by tiffy
ʺNo! Does your lust know no bounds? You have just come from Morenaʹs bed!ʺ
ʺWhere I slept alone, drugged to unconsciousness!ʺ He interrupted her angrily.
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. ʺI saw you naked, tangled in her sheetsʺ
ʺForget Morena and her schemes. You but play into her hands with your foolish jealousy,ʺ he interrupted as he stalked her slowly, rounding the bed and backing her into the corner between it and the wall.
ʺI am not jealous,ʺ she spat, knowing how patently ridiculous the words sounded, even as she spoke them.
His reply was a low, husky laugh as he pounced, pulling her against his hot naked flesh and enfolding her in a hard embrace. He kissed her neck and trailed his scorching mouth up her cheek to her temple, her fluttering eyelids. Then slowly, deliberately, he brushed her mouth, daring her to refuse him.
Orlena fought a losing battle, wanting desperately to believe his words. Morena was scheming enough to have done as he said, yet she still mistrusted Joaquínʹs own confusing motives. She opened to him, pressing her lips to seal with his in a searing kiss.
Was this what she had instinctively wanted? To lure him to her as she lay soaking decadently in perfumed water? Orlena refused to answer her own tortured thoughts as her palms traced a course up his hardmuscled shoulders to reach about his neck. Her fingers tangled in his long, coarse hair and she clung to him.
Joaquín could feel the damp, silky heat of her body, still warm and fragrant from the bath. He groaned and rotated his hips against hers, holding her small buttocks against his lower body with one hand as he raised her against his aching shaft. When he was certain of her surrender, he picked her up once more and returned to the bed.
This time, when he lowered his body over hers, she held him fast, opening her legs eagerly to invite him into her softness. With a moan caught deep in his throat, he sank into her wet, welcoming sheath, stroking slowly, then plunging faster and harder as his golden Lioness locked her slim legs around his hips and arched against him in hungry invitation.
He felt ready to explode, buried deeply inside her, but gritted his teeth in concentration as he slowed to allow time for her to join him. Her release did not take long. With but a few long, slick strokes, he heard her ragged gasps as the involuntary contractions of ecstasy seized her. She clawed at his back and thrashed her head from side to side as he renewed his powerful thrusts, faster and faster until the world evaporated and he felt hurtled among the stars. He cried out her name and collapsed on top of her, panting and sweat‐soaked.
As the haze of passion gradually receded, Orlena ran her hands gingerly over the bandages about his midsection. ʺAre you hurt? The stitchesʺ
A low, raspy chuckle rewarded her tentative question as he made a reply muffled in her tangled hair. ʺYour stitchery is as fine as that of the best seamstress in the City of Mexico. It remains intact in spite of our exertions. But now I am weary and would rest.ʺ With that he rolled off her, pulled her against him, and yanked the coverlet across their naked bodies.
Joaquín fell immediately into an exhausted sleep, but Orlena remained awake.
She felt warm and secure held thus. It was not fair that he should have such power over her when she had none of his love or trust in return. He desired her, but did not believe in her honor or fidelity. Yet as long as they were together, might not this be a chance to restore what they had shared in the Lipan village?
She closed her eyes and dared to dream.
As Morena stood outside their bedroom door, torturing her soul by listening to the sounds of their passion, she admitted at last that Joaquín would never leave his wife. He was in thrall to the golden Spaniard and no matter what her treachery, he would keep her. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she slipped quietly down the hall to her own room. She must save Joaquín from the Spanish bitch. But how? Then she remembered her conversation several weeks earlier with Joaquín about Orlenaʹs brother Ignacio. A tremulous smile worked its way across her wide, mobile mouth, then broadened into full‐fledged laughter, laughter which did not reach her cold, obsidian eyes. She rang for a servant and gave instructions to have her clerk meet her in the library the following morning at eight.
Several hours later, a discreet knock awakened Joaquín and Orlena from their sound sleep. Joaquín sat up, wincing from the pain in his side as he called out none too civilly, ʺWho is it?ʺ
The young maid, Lena, nervously identified herself and said she had a tray with dinner for him and his lady. Orlena slid beneath the covers as Joaquín calmly instructed her to wait with the food. He rose from the bed and walked to where his trousers lay in a heap. Donning them with a small grimace of pain, he slipped the bolt on the door and admitted the girl. Without even casting a glance at Orlena in the tangled bed, she set the tray on the table by the window. Lena quit the room in silence, ignoring the discarded clothing and spilled water in her path.
Joaquín stepped over to the food, removed the napkin, and smelled the fragrance of roast spring lamb and a casserole filled with spicy vegetables. ʺCome and eat, Lioness. You must be as famished as I.ʺ
Hating the fiery flush that burned her cheeks, Orlena rose and walked quickly to the armoire, where a cast‐off robe of Morenaʹs hung. Sliding the frayed blue linen over her body, she belted it and walked to the table.
They fell upon their food with the same ravenous abandon they had exhibited for each other earlier. Joaquín had barely consumed any of the drugged luncheon Morena had served him and Orlena had not eaten since early that morning.
As they shared the food in silence, each considered how to gauge the otherʹs feelings.
Joaquín felt his physical victory over his wife was a pyrrhic one. He had admitted being duped by Morena instead of letting his wife assume he had bedded her. She was jealous and in his desire to have her, he had let slip his own vulnerable need for hera foolish way to repay her treachery indeed!
Orlena watched his shuttered face from beneath lowered lashes, still hoping that there was a way to rebuild their relationship. Finally, wiping her fingers on the napkin and daubing at her kiss‐swollen lips, she dared to speak. ʺWhat do you plan to do with me, Joaquín? Are we really going to Texas to entrap Conal?ʺ She raised her eyes to meet his coolly assessing gaze.
ʺI would end it with Conal. He has hunted me relentlessly this past year. His mind is unhinged, Orlena.ʺ He seemed to hesitate, uncertain of his next words.
ʺBut I do not want you harmed by him,ʺ he finally admitted.
Her heart gave a queer, light lurch in her breast at that small concession. ʺIf you go after him in Texas, it will be dangerous for you, too. And, Joaquín, Bartolome is right. You cannot kill your own father. The stain on your soul would eat at you.ʺ
ʺThe stain is in the blood of that bastard which runs in my veins. That is what gnaws at my very guts.ʺ
ʺIf we left here and went to California, perhapsʺ
ʺNo! There is nowhere he would not follow. Anyway, I do not believe you would willingly go with me to that distant wilderness any more than I believe you want to remain here amid sick and injured Indian children,ʺ he said, watching her face for a reaction.
Orlena slammed down her napkin and stood, nearly overturning the chair in her haste. ʺWill nothing ever penetrate the wall of hate you have erected about you? I love those children! Ana is . . . she could have been . . .ʺ Her words faltered as she remembered the unnamed infant girl buried in the Chihuahua desert.
At first her words did not register, but then he recalled Bartolomeʹs description of his daughterʹs death. ʺAna is Lipan. She has nothing to do with you,ʺ he said coldly.
ʺSo was my daughter a Lipanor would you deny your own flesh and blood?ʺ
ʺIt was not I but you who chose to deny our child! You would have left her to the care of the nuns!ʺ The pain of that betrayal over a year ago was far more raw than the new wound in his side.
He rose and reached angrily for his shirt. Slipping it on, he fastened it as he
slid into his moccasins. Orlena stood stunned by his monstrous, willful blindness.
She began to deny his accusation, but the words choked her, dying in her throat as he stalked out of the room without another word. The bitter tears fell freely as she sank back onto the chair and cradled her head on her arms. Everything between them was hopeless.
Chapter 24
As instructed, Morenaʹs clerk, Benito, reported to the library early the next morning. He sat writing methodically while she paced the length of the long, bookfilled study, carefully composing the letter in her mind before speaking each sentence aloud. She had never learned to read and felt no loss for it. ʺWhen you have finished, repeat it back to me, Benito.ʺ
The clerkʹs quill scratched for several more moments as she tapped her fingers on the oak desk in impatience. Then he cleared his throat and began in a high, wheezing voice to recite all the emissaryʹs titles and the formal salutations that were appended to it. Morena waved him to omit them and read the body of the text instead.
Taking another breath into his obese body, he continued, ʺIt is my most happy duty to inform you that I have located your missing sister, who was abducted by a dangerous half‐caste raider called the Night Wind. Having tired of the poor girl, he has left her in my care at Rancho Girón and ridden on. If you but hasten to Chihuahua City and thence to me, you will find her unharmed. She tells some fantastical tale of his being wed to her, but owing to the strain under which she has lived and to the delicacy of her reputation and your own, I have, of course, said nothing of this to anyone. You may rely on my discretion. Your obedient servantʺ
ʺYes, yes,ʺ she interrupted him with a wave of her hand. ʺThat will do nicely.
Post the letter at once.ʺ She calculated that it would take her Indian rider at least a week to reach Ignacio in Mexico City. Then it would take Ignacio a minimum of two weeks to reach the ranch and reclaim his errant sister after he received word of her location. That allowed her time aplenty to send Joaquín on an errand of vengeance which would put him safely out of Ignacioʹs way.
ʺYou mean your spies have found that filthy little Frenchman?ʺ Joaquín asked Morena incredulously as they shared an early morning meal in her elegant dining room. ʺEver since he betrayed Bartolome to Conal, I have searched for him. He hides like a gila monster beneath a rock, only waiting to sneak out and strike from behind.ʺ
ʺHe is dangerous. You must be careful. Luis tells me he has seen him in El Paso del Norte, but that was several weeks ago,ʺ Morena replied. ʺHe was released from prison in Sante Fe last year without the blood money Conal promised him,ʺ
she added maliciously. ʹʹEver since, he has been hiding, afraid of your wrath.ʺ
ʺAs well the one‐legged little pig should be. Mayhap I will cut off his other leg for him and see if he can sew it up and walk on two wooden stumps.ʺ
ʺOnly be careful. He has friends and he is cunning, Joaquín,ʺ Morena said as she placed her hand over his. The past weeks had been strained between them since her unsuccessful attempt to drive him from Orlenaʹs bed with her trickery.
Bartolome continued to defend Orlena to Joaquín and insisted she was needed at the school and hospital. Joaquín had brooded and argued with his old friend, but he and his wife remained in the valley . . . and in spite of the hostile crackling tension between them, they slept together each night.
Soon, Joaquín, she will be gone. When you return with Pascalʹs scalp, I will console you for the loss of your faithless wife. Before Morena could say anything aloud, he rose and squeezed her hand affectionately.
ʺYou are a good friend, Morena, and now I must ask a boon of you. Bartolome insists Orlena must continue to work with the children. Watch her comings and goings and keep her here.ʺ He hesitated, then shrugged in perplexity. ʺI am not certain if she speaks the truth, but for now, I would have her wait here for my return.ʺ
ʺI will care for her well, Joaquín, never fear. I give my word on it.ʺ Her black eyes met his green ones levelly.
He nodded silently, accepting what he believed to be a difficult declaration from her and left the room to prepare for a long, hard ride to El Paso.
Orlena did not take her meals in the dining room with Joaquín and Morena, but preferred the company of the cook, Esperanza, who fixed her a simple breakfast each morning in the kitchen. As she sipped a cup of rich chocolate, she brooded over her confusing and seemingly hopeless relationship with Joaquín. Each day he went about his own business, helping Morena and her men with the management of the large ranch, spending time with Bartolome on the complex affairs of their Indian resettlement, and riding off to Chihuahua City to glean information around the presidial headquarters about gold shipments and troop movements.
As she worked at the school, she thought with dread about the time when he would drag her away to Texas, a lure to entrap Conal Quinn. At night she returned to the ranch to share his bed. They spoke little, and when they did it inevitably ended in an argument, usually over Ana. Ana, the beautiful bright child she had adopted in her heart as her own. More dearly than anything, she wanted to keep the child with her, but she feared even asking Joaquín, knowing he would refuse her.
The cruel impasse could not long continue. It seemed the only thing she and Joaquín could share in harmony was their bed. If she was held in thrall by that ancient, mysterious bond, so was hesmall consolation when there were no words of love or kindness to bless their physical union. Bartolome continually advised her to keep doing as she was, working with the children, tending the sick and loving her husband in her heart of hearts. But, that aching heart cried out, for how long?
Her sad reverie was abruptly interrupted when Joaquín walked silently into the large, warm kitchen. Startled, she splashed her chocolate onto the table when he spoke. ʺI must leave you for a while, Lioness. Will you miss me?ʺ His white teeth gleamed in a rakish smile, but his green eyes mocked her.
ʺI assume I am to remain here and wait with no further word until you deign to return.ʺ
ʺAh, so you will miss me,ʺ he said with a chuckle, reaching out to pull her from her stool into his arms. His shirt was open and he wore buckskin pants and Apache moccasins. With little change of clothing on the trail, he could easily transform himself from tame Indian into Lipan raider.
Orlena could feel the sinewy muscles of his body as he pressed her against him for a swift, hard kiss. Her fingers slid inside the open shirt to curl into the hair on his bronzed chest. She was rewarded by the acceleration of his heartbeat. Orlena ignored the old cook, who turned her back with a conspiratorial wink. Daring to experiment, she opened her mouth for his kiss and gentled its roughness, tasting of him and letting him taste the rich chocolate that had just warmed her tongue.
For a moment, he seemed to forget all elsehis sudden departure, their surroundings, his mistrust of heras he deepened the kiss. She could feel the pressure of his erection as he held her hips pressed to his.
For one mad moment, he nearly gave in to the impulse to sink with her onto the kitchen floor and make love to her one last time before leaving. Then sanity reasserted itself in the form of Luis Toda, Morenaʹs foreman, who cleared his throat loudly as he stood in the doorway. He was to ride with Night Wind and introduce the raider to Morenaʹs agent in El Paso.
Joaquín untangled his hand from Orlenaʹs silken hair and slowly released her, all the while struggling to bring his body under control. He thought he detected the faintest trace of a feline curve to her lips and womanish pride in her power to arouse him. A blaze of anger flashed across his face, then vanished as he looked at the pulse throbbing at her throat. He placed his fingertips softly against it and whispered, ʺYou, too, are victim, Lioness.ʺ With that, he turned and walked through the doorway without a backward glance.
Orlena stood watching him ride away on Warpaint, uncertain whether to feel triumphant or desolate.
City of Mexico
Ignacio Valdéz sat with his head thrown back, massaging the bridge of his long, thin nose, an affecta
tion he often assumed when stalling for time. The man who had brought the Girón womanʹs letter waited in an adjacent chamber while the viceroyʹs nephew, Rodrigo Colón, sat across from him, impatiently squirming in a large velvet chair.
The boy tended to corpulence and excelled at stupidity. Any of the well placed older men at the Spanish Court who would have taken his virginal sister to wife would have been far preferable, but there was still an advantage in currying the new viceroyʹs favor. Ignacio had recently invested heavily in several tracts of land, grants from his childhood companion, now a weak young king. He needed Indian slaves to work the lushly rich lands and someone trustworthy to oversee his holdings here when he returned to Spain, a journey that could not be undertaken too soon for his liking. Young Rigo would provide the perfect solution. He was malleable and honest, and with his powerful uncleʹs backing could administer the estate.
Only one minor difficulty presented itselfthe absence of the golden‐haired bride.
He had, of course, made no mention of Orlenaʹs disappearance before she could sign the petition to the Holy See. In fact, he had forged her name, rather artfully, if he did say so himself, and sent it on to Rome via special emissary. He told Rigo and the viceroy that his sister was so distraught over her unhappy marriage that he had sent her to seek solace with the holy sisters until the issue was settled.
For several months, while the Spanish kingʹs political influence was wending its way to Rome, the story had held fast, but now the ardent young swain, doubtlessly prodded by his uncle, wished to meet his prospective bride.
Questions regarding Orlenaʹs marital status were most certainly being raised by the viceroy. Ignacio looked through pale lashes at the boy whose pudding face ill concealed his petulance.
ʺDon Ignacio, why do you not simply send to the holy sisters and request a brief return to your city house for Orlena? Wethat is, Ihave never met the beauteous lady. I understand such delicate matters with the Church take time, but at least we could begin to plan our nuptials.ʺ He looked into the cold yellow eyes of the older man and suppressed the urge to stamp his foot. Valdéz actually looked amused at his earnest entreaty! No doubt he thinks me naught but a rude colonial!
