“Thank you, Redwing.” Claire stepped from the shade of her open doorway into the morning sunlight. Don Hernando was already mounted, waiting patiently for her. He turned to smile down at her as she came out. “Sorry to be late,” she apologized, checking the girth herself although the Indian servant had already done so. “I’m afraid there’s going to be more delay yet,” said the Don, now the provincial governor. She followed his glance. Though his own impressive house was in the center of the town of Monterey, he had provided Claire with a rather simpler one on the outskirts at the end of the main street. Just now a cart was traveling the street in their direction, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. “Doña Magdalena,” Claire said with a grimace, recognizing the cart’s driver. “What do you suppose that old hen’s come to gossip about this time?” “Nothing flattering to us, you can be certain of that,”
