by Ryan, Nan
“I’m not so sure.” He shrugged. “After the war, there was nothing left but guilt that I had lived through it and they had died. They were the ones with families who needed them. They were the ones who should have come back, not me. What did I have to come for?” He shook his dark head. “I’m hard and cynical, I know it. I guess … I guess I’m—”
“Afraid to care?” she finished for him. “Don’t be, darling. Don’t turn your back on the world because of your losses. And don’t feel guilty because you lived when the others didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” he said. West told her about the night he and Captain Brooks had attempted to escape from Andersonville Prison. How the tunnel they’d dug collapsed, trapping them. How he tried and tried to get to Brooks, but by the time he found him, it was too late. Brooks had suffocated.
“He was a husband, Elizabeth, and the father of two little boys who needed him. God, it should have been me, not him.” His face was a study in pain as tears filled his silver eyes.
“Oh, my darling,” she said, and threw her arms around him. “Stop blaming yourself. You did all you could to save him; let it go now. Put it behind you and forget.” She pressed her cheek to his bearded face for a moment, then pulled back to look at him. “No life is any more precious than any other. Besides, just because you were not a husband and father then, doesn’t mean you’ll never be.”
“Elizabeth,” he brokenly whispered her name.
“The important thing is you did come home from the war and now we’re here together. I love you, West Quarternight,” she said. “I love you.”
At last he smiled. “Don’t tell me, sweetheart, show me.”
She did. She kissed him with all the love in her heart and for West the sweetness of her kiss was enhanced by the knowledge that he alone knew what a fiery lover she was. No other man had had her, no other ever would. She belonged to him.
When their lips separated, West said, “You actually kept my uniform button all that time?”
“It was all I had,” said she with emotion, trembling against him. Tears of happiness filled her eyes.
“Relax, my sweet love,” West said soothingly, as he would quiet a fretful child in the night. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“I must tell Edmund first thing tomorrow,” Elizabeth said, loving the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her.
“I’ll handle it,” said West. “I’ll talk to Ed.”
“No, I really think I should be the one.”
“We’ll tell him together,” said West. He looked into her eyes and said, “Elizabeth, there’s something I must confess to you.”
“Tell me anything, anything at all.”
“I know a great deal about making love, but very little about love itself. Will you teach me, honey?”
“I don’t know. It may take fifty or sixty years for you to learn,” she said, smiling. Then her smile vanished and she said, “You can start by telling me you love me.”
“I love you, Elizabeth.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “So much.”
42
THE HAPPY PAIR REMAINED on that starlit ledge long after midnight had come and gone. There was so much to say to each other. So many plans to be made. So many dreams to be shared. Curious about anything and everything that concerned the other, they asked and answered numerous questions. Neither held back; neither attempted to hide anything.
Well, almost nothing.
West did keep one small secret from Elizabeth. He didn’t admit to having an almost paralyzing fear of going down inside dark caves and caverns. Praying he wouldn’t fail when he was put to the test, he pushed the worrisome doubts to the back of his mind and listened as Elizabeth enchanted him with stories of her childhood.
He watched her closely as she spoke, charmed with the way her lovely eyes sparkled and her delicate hands gestured, and by her sudden eruptions of soft feminine laughter. She looked so young and pretty in the starlight, it was as if she were a child even now, as if she were still an adorable little girl.
He could envision her flying down the steps of the big river-bluff mansion in Natchez, her blazing curls framing the small, perfect features of her child’s face. So carefree, so safe and protected, so much the apple of her distinguished father’s eye.
While Elizabeth talked, it occurred to West that she had been little more than a child when the unprincipled Southern officer had tried to rape her. Barely nineteen years old and as innocent as a baby. A trusting little girl, alone and helpless, trying desperately to fight off the rapacious Colonel Dobbs. The bastard got exactly what he deserved!
West’s moral indignation swiftly turned to guilt. Jesus, he himself was as bad as Dobbs. He had cunningly seduced her the minute she was thrown in the stockade with him. Hadn’t bothered taking the time to find out anything about her. When he made love to her that very first time, he had disregarded the nagging suspicion that she might well be a virgin. Vividly he recalled the feel and fit of her that night. How could he have been so damned blind and callous?
His heart hurting for the unspoiled girl he had carelessly violated, West reached out, gently taking Elizabeth’s chin in his hand. Interrupting, he said, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry for all I’ve done to you. I’ll make it up to you, I swear it.”
Elizabeth’s bubbling laughter subsided and she looked at him with total trust and love. Softly, she said, “I know you will, West.” Then, before his very eyes, her sweet child’s face changed into that of a beautiful, seductive woman. She laid a hand on his heart. She licked her lips, ran the tip of her tongue under her teeth, and said, “Know what I want right now more than anything in the world?”
“Tell me, baby.”
“More peach cobbler.”
West threw back his head and laughed. He drew her into his arms, kissed her, and said, “Sweetheart, have you any idea how much I love you?”
“Show me.”
It was past three in the morning when the tired, in-love pair walked back into camp. Holding hands and yawning, they stepped into the clearing and saw Edmund alone before the dying campfire, staring fixedly into the glowing embers. West and Elizabeth looked at each other. West squeezed her hand reassuringly and they went to join Edmund.
Edmund didn’t seem surprised to see them together in the middle of the night. Nor was he astonished when they told him they were in love and Elizabeth intended to have her marriage to Dane annulled. Silently he listened as they spoke, West doing most of the talking, taking all of the blame.
At last it was all out in the open and Elizabeth said, “Edmund, I hope one day you can forgive me for the dishonesty—”
“My dear,” Edmund interrupted, “I haven’t been totally honest, either. You see, what our Santa Fe agent, Martin Exley, and I failed to mention is that he and Dane are almost positive they’ve located the Grayson gold.” Edmund rubbed his tired eyes and sighed. “The truth is, I selfishly helped persuade you to marry Dane because I saw it as my only way out.”
Edmund went on to tell them that the stock market crash had totally ruined him; the Curtin fortune had been wiped out. He had sold his wife’s jewels to afford the trip to New Mexico and the search for Dane and the gold. He admitted he was so afraid of losing Louisa, that he saw the Grayson gold as his only hope.
“Elizabeth, I must ask forgiveness of you. Of both of you.” He looked at West. “I’ve seen the attraction growing between the two of you and I’ve struggled with my conscience, knowing I should tell you the truth.” He paused, drew a slow breath, and added, “Elizabeth, you’re far too good a woman to be Dane’s wife. Even had you loved him, Dane wouldn’t have made you happy. I’m afraid Dane has never loved anyone but himself.” Edmund miserably shook his blond head. “But then I’m as bad as my brother. My greed for gold has made me party to this unforgivable deception.”
Elizabeth reached out and laid a hand on Edmund’s arm. “Edmund, it wasn’t your greed for gold, it was your love for Louisa. I can understand l
oving someone so much you’d do anything to keep from losing them.”
Edmund’s troubled green eyes met hers. “You are a kind, intelligent, and understanding young woman, Elizabeth.”
“No, Edmund, just a woman in love.” She smiled at West. West affectionately squeezed her waist as she said to Edmund, “If there is gold, if we find it, then certainly half of it belongs to you.”
“No, no, I won’t hear of it,” protested Edmund. “West, I can’t allow—”
“You heard the lady,” said West, smiling. “Ed, you financed this whole expedition, of course you should share in any found treasure.”
At sunrise it was discovered that four of the Mexican peasants had fled during the night. West was not surprised. The expedition was heading steadily deeper into the heartland of Navajo mysticism and the Latins were as superstitious as the Indians. The nervous men had seen the flash flood as a warning to stay away.
West studied the brown faces of the men who remained. Fear shone out of their dark eyes and he doubted they could be counted on to go all the way. He looked from man to man as he eased the bridle onto his sorrel mare’s head and fastened the throat lash in preparation to ride.
He was lifting the saddle up onto the mare’s back when Elizabeth saw him for the first time that morning. His back to her, she watched the lifting and lowering of his shoulderblades beneath his shirt, the play of muscles in his back and long legs.
A mug of hot steaming coffee cupped in her hands, she felt a tingle of pleasure shoot through her limbs, recalling last night’s loving atop a stone ledge in the starlight. She felt again those powerful muscles rigid and straining against her hands and the skill of his exploring mouth.
Abruptly West’s arms fell to his sides. He remained totally still for a moment, then he turned around. Elizabeth’s lips fell open. Gone was the black, bushy beard. His handsome, sun-bronzed face was smoothly shaven and his thick raven hair was neatly brushed. That old reckless grin came back to his face and it was all she could do to keep from running and throwing herself into his arms.
Thinking he must have read her mind, Elizabeth caught her breath as he strode purposely toward her. When he reached her, West wrapped long fingers around the nape of her neck, glanced hurriedly about, leaned down and kissed her fully on the mouth.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said. “Still love me in the cold light of day?” His silver eyes danced with happiness. Suddenly shy and in awe of him, Elizabeth could only nod wordlessly. West hugged her to him and said against her ear, “I know. I feel the same way about you.”
By midmorning the contingent was down out of the Guadalupes and riding across the flat, burning desertlands of eastern New Mexico. To the northeast was the Llano Estacado, the Staked Plain. Due west, in the distance, the Ocotillo Hills rose against the azure sky. And southeast, the direction in which they were headed, was the Texas border. Hopefully, just north of that border were the vast underground caverns of the Legend.
A constant Sonoran wind blew, kicking up dust devils and swirling brittle tumbleweeds across the flat basin. The sand, the heat, the wind bothered some of the riders.
Not West Quarternight.
Not when he could turn and see Elizabeth riding beside him, facing the wind, her hair blowing around her beautiful face like a scarlet storm.
Elizabeth felt his eyes on her, laughed, and shouted, “I’ll race you!” She dug her booted heels into the iron gray’s belly and he shot away.
Grinning, West eased his grip on the reins and the sorrel mare’s stride lengthened into a gallop. Gray eyes squinting against the stinging wind, West good-naturedly pursued his playful lover. And wondered why, after Elizabeth had gone less than half a mile, she abruptly pulled up, bringing her stallion to a dirt-flinging halt.
“Give up already?” he shouted as he cantered up to her.
“West, look!” Frowning, Elizabeth pointed toward a figure lying beside a tumble of rocks.
“Wait here,” said West. He swung down out of the saddle and went to investigate.
Moments later the others caught up and Edmund, Grady, and Taos quickly dismounted and hurried to where West knelt in the sand, his long arm supporting a half-dead Mexican. He was tipping his canteen of water to the man’s parched, cracked lips.
Cautiously, Elizabeth climbed down from the saddle and ventured closer. She got a glimpse of the man cradled in West’s arms and she shuddered. The stocky man’s clothing was in tatters. Vicious-looking whelps scored his exposed brown back and dried blood was caked on his white linen shirt and trousers.
Gasping and coughing, the badly injured man clutched at West’s shirtfront and talked, telling him what had happened. Elizabeth, several yards away, caught only a few phrases.
“El máximo jefe … Diablo alado … mucho oro …”
The poor man anxiously went on and on and Elizabeth noticed, when she got a better look at his dirty, sunburned face, that he had a bad walleye.
West spoke to the man in Spanish, calming him, and assuring him they would get him to a doctor. But the man weakly shook his head, knowing he was dying, determined to tell all he knew before it was too late.
West stayed with the dying man until he drew his last breath, then carefully laid him on the sand and rose to his feet. Everyone waited for West to speak.
He took a deep breath. “His name was Ortiz. He says he’s been held prisoner in an underground cavern by the maximum jefe or boss … a winged devil with long golden hair.” West’s gaze met Edmund’s, he caught the quick flash of horror that came into Edmund’s eyes. “He said there are tons of gold bars down deep in the earth and that the pale master had been making his servants haul the heavy gold up out of the cavern.” West fell silent.
“Anything more?” It was Edmund, his face mirroring his suspicions. “Does the ruler still live? Is he …”
West minced no words. “The master is alive; yesterday he beat Ortiz, then sent him out to bring a beautiful young woman back to the caverns for his pleasure.”
“Dear God!” said Edmund, stricken. “Do you suppose … could it possibly be—”
“Ed, I’m only repeating what the dying Ortiz said. This desert can do strange things to a man dying of thirst.” He added reassuringly, “The poor fellow was probably out of his head. Babbling about winged devils and maximum rulers … he made little sense.”
But even as West spoke, he knew better. Before he died, the walleyed Ortiz had said that the pale master had killed two young Mexican women after using them for his own sexual gratification. The body of the last young woman had been left on the plaza at La Luz about two weeks ago. Now the evil master wanted another woman to share his bed of gold, but he had warned Ortiz not to bring back another brown-skinned woman. He wanted a woman whose skin was as pale as his own.
And her hair must be flaming red.
West inwardly shuddered as his eyes fell on Elizabeth’s flaming tresses, gleaming in the desert sunlight. The thought of what would happen if the depraved maniac got his hands on her made the blood in his veins congeal.
He would have to keep very close watch on her, not allow her to be alone for even a second. The danger was real, and it was close.
A long, frustrating search for the elusive caverns would not be necessary. The dying Ortiz had revealed their exact location marked by telltale landmarks, less than twenty miles away.
By sundown they’d be there.
43
DARKNESS WAS BEGINNING TO claim the sky.
The hot winds had died. A gentle breeze blew from out of the west. The air had begun to cool. A sleek, sleepy-eyed bobcat stood poised on the low ridge line of a rocky hill, the sun’s dying rays tinting his downy fur a soft apricot hue.
West recognized the promontory where the yawning bobcat stood as the first of the landmarks Ortiz had described. Its shape distinctive, the sandstone hillock looked like the huge, solemn face of an old Indian warrior.
West’s gray eyes left the landmark and turned to scan the southe
rn horizon. In the distance he saw a tiny speck of black soaring against the lavender heavens. Within seconds a cloud of free-tailed bats filled the night sky. Millions of the furry little creatures flew from the opening of an unseen cave to spend the hours of darkness in a foray for insects.
“West, what is it?” asked Elizabeth anxiously, her eyes lifting to the dense black cloud rising steadily higher.
“Just little bats, sweetheart,” West said, smiling at her. “Means we’re very near the caverns.”
Speechless, she nodded, and reined her iron gray a little closer to West. “There are so many of them,” she said, feeling the hair at the nape of her neck lifting.
“Millions,” he confirmed, and quickly added, “but harmless. They sleep in the cave all day, then fly out at sundown to search for food.”
She turned in the saddle to look back at the others. “West, did you realize that all the Mexicans have left us? I see only Grady, Taos, and Edmund.”
“I know,” West said calmly, nodding. “Throughout the afternoon they’ve been falling back, one by one, and riding away. I’m not surprised.”
“But won’t we need them now more than ever?”
He grinned. “Hope not.” Turning to her, he said, “When we found Ortiz this morning, I knew we’d lose the rest of the crew. Honey, Mexicans and Indians are incredibly superstitious, so when they heard Ortiz’s wild tales about ‘winged devils,’ there was no chance of keeping them.”
“You don’t believe Ortiz’s ravings, do you?”
West shrugged wide shoulders. “Sweetheart, the only winged devils we’re apt to see are those ugly little bats.”
Lowering her voice, Elizabeth said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That perhaps Dane found the gold and he’s down there holding prisoners and—”
“If Dane’s down there, he’s alone. Ortiz swore all the others fled in the past few days.”
Elizabeth shook her head thoughtfully. “But what about Dane’s partner, Tom Lancaster? Did Ortiz mention him? Surely Tom stayed.”