Dare to Love (57 page)

I was hot, tired, and I felt as though I were covered with a layer of dust. My maroon skirt belled out in the wind, black lace ruffles fluttering. The gown was probably ruined, and the black lace gloves felt sticky. My hair had come loose, the French roll threatening to topple at any moment. I wondered why I wasn't more frightened. I should have been on the verge of hysteria—that would have been perfectly natural under the circumstances. But I told myself that it would all be over in twenty-four hours. Millie would go to Anthony and Anthony would bring the money and I would be released. There was nothing I could do but wait and stay as calm as possible.

Discovering a narrow open space between two of the boulders, I slipped through and found myself on the river bank. The stream was shallow, not more than a few inches deep, clear, sparkling water rushing over a bed of small stones. The opposite bank was grassy, a few trees growing near the water's edge. I could smell moss and mud and the tangy smell of root. Pulling off my gloves, I moved down to the water and knelt in the sand, oblivious to the damage that might be done to my gown. I dipped the gloves in the water, wrung them out and bathed my face and arms.

The water was wonderfully cool and refreshing. I wanted to bathe all over. As I dipped the gloves again my hair came completely undone, its rich ebony waves tumbling over my cheeks. As I brushed my hair back and stood up, sponging my shoulders and the top of my bosom with the wet gloves, I heard someone approach. I didn't turn, for I was sure that he would follow me. He had risked capture in order to see me dance, and earlier on his manner had definitely been seductive. Now that no one else was around he was going to try to seduce me. I continued to dab at my shoulders, pretending I didn't hear those careful footsteps. I had known from the first that he wanted to make love to me.

But when I heard the spurs jangle, I whirled around to see Rico instead, standing a few yards away, staring at me with fierce intensity. I dropped the gloves. My blood ran cold as I saw what was in his eyes, as I realized what he intended to do.

“He—he'll kill you,” I said.

“You think Rico ees afraid of him?”

“He'll kill you,” I repeated.

My voice trembled. My heart was beating so strongly that I feared it might burst. I knew I shouldn't let him see my fear, but it was impossible not to. I stepped back, stumbling over a piece of gravel. Rico laughed, standing there with one hand resting on the butt of his gun, the wide brim of his hat tilting to one side. He still had the green silk neck scarf up over the lower half of his face, but I knew he was smiling a savage smile as he took another step toward me.

“We don't get the jewels,” he said. “We don't get the gold. Ees all a waste of time. Rico doesn't like to waste time. I decided to make it worth my while.”

“Don't—don't come any closer.”

“You will scream?”

I nodded. The muscles of my throat seemed to be paralyzed.

“You won't scream,” he told me in a rough, snarling voice. “If you do, I will put a bullet through your heart. I will say you try to escape.”

“You—”

“Take off the dress,” he ordered.

I shook my head. Rico pulled out his gun and pointed it at me.

“You will take it off or I shoot.”

His black eyes burned fiercely. I knew that he meant exactly what he said. He would shoot me if I didn't obey. Stark terror held me paralyzed, and I was horribly aware of the fragile texture of blood and bone and muscle, so vulnerable, so easily destroyed. One bullet could do it, simply, quickly. My knees were so weak, I felt sure they would fold up under me any second.

The hammer of his pistol clicked back. “I count to ten,” he said. “One, two, three—”

Somehow or other I managed to move my hands behind me and reach for the tiny hooks in back of my dress. My vision seemed to blur, and there was a faint ringing in my ears, yet I could hear his breathing. He was breathing slowly, heavily, no longer counting. I fumbled with the hooks. There were so many, and my hands were shaking terribly. I tugged and fumbled, finally managing to undo the first few. The others came easier. The bodice of my dress fell forward. I slipped it down, pulling the sleeves over my arms, lifting my arms free.

“Too slow!” he snarled.

I couldn't seem to control my hands. They were fluttering like nervous white birds, and the ringing in my ears was louder now. I could see the man in the leaf brown outfit and I could see the glittering black eyes and the gun leveled at my heart, but it was all part of a hideous dream. The rough gray boulders, the sandy bank, the sparkling stream were the landscape of a nightmare, blurring in the haze that grew thicker and thicker.

“Off!” he cried.

I pushed the bodice over my waist, my hips, leaning forward to smooth it over the swell of my petticoat. The maroon satin rustled with a soft, silken whisper. The gown fell to my feet, and I stepped out of the crumpled circle of cloth, wearing only my black lace petticoat and chemise. The lace was finely spun, my breasts visible beneath the delicate floral patterns. Half a dozen black lace skirts lifted and billowed in the breeze.

“The rest!” he ordered.

I shook my head. I couldn't go through with it. I hadn't the will or the physical strength left. The haze shimmered, and the ground beneath my feet shifted. My bosom heaved, straining against the lace. I looked at him, shaking my head again and again, as he muttered in Spanish and took another step toward me, holding the gun stiffly in front of him. One quick jerk of the index finger and the bullet would fly through the air and it would all be over.

“I kill you,” he said. “Not yet. After.”

He laughed and, slipping his gun into the holster, came toward me, spurs jangling. He seized my wrist and jerked me into his arms. Pulling the green scarf down, he buried his lips in the curve of my throat. I struggled violently as his arms tightened and those hot, moist lips burned my skin, sliding toward my breast. I kicked. I tore the hat from his head and threw it aside and grabbed his hair with both hands, tugging at the black curls with all my might.

“Rico!”

He released me so abruptly that I almost fell, pushing me aside as he turned around. Black Hood stood several yards away, just beyond the opening between the two boulders. The silver of his gun caught the sunlight, reflecting it back in brilliant spokes.

“I mean no harm,” Rico said, his voice now that of an amiable peon, higher pitched, whining. “We just have a bit of fun. She encourage me. She say Rico make her blood hot.”

He laughed a jovial laugh and shook his head, and then his hand moved with blinding speed as he reached for his gun. There was a deafening explosion and he screamed, staggered and fell to the ground as bright crimson threads spurted from him. I didn't react at first. It wasn't real. It was part of the nightmare. Black Hood slipped his gun back into its holster and came toward me, stepping over Rico's body.

“It was inevitable,” he said. “It had to happen. I suppose I knew that Rico was a mistake from the beginning.”

The other two men came rushing around the boulders, pistols in hand, red bandanas flapping. When Black Hood picked up my dress and handed it to me and told me to put it on, I obeyed. He told one of the men to go fetch the trench tool that hung on Rico's saddle, and then he moved around to fasten up the back of my gown. I stood trancelike, numbed by what had happened, still unable to believe it. When Black Hood finished the dress, he led me toward the boulders. The man returning with the long, narrow-lipped shovel passed us.

“Make it quick,” Black Hood said quietly. “I want to get to the hacienda before dark.”

XLI

A particularly low-hanging branch loomed up ahead. Black Hood held my waist tightly and leaned his body forward, forcing me to lean forward, too, as we passed under the branch. His cheek rested briefly against mine, and I could feel the black silk of his hood rubbing against my face. His body seemed to envelop me with strength and warmth. He straightened up in the saddle, drawing me back up with him, and I rested my head on his shoulder once more, feeling wonderfully secure and relaxed. Somehow I felt as if I had known him for a very long time. It seemed natural for me to be with him.

“Where are your men?” I asked.

“They rode on ahead to give Juanita instructions. They'll already be at the hacienda by this time. We're almost there.”

“Who is Juanita?”

“My housekeeper. She'll have everything ready for you.”

“I'd like a hot bath.”

“You'll have one,” he promised.

“My dress is ruined.”

“We'll find something for you.”

His voice was soft, gentle, a husky croon that was like a soothing caress. I had been abducted by an outlaw who was holding me for ransom, yet I had never felt so comfortable with a man. His manner was tender and protective, as though I were something very precious placed in his charge. He had killed a man over me less than two hours ago. And though I was still shaken by the thought, any trace of fear I might have felt earlier had completely vanished. I was no longer even on the defensive. My icy demeanor and acid remarks would have been out of place now, as unnatural as fear. Why? What kind of spell had this bandit cast over me?

We had left the wooded area behind and were riding over a stretch of flat, grassy land that seemed to gradually drop away up ahead, and far beyond I could see a low rim of hills. I realized we were coming to a valley, and a few minutes later I saw it stretching out below us, large and beautiful, half of it bathed in the fading silver sunlight, that part nearer the hills covered with deep shadow. The sky was a pale silver gray overhead, streaks of soft gold and apricot tinting the horizon. I saw a sparkling ribbon of river, lofty trees, wide pastures, and a small valley isolated and enclosed. Black Hood tugged on the reins, drawing the horse to a halt so that I could appreciate the view.

“It—it's beautiful,” I said.

“Like no other place on earth,” he replied. “I've traveled all over the world. I've never seen a spot to compare with it.”

There was a kind of reverence in his voice, and I could tell that he loved this valley. He touched the horse's flanks gently with the heels of his boots, and we started down the slope. The air was marvelously pure and laced with the scent of grass and rock and water. I could feel the magic of the place. It was almost tangible; an atmosphere of serene majesty enfolded the whole valley. I understood how he felt. I had the feeling that even I could live here contentedly for the rest of my life, the cares of the world completely forgotten.

When we reached the floor of the valley, I saw the hacienda in the distance. As we drew nearer I studied the pale beige walls and gracious archways, the verandahs and wrought iron balconies, the sloping reddish brown tile roof. The hacienda was built around a central patio, and there was a patio in front with a fountain spilling water over three tiers of basin into a small circular pond. In the gardens tall green shrubs and curious spiky plants I didn't recognize grew lavishly among trees with exotic fronds and hibiscus shrubs with large red-orange flowers. Several outbuildings stood beyond the house, and horses capered in a pasture nearby, enjoying the last rays of sunlight.

Black Hood urged his horse on, and a few minutes later we were moving around the circular drive. He pulled up the horse, set me on my feet and swung out of the saddle. The fountain made a splashing music. The spiky plants had a strange smell. A Mexican youth in loose white trousers and shirt came around the side of the house to take the reins and lead the horse away. The carved oak front doors opened, and a young Mexican woman stepped out onto the verandah. She smiled and moved down the steps toward us, her bare feet lightly slapping the tiles.

“I heard we were to have a guest,” she said.

Her voice was low and musical, her English superb, the Spanish accent a subtle and lovely augmentation. A woman in her early twenties, she had a creamy tan complexion, gentle black eyes and a beautifully shaped mouth the color of pink camellias. Her dark black hair was pulled back tightly and braided in a long plait that hung down her back. Short, slender, she wore a white cotton blouse and a dark red skirt embroidered with rows of black, green and silver patterns.

“This is Juanita,” Black Hood said. “Juanita, Elena Lopez. She will be staying with us tonight.”

“Steve told me. I have everything ready.”

“Juanita will take care of you, Elena. You'll have your bath, and I'll join you for dinner later on.”

He walked toward the side of the house, the heels of his boots crunching on the crushed shell drive, and then he started up the stone staircase to the second story. Juanita, smiling, took my hand and led me into the house. We moved down a wide hallway with rooms opening on either side and then stepped out onto the inner verandah. The enclosed patio was tiled in black and white and red-brown, and there was another, smaller fountain in the center. A large old tree with spreading boughs grew to one side, baskets of plants hanging from several of the limbs.

“He has never brought a guest home before,” Juanita remarked. “We are most happy to have you.”

“I'm hardly a ‘guest,'” I told her.

“He wants you to be very comfortable,” she continued, ignoring my implication. “Steve told me that you were beautiful,” she added.

“Steve?”

“My fiance. He rides with Black Hood. He has blue eyes and dark gold hair. He is as handsome as a young god. You would not have observed that, of course. He wore a hat and kept the bandana over his face.”

Juanita smiled again, a lovely, gentle smile. There was an air of innocence about her, a childlike acceptance of things as they were. Though she knew what Black Hood and her fiance did, she seemed to consider it a perfectly natural way of life. I said nothing more as we moved around the verandah. Strings of red peppers and onions hung from pegs on the wall, as did an occasional dried gourd, and plants in bright Mexican pots were placed here and there on the stucco bannister. Juanita finally stopped in front of a beautifully carved door and, pushing it open, led me down two steps into a long, spacious room with a low, beamed ceiling. The whitewashed walls were covered with deep shadows, and I could smell ancient wood and beeswax polish mingled with the scent of lemon.