Page 17 of Sweet Savage Love

17

C aptain Michel Remy, Comte d’Arlingen, had been waiting impatiently in the small Mexican village across the river from El Paso for the Brandon wagon train to arrive. Part of his impatience was due to the fact that he had been in this hell hole for two days already, and it was growing more and more dangerous for French soldiers to linger this close to the United States border. The Juaristas were everywhere these days—in spite of their lack of weapons and lack of organization they had proved themselves a stubborn bunch, striking in the most unexpected places. In fact, as Captain Remy gloomily contemplated his half-empty bottle of wine, he was thinking of the rumors he’d heard just before leaving Mexico City, that they would soon have to evacuate Chihuahua and drop back to Durango, leaving the Juaristas more or less in full possession of most of the north.

He frowned angrily. It was incredible! Here they were, the invincible armies of France, the Mexican Irregulars, troops from Austria and Belgium as well—and they still had not wrested a complete victory for Maximilian over the ragged forces of Juarez. As one of Marshal Bazaine’s aides, he had of course heard that the United States was in sympathy with Juarez, and since their civil strife had ended they were supplying arms and ammunition to Juarez, and turning a blind eye to the gunrunner who operated on both sides of the border. It was too bad! If only people in America and the rest of Europe and yes, even in Paris itself, realized what a wretchedly poor country this Mexico really was! The peasants were starving, their living conditions worse than those in Europe during the Middle Ages, and still they stubbornly rejected all the reforms and the help that poor Maximilian wanted to give them. The only civilized Mexicans were, of course, the gachupínes, who were proudly jealous of their European descent and took care that their bloodlines were not mixed with Indian or mestizo.

Not legally, that is, Captain Remy thought wryly to himself, remembering a certain Carmen in Cuernevaca, with pale amber skin and marvelous tawny eyes. Very little Indian in that one! She boasted of the fact that her padre was one of the richest hacendados in the area.

From Carmen, Michel’s thoughts wandered, in natural order, to Ginette. Ginny Brandon, whom he had always called Ginette, ever since the night he fell in love with her at the theatre, in Paris.

He had known Pierre, of course, from childhood. And remembered Ginnie as a thin-faced girl, with extraordinarily large green eyes. Pierre’s petite cousine —he had not paid her any attention. Why should he? And then he had enlisted in Napoleon’s army, had come home on leave one winter, and seen Ginette. But my God, what a change! She had grown beautiful, ravissante! And when he had visited her box to renew his acquaintance with Pierre, what self-possession! It was he who had stumbled over his words like a green schoolboy. She had been charming, teasing, so sure of herself!

If he had not been unexpectedly recalled to his regiment he might have persuaded her to marry him. Certainly, in spite of all her other admirers, she had seemed to prefer him. Even Pierre, who, for a mere cousin, seemed inordinately jealous of Ginny’s beaux cavalieres, had not seemed to mind too much.

“We’ll write,” she had promised him when he left. She had cried, but had firmly refused to elope with him the previous night. Not surprisingly, he reflected somewhat bitterly, the letters had dwindled to nothing in about six months. After all, he was a soldier, he was not much of a letter writer himself, and how could a man court a girl who was many thousands of miles away, in the midst of all the gaiety in Paris?

But now, soon, he’d see her again. His Ginette. He wondered if she had changed, hoped she had not. Ma foi, would this waiting never end?

If Michel Remy had but known it, his waiting ended that same night. While he was engaged in his melancholy reflections, the wagon train rolled into El Paso right in the middle of the thunderstorm that raged on both sides of the river.

He arrived at the only decent hotel the town boasted, masquerading as a civilian; fatalistically aware that he might, if he was unlucky enough, be arrested and shot as a spy. But at least, he thought with a surge of self-confidence, his English was almost perfect, and he was wearing a suit of clothes that was impeccably cut by the best tailor in Paris.

Most of his misgivings were dispelled when he was greeted by Madame Brandon, a tiny, exquisitely pretty blond woman with large china blue eyes and an enchanting laugh. A man named Hoskins, an American who seemed unusually taciturn and sported a bruised and battered face, escorted him across the river. Tactfully, Michel did not mention the bruises, but he wondered what had happened to the man. These Americans, always fighting! Even in Mexico City, they continued to fight their civil war that had just ended—sometimes with cutting words and sometimes with weapons. Secretly, he sided with the Southerners, who were gentlemen. Now if they had won the war, Maximilian’s troubles would have been ended!

As they waited for Ginny, Captain Remy noted uneasily that the small hotel dining room seemed unusually crowded. Sonya Brandon, as if she had sensed his unrest, whispered to him that these were only men from their own wagon train, celebrating the end of part of their long journey.

“This is the first town we’ve been in since we left San Antonio!” she said, shuddering prettily. And she assured him that she had already mentioned him as a friend of her husband’s from California, so he must not worry.

“Ginny does not know that it is you who are here,” she confided. “I have told her only that the French officer who is to escort us has come. Have you known her very long, Monsieur Remy?”

They had agreed that she would use the less formal mode of address, and he was relieved that she had not forgotten. And then, his answer was lost in the sudden beating of his heart as Ginny Brandon seemed to float down the stairs.

How could he have imagined she would change? If anything, she was even more beautiful. She wore a green velvet gown cut in the latest fashion, one that he knew at once could have been tailored only by Worth. No crinolines for his Ginette—following the style set by the Empress Eugenie her gown’s neckline plunged low in front to show the bold curve of her bosom, and clung all the way to the hip, to be swept into artful folds of drapery at the back. Her hair was piled at the back of her head, high up, and it shone under the lights with the pale, coppery sheen he remembered so well. A single curl fell down over her shoulder, and she wore emeralds in her ears that were outshone by her eyes.

Michel thought that every man in the room gave a sigh of sheer pleasure at her beauty. Certainly none of the fine ladies, some of them titled, that adorned the Emperor Maximilian’s court at Chapultepec could outshine her! He rose to his feet, their eyes met, and he could see how hers widened in stunned disbelief.

Then she gave a little cry of greeting and sweeping her long skirts up carelessly with one hand, she ran down the few steps that remained. With an effort he remembered his manners and the gaping faces that surrounded them, and meant only to kiss her hand. But she came to him artlessly, and flung her arms around his neck, crying out his name.

“Michel! Is it really you? Oh, but I cannot believe it, you of all people!”

He bent his head almost without thinking, and felt her lips cling to his. It was only with an effort that he forced himself to draw away. Ginny chattered happily to him in French as they were seated, and he could not believe his luck. She called him her love, her dearest angel, and vowed he had broken her heart when he left Paris. Michel was overwhelmed.

They had champagne with dinner, and neither of them noticed what they ate. Ginny drank more than she ought, until she felt her head was swimming—from a distance, she seemed to hear her own laughter, sounding high and forced in her ears. But Michel Remy noticed nothing, except that Ginette was happy to see him. She seemed to glow with health and vitality, and he thought the warm, peach-colored tint of her skin suited her much better than the fashionable paleness of complexion that most ladies cultivated. Her face was a trifle thinner than he remembered it, of course, but this only served to emphasize the fine-boned look of her face, with its willful mouth and enormous green eyes. Michel could hardly take his eyes off her all evening, and he was not the only one.

Carl Hoskins sat glowering at the same table, and even Sonya’s whispered explanation that Ginny had known the French captain from childhood did nothing to alleviate his growing anger and frustration. What was the matter with her this evening? She was acting like a—a trollop! And to add to his humiliation, she ignored him almost completely, under the eyes of half the men in the wagon train who knew that he had been her beau. Bad enough that Steve Morgan should have the audacity to be here as well, together with his friend Davis and two brightly dressed females of obviously easy virtue. It was much worse knowing that Ginny would be leaving for Mexico within the next few days, and that Captain Remy, and not he, would be the one to accompany her there.

As Ginny’s spirits seemed to soar higher, along with the champagne she consumed, Carl’s sank lower. It was with an effort that he forced himself to sit tight during the meal—soon after it was over, he excused himself, explaining tersely that they had to make an early start the next day. Ginny hardly noticed him go.

If she was hardly aware of Carl Hoskins any longer, Ginny was, in spite of her champagne haze, very much aware of Steve Morgan’s presence in the same room. The memory of his cutting words had stayed with her, even after they had reached El Paso, flooding her with a sense of humiliation each time she thought about it. She was glad, glad that she had slapped his angry, sneering face—glad each time she recalled the barely suppressed fury in his eyes after she had done so.

It was with a sense of shock, therefore, that she looked up to find he had had the effrontery to approach their table; making his false, polite excuses to Sonya and ignoring her.

“Don’t mean to disturb you, Mrs. Brandon, but I understand you won’t be going on to California with the wagons, after all. So I thought it better that you should hear this from me—Paco Davis will be leading them when they get started tomorrow. I’m quitting—I’ll be leavin’ for New Mexico tonight.”

“But Mr. Morgan, I don’t understand! My husband….”

“The reason your husband hired me, ma’am, was because you and Miss Brandon here were going along. You don’t need two scouts, nor a hired gun, to get the herd and the rest of the men through to California. Naturally, I won’t expect to be pickin’ up the rest of the money I was to have been paid when we got to California.”

“Naturally!” Ginny heard her own voice, sounding sharp and almost shrewish. “I suppose it was too much for my father—for any of us to expect a man of Mr. Morgan’s sort to be gentleman enough to fulfill the terms of an unwritten contract.” If she had expected to wither him with the wealth of scorn in her voice, she was mistaken. He had at least deigned to notice her for the first time in the evening, but he met her vituperation with a carelessly raised eyebrow, waiting politely for her to continue.

“Ginny!” Sonya’s voice was horror-stricken—she looked appealingly at Steve. “Mr. Morgan, my stepdaughter is not herself. The strain of the journey has been too much for her, and since our old friend Monsieur Remy is here we have decided that he will accompany us to San Francisco by stagecoach—he had been visiting relatives in De Hanis, you see, and…”

“I’m sure Mr. Morgan isn’t in the least interested in our feelings or our plans, Sonya dear! But since you are here, Mr. Morgan, how very remiss of me not to present our friend Michel Remy, the Comte d’Arlingen—Mr. Steve Morgan, our ex -scout.”

Sonya all but wrung her hands—Michel Remy, sensing the tension that almost hummed in the air, without understanding it, came swiftly and rather uncomfortably to his feet, extending his hand.

“I am happy to meet you, sir. But please—” he cast an unhappy look at Ginny, “I don’t use my title in this country. It is not—very democratic is it?”

Steve Morgan shrugged, clasping the Frenchman’s hand.

“Why not? Us simple folk here kinda go for titles, since we don’t have any ourselves.” He looked again at Sonya and bowed. “My apologies again, ma’am. But to tell the truth—it’s better this way all around, especially since Hoskins and I can’t get along. Goodbye, Mrs. Brandon—Miss Brandon. Mr. Remy.”

Words struggled to Ginny’s lips, but she dared not say them, and bit them back. She was very aware that Michel was watching her quizzically, that Sonya was flushed with embarrassment. Only Steve Morgan, his casual farewells made, retained his composure as he left them—going back to his table to join his companions.

Ginny was gayer than ever. Half-laughing, she whispered to Michel that indeed she apologized for being so naughty and so rude, but she had taken an unconscionable dislike to this Mr. Morgan, who was the rudest, most insufferable man she had ever met in her life and needed a set down.

“And thank goodness I never need lay eyes on him again!” She added. “Why, if Sonya would only stop frowning at me, even she would agree that she’s relieved. Come, be honest, you did not like him either, did you?”

“That is no excuse for bad manners, Ginny!” Sonya said firmly, but she allowed herself to be coaxed into accepting another glass of champagne shortly afterwards, and the rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly and without further incident.

Captain Remy escorted both ladies to their room before going to his own, which was at the end of the same passageway. Before he fell asleep, he congratulated himself again upon his incredible luck at having been present in the marshal’s office, when the matter of an escort for Senator Brandon’s wife and daughter had come up. He had volunteered immediately, of course, and when Bazaine had learned of his previous acquaintance with Ginette he had finally agreed. The gold, of course, was his main responsibility, he must try to remember that, but his thoughts stayed with Ginette, and the long weeks that they would spend together. This time, he told himself, he would have her. He would persuade her to marry him, to arrive in Mexico City as his fiancée, before any of the other officers there had a chance to lay eyes on her. And because he was a man, with a man’s virile appetites, Michel Remy thought also of other things—of how it would feel to hold Ginette’s warm, softly accepting body against his, to initiate her into the rites of love…. He was a gentleman, of course, and he intended to marry her, but perhaps, who knew? During the long weeks that they would be thrown together there would be warm Mexican nights, the scent of flowers in the night air, the moon, and the mariachi players to serenade them. Perhaps they would have their honeymoon first. Now that he had met her again, he was impatient to possess her completely.

If Ginny had any idea that Michel had already planned her future, and her seduction, she kept it to herself during the days that followed, even in the face of Sonya’s growing curiosity. Sonya, since she had learned that the handsome Captain Remy also happened to be a count, actually encouraged Ginny’s flirtation with him. He had a title, and even though he had chosen to become a solider, he was rich—Ginny had already told her so. Even William could have no possible objection to that kind of match for his daughter! Sonya felt sorry for Carl, when she happened to think about him, but she felt sure that Carl would soon find a girl in California who was better suited to him. He was a serious and ambitious young man, and she had liked him, but Ginny was really too much of a butterfly—too giddy and inconstant for Carl. And certainly—every time Sonya thought about it she sighed with relief—it was a good thing that Ginny had so quickly gotten over her strange friendship with Steve Morgan. That relationship would have led to nothing good, and no one knew it as well as she did. It was just as well that Ginny had seen him kill that Apache and wakened to seeing what kind of savage, uncivilized ne’er-do-well he was.

Ginny herself went through the first two days of their travel into Mexico in a kind of daze. She had drunk far too much champagne the night before they left El Paso, and had awaked with a terrible, splitting headache the next morning.

And then, to make matters worse, she had had a most unpleasant encounter with Carl Hoskins, who had forced his way into her room after Sonya had dressed and gone downstairs—demanding to know exactly how he stood with her, and what Mr. Remy meant to her. She had actually felt ashamed of herself then, and sorry for herself too, for Carl was really angry and upset. He had called her a flirt and a tease and a little baggage, and then, when she had burst into tears had grabbed her hands and kissed them, apologizing— begging her not to forget him, to remember that he loved her.

To be rid of him and the whole ugly situation he had placed her in, she had ended up promising to do nothing drastic about Michel—to give herself, and him time.

When Carl had finally gone, Ginny had watched the wagon train rumble out of town in a thin drizzle, and had found herself feeling curiously bereft. She hoped that they would all reach California safely, that there would be no more graves left somewhere in the arid, empty wastelands of New Mexico and Arizona. Yes, she would actually miss them all, even old Pop Wilkins, with his gossipy ways.

Together with Michel, they had left El Paso in their own wagon under cover of an early, rain-swept night. The French soldiers who were to be their escort were waiting on the other side of the river, and the gold transferred quickly without incident to the compartment under the floorboards of the “diligencia” that they would travel in for the next few weeks.

Adjusting to the swaying, jouncy motion of the coach as it lumbered over the bad Mexican roads had not been difficult for Ginny and Sonya; used as they were to their wagon. But Ginny, who had ridden on horseback every day, found it almost intolerable to be cooped up for hours on end in the cramped, stuffy interior of the diligence.

It was true that Michel often dropped back from his position with the rest of the small troop, to ride alongside and keep them company; but even his droll stories of life at the Emperor Maximilian’s court in Chapultepec, his attempts to help Ginny with her rusty Castilian Spanish (which he assured her was still spoken by the gachupínes and the better class Mexicans) did nothing to dispel the feeling she had of being stifled.

Michel kept assuring them that they were safe—they had nothing to worry about, but his reassurances made even Sonya feel more nervous than ever.

They were travelling through rough arid country that reminded Ginny of Texas, but at the small cantina where they had stopped to water the horses and stretch their legs on the first day of their journey, Ginny had overheard the proprietor talk to Michel about “ bandidos and Juaristas. ” Even her small knowledge of Spanish enabled her to understand that much! It was only a slight consolation to know that they carried American passports and letters that would serve to introduce them to the American representative in Mexico City as wives of Americans from the defeated southern states who had bought estates in Mexico. Perhaps the letters they carried (more evidence of careful planning on Senator Brandon’s part) might serve to protect them from molestation from the supporters of Benito Juarez, who counted on the friendship of the United States, but if they should be attacked by bandits…!

Michel told them that the French were still in nominal control of this part of the country. He repeated the rumor he had heard that Juarez had in fact flown the country and was reputed to be hiding out somewhere in Texas. And as for the bandits—he told them airily that they preyed mostly on their own kind and would not dare attack a coach guarded by French soldiers for fear of reprisals by the French. His presence and his reassurances helped. After all, what was the use in being afraid? They had already embarked on their journey and on their mission—hadn’t Ginny herself pooh-poohed the thought that she feared the dangers they might run into? When she wasn’t thinking of Michel and how glad she was that they had met again, she found herself unwillingly remembering the night that Steve Morgan had warned her about journeying into Mexico.

“Mexico, in case you did not know it, is in a state of war!” he said, almost shouting the words at her. If the nature of their mission were discovered, would that make her a spy? The thought was almost laughable. Ginny knew that if she mentioned any of this to Sonya she would be told that she had read too many romances.

They had been travelling for two days, following roughly the contours of the Rio Grande, and stopping often to rest while Michel sent some of his men ahead to reconnoitre. But now, he warned, they would be travelling along a trail that skirted the lower foothills of the forbidding Sierra Madre and would lead them, if all went well, safely into Chihuahua.

“From then on, it will be much easier,” Michel said, with a meaningful glance at Ginny’s flushed, tired-looking face. “We will be away from this heat—wait until you feel the coolness of the mountains! And you will see—after we get to Chihuahua there will be no more fears of bandits or Juaristas.

“Does that mean that we have both those possibilities to contend with now?” Ginny asked with some asperity but he refused to take offense at her tone, leaning down from his horse to grasp her hand through the open window of the carriage.

“You have nothing at all to fear, belle amie! See, I am here. I am armed to the teeth, have you not noticed? And there are also ten French soldiers, carefully picked by the marshal himself!” With an apologetic glance at Sonya he said more softly, in French, “If you have anything to fear, little love, perhaps it is myself. It is getting harder and harder for me to be content with the chaste good-night kisses we are allowed, under the eyes of your pretty stepmama. Perhaps tonight I will spirit you away under the stars and hold you in my arms for as long as you will let me.”

Ginny dropped her lashes under the ardent, hot gaze he turned on her, but she smiled, and he took heart.

“Perhaps I would like that—very much,” she admitted in a low voice, speaking also in French.

Michel, touching his tall hat, rode on to join his men, and Sonya, who had begun to feel a trifle piqued by their tête-à-tête, decided to ignore their slight breach of manners. After all, they were both still young, and, if she was not mistaken, they were falling in love with each other—all over again, perhaps. Sonya thought again how romantic it all was.

To Ginny, however, there was nothing romantic about this journey. If not for the presence of Michel, and the way he looked at her, even when she was hot and bedraggled, it would have been quite intolerable. Thank God for dear Michel—he took her mind off other things. She longed to reach the end of their journey, to be cool again, to mingle with civilized people among surroundings that would be safe and familiar. Sometimes she could not believe she was the same girl who had arrived in America, longing for adventure and excitement. She had had dreams of romance, too, but how different reality had turned out to be!

They were travelling into higher country now, almost indiscernibly, but steadily; the river left behind, the mountains looming ahead. The trail they travelled had been used by heavy pack trains from Spanish times, Michel had told her—it was a camino real, but the Spanish name meant nothing to her. It was merely a dusty, rutted track that went up and down, and sometimes she felt as if her head would be jolted from her body.

As the trail sloped up into the foothills, the desert scrub of creosote bushes, cactus and mesquite gave way in part to stunted, twisted trees—oak, juniper and pinon pine. Their canteens, filled the previous night, were already half-empty when they stopped to rest in the afternoon heat. Red dust covered the lathered mules that drew the diligencia and the horses of the French soldiers. As Ginny stepped down from the coach, Michel warned her to watch for snakes—they were everywhere, he said. Sonya gave a small scream and insisted that she would rather stay inside the shelter that the vehicle provided but Ginny, her legs cramped, let Michel help her outside.

Removing his hat to squint upwards at the sun he smiled at her cheerfully, his teeth gleaming against the sunburned skin of his face. His glossy chestnut hair hung in boyish ringlets across his forehead. Unlike most of his contemporaries, Michel Remy was clean-shaven except for the long, thick sideburns that seemed to emphasize the leanness of his face, with its high-bridged nose and chiselled mouth. A few years ago Ginny had thought him the handsomest man she had ever seen—not, she told herself again, that she wasn’t lucky; lucky to have such a man, such a very eligible young man (she could barely repress a small smile, remembering Sonya’s words) pay her so much attention.

They had stopped in a small canyon, or barranca, its almost sheer walls providing some shade. Ahead of them lay a tortuous, winding trail that seemed to cling to the hillside, but Michel had been quick to assure them that they would soon come out on a small plateau where they would spend the night at an Indian village boasting a single cantina.

“It’s a small, shabby, and I’m afraid, rather a dirty place—hardly fit to take you into,” Michel apologized. “But it’s better than having to spend the night out here…” He gestured at the arid emptiness of the hills around them and Ginny shuddered.

“With all these rattlesnakes and bandits you warned us about? I should think so!”

He had led her some distance away from the diligencia, and now with a sudden movement he captured both her hands in his.

“Ginette! You know how I feel about you—how I felt from the very beginning when I saw you looking like an angel in your white dress. If only I had the right to be near you tonight, to protect you from everything you are afraid of, just to hold you in my arms, as I have dreamed of doing for years.”

“Michel…” Ginny did not know, for a moment, whether she would burst into tears or hysterical laughter. What did he expect her to do? She took refuge in subterfuge. “Your soldiers—they can see us, what will they think?”

“ Petite amour —it does not matter what they think. They cannot help but know my feelings for you. If we were not at war, I would court you endlessly, my Ginette, but things are different here. God knows where I might be sent after we reach Mexico City. I must know how you feel—I must know if what your eyes tell me is true.”

He did not give her a chance to answer, but swept her ruthlessly into his arms and began to kiss her. Surprisingly, Michel’s kisses did not repel her as Carl’s had done—she found them quite pleasant. His arms enfolded her firmly, masterfully, and it felt so comfortable to lean against him! Here was no whirling, half-faint feeling of helplessness, of being swept away in spite of herself—here was security; the feeling of being in the arms of a man she could trust, who would be kind to her, who would be gentle too. Ginny let the safety and the tender affection of Michel’s embrace take her. Half sobbing, she lifted her arms and let them cling to his broad shoulders as she began to kiss him back, her lips warming under his.

The French soldiers who were sitting, leaning against the rocky walls on either side of the trail became busy with their canteens or rubbing down their horses as they pretended not to see.

So the capitaine was not wasting any time! Of course, from the very beginning they had noticed how his eyes were constantly on the pretty mademoiselle; how many excuses he made to ride back to speak with her. Who could blame him? Assuredly, she was quite beautiful, and she had the manners and accent of a lady. Corporal Valmy thought resignedly that no doubt they would travel much faster now than they had been for the past two days. The capitaine would be in a hurry to reach Chihuahua, where he would undoubtedly arrange circumstances so that they could be discreetly alone. And again, who could blame him? One could get tired of dark-haired, dark-eyed Senoritas very easily.

The corporal, who had decided to busy himself cleaning his pistol, had no time for further musing, for at that moment there was a terrible screech from somewhere above them—a burst of rifle fire, and to his dazed, dilating eyes it seemed as if the hillside above them and to all sides of them swarmed with menacing figures.

“Those shots, little soldados, were merely to warn you. It is hoped you will be sensible.”

Relaxed as they had all been, and completely off-guard, the Frenchmen were taken by surprise. Menaced by rifles and pistols, they remained frozen, only glancing towards their equally surprised captain for guidance.

Michel Remy was a soldier, and under ordinary circumstances far from being a coward. But in this case there were women to think about, and in particular there was Ginette, whom he still held in his arms. He put her gently from him, but she still clung to his arm, her green eyes large with fear.

He studied the men who surrounded them; some of them already beginning to slide or scramble down the steep slopes towards them. Fool that he was not to have taken more precautions! He was bitter with anger and frustration. He had volunteered for this errand, the women and the gold they carried were his responsibility, and now—he hoped grimly that these men were not Juaristas —even bandits were preferable to the former if you were a Frenchman in this Godforsaken country!

To Ginny it seemed part of some monstrous nightmare. To be torn from Michel’s warm arms only to find this! She had heard Sonya scream from within the diligence, but now even she was silent—either fainted or having hysterics, no doubt! With horrified fascination, Ginny watched the Mexicans approach—they looked frighteningly dangerous with their huge sombreros shading their swarthy faces, and cartridge belts looped from shoulder to hip and around their waists as well. Some of them carried wicked-looking knives with wide blades; all of them wore pistols. She had no idea how many of them there were.

What did they want? And worse—what would they do? One of the bandits who had remained on the hilltop above them was obviously their leader, for it was he who had spoken earlier, and it was he who continued to give orders in the guttural bastard Spanish that was spoken by the mestizos.

The French soldiers were red-faced and tightlipped with anger as they were ordered to throw down their weapons and raise their hands. Corporal Valmy hesitated, and one of the bandits clubbed him with his rifle butt, laying open a bleeding cut on his cheekbone. The senseless cruelty of this action, coupled with his own intolerable sense of impotence made Michel Remy lose his temper.

Ginny had dropped his arm, although she still stood close to him as if for protection, and now he brought his pistol up from his belt, cocking it as he did so and firing, with an explosion that seemed to deafen him as he felt himself sprawling backwards; realizing only then that he had been hit by a bullet himself.

Blood gushed from a wound in his shoulder and he heard Ginny’s scream of anguish as she bent over him.

“Oh God, Michel! My brave darling—poor angel—are you badly hurt?” Her fingers pressed against his wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood, and he bit back a groan of pain.

From the distance that seemed to widen enormously all around him, Michel Remy faintly heard more shots and tried to struggle upright, reaching for a gun he could not find. Where was it? Had he dropped it?

“Lie down! Michel, lie still or—”

Ginny’s words trailed away as his eyes closed. She had turned her head to look over her shoulder when she heard more shots, and two French soldiers, who had bravely attempted to take advantage of the diversion their captain had provided, lay inertly on the dusty earth.

There were no more attempts at resistance, and only Ginny, whose mood of hysteria had made her forget even her fear dared ask any questions of the grinning men who seemed to move so silently and efficiently, picking up the discarded weapons of the soldiers. Sonya and Tillie had emerged from the carriage by now, Sonya half-fainting, her eyes dilated with terror.

“What do you want with us? You devils! We’re American citizens, and if you dare harm us you’ll answer to the United States armies!”

One of the bandits was shaking his head in exaggerated admiration for Ginny’s courage.

“Such a brave Senorita! I salute your bravery!”

She was attempting to bind Michel’s wound with strips of cloth torn from her own voluminous petticoats, but she looked up angrily at the sound of the man’s taunting voice.

“Never mind me—I demand that you leave us alone—you’ll have the French army after you too, you know! We have nothing that you need—no expensive jewelry—oh, look what you’ve done, you murderers!”

She did not know whether the man understood her or not, but obviously his leader did. She heard a laugh from above her, mocking, and somehow tauntingly familiar.

“Tell her, Pedrito. Such courage deserves an answer.”

He spoke in Spanish, and now the man who had spoken to her earlier smiled, showing stained, irregular teeth.

“We look for money, Senorita —much money.” He spoke in halting English, but well enough for her to understand. “We follow your diligencia many miles—we ask ourselves, it is strange, no? That such a little carriage, carrying such dainty ladies, leaves such deep tracks. We are curious men, Senorita. ”

Ginny heard Sonya’s choked exclamation, and flashed her a warning look.

“Oh, Ginny! How did they—”

“Sonya, don’t! They’re bandits, don’t you see that? They think we’re rich. Give them whatever jewels we have, and maybe they’ll let us go—”

“Ah, the Senorita is sensible, too!” The man came closer and Ginny shrank away. He smelled! Of dirty, unwashed clothes and hair of—of death! The nightmare was real, this time she was not going to wake up in the safety of her bed.

While some of the men tied up the French soldiers, Ginny’s tormentor came closer, smiling still.

“ Senorita —why would two American ladies travel with French soldados? Ah, los Francescos —pigs!” He spat elaborately. “No, I think we will find something interesting in your diligencia—perhaps much money, no? Enough so that poor bandidos like ourselves will be rich men?” He laughed then, and the rest of them laughed with him.

In an instant, he seemed to tire of his game. Ginny heard him snap orders, and three Mexicans ran to the wagon with their machetes—she heard the sound of more laughter and tearing wood as they proceeded to rip up the interior.

The gold—they knew about it! But how?

“ Senorita —he will live, your so-foolish capitan. Now if you will join the other ladies—” She noticed then, that Sonya and Tillie were being tied to one of the wheels, their wrists behind them. Tillie’s mouth stayed open as if she wanted to scream but didn’t dare—Sonya looked as if she had fainted already, leaning back against the wheel with her face as white as a sheet.

For a moment, Ginny stayed motionless, her face a mask of defiance. Then she heard, in French, the broken whisper of Michel’s voice.

“My pistol—dropped.” And then, questioningly, “Ginette? Ginette, where…” again he struggled to sit up and she cried out sharply for him to lie still.

“Please, you will not kill him? Once you get what you want, you won’t?” she forced herself to plead with the dirty bandit who stood leering at her, but she was conscious, at the same time of the weight of Michel’s gun against her thigh, the coldness of the ivory grip. He had dropped it, and when she had flung herself upon him, her skirts had covered it. Almost without thinking, she’d slipped it into the pocket of her gown. Perhaps…

So far the bandits had not attempted to molest her, nor Sonya and Tillie either. Perhaps they meant only to take the money and flee. But in any case, if they tried to lay hands on her she’d shoot—what did it matter, anyhow?

Again the bandit leader on the hill above called out something in Spanish, his tone harsh. The Mexican who stood in front of her shrugged, but moved back.

“There will be no more killing, Senorita, if we can help it. And now, if you please.”

Ginny glanced again at Michel, who still seemed unconscious, but at least her bandage appeared to have stopped the bleeding. Unwillingly, she got to her feet, pretending to brush off the folds of her skirt. Thank God, the gun was still there—they hadn’t noticed!

The bandits who had searched the coach were coming out, carrying the gold in its heavy sackfuls. There were whoops and chortles from the other men who crowded around, helping. And even the bandit leader, handing his rifle to the man who stood next to him, had decided to grace them with his presence. They had forgotten her for a moment, and Ginny shrank back against the wheel of the coach, next to Sonya.

“Look—the money—jes’ like we expect, no, amigos? Such a nice present for poor men such as we are!”

He had turned back to her, was coming towards her. I won’t let them tie me up, Ginny thought wildly. I won’t be left tied here while they massacre those poor soldiers, take the gold. Panic overrode reason as she began to tremble with reaction. The pistol came free without any conscious effort on her part and she was pointing it at the man, holding it steady with both hands.

“You come any nearer and I’ll shoot—and you’ll call off your men, too, or…”

He stood very still, an almost comical expression of incredulity creeping over his flat, Indian features. The bandits had stopped their laughing too; they all seemed frozen in ridiculous positions, some with the sacks of gold still slung over their shoulders.

“She is crazy! Senorita, you are being very stupid, you cannot think…”

“If you do not untie those soldiers immediately, then you, Senor bandit, will be a very dead man.” Her voice sounded almost too calm in her ears, but the hammer of the revolver trembled under her thumb.

“We shall have to kill you, senorita, it is too bad. You can take my life, sí, but I do not think…”

“Pedro, wait. The young lady is hysterical, I think. Let me reason with her.”

She had forgotten the bandit leader until he spoke, switching to Castilian Spanish that even she could understand. His voice sounded muffled, but unhurriedly even. “ senorita —I will drop my gun, see? And we will talk. You are being very foolish, you know! Do you think a few lives are important to us in comparison to the gold?”

His voice came closer as he walked towards her, but she dared not take her eyes from Pedro, who had now stepped cautiously backward, shrugging.

Biting her lip to keep back hysteria, Ginny pointed her gun at the tall man who walked steadily forward, just as if the gun she held unwaveringly was a silly toy. Unlike the rest of them, he wore a handkerchief knotted at the back of his head to hide his features, like the cowboys who rode drag when they’d guided her father’s cattle through the dusty Texas plains. And even though he was garbed just like the other men, with a wide sombrero and serape covering the upper part of his body, there was something naggingly familiar about the way he walked, something—

“So you’re their leader—a man who covers his face like a coward!” Her words poured scorn on him, although by now Ginny was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. “Perhaps if it is your life that is endangered they’ll let us go.”

“If you shoot me, it will mean the lives of all of your companions. Do you want that? I do not think you are stupid, senorita, just foolish, perhaps. Give me the gun, and I promise there’ll be no lives taken. We will be magnanimous and spare even los Francesos. Come, hand it to me.”

He was within a yard of her now and he held his hand out, keeping his head down so that he could watch the gun.

The sun poured down on her head, its heat intolerable.

Beside her, she could hear Sonya’s sobbing, her incoherent pleas for Ginny to be sensible, not to get them all killed.

As Ginny hesitated the man made a sudden, rattlesnake fast grab for her gun, and she heard it explode, the recoil knocking her backward. She was close enough to see the bullet go through the folds of his serape, and then she was conscious of an aching, numbing pain in her wrist as his hand slammed downward, knocking the gun from her nerveless fingers.

And, as if she needed further horror piled upon all the horror of the last quarter hour to drive her across the thin line into hysteria she had it now. She knew him. Even before she heard him swear at her, forgetting to disguise his voice, even before she brought her hand up, clawing at his face like a wildcat, tearing away the black neckerchief, she knew him.

His dark blue eyes were as bright and as pitiless as the blue bowl of the sky above them, his fingers bruising her wrists cruelly as he caught them, pinioning her against the diligence.

“You!” she panted, and then, with rising hysteria, “You! Oh, God, I should have killed you!”

“You always were a bad shot, Ginny. And just as well. You calmed down yet?” That he should dare smile at her so tauntingly!

He released her, turning his head to say something to the grinning Mexicans, and she flew at him like a cornered, half demented animal. Her nails raked at his face, she would have gouged his eyes out if he hadn’t caught her hand. With a quick movement that caught him unprepared she bit his hand and heard his hissed, indrawn breath of pain before he slapped her backhanded, half stunning her. She fell backwards against the coach and felt his fingers bite into her shoulder as he caught her, spinning her around.

“You goddam hellcat! You’re more trouble than any of the others put together! Will you hold still!”

But she would not. She screamed and kicked and bit, struggling against him until her strength ran out and she felt him push her forward, twisting her arms behind her until she fell onto her knees in the dust, sobbing with pain and defiance.

Now that Ginny’s actions had ended the need for concealment, Steve Morgan took charge quite openly. It had seemed like a nightmare in the beginning—but what was to follow was, unbelievably, worse.

Crouching in the dust with her wrists tied painfully behind her, Ginny could hear the staccato orders he issued, overlying the groans of the wounded Frenchmen and Sonya’s sobbing, pleading voice.

In English, Steve was saying quietly and conversationally to Sonya that he regretted the inconvenience.

“Sorry it had to happen this way, ma’am, but if you’ll remember I warned you about traipsin’ into Mexico. And it’s too bad your stepdaughter had to act up the way she did….”

“Oh, but please,” Sonya wept, “you’re not going to—you can’t! You’ve got the gold, what more do you want from us?”

Her scared blue eyes fixed themselves pleadingly on his frowning face, with the dark eyebrows drawn together so menacingly. She could see no pity in it—read nothing at all!

“I’m afraid, ma’am, that I’m left with only two alternatives, both rather unpleasant. I can have you all killed, so there’ll be no witnesses, or…” he paused consideringly, and Sonya released the breath she had been holding with a sob of pure terror.

“Please! Oh, please, not that! I swear—if you’ll only go away and leave us alive I’ll never tell anyone I recognized you! I’ll make them promise too, I know I can! For God’s sake!”

Her dilated, horror-stricken eyes saw the twitch of his lips, as though he had almost smiled. Still hesitating, he shrugged and looked down at Ginny, who had not said a word since they’d tied her wrists. Now, as though she had felt his gaze, the girl looked up at him through tear-swollen eyes, her face twisted with hatred.

“I’ll make no promises, you—you canaille, you unmentionable filth! You had better kill me then, because I swear that if you don’t I’ll have you hunted down and destroyed like the thieving, traitorous dog that you are!”

The world seemed narrowed down to the two of them as their eyes clashed—Ginny felt a shiver go through her, although she forced herself not to look away. At this moment, she did not really care if he killed her. Let him! He had betrayed her and struck her. He’d caused the death and wounding of innocent men, and all for gold—for money! She tasted a bitterness that was almost too much to bear—if her mouth had not been so dry she would have spat at his feet.

“Perhaps there’s another way. We’ll take you with us, as insurance, you might say. Get to see a lot of country that way, an’ that’s why you came to Mexico, isn’t it?”

Ginny’s mouth opened in a silent, thunderstruck “O” and his glance seemed to flick over her with a contemptuous kind of amusement before he turned back to Sonya, who was already protesting.

“No! No you cannot mean it, you won’t…”

“Mrs. Brandon!” His voice cut like a whiplash over her stumbling, incredulous words. “There is no other alternative, madam, unless you prefer to be a martyr for your gold. Your stepdaughter will go with us to insure there’s no pursuit. Within a month or so I’ll see that she is returned safely to Texas—or to Mexico City, if you prefer.” He bowed ironically to Sonya, who began to weep hopelessly.

“I won’t go! You can’t make me—I’ll fight you, I’ll scream, I’ll—” Ginny was almost incoherent in her extreme anger and agitation, especially since she had noticed that Michel’s eyes were open—he was gazing at her with an expression of horror.

“Michel! Oh, thank God, you’re alive, at least—Michel, don’t let them.”

Steve Morgan pulled her unceremoniously to her feet, holding her against him in the steel vise of his arm and laughing, like the rest of his men, at her attempts to kick him.

“ Olé! Such a wildcat, that one! You will have a hard time taming her, amigo! ”

Although Ginny did not understand the Indian dialect the men spoke, Michel did, and he groaned silently, as much from mental anguish as from his wounded shoulder, which certainly throbbed like the devil.

Because of his wound, perhaps, and his having been unconscious the bandits had left him untied, but now as he attempted to move, one of them raised his gun, to be stopped by a sharp word from the American he had recognized and now knew to be their leader.

“Leave him! We’ll take their guns, and in this country, it’s as well they have someone to untie them after we leave. Senor soldado —” still holding the struggling girl Michel now knew that he loved to distraction, the American switched to the easier Castilian that Michel understood better than the polygot dialect the other men had spoken. “If you place any value on the—shall we say, continued good health of this young woman, you will see to it that we’re not followed too closely. The gold, you may be sure, will be spent well—as for Miss Brandon, what happens to her will depend on you.”

“Leave her! You can take me instead.” Michel Remy struggled to sit up, but fell back weakly with a muffled gasp of pain.

“Very touching! As was the tender embrace we were forced to interrupt! But I’m afraid, Senor, that we are wasting time. You will please remember that if you wish to see Miss Brandon as well as she appears now, you will do exactly as I’ve said.” The harsh voice sneered at him, and Michel Remy had never wished more passionately to kill than he did now.

“The—the lady is my fiancée, and if you harm her you’ll never be able to show your face in this country or in your own!”

The young captain heard Ginny scream as she was dragged away, heard Sonya Brandon’s wail of fear and pity. In spite of his growing weakness he forced his aching body into a sitting position, closing his eyes against the pain. But when he opened them, she was gone—all of them were gone. He heard the muttering of Madame Brandon’s mulatto maid as he attempted to drag himself over to where his men lay bound, staring at him in silent commiseration, but the words made no sense to him in his present condition.

“I always knowed that man was no good,” Tillie was saying. “Knew he was a devil, an’ I tried to tell Miss Ginny so, but she wouldn’t listen—”

“Shut up, will you shut up!” Sonya screamed. “He has her now—oh God, what will I tell William? What will happen to us all now?”