Surrender by Moonlight

by Foxx, Rosalind

  Inside the last deep stretch of trees he knelt by the tiny trickle of water, a mere finger of a wider stream that ran parallel to the path. The ground was wet there and heavily marked by the shoes of the horses. He had been correct! On the other side of the streamlet a fresh pile of droppings still steamed in the cool air. The last of the horses had only recently passed there and Andres led his horse down the narrow path through the trees, knowing his destination was not far ahead. The path turned and twisted through the trees and he rounded a bend. The way ahead was heavily screened by the dense, low growing evergreens, and he nearly walked up on the guard posted there. He dodged back out of sight and hobbled his tired horse. Then he moved like a shadow through the trees.

  The bored guard, standing in the center of the gloomy path, had no inkling he was no longer alone until an iron arm went across his throat. The knife slid through his chest and penetrated the heart before he could even bring his hands up to shift that strangling hold. He gurgled once and then crumpled to a lifeless heap on the path. Andres dragged him into the underbrush and then began a silent stalk through the dark woods toward the ranchera. He lay in the coarse bushes edging the woods and looked down the gentle slope toward the house. The moonlight was bright enough and showed him the guards encircling the house. In the near corral stood a dozen horses, still saddled, ready to ride. Tethered to a railing by the steps were two other horses. Andres felt sure he knew exactly who owned those spirited mounts. He frowned. He must get closer, to be sure she was in there. Yet he could not possibly avoid all those guards. He chewed his lip trying to decide what was best to do. If he went for Don Dimitri and help, they could kill her before he could return with the men he needed to free her. Yet, if he tried to get to her himself and was caught, no one knew where she was and he would have thrown away her only chance. Making up his mind, he crawled carefully back into the trees and ran for his horse. Retracing his route at a gallop, Andres sped for home.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Leonor faced the two men. ''You won't get away with this," she told them as steadily as she could manage.

  "I think we will," returned Don Carlos, his bold eyes going over her, noting the proud way in which she held herself and the firm breasts jutting against the fabric of her dress. He wet his lips, thinking of what was under that dress.

  "Do you think no one knows?" Her voice was laced with scorn. She flashed her furious eyes from one to the other. Don Gilberto refused to meet her glance, she noted.

  "No one who matters has knowledge of this," Don Carlos replied. He grinned malevolently at her. "Only that Russian 'friend' of yours knows, and we'll deal with him too before this night is over."

  Leonor stood her ground. The men had brought her inside and shoved her toward a chair by the rough wooden table. An old man, his hair thin and snowy white, was bound and gagged and slumped on a chair against the wall. She flicked one quick glance at him before concentrating on her two enemies. She hated the gloating look in Don Carlos's eyes and looked at her stepfather but he only stared determinedly at the wall. She would make him look at her.

  "Simpatico Papa!" she said clearly. She had never called him father before, certainly not 'kind father.'

  He jerked his head around in surprise and, at the expression on her face, his gaze slid uneasily away. Her lip curled with contempt. He had set his feet on this path and now he could not face her. He lacked the courage even to do that.

  "Don Dimitri is not the only one who knows and you're wrong on another account." She took a deep breath, relishing what she would tell them. "He is no longer my Russian friend; he's my husband."

  A stark silence fell on the room and Don Gilberto sat up straight and stared at her, appalled.

  "We were married by the padre tonight, with the bishop's permission. Both the priest and the bishop know why it was done secretly. Dimitri told them."

  "Carlos—" Don Gilberto began, his face white with fear.

  "You may be able to kill me but you won't get what you want, Don Gilberto. The estates now go to my husband and you will not find him so easy to kill! And," she added, taking heart from the terror she read on her stepfather's face, "he provided for this, you know. He sent a letter to the governor, telling him everything! Ah, yes, everything! He told him about your attempts to get his estates, even those two attempts at murder; he told him about your smuggling. What? You didn't think anyone knew about that? Many of the men on my estate know. Did you really think you could keep that a secret? He also told him about your attempts to kill me and why. If anything happens to either of us, you see, you'll have even more to explain to the governor than you already do!"

  "You lie," snarled Don Carlos. "Don't believe her! The girl made it up to frighten you and," he added, looking at his partner's stricken face, "it succeeded!"

  "B-but what if it's true?" Don Gilberto, faced with such utter ruin, trembled. He could be cold and ruthless and brave when dealing with women but his nerve, never as steady as that of Don Carlos, had been shaken more and more as the scheme progressed. Now he was terrified. The governor, given proof of Leonor's claims, could have both of them executed as murderers! He swallowed convulsively, almost feeling the noose about his neck.

  Leonor observed the crack widening in his nerve and pressed her advantage. "Do you fancy being tried for murder? You're in deeply now, you know, and that's too far for you! And," she added softly, "I think you have both forgotten something else that the governor will not forget. Dimitri is the cousin of the Czar of Russia! Do you think the governor wants to have to explain to the Czar that his cousin was murdered by two landowners and that he did nothing to avenge that death?"

  Don Carlos, after another swift glance at his partner's face, sprang forward and slapped Leonor across the face. "That's enough. You lie!"

  Leonor, staggered by the blow, stumbled to a stool and sagged onto it. She held her stinging face and tried to control her trembling. If she provoked him too much, he would kill her now in frightened anger. Her only hope lay in postponing that moment, hoping that Dimitri would come. She had to keep them talking, quarreling, but she dared not push them so far that they killed her in a blind rage.

  "The girl's correct, Carlos! We haven't murdered anyone yet and—"

  "Calle te, fool! We're in too deeply now to stop. We must kill her and the Russian also! They know too much! I don't believe that they sent such a letter, or that they're married! There hasn't been time!"

  Leonor nursed her cheek and mouth as the argument raged between the two men. Every minute she could keep them arguing kept her alive. Dimitri, she silently cried, where are you? She inwardly shivered with fear and reaction but she forced herself to sit calmly, quietly. If she did not appear afraid, it would shake her stepfather's nerves further. She studied him covertly from under her long lashes. Seeing the harsh, ruthless man who had alienated her from her mother and made miserable the life of the peasants now shake with fear boosted her own morale. She had no idea he would crumple like that!

  She could not know that the last few months had been eating away at him. He had been forced to lie, to cover his tracks, all the time frantic that Dimitri Varanov would come thundering down on him demanding satisfaction. Their plan had appeared foolproof at first. They would kidnap the girl and kill her and no one would blame him, least of all the governor! When that did not succeed, Don Carlos had insisted that they try again. No one suspected them so they were safe to make another attempt. The attempt at the riot should have gone as planned. He still did not understand why it had not. How had she escaped that time? And then, without telling him, Don Carlos had sent that man to kill Dimitri Varanov and that, too, had failed. He had known then that they could not achieve their goal but Carlos would not give up.

  Carlos had forced him to ride over there, pretending to ask for Don Dimitri, to find out if the man were dead. He had fretted and worried, growing more and more afraid when they had not been able to find anything. Then Carlos had received word that the girl, too, was there.
A servant had mentioned it to her lover, who, for a price, had brought the news to Carlos. Then, despite his protests, Carlos had planned tonight's attack. The man had gone mad, Don Gilberto decided feverishly. It had been one thing to kill the girl when no one suspected him! It was quite another to do it now! He believed that the girl had married Varanov. The truth had been in her eyes, in her voice when she told them. And both the priest and the bishop knew! Even if no letter had been dispatched to the governor, it was far too late to silence everyone who knew of his involvement. Most of Don Dimitri's estate, by now, would know! He tried to make Carlos understand this but it was like water dropping on stone. The man's eyes were enflamed, glittering with fury over his thwarted plan. Someone would pay for that and he could begin with this damned girl!

  Carlos wheeled around, fastening his gaze on her. She sat quietly, meeting his glittering eyes, giving him back a steady look. He put down the wooden device he had been toying with and felt for his knife.

  "You sit there," he said softly, "like a princess. Above all this. But we will see how long you sit. I will have you writhing in agony, praying for death, before this business is finished. Ah yes, I had planned to kill you quickly, neatly. But your arrogance is not to be borne. We will soon find out that your blood, although aristocratic, is still red and it will pain you just as it does everyone, when it flows from you. Soon, Leonor, we will soon see!"

  Holding the knife, he approached her. Involuntarily, Leonor recoiled from him. He laughed, a hoarse, obscene laugh that made a shiver run down her spine. How could she display courage in the face of this sadist? The knife glittered before her eyes and she turned her head away, feeling sudden nausea. Then, before he could touch her, she slid into oblivion. The last thing she recalled was the rough voice of Don Carlos as he swore and then vowed to bring her around as quickly as possible.

  "I want her conscious," he murmured.

  Sometime later, for Leonor was never to know how long her faint lasted, she roused from an uncomfortable slump on the stool, shook her head and looked around. Don Carlos, seated on a chair across the small room, was in earnest conversation with Don Gilberto. Occasionally Gilberto would object and then Carlos would renew his persuasion. Leonor glanced at them through her lashes and then quickly shut her eyes. If she could only make them think she was still unconscious But Carlos's quick eyes had seen her move. "Ah," he said, "the lady is awake again. Now I can proceed with this pleasant business. Although I expect the lady will consider it quite unpleasant—"

  "Carlos—" began Don Gilberto.

  "Be quiet," snarled Don Carlos.

  Silence filled the room as Carlos took a step toward her, the knife in his hand. She did not move. She watched him with clear, steady eyes but her hands gripped the edges of the stool painfully. Then he stopped abruptly in midstep as a shot, startlingly loud in the silence, rang out outside. Then the night exploded in a barrage of shots.

  The front door flew open and a guard burst in. "Senor!"

  "Put out that candle," Don Carlos barked, thrusting his knife in his belt.

  The room was plunged into darkness as the guard extinguished the light. The guard felt his way to the shuttered window and, without pausing to think, Leonor dropped to the floor and crawled under the table. This might be her only opportunity to escape and she must make the most of it. She heard men moving about the room and struggling with the stiff latch on the wooden shutters. She would never get to the door without being noticed, she realized, crouching under the table. Then she recalled seeing a curtained doorway behind her, at the back of the building. Holding her breath, she crawled toward it. Her groping hand touched the rough hewn wood of the walls and she moved down the wall, feeling her way.

  There! Fabric touched her hand and she gripped the curtain. The shutters, pried violently open, gave a loud, protesting screech and Leonor rolled under the curtain before the moonlight could illuminate the room and expose her. She lay still, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She was in the small, rough lean-to, built on the back of the one-room cottage to house the cooking fire and oven. Someone moved in front of her and finally her eyes adjusted enough to see the guard opening the door and peering out into the yard. It was imperative that she get past him and out the back door.

  She glanced feverishly around and her gaze lit on a cast iron cooking pot sitting on the empty hearth. She crawled toward it, holding her breath lest a creaking board give her position away. The guard was occupied with loading his rifle, glancing from it to the door he had left ajar so he could watch the yard.

  The night still echoed with firing as Dimitri's men attacked the guards outside. Leonor lifted the pot carefully, not letting it scrape or rattle on the stone hearth. Then she rose cautiously to her feet. The guard finished loading and cocking his rifle and leaned forward once more to look out the narrow crack in the doorway. Too late, he sensed movement behind him and his head turned just as she brought the heavy pot down on his head. He lurched against the doorjamb and collapsed, his rifle sliding from his hand. Leonor eased the pot down, her arms trembling and her breath escaping in a relieved whoosh. She leaned weakly against the wall for a long minute, making her shaking knees stiffen again. Then she snatched up the rifle and jerked the door open. Nothing seemed to be moving in the yard behind the house. She heard the sounds of cattle from the front but nothing stirred back there. She hesitated but only for a moment. She dared not stay here, yet neither could she go back.

  Clutching the rifle and bent over nearly double, she ran out the door and across the dimly lit yard. Someone shouted behind her as she reached the trees behind the house and a bullet thudded into a tree off to her right. She ran faster, still carrying the rifle. She dodged trees and tall clumps of underbrush, forcing her laboring body to keep moving. Her heart hammered wildly and there was a sharp pain in her side. She paused, leaning against a tree while she caught her breath. Then her head came up and she listened. She could hear the crack and rustle of the underbrush behind her. Someone was following her!

  She peered through the trees and ran on into a small clearing. Trees ringed three sides of it and a tall, stony outcropping blocked the fourth side. Huge boulders formed a tall barrier. Leonor darted around the edge of the rocks, ducking behind them. She stumbled, lost one of her shoes in the weeds but she went on, biting her lip against the pain as the sharp rocks stabbed her bare foot. She crawled over boulders until she could see the clearing through a gap between two huge rocks.

  A man moved out of the trees to the edge of the clearing and stood listening. He walked into the clearing and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand to stifle the gasp that trembled on her tongue.

  It was Carlos Balsas!

  Hardly daring to breath, she waited, watching him. He cast around, like an animal seeking its prey and then pounced on something concealed from her view by the grass. He picked it up and smiled. Her shoe! It dropped from his hand as he pulled out his knife and moved toward the rocks. Leonor bit her lip until it bled. If he caught her . . . She remembered with terrified clarity what he had said earlier.

  She had never fired a rifle in her life but she would have to do it now. She forced her hands to raise the weapon. She aimed it at him as he came toward her across the clearing. She tried to steady it on the rock. Then she pulled the trigger. The sound exploded in the silent clearing. The bullet whizzed past his head, hitting a tree close to him, spraying him with bits of bark. He ducked and ran toward the rocks and Leonor held the rifle and frantically tried to think. She did not know how to reload it but she could attempt to use it as a club. He rounded the corner and stopped in front of her. His eyes glittered madly in the moonlight and his mouth gaped in a grin that made her freezing cold all over.

  Leonor, frightened almost out of her mind by his face, dropped the rifle, bent on flight. But he easily caught her before she ran more than ten feet. He held her by the arm and pulled her back around the rocks into the clearing, where his footing was more secure. Loose rocks and pebbles skittere
d aside under their feet and then she felt grass under her bare foot.

  ''You—" she began and he turned on her like an enraged animal.

  "You've said enough," he growled. "I will enjoy killing you." He cursed her and then shook her. The knife slowly came up. "Now," he said, dragging the word out, savoring it. "Now—"

  Leonor swallowed the hard, dry lump of fear in her throat. Nothing and no one could reason with him.

  "Let her go!" The crisp, taut voice rang out across the clearing and Leonor gasped.

  Don Carlos spun around, pulling Leonor in front of him. He slid the knife into his belt and pulled out his pistol. Dimitri stood at the edge of the clearing, a pistol pointed at them.

  "Release her," he ordered.

  Don Carlos laughed, a harsh growling laugh and brought up his pistol, his own body shielded behind Leonor. She saw his hand coming up and threw her weight against it. The pistol spun from his hand and he lunged for it. Before his groping hand could grasp it, her foot lashed out and kicked the pistol across the clearing. It skittered and clattered against the rocks and vanished in a tangle of weeds. His grip slackened for a moment and, taking full advantage of it, she pulled free and backed away from him. Like a panther he turned and his arm went out, striking her. Leonor hurtled back against the rock wall behind her, striking it with a hard thud. Then darkness exploded into painful points of light in her reeling head and she slid into a heap on the ground.