A Lady of the West (18 page)

His hair was tousled, his lips swollen, and his expression hard as he still dealt with his own arousal. He leaned slowly down to pick up his hat, as if every movement had to be careful. After he adjusted it on his head, he said, “I'll be damned if I apologize.”

“No,” she agreed in a whisper.

“It won't be the last time.” He reached out and trailed one finger down her pale cheek. “You're gonna be my woman, but it won't be in the dirt, with the sun burning this pretty white skin. We'll be in bed, Victoria, with the door locked, and we won't have to worry about anyone interrupting.”

The years of her mother's training shouted at her to deny his arrogant assumption that she was his for the taking, but she couldn't. She couldn't lie to herself, couldn't hide behind strictures that no longer held sway out here in this rough, wild land. She wanted him; she wouldn't pretend otherwise, even though it wouldn't, couldn't, happen.

She moaned inwardly and managed to whisper, “I can't. I'm married.”

“Married!” He hissed the word. “You're married to a whoring, murdering bastard. How do you think he got this hacienda? Do you think he
paid
for it? He murdered the family it belonged to, the Sarratts; he raped Elena Sarratt before he put a bullet in her head. That's the man you want to be faithful to, the man
who was in a whore's bed the day after you married him.”

His words were like blows. Nausea twisted her stomach and she stumbled to her knees, bent over from the waist, gagging and heaving.

His face grim, Jake got his canteen and tugged his handkerchief free from his throat, then poured water over it. After capping the canteen, he knelt beside Victoria and gently wiped her face. She took the handkerchief and pressed it to her cheeks, trying to deal with the sickness that still roiled in her at the thought of such a man touching her. “How do you know about that family—the Sarratts?” she finally asked in a muffled voice.

“Word gets around.” He held the canteen out to her. “Take a drink of water.”

She swished water around in her mouth before spitting it out on the ground, then drank. She should be mortified, vomiting and spitting in front of a man, but somehow that seemed a petty concern after what Jake had just told her. She lifted her head and stared at him with shadowed eyes. “I can't stay here,” she said flatly. “I'll get Emma and Celia and leave. I can't stay in the same house with him.”

Jake cursed at the idea of her leaving. “No,” he said.

She clutched his arm. “But I can't stay.”

“You have to stay. I'm here, Victoria. I'll take care of you.”

“What can you do? You're not in that house with him, you don't have to take your meals with him and look at his face, listen to him—”

“It won't be for much longer,” he said. He hadn't wanted to tell her that much, but she had reacted more strongly than he'd anticipated to the truth about her husband.

Her dazed eyes focused on him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I've heard some rumors, and that's all
I can tell you. Trust me, Victoria. Stay. I'll take care of you.”

His green eyes burned into hers. For a moment she was as frightened of him as she was sickened at the thought of the Major; there was something hard in his eyes, as if he would stop at nothing to get his way. Yet he was the man she loved, dangerous as he was. If she left, she might never see him again. Pain clenched her heart at the thought.

“All right,” she whispered. “I'll stay.”

S
he could barely look at the Major that night at the dinner table. The food was tasteless in her mouth. She couldn't stop thinking what Jake had told her about
her husband
raping and killing that poor woman. She was cold with revulsion, her thought processes slowed by the grisly images that occupied her mind as plainly as if she'd actually seen it happen.

She took a sip of water. “This is an old house. Who owned it before you?” As soon as she heard the words she was appalled at herself. Why had she said that? Shock was making her stupid.

McLain stiffened and his ruddy face turned a curious gray color. “Why do you ask? Who's been talkin' about it?”

The only thing she could do now was pretend casual curiosity. She was aware of Emma's sharpened interest, but didn't dare look at her cousin. “No one. I was just wondering about the house. How old is it?”

He looked around the room with furtive eyes, as if assuring himself there was no one lurking in the shadows. “I don't know. You sure no one said anything about it?”

“Yes, I'm sure. It's Spanish missionary architecture, isn't it? It's lovely, and it must be at least two hundred years old. Don't you know?”

McLain took one more quick look around the room. No one had been talking about it; hell, there wasn't anyone left alive who knew about it except for Garnet, Quinzy, and Wallace, now that Roper had given Pledger his entry into hell. She was only asking because the house was old; Southern aristocrats like her put a lot of stock in old things.

“It's about that, I guess,” he muttered, and wiped his forehead with his napkin.

“What was the name of the family who owned it before?”

“I don't remember.” He said it too quickly.

Juana had entered with Lola to clear the table and heard Victoria's question. She shot the Major a hate-filled look and said, “Sarratt, señor. The family's name was Sarratt.”

He bolted to his feet, his face flushing with rage. “Don't mention that name to me, you goddamn bitch!” he roared, sweeping his plate to the floor with a quick motion of his thick arm. “Get out! I'll kill you! Goddamn it, I'll teach you to meddle in things that're none of your goddamn business—”

Juana ducked as he reached for her, but he grabbed her arm and slapped her across the face with all his considerable strength. Lola shrank back, her fists crammed against her mouth to keep her wails stuffed inside. Juana was screaming and would have fallen from the force of the blow if he hadn't been holding her by the arm. Celia shrieked, her face white, and Emma was rising to her feet.

Icy rage exploded in Victoria. She could gladly have struck her husband down in that moment had she the means at hand. She lunged forward as he lifted his arm to strike Juana again and caught him by the wrist, her fury giving her sufficient strength to thwart him.
“Mr. McLain!” Her
voice was cold and ferocious. Her blue eyes looked almost colorless as she stared at him, like ice pools around tiny pinpoints of black.

For a moment she thought he would strike her, too, he was so enraged at being balked in his intention to punish Juana. He turned on her with a snarl, but she stood her ground, her face white and her jaw set.

He froze, staring at her as the red color drained from his face. Slowly he let his arm drop.

“How dare you.” She had to push the words through her clenched teeth; they were scarcely more than a hiss. “Those are neither the words nor acts of a gentleman. You have shamed and embarrassed me.” Instinctively, she settled on the attack that would hit him at his most vulnerable point, his pretensions of respectability. Puny though it was, it was the only weapon she had against him.

He reddened again and darted a look at Emma and Celia, who were both staring at him in horror. Damn! The way the girl was looking at him now, she wasn't likely to let him get close enough to touch her, much less bed her. And Victoria was staring at him as if he'd just crawled out from under a rock, her patrician nose pinched in disgust.

It was all that Mex bitch's fault, throwing up the Sarratts to him, making him lose control. If he'd ever been able to find the hole that snot-nosed Sarratt whelp had crawled into when he died, he'd have spit on the carcass. But maybe he wasn't dead … He thought of the knife in his library again, which reminded him of that flashing knife and the boy's hate-filled eyes.

He felt as if his skin were swelling, as if he might burst. He looked at the silently accusing women, and their stares were like more knives, flashing in the darkness. He whirled and stormed from the room, walking so quickly he was nearly running.

Juana's sobs were quiet but they echoed in the
silence left by McLain's exit. Victoria put her arms around the girl. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm sorry.”

Juana sobbed brokenly.

“Are you hurt?” Victoria asked.

The question affected Juana strangely. She gulped her sobs, raised her bloodshot eyes to meet Victoria's concerned gaze and said in an unsteady voice, “He'll hurt
you.”

“No, he will not.” Victoria straightened, her blue eyes fierce. Things had changed; she wouldn't tolerate that monster's presence in her bedroom if he did happen to try …
that
again. She would scream the house down, she would vomit if he dared touch her. She would leave, take her family and leave in the morning.

But Jake had said to stay. He'd said he would take care of her. He had said it might not be for much longer.

What had he meant? That he was making plans himself to take them away from here?

The thought terrified her, but she knew she would take the chance. Running away with another man would brand her forever no matter what the circumstances were or the fact that her husband was a murderer. She would be ostracized from polite society, and the thought of it made her go cold, but what did that mean out here? Not as much as the thought of Jake. He frightened her, he infuriated her, but he made her feel so alive that she ached with the force of her own blood coursing through her body. To be with him without the benefit of marriage would cast her soul into mortal danger; to be without him would condemn her to death in life. He had become more important to her than her own life, and that, more than anything else, was what frightened her.

She calmed Lola; Juana herself had become rigidly dry-eyed and held herself away from comfort. “The Major won't do anything,” Victoria assured them. She
hoped she wasn't lying. Here was another responsibility; she would have to make certain they didn't suffer for her actions. She wondered how Jake would feel about having an instant household of six women, and smiled wryly. Whatever his plans, she was sure he wasn't prepared for
that.

“Return to your duties,” she said soothingly, patting Juana's shoulder. “I promise he won't do anything, and if he tries, scream for me.”

Lola put her arms around Juana, who stiffly allowed the embrace. The red imprint of McLain's hand was turning into a dark bruise on Juana's face. Lola led her into the kitchen.

Celia's face was shuttered, she who was the most open of people. “I'm going to bed,” she murmured, and fled the room.

Emma turned to look after the girl in astonishment and started to follow her, then stopped and turned back to Victoria. “Come up to my room,” she said. “We can talk there.”

Upstairs, they both seated themselves on the bed to talk as they had been doing since they were children. “Why did that happen?” Emma asked, going straight to the heart of the matter.

Victoria clenched her fists as she remembered what Jake had said; now she knew beyond any possible doubt that every horrible word of it was true. “Jake told me that the Major stole this ranch from the Sarratt family, by killing all of them. He said that the Major raped the woman—I don't remember her name—and then shot her in the head.”

Emma turned white at Victoria's even-toned statements. “If it's true—” she gasped. “My God, you actually asked him about the Sarratts—”

“I wanted to see how he'd react.” Her eyes burned. “My husband is a murderer, a rapist, and a thief. It was true, everything Jake said.”

“What are we going to do?” Emma got up and began to pace the room. “We can't stay here, but how
are we going to leave? I doubt Major McLain would lend us the money and use of his buggy. We'll have to think up some reason for going to Santa Fe again, and we'll leave from there, somehow.”

“I can't leave. Not yet.”

Emma gaped at her. “Why? You said yourself, he's a rapist and a murderer! How can you stay?”

“Jake—Jake asked me to stay.”

“Ah.” With that one syllable Emma signaled her understanding of everything. She paused, thinking through their situation. When she finally spoke, it was to say softly, “Victoria, you know I'll give you my support in any way you need it. You've always been the strong one, the one who somehow kept us all fed when there was no food. We might not even be alive today if you hadn't had the courage to sacrifice your happiness to marry the Major. But how can we stay? Why doesn't Jake simply leave with us?”

“I don't know.” Anguished, Victoria stared at her cousin. “Perhaps he's planning to take us away; he only asked me to stay and said that it wouldn't be for long.”

“Do you trust him?”