The Ortiga Marriage

by Patricia Wilson

  They lay locked together when it was over, their legs entwined, their arms tightly around each other until their heart-beats steadied and he moved gently aside.

  "Ramon!" Her sharp cry of fright had him laughing quietly as he pulled her into his arms and settled her against him, her head on his shoulder.

  "I am not about to spring up and leave you," he murmured, his lips moving softly against her heated face. He tilted her chin, forcing her to face him when she would have remained hidden against his strength. "Regrets?" he asked softly, his dark eyes searching her face as they had done so often to read her moods.

  "No." Meriel shook her head, looked away and then swiftly back at him. "Do you have regrets, Ramon?" she asked with anxious eyes on his face.

  "You mean do I feel worried that I allowed myself for once in my life to follow my desires and take what I wanted?" He cupped her face with one warm, bronzed hand. "You could have sent me away, but you did not. I would have waited for you, but I am happy that I did not have to because I know you so well. Now that you are really mine you will never go away from me."

  He pulled her back to him, pushing her head to his shoulder, enfolding her with warmth, tiredness claiming them both as they lay close together, drifting from one dream to another and finally sleeping. It was later in the night that the generator finally decided to come to life and Meriel stirred as the lamp she had vainly tried to switch on during the storm came on at last and shone in her face. She was cold too, wondering tiredly as she partially opened her eyes why she was sleeping on top of the clothes.

  She turned her head on the pillow to find Ramon watching her with dark, burning eyes, his expression amused as colour flooded her face.

  "You are cold?" he asked softly, moving the bedclothes to cover them both as she nodded. "I would have covered you soon," he said, "but I wanted to look at you. Last night there was only the moon but I have now discovered that you are as beautiful in lamplight as you are in the moonlight. Come here," he added huskily. "Let me warm you, your skin is chilled worse than mine but together we will generate warmth."

  "Should—should you go back to your room? she asked, hiding her eyes under the thickness of her lashes."

  "Should I?" he countered, his hand stroking down the length of her body, signalling his growing need to her as he moulded her against him.

  "No," she moaned as he nibbled her skin, his legs twining with hers, his lips searching urgently for her mouth. "Suppose that Manolito comes in the morning?" she whispered shakily as he turned her until she was looking up into the glitter of his eyes as he hovered over her.

  "He will not." Ramon's voice was almost dreamlike, his mind on nothing but his desire to possess her again. "If he should do so, then I will explain to him about the birds and the bees and…' His voice trailed away as he looked down at her and her breathing choked in her throat at the naked desire on his face. "I think that when I look at you, I will always desire you," he said, his voice harsh and thrilling. "It is a hunger that a hundred years will not assuage."

  She moved where he led, her head flung back to allow his mouth to search the slender arch of her neck, her body willing and eager to belong to him again, her mind too lost in the wonder of it to question why his words were passion and not love. She would have to live without love, but he was beautiful to her, perfect in every way, and her love was strong enough for both of them.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MANUEL did not come into her room the following morning but in any case it would not have mattered, Ramon was gone. Meriel lay in bed for a long time after she had awakened, her mind attuning itself to the reality of what had happened. Ramon had used no persuasion with her; on the contrary, in the stark light of day, it seemed to Meriel's anxious mind that she had initiated it all, moving from her terror of the storm to a different kind of storm that had grown in her heart and mind when Ramon held her and comforted her. No man, she supposed, would have been able to resist such temptation.

  Guilt and embarrassment began to eat away at her until she forced herself out of bed, away from the tell-tale imprint of Ramon's head on her pillow and into the bathroom to shower. It would have been easier to face him here in this room than to go into the rest of the house and meet his dark eyes. She still could not throw off the feeling that she had held all her life that Ramon washer protector and superior, her stepbrother, the one who controlled her days. Her years in England had not rid her of the awe she felt about him, the feeling that he was some unattainable god. Now they were lovers. Her face flushed at the thought, and though it also brought a weakening warmth to her limbs it did nothing to ease away the enormity of it all.

  He was not there. Her relief to find the breakfast-room empty and to know that she was to be served alone was so great that her legs shook and she sank into her chair with a sigh of gratitude.

  "Senor Ortiga ordered that you were to be left to sleep," Rosita announced with an air of mischief that made Meriel's cheeks flare with colour. "He said that the storm had frightened you badly and that you were awake for most of the night."

  "Yes, I'm still afraid of the tormenta," Meriel managed to get out in some resemblance to an easy manner. "Senor Ortiga came home last night. He told me that the cattle would have to be moved today."

  "Si, the men are out now and Senor Ortiga is with them but he will be back soon, I think. He is going to Caracas."

  "Yes." Meriel looked away and began to eat. The confidences had gone far enough as far as she was concerned, and Rosita's eyes were bright with interest. The Caracas trip was for her dress, her wedding-gown. She didn't want to talk about it at all. Maybe now Ramon would not be so eager to go, maybe he would despise her for her desire to belong to him. It was so impossible to believe with the sun shining through the open windows and the room empty except for herself.

  She heard Rosita's heels clicking on the tiles of the passage again and steeled herself to withstand more bright-eyed interrogation, but she was not to be subjected to any.

  "There is a visitor for you, Senorita Meriel!" It was clear that this last incident had made Rosita's day. "It is Senor Mackensie, the very one that I myself spoke to on the telephone. He has come from England to see you!"

  "Stewart?" Meriel jumped up in astonishment, her actions satisfying Rosita, who clearly thought that this unexpected visitor deserved such a flurry of activity. She stood by hopefully but Meriel rushed out to the hall and stopped in a disturbing mixture of happiness, worry and surprise to see Stewart Mackensie standing tall and threatening in the open doorway.

  "Meriel!" He strode forward but she could see at a glance that he was only just in control of his considerable temper and she hastily motioned him to the sala with one warning glance at him that indicated Rosita who stood with wide dark eyes watching, very willing to be enlightened.

  "What the devil is going on here?" Stewart grasped her arms as soon as the door was shut and towered over her suspiciously. "Are you a prisoner here or something, Meriel? What's all this rubbish about resigning?"

  "I've been trying to get in touch with you, Stewart, but nobody seemed to know where you were…'

  "I took off as soon as Ortiga phoned me," he grated. "I rang straight back and got him again. You were ill in bed, he said! My God, I thought he'd killed you and hidden the body! I drove straight to the airport and more or less camped out until I could get a plane here. The rest of the time I've been trying to find the damned place!"

  "Stewart…'

  "What the hell are you doing still here in the back of beyond, Meriel? And what's all this resigning nonsense?"

  He looked about as easy to handle as a mad bull, and she found herself eyeing him warily. She had seen his temper in action before but never at such close quarters and never as it was now, half directed at herself.

  "I have resigned, Stewart," she began as steadily as possible. "I've written to confirm it and I've written a letter to you personally too but the post here…'

  "What the hell are you talking about, Meri
el? Resigning! You're at the peak of your career! The Paris contract is the biggest thing we've picked up yet! You're going to be a director of the Mackensie Press yourself before too long! Do you realise your success? At your age it's little short of miraculous. The whole bloody place is falling apart! I will not accept your resignation!"

  "You have little choice, Senor Mackensie!" The cool voice from the doorway made shivers run down Meriel's spine. Her back was to the door and Stewart was too enraged to notice even if an elephant had sauntered into the room. "She is home and here she stays! The Mackensie Press will have to cope without their miracle-worker, she can be a director of the Ortiga Estates if she craves that kind of satisfaction."

  He was keeping his voice even, almost casual, but Meriel could hear the anger burning deep inside and a further shiver raced down her spine as he approached. She didn't turn her head but she knew exactly when he was close, had readily anticipated the arms that came round her from behind to draw her close to the hard and seething anger of his body. She glanced fearfully at the brown arms that lashed around her waist, the brown hands that captured her own, her eyes lifting them to the astonished anger on Stewart's face.

  "Tell him, my darling," Ramon suggested softly. "If you can now slide in a word edgeways, tell him why you are not returning to England and the Mackensie Press."

  "I—I'm getting married," Meriel burst out breathlessly. God, even with Stewart here glaring at them like a Viking marauder her legs were turning to water because Ramon was holding her against him. "Ramon and I—we—we're getting married next week."

  Stewart Mackensie's mouth opened to speak but for a second even he was speechless. Not for long, though, his brow darkened like thunder and his blue eyes flashed with rage and suspicion at Ramon.

  "What have you been doing to her? What sort of browbeating has been going on here? Don't expect me to believe this monstrous arrangement. She hates you!"

  "Do you, pequena?" Ramon lifted his hand to tilt her face to his. "Do you hate me?" His eyes were mocking and piercing and to her great shame he began to search her face with looks that caressed her wherever they fell, lingering on her tremulous mouth like a lover's kiss.

  "She's your stepsister!" Stewart blurted out, shocked and enraged by this subtle but obvious lovemaking.

  "Part of my past and all of my future!" Ramon's eyes, no longer teasing and amused, turned like fire on the man who raged in front of them. "You have the resignation, Senor Mackensie! When you return to England no doubt there will be a letter waiting for you confirming it. If Meriel's unexpected resignation has broken her contract, then I will recompense you in whatever way is necessary, but be in no doubt that she will be my wife within a very short time and she will not return to England!"

  "I don't know what he's said to persuade you, Meriel," Stewart said, his voice now calm and the anger draining away by the second, "but you know how I feel. There's nothing to be afraid of. You can walk out now if you wish and come with me."

  "You are a day too late, Senor Mackensie," Ramon assured him with silken menace. "She is already mine, perhaps even now bearing the heir to the Ortiga Estates."

  "You bastard!" Stewart's rage flared again as he glared with clenched fists at Ramon's darkly furious face. "For your information, I don't care. I don't give a damn what happened yesterday. If Meriel wants to come with me then that is a part of her life that can be wiped out permanently!"

  "She is not going with you, or anyone else!" Ramon rasped, his dark eyes flaring into rage, his arms tightening on Meriel to the point of pain.

  "I'd like to know how you propose to stop her if she wants to go. What would you do? Kill her?" Stewart's contemptuous voice seemed only to calm Ramon's anger and his voice was merely matter-of-face when he replied.

  "No. I would kill you. You would never leave the llanos, and do not doubt that for one minute. I have waited for her and at last she is mine. You have, I think, been a good friend to her, be content with that, it is all you can ever be and I will not attempt to sever that friendship, but Meriel is mine."

  "Meriel?" Stewart looked at her steadily, a new expression on his face that she could not really read but she forced her eyes to meet his.

  "I want to marry Ramon, of my own free will. I'm sorry, Stewart, I never meant to hurt you, I never expected you to come here and I never…'

  "I know." He suddenly sighed and his fine shoulders relaxed. "I've always been a bull at a gate. I'll go."

  "You are welcome to stay," Ramon cut in, releasing Meriel and leaving her to stand as best she could on trembling legs. "I have raged at people before and found them quite civilised later."

  "So have I," Stewart laughed ruefully. "Maybe we've got something in common after all, but I really need to go. The office will be in turmoil if I'm not there soon."

  He held out his hand and Ramon clasped it with a smile.

  "I can't say the best man has won," Stewart said ruefully. "I wanted to win myself and I've got a hell of an opinion of my own importance. Just be good to her." He hugged Meriel and turned to the door and she made to follow, Ramon making no attempt to stop her. Stewart did that, taking her firmly by the shoulders and planting her securely where she had been.

  "Stay here, my dear," he begged softly. "I'm not into torture. If ever you need anything, I'm the man." He strode out and she found tears flooding her eyes and turning away she ran out of the room into her bedroom to sit weeping quietly on the edge of the bed.

  She heard Ramon come in but he said nothing and it was not for a few seconds that she felt the comforting warmth of his arms. She pulled away, suddenly angry with him for the scene that she had endured, knowing that he had not caused it but blaming him nevertheless.

  "Why did you say that to Stewart?" she demanded wildly, her eyes silver and accusing in her pale face. "Why did you tell him about about…'

  "About the fact that we have been lovers?" he asked calmly. "When I fight, I fight with every weapon at my disposal. I suppose to your English mind I am—what is the word? A cad. He took it however in a way that surprised me. He is truly worth having as a friend."

  "He's good and kind, even if he does rage sometimes," she sniffed, wiping her eyes and then looking at him with moody anger. "What would you have done if the positions had been reversed? What would you have done if he had blurted out the same thing?"

  "Ah! You wish to know if I am good and kind?" He grasped her chin with strong fingers, his eyes flaring with anger even at the thought. "I would have killed him and brought you—home!" He stared at her white face for a second and then stood abruptly. "Get ready. We are flying to Caracas to get your wedding-gown. The sooner you are in it and married to me the sooner I shall be able to get on with my affairs. I wish to have that ring on your finger before any other would-be suitor makes an unexpected appearance. Manuel is off on an expedition with his teacher as you know so we will not be troubled by him."

  "I might be a long time looking for it," she murmured, not standing up, stubbornness filling her that did not amuse him.

  "You will have all the most expensive shops at your disposal!" he snapped. "It will not be necessary to shop around. You can do your shopping in the day. I already have the ring."

  "In England," she began heatedly," the bride likes very often to help to choose the ring and…'

  His opinion was blunt and brought a blush to her cheeks as he turned to the door.

  "What about the cattle, about moving them?" she stammered, surprised that he was leaving everything to take her to Caracas. Apparently his opinion was very similar in that direction too and he walked out, slamming the door. She still sat there, angry and confused, jumping guiltily as he strode back in a second later, hauling her to her feet and looking down at her moodily.

  "Get ready," he muttered, his eyes flashing over her possessively, and when she simply stared up at him he suddenly pulled her into his arms, caressing her roughly and kissing her with a kind of savage delight that made her gasp.

  "I just reme
mbered that in the turmoil of Senor Mackensie's arrival I have not kissed you good morning," he murmured against her lips. "You have no more than twenty minutes, after that I will get you ready myself."

  She found the gown that she wanted almost at once, a delicious creation of cream satin and lace, the skirt looped and frilled like a ball-gown of days long past, and for a few minutes as she tried it on her mind eased of its worries. Soon, she would stand beside Ramon in a flower-bedecked hacienda, her father looking on as she vowed the rest of her life to him. Her happiness faded though as soon as she had dressed in her normal clothes. Ramon had been silent on the flight, in fact he had spoken not one word except to fill her bag with money and tell her to spend it all. She did, buying dresses that would be beautiful for a honeymoon even though she imagined that there would be no honeymoon. Ramon had made no mention of one.

  He hardly spoke either on the way back and it was dark when they arrived at the hacienda, as dark as the eyes that watched her as she said good night in a small, uneven voice and fled to her room to toss and turn for a whole sleepless night, remembering the night before, reliving the thrill of his arms and worrying about his silence and dark, brooding looks.

  He was there when she went to breakfast the next morning much earlier than her usual time, unable to linger in bed any longer, and his eyes were as tired as hers.

  "You did not sleep." He stated it with certainty as she came into the room and when she did not answer he grasped her hand as she passed his chair, holding her wrist tightly and looking up at her drawn face. "Neither did I."

  He pushed his chair back and stood over her, his hands on her shoulders as he looked down into her face.

  "Why did you not sleep?" he asked quietly, turning her face to the light when she did not answer. "All right. I will tell you why I did not sleep. I wanted you in my bed and it is not a new feeling. Now that I have held you and possessed you, though, it is a more difficult feeling to conquer and I did not do very well in my battle with the lonely night."