surprising agility, the man began to climb into the tree, carefully selecting branches for hand and foot holds. Tessa watched anxiously, and as he got closer, she drew her sword. She had never felt so frightened in her life.

Finally, he was close enough that she could hear the breath wheezing from his lungs. He reached out to grab her ankle and she slashed at his hand with the sword, intending to scare him, but not cut him. Before he let go, he jerked her leg sharply, almost unseating her from her precarious perch. She dropped the sword in an effort to hang onto the trunk. With a sinking feeling, she saw the sword lodge itself into the tree roots below. He grinned at her with a lascivious leer.

"Come on, señorita. I only want to have a little fun with you. You might even like it." He was so close now she could smell the rankness of his unwashed body.

In a sudden fury, she swung her boot at his head, and he lost his grip, falling through the tree to the ground. He hit with a loud grunt of pain, then sat up and shook his fist at her. A trickle of blood ran from his temple down his cheek.

The guerilla snarled. "Sooner or later, you'll have to come out of that tree. I have all the time in the world." With that, he tied the horses to some shrubs and sat down. A few minutes later, he looked up as his companions arrived on their horses. "I have her caught like a treed squirrel," the man crowed, pointing upwards into the branches.

"Hector," one of the men said, "Why are we wasting our time on this girl? We have her horse and her sword. Let's move on." His gaunt whiskered face had a solemn look, as if he was perpetually mourning. Blue eyes shone out of the grime of his face. He twitched and scratched in his filthy clothing. Tessa shuddered, watching him, and thinking, He has lice. Madre mio, don't let him get near me.

Hector grimaced at his companion. "Look what she did to my face. We don't leave until I even the score." He leered and added, "And besides, Ernesto, how long since you had a woman? Go up and bring her down here."

Ernesto stared at the large bump on the side of Hector's face, then up at Tessa. He shook his head. "I'm not going up there. You want her so much, you get her. As for me, I'm going to catch something for our lunch." With that, he turned his horse and rode away through the trees.

The third man slid off his horse and stood uncertainly, glancing between Hector, sitting contentedly on the ground, and Tessa, perched on a branch over twenty feet up. His coarse features were slack and he seemed dazed, unable to focus. He staggered to his friend and dropped onto the ground, reeling and nearly falling over.

"Julio," Hector laughed, "drunk already? It's not even noon yet." He slapped the other man heartily on the back, toppling him onto the grass. Julio grinned fatuously, showing a mouthful of blackened and broken teeth as he righted himself.

"Not drunk, just getting there," he chortled. "Any wine left, Hector? Mine's gone." He made a sorrowful face at Hector which sent his companion into gales of laughter.

"Go up and get the girl, and I'll give you some," Hector said, giving Julio a slight push to get him moving. When he hesitated, Hector added, "I have a whole wineskin over there, just for you. Go on."

Julio dragged himself to his feet, and held out his hands like an acrobat trying to balance on a tightrope. He raised his eyes to Tessa, and went over backwards, landing on his back. "I can't climb up there, Hector," he whined. "S'too far. I'll fall." He remained prone, staring up at the girl, grinning drunkenly.

Tessa began to consider her circumstances. Only one of the men was a real threat. Hector. The other man, Julio, was too drunk to know what he was doing. If I can somehow get away from Hector, I could escape. The third man, Ernesto, doesn't seem to want anything to do with me. And for now, he is gone.

Twenty riders formed around Tonio and Don Alvarado. Tonio gazed gravely around the group, and said, "We will spread out in a wide line on both sides of the trail. Everyone will stay in sight of the next rider. If you see or hear anything, call out." He seemed satisfied by the nods he received and nudged his horse forward. "It is only just past noon. We still have many hours of daylight to find her. So let us get started."

Marta rode near the far end of the line. Somehow she sensed Tessa had gone off the trail for some reason. And she is in danger. I can feel it. She looked along the line of riders, men and women, and saw Don Alvarado. His shoulders sagged and he look haggard. She shared his anguish, and wished she could reassure him somehow. What can I tell him? That I know Tessa is all right for now. That would be a small comfort. As they entered the trail, the search party fanned out a long distance on both sides. Marta hoped the sweep was wide enough.

She rehearsed her plan over and over in her mind, while summoning up the courage to put it into action. As soon as she moved, she knew Hector would hear her. The other man, Julio, had fallen asleep, his stentorian snores almost comical in their loudness. Even Julio's racket would not cover the sound of her trying to cross from her tree to another standing nearby. She hoped to scramble across the intersecting branches and gradually get far enough away to jump to the ground and run for it. I'm younger and stronger than that foul dog, Hector, she thought. Señor Torres taught me some moves to use when you have lost your sword. Fighting techniques. She smiled grimly to herself. I'll bet he never thought I would ever need to use them. She nearly laughed aloud in her nervousness. Nor did I.

Below, Hector sat with his back propped against the tree, now and then swilling some wine from the wineskin he had taken from his saddlebag. Occasionally, he looked up to see that she was still there, and chuckled and resumed drinking.

Maybe he will drink himself into a stupor like his friend, Tessa thought hopefully as she watched. She wondered how long she had been trapped in the tree. At least an hour, she decided. The sun was almost directly overhead so that meant it was just around one o'clock. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. The meagre provisions she had packed from the villa's kitchen were still in her saddlebag, out of reach. The heat in the tree was oppressive, and Tessa watched thirstily while Hector nonchalantly drank his wine. Even some wine would be welcome right now, she thought.

Rage started to burn somewhere in her midsection as her discomfort became more acute. You're being a coward, Tessa, she scolded herself. Letting that perro keep you trapped in a tree. Boldness was needed to face her enemy. Did she have it, she wondered as she saw him get up and go into the trees, probably to relieve himself. Now is the only chance I have. I must take it.

Carefully, she took a firm grip on an upper branch and slid off the limb she had been sitting on. With quick glances at the ground, Tessa gradually descended the tree. Her sword was still stuck in the earth near the tree trunk, among the snarled roots of this ancient oak. If I can get it before he returns, I can keep him at bay, and take their horses so they can't follow me. Every sound she made sent her heart racing; her body shook so much she could scarcely hang on to the handholds.

As her foot touched the ground, a rough hand on her shoulder spun her around. Hector's leering face was only inches from hers. He wheezed a foul breath as he laughed, nearly choking her with its stench. "I knew you' d come down as soon as I was out of sight," he chortled, tightening his grip painfully. "Now I've got you."

For a second, Tessa was paralysed with terror. All the defence techniques she knew flew from her horrorstruck mind; the only thing she understood was the look in Hector's bloodshot eyes, and the triumphant grin on his face as he tried to pull her closer. He was surprisingly strong for a small, slight man. His wiry arms began to entwine her and at first, she was too frightened to struggle. Then, as his mouth moved toward hers, she seemed to awaken from her trance of fear. She brought her knee into his groin and with a loud groan, he let her go. She made a grab for the sword, but it was stuck fast in the tree root. While she tried to pull it loose, Hector limped toward her quickly, a string of foul oaths issuing from his mouth as he flung her away from the sword. She stumbled over some roots, nearly falling. His malicious eyes bored into her. Tessa's stomach curdled at the evil intention she saw there; he meant to hurt her, maybe kill her. She had to get away!

Hector wrenched the sword from the root and with a nasty grin, moved toward her. She backed away, intending to turn and run. She bumped into something soft, human. Julio's arms suddenly coiled around her, his laugh barked into her ear.

"I got her for you, Hector," he chortled.

Hector was only a few paces away, holding the sword a foot from her chest. "You're quite a wild cat. I like some spirit in my women. But now it's time to even the score."

Even as Julio held her, Tessa could feel his balance was still precarious. With a quick move, she drove her elbow into his stomach, and pushed him into Hector. He stumbled, impaling himself on the sword. For a long moment, time seemed to stop; Julio stood with his mouth agape, a frozen expression of surprise on his face. Hector didn't move as he stared at the blade driven into his friend's body. Tessa remained immobilized, until Julio's long scream of agony seemed to release her. At the same instant, Hector also came to himself, realizing what had happened.

He pulled the blade back, and advanced on Tessa with it, the gore so impossibly red, she was almost fascinated by it. His eyes narrowed to slits, a rictus snarl drew back his lips.

"I was only going to have a little fun with you," he growled, "but you killed my friend. Now I'm going to kill you ...slowly."

She shook herself as she backed away. Her mind was suddenly startlingly clear. It's him or me, she thought, and he has the sword. She watched in horror as the bloodlust suffused his face with crimson. Like a cobra, he moved forward slowly, waving the sword in small arcs as he closed the distance. Tessa continued to back up, afraid to make a sudden move, keeping her eyes fixed on his. Her blood rushed through her veins like a raging river, her pulse so loud in her ears it was nearly deafening. Yet she felt a strange thrill, an excitement, an aliveness that was almost surreal, a sense of her own strength that made her feel invincible. All her senses were alert; she backed and waited, looking for a chance of escape. Her foot touched something on the ground that moved as she stepped on it. A broken branch. With a quick scoop, she picked it up and swung it toward him, knocking the sword away. He recovered and thrust at her. She clubbed his arm as she jumped out of the way. He yelped and almost dropped the sword, stumbling a little. She lifted the heavy limb and arced it toward his head; he parried with the sword, sending her off-balance as she missed. She tripped over a tree root and fell on her stomach. For an instant, he had a clear target — her undefended back. With a snarl of malice, he rushed on her.

Tessa stiffened, expecting the searing pain of the sword to end her life. Instead, she heard a sudden explosion, then a howl of anguish. Rolling over, she looked up as Hector fell a few feet from her, a patch of red darkening his shabby tunic. Turning her gaze quickly, she saw the third man, Ernesto, sitting on his horse, the gun still smoking in his hand. Her mouth opened in surprise, but no words came out. He had saved her life, but why? To have her for himself? She glanced surreptitiously at the sword stilled clutched in Hector's hand, estimating how much time it would take to grab it.

"I won't harm you," Ernesto said calmly. "I only wanted your gold." He lifted another pistole and aimed it at her head. "Don't try anything, and you won't get hurt." With a cold glance at Hector's body, he nudged his horse forward. "Pick up the sword, clean it off and put it back into your scabbard on your horse. Then hand the reins to me."

Trembling in every limb, Tessa got up. The reaction to her mortal danger had set in. Though she tried to control it, her hands shook as she broke Hector's grip on her sword. There was no doubt he was dead; his eyes stared fixedly in horror at her. She cleaned the blade against his pant leg, then sheathed the sword in the scabbard. Leadenly, she took the reins and gave them to the man.

"Do you have any gold?" Ernesto asked. He suddenly stiffened and turned in his saddle toward a noise.

Tessa heard it too. The sound of many horses crashing through the forest, coming toward them. They must have heard the gunshot. Ernesto kicked his horse suddenly in the flanks, sending it forward and nearly trampling Tessa as he surged by leading her horse. Within seconds, he was gone, leaving her with two dead men, and their horses. And the approaching riders. Who were they? Soldiers? More guerillas?

She ran to one of the horses, and leapt into the saddle. The riders were nearly upon her and she turned to see who they were. A broad smile broke over her face as she recognized the colourful clothing and dark faces of the gitano. She waited while the troop drew up and surrounded her. With a start, she saw Marta in the group, then her father. He dismounted and rushed to her. Tessa jumped from her horse and met him with a fervent embrace.

He clasped her tightly to his chest; she could hear the rapid, strong beat of his heart against her ear. His strength seemed to bear her up; the last few hours had taken their toll of her own strength. She just let herself be held, without words, until she felt able to let go. At length, he loosened his hold, and looked at her. She knew she must be a distressing sight with her many scratches and torn, dirty clothing.

He pressed her against him again, more gently. "My angel," he murmured into her ear. "I thought I had lost you." As if becoming aware of the others, Don Alvarado slowly released her. His face lost its colour as he suddenly noticed at the two dead men lying nearby. "Madre de dios! Did you do this?" he gasped.

Tessa shook her head quickly in denial. "No, Papa. Their partner killed them, and ran off with my horse. But he saved my life." She felt a twinge of guilt at the half-truth, but was afraid the group might go after Ernesto. He was a thief, not a murderer. Let him go.

Marta waited on her horse. A warm smile crept across her face, and she felt the tension release from her heart. The danger was past; Tessa had survived. That was the most important thing. And now the time of parting was at hand. Soon, Tessa and Don Alvarado would return to Madrid; she would remain here. She kept her face impassive as she watched the father and daughter together. They have much to talk about, but now I think they can reconcile.

She noticed Uncle Tonio ride forward and dismount. He strode to Tessa and embraced her warmly, then turned to Don Alvarado. "This has been a very hard day for everyone. Come back to our camp and stay the night, señor. Get a good night's rest before starting back to Madrid."

The don seemed about to refuse, but Tessa gripped his arm and smiled at him. "Papa, please, let us spend the night with the gitano. I am too tired to ride much further." The plea in her eyes seemed to melt his resistance, and he nodded.

Don Alvarado sat comfortably replete, his back to Luisa's wagon, and contemplated the scene before him. After their arrival at the camp, with Tessa safely in their midst, a large celebration had been prepared. The supper had been exotic and delicious, with many foods he had never tasted before. He smiled at the remembrance of Marta's uncle, Tonio, bringing him a full mug of red wine before the meal.

"Tessa told us you make wines, Don Alvarado. So do I. Try this." Tonio handed him the mug and watched anxiously as he sipped the wine. It was harsh and dry, but the don rolled it around his mouth appreciatively, then swallowed.

"Excellent!" he pronounced, and took another long swallow. The second taste seemed better, and the third better yet. An acquired taste, he decided. "You are a fine vintner, Señor Tonio," Don Alvarado said heartily. And this wine goes to the head very quickly, he added to himself as he took another sip.

"Just call me 'Tonio'," his companion replied as he refilled the don's mug from a pitcher he carried in his hand. "And gracias, Don Alvarado. I am very proud of my wines." Tonio's dark eyes glittered in the light of the campfire, his face creased widely in a big grin and he laughed suddenly in his strange bark. The don was infected by his good humour and laughed too, without knowing why.

Now, the meal over, the don relaxed on the periphery of the camp, enjoying the sensations of colour and scent and sounds all around him. He observed Marta with a small group of women, laughing and talking animatedly in her own tongue, the sound of their language like music to his ears. He shifted his gaze to Tessa, surrounded by the younger people of the band, and watched their excited expressions as Tessa must have been recounting her adventure to them.

He shook his head, noting how it swam a bit. How did she ever escape with her life, he wondered. A fervent prayer leapt to his lips for her safe delivery. Three rogue guerillas, and she escaped from them. It was truly a miracle. What is it Marta always seemed to say about such things - ah yes, 'We are all in the hands of Fate.' He didn't know if it was blasphemous to believe in Fate or not, but it was definitely not Tessa's time to die. Perhaps Fate did take a hand.

Movement on the other side of the campfire caught his eye. Tonio was walking toward Marta with something in his hand. It was too dark at first to make it out, then Don Alvarado could see it was a violin. Tonio lifted the instrument to Marta. The don could see her shaking her head, but the group around her seemed to be encouraging her to take it. Finally she did. She glanced around the area, as if looking for someone. Probably me, thought the don. My presence is making her awkward with her own people.

As Marta's glance found him, he smiled. With a tentative curl of her own lips, she lifted the bow and stroked the strings a few times, then began a quiet melody that seemed to reach into his soul. For a long time, he felt suspended by the music and the scene before his eyes — the bright costumes of the people, their colourful wagons, and the flickering light of the campfire. He entered into their complete absorption with the moment. The tune ended and he almost felt their collective sigh. He joined enthusiastically in the applause. I never knew she played the violin, he thought. So many things I did not know about her.

The wagon he was leaning against rocked as Luisa stepped out and came over to him. He stood immediately, at a loss at first how to greet this woman. He reached for her hand and bent to kiss it. "Señora, I am Tessa's father, Rafael Alvarado," he said, looking into her fathomless eyes. Her hair had traces of silver among the black strands, which were neatly tucked behind her head. Her face was almost unlined, making the don wonder how old she was. Her eyes seemed ancient, but her slim body, though small, was well-formed and spry. The resemblance to Marta was unmistakable –- the same fine planes of her face, the same direct gaze, the same quickness of gesture.

She chuckled in delight. No one had ever kissed her hand before. "Call me Luisa. I am Marta's mother. My son is also named Rafael. It is a good strong name," she added with just a hint of flirtation. She looked him over appraisingly, her curiosity about this man piqued by Tessa's stories about her father. He was taller than most of her people, and though middle-aged, seemed fit and strong. His dark hair was speckled with grey, as was the neatly trimmed beard that covered his proud chin. She felt herself warm to this man who loved his daughter so much. There was a goodness about him that she sensed when he touched her. "Let us sit down and enjoy the music and dancing, Don Alvarado."

He quickly searched for something for her to sit on, picking up a three-legged stool from under the wagon. With his handkerchief, he dusted it off, and set it down for her. "Please call me Rafael, señora."

"Gracias, Don Rafael." She sat on the stool, and the don resumed his seat on his saddle blanket.

Across the campfire, a group was ushering Tessa toward Marta. A woman handed Tessa a guitar. Don Alvarado could hear laughter and giggles as they seemed to be planning something. A moment later, Marta began a lively tune, then Tessa joined in, strumming the guitar. The other woman began to sing in her own language, something lively and humourous. The rest of the gitano joined in with the chorus amid much laughter as they clapped with the beat.

Luisa sneaked a peek at the don, enjoying his amazement that his daughter not only played the guitar, but also seemed to know the Rom words to the song. His mouth hung open, and Luisa was tempted to push his jaw up to close it. His eyes were rivetted on the pair, as if he could not believe what he was seeing and hearing. He looked away, seemingly confused. Luisa could see by the pensive set of his face that he was trying to determine what to think of it all.

Don Alvarado stared at this young woman, his daughter, nearly a stranger, wearing the colourful costume she had borrowed to replace her own ruined clothes. She seemed to belong here with these people. If her skin were darker, she would be taken for a gitana. He shook his head. The thought troubled him. She was a Spaniard, a noblewoman. What was she doing here with these people?

He fixed his gaze on Marta, astonished at the difference in her among her own folk. She seemed carefree, joyous. How she must have chafed under the restrictions of Madrid society compared to her own world. He was doing her a favour, releasing her from her promise to protect and guide Tessa.

And yet, as he watched them together, he knew both would suffer from the separation, Tessa possibly most. With no mother, she had no one to talk to, depend on, look to for guidance. I've been a miserable failure of a father, he thought morosely. Never here, always away in California. The last time I was in Spain, Tessa was thirteen, still a child. Now, she is a young woman that I hardly know. But I cannot take her to California yet. My life is in constant danger. What can I do?

He settled his back against the wagon wheel, his melancholy thoughts weighing him down. The lively song ended and Tonio accepted his violin from Marta. Tessa returned the guitar to its owner.

"That's Estrellita," said Luisa, breaking into his thoughts, pointing to the woman with the guitar. "She plays and sings so beautifully. She taught your daughter to play the guitar." Luisa leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "But, if you will excuse my saying so, Tessa has only a passably good voice, like Marta." She settled back and laughed quietly. She gestured toward a youngish-looking man, standing across the camp, sharing a glass of wine with Tonio. "That's Rafael, my son. What Marta knows about healing people, Rafael knows about healing horses. He has taught Tessa many things about horses, and helped her become a better horsewoman. Since Marta has no daughter of her own, she has passed on her healing knowledge to Tessa." Luisa decided not to mention the bullwhip lessons with Tonio, or the knife-throwing Tessa learned from Lorenzo. How little he knows about his own daughter, she mused at his look of surprise.

He merely nodded and went back to contemplating the fire. His eyes suddenly lifted to Estrellita as she raised her voice in a long high note, then began to sing, accompanying herself on the guitar. The beat was slow at first, and the gitano clapped along. As the tempo increased so did the clapping. Soon, a man and woman got up to dance, then others joined in. At length, the camp echoed with shouts and clapping, and the wild stamping of feet. Don Alvarado's wide eyes took it all in, the sights, the sounds, the music and the dance. It filled his senses and he thought with surprise, I have never felt so alive as now.

As he watched, a young man approached Tessa and drew her into the dance. The don's chest swelled with pride as he watched her dance with skill and grace, her face alight with joy. He grimaced slightly at the recollection of the money he had spent on her dancing tutor. He saw Marta turn as an intense dark man held out his hands for her and she joined him in the flamenco.

Don Alvarado marvelled at the gitano's joy of life. They have so little, but they still know how to enjoy themselves. No wonder Tessa wanted to stay among them, he thought with a heavy sigh. No wonder Marta allowed her to stay. Tessa has learned much from them. So have I. In only a day, I have learned more about my daughter than in the whole three months that I've been in Spain.

The angry words Tessa spoke to him the previous night came back to haunt him. '...a porcelain doll ...an empty thing.' It was true; he had hardly thought about the girl growing up while he ran his hacienda in California. His few visits back had been taken up mainly with his winery business. He saw the changes in her outward appearance, but did not know what changes were occurring to her mind, her self.He had kept aloof from her, set her on a shelf like a porcelain figurine, without trying to understand what lay beneath the surface, in her heart and mind. Her letters revealed very little except for mentions of people they both knew, parties she attended. His real daughter remained elusive, unknown to him. Until now. In this different context, he saw a young woman in exuberant good health with a lively sense of humour, surrounded by people who accepted her and loved her. Only Marta knew those things. He sighed again. She was closer to Marta than to anyone else. Much of what Tessa is, is Marta's doing, he admitted to himself. She has done much better by my daughter than I have.

He turned to Luisa, and said feelingly, "Your daughter is a very wise woman."

Luisa smiled at him kindly. "So is your daughter. She did not run away. She led you here to help you understand her better." She chuckled at his look of consternation.

The dance ended and Tessa strolled over to her father and Luisa, acknowledging Luisa with a warm kiss on the cheek. She was breathless and excited, her eyes were bright with pleasure. She dropped down beside the don and put her arm around his waist. Luisa got up and wandered toward her brother Tonio, leaving the father and daughter alone.

Tessa's smile vanished as she thought about the morning when they would leave ...without Marta. She knew better than to try to change her father's mind. The more she challenged him, the more he would dig in his heels. He was stubborn to a fault.

"Bring Marta to me, Tessa," Don Alvarado said quietly. He watched as she obeyed, taking Marta's arm and leading her across the camp to him. The look on Marta's face was sad, resigned. It squeezed his heart painfully as he thought, I have wounded her deeply.

When they were both standing before him, the don arose. He was not sure how to say what was in his heart; it was too full. The experiences of the day and the night left him without words. He laid his hand on Marta's shoulder and took a deep, steadying breath. "Please stay with Tessa. I was wrong to think you would do anything that might harm her. My daughter has learned things among your people she would never have learned among the her own kind in Madrid." He smiled at the radiance on Marta's face, reflected by the radiance on his daughter's. "I could not have found a better person to raise my daughter than you, Marta." He stopped, not trusting his voice, as Tessa flung her arms around in an excess of joy.

"Thank you, Papa," she whispered fervently against his cheek. She grinned impishly and added, "Now about California..."

"No," he said firmly. Then with a wink at Marta, he continued, "But you may spend as much time as you like with Marta's people."

Later in Luisa's wagon, the three women had settled for the night. The camp sounds quietened. But Tessa could not rest; her mind was active from all the excitements of the day. "Marta," she whispered, "Are you awake?"

"I am now," the other woman whispered back. "Go to sleep. You will wake my mother."

"You know, Marta," Tessa said quietly, ruminatively, "I think there is a reason why we are together. I don't know what it is yet, but I am sure of it. Papa doesn't usually change his mind or admit to being wrong. I was very surprised. As you have often said, the hand of Fate works in mysterious ways."

"I've never said that," Marta said tartly. "I have said, 'we are in the hands of Fate'. Not the same thing," she said sleepily. Tessa heard her yawn, and turn over to a more comfortable position.

"I'm glad Papa knows everything now." Tessa was quiet for a few minutes, then added with a throaty chuckle, "Except for the fencing lessons. I'm not sure he's ready for that."

THE END

©The Hand of Fate - Maril Swan - May 2001

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