Beloved Tyrant

by Violet Winspear

  “You must have the eyes of a wild cat to be able to follow foot tracks through a forest,” she said, and she shivered a little at his touch against her bare leg.

  His head lifted. “Oh, I have several talents,” he grinned. “That is why I had no intention of anyone but myself conducting a search for you. There was a young blade at the hotel who wished to accompany me.”

  “Terry?”

  “Yes, that was his name. A mere boy, and tonight, little one, you are going to need the assistance of a man.”

  That darned habit of his of calling her “little one.” As if she were an ineffectual child! Then, instinctively, her glance flew to a nearby window, dirty and uncurtained and framing the density of trees at nightfall. Rustling thickets, tangled shrubbery, a jungle ... and above it a weird, shifting glow in the dark sky.

  “The fire!” Lyn gasped, and her hand clutched Rick’s shoulder.

  “Quite!” He leapt to his feet, dusted his knees, and plucked her out of the chair. “The time has come for us to hightail it out of here!”

  “Where are we going?” She felt the pounding of her heart, and the falling away of fatigue in this moment of crisis. She also knew - how could she help but know? - that if Rick had not been standing by with his fierce, almost diabolical strength, she would have been terrified, rendered almost panic-stricken by that fearful advancing glow in the night sky.

  “We are already on a pretty high level here, therefore if we strike west we should win clear of this wooded area and reach hill country. There we might find ourselves a rock to crawl under before that fiery monster eats its way through this section and takes this tumbledown shack in one bite.”

  His bone-white teeth flashed in a smile a moment before he doused the candle with his thumb, threw her leather bag over his own shoulder, then hustled her out into the sinister, smoke-hung night. “Feet all right for a bit more hiking?” he asked.

  “Okay for running with that fire behind me!” she replied.

  “Good girl! I always hoped to see just how spunky you are.”

  She laughed, and it was crazy to do so when the pair of them stood in very real peril of being roasted alive among these ranks of trees. She spared the trees a moment of very real sympathy, for they were rooted where they stood and couldn’t grab at a muscular hand and feel its strength like an electrical charge, humming down to her very toes and carrying her forward.

  After a while Lyn felt something else, an ache at the back of her legs which told her the ground was elevating. But as yet they had not broken clear of the forest, it seemed denser, if anything, for they were often floundering through patches of wild undergrowth, barricades of interlaced branches, which Rick shouldered aside like an angry stag, Lyn held beneath his jacket to shield her from the whip-like branches.

  He had pulled her inside his jacket with a growl of a laugh. “It would offend my artistic-eye to see scratches on your sweet little mug,” he had said.

  Lyn, hurrying along in the circle of his arm, was amazed that he should think her face a sweet one. And his voice had been without mockery, and she could only suppose that tonight he thought of her as a child, like Leoni, who needed his protection and his flattery.

  Held close to him, she was aware of the supple control he had over his body. He seemed to draw on deep resources of strength, while her own puny store was rapidly failing. She had been walking most of the day and her muscles were sore ... she almost fell as she and Rick plunged together through some thick foliage; only the support of his arm saved her.

  “Thanks!” She spoke breathlessly and pushed the tumbling hair out of her eyes.

  “You are tired, eh?”

  “A little. Those trees ahead of us seem to be spaced out more - are we breaking free of the forest?”

  “We are. I could carry you now, if you would like me to do so?”

  “No—”

  “Come, don’t be so independent. You are beginning to stumble from weariness and a small rest now will help you when we reach the hills.”

  Lyn felt him take hold of her ... then almost of their own accord her arms wrapped themselves about the warm, strong column of his neck, and her blistered, tingling feet rested against him as he carried her.

  “How much do you weigh?” he asked, in a while.

  “Am I making your arms ache?”

  “You feel much too slight for a young woman of twenty-two.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m not buxom. I know you Latins like a well-turned leg and curving hips, but I’ve always been slim.”

  “The olla of Andalucia would soon change that, my good girl.”

  “Would it indeed - and I am not your good girl.”

  “Come, you have never been anything else but good.”

  “There have been occasions, senor, when you have made my temper feel very bad.” She could as she spoke imagine the wicked slant to his eyebrows, the glint of amusement in his eyes. Here they were fleeing from a forest fire and bantering as if over tea and scones!

  All at once they came out into the open and what Lyn saw to the right of them sent her face in hiding against Rick’s hard shoulder. All the sky in that direction was a horrible crimson wound and the roar of the flames could be heard on the wind. Rick suddenly put his cheek down against Lyn’s hair. "Don’t be afraid, little one,” he whispered. “I shall do everything I can to keep you from harm.”

  But she wasn’t thinking only of herself. “I’ve dragged you into this, Rick,” she said. “You can’t imagine how sorry I am.”

  “Save your remorse for later,” he chuckled. “When I have more time to enjoy it.”

  He swung her to her feet. “Right now we have some climbing to do - and stop looking in that direction! Try to keep your eyes turned away from the fire!”

  Choking gusts of smoke blew their way as they began their ascent into the hills. Lyn’s eyes were soon smarting and running, and despite Rick’s order that she ignore the sky, she felt compelled to look, and to see that hellish glare increasing as the hungry flames fed on the resinous trees. Monumental, fiery columns which as they fell sent up a hail of red embers and, burning brands.

  “Where are we going, Rick?” she panted. “Where?”

  “We must get clear of this dry brush, Lynette.” He spoke through his teeth, almost harshly. “Soon you will be able to rest, but right now I must force you to climb. Already there are rock formations ahead of us - look, do you see them?” And then what? The fire was already raging through the forest they had left only minutes ago and thick swirls of smoke were streaming up the hillside behind them. She was trembling like someone with a chill, yet the air was parched with gusts of heat. She was caught between the tempest of Rick’s determination, and that tornado of flame.

  She stumbled against him when he came to a sudden halt. A jutting shoulder of rock loomed in front of them and she vaguely realized that Rick had been forcing her in its direction for the past torturing minutes. It stood against the skyline like a rampart; in its crevices clung the roots of a few hardy trees and Rick put up a hand and tested the holding power of those he could reach.

  “We are going to scale this, right now,” he said to Lyn.

  The prospect was nightmarish, for her strength had so diminished by now that she was barely able to stand upright. “I - I don’t think I can manage it, Rick.” She was almost crying. “M-my legs are so tired—”

  “It’s all right.” For a moment he took her hard against his chest. “I will take you on my shoulders, like a little girl.”

  “I’m not a little girl, Rick.”

  “No - and yes.” Flecks of fire seemed caught in his eyes as they looked at each other, there in the garish glow of the flames rolling across the sky and filling the night with a roaring sound. She felt his hands run close and warm down her sides. “Slender as a willow - I could break you!”

  He lifted her on to his broad shoulders, her arms and legs locked about him, but the play on his muscles must have been terrific as he began to scale
that wall of rock. Lyn kept as still as a mouse, hoping this might ease some of the strain as they went higher and higher. She was starkly aware that the first slip on his part could send the pair of them plunging backwards, to lie stricken in the brittle grass, victims laid out ready for that consuming monster at their heels.

  The rampart overhung at its summit and Lyn’s heart was in her throat as she realized that their combined weights must hang suspended from that ledge as Rick hauled himself over it. He lay against the rock, gathering strength, she thought, for that final effort. Then she heard him say: “Climb over me, Lynette - quickly, now! Now!”

  A hail of stones went rattling past her as she obeyed him ... she knew he could feel the rock crumbling, and swiftly, knowing his safety depended on the relief of her weight, Lyn clambered along his body and over the ledge.

  A cry broke from her, for it projected like the top lip of a wide open mouth, and she fell with a thump to the bottom lip and lay there breathless. Then to her unspeakable relief she saw Rick’s long legs swinging down in the opening, there came a thud as he dropped to his feet. “Lynette?” he gasped.

  “I’m here!” She was kneeling up, still rather dazed but in one piece. Rick’s lighter flared, flickering over his face as he took stock of their refuge. He wasn’t able to stand upright, nor was the cavity all that deep, but Lyn saw the flash of his teeth in a smile. “Hail Mary!” he breathed. “I think we may yet escape a roasting in that hell-fire.”

  “You mean - we are going to stay here?” Lyn exclaimed.

  “I mean just that,” he agreed. “We will snuggle up together like a pair of hibernating bears and let the fire roll over us.”

  “Rick, this is no joking matter!”

  “I am not making a joke.” His lighter snapped shut and the next moment he was kneeling on the ground and peeling off his jacket. “Spread this beneath you,” he ordered. “The ground is rough and hard and you are very lightly clad.”

  She was grateful for the thought; the ground was indeed hard and the lining of his jacket was of lambswool. As she settled herself, she felt Rick close to her in the darkness, and dismay caught at her heart as she felt his arms enclose her waist.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured.

  She thought of his remark about hibernating bears snuggling up together, and she knew only too well that he was a man of his word. “Yes - fine,” she replied.

  “Little liar. You are feeling like a morsel between the hawk and the buzzard.” His voice was deep and teasing, and she could feel his warm breath fanning her neck.

  Even as Lyn felt lost for a reply, she heard the slither and roar of flames and she caught her breath in horror as smoke gushed into their hideaway. Instantly one of Rick’s hands pressed her face against his throat and as she sank completely into his grasp, the world was compounded of the deep, savage beat of his heart and the roaring of the fire.

  There was a scorching blast and they lay, literally, in the heart of the inferno as for nightmare minutes it licked at the rock and they endured the furnace heat, the thundery crackling, and intolerable sense of suffocation.

  Then, miraculously, the fire had rolled over their lair and stampeded on its way. Rick at once loosened his hold on Lyn, and he rolled clear of her as they coughed and choked the smoke from their lungs.

  Lyn was soaked with the sweat which had poured off Rick, who in shielding her had taken most of the terrific blast of heat. As she coughed she was aware that the left side of her chest was hurting her, the scar tissue of her injury inflamed by the smoke and the parched air. Yet she could have sung, croaked out a tune of some sort, for she and Rick had survived the inferno ... his daring gamble had paid off! They were safe, alive, here in this crevice of rock in the hills.

  His lighter snapped on, for the departure of the flames had left them in darkness again. He played the little flame over Lyn, lying dazed, choked and limp. Smoke-tears streaked her face, and his, and as they regarded one another they broke into husky laughter.

  “You are a very courageous young woman,” he said, and never before had she seen him look at her without a hint of mockery. Through the grime and the tears his eyes were a blinding blue.

  “The credit is yours, senor. You are a tower of strength in an emergency.” She attempted to struggle into a sitting position, but his hand restrained her.

  “Lie still a little longer,” he urged. “We are quite safe now, and I am going to use my shirt to waft some of this smoke out of our den.”

  “Let me hold the lighter,” she pleaded, for a plunge back into darkness would intensify the frantic passion of the fire that still raged outside their slot in the hillside.

  “Is your hand steady enough?” Rick took and felt it, then let her hold the lighter while he stripped off his white shirt. The gleam of sweat on his torso turned him into bronze sculpture; his black rumpled hair clung to the dampness of his forehead, and for a moment, as he knelt above Lyn, he made a sensation almost like faintness sweep over her.

  She was alone with him as she had never been so alone with any other man, even David. She owed him her life, and in the tiny circle of illumination she saw his eyes running over her.

  “Lynette—” he spoke through the white bar of his teeth, a sardonic lift to his left eyebrow, “you are an attractive creature, even with a dirty face, but please rest assured that I shan’t seduce you. A hard floor and a smoke-blackened cavern are hardly suitable for such an occasion.”

  She flushed that he should so readily read her thoughts. “I am sure you prefer soft lights, champagne and silk cushions,” she rejoined.

  “You would prefer them also, in the event of being ravished.” His smile was mocking again as he proceeded to fan the pungent smoke out of their “den” as he had called it.

  “There, that seems better.” As he replaced his shirt and buttoned it, Lyn could feel him looking at her, still amused by the fear of the primitive which he had aroused in her. Handing him back his lighter, she cleaned her face with the little lotion-soaked pads she carried in her bag. Afterwards she felt much better, and looked amazed when Rick took from his hip pocket a flat silver flask. He handed it to her. “Not champagne but brandy,” he drawled. “I usually carry it in the car in case of an emergency and I thought it a wise move to slip the flask in my pocket when I came looking for you. Come, drink a little. It will steady your nerves.”

  Lyn unstoppered the flask and took a sip at the contents. “Don’t pull that kind of a face at good Spanish brandy,” Rick exploded.

  “It’s liquid fire.” Lyn pushed the flask back into his hand, and for a moment he rested the lip against his mouth before taking a hearty swig. Lyn realized that he had spent most of the day without food and she hunted in her bag for the remainder of her chocolate bar. She held it out to Rick. “It isn’t much, but you must be starving,” she said.

  “My dear girl,” he stared at her, “I wouldn’t dream of eating your chocolate.”

  “I know it looks a bit messy—”

  “I didn’t mean that.” He stoppered the flask and thrust it back into his pocket. His lighter rested against a small rock and in that small rim of light Lyn’s eyes were magnetized by Rick’s mouth, for it was tightly drawn, as if something hurt him.

  “You are terribly hungry,” she exclaimed.

  “I could eat a tiger and its whiskers, little one, but that does not mean I take candy from an infant.” He closed her fingers over the pieces of chocolate. “Save it in case you become peckish in the night. I am afraid we must remain here until the morning - until the fire has died away.”

  Lyn gave a shiver as he mentioned the fire. Though its fury had drawn away from them, still the smell and the taste of it hung in the air. “We had a near escape, Rick. I’d never have got through without you.”

  He spread his hands in a Latin gesture. “It was a stroke of good fortune that I found you. Please, my cigars are in the pocket of my jacket and if you don’t mind the smoke of a cigar—?”

  “Not at
all.” She felt in the pockets of his jacket and her hand withdrew holding two flat leather cases. “Which is it?” She showed him both.

  “Give me both of them.”

  As she did so she was aware that he searched her face with a somewhat devilish glint in his eyes. He put aside the more worn-looking case, then sprang the clasp of the other one. It contained a bracelet made up of flat segments of gold, linked and studded with green gems. The segments were obviously designed for inscriptions.

  “I have had the first one inscribed,” said Rick, and Lyn sat speechless as he took her left wrist and clasped the bracelet about it. “You may not be able to read it by this light - shall I quote the words, or do you want to wait until the morning to read them?”

  Lyn continued to gaze at him with amazement in her eyes, and he flicked a teasing finger against her cheek. “The bracelet is merely a gift for your patience with my rather troublesome niece - really quite inexpensive. I had forgotten it was in my pocket until you found it.”

  Lyn felt her wrist held captive by his gold and his warm supple fingers ... she was confused ... she wanted to thank him, but the words refused to leave her lips.

  With a shrug of his wide shoulders Rick lit a cigar. “You must be feeling very tired, Lynette.”

  “Rick-” She fingered the glowing links of the bracelet and knew herself too unsure of his temper to risk removing it. “Did you enjoy your sailing trip?”

  “Madly,” he drawled, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “Was your holiday enjoyable?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “You had the young Terry to play with, of course.”

  “Only in the evenings.” She bent her head and tried to read the words inscribed on the bracelet. “Terry was employed at the Lodge to look after the children who play in the pool.”