“You have nothing at all to fear, belle amie! See, I am here. I am armed to the teeth, have you not noticed? And there are also ten French soldiers, carefully picked by the marshal himself!” With an apologetic glance at Sonya he said more softly, in French, “If you have anything to fear, little love, perhaps it is myself. It is getting harder and harder for me to be content with the chaste good-night kisses we are allowed, under the eyes of your pretty stepmama. Perhaps tonight I will spirit you away under the stars and hold you in my arms for as long as you will let me.”
Ginny dropped her lashes under the ardent, hot gaze he turned on her, but she smiled, and he took heart.
“Perhaps I would like that—very much,” she admitted in a low voice, speaking also in French.
Michel, touching his tall hat, rode on to join his men, and Sonya, who had begun to feel a trifle piqued by their tête-à-tête, decided to ignore their slight breach of manners. After all, they were both still young, and, if she was not mistaken, they were falling in love with each other—all over again, perhaps. Sonya thought again how romantic it all was.
To Ginny, however, there was nothing romantic about this journey. If not for the presence of Michel, and the way he looked at her, even when she was hot and bedraggled, it would have been quite intolerable. Thank God for dear Michel—he took her mind off other things. She longed to reach the end of their journey, to be cool again, to mingle with civilized people among surroundings that would be safe and familiar. Sometimes she could not believe she was the same girl who had arrived in America, longing for adventure and excitement. She had had dreams of romance, too, but how different reality had turned out to be!
They were travelling into higher country now, almost indiscernibly, but steadily; the river left behind, the mountains looming ahead. The trail they travelled had been used by heavy pack trains from Spanish times, Michel had told her—it was a camino real, but the Spanish name meant nothing to her. It was merely a dusty, rutted track that went up and down, and sometimes she felt as if her head would be jolted from her body.
As the trail sloped up into the foothills, the desert scrub of creosote bushes, cactus and mesquite gave way in part to stunted, twisted trees—oak, juniper and piñon pine. Their canteens, filled the previous night, were already half-empty when they stopped to rest in the afternoon heat. Red dust covered the lathered mules that drew the diligencia and the horses of the French soldiers. As Ginny stepped down from the coach, Michel warned her to watch for snakes—they were everywhere, he said. Sonya gave a small scream and insisted that she would rather stay inside the shelter that the vehicle provided but Ginny, her legs cramped, let Michel help her outside.
Removing his hat to squint upwards at the sun he smiled at her cheerfully, his teeth gleaming against the sunburned skin of his face. His glossy chestnut hair hung in boyish ringlets across his forehead. Unlike most of his contemporaries, Michel Remy was clean-shaven except for the long, thick sideburns that seemed to emphasize the leanness of his face, with its high-bridged nose and chiselled mouth. A few years ago Ginny had thought him the handsomest man she had ever seen—not, she told herself again, that she wasn’t lucky; lucky to have such a man, such a very eligible young man (she could barely repress a small smile, remembering Sonya’s words) pay her so much attention.
They had stopped in a small canyon, or barranca, its almost sheer walls providing some shade. Ahead of them lay a tortuous, winding trail that seemed to cling to the hillside, but Michel had been quick to assure them that they would soon come out on a small plateau where they would spend the night at an Indian village boasting a single cantina.
“It’s a small, shabby, and I’m afraid, rather a dirty place—hardly fit to take you into,” Michel apologized. “But it’s better than having to spend the night out here…” He gestured at the arid emptiness of the hills around them and Ginny shuddered.
“With all these rattlesnakes and bandits you warned us about? I should think so!”
He had led her some distance away from the diligencia, and now with a sudden movement he captured both her hands in his.
“Ginette! You know how I feel about you—how I felt from the very beginning when I saw you looking like an angel in your white dress. If only I had the right to be near you tonight, to protect you from everything you are afraid of, just to hold you in my arms, as I have dreamed of doing for years.”
“Michel…” Ginny did not know, for a moment, whether she would burst into tears or hysterical laughter. What did he expect her to do? She took refuge in subterfuge. “Your soldiers—they can see us, what will they think?”
“Petite amour—it does not matter what they think. They cannot help but know my feelings for you. If we were not at war, I would court you endlessly, my Ginette, but things are different here. God knows where I might be sent after we reach Mexico City. I must know how you feel—I must know if what your eyes tell me is true.”
He did not give her a chance to answer, but swept her ruthlessly into his arms and began to kiss her. Surprisingly, Michel’s kisses did not repel her as Carl’s had done—she found them quite pleasant. His arms enfolded her firmly, masterfully, and it felt so comfortable to lean against him! Here was no whirling, half-faint feeling of helplessness, of being swept away in spite of herself—here was security; the feeling of being in the arms of a man she could trust, who would be kind to her, who would be gentle too. Ginny let the safety and the tender affection of Michel’s embrace take her. Half sobbing, she lifted her arms and let them cling to his broad shoulders as she began to kiss him back, her lips warming under his.
The French soldiers who were sitting, leaning against the rocky walls on either side of the trail became busy with their canteens or rubbing down their horses as they pretended not to see.
So the capitaine was not wasting any time! Of course, from the very beginning they had noticed how his eyes were constantly on the pretty mademoiselle; how many excuses he made to ride back to speak with her. Who could blame him? Assuredly, she was quite beautiful, and she had the manners and accent of a lady. Corporal Valmy thought resignedly that no doubt they would travel much faster now than they had been for the past two days. The capitaine would be in a hurry to reach Chihuahua, where he would undoubtedly arrange circumstances so that they could be discreetly alone. And again, who could blame him? One could get tired of dark-haired, dark-eyed Señoritas very easily.
The corporal, who had decided to busy himself cleaning his pistol, had no time for further musing, for at that moment there was a terrible screech from somewhere above them—a burst of rifle fire, and to his dazed, dilating eyes it seemed as if the hillside above them and to all sides of them swarmed with menacing figures.
“Those shots, little soldados, were merely to warn you. It is hoped you will be sensible.”
Relaxed as they had all been, and completely off-guard, the Frenchmen were taken by surprise. Menaced by rifles and pistols, they remained frozen, only glancing towards their equally surprised captain for guidance.
Michel Remy was a soldier, and under ordinary circumstances far from being a coward. But in this case there were women to think about, and in particular there was Ginette, whom he still held in his arms. He put her gently from him, but she still clung to his arm, her green eyes large with fear.
He studied the men who surrounded them; some of them already beginning to slide or scramble down the steep slopes towards them. Fool that he was not to have taken more precautions! He was bitter with anger and frustration. He had volunteered for this errand, the women and the gold they carried were his responsibility, and now—he hoped grimly that these men were not Juaristas—even bandits were preferable to the former if you were a Frenchman in this Godforsaken country!
To Ginny it seemed part of some monstrous nightmare. To be torn from Michel’s warm arms only to find this! She had heard Sonya scream from within the diligence, but now even she was silent—either fainted or having hysterics, no doubt! With horrified fascination, Ginny
watched the Mexicans approach—they looked frighteningly dangerous with their huge sombreros shading their swarthy faces, and cartridge belts looped from shoulder to hip and around their waists as well. Some of them carried wicked-looking knives with wide blades; all of them wore pistols. She had no idea how many of them there were.
What did they want? And worse—what would they do? One of the bandits who had remained on the hilltop above them was obviously their leader, for it was he who had spoken earlier, and it was he who continued to give orders in the guttural bastard Spanish that was spoken by the mestizos.
The French soldiers were red-faced and tightlipped with anger as they were ordered to throw down their weapons and raise their hands. Corporal Valmy hesitated, and one of the bandits clubbed him with his rifle butt, laying open a bleeding cut on his cheekbone. The senseless cruelty of this action, coupled with his own intolerable sense of impotence made Michel Remy lose his temper.
Ginny had dropped his arm, although she still stood close to him as if for protection, and now he brought his pistol up from his belt, cocking it as he did so and firing, with an explosion that seemed to deafen him as he felt himself sprawling backwards; realizing only then that he had been hit by a bullet himself.
Blood gushed from a wound in his shoulder and he heard Ginny’s scream of anguish as she bent over him.
“Oh God, Michel! My brave darling—poor angel—are you badly hurt?” Her fingers pressed against his wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood, and he bit back a groan of pain.
From the distance that seemed to widen enormously all around him, Michel Remy faintly heard more shots and tried to struggle upright, reaching for a gun he could not find. Where was it? Had he dropped it?
“Lie down! Michel, lie still or—”
Ginny’s words trailed away as his eyes closed. She had turned her head to look over her shoulder when she heard more shots, and two French soldiers, who had bravely attempted to take advantage of the diversion their captain had provided, lay inertly on the dusty earth.
There were no more attempts at resistance, and only Ginny, whose mood of hysteria had made her forget even her fear dared ask any questions of the grinning men who seemed to move so silently and efficiently, picking up the discarded weapons of the soldiers. Sonya and Tillie had emerged from the carriage by now, Sonya half-fainting, her eyes dilated with terror.
“What do you want with us? You devils! We’re American citizens, and if you dare harm us you’ll answer to the United States armies!”
One of the bandits was shaking his head in exaggerated admiration for Ginny’s courage.
“Such a brave Señorita! I salute your bravery!”
She was attempting to bind Michel’s wound with strips of cloth torn from her own voluminous petticoats, but she looked up angrily at the sound of the man’s taunting voice.
“Never mind me—I demand that you leave us alone—you’ll have the French army after you too, you know! We have nothing that you need—no expensive jewelry—oh, look what you’ve done, you murderers!”
She did not know whether the man understood her or not, but obviously his leader did. She heard a laugh from above her, mocking, and somehow tauntingly familiar.
“Tell her, Pedrito. Such courage deserves an answer.”
He spoke in Spanish, and now the man who had spoken to her earlier smiled, showing stained, irregular teeth.
“We look for money, Señorita—much money.” He spoke in halting English, but well enough for her to understand. “We follow your diligencia many miles—we ask ourselves, it is strange, no? That such a little carriage, carrying such dainty ladies, leaves such deep tracks. We are curious men, Señorita.”
Ginny heard Sonya’s choked exclamation, and flashed her a warning look.
“Oh, Ginny! How did they—”
“Sonya, don’t! They’re bandits, don’t you see that? They think we’re rich. Give them whatever jewels we have, and maybe they’ll let us go—”
“Ah, the Señorita is sensible, too!” The man came closer and Ginny shrank away. He smelled! Of dirty, unwashed clothes and hair of—of death! The nightmare was real, this time she was not going to wake up in the safety of her bed.
While some of the men tied up the French soldiers, Ginny’s tormentor came closer, smiling still.
“Señorita—why would two American ladies travel with French soldados? Ah, los Francescos—pigs!” He spat elaborately. “No, I think we will find something interesting in your diligencia—perhaps much money, no? Enough so that poor bandidos like ourselves will be rich men?” He laughed then, and the rest of them laughed with him.
In an instant, he seemed to tire of his game. Ginny heard him snap orders, and three Mexicans ran to the wagon with their machetes—she heard the sound of more laughter and tearing wood as they proceeded to rip up the interior.
The gold—they knew about it! But how?
“Señorita—he will live, your so-foolish capitan. Now if you will join the other ladies—” She noticed then, that Sonya and Tillie were being tied to one of the wheels, their wrists behind them. Tillie’s mouth stayed open as if she wanted to scream but didn’t dare—Sonya looked as if she had fainted already, leaning back against the wheel with her face as white as a sheet.
For a moment, Ginny stayed motionless, her face a mask of defiance. Then she heard, in French, the broken whisper of Michel’s voice.
“My pistol—dropped.” And then, questioningly, “Ginette? Ginette, where…” again he struggled to sit up and she cried out sharply for him to lie still.
“Please, you will not kill him? Once you get what you want, you won’t?” she forced herself to plead with the dirty bandit who stood leering at her, but she was conscious, at the same time of the weight of Michel’s gun against her thigh, the coldness of the ivory grip. He had dropped it, and when she had flung herself upon him, her skirts had covered it. Almost without thinking, she’d slipped it into the pocket of her gown. Perhaps…
So far the bandits had not attempted to molest her, nor Sonya and Tillie either. Perhaps they meant only to take the money and flee. But in any case, if they tried to lay hands on her she’d shoot—what did it matter, anyhow?
Again the bandit leader on the hill above called out something in Spanish, his tone harsh. The Mexican who stood in front of her shrugged, but moved back.
“There will be no more killing, Señorita, if we can help it. And now, if you please.”
Ginny glanced again at Michel, who still seemed unconscious, but at least her bandage appeared to have stopped the bleeding. Unwillingly, she got to her feet, pretending to brush off the folds of her skirt. Thank God, the gun was still there—they hadn’t noticed!
The bandits who had searched the coach were coming out, carrying the gold in its heavy sackfuls. There were whoops and chortles from the other men who crowded around, helping. And even the bandit leader, handing his rifle to the man who stood next to him, had decided to grace them with his presence. They had forgotten her for a moment, and Ginny shrank back against the wheel of the coach, next to Sonya.
“Look—the money—jes’ like we expect, no, amigos? Such a nice present for poor men such as we are!”
He had turned back to her, was coming towards her. I won’t let them tie me up, Ginny thought wildly. I won’t be left tied here while they massacre those poor soldiers, take the gold. Panic overrode reason as she began to tremble with reaction. The pistol came free without any conscious effort on her part and she was pointing it at the man, holding it steady with both hands.
“You come any nearer and I’ll shoot—and you’ll call off your men, too, or…”
He stood very still, an almost comical expression of incredulity creeping over his flat, Indian features. The bandits had stopped their laughing too; they all seemed frozen in ridiculous positions, some with the sacks of gold still slung over their shoulders.
“She is crazy! Señorita, you are being very stupid, you cannot think…”
“If yo
u do not untie those soldiers immediately, then you, Señor bandit, will be a very dead man.” Her voice sounded almost too calm in her ears, but the hammer of the revolver trembled under her thumb.
“We shall have to kill you, señorita, it is too bad. You can take my life, sí, but I do not think…”
“Pedro, wait. The young lady is hysterical, I think. Let me reason with her.”
She had forgotten the bandit leader until he spoke, switching to Castilian Spanish that even she could understand. His voice sounded muffled, but unhurriedly even. “señorita—I will drop my gun, see? And we will talk. You are being very foolish, you know! Do you think a few lives are important to us in comparison to the gold?”
His voice came closer as he walked towards her, but she dared not take her eyes from Pedro, who had now stepped cautiously backward, shrugging.
Biting her lip to keep back hysteria, Ginny pointed her gun at the tall man who walked steadily forward, just as if the gun she held unwaveringly was a silly toy. Unlike the rest of them, he wore a handkerchief knotted at the back of his head to hide his features, like the cowboys who rode drag when they’d guided her father’s cattle through the dusty Texas plains. And even though he was garbed just like the other men, with a wide sombrero and serape covering the upper part of his body, there was something naggingly familiar about the way he walked, something—
“So you’re their leader—a man who covers his face like a coward!” Her words poured scorn on him, although by now Ginny was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. “Perhaps if it is your life that is endangered they’ll let us go.”
“If you shoot me, it will mean the lives of all of your companions. Do you want that? I do not think you are stupid, señorita, just foolish, perhaps. Give me the gun, and I promise there’ll be no lives taken. We will be magnanimous and spare even los Francesos. Come, hand it to me.”
Sweet Savage Love Page 19