"For you," he said.
She shot him a glance. "It is very fine, to sit on." Then she smiled, and sat down. Once more she changed her mind. "I don't need it, señor," she said, and pulled the doublet from under her, folded it neatly and laid it aside.
"You're a disobedient wench," he said. He dropped down beside her, and stretched out full length.
"You worked so hard," she said, remembering him as she had seen him this morning; she had spent two hours watching him, hearing his voice, and seeing his laugh. He was difficult, this man. Now he was curt and miserable. She ran her fingers through her hair, and lifted it back over her shoulders.
"Señor," she said—and then she stopped.
"You may call me David," he said.
She said the name experimentally, lengthening the two syllables. "David."
"Well?"
"David, how old are you?"
"Six and twenty," he said. He raised himself on one elbow.
"Look, wench—" he was hunting for her name—"Lola, you are alone here."
"Si," she said. She wet her lips.
He continued with the easy arrogance of his class. "Then I will take care of you."
Her hands were clasped. Her dark eyes were thoughtful. But he was not waiting for her answer. His arms were around her and he wanted the first kiss.
"Si señor," she whispered.
Chapter X
She thought he was very handsome, this Englishman, she lay beside him while he slept, exhausted, on the sandy pine-needled floor.
The sun was setting. It was cooler; she had put his shirt across his bare back. He moved a little in his sleep, and she covered his shoulders again. He stirred.
He opened his eyes and saw her. He reached for her, drawing her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her.
"I'm cold," he whispered.
"Your jacket," she said.
He made a dissenting sound. His head was buried in the curve of her throat. "You keep me warm."
"Si," said Lola. She sighed a little. Perhaps he would talk to her now; there was much she wanted to know.
"Where do you live in England, señor?"
The answer was muffled. "Suffolk."
Lola frowned. "Where is that, my lord?"
He grunted. "I live in London too."
"Is your house big?"
The answer was intended to be "yes."
"Does your mother live there?" Lola asked. His mother must be very proud of him. "In Suffolk?" She stumbled over the name.
"I never knew her," he said. "She died long ago."
"Oh," said Lola. "I'm sorry, señor."
He raised his head to look at her. "Are you, wench?" He smiled, then he yawned.
"But you have your brother," she said.
"I certainly do," he said.
"What is it?" she asked. She kissed the side of his face. "My love," she whispered.
He said, wonderingly, "Lola, you are most fair. Truly, you are. Your body is perfect."
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"I dance," she said.
He laughed. "However you explain it, you are a work of nature in which nature scarcely failed. Wench, what time do you suppose it is?"
"Time?" she said.
"Not a pleasant word, I admit." He sat up and looked at the bit of sky he could see through the trees. He judged it to be six or thereabouts. "I have a little time," he said. But he picked up his shirt and shook the sand from it. He slipped it over his head.
She was watching, and when his head reappeared, he noticed her steady gaze on him.
"When I come tomorrow," he said, "what would you like me to bring you?"
She said slowly, "You do not think, señor, that I—"
"Christ, no," he said.
"Let me fasten your shirt," she said, her face eager. She tied the lacings deftly, concentrating on her task. "There."
"Thank you," David said. "You haven't told me what you would like."
"A jewel?" she said. "Or a bottle of wine?"
"And a fresh fish," David said, smiling. Later, he would bring her gold, but not yet. He studied her clear white skin; she was vividly beautiful. "Pearls for you, Lola," he said. "Stolen pearls. Wear them like a duchess."
"I?" she asked.
"You," he said. He put his arms around her and began to kiss her. "Have you ever seen a duchess, Lola?"
She found it hard to answer while he was making love to her. "Once," she whispered. "In Spain."
"Was she haughty?"
"She was fat," said Lola. "Very fat, señor. Oh, David!"
" 'Oh, David,' " he mimicked, " 'oh, David'!"
At that, she tried to avoid his kiss, turning her head. She fought him a little for a moment.
"Oh, David," she whispered.
The sun had set when he took her back to the beach. In the evening light, the row of tents looked settled, and in place under the pines. The remains of the fires smouldered in the pits; the bay looked just the same. The keel of the bark had been laid, but the men were gone, and the little cove was silent and empty. Waves lapped at the shore; the tide was going out.
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"You've missed your evening meal," David said, absently, looking at the bark.
"Could I make your dinner?" Lola asked. He had said little on the way back to the beach.
He shook his head. "I must be back aboard."
Around the large fire on the beach, men were gathered. David saw some familiar figures. "They're changing the watch," he said hastily to Lola. He raised his voice. "Avast there, Tyler!"
He had a last word for Lola. "Come no farther, wench. Hasta la vista!"
"Hasta la vista," she repeated wistfully, standing where he had left her, near the tents for the women, watching him run across the beach and to the waiting boat. He jumped in, she waved to him, but he mustn't have seen her, for he did not wave back.
He was preoccupied. He had enough time, too. It had long since ceased to occur to him not to be on time. Back aboard, he went straight to Cavendish's cabin. He found Cavendish bent over the chart he was drawing. David wasted no words.
"That's what I wanted to see, Tom," he said. "California."
"Here it is," Cavendish said, raising his blue eyes to David's face. He sounded very eager, but that was all he said.
David looked at the lines and latitudes that imprisoned California on paper.
David said, "How far is it from here across the gulf?"
"To Mazatlan? About seventy leagues, roughly."
"And by land?"
"Impossible," said Cavendish flatly. "Hundreds of leagues. Look. All you need to do is look."
"Women could never stand that journey," David said.
"No," said Cavendish. He picked up his pen and marked in a sounding. His print was tiny and neat.
"But two hundred people cannot get aboard the bark you're building," David said. "Not more than twenty could, and that not with safety."
"Of course not," said Cavendish.
"I see," said David quietly. He turned; he bumped into Cosmos, brushed him aside, and went up on deck. It was his watch soon; he had about twenty minutes. He had missed dinner, and he was hungry, terribly hungry.
But he didn't move. He stared down at the darkening water; the ship was still; he heard men's muted voices; he could pick out their
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owners. He thought of Lola; he thought of Catherine. And then he heard Havers' tread behind him.
There was no need to turn; he was sure it was Havers. He felt himself relax, as Havers leaned against the rail, too, and looked down into the water.
"You're relieved, Havers," he said.
"I didn't know it was your watch," Havers said.
"For the next week it is," David said.
Havers said, "I hear the men are envious of you."
David grinned. The two men were silent.
"If you're wanting your pipe, you're relieved," David said.
"No," Havers returned.