Spellbound Trilogy: The Wind Casts No Shadow, Heart of the Jaguar, Shadows in the Mirror

by Jeanne Rose

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IPHIGENIA LAY in the semi-darkness of her room and smothered her sobs with a pillow. She cursed Monte Ryerson, the most infernally difficult, cruelly blunt man she had ever met.

  She simply couldn't bring herself to explain Hope to him, nor the events leading up to the decision to come to Texas. Monte said she need not bare her heart but that's exactly what she would have to do if she told the truth.

  She had never bared her heart to anyone.

  In fact, Iphigenia thought sadly, no one had ever wanted her to do so before. Since she had suffered her father's shouts and accusations as a child, her aunt's coldness, the servants' indifference and society's general artifice, she had learned to keep her own counsel. She would have to become another person entirely if she were to actually share her hopes and fears.

  Not to mention that she felt certain Monte Ryerson would not approve of a woman who'd set out to marry a man she didn't love and then trick him, regardless of the desperation of her motive or her intention to offer that husband financial reward.

  The entire scenario would be humiliating.

  Iphigenia hated humiliation. That's why she'd developed protective skills -- a cool demeanor, the ability to sting with words, the show of reckless courage that dared anyone to challenge her.

  None of which Monte Ryerson paid much attention to.

  Iphigenia had to leave Ryerson and his horrid ranch as soon as possible.

  That very night.

  Still thinking on that, much calmer after an hour or so, she heard the footsteps of the young Ryersons as they headed for bed, then the heavier tread of Monte himself.

  She waited a while longer before she rose to find the compass, the dueling pistols and the petticoat that contained her jewelry. She stuffed all into a cloth bag. Changing her clothing to the brown riding habit and boots, she sneaked down the corridor, took a candle and matches from the kitchen, then let herself out.

  A full moon glowed high in the sky. Thankful for that, she went directly to a pen where she'd seen cowboys put their horses. She would have to borrow a mount if she were to reach Ft. Davis. Once there, she'd fetch little Hope and trade a string of pearls or another piece of jewelry for a train ticket to New York. To prove she was not in the least a criminal, she'd also send Monte Ryerson enough money to replace the horse and its equipment two times over.

  A horse. Choosing one was going to be difficult, Iphigenia thought, peering into the fenced pen. She was a good rider, a woman who was able to keep her balance on a spirited mount tacked up with a sidesaddle. But she'd prefer taking more time to look over an animal that was to carry her more than a hundred miles. In the darkness, she'd have to settle for whatever she could get hold of.

  She lit the candle and went inside the barn that stood next to the horse pen. There, she picked out a bridle and a length of rope. The only saddles were heavy, with high cantles, and would have to be straddled. She'd hike up her skirts.

  Letting herself into the horse pen, she chose the first steed that allowed her to approach. She petted his nose before slipping a looped piece of rope over his neck, then calmed him before sliding the bit between his teeth. Saddling him quickly, she took one of her pistols from the cloth bag and stuck it in her waistband. Hanging the bag from the saddlehorn, she led the horse out of the pen to mount.

  The animal snorted but trotted off when Iphigenia dug her heels into his sides. After she'd ridden through the entrance gate and gotten a couple of furlongs down the road, she started to breath easier. She could almost imagine she was inhaling freedom. The great bowl of stars sparkling overheard stood for adventure. She could envision the explorers who had come to this country in the first place and identified with them.

  Except what she sought was far dearer to her heart than new lands could ever be -- possession of her child and freedom for them both.

  The moon kept slipping in and out behind clouds, but Iphigenia could tell the land became more rugged as she left the Ryerson ranch behind. The road narrowed and climbed. Hoping the horse would know his way, Iphigenia loosened the reins, tensing only when he stumbled.

  When a lonely howl suddenly pierced the night, she nearly jumped out of the saddle entirely. Hand on the pistol at her waist, she peered into the surrounding darkness, hoping the wolf or whatever it was would leave her alone. Intent on that threat, she didn't see the riders approaching until they were nearly upon her. Two hulking figures took shape in the darkness.

  She reined in and gave a little cry.

  "Well, well, what do we have here?" asked one man, his voice raspy.

  And threatening. Iphigenia couldn't say why, but she believed him to be up to no good. Thinking it best not to answer, she kicked her horse to go ahead, reining in again when the other hulking shape moved directly into her path.

  "Seemsta be a female," this man said. "Who are you, Missy?"

  Iphigenia thought fast. "A traveler," she answered, keeping her voice firm and cool. "I would appreciate your moving out of my way."

  The man blocking her path laughed roughly. "A traveler? Now ain't that strange? Nobody rides at night unless they're desperate or have something downright unlawful on their minds."

  Certain these men themselves had unlawful thoughts, Iphigenia carefully removed her great-uncle's dueling pistol from her waistband. A long-barreled, old-fashioned muzzle-loader that required powder and handmade bullets, it sometimes misfired and was far more awkward than a revolver like a Colt .45. But Iphigenia couldn't worry about such problems as she cocked the weapon's hammer.

  The action made an audible click.

  "What the hell is that?" said the man with the raspy voice just as the moon came out from under a cloud. The light showed him to be lean and bearded. "The woman's armed. Take her out of the saddle and teach her a lesson, Newton."

  Iphigenia aimed the pistol at Newton's chest as the man came at her. But as the weapon fired with a great cracking noise, her arm jerked and the horse shied. The animal's movement combined with the pistol's recoil nearly knocked her to the ground. Eyes smarting from the gunpowder, she grasped the weapon and hung onto the saddlehorn for all she was worth.

  "Damned bitch tried to kill me!" shouted Newton.

  "Get her!" ordered the man with the beard.

  Thinking she was about to be ravished or die, most probably both, Iphigenia reined her horse in a circle, desperately trying to cock the pistol's hammer again.

  That's when yet another rider approached, the hooves of his mount pounding over the ground in nearly the same thumping rhythm as her heart. Even by moonlight, Iphigenia recognized the proud, powerful carriage of Monte Ryerson.

  The other two men cursed and reined in, backing away as Monte came to a sudden halt.

  "What the hell's going on here?" Monte leaned forward in the saddle, a rifle in his hand. He pointed it at the bearded man. "What do you think you're doing, Barkley?"

  Barkley snorted. "I'm not the one who's up to no good. Ask this witch here -- she pulled a gun on my foreman and tried to shoot him."

  "Iphigenia?"

  "Effy what?" muttered Barkley.

  "Iphigenia Wentworth -- my fiancee," said Monte. "Try anything with her and you'll answer to me."

  Limp with relief, gratitude toward the man overflowing in her heart, Iphigenia put in, "They threatened to attack me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have used the pistol."

  "Attack you?" said Barkley. Then his aggressive tone became all smooth and civilized, "Why, you must have misunderstood, Ma'am. My foreman and I merely questioned your identity." He told Monte, "You don't usually find women riding around in the dark."

  "You don't usually find most people out at this time of night," Monte retorted. "Where are you going?"

  "That's my own business." Barkley's voice tightened a bit. "The roads belong to everyone." He went on, "But enough of this nonsense. Let's get going, Newton."

  The other man grunted and the two riders headed off, going back in the direction from which they'd come.r />
  "Sit here for awhile," Monte told Iphigenia, voice low. "And keep watching until you think they're out of sight."

  "Are they outlaws?" Iphigenia whispered.

  "Only a little better. Jonah Barkley owns a ranch in this county but he's not known for his friendly ways." Finally, he motioned. "Come on. They went over the rise. Let's ride for home."

  He turned his horse, not even bothering to ask if returning was what Iphigenia wanted to do. Not that she intended to travel a road on which Jonah Barkley and his man Newton were lurking. Subdued, she kept her mouth shut and slipped the awkward dueling pistol back into her waistband.

  As they trotted on, the moon slid under a cloud again but Monte seemed to have no trouble seeing. He also had no trouble speaking his mind.

  "So what cockeyed idea made you think you could steal a horse and take off in the middle of the night?"

  Iphigenia swallowed, knowing there was no way she could admit the truth. "I-I wasn't stealing the horse." Particularly after she'd vehemently denied being a criminal. She steadied her voice. "I was angry. I merely wanted to take a ride and let off some steam."

  "In New York, do ladies usually go for rides by themselves at night?"

  No, but she said, "Sometimes. At least on country estates."

  "Well, this isn't a country estate. This is West Texas. You never know who you're going to meet up with or what he'll want from you."

  "I realize that now."

  "The land itself is dangerous, full of crevices and drops. Sometimes you can't see the road, even when the sun's out. You could've easily gotten lost. I bet you're not even carrying a canteen."

  "A canteen?"

  "A container for water," he snapped, sounding amazed that she didn't know what one was. "Wells and waterholes are few and far between. And there aren't any creeks, either. My spread is blessed with the only one for a hundred miles on either side."

  How stupid she had been. Iphigenia supposed she should thank Monte for coming to her rescue. She opened her mouth to do so, but she couldn't bring herself to grovel.

  Instead, she asked, "How did you know I had left the ranch?"

  "I heard noises, got up and noticed the door of your room standing open. When I realized it was empty, I went outside and saw you heading down the road."

  "You must have keen senses." She'd been as quiet as she knew how to be.

  Monte made no response as they rode on, the horses' hooves kicking up dust. The moon slid toward the west. Soon the dark outlines of the Ryerson buildings were visible. Feeling a combination of relief at being alive and sadness at failing in her mission, Iphigenia wished she could hurry into the house, go to bed and forget about her ineptitude.

  But Monte seemed to want her company. "Let's take the horses over to the main corral," he said, moving his mount closer so she had to veer in that direction. "I'll unsaddle them. Where did you get the gear? From the barn next to the corral?"

  She murmured her agreement. When they dismounted, her legs felt shaky and her hands numb. Seeming to know she was weak, Monte placed his hands at her waist. She imagined she could feel the hard, warm imprint of his fingers and chills crept up her spine.

  "Thank you." Even if she couldn't bring herself to thank him for saving her life.

  She tried to remove the cloth bag she'd hung from the saddlehorn. Monte had to help with that, too, their fingers brushing as he untied the knot she'd made. More chills. The man definitely attracted her. Which, after what she'd been through, made her think she must be insane.

  He hefted the bag and handed it over. "Sure you weren't taking off? This feels like serious business."

  "My other pistol is inside."

  "What kind of guns do you have? Muzzle-loaders?"

  "How did you know?"

  "From the sound your shot made. We used to carry old-fashioned pistols in the army." Before she asked, he admitted, "I served the Confederacy. We were on opposite sides."

  Did he think she cared? "I was only a child during the war -- I never thought much about sides." Nor had her Yankee upbringing stopped her from getting involved with Lamar.

  "Guess I should have known you weren't real patriotic or you wouldn't have come to Texas." He paused, taking off her horse's saddle and laying it on the ground.

  She supposed she could leave now but wasn't certain that he was finished talking. She could at least listen, be respectful, since she couldn't thank him.

  "I can buy you a train ticket back to New York, if you want."

  Her mouth nearly dropped. First he'd saved her life. Now he was trying to be decent.

  Too decent.

  Thinking of her mission, seeing Hope in her mind's eye, Iphigenia knew she simply couldn't do as he asked, even though getting out of his life and the lives of his children would be the best thing.

  "I do not wish to return to New York ...at least not yet."

  "Then what are you gonna do?"

  Meaning he had no thoughts of marrying her at all? She couldn't help feeling disturbed if he'd so swiftly come to a negative decision. While at the same time, she would be upset if he told her he did wish to wed her. A ridiculous and illogical conflict.

  "I don't know what to do," she said finally, honestly. "Must a decision be made this very moment?"

  "I don't want Cassie's heart broken."

  "Neither do I." And she meant that sincerely.

  "I thought she'd be happy if you stayed for a few days but now I'm afraid she's becoming too dependent on you."

  "I know." She'd felt guilty all the while she'd been saddling up the horse and riding off.

  Monte faced her in the dimming moonlight. All she could see were the stark, strong planes of his face.

  "Let's make a deal then. Since you're not leaving right away but there's a big question as to our getting hitched, you're gonna have to try to wean Cassie away. Being nice about it, of course."

  "Of course." Iphigenia would be happy to agree to that. "A girl her age should be establishing a little independence anyway. I think I can help her."

  "Try to explain that two people don't get along just because she wants them to. I've already told her that but she doesn't believe me."

  And Iphigenia knew why. "She misses her mother terribly."

  "Missing somebody don't bring them back."

  And in the pregnant silence that hung between the two of them, she instinctively felt that Monte had suffered as much as his daughter. Possibly, more. His remark held a dark undertone, as if he were feeling guilty himself ...or angry. He wasn't a hearty, smiling type of man. Had he ever been? Cassie claimed that her father used to enjoy much better humors, had taken the time to have fun with his children.

  "You could pay more attention to your family," Iphigenia suggested, hoping he wouldn't be offended. "That would help Cassie feel less dependent on me."

  "Probably. With the ranch work, though, I have to spend a lot of time away from the house."

  "But you could try to be in a better mood when you're there."

  She realized he wasn't going to make any promises. He turned away to unsaddle his own horse, then take the equipment into the barn. Stifling a yawn of exhaustion, Iphigenia decided to make a break for it. "Good night."

  He mumbled some words in return, his back turned toward her.

  Something was bothering him.

  But then, Iphigenia had the feeling that something had been bothering Monte Ryerson before they'd ever met. She wasn't being completely honest with him, but she now felt certain he wasn't being honest with her, either.

  WITH A GREAT SIGH of relief, Xosi Baca escaped from the mirror and gazed about the small room that belonged to Ginnie Ryerson. Through the window, Xosi saw the moon slipping toward the west, but the girl lay wide awake, waiting expectantly.

  "You've got to get rid of her!" Ginnie cried, her voice throbbing with emotion.

  Xosi knew who the girl was talking about, the blonde gringa who had moved into the ranchhouse. "What has this woman been doing?"


  "She's hateful!" Ginnie complained. "She made Carmen prepare a horrible dinner and she made me eat in the kitchen!"

  Xosi tried to be soothing toward the child. So far, able to escape her confinement only when spurred on by strong emotion, she was dependent on Ginnie.

  Though the girl need not be awake.

  "Do not worry, chica. If you wish, I will scare her until her gold hairs fall out."

  Ginnie smiled. "Good. Then she won't be so pretty. Pa likes her."

  Xosi felt a blaze of jealousy. "Monte ...your father likes this woman?"

  "She's a mail-order bride. Cassie sent away for her."

  Monte, Xosi's beautiful man, was planning to marry another woman? Xosi's heart -- or what should have been her heart -- turned over in her cold breast. If she were ever to find some sort of existence, to live again, she believed her former lover's desire to be necessary.

  So she spat, "This cannot be!"

  "I despise her!" Ginnie raged. "Make her go away! I don't care what you do to her!"

  Strong words. Did the girl speak of murder? When she had been alive, Xosi had killed to defend herself. But she hesitated now, not needing more blood on her soul. Still, was not the present situation as desperate as life and death?

  Though she questioned how much harm she could do.

  Xosi could not always appear when she wanted, no matter how badly she wished to do so. She might make threats but she could not be certain about scaring anything but animals, who seemed to sense her presence. Perhaps it would have been better if she had studied brujeria when she had been flesh and blood.

  You can do something really bad to her, can't you?"

  Xosi didn't want to cast any doubt, so she remained nebulous, "Keep my mirror near your heart at all times, chica." The girl must feed her with living emotion. "Meanwhile --"

  "Meanwhile, what?" Ginnie asked anxiously.

  "Perhaps we should try some spells," said Xosi, wondering if the simple ones she knew of would actually work. Magic lived in some fashion or she wouldn't be confined to the mirror in the first place. "Go into this woman's room and collect some personal things from her."

  "Like what? Hair? Pieces of fingernails?"