by DiAnn Mills
The pleading for her mother proved useless, and nothing Carmita said dissuaded them. “Let me go in her place,” Marianne finally said. “Tell them I am Señor Phillips’s daughter.”
“No, you can’t.” Mama grasped Marianne’s hand.
“There’s no other way, Mama,” Marianne said. “Ask them, Carmita. I beg of you.”
Against Mama’s protests, Carmita translated the request. Marianne stood between her mother and the men. They would not take Mama without a fight. She glanced down at the knife resting beside Mama’s plate. Would God forgive her if she purposely plunged it into the leader’s heart? If only she could speak directly to him, reason with him, but that was foolish and she dared not risk angering the man. The other men waited stoically with their weapons aimed at the women.
“We’ll take the daughter,” the leader said a moment later, and Carmita relayed his words. “Tell Señor Phillips that Armando Garcia and his followers hold his daughter in exchange for La Flor. He will kill the girl in five days, unless he rides to our valley unarmed and alone to talk. Any sign of his men will result in the señorita’s death.”
Carmita gasped. “You act in Armando’s behalf? He would never attempt such treachery.”
Marianne pretended ignorance until Carmita could translate the ultimatum. Even then she refused to show any signs of fear, but her emotions swelled.
The moment two of the men clutched Marianne’s arms, Mama’s hysteria echoed through the house. Marianne glared at the leader, wanting to shout at him for his absurd scheme. For a moment she considered spitting into his arrogant face.
“Mama, I will be fine until Papa returns and gives these men what they want.” Papa would never give in to their wishes. The man should simply end her life now, but caution curbed her tongue. Mama didn’t need to endure the pain of witnessing her daughter’s murder.
“Tell them to release me,” she instructed Carmita. “I go willingly.”
When Carmita informed the leader, he seized Marianne’s upper arm. He squeezed it sharply until she bit into her lip to keep from crying out. The pain aroused a sense of panic for what surely lay ahead.
He pulled her toward the kitchen. “We need horses.” He nodded to two men standing nearby. “Search inside for weapons and meet us at the stables.”
Juan! He’d surely put up a fight, even with a crippled leg. Please, Tio, don’t be a hero. Let these men have anything they want.
In the blackness of night, save for two torches held by the vicious men, she saw several others awaiting their leader. Juan held onto Diablo’s bridle.
“What is this, Felipe? I thought you wanted horses, and now you have the señorita. Armando will not approve of this.” Her tio’s anger echoed across the night.
“Be quiet, old man, or you will taste my wrath. I see you have my stallion.”
Marianne hoped her stallion stomped Felipe to the ground. Diablo would never allow her captors to seize him.
“No one can ride the stallion,” Juan said. “Not even Señor Phillips can tame him.”
“Juan,” she said in English. “Tell him the horse is mine.”
Juan wiped his brow. “No one can touch the horse, Felipe, but the señorita. Try if you must. Your men have gotten nowhere.”
From the torch, she saw Felipe’s seething glare. Haughtiness and contempt ruled his countenance.
Feeling her world collapsing about her, Marianne turned to Juan. “If he must have Diablo, then allow me to ride him.” If she had learned anything from observing Papa, it was his fearlessness.
Juan translated, but Felipe grabbed the reins. The stallion lifted his front feet with more fury than she’d ever seen. Felipe held tightly, but Diablo’s twisting and prancing broke free the leather straps. A moment later the proud animal stood at Marianne’s side.
“For now, she can ride him,” Felipe said. “But the stallion is mine. Armando will reward me with the horse for bringing him the señorita.”
With Juan’s final translation, she mounted Diablo, and his powerful muscles relaxed. A word from the leader, and the others found their horses. She watched Felipe mount a swaybacked mare. The horse suited him.
Marianne took one last look at Juan. She longed to see his familiar smile. “I love you, Tio. If I do not see you again, take care of Mama. Tell her I love her.”
No more words passed between them, for Felipe ordered his men to leave the hacienda at once.
Through a blanket of deep indigo, the band of nearly a half dozen men pushed westward on to the rocky hills and hiding places known only to the followers of Armando Garcia. The band skirted hills and twisted around low places until Marianne knew for certain she’d lost her way. Even if she could break free, she’d be lost in the black maze.
Diablo easily kept pace with the abductors’ horses while Marianne did nothing to hinder her stallion’s stride. His speed and agility against the other horses made her wonder if she could escape. But where could she go that wouldn’t put Mama in danger?
The sorrow etched into her mother’s face with their farewell held her more captive than the Mexican rebels. Mama, her treasure, her friend. She knew her mother’s state of mind. With Papa’s impassiveness and Marianne no longer there to encourage and love her, she worried about her mother’s will to stay alive.
She turned her attention to Armando Garcia, her father’s enemy and now hers. She wondered how much more cruel he could be than Felipe. Confusion seared Marianne’s mind. Her friends had spoken highly of the Mexican leader and his love for his people, but any man who ordered the kidnapping of an innocent woman deserved a hangman’s noose. Until her abduction, Marianne had sided with their leader. The people of La Flor deserved their own homes in a fertile valley where they could provide a good living for their families. She had seen a few of the children and their shy mothers when they came to visit Juan and Carmita. Mama had given them leather for shoes and clothes when Papa was away from home.
At last Felipe slowed the men, and they rode single file through a narrow opening carved between two hills of steep rock. Up ahead she saw a glimmer of light. This was clearly not La Flor but rather a wayside place meant to keep her hidden.
“What is going on here?” A man emerged from the shadows. “Where did you go? I didn’t give you permission to take these men and ride out.”
“Armando.” Felipe carried himself as though he’d just ridden in from a victorious battle. “I have done you a favor.”
Marianne’s gaze flew to the infamous Armando Garcia. Just as the voice sounded like the man she’d encountered earlier today, the face matched the mysterious stranger. Revulsion for her earlier musings about him added to her confusion.
The man stepped to the side of Felipe’s horse. “What have you done?” His very words commanded attention. He glanced up at Marianne. “And who is this?”
Felipe swung his leg over his horse and jumped down beside Armando. “I have Señor Phillips’s daughter so we can bargain for our valley. I left instructions with Señora Phillips that unless our demands are met, you would kill their daughter.”
“You kidnapped his daughter? That makes us look like barbarians.” Armando’s words were low, meant only for Felipe. But Marianne heard and understood every word.
Felipe whirled around and pulled her from Diablo. His hands dug into her waist, but she refused to cry out. Diablo snorted and reared. Two other men tried to seize the stallion, but the horse kicked its front legs, sending them sprawling to the ground. This time she did not offer to settle her horse. Let them taste Diablo’s wrath.
She heard the sound of a whip and struggled to free herself from Felipe’s hold. “No!” she cried in English. “Diablo, let them take you.” Her stallion calmed enough for the two men to lead him away.
“Let her go,” Armando said. “I fear you have made a terrible mistake this night.” He strode toward the fire and snatched up a narrow log as a torch.
Felipe released her, and she stood defiantly before the famed outlaw leade
r. If he hadn’t sent Felipe to raid the hacienda, he should apologize and send her home.
“Take a look at the señorita.” Felipe laughed. “She is beautiful and not afraid.”
The torch blinded her, and she prayed he did not recognize her from earlier in the day. Armando released a labored breath. “Felipe, we must speak in private. Now.”
“I have done a good thing. This is the right way, amigo.” Felipe clenched his fist. “We have the power now to get whatever we want from Señor Phillips.”
“You have acted lower than our enemies.” Armando said. “This will cause the death of our people and bring down the Spanish and the Americans on us. Are you sure this is not about what Wharton did to your sister?” He turned to a man behind him, one Marianne had not seen before. “Emilio, take the señorita to my hut. See that she is not harmed. Put her stallion with the other horses.”
Marianne breathed hope. Perhaps she’d be taken home before the night was over. She glanced about but failed to see any women, and her stomach churned. She dared not think of home until she felt her mother’s arms around her. These men…Who knew what they were capable of? She’d fight to her death before she’d allow them to touch her. She could feign bravery, but they held the weapons, and she was their prisoner.
Emilio took her arm and urged her along. As they passed the fire, smelling of mesquite, she saw the man’s features. Anger crested the face of a typical farmer, young, darkened by race and sun. Nothing distinguishable. He could have been any of so many Mexican men. Was he angry because of her father or because Felipe had gone against Armando?
Emilio led her to an obscure lean-to where he flung open the door and ushered her inside.
“Much trouble tonight,” he said in his native tongue.
Oh, how she wished she knew what he meant. Marianne stumbled and fell as the door closed.
Sitting on the damp earthen floor, she attempted to focus her eyes on the surroundings, but utter blackness met her. Massaging her arms, she wondered what manner of insects and animals inhabited her cell. The weariness of the ride settled over her. It must be after midnight, and although she craved sleep, she dreaded the unknown.
Drawing her knees to her chest, she sought to pray. Every noise alarmed her, as though at any moment Armando would return with evil intent. At least she understood her abductor’s words. Juan’s patient instruction had given her insight to what was happening around her.
After what could have been hours or minutes later, for she dozed between her prayers, the door squeaked open and Armando strode in. He closed the door and rested a torch in a corner. At last Marianne could see about her. The makeshift shelter was indeed small, a single room large enough for only a few people.
“Are you resting well?” he asked in Spanish.
She ignored him for fear he might realize she understood his words.
“Let me look at you.” He stepped forward and cupped her chin. “I recognized your stallion, señorita. Twice we have met today, although these circumstances are not as pleasant as the first time.”
With his vile hands upon her, Marianne’s agitation erupted. She swung at him, but he caught her wrist, clutching it until her eyes filled with tears.
“Pretty, but full of rage. Not that I blame you. Felipe may have caused the death of us all.” He grabbed her other wrist and forced both arms behind her back. Quickly, he wrapped a rope around them, as easily as a vaquero bound a calf. “I don’t like doing this, but I don’t want my throat cut while I sleep.”
All thoughts of his releasing her vanished. She struggled against the bindings. “Let me go,” she cried in English.
Armando smoothed a long, black sideburn on the left side of his face. “I don’t understand you, señorita, but I’m sure you are not pleased. For now, you’ll have to be tied. I cannot offer you a grand room, but a dirt floor may tame your spirit. You and the stallion are a matched pair.”
Removing his sombrero and bandanna, Armando waved the cloth in front of her face. “If you choose to annoy me, I’ll gag you.”
She did not need Spanish to comprehend what he meant, and the idea of a sweat-soaked bandanna across her mouth tugged at her stomach as much as the idea of his filthy hands upon her.
Marianne turned her attention to the door. Already her arms ached from the tightness of the knotted rope. How foolish she’d been earlier today when his handsome face invaded her thoughts. Armando Garcia would not think twice about killing her when Papa refused the rebel’s demands.
Armando extinguished the torch, and she heard the rustling of his straw pallet. Moments later, his even breathing caused her to believe he had fallen asleep. Her wrists were bound too tightly to lie comfortably, and her attempts to find a less painful position failed. She wanted to give in to tears, but she fought them with a vengeance.
“I’m truly sorry,” Armando said. “This is for my people. I will do anything for them, but I’d never considered murder, and neither do I relish the idea now.”
Her heart seemed to leap from her chest.
He rose from his bed. She couldn’t stop her body from trembling. To her amazement, he loosened the ropes, then laid his blanket over her. “I’ve made a terrible mistake by allowing Felipe to manipulate me,” he said. “But until I find a way to make him see his foolishness, I will guard you myself.”
Chapter 4
Armando lay awake on his pallet while his mind spun with the evening’s events. In the past, he’d been bold in openly defying the gringo’s threats for his people to abandon La Flor. But kidnapping the gringo’s daughter?
Tonight he’d stepped into dangerous territory by not returning the señorita to her home. This maneuver would force his enemy to choose between his lust for land and his own flesh. For Armando, a choice would not be necessary; for the gringo, he wondered. Reports came to him of Weston Phillips’s ill treatment of his family and how the señora and señorita gave generously to the people of La Flor when the man wasn’t around.
Armando had thought about the señorita all day. Never had he suspected her to be Señor Phillips’s daughter. Now she lay within a few feet of him, frightened and alone. This was not how he envisioned a second meeting with her.
The longer he lay on his pallet and begged for sleep, the more his thoughts whirled in his head. How did one young woman tame such a wild horse? Had she bewitched the stallion? And the name Diablo—devil. The sound of her voice soothed the animal’s wild spirit—sweet, gentle, almost musical, like the lull of a guitar on a star-studded night. Armando confessed the fair-skinned maiden tugged at his senses, and he did not like her effect at all.
What father would not trade his ambitions for a gem such as this? A part of him wanted to know her name, but he saw a weakness in such intimacy. She looked too much like her father not to have his evil heart. Armando must keep his distance and use sound logic in dealing with her.
The dispute with Señor Phillips involved a way of life. The matter with Felipe involved honor. If Armando returned the señorita, he looked like a coward, not earnestly seeking the betterment of his people. If he kept her in captivity and waited for Phillips to render a decision, he risked the gringo summoning the soldiers at San Antonio de Bejar to settle an uprising. No matter the outcome, the people of La Flor faced losing their valley and their lives.
Apprehension seized Armando’s thoughts. This afternoon, when he attempted to gather the men together, he had learned Felipe had disappeared with five other men who believed violence was the best way to handle Phillips’s threats. No one admitted knowing where the men had gone.
Armando forced himself to consider Felipe. No longer could Armando discount him as a mere irritation. Felipe possessed an ill temper along with cleverness and cunning. He befriended those who sought a blood price for the unfairness mandated by those in authority, and he persuaded them to his way of thinking. Armando realized Felipe craved power, but his shortsighted tactics would get them all killed.
Marianne heard Armando stirring an
d realized morning had arrived at last. Such a long, dreadful night. It had trickled by endlessly, a black prison. Sometime during those hours, she’d grasped the meaning of life without God. Without Him, every hour would be like the night. Once, a furry creature crawled across her foot, and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Her entire body hurt as though she had been beaten and left to die. She’d attempted to focus her mind on other things, even marriage to the don. Perhaps being treated as a beloved daughter, a rarity for her, meant a more pleasant life. Oddly, she’d never considered marriage as a substitute for a father’s affections. At this moment, she even craved the face of her father. Would he come?
Marianne wet her lips. She tasted dirt and desired privacy. How could she convey her needs to Armando?
Choking back a sob, she clung to the only hope left in her miserable state—that of God. Mama had said that God reached out to her when she was truly broken. And Marianne definitely felt broken and alone.
Armando rose from his pallet and stepped outside, leaving the door open for a cascade of light to flow into the small hut. Morning. A new day. By now her mother would have sent someone after Papa, if he came at all.
Within moments, her captor returned. He peered down at her, emotionless, reminding her of the dispassionate Mexicans who toiled at the missions.
“We have a new day.” He untied the loose ropes binding her. The release sent tiny needle pricks from her arms to her shoulders. She was more determined than ever to mask any uncomfortable feelings. Massaging her throbbing wrists, she avoided his gaze.
He helped her to her feet and nodded toward the door. Together, they stepped into the light of dawn. She blinked until her eyes grew accustomed to the light, and she could view the campsite, an array of brush and scattered timber against the rocky hillside. A strong wind could blow it away like chaff, and it reminded her of the wicked people in Psalm 1.