Though cool the water was silky and buoyant, and setting as her target a larger thrust of rock far out in the blue she swam steadily and with purpose, as if racing an invisible opponent. When she reached the rock, which was larger than she had supposed, she hauled herself on to it and took deep breaths of the tangy, refreshing air. Gazing back across the sea she realized that she had covered about a mile, for the castillo seemed etched like a fabled toy against the sky and the peaks, and as she stared at it, so beautiful and unreal in the distance, she tried to imagine what it would be like to become part of such a place.
She, Lise Harding, in residence there as the mistress, the person who gave the household orders, and who received the Conde's guests, and learned all the intricate secrets of being wife to Leandro.
No, it was all as unreal as the castle looked in the distance. It was a mirage that could not be grasped, and the only reality was that Leandro did not love her. And without his love, she told herself, she couldn't face all the rest.
Suddenly she shivered, for the wind on her wet body was almost cold, and she plunged back into the water and headed in the direction of the beach.
She was about halfway there when the sudden pain of cramp gripped her left leg and held it for a frightening moment in a vice from which it couldn't move. She floundered in the water and had breathed the salty moisture before she could stop herself and next moment was gasping and choking and struggling to move the limb that had contracted itself into such a cramped position that the slightest
effort to straighten the leg caused such agony that her head reeled and all the rules about this sort of thing seemed to explode into panic. A choked scream broke from her, and though her struggles only increased her intake of water and her pain, she couldn't seem to control her frightened body. She knew ... despairingly she knew that she was going to drown, far out from the safety of the beach, here in the waters of a foreign bay, and as the nightmare gripped her, as the vice of cramp gripped her leg muscles, she cried out again and her pounding brain that was going dark knew the name that she cried as she gagged against the salty sea in her throat and felt as if some other nameless thing were dragging her under, completely under the cold weight of the water, digging its invisible claws in the calf of her leg,
Suddenly the claws seemed to have hold of her upper body, and she fought like a mad thing, hearing words she couldn't grasp with her spinning mind, and then stunned right out of her mind as a fist clipped itself against her jaw and she went still, senseless, painless . . . and didn't waken again until there was the crushy warmth of sand under her body, and the burning tang of something against her lips. As she protested her eyes opened and a dark face came into focus above her and she became aware that a finger was stroking her lips with brandy, bringing back the life to them, so that instinctively her tongue sought that warm source of life.
`You like that, eh? You are alive again now the sea water has expelled itself.'
She stared up at him, limp as a wrung-out rag, and so exhausted that she could only plead with her eyes for an actual swallow of the brandy.
Leandro lifted her against his arm and put the lip of the flask to her lips. She swallowed and felt the harshness of her throat, and realized what he had meant about the sea water
being expelled from her. She must have gulped quite a lot of it, and he, presumably, had pumped it out of her with those hands she had fought so crazily, out there in the sea.
Again with her eyes alone she questioned him, and she saw a twist to his lips, and felt him touch her aching jaw. 'I saw you going down the beach steps as I was riding back from the plantation, and I noticed you had a bathing-suit with you. It was fortuitous that I decided to take a swim myself – tell me, do you often get leg cramp in that way? When you started to struggle I guessed it was that. There are no sharks in our bay, for the water is too cool for them, but when I reached you and you increased your struggles, I am sure that you thought I was a shark – the tiger variety, eh?' With an angry sort of solicitude he brushed the wet hair from her brow. 'About the leg cramp – has it ever happened like that before?'
She shook her head. 'Never.' Her voice was still husky, still shaken. `I–I think I must have got cold when I swam out to that large rock in the bay. I probably lost track of time while I rested there, and on the way back the cold got to my leg. It was – awful. I really believed my number was up. You – you hit me!' As the realization struck at her, she looked at him with shocked eyes.
`You were fighting me so much that I had to, pequena. Do you now feel a little better – well enough for me to take you back to the castle?'
`I–I think so.' She forced herself to sit up, and then as everything seemed to go spinning round in her head, she clutched at his bare shoulder, and then leaned weakly against him. 'Let me stay a while longer—'
`No, you will catch cold. I have dried you as much as possible, but you need a hot bath, and a few hours' rest in your bed.' As he spoke he stood up and raised her to her feet, and then next moment she found herself lifted into his arms,
with her arms instinctively seeking a hold around his neck.
Y -you aren't going to carry me?' She thought of all those steps. 'Leandro, you can't! If you'll only wait, my strength will be back and I shall manage all right.'
`There is another way under the cliffs, a path to the cellars which was used, as you can probably guess, for other purposes in days gone by. Sad to say, Spanish brandy is not as good as the French sort, and I had an ancestor who enjoyed a tot of brandy almost as much as he enjoyed the smuggling. Come! This is the way we go.'
`My clothes,' she cried out. 'I left them behind a rock.'
`Someone will be sent to fetch them.' His sandaled feet ploughed through the sand and they passed the cliff steps and he made for a moon-shaped scoop in the cliffs, with some tall rocks guarding the entrance. He entered the cave, which seemed suddenly dark to Lise, who clung to his shoulders and felt the smooth heat of them as he carried her for several yards into the dimness. There in the dimness, and despite her feeling of weakness, she felt a sudden strange elation, which she supposed was due to her recent fright and recovery, and finding it was Leandro who had come to her rescue. Also there was a kind of crazy adventure feeling about being alone with him in a smugglers' cave, which he seemed to know well, probably from his youth, for he soon located the creaking old door that led into the cellars, where he pulled a cord and a light came on.
She saw at once that they were surrounded by wooden racks of long-necked wine bottles, and against the rough, dirty-white walls stood old casks bound in copper, and from the dark old beams hung dusty cobwebs, and something scuttled in a corner.
It was the kind of place to hold boyhood memories of pirate games and being shipwrecked, and when Lise glanced
up at him and saw his lip quirk she knew that he was remembering those far-off days when he had probably sensed that his parents were not happy together and had found here a place of escape.
'How are you feeling now?' He paused beneath the light of the bare hanging bulb and studied her face. 'You are still pale, but your breathing seems easier.'
'I'm much better, señor, thank you. I could walk—'
`No, we have only to traverse a passageway and some steps and to your surprise, and perhaps your relief, you will find yourself in the hall of the castle.'
'There are so many steps to the beach, señor.' Despite last night, and despite his rescue of her this morning, she felt a choking sense of shyness and couldn't bring herself to say his name. She felt the slightly mocking glance which he gave her as they continued on their way along the vaulted passage, which felt chilly, and which perhaps was why he drew her closer to his chest, which was warm and rough with dark hair, in which was meshed a Latin medal with a glint of gold to it.
'That is because you approach them through the gardens, senorita, which elevate by the gradual use of steps in ornamental pairs and hardly noticed because of the foliage and the flowers. We are proud of the
castle gardens, in which are planted shrubs and blooms from all parts of the world, wherever a Marcos Reyes has travelled. I brought red roses from England when I was there, and some white hydrangeas. Did you not notice?'
'Well, I was in rather a hurry—'
'And why? What made you hurry so? Were you afraid of seeing me?'
Perhaps,' she admitted, and was glad when they stepped into the hall of the castle, which had more familiarity and less intimacy than the dimness of the cellars. 'Senor, I can
manage now, if you will let me go.'
`It is not my intention to let you go.' Words which Lise felt sure had a double meaning as he carried her across the hall and all the way up to her room, where at last he set her upon her feet.
For once a Spaniard is grateful that a girl is not plump,' he said dryly. 'Now I shall send a girl to you and she will run you a hot bath and see to it that you rest in bed for a while—'
`Señor,' she caught at his arm, 'I can do those things for myself, so please don't send anyone. I'm not helpless.'
`A while ago you were.' His fingers caught at her chin and for a long moment he forced her to look at him. 'You must not be so independent, amiga. Here in Spain we help each other and don't rush by because it might be too much trouble or cause a bother for us. I will leave you alone if you make me the promise that you will soak in a hot bath and then try to sleep and forget your alarming experience.'
`I promise.' Then, shakily, she added her grateful thanks that he had saved her life.
`It was fortunate that I saw you heading for the beach.' He frowned at her. 'Next time you wish to go swimming, you will ask for my company or that of Ana. I suppose you took it for granted the water would be warm? Alas, this isn't so. In this part of the coast the depths are extreme and can be very dangerous, as you learned today. Now hurry to your bath. Ate a vista.'
He turned on his heel and was gone, and Lise was glad to obey his orders with regard to running a bath and taking a long, drowsy soak. She was seated on the side of her bed, towelling her damp hair, when fingers tapped her door and it opened to admit one of the young maids, who carried a small round tray on which glinted a silver cup.
`The Señor Conde says that you had a little trouble at the
beach and I am to bring you this, señorita The girl placed the cup in Lise's hand, and at once she caught the aroma of mixed herbs and a strong dash of spirit and hot lemonade. When she tasted the toddy she caught the taste of honey as well. 'It's delicious!' she gasped.
`Si, señorita.' The young maid broke , into a smile as she surveyed the master's novia, who with her hair all tousled about her face, and wearing her camel dressing gown, looked far from capable of ever handling an important Spaniard and his establishment. 'It is a special remedy of the Doila Manuela's.'
`Oh, does she know about me?' Lise was instantly anxious. 'I do hope she won't go telling the Condesa. I'm all right now and I don't want her to be worried.'
`I am sure the Señor Conde would not permit that she be worried, señorita.' The maid took the empty cup and turned back the bedclothes. 'I will tuck you in, and then draw the curtains to keep out the sun. Si, that is good? The pillows are just right?'
`Perfect, thank you.' Already Lise's eyelids were growing heavy and a moment before she slipped into sleep she guessed that something in the toddy had produced this lovely lethargy; this relaxation of her body and her nerves. On her lips lingered the sweetness of honey and lemon, and gone was the salty taste of the sea. Gone was that nightmare certainty that she was about to drown in the grip of the sea. Leandro had pulled her free of that grip . . . into his own arms that had felt so warm . . . so hard to resist.
In the next few days it came as a relief to Lise never to find herself entirely alone with Leandro. Details of her mishap had not reached the ears of the Condesa, otherwise she would have mentioned it, and Lise felt very grateful for the discretion of Manuela, one of those good-natured people
who hover on the fringes of other people's love affairs and dramas without ever becoming involved in one of her own. Ana did say that as a younger woman Manuela had been fond of a man, but he had been poor and had gone off to Mexico to make his fortune, and by the time it had been made Manuela had become too attached to the Condesa to ever leave her. She seemed happy enough, but Lise found herself wondering these days if any woman could be truly happy without a man to love her.
This was a train of thought which had merely flashed through Lise's mind in what now seemed those far-off days in London, where the sanity of work had held sway over her instead of the combined fascination of a castle and its master.
Yes, it had to be admitted that he fascinated her, and since he had saved her life she felt a new and reluctant warmth towards him. She supposed that he had become a sort of hero in her eyes, but none the more for that she wasn't — she forcibly told herself — going to be coerced into a marriage that on his side would be a mere matter of expediency; a fairly easy way of satisfying duty without giving up his associations in Madrid.
How convenient for him! A young wife tucked away at El Serafin, whom he would no doubt ensure was speedily provided with a child, while he continued to enjoy the gay and exciting company of the woman he truly preferred.
Lise was moodily lost in her thoughts when footsteps sounded on the tiles leading to the bougainvillea arbour, and Lise, whose senses as well as her ears recognized the length of the stride, shrank back among the purple and white flowers in the hope that he would pass by and not see her.
It was a forlorn hope, for she was wearing the tangerine slacks that gave her away and his quick eye caught the flash of bright colour and he came to a halt in the entrance of the
arbour, completely blocking it so there was no escape from him. `Ah, there you are! I have been searching for you, and find you in hiding.' His eyes glinted under the black sweep of hair as he stood regarding her, hands thrust into the pockets of his dark blue trousers, with which he wore a matching silk shirt open across the dark brown throat.
His look of vigour was so stunning that Lise caught her breath, framed herself against the lushest bloom of the tropics, planted long ago, she had learned, by a Marcos Reyes who had been for a time the Governor of a Caribbean island. The history and drama of this family was enough to go to a girl's head without the addition of a man who looked so darkly handsome and unconquerable as he stood there. Even the beautiful Franquista had not conquered him to the extent where he would ignore duty to his family name and risk striking the Condesa a mortal blow. Even she was a mere woman to be left waiting while he settled his domestic affairs. Even she, that magnetic woman with the full figure and the raven hair beloved of the Spaniard.
Casually, with his gaze still upon her, the Conde took a cheroot case from a hip pocket and also a lighter. With deliberate movements of his lean hands he extracted one of the dark cheroots and inserted it between his lips. Then he flicked on the lighter and carried the small flame to the tip, which swiftly smouldered. He then rested a shoulder against the arching trelliswork, and the smoke of his cheroot mingled with the tang of the flowers.
'There is to be no more evasion of the matter I mentioned the other day,' he said crisply. 'Hiding yourself away from me won't induce me to forget that I asked you to be my wife. I now require an answer, and what more romantic surroundings than these? Around us the bougainvillea and across the patio the cool sound of water in the basins of the fountain.'
Again his left hand carried the cheroot to his lips, and her gaze followed the movement as if magnified, for there was something extraordinarily sensuous in the way a Spaniard smoked . . . in fact, everything about this particular Spaniard was sensuous; his glance, his mouth, and his male grke of body.
`You particularly like this part of the garden, don't you?' The aromatic smoke drifted from the proud arch of his nostrils. 'That mauve-starred love-vine over there, draping Pan, the god of mischief. The rich scent of the juniper trees, and the bird-pepper trees hanging their flame fruits above
the patio walls, with those small stone towers at the corners. Just think to yourself that one simple word can make it yours. This and all the rest.'
`And you!' She broke in on his seducing speech. 'You above all, señor, and you would make sure I never forgot it. I'd have to pay—'
`In what coin exactly!' Suddenly his eyes held that dangerous promise of an unpredictable move. 'If we are making out accounts, then let us be clear about them. You say you would have to pay, which I take to mean with your loyalty and your person. Am I correct?'
`Yes.' She flushed slightly. 'You might marry without love, but you would make darned sure of the woman. She'd have to do her duty by you, and if she ever blemished your name, I feel pretty sure you'd break her neck, and with so many steps about the place you could always make it look as if she tripped and fell.'
`So you consider me ruthless, eh? You truly believe that I would be capable of the old ways of Spain and would treat a straying wife in a savage way?' As smoke wreathed itself about his features, he lounged there with a trail of purple flowers against his shoulder and he gravely considered her judgment of him Finally he inclined his dark head and a
little flame of wickedness kindled in his eyes. Those eyes wandered over her, as if already he was picturing her in the role of his wife and his possession. There was no other way to consider a wife in connection with him; Lise felt sure of that.
`So you judge me the perfect example of Spanish cruelty, eh? With, perhaps, a little courtesy thrown in; the velvet glove hiding the iron hand.' He laughed in his soft and mocking way. `So that is why you hesitate to marry me. You think you might stray and I might break your slim white neck.'
`Wouldn't you?' The words flung themselves from her lips.
`Of course,' he said smoothly. 'I am glad you are perceptive enough to judge my character, for it never does for a woman to go into marriage with a blindfold over her eyes. Or for that matter to be so desperately in love with a man that she would care for nothing, except to be with him. Neither way is your way, is it, Lise? I am glad of that, as basically this is an arrangement rather than a—'
The kisses and the wine Page 14