Neither Yancy nor Sara paid her any heed, each one's attention fixed wholly on the other. Sara stared at him for a timeless moment longer and then, with a tiny, anguished moan, spun around, yellow skirts flying, and ran out of the room. Yancy remained standing where he was for a long minute and then he slowly pivoted on his heels to look at Ann.
His face grim, he said softly, "You planned that very well, Ann. I must congratulate you."
Ann looked puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Whatever do you mean? I explained to Sara what happened, didn't I? I don't see how you can blame me if she misinterpreted what she saw! I was only thanking you for your generosity!"
Yancy smiled unpleasantly. "Believe me, at this moment I have no feelings of generosity for you—as a matter of fact, I'm divided between throttling you and ordering you to pack your bags and get the hell off my land and out of my life!"
A flicker of unease crossed Ann's face and she said hastily, "It is unfortunate that Sara misinterpreted what she saw, but it wasn't my fault! And to make these threats to me is very unkind! Where would poor Tom and I go if you threw us out? If you abandoned us, we would have no place to go. The journey here was very tiring for Tom—he is not very strong, and for you to heartlessly condemn us to hopelessness would be cruel beyond belief."
"Odd, but I don't remember mentioning Tom's name in connection with throwing you off the rancho!" Yancy said coldly.
Ann's eyes dropped demurely and she murmured, "But do you really think that Tom would allow you to
deny his wife a place to live and not share my fate?"
She had him there and Yancy knew it. "I always thought that you were the 'nice' one," he said grimly, "that it was only Margaret who was a malicious bitch. I see that I was wrong."
"Oh, Yancy! You can't honestly think that I set this up deliberately. Tell me that's not what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking that you're a clever bitch, and I'd wager everything I own on the fact that you've been filling Sara's head with lies and this little scene we just played out was totally your doing!"
"Oh, but that's simply not true!" Ann cried indignantly, her eyes darting to the doorway, where she suddenly caught a glimpse of Sara's yellow skirts. "I am very fond of Sara—I would do nothing to hurt her!"
"Oh, wouldn't you?" He laughed bitterly. "If it benefited you, you wouldn't think twice about who you would hurt!"
Unaware that Sara had returned and was hovering in the doorway, gathering her courage to confront them, Yancy walked over to Ann. His back was to the door, and tipping up Ann's face with one lean finger, he murmured, "I'll tell you something else, dear, sweet Ann— stay away from Sara! And if you want me to continue to be kind to you, you'll do as I say. Come near her again or try to explain anything else to her, and I swear I'll break your lovely neck—or throw you off the ran-cho and Tom's welfare be damned!"
The triumphant gleam in Ann's blue eyes should have warned him, but it was Sara's horrified gasp that made him spin around. He caught just the flash of Sara's yellow gown as she raced away once again. Throwing a virulent look at Ann and cursing under his breath, he flung himself out of the room, in swift pursuit of his fleeing bride.
Yancy had no idea where Sara could have run to, and it took him several fruitless moments before he found her in the stables, her arms around Locuela's neck, her face buried in the glossy hide. The sound of her soft weeping tore at his heart, and his thoughts toward Ann at that moment were nothing short of murderous. Instinct had driven him to find Sara immediately, but now that he had, he wasn't certain how to handle the situation. His steps slowed and he approached her almost hesitantly. Standing behind her, he stared at the back of her honey-gold head in helpless anguish. After what Sara had seen and heard, she wasn't about to believe any denial he offered, and he cursed Ann and her machinations again. But no matter what Ann had done, it didn't change anything, he thought bitterly; they were still getting married today.
Gently Yancy laid a hand on Sara's shoulders and muttered, "Sara, come away. Come back to the hacienda and let Maria tend to you."
"Don't touch me!" Sara cried, whipping around and knocking aside his hand. "Get away from me! I never want to see you again!"
Yancy's face tightened. "Rather difficult to do, wouldn't you say, since we're getting married in just a few hours."
"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth!" she exclaimed with loathing.
His own temper flaring, Yancy gripped her shoulders firmly and shook her lightly. "You damned little fool!" he growled. "Why in the hell I'm determined to marry you is beyond me, but hear this, sweet Sara, you are going to marry me! Ann is every bit the lying, conniving bitch her sister was, and I'll be hanged if I'm going to let her ruin my life! I don't give a good goddamn what you think about me right now—all I care about is that you're standing up in front of Padre Quintero with me
two hours from now and saying your vows! We'll deal with Ann and her little plots later!"
"I won't marry you! I won'tl I hate you!" Sara said furiously, her cheeks rosily flushed, her eyes bright with tears.
Yancy swore viciously and jerked her up against him. The eagle-gold eyes glittering fiercely down into hers, he said grimly, "You might hate me, amiga, but that sweet little body of yours doesn't! Not if last night was anything to go by, and before you throw away my offer of respectability, think about this—you might already be carrying my child." Deliberately he added, "And, Sara, you're sleeping in my bed and in my arms from now on—whether we're married or not! If you choose to simply be my mistress and bear my bastard children, instead of being my wife, the choice is yours, but you will share my bed—even if I have to chain you to it!"
Sara believed him. It was there in the savage promise of his eyes, the inexorable slant to his chiseled mouth and the taut line of his jaw. He meant it.
If anyone thought that the bride seemed particularly pale and remote or that there was a distinctly grim air about the groom, he was much too polite to make mention of it. On that warm, sunny afternoon of June twenty-sixth, in the year of our Lord 1867, with all of the excited population of Rancho del Sol looking on, Yancy Cantrell took as his wife Sara Cantrell nee Rawlings. Despite their seeming lack of enthusiasm, the newlyweds played their parts well, smiling and accepting the warm congratulations that were rained upon them after they had left the church. The exuberant guests more than made up for any lack of outward rejoicing on the part of the newly joined couple, the sound of laughter, guitars and even the occasional gunshot ringing through the air as the festivities progressed.
At the hacienda, in the front courtyard, the revelers merrily helped themselves to the food and drink from the many long tables that had been heaped with all manner of delicacies—enormous trays of turkey tama-les and mole, piping-hot carnitas, huge piles of warm tortillas, bowls of fiery salsa de chipotle, plates of rich, sweet pastel de nuez and jam-filled/rwra de homo. Wine and tequila, as well as dark, potent beer brewed at the rancho itself, were liberally offered. As the hour grew late and darkness fell, the hacienda and the front courtyard were ablaze with the lights of many candles and lanterns, the boisterous celebration showing no sign of ending. Long after the bride had modestly disappeared inside, her bridegroom remained behind to drink several glasses of tequila and accept the congratulations of his people, the rhythmic strum of the guitars and the click of castanets carrying on the cooling night air.
Sara was alone in her new rooms. Smiling and clucking happily, Maria had accompanied her to the quarters she would now share with Yancy. Eager to return to the celebration and certain that Sara's impatient new bridegroom would be following close on her heels, Maria quickly divested Sara of her wedding finery and helped her into a soft, delicate nightgown of white muslin, lavishly trimmed with lace and embroidered around the demure neckline and down the front with pale yellow rosebuds. There was a matching robe that went with the nightgown, and lethargically, Sara allowed Maria to coax her into it.
; A sly smile on her face, the Mexican woman urged her into Yancy's room and toward a wide door, which Sara assumed led to another room. It didn't. The door opened to reveal an exceedingly private courtyard encased by high adobe walls that were adorned with cascading streamers of fragrant jasmine. The scent of orange blossoms and roses overlaid with jasmine drifted sweetly on
the night air as Sara's eyes rested on the iron table and chairs in the center of the small courtyard. A cart laden with several covered dishes, which Sara guessed contained their wedding meal, had been placed just inside the courtyard. In the middle of the table was a bowl of huge white roses; a silver candelabra, the candles burning brightly in the darkness, sat nearby. The table had been lovingly set with crystal and china and the finest silver, and gazing at it, Sara felt a lump rise in her throat.
It was a very intimate setting, the soft, evocative thrum of the distant guitars only increasing the almost overpowering romantic appeal of the place, and Sara wished for perhaps the millionth time today that she could have recaptured the mood of sweet anticipation with which she had first greeted the day. Her wedding day. The lump in her throat grew and she fought back the tears that scalded her eyes.
"Is very nice, siT' Maria asked anxiously, her dark eyes expressing her worry at Sara's silence. "M/ madre and I fixed it for you and Senor Yancy. We wanted to surprise you."
Sara cleared her throat and murmured, "It is a wonderful surprise, Maria! So very kind and thoughtful of you and your mother. I'm sure that my h-h-husband will think so, too!"
Maria giggled. "I think Senor Yancy will not even notice! Not when he has such a beautiful bride waiting for him! And now I must go before he comes and finds me here!"
Maria was gone in a moment and Sara was left alone with her unhappy thoughts. How could everything have gone so wrong? she wondered bitterly. It seemed that she had been overcoming obstacle after obstacle from the moment she had first met Yancy Cantrell! Repeatedly she had made excuses for his behavior, convinced herself that those who spoke against him were wrong about him
or his motives, but she was having a very hard time convincing herself that Ann had entirely manipulated this morning's denouement. Ann was crafty and Ann was sly, but...
Dispiritedly Sara turned away, refusing to speculate any more on a subject that caused her so much pain. She was halfway across Yancy's bedroom, intending to seek out her own chaste bed, when the outer door to their suite of rooms was flung open. Her lips parted in surprise, several strands of honey-gold hair curling fetchingly over one breast, she faced the dark figure of her very new husband in the doorway.
Yancy was a sight to stir any woman's heart as he lounged there, staring across the distance that separated him from Sara. His hair was carelessly rumpled, one black lock tumbling across his forehead, and there was a glitter in his thickly lashed amber-gold eyes that, despite all the reasons that it shouldn't, made Sara's unreliable heart beat faster. He was still wearing his wedding finery and he looked, she thought bitterly, far too handsome and virile in the short black jacket lavishly trimmed with gold lace and the black velvet calzoneras. The outer legs of the calzoneras were liberally trimmed with gold lace and small golden bells, and except where the garment flared gently out from his knees to his gleaming black boots, it fit his body like a glove, clearly defining his flat stomach and long, muscular thighs. His face was very dark above the pristine white, ruffled shirt, and the scarlet silk sash at his waist lent an attractive barbaric air to his appearance.
There was a reckless slant to his arrogantly chiseled mouth, the golden glitter in his eyes even more intense as he lazily pushed himself away from the doorjamb and, with that animalistic grace particularly his own, strolled toward Sara. The small golden bells of the calzoneras tinkled softly with every step he took, and when he
stopped in front of her, the silence in the room was deafening.
Buffeted by the nearly palpable air of barely leashed sexuality that radiated from his tall, broad-shouldered body, Sara would not look at him. She kept her eyes stubbornly on a point somewhere over his left shoulder, hating him and hating even more the treacherous shimmer of excitement that had run through her the instant she had spied him in the doorway.
Sara was concentrating so much on not looking at him that the touch of his hand on her chin as he tipped her face upward startled her, bringing her gaze instantly to his. The raw passion burning in the depths of his eyes brought a flush to her cheeks and made her shamefully aware of the sudden swelling of her nipples.
Leisurely his gaze traveled over her rebellious features, a wry smile quirking at the comers of his mouth at her not-entirely-M«anticipated manner. "And what," he asked silkily, his words slightly slurred from the generous amounts of tequila he had consumed throughout the afternoon and evening, "have I done to displease my bride so early in our marriage?"
Sara's eyes flashed dangerously. "I didn't want to marry you!" she got out stiffly. "You forced me into this situation, but don't expect me to be happy about it!"
His mouth thinned, his genial mood ebbing slightly. His fingers tightened on her chin and he drawled, "I'm sorry you feel that way, sweetheart, but as long as you're in my bed, at least one of us will be happy!"
"You insufferable bastard!" Her resentment at his treatment boiled over and she punctuated her words with a ringing slap against his hard cheek. "I hate you! I don't want to be in your bed!" The sound of the crack of her hand against his skin seemed to reverberate through the room.
Appalled by her violent action and trembling with anger, Sara glared at him. The expression on his dark, handsome face suddenly frightened her and she made an abortive attempt to flee from him.
It was no use—she had barely begun to whirl away before his long arm reached and curled around her slim waist. The next instant she was snatched up next to him, their bodies crushed together, and she became instantly, shockingly, aware that he was hard and erect.
Yancy's eyes were pure molten gold and filled with masculine knowledge as he stared down into her upturned face. "Oh, yes, sweet Sara, did you doubt for a moment that I haven't been ready and aching to consummate our marriage since we walked out of that damned church? That I haven't been imagining this night for weeks?" He smiled grimly. "And do you think that after all I have gone through to make you my bride, I am going to be denied your charms?"
Sara struggled in his arms. "I don't want you!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "I hate you! Let me go!"
Yancy laughed, but there was a bitter sound to it. "I'm afraid that's impossible—you're my wife And as for not wanting me . . ." He smiled without amusement. "Believe me, chica, by the time I'm through with you, you will want me!"
Frantic to escape the implacable promise she read in his face, Sara fought wildly to free herself from his hold. It was useless. One arm keeping her anchored against him, he captured her thrashing head with his other hand and held her still as his mouth descended.
The scent of tobacco and tequila was on his lips, the taste of the mingled flavors on his tongue, as he kissed her with blatant demand. Yancy seemed oblivious of her struggles to escape him, his lips and tongue taking precisely what he wanted, his total concentration fixed on the sheer pleasure of kissing her, of exploring the sweet
darkness of her mouth, the scent and taste of her far more intoxicating than anything he had ever known in his life.
Sara fought desperately against the treacherous sensations that exploded into life within her as he wreaked his potent black magic against her. She didn't want to feel that warm, giddy rush of desire that began deep in her belly and surged up through her entire body, nor did she want to feel her heart begin to race, her pulse start to pound in erotic demand or her breasts become heavy and aching for the feel of his mouth against them. She wanted none of those feelings to overtake her; she wanted only to remember that she was supposed to hate him, but, oh, God! It was so damned hard when she pressed against his lean, exciting length, her unruly flesh melting into him, his hungry mouth woo
ing hers, the memory of his lovemaking, the knowledge that he could give her another glimpse of heaven, fighting with the cool logic of her brain.
She was drowning in his kiss, her young body responding avidly to the carnal demands he made upon her, and with a sudden burst of frantic strength, she managed to tear herself out of his arms. Her breathing labored, her eyes dark with unwanted desire, she stared at him from a safe distance across the room.
Like a man awakening from a drugged sleep, Yancy stared back at her, his golden eyes never moving from her passion-flushed features. They stared at each other for a long time and then Yancy sighed faintly and, terrifying Sara, slowly began to undress. With graceful, economical movements, he took off his boots, threw aside the short jacket and, after unbuttoning the white, ruffled shirt, pulled it free of the scarlet sash and the calzoneras. Like that of a great, black-maned predator, his unblinking gaze never left Sara, and as the moments
passed, her heart began to beat with such fierce power that she feared it would burst from her breast.
"Are you certain," he asked carefully, "that it has to be this way?"
Sara nodded, not quite certain what she was agreeing to.
He sighed again faintly and then, before she had even guessed what he was about, he was across the room after her. She let out a frightened cry and tried to run for her own room, but Yancy gave her no quarter, his arms closing powerfully around her, lifting her struggling body off the floor and tossing her over his shoulder.
Sara's fists beat wildly against his broad back, her feet drumming furiously as he carried her swiftly to his bed. Unfazed by her punitive actions, he dumped her down onto the welcoming softness of the big feather bed. Fright and a crazy excitement robbed her of breath for one tiny second as he shrugged out of his shirt; then, as he fell on the bed beside her, the scarlet sash held in one of his hands, she recovered her senses long enough to make a frantic lunge away from him.
Love a Dark Rider Page 24