But we were too late. Around the next bend, I started in surprise and then slowly rose, seeing Captain Mendoza atop the twenty-foot cliff, holding an unconscious Zara in his arms. How had he gotten up there? I wondered madly, glancing about the deep canyon.
Slowly, I clenched my hands. Bested, yet again. I grew weary of how the man seemed able to stay one step ahead of me. But my eyes raked over Zara. She was gagged, her hands tied, and she was clearly injured, but she was whole. Breathing.
Which, in turn, allowed me to take a breath too.
Mendoza was looking over his shoulder and then across the arroyo. Obviously, he’d seen my men closing in. He glared down at me. “Come up here, Don Javier. Alone,” he barked. “The rest of you stay where you are. Just around this bend, you’ll find a way up.” He nodded to his right.
I glanced at my men, giving them a silent nod to obey. By the time I reached the top, Mendoza had set Zara’s unconscious form at the edge of the cliff, on her side. His foot was perched on her hip, his threat clear.
“Tell your men to dismount,” the captain barked.
I did as he asked. The men in the arroyo were already on foot, but on either flank of the arroyo, the guards complied.
“Now send up the mule with my gold, along with that horse,” he said, gesturing to my own mount.
I lifted my chin to Rafael, and he went to the mule, untied him from another horse, and then took my mare’s reins.
“What have you done to her?”
“Ahh, she’s fine. She simply took one too many blows to the head,” he said, moving Zara’s body a bit with his foot. Part of the dirt beneath her crumbled away and fell. “I understand that I will have to settle for just one chest of gold, according to our agreement. But you’d best hurry—”
I lifted my hand. “Wait. Simply wait, I beg you.”
A moment later, Rafael emerged behind him, with the mule braying his complaint and the mare’s ears shifting in agitation. She clearly knew something was wrong.
Captain Mendoza’s eyes shifted from the mule, loaded with gold, to me. “Tell your men to send the rest of their horses away! Whip them! Send them running!”
I frowned. “But if we do that—” I began.
“Now! Do it now!” He pushed on Zara’s hip again, staring at me with blatant threat in his eyes, and more dirt crumbled away beneath her.
I shouted to my men, “Send them away! Send your horses away now!” After a moment’s hesitation, one by one, my men sent their mounts skittering away, down the arroyo, and across the plains. Every one. It was getting dark, and I knew this left us terribly vulnerable. But what choice did I have? If he pushed too hard, and more dirt crumbled, then Zara would fall.
I stared over at Captain Mendoza, his foot still atop Zara’s hip. Rafael and I edged nearer, now just five paces away. Then two. “You have your gold,” I soothed. “Your means of escape. Take it. But leave Zara to me.”
“Gladly,” he said with a grin, lunging forward to take the reins from my hand.
But as he did so, he pushed against her. Her body rolled backward, hovered there, as if she was rousing, trying to stay on solid ground, but then she was rolling, falling…
Rafael and I both ran toward her. I dived for her. My fingers brushed the last of her skirt, missed…and then there was nothing but the crumbling dirt on the edge beneath me.
Zara, I thought desperately, wondering if we’d come so far only to lose each other now.
“Zara!” I screamed.
CHAPTER 19
JAVIER
I forced myself to watch her roll to a stop twenty feet beneath us, her head beneath a limp arm.
“Javier,” Rafael said, hoping to stop me.
But I was already over the cliff, sliding, somersaulting toward her lifeless body. There was nothing that could keep me from her.
I spit out dirt and blinked, trying to see as I made my way to her. “Zara? Zara!” I cried, pulling her into my arms. I couldn’t see her well enough in the waning light and deep shadows of the arroyo. Did she live? I hauled her into my arms, frantically pulling the gag free and leaning my ear close to her lips, willing my own panicked breathing to cease for a moment so I could hear.
A dim, slow whistle sounded, and I gasped, a lump forming in my throat. “Praise God,” I said, pulling her even closer and looking at my friends above me on the rim, and moving toward me along the tiny remains of the river. “She lives. She lives!”
I pulled away, frantically searching her long neck for any sign of a cut, bleeding, but the captain had not hurt her. At least in any obvious way. But she was still unconscious.
“Don Javier,” said Hector, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Do you wish for us to fetch our horses? And give chase?”
Slowly, I gathered Zara in my arms. “I wish for you to find your horses and make camp,” I ground out. “We shall track down Captain Mendoza in the coming days. Tonight, my only desire is to see to Zara’s well-being.”
ZARA
I awakened and squinted against the terrible throbbing in my head, trying to see, but recognizing that it was just barely better if I kept my eyes closed. Still, my mind struggled to make sense of what I’d glimpsed. A Madonna and Child? I dared to take a quick peek again.
It was true. A disintegrating fresco on stucco was directly above me, on the inside of a small dome. It appeared that I was in some sort of tiny church.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned my aching head to look to the window. Javier stood there, his hand on the sill. A huge monarch butterfly was on one knuckle. He lifted it higher to peer at its magnificent wings, and I could see others fluttering just outside.
I was dreaming. Had to be dreaming. Javier, here, with me? In a church? Where was Captain Mendoza? The thought of him sent my heart pounding, which in turn, made my head ache more. I moaned and shut my eyes.
“Zara? Zara!” Javier said, racing to my side. He took my hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, his cheek. “Are you well, my love?”
“Not quite,” I said, feeling a strange urge to pull my hand from his. I did, then, to rub my brow. “My head. It aches terribly.”
“Rafael thinks you may be concussed. You were out for some time, and when you came to, you weren’t yourself.”
Concussed. The 1840 way of saying concussion, I guessed. Which explained the headache.
“Hector is brewing you a feverfew tea,” Javier said. “The priests left a sizable garden behind. It’s overgrown with weeds, but we’ve found a fair amount of vegetables and medicinals there.”
“Priests?” I managed to ask. “Where are we?”
“We’re in an abandoned mission. It’s suffered from earthquakes and scavengers, except for this chapel and a small kitchen. We will abide here until you are ready to move.”
Which in my estimation might be never. I concentrated on taking one breath after another, but even that slight movement seemed to make my head throb more. Still, I had to know. “What of Captain Mendoza? And your gold?”
“He had a good hour on us and was riding my mare, the fastest of our lot. I wager he still heads to Monterey, where he will likely use my gold to slip onto a ship as passenger. I sent Rafael and his men to track him and follow at a distance. Rafael will speak to Patricio and make certain no captain takes him on. When I get there, we will see him to justice.”
“When we get there,” I corrected him gently. Patricio…. I fought to place him. I knew his name. Why couldn’t I remember who he was? “Who is Patricio?”
He stilled and stroked my brow and cheek with a knuckle. “Patricio,” he repeated, his brow furrowing in worry. “You remember Patricio Casales. My friend? The shipping agent from Monterey? You met him when you met Rafael.”
I frowned. “I…I don’t.” The effort of trying to remember made my head pound anew.
“Zara, you must rest. Make your full recovery.” He lifted my hand again in his and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm.
Again, I pulled away
, his touch grating at me rather than soothing. I didn’t want to be touched, I realized. By anyone. It reminded me too much of Gonzalo. And Captain Mendoza. “I must go with you,” I mumbled. “I must. I must see him brought to justice. After what he did…” A lump formed in my throat. Did Javier know? “It’s because of him that Mateo was…that he— Javier, I tried—”
“Oh, my darling,” he said, eyes widening. “You do not know. Mateo is safe! Whole and hale! Well, he will be hale in time, just as you shall. We found him on the road. It was because he made it that far that we knew that Mendoza and the mate had you in hand and were heading north.”
“Oh,” I breathed in relief, in thanks. “Mendoza said they searched but could not find him. I’m so glad.” Mateo? Safe? A single tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it away. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you.
“I sent him home to recover,” Javier said. “Just as I will send you. And then I will go after Mendoza. Alta California has not seen a pirate dare to attack in these waters or along our shore in some time. We cannot let others think that this is new hunting ground. Too much relies on our trade. And I have a personal score to settle with the captain.”
His last dark words faded away, and while I could not yet bear to open my eyes again, I could feel the tension in his grip, the rapid pulse. He was likely imagining ten ways to slice and dice Santiago Mendoza.
Javier thought he could send me back to the rancho. But in truth, the rancho wasn’t any safer than anywhere else within Alta California. I wasn’t safe anywhere…not in this time.
JAVIER
She slept then, and I crossed myself, silently giving thanks that her pain was momentarily abated. Hector came in a bit later, the sharp scent of feverfew rising from the steaming water of a battered pot. Rodrigo was right behind him and left at Zara’s feet a wooden basin of warm water and bandages he’d found somewhere. Last night, we were all too exhausted to note the cuts amid the dirt. This morning, I’d seen them. So many miles, Zara had been forced to march barefoot, so many miles. She’d borne kidnapping, shipwreck, threats from the captain and his mate—so much more than any woman should ever have to bear.
Especially my woman.
I’d kill him. So help me, I’d kill Mendoza myself if the magistrate in Monterey refused or failed to string him up on the gallows. I would make certain that the man never hurt another and would rue the day he dared to steal from me and mine. I’d stuff some of my gold coins down his throat…watch as he gagged on them—
“Do you need our assistance, Don Javier?” Hector asked quietly.
I shook my head, returning from my reverie, embarrassed to be so clearly caught musing. “Oh, no. I can see to her.”
I turned toward Zara’s feet and Rodrigo’s steaming basin and bandages. Gently, I lifted one leg, bent her knee, and placed one foot in the basin. She stirred and moaned softly, but then her face slackened again. I let the water work on the dirt for a minute and then another before setting about gently washing it away. Tenderly, I worked at each cut on her foot, glad to see that only one appeared deep, and cleaned away every particle of dirt. It would’ve been good to put a few stitches in, but none of us carried either sinew or thread, and we were a solid day’s ride from Monterey. A thorough bandaging would have to do.
I wrapped her foot, bleeding here and there anew, but all in all looking far better than before. I saw a button on one strip and knew that Rafael had sacrificed his extra shirt for her, leaving it behind with Hector. It made me glad to have such good friends—brothers, really—with us.
I moved to Zara’s other foot and tended to it in the same manner. I was almost done when I felt her stir. She was so beautiful, with her dark hair strewn across the pile of blankets behind her. Her cheeks and arms were bruised, her eyes narrowed in pain, but I still believed her to be the loveliest woman I’d ever come across.
She groaned, frowned, and then sat up with a start, her hair in a mass around her shoulders. Her eyes widened, her pupils narrowed, and she screamed, pulling away from me. “No! No!”
She got to her feet and stumbled to the corner of the room, glancing madly back at me as if I were a lion on the hunt rather than a man.
“Zara? Zara!” I said, rising and following. “What is it?”
“Stay away!” she yelled, bending to pick up a bit of fallen stone and throw it at me. “Get away from me!”
I understood then. She was dreaming. I lifted my hands and came no closer. “Zara. It is I. Javier. Javier. Your Javier,” I said.
My men arrived at the doorway and window, eyes wide in fear. They’d heard her scream. “It is all right,” I said, gesturing toward them without dropping my gaze from the terrified girl. “Leave us. She is simply dreaming.”
The guards sighed in relief and faded away into the dark to take up their positions again.
Zara seemed to be trying to focus on me, to put meaning to my words. She dropped a second stone and put her long, thin fingers to her face. “No…I…No.”
“You are safe, Zara,” I said gently, taking a step closer. “Mendoza and his men are far from you. It is only I, Javier. My men surround this place and keep watch. No one else shall harm you.”
“Javier,” she said with recognition and a hint of hope, brows arcing above her wide eyes. Candlelight danced across her face, leaving some of it in dark shadow. “Javier,” she said again, her voice cracking now. Tears ran down her face. She crumpled, but I reached her just in time, gathering her into my arms.
I turned and sank to the floor, the corner of the old church behind my back. “Shh, shhh,” I said, stroking her hair and pulling her huddled form tighter against me on my lap, as I might’ve with one of my little sisters, trying to soothe a hurt.
But the hurt in this one was wide and gaping, the open maw of some dark monster within her.
ZARA
I’d had a choice in that moment. In that split second, I had recognized that my resistance to Javier, my terror, was because I’d felt his masculine hands on my skin and remembered Gonzalo’s. Mendoza’s. Not his. Not his.
Part of me still wanted to resist, to be alone, and not to be touched at all, but a bigger part wanted this. Javier’s gentle ministrations, his soothing. I wanted to remember what it was to be held with care by a man, not manhandled. I’d never known my father or grandfather, and Javier’s warm, gentle touch felt like something I’d always been missing but had never known. I focused on his careful movement, his breathing, the comforting smell and way of him. He was strong, so strong, and yet he didn’t use his strength against me, only for me.
This was Javier, my Javier, I reminded myself, as I continued to weep, letting out my anguish, my frustration at being powerless to free myself, my anger for the harm that was done to me. On and on I wept—and in the end I was even crying for my abuela…and for never having known my parents…and for how I’d worried I’d never see Javier or the Venturas again.
Through it all, Javier did nothing more than hold me, gently stroking my shoulders, my neck, my hair, while I soaked his shirt with my tears and running nose and probably put his legs to sleep. He simply waited, was there for me. As if he’d never want to be anywhere else.
Finally, my tears spent, I sniffed and snorted and lifted my head to look at him.
Carefully, he lifted a hand to my cheek and pushed back some of my unruly hair to look into my eyes. He did not hold me captive in any way—only gently urged me to meet his gaze. “Zara,” he breathed, calm but very intent with his look. “How are you hurt? What did they do to you?”
I sniffed again. “I was not raped,” I said. “I was threatened…” My voice cracked. I coughed, sniffed, and forced myself to look into his eyes. “The second mate came close. But…” I shook my head, remembering Gonzalo’s awful, still form on the beach, and the rush of relief and regret that surged through my heart.
He eased me back into his arms, and I sank against him, grateful that he demanded no more from me. It was enough for it to come to mind again. An
d he knew enough, at least for now. He could plainly see the other abuse I’d suffered, at least those visible on the outside. The bruises, the scrapes, the cuts.
“I’m sorry, Zara. So sorry,” he said, stroking my hair again. “For everything you’ve endured.”
I could hear how he felt responsible and wiped away new tears. Somehow his compassion freshened wells of tears I’d thought spent. “If I’d done as you asked and returned to the rancho, perhaps I would not have endured any of it. It isn’t your fault, Javier. It is all mine.”
JAVIER
I grimaced for two reasons—because she left my lap with those words and because of what she’d said. I wished to argue it, to tell her what was on my mind and heart, but I didn’t wish to tax her throbbing head any further at this point. I only wanted to bring her comfort, soothing aid. No more trial or trauma.
“This place is pretty,” she said, glancing around the church again before leaning against a crumbling pillar, crossing her arms and then closing her eyes. “Why did they abandon it?”
“The Franciscans pulled out of all the missions at once, about seven years ago. The Church called them to return the lands to the Indians and move on to other tasks.”
“To work so hard to build something like this and then simply walk away?” she said, eyes open again. “It seems foolish.” The swelling of her left eye had gone down, but the bruise was now a greenish-purple. She’d suffered such abuse because of me. Me.
“Sometimes things change,” I said, rising to gently lead her back to her pallet of blankets. “We build because we believe it is what we are supposed to do.” Like this, between us. “And then we learn there might be a better path for us.” Such as letting you go.
“Javier,” she said, her dark eyes now studying me closely. “What is it?”
I feigned confusion. “Of what do you speak?”
Four Winds (River of Time California, Book 2) Page 9
