Nodding sharply, Elena turned and raced away, her skirts hiked up and bunched in her hands. Alejandro’s heart ached as he watched her go.
Then he followed the colonel to the train station, a new determination burning in his eyes. He would honor his unspoken promise to his beloved—or die trying.
Colonel Beauregard guided the knights outside, the cool night air a bracing relief after being pawed by the head-fogging, superheated clutches of the factory. The knights of Aragon casually observed as workers lifted the wine crates from the rolling flatbed and carried them into the cargo car.
“The carriage has been retrofitted to insure the nitro won’t detonate prematurely…’’reported Beauregard as the crates were placed on suspended platforms rigged to pneumatic pipes.
The colonel moved forward, directing the knights to the track that had been laid to connect the factory with the current railroad line.
As they walked on, a tired worker approached the end of the cargo car and pushed it further down the track. In the darkness, he did not see the man in black lying on the track beneath the car.
Moving with catlike grace, Zorro carefully climbed into the nitro car. Once inside, he carefully pried open a crate and gingerly removed a bottle filled with the explosive liquid. Grabbing a roll of fuse cord, he opened a maintenance door on the floor of the car and slipped down onto the icy track. Zorro constructed a simple bomb, slinging one end of the fuse cord over a pipe, then tying it around the tip of the nitro bottle. Carefully letting go, the bottle hung there.
Zorro unspooled the fuse. He peered out to make sure no one was watching, then nimbly sped along the side of the train to set his trap. All he would have to do is ignite the cord from a safe distance. Once the cord burned away, the bottle would fall and explode.
And then, he thought with a satisfied smile, there will be a very, VERY big boom!
The moon peered down brightly as Elena raced through endless rows of grapevines. Skeletal branches reached for her, their sharp claws threatening to slice at her dress or leave telltale scratches on her hands and face. Her palms grew clammy as ice trickled down her spine. I have to get back, if Armand finds I’m gone…
A tangle of vines closed on her ankle and yanked her down. In a moment of frenzy, she yelped, thumping hard to the ground. Trembling, she examined herself. No cuts or bruises, her dress was unmarred. Miraculous.
Hauling herself to her feet, she made ready to scramble off again—then froze. A low growl rumbled from behind a clutch of trembling vines. Two pairs of crimson eyes loped into view atop nightmare black slabs of murderously coiled muscle and eerily white gleaming sharp teeth and rolling, panting tongues.
The mastiffs were off their chains.
From the Fourth Volume of the Memoirs of Count Armand de la Fere
Her beauty clouds my reason.
She is the unattainable.
In my life, I have wanted for nothing. All that I have ever desired has been mine in the fullness of time; everything but her.
Long ago, when we were both so young and at school together, Father forbid me to pursue her. She was of common stock, he claimed. This made no sense to me, I responded. Elena was a creature of the finest lineage and breeding.
I now understand the source of Father’s claims. He led the Knights of Aragon before me. The Knights have been a powerful force behind dark dealings all across the world for many centuries. Power is often gained through knowledge. The Knights make it a point to uncover all the dirty little secrets of any man of wealth or influence that might one day prove useful. Don Montero had kept the secret that Elena was Diego’s daughter from her until the day he died, but the Knights gained this information much earlier, when Elena was but a few years old. Don Montero was not a Knight, he was simply one of the Knights’ many pawns, and the best way to control such a pawn was to learn all their dirty little secrets and blackmail them. Montero had many soldiers with him the night he accidentally slew Elena’s mother, sent Don Diego to a horrid prison, and took the child as his own. He sent assassins after most of these men later on, but there was one he trusted enough not to talk. Unfortunately his trust in his own man was misplaced. For a tidy sum which got him out of a nasty gambling debt, the soldier who was supposedly loyal to Montero revealed the secret of Elena’s true lineage to the Knights.
Even after I learned the truth, I cared not a whit. I was—I am—besotted with her. Elena knew in those days when we were young and at school together that Father and I frequently argued; she never knew that she was the cause of the strife. Father finally took the extreme measure of removing me from school so that I would not be around her any longer. But in the years that followed, violent arguments would erupt between Father and myself at a moment’s notice when the slightest thing reminded me of her. The silken black hair of a woman on the street. A flash of emerald reminiscent of her eyes. A sudden brightness to the day that made me think of her smile.
Did Elena have feelings for me then? You would have to ask her. My belief is that she did. She may have only considered me a dear friend at first, but before I parted from her, I had a sense that she was on the path to falling in love with me.
For all the years following my separation from Elena, I thought Father a cruel man. A sadistic beast. Even after the day I had Ferroq kill him in the street, making it look as if a pack of thieves attacked all three of us, I believed he denied my requests to pursue Elena, simply because my suffering had given him pleasure.
Then I learned, but ten years ago, that Elena had married a common man. I was inflamed. Married or not, I desired to woo her, to take her from the arms of this de la Vega who was so wretchedly beneath her.
I was determined to win Elena back. I spent much time setting events into motion so that I would attain glory for the Knights and be near her as well, until finally four months ago I arrived in this country.
My thoughts again turn to Father. My beliefs about his pointless cruelty in keeping Elena and myself apart for so long were not true. I know that now. He understood that a man who desires nothing is not a man at all. I came to this dusty backward country to serve the interests of my order and myself. The vineyard—or whatever beard might have best obfuscated the true purpose of my activities—could have been established anywhere. And the task at hand certainly would have been expedited had our product not had to be transported the entire width and breadth of this country.
I wanted to be near her.
Elena’s falling out with de la Vega was yet another gift of Divine Providence. Had it not come, I would have had Ferroq trick the man into following him into a darkened alley, where he would be gutted. Then I would have appeared to Elena in her days of mourning, a sudden shining reminder of better days. I would have comforted her and soon enough had what I desired.
There is an emptiness in being so close to achieving my desires, an element of disappointment that confounds me, driving me to the brink of a murderous frenzy. Once you achieve the unattainable, what else is there?
Forgive me, Father. I now see your wisdom. But I am helpless against my desire for this woman, just as you were when Mother first caught your eye. I will have this woman.
What happens next? We will soon see…
Chapter 15
Aknot constricting in her throat, Elena stared with fascinated horror as the beasts slowly advanced—then she bolted, her legs pistoning wildly, her heart fit to burst, as the animals barked and vaulted after her. The creatures crashed through the vineyards, barking, growling, snapping as Elena flew the rest of the way toward the hacienda. She prayed for deliverance in the near darkness, aware that if she stumbled, she died. The beasts would tear her limb from limb simply for sport.
The warm glow from the hacienda’s windows intensified as she closed in on it. She ran wildly, liquid fire coursing through her limbs while shallow breaths were choked from her lungs. The parlor window jutted into view and she saw Armand enter. The dogs snapped at her heels—then yelped and fell silent, scrambling to a fr
ightened halt.
Ferroq stood near the hacienda’s door, looking about suspiciously. Elena fought every mad instinct within her to throw herself down before he could spy her, but the labored panting of the mastiffs curled about her ears. She pressed on, begging the lord for the strength to reach the house before the wretched man’s scouring line of sight crossed to her—
Scrambling through a bed of gravel, she launched herself into a niche beneath an open window and pressed herself against a hard stone wall.
He hadn’t seen her.
Suddenly, the dogs launched themselves her way. Ferroq had gone. She scrambled to the parlor’s window, climbed inside, and slammed the window closed. The mastiffs flung themselves against the glass, their nails scratching its surface, as Elena composed herself, smoothed out her dress, and drew her fan just instants before the door burst open.
Turning, she feigned a great yawn as Armand and Ferroq strode in, their expressions dark, unreadable.
“Goodness, I must’ve dozed off when the dogs startled me,” said Elena, opening her fan to conceal a second, even more robust yawn. She smiled, inwardly wondering if either man could smell the stink of fresh sweat on her.
Armand’s face was like marble. “Perhaps they thought you were someone you’re not.”
His hand whipped toward the maddened hounds at the window. Whimpering, they drew back and departed.
Elena gasped at the power he held.
“I’m told you arrived early,” Armand reported as he strolled over to her, lifted her chin in his hands and cast his piercing gaze deeply into her, scrutinizing her the way one might a precious object up for auction, deciding whether or not to make a bid. Ferroq dispassionately observed the display.
Slowly batting her eyes, Elena murmured breathlessly, “I couldn’t wait.”
Armand stared down at her, “I’m having a special meal prepared. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Famished,” she said, not missing a beat. “Absolutely famished…”
In the dining room, Elena carefully placed her napkin in her lap as Marie set a silver tray before her. With a dutifully pleasant smile, the older woman lifted off the glinting silver dome, revealing an steaming array of perfectly prepared poultry and sumptuous-smelling fruits and garnishes. Marie sliced off a serving and delicately delivered it to Elena’s plate, along with white rice and garlic flavored shrimp. Elena breathed in the tantalizing aroma of the feast, noting that Armand’s plate was still bare.
Someone’s been given a talking to, it seems, thought Elena. With an imperious nod, Elena bid Marie to continue serving. “Thank you, Marie.”
With a slight smile, Marie turned and swept from the room.
Surprised, Elena turned to her companion. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Armand twitched. It might have been a shake of the head. Elena decided that his distraction must have stemmed from thoughts of the blustering Colonel Beauregard addressing his fellow knights on this important evening—while he was trapped here, a prisoner of his own private desires.
She tasted the fowl. It was quite delicious. Her brain buzzed with ideas for extricating herself from this awkward situation. Perhaps she could claim the meat was underdone and had made her ill. Armand’s lack of appetite would help with—
His voice rang out sharply. “Have I ever told you the story of how my parents fell in love?”
The question hung in the air like a challenge as he sipped his wine.
“Not that I recall…”
Armand’s eyes were darker still as his somberly spoken words carried them to another time and place. “My father was a soldier in the peninsular campaigns. When he was sent to capture Lisbon, he became enamored of a local maiden who, of course, wanted nothing to do with a conquering soldier. So my father took her to his estate and locked her in a room…for three years.”
Elena flinched, setting down her silverware and casting her full attention on her companion. Armand’s eyes flickered with happy malice coupled with grim acceptance, as if something monstrous that he could never before comprehend finally made sense to him. “For three years. And when he finally let my mother out…she was desperate to accept his hand in marriage.”
Elena lowered her gaze in an attempt to conceal her rapidly growing fear. “How romantic…”
“We all carry the burden of our history, Elena,” Armand said with authority. “Try as we might, we can never forget where we come from. Don’t you agree?”
In spite of her fear, the sentiment resonated with her. “Yes.”
I have never seen this man before, Elena realized. Not up close. This is the killer who would have gladly stabbed Alejandro through the heart and called it an accident during the polo challenge.
This is the man who just destroyed another human being then discarded his ashes.
Nervously, she took a bite of her food, determined not to allow her repulsion to show.
“Tasty, is it?” queried Armand.
“It’s…unusual. Is it quail?”
Armand steepled his fingers, assuming a judicial expression. “Pigeon, as a matter of fact.”
Elena’s gaze rocketed to the silver carrier band curved around the bird’s charred leg. He knows!
She bolted from her chair as if the hounds had just crashed through the window and sprang for her throat. Armand tittered like an amused child as she yanked open a hardwood door and flung herself into the empty kitchen. Where was the chef, his helpers? A cold dull knife of realization slipped between her ribs: they were sent away the moment their services were no longer required, just like Marie.
Her hands closed on every doorknob in the enormous kitchen as she searched wildly for a way out. All were locked—except one.
Elena flung open the final door—and shrieked as a blast of cold air brutally exploded in her face. Butchered carcasses swung on creaking hooks to greet her, including two that were frightfully familiar: Agents Harrigan and Pike stared at her with unseeing eyes and slack jaws as they dangled amidst the other slabs of cold dead meat.
Armand sprang up next to her, smiling gleefully. “Not hungry? Dinner not to your liking? Or was it something I said…”
Elena ran from him, whirling and bolting through another door that was now open. She caught a glimpse of a long wooden corridor, a pale spill of light from the main parlor spreading hope of escape to her heart. Then a huge form bulleted from the darkness next to her, an inhumanly strong hand seizing her throat and thrusting her from her feet. She smacked into a wall, choking, her fingers closing over the vise-like hand of Ferroq while Armand strolled near, smiling and shaking his head as if the sad duty of disciplining a foolish child had just been set upon him…a duty he perversely enjoyed.
“As you said, Elena: we see the people we love as we want them to be,” Armand admitted, gesturing casually for Ferroq to unhand her, “not as who they are.”
The breath ratcheting in his throat, murder boiling over in his eyes, the bald man shoved her away, leaving Elena slumped on her knees as she clawed at her neck, where a crimson handprint still remained.
Armand crouched before his “beloved,” his soft warm hand cautiously drawing near her face, as if she might plunge her teeth into it. She tensed as he caressed the side of her face, trembling like a frightened fawn. By God, how he enjoyed that!
Unable to restrain his fury any longer, Armand whipped his hand down and ripped the pearl necklace from her throat, sending the pearls flying like shrapnel against the wood floor.
She scrambled away from him. “Did you actually think I’d be swept off my feet by a sadistic coward like you?” shouted Elena, her eyes brimming with hate.
Armand shrugged, his menacing smile a mockery of charm. “I thought you were a woman of vision.”
“I can barely stomach the sight of you, Armand!” screamed Elena. “The only way I could stand your touch was by imagining you were Alejandro!”
Armand’s lips pursed grotesquely, his eyes bulged, veins stood out on his temples and muscles in h
is face grew so taut they threatened to snap. He sprang back and away from her, one hand smashing into the wall as he fought his killer instincts. Then he towered over her, his fists white with fury, as he pronounced, “Your stepfather would be ashamed to see you’ve become nothing more than a common woman, devoted to a common man.”
“I take that as a compliment,” Elena replied evenly.
Before Armand could say anything else, footsteps rang out from around the corner. High spirited scuffling and muffled cries accompanied deep throaty curses as McGivens burst into view—dragging Joaquin with him.
Elena gasped, what little order remained in her life had now vanished in a heartbeat, her soul split open wide at the sight of her son—the very reason she had succumbed to living in the hands of this madman. With a frantic burst of energy, Joaquin tore free from the gunman and flew into his mother’s arms. She pulled him close, holding onto him for dear life.
“The padre’s dead, the kid’s a witness,” announced McGivens with a frown. He sounded annoyed.
Joaquin crushed himself near to his mother. “I’m sorry—”
“Shhh, no, it’s okay, Mi Amor, not your fault…” Elena stroked his hair and pulled her son closer, looking past him toward Armand with the ferocious glare of a lioness ready to lay down her life to protect her cub.
Moonlight shimmered on the tracks as Zorro unspooled the fuse trailing back to his makeshift bomb. He sliced off the tip, grinning as he imagined the unholy devastation he would bring about this night. You would destroy the dream of freedom not just for my people, but for everyone who lives in this country.
See what you get?
He sliced off the fuse’s tip with a sharp vengeful tug of his blade, then put his fingers to his mouth, summoning Tornado with a high whistle. The black stallion galloped in from a tree-lined ridge, anxious to spirit his master away from the strange smells and sounds of the factory. Striking a match, Zorro lit the fuse and leaped onto his saddle, Tornado’s powerful muscles driving them high along the ridge and into the looming vineyards above.
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