Sweet Savage Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  “You—slut! Don’t talk to me that way!” Almost sobbing with fury, Ana had actually raised her riding crop, but Ginny snatched it from her, and saw fear spring into the girl’s tear-filled eyes.

  “I’m both taller and stronger than you are,” Ginny said grimly. “And I’m in no mood to endure any more of your rudeness.”

  Ana gave a small shriek as Ginny put her hand out and pushed her back into a chair; standing over her with the quirt held in both hands.

  “You wouldn’t dare strike me!” she whimpered. “Don Francisco would—oh, and I’d tell my novio too, he is very fierce, and always wears a gun—he’d kill you without blinking an eyelid, he can be muy diabolico!”

  “Well, I’m not afraid of either Don Francisco or your silly, diabolical fiancé,” Ginny retorted. “And you’ll just sit quietly for a few minutes and listen to what I have to say without interruptions, or I will use this whip on you! I can be just as fierce as any man.”

  “I won’t listen, there’s nothing you can say to me that I want to hear,” the girl muttered sullenly. “You’d better let me go—even Renaldo will not be happy when he hears of this!”

  “Then tell me, why are you here? Is it because you are fond of listening to servants’ gossip and wanted to have something to add to it? Or were you sent here by someone?”

  “I wasn’t sent—I wasn’t! And I don’t listen to servants’ gossip either! But Renaldo—no one could believe it of Renaldo! I had to see for myself. Especially,” the girl added sulkily with a sidelong glance filled with hate, “since my own novio has been seen here too—I was told he’s often gone riding with you—I wanted to see what kind of a woman you were.”

  A terrible suspicion had started to build up in Ginny’s mind; she felt as if she was beginning to have a nightmare. All the same it would not do to let this silly chit of a girl see her shock and growing dismay—she forced her voice to remain even with an effort.

  “You’ve seen what kind of woman I am—I’m not to be trifled with, and I am not Renaldo’s mistress, whatever your gossips may say. And as for your novio, whoever he might be, let me tell you that the only other man I’ve been out riding with happens to be the same despicable outlaw who abducted me and brought me here by force! And I cannot possibly believe that a little girl like you would be allowed by her family to become engaged to a man like Steve Morgan. A professional gunfighter—a murderer and a thief and even worse! Oh, no, it’s just not possible! He’s worse than a wild beast, he’d swallow you up in one mouthful!”

  “Be silent! Be silent at once! I will not listen to any more of your lies!”

  Springing to her feet, Ana actually stamped her foot in rage.

  “How dare you speak so about Esteban? How dare you say such terrible things about him? It’s only because he isn’t here to defend himself that you talk this way—he would never bring a woman of your kind here—why, ever since I was a child it’s been understood that we were to be married some day, only the other day Don Francisco was speaking to my father about it—he said…he said…oh, you’re a horrible, horrible woman, a lying slut, and I don’t want to look at your face any longer!”

  “Then leave at once, before I lose my temper. Remember, I didn’t invite you here.” Ginny flung the riding crop at the girl, who promptly gave a small scream of fear and anger.

  Grabbing it, she turned and ran for her horse, sobbing with frustration.

  “You’ll be sorry—you’ll see!” she shrieked over her shoulder.

  But Ginny had already whirled about and was running for the house, hardly able to breathe for the rage that boiled up inside her.

  Even when she had reached the haven of her bedroom, and had flung herself across the bed, she found it impossible to control her feelings. Anger, humiliation, and above all, a searing hatred for Steve Morgan, who had brought her here, placing her in this impossible situation without a thought for the consequences. She pounded her fists against the pillows, longing to scream out loud. How sordid it all was! He was actually engaged to be married—Steve, who had stated so many times that he had no desire to be tied down to any one woman. And he had had the colossal nerve to bring her here, with his fiancée living close by. What had he hoped to achieve? Why had he done it?

  She was working herself up into a fine state, and she knew it, but didn’t care. To think he’s told me so many lies! He had no qualms about taking my virginity, but I’m sure he hasn’t even touched that spoiled little girl. No doubt her parents are very rich—he’d be the kind of man who’d look out for a big dowry. But why did he bring me here, except to humiliate me even more? And to make matters worse, he’s gone off somewhere, leaving me here to face everything alone…oh God, what will I do now? Where’s Renaldo? Why doesn’t he come?

  Ginny had not cried for a long time, but now the tears gushed from her eyes uncontrollably and her body was shaken by sobs. Rosa came rushing in, full of questions, trying to console her, but it was impossible. Her face worried, the woman sat by Ginny until her sobs trailed away and she lay in a kind of stupor of exhaustion. Gentle, then, Rosa undressed her. She brought towels, and a small copper bowl filled with cold water, and began to sponge the girl’s tear-swollen face and perspiring body.

  It was such a pity, such a shame! In spite of her loyalty to the Alvarados, Rosa found herself muttering under her breath. Don Esteban should have known better! It was clear to see that this one was a lady—and so beautiful too! How could he treat her so? She knew, of course, of Dona Ana’s visit. A nasty little spitfire she was. And spoiled by her parents. By el patrón too, because he had been the one to arrange for a marriage between the girl and his grandson. Rosa could not help shuddering when she wondered what el patrón would do when he found out. Because of course Dona Ana would go straight to him. What would he do?

  27

  After Ana had left his study, still crying hysterically, Don Francisco Alvarado still stood frowning thoughtfully at the door, his riding whip held tightly in his still-strong hands. A handsome, distinguished looking man he was, in spite of his seventy-six years. Don Francisco’s hair was completely white, but he had the erect carriage of a man much younger, and there was no trace of senility in any of his actions. However, he was a man given to command—as proud as his conquistador ancestors and just as arrogant, and it was obvious that what he had just heard had not pleased him. His mouth was a thin line under his full white mustachios, and his eyes, as blue as his grandson’s, looked fiercely out from over a high-bridged, aquiline nose.

  “Jaime!”

  He did not need to raise his voice. Jaime would be just outside the door as usual, waiting. He wondered casually how much the man knew. Almost everything, of course! The servants, the vaqueros, they would all know—although they’d not dare speak of it to him. Still, this was not a matter to be discussed in front of servants.

  “Patrón?” The man moved silently and unobtrusively, as always. Don Francisco had hardly realized that he had entered the room already.

  “You will inform the señor Renaldo that I wish to speak with him. At once, if he pleases.”

  “sí, patrón.”

  When Renaldo entered the room, Don Francisco was sitting at his desk, a glass of wine at his elbow. He glanced up at his nephew and gave an almost imperceptible nod of greeting.

  “You did not keep me waiting. One might almost feel there’s still some hope for the younger generation!”

  “You wished to see me on a matter of some urgency?” Renaldo’s voice sounded guarded. In the shadowed room, his face seemed to wear an expression that was at once preoccupied and rather adamant.

  “You may sit down. A glass of wine?”

  Renaldo shook his head.

  “No thank you, sir. In fact I was just about to leave when Jaime found me—there are a few things I have to take care of at my house.”

  “It seems as if you’ve had much more than usual to take care of during the past week or so!” Don Francisco was holding the glass of wine up to the li
ght contemplatively, he seemed merely to be making idle talk. “In fact, I’ve hardly seen you of late. Whenever Esteban decides to honor us with his presence I find that unusual things begin to happen.” Don Francisco looked up suddenly and caught his nephew’s almost indiscernible frown. “I do hope my grandson has not involved you in any of his wild escapades?”

  “It’s my understanding that Esteban is in Mexico City, or headed that way,” Renaldo said stiffly. “At any rate, I didn’t see much of him during his visit here.”

  “Well—I suppose we should hope that whatever business he had to take care of there proves profitable.” Don Francisco took a sip of his wine and glanced casually at his nephew as he continued speaking in the same inconsequential tone of voice. “I am rather surprised, however, that he could bring himself to leave the woman he brought here with him. Ana tells me she is quite attractive, in a bold sort of way.”

  Renaldo could not control the angry flush that came up in his face. So he knew! Somehow, Don Francisco contrived to learn everything that happened. He was uncomfortably aware of the piercing scrutiny of those blue eyes that caught every detail of his confusion.

  “Sir! I—I—” Renaldo was annoyed at himself for stuttering and stumbling over his words just as he had when he was a boy. And even then it had usually been because he was trying to protect his cousin Esteban from the consequences of some irresponsible action.

  “For shame, my nephew! A learned scholar such as you are at loss for words? I was hoping you would be able to tell me more about Esteban’s latest plaything—I understand that she upset my poor little Ana a great deal. I’m surprised you allowed him to be so indiscreet. How could you permit a woman of that type to occupy your guesthouse and have so much of your company as well? Is she so fascinating?”

  “You do not understand! I don’t know how Ana managed to meet Ginny—Miss Brandon, that is—but I assure you, sir, that she’s not at all what you imply. She’s a lady, sir—and of good family. Esteban had no right to place her in such a compromising position! In fact, I told him…”

  “And since when has my grandson listened to what anyone tells him?” There was a touch of irony in Don Francisco’s voice at last, his hooded eyes had narrowed slightly. “So—you say this woman is a lady. In that case, what is she doing here as my grandson’s mistress? As I understand it, she is not exactly a prisoner, although she told Ana some wild story of kidnap. Damn it, sir!” Don Francisco suddenly pounded on the arm of his chair with the handle of his riding whip, causing Renaldo to jump, “Why am I not informed of what goes on in my own estates? Why do I have to summon you here and go to such lengths to pry the truth from you? No—”his voice had turned sarcastic “—don’t wear that stiff look and tighten your lips with such noble resignation. I suppose you were preparing to tell me that some ridiculous idea of loyalty to Esteban must seal your lips. I won’t have it, do you hear me? Remember that your first loyalty is to me! I’ll hear the whole story from you now, señor, with no evasions, if you please!”

  Renaldo Ortega was later to remember that interview with Don Francisco as being one of the most unpleasant occasions in his life. His uncle had been right, of course; he did have a feeling of harebrained loyalty towards Esteban, but at the same time he felt more than that towards Ginny—he couldn’t quite understand his feelings; he felt pity for her, yes, mixed with a tremendous admiration for her fortitude and her indomitable courage, but was there something else as well? As his uncle pried the whole sordid story from him, he kept picturing her—that honey-colored skin, those wide, sea green eyes set like a gypsy’s in her unwittingly sensuous face, her quick woman’s mind, and her laugh…how dare Esteban have treated her like some cheap woman he’d picked up off the streets, leaving her here to be vilified and insulted by a little chit like Ana? No, it was to her that he owed loyalty, and more than that, his protection.

  But he was stunned when Don Francisco abruptly terminated their talk, announcing formidably that he intended to see for himself—he would visit the little guesthouse himself and talk to Miss Brandon. When his uncle made up his mind to take a certain course of action, nothing could stop him, he should have known that by now, but still Renaldo protested.

  “But, sir, I beg you—”

  “Finish doing your accounts, Renaldo.” Don Francisco’s voice was measured and dry, but Renaldo caught its veiled menace and winced. “I’m still capable of handling the affairs of my own estate, and my family, and I shall do what needs to be done. Jaime—see that my horse is brought to the front of the estancia, if you please. And prepare to ride with me.”

  When Don Francisco became el patrón and dismissed one, there was nothing else to do but retire. Barely able to suppress his frustration, Renaldo made a slight bow and withdrew. But while he tried to labor over his uncle’s books in a small room overlooking the patio, Renaldo found himself seeing Ginny’s face. An unspoken prayer throbbed in his mind—Don’t let him hurt her!

  He need not have worried. The emotional storm that Ginny had been through since her meeting with Dona Ana had left her drained of all feeling, even fear. Like an automaton she had allowed Rosa to bathe her, after a while, and to dress her in the prettiest of the gowns that had been provided for her. Rosa even tied a green ribbon in her hair, and let it hang down her back. She drank a glass of juice and ate some fresh fruit—ice-cold papaya, with lime juice sprinkled over it.

  “But why?” she had protested. “What are we preparing for?” Ginny had sensed that Rosa was on her side—but against whom or what? She expected Renaldo to turn up at any moment; dear, kind Renaldo would tell her what to do, he would help her. She only knew that she must leave, she refused to be here, waiting meekly, when Steve got back. She never wanted to set eyes on him again; he was a lying, treacherous monster!

  Rosa kept muttering to herself all the time she was helping Ginny, forcing her to eat. She did not speak Castilian Spanish, of course, and Ginny often found it difficult to understand her, especially when she was upset and spoke fast, or under her breath.

  “Dona Genia,” (this was what Rosa insisted upon calling her) “you must look your best. Whatever might happen, it’s good to be prepared.”

  “But what could possibly happen? I’m not afraid of a little girl’s threats. No—even if this—this person she kept calling el patrón were to decide upon murdering me, I wouldn’t care! In some ways, I’d prefer it.”

  “Ay di mi!” Rosa crossed herself quickly, “do not talk like that! It brings bad luck. But el patrón, though a fierceman, is also fair. Yes, he’d see justice done, although—I don’t know—it’s said Dona Ana is a favorite with him. It was el patrón, of course, who arranged it all.”

  “Who arranged what? Are you seriously trying to tell me that—that señor Esteban allowed this el patrón to arrange a marriage for him?”

  “But Dona Genia!” Rosa looked at her as if she had lost her senses, “it is the custom of the country. Among the large hacendados all such marriages are arranged between the respective families—I’ve heard that when Dona Ana was no more than a baby her father spoke to Don Francisco, and of course…”

  “Wait—wait!” Ginny pressed her palms against cheeks that were suddenly burning. “Rosa, you have me all confused. Who is Don Francisco? Is he Esteban’s grandfather? But then, why do you all keep calling him el patrón?”

  “Because he is el patrón.” Rosa was round-eyed with surprise at Ginny’s ignorance, but a note of pride had crept into her voice. “Ah, Dona Genia, I thought you knew—everyone knows Don Francisco Alvarado! Why, it is said he’s one of the richest men in Mexico; certainly his hacienda is the largest. Not even the Juaristas dare attack these lands—even the French, those murderers, they are full of respect—once the emperor and empress visited here, and Don Francisco has stayed in the palace at Chapultepec.”

  Ginny had been standing, studying her reflection somewhat pensively in the mirror, but now she sat down suddenly.

  She remembered Ana’s shrill voice saying
so proudly, “I’m to be married to Don Francisco’s heir!” Steve Morgan, the man she had so contemptuously called a half-breed—the man she’d believed to be nothing more than a professional gunfighter and a thief—he was the grandson of a Spanish grandee, the heir to millions? No, it was unbelievable!

  “So he’s rich!” she whispered aloud. “He could have been a gentleman, he could have stayed here and married as his grandfather obviously wants him to do, but instead…”

  She became aware that Rosa was staring at her worriedly, and her lips tightened. She was filled with a surge of fresh hatred, coupled with a burning sense of outrage. “He can’t be allowed to get away with it! To bring me here, parade me as his mistress, treat me so abominably as he’s done, when all the time—yes, all the time there’s been no valid reason for any of his actions! Why did he have to steal my father’s money? Why become an outlaw? Why take me and treat me worse than a whore when he’s betrothed to this girl Ana, who’s no doubt just as rich, and with a fat dowry to give him as well? What’s the point?”

  She was suddenly so angry that she sprang to her feet, brushing past the astounded Rosa as she sped into the living room. She did not know what she intended to do, perhaps find Renaldo, face him with her new-found knowledge and her bitter accusations. But she wouldn’t stay here any longer, she would go, she would do—something! Anything to end this farce, to retrieve her own pride.

  “Dona Genia, Dona Genia!” Rosa wailed behind her.

  And at that moment, when Ginny had almost reached the door in her headlong flight, it was opened unexpectedly from the outside, and a man stepped into the room.

  “What is wrong here? Why was there no one to answer our knocking?”

  They stared at each other, the tall old man and the panting, distraught young woman. Don Francisco’s cold blue eyes took in every inch of her appearance before they became hooded and unreadable—his lined, craggy face looked stern and implacable in spite of the faint, rather sarcastic smile that thinned his lips.