Bride of Fortune

by Henke, Shirl

  Finally she spoke. “I could not bear to lose you, husband.”

  “You won't, love. I know what a man like von Scheeling is capable of, believe me.”

  “Think of our child.”

  “I am. And I won't let my children grow up hearing their father called coward. You know our honor demands this.”

  She could read the finality in his eyes. “Let's go. I know he's waiting for you.”

  The Prussian was indeed waiting in the sala, surrounded by a number of criollos, holding forth on imagined campaigning glories, a crystal snifter of Don Encarnación's excellent French brandy in his hand. It almost seemed as if he had staged the scene.

  The crowd of sycophants parted nervously as Fortune strode across the room. They looked from the cold deadly gleam in Alvarado's dark eyes to his lady, standing defiantly in the doorway. Her gown was torn, and she pressed a bloody cloth to her mouth, staring daggers at the Prussian. The soft murmuring died away when Nicholas stopped directly in front of von Scheeling.

  “You know why I'm here, von Scheeling. Name your second and meet me at daybreak on top of the hill facing the mine entrance.”

  “So, the young lordling really is a fighter, even if he has quit the emperor's service,” the lieutenant replied with a slightly drunken slur overlaying his German accent. He clicked his heels and bowed, causing a straight hunk of his thick yellow hair to fall across his forehead. When he straightened up there was a gleam of madness in his flat gray eyes. “I shall enjoy killing you.”

  Fortune smiled chillingly. “I suspect it is impossible for a dead man to enjoy anything.”

  “As the challenged, it is, I believe, my choice of weapons.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I choose sabers—cavalry sabers.” Von Scheeling's smile was slow and nasty.

  The hushed room erupted with low murmurs and shocked gasps. This was certainly a breach of criollo decorum.

  “But surely, Lieutenant, you cannot be serious. A duel is fought with foils or pistols,” Don Encarnación said stiffly, his voice ringing from the doorway that he had just entered. “Gentlemen do not duel with sabers.”

  “I am not a gentleman. I am a soldier,” von Scheeling replied in Spanish. In German, he added scornfully, “I've met no gentlemen in this lizard-infested wilderness.”

  Nicholas understood the insult but could make no comment without revealing that he spoke the language.

  Don Encarnación and several other of the men around von Scheeling intuited the Prussian's hostility. The murmuring in the room quieted as the two antagonists faced each other. Nicholas knew why von Scheeling chose sabers. The Prussian thought he could use his heavier build to advantage and hack his opponent to pieces.

  The smile that slashed Fortune's face broadened, but it did not reach his deadly wolf's eyes. “As you say, a saber is the true soldier's weapon. At dawn tomorrow we'll learn just who the true soldier is, won't we?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You cannot just leave me behind as if I were a child, Lucero. They have no physician here. What if you're injured?” Mercedes asked as they entered their suite.

  “You can't come with me, Mercedes. A duel is no place for a woman. When a man fights, the presence of his woman is a distinct liability, a distraction that can get him killed.”

  “I don't faint or have vapors,” she said with asperity. “Oh, Lucero, you could be killed!”

  “Thank you for your confidence, but I won't be,” he replied with dry assurance. “I know how to handle von Scheeling. Now, let me see to your injuries,” he commanded, deftly turning her to unfasten the hooks at the back of her ball gown. “After all, it's only fair, since you've tended mine so often...” She winced silently when he eased the torn gown from her right shoulder. An ugly bruise was beginning to darken her soft golden skin. The imprint from that bastard's hand. He felt a killing rage wash over him, building up like an ocean tide rolling in.

  Mercedes heard his sudden intake of breath and felt his body tense when he saw the marks. They were tender but not serious. She turned around to reassure him. The look of icy fury in his eyes was utterly terrifying and at that moment she almost pitied von Scheeling.

  “I'd like to beat him to death with my bare hands,” Nicholas said in a low growl as his fingertips carefully examined her, sliding the ruined dress to the floor and unfastening her lacy undergarments.

  “I've given you a good start on that task, Lucero. Agnes says I blackened his eye.” She strove for a light tone but he did not join in her tremulous smile.

  Gently he touched the bruises, then pulled her into his arms. “When I think of another man putting his hands on you, hurting you this way…”

  She could feel him trembling as he held her so protectively, possessively. “I'll be all right, Lucero,” she whispered, looking up into that implacable, beautiful face of his. She traced the thin scar on his cheek. “You've suffered far worse hurts than I.”

  “But he would have raped you.” There was a savage desperation in his voice as he realized Luce had already done that to her, and that he, too, had almost committed the same crime the night he had smashed in her bedroom door. “Oh, Mercedes, I'm so sorry, so sorry...” His mind shut down, unable to think of it.

  She held onto him, intuiting that he was apologizing not only for what von Scheeling had done but for what he had done as well...or had he? Could this man be capable of the coolly amused brutality to which she had been subjected on her wedding night? No, don 't think of it, don’t…

  Nicholas forced himself to regain control. “Let me get cool compresses to soak away some of the ache.” He raised her chin in his hand and daubed at the blood dried on her lip. The sick fury began to churn inside him again. Trembling, he released her and walked over to the dry sink by the window. A porcelain basin and pitcher filled with fresh water sat on top of it. He filled the basin, then soaked a soft linen towel in the water and wrung it out. “Sit down,” he said softly.

  She obeyed, walking over to the edge of the bed, clad only in her camisole and pantalets. He pulled down the sheets and she leaned back against the pillows as he sat on the edge of the mattress and began to sponge her shoulder and arm gently. Taking one edge of the towel, he pressed it against her mouth, soaking the scabbed blood until it could be carefully wiped away. His tenderness brought tears to her eyes. Never in her life had she felt so cherished. He removed her undergarments as patiently as a skillful nursemaid might undress a child. Then he applied the cooling compresses to all of her bruises.

  “That feels wonderful,” she said dreamily. “You make a very good nurse.”

  “On the battlefield soldiers have to tend their own wounds. More often than not there are no doctors and those that are available are usually butchers.”

  Her eyes filled with horror. “It must’ve been awful. Promise me you'll never go back to the war.” Her hands seized his, stilling his gentle ministrations.

  Nicholas could feel her nails dig into his wrists as she held onto him tightly, imploring him. With a ragged smile, he nodded. “I love you, Mercedes, and I'll always protect you. I won't ever leave you.”

  “I couldn't bear losing you. I love you too much.” Her eyelids fluttered closed and she drifted off to sleep.

  Nicholas pulled the bedcovers over her, then quickly stripped off his clothes and climbed in beside her, pulling her damp, chilled body against the solid wall of his heated flesh, but he did not think of making love to her, only holding her, keeping her safe from all the cruelties of this world.

  Finally he slept.

  In the middle of the night Mercedes began to stir restlessly, thrashing and crying out. She was in von Scheeling's vile hands again, twisting away from his lascivious mouth, unable to get her breath, to escape as he tore at her clothing.

  Nicholas awakened at once and sat up, then reached out and pulled her in his arms, crooning softly. “Shh...it's all right. It was only a nightmare, my love. You're safe.”

  “Oh, Lucero, ho
ld me.” She inhaled his familiar scent, felt the hard, scarred contours of his flesh, heard his heart beating next to her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his face to hers for a kiss, murmuring against his lips, “Make love to me, please.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked hesitantly. “You're hurt.” But even as he spoke, she pressed her breasts against his chest and opened her mouth, trailing wet voracious kisses, nips and bites over his jaw and across his shoulder. He could feel her desperation and it brought an answering hunger leaping to life like living flames, searing his loins until he ached to join with her.

  Mercedes lay down on the bed, pulling him with her until he pressed her into the softness of the mattress with the weight of his body. Her bruises remained tender and ached, but she did not care about the discomfort as she felt his rigid erection between her thighs. Squeezing them tightly together, she heard him groan raggedly.

  His hands caressed her with feverish intensity. In spite of her bruises, her body held tightly to his, undulating sweetly beneath him. He rolled onto his back, carrying her with him so that she straddled his hips. Her hair hung down, covering her breasts in a silky curtain. The softly curling ends brushed and teased his rigid phallus.

  Nicholas raised her hips with his hands, cupping her buttocks, positioning her as he instructed, “Take me inside you.”

  Instinctively she reached for the hard smooth shaft, wrapping her hand around it. He groaned and arched his hips, thrusting eagerly as she guided the pulsing tip into the core of wet heat that throbbed with wanting him. Then slowly, ever so tantalizingly, she let him fill her, controlling her impalement. Her hips lowered, enveloping him, letting the utter sweetness of the joining carry away all thought of tomorrow and its dangers. For tonight he was safe here with her, loving her, pleasing her.

  And the pleasure was intoxicating. Mercedes had never before been in control this way, able to set the pace, to move, twist and writhe in utter abandon. She experimented, rolling her hips slowly, then raising up and plunging down in a swift hard rhythm that had them both gasping for breath.

  Nicholas reached up and cupped her breasts, teasing the sensitive nipples. They hardened into nubby points. He drew her down until the pearly globes hung suspended and he could take one, then the other, into his mouth and suckle them. As he did so, her hips began to move more swiftly. Lest he lose control and spill his seed too soon, he took her delicate pelvis in his hands and slowed the pace to a languorous, lazy ride.

  This was such delicious bliss it robbed her mind of all thought. She arched her back, coming down slowly. The sensitive little bud at the center of her passion pressed hard against the base of his staff, stretching her, pulling at her until she was utterly lost.

  Nicholas felt the sudden shuddering tremors begin deep inside her as she cried out, digging her nails into the muscles of his chest. Her sheath rhythmically milked him until he, too, could withstand no more. When his phallus swelled, spilling its seed deep within her, he came up off the mattress, so intense was the release.

  Mercedes felt him stiffen and shudder as he climaxed. The final thrusting glory sent her spiraling into yet another series of fiery contractions that ebbed ever so slowly, until finally she collapsed onto his chest, panting and exhausted, utterly spent with ecstasy.

  He cradled her in his arms as she nestled atop his body. Her mouth pressed soft, damp kisses against his neck and shoulders and she murmured indistinct love words. They lay that way for some moments, neither could have said how long, still intimately joined, simply savoring the life-affirming act of love.

  Just before dawn, Nicholas slipped from the bed and carefully tucked the covers back around Mercedes. He dressed quickly and quietly in a loose, white cotton shirt and soft wool pants, clothing that would allow him maximum freedom of movement for the fight to come. Checking to see that she was still asleep, he pulled on his boots and started for the door, but then stopped with his hand on the knob and directed his gaze to his wife's tousled golden head snuggled amid the rumpled bedcovers and pillows.

  His wife. Suddenly Nicholas felt the unexpected need to seal their vows before an altar, to give her his name. But he had no name to give, even though he was Anselmo's son. To keep her, he had to continue the masquerade, to hear her call him by his brother's name when he ached for her lips to cry out Nicholas instead. Damning himself for a fool, he slipped from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  As soon as she heard the soft click of the lock, Mercedes threw off the covers and sat up in bed. The sudden movement made her wince in pain. Looking at the discolorations from the bruises, she raised her left shoulder and rotated her arm, loosening up the tight, aching muscles. She should have used the broken champagne glass to castrate that wretch von Scheeling! Then her husband would not be risking his life to avenge her honor this morning.

  Thinking of Lucero, she quickly slipped on a dark gray riding habit. There was not much time. If only things went as they planned. Just then a sharp rapping sounded on the floor-length double doors facing onto the balcony. She crossed the carpet and turned the knob.

  Agnes du Salm slipped inside the room. “You're ready. Good,” she said as her eyes swept over Mercedes’ outfit.

  “How did you get onto my balcony?” Mercedes asked incredulously.

  The princess grinned. “I used to be an acrobat, remember? Climbing across the porch roof is a lot easier than balancing on one leg atop a galloping horse, believe me. I thought there would be less chance of attracting attention if we avoided the hallways. Come, I'll help you down from the porch. We can use the bougainvillea trellis to descend to the courtyard. I've bribed a stable hand to have two horses saddled and waiting.”

  “You are amazing,” Mercedes said. “I'm so grateful for your help.”

  “Oh, pooh. It's the least I can do in return. After all, your husband is going to dispose of that swine Arnoldt, for which Salmi and I will be forever in your debt.”

  “I only pray the lieutenant doesn't harm Lucero in the process of his ‘disposition,’ ” Mercedes replied, biting her lip.

  “If Lucero Alvarado is half as dangerous as he looks, after this morning Arnoldt von Scheeling will be incapable of ever harming anyone again,” the princess said with blithe assurance. “Come, let's get to our horses. I see the first streaks of light on the horizon.”

  * * * *

  The sun rose slowly above the jagged peaks of the Sierra Madres like a great molten ball of gold, spilling harsh yellow light across the shadowy landscape of the flat open earth on top of the hill. In the distance a hole gaped in the ground, with a crude wooden winch and basket situated above it, the entrance to one of the Vargas silver mines.

  Nicholas rode up and dismounted in silence, accompanied by Prince Salm-Salm, who had offered to second him upon hearing of the outrageous insult his subordinate had offered Doña Mercedes. The two men studied the lay of the land and direction of light with the eyes of tactical professionals who knew the advantage such attention to physical detail can provide.

  “Watch those loose pebbles over there. If Arnoldt backs you onto them, he'll use his superior weight and you will be unable to use agile footwork to counter it,” the prince said, pacing around the site.

  “That's why he chose sabers. He's sure he can back me into a corner and hack away until he wears me down,” Fortune replied grimly.

  The prince nodded. “Yes, that is how he would reason. He is a Junker of the Prussian gentry, born to arms. As the younger son, he was left to seek his own fortune in the military, but there was some difficulty between him and his superior—over a woman. Arnoldt has always been—how do you say it?—terrible with women.”

  Nicholas volunteered no further German and the prince continued his story. “At any rate, he lost his commission in the Prussian army and became a mercenary. It has made him a twisted and bitter man, envious of those with titles and land, beautiful wives—all the things of which he feels he has been cheated.”

  Nicholas n
odded. “That would explain why he provoked me into this duel.” The irony of their similar circumstances before he had assumed Luce's identity did not escape Fortune. “Odd, Mercedes realized it, too. She said she was certain that he wanted me to challenge him.” He shrugged. “I wonder why me, not any of the other hacendados?”

  “Perhaps because he sensed you would be the opponent with the most mettle.” Felix du Salm's expression was bland but his eyes revealed curiosity and a certain wariness. Don Lucero Alvarado was altogether too experienced a soldier to have spent his life in Mexico and to have come to the profession of arms only a scant few years ago.

  Nicholas grinned. “I have a trick or two up my sleeve. Let's hope I don't disappoint the lieutenant.”

  Just then the sound of horses climbing the slope interrupted their conversation. Von Scheeling and the rest of the group from Hacienda Vargas crested the hill. Don Hernan Ruiz, the embittered former soldier who had lost the use of his right arm in the war, seconded the lieutenant. They dismounted across the clearing and made their way to where Nicholas and the prince stood.

  Von Scheeling's right eye was well-blackened and slightly swollen. Fortune studied it insolently but said nothing. The lieutenant flushed angrily and stared straight ahead, waiting for the formalities to begin. Mercedes marked him well, Nicholas thought, fighting to tamp down the fury that rose inside him. He had fought over women on several previous occasions, but none of them had really mattered. None of them were Mercedes.

  Old Don Encarnación bowed with grave courtesy to the prince and then turned to Fortune. “There is nothing I can say to dissuade you from this challenge?” he asked formally, adhering to ritual.

  “Nothing whatsoever,” Fortune replied in a flat voice.