The four men came to a stop not far from them and none dismounted. They appeared as if they had ridden hard and long. They sat straight in their saddles, none appearing frightened of the devil.
“Diablo,” one said with a nod, then gave a nod to Crista. “We’ve been sent by Esteban Cesare to bring his sister home. He’s been made aware that you had nothing to do with the abduction and he asks that you release her to our care so that we may return her home.”
Joy soared through Crista. Her ordeal was done and she’d be going home. That was until the devil spoke.
“No,” Diablo said.
That he could make one word sound menacing astonished her.
The four men exchanged glances as if not sure what to do.
The same man spoke again. “Esteban will come for you with more men than you can conquer.”
“Tell Esteban I wait for him,” Diablo said, though it sounded more a warning. “Now leave before I kill you.”
Crista couldn’t see his face but she heard the devil in him, and she shivered.
“Do not be foolish and pay the devil no mind. I give you a chance to live.”
One of the other men leaned forward in his saddle and with a smirk said, “There’s four of us and one of you.”
“You mean there’s only four of you and the devil who will be only too pleased to have all of you serve him eternally in hell.”
One man paled and crossed himself.
The smirk on the one man’s face disappeared, though he held onto his bravado. “You’re a man and only one man at that.”
“Not one man… el Diablo. Do you really want to fight the devil?”
Everything happened so fast, all Crista could do was watch in horror.
The man who had first spoken went for his gun. Diablo gave her a shove, sending her to the ground. She couldn’t believe how fast his whip snapped the gun out of the man’s hand, causing him to tumble off his horse. Or how he threw his knife, without her even seeing him reach for it, to land in bravado man’s throat while his whip went flying once again in quick succession, knocking the other two men off their horses. By then the other men were scrambling for their guns, but Diablo already had a gun in his hand.
“The devil gave you a chance,” he said as he fired four shots, killing each of the men quickly.
Crista sat on the ground staring wide-eyed at the carnage. She watched as Diablo went and looked over each man and she cringed, closing her eyes tight when he fired another shot into one of the men.
He truly was the devil.
She continued to stare in horror as he gathered guns and knives off the dead men and stuffed them into saddlebags on the four horses. He then took the reins of the horses and walked the animals over by his horse.
“Can you ride?” he asked.
She nodded, thinking the black shroud he wore never looked more sinister or frightening.
“Do not think to make an escape. My whip reaches far,” he warned.
She nodded again, unable to speak.
She almost cringed when he reached down to help her up, but stopped herself and was relieved when he set her on one of the horses. He took a rope, coiled on one of the saddles, and tied the horses for them to follow behind his horse.
“Keep pace with me,” he ordered.
She had every intention of following that order and wondered why he had killed the men sent to rescue her. She doubted her family would look favorably on it.
“Your brother didn’t send those men,” Diablo said as if he knew her thoughts.
“How do you know that?” she asked stunned.
“Esteban Cesare would never send another to collect his sister from me. He will come himself for you.”
Chapter 5
Her thoughts turned inward as their journey continued. She had long ago given up on her family here in Los Angles. She believed she would never see them again and had been shocked when Mother Abbess had summoned her to the abbey. She had been even more stunned when the woman had told her she was going home.
How did a brother who didn’t truly know her risk his life to rescue her? And what made Diablo think Esteban would come for her?
“You grow restless. What troubles you?” Diablo demanded.
If she felt her own restlessness, it was no wonder that he did as well. “You know my brother well enough to speak for him?”
“I know your brother is an honorable man and will do what is right.”
“How do you know this?”
“That is a question for your brother to answer, not me,” Diablo said.
Though her curiosity urged her to pursue it, she knew better. She would get nothing from him except a threat to cut out her tongue. After today and the men he had warned, then killed for not heeding his warning, she was sure he would carry out his threat. It was enough to have her hold her tongue, not wanting to lose it.
It was another night before a fire on the hard ground, which didn’t help her leg, nor did the endless travel on the horse. By the third day her leg was screaming with pain. She woke and struggled to stand, the intense pain making it beyond difficult. She managed to see to her needs but when she made her way around the boulder her leg gave way and she collapsed.
Diablo was at her side in an instant and she grabbed onto his arm that had gone around the front of her waist.
“My leg can’t take much more of the hard ground and the horse,” she said, fighting the searing pain.
“We’ll reach our destination by dusk.”
Would she survive that many hours on the horse? She winced when once again she attempted to stand and feared she had gotten her answer.
He scooped her up and got them both mounted on his horse. It troubled him that she didn’t say a word. As much as he warned her about staying silent, she’d always managed to find an excuse to talk, and he had engaged her when she did. She was far too easy to talk with, something that had caught him unaware.
Her body tensed against him as waves of pain run through her and he wished they were closer to his camp. At least there, she could rest and he could see to adjusting his plan, delayed because of her.
They weren’t far from what had been home to him for several years when she turned her face to press against his chest as if she wished to bury herself inside him.
“You are in much pain?” he asked, though it wasn’t necessary. Her body lay taut against him, struggling to keep the pain from consuming her.
“Si,” she said.
He looked down and could see why she hid her face against his chest. She was trying to hide her tears.
“We are not far,” he said.
That she nodded and said nothing spoke louder than her pain, and he was never more relieved to guide his horse through the narrow passage that lead to his camp and finally arrive home.
Crista didn’t bother to glance around when she heard voices, all her strength consumed with dealing with the waves of pain shooting through her leg. She didn’t lift her head when he dismounted with her in his arms or pick up her head when she heard the sound of his boots on wood and a door closing. She didn’t care about anything but getting rid of the pain.
Her leg gave way when he lowered her to her feet and she was once again snatched up in his arms, strong and powerful arms she was beginning to know well.
She felt herself being laid down on something soft and she sighed with relief. She winced when he rolled her over and about, but didn’t fight him since he was removing her duster and jacket. It was when he slipped off her one boot and reached for the other that fear gripped her.
“Don’t! My leg has swelled. It won’t come off,” she warned finally opening her eyes and focusing on him.
He appeared more threatening than ever shrouded in black and looming over her.
“I need to get it off you if your leg is to heal properly,” he said.
She shook her head. “The pain will be too great.”
“There will be little pain,” he said.
She sh
ook her head, closing her eyes once again, not believing him, yet knowing she didn’t have the strength to argue with him. She winced when his hands settled on her boot and again when she felt a tug along her leg and to her surprise before she knew it her boot was gone.
He’d been true to his word. He had caused her little pain.
He was even more gentle when he placed a pillow beneath her pained leg. She startled and cringed when a warm, wet cloth was wrapped around her leg. Instinct had her other leg moving close to dislodge the cloth, but a firm hand at her ankle stopped her.
“Leave it be. It will ease your pain.”
Once again she didn’t argue with Diablo, since he was right. Her pain was beginning to ease.
She prayed for sleep, an undisturbed sleep, hoping to wake to her leg healed or mostly healed, but she knew when it got this bad it would take more than a night’s sleep to heal it.
A litany of prayers fell in whispers from her lips as she fell asleep.
Diablo refreshed the cloth on her leg twice before he left her for the night. He intended to find out what happened to her leg since the numerous scars warned of a vicious incident and he wanted to know if it was an accident or if someone had purposely hurt her.
There was more to Crista Cesare than she let be known and while she was his guest, he intended to find out all he could about her. Though, something warned him that she would be better left a mystery.
Sunlight tickled at her face, waking Crista. She didn’t want to open her eyes, since she was much too comfortable. The bed she laid in was soft, the blankets as well, and a pillow rested comfortably beneath her head.
She was home.
She smiled. It had all been a nightmare. She settled in the comfort of the bed. All was well until she realized her leg rested on a pillow.
It had been a nightmare, a living nightmare.
Crista didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to acknowledge that the nightmare was real. She wanted to believe she was home in Spain, in her bed, not in Los Angeles a captive of the notorious outlaw, el diablo.
But she wasn’t one to hide from her fears or problems. It never helped. She had learned at a young age to face them and conquer the ones she could. The ones she couldn’t conquer; she had learned to deal with in whatever way worked for her.
She opened her eyes eager to see where she was. She was in a room with planked walls, lying in a bed made from rough-hewn timber that was barely big enough for two. A lone window with a bright colored cloth drawn across it was on the wall to her left and a closed door sat on the wall to her right. A pot-belly stove was on the wall opposite the bed, though it held no fire. A worn, three-drawer dresser sat beneath the window and a chipped ceramic bowl and pitcher sat atop it. A small table sat to the right of the bed with a half-burnt candle in a tin candleholder and a lone chair occupied one corner of the room.
It took a moment for her to take in her strange surroundings and recall how Diablo had helped her last night. She was relieved that she still wore her clothes, though the light odor that came from them warned that she needed to wash herself and her garments soon.
With a bit of a struggle, she attempted to sit up, but the pain that shot through her leg stopped her. Crista lied there, thinking of what she could do and not wanting to admit there were no options left to her… not with her leg as bad as it was. She needed to rest, let the swelling go down, and the pain subside. Even then what could she do? She had no idea where she was or how to get home.
She had no choice but to wait to be rescued. Diablo had said Esteban would come for her, but would he? Would her family, she hadn’t seen in years, rescue her? Would they pay a ransom if necessary? Would they do anything to see that she was returned home?
What would she do until then?
Survive.
Just as she always had.
Her stomach let her know that it had been some time since she had last eaten. As painful as it might be, she needed to get up and see about her surroundings. She could not lie pensive in the bed. She had to take charge of the situation and see what she could do to help herself until help came.
It took great effort and far too much pain for her to work her way out of bed. She grabbed onto the wood-hewn bedpost and used it to help herself stand. Pain shot through her leg, roiling her stomach, and she stood stock still until the nausea past. With a shuffle and grabbing onto whatever she could, she made her way painfully slow to the closed door.
Perspiration dotted her brow from the struggle and grew worse as she opened the door. She stood, leaning heavily on the door, glancing around the room surprised at what she saw. There was a crude fireplace with a flame that licked at the cauldron, hanging from the iron bar, the scent far too tempting. A table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room and a wooden bowl filled with oranges sat atop in the center. Wood planks stretched across the middle of the wall opposite the fireplace with wood legs at the corners and in the middle supporting them. Various sized baskets sat beneath and wildflowers sat in three glass jars along the ledge of the lone window. Bowls and various eating utensils also sat on the planked counter along with a bucket and a ladle.
Water.
She hoped the bucket held water. She was thirsty. With awkward and painful steps, she made her way to the bucket, praying it contained water and ever so relieved to discover it did.
She drank three full ladles and by then she realized what her excursion had cost her. Her leg throbbed unmercifully. As much as she wanted to look out the two windows that flanked the front door, she simply did not have the strength. She needed to get back to bed and rest and worry about her predicament later.
Crista turned and struggled to walk on her leg, the pain too debilitating. She stopped a minute to catch her breath and fight the pain when the door suddenly opened. She turned.
Diablo stood there and instinct had her reaching out to him for help.
He was at her side and had her up in his arms in no time, and she sighed with relief and regret. How could she be relieved to be in the arms of an outlaw?
He returned her to the bed, though sat her up this time, adjusting a pillow behind her back as well as the one that had supported her injured leg.
His touch was tender, as though he handled something precious, causing her little pain. It was as she watched him that she realized he didn’t wear gloves, and she stared at his hands. His fingers were long and slender, his skin a gentle bronze color. She had gotten another peek beneath the shroud so to speak and she was relieved to confirm a man was beneath it. From the tales and what she had witnessed for herself, she had begun to wonder if el diablo was more myth than man.
“One day soon you will tell me what happened to your leg,” he said, making it sound as though she had no choice.
“I don’t speak of it,” she said and she also tried not to think of it, though she wasn’t always successful, the horrible memory difficult to forget.
“You will tell me.”
It was an order Crista believed she would have no choice but to obey. For now, however, she said nothing.
“You will stay in bed until the swelling goes down and the pain eases.”
Another order, though one she’d be wise to obey. Her leg needed rest and where would she go if she could walk anyway? Though, she wouldn’t mind knowing where he had brought her and whose bed she occupied.
“Si, it is what I usually do when my injury flares up,” she said. “Though I don’t wish to intrude on anyone’s home or deprive them of their bed.”
“It is my home and my bed you occupy, Crista, and you are welcome in both,” he said.
The smooth, intimate way her name rolled off his tongue always managed to prickle her skin as it did now, though more so since he sounded as if he invited her into his bed for more than just rest. An invite she would never accept, yet she was already there. She had to make certain he understood that would be an invitation she would never accept.
“It isn’t proper for me to be in your bed,�
�� she said.
“What isn’t proper is if I joined you and you can rest easily for it is not a thought in my mind,” he said.
Liar! His mind screamed at him. When you hold her you grow aroused. When you touch her smooth skin you grow aroused. When she reaches out to you for help you grow aroused. Don’t be a fool. Return her quickly before it’s too late.
He couldn’t argue with the truth. He was attracted to her, not that he hadn’t been attracted to other women, but Christa was different. While he couldn’t deny he’d be only too pleased to share his bed intimately with her, he’d also thought how much he had favored her company and talking with her. That was something he hadn’t found in any woman he had known intimately.
That he favored her or not didn’t matter. He couldn’t allow her or his desires to sidetrack him from his plan. It had taken too long and there had been too many sacrifices made to ruin everything for a woman.
“I am pleased to know you are an honorable man,” Crista said.
At least, she hoped he was and that she could trust he spoke the truth to her. It made it difficult not being able to see his face. One could tell a lot from looking in a person’s eyes and also from looking upon one’s features. She only had his actions to judge him by and presently they were mixed. One minute he could be kind and tender and the next ruthless.
“Only when it benefits me and it benefits me to see you returned home unharmed and untouched. Besides, there is no need for your brother to die.”
“Die? Why would my brother die?” Crista asked upset at the thought. She may not have seen Esteban in years, but the few memories she had of him were warm and loving ones.
“Esteban would defend your honor if it was made known that we shared my bed and while your brother is a skilled marksman, his skills don’t come close to mine.” He gave her no chance to respond. “I will see that food is brought to you and send a woman to assist in helping you until your leg heals.”
He left so fast Crista didn’t have a chance to say another word to him and that left her frustrated.
Diablo's Angel Page 4
