“I’m not little anymore,” she said.
“I know. You are a grown, courageous, and knowledgeable young woman. You proved that today, though you will always be my little sister to me.”
Crista smiled and placed her hand on Esteban’s arm. “And you will always be my big brother who I love dearly. Now tell me how Rosa and your son do,” she said, feeling blessed that her return home had brought her such joy and an abundance of love.
“Thanks to you they do well.” Esteban chuckled. “Rosa and I argue who gets to hold him. Neither of us want to let him go, though when his abuela enters the room no one gets to hold him but her.”
Crista laughed.
“Worry not. Sleep well. There are two guards posted beneath the terrace. You are safe. I will see you in the morning,” Esteban said and kissed her cheek before he left the room.
Her hand went to her stomach and she thought about the baby that nestled there and his father. She prayed that he was safe and would return to her unharmed. She offered prayer after prayer until she fell asleep with a prayer on her lips.
Crista didn’t know what woke her or how long she’d been sleeping. She laid there and listened. What had she heard? Or had she heard anything?
A shuffling noise sounded and she thought she spotted a shadow on the terrace and taking no chance, she quietly slipped out of bed and grabbed her robe off the chair near the door and pulled it on. She would go alert Esteban or her father. Hopefully, it was one of the vaqueros guarding the house and there was no need for worry.
She reached for the door knob.
“Step out that door and everyone in the house will die.”
Chapter 30
Crista sat on the ground, her hand resting against her stomach. Though her leg pained her and her bare feet hurt, she was more concerned about the baby. Vega had forced her to climb down the trellis, then walk a good distance before reaching four men waiting with horses. She’d been thrown over a horse, face first, in front of Vega and the ride hadn’t been an easy or short one. He had kept his hand on her back to keep her from falling. She had worried he would touch her intimately while in that position, but thankfully he’d been too busy concentrating on the fast pace he kept and keeping her on the horse.
Now that they’d reached their destination, she feared what her fate might be—before her husband could reach her. Vega, no doubt, had already sent word out that he had captured her, which meant her husband was on his way. Or Vega had already arranged a meet with him and she was to be a surprise. Esteban would also search once he found her missing. Though with his newborn son first on his mind and her family feeling she needed to rest, it might be some time before they discovered her absence.
One way or another someone would find her, but in what condition? She didn’t believe Vega would kill her, not yet. He’d want her alive at least until Diablo arrived, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t harm her.
One thing she learned about outlaws was that there was no particular appearance to them. Some were gruff and dirty looking, their faces worn from a hard life while others had fine features and appeared well-kept. Vega was from the gruff and dirty camp, his features heavily worn and his body rail thin. He didn’t seem frightening until you looked into his eyes.
She had almost shivered when she had gotten a good look at them. She had seen in them what she had seen in the nun who had taken a board to her leg—pleasure. Though she had been young, she’d never forget that look. The nun had gotten pleasure inflicting pain on her and she saw that same look in Vega’s eyes. He would hurt her and enjoy it. She needed to find a way to protect herself.
There were four men, not counting Vega. She worried there might be more men hiding, setting a trap for Diablo. She let her glance casually wander around the area. Trees surrounded the small clearing, leaving a perfect place for men to hide in wait. She tried to determine how long they had ridden. With the sun not that high in the sky, and though it had seemed like hours, Crista figured it hadn’t been as long as she had first thought. She would normally rejoice over the thought, but she worried that her brother and Diablo’s paths might cross, and that could prove disastrous.
She spotted a cache of weapons carelessly deposited on the ground and one caught her eye. It could prove to be of great help, if she could manage to reach it. At least she’d have something to defend herself with until Diablo arrived.
With possibilities swirling in her head and fear poking at her, she couldn’t stop herself from asking questions and knowing that Vega wanted fame above all else, he would seize the opportunity to prove it.
“How did you know I’d be staying with my family and how did you get passed the guards?” Crista asked.
Vega laughed and turned away from the two men he’d been talking with to walk over to her. “Patience, skill, and I wanted to have a surprise waiting for Diablo when he arrives.”
The lie tore at her, but it was necessary. “Diablo doesn’t care what happens to me and I don’t care what you do to him.”
Vega grabbed her chin in a tight, painful grip. “He gave his word to Esteban that nothing would happen to you.”
“That was when he held me captive.”
“It doesn’t matter. He may be the devil, but Diablo keeps his word.” He squeezed her chin tighter. “Unlike the devil, I don’t care what happens to you, though I will make sure you pleasure me a few times before I kill you and leave your naked, bruised and battered body for your brother to find.”
She definitely had to get to that weapon.
“He’s here,” someone called out.
Crista was disappointed she had no time to get to the weapon. At least then she could be of some help to her husband, but she had to admit she was grateful he was here.
She watched, eager to see him, though worried how they would get out of this mess. She couldn’t hide her surprise when it wasn’t her husband who entered the clearing.
It was a priest.
One look and she recognized him from the description Vilia had given and with which Chavez had agreed. It was the priest who had paid a visit to Esteban and threatened his ownership of the Edgardo ranch. And the one who had paid Vega for something and that something had to do with Diablo.
Her eyes kept pace with his steps toward Vega. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite think of what it was. Had she seen him before? But where?
The two men were deep in conversation. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She glanced around and realized no one paid her attention or looked her way. They dismissed her as insignificant and no threat. Her hands hadn’t even been tied, another indication that Vega didn’t consider her much of a threat. They were more concerned with watching for Diablo.
She stretched slowly to her feet and received a quick glance from two men. After only a moment they looked away, dismissing her movement as harmless… an advantage for her.
She continued to stretch her arms, her back, her legs, moving closer to the cache of weapons as she did. The weapon she wanted lay to the side as if considered useless, much like they considered her. She crept closer, her hand reaching out in a stretch.
“What are you doing?” Vega yelled.
Crista grabbed the sword off the ground and took a stance. It was a foil, the lightest of the swords used in fencing. She silently thanked the owner who undoubtedly brought it with him from Spain and who no doubt Vega had robbed. She was an expert with a foil thanks to Ricardo. He had been a master fencer in Spain before an injury brought that part of his life to an end. She had picked up one of his swords one day and fell in love with it. It had felt so right in her hand as did this one now.
Ricardo had warned her it was no toy. It could do great damage to an opponent if handled with skill. When he realized she had a natural talent with the sword, he’d taught her. He had given her one of his most prized swords, but Mother Abbess wouldn’t let her bring it home with her. It had been a terrible disappointment for her.
Feeling the foil in her hand once again filled her with joy and more importantly confidence.
“Put that down,” Vega ordered.
“Make me,” Crista challenged.
Vega signaled to one of his men and the man approached her, not with worry but with confidence, and a smug smile.
Ricardo had taught her that the most important thing about fencing was to establish your opponents moves and intentions, finding the pattern in them and using it against them. She knew immediately that the man approaching her had no respect for the thin blade or even had considered her skill with it or the damage it could inflict. He marched straight for her as if he intended to swat it out of her hand.
When the point of the blade slashed without warning across his cheek, he thought differently and hurried to back away from her. His hand rushed to his wounded cheek, covering it, but he was unable to stop the blood from oozing between his fingers.
Vega signaled two men and they charged at her as if what she had done to the other man had nothing to do with skill but had been a mere accident.
Crista was quick on her feet, avoiding them with skillful steps and caught the one man in the chest, blood pouring from the shoulder-to-waist length slash. He rushed away from her, gripping his chest, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. The other man she disabled with a slash to both arms, rendering them near useless.
Vega ran at her and she stood ready.
“I should let her kill you, but I’d prefer to do that myself.”
Vega stopped abruptly and turned.
Crista wasn’t foolish, she didn’t take her eyes off her opponent, something else Ricardo had taught her. She didn’t need to look to see that Diablo was there sitting atop his horse, having heard the animal snort.
Vega went to call out.
“Don’t bother, calling for your men. They’re all dead,” Diablo said and Vega’s eyes turned wide with fury. “You really thought six men could stop me?”
Vega roared out to his men anyway, but there was complete silence. No one stepped out of the woods. Vega was on his own, except for the wounded men and they looked in no hurry to help him.
Diablo dismounted and ordered, “Come here to me, Crista.”
“Don’t dare go near him, Crista.”
Crista froze, fear running through her at the sound of her brother’s voice and the sound of several approaching horses. He’d brought men with him. This couldn’t be happening, not after all she and Diablo had gone through to finally be free. To finally have a good life together free of the past. It couldn’t end like this.
Crista turned, ready to do whatever was necessary to keep Diablo from harm. In doing so, she made the mistake of taking her eyes off Vega. Something hit her wrist, knocking the sword from her hand and the next thing she knew, Vega held her tight against him with the blade of his knife at her throat.
“One slice and she’ll be dead,” Vega warned, walking backward slowly.
“And so will you,” Esteban threatened.
“Death will be worth it knowing you could have saved your sister but you didn’t,” Vega said his mouth curling in a sneer.
“Only cowards hide behind a woman,” Diablo said.
“I’ll fight you,” Esteban shouted, dismounting, to show his willingness, but he didn’t dare approach Vega for fear of what he might do to Crista. “You took my sister upon her arrival home to seek revenge against me. Have your revenge now. Fight me.”
Crista didn’t want her brother to risk losing his life to save her. He had a newly born son barely a day old to consider not to mention Rosa.
“What glory is there in killing a rancher?” Diablo asked. “When you can live in infamy dying at the hands of the infamous Diablo. That is if you have the courage.”
While she had expected to hear Diablo challenge Vega, his words still sent a shiver of fear through her. Vega had been his target. Diablo meant to kill him, but never did she think it would be in exchange for her life.
“You would die at my hands,” Vega boasted, assuming himself more skillful than the devil. “Then you would hang like the common outlaw you are.”
“Why do we waste time? Let her go and fight me and let’s finally see who reigns as the most infamous outlaw.”
Crista could feel Vega’s pride rising with the way his chest expanded against her back. He thought himself better than Diablo. Would he be able to deny himself this chance to prove it?
“I’ll fight you on one condition,” Vega said.
“Name it,” Diablo called out.
“Take off that shroud and reveal yourself. I want to look upon Diablo when I kill him.”
While Crista had thought there was no hope left that Diablo’s identity would not be revealed with her brother here, there had been a spark of hope that by some miracle they would be spared the horrible fate that all would know Diablo’s true identity and they could finally live their life in peace.
Not so now since she knew without question what Diablo would do.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Diablo freed himself of the black shroud and let it fall to the ground.
Dead silence filled the warm air. Not a sound was heard out of respect or fear for the man who had revealed himself… the notorious outlaw Diablo and also her husband Chavez.
Crista’s heart completely shattered. He was dressed all in black. His dark hair brushed his shoulders, the one side falling along his cheek, the other tucked behind his ear. He didn’t take his dark eyes off Vega, a mistake she shouldn’t have made or things might be different now. She and Chavez would never have a life together. Once Diablo killed Vega, he would be hanged. She fought back the tears threatening to fall. She would find a way to save him. They would run away together, maybe to Spain. Somewhere where no one knew them.
Crazy, insane thoughts, but her heart hurt so badly at the thought of losing him that she’d do anything she could to save him
“Let her go, Vega,” Diablo warned. “You’ve got me now. Unless, of course, you don’t think you can win against me.”
“You can’t use that whip,” Vega said with a nod at the whip that lay with the shroud on the ground. “Knives. Only knives.”
Diablo pulled one from the sheath on his belt.
Vega’s blade pressed closer against her throat and at that moment it struck her what he intended to do. He would slice her throat to get revenge against Esteban before engaging Diablo.
Crista could think of only one thing to save her life and perhaps her and Chavez’s future, since neither her husband nor brother were close enough to reach her in time to prevent her from dying.
“That’s not Diablo,” she said and the pressure at her throat eased.
“What do you mean he’s not Diablo?” Vega demanded.
“I saw Diablo’s face. That’s not Diablo,” Crista repeated and saw a mixture of bewilderment and anger in her husband’s eyes. She could almost hear him admonish her in his strong commanding voice.
Vega backed up, forcing Crista along with him. “Stay back or she dies.”
There was a fury in her husband’s dark eyes and her brother looked ready to lunge at Vega.
Vega yanked her back hard, forcing her to walk faster and her foot twisted shooting a screeching pain up her scarred leg. In a split second, her leg gave way and the blade barely scraped her neck before it was gone and she dropped to the ground free of Vega.
She looked to see the priest reaching down to help her up and saw the blood on his hand he kept at his side. Had he been the one to help her? Then she heard the crack of a whip.
Crista leaned on the priest for only a second as she got to her feet, her brother suddenly at her side to take her in his arms. She watched as Diablo brought his whip down again and again on Vega, the resounding, repetitive cracks causing many to flinch with each strike.
Vega writhed on the ground, screaming out for mercy, but Diablo showed none. And no one tried to stop him. Then suddenly the whip stilled and Vega crawled to his knees
a bloody mess, continuing to plead for mercy, plead for his life.
Diablo walked over to him, hunched down in front of him and whispered in his ear. “Yet again you fail to beat Diablo.” He waited for Vega to understand that he was Diablo. He saw the recognition in the man’s eyes as they widened though blood had gathered in one and his mouth opened, Diablo’s name ready to spill from his lips.
Diablo grabbed Vega’s head and swiftly snapped his neck and he fell over dead. He stepped over the man without a second glance and hurried to his wife.
Crista rushed out of her brother’s arms and into her husband’s outstretched ones. They locked around her and she anchored her arms around him, praying this wouldn’t be the last time he held her.
Chavez squeezed her tight for a moment, then hurried to examine her neck relieved to see a slight cut there that had bled little. He squeezed her tight again, his fear of almost losing her having yet to subside. He wanted to lay his head on her chest and hear her heart beat loud and strong and never ever let her go.
Her husband held her so tight she could barely breath, but it didn’t matter. His arms never felt so good, so right, so safe. She wanted to linger in them forever.
Please. Please, let it be so, she prayed.
“Why did you ruin your husband’s ruse of being Diablo?” Esteban demanded.
Her brother’s words shocked her. He believed it a ruse. Had God answered her desperate prayers to save the devil? She hurried to answer. “I knew from the pressure of Vega’s knife at my throat that he intended to kill me. It was the only way of stopping him.”
Chavez wished he had taken his time with Vega before killing him. The man deserved to die a hundred deaths. But it was done and his wife was safe and for that he was grateful.
Esteban shut his eyes for a moment, his stomach turning at the thought of how close he had come to losing his sister. “I don’t know why this ruse in being Diablo, but I am grateful.”
Did her brother actually believe it a ruse? Or had he realized the truth and realized how much she loved the outlaw? Did it really matter as long as everyone believed it?
Diablo's Angel Page 27
