The Wildest Heart

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Soon,” he repeated, his hands cupping my breasts. “There’s no reason to wait any longer! We’ll leave here very early in the morning, the day after tomorrow. You’re well enough now to travel, aren’t you?”

  Fortunately for my state of mind, the most I had to suffer that night was a few drunken caresses. It was not difficult to persuade Mark that it was my turn to undress him tonight, if he would only help me by lying down, and no sooner had he done so than he fell into a drunken stupor. I took off his boots, and let him continue to sleep as he was, lying as far away from him as possible when I finally went to bed myself. But before I turned out the lamp, I could not help turning to look at Mark’s sleeping face. How handsome and almost boyish he looked, in spite of his flushed cheeks and slack mouth. Was it possible that this was the same man I had once thought of as my dearest friend? Had I really pitied him, and blamed myself for using him?

  But how clever Mark had been, how infinitely patient! I had begun to trust him completely, until one by one his lies and deceptions had been revealed—with a logical explanation for each one. And my mind had accepted what was presented to me as evidence. I had despised my instincts, disdained the pull of my emotions. Oh, God, why? Because Lucas was no lawyer, and had been too stubborn to answer to my accusations with excuses and “reasonable” explanations? How easy and how convenient to blame a man already branded an outlaw and a murderer with other crimes. And Mark—it came to me suddenly that all along it had been Mark who had subtly, certainly pointed out to me all the evidence that supposedly showed Lucas’s guilt. Yes, and it had been Mark too, in just as subtle a way, who had contrived to make me see his uncle as a selfish, domineering man, even while he pretended to defend him. How could I have been so blind? Why had I let myself be trapped?

  I didn’t have to feign the headache I used as an excuse to lie abed late the next morning. I had only to study my face in the mirror later to see how pale it looked, with the dark smudges under my eyes testifying to the sleepless night I had spent. I grimaced at my reflection as I began to pin my hair up with slow, lethargic movements. I was becoming an accomplished actress. This morning I had put off Mark’s expressed concern by snapping irritably that he had kept me awake half the night with his tossing and turning, and he had left me with an apology, announcing that he had promised to ride out with John Kingman to see to arrangements for our journey the next day.

  No, I had not felt ready to face Mark yet; I was relieved that I would be spared his presence until later in the afternoon. I was beginning, slowly and painfully, to realize the full extent of the folly I had committed in marrying Mark. I was Mrs. Mark Shannon. I had given up not only my name, but my freedom as well. And what on earth are you going to do now? My pale reflection gave me back no answers. I might almost have been looking at a stranger’s face that was far too thin, a haunted expression in the eyes.

  The cheerful maid who was dusting the living room told me that Monique was out on the sun porch, where she could usually be found at this time of the day, a pitcher of iced tea beside her. “I’m lazy!” Monique admitted cheerfully. “I would like nothing better than to lie out here all day and sleep…”

  But this morning, in spite of the oppressive heat, she was certainly not sleeping. I heard her gay laughter as I pushed open the door and stepped out onto the porch, my eyes blinking as they accustomed themselves to the sunlight.

  Monique was not alone; clad in a cream silk shirt and a tightly fitting pair of leather riding breeches, she was perched on the wooden railing, one leg swinging as she smiled into the face of her companion. And he—did he have to be sitting so close to her that their shoulders touched? Before they noticed me I had time to observe that Lucas had shaved off his beard and trimmed his hair, leaving thick sideburns that came almost to his jawline. I could see the cleft in his cheek deepen as he smiled at something Monique had said. He looked younger and more carefree than I had ever seen him, his checked cotton shirt open at the neck to reveal a carelessly knotted blue bandanna, and I was shaken by a rush of love and desire that left me weak.

  The next moment, when Monique put her hand on his arm, I was ragingly jealous. Now I understood how some women could threaten to scratch a rival’s eyes out. I would dearly have liked to rake my nails down the smooth skin of Monique’s face!

  I deliberately let the door bang shut behind me, and was glad that the sound made Monique start. “Oh, Rowena! I didn’t think you’d be awake so early! Have you eaten anything yet? Would you care for a glass of iced tea?”

  Lucas, his eyes crinkling at the corners, had come to his feet with an easy, casual movement, and the angry thought flashed through my mind, as he put his hands on either side of Monique’s waist to help her down, that he had learned some manners somewhere after all, even if he had never bothered to show me such consideration!

  He had been smiling at Monique. Why did his eyes have to take on such a guarded look as soon as he looked at me? Even his husky voice held a slight trace of mockery as he acknowledged my presence. “Mornin’… ma’am.”

  “Good morning,” I said coldly, and saw Monique’s eyes flash from one to the other of us with a wickedly amused expression.

  “Lucas, mon cher, will you bring a chair for Rowena? Oui, that one, by the door. Sitting on that railing would ruin her pretty gown.” The subtly caressing tone in which she spoke irritated me almost as much as Lucas’s exaggerated politeness did. I found myself gritting my teeth when Lucas obeyed her without a murmur, without even offering to lift me up to sit on the wide railing as they had done.

  Just as if she had not noticed my silence, Monique continued chattering unconcernedly.

  “We have already been riding, Lucas and I. But it became far too hot, and I have so much to do, to prepare for our journey tomorrow.” She gave me an inquiring look. “Did Mark tell you?”

  I tried not to notice that Lucas had resumed his original seat on the railing, his back against one of the wooden roof supports, one foot on the floor for balance.

  “Only that we will be leaving tomorrow.” I wanted suddenly to go to Lucas and run my fingers through his thick, dark hair—making him notice me, making him want me. He was bareheaded, the sun turning his hair bronze and gold. And when his face did not look sullen or angry, and he smiled, I could understand why so many other women, even Monique, had wanted him. With an effort, I took my mind back to what Monique was saying.

  “…but how like a man! They never tell us anything. Of course I am desolée that John will have to stay behind, but perhaps such a long journey might have its consolations too, do you not agree?” She looked directly at Lucas, the glow in her green eyes almost predatory. How could any man not keep his eyes on her vivid, openly inviting beauty? Her auburn hair glowed richly, with a fire of its own; and as usual, it was obvious she had worn nothing under the thin blouse, with far too many buttons undone.

  I said abruptly, “Where are we going?” and they both looked at me.

  Again it was Monique who answered. “We should make camp just outside San Antonio tomorrow night. A very small and dusty town, not far from Socorro.” Did I only imagine it, or did she glance obliquely and somehow significantly at Lucas again? “And after that,” she went on, “we will have to cross the desert for a while, until we arrive at a certain place, close to Carizozo, where Montoya will meet us with the rest of his men. From there… but you know the rest, Rowena. You’ve listened to all our plans.” With a laugh, she stretched her arms over her head. “Rowena doesn’t think we will succeed. Perhaps, Lucas, you can convince her that we cannot fail!”

  I could hardly believe that she intended to leave me alone with Lucas, after the bold way she had been flirting with him, but she did.

  “I have much packing to do. And if I leave you two alone for a short time, you would not mind too much, I think?”

  Meeting Lucas’s eyes, I was hardly aware when the door closed behind her, or which of us moved first. I forgot that only minutes before I had been jealous. His
arms held me, I felt his lips against my temple, and I no longer resisted the instincts I had once decried as wanton. I slipped my hands under his shirt, and felt the muscles of his back move under my fingers. I heard myself say, “I wanted to kill Monique. And you too. I must be going mad.”

  “How do you think I felt last night, knowin’ you were going to lie with him?”

  I tilted my head back, looking into his face.

  “Lucas—what are we going to do?”

  His arms tightened, almost cutting my breath off.

  “If you’re sure, woman, you know I ain’t got nothing to offer you. You know what I am, an’ how it’s going to be. Running and hiding, maybe for all our lives. But, God, I want you, Ro. I’ve tried to fight it, I’ve tried to tell myself you’re better off this way.”

  “And I—do you think a woman is not capable of wanting as hard and as strongly as a man? I’ve always known I’ve wanted you. If I have nothing else, it’s you I need. I want to be where you are, lie in your arms at night, bear your children—do you think anything else matters to me?”

  He laughed softly, but this time it was not the bitter, cynical laughter of a man who had learned to trust in nothing and no one.

  “I think you’re crazy. Just like I am for even askin’ you to leave everything and run off with me. Maybe you’ll change your mind, once you’ve found out how it feels. But if you come, I don’t think I’m goin’ to let you go again.” His face suddenly hard, he looked down at me. “Ro—you’re sure? Sure you trust me enough?”

  “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Then sit up here an’ stop distracting me. There’s a few things you have to know first.”

  The railing was sun-warm beneath me, and wide. But Lucas kept his arm around my waist while he spoke, his voice carefully emotionless.

  “You might change your mind,” Lucas said again. “After you talk with Bragg.” He must have felt my stiffening, for I thought I felt the muscles in his arm become taut. “He’s going to be at Fort Selden. He wanted me to bring you there, so he could explain things. That’s what he said, anyhow. You know how he is, Ro, as well as I. Won’t tell any more than he has to. Wasted part of the time I did hunting him up. You put questions in my mind, darn you! And Ro—you better know this—before I talked to him I had it all set in my mind I was goin’ to leave you be; that you’d done what you always wanted to do, marry one of your own kind. But then he started hinting about Mark Shannon. ‘There are some men who are clever enough to plant seeds… and wait for them to take root,’ he said. ‘The patient ones are the most dangerous.’ But right up until the time I saw your eyes an’ the sleep-walkin’ look on your face, I wasn’t sure. Ain’t rightly sure now.”

  “And I—I’ve been sure for a long time. I’ve had time to learn… a lot of things.”

  Even now, I could not bring myself to talk about Mark. I had married him, and the reasons I had used to convince myself seemed weak and senseless now. But Lucas had looked for Elmer Bragg—had found him. But why, of all places, Fort Selden?

  It was a question I was to ask myself many times during the long journey to San Antonio. Lucas knew no more than I of Mr. Bragg’s motives. He was only able to tell me that Elmer Bragg had recovered from his coma after he had been left for dead, and that the use of his legs had been impaired, so that he was obliged to use a wheelchair, or two canes. But his infirmity had impaired neither his curiosity nor his determination to search out facts. And now he wanted to see me, but I must come to him—and at Fort Selden.

  I had tried to protest that it was too dangerous; that there would be time later to get in touch with Elmer Bragg. I was relieved that he was alive, after all; but at the same time I wanted only to go as far away from New Mexico Territory as I could—with Lucas. For him to attempt to take me to Fort Selden was far too dangerous.

  I suppose that I had forgotten how stubborn Lucas could be. There was not enough time in which to argue with him that hot morning—and we were too busy rediscovering ourselves. Later I would have to face Monique with as much insouciance as she would have faced me after meeting a lover. Later, I would have to face Mark too, and this was easier than I imagined, with Monique as my incongruous ally.

  “Tell him you are tired—that you stayed in bed all day with a headache. A woman who is enceinte has all kinds of excuses to use—if she needs them. Pauvre Rowena…” she smiled at me teasingly. “Did you imagine I would not understand? Every woman with a husband needs a lover as well. A pity Mark is not as tolerant as my John. But you—I think you are a femme du monde, just as I am.”

  Monique was far more practical than I could ever be. I began to know her better as we sat side by side in the canvas-topped buggy that we were to travel in until we reached San Antonio. As amoral as a cat, she enjoyed thinking that I was the same way too. Mark, it seemed, had confided in her one night, when they had both had too much to drink.

  “Your story intrigued me, p’tite. And especially after I had met you. I suppose it is because you are English that you appear to be so cold—on the surface. No wonder you are so good at playing poker!” She laughed, and looked at me sideways. “One gets tired of being made love to before a mirror. All preliminaries, and not enough after. You see, I spent a weekend with your husband in San Francisco once, and I can understand that you might become bored, even if you are on your honeymoon still. Now Lucas—ah, he is still close to being a savage, n’est-ce pas? And a woman needs variety, just as men do.”

  I had learned, before we reached our destination that night, that Monique had worked “upstairs,” as she put it, at the Silver Slipper in New Orleans, before she met her husband. That she was in the habit of going after any man she desired, just as a man might do with a woman. I think she enjoyed the chance to speak frankly to another woman, and I had schooled myself well enough not to let my jealousy show when she made it obvious that she still wanted Lucas.

  “It is going to be a long, long journey, after all,” she said slyly. “But you and I, if we help each other, can keep from becoming too bored!”

  Forty-Five

  So Monique made her plans, and I made mine. She was not the kind of woman that I could pity, for she meant to use me, just as I intended to use her sudden alliance. I think it amused her to help arrange matters so that I could spend some stolen moments with a lover, besides putting us both on the same footing. Each time I met her knowing eyes they seemed to say, “So we are not so very different after all, you and I—the English Lady and the girl from the Silver Slipper.”

  The heat shimmered like a golden haze over dusty plains, growing even more intolerable as the sun climbed higher. Mark, his fair, flushed face wearing a slightly sulky expression, rode beside us for part of the way, and it was not hard, in his presence, for me to feign illness.

  “I thought you said yesterday that you were ready to travel—that you had quite got over your feelings of sickness in the morning.”

  “It’s this heat, Mark! Of course Rowena is strong enough to travel. Let her have a good night’s sleep tonight—she shall sleep with me in the wagon, honeymoon or not—and she’ll be fine by morning.”

  Yes, I could not help but feel grateful towards Monique for the clever way in which she had maneuvered matters; and even when, a short time later, she began to flirt quite outrageously with Lucas, who had just ridden up, I gave a creditable impression of being completely unconcerned.

  I had become so accustomed to the feeling of blank despair that I had carried with me for so long, like a stone over my heart, that I could not help being afraid that things were going too smoothly now.

  We made camp a few miles east of San Antonio, just before sundown. A barren spot, I thought, in spite of a small clump of trees some distance away that concealed a small stream—one of the many tiny tributaries of the Rio Grande. And here, with Mark offering to stand guard for us, Monique and I washed some of the trail dust off our bodies.

  I remember that only a faint light filtered down through
the leaves of closely growing trees that leaned thirstily over the shallow water. Monique was quicker at undressing than I, removing all her clothes, flinging them carelessly on the bank.

  “Come on, hurry—before it gets dark. Don’t you want to get clean all over?”

  Her light, teasing words held a hidden significance that was not lost on me.

  Following Monique’s example, I put my head under the water and came up with my hair dripping, clinging to my face and shoulders so that I had to push it out of the way. It was then that I looked up and saw Mark. He stood between the trees only a few feet away, watching. The flush I had learned to recognize and to dread was on his face, his eyes were glazed.

  “So beautiful… the bright and the dark, together.”

  “No!” I cried out involuntarily. I think I took a step backward, almost slipping into the water.

  “Be careful, cherie!” Monique put her arm around my waist; it was all I could do not to flinch away from her touch. No, I was not naive. I knew this had been planned—I even knew what he wanted.

  “Since you’ve been too tired for my caresses, why don’t you let Monique arouse you? Two lovely women—don’t you want to touch her, Rowena? Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like?”

  “Don’t push her, Mark. It’s too sudden, can’t you see she’s not ready yet? Perhaps later…”

  I had grown so stiff that I was incapable of moving. I looked at Mark, and even my lips were stiff. “Please—go away.”

  He blinked his eyes, as if he was coming out of a trance.

  “Rowena…”

  And again it was Monique who spoke, her tone both amused and tolerant.

  “I told you, Mark. She is not ready. Give her time.” Her arms slipped from about my waist, and she patted my cheek consolingly.

  “There, cherie! But after all, he is your husband. There’s nothing wrong with his watching you take a bath, is there? And me, I do not mind. I am proud of my body, and so should you be of yours.”