The Wildest Heart (50 page)

Mark did not give me time for more introspection. His manner becoming firm and self-confident again, he insisted that we would finish our talk tomorrow.

“I wonder how many more secrets you are keeping from me,” I said tiredly, and he smiled, drawing me to my feet.

“No secrets. Only surprises—and pleasant ones, I hope. And you, my love?”

“It has become obvious that you know much more about me than I do of you!” I returned sharply. “And as for the rest, perhaps you will discover that too—tomorrow!”

The truth was that I no longer knew how to deal with Mark, or what I could expect of him. I was relieved that he was too patient—or too clever?—to press me further tonight, but contented himself with unhooking my gown, telling me that he was going outside to smoke a cigar and talk over some business with John Kingman.

If he returned to our room, it was long after I had fallen asleep. I did not wake up, although I was troubled by strange dreams, that made me move about restlessly. In the morning the covers trailed onto the floor and the bed linens were all rumpled, and still damp with sweat. I was alone, and the only dream I could remember vividly was that I had been lying with Lucas, and he had been making love to me…

I found myself left alone with Monique for most of that day, Mark having ridden out early in the morning with Mr. Kingman. She wore a thin blouse of pale orange silk, which in some strange fashion seemed to complement the rich color of her hair, instead of clashing with it. Under the blouse Monique wore nothing—the outline of her breasts and nipples clearly visible. Beside her vivid, bright beauty and vivacity of manner, I felt myself to be dull and insignificant. How could any man think
me
beautiful when Monique was present?

“You feel better this morning, eh?” Her slanted green eyes swept over me and she nodded with satisfaction. “Oui—the dark rings are gone from your eyes. You look more as Mark described you. You do not take offense, I hope, that I am frank? I have always been so. Sometimes it makes John angry, that I must always speak what is on my mind. But I tell him… ‘You knew how I was when we married. If you cannot take me as I am now, well, I will go away.'” Monique stretched with unself-conscious, sensuous grace. “And you know what? This he does not want. He needs me. I am a… how do I say it? I am a clever thinker, me. As you are, Mark tells us.”

The morning passed, with Monique alternately yawning and gossiping. She was lonely, she told me, but she struck me as being a very self-sufficient woman, as well as one used to having her own way. She did not exactly
say
so, but I received the impression that she and John Kingman enjoyed a rather unique relationship. She spoke of trips to New Orleans and San Antonio and even to San Francisco—but always separately. “Someone has to stay here and look after things, yes?” And once she mentioned that jealousy had no part in a perfect marriage.

“Is there any such thing?” I could not help sounding rather bitter, and Monique, after a sidewise glance, gave a gurgle of laughter.

“Wait,” she said wisely. “You have a lot to learn yet!”

And then, jumping to her feet as if she could not bear to sit still for too long, she asked if I would care to go riding with her. “Just a little way, I don't want to tire you.”

I noticed, for the first time, the unusual lack of activity around the ranch house. The maids were Mexican, buxom and giggling, and the cook a wizened old Frenchman who had accompanied Monique from Louisiana. But the few men who lounged outside looked more like gunmen than cowboys, and did not seem to have any particular duties to perform. I was struck, too, by the strange isolation of the house itself. Nestled in the foothills, it was built on a small plateau that commanded a view of the rolling Estancia Valley. Behind, the layered peaks of the Los Piños mountain range towered thickly forested; and in the distance to the left the Manzano Mountains.

As we followed the narrow and winding trail that led us downwards, Monique said laughingly, “And now you see why we so seldom have visitors! This place is too difficult to find, and the trail too rough to get here easily—you remember how sick you felt yesterday?”

Yesterday, I reflected grimly, I had been too ill to remember very much, nor to notice much either. But today my mind seemed to have cleared and I observed too many things that puzzled me.

A clearing guarded by heavily armed men who put up their rifles only when they recognized Monique. Far too many cattle milled around in this one spot, and some of them wore unfamiliar brands, although a certain amount of branding was going on at the moment we passed through. Monique stopped only to ask a few questions, her voice clear and businesslike, and then we rode on through a thickly growing stand of trees, splashing through a shallow stream to come out into another small cleared space.

“One of the bunkhouses,” Monique said airily. “Some of our men stay here too, but we keep this place mostly for… certain friends who may be passing through, or wish a safe place to stay for a few weeks.”

Safe? My look must have been questioning, for she laughed.

“I can see that Mark has not told you anything. Perhaps he preferred that I should do so. I believe that Mark is still a little bit shy of you; isn't that silly?”

I agreed that it was. I was suddenly very cold, very clear-minded. And as we turned our horses back towards the house and Monique continued to talk, I began to understand everything. It would be left to Mark, when he returned late in the afternoon, to tell me the rest.

Was this really the man I had thought of as “poor Mark,” and even, sometimes, “dear Mark”? I had begun to notice in him a certain resemblance to Todd. Mark was almost as tall; they had the same coloring. And he had thrown off his diffident air to become almost as arrogant, just as self-assured. The difference was that Mark was much more intelligent than Todd. He had reason and logic behind every action, whereas Todd had been more given to shouting and bluster.

Suddenly there was a rational explanation for all that puzzled me.

“Why did you have to pretend?” I asked Mark, and he gave me a twisted smile.

“Did I have a choice? You know what Uncle Todd is like. ‘Overbearing' is the kindest way to describe him. I was his ‘lawyer nephew' and he was contemptuous of that. After all, what had my father achieved besides being appointed a judge before he died? Todd Shannon—the illiterate rough-and-tumble fighter from Ireland—he had everything. Land. Money. Position. Power. Yes, you were right. I was supposed to be his lackey. Grateful for the fact that he had chosen me to be his heir, because there was no one else. I must give up my career, my friends, the civilized way of life. And all to come here and run his errands. Follow his orders. ‘Yes, Uncle Todd' and ‘No, Uncle Todd.' Do as you're told, Mark, even if it means staying away from the woman you love. As long as I had no choice, Rowena, I did as I was ordered to. And I learned. Just as you did once.”

“As I did?”

We were in our bedroom, and Mark, with a sudden violence that took me by surprise, put his hands on my shoulders, his fingers gripping so hard that I heard the thin lawn of my sleeves rip.

“Yes! Did you think I didn't know what you were to Sir Edgar Cardon? I was in Paris, remember? He wasn't so discreet there. I knew you were his mistress. There was a certain very exclusive, very expensive house, on the outskirts of Paris—do you recall it? He took you there one night. I recognized you, in spite of the heavy veil that covered your face. I was there. I followed—just another curious guest. I saw everything that you saw. I couldn't see your reactions, but I could guess them! And I was more fascinated than I had been. More under your spell. Do you understand? A woman who can hide her emotions, who can still appear to be made of marble, who can use her head to her best advantage—do you wonder why I admired you so? Why I wanted you? You and I, Rowena. We will have everything. Remember when you said that we would be the builders? We will build our own empire.”

“And Todd?” I was amazed that my voice sounded so matter of fact.

“You don't love him!” Mark laughed, drawing me closer to him. “And I think that by now you have reason to hate him, just as I have. He's trampled on other people too long, had his own way too long. He'll learn.”

“Mark—I can hardly believe all this. Or the change in you. Do I really know you?”

“You will. And you're going to help me, just as Monique helps John.”

“John Kingman is not an ordinary rancher, is he?”

I felt Mark's hands slide down my arm.

“You
know
that by now. Monique told you. John was run out of Texas. He fought for the South, and came back to find his ranch confiscated by carpetbaggers for nonpayment of taxes. It was an excuse that was used very often in those days. Can you blame him for being bitter?”

“So he became an outlaw.”

“You can call it that. Until he met Monique. She was the brains behind this idea. An isolated ranch. A place where men on the run could hide out.”

“Where stolen cattle can be driven, and rebranded, and sold in the big cow towns, where nobody asks many questions. Yes, I know. Monique told me. But you and I, Mark. Where do we enter into this?”

“You said ‘we.'” Mark's eyes looked searchingly into mine and I returned his look with an unblinking, level glance of my own.

“I'm married to you. I think I have a right to know what we're involved in.”

If I could not discern any emotion in my voice, then Mark could not either. I remember thinking, distantly, that it was easy to use my intelligence and to be
practical
—hated word!—when my emotions were not involved.

“You have every right, and you shall know! Rowena—my dearest wife—I knew that you would understand!”

I suffered Mark's crushing embrace, I made no protest when, his fingers shaking, he began to undo the buttons that ran down the front of my gown.

“I must tell you,” I said to Mark as I stepped out of my dress and kicked it aside, “that I am not easy to arouse. I am your wife, and I will submit when you want to take me. But I'm not a whore, and I will not feign response if I feel none. Do you understand, Mark?”

In the dimness of the room his eyes looked fever-bright. “And Cord, whose name you cried out last night while I caressed your sleeping body. Did he arouse your slumbering passions?” I realized that I would have to tread very carefully as I looked into Mark's face, narrowing my eyes slightly.

“Are you jealous, Mark?”

“Answer me!”

“Well, then—” I chose my words deliberately. “At the beginning, yes. I didn't think we would live through the fury of that storm. I was so frightened that it was easy to be abandoned. And afterward… well, you know what happened. I think I was too cold to suit him.”

“But you continued to want him—to dream about him. I must know the truth, Rowena!”

Mark's face was flushed as he pulled the chemise from my body with unusual roughness.

For the first time, since we had come here to talk, I let some emotion come into my voice. “Yes! Why not? No woman likes to feel rejected. It would have been different if I had been the one. If he came crawling to my feet then I would not want him. If you want a passionate creature as your wife, Mark, then you'll have to get used to the fact that I might someday desire another man.” I saw the look on his face and forced a laugh. “My goodness! How Monique would laugh if she thought you were capable of jealousy! She's told me how understanding John is and how she loves him all the more for it. Must our marriage be governed by bourgeois morality?”

The one weapon I had against Mark was rationality. He prided himself upon his logic and his intellectual outlook.

Now I saw a baffled look come into his eyes as he gazed down at me. “You—expect me to allow you to take lovers?”

“I would be very discreet of course. And I would expect the same of you. Really, Mark, you've been begging me to understand, and now that I have accepted your philosophy, you don't seem too happy about it. Are we to be partners or not? If you wanted a meek, conventional wife, you should not have chosen me, especially since you know me so well.”

“Suddenly you've changed, Rowena. You're no longer the lost, unhappy girl who turned to me for comfort.”

“It was the shock to my system. I'm not used to being pregnant! But now I've had time to think and adjust myself, and I'm back to being the woman you fell in love with. Or was that a pretense on your part?”

“Don't say that, Rowena! You know how I've always admired your strength of character.”

“Then you'll take me as I am?”

He was looking at my body, his hands reaching out to touch me. “On any terms, my darling. Just as long as you're all mine in our bedroom. Just as long as you remember you're my wife, mine!”

There would be time later for self-hate. For disgust and revulsion at what I had submitted to. I think that only another woman would understand what I am speaking of. From the moment that Mark put his hands on me, drawing me before the mirror, I closed my mind to what was happening to me, seeing my body as someone else's, willing myself not to feel, not to think. I almost wished I had had an excess of champagne again, to dull my senses. The French have a word for a man like my husband.
Voyeur.

I heard him whisper, “When we build our own home, there will be mirrors everywhere in our bedroom to reflect the perfection of your body. Silk sheets on the bed. And rose-shaded lamps. You will learn—I will teach you to surrender yourself to the pure pleasure of sensuality…”

I learned instead to dissemble. Mark's caresses did not arouse me, but I learned to accept them passively. Apparently satisfied with my complaisance, he grew more expansive regarding his plans—
ours
he called them—for the future.

I listened, frowning slightly. “But, Mark, why is the SD so important to you? I thought you missed your law practice in Boston, and civilization. You once talked of traveling in Europe.”

“We can go to Europe later. And as for Boston—what could I ever hope to be but a lawyer, just another one of many? To be appointed a judge, perhaps, when I am old, just as my father was? Rowena,
this
is where the future of this country lies, this is the time to start building. Nowhere else in the world is there so much opportunity—acres and acres of land to be had for almost nothing. The SD is only the beginning, our foothold here. The nucleus around which we can build an empire as vast as that of Charlemagne. Do you think that certain other far-sighted men have not already recognized this? The old world is growing cramped. Why do you think that men like the Marquis of Mora, John Tunstall, yes, even your own father, have torn up their roots to plant new ones here? We will be the new aristocracy: It's time for men like my uncle who only know the use of fists and guns and think to keep what they have seized by brute force alone, to move aside.”

“And how will you contrive to make them do so except by the use of guns and violence?” I retorted sharply. “You've often talked of respect for the law, Mark. How can you justify your own disregard for it?”

“My dearest, I do not disregard the law. I know the law. Believe me, everything we do will be perfectly legal! There will be no violence unless it is forced upon us—and in the end, we'll bring law and order into the territory, preparing it for statehood.”

“And you, I suppose, will be our first senator.”

“With you beside me as my wife.” My sarcasm had no effect on Mark. He squeezed my hand lightly. “Trust me, Rowena.”

Suddenly, I was remembering something that Jesus Montoya had once said. Something about ambition and money and power. And being able to corrupt the incorruptible with enough money… Money! Mark intended to buy his dreams with money. The thought that frightened me was that he might succeed.

I had become too clever to let him see how completely I opposed him. I sat with the others every evening and listened, with growing amazement and disbelief, to their carefully laid plans. John and Monique Kingman were very much involved too; Monique even more enthusiastic than her husband. I began to think of a well-thought-out military campaign.

Get rid of the “robber barons” first. Men like Shannon, who would hold back progress. Organize vigilance committees to keep the lawless elements out of the territory.

I raised an eyebrow at that, and Monique shook her head at me playfully. “I know what you are thinking! But we will all be respectable, law-abiding citizens by then.”

“And until then?”

They expected me to ask questions. Mark was pleased that I had begun to take interest in his schemes. “A legal revolution,” he called it.

And for all their talk of getting rid of the lawless element, it was this same element they planned to use in order to achieve their ends.

“But only the elite—the very best,” Monique said, her eyes shining. “Professional gunmen who have been clever enough to stay on the right side of the law.”

“An army of mercenaries?”

“Under disciplined leadership, of course,” Mark put in. “And there are a few men we know of who already have their own, well-organized bands of men who will follow them and take orders—for a certain share of the profits, of course. We're not concerned with the fools, the criminals who kill for the sake of killing, or in the heat of rage. We want men who are self-disciplined, and who look ahead into the future.”

Even John Kingman leaned forward in his chair to look at me, a slightly bitter note underlying his soft Texas drawl. “Every man dreams of being able to settle down some day. To have something of his own, to stop running. The constant taking of risks begins to pall, after a while.”

Monique broke in: “Surely you can see it, Rowena? We will be offering those who throw in their lot with us the chance to begin a new life. To become respectable, yet with enough money to lead a good life.”

“Rowena, you shall be our devil's advocate,” Mark said teasingly. “What objections can you see now?”

“I seem to recall a Chinese proverb about riding a tiger,” I said slowly.

“Give such men weapons and the license to kill—how do you know that when it's over they will stop, or that you will be able to continue to control them?”

It was Monique who shrugged airily.

“But who says there will be any killing? Only if it's necessary—and there will be enough for all. Why should we have to quarrel among each other like dogs?”

“I think the men we choose will have too much intelligence not to consider the advantages they are being offered against the disadvantages of attempting to be too greedy,” Mark said, and I put forward no more arguments for the moment.

Days passed. I realized, without having to be told, that we were not, after all, going to Boston. Another of Mark's clever ruses. He had meant to come here all along, but his uncle would believe that we were still journeying slowly across the continent. Clever, clever Mark. I was constantly discovering new facets to his nature. Difficult, now, to believe that I had ever dismissed him lightly as his uncle's errand boy; a weak, but good-natured young man, nothing out of the ordinary. I had seen only what he had meant me to see, of course. No, I must never underestimate Mark again, nor his infinite patience.