“Let me look at you first. Ah, as I had guessed, you have a magnificent body, meant for love.”
She had to fight back rising waves of nausea. How could he talk of love? This repulsive, hairy beast—what did he know of love? Love was the thundering pound of blood drumming in her ears, quickening her pulses when Steve touched her. His hands could be gentle, or harshly demanding, but always, sometimes even in spite of herself, he had been capable of making her feel. I loved him, even when I hated him most, she thought, and stared stonily at the ceiling while soft, pudgy fingers crawled over her body. How different from those long brown fingers whose touch her body craved so much and would never feel again! And I fought him, I told him over and over again how much I hate him, she thought with an anguish that was like a scream inside her mind. My love, my lover, my life—I almost killed him once, for doing this, when all the time I really wanted him in the same way—yes, he made me a woman, he made me need him, he taught me how to feel. And now—
The present was another man’s hands, squeezing greedily at her breasts. Wet, horrible lips pressed against hers, unfamiliar tongue thrusting in her mouth. The present was unbelievable horror, and she wished she could die now, at this very moment.
Raoul Devereaux was like a pig—a fat, hairy, beastly creature pressing her body down under his repulsive weight, forcing his way into her.
Just as if she had really been a whore he’d bought for an hour or two, he was telling her what to do.
“Ah, you’re a born coquette, aren’t you little one? How cold you pretend to be on the surface, but your body is like a little furnace, isn’t it? Hold me—yes, like that—and now your legs, yes, a little wider, throw them around my body, there’s no need to be so shy, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
I can’t go through with this, I cannot bear another instant, no, I’ll be sick, her mind screamed wildly, while her body submitted, even then. She moved under him, but only because he had slipped a hand under her, raising her up to meet his panting, grunting thrusts. She had to be free—and the thought made her squirm and thrash as she rolled her head from side to side, sobbing with pain, with despair, with hopelessness. His weight pressed down on her, she felt the slickness of his saliva on her face, her breasts, smelled the fetid odor of his breath.
“Little slut—little wanton—did he teach you all this? You need a real man for a change, don’t you? I’ll give you what you want, all right.”
She moaned like a demented animal and he mistook her moans for sounds of pleasure. When she knew she couldn’t stand this horror any longer, when she opened her mouth to scream her denial of the shame and degradation he was perpetrating on her body, he closed her mouth with his slobbering lips, with his own grunts of final ecstasy.
Afterwards, leaving her lying there so pale and exhausted she looked like death itself, he became all business, manner bluff and hearty as he began dressing himself again.
“I’m really sorry I have to leave you so soon, little pigeon. You were magnificent, just as I knew you would be once the shyness wore off, hmm? Quite the best woman I’ve ever had, and believe me I’ve had plenty, all over the world.” He gave her his old twinkling look, actually winking at her. “I don’t intend to let you get off too easily, now I’ve discovered how charming you are, don’t you worry about that! I’ll tell you what, when I get to wherever we’re going in the end and get settled in, I’ll find a nice little apartment and send for you. How does that sound, eh? Ah, we’ll have some long nights of glorious love, we won’t have to be so hurried then—don’t look so forlorn, petite, it’s not forever, you know—we soldiers are always having to say goodbye!”
He thought, or pretended to think, that she was sorry he was leaving! Oh God, didn’t the man have any sensitivity, any compunctions at all?
From somewhere in the depths of her shrinking, degraded soul, Ginny summoned up the strength to remind him about his promise. Licking her lips, she managed to whisper the stumbling, hesitating words; almost afraid how he might react.
“About my husband. You said—”
He gave her a sharp look that he quickly turned into a debonair, slightly lopsided smile.
“What! Still thinking of that no-good rascal? That’s a woman for you, I suppose! Never know when they’re well off. Yes, well—don’t worry about it. I’ll give orders before I leave. They’ll cut him loose tonight, after he’s had plenty of time to think about his misdeeds and be grateful he’s getting off so lightly. It has to be after dark, though—you understand? I don’t want the people around here to think they can get away with the same kind of thing. I’ll have him sent on his way. Alive—quite alive! Feel better?”
He turned back to the mirror, adjusting the fit of his starched, tightly fitting cutaway. “The Mexicans, the Irregulars, will take care of it. They’re going to take over here for a while, until we see how the land lies. But listen,” he continued, advancing towards the bed and staring down at her, “you’re coming to me! No use going back now—gossip travels. Who’d have you?” He gave an abrupt chuckle. “Certainly not that straitlaced old martinet, Don Francisco. The criollos are very strict about family honor, especially when it comes to women! I hate to sound so blunt, my dear, when you’ve been uncommonly sweet and obliging, but you have to face the facts of life. You should be grateful to me, I’ve freed you from the prisoner’s life you’d have had to lead, like the rest of these Mexican ladies. We’ll have lots of fun together, you and I. You’ll find I can be more than generous! Now give me a kiss like a good girl. I’ll send Quita up here with something for you to eat, after a while.”
Ignoring her instinctive shrinking and her pale, trancelike look, the colonel bent over, seizing her by the shoulders, and planted a wet, hearty kiss on her lips. No sooner had the door closed behind him than Ginny dragged herself from the bed, and staggering to the corner of the room was violently sick into the washbasin.
Going back to the bed with her knees weak and trembling with reaction, she buried her face in her hands, weeping helplessly. The colonel’s words seemed burned into her mind, like the uneradicable scars of shame he had left on her body.
He’s right—I’m done for now. Tarnished—dirty, dirty! They’d all turn away from me if they knew, and by now that brute of a man must have seen to it that everyone thinks I’m his willing mistress! I’ve saved Steve’s life, but he’d never believe that—no, he’ll go away hating me, despising me, thinking it was I who betrayed him. What’s left for me now? I ought to kill myself—yes, that’s it! She raised her head and her eyes stared wildly about the room, their green turned darker by the force of her emotions. I don’t want to live any longer, she thought feverishly, I can’t stand to feel myself torn apart by such shame, such agony! He’s still out there—they’ve left him out there in the pitiless glare of the sun, to burn with thirst and suffer the agonies of hell—I’ll throw myself from the balcony, and he’ll understand what happened; that I didn’t want to live without him.
She ran, stumbling, to the shutters, pulling at them violently, but the colonel had locked them securely and they refused to yield to her frenzied tugging and pounding. She sank to her knees, groaning out loud, and after a while some semblance of sanity returned and she threw herself across the bed once more, praying that the colonel and his Legionnaires would leave soon, giving her an opportunity, perhaps to bribe one of the Irregulars—she had heard that they were notoriously corrupt—perhaps they would let her talk to Steve…she would throw herself at his feet and beg his forgiveness, she would explain everything! She closed her eyes and murmured his name—“Steve—Steve darling.” Stupid! As if by saying his name she could ever recall him to her side again! He’d never forgive her, how well she knew the extent of his anger, his arrogant, unbending nature! She thought, He’d prefer to die, rather than to find out what I’ve done to save his life—he’d despise me for my weakness, even if it was all for him!
Ginny lost all idea of the passage of time, or how long it had been, af
ter a while. Vaguely, she imagined that she heard the sound of bugles, and shouts from the soldiers, the clashing of harness as the Frenchmen rode away. What did it matter now? It was too late for her.
She lay unmoving, as if she was dead already, and prayed for oblivion. The Mexican woman had come, and left some fresh fruit and water for her, but there was not a trace of compassion in that brown, high-cheekboned face. She brought some cotton garments with her too, and tossed these on the bed. “You will find these clothes more practical for riding, since you will be leaving soon. El Señor Colonel said so. He said you would let me have your gown in exchange.”
Without waiting for a reply, the woman was already gathering up the dress that Ginny had kicked aside so carelessly and still lay on the floor. She smoothed out the wrinkles, folding it carefully, and Ginny could feel the weak tears gather in her eyes once more. Her gown—her beautiful, beautiful fire-opal ballgown! It was the last thing that Steve had given her, that gown, and she had not even thanked him for it. But she hated it now, she was glad that this woman would take it away. The gown, her silk shift, even her polished kid shoes—all gone, like her virtue.
The coarsely-woven cotton felt rough and scratchy against her skin, like the hair-shirt of a penitent. Ginny pulled the simple garments on carelessly and lay back on the bed again, her senses too dulled by what had happened to wonder what would become of her now. She closed her eyes and horrifying scenes danced behind her closed eyelids. Oh God, oh God! Let me wake up now—let this all be a nightmare, let me wake in his arms.
The rattling of a key in the lock suddenly sounded as loud as an explosion, and she sat upright with a start, her cheeks beginning to burn. What had happened? Who was it? Had the colonel changed his mind after all and decided that she must join him at once?
The door opened, creaking on its hinges, and Ginny gave a gasp of terror when she recognized the man who stood outlined against the fading light, stooping slightly as he eased his long, thin frame through the doorway. He walked in without any preamble and stood looking at her, his pointed tongue running over thin lips that stretched in a wolfish grin when he saw her expression.
“Expectin’ someone else, maybe?”
That was all he said then, but she was suddenly, frighteningly conscious of the fact that her skirt reached only to her ankles, that her feet were bare, and the blouse she wore was far too loose and cut too low. His eyes stripped her without any pretence, as if they had already penetrated her clothing; as if he knew she was naked under the thin cotton fabric.
Ginny cowered like a frightened animal under their pale, leering regard, her arms coming up to cross instinctively over her breasts.
“What do you want? What are you doing here?” Her throat was dry with terror and she had to force the words out.
He strolled closer, and stood looking down at her, pushing the door closed behind him with his foot. The little thud it gave made her jump.
“Nervous, ain’t you? Colonel said I was to take care of you. Get you safely away before the whole town goes over to the Juaristas.”
She jumped to her feet because sitting there on the edge of the bed had suddenly become intolerable under the knowing gaze of his pale, sneering eyes.
“But he said the Mexican army would remain here—what do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Shucks, I mean they’re too damn scared to stick around, now that the Frenchies have pulled out. This whole dirty little treacherous town just loves el presidente, couldn’t you tell?”
His voice sounded casual, normal, but he took another step towards her as she talked, and with a feeling of horror Ginny felt the heat of his body, like a physical, crawling thing.
If he touches me, she thought suddenly, it will be worse than anything that went before—it will be more than I can bear—it will be the end.
He started to laugh, softly, and reaching out, grasped the fullness of the cotton camisa, pulling her forward. There was no haste in his movements, no urgency. He kept laughing when her hands flailed impotently against his chest, and then, with a quick movement that took her by surprise, he had pulled the blouse free of the waistband of her skirt and slipped his other hand under it.
“Easy now, easy!” he chuckled, and his fingers found a nipple, squeezing viciously. She screamed, and the walls of the room seemed to tilt and sway inwards as waves of agony seemed to blacken and numb her mind. Suddenly, he had swung her body around so that she leaned backward against him. His other hand came up and covered her mouth, pressing down cruelly until her head fell helplessly back against his shoulder. Looking down, still grinning, Beal could see the white, strained arch of the woman’s throat, the muscles standing up along it like cords. She tried to kick backwards, but the folds of her skirt impeded her and she lost her balance, falling against him.
Whimpers came from behind his hand. She sounded like an animal, he thought.
“Stop struggling,” he warned her. “I ain’t got the time to fuck you right now. Just wanted to show you something.” Deliberately, his hand moved over her breasts, and when she tried to claw at him he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing until the struggles stopped and she lay inertly against him, moaning, her eyes closed.
“You had enough? You gonna come quietly?”
She made an inarticulate sound and he released her with a contemptuous push that sent her sprawling to her knees, bent over, her long, tangled hair shielding her face. She kept sobbing with pain and shame. He unlocked the shutters and came back to her, hauling her to her feet, slapping her when she flinched away from him.
“You better learn fast that I mean business, miss high and mighty! Give me any trouble an’ you’ll get more of the same. Understand?” Grinning his thin-lipped, vicious smile, he caught her wrist, twisting it up behind her back, and pushed her ahead of him, out onto the balcony.
The Mexican Cazadores wore smart gold-trimmed uniforms that seemed to reflect streaks of red from the torches that had been lit in the courtyard. There was still light in the sky, although the sun had almost set, and was lost behind the mountains now. Even their rifles looked new and shining, their polished stocks gleaming.
In contrast, the ragged, uneven row of men who stood lined up against the far wall looked like bedraggled scarecrows, hardly human any longer with their gaunt, bearded faces looking like grotesque masks in the play of light and shadow. None of them wore blindfolds, and some, barely able to stand, leaned up against the wall for support. They were manacled to each other, arms and legs chained.
“Juaristas. Orders from the general himself were to execute all prisoners. You’ll make a might purty widow!”
Even now, dazed with pain, Ginny could scarcely comprehend what was happening. A sudden, muffled roll of drums almost drowned out Beal’s words, and the shouted command of an officer. “Ready—aim—”
Rifles came up smartly, clapped against white-clad shoulders. “Fire!” The word was lost in the volleying explosion, like a crackle of thunder. Like wooden figures the broken bodies that had been men, had breathed, had feared, perhaps, jerked as shots tore into them; then pitched forward to lie still.
A thin, shrill scream tore itself from Ginny’s throat as she flung herself forward. “No! He promised, he promised!” The pain from her twisted arm, which Beal still gripped so firmly, and the terrible, sickening shock of the sight which she had just witnessed made her crumple in the next instant, like a lifeless doll herself, as she slid into a dead faint.
39
“Consider yourself real lucky,” Beal said. He laughed down at the anguished, half-demented squirming of the girl who lay under him on the bed of the baggage wagon, pinned down by his weight. “I could have had you shot too, after I was through with you,” he continued in the same sneering voice. “Only carrying out orders, you see—you was a prisoner too, after all. But I always wanted to have me a soldadera, like them Mex soldiers—a white woman, not some greaser bitch. You might just do, babydoll, once you’ve learned a few th
ings.”
The two other counter-guerillas, one riding his horse beside it and the other driving, laughed along with Beal. They found it amusing to watch Beal tame this woman who had fallen into their hands like a lucky windfall. He had already stripped her naked, and her frenzied struggles only served to present them with a better view of certain parts of her firm, long-limbed, sweat-gleaming body.
Matt Cooper, a big bearlike Arkansan, kept tilting a bottle of tequila to his mouth and looking over his shoulder, so that from time to time the wagon would lurch crazily and Beal would swear. Ordinarily, Matt was a bluffly kind man who would never have joined in Beal’s kind of sadistic “fun,” but when he was drunk Matt could become mean and dangerous, and right now, watching Beal with the girl, he could hardly wait to have his turn at her. God, but she was a beaut! And in spite of her seeming reluctance, she’d already sold her body to that fat colonel, hoping to save her lover’s life. Beal had told them the story, laughing. “She ain’t no better than a whore, any case,” he had said. “Morgan—that damn turn-coat half-breed that just got an end put to his misery with them other Juaristas, he carried her all over the country with him—had her trained in some real fancy houses, I’ve heard. Like Lilas’ down in El Paso. Now it’s our turn, huh boys?”
Neither Matt, nor Pecos Brady, who kept looking over the side of the wagon and grinning, had contradicted him. Why shouldn’t they take their turn? The colonel had instructed Beal to bring her to him in Durango, but hell, a lot of things could happen along the way! The colonel need never know, and there were other women he could get, with all his money.
The girl had bruises all over her body—there was a livid blue mark on her cheekbone, where Beal had hit her, and her lip bled. But she kept right on struggling, whimpering like a hurt animal.
Sweet Savage Love Page 48