The Wildest Heart (54 page)

Even now, I could not bring myself to talk about Mark. I had married him, and the reasons I had used to convince myself seemed weak and senseless now. But Lucas had looked for Elmer Bragg—had found him. But why, of all places, Fort Selden?

It was a question I was to ask myself many times during the long journey to San Antonio. Lucas knew no more than I of Mr. Bragg's motives. He was only able to tell me that Elmer Bragg had recovered from his coma after he had been left for dead, and that the use of his legs had been impaired, so that he was obliged to use a wheelchair, or two canes. But his infirmity had impaired neither his curiosity nor his determination to search out facts. And now he wanted to see me, but I must come to him—and at Fort Selden.

I had tried to protest that it was too dangerous; that there would be time later to get in touch with Elmer Bragg. I was relieved that he was alive, after all; but at the same time I wanted only to go as far away from New Mexico Territory as I could—with Lucas. For him to attempt to take me to Fort Selden was far too dangerous.

I suppose that I had forgotten how stubborn Lucas could be. There was not enough time in which to argue with him that hot morning—and we were too busy rediscovering ourselves. Later I would have to face Monique with as much insouciance as she would have faced me after meeting a lover. Later, I would have to face Mark too, and this was easier than I imagined, with Monique as my incongruous ally.

“Tell him you are tired—that you stayed in bed all day with a headache. A woman who is
enceinte
has all kinds of excuses to use—if she needs them.
Pauvre
Rowena…” she smiled at me teasingly. “Did you imagine I would not understand? Every woman with a husband needs a lover as well. A pity Mark is not as tolerant as my John. But you—I think you are a
femme du monde,
just as I am.”

Monique was far more practical than I could ever be. I began to know her better as we sat side by side in the canvas-topped buggy that we were to travel in until we reached San Antonio. As amoral as a cat, she enjoyed thinking that I was the same way too. Mark, it seemed, had confided in her one night, when they had both had too much to drink.

“Your story intrigued me,
p'tite.
And especially after I had met you. I suppose it is because you are English that you appear to be so cold—on the surface. No wonder you are so good at playing poker!” She laughed, and looked at me sideways. “One gets tired of being made love to before a mirror. All preliminaries, and not enough after. You see, I spent a weekend with your husband in San Francisco once, and I can understand that you might become bored, even if you are on your honeymoon still. Now Lucas—ah, he is still close to being a savage,
n'est-ce pas?
And a woman needs variety, just as men do.”

I had learned, before we reached our destination that night, that Monique had worked “upstairs,” as she put it, at the Silver Slipper in New Orleans, before she met her husband. That she was in the habit of going after any man she desired, just as a man might do with a woman. I think she enjoyed the chance to speak frankly to another woman, and I had schooled myself well enough not to let my jealousy show when she made it obvious that she still wanted Lucas.

“It is going to be a long, long journey, after all,” she said slyly. “But you and I, if we help each other, can keep from becoming too bored!”

So Monique made her plans, and I made mine. She was not the kind of woman that I could pity, for she meant to use me, just as I intended to use her sudden alliance. I think it amused her to help arrange matters so that I could spend some stolen moments with a lover, besides putting us both on the same footing. Each time I met her knowing eyes they seemed to say, “So we are not so very different after all, you and I—the English Lady and the girl from the Silver Slipper.”

The heat shimmered like a golden haze over dusty plains, growing even more intolerable as the sun climbed higher. Mark, his fair, flushed face wearing a slightly sulky expression, rode beside us for part of the way, and it was not hard, in his presence, for me to feign illness.

“I thought you said yesterday that you were ready to travel—that you had quite got over your feelings of sickness in the morning.”

“It's this heat, Mark! Of course Rowena is strong enough to travel. Let her have a good night's sleep tonight—she shall sleep with me in the wagon, honeymoon or not—and she'll be fine by morning.”

Yes, I could not help but feel grateful towards Monique for the clever way in which she had maneuvered matters; and even when, a short time later, she began to flirt quite outrageously with Lucas, who had just ridden up, I gave a creditable impression of being completely unconcerned.

I had become so accustomed to the feeling of blank despair that I had carried with me for so long, like a stone over my heart, that I could not help being afraid that things were going too smoothly now.

We made camp a few miles east of San Antonio, just before sundown. A barren spot, I thought, in spite of a small clump of trees some distance away that concealed a small stream—one of the many tiny tributaries of the Rio Grande. And here, with Mark offering to stand guard for us, Monique and I washed some of the trail dust off our bodies.

I remember that only a faint light filtered down through the leaves of closely growing trees that leaned thirstily over the shallow water. Monique was quicker at undressing than I, removing all her clothes, flinging them carelessly on the bank.

“Come on, hurry—before it gets dark. Don't you want to get clean all over?”

Her light, teasing words held a hidden significance that was not lost on me.

Following Monique's example, I put my head under the water and came up with my hair dripping, clinging to my face and shoulders so that I had to push it out of the way. It was then that I looked up and saw Mark. He stood between the trees only a few feet away, watching. The flush I had learned to recognize and to dread was on his face, his eyes were glazed.

“So beautiful… the bright and the dark, together.”

“No!” I cried out involuntarily. I think I took a step backward, almost slipping into the water.

“Be careful, cherie!” Monique put her arm around my waist; it was all I could do not to flinch away from her touch. No, I was not naive. I knew this had been planned—I even knew what he wanted.

“Since you've been too tired for my caresses, why don't you let Monique arouse you? Two lovely women—don't you want to touch her, Rowena? Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like?”

“Don't push her, Mark. It's too sudden, can't you see she's not ready yet? Perhaps later…”

I had grown so stiff that I was incapable of moving. I looked at Mark, and even my lips were stiff. “Please—go away.”

He blinked his eyes, as if he was coming out of a trance.

“Rowena…”

And again it was Monique who spoke, her tone both amused and tolerant.

“I told you, Mark. She is not ready. Give her time.” Her arms slipped from about my waist, and she patted my cheek consolingly.

“There, cherie! But after all, he is your husband. There's nothing wrong with his watching you take a bath, is there? And me, I do not mind. I am proud of my body, and so should you be of yours.”

When I looked back at the bank again, Mark had gone, and Monique, completely at ease, began to dry her hair, still naked.

After a while, because there was nothing else I could do, I followed her example.

“Never mind,” Monique whispered to me later as we scrambled up the steep bank. “Tonight, you will be consoled, yes?” She shook her head as if torn between amusement and anger. “That Mark! I knew he would watch us, of course—didn't you? But to expect that we would put on an exhibition for him, like two
poules…
when such things happen between people it must be in their own time and setting, don't you think so?”

Again it was my desire not to appear ingenuous that made me shrug and agree that she was right. How much had Mark told her of me—and how much else had he implied?

That night, as we took our meal some distance apart from the rest of our party, Mark acted as though nothing had happened. He had discarded his usual dark jacket as a concession to the heat, but his white linen shirt was immaculate—his manner towards me as devoted and attentive as ever.

“I ordered some wine chilled in the stream—I thought you might care for some, my love.” He filled our glasses and toasted us both. “To two beautiful and elegant women!” He put his arm around me, drawing me close so that I was forced to lean against him. “And my compliments to your chef, Monique. It's hard to believe that he contrived such an excellent dinner over an open fire.”

“Oh, Henri can cook anywhere—and over anything. He's a Cajun, from Louisiana.” She smiled, and added, “Like myself.”

I listened quietly while Monique and Mark began to discuss our ‘arrangements' for the night and for the real journey which would begin tomorrow.

“I doubt if there's a chance of an Indian attack tonight, and especially with Fort Craig close by. But in any case the men will be taking turns as sentries. I have them posted around the entire perimeter of our camp tonight, so that you ladies will be able to get a good night's sleep without any apprehensions.” Mark's manner sounded completely self-assured and almost arrogant, just as if he had been used to giving orders all his life. And again I found myself thinking how much like his uncle he seemed at times.

“You're not nervous, are you, my darling?” He smiled down at me, and under the shawl I had thrown about my shoulders to keep off the night chill his fingers began to caress my breast, slowly and intimately, as if he wished to remind me I was his possession now, and subject to his wishes. It was all I could do not to flinch away, but I could feel the color rise in my face, and Monique's amused look told me that she knew very well what was happening.

“Oh, you two lovebirds!” she said teasingly, and then, frowning inquiringly, “but where is my gladiator tonight? I was thinking that while you two are saying your good-nights he might take me for a short stroll before it's time for bed.”

For an instant, I felt Mark's fingers press into my flesh, and then he gave a contemptuous laugh.

“Oh, you mean my wife's half-breed bodyguard? I sent him into San Antonio with some of the other men, to see what information they could pick up. I hope you don't mind, my love? He seemed glad to go—I've heard there's a cantina there that boasts of very bad liquor and extremely pretty girls.” With hardly a change in his voice he went on softly, “Rowena has such lovely breasts—they are perfectly formed, you know—and so quickly excited…”

“And now you will make me jealous—especially since you've seen to it that I'll have no cavalier to tell me the same thing tonight!” Monique pouted, and then shrugged. “But there will be other nights, I'm sure.”

I kept my mind closed—my face blank. If I had looked into a mirror now I knew that my eyes would have showed no expression at all—they would be wide, staring, the eyes of the stranger I had seen so often in the mirror.

He held me against the wheel of the wagon in which Monique and I were to sleep afterwards, and his ardent kisses covered my face and bosom.

“How shy you are, Rowena! It never fails to surprise me. But we are in the shadows now, sweetheart, and no one can see us.” I had to suffer his fingers against my skin, as they unfastened my gown and then roamed at will. His whispers, that told me of the nights we were to share later. I sensed that in some strange way he enjoyed the thought that only the wagon separated us from the campfire and the men who still sat around it, their voices carrying to us clearly.

Even when, finally, he let me go, and I climbed back into the wagon still shaking with reaction, his words kept echoing in my mind.

“You're mine, Rowena, mine at last. No one else shall have you, do you understand me?”

“So, you're back at last.” Monique's voice sounded drowsy. “There's nothing like putting a man off, is there? It makes them all the more eager and appreciative later.”

I felt, rather than saw, her stretch as she turned on her back.

“Wear your prettiest shift, Rowena. Or better still, wear nothing at all. I do not think it will take your husband long to fall asleep tonight. I had Henri mix a little sleeping draught with that last glass of wine.”

I felt that my nerves had turned into taut wires that would snap far too easily. Monique appeared to be my friend and ally, but how far could I trust her? It amused her to play procuress at the moment, but I had already learned how her moods could change. “My gladiator,” she had called Lucas. I had heard the story, on our journey here, of how she had deliberately arranged for two other men who also wanted her to become angry enough to fight him—and all because he had refused to demonstrate the Chinese style of unarmed combat he had learned.

“Joe and Magruder were both such big dirty-fighting Irishmen. But Lucas… ah, I have never seen anything so exciting in my life. Yes, John was right—it was like a Roman circus that day. I have never seen anything like it—so primitive, so fierce… and I made myself the prize…” I had not asked her if the victor had claimed his spoils or not. But now I wondered if Monique's love of intrigue and excitement might not lead her to betray us—merely to see what would happen.

Tonight, I deliberately feigned indifference.

“Well… perhaps he'll find those señoritas in San Antonio far more enticing than another man's wife…”

Turning my back on Monique, I stripped off my clothes, pulling a plain cotton chemise over my head. I heard her chuckle lazily.

“Oh, he'll be here. I do not think Lucas is as disinterested as he seems. Perhaps you are a challenge to him, for the moment.”

“And for the moment, perhaps I find myself challenged by him,” I answered perfunctorily, turning on my side.

I could not sleep, of course. I stayed awake, listening to the sounds of the camp die down, until there was only silence, broken by the faint sounds of coyotes howling in the distant mountains, and closer by, the stamping and whickering of horses. I even imagined that I could hear the angry noises that the fire made, as it subsided sullenly into itself, to leave only a glowing bed of coals.

Where was Mark—where was Lucas? Perhaps, learning of the guards that had been posted, he had decided that it was too risky to attempt a clandestine meeting with me.

I started when I felt a sudden draft of cold air fan my face. I should have remembered that Lucas could be as silent as an Apache when he wanted to be.

I snatched up a blanket to wrap around myself, and heard Monique whisper, “Try to get back before it's light, you two. And enjoy yourselves!”

And then I found myself embarked on a journey that was to change my life forever, although I couldn't have known it at the time—and would not have turned back, even if I had. For I had learned, by then, that happiness must be paid for, and the price is often pain, but I was ready to risk anything for happiness with Lucas.

What I remember most about that night, though, is the feeling of relief I experienced when I realized that Lucas had come for me after all: the sensation of being swept up into his arms and carried, my face against the curve of his neck and shoulder. He knew, of course, where each of the guards were posted, and even with my weight in his arms he was able to travel on foot further and faster and more quietly than he would have done if he had set me down.

We came, at last, to the place where he had left the horses, and a pack mule.

“The ponies are desert-bred—an' that old mule once belonged to the army. It'll make for faster traveling, at the beginning, and we can pack supplies. Water an' food…” an infinitesimal pause and then he went on in the same expressionless voice, “an' a rifle and some extra ammunition.”

We would be followed, of course. Mark might have my money, but he wanted me too. The runaway wife… and because of me, we would both be in danger—Lucas more so than I, for I felt that Mark would want to get me back alive.

I remember that all these thoughts ran through my mind as I stood there, straining my eyes to see the expression on Lucas's face. A premonitory shiver ran up my spine, and the blanket slipped from about my shoulders.

“Jesus, Ro!” His voice was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Seems like you're always half-naked when you start runnin' off somewhere. A good thing I thought to bring some clothes with me.” It was as if, in silence, there had been an exchange of some kind between us. There was no more asking each other if we were sure, if we trusted. Words like ‘do you love me? How much? Will you love me and take care of me always?' no longer needed to be said, for at some point, without words, we had progressed beyond such preliminaries, and everything had been decided.

I had crossed the Jornado del Muerto before, and that on foot, but this time there was an urgency that was missing before, when we had chosen our own pace.

We traveled on without stopping for the rest of that first night. The miles we put between ourselves and the camp, and the fact that Lucas knew this desolate country as well as any Apache, would be our only advantage during the long and grueling hours that lay ahead. I realized this as well as he did, and I vowed to myself that I would show myself to be as stoical as an Apache woman. Lucas would not find me a burden, slowing him down in our headlong flight.