Bride of the Baja (33 page)

"I've a surprise for you," he said. Bringing his hand from behind him, he held aloft a chicken, its neck wrung.

"We'll have stewed chicken," she said, catching some of his enthusiasm. "I saw some old pots in the kitchen and a pump that actually works."

"And while you're cooking the bird, I'll have a look around and see what else I can find. One thing I can tell you for sure, we're the only ones here."

They ate the chicken stewed with beans and corn on the deal table in front of the roaring fire. Afterward, ignoring the thunder crashing outside, they sipped red wine as the fire cast their wavering shadows on the stone walls of the room.

Jordan stood and raised his glass while Alitha stared as though mesmerized at the light glinting from the crystal.

"To Valparaiso," Jordan said grandiloquently. "To Santa Barbara and to Chapultepec Hill. To you, Alitha Bradford, in all your many manifestations, in all your moods and with all your caprices, to your courage, your perseverance and most of all to your golden loveliness."

"You'd best have no more to drink, Jordan Quinn," she told him. But she smiled as she raised her glass. "To a safe ending to our journey," she said. "No, to a journey without an ending. We'll drink to a journey to all eternity, to the pale moon above, to the stars, to the end of time."

After they had finished the wine, Jordan stood again and raised his hand. "I found no more food or drink while you were stewing the chicken," he said, "but I did find something else. Something just as wonderful as wine or women."

"What?" she asked, seeing nothing.

"Wait and you'll see. And hear."

He walked into the entryway, seeming to place his feet with great care as though the wine had gone to his head, Alitha thought. In fact, she felt light-headed herself. When Jordan returned, he held a guitar in his hand and stood beside her, tentatively plucking the strings.

"Only one string is broken," he said. "Not that I could play this damn device well anyway."

He began strumming, then sang in a high clear voice. She recognized the chanty as one the seamen on the
Flying Yankee
used to sing as they worked. Jordan kept time by thumping his foot on the stone floor.

"Heave, ho, aye the tall ships," he sang.

"Do you know it?" he asked, and when she nodded, he flung his hand wide. "Now, once again," he called out, "and will the entire company join me if you please."

She sang along with him:

"Heave, ho, aye the tall ships Heave, ho, aye the tall ships See the tall ships, sail the tall ships Aye, aye, aye the tall ships.

Jordan laid the guitar on the table, bowed to her, extending his hand, and she rose, curtsied and let him lead her to the middle of the empty floor. He clasped his hands to her waist and spun her in a polka as he sang the chanty. Around and around they whirled until, flushed and laughing, he stopped, with Alitha still held in his arms.

He drew her to him, paused, then kissed her. So sudden was his kiss, so unexpected, that she drew in her breath, feeling his hand pressed hard to her back, his lips pressed hard to hers. She pulled away from him, staring up into eyes made black by the shadows from the firelight.

"Alitha," he said, "I've wanted to hold and kiss you ever since the first day I saw you." His voice was soft--he seemed to have suddenly sobered.

She touched her lips with the back of her hand, still light-headed from the wine and the dancing, her mind in a turmoil. This warmth I feel is from the fire, she told herself, glancing at the now-dying flames. Jordan drew her to him again, and his movement seemed to break the spell and she twisted free and fled. She ran from dark room to dark room until, exhausted, she stopped and rested her head against the glass of a window. The rain beat against the sides of the house, water streamed down the pane and the dull rumble of receding thunder came from without.

Hearing a sound behind her, she swung around and in the next flash of lightning saw a window curtain rippling inward. She felt a pang of disappointment when she realized that it wasn't Jordan coming to look for her
and her weariness. Jordan could rot in hell for all she cared.

No! The wine had befuddled her, not Jordan Quinn. The wine Alitha's hand came up to cover her mouth. You're lying, she accused herself. You're lying now and you lied a few minutes ago when you told yourself Jordan's kiss was unexpected. You knew he meant to kiss you when he held you in his arms after the dance was done. You said you'd never lie to yourself again, and yet you have time after time these last six months. You've lied about your feelings for Esteban. And now about Jordan. So much for that pistol you hid--you'll never use it.

I pity Jordan, I admit that, she told herself, but I don't love him.

Alitha walked to the blowing curtain and drew it aside and found the window was broken. She leaned forward until her face was in front of the shattered pane and let the cool rain strike her forehead, her nose and her cheeks, the water running down her neck and under her gown to her breasts. She shivered and turned from the window, sighing and shaking her head. Will I ever understand myself, she wondered.

When, much later, she walked slowly back through the deserted hacienda, Alitha found Jordan gone and the fire reduced to glowing coals. She laid another log on the fire but the wood failed to catch and lay cradled darkly in the smoldering embers.

Taking a candle from the table, she walked from room to room as the thunder rumbled in the distance. Above her head she heard the rain falling steadily, drumming on the tiles of the roof. In the bedroom the brass beds were empty, and she felt a thrill of panic. Where was Jordan? She opened the far bedroom door, almost stumbling over—What? She lowered the candle and saw Jordan on his pallet. His eyes were closed and he breathed steadily and deeply. There was no doubt but that he was asleep. Alitha closed the door again and went to sit on one of the beds. It was so soft! She sighed, placed the candle on the floor and lay back with her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling, the candle throwing flickering shadows on the walls. She reveled in the luxury of a real bed after the endless days on the trail.

She stood up, stretching. Holding the candle in front of her, she found her way to the kitchen, where she filled a small tub with water from the pump. She unbuttoned her dress, let it fall to the floor and, after stepping out of dress and petticoats, drew her chemise over her head. When she had finished bathing, she put her clothes over her arm and returned to the bedroom, where she laid them across the back of a chair. Naked, she slipped beneath the blankets, crossing her arms over her breasts and hugging herself, feeling the blankets harsh against her flesh. Smiling, she closed her eyes.

An all-encompassing red glow surrounded her. A fire sprang skyward in flames of yellow and orange, warming her, caressing her as the colors changed and deepened to a magenta red whirling around and around above her head in an exotic Spanish dance, swirling up above her higher and higher as the fire decreased in size to form an inverted funnel.

Flashes, brilliant as lightning--lightning without thunder.

She lay on an altar at the top of a great stone pyramid hundreds of feet high. Naked, her body gleaming. A man came up the stone steps toward her, his bronze body suffused by moonlight, the light from the fire in the pit beside her glinting from the knife in his hand. He stood over her and she recognized him.

As he raised his knife, she screamed his name. "Esteban! Esteban!" He dropped the knife and came to her, his brown eyes flashing, a slight smile on his lips.

She opened her eyes and he was beside her, as naked as she, his hand between her thighs, caressing her, his fingers running up and down her leg making her flesh quiver under his touch. The room was dark, completely dark, and it was a moment before she realized where she was. The storm. The hacienda. Jordan.

She sat up, suddenly alert. "Jordan?" she said.

His arms enclosed her and his mouth found her bared flesh, closing on her breast with his tongue to her nipple. Involuntarily she arched toward him as she felt the fever rise in her legs and pulse upward through her body, the burning fever she couldn't control, the red glowing need.

Jordan's hand came between her legs, forcing them apart, his fingers finding the lips of her sex, touching her, caressing her as her whole body shuddered. His mouth left her breasts and slowly came higher, to her neck, to her lips, and he kissed her, a long lingering kiss. She turned her head away.

"No, Jordan," she whispered. "No."

Alitha wrenched herself from him, her hands clawing at his face, her legs closing against him. She fought until he grasped her two wrists in one hand and held them over her head kissing her again. She bit his lip so that he cried out in pain and she tasted blood but his mouth still held to hers as he thrust his other hand between her legs, not caressing her now, forcing her, his hard body following the path of his hand, his leg pushing hers apart.

He entered her and she moaned. As he thrust inside her, she felt the fire return, a fierce red blaze that seared her, threatened to consume her, and she tensed in his arms, then tried to lie inert but the burning need within wouldn't let her and she opened her arms and legs to him. As his passion mounted, she felt her body respond, rise to his, and the fire exploded inside her in a burst of crimson as she arched to him, responding to him thrust for thrust until, spent, he lay exhausted beside her.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Alitha opened her eyes, shivering in the cool of early morning. She lay naked on top of the blanket with Jordan beside her, his hand thrown across her stomach. She moved his hand aside, taking care not to wake him, and then pulled another blanket over them both. Hugging herself, she scarcely felt the roughness of the blanket on her body as she relived the night before in her mind, feeling at peace with herself and with the world.

The two uncurtained windows across the .room were gray with the first light of dawn. Water streamed down the panes, and she became aware of the steady thrum of rain on the roof over her head. Lying snugly in bed with Jordan beside her and with the rain falling outside, she felt warm and content, as though wrapped in a luxurious cocoon. She hadn't believed that another man could make her feel the same excitement Esteban had. But with Jordan there had been the excitement and much more. Passion, yes, rapture, yes, but also a feeling of sharing. Jordan's lovemaking, so tender yet so fervent, made her feel whole and fully alive, made her want to please him as she'd never wanted to please Esteban.

Looking at Jordan, she smiled as she gently brushed a black strand of hair from his forehead. He stirred but did not waken. At last, she thought, she was freed from Esteban--the thrall in which the don had held her was broken.

Sitting up, she drew in her breath, all at once alarmed. What kind of woman am I, she asked herself. Had Thomas been right? Am I a wanton? She had bedded the night before with Jordan Quinn and, she admitted, she had wanted him. Still wanted him, for that matter. She had bedded with him in part from pity because of Margarita, in part from her own affection for him, and in part because of her own need. But there had been more than pity or affection or need.

Jordan shifted on the bed beside her, and his hand found and clasped her hip. Alitha lay back, staring at the whitewashed ceiling, all her senses alerted by his touch. She bit her lip. Was she once again in danger of confusing desire with love? She had thought she loved Esteban and found she didn't. She mustn't make the same mistake again. Besides, Jordan didn't love her, had never said he loved her. He had forced her, after all, and no man who loved a woman would do that. Jordan still loved Margarita, so how could he possibly love her?

His hand slid from her hip to cup her buttocks, and when she looked at him, she saw him staring raptly at her face.

"Alitha," he said slowly as though savoring the sound of her name. When he started to draw her to him, she slipped away and left the bed. Going to the clothes she had piled on the chair the night before, she searched in the pocket of her dress.

"What are you doing?" Jordan asked. He raised himself on his elbow to watch her.

"Looking for this." She dropped a looped cord over her head and lifted her hair so the cord fell around her neck.

"What in the devil is it?"

She came to the bed and knelt on the blanket, facing him. He lifted the reddish stone from between her bare breasts and held it in his hand.

"Why, it's just a stone carved in the shape of a fish of some sort," he said.

"That's all. An Indian boy gave it to me months ago in Santa Barbara, an Indian boy I was very fond of."

"I've never seen one like it. Does the fish have a meaning in his religion?"

"I don't know, but the charm stone has a meaning to me. I can't explain why, but wearing it is sort of my declaration of independence."

"Alitha, my love, I really don't know what you're talking about. And this morning I don't think I really care." He took her by the upper arm and pulled her to him so that she lay on top and Jordan beneath the blanket while he kissed her, his lips parting, his tongue probing for hers. As their tongues met, she felt the fire kindled within her once more.

She drew away. "It's still raining," she said.