"A doctor. Get a doctor," she said again.
But the private shook his head. "Naw, he ain't that bad off. 'Sides, Doc'll be sleepin' by now, and he gets mighty pissed when he's awoke."
"Then let me see to Garcia. Get me some water and clean cloths. Have you any carbolic?"
Beady blue eyes narrowed on her. "Slow down, lady. I ain't sure it's safe to let you in there with him. He's a killer, and damn near broke Corporal Lucy's jaw with them big fists o' his."
Glee quirked an auburn eyebrow and then looked toward Alex again. "Does he look dangerous now?"
"Naw, I guess not. I'll go get what I c'n find." The private opened the cell and let Glee in, closing and locking it behind him as he left.
She ran right over to the cot. "Oh, Alex! Oh, I'm so sorry this happened to you!"
"I didn't know you cared, querida."
Surprise widened her turquoise eyes for a moment but she appeared to mentally shake herself. "I abhor violence, Mister Pacheco. This is unconscionable."
His chuckle ended in a spasm of pain across his ribs and he squeezed his eye closed until it passed. It had been too much to think that her concern was more than the humanitarianism she'd shown throughout their miserable journey.
"What can I do to make you more comfortable?" Her worried expression made him wonder again just how bad he really looked.
"Water."
"Oh, of course."
He watched her search the eight-by-eight room until she saw a tin cup sitting next to a plate of congealed food by the cell's entrance. She went to it and returned with the cup, holding it to his mouth.
"How did they ever think you'd be able to eat or drink, chained as you are to the wall?"
Alex's throat loosened as the cool liquid slid over his tongue. "Gracias," he said as she took the cup away and put it on the floor. "I think it was not really meant for me to eat."
"Those stinking, cochons! Les merde-remplirent monstres!" she murmured.
"French sounds very sweet upon your lips, cherie, but not when you are cursing like a sailor. Shit-filled monsters, indeed!"
Embarrassment suffused her skin with red. Alex would have laughed if it weren't so painful.
"I didn't know you speak French, Mister Pacheco. Excuse me."
"Look at me, Glee Montrose," he said softly. Her head rose and she fixed her dark-fringed turquoise eyes on him. "There. That is better. Now perhaps instead of thinking up more creative invectives to hurl at Fletcher and his accomplices, would you look at my ribs? I think perhaps one is broken."
"Yes... Yes, of course." Her hands shook as she manipulated the silk frogs of her cloak, loosening them and then pushing the heavy wool off her shoulders. She bent toward the buttons of Alex's shirt.
The soft glow of the lantern made her pale shoulders shimmer like ivory. Alex felt a warmth in his groin. "You are beautiful, querida. Did you discard your rags for me?" She tugged sharply on the tail of his shirt to pull it from his pants. "Ouch!"
"Pray confine your comments to matters more pertinent, Mister Pacheco," she suggested. "Can you lower your legs, please?"
Slowly he pushed his knees flat, closing his eyes at the pain across his ribs. Cold air swept his chest as she opened his shirt. Her sharp intake of breath caused him to open his eyes again. She was looking at his mid-section. Her lips thinned and he saw her jaw tighten with determination. "Is it so bad, niña?"
"It's very purple, Mister Pacheco. I think you may have a broken rib or two." Her gaze went back to his face. "I'm afraid I'm really not qualified to care for you. You may have internal injuries, and I don't know."
He nodded and closed his eyes again. "I trust you, Glee Montrose. Do what you can."
Cool fingers probed his lower ribs, first on his right, then the left. He grit his teeth when she pressed the most tender areas. Her hands roamed his belly and he watched her from beneath lowered lids.
A look of concentration was endearingly etched on her delicate face, and she held the tip of her tongue between her teeth in the expression of a child deeply focused on a task. She closed her eyes as she prodded his belly harder. "Does this hurt?" she asked. "Your stomach seems very hard. I wonder if you are bleeding inside."
It caused him a jolt of pain, but he tensed his stomach muscles. She gasped and pulled away, her eyes opening wide. He gave her a half-grin. "I am not a soft-bellied old man yet, chica. I do not think there is anything wrong inside."
"Oh. Well, I..." she stammered. A frown creased her forehead. "That wasn't very nice of you."
"What?"
"Teasing me like that," she pouted, to his surprise and delight. It was so incredibly feminine, that soft lower lip protruding ever-so-slightly. What would it feel to suck on that sweet flesh?
"I am un merde-remplis monstre," he teased further.
"Oh!" Their gazes locked for a moment, then she smiled and laughed.
Pleased to hear the musical sound of her amusement, Alex didn't notice Welsh enter the cell.
"Now ain't this quaint," the corpulent private said with a sneer. "I see you got his shirt off. What for? Ain't you more int'rested in what's in his pants?"
Glee stood and took a basin of water from him with a splashing jerk. "Your mind is crude and sickening, Private Welsh." She put the basin down by the side of the bed and held out her hand for the rags he held. "Mister Pa-Garcia has broken ribs. I'll need to bind them with something." She examined the scraps of gray cloth he'd given her. "These won't do. Haven't you got bandages?"
"Wha'do I look like, a fuckin' infirmary?" the Private said with a huff.
Alex growled low in his throat and pulled for the hundredth time at the manacles that bound him to the wall.
Welsh grinned at Alex's frustrated efforts. "Yeah, you'd like to get me, eh, Garcia? Like to shake me a time or two for talkin' dirty to your lady-friend." He stepped closer to the cot, backing Glee up until her knees touched the side. He grabbed her wrist and twisted until she cried out, but his eyes never left Alex's. "Know what I oughta do, you arrogant bastard? I oughta just bend her right over your knees and pump her real good. How'd you like that, Mex?"
Glee pulled free and rubbed her wrist. "General Clement would have you hanged in the morning, Private. Do not doubt it."
He looked at her, watery blue eyes losing some of their confidence. "So you say." He sniffed. "Anyway, I got better things to do. Time you were leavin', lady."
"But I haven't finished here!"
The avaricious gleam returned. "You stay, you pay," he said smugly.
Glee looked toward Alex, and he saw her tension in the tightness of her mouth. "She doesn't have to give you anything, perro. Dog."
"She does if she wants to stay. Hell, for enough, she can stay all night. That cot's pretty small, but I s'pose you two get real close t'gether, don'cha?"
Alex struggled harder, futilely, and let loose a string of curses in Spanish.
Glee reached into the hidden pocket of her gown and withdrew a gold coin. "Is this sufficient?" she asked wearily.
"No, do not bow to this dog!" Alex shouted.
"Shut up!" Welsh barked, kicking viciously at the cot. He looked back toward Glee and took the five-dollar piece. "That'll do for a start, honey," he said.
"A start?"
"Go, Glee," Alex ordered sharply. "Get out!" He cursed in Spanish when she didn't obey. "I don't need you, niña." The heat in his voice drew her attention from Welsh.
"Yes, you do," she replied. Her voice was soft, controlled, but her stance was stiff as though she were a talking statue ready to crumble from stress.
"Sure you do, Garcia," Welsh said. He fingered the gold piece and then advanced on Glee. His gaze moved to the gold Buddha in her turban, and he pointed. "I'll take that, too." She reached up to remove it but the clasp was stubborn. Finally, she yanked it from the white silk, rending the material and destroying the knot which held her concealing hat in place. The edge of the long scarf, still attached to the brooch, trailed down over her shoulder and alo
ng her arm. The rest followed, and her red-gold hair shone like a copper beacon in the lantern light.
Welsh grabbed the Buddha and wadded up the scarf, pushing it into his jacket. "Mmhmm," he said with admiration as he stared at the tightly drawn chignon on the crown of her head. "No wonder he's so hot for you, lady. That's the real stuff, ain't it? Don't come from no henna rinse, like them whores at the Eastgate Saloon use." He grinned salaciously. "Betcha you got the same red 'tween your legs, huh?" He looked at Alex, who felt like his muscles were burning with the hatred he couldn't displace. "Has she, Garcia?"
"You got what you wanted, you odious little toad," Glee hissed. "Now get out and leave me to help him."
"Tsk, tsk," Welsh reprimanded. "You jus' can't be friendly, can you, red?" He touched the transparent fabric of Glee's bertha, but she pushed him away. "I got me a girl at home. She ain't as pretty at you, mebbe, but then she ain't got such fine things to wear. I been thinkin' o' getting her somethin' really special for Christmas, you know? An' I think I found jus' the thing."
Alex's mind turned cold with fury when the private finished his thought.
"Gimme that there dress, red. My Lisa'll be real thrilled to have somethin' a real lady would wear."
Glee appeared to be frozen. Her pale face held an unblinking expression of total blankness.
Alex wondered if she would faint, or if perhaps the stress of this situation had snapped her mind. "Glee? ¿Querida?"
She blinked and turned toward him.
"Don't do this thing, amor."
"Yeah, Glee," Welsh mocked. "Take your murderin' lover's advice. Go on back to the guest quarters. He'll be all right. 'Less he tries to escape 'r somethin'. Then I might jus' hafta shoot him, even though it'll piss Jake Fletcher off real good."
Glee's head snapped toward the private. Her voice was soft, breathy, as if every word was painfully drawn out. "Are you threatening his life, Private Welsh? Do you dare to say that if I do not submit to your reprehensible request you will shoot him?"
The private shrugged. "Who's to say what a fella like that'll do, lady? He already tried to escape once today. Mebbe he'll try again later."
Glee nodded. "All right."
"Whoopee!" Welsh exclaimed.
"No, damnit, no!" Alex shouted. "I forbid it! I do not want your help, Glee Montrose!" But she wasn't listening.
"On two conditions," she said with hard conviction.
Welsh's pig-eyes narrowed. "What conditions?"
"My gown will be the last thing you ask for, and you will unlock Mister Garcia's hands."
"You crazy, lady? I ain't gonna let him loose!"
"Then secure them in front rather than where they are behind him. That will allow him to eat or drink, to - to relieve himself if he should need to," she said.
Welsh appeared to consider this for a time as he eyed both Alex and Glee alternately. "Yeah, all right. It's a deal. But gimme the dress first, and that thing that makes it stand out."
"My hoop and crinolines were not part of our agreement," she answered.
"The dress'll look dumb without 'em, won't it?"
"Well..."
"I'll take the whole set or the deal's off, red," he said stubbornly.
She stared at the fat soldier, deciding what to do.
Alex tried to catch her eyes to tell her not to humiliate herself to help him, but she appeared to be purposely avoiding his gaze. Stubborn woman, he fumed silently. But then, perhaps standing in her undergarments before this disgusting dog was not the worst humiliation she had suffered. Who knew what experiences this woman had been through? Alex wished he had had more time to study her journal, and wondered if he would find a key to unlock her secrets there.
"Turn your back," she said with finality.
"Uh-uh," the private replied with a lascivious grin. "I ain't gonna turn my back on the prisoner."
"He's chained to the damned wall, you twit," she hissed.
The private's face set in determination. "I ain't gonna turn around."
"Damn you! I hope you rot in hell!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, examining his dirty fingernails. "Just take off your clothes, lady. I ain't got all night."
"Oh!" she replied as she scanned the room. Alex assumed she was looking for a corner or a more private, darker place to do what she felt she must. But his cot took up one wall, two corners. There were barred windows on the wall behind him and the one facing the cot, which made them unsuitable. Though it was late, the area was well-patrolled at night. The only other wall was a wall of iron bars. Welsh stood in the middle of the small cell, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting.
Despite all this, Alex was surprised when she turned toward his cot and began unhooking her gown. Their eyes met and she blushed. "Please, don't look at me," she whispered, in French so that Welsh could not understand if he overheard.
Alex's arched a brow. "Are you afraid of me, cherie?" he replied in the same language.
The delicate bertha came loose and the tassels on her upper arms dropped to her elbows. She shook her head, and a short curl came loose at the nape of her neck. "No, I..." Her voice faltered. "I don't like being so vulnerable."
Alex watched the gown's bodice fall away revealing two full, round breasts, pert and upthrust above her lace trimmed, white leather corset. He felt a new ache as he stared. A pain different from his battered face and broken ribs, settled into his groin and throbbed.
Glee gasped and blushed, the pink descending from her face to the pink-violet tips of her bosom. "You're looking!"
"Forgive me, cherie," Alex said, with half a grin. "But you are too beautiful. I could not resist."
She frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but Welsh's whining voice interrupted her.
"Stop talkin' Spanish, you two! An get that dress off, lady, or I'll come take it off'a you."
"You are a pig, Welsh," Alex spat. "An ignorant pig! And know this, fat man: if you touch her, even dare to consider it, I'll kill you and feed your heart to the dogs."
Welsh looked uncomfortable, but replied with bravado. "You talk big for a man in chains, Garcia. Mebbe I'll just make a point of staying right here while you visit with your woman. I ain't never watched nobody..."
His words trailed off as he, and Alex too, both turned toward the gentle purr of the green velvet sliding down a white satin underskirt to pool at Glee's feet. They stared as she quickly unfastened the satin and it joined the puddle of velvet. Six more tapes were untied and one by one, two petticoats fell followed by three more within the cage of her hoops. She awkwardly lifted the cage over her head and dropped it behind her.
Glee crossed her arms over her breasts and knelt on the cot, allowing Welsh to gather up her garments. The soldier reached around her for her black cape, and she immediately protested. "No! My cloak was not included in our agreement, Private Welsh," she shouted over her shoulder, trying to keep herself covered and yet push him away from her cloak. "If you take my cloak how will I return to my rooms? Let go, I say!"
He yanked the cloak from her hands, and she spun around to grab for it again, desperately unmindful of her partial nudity. Alex watched them struggle, a frustrated rage mingling with the pain of his injuries, and the throb of his arousal. With a mighty shove, Welsh sent Glee sprawling on the narrow cot. Alex grunted with pain as she fell against him, but this did not concern him as much as the panic in her eyes when she looked up at him. Her eyes then returned to Welsh.
"Please, Private," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.
He stared at her, trying to get a better look at what she hid beneath her shielding arms. "Let your Mex lover keep you warm while you're here. I'll give you the cloak when you're 'bout to leave. In the meantime, if I wanna see your tits you can't hide 'em too good."
"Oh God," she cried, turning toward the wall at the side of the cot, her shoulders shaking.
"I need ta move all this stuff," Welsh said, indicating the garments strewn about when he struggled over the cloak. "Then I'
ll unlock his arms like I said."
"Thank you, private," Glee said from behind her hands.
Alex heard rather than saw Welsh gather up the clothing and leave the cell. His attention was focused on Glee. He could not remember ever feeling so helpless, watching her sob and unable to comfort her. How he wanted just to hold her, to stroke that glorious hair, loosen it and bury his face in its fragrant silk, murmur words of support to her.
"Sweetheart, do not cry," he said softly. "He is gone for a few moments."
"I can't believe I'm crying." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I don't cry easily, Mister Pacheco. You must believe me."
Under Wraps Page 12
