Love a Dark Rider

by Shirlee Busbee

  Possessed of a strong, healthy body, Sara didn't take long to recover, and within a week there were no signs of the horrible ordeal that she had undergone. She was treated with such kindness by everyone, including, to her amazement, even Yancy, but she kept waiting tensely for the moment of retribution to fall upon her. Not one word of reproach or angry denunciation had been leveled at her, and Sara's guilt had grown to enormous proportions. Everyone just seemed so happy that she had been returned safely—Yancy had even concocted a simple tale to explain what had happened. And not one person, not even chubby Padre Quintero, had given the slightest indication of disbelief that, at Yancy's suggestion, she had gone exploring on her own and become lost

  Daily Sara basked in the warmth and the concern of the people of del Sol, and nightly, twisting restlessly in her big, lonely bed, she felt gratitude to Yancy for saving her life, as well as for sparing her an embarrassing explanation for her foolhardy actions. The potent, dangerous combination of gratitude and guilt which she felt led Sara to decide that she would marry Yancy after all. She owed it to him. Like a flash of lightning across a purple summer sky, it occurred to her that there was also another, more compelling reason to marry the Dark Rider of her dreams— she loved him Had been in love with him for weeks! It didn't matter that he didn't love her— in that first moment of discovery, she was positive she had enough love for both of them. She would be a good

  wife to him and someday, just perhaps, he might come to love her. ... A tremulous smile curved her mouth as she admitted giddily that the future had suddenly acquired a remarkably rosy hue. She loved Yancy CantreW. And she had every intention of marrying him!

  It hadn't escaped her notice that the date originally planned for their wedding had come and gone and that Yancy had made no mention of a new date. It also hadn't escaped her attention that he acted very circumspect around her and watched her with an aloof, brooding intensity that made her just a little uneasy. Oh, but he was so very kind to her these days. And oh, so dear! So very beloved! How could she have been so stupid as to run away from the very thing that her heart demanded?

  It had occurred unhappily to Sara that perhaps the reason there had been no further mention of marriage between them was because Yancy was fearful of precipitating another rash, moronic escape by her. He never had to worry about that again! she vowed fiercely. And tomorrow morning, she thought with a flutter of nervous anticipation, she would seek him out and tell him that she would marry him and give him a child for Casa Paloma.

  PART THREE

  Deceptions of THE Heart

  It oft falls out,

  to have what we would have, we spea

  not what we mean.

  Measure for Measure — ^William Shakespeare

  14

  It was easy to make the decision to offer to marry Yancy in the protective cloak of darkness, but it wasn't so easy to actually carry it out in the revealing light of day, and Sara procrastinated as long as she could. After spending half the morning selecting and discarding items from her meager wardrobe, she finally settled on the rose-bordered calico gown that Tansy had packed for her. She fussed an inordinately long time with her hair. Eventually, she left it in her normal tidy comet of braids. Taking a long, last look at herself in the cheval glass, she breathed in deeply and marched resolutely toward the door.

  It was with a feeling of anticlimax that she learned from Maria that Senor Yancy would not return to the hacienda until late this evening. He had gone with Maria's husband, Esteban, to oversee the castrating of several wild bulls that had been captured on Tuesday.

  Sara wandered restlessly around the hacienda and its grounds all day, eager for Yancy's return, yet dreading it, too. As the hours passed, she began to question the wisdom of her decision, but then chided herself for her doubts. Of course she was doing the right thing, the only moral thing she could do after Yancy had been so good and kind to her.

  Dusk had fallen by the time Yancy returned that evening. Seated on the rim of the goldfish pond, Sara started anxiously when she heard the sounds of the commotion that heralded his arrival home. Her mouth went dry, and nervously wiping her hands on her gown, she slowly stood up.

  He looked tired and dusty, his breeches and boots covered with a fine layer of Texas dirt, his white shirt sweat-stained and soiled, and Sara's foolish heart leaped with joy at the sight of him. Carrying a plain black sombrero in one hand, he walked over to her, stopped in front of her and said quietly, "Maria said you wanted to see me.

  This wasn't quite how Sara had planned it, but before she could lose her courage, she blurted out, "Do you still want to marry me?"

  Something flashed in his eyes and he replied softly, "More than anything in the world."

  Sara gulped. Well, naturally he'd say that—he wanted Casa Paloma; she just wished that she wouldn't feel such a silly rush of pleasure when he said things like that! Not looking at him, she stammered breathlessly, "I k-k-know that the only reason you want to marry me is so that we can m-m-make . . . h-h-have a child." Forcing herself to gaze into his beloved face, she confessed disarmingly, "I have acted very silly! It doesn't matter that ours won't be a love-match—a lot of marriages aren't! I am so very grateful that you saved my life and . . . and even though we don't love each other doesn't mean that I can't be a good and dutiful wife to you. I will be a conscientious and obedient wife—I swear it!"

  "I see," Yancy drawled slowly, an unreadable expression on his dark face. "Let me make certain that I understand you," he said dryly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You are grateful to me, and because you are grateful to me, you are agreeing to marry me and have my child?"

  Sara nodded, her lovely emerald-green eyes clear and guileless as she stared up at him, glad that he understood the situation. This was what they needed—plain speaking! There would be no misunderstandings between them.

  "And you think that's what I want?" he asked silkily, a dangerous note underlying his words. "An obedient, dutiful wife?"

  He made the words sound ugly and distasteful and Sara frowned slightly, a shiver of unease sliding down her spine. The expression on his face wasn't very encouraging either, and she had the curious impression that he was holding back his formidable temper with a great effort.

  "Don't you want to marry me?" she asked in a troubled voice.

  Yancy swore softly under his breath and, dropping the sombrero to the flagstones, dragged her roughly into his arms. He kissed her fiercely, his mouth bruising hers, his fingers digging painfully into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

  Sara struggled in his embrace, confused and frightened by his reaction. Her fists beat frantically against his broad chest and she desperately tried to twist her head away from the savage assault of his lips against hers.

  As suddenly as the kiss had begun, it was over, and thrusting her from him, he stared enigmatically at her flushed features. "You were not," he said coolly, "being very dutiful!"

  Sara swallowed, reminding herself that he had saved her life and that she had just sworn that she would be a good and obedient wife to him. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to . . . to . . . You surprised me— next time I'll do better."

  Yancy growled something vicious under his breath, and picking up his sombrero, he said tightly, "I'm afraid

  that as my wife, you'll have to do a great deal better!" He fixed her with a hostile stare and inquired acidly, "Are you certain that your gratitude will allow you to put up with my demands?"

  Confused and dismayed by his reaction, not understanding why he seemed so angry and brutal, but trying gamely to stay on the course that she had decided upon, Sara docilely nodded her head. A blush staining her cheeks, she said low, "I understand what you require of me and I p-p-promise that I won't be such a ninny the next time you kiss me or anything."

  Her words were meant to placate him, but they seemed to enrage him even further and his eyes gleamed like golden fire. "Oh, Jesus! Spare me thatV Pinning her to the spot with his furious gaze, he lifted
her chin with one hand and said grimly, "But since you seem determined to sacrifice yourself, I'll talk to Padre Quintero about arranging our marriage. In the meantime, Sara, think about this—I can buy complaisance and meekness, I don't need to marry it!"

  Spinning on his heels, he disappeared, leaving Sara to stare after him in bewilderment. She'd done what he wanted—agreed to marry him. Why was he so angry about it? He was getting everything he wanted; she'd even made it clear that she understood the need for a child to inherit Casa Paloma. So why was he so very angry?

  It was a question Sara was to ask herself repeatedly over the next few weeks. The date for their wedding had been set for the twenty-sixth of June, and as the day drew nearer, Yancy's temper seemed to become even more volatile. Idly Sara had inquired if he thought that Bartholomew and the others from Magnolia Grove would arrive in time for their nuptials and had had her head nearly snapped off for her pains. Roaring and snarling around the hacienda, he was like an enraged tiger, his manner

  to Sara particularly insulting and infuriating. More than once, the urge to slap his arrogant face made her fingers tingle, and with increasing difficulty she held her tongue and the sharp retorts she would have liked to hurl back at him. Her sincere feelings of gratitude were wearing exceedingly thin, especially in the face of his provoking attitude toward her. It was almost as if he were trying to make her fly into a rage.

  Yancy was so unusually black-tempered that even the household servants began to look at him askance. From the little she gleaned from Maria, it wasn't just the servants in the hacienda who bore the brunt of his wrath. Esteban had said that he was like a maddened bear, the way he snapped and growled at everyone and charged violently around the rancho.

  Fortunately, Sara saw little of him; he rose before dawn and was gone from the hacienda at first light, and on many nights darkness had fallen long before he returned, the signs of exhaustion obvious in his dark, lean face. The prospect of their coming marriage apparently was not giving him any joy!

  Sara had begun to dread those nights when he did return early. Garbed in a pair of black calzoneras, which clearly revealed the muscled length of his legs, the silver filigree buttons left undone from knee to ankle, and in a long-sleeved, billowy scarlet shirt, his booted feet stretched negligently out in front of him, he would lounge majestically in one of the leather chairs in the main sala and, drinking an astonishing amount of brandy, would stare broodingly at Sara. He looked so handsome as he sprawled there, his tousled black hair gleaming, the finely molded, slightly cruel-looking mouth and arrogant cheekbones betraying his Spanish heritage. He seldom spoke to Sara during those nerve-racking evenings, and then only to utter the most provoking and aggravating comments imaginable, and she wondered with increas-

  ing apprehension if this was how they would spend the remainder of their days together. What had happened, she wondered miserably, to the laughing man who had kissed her senseless and made her pulses race with just a look from underneath his long lashes?

  It was decidedly unnerving to be the sole object of that unblinking, golden-brown gaze, and Sara was thankful that Maria had found some sewing for her to do when Yancy was at the hacienda in the evening. Concentrating on her neat stitches, she could ignore his disquieting presence for the most part, and when he did say something particularly infuriating, she could vent some of her temper by repeatedly stabbing the needle through the fabric and pretending it was any number of vulnerable parts of his anatomy. It wasn't quite as satisfying as slapping his mocking face, but it did provide some relief from the anger that surged up inside her, and the thought of a lifetime of hiding her feelings, both the love she felt for him and the rage he seemed to deliberately arouse these days, was definitely daunting.

  On a hot June night, three days before their wedding, they were sitting on the lantern-lit patio at the rear of the house, seeking what coolness could be found. Sara was seated on the rim of the fountain, pensively watching the antics of the gracefully swimming goldfish, occasionally amusing herself by dipping her fingers in the water to tease any that came near where she sat. Yancy lounged half hidden in the shadows.

  Unknowingly, Sara made a delightful picture. She had left her hair loose, and having caught the honey-gold strands with a watermelon-pink silk ribbon, she had fashioned a frivolous knot of curls that fell from the top of her head. Her gown was in a shade of silk which matched the ribbon, with a dropped bodice that left her slender shoulders and a modest amount of her

  firm young breasts bare. The garment, her second-best ball gown from better days at Magnolia Grove, was very becoming to her delicate shape, clearly defining her slim waist before falling in a series of delightful ruffles to her feet.

  Yancy, sipping brandy, watched her through hooded lids. He was garbed this evening in a pair of black, tight-fitting calzoneras trimmed along the outer edge with gold-tinsel lace; a scarlet sash was tied around his lean waist, and his fine white cambric shirt was opened halfway, the curly hair which covered his muscular chest appearing even blacker against the pristine white of his shirt.

  Sara had tried all evening to keep her gaze averted from that broad expanse of hair-roughened chest, but she couldn't help remembering what it had felt like beneath her fingers, remembering with a little shiver of excitement the warmth and power of its muscled width. Their wedding was in three days and despite deep feelings of misgiving, her rebellious body was already anticipating Yancy's intoxicating lovemaking.

  She sneaked a shy glance in his direction, her eyes unconsciously lingering on the length of his long legs, intensely aware of the latent power and blatant sensuality of his tall, hard body as he lounged there in the shadows. In just a few days, she thought breathlessly, he would come to her in all his naked splendor, that glorious body of his possessing hers and transporting her once again to those all-too-new erotic heights. To her shocked mortification, her nipples suddenly swelled and hardened, protruding noticeably against the watermelon silk of her bodice.

  She jumped up nervously, her one idea to escape from his unsettling presence. Looking everywhere but at him, she said, "It's late. I'll say good night to you now."

  His face hidden by the shadows, he drawled, "Running away, sweetheart?'*

  Startled, Sara glanced at him. "What do you mean? Fm not running away!"

  "Aren't you?" he asked caustically. "Seems to me that since your gratitude compelled you to so graciously offer to marry me, you run and hide the moment I get within six feet of you."

  As she stared at him in openmouthed astonishment, he stood up and drained his brandy glass. With a violent movement that made her gasp, he smashed the crystal snifter against one of the stone archways, the sound of shattered glass echoing through the tranquility of the night air. Indifferent to the destruction he had just wrought, he stepped nearer to Sara. Catching her chin between his fingers, he tipped her head up, stared intently into the mysterious green pools of her eyes and asked, "And just what are you going to do Wednesday night after we have said our vows before Padre Quintero? Run away then, too?"

  Bewildered and uneasy, Sara stared back at him. "I promised that I would be a good wife to you...." She blushed delightfully. "In all ways."

  "Will you?" he asked silkily, his fingers tightening on her chin. "I've wondered lately if this was how you trapped Sam into an unconsummated marriage. Such shy, demure ways I've seen recently. Such sweet forbearance! Such gentle, nunlike meekness! And yet I've tasted your passion. I know the fire that is within you, a sweet fire that, having once known, a man would be willing to bum in forever. Is that how it was with my father? Did you promise him heaven before the wedding, only to consign him to hell after the ring was on your pretty little finger?"

  All of the resentment she had been hoarding up these past weeks suddenly erupted throughout Sara and she

  jerked her chin free of his hold. Bosom heaving with temper, she glared at him and, surprising both of them, gave him a ringing slap across his taunting mouth. "Shut up!" she hissed furiou
sly. "You've just exhausted my supply of tolerance for your boorish comments and I will not stand here and meekly listen to you insult me— or your father!"

  He grinned tightly, his eyes gleaming brightly in his dark face. "Ah, the little cat is finally showing her claws! I've wondered where she'd gone to lately. I was afraid that your gratitude might have destroyed her."

  "Will you stop harping on my gratitudel" Sara snapped, her cheeks flushed and her hands on her hips. "I'm sick of it, do you hcai me? If you mention it one more time, I swear I'll do you a violence!"

  To Sara's dumbfounded amazement, he smiled hugely and before she could guess his intent, he casually reached out and jerked her against him. His hands on her upper arms holding her prisoner, his lips came down hard on hers and he kissed her deeply, urgently, his tongue boldly and thoroughly plundering her mouth. Raising his lips from hers dizzyingly endless moments later, he murmured, "Welcome back, little spitfire—I've missed you!"

  If anything, Sara's temper soared even higher. "You've a blasted funny way of showing it!" she shot back, not one whit appeased by his words. Struggling out of his embrace, hands on her hips, she glared at him. "You've been as pleasant as a nose-stung bear these past weeks and I'm not going to put up with it anymore!" She took a deep breath and added grimly, "I've told you the truth about my marriage to Sam, and if you choose not to believe me, that's your problem—but you've insulted me and your father for the last time, do you hear me?" Acidly she finished, "I must say, the fact that you are determined to marry me, believing me the

  foulest sort of creature alive, makes me wonder about your

  Yancy grimaced, Sara's shafts going home with a vengeance. He had been a bastard lately. Ruefully, he said, "I have been unbearable lately and my only excuse is that your offer to marry me out of gratitude struck me on the raw." He flashed her a dark look. "No man likes the idea of being married because of gratitudeV