Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  Juanita was not freed. They forced her down upon the ground, tying her to one of the posts of the front porch She sat up as straight as a ramrod, spitting defiance as long as they towered over her, but when they were gone she slumped back, her eyes closed.

  It was Eleanora, restricted to the point of madness by the chain on her wrist, who cooked the corn cakes, mixing the ground meal with water, slapping it thin and browning it on an iron plate at the edge of the fire. Gonzalez took over the roasting of the chunks of peccary over the coals, there being no inside accommodation for cooking.

  Seeing it killed, Eleanora had thought she could not eat the meat of the peccary. Still, watching as Gonzalez turned it on sticks with lip-smacking gusto, smelling the savory odor as it curled in smoke about the porch, she grew as hungry as any and sat waiting for the succulent, well-browned meat to be done with her tortilla in her hand.

  The long ride had not only made her ravenous. As the stars came out she found her eyes, raw with sun-glare and the sting of woodsmoke, closing against her will. Luis, mindful of her comfort, had sent Molina to cut a mound of sweet grass for her bed. The blankets they had acquired during the day smelled less of horse than those they had used the night before. There was before her the cool, clear waters of the lake for a bathing place. She could, in fact, have looked forward to a night of sweet slumber, had it not been for the chain about her wrist.

  Eleanora sighed. Luis glanced at her and, seeing the dissatisfaction in her eyes, his face lightened though he could not be said to smile. He got to his feet. Waiting until she had risen also, he picked up the blanket on which they had been seated, shook out the dirt, and turned from the fire.

  Hanging back, Eleanora asked, “Where are we going?”

  “You will see.” He flung the blanket over his shoulder in the manner of a serape and stepped out into the darkness.

  The night was made pleasantly cool by a soft wind blowing from the mountain tops. It lifted the tendrils of hair that had escaped from Eleanora’s knot, brushing her senses with the soft pungence of pine and sage. Night birds called in melodic melancholy. The waving of the grass that carpeted the floor of the valley had a hypnotic quality that was soothingly sensuous.

  The perfect stillness of the pool was disturbed only by a patch of reeds weaving in the wind. They stopped on the verge. Luis dragged the blanket from his shoulder and held it out to her. “Your dressing room and bathing machine, milady.”

  Eleanora made no move to take it. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You wished to bathe?” He indicated the pool with a flick of his fingers.

  She stared at him. “How did you know?”

  “I know much of your habits. I am an observant man. As to my meaning, in Europe they have the wagons pulled out into the water by horses which offer a place of concealment for a lady from vulgar, prying eyes while she enjoys the sea.”

  “I will get the blanket wet,” she warned, intrigued in spite of herself.

  “No matter.”

  “But what of you?”

  “What have I to hide from you? Ah, you blush, I think. It is cruel of me to tease you in this way again. Let us say, then, that I trust you to keep your eyes forward, regardless of how much I might prefer it otherwise. And I promise that on this occasion your trust also will be rewarded.”

  She stared at him, more concerned with the weakness of his voice than with what he was saying with such a labored attempt at lightness. But why should she object? Had they not shared the rest stops of the day, searching the most dense undergrowth to strain their chain between them? No, she had no reason to doubt him.

  “Don’t you believe me?” he demanded with that shade of hauteur that indicated damage to his fierce pride, that same pride that had kept her from inquiring more closely now into his well-being.

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

  “Then?” He proffered the blanket once more.

  The acrobatics of disrobing beneath the blanket with one hand was soon done. Aware of Luis’s struggles beside her, Eleanora realized how much more handicapped he was by the chain arrangement. It was his right hand that was inconvenienced. As she heard his soft curse she knew that it was irksome not only to her alone.

  The water had the cold bite of a mountain spring, especially without the warmth of the sun to ward off its chill. They waded out, testing the bottom and depth with careful steps. After only a few feet Eleanora stopped abruptly. “What of your bandage?” she asked without turning her head.

  “Stuck, and in need of loosening,” he replied.

  “Not this way,” she protested, but he paid no attention, moving on so that the chain tugged her forward.

  “Suppose — suppose there are sharks, and alligators, as in Lake Nicaragua?”

  “Not at this altitude,” he assured her.

  “Are you certain?”

  “No,” he answered, “but neither am I certain that the sun will rise tomorrow. Will you be ruled by your fears?”

  Wading on, she did not bother to reply.

  To be clean when you have been dirty for a long time is one of life’s chief pleasures, ranking with eating your fill after a fast and growing warm after freezing. Eleanora, splashing water over her limbs one final time beneath the blanket, acknowledged this truth without question, even when the bath consisted of cold water and the corner of a blanket. It was only as the sound of her ablution died away that she noticed the sound beside her. It was the rattling of the chain that connected her to Luis. Its links jangled together unceasingly.

  Eleanora swung her head. Luis, with water to his waist, was shivering uncontrollably. A gust of wind blew across the expanse of the lake, fanning about his chest. He shuddered in the grip of convulsion, his eyes closed. Reaching out, she touched him. His skin burned with fever, and the feel of her cold fingers sent another racking shudder over him. His breath came fast through parted lips, and she knew without being told that his teeth were clenched to keep them from chattering.

  “Dear God, Luis. Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. She whirled, taking a few steps toward the shore. When he did not immediately follow she grasped his arm, pulling him along.

  “What have I done?” she asked herself, ignoring his feeble attempts to persuade her that her alarm was for nothing.

  By the time they were out of the water her breath was rasping harsh in her throat. She whipped the blanket off over her head, and swinging it wide, pressed it down over the brown waves of his hair. It was not wet about the chest and shoulders; that should help a little.

  Turning away, she stepped into her slippers and scooped up her petticoat. Pulling it on over her head, she tied the tapes with quick, impatient jerks, then reached for her blouse. As she searched for the armholes, she flung a look at Luis. He had not moved from where she had left him. His eyes dark shadows in the paleness of his face, he stared at her as she stood so close, at the soft sheen of starlight upon her shoulders and the fair, firm globes of her breasts with their tip-tilted nipples; so inviting, and within reach. He moved so slowly, winding the chain about his hand, that if she could have discovered some shred of indignation within herself, she might have avoided him. She could not. The sense of gratitude and helpless pity penetrated too deeply. She did not resist as he drew her to him, cupping her shoulders, smoothing his hands down her naked back. The sigh that shook him seemed to come from some empty depth within. His mouth was warm and gentle, tasting of panocha-sweetened coffee. It did not seek to consume her but merely to taste, but once, a forbidden pleasure. It was foolish, perhaps, but for an instant Eleanora responded, unable to deny that which cost her so little and seemed to mean so much. For a brief second he seemed warmed by her closeness, and then the trembling began once more.

  Lifting a hand, she touched his face, then slowly, firmly, drew away. Little by little he released her. While she finished dressing he stared out across the lake with the unresponsive face of a blind man.

  “Let us go,” Eleanora said, picking up h
is shirt and breeches from where they lay. He started off, but in the end she had to lead him in the right direction, back toward the adobe house and the fire flickering like a beacon before it.

  For all the submersion in water, the bandage still clung to the jagged and torn edges of the wound. Staring at her bent head with eyes brilliant and heavy with fever, Luis endured her picking and gentle prizing until he could stand it no longer. Rising up, he ripped away the bandage, flooding the gash with blood once more.

  It was Slim, watching over her shoulder as he held a torch of pitch-pine to supplement the light from the fire, who put her grim thoughts into words. “Cauterize it,” he said.

  Eleanora drew a deep breath. “It’s such a long tear — the shock.”

  “Better than letting the poison get to it.”

  Eleanora had come to like the soft-spoken plainsman. In some indefinable way he reminded her of Grant. She trusted him as much as she was capable of trusting anyone in her present circumstances. Without further argument she nodded.

  It was Slim who found the bowie knife that had carved their supper. He cleaned it as well as she could have done, scouring it with sand and rinsing it, much to the disgust of the others, in the water boiling for coffee over the fire. Thrusting it among the red embers with blue fire dancing above them, he left it to take on their heat while he poured out a generous measure of rye for both Luis and himself.

  If she had been alone, if it had been necessity, Eleanora might have found the strength to press that white-hot blade to the flesh of the man who had risked so much to save her. As it was, she delegated that task, gratefully, to Slim also, while she held Luis’s hand and they endured together the sound and smell of searing meat. The grip of his fingers tightened cruelly, his body stiffened, but the expression in his eyes as they clung to hers did not change. He had placed himself in her keeping — his own words when she had asked his permission to seal the wound. It was frightening in a way she could not explain, even to herself, as if he lived only through her and would have it no other way.

  And when the thing was done and Luis’s spare shirt had been sacrificed to cover Slim’s handiwork, they carried him inside and lifted him upon the piled grass in the corner. They covered him with blankets, tucking them around him. Still, he was swept at intervals by bouts of shaking that left him spent. They did not go away entirely until Eleanora had slid beneath the blankets beside him and pressed close. For a time he hardly seemed to recognize that she was there, and then his arm tightened around her waist to draw her more firmly back against his chest. He kissed her hair, and slept.

  Eleanora had thought to stay awake, and indeed she had not realized she had not done so until the thud of horses’ hooves and shouts of warning invaded her dreams. She shook free of them with difficulty, staring bemused at the alien face of the man beside her, lying where Grant should have been. The memory of the possessive fire in his cobalt-blue eyes, the unrelenting enchantment of his mouth upon hers lingered, though she could not remember how they had been reunited.

  Outside the clamor rose, waking Luis. He raised his head, shifting to his elbow in order to see over Eleanora to the open door. The lone rider had dismounted. The men had gathered around him, their voices falling to a low timbre that in its gravity sent a tremor of apprehension along Eleanora’s spine.

  Drawing in his breath, Luis called, “What is it? What goes?”

  A man in the loose garments of a peon detached himself from the group and came with hat in hand to the dark doorway. “I beg pardon, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said, his tone quietly respectful.

  “Pablo!” Luis exclaimed. “You got away. I gave you up when you were unseated outside the guardhouse. I have been worried, my friend. It is good to see you.”

  “And you, Conde. But you need not have troubled your mind. It was agreed that every man would look to himself.”

  “Still, it was a hard thing to leave you. How do you come to be here?”

  The soldier shrugged in his peon’s costume. “My injuries were nothing, though I thought I was dead at the time. I was struck a glancing blow only, a ricochet off my saddle horn which struck the butt of the gun I had pushed into my waistband. My air, it go pouf and I fell, but I was lucky, was I not?” He seemed to take their agreement for granted, for he went on. “I ran very fast to the house of a friend and I stay there, hiding, afraid I would be recognized. And then I heard news I thought would be of great importance for you. I rode all day and all the night, for Molina is my cousin, and I guessed where he would bring you. Two horses, fine horses, I had when I started, and now I have only one. The other, she is winded and falls to break both knees.”

  “You will be repaid,” Luis assured him. “Only tell me what is this news.”

  “It concerns the little general, Conde. He did not attack Rivas. Word of armies ready to strike at him from Honduras came to him just outside the city. Since he is afraid his capital will be captured, he turned his men around and began the march back to Granada. Perhaps he is in the city already, sending his orders from the Government House once more. Perhaps he already wonders what has become of the woman of the colonel, and would be interested in words in her favor. In a few days his aristocrática whore may have poisoned his mind, and the duties of war may make him forget. Now is the time to gain his attention.”

  “You are right,” Luis said, a grim note entering his voice. “But first the information, the proof, must be secured.”

  “I — understand, Lieutenant Colonel. You may leave it to us.”

  It was a moment before Luis spoke, and then finality weighted his words. “It is well.”

  Outlined in the dying fire beyond him, the man in the doorway nodded once and swung away, disappearing into the dark. Luis sank back down upon their couch, the movement wafting the sweet smell of cut grass up through the blanket on which they lay. Eleanora turned on her back.

  “Luis?” she said tentatively. “What did you mean, the proof?”

  The man lying so quietly at her side did not reply.

  15

  In the back of her mind, beyond the reach of conscious thought, Eleanora knew. Juanita had not been hauled along with them over the long miles for the sake of her convenience as a camp drudge, or even for her obvious usefulness in other areas important to men without their women. There had to be a purpose, and from the contemptuous and even brutal way in which they used the woman, Eleanora could not delude herself that their purpose boded any good for Juanita.

  She would not allow her thoughts to go beyond this admission. With an effort she emptied her mind of all conjecture, straining after sleep. It was useless. Lying still, she endured the torment of aching muscles, needing to turn, but afraid of disturbing Luis. In disobedience to her will, her memory drifted back, curling with a passion of longing about the images of Grant as she remembered him best — in his scarlet uniform with its gold braiding and the epaulettes emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders which he had worn on the day they met; his vivid nearness, which magnified every brow and lash and seam of his skin as he carried her in his arms to the palacio; his bronzed form outlined in lightning like an ancient, haunted god on the night he had made her his; his pale face and bruised eyelids as he clutched her skirt in his hand while she tended his shoulder. So many memories, cruel and tender, gentle and strong, comic and filled with pain. Would it be enough to balance this terrible agony of doubt that she must carry as long as she lived?

  As time passed and Luis did not move, she reached to put her hand to his forehead, wishing distractedly that there was something she could do to relieve the fever that heated his blood. He did not respond to her touch; still she thought he was not sleeping either.

  When the scream, faint with distance, came on the night wind, Eleanora’s nerves leaped under her skin, but she could acknowledge no surprise. She swallowed, her muscles tense, and when the sound, with the shrill timbre of a woman’s voice, came again, her hand went out to throw back the blanket that covered her.

&nb
sp; Luis touched her arm, his fingers hot but strong. “No, Eleanora, you cannot help, nor will I allow you to interfere.”

  “I can’t just lie here,” she said in a taut voice.

  “You must.”

  “It’s barbaric.”

  “Like the firing squad, eh? No, mi alma, it is justice. Shall we ask this woman please to tell us what she has done and why? Should we have let her schemes prosper? Should we have let you, Eleanora, present your tender heart to the firing squad you so despise? No. This one will give up the information she holds. She will confess her sins and put her name to a paper that will make clear your innocence and restore you to your former place in the sun of the general’s court.”

  Bitterness laced his tone, and with some right, Eleanora thought. The men were few who would risk so much to clear the name of a woman they cared for, especially when her exoneration might lead to her reinstatement as another man’s mistress.

  Beside her Luis spoke as another cry impaled the night. “In any case, a number of the men out there have a personal vendetta with Señorita Juanita. I doubt if you or I could stop them even if we tried.”

  A sick feeling moved through Eleanora. She clenched her hands. Despite the truth of his statement, despite what Juanita had tried to do to Jean-Paul and herself, it still seemed cowardice not to try to help another human being who was being hurt. To do nothing, and possibly to benefit from that inflicted pain, was infinitely worse. If it had been a man it would have been bad enough, but that it was a woman, one of her own kind, seemed a special horror. Why it should be worse she could not tell, and yet it was.

  “How—” she began, faltered, and then rushed on, afraid that he would misinterpret what she asked, and taking her literally, tell her exactly what he thought was occurring in the darkness. “How can they do it? How can they bring themselves to commit acts of such unspeakable evil?”

  He sighed, shifting with the pain in his leg. “A man,” he said slowly, “never knows the limits he can reach in degradation — when he feels he has just cause. An instant of time can change him into a devil for whom nothing is too vile. Even I—”