I reacted on instinct. I rammed my knee up to his groin. As he bent over in pain, I shifted a pace away, centered myself, then kicked him in the face. I gasped as my bare foot met his nose, knowing I’d hurt myself as much as him, but I didn’t care. It felt good to do something to defend myself…even better to show him I wasn’t about to ever respect him.
I madly sawed the rope at my wrists against an exposed ridge of sharp rock, desperately trying to free myself, when the mate rammed into me, knocking me into the wet sand. My head hit an outcrop of rock, stunning me. I blinked slowly, trying to get my vision of my attacker to focus back into one instead of three. His crooked nose dripped blood into his mustache and beard. With a growl of disgust and menace, he straddled me, driving my still-bound hands beneath me into such a horrible position I feared they’d both break. He swore at me and then lifted a meaty hand to slap me.
But in our fall, my skirts had flung upward, and my legs were free. I lifted both of them, wrapped them around his neck and wrenched him backward, his eyes rounding in surprise.
It was his turn to know the pain of head meeting rock. Even before I was fully upright and seeing clearly, I had no doubt his head was at an unnatural angle.
He was dead. Dead.
I stared at him in shock, panting for breath. I’d wished him gone, even wanted him dead. But now that he was, it made me sick to my stomach. My belly heaved, but there was nothing in it to bring up.
A low chuckle sounded behind me, and I turned to eye the captain. Then I looked back to the sand, still trying to come to grips. I’d killed a man. It was self-defense, yes, but I’d killed someone! Again, my stomach turned, but there wasn’t even bile coming up.
“Perhaps I won’t ransom you back to the ranchero,” he said, squatting beside Gonzalo and reaching to check his pulse. The captain’s dark eyes ran over me. “I could make a fortune with you in the ring. Such a pretty little thing, but with such fight in you.” He rose, strode over to me, reached down, and hauled me to my feet. We stood, face to face, a mere two inches between our noses. “It appears that it is only you and I now, Señorita Ruiz,” he said silkily.
We paused there for two breaths, then three, before he abruptly let me go, pulling me behind him by the arm. He left my wrists tied behind me.
I glanced back over my shoulder. “Are you not even going to bury him?”
“No. Come high tide, the sea will claim him, as she does every dead sailor,” Mendoza said.
As we rounded another point and saw another sprawling curve of beach, I began to tremble violently. Shock, I assessed distantly. It was all too much. The attempt to go home to my own time, the attack, the kidnapping, the shipwreck, and now the mate’s death. In turns I found satisfaction in it, and then deep regret. I hadn’t wanted him to die. I’d only wanted to defend myself. To get Gonzalo off of me. To not let him break my wrists.
I loved Javier. I did.
But I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t live like this. Where people had to fight for their lives, every single day, in some way. For food. For shelter. For defense.
I thought again about Abuela’s apartment. About being home, where I could take a long, hot shower and slip on underwear—real store-bought, mass-produced underwear—a pair of yoga pants and a big ol’ sweatshirt. Flop down on the old couch and flip on my cell to watch something mindless on Netflix. I’d have to get my GED now, since I’d probably missed the last couple weeks of school and graduation. The colleges that had accepted me would demand that…
“Watch yourself!” the captain said, yanking me toward him. In my reverie, I’d narrowly missed stepping on a sea urchin, clinging to a water-filled crevice in the rock we were crossing.
He turned me in order to fully face him and peered into my eyes with some concern. He patted my cheeks, pinched my chin, and leaned closer. He swore under his breath. “Come,” he said, pulling me to a small sandy spot in the sand. “You’re trembling with cold.”
I didn’t bother to tell him it was shock, not the cold. I didn’t care. It would be a blessing of sorts to slip into unconsciousness. I couldn’t really feel his hand on my elbow, and I stumbled. Grumbling, he leaned down, swept me into his arms, and carried me ten more strides, then set me down in the sand. He peered behind me, looking at my numb hands, then pulled a dagger from his waist. Sawing at the rope, he cut through it at last, then brought my hands around to my lap, carefully massaging the blood back into them.
He reached into his own small bag and drew out some jerky, stuffing it into my mouth when I didn’t grab it. I couldn’t seem to focus on it—or him, or the rocks. It was all starting to whirl about me as I told myself to chew, Zara, chew, and now swallow, remembering from some far-off place that protein and salt would help me deal, in more ways than one.
But then the idea of needing salt after all the seawater I’d swallowed, clinging to that timber among the incessant waves, made me giggle. The kind of giggle that you get in church, during a quiet moment when you know you shouldn’t laugh—absolutely shouldn’t. I managed to swallow just before I began laughing so hard that tears ran down my face.
“Perfect,” said the captain dryly. “Now I have a hysterical female on my hands.” He flopped to a seat beside me, leaning against the rock and lifting his head to the sun, eyes closed.
His comment, of course, made me laugh harder. Hysterical? Well, he didn’t know the half of it. But the laughter seemed to clear my head, and gradually my trembling stopped. I could feel my hands on fire as a million blood cells began to prick their way forward through deadened palms, knuckles, and fingertips. I watched as they literally turned from blue to rosy pink.
“He tied your rope too tight,” the captain grunted.
“So you will leave me free?”
“That would be rather foolhardy. But I doubt Don Javier would be pleased if I delivered you with two hands in need of amputation. No, I intend to deliver you whole, so I get my full share of the gold promised. But I’ve experienced enough from you, Señorita, to recognize that it is prudent to take precautions if I wish to deliver you at all.”
My trembling had ceased, and my vision was steadying.
His knife was at my throat just as I was contemplating making my move, while I was still free. “Did you truly take me for a fool?” he asked. “I said I wished to deliver you whole, but if you press me, I shall make you regret it in a hundred different ways.”
“But then you would get only half the promised gold.”
He tipped his head to one side and studied me. “Rest assured, there are other ways I shall capitalize on this arrangement, so I have some leeway.”
I frowned. There it was again. A reference to something else going on…some other way this whole deal would benefit him. How was that possible? When he had lost his entire ship and all the stolen goods? One or two chests of gold could not possibly make up for all that. Maybe I was fuzzy-headed now, shock keeping me from adding two and two to make four. “Other ways?” I forced myself to ask. There’s something here, something important.
“Come now,” he said, ignoring my question. He rose, his hand on my elbow. “We must find a place to be out of the wind and rain for the night.”
The bit of jerky and rest and the break from my bonds continued to do some good as we walked. My head was clearing, my heart steadying. We had to be getting closer to Monterey. He was nearly as tired as I was; I could see it in his gait. And now my hands were free. Perhaps I could outrun him. Hide somewhere.
“Feeling better, my dear?” He smirked and pulled me roughly along, his grip tight on my wrist, as if he could read my mind. I thought again of twisting, breaking his grasp on me—it’d be easy enough to do—but I was just so tired. Could I really outrun him? Fight him off, when he had a knife? And if he caught me, what would he do to me?
“I think it would be best if I tied you again,” he said, pulling me to a stop and studying my face as if he could read my thoughts. “No sense giving you any ideas that you can escape me.”
CHAPTER 17
JAVIER
The sun was near to setting when we came across the dead man’s body.
The men fanned out around it and then paused, waiting for me to draw near. The incoming tide was pushing us closer to the cliffs. I hoped that around the next point the beach would broaden, or else we’d end up in sodden clothes, even atop our horses.
“So we’re down to the captain and Zara,” Rafael said, gloved hand tapping his lips in thought. “Think the captain killed him for insubordination?”
I dismounted, crouched down, and studied the victim’s broken nose and then the imprints in the sand, traced two sets of footprints over to the rock wall and others that went ahead and then doubled back. “Remember how she handled Lieutenant de la Cruz at the rodeo?” I asked Rafael, rising and walking over to where two people had stopped for a while and sat. Before or after the mate was killed? Footprints were to the side. Zara’s smaller feet and a larger man’s. In two different places, as if they had scuffled. I clenched my teeth so tightly that they began to hurt.
Rafael’s mouth still gaped open when I turned back to him. He was staring down at the dead man. “You think Zara did this?”
A couple of the men laughed. But I remained grim. I could see what had happened. I pointed to the imprint of where she’d fallen to the sand. “See how deep that is? The man fell upon her. See this?” I gestured toward a deep divot near the center of where her back had been. “Her hands are tied behind her back.” Then I waved toward the smooth swashes, indicating where her legs had moved. Heat rose from my neck to my cheeks as I thought about all eight of us considering her bare skin. “She was free of her skirts for a moment,” I muttered. “She used her legs to wrap around his neck and thrust him backward, off of her. His head hit the rock, and it was over.”
As one, all the men looked from the indentation she’d left to the dead man, then back again. Hector whistled softly. Rafael took off his hat and slowly shook his head in admiration. “That’s some woman who’s stolen your heart, my friend,” he said.
“Indeed. And then I managed to lose her,” I ground out, reaching to the smooth area where her back had been, as if I might touch her, encourage her.
“We’ll find her again,” Rafael said.
“The others must have their trap ready,” Hector said. “I say we let that captain know we’re behind him and chase him into it. We’ll have your woman free by nightfall.”
Your woman. His words echoed in my mind as I climbed back into the saddle. Again, I wondered if this was all my fault. That if I had loved her—truly loved her—I would’ve prayed that God would take her home, to a safer time where she could live and flourish, not suffer as she plainly had here.
Yes, she had defended herself. Managed to kill one of them. But what had brought her to such a point? What had she endured? And what would be the repercussions? I’d killed only three men in my lifetime, and that had all been during the attack at the harbor, when I had no choice. It was one thing for a man to wrestle through the guilt of such a thing. How would a woman tolerate it? She was from another time, which made her stronger in some ways and weaker in others.
My hands clenched into fists.
I knew what was right.
But if I managed to have her safe in my arms again, would I truly have the courage to let her go?
CHAPTER 18
ZARA
The sun was setting in shades of coral and rose, and it was a lovely, tranquil night, with gentle waves—behaving as if last night’s hellish storm was simply a distant nightmare. And yet Captain Mendoza’s firm grip on my elbow reminded me constantly that this was far too real.
“Do you plan to walk all night? Can’t we make camp here?” I hated that my voice trembled on that last word. I didn’t want to think about spending the night alone with this man. But I was literally counting down the steps I thought I could take without collapsing, and we were down to about ten.
“Exactly what I was considering myself,” he said, looking ahead up the beach and then down an arroyo we were passing. He looked behind us again, as he had been doing all afternoon, checking whether someone was in pursuit. My eyes followed his, hoping. But as always, it seemed like we were the only ones for miles. California in 1840 was like a different planet, I decided. In my time, it was pretty hard to find a space to be alone for an hour, to say nothing of an entire day.
I was just falling back into step with him when he froze, his grip tighter on my elbow. “Ow,” I grimaced, “What are you—?”
But he covered my mouth and hauled me into the arroyo. He dragged me up a small stream meandering through this tiny canyon that led from hills to ocean. Around a bend, he abruptly set me before him, swore under his breath and was trying to gag me again before I realized what was happening.
He’d seen someone.
Someone he didn’t want to see. Someone who might help me?
I rammed my heel down on the top of his foot and heard his pained oomph. He bent over. I spit out the wadded cloth, intent on running, but at my first step, a sharp rock yet again cut my bare foot. I paused just a half-second…which was enough for him to lunge forward and grab a handful of my skirt.
Using the arc of my skirts, he swung me to the side, and as if in slow-mo, I lost my footing, rolling in the finer sand of the ancient riverbed until I came to an abrupt halt against a boulder. I blinked, watching as my vision narrowed, widened, and then narrowed again.
Mendoza fell upon me, panting and growling in frustration as he shoved my wrists back to the dirt with both hands. “Cease your attempts at escape, woman,” he demanded in a hiss, but he was looking over his shoulder. Was that fear etching his face?
What was happening? Why could my brain and body not remember all that my instructor had drilled into me? I was not myself. Too weak, too battered…and yet I was not.
Using everything I had left to focus on my inner fury, I took a breath to scream, but he stuffed his foul handkerchief into my mouth again. I gasped, choked, tried to steady myself, and choked again. In seconds he had me turned over, a knee to my back, the gag tied around my head. It was all I could do to concentrate on breathing through my nose, longing for my balance to return. Again, he tied my wrists.
I felt Captain Mendoza’s cruel fingers digging into my arms, lifting me to a standing position. Dazed, I tried to keep my feet, knowing I was about to collapse. With a grimace, he bent over and lifted me over his shoulder, immediately climbing back into the arroyo. I managed to lift my head once, waiting, longing for someone to appear in the gap behind us. For someone to see us and recognize what was happening—for rescue. He’d seen someone, and it had frightened him. But all I saw were the waves, the endless waves, making their way to shore.
And yet…and yet…there were our footprints. Might anyone who was coming our way follow them? Or were they merely travelers who would decide the footprints belonged to local Indians setting off for home after a day of fishing?
When we’d gone some distance, Captain Mendoza dumped me in the sand where the stream had worn a curve into the stone. Then he cautiously edged out to peer toward the ocean. He was panting, clearly struggling to maintain his fast pace and still carry me. And I was fighting to focus, to keep him in my line of vision, as the dark walls closed in.
JAVIER
My heart sank when we saw the point where the other group of men lay in wait for Zara and the captain, but the beach was empty in between us. Two sets of footprints still stretched out before us, until they disappeared where the waves had washed them away. I dug my heels into my mare’s flanks and raced ahead, trying to make sense of it. Had the tide come in and covered their trail? Had they been picked up by a boat? Surely we would have seen it.
But then, as the yawning mouth of the arroyo emerged in the cliff-face to my right, I understood what had happened. I reined up, and my mare danced left and right, recognizing my agitation. The other men joined me, and wordlessly I gestured into the canyon. The footprints eme
rged again out of the meager stream of fresh water running down the ancient riverbed, showing where Mendoza had hauled Zara inward, scuffled with her, then picked her up, his prints becoming deeper. But then I fretted over the reason for that. Was she injured? What had happened?
I seethed with the desire to get my hands around the man’s neck.
Turning, I gestured for Hector to come closer and then whispered for him to take a man and go meet the others. For them to divide, leaving two guardians along the beach, but for the others to come around and spread out along the north side of the arroyo. I sent four of my other men to cover the south side. “Keep watch. Wait for them to emerge. I don’t want you to frighten him into any rash action.”
“Understood, Don Javier,” my guard whispered back.
The plan in place, I forced myself to wait. We last four had to move before twilight gave way to stars, while we still could see what—or who—was ahead of us. But saints, it took a strong dose of fortitude not to give chase right now. I counted to a hundred, then two hundred, and finally headed inland. The shadows were deep, but I knew we’d have a good hour of light left. Perhaps they were just heading upstream to camp for the night. With any luck, we’d find them and sneak up on them come nightfall.
That thought forced me to the ground. I handed my mare’s reins to Rodrigo and hurried forward, easing around each corner, peering ahead, my eyes straining in the gathering dark. Rafael followed immediately behind me. I winced as I heard the horses’ hooves clicking and scraping against rocks, knowing the sound would likely carry along the arroyo. Hurriedly, I motioned for Rodrigo to hold back with the horses and for the two other men to come with Rafael and me.
Four Winds (River of Time California, Book 2) Page 8