His mouth bleeding from the punishment of Rafael's fist, Lorenzo scrambled away, gaining his feet after stumbling for a second, his clenched left hand full of dirt. Rafael was behind him and he caught him right in front of where Beth watched the fight with dilated eyes.
But Lorenzo, knowing he was no match for the stronger, more agile man, threw the dirt into Rafael's eyes, blinding him momentarily. There was a shocked gasp from the onlookers. Rafael reeled back, trying frantically to clear his eyes and protect himself at the same time from the shadowy killer that was Lorenzo.
Lorenzo smiled for the first time and moved in for the kill. But Beth, her sweet face fierce with determination, entered the fray, flinging her slender, naked body wildly on Lorenzo's back, clawing and biting, doing anything to divert Lorenzo from Rafael. With a snarl Lorenzo forgot Rafael and spun to meet this new attack.
Relishing the thought of her dying in front of Rafael, forgetting even his desire for her in the heat of the moment, he dislodged her from his back and, his eyes gleaming with cruel pleasure, he advanced as she retreated in front of him. It was a mistake, the last one he ever made.
Rafael's sudden shout behind Lorenzo broke his concentration, and startled, he turned and met the knife Rafael hurled unerringly through the air. The knife sank into the middle of Lorenzo's chest and for one astonished second he stared at it before falling face down in the dirt.
Uncaring of what happened next, Beth flung herself into Rafael's welcoming arms, her warm flesh meeting the solid strength of his. Gently he cradled her to him, oblivious of the Comanches, some of whom were already arguing over Lorenzo's belongings. He crooned soothing, healing words into her tangled hair before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to the waiting Diablo.
The Comanches made no move to stop him. They had enjoyed a good fight and Stalking Spirit had reclaimed his woman and his honor from the man who had stolen her. She was a worthy mate for him, this silver woman—she fought like a Comanche squaw for her man, and the warriors approved.
Beth and Rafael did not travel far, just over a mile upstream from the Comanches to where he had left the other horses and supplies. It was there that he discovered the loss of their child. His face twisted in silent regret. Gently he bathed and cleaned Beth's battered body in the clear waters of the stream, speaking soft words that made no sense but seemed to comfort her. They slept wrapped together in a long cloak, Rafael's big body curved protectively next to hers.
Rafael woke at dawn, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. Then he noticed the warmth of Beth's small body and a shudder went through him. He had almost been too late. If she hadn't launched herself at Lorenzo and given him those precious seconds...
She was safe and he would keep her so always, he promised himself fiercely, staring intently at her sleeping features. Her face was burned by the sun, the full lips cracked and blistered from her ordeal, her hair a tangled mass, but to him she was the loveliest thing in the world.
She needed rest and she needed care, all of which she would get at San Antonio, but he hesitated. It was a long, hard way back the way he had come, and the journey would take longer—he couldn't push her at the same pace he had come.
She'd lost their baby and she had lost blood and would lose more before it was over. He frowned. Far better if they headed east to the nearest settlement and from there to Enchantress. He wanted her far away from all the tragedy and horror she had suffered, and in the cool, pine-scented woods of Enchantress she would be safe—safe and cosseted, and oh, so dearly loved.
Chapter 29
Enchantress dozed in the warm October sunshine, the new red-tiled roof gleaming brightly above the soft yellow walls of the hacienda. The fresh black paint on the balconies and filigreed ironwork contrasted pleasingly with the faded, mellow color of the building. There was an air of renewed vigor about the old Spanish house; the windows gleamed and sparkled, the grounds were meticulously and lovingly cultivated, and from within there was a bustle and the sound of voices and laughter.
The towering pine trees were scattered here and there near the house, but through their trunks could be seen the signs of new construction—the corrals, the fence posts and railings, the light color of new lumber, the barn in the distance. There was a small cluster of whitewashed cottages, some distance beyond the barn, and the whiteness of their walls was bright and clean in the fall sunshine.
At the rear of the hacienda was a charming courtyard, not large and yet most spacious. The courtyard was shaded by the wide-spreading branches of a sycamore tree, the leaves already beginning to change color and fall to the ground as the season changed. But there were still orange and yellow blossoms on the trumpet-flower vine that rioted across the back balcony, and the Virginia creeper that covered one wing of the hacienda was still a cooling green mass of five-fingered leaflets.
Two women sat in the courtyard enjoying the pleasant warmth of the late afternoon. One was Stella Rodriguez and the other was Beth Santana. They both appeared to be looking at the two men who stood just a short distance away, talking and smiling as they smoked thin black cigarillos.
Stella and her family had arrived at Enchantress two weeks ago and Beth could hardly contain herself as she had tumbled out the front door of the house in her excitement to see her dear friend. Stella had been as bad, springing down from the coach before it had fully stopped. Then there were the children to see, the gurgling, happy baby, Elizabeth, and the sturdy little son, Pablo, at three the very picture of his father, Juan.
The past two weeks had flown, as Beth and Stella had gossiped and exchanged their news, Juan and Rafael inspecting the property and spending many hours discussing Rafael's plans for Enchantress. They talked of the horses Rafael was importing from Spain to improve the lines of his horses, of the cattle that were already roaming through the cleared areas of the forests, and of the crops he was considering planting in the spring—if enough land had been cleared and the stumps burned off.
If the past two weeks had flown for Beth, it was nothing compared to the speed at which the months had gone by since Rafael had rescued her from the Comanches. She remembered little of the journey to the tiny frontier settlement where Rafael had taken her and where they had stayed several days as Beth regained strength and health before they pushed on to Enchantress. Their marriage, at the end of July in Houston, she remembered very well.
It had been a private affair, just Sebastian, Don Miguel, and Dona Madelina and a wide-eyed interested Arabela, traveling over from San Antonio to witness the simple ceremony. Beth had worn the mauve gown, her fair hair shining through the white mantilla Dona Madelina had pressed on her; Rafael had looked very handsome in a lavishly embroidered Spanish suit of purple so dark it was almost black.
Enchantress had only been partially readied for her, but Beth had thrown herself into the task of making it a home—her first real home. The hard work and the satisfaction of seeing it take shape as the weeks passed, as well as the sweetly passionate nights spent in the arms of her husband, had done much to lessen the horrors and pain of the awful time she had spent as a Comanche captive. Nothing could ever compensate her for the loss of her baby, but this was the future and for Beth there was no looking back.
Manuela had accompanied the elder Santanas to Enchantress when they had come to the wedding in July and she had remained behind, very happy to be Beth's personal servant. Mary Eames and most of the servants from Briarwood were now in residence, as well as a few favored pieces of furniture and knickknacks she had written for them to bring when they came. Briarwood was to be sold, Rafael having his newly acquired man of business in New Orleans seeing to it.
The money gained from that sale had caused their first serious quarrel, Beth wanting to use the money at Enchantress and Rafael, his gray eyes darkening with anger, adamantly opposed to it. They had compromised—the money was hers to do with as she willed, and if there were certain things that she wanted for Enchantress, he would quell his pride and allow her to buy
them with her own money. The money in the trust her father had set up, they both agreed, would be kept for their children, and both of them hoped fervently there would be several filling the many rooms of Enchantress.
Life had been very good to her lately, Beth thought, as she sat next to Stella and dreamily watched her husband talking quietly with Juan.
"Beth, honey, the look on your face is positively indecent!" Stella teased, the dark eyes alight with affection and amusement.
Beth flushed and stopped gazing at Rafael's tall, dark form. "I love him so much, Stella, I can't help it."
Stella patted her hand, thinking that Beth was not the only one who was deeply in love. The change in Rafael had been startling, especially to someone who hadn't seen the gradual evolving of his personality.
The icy edges had almost disappeared, although Stella suspected that in certain circumstances he would revert to the cold, hard man he had been. There was a soft light in the smoky-gray eyes whenever his gaze rested on Beth's enchanting features, and a certain note in his voice when he called her "English" that made Stella blush. Oh, yes, Renegade Santana was a man deeply, irrevocably in love.
That evening as Manuela dressed her for dinner, Beth thought of how very different this marriage was from her first. Nathan had always been kind, it was true, but he had never loved her, and now that she knew the difference, she wondered how she had endured those sterile, wasted years of her life and a little sigh escaped her.
The senora looked very beautiful, Manuela decided as she gave a last flick to the skirt of the pink, gossamer satin gown Beth had chosen. Her white, delicate shoulders rose above the deep décolletage of the evening gown and her slender midriff was intensified by the sharp point that the bodice made at the waist before the voluminous skirts fell to the ground. Manuela was congratulating herself on Beth's appearance when she heard the sigh.
"Something is wrong, senora? You do not like the way the skirt hangs?"
Beth smiled at Manuela. "No, I was just thinking some unpleasant thoughts—something I shouldn't do." She glanced around the sumptuous dressing room, knowing she had so much to be grateful for. Through the half-opened doorway that led to their bedchamber, she could see Rafael pacing about as he waited restlessly for her to finish dressing before they would go down and join the Rodriguezes together, and she smiled. No, she should never think of the past—it was behind her.
But Manuela was troubled, and her conscience pricked her. "You do not still brood over what Consuela did, do you? He knows the truth, doesn't he?"
Gently Beth reassured her. "Yes, he knows."
Rafael, wondering what was keeping Beth, had just put his hand on the door to enter the dressing room when Manuela's words halted him in his tracks.
"He knows everything? Even that you were a virgin when he first took you that afternoon?"
Her eyes startled, Beth began, "How did you—?" And Manuela said reasonably, "You forget, senora, I washed you afterward, I saw the blood and the bloodstained sheets." Shrugging her shoulders, she finished, "It was obvious."
Beth shook her head. "But not to Rafael.... It doesn't matter, Manuela. He loves me and it is time to let the past die. Even explaining about Nathan I find difficult to do, and I could not tell of one without the other. Let it be, we are happy and we need speak no more of what happened that day."
His face pale with shock, Rafael turned swiftly away from the door, needing a few moments to recover from the jolt the conversation had given him. Sweet Jesus! A virgin! And he remembered that brief, fleeting moment when that same thought had occurred to him.
He took a deep breath, the primitive, savage male in him full of joy and exultance, but the new, more tender Rafael was filled with remorse for the ruthless way he had made her a woman that afternoon in New Orleans. Should he tell her he knew? She had said she didn't wish to speak of the past... In time, he decided slowly, in time they would talk of it.
That night when they lay in bed together, their naked bodies side by side, Beth thought blissfully that he had never been so gentle, so tender, so passionate in his lovemaking. There had been some new element in his touch, and she would have been unbearably moved to know that in his own way he had tried to make amends with his body for what he had done to her so long ago. Her head resting on his shoulder, she gave a sigh of contentment.
Hearing it, Rafael's arms tightened around her. Into the soft hair under his chin, he murmured thickly, "Happy? No more nightmares?"
Sleepily Beth shook her head. "Mmm, none, except that I might awake and find that all this is a dream. Or that you no longer loved me."
"Never!" he said fiercely. With one hand he twisted her face up to his mouth. "Never as long as I live," he breathed against her lips and then kissed her with an urgent tenderness. "Never!" His mouth hardened into passion, and, giving herself up to the magic of his desire, Beth thought hazily, tomorrow I'll tell him. Tomorrow I'll tell him of the new child that grows within me.
The End
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Want more from Shirlee Busbee?
Page forward for an excerpt from
DECEIVE NOT MY HEART
The Louisiana Ladies Series
Book One
~
Morgan had busied himself preparing for the journey to Natchez. The next day dawned sunny and hot but there was the hint of a thunderstorm on the horizon, and eyeing it, Jason had said, "Are you certain you don't wish to delay your departure for a few hours?"
Morgan grinned. "My dear friend, what flimsy excuses you present to hold me here. I am not made of sugar, I assure you, and a little thundershower will not melt me!"
Jason had laughed, their hands meeting in a tight clasp; then, astride a prancing, chestnut gelding from the Beauvais stables, Morgan had ridden away, heading up the river for Natchez. Attached to his watch fob was the little gold cross from a virgin whore.
He had looked at that little gold cross more than once during the past weeks, wondering about its owner. A dozen times, he had cursed the darkness that had hidden her features, cursed the circumstances that had allowed the girl to vanish from his life as quickly as she had appeared. And the fact that he thought of her often, that he had almost desperately wanted to know more about her, that he had regrets about that particular evening, annoyed him. What the hell—she was a whore, he had reminded himself repeatedly, ignoring the taunting voice in his mind that wouldn't let him forget that he had initiated her into her profession. Nor could he forget the feel of her in his arms, the sweet mouth beneath his, the soft body pressed next to his. He was grimly aware that if he could have found her, if his attempts to learn her identity from Gayoso's servants hadn't been fruitless, that he would be taking her with him now as he left New Orleans.
If she had been determined to sell herself, he reasoned that he might as well be the one to take advantage of it—she would have found him a generous protector. A discreet house in Natchez, a stylish carriage, blooded horses, clothes, jewels, servants, he would have gladly provided them all, and as his mistress she would have been safe.
Now why did I think of that? he thought sourly, as his horse trotted along the river road. Safety wasn't what she had wanted and he was angry that she could even now, weeks later, arouse a curious feeling of protectiveness within him. Scowling at the darkening sky, he angrily tried to push her out of his mind. But it was useless; a mile down the road, he caught himself wondering where she was now and what was she doing. And why the devil had she thrown his money b
ack in his face?
* * *
The thunderstorm broke a half hour later, and to Leonie it seemed only fitting that the heavens should weep with her. For the past two weeks she had tried to ignore the signs, had tried to tell herself that nothing was different about her body, but this morning when she had arisen and the nausea that had been with her the last few days had attacked again, she knew it was no use pretending otherwise. She was to have a child... a child fathered in darkness and by a man whose name and face she had never known... and would probably never know!
~
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Deceive Not My Heart
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Shirlee Busbee's eBook Discovery Author Page
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New York Times bestselling author Shirlee Busbee is celebrating over 50 years of marriage to her husband Howard, and looking forward to another 50. Together, they live in Mendocino County, California, with three Miniature Schnauzers (Shirlee wants a fourth but Howard thinks two is enough—ah, drama ahead) and a herd of American Shetland Ponies.
While Passion Sleeps Page 44
