by Connie Mason
“Go back to your room, Elena,” Rod ordered curtly. “And don’t come back. We’ve already done enough damage to my father as well as to my wife.” He did not wait to see if Elena did as she was told as he bounded through the connecting door, closing it behind him with a resounding clatter.
“Julie,” Rod said softly. “I swear I didn’t mean for things to happen the way they did.”
“Tell that to your father!” retorted Julie, unmoved.
Rod had the grace to flush. “I can’t condone what I’ve done but I can say I’m sorry, that I never meant to hurt you. When Elena came to me the first time I was asleep and thought it was you. She tricked me and it was only that one time.”
“Go away, Rod. I have nothing more to say to you. From the beginning you made it clear that I am nothing but an encumberance to you, that it is Elena you love. Well, you are welcome to her. If your father does not object to your relationship, then neither shall I.”
“Julie, querida, Elena means nothing to me.”
“Is that why you became lovers? How long has it been going on? Were you lovers from the day you brought me here?”
“No! I swear it. It was only once. After—”
“After the wedding? Well, no matter, two can play at that game,” she hinted, wanting to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. “If you feel free to take a lover, so shall I.”
“Never!” shouted Rod with typical male conceit. “I will see you dead before I allow that to happen! And so that you won’t forget in my absence that you are a married woman, I will leave you with a reminder.
Before Julie realized Rod’s intent, he grasped the front of her sheer nightgown and ripped it in two, carelessly tossing both halves across the room. Fearfully Julie began backing away, suddenly afraid of the dark, angry stranger she had married. But … was it fear that caused her breasts to tingle in that strange, exciting way when he touched her? Was it fear of him that sent hot color flashing to her cheeks? Is that why her nipples grew swollen and sensitive as he raked her with his arrogant glance? Or fear that caused the intense heat to flood her belly? Swooping down on her, Rod tossed her carelessly across the bed, falling heavily atop her.
His kiss was cruel, punishing, her lips flattened painfully against her teeth until she tasted blood. “You’re mine, querida. Don’t ever forget it,” he ground out remorselessly. His stabbing tongue tasted of her blood and he experienced a moment of guilt, but it was short lived as he quickly remembered her threat.
“Please, Rod, don’t. Not like this,” begged Julie. Until now she was unaware of what he was capable of when aroused to jealousy.
“You will survive, my wife, and when I am finished you will know better than to taunt me with other men again.”
“Don’t the same rules apply to you, my husband?” Julie goaded angrily, beyond the point of caring how far his rage would take him.
Rod did not answer. Thoroughly aroused, he wanted only to vent his anger upon the woman writhing beneath him, to brand her his forever.
Had he not been so incensed he would have taken time to stoke her desire to the fullest, playing her body as he would a finely tuned instrument. But Rod’s anger was twofold. Not only had Julie’s heated taunts riled him, but his own shortcomings goaded him; namely committing adultery with his father’s bride. To his way of thinking, Julie must be made to bear the brunt of his rage because she had discovered his secret. Perversely he meant to salve his own conscience by thoroughly humiliating his wife, though she was guiltless.
He thought to take her forcefully, slamming brutally into her unprepared passage with ever deeper strokes until his conscience smote him and he gentled his strokes, deliberately stoking her own ardor until she felt herself responding against her will. His lips and hands coaxed and softened, bringing her along with him as she exploded in a blaze of glory and he reached his own zenith.
“You bastard!” Julie sobbed, pushing him aside. “I’ll never forgive you for this!”
“But you will remember me,” he retorted sardonically. Then he was gone, leaving her in a shattered heap upon the rumpled bed.
10
Rod was already gone when Julie awoke the following morning. She felt nothing but relief that she was not forced to face him after he had so cruelly taken her the night before. But she did have to face Elena. They met at the breakfast table and Julie would have given anything to get up and flee. But her pride was such that she would not allow the gloating Elena the satisfaction of knowing how much Rod had hurt her. Or how much he meant to her.
“Are you going to tell Don Diego?” asked Elena without preamble. Her tone indicated that she did not care one way or another whether her husband found out her brief affair with Rod.
Though Julie held little love for the proud don, for he had shown her little in the way of affection or courtesy, she could not bring herself to hurt him in such a manner. “I have no intention of telling Don Diego anything,” retorted Julie hotly. “If you want him to know, you will have to tell him yourself.”
“Perhaps I will,” shrugged Elena smugly. “Do you care so little for your husband that he has your blessing to … take a lover?”
“My feelings for Rod are none of your concern,” snapped Julie, hating Elena for her condescending tone.
“It is obvious that you give him little in the way of pleasure,” concluded Elena snidely, “else he would have no desire to seek release with another woman.”
“How long have you been betraying Don Diego, Elena?” Julie asked suddenly.
Elena smiled mysteriously. “Why don’t you ask Rodrigo? While you’re at it, ask him to tell you how wonderful it is between us.”
Julie could take no more of Elena’s malicious goading. It was enough to know that Rod had taken his former fiancée to bed with his own wife in the next room, without having to stand helplessly by and hear all the intimate details of their coupling. Gathering herself to her diminutive height, squaring her small shoulders resolutely, Julie strode purposefully from the room. Elena’s tinkling laughter followed her long after she was gone.
During the ensuing weeks Julie noticed a subtle change taking place in the once proud Don Diego. It was almost pathetic the way his bleak eyes hungrily followed his young wife’s voluptuous form. Everyone in the household was aware that Elena had moved out of her husband’s room into her old room. It was as if her action had emasculated him and Julie felt almost sorry for the man even though he had barely spoken civilly to her in all the time she had been living in his home. It was obvious to Julie that Elena meant to continue her relationship with Rod when he returned, and the Spanish woman didn’t care who knew it. Suddenly Julie felt a great empathy with Don Diego.
During those weeks Julie kept much to herself, preferring to ride out with Felicia whenever the child was released from her lessons. By now Julie was an expert equistrienne and enjoyed the freedom it allowed her. She had much thinking to do and, Felicia, sensing her distraction, rode in silence beside her idol, as the precocious child came to think of Julie.
Julie had no idea what would happen once Rod returned from the cattle drive. Of one thing she was certain, she could not stand idly by while her husband carried on with his stepmother. During those long daytime rides and interminable nights in her lonely bed, Julie came to the sad realization that she loved her proud, aristocratic husband despite the fact that he loved another. His cruel taking of her the night before he left, the night she learned he had bedded Elena, was proof enough that he did not love her, that he felt trapped in a loveless marriage and had turned to Elena. After long hours of soul searching, Julie decided to ask Rod to take her back to San Francisco the moment he returned from San Antonio, leaving him free to live his own life as he pleased. She couldn’t be any worse off than here on the rancho with Rod and Elena flaunting their passion beneath her very nose.
One day Julie was passing by Elena’s room when she heard loud, angry voices coming from within. She had no intention of eavesdropping, but curiosity kept
her standing outside the door.
“Elena, my wife,” Don Diego’s broken voice was pleading, “I can’t go on like this. For you I have given up strong drink because it clouded my memory of the pleasure we shared in bed. But it wasn’t enough. Why are you determined to torment me? You said I was a wonderful lover. What have I done to change your feelings? I want you in my bed.”
“You repel me, Diego,” Elena sniffed spitefully. “I can’t stand your scaly hands upon my flesh.”
Don Diego looked striken. “What is it, mi alma? If I have done anything …”
“That’s just it, Diego, you have never done anything.”
“I … I don’t understand,” stammered Don Diego, hurt and confused. “You led me to believe you enjoyed our coupling.”
“What coupling?” laughed Elena derisively. “If if was left to you I would still be a virgin.”
“Por Dios! What are you saying?”
“Your aging flesh sickens me!” gibed Elena hatefully. “I married you for only one reason, to be near Rodrigo.”
“Rodrigo? What does he have to do with us?”
“Everything,” Elena declared cruelly. “When too much wine rendered you incapable of fulfilling your husbandly duties, another Delgado was only too willing to oblige a young bride needing comfort on her wedding night.”
“Dios mio, you mean—”
“My wedding night was spent in Rodrigo’s arms. It was wonderful, Diego. Your son is a marvelous lover.”
Don Diego’s face went blank. “But … you told me … The blood on the sheet …”
“All contrived. Do you think me stupid? Your son and I are lovers. We have been since the night you and I were married,” she exaggerated maliciously.
Don Diego seemed to crumble inwardly, aging at least ten years in a matter of seconds. He was completely demoralized. Sinking dejectedly into a chair he muttered distractedly, “It is no more than I deserve, I suppose. How fitting that my son should cuckold his own father.”
“What nonsense are you talking, Diego?”
“Nothing that concerns you, puta,” replied Don Diego venting his spleen on the woman he had honored with his name. “But tell me, have you no guilt over the wrong you did my daughter-in-law?”
Listening outside the door, Julie was shocked to hear Don Diego speak of her with compassion.
“I feel no sympathy for a woman who cannot keep her husband from straying,” concluded Elena haughtily. “She does not deserve Rodrigo. He was always meant to be mine.”
Don Diego looked at Elena with loathing, as if seeing her for the first time. It’s funny how he had never noticed her vindictive nature before, or her selfishness. But was he any better, he asked himself in retrospect? Feeling nothing but disgust, he suddenly wanted nothing more to do with his wife, had nothing more to say to her. Slowly, with an air of defeat, he rose to his feet, his head bowed in resignation.
“I am finished with you, Elena,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Julie did not wait around to hear Elena’s answer for she had fled the moment she heard Don Diego’s shuffling steps approaching the door. She went out of her way to make herself scarce for the rest of the day.
The following day she was not so lucky. Before she could leave the house, Don Diego, looking years older, intercepted her and asked her to step into his study. Julie thought she knew what was coming and steeled herself for Don Diego’s words. She wished she did not have to witness the proud don’s degradation. Acquiescing gracefully, Julie had no choice but to follow the aging don to his private domain.
Julie had barely settled herself into a chair when the older man spoke. “I know we have not exactly been friends, mi hija,” began the don. Julie thought that was a gross understatement but said nothing. “It is time to make my peace with you. I have not been kind to you, and my wife and my son have … have …” He began choking on his own words and Julie became alarmed by his coloring and rapid breathing. She sought to ease the task he set for himself. “I know, Don Diego,” she admitted softly. “You don’t have to say it.”
“You know? How? When—?”
“I … walked in on them the night before Rod left to join the cattle drive.”
“Madre de Dios!” cursed the older man, “and to think I took that puta for a wife!”
His face was becoming very red and Julie sought to sooth him, forgetting how he had cruelly maligned her when she first arrived at the rancho. “It is all right, Don Diego. I am resigned to the fact that Rod loves Elena. I am the intruder. If not for me, Rod and Elena would be married just as they were meant to be.”
“You are wrong, mi hija,” countered Don Diego, startling Julie by calling her his daughter. “If Rodrigo loved Elena he would have married her years ago instead of continually putting her off.”
“There was Maria, and—”
“No, Julie, you are wrong. His love for Maria was a childish love, one that would have died a natural death as Rodrigo grew older. I should have told him … I should never have …” His sentence faltered and died. Then he asked abruptly. “Do you love my son?”
Julie flushed hotly, feeling her face go red. “I … I …”
“Do not be afraid to admit it, mi hija. I always sensed you were a fighter. If you love my son, fight for what is yours.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Julie asked suspiciously.
“Because I wish my son to be happy,” the don surprised her by saying. “And I sense his happiness lies with you. Try not to judge him too harshly for what he and Elena have done. It is partly my fault for marrying that woman and throwing them together when I knew she married me only for the Delgado name.”
“There are times when he is not very kind to me,” admitted Julie in a low voice, remembering their last night together. “And there are times when he is tender, even loving. He is arrogant, proud to a fault, and sometimes I could kill him. But I … I love him despite the fact that he does not love me.”
For the first time Don Diego looked with compassion at his lovely daughter-in-law, commiserating with her pain. But her answer had satisfied him. Julie was no coward. He was certain she would remain on the rancho until Rodrigo returned no matter what Elena might say to drive her away.
Julie watched curiously as Don Diego opened his desk drawer and drew out a sealed envelope. “Mi hija, I would ask a favor of you. Should I … for any … reason … not be here when Rodrigo returns, I want you to give this envelope to him. The letter inside explains much about many things.”
“Why won’t you be here, Don Diego?” asked Julie, suppressing a glimpse of some dark premonition.
“That is not important,” shrugged the don impatiently. “What matters is the contents of this letter. Will you do what I ask?”
“Of course, if that is your wish,” nodded Julie. “But can’t Elena—”
“No!” exclaimed the don, jumping to his feet. “Elena is not to know! Is that understood?”
“Yes,” promised Julie, not really understanding a thing.
“Good,” sighed Don Diego, obviously relieved. “I will show you where the letter is kept.” Somewhat shakily he walked to the fireplace across the room. “Come here, mi hija.” Obediently, Julie did as she was told.
Carefully the older man pried out a brick that Julie hadn’t even realized was loose. He placed the letter inside. “No one but you knows of this hiding place, Julie. Not even Rodrigo. When … when the time comes, show this to Rodrigo. There are other things inside besides the letter. My son will understand.”
Then he replaced the brick and turned to face Julie, his skin like old parchment, yellow and brittle beyond his years. By this time, bereft of speech, Julie could only nod.
“I want you to know, mi hija, if we could but start over, things between us would be different.”
“It’s not too late, Don Diego,” Julie reminded him, touched.
“For you … perhaps not, but for me …” He shrugged fatalistically. “Elena has made me reali
ze just how useless I am.”
“Don Diego, I think—”
“Go now, mi hija,” he interrupted. “I am weary. No matter what happens, remember your promise to me,” Don Diego said, smiling a sad smile that frightened Julie. “Tell … tell my son I love him.”
Before she knew it, Julie was standing outside the closed door. Try as she might she could not dispel the deep foreboding that left her chilled. Walking slowly she passed through the house and out the door, concentrating on her father-in-law’s last words. It sounded almost as if he were entreating her to carry out his dying wish, she thought irrationally, mulling over the whole disturbing interview.
Suddenly she paled, all color draining from her face. “My God!” she cried aloud. “Nooooo! Don Diego, don’t do it!”
She was halfway through the house on her way back to the study when she heard the shot. Sobbing and crying out Don Diego’s name, she and Elena reached the study at the same time, but it was Julie who flung open the door. Don Diego lay in the middle of the floor, a hole through the center of his forehead. The small caliber pistol was barely visible in his large hand. Julie wished desperately the screaming would stop until she discovered the noise was coming from her own mouth. Beside her Elena went limp, slowly crumbling to the floor at Julie’s feet.
Two days later the remains of the proud Spanish grandee, Don Diego Delgado, were laid to rest beside his first wife, Rod’s mother, Doña Alicia. Padre Juan read the short service witnessed only by Julie, Elena, the servants, and the few vaqueros who had remained behind to protect the rancho.
In order that Don Diego might be accorded a church burial, Padre Juan was told by Elena that her husband’s death was accidental, that it occurred while he was cleaning his small pistol. Only the two women and Teresa, who helped lay out the don’s body, knew the truth.
