Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  “Is that wise?” Alfaro questioned. “It is late. You will feel better when you have had some rest.”

  “Take me down.”

  Alfaro’s face reflected his disapproval as he lifted Miguel, chair and all, and carried him down the short flight of steps that led to the cellar.

  The sound of footsteps roused Iron Wing and he sprang to his feet, the chain that shackled his right leg to the wall clanking noisily in the stillness. He had been imprisoned in the cellar for two months. It had been the longest two months of his life. Every day was the same as the last, nothing but empty hours spent in varying degrees of darkness. Nothing to do but pace the length of his chain and think of Katy, always Katy.

  He felt himself grow tense as light flooded the cellar. He felt a shiver of apprehension as he saw Alfaro and Miguel coming toward him.

  “Chain his hands,” Miguel ordered, his voice slurred and uneven. His hand was unsteady as he placed a candle on a barrel to his right.

  Iron Wing backed away as Alfaro lumbered toward him. The Mexican’s arms were spread wide, and he reminded Iron Wing of the grizzly he had killed so many years ago. He wished fervently that he had a weapon now.

  The sound of a gun being cocked echoed loudly in the stillness of the cavernous room. “Raise your hands,” Miguel demanded in a loud voice. “Raise them, or I will shoot you now.”

  Iron Wing complied. As bad as life was, he had no desire to leave it.

  “That is better,” Miguel remarked, sounding pleased. “Chain him up tight, Alfaro, my old friend, and we shall have some fun.” He giggled drunkenly as he placed the gun beside the candle. “Now the whip, Alfaro. Bring me the whip.”

  Iron Wing took a deep breath as Alfaro handed Miguel Herrera a long rawhide whip. He thought briefly of Katy, and of the time he had flogged her before the tribe. Then he blotted everything from his mind save his hatred for the man sitting before him.

  Miguel’s eyes were dark with jealousy as he raised the whip over his head. “You!” he hissed, striking Iron Wing across his chest and shoulders. “It is you she loves. Damn you!”

  Iron Wing glared at Miguel as the whip bit into his flesh. The Spaniard was very drunk and he babbled incoherently as the whip rose and fell. Gradually, the strength went out of Miguel’s arms and the blows grew weaker and weaker until, with a strangled sob, he dropped the whip, his head lolled forward on his chest, and he passed out.

  Tenderly, Alfaro lifted Miguel from the chair and carried him out of the cellar.

  Iron Wing released his pent-up breath in a long sigh. His chest throbbed, but he could endure the pain. What he could not endure was the pain of not knowing what had become of Katy. Was she in this house, or had Miguel Herrera sent her away?

  A cry of rage filled the cellar as Iron Wing pulled against the chains that held him. Two months of being locked up like an animal. Two months of wondering where Katy was, if she was well. It was almost more than he could bear. It would be easy to give in to the anger and frustration tearing at him, to yell and scream and beat his head against the wall. Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath, willing himself to be calm, to think of Katy. Katy with eyes like a calm summer sky. Katy, who had made his life worth living. Katy…

  Shortly after sunrise the next morning, Alfaro came for Katy.

  “Señor Herrera has asked that you return to his house,” the big Mexican said politely. “If you are willing, please change into this dress and meet me downstairs.”

  “Yes,” Katy breathed gratefully. “Oh, yes, thank you.” She ran her hand over the blue velvet gown Miguel had sent for her to wear. How rich and luxurious it felt beneath her fingertips after weeks of wearing the sleazy red satin costume.

  She dressed hurriedly, anxious to be out of the cantina, anxious to find out once and for all if Iron Wing still lived.

  She took a deep breath as she followed Alfaro out of the cantina. How good the sunlight felt on her face. How sweet and fresh the outdoors smelled after the days and nights spent in the smoky cantina.

  Alfaro had a carriage waiting. He handed her into the conveyance, bowed as he closed the door. How good it was to feel like a lady again.

  Her feeling of euphoria faded as they drove through the gates of the Herrera fortress. She was only trading one jail for another, after all.

  Miguel was waiting for her in the parlor. He looked thin and tired, as if he had not been sleeping well, or eating very much.

  “Hello, Miguel,” Katy said tremulously.

  “Katy.”

  “I…thank you for getting me out of the cantina. It was horrible there.”

  “I have decided to keep you here, with me, after all. The house is lonely without you.” Miguel’s eyes moved to her belly, then returned to her face. “When your baby is born, I will give it to one of the peons to raise.”

  Katy looked at him, unable to believe what she had just heard. Miguel had always been so good to her, so kind, surely he would not separate her from her child.

  “No,” she said, pressing her hands against her swollen belly protectively. Already, she loved the child beyond description.

  “You are in no position to argue,” Miguel retorted coldly. “Be glad I am letting the child live.”

  “And Iron Wing? Is he still alive?” Katy forced the words past the hard lump in her throat.

  “Yes. But he dies tomorrow.”

  Katy’s insides went cold, as if her blood had turned to ice water. She could not bear to think of Iron Wing being shot down in cold blood, murdered because he had loved her and fathered her child.

  “I will never forgive you if you kill him,” Katy said. “He has done nothing wrong.”

  “He dies.”

  “Miguel, do you remember the first day I came here? I told you then about Iron Wing. I was his woman. You cannot kill a man for trying to claim what is his. Please let him go.”

  “And will you stay here of your own free will if I set him free?” Miguel asked. “Will you stay with me as long as you live?”

  Despair filled Katy’s breast. Stay here with Miguel when she yearned to be with Iron Wing. Live in chaste misery when she longed to share her life and her love with Iron Wing? It was too awful to even consider and yet, what choice did she have? If she refused to stay with Miguel, Iron Wing would die, and she could not have his death on her conscience.

  “Very well,” Katy said dully. “I’ll stay.”

  “I will send Alfaro to free the Indian within the hour.”

  “May I see Iron Wing before he goes?” Miguel hesitated briefly, and then nodded. “Thank you,” Katy whispered. Miguel watched Katy leave the room. She was his again. He would see her every day, hear her voice, touch her hand. The house would be alive again. And yet it would not be the same. Her heart would never be his and yet, he could not let her go. But how would he learn to live with the unhappiness that lurked behind her lovely blue eyes?

  The cellar was dark and cold. Grotesque shadows danced on the walls as Katy made her way down the stairs, her way lit by a single candle set in a brass holder.

  She gasped as a small furry creature scampered across her foot. Lifting her skirts, she cautiously made her way deeper into the bowels of the dank cellar that ran the length of the house. She had never been in the cellar before, and now she saw several large trunks, casks of wine, old furniture and paintings, some carpets rolled into tight cylinders, a huge chandelier.

  Carefully, she picked her way through the room, her eyes looking ahead, searching for the man she loved. She found him at the far end of the cellar. He was chained to the west wall, his arms stretched high above his head, his legs spread apart, shackled to the wall by heavy irons. His eyes narrowed against the light as she came to stand beside him.

  Love and compassion stirred in Katy’s breast as she placed the candle on the floor. “Iron Wing.” She whispered his name, and then gasped as she saw the ugly red welts that crisscrossed his bare chest and shoulders. “What happened?”

  “Miguel came to pay
me a farewell visit late last night.”

  Last night, Katy mused. Miguel had been very drunk.

  “He whipped you?” Katy murmured. “Why?”

  Iron Wing shrugged. “Who can say?”

  Standing on tiptoe, Katy pressed her mouth to his, felt his quick, hungry response before he groaned softly in his throat and drew away.

  “Have you been chained up like this the whole time?” Katy asked, wanting to cry.

  “No. My arms were free until last night.”

  “Oh, Iron Wing,” she said miserably. “What are we going to do?”

  “Leave me, Ka-ty,” he said gruffly. “It will only cause more trouble if he finds you have been down here.”

  “Miguel knows I’m here.”

  Iron Wing raised a sardonic eyebrow. “It was generous of him to let you come and tell me goodbye before he kills me,” he muttered.

  “He’s going to let you go.”

  “Why?”

  Katy hesitated; then, taking a deep breath, she said, “I’ve promised to stay with Miguel if he lets you go.”

  “Do you want to stay with him?”

  “No. Oh, God, no! But I can’t let him kill you, not when I can prevent it.”

  Iron Wing scowled darkly. It did not sit well, having his woman offer herself to another man to save his life. Still, Katy could make all the promises she wanted to the man Miguel. None were binding on him. Katy was his woman, and he would not ride away and leave her for another man to possess. Somehow, he would find a way to return to the fortress and take Katy away with him. Somehow, she would be his again.

  There were tears in Katy’s eyes as she put her arms around Iron Wing’s neck. Two months in chains had left him thin, so very thin. She yearned to feel his arms around her, but the chains that shackled him to the wall made that impossible.

  She kissed him greedily, knowing it was for the last time. She longed to tell him she was pregnant, but she was afraid that, if he knew of the child, he would not go back to his people. Fortunately, the dress she was wearing was long and flowing, concealing her swollen figure. The dim light helped disguise her condition, and she was careful not to press against him lest he feel the difference in her figure, a figure he knew as well as his own.

  “Be happy,” Katy said, touching his cheek. “Give my love to Yellow Flower and the others.”

  Iron Wing nodded. “I will, when I see them.”

  Katy smiled faintly. How hard it was to give him up again and yet, it was better that he should return to his people and spend the rest of his life with another woman than die because of her. And die he surely would if he tried to return to the fortress.

  She stayed with Iron Wing until Alfaro came for her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alfaro set the candle on the floor of the cellar. Then, mouth set in a grim line, he lined his gunsights on the Indian’s chest while one of the peons who had accompanied him unlocked the heavy shackles that secured the Indian to the wall.

  Iron Wing grimaced as the blood rushed down into his arms. His shoulders and back ached mightily from being forced to remain in one position for such a long time; his legs were weary from standing for so long, but he allowed no trace of his discomfort to show on his face. A warrior did not show weakness before an enemy.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Alfaro instructed curtly, and Iron Wing did as he was told, knowing there was no point in arguing, and little to be gained but his own death if he refused.

  His face remained impassive as the peon lashed his hands behind his back. The big Mexican checked the knots, then motioned for him to leave the cellar.

  Iron Wing blinked against the harsh sunlight as he stepped into the open. Prodded by the rifle in Alfaro’s capable hands, he walked toward the entrance to the fortress, paused briefly while one of the guards opened the gates.

  Resisting the urge to look back, Iron Wing stepped outside the fortress walls.

  “Indian.” Alfaro’s voice stopped Iron Wing in his tracks. “Señor Herrera has given you your freedom. Do not come here again. You will be shot on sight if you are found within these walls again. Comprende?”

  “I understand,” Iron Wing answered stiffly.

  Alfaro nodded as he drew a knife from his belt and cut the Indian’s hands free. Deep inside, he had a premonition that the Indian would return.

  From the window of her bedroom, Katy watched Alfaro cut Iron Wing free. Two fat teardrops rolled down her cheeks as Iron Wing strode swiftly away without a backward glance. Then the gates closed, and he was gone. Never before had she felt so utterly alone. How could she face the future without him? Every day she would wonder where he was, if he was well, if he remembered her, or if he had put her out of his mind. Earlier, she thought she would not mind if he took another woman, so long as he were alive and well. Now, the very thought filled her with jealousy. He was her man, the father of her child. She would gladly scratch out the eyes of any woman who dared look at him. But then, she would never know…

  She turned from the window at the sound of a key turning in the lock, brushed the tears from her eyes as Miguel wheeled into the room.

  “He is gone,” Miguel said brusquely. “Pray he does not come back.”

  Katy nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “You remember you gave me your word you would stay?” Miguel asked, eyeing her sharply. “Do you mean to keep it, or must I keep you locked in your room?”

  “My word is as good as yours,” Katy retorted, her anger flaring. “I said I would stay, and I will.”

  “Good. Lunch is ready. Come, eat with me.”

  It was in Katy’s mind to refuse, to yell that she hated him, that she would never forgive him for separating her from the man she loved. But recriminations were useless, childish. She had made a bargain with Miguel, and she would keep it. And perhaps, if she tried very hard, she could convince Miguel to let her keep her baby.

  Forcing herself to smile, she followed Miguel to the dining room.

  The days passed slowly. Miguel did not insist that Katy return to his bed, but he demanded most of her waking hours. He wooed Katy tenderly, trying to regain her affection, plying her with gifts and sweet words. He complimented her when she wore her hair in a new style, thanked her when she did him a favor.

  Thinking of her child, Katy tried to respond to Miguel with warmth and affection, hoping if she pleased him, he would relent and let her keep the baby. But her efforts were hollow and hardly convincing. She felt empty inside, as if a vital part of her being had withered and died. Her appetite waned, her sunny smile was gone, and her eyes were always sad.

  December came, and the main house began to fill with the signs and symbols of Christmas. Wreaths were hung on the doors, a life-size statue of the Virgin holding the Christ Child was displayed in the entry hall, surrounded by winter greenery. Miguel and the servants, even the guards at the walls, seemed more cheerful. But not Katy.

  She could not keep her thoughts from straying toward home. Christmas at the Alvarez hacienda had always been a special time of year. Juanita baked sweet bread and angel cookies, Anna and Maria decorated the house with fragrant pine boughs and adorned them with big red bows and silver bells. It had been Katy’s privilege to set up the intricately carved oak nativity scene. She had always handled each piece with reverence, remembering that her father had carved each one, his big hands deft and sure as he created Mary and Joseph and the Babe. And there had been presents for everyone on the ranch.

  Now, far from home, Katy realized that Christmas was more than presents and decorations. It was the warmth of being surrounded by family and friends, the joy of giving, the satisfaction of sharing the Alvarez bounty with those less fortunate. Each Christmas Eve, they had taken baskets of food and clothing and toys to the orphanage in Mesa Blanca. Katy sighed heavily as she remembered how everyone at home had gone to midnight Mass together. House servants, vaqueros and their families, the toothless old man who tended the goats, all had at
tended church with Katy and her mother. It was the best part of Christmas, kneeling at the altar to take communion, singing songs of praise and adoration to the Blessed Virgin Mary and her Holy Child, receiving a blessing at the hand of Father Diaz…

  Christmas came, but Katy found no joy in the gifts Miguel showered upon her. What good were velvet gowns and satin slippers when her heart was dead? What good were silk stockings and dainty convent-made nightgowns when she could not keep Iron Wing’s child? How could she sing of love and peace on earth when she felt so utterly lost and alone?

  She went to midnight Mass with Miguel and Alfaro, but even that failed to cheer her. Staring at the lovely Madonna and the Christ Child, Katy could think only of her own unborn babe resting beneath her heart. Closing her eyes, she prayed to the sweet-faced Madonna, begging that most perfect mother to take pity on her and find a way for her to keep her baby.

  That night, alone in her room, Katy wept bitter tears. Her life was not worth living. Iron Wing was gone, her child would be given to another as soon as it was born, and she was trapped in a relationship with a man she did not love. She did not regret her agreement with Miguel. Gladly would she do it over again to save Iron Wing’s life, but, oh, how she longed to feel her beloved’s arms around her just once more, to hear him whisper her name, his voice husky with desire, to feel his hands moving in her hair. She ached to be held, to be loved as only Iron Wing could love her. She missed the sight of his face, the sound of his voice, the deep rumble of his laughter, the scent of his flesh, the touch of his skin against her own.

  Turning her face into her pillow to muffle her sobs, she cried herself to sleep.

  A month passed. Katy’s belly swelled as her child grew. Often, it kicked vigorously, but instead of bringing Katy joy, it only made her feel worse. With each passing day, the time drew nearer when the child, too, would be lost to her, given to a stranger. She would never see her child smile, or hear it cry. She would not be there when it learned to sit up, when it took its first precious steps. She would never hear the sound of its laughter, or its first words. She would miss so much, and as she tried to prepare herself for the loss, she grew quieter and thinner.