Love and Honor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 7

by Patricia Hagan

Kit felt a flicker of hope. “Let us go, Galen,” she said quickly. “I told you, I’m just a poor rancher. I don’t have any money. My family moved back to America, and I ran away. The ranch is worth nothing to anyone except me.”

  “I don’t know. I could leave you here and be on my way. By the time you walked back to town, no one would find me. But my men won’t be happy. They want something for their troubles…” His eyes flicked over Kit hungrily. “I have my Hispano back, but they have only a gnawing hunger for the luscious fruits of two beautiful señoritas.”

  Kit cried furiously, “The Hispano was never yours, you horse thief! You stole him from Kurt Tanner!”

  “That’s right!” Valerie came alive again. “Stealing his horse is one thing, but stealing his woman is another. If you touch her, he’ll kill you!”

  “Oh, Valerie, be quiet!” Kit cried, seeing the sudden change of expression on Galen’s face.

  “So! You are his woman!”

  “No!” Kit shook her head. “I used to be, but no more!”

  Galen slammed his fist into his hand. “That is all I need—to have kidnapped Tanner’s woman! He will kill me for sure!”

  He turned and ran out of the cave. Kit hissed furiously, “I told you to keep your mouth shut! He was about to let us go. Now he’s run away and left us here to die!”

  Valerie squeezed her eyes shut and began to tremble from head to toe. “I’m so sorry, Kit. I just thought I was helping. I—”

  “Oh, don’t cry again!” Kit rolled over onto her back and stared up at the roof of the cave. She tried desperately to think of a way out. Her hands and feet were tightly bound, and although the gag was gone, no one would hear her if she screamed until her throat was raw. Her hands were behind her back, but maybe she could try to free Valerie. “Turn your back to me,” she said. “Maybe there’s a way out of this after all.”

  “There is!”

  Galen returned, sounding jubilant. Chico and Mendez were behind him. At the snap of his fingers, they picked up the girls and threw them over their shoulders. As they were being carried out of the cave, he bragged, “By the time Tanner finds out you are gone, we will be in Morocco.”

  “Morocco?” Kit echoed in horror. “Why are you taking us there?”

  “Because I am not a fool, muchacha. I will not flirt with death twice. When I stole that horse, I didn’t know Tanner was a dangerous hombre, just as I didn’t know you were his woman. If he catches me now, he will kill me for sure. I’m not waiting around for that to happen.”

  “Then go!” Kit begged him. “Just leave us here. Taking us along will only slow you down.”

  “My men demand something for their trouble, so I am taking you to Tangiers to sell you. Sheiks pay much money for Americana women. You should thank me. If I let my men have their way with you, no man would ever want you again. That would make me feel very bad.”

  Valerie looked as if she was going to faint, but Kit lost her temper. “You think being sold into slavery is a better alternative?”

  Galen shrugged. “You will live like a princesa in a harem. You lie around a spa or pool all day, looking delicioso, waiting for the sheik to take his pleasure. It is not so bad.” He grinned and winked.

  “Oh, pardon me,” Kit said sarcastically. “Now why didn’t I see it that way?”

  He shook his fist at her. “You have a sharp tongue. Watch yourself, or a sheik will cut it out.”

  Hearing that, Valerie fainted.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Kit was grateful to ride upright behind Galen on Pegasus, although she’d never admit it. Anything was better than bouncing along on her stomach, tied on the back of a horse.

  At first she was worried about Valerie, riding behind the ugly Mendez. The first few days she’d seemed to be in a state of shock. Then, almost overnight, a kind of metamorphosis had taken place. Gone was the complaisant, genteel young lady. In her place had emerged a woman doggedly bent on survival. Kit was glad to see the change. It would only help their chances of escaping.

  The weather was good, and they rode hard, stopping only to give the horses a rest. Late on the second day, they reached the small town of Lorca. Galen said they would make camp just outside. “We need fresh horses. We still have a long way to go, and they are exhausted.”

  “Well, so are we!” Kit reminded him tartly. “We haven’t had any real food since we left. What are you trying to do? Starve us to death?”

  Galen ordered two of his men, Armillito and Carlos, to ride into Lorca and bring back supplies. “But no whiskey!” he yelled, seeing the sudden gleam in their eyes. “We’ve got a long journey ahead. There is no time for revelry.”

  The men brought back food as instructed, but they also hid several bottles of whiskey in the rocks near the campsite. Exchanging sly smiles among themselves, all of the men slipped away to take a drink when Galen was not looking.

  Kit and Valerie sat close together, as far away from the campfire as Galen would allow them. Kit made a face at the big plate of beans and sausage he handed them and demanded to know what was in it. “Red beans and chorizo,” he growled. “Eat it.”

  “What is chorizo?” she persisted.

  Mendez guffawed. “Blood sausage, señorita, made from pig’s blood.”

  Repulsed, Kit flung the plate of food into the bushes. Galen drew back his arm and slapped her across the face, sending her sprawling into the dirt. Valerie screamed and scrambled after Kit, but Galen roughly shoved her away. “I’m sick of both of you! Starve if you wish! But don’t be throwing away food that others can eat.”

  He whirled around and commanded Carlos to take them to the edge of the campsite, gag them, and tie them to trees. “Let the wolves and coyotes get them. I’m tired of their whining. I’m going to get some rest. We leave at first light. I am anxious to get to Morocco and be rid of them.”

  He picked up his blanket and saddle and strode angrily away from the campsite, calling over his shoulder, “And keep your hands off the women! I’ll be watching.”

  Carlos went to pull Valerie to her feet when suddenly Mendez appeared beside him. “I take care of this one,” he growled menacingly.

  Carlos shrugged and turned to get Kit, but she sprang up like a shot and went crashing through the brush—straight into the waiting arms of Chico. “Ah, you should not be so eager, muchacha.” He laughed, running his hands over her breasts as he twisted her around to hold her tight against him. Pressing his ear against her cheek, he whispered, “Tonight you will be mine, wild one, so save your fire for when I show you what it is like to have a real man!”

  He slammed a beefy hand over her mouth and held her while Carlos tied and gagged her.

  Kit was swept with terror. She didn’t know where they had taken Valerie, because she couldn’t see or hear her. Darkness fell, and she lay where they had left her, propped against a huge rock just over a ridge and out of sight of the camp. In the distance she could hear the men laughing softly among themselves as they sneaked over to their hidden whiskey cache.

  The hours passed with agonizing slowness as Kit lay there in cold dread. While she was confident that Galen wouldn’t let anything happen to them, there was always the chance he might sleep too soundly to hear their cries if trouble came.

  Suddenly Kit heard a crashing sound in the brush behind her. At first she was terrified it might be a wolf, then she saw Chico step into the pale moonlight. He chuckled drunkenly as he stumbled over to her. Straddling her frantically twisting body, he growled, “I have waited a long time for this.” He began to unzip his pants. “You will love it, muchacha. You will beg for more.” He dropped to his knees, and Kit tried to scream against the choking gag. She thrashed from side to side, but he held her tightly in his grip.

  Enjoying her torment, he slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Finally yanking it open, he gasped aloud at the sight of her naked breasts bathed in the silver moonglow. “Caramba! Never have I seen such perfection—”

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, Galen leaped at him,
wrestling him to the ground. “Son of a whore!” he roared. “I have been waiting for you to show your colors, you canalla!”

  The two rolled over and over on the ground, groaning and cursing, and the others came running to watch.

  Mendez cried, “I am glad I did not touch the golden Americana. Jesus! They will kill each other!”

  Suddenly Chico’s searching fingers found a sharp-edged rock. Galen was on top of him, slamming his head against the ground, when gasping, Chico mustered his last bit of strength and brought the rock down on the back of Galen’s head.

  Galen crumpled immediately.

  A knife appeared in Chico’s hand but before he could act, a bullet struck a rock next to him. Chico found himself staring up into the smoking barrel of Armillito’s six-shooter. Lips curled in an ominous snarl, Armillito growled between clenched teeth, “There will be no killing this night!”

  Chico scrambled to his feet, swiping blood from his broken nose with the back of his hand. Forgetting his saddle, he mounted his horse bareback and quickly disappeared into the night.

  When he realized that no one was coming after him, Chico slowed his horse. He was disgusted with himself. Now he had no saddle and no money. Well, he would go back to Valencia. After all, no one knew that he, Chico Dupez, had been involved in kidnapping the Americana women.

  But, he mused with a sinister smile, someone might be willing to pay many pesos to learn who had been.

  Travis Coltrane walked across the parade grounds of the United States Military Academy at West Point, headed doggedly for the post exchange to see if, by some miracle, there might be a letter from Valerie.

  The postmaster looked down at the envelope in his hand. The return address was somewhere in Spain, from a Coltrane. The order had come only a month ago that Travis Coltrane wasn’t to get any mail from there, either. The postmaster again felt guilty that he had agreed to intercept the boy’s mail for pay. What harm would it do for him to get a letter from his sister? If the party paying him ever found out, he could say it slipped by on a day when he was out sick. Still, he hesitated. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he yelled, “Hey, cadet. For you!”

  The grin on Coltrane’s face as he reached for the envelope was worth more than all the bribe money the postmaster had received.

  He’d worry about the consequences later.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Kit lost all track of time as they plodded onward. As best she could tell, they had been traveling for over two weeks. When they finally reached Tangiers, with its turreted towers and mosques and narrow, winding medinas, she could not help being relieved. Escaping from Galen had been impossible. He had kept her hands tied almost constantly, except when she and Valerie were allowed to bathe and take care of their personal needs. Even while the men were out of sight, they were within hearing distance.

  They had traveled the side roads to avoid being discovered. Galen paid the owner of a small boat to take them from Gibraltar, and only when they reached Morocco did he relax.

  They arrived late in the day, and Galen found refuge just outside town with a skinny, bearded man named Hashim.

  Kit and Valerie were glad finally to be untied, even though they were locked in a small room.

  Hashim brought food. “Roast mutton and a mixed pie of vegetables,” he explained in answer to their doubtful looks. “My wife, she makes the very best in all of Tangiers.”

  “Is she a slave trader like you?” Valerie snapped.

  His smile faded. “I am an innkeeper, not a slave trader. Now, you eat, or go hungry. It matters not to me.” He walked out stiffly, locking the door behind him.

  “Our only chance to escape now is by persuading somebody to help us,” Kit said. “But we aren’t going to get it if you make enemies of everybody we meet.”

  “All right. If that’s what it takes to find a way out, I’ll be friendlier.”

  “Good.” Kit smiled. “Now let’s eat. We need to keep up our strength. It’s been a long trip, but at least we’ll soon be rid of Galen and his bandoleros.”

  The next morning Hashim brought more food. Valerie managed to be pleasant, but Kit was unable to wheedle any information from him.

  Finally Galen returned in midafternoon, looking very pleased with himself. “I was right!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Americana women are worth much. An agent for a high caliph who lives in Marrakesh is coming to look at you. But I warn you”— his eyes suddenly darkened—“you do anything to ruin this sale, and you will go on the auction block at the market, where pervertidos and manicomios buy what the rich do not want. What they do is too ugly to put into words. And remember, that will happen after my men have tired of you!”

  When he left them, Valerie fearfully asked what those strange names meant.

  “Perverts and lunatics,” Kit told her. “That isn’t going to happen, though, so don’t even think about it,” Kit reassured her. “Remember we’re going to make everyone think our spirit is broken, that we’ve lost all our fight. Pretend to be docile. That’s the key to catching our next captor off-guard.”

  The door swung open, and Galen ushered in a huge, fat man dressed in a flowing robe and a turban. He had a long black beard and little black eyes. Kit loathed him on sight. With him was another fat man, but this one had kind eyes and looked almost as if he felt sorry for them.

  “You see?” Galen gestured. “I told you they are rare pearls. See the beauty of their faces? The smoothness of their skin? They are magnifico, no? Go ahead, touch them, feel them. They will not resist.” He shot them a warning glare.

  The snake-eyed man circled them slowly, as though he were inspecting food for his table. A slow smile spread over his thick, wet lips. “Perhaps you are right. They are ripe.” He stopped in front of Kit, his eyes devouring her. “Her breasts are firm and plump. The caliph requires this. She also has cheeks like roses. I’ll be able to tell more about her when she is naked.”

  Kit stiffened.

  The man then went to Valerie, and she forced herself to remain perfectly still as he pushed her hair back from her face. “She has skin as fair as the moon in the night sky, and a neck like a gazelle. That is good. But the golden hair!” he exulted. “The caliph will like that very much. I do not believe he has ever had a golden woman in his harem. Has he, Abjar?” He looked at the bald-headed man.

  “No, sire.” Abjar bowed his head respectfully.

  He turned his attention to Kit once more and began to walk around her. “Abjar is one of the high caliph’s most trusted eunuchs,” he remarked. “He has served the family since he was a child.” He suddenly grabbed Kit’s face with his fat, stubby fingers and yanked her mouth open. “Teeth like pearls, lush, red lips. I believe he will like her, but I still wish to see her naked before we talk price.”

  He went to yank open her shirt, but Kit could stand no more. With a swift move, she brought her knee up between his legs. “Keep your goddamn dirty paws off me, you…you camel eater!”

  Doubling over in pain, he stumbled backward, his eyes bulging. As Galen went to help him, Kit thought she saw Abjar smile.

  Galen and Abjar helped the huge man out the door. Just before they disappeared down the hall, Galen yelled that he was going to make Kit wish she were dead.

  Kit sank glumly to the floor, sitting with her chin on her hands.

  Valerie stood over her, hands on hips. “Docile!” she cried. “You call that acting docile, Kit?”

  They looked at each other, and despite their desperate situation, they suddenly broke into hysterical gales of laughter—but only to escape momentarily from the terror they felt.

  The cantina was filled with the usual Saturday night crowd, playing poker and gathering at the bar.

  One man sat alone at a table in a rear corner. He drank from the bottle of whiskey in front of him, and a cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. A flickering candle cast his stubbled face in shadows, and the scar at the corner of one eye seemed to twitch ominously. No one dared to bother
him, for he looked like an angry panther, ready to spring at first provocation.

  Chico Dupez stomped down the rear stairs and glanced curiously at the Americano sitting alone in the shadows. He made his way on to the bar, adjusting his gun holster as he walked. Ordering a drink, he heard the barmaid mention a Mr. Tanner as she slipped around the bar with a cold beer on her tray and headed toward the silent stranger.

  Chico went to the far side of the room and leaned back against the wall, looking at the Americano out of the corner of his eye. So that was Kurt Tanner. When he had first returned to Valencia he’d heard that Tanner was searching like a madman for the missing Coltrane girl.

  He began to inch his way slowly toward Tanner as he tried to decide whether to betray Galen. He didn’t like to betray him to a gringo, but without a single peso to his name, honor suddenly didn’t seem to matter so much.

  Chico stepped away from the wall—and found himself staring into a gun barrel. The Americano’s hawk-brown eyes burned with rage. “Who are you, and what the hell do you want?” he demanded.

  Chico held his arms up. “Please, señor, I only wish to speak with you. I think you will be interested in what I have to tell you.”

  Kurt nodded to the empty chair. “Sit, and keep your hands on the table. Start talking.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Chico became smug. “I can help you find what you have been looking for.”

  Kurt sipped his drink slowly. “I’m listening,” he said in a low voice.

  Chico leaned across the table. “Do you think it’s worth ten thousand dollars in Americano gold to know what became of the red-headed señorita?”

  Like a shot, Kurt’s hand closed around his throat. With one arm he lifted Chico straight up and out of the chair, so high that his boots barely touched the floor. His eyes bulged, and he kicked wildly. “Do you think it’s worth your life?” Kurt hissed. “Because that’s all I intend to give you in exchange.”

  He held Chico up for a few seconds longer, then let him drop back to the chair. He poured another drink while Chico clutched his throat, coughing and gasping. “Talk,” he commanded. “And convince me that you know what you’re talking about—or you die.”