Forbidden Angel

by Sandra Lea Rice

  He’d heard the depravity Malcolm inflicted on the young maid. Afterward, she had cried for most of the night. Cazador did not believe in forcing a woman, and it had been all he could do not to rush in and dismember the bastard. Instead, he had stayed by Angeline’s side. Malcolm claimed she was his wife, that she’d run off with her lover. Now, Cazador had serious doubts that any of what Malcolm had said was true.

  During his travels in the Orient, he had seen opium houses, and last night he’d recognized the distinct odor of a pipe. He had no intention of leaving Angeline with Malcolm.

  Cazador leaned close and whispered, “Listen to me, Angelina. When Malcolm approaches, you must be silent. Do not move. Do you understand?”

  Angeline slowly faced him. “And what is it to you? Why do you now try and protect me? Just like you, I heard the screams in the night, yet you did nothing to stop him.” Her expression was one of condemnation.

  “She could have left had she wanted,” he said, growing angry.

  “Do you really think he would have let her? He has a history of maiming and murdering women. This girl will not survive for long, Cazador, and I believe you know that.”

  “It is not my business.” He rose abruptly.

  Angeline stared accusingly at him. “And what would make it your business, if not decency? Money?”

  “Dios, you are aggravating. I do not need someone reminding me of what I do.” He paced back and forth.

  She pressed on. “Whatever is troubling you, and I know there’s something, you’ll never find any kind of peace this way.”

  “It does not matter.”

  “Yes, it does. At the end of the day, when you put your head down to rest, do you find any at all?”

  “Enough.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

  “I heard them call you El Cazador. What does it mean?”

  “It means The Hunter. I am called that because I hunt men.”

  “That’s not what you’re really hunting though, is it?” She voiced the question quietly.

  “No more. I do what I do for reasons of my own.” At the sound of a door opening down the hall, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “He comes. Do not move.”

  Malcolm stumbled into the room, his bloodshot eyes skimming over the bed and Angeline. “How long is she going to be like that? I got things to do and I need money to do them. Lots of money. She can bring a fortune to me. Her family can afford that and more.” He staggered and leaned against the doorframe for support.

  “You do not sound like a grieving husband. I thought she was your wife and Windsford had taken her,” Cazador probed carefully.

  Malcolm ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “That’s right. He ran off with her to America. He only brought her back so he could get his hands on the money.”

  Angeline sat up and glared at Malcolm. “You’re a filthy liar. You are not my husband, Adrian is.”

  “Cazador, your job is done, so leave. The lady and I have some business to take care of.” Malcolm’s eyes narrowed on Angeline.

  She lifted her chin, and met Malcolm’s angry leer. “If you expect to get money from my mother’s family, you’re going to be disappointed. They disowned her and they know nothing of me. You will have no claim to the Cordova family.”

  Cazador swung around to stare at Angeline. “What did you say? Who is your mother?”

  Surprised by Cazador’s question, Angeline answered slowly. “My mother was Franchesca Elaina Cordova.”

  He kept his face expressionless. “Then, your mother is dead?”

  Malcolm pushed into the room. “Why all the questions? I told you, your job’s done. Now get out of here.”

  “You really are worthless.” Cazador prowled toward Malcolm.

  Malcolm’s eyes widened in alarm. “Now look here, you mistake my meaning. If you need more money, I can . . .”

  “There is not enough money to save your worthless hide.”

  With a shriek, Malcolm spun and ran for the safety of his room. Cazador followed. He braced the door with his hand before Malcolm could close and lock it.

  Cazador advanced as Malcolm searched frantically through the nightstand. When Malcolm withdrew a gun, instead of aiming at Cazador as he anticipated, Malcolm clutched the weapon to his chest and stared wildly at Cazador. Mumbling incoherently, Malcolm climbed into the middle of the bed, spittle dripping from the side of his mouth, his eyes veering wildly around as he searched for a way to escape.

  Cazador shook his head in disgust. His gaze flicked to the opium lamp and the spilled oil. The drapery was already alight.

  Cazador spun and, grabbing a quilt on the way, he charged back into the bedchamber where Angeline lay. Wrapping the blanket around her, he scooped her up and dashed from the room to find the hallway partially filled with smoke and the young maid huddled against the wall.

  “Get up, girl, and follow me,” Cazador shouted as he hurried down the stairs. When he reached the front door, he kicked it open and strode outside, the maid following close behind.

  They turned in time to see the upstairs windows blow out as flames engulfed the upper level. Smoke now drifted through the open door.

  Angeline tore her gaze from the burning mansion. “Where are you taking me, Cazador? Can this not be over?”

  “Sí, it is over. I will take you back to your home.” He set her on her feet and headed for the barn. Within minutes, Cazador returned with three horses. He lifted and placed the maid on one, slipping some coins into her hand. “Leave here and forget what you have seen.”

  She accepted the coins gratefully, and rode away.

  “Let us go, Angelina.” He glanced at the burning house. The flames had spread through the lower level. “It is finished here.”

  Chapter 29

  The men had ridden for most of the day. Although they knew the general direction of the manor house, it was still difficult to find.

  As afternoon edged toward evening, one of the vaqueros rode to Rafael’s side and pointed. In the distance, black smoke rose in the late afternoon sky.

  Adrian’s gaze followed. “What is it?”

  Rafael shaded his eyes and studied the smoke. “The fire is too large for a chimney, but we should check just the same.”

  “I agree.” Adrian grimaced as pain shot through his head. His shirt, under the heavy coat, was saturated with blood.

  Michael joined him. “You don’t look good, Adrian. Perhaps you and one of the men should ride back to town. There’s no way to know how long this will take.”

  Adrian shook his head decisively, then squinted at the pain the effort cost him. “I cannot just sit and wait for news of her. I’ll go mad. I’m trying not to think of what could be happening.”

  “We’ll find her.” Michael reached for the front of Adrian’s coat, but Adrian grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

  “It’s all right,” Adrian assured, even as he flinched at the movement of his left arm. “Michael, I fear she doesn’t know I’m alive.”

  “Don’t think the worst.”

  They traveled in the direction of the smoke for some distance, before coming across a badly deteriorated road. Following the overgrown path to a clearing, they stopped and stared. What had once been an old mansion was now reduced to smoldering rubble.

  “Dios.” Esteban swore softly and dismounted.

  “This means nothing. We’re not even certain she was here,” Adrian said, unwilling to acknowledge any other possibility.

  One of the riders returned from behind the house and spoke to Rafael.

  Rafael conversed quietly, then turned to the others. “There is fresh manure in the stable. Someone was here, and not long ago. The horses are gone so I’d assume they are safely away.”

  “Boss,” Frank called. He bent down and studied the ground. “Here’s a woman’s footprint and here is another set, a man’s. They’re riding double, I’d swear to it, and leading another horse.”

  Frank rose. “At some point he’ll send the other hor
se off in a different direction to fool anyone following. This ain’t Malcolm, he’s not smart enough. I think we still have our Spaniard.”

  “It’s going to be dark soon. Can you follow the trail?” Adrian studied Frank closely, hoping beyond hope he could.

  Frank gave a short nod. “Sure, Boss. At least for a while. We got a full moon ta help us and I don’t think they’re more than a day ahead.”

  Rafael ordered his men to stay behind Frank, but to fan out and watch for the tracks in the snow. They started riding, slowly at first, and then more rapidly as it became apparent the tracks they followed were headed in a straight line. At one point, the second horse veered off.

  Cazador rode at a steady pace with Angeline leaning heavily against him. He slowed his horse to a walk and lifted her chin, surveying her face. She was flushed and shivering violently.

  “Angelina. I want you to drink some water.” He held a canteen to her lips.

  “Where are we?” she asked weakly.

  “I am taking you home.” He studied her expression closely, but her eyes remained heavy-lidded. “I did not believe you would give up so easily. Your mother would not have.”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him. “What do you know of my mother?” Her eyes were glazed.

  “I have come to realize you care deeply for this man. I would expect you to fight for him. You did earlier, so why not now?”

  “You killed him.”

  “I do not think so.”

  Her eyes locked with his. “I pray you’re right.” She licked her lips. “You’ve mentioned my mother on two separate occasions, as if you knew her.”

  He sighed. “I did. Your mother and I were friends. We grew up around each other.”

  Cazador spurred his horse to a canter, making conversation impossible. In silence, Angeline leaned into him.

  When he slowed the large mount again, she caught his gaze. “Tell me more, please.”

  “Your mother and I shared many long talks with one another. I knew her when she met your father. She came to me and told me of this man and of her love for him. But, betrothed as a very young girl to the son of another wealthy family, she was to wed another. She grew up knowing they would one day wed to combine the two families.”

  Cazador gazed into her face, her eyes, seeing another. “When she tried to talk to Don Fernando, he forbade her to ever mention William Ashley’s name again. The day of the wedding came, and everyone was at the chapel. Both families and hundreds of friends were in attendance. Your father came bursting through the doors and took her by the hand. When she approached Don Fernando, he turned his face away and told her he had no daughter.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Don Philippe Montenegro, and your mother was my prometida, my betrothed.”

  Angeline eyed him in silence for a moment. “Were you terribly angry with her?”

  “No. I loved her dearly and wanted her happiness above all else. She wanted my blessing and I wished her well. I never again heard from her. My family would allow no contact. I missed our long talks, and would like to have known if she was happy.” He cleared his throat. “We will stop shortly and I will take you home in the morning.”

  With caution, Cazador approached a cabin. Although the small hut appeared deserted, it paid to be careful. He dismounted to look through the dirt-covered window, returning shortly to his horse and Angeline.

  “It is empty and will serve our purpose.” He reached up for her.

  Weak, she shook uncontrollably. Cazador could feel the heat in her body from the ravaging fever. His fear grew as he swung her up in his arms and carried her into the cabin.

  He laid her gently on a cot. “I will take care of the horse, and start a fire to warm us.”

  Outside, Cazador led the horse around to the makeshift stall at the side, then fed and watered it. Although the lean-to was close to falling down, it would provide the animal with much needed shelter until morning.

  With an armload of wood, he pushed through the door and dropped the pile he’d gathered near the small hearth. Collecting some old straw and a few pieces of kindling, he started a fire, adding more as the wood caught and began to burn.

  Once satisfied, he turned his attention to Angeline. “How warm you are, niña.” He laid the back of his fingers against her hot, dry cheek.

  “Thirsty.”

  Cazador lifted the canteen to her lips and let her sip.

  She blinked up at him. “I should hate you for what you’ve done, but I cannot. Perhaps it’s because I know Malcolm lied to you, and because of your relationship with my mother.”

  Her voice lowered with torment. “You have no idea what Adrian means to me. If he is . . . dead, I will never forgive you.”

  He sighed heavily. “I would expect nothing less. Here, take another drink and lay back and rest. I will fix something for us to eat.” He placed the canteen to her lips and held it while she sipped the water.

  Angeline laid back and closed her eyes. “May I ask you something?”

  “You may ask.”

  “Why did you leave Spain, Don Philippe?”

  He was not unaware she’d used his rightful name. “After your mother left, I searched for some kind of meaning to my life. There was unrest and war in my country, and so I went to fight. Afterward, I just kept going. I found that I had a . . . talent for finding people and settling issues for others.” He shrugged. “It pays well.”

  “Have you no desire to go home? You must know how this way of life will end.”

  “I do know. But, Philippe Montenegro is dead. All that remains is El Cazador.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  He frowned uncomfortably. “Talking to you is like talking to Franchesca. You make me question my actions just as she did. She used to stay on a subject until, out of pure frustration, I would give in, or at least consider her words.”

  A thoughtful smile curved her mouth. “As a child, I saw a different side of my mother. I imagine she could be very determined.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, most definitely. She was my amiga, my compañera, or you would say, friend and companion. As children we certainly found our share of trouble, much to our parents’ dismay.”

  His expression turned grim. “For all these years, I imagined her living her life with William and having children. I wondered if she ever thought of me. I never once stopped to think she might be gone. There is this very heavy feeling in my heart because Franchesca is not there, even in my mind, to talk to. It is like a part of me is gone.” He faced the fire, then ran his hand over his forehead as his shoulders sagged.

  “I’m so very sorry.”

  He nodded in acknowledgement but couldn’t look at her. He hadn’t realized she’d moved until he felt her arm slide around his waist and she laid her head on his shoulder. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her and held her, remembering other times when he was upset and had held his best friend.

  “Rest, now.” He set her aside gently. “We ride at daybreak. I would think someone is looking for us, and I want to return you to your home before we are found.” Before you die.

  He turned in time to see her grab her side. “What is it, niña?”

  “My side hurts terribly.”

  A flicker of apprehension coursed through him. “It was too soon to move you but there was no choice. I need to look at the wound, Angelina, and change the bandage. We cannot risk infection.”

  With his help, she laid back and closed her eyes as he carefully lifted the edge of her nightgown. “I am sorry, niña, but this may hurt. The wound has opened and the bandage is stuck to it.”

  Cazador heated some water and pulled a clean shirt from the saddlebag. He returned to sit beside her and tore the shirt into strips. Soaking a piece in the water, he carefully wet the soiled bandage. When he was able to remove the dressing, he studied the wound carefully. Although not festering, the lesion was red and angry looking.

  “You have lost a great deal of blood.” He re-bandaged
the wound. “And you have a fever. Sleep now.” Covering her in his cape, he tucked the sides in around her.

  Although concerned the remainder of the trip would prove to be too difficult, still he knew they could not stay where they were. He would see her safely inside her home, even if it meant his being caught. He would not let Franchesca’s daughter die.

  Cazador moved the remaining chair closer to the fire and sat facing the door. After a hasty meal of bread and cheese pilfered from Malcolm’s house, he closed his eyes and slept.

  Throughout the night he awoke often to sponge her fevered body.

  Frank slowed his horse and dismounted to study the tracks. “Boss, he’ll have ta rest this horse soon, and he’ll look for somewhere ta get out of the weather. We need ta do the same.”

  “I agree with Frank,” Rafael said. “The horses need to rest and be fed, as do we.” Anticipating Adrian’s disapproval, he pointed out, “If we rest as they rest, we get no further behind. If we keep going we may catch them sooner, but if we misjudge and do not find them, we will not be able to travel on tired horses.”

  “I know what you say is right, but that doesn’t make stopping easier to accept.” Adrian tried to keep from sagging in the saddle, and failed miserably.

  His body ached. His head pounded, and his chest and arm burned. Adrian clamped his jaw against the pain and glanced up to see Rafael eyeing him. Rafael edged his horse closer to Adrian’s side. “How is your wound?”

  Before Adrian could stop him, Rafael pulled Adrian’s coat open to reveal the blood-soaked shirt beneath. “Dios, you will bleed to death.” He called to the rest of the men. “Make camp, quickly.”

  In a matter of minutes, the horses were staked out, unsaddled, and covered with blankets. Oilskins were spread on the ground and bedding placed on top. A fire was started to heat water.

  Frank’s brows lifted in surprise. “I’m impressed, Boss. I would say they’ve done this quite a bit.”

  “They are good, I’ll give them that,” Michael agreed. “I don’t believe even the Army could match their skill.”