Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  Miguel watched Katy through eyes dark with worry. She seemed to grow more pale with each passing day, more listless. Her beautiful blue eyes were shadowed and sad. Gone was the cheerful girl who had brought joy and laughter into his life and in her place stood an unhappy woman whose sorrowful expression haunted his dreams.

  Late one night, when he heard her weeping uncontrollably in her room, he called her to him. She came, obedient as always, and sat down on the edge of his bed. She looked like an angel, Miguel thought. A sad-eyed angel. Her thick black hair fell over her shoulders like a dark nimbus. Her nightgown, made of fine silk, was the same shade of blue as her eyes.

  Conscious of the deal she had made, Katy did not protest when Miguel drew her into his arms and kissed her cheek. She belonged to him. He could do with her as he pleased.

  “You win, Katy mia,” he said quietly. “I will not send the child away if only you will smile at me again.”

  Katy looked into Miguel’s eyes, afraid she was dreaming. “You mean it?” she breathed, afraid to hope. “You truly mean it?”

  “I give you my word, Katy mia.”

  “You won’t be sorry,” Katy promised, raining kisses of joy and gratitude on his face and hands.

  Miguel smiled happily as he accepted her kisses. It would be hard, having another man’s child underfoot, but if it would make Katy smile again, it would be worth it.

  “Come, lie beside me,” Miguel said, and Katy slipped into bed beside him and pillowed her head on his shoulder.

  “I have missed having you here, beside me,” Miguel said, toying with a lock of her hair. “The nights have been long and lonely without your sweet warmth.”

  Unable to respond equally, Katy squeezed Miguel’s hand, hoping he would understand. She could not deceive him with false words of love, could not pretend she had missed him when it was Iron Wing who held her heart.

  Hiding his disappointment, Miguel kissed Katy’s hand. She did not love him. Perhaps she never would. But she was here, beside him, and that was all that mattered.

  Life took on meaning once again as Katy began to plan for the birth of her child. True, Iron Wing was gone, but she would soon have his child, the child of their love. Where she had once dreaded the passing of each day, she now counted them with impatience as she eagerly anticipated the thrill of holding Iron Wing’s child in her arms.

  She began to sew clothes for the baby—shirts and sacques and a white dress for the christening. She made curtains for the nursery that adjoined her room, ordered paper for the walls, and a thick carpet for the floor. The housekeeper began to knit little pink and blue booties and hats and sweaters. Alfaro built a cradle, intricately carved with delicate animals and flowers.

  Even Miguel found himself looking forward to the child’s birth. Perhaps it would be good to have a baby in the house. He had always been fond of children; if he could not father a child of his own, Katy’s babe would be the next best thing. Perhaps he could even adopt the child. He had plenty of money. He could provide for the infant, perhaps send it off to the East when it was of age. College, the Continent, whatever Katy thought best.

  Frank Herrera was the only one who disapproved. “I cannot believe what I am hearing,” he muttered one night as they shared a bottle of brandy. “You are actually thinking of adopting that woman’s bastard? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I love Katy,” Miguel said quietly. “I will do anything I can to win her love.”

  Frank Herrera stared at his brother in astonishment. He had made love to many women, but he had never loved a woman. They were all whores at heart, good for only one thing, and when you tired of one, you found another to assuage your needs. He found it incomprehensible that Miguel could be so completely smitten with a woman, especially a woman carrying another man’s child.

  With a disgusted shake of his head, Frank Herrera left the fortress.

  That same night, Miguel asked Katy to marry him.

  “Marry you,” Katy echoed. “Are you serious?”

  “I love you, Katy mia. I think we can be happy together. I will cherish you always, and treat your child as my own.”

  “But I don’t love you.”

  “I know, but perhaps you will, in time.”

  “But… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes,” Miguel pleaded fervently. “I love you.”

  “If you truly loved me, you would let me go.”

  “I cannot,” Miguel said miserably. “You are the only good thing in my life.”

  Katy bowed her head, touched by the pleading look in Miguel’s eyes. He had been good to her. Perhaps he did love her. And if she were destined to spend her life with him, why not marry him? At least it would give her child a name, a home, security. Miguel was a wealthy man. Her child would never want for anything—except to know his true father, his true heritage. She put the thought from her. It hurt too much to think of Iron Wing and the life that was forever lost to her.

  Lifting her head, she met Miguel’s eyes. Perhaps, in time, she would come to love him. If not, she would be no worse off than she was now.

  And so she said, bleakly, “Very well, Miguel. I’ll marry you.”

  “Bless you, Katy,” he said, kissing her hand. “You will not regret it.”

  Miguel set the date for February first. Though the wedding would be a private ceremony, with just the two of them, the priest, and Frank, he insisted Katy have a special wedding dress, and he commissioned three of the local women to make it. He gave Katy a beautiful diamond necklace for a wedding present. The necklace had been in the Herrera family for generations.

  Katy tried to be enthusiastic about their coming marriage, if only to please Miguel. He was so happy she sometimes thought he would shout for joy. He fairly beamed at her whenever they were in the same room. Often, he laid his hand over her belly, smiling with delight when he felt the baby move.

  The night before the wedding, Katy tossed and turned restlessly in her bed. She was plagued by doubts and indecisions. How could she marry a man she didn’t love? How could she spend the rest of her life in chaste misery? Always, in the back of her mind, she had dreamed that, somehow, someway, an avenue of escape would miraculously appear and she would flee the fortress and find her way back to Iron Wing. Once, she had tried to smuggle a letter out to her mother, but Alfaro had intercepted it. Miguel had not been angry. He never got angry. Instead, he had promised her that once they were married, she could write to her mother, even invite her to come and stay with them when the baby was born.

  Frank Herrera yawned hugely as he stepped outside to spend a few quiet moments before locking up the cantina for the night. Lighting a thin black cigar, he rested one shoulder against the side of the porch rail. His mouth twitched into a wry grin as he contemplated his brother’s forthcoming marriage. Who would have thought that Miguel would become so infatuated with a black-haired gringa that he would actually marry her? But even marrying the girl was not so surprising as Miguel talking about adopting the woman’s brat.

  Muttering an oath, Herrera took a deep drag on his cigar, then jerked upright, every muscle tense, as someone jabbed a gun barrel into his back. A voice sounded in his ear.

  “Very slowly,” the voice said, “remove your gunbelt and drop it.”

  Nodding, Frank Herrera did as he was told. “Now what?” he asked, his tone carefully controlled, though his heart was hammering wildly. Murders and robbery were common in such a town, where most of the inhabitants were outlaws on the run. Desperate men did desperate things, and rarely a day went by without one crime or another being committed.

  “To the fortress,” the gunman directed. “Move.”

  It was a long walk. Herrera was sweating when they reached the massive gates. The gun pressed against his spine never wavered.

  “Tell the guard to open the gate,” the gunman ordered.

  “Luis! Open up. It’s me, Frank.”

  The man patrolling the catwalk waved at Herrera. Moments later, the gate swung
open.

  “Go straight to the house,” the gunman instructed as the gates closed behind them. “One wrong move and you are dead.”

  Herrera nodded. He did not doubt for a minute that the man with the gun meant just what he said.

  A light burned in the parlor. Miguel sat at his desk, his brow furrowed as he added a long column of figures. Pausing, he stretched his arms wide, groaning softly as the muscles in his back and shoulders protested.

  “Miguel…”

  “Hello, Frank.” Miguel smiled at his brother, surprised to see him at the house at such a late hour. “Profits are up this month,” he began, and then frowned as he recognized the dark visage of the man who stepped out of the shadows. “You!” he hissed. Miguel turned his gaze on his brother. “Why did you bring him here?”

  “He brought me,” Frank said drily, and stepped aside, revealing the gun aimed at his back.

  “What do you want?” Miguel demanded, his whole body coiled like a spring as he waited for the reply.

  “I have come for Ka-ty,” Iron Wing said stonily.

  “You cannot have her,” Miguel exclaimed. “She is to be my wife.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Please do not take her from me,” Miguel begged. “We are to be married tomorrow.” His eyes darted past Iron Wing and then returned to the Indian’s face. “Please do not take her,” he babbled shrilly. “I love her. I cannot live without her.”

  Frank Herrera stared at his brother, wondering if he was going mad. Conscious of the gun in his back, he didn’t move, but waited patiently for the man behind him to lower his guard.

  Iron Wing looked at the crippled man in disgust. Too late, he realized the man was acting in such an odd manner to divert his attention from something taking place behind him. The realization came too late.

  Miguel shouted, “Alfaro, take him!” But Iron Wing was already moving. Dropping to the floor, he rolled agilely to one side, firing twice. The first bullet struck Alfaro in the chest, killing the big man instantly. The second slug caught Frank Herrera in the side of the neck. He fell with a strangled sob, his hands clutching at the ragged wound in his throat.

  Miguel stared at his brother in horror as Frank writhed on the floor like a spider on a hot stove. A torrent of bright crimson spewed from his mouth.

  The sound of footsteps running down the stairs sounded very loud in the silence that trailed in the wake of the gunshots. Iron Wing rolled nimbly to his feet as Katy rushed into the room.

  Katy came to an abrupt halt inside the doorway, her expression turning from worry to revulsion as she saw the two men lying on the parlor floor. Alfaro was dead, but Frank was still alive. Blood oozed from an ugly wound in his neck, making a dark stain on the carpet.

  “Ka-ty. Change your clothes. We are leaving.”

  She turned slowly toward the sound of his voice, her eyes wide as she saw him for the first time.

  “Katy, do not go with him,” Miguel cried in a tortured voice. “You are all I have left in the world.”

  “Ka-ty.”

  Katy’s gaze moved woodenly from Herrera’s writhing form to Miguel’s pale face, and then back to Iron Wing’s stern countenance. Like a sleepwalker, she crossed the floor to stand beside Iron Wing. Her hand reached out to stroke his cheek. He was not a dream, as she had feared, but warm flesh and blood. A shadow of a smile played over her lips as Iron Wing’s dark eyes caressed her face. Abruptly, he frowned as his eyes came to rest on her distended abdomen. When he met her eyes again, his face was dark with accusation.

  “It’s yours,” Katy said, reading the jealous suspicion in his eyes.

  “No!” Miguel shouted. “The baby is mine. That is why we are getting married.”

  “That’s a lie,” Katy gasped. What if Iron Wing did not believe the child was his? She knew how jealous he was. What if he refused to take her with him?

  Iron Wing’s darkly hooded eyes bored into Katy. She had once told him that the man, Miguel, could not perform the sexual act. Had she lied to him? His fingers grew white around the gun in his fist.

  “It is yours,” Katy said fervently. “Iron Wing, you must believe me.”

  “I believe you,” he said after a long moment. “Go now, get dressed.” Iron Wing threw a sympathetic glance at Miguel. He could not blame the man for wanting to keep Katy for his own. No man, having known her, could bear to lose her.

  When Katy returned to the parlor. Iron Wing and Miguel had not moved. Herrera lay still, a thin trickle of blood staining his mouth. His eyes stared, unseeing, at the ceiling.

  “I’m ready,” Katy said.

  “Katy mia, please do not leave me,” Miguel cried in anguish. “I need you.”

  “I’m sorry, Miguel,” Katy said tenderly. “You have been very good to me. But I have to go.”

  “You promised you would stay.”

  “I did not promise,” Iron Wing said. “Be glad I am letting you live.”

  Katy bit back her tears as Iron Wing tied Miguel’s hands behind his back, then stuffed a gag into his mouth. She gave a last glance around the room. It had not been all bad, living with Miguel. But she could not wait to leave.

  “How will we get past the guards?” Katy asked Iron Wing.

  “I have an idea,” he said, grinning at her.

  It would never work, Katy mused glumly as they rode toward the gates. Never in a million years. She glanced at Iron Wing. He rode beside her, with Frank Herrera’s body in front of the saddle. A long wool scarf covered the ghastly wound in Herrera’s throat, but anyone looking at him closely would have known he was dead, not unconscious.

  Katy’s voice was convincingly concerned as she told Luis that Frank had been taken suddenly ill and had asked to be taken home where Rosa could look after him. Rosa’s skills did not lie entirely in the bedroom. She was a noted healer, and the closest thing to a doctor within a hundred miles.

  Luis didn’t look twice at Iron Wing, who was humbly garbed in the white work clothes of the fortress peons. Without question, the guard opened the heavy gates and wished them well.

  Once clear of the fortress wall, Katy wanted to jab her heels into her horse’s flanks and ride away as fast as the animal could carry her, but Iron Wing said no. Instead, they walked their horses slowly toward the town. When Iron Wing was certain they were out of sight of the fortress guards, he dumped Herrera’s body into a gully.

  And then they rode like hell.

  Katy was groggy with fatigue when Iron Wing sought shelter in a ravine. She fell into his arms as he helped her from her horse, asleep before she was out of the saddle.

  When she woke, Iron Wing was sitting beside her. He laid a restraining hand on her shoulder when she started to sit up. “Rest, Ka-ty,” he said quietly.

  “We have to go. Hurry, before they find us.”

  “They will not find us. They have already passed us by.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am sure. Sleep now.”

  With a little sigh of contentment, Katy reached for Iron Wing’s hand. Holding it close against her breast, she fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next few weeks were hard. Wary of being seen by Indians, outlaws, or Miguel’s men, Katy and Iron Wing traveled by night and slept by day in whatever shelter they could find. Each evening, just after dark, Iron Wing went out in search of food, leaving Katy to wait on tenterhooks until he returned. She never asked where he found the food they ate, never asked where he got the knife that he wore inside the waistband of his cotton trousers.

  For his part, Iron Wing was relieved when Katy did not question him. She was a tenderhearted woman who abhorred violence and bloodshed. It would have grieved her to know he had killed one man and seriously wounded another. And yet he would cheerfully have killed a dozen men so that Katy might have food and water.

  Even though they lived like hunted beasts, afraid to reveal themselves in the light of day, Katy was content. At last, she was with Iron Wing again. He was her strength,
her courage, and she feared neither man nor beast nor dark of night so long as he was beside her.

  For the first few days, she seemed to be constantly touching him, as if to reassure herself that he was really there. She had dreamed of him so often in days gone by, only to awake and find him gone. But this time he was real. Again and again, she let her fingers slide over his chest, the muscles in his arms, across his thighs, reassured when solid flesh moved beneath her hands.

  She gazed at his face lovingly. Was it possible that he had grown more handsome? Had his eyes always been so deeply black, his smile so alluring, his voice so full and resonant? He was unfailingly gentle with her, always aware of her needs, careful not to let her strain herself lest she injure the baby. He was so kind, so concerned, sometimes it brought tears to her eyes. She felt so loved, so cherished. Surely no other man had ever treated a woman with such tender concern. She could endure any hardship as long as he was with her.

  The days were hard on Iron Wing, too, but for far different reasons. Indian men did not have intercourse with their wives until the pregnancy was over, and often not until after the child was weaned. The thought was driving him crazy. It had been months since he had buried himself in her sweetness, months since he had possessed her. And the child was not even born yet! Katy was unaware of his torment, and she seemed to be continually touching him, kissing him, holding him close. She slept pressed against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, as if she could not get close enough. Each time her bare flesh brushed his, his desire flamed. It was the most exquisite kind of torture, seeing her, touching her, and yet not being able to possess her. Surely, if Man Above had any compassion at all, the child would be born soon.

  One morning, when Katy was idly running her fingers across his chest and stomach, Iron Wing rolled away from her, a groan on his lips.

  “What’s the matter?” Katy asked.