Touch the Wind (26 page)

Turning her face to the wall, Sheila jammed a fist against her mouth, trying to swallow the unbearable
lump in her throat. Again she heard Ráfaga approaching the bed and she closed her eyes tight.

“Here,” he said.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was offering his saddlebags to her. She stared at them coldly, tears burning the backs of her eyes.

“What is it?” she asked.

He tossed the bags on the bed beside her, then walked to the dresser. “I bought you some clothes since you were so reluctant to wear any castoffs of Elena’s.”

Sheila didn’t quite believe him and unfastened the flaps to dump the contents of the saddlebags onto the bed. She stared at the clothes that tumbled out: a pair of Levi’s, a skirt, and at least one other pair of slacks, as well as several blouses. Her stunned fingers singled out a cranberry-colored silk blouse for closer inspection.

“I thought the color would complement your fairness,” Ráfaga said quietly. Sheila turned to him, finding herself lost in the compelling darkness of his eyes.

Even though he was across the room from her, she could feel the dominating force of his presence. Sheila broke free of his gaze.

“Where did you get them?” She glanced at the clothes on the bed, a corner of her mouth lifting with wry bitterness. “Don’t tell me you raided a store?”

“I
bought
them at a store.” His voice underlined the verb.

“Why?” Sheila challenged.

“Because, as you have pointed out many times, you needed clothes.”

“Is this some sort of appeasement for holding me a prisoner here? Because, if it is, it won’t work,” she snapped. “What you would really prefer is that I have no clothes at all. That way whenever you felt a surge of lust, you could take me without wasting the time to strip off my clothes.” With a sweep of her hand, she pushed the clothes to the floor. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.” Sarcasm filled her voice.

“You are refusing them?” Ráfaga impaled her on his spearing gaze.

Her amber eyes flashed with sparks of anger. “Maybe I should throw them in your face so you’ll be certain of my message.” Sheila saw the thinning of his mouth. “Don’t pretend you were trying to be thoughtful; if you were, you would let me go instead of holding me here!”

He turned his back to her, his hand doubled into a fist on the dresser top. “You hate it very much here, do you not?” It was a flat, unemotional statement.

“Hate?” She laughed a bitter, throaty laugh. “How odd that you should choose that word, considering that five minutes ago you didn’t make love to me—you made ‘hate’ to me!”

“
Sí
,” Ráfaga admitted, pivoting to walk slowly to the bed. “I took you in anger a moment ago.” He loomed above her like a bronze god.

“Why?” Sheila felt the chill of his coldness. “Did you want to finish what Juan started? The only thing I was trying to escape from was him. The very day you left I saw him and I knew he would be waiting out there for me if I tried to get away. I thought I would be safe from him if I did as you said, staying in the house or going out only with the other Juan. I thought your word could protect me, but it didn’t. When I think of the way I fell into your arms when you returned, it makes me sick. I’m not even safe with you. You proved that when you called me a liar and raped me!”

The mattress shifted beneath his weight. Sheila tried to roll away from him, but he caught her wrists and spreadeagled her arms above her head. Pinned, she stopped struggling as she waited for him to make use of his advantage.

“I believe you when you say Juan tried to rape you,” he said grimly. “I believe you stole his knife and stabbed him to defend your honor.”

“Then, why?” Sheila cried her confusion. “Why did you listen to him?”

“Because I think you may have invited him into the house,” he answered. “You had to know tonight was your last chance of escaping before I returned. And I know you would make an empty promise of your body
to any man who helped you. You have done it before with Laredo.” Sheila groaned and turned her head away. “I think you asked him, believing you could control him, only to discover you could not.”

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!” she protested, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

“Not a moment ago, you said you wanted to be free,” Ráfaga reminded her coldly, “that you wanted to escape. You admitted what I already knew. Perhaps there was truth in each of your stories. I could not kill him for wanting you, or I would have to kill myself, because I, too, feel the desire to possess you.”

The moist warmth of his breath was against her cheek. Sheila stiffened at the tantalizing brush of his mouth over her lips. His weight was settling on top of her. She twisted her head away from his light, exploring kiss.

“Don’t” she protested, aching. The blanket scratched the nakedness of her flesh as it was trapped between their bodies.

“That is one reason why there was no gentleness in my heart when I took you.” His voice was muffled by her hair, its anger directed at himself. “The other reason was that I knew Juan Ortega was right when he said you had bewitched me. For three days you haunted my vision, lioness. At night, it was the remembered feel of your softness beside me.”

His teeth nibbled at her earlobe, sending shivers over her skin. This was the seductive mastery Sheila remembered, this velvet over steel. She was being commanded again to take part in the lovemaking, to receive satisfaction, as well as give it.

“You have bewitched me, lioness,” he murmured again against her mouth, a roughness still in his tone, “into wanting you. It is only right that I make you want me.”

An unnatural silence filled the house. Standing at the front window, Sheila glanced over her shoulder. She frowned as she realized Consuelo had left without her usual smiling “
buenos días
.” This unnerving silence must have affected her, too, Sheila decided.

Her fingers touched the buttoned front of her blouse. Dispassionately, Ráfaga had ordered her to wear the clothes he had brought her. It was the last thing Sheila could remember him saying directly to her.

His marked indifference this morning and this noon made a mockery of his attention to her last night. Sexually, she must have bewitched him, but he certainly wasn’t under her spell in any other way.

In some ways it seemed to Sheila as if the reverse were true. She wavered between love and hate whenever he was around, like a barometer trapped between two conflicting fronts. She wondered how much longer these two emotions could war with each other before one of them came out a victor.

The sound of horses’ hooves turned Sheila’s attention
out the window. Juan rode into view, leading her roan mare, Arriba, and Ráfaga’s bay. The back of her neck prickled in warning. Sheila pivoted to find Ráfaga standing in the middle of the room, his entrance made with animal silence. Her stomach twisted itself into a knot of longing as she met his hooded look, impassive and aloof.

“Juan is here with the horses.” She tried to sound natural and calm. “I presume we’re going for a ride.” It came out brittle and challenging.

“No.”

“Then, why—” She started to look out the window again.

“It is time for the punishment of Juan Ortega. The midday sun is hot and it is a long walk to the place. I thought you would prefer to ride,” Ráfaga stated. A sardonic glint flickered in his eyes as he added, “Do you wish to see his punishment?”

“I—” Sheila hesitated. She wasn’t certain exactly how she felt, except that she wanted to erase all memory of Juan’s attack from her mind.

“You were anxious enough last night to drive a knife into his back and later to have me kill him for you. Has your stomach become weak with the rising of the sun?”

Sheila read between the lines. Ráfaga was accusing her of having a guilty conscience, of having invited Juan into the house without being prepared to face the consequences. He was suggesting that in the harsh light of day, she might feel equally to blame for what happened because of her supposed invitation.

“No, it hasn’t,” she snapped angrily. “I shall enjoy seeing him punished.”

There was a slight inclination of his dark head in arrogant acceptance of her decision. “The horses are outside.”

Sheila stalked past him to the door. A silent and solemn-faced Juan handed her the mare’s reins. Ráfaga’s fingers touched her elbow to assist her in mounting. She pulled away, disdainfully rejecting his offer.

Astride the saddle, her smouldering eyes saw Juan’s
gaze fix on the purpling mark along her jaw. She had seen the disfiguring bruise in the mirror and knew how ugly it looked.

“
La señora
is all right?” Juan asked with gentle concern.

“I’m fine.” But her response was much sharper than she had intended.

As she clamped her teeth shut tightly, a twinge of pain shot along her jaw. Reining the mare around, Sheila guided the animal toward the distant cluster of houses.

She knew their destination—that hollowed piece of ground beyond the corral. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ráfaga move his bay up to ride beside her, but she didn’t acknowledge his presence with a word or a look.

There wasn’t a sign of life as they rode by the adobe buildings. When they neared the hollow, Sheila discovered why. Every man, woman, and child living in the canyon was at the hollow. Despite the crowd, there was little talking. Only the younger children were playing, the ones who didn’t know what was about to happen.

At the rim of the hollow, Sheila halted the mare and Ráfaga did the same with his horse. Immediately, they became the cynosure of everyone there. Sheila watched the heads turn in their direction and felt the hush become more pronounced.

Laredo was standing with two other men in the center of the hollow near the two poles. She saw his head jerk as he noticed her beside Ráfaga. He separated himself from the two men, long, ground-eating strides carrying him to the top of the hollow.

“What the hell is she doing here?” He confronted Ráfaga with an angry look.

There wasn’t a crack in the mask that covered Ráfaga’s features. “Mrs. Townsend wished to come.”

Sheila blanched at his cold formality. She had gone from Sheila to
señora
, and now she was addressed as Mrs. Townsend. If he was seeking to prove that he was
involved with her only physically, he couldn’t have chosen a better way.

“This is no place for her,” Laredo persisted. “There isn’t any reason for her to see this. Let her go, Ráfaga.”

“I did not order her to come,” Ráfaga answered with unruffled coolness. “She stays or leaves by her own choice.”

Laredo turned to her, his blue eyes snapping. “For God’s sake, Sheila, get out of here. You don’t want to see this. I’ll send Juan with you.”

“You forget.” She turned so he could see the disfiguring bruise marring her left cheek and jaw. “I have ample reason to want to see him punished, Laredo.”

He breathed in deeply, lowering his head with an exasperated shake. “You are either stupid or stubborn. I just hope to hell you know what you’re doing.” There was a lightning flick of his blue eyes in her direction before he pivoted away.

A low command in Spanish came from Ráfaga. Laredo stopped and moved to take the reins of the bay as Ráfaga dismounted. He didn’t look again at Sheila, but she felt the mocking slash of his obsidian eyes before Ráfaga moved away from the horses.

The attention shifted to the center of the hollow. For the first time, Sheila noticed two men holding her attacker. There was a definite pallor beneath his swarthy complexion, and his dark eyes kept darting nervously to the twin posts. She could almost see the sweating beads of fear running down his face. Although he stood unmoving, Sheila knew he was cowering inside. Looking at him, she still felt revulsion, but little fear.

Gradually, she became aware that everyone was watching Ráfaga, waiting. Her gaze slid to him, standing several yards away. His back was to her, but it was as if he felt her attention and had been waiting for it. The instant she looked at him, Sheila heard him begin to speak in Spanish. His voice was calm and low, yet it carried to all without effort.

Laredo was standing at the bay’s head near Sheila.
She leaned forward in the saddle, her gaze not leaving Ráfaga.

“What is he saying?” she asked.

Laredo turned his head slightly, showing his profile without taking his attention away from Ráfaga. “He’s explaining why Juan is to be punished.”

When Ráfaga finished his explanation, he stood silently. Sheila’s gaze swept over the people gathered around the hollow. They were glancing around, as if waiting for something.

“What’s happening now?” Sheila questioned Laredo again.

“If anyone wants to protest his decision,. they are allowed to speak now and argue in Juan’s behalf.”

“How democratic.” she mocked dryly, then received a chastising look from Laredo.

At a nod from Ráfaga, the two men led Juan to the two posts. Positioning him between them, they began tying his arms, stretching him between the two poles. When that was done, one of the men ripped open the back of Juan’s shirt.

A movement near the posts caught Sheila’s eye. Her gaze widened at a whip loosely coiled in a man’s hand. She wasn’t certain what type of punishment she had expected Juan would receive, but somehow she doubted if she would have guessed a public whipping.

Mesmerized, she watched the man shake out the whip, letting it snake over the ground in front of him. His arm lifted. Sheila heard the whir of rawhide in the air and saw the slash it made on Juan’s back.

A red stripe appeared on his flesh, halfway between his shoulder blades and the bandage circling his lower back, where Sheila had stabbed him. His body jerked convulsively at the pain.

Whir and slash. Whir and slash. It was repeated over and over again. A maze of red lines crisscrossed his back. Sheila’s attention was rooted by horror to the scene. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from what was happening or deafen her ears to his strangled cries.
Soon, he wasn’t making any sound as he slumped lifeless, his arms bound to the poles, keeping him upright.