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Bonita had piled the red-gold curls high on Sabrina's head
and secured them with the gold comb; Bonita's gift of the earrings hung from
her small ears, and around her neck were the emeralds given to her by her
father. She wore a simple gown of white silk, a profusion of lace flowing
around its deep decolletage and around the hem of the wide, full, swinging
skirt, Tia Francisca's gift of the white mantilla draped fashionably about her
bared shoulders and arms. The effect was striking, the brightness of that flame-colored
hair, the honeyed tones of her soft skin against the emeralds, and the white
silk of the gown making more than one young caballero that night think of a goddess
of fire—a goddess in whose embrace it would be heaven to burn.
     
    Unaware
of the thoughts she aroused in the young males and not a few older ones,
Sabrina took a child's unaffected delight in the evening. She danced every
dance, her gay laughter and heart-stopping smile heard and seen continually,
and Alejandro, watching her proudly from a short distance away, was aware of a
curious mixture of pleasure and pain. If only Elena could see her, he thought,
could be with us . . .
     
    For
just a moment he allowed the uneased agony of Elena's death to sweep over him,
and almost compulsively he fingered the unique turquoise and silver bracelet he
always wore—a bracelet that Elena had given to him to seal their betrothal. But
then, conscious that even from a distance, in spite of the whirl of gaiety
around her, Sabrina would uncannily sense his unhappy thoughts, he quelled the
pain that welled up inside him. Tonight was a joyous one—and Elena would be the
last person to want him sad, he reminded himself with a forced smile.
     
    "They
make a lovely couple, do they not?" Francisca de la Vega said abruptly
from his side, her eyes on Sabrina and the young man with whom she was
presently dancing.
     
    Wryly
Alejandro returned, "I agree. But don't you think we are a bit prejudiced?
After all, Sabrina is my daughter and Carlos is your son."
     
    Francisca
gave a satisfied smile. "That is true, but they are a handsome couple
nonetheless—and it would be a wonderful alliance. The del Torres rancho and the
de la Vega rancho under one ownership would make them the largest and
richest landowners this side of the Sabine River."
     
    Alejandro
remained silent. Though his sister might prefer one to think her motives were
totally altruistic, he knew the de la Vega finances were not flourishing. Luis
de la Vega, her husband, had casually intimated as much to him not a month ago,
and Carlos only last week had laughingly stated that while they had land and
cattle aplenty, he would probably have to marry an heiress if he wished to see
any amount of gold in the near future. Every landowner occasionally suffered
from lack of ready money, Alejandro admitted wryly to himself, even he did
periodically, and he assumed that this was the current situation with his
sister's family—next month, next year, things would right themselves and all
would be well. Carelessly he dismissed as unworthy the notion that there was
any desperate need for a marriage between Sabrina and Carlos. Francisca had
always wanted the marriage, and he guessed that at the moment it probably looked
even more attractive than usual to her. But to Carlos? Thoughtfully he gazed at
his nephew as that handsome, smiling young man spun Sabrina lightly around the
grand salon.
     
    Alejandro
had no real reservations about Carlos de la Vega—certainly his lineage was
impeccable, and at twenty-six he was mature enough and hopefully wise enough to
control Sabrina. But even knowing the scheme was dear to his sister's heart,
Alejandro had for the past two years resisted her attempts to formalize a
match. There was much to be said for a marriage between Sabrina and Carlos, he
would freely concede, and yet . . .
     
    Consideringly
he scrutinized Carlos as that young man laughed across at Sabrina. Carlos was a
handsome