Diablo's Angel

by Donna Fletcher

  She dropped her head back against the pillow. She presently had only one option, rest and heal. She was no good to herself with her leg like this and with how badly her leg hurt, it would take time for her to fully heal. Her leg had gotten this bad once before and she had sworn to herself she’d never let it happen again. She was aware of her limitations, which weren’t many. It was more a matter of not overdoing things.

  So what was necessary was for her to heal and get on her feet again and hope that her brother would rescue her soon.

  Her head sprang forward when she heard the door in the other room open and close.

  A short, plump woman with deep bronzed skin and numerous wrinkles around her eyes and mouth entered the room. She wore a wide smile, that Crista couldn’t help but return and assumed was the reason for her many wrinkles since it was given so easily and generously, meaning she wore it more often than not. The heavy gray running through her braided dark hair spoke of age, but her spry steps said otherwise.

  “Buenos dias. I am Evia and I’m here to help you,” she said, her smile never faltering.

  “Buenos dias, Evia. I am Crista and I appreciate your help.”

  Evia stepped closer to the bed and wrinkled her nose.

  “Please forgive my unpleasant odor. I need to wash and I need clean clothes if that’s possible.” Crista admired the brightly colored skirt the woman wore, even though the colors had faded from too many washings and age, as had the yellow blouse. It would be refreshing to wear such clothes again instead of the many garments the nuns had insisted were proper for a woman of her station.

  “Si, I will help you with that, but first you should eat, then wash.”

  Evia hurried to the other room and returned with a wooden tray. She placed it on Crista’s lap.

  Crista smiled seeing the scrambled eggs with peppers and onions, and torrejas, the corn dough fritters Lucia always made and she loved to eat.

  “Eat,” Evia urged. “I will go get clean clothes and water for you to wash.”

  Crista didn’t waste a minute. She ate like she hadn’t eaten in days, which was close to the truth. The food was delicious and left her feeling stronger, but she wouldn’t be unwise and think she could walk. Her leg needed rest and that was what she intended to give it.

  Evia returned with a skirt, the colors not as faded as the one she wore as was the yellow blouse, and a white sleeveless shift.

  Crista was eager to wash and get into clean clothes.

  It wasn’t long before Evia had everything needed for Crista to wash placed on two chairs beside the bed. Once Evia removed the tray from Crista’s lap, every morsel of food gone, she carefully helped Crista to sit on one of the two chairs.

  “Hair first,” Evia said and got to work washing her hair, using one of the buckets of water she had brought into the room.

  It felt heavenly to Crista and the sweet scent was much welcomed.

  Evia dried Crista’s hair as best as she could, then had her sit there while she quickly stripped the bedding and replaced it with clean sheets and a blanket. Once done, she quickly braided Crista’s hair.

  It was when Evia began removing Crista’s clothes that she started feeling vulnerable. Even though the woman smiled and her touch was tender, she was still a stranger to Crista. And while she told herself to take the cloth from the woman and tend herself, she realized she simply didn’t have the strength, which made her feel all the more vulnerable.

  She closed her eyes, trying not to think of anything and found herself slipping into a light slumber, Evia’s touch soothing. She hadn’t felt this comfortable in a long while and she let herself drift.

  Then she felt a hand at her leg and she was suddenly back to that night so long ago. She heard the anguished cries that had woken her, felt the cold on her feet as she ran along the stone floor, saw the terror on the young girl’s face, and the madness in the woman’s eye. Then she felt the first strike of the board against her leg.

  Crista jumped out of the chair screaming, pain shot through her leg, and she tumbled to the floor, hugging the toppled chair and continuing to scream.

  “Stop! Stop! I beg you stop!”

  Chapter 6

  Crista swung her arms, fighting off the blows.

  “Crista! Crista! You’re safe with me. No one will hurt you.”

  It took a few moments for the words to penetrate her nightmare.

  “Diablo,” she whispered, reaching out searching for him and thinking how it took the devil to save her from a demon.

  As soon as he lifted her into his strong arms, Crista quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him, not wanting to let go, afraid the demon would get her. When she felt him place her on the bed, ready to release her, she panicked.

  “No! No! Don’t let go of me. The demon will get me,” she begged.

  He laid down on the bed with her. Her hold was so tight around his neck, it felt like a noose, but he said nothing. She needed to know she was safe and once she realized it, she would loosen her hold.

  She snuggled tight against him, yet it didn’t seem to be enough for her. He moved his leg to rest over hers and tucked her against him as tight as he could, her hard nipples poking at his chest. He tried not to think about her laying naked in his arms, seeing her gentle curves and touching her smooth, creamy skin. She needed his comfort. Nothing more.

  Her taut body began to ease in his arms, but every time he moved, she tightened around him once again, fearful of him leaving her. Whatever memory had surged to the surface had been a terrifying one and he had no doubt it had something to do with her leg. It made him all the more eager to find out what had happened to her.

  She kept her head rested on his chest, sighing heavily now and again until her breathing quieted and her body relaxed completely in his arms.

  He waited, knowing it wouldn’t be good for her to wake naked in his arms, intending to leave as soon as she was sound asleep. He let himself doze, though not sleep. He had trained himself to sleep light. It was necessary to his and others’ survival.

  He wondered about Crista and what she had survived, and it had upset and angered him when he heard her pleading for someone to stop. Who had hurt her so badly and why?

  Movement drew his attention and when he looked down to where her head lay on his chest, he saw that she was awake glancing up at him. She appeared to be thinking on something and with her eyes settled so intently on the portion of his shroud that covered his face, he had an idea of what it was.

  “You don’t want to look upon the face of the devil, Crista, especially when you’re naked in his arms.”

  Crista tried to rush out of his arms realizing the truth of his words, but he held her tight.

  “Your leg,” he reminded and when she stilled, he eased away from her, got out of bed, and tossed the blanket at the end of the bed over her, more for his own sanity than being honorable.

  Crista drew the blanket up to her neck, but it didn’t help with the shivers that ran through her.

  “What memory took hold of you that put such fear in you?” he asked.

  Crista felt small and vulnerable lying there looking up at Diablo and tried to sit up while keeping herself covered with the blanket.

  Diablo shook his head and leaned down, his hands going under her arms and pulling her up to sit. The blanket slipped for a moment from her hands and he caught sight of one of her firm breasts, the nipple still hard and he almost swore aloud. He hurried a pillow behind her and stepped away from the bed.

  “Answer me,” he demanded.

  Crista shook her head slowly. “I can’t, not now.” She kept shaking her head. “I don’t want the memory stuck in my head. It will take days, months or more to bury it again.”

  He saw the look of dread and fear in her eyes. “You will tell me one day.”

  His words startled her. It made it seem that he had all the time in the world to wait for her to tell him. Did he intend to keep her?

  “Have you heard fro
m my brother yet?” she asked anxiously.

  “It takes time for a message to reach him and his response to reach me.”

  “How can he know how to reach you?”

  “Worry not about it. You will return home to your family soon enough,” he ordered. “In the meantime, rest your leg so you will be fit to travel home.”

  Crista cringed, thinking of the return journey.

  “Your journey home will not be as difficult as your journey here,” Diablo said. “Your brother will make sure of it.”

  “You speak of my brother as if you know him well.”

  “Well enough. Now rest. I will send Evia back to you.”

  “Evia has been most kind and helpful,” Crista said, fearful the woman would be blamed for her outburst.

  “Evia is a good woman and will treat you well. Now rest,” he ordered again and left the room.

  Crista couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through her at his departure. She had been doing her best not to let her shock and upset at waking and finding herself naked in his arms show. It had been bad enough realizing she had reached out to the devil for help when waking from the throes of a nightmare. Finding herself naked in his arms had been beyond shocking, not to mention how safe and protected she had felt. Something not at all appropriate.

  She sighed heavily. She had escaped one nightmare only to find herself in another. How would she ever survive her time here with the devil?

  “Wine?” Evia asked, holding a bottle in one hand and a small glass in another. “It will help calm you and help you sleep well.”

  She was reminded again of Lucia. She had given her wine one night when she had walked too much and her leg had pained her. She had slept well and no dream had haunted her.

  Crista stretched her hand out with a smile.

  By the fourth day Crista was walking around the small, two-room house with a limp. Her leg was not completely healed, but it had improved enough for her to begin to walk on it, without it being horribly painful. Besides, she had learned from experience that if she lingered too long in bed after the bad pain subsided, her leg took longer to heal. Of course, she wouldn’t overdo it or she would find herself in bed again and that she didn’t want. She felt much too vulnerable in bed. With the situation she was in, she was vulnerable either way, in bed or out, and that frightened her. The longer she remained here, the more fearful she was of ever leaving.

  The skirt and blouse Evia had brought her fit well enough to wear, though they were slightly too large for her. However, the pair of sandals that Evia had brought just this morning worked perfectly with her slightly swollen leg and foot.

  She had asked about the clothes she had worn upon her arrival here and all Evia told her was that they were being washed. The boots she had worn were useless to her, at least one was, since Diablo had cut it off her leg.

  Crista went to the door and hesitated to open it. She knew what she would see when she stepped out onto the small porch. She had sat by the window the last couple of days and had grown familiar with the scene.

  There were a few worn and weathered buildings, tents as well. Women tended campfires, children ran in play, and men lingered in talk. It resembled a small town that had seen better days. The only exception were the mountains that rose up majestically around the place and the men positioned with rifles at the top in various spots. From what she could see, a single road appeared to lead straight through the encampment. Anyone who dared to enter without permission, would find themselves dead or a captive.

  Gathering her courage, she lifted the latch on the door and walked out onto the porch. The weathered boards creaked with each step, but they were sturdy. She cast a quick glance around and all hope plummeted. She’d been right about one road in which meant one road out of the encampment. And there were more sentinels stationed along the top ridge on either side of the lone entrance than had been visible to her. No one would get in without notice and no one would leave without notice. She was truly a captive here.

  She had little choice but to rely on her family to rescue her and she wondered if that would include a ransom payment.

  A twinge of pain hit her as she went to step forward. She made her way to the worn wood chair tucked in the corner of the porch. She smiled when she saw why the chair sat there. It offered a view of the whole camp. Crista could see all that went on.

  Did Diablo sit and watch everyone from here? Did he seek the night shadows in the corner, so that he may shed his shroud if only for a short time?

  The laughing squeals of children at play caught her attention and she watched young ones running about. This was their home and they were comfortable here… safe.

  Crista wondered where the people came from, since none seemed captives. Did all these people follow Diablo, protect him, believe in him? But how could they be so foolish to follow an outlaw?

  No one approached her or paid her mind. Did they know she was being held captive? Or did they believe her a woman Diablo had simply brought to the camp to enjoy? Evia had made no mention of the people in the camp to her and she had not asked. Now, however, she was curious.

  A thunder of approaching horses drew her out of her thoughts and she looked to see a group of men, Diablo in the lead entering the camp. She hadn’t seen him in three days and she had wondered where he had gone. She had asked Evia, but the woman had simply shrugged and said not a word.

  Crista watched the smiles that suddenly lit the peoples’ faces and how some of the women ran to the men joyous at their return. It confirmed what she had thought, that the people here were not captives. This was their home.

  An old, slim woman, her olive skin wrinkled with age and her gray hair in a single braid that lay on her chest approached Diablo with a slow gait after he dismounted. When he saw that she did, he hurried to her. She handed him something, though Crista could not see what it was, then she turned and went to join the women sitting around one of the campfires.

  Diablo took the time to speak to those who approached him and to ruffle the hair of a few young ones who ran up to him. She realized he was making his way toward her and when he got close enough she could see that he carried a small flower in his hand, a pretty, yellow-hued one.

  “You are well, Crista?” he asked and handed her the flower.

  She took it with a smile, it bringing back happy memories of her helping Lucia tend her garden.

  “What type is this?” she asked.

  “A poppy. This smaller type and color grow higher up in the mountains. Alma suggested I give it to you. She insists that its pretty color would make anyone feel better.”

  “That is gracious of her and I do feel better.” She couldn’t help but quickly ask, “Have you heard from my brother? Will he come for me soon?”

  “You lack patience, Crista.”

  She laughed softly. “The nuns at the convent claimed the same.”

  “You will tell me about your time at the convent someday,” he said.

  He always made it sound like she had no choice in matters and that he referred to someday made her wonder once again how long he intended to keep her. Was he borrowing time, making it appear that he intended to return her home? Or was he truly making arrangements for her return home? Not knowing, frustrated and at times frightened her.

  She spoke up without thinking. “My time at the convent doesn’t truly concern you.”

  He stepped closer to Crista. His presence overpowering or was it the dark shroud that made it seem as if it devoured the light and air around it. Or perhaps it was his height that seemed to tower over her.

  “Everything about you, Crista, concerns me.”

  She fought to keep the shiver that ran through her from showing. What was it about the way he emphasized her name that caused an enticing tingle to run through her? It was like he caressed her intimately as crazy as it sounded and crazier still that it made her feel that way.

  Diablo stepped down off the porch, his head turned to her. “We will talk.”

 
He left no room to doubt it would be any other way.

  “You are free to walk about since there is no escape from here—from me—until I release you.”

  She carefully eased herself off the chair and took slow steps to one of the three porch posts, close to the three stairs, and wrapped her arm around it as she watched him walk away. She had no options, no way of making an escape. She was his captive until he decided otherwise. That he allowed her to walk freely through the camp, told her he had no worry of her even attempting an escape.

  She continued to study her surroundings. Most everyone wore smiles. There was talk and laughter, and a shared camaraderie of sorts. The few buildings themselves, while beaten and weathered by age and nature, still seemed sturdy. Some of them could do with a bit of repair, though nothing major. Glancing around, it didn’t seem like a notorious outlaw’s hideout. It made no sense to her.

  A piercing scream startled Crista and she watched, along with others, as a young, pretty woman ran out from around the side of one of the buildings, blood running from her lip, and tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Come back here, Vilia,” a tall, slim, angry man demanded as he came into view.

  Vilia shook her head and ran toward Alma, the old woman who had given Diablo the flower, her arms stretched out as if ready to catch her.

  “Your abuela, will not protect you,” the man warned, hurrying his steps to catch Vilia before she reached her grandmother.

  Alma, though aged, rushed forward to shield her granddaughter.

  All movement stopped and breathes seem to catch and hold when Diablo stepped between Vilia and the man.

  “Did I not warn you about raising a hand to your wife, Ortiz?” Diablo asked his tone calm but filled with a strength that could not be ignored, and Ortiz took a step back.

  “She does not listen. She is like a child and needs a firm hand,” Ortiz argued, though with a tremble to his voice.

  Annoyance pricked at Crista. She hated the thought of a man having such control over his wife that he should be able to raise his hand to her. The nuns had taught the young girls to be obedient to their husband so he would not need to raise his hand to her. Crista had first worried that she would have a husband that would beat her. Ricardo and Lucia had taught her differently. Their happy, loving marriage was what she wanted and would settle for nothing less.