She was surprised that Diablo challenged Ortiz on this. What did it matter to him what his men did with their women? But he did rule here and whatever he decided was law.
“A strong man needs no fists to rule his woman,” Diablo said.
Rule his woman? His words rankled Crista. She found it difficult to accept that a man would rule her life. The other girls at the abbey seemed to have no problem with it. Some even looked forward to the safety and protection of a husband. Not so, Crista. Her life, her mistakes, her accomplishments were all hers to make whether good or bad.
She had thanked the good lord every day that she only had to attend the convent a couple of days a week, while the rest of her time had been spent with Ricardo and Lucia. They had taught her more of what she truly needed to learn and about what it truly meant to love someone.
“I rule my woman the way I want,” Ortiz claimed.
Whether bravely or foolishly was yet to be determined. However, the way everyone stepped back away from the pair indicated it was more than foolish… it was complete madness.
Crista jumped along with the others when after a few moments of complete silence Diablo’s hand snapped out and grabbed Ortiz around the throat, his grip tight. Ortiz clawed at Diablo’s hand, but it made no difference.
“I rule here. Obey or suffer the consequences.” Diablo released Ortiz and the man dropped to his knees grasping for breath. “That is my last warning to you.”
Crista watched Alma keep hold of Vilia’s arm as they appeared to argue. It did not take long for Vilia to yank her arm free from her grandmother’s grasp and run to her husband’s aid. The old woman shook her head and Crista shook hers along with her. How could Vilia be so foolish to help him after he had struck her hard enough to make her bleed? But then this did not concern her. The people here were Diablo’s concern, not hers. She needed to remain focused on one thing and one thing only… getting free of this place and free of Diablo.
Chapter 7
Crista stepped out on the porch the next morning just as Diablo reached the top step.
“You are feeling well, Crista?” he asked.
His concern confused her. What did it matter to the devil what she felt?
“My leg has improved much.”
“Would you be able to walk a bit with me?”
She wondered if he had news from her brother that he wished to discuss and she eagerly accepted. “Yes, a brief walk would be nice.”
He extended his arm and she hesitated out of surprise, then slipped her arm through his. This was what continued to confuse her so much about him. One moment he could be refined, like a man well versed in manners and the next he was the devil himself.
She thought he would walk with her through the encampment, but he reared off to the right after they were a short distance from the porch. They meandered along a narrow path that appeared worn from years of use. How long had the encampment been here? How long had he been an outlaw?
“Why did you become an outlaw?”
A low rumble of laughter came from beneath his shroud. “No sane person chooses to become an outlaw—circumstance make that choice.”
“What was your circumstance?” she asked.
“What does it matter now? It is done and nothing will change it.”
Her tongue spoke her thought before she could stop it. “I’m curious to know more about you.”
“Curiosity can sometimes be a dangerous thing, Crista,” he warned.
He turned his head slightly toward her and saw that she had lowered her head as if studying the ground or was she weighing her thoughts and response.
Her head came up and she turned toward him and smiled. “Not presently. It would help ease my worry that you might not release me.”
“And what would I do with you if I kept you?” he asked, though possibilities he should never consider flashed through his mind in much too vivid detail.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a thought that disturbs me.”
“It disturbs me that you want to leave me so soon, Crista. We have barely got to know each other. How can your curiosity be settled if you leave me too soon?”
She got annoyed that a shiver of sorts rippled through her at the sound of her name rolling wickedly off his lips and that her curiosity about him could have made her situation worse.
“Do you still want to know about me, Crista?” he asked.
She realized what he had done. He had showed her that her curiosity, her questions, could prove dangerous just as he had said.
“What can I do to hasten my return home?” she asked as he nodded to a large rock for her to sit, keeping his arm around her arm until she settled comfortably.
“Tell me something about yourself?”
“How will that hasten my return home and if you won’t share about yourself why should I share about myself?” she asked, tipping her head back as she looked up at him, a dark, cloaked figure against a bright blue sky.
Dark and light. Evil and good. How much did he possess of both?
He leaned down, his shroud almost touching her face. “Because I asked and you will do as I say without question.”
“Or you’ll cut out my tongue?” she asked again, speaking before she gave thought to her words.
“Tread lightly, Crista, you don’t want to anger the devil,” he warned and moved his face away from hers.
“What do you want to know about me?” she asked wisely capitulating and was surprised by his response.
“What do you hope for on your return home?”
She was even more surprised with her response. “To find love.”
“You wish to wed?” Diablo asked, not hiding his surprise.
“No, though I suppose my parents will arrange a marriage for me long before I want one. The love I want to find, or better yet rediscover, is with my family. I’ve been gone so long that they are strangers to me and I wonder if they can ever replace the family I found in Spain. They were the ones who raised me, took care of me, loved me as if I were one of their own. I don’t have that with my family here. I have only a few barely remembered memories with those here while I have an abundance of memories with the loving couple who raised me.”
“So you want to find love with your family. Do you also wish to love the man you wed?” he asked and wondered why it should be a thought to him.
“After seeing the deep love between the couple that were like parents to me, I don’t know how I could wed a man I didn’t love. I intend to love my husband more than he or I could ever imagine possible. My heart will belong to him. My soul part of his and his soul part of mine. We will be one. Even when separated, we truly won’t be apart. There is a part of me that will always be with him just as there is a part of him that will always be with me no matter where we are.”
Silence lingered between them for a moment before Crista asked, “What of you? Will you love with such strong conviction?”
He laughed, though it wasn’t a pleasant one. “The devil has no heart. Besides, there is no woman who would love the devil?”
“Diablo!”
They both turned at the shout and saw a man frantically waving to him.
He turned and offered his arm to her. “We need to go.”
“Go, I will only slow you down,” she said.
“No, I will not leave you alone here,” he said and took her arm to wrap around his, then helped her to stand.
Once they entered the encampment, he left her, though not before warning her, “Don’t stay on your leg too long.”
Crista wondered over him. Was he a devil? Did he have no heart, no soul? Could no woman love him? He had threatened her at times and other times treated her well. He was a puzzle to her and not an easy one to piece together.
She saw Alma and having spent enough solitary time in the small house, she approached the woman with a smile that Alma returned. She sat on a bench, her slightly hunched back braced against the side of the small shack that was her home. Her skirt
and blouse were worn in several places, though clean, and her face was weathered more from numerous days spent in the sun than age.
“I have come to thank you for the lovely flower,” Crista said when she came to a stop in front of the woman.
“You are most welcome. Join me,” Alma offered, patting the spot beside her.
Crista did not hesitate, she sat.
“There is nothing to fear here. Diablo keeps us safe.”
“From who?” Crista asked.
“The bad ones,” Alma whispered and crossed herself while mumbling a quick prayer.
“Bad ones?” Crista asked her curiosity piqued as usual.
“Worry not, it will all be over soon.” Alma nodded to a cart with about four people in it, smiles on their faces and waves to those around them, as the cart rolled away.
“Where do they go?” Crista asked, watching the joy on the four faces.
“A better place. You will go soon.”
Crista hurried a firm hand to her stomach, a twinge of fear squeezing at it. If Diablo took her someplace else, someplace farther away from home, how would her family ever find her? This news did not bode well for her.
Crista showed no signs of her anxiousness, at least she hoped she didn’t, as she continued to talk with Alma. “You have been here long?”
Alma nodded.
“Out of choice?”
Alma smiled softly. “Choice and necessity—like you.”
Crista stared at the older woman not sure what to make of her response. Did the woman not realize she was being held captive here? She finally broke her silence, eager to find out what Alma meant when Vilia ran up to them, her lip not yet healed.
“Have you seen Ortiz, Abuela?” Vilia asked, unshed tears lingering in her dark eyes. “He has kept his distance from me since…” She wiped away a teardrop that slipped from the corner of her one eye.
Alma shook her head at her granddaughter. “It is good he has stayed away. It gives your lip a chance to heal.”
“It is my fault. I should not have argued with him the way I did,” Vilia said in defense of her husband.
Crista was not able to hold her tongue. “A man is no man that strikes a woman. He is a coward.”
“Wise and true words,” Alma agreed.
“My Ortiz is no coward,” Vilia snapped sharply. “He is going to give me a rich life. Soon we will have much money and be free to go where we please.”
Crista wondered if the sudden wealth the girl spoke of had anything to do with her and possibly ransom money. Did Diablo intend to spread it among his followers?
“You are foolish to believe Ortiz’s lies,” Alma warned.
With an exasperated sigh, Vilia dropped her head back for a moment, then whipped it up and glared at her grandmother. “You are old and forget how it feels to love a man.”
Alma laughed. “And you are young and have yet to learn what it truly means to love.”
“My heart knows love,” Vilia insisted, tapping her chest repeatedly with her hand.
“But what do your eyes show you?”
Vilia let out a frustrated huff and with a stump of her foot, turned and walked away.
Ricardo had had similar advice for her.
Give your eyes freedom to see and you will learn much.
She hadn’t understood his sage advice at first, but as she had watched him deal with the nuns and the merchants who stopped at the convent, she began to see the wisdom of his words. If the heart takes flight first, the eyes cannot always see clearly.
“Young ones,” Alma said with a shake of her head. “They let their hearts rule and learn too late.”
Crista would make sure to keep her eyes open, though it was difficult with Diablo since she couldn’t see his face. And she couldn’t help but wonder what she would find under his shroud.
Crista had not seen Diablo in two days and the longer it went without any word from her family, the more worried she grew.
“Will Diablo return soon?” she asked Evia, the woman arriving each morning to help her with anything she needed.
“He comes and goes,” she said with a shrug.
Screams and shouts had Crista and Evia hurrying out the door of the house.
Ortiz was being dragged by two men into the middle of the camp, yelling that he did nothing wrong while Vilia was restrained by two men as she screeched for them to let Ortiz go.
All noise stopped when Diablo stepped out of a tent and approached Ortiz who had been shoved to his knees. He paled as Diablo drew nearer to him.
“You betrayed me,” Diablo said, coming to a stop in front of a quaking Ortiz.
“I did not betray you. I would not do such a thing,” Ortiz pleaded.
“You were caught approaching Vega’s camp.”
Eyes widened in shock, though no one uttered a word.
Ortiz’s explanation rushed from his mouth. “I wanted to prove my worth to you and see if I could find out anything about Vega’s next move.”
“You prove your worth to me by leaving camp without permission and doing as you please?”
“My intentions were good,” Ortiz pleaded once more.
“Please, please do not hurt him. He meant no harm,” Vilia begged, having given up her struggle to break free of the hands that restrained her.
“Vilia is right. I meant no harm, only to help,” Ortiz said.
“You help when you obey. You suffer when you disobey,” Diablo said, tempered anger marking his every words.
He gave a quick nod to the men who held Ortiz and they hurried him to a wood post off to the left a few feet away. His shirt was stripped off him and his wrists bound together with rope. Two men then secured the rope to a spike protruding near the top of the wood post.
One of Diablo’s men handed him a whip and when he unfurled it with a terrifying crack, Vilia screamed.
“No! Please no!” she begged, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Diablo paid her no mind. He raised the whip and with a precise snap brought the whip done across Ortiz’s back. He screamed and didn’t stop screaming.
Crista counted the crack of the whip, it stopping along with Ortiz and Vilia’s screams after the tenth strike.
“Disobey me again and I will not be so lenient the next time,” Diablo warned and handed the whip to one of his men who had stepped forward to collect it from him.
Vilia was released with a nod from Diablo to the men who held her, and she ran to Ortiz.
“Take him down, let me help him,” she pleaded to the two men who stepped in front of Ortiz at her approach.
“He stays where he is for the next hour as a reminder of what happens to those who disobey me,” Diablo called out for all to hear. “Now get back to your chores.”
Everyone drifted off, except Alma. She went to her granddaughter but Vilia shoved the old woman’s hands away.
Alma spoke patiently to her. “He will need care once he is released. Help me ready the bed and the things we will need to tend his wounds and ease his pain.”
That had Vilia nodding, though she called out to Ortiz before leaving with her grandmother. “I will return for you and see to your care.”
She got no answer and it was Alma’s loving arm around her that finally got Vilia moving.
Crista watched numb. This was a far different world than she was used to. This was the world of an outlaw who ruled ruthlessly. But wasn’t cruelty the mark of the devil? Diablo had been right. How could any woman love the devil?
With a slight limp to her step, Crista walked to the house, anxious to be alone, letting Evia know she had no need of her now. She shut the door and took only a few steps when it opened.
Diablo stood there.
Crista hated the shroud he wore. With no face to see, no eyes to look into, it made it more frightening to speak to him. Yet at this moment, she was glad for it. She would not want to look upon a man who could deliver lash after lash of a whip with such ease and no remorse. But then she reminded herself she was n
ot among civilized men. She was a captive of an outlaw.
“Make yourself comfortable, Crista. Your stay here will be a bit longer than expected.”
Chapter 8
“Why? What’s happened?” Crista asked anxiously.
Her mind churned with all the possible things that could have gone wrong, the worst being that her family didn’t care enough about her to see her returned safely.
“There’s been a delay,” was all Diablo would say.
“That tells me nothing. Why has there been a delay and what’s caused it, and is there anything I can do to change it?” she asked.
“Patience, Crista.”
“I’ve been patient. I want to go home. All you need to do is send me home,” she argued and swerved around to turn her back to him, not wanting him to see the tears that hurried in her eyes.
It was foolish of her, since her abrupt movement shot a pain through her leg. Instinct had her hands reaching out to grab or brace herself against something, but nothing was there.
She gasped when she was suddenly lifted off her feet and planted against Diablo’s chest. She was reminded of his strength when she felt the hard muscle beneath his shroud.
“Your leg needs more time to heal,” he said and carried her into the bedroom to place her on the bed.
Her eyes went wide when his hands went to her feet and removed her sandals.
“You will rest your leg more,” he ordered and placed her sandals beside the bed.
A thought struck her, and she asked, “Does my leg have anything to do with why my return home has been delayed?”
“Your painful leg would not stop me from seeing you returned home, since I am as eager to be rid of you as you are to leave me. There is more involved than your leg.”
She brushed at the wet tears on her cheeks that had slipped of their own accord from her eyes, the sudden pain having sent them rushing out. “Does my family not care how long it takes for me to return home—if at all?”
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