Tall, Dark, and Lonesome

by Debra Dixon

  “I love this city.” Sayan’s words were only a thread above a whisper. Her gaze was not on the mountain but on the deserted city below them. Stately pyramids and flat-roofed marble edifices sat side by side in faultless harmony and the four rivers dividing that exquisite harmony of architecture shimmered in the silver moonlight like the inscription on Dalkar’s medallion. “Could anything be more beautiful than Kantalan?”

  “No.” He experienced a surge of the same pride he had heard in her voice. It surprised him. He was a man who needed to struggle and build, and the perfection of Kantalan had always grated against his basic drives. But what else could he expect? He had chosen to become a soldier in a land that revered peace. Yet tonight, for some reason, he was responding as he had never done before to the serene beauty of his birthplace. “Nothing.”

  She was silent for a long time. “Perhaps it will be easier for us than for Cadra. I don’t know if I could bear to leave this place and live among the barbarians.”

  “You’ve sent Cadra away?”

  She nodded. “He, at least, believed my vision. He didn’t want to leave me, but I told him it was Ra’s will and there had to be someone to tell the tale of Kantalan and summon the four who come after.”

  “Where did you send him? Tenochtitlán?”

  “Do you think I’m mad?” Her voice was suddenly harsh. “You told me yourself Montezuma made over five hundred human sacrifices last year. He has forsaken the true way of Quetzalcoatl. Do you realize he would have had me burled alive for the offense I committed? We were right to cut off all communication with that colony when the blood sacrifices started. I will not give them Cadra or Kantalan to sacrifice on their altars.”

  He chuckled. “So fierce.” His lips brushed her cheek again. “Where did you send him?”

  “To the north. It is better that he live with the primitives than with those monsters who have forgotten that civilized cultures cannot be founded on earth soaked with blood.” She drew a deep shaky breath. “We have accomplished so much here. Legend says the homeplace was better but I cannot believe it. Kantalan is—” She paused, searching for a word. “Ra.”

  “Now, your humorless priests really would consider that blaspheming.” His breath was warm as he laughed softly in her ear. “I think I’m jealous. I don’t want you to be thinking of Kantalan while I’m holding you like this.” His arm tightened around her. “And I’d like you to tell me you love me again. Will you do that, Sayan?”

  “Why should you doubt it? After what—”

  He could feel sudden tension stiffen the muscles of her spine. “What’s wrong?” His own body tautened in response, his gaze searching; the streets below for some unknown danger.

  Sayan realized he hadn’t felt the trembling beneath their feet, yet it was far stronger than the tremor she had noticed earlier. Her gaze fled to the Sun Child’s peak framed against the moonlit sky. Nothing. No sign of even a whiff of smoke issuing from the mouth of the volcano. Not yet. They still had time.

  She turned in his arms and buried her cheek against the warm smoothness of his naked shoulder. “Please go. Please leave me, Dalkar.”

  Be quiet.” His voice was rough as his fingers tangled in her shining dark mare as he tilted her head back to gaze into her eyes. For once there was no laughter in his own eyes. They were direct and grave and so loving, she felt as if Ra had flooded the night I with sunlight. Her entire being was floating on that stream of light. “I don’t know anything about your visions or your gods. All I know is what we have together. I could no more leave you now than I could change what I feel for you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” He would not leave her. Pain, joy, regret. The emotions tumbled through her in a wild cataract of feeling. “I understand.”

  “Good.” The gravity vanished from his expression and he smiled down at her. “Now will you tell me you love me?”

  “I love you. I will love you until there is no sun, no moon, and no homeplace on this earth.”

  He kissed her lightly. “My solemn little Sayan, you are nothing if not extravagant. I would have been content with a promise involving the rest of our lives.”

  He still did not believe her, she realized sadly. She would waste no more time trying to convince him. Time was far too precious now. Her lashes lowered to veil her eyes. “Will you lie with me?”

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “You wish to merge?”

  She shook her head. “I’d like to lie in your arms.” Her lips were trembling as she tried to smile. “We have never lain together without merging. I would like very much to hold you with gentleness and love.”

  He didn’t answer for a moment, and she could sense the waves of emotions emanating from him with the same clarity as she had sensed the trembling of the Sun Child. He stepped back. “I would like that very much also, my love.” He held the silver curtain for her. “Though I won’t promise we won’t merge before this night wanes.”

  “I ask no promises.” No promises were necessary. The time was near. She unfastened the yellow-diamond clasp of her ceremonial cloak and draped its brilliant folds across the backless chair against the wall. She moved across the room to the golden-hued cushions of the couch in the center of the chamber. He was there before her and held out his arms to draw her down into his embrace.

  “Just hold me, Dalkar.”

  He was gently stroking the dark tendrils of hair at her temples. She was no longer afraid. How wonderful that love could banish fear. She knew a stab of poignant regret, and then that also faded away. It was not the end. Love did not end and there had been the promise …

  Her gaze fastened dreamily on the silver filigree drapes at the balcony door. The curtains were glittering in the candlelight, the fretwork forming lacy patterns against the indigo of the night sky. She heard the faintest tinkle of sound, as if the heavy draperies were being stirred by an errant gust of wind. But there was no wind on this hot summer night … not the slightest breath of a wind.

  1

  June 12, 1870;

  Hell’s Bluff, Arizona Territory

  “Rein in! This is a holdup!”

  As the deep-voiced command had been preceded by four gunshots, one of which skimmed the brim of his hat, Ben Travis decided it behooved him to obey … and fast. He glanced with longing at the shotgun beside him in the boot of the stagecoach, then reluctantly pulled up the horses just short of the lone bandit standing square in the center of the road ahead.

  A thrill of panic darted through Elspeth MacGregor, and her hand unconsciously tightened on the black grosgrain reticule she carried. She mustn’t be forced to give up the little money she possessed. If Dominic Delaney wasn’t still at Hell’s Bluff, where her father had last made contact with him, she would have to search for him. Heaven only knew how long it would take and how much it would cost to find him.

  “Do not be frightened, mademoiselle.”

  Those slightly accented words were the first the plump young man across from Elspeth had spoken since the stage had left Tucson. Her fellow passenger had appeared to be dozing continuously since their early morning departure, and Elspeth had fell relieved to be ignored by him and left to her own thoughts. Now, however, the man’s dark eyes were blazing with excitement.

  “I’ve read about these desperadoes,” he said, “and they have a certain code. The would never tamper with the virtue of a respectable lady such as yourself. They want only our money.”

  Only! Elspeth came close to laughing aloud. Women as plain as she seldom had problems with would-be ravishers, so she hadn’t a fear on that score. But she did fear being robbed; she had to have money on which to live until she could find Dominic Delaney. She had a little gold secreted in her trunk, but most of her remaining funds were in the reticule she was clutching so desperately. “Do you have a weapon?” she asked her plump companion. “We could try to overpower them. We cannot just let them rob us.”

  He blinked. The woman facing him was small, quite fragile-looking really, an
d her voice was sweetly melodious despite its urgent tone. The mere suggestion from her of trying to overpower even the weakest of men seemed ludicrous to him. Deciding fear was robbing her of good sense, he said soothingly, “I do not think it would be wise to challenge these fellows. They’re probably very dangerous.” He shrugged his shoulders and the fine biscuit-colored broadcloth of his fashionable coat scarcely rippled. “Naturally,” he said forcefully, “if you weren’t present, I would confront these outlaws.”

  “Naturally,” she echoed dryly. He appeared to be accepting this robbery with equanimity, even a certain amount of pleasure. Judging by the beautifully crafted leather boots and expensive clothes of this calm individual, she suspected he could easily afford to lose the money he carried with him. She could not. “Do you have a pistol?” she asked.

  He looked slightly affronted. “Of course I have a pistol. A very fine derringer.”

  “May I borrow it?”

  He blinked again. “Do you know how to fire a pistol?”

  “I haven” the slightest notion how to do so, but at least I can threaten those bandits with it.” She straightened briskly and held out her small, gloved hand, “Please.”

  Clearly astonished at what she wished to do, he blustered, “I do not think—”

  His sentence was interrupted by a string of curses shouted by the driver of the stage.

  Elspeth frowned. She’d overheard her father and his students using some of the milder oaths on occasion, but many of the curses the driver spouted now were utterly incomprehensible to her. She cocked her head, listening carefully as the man called Ben Travis went on.

  “I could have blown you to kingdom come with my shotgun, you young jackass. It would have served you right.”

  “Now, Ben, where’s your sense of humor? My horse threw a shoe and I needed a ride into town.”

  The deep voice of the bandit, no longer low and ominous but jocular, confounded Elspeth for a moment.

  “You’re always telling us what a boring run it is from Tucson to Hells Bluff, Ben, so I decided to liven things up a little for you.”

  “By holding up the stage?” Ben Travis’s voice dripped sarcasm. “What do you think your granddad will have to say about this?”

  “How else could I get you to stop? You always go flat out the last few miles into Hell’s Bluff. I had to find a way to get your attention.”

  Elspeth’s tension ebbed. Apparently there was no threat here after all. That young man had played some sort of bizarre practical joke.

  “My attention?” the driver thundered before loosing a fresh string of curses that mingled with the younger’s man’s rich laughter. “You’ve got feet,” Ben said. “You could have walked to town, you know.”

  “When did you ever know a cowboy who would walk when he could ride? Even this rattlebone coach of yours is better than walking.”

  “Rattlebone! This is the finest coach that ever came out of Concord, and only a half-weaned, bowlegged cowpuncher wouldn’t be able to appreciate her.”

  “Sorry, Ben” There was still an undercurrent of laughter to the man’s voice as he apologized. “Can I have a ride to town in the finest coach that ever came out of Concord?”

  “Hell, no!” There was a pause, and then another curse. “I guess if I leave you out here, you’re loco enough to try the same fool trick on one of the ore wagons. But I don’t want you up here with me. Tie your horse to the baggage rack in back and get in the coach, where I don’t have to look at you.”

  “Thanks, Ben.”

  “And you behave yourself with the paying customers. We’ve got a lady passenger today.”

  “A lady going to Hell’s Bluff?” The deep voice was chuckling as it came nearer. “You sure your eyesight isn’t going bad, Ben? There are ladies and then there are …” He trailed off as he opened the door of the coach and caught sight of Elspeth. He quickly doffed his hat. “How do you do, ma’am. Sorry for the commotion. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

  Elspeth stared in surprise. Why, he was only a boy. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen in spite of the hardened muscular body that made him app[ear older. The afternoon sunlight danced over his chestnut-colored hair, revealing its red highlights, and his dark-brown eyes were still sparkling with remembered laughter. No, not remembered, but present once again as he smiled easily at her. He was so alive. She was used to being around boys his age, but she had never seen a young man quite like this one. “How do you do?” she asked faintly, thinking that if his chin had been less firm, the slight depression in its center might have been termed a dimple.

  “Not so well. My horse threw a show on the way back to my ranch.” He climbed into the coach and settled his long slim body in the seat across from her and beside the portly man in the biscuit-colored coat. He stretched his denim-clad legs out in front of him. “Which means I’ll have to take him to the blacksmith in Hell’s Bluff and no get back to Killara until tomorrow.” He made a face “My grandfather is going to skin me alive.”

  She found herself smiling sympathetically at him. She had an idea most people found themselves smiling when confronting this young man. “I’m sure he’ll understand that it’s not your fault.”

  “Permit me to introduce myself.” The plump man sitting next to him was gazing in fascination at the auburn-haired cowboy. “I am Count Andre Marzonoff, heir to estates in Vlados and recently arrived from St. Petersburg. I am delighted to meet you.”

  The cowboy gazed at him blankly for a moment. “Well, howdy,” he said, and Elspeth was sure his eyes were twinkling. “I’m Patrick Delaney, heir apparent of Killara, but since I share that honor with a sister, a cousin, and five uncles you may think it tends to lessen my importance a trifle.”

  Elspeth stiffened. Delaney. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Now here, so near to Hells Bluff.

  Andre Marzonoff nodded, “I, too, have an older cousin who holds the purse strings. Perhaps we have other things in common.”

  “Perhaps.” Patrick Delaney’s glance drifted from Marzonoff to Elspeth. “And what kingdom do you rule, Princess—?”

  “I am Miss Elspeth MacGregor.”

  Patrick Delaney tilted his head as if listening to pleasant music. “You’re Scottish, aren’t you? I ran into a fellow in a saloon in Tucson who sounded like you.” He grinned. “Well, not exactly like you. Your soft little burr is like harp chords and he sounded like a stomped-on bagpipe.”

  She smiled. “I’m from Edinburgh, Mr. Delaney, and I’m afraid I’m heiress to very little. My father was a professor of antiquities at the university and scholars rarely acquire more than the wealth of knowledge.” She hesitated. “I wonder if you could be related—” She stopped speaking as the coach lurched into motion, pressing her back against the leather seat. She heard another round of curses from the driver that were mild in comparison to the ones previously heaped on Patrick Delaney’s head. Evidently the man couldn’t open his mouth without an obscenity issuing from it.

  “He doesn’t mean any disrespect,” Patrick said quietly, his gaze on her face. “He’s just not accustomed to having to watch his language. I’m afraid you’re going to find we’re all guilty in that respect. We don’t get many ladies in Hell’s Bluff.”

  “I’m not offended, just a bit surprised.” She looked searchingly at Patrick Delaney’s face. “I wonder if you know a man I’m going to Hell’s Bluff to see, Dominic Delaney.”

  The boy’s indolent position didn’t change, but Elspeth had the impression that he had suddenly become alert. He crossed his legs at the ankles, his gaze on the dusty toe of his boot. “Everyone in Hell’s Bluff knows Dominic.”

  “You have the same surname. Are you perhaps related?”

  “Dominic Delaney.” Andre Marzonoff’s eyes were wide with surprise and excitement. “The gunslinger? He’s in Hell’s Bluff right now?”

  “Dominic is no gunslinger.” Patrick enunciated each word carefully. “However, on occasion he’s been known to have permanently remo
ved a few gentlemen, who have displeased him. I happen to know one of the things that displeases him most is to be called a gunslinger.”

  The underlying menace in Patrick’s voice seemed to make little impression on the Russian. “I will be discreet. Will you be so kind as to give me an introduction?” he asked with enthusiasm.

  Elspeth stared at him in amazement. How very curious. The count had just been told Dominic Delaney had actually killed a number of unfortunates and yet he was behaving as if the man were a god from Olympus. She shifted her gaze back to Patrick Delaney.

  He was studying her with the same, cold analytical keenness she had seen on her fathers face a thousand times when he was studying a hieroglyphic—or lecturing her on one of her faults. Patrick Delaney no longer looked like a boy but seemed suddenly fully mature and vaguely threatening. “And do you need an introduction, too, Miss MacGregor?” he asked softly.

  She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. For a fleeting moment she was swept back to the past. She was a child standing before her father’s desk, crushed and bewildered, flooded with that familiar unreasoning miserable sense of guilt. “Yes,” she stammered. “I mean no. I mean …”

  Patrick felt as guilty as if he had kicked a puppy. The woman had appeared so cool and assured, but now he saw she wasn’t a woman at all. She was little more than a girl, just a few years older than he and his twin sister Brianne, and a hell of a lot less confident. She was peering at him from behind the thick lenses of her spectacles as if he were a wild animal suddenly let loose in the coach.

  She must have taken him off guard with the question about his uncle or he wouldn’t have been so damn suspicious. He, as well as the rest of the family, had become accustomed to protecting Dominic over the years, but he realized that Elspeth MacGregor could pose no possible threat to him. No one in his wildest imaginings could mistake her for a Delilah hired by one of Dominic’s enemies.