by Linda Ladd
Sighing, she sat down on a low stone wall beneath a tall pine tree. At the moment, no one paid much attention to her. All the guerrilleros and soldaderas were drinking and dancing, as they did every night. From the beginning, Carlisle had felt out of place among them, unlike the way she'd felt at Chase's ranch, with his friends. She'd felt at home there.
A great sadness welled up inside her and made her spirits plummet even lower. She bit her lip, feeling deep, cutting regret. Why had she left? Why had she ever wanted to join this bunch of ragtag bandits? She didn't like the men—they were uncivilized and crude, always fighting among themselves and making obscene, insulting remarks to her. She found it hard to believe they cared one whit about the poor people of Mexico.
Across the cobbled square, on the other side of the covered well, Arantxa appeared in the throng, dancing wildly with the young hombre she'd taken up with, a slim young hidalgo from the city of Querétaro. She and Arantxa had grown apart in the fortnight at San Miguel. Arantxa didn't even seem concerned about her father anymore, and Carlisle didn't understand why she wouldn't be. Javier seemed to have convinced his sister that he had a way of freeing their father, but neither of them would tell Carlisle, which made her feel even less a part of their revolution.
Carlisle preferred to spend her time alone in her room, looking out over the wide valley instead of training in the plaza with the other soldaderas. For a while, she'd practiced shooting a gun and learned to grind and shape tortillas on the stones called metates. But Javier hadn't allowed her to ride out of the mission on any of the frequent patrols that kept the valley secure.
Secretly, she was glad. She wished Chase would come for her, but she knew he wouldn't. He didn't even know where she was. Neither did Gray or Stone. Her brothers would be frantic with worry if Chase had contacted them about her disappearance. Why hadn't she at least left Chase a note?
Agitated by her thoughts, she stood and slowly strolled the length of the adobe wall, looking for Javier. Perhaps he'd allow her to send a message to the Hacienda de los Toros, just to let everyone know she was safe. He was nowhere in sight, and she glanced up at the old church, which he'd made his headquarters. A dim light flickered in the high arched windows, and, suddenly depressed, Carlisle left the fiesta and made her way through the trees lining the side of the casa. She'd go to bed, she thought, where she wouldn't have to think.
Suddenly, she sensed a presence behind her, but before she could turn, hard fingers dug into her shoulder. She started to scream, but her cry of distress died in her throat as a pistol was cocked near her ear, its barrel pressing on her right temple.
"I will kill you, Dona Carlita, if you make one little sound."
Carlisle recognized Esteban's soft, melodious voice at once. When he released her, she tried to turn, joy filling her. She winced and groaned as he grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. The gun pressed painfully against her cheek.
"I would like to kill you right now, gringa bitch," he ground out, his voice low and icy. "But first you're going to help me get Chaso out of here."
"What? Chase's here? Where?"
Her question enraged him. "Do not take me for a fool! I will not hesitate to pull the trigger after what you've done!"
Carlisle could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise in response to the razor-edge harshness of his voice.
"Por favor, Esteban. I don't understand! How did you get here? Where's Chase?"
"Your friends have him in the church, if they haven't already killed him."
"Killed him?" Carlisle cried, shaking her head in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Esteban's fingers tightened around her arm, hurting her. "He came here for you, puta."
"How did he know I was here?"
Esteban made an impatient sound in his throat, clamping his hand over her mouth as a pair of guerrilleros stopped nearby, drinking from a bottle and shoving each other in a heated scuffle. He held Carlisle tightly against him until the altercation was over and the men slunk away in opposite directions.
When he removed his hand, Carlisle grabbed the front of his shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about, Esteban, you must believe me! I came here with Arantxa and Javier, my friends from New Orleans! We planned it long before I ever came to the hacienda. I swear it! I didn't even think Chase knew where I was! How did he find me?"
"Because he got a ransom note, as you well know."
"What? You must believe me, Esteban! I knew nothing of that, nothing!"
Esteban hesitated, but his grasp on her arm did not loosen. "Then you can prove it by helping me free him. But," he said, pressing his gun into the softness of her cheek, "if you try to warn anyone, I will kill you, comprende?"
"Sí, Esteban. I'll do anything you say! Is Chase really in danger?"
Esteban didn't answer, but pulled her along as he skirted the plaza, hunched low and keeping her down beside him as they crept in the shadows of the trees. When they reached the walled enclosure surrounding the church, Esteban stopped and peered through the darkness where a guard stood on duty, revealed by the lantern hung above the stone doorway. Suddenly a man's scream pierced the night. The yell had come from inside the church.
"Oh, my God, Esteban, was that Chase? What are they doing to him?" Carlisle cried, grabbing his arm.
Esteban ignored her. "We've got to get in there! Will the guard let you in?"
"I don't know! I can try!"
"I warn you, do not betray me. I will be at your side with this." The gun barrel jabbed her ribs.
"I won't, Esteban! I'd never do anything to hurt Chase!"
"Vamos."
Sombrero brim down, Esteban pushed Carlisle ahead of him across the dirt yard. The man leaning indolently against the wall straightened from his slouch as they drew near.
"Buenas noches," Carlisle said, realizing her voice shook. She tried desperately to control the quivering.
"Buenas noches, senorita."
"Is Don Javier inside? I must see him. It's urgent."
"Sí, senorita, he is there, but you cannot go in."
"But why not? He won't mind."
The guard was big, with beefy, muscular arms, and when she tried to go around him, he stepped in front of her, completely blocking the doorway.
Carlisle gasped as she felt Esteban move, heard a muffled thunk, then saw the big man crumple at her feet. As Esteban dragged him out of the circle of light, Carlisle opened the door a crack and peered into the church.
No one was in the narrow vestibule, but as they crept quietly inside, voices filtered in to them from the chancel. Several doorways led to side aisles, and Esteban pulled her to the one on their left.
"Stay here," he whispered. "I'm going to try to surprise them."
Carlisle obeyed him, watching him move off on his hands and knees toward the front of the church. She peeked around a pillar, trying to see Chase.
The sanctuary was dark except for one large iron candlestand bright with dozens of burning candles. Javier stood with his back to her, but two other men were holding Chase's arms outstretched against the wooden crossbeam behind the altar. Although his head hung down, he wasn't unconscious, because Carlisle could hear him groaning.
"Now you know how my brother felt, you bastard," Javier ground out, his voice echoing slightly in the empty nave.
Carlisle strained to see what they were doing as Javier grabbed a handful of Chase's hair and slammed his head brutally against the wall.
"I knew you'd come here for Carlita, Lancaster. I saw the way you looked at her. But, she never once cared for you. She came with me willingly. We're lovers, you know. I'm a lucky man, am I not? She is beautiful, her skin as soft as a rose petal. She moans and cries out each night when I take her."
Carlisle shut her eyes, sickened by Javier's lies. She wished Esteban would make his move.
"Hijo de tu puta madre," Chase gritted out between clenched teeth.
"Manuel, do the other one," Javier ordered. "And don't be so gentle
this time."
Carlisle looked again as Manuel stepped forward. Chase struggled, and Carlisle watched, transfixed with horror, as the guerillero rested a six-inch spike against the palm of Chase's right hand. Then, quickly, he raised the hammer in his fist and hit it hard, sending the nail slicing through Chase's flesh and deep into the board behind it.
Chase screamed in agony, and, sick to the depths of her soul, Carlisle jumped up, oblivious to anything but preventing Chase from being hurt anymore.
"No! Stop it, Javier!"
Cursing, Esteban came to his feet a good distance down the aisle and pointed his gun at the three men as they whirled around to face Carlisle.
"Back away from him, you sons of bitches," Esteban growled, moving forward, his eyes trained on their guns. "Keep your hands up and get down on the floor! Pronto!"
Carlisle hardly heard him as he quickly raised the butt of his rifle and slammed it against the nearest man's head with a dull thud. The rebel fell forward face first, and Javier and his other lieutenant dropped down to the floor. Esteban took their pistols and stuck them into his belt as Carlisle ran to Chase where he hung against the wall, a nail driven through each palm, blood dripping down his wrists, staining his shirtsleeves red. She put her hands on his face, lifting his head gently. He'd been beaten. His handsome face was nearly unrecognizable, already swelling and badly bruised.
"Oh, Chase, Chase, what have they done to you?"
Tears ran down her face, and she wiped them away as Chase lifted pain-glazed eyes and tried to focus on her. He seemed to realize who she was then. He struggled weakly against the spikes.
"Help me," he groaned out.
Behind her, Esteban barked out orders while he held his gun on Javier and the others, his voice shaking with anger and anguish. "Get him down, dammit! Get him the hell down from there!"
Carlisle's stomach twisted at the sight of Chase's hand. The nail had been hammered deep into the beam, leaving barely enough for her to grasp.
"Oh, God, God," she moaned as she curled her fingers around the nail and pulled as hard as she could. The spike was slippery from Chase's blood, making it hard to hold. Another sob escaped her as she realized that the nail was embedded too deep to move.
"I can't pull it out, Esteban! Help me! I can't get it out!"
"Pull my hand off it," Chase grunted, groaning with effort as he tried to force his palm up off the spike.
Moaning with horror, Carlisle held on to his wrist with both hands and pulled. Chase cried out in stark agony as his hand came free, blood gushing from the open wound. He ground his teeth as he jerked his other hand off the nail. Chase staggered and almost fell, but when he grabbed the gun Esteban handed him and turned to face his torturers, she'd never seen such black lethal hatred. With no compunction, he pulled the trigger, the bullet slamming into Manuel's chest. Javier lunged away, diving behind a pillar before Chase could shoot him.
Cursing, Chase started after him, firing again as Javier ran down the side aisle toward the back of the church. Chase stopped and took cover as several guerrilleros burst through the front doors.
"Kill the bastard!" Javier yelled, and the men dropped down behind the back pew and began to shoot.
Carlisle cowered to one side as Esteban crawled on his elbows to the center aisle. He returned their fire, shot for shot, hitting one of the guerrilleros, who screamed and fell backward. A moment later, Chase was at her side, hunched low. He grabbed her arm and pulled her out through the side door. Esteban backed out behind them, pinning the guerrilleros down with his fire before he turned and ran after them.
As Chase dragged Carlisle along, despite all the danger and confusion, the only thing she could think about was his hands. He was groaning, and she knew he must be in terrible pain, but he was single-mindedly making his way up the steep path behind the church, keeping low, his breath labored. She climbed after him, sliding in the gravel, but each time she stumbled, Esteban pushed her on.
Alerted by the shots, a man came running toward them. Chase lifted his rifle and fired. The guerrillero fell, and Carlisle stifled her scream as he tumbled head over heels down the steep trail, his body precipitating a small rock slide. She lost her footing, regained it, then scrambled up the rest of the way on her hands and knees, terrified when she heard the shouts of pursuers only yards behind them.
At the top of the path, Chase had already attained the shaft. He pulled her into the entrance as Esteban came running, panting heavily with exertion. Ten yards inside, Chase pulled her down, then moved forward to meet Esteban, who'd picked up a lit lantern outside and was running with it, making shadows careen crazily around the walls of the mine.
"Is it bad, amigo?" Esteban asked, looking down at Chase's hands.
Chase nodded, holding out his maimed palms. The jagged puncture wounds bled profusely. "I'm losing a lot of blood. Give me your neckerchief."
Esteban pulled the scarf from his neck, quickly wrapping it around Chase's right palm, and Carlisle hastily ripped the hem of her skirt for a bandage.
"Come on, we've got to go on," Chase grunted as Carlisle bound up his other hand.
A shot rang out from the entrance, ricocheting off the stone walls, and they ducked and retreated farther into the darkness, leaving the lamp between their pursuers and themselves.
Carlisle watched Chase clumsily attempting to hold his rifle. He lay on his stomach and inched up level to Esteban's position, so that one of them was on either side of the tunnel. Carlisle huddled a few feet behind him, wishing she had a gun, wanting to kill Javier herself for what he had done to Chase.
More gunfire erupted outside, the echo reverberating hollowly down the shaft, but Chase and Esteban waited until a guerrillero crept into the fight of the lantern before they opened fire. The man fell, face forward, and there were scrambling sounds of retreat in the dark behind him.
"Go on, Chaso, take Carlita out," Esteban whispered. "I can hold them off. Then I'll follow."
"Forget it," Chase said. "Why should you get all the pleasure of killing the bastards?"
To Carlisle's shock, Esteban gave a low laugh. "If you had not got yourself captured, Chaso, we wouldn't be in this mess, amigo."
"You owed me one, didn't you?" Chase muttered thickly, cradling one hand against his chest. "You've been telling me that for years. So now it's time to pay up."
Carlisle shut her eyes, amazed that they could be having such a stupid conversation. My God, she thought, Chase was hurt, badly.
For about ten minutes, there was complete silence. Then Javier's voice echoed out from the other end.
"Carlita, por favor, come out here with me. I love you. He deserved what I did to him. I did it for my brother. Come to me so you won't get hurt."
She didn't answer, feeling sick as he tried again to persuade her. A short silence ensued, then something came rolling toward them.
A stick of dynamite landed two yards in front of Chase, the fuse burned down to a fraction of an inch from detonation. For one awful, heart-stopping instant, all three of them froze; then Esteban scrabbled on all fours, lunging past Chase.
"No, Esteban!" Chase yelled, rising to his knees.
A blinding white light froze Esteban in the act of throwing the dynamite back at the guerrilleros, followed by a deafening blast that sent both Chase and Carlisle flying backward as the roof of the shaft came crashing down upon them, plunging the mine into darkness. Dirt and timbers broke loose and fell with a great roar. Then there was only silence, broken occasionally by the sound of rocks raining down atop the rubble and debris.
11
Chase tried desperately to open his eyes, to remember what had happened, where he was. His first awareness was of a burning sensation. His eyes felt as if hot coals were lodged tightly in each socket. Groaning, he put his hands to ears which seemed stuffed with gauze. He coughed, tasted dirt and blood, spat it out, then rubbed his aching eyes as he forced them open. All he saw was deep, impenetrable black.
Weakly, he shoved himse
lf upright, his palms throbbing with jagged blades of pulsating pain. From the spikes, he thought dully. Then he remembered the explosion, saw Esteban holding the stick of dynamite just before it went off. Oh God, Esteban's dead, he thought, his heart welling with grief.
Fear hit him, then panic, sudden and overwhelming. Where was Carlisle? She'd been with them. She'd helped them, hadn't she? Groggily, he rose to his knees.
"Carly? Can you hear me?"
His shout reverberated eerily. The blackness was complete, the only sound the sifting of sand and rocks from the ceiling of the tunnel. He could feel the dirt raining down on his head. He groped in a circle around him, grunting again as he dug his legs out from under debris. He felt weak, disoriented, making it hard for him to think coherently.
He had to find Carlisle, he thought, and Esteban. . . . No, Esteban was dead, he remembered in horror, buried in the cave-in. He felt sick inside, physically ill. But Carlisle wasn't dead, she couldn't be. He had to find her!
"Carly!" he yelled, choking on the dust still hanging in the air. He crawled on his hands and knees, grinding his teeth as pain erupted in his injured palms. With every movement, crumbling dirt and pebbles dropped on his back.
Timbers creaked threateningly, and he realized the shaft might give way again and bury them alive. Urgency took over, and he no longer thought of his pain as he stretched out his arms and felt through the rubble in a wide arc in front of him. Oh, God, his eyes. What was wrong with his eyes?
After a moment of searching, his fingers touched skin, a bare leg, and frantically, he felt his way up to Carlisle's shirt. She was half buried, and he dug desperately to free her, grabbing the front of her blouse and jerking her head up.
"Carly! Can you hear me?" He touched her, calling her name again, shaking her, but she lay as still as death. Rigid with fear, he laid his ear against her chest. Her heartbeat was very faint, but discernible. He cradled her face, saying her name until she sputtered for air and moaned.
"Come on, Carly, we've got to get out of here, now!" Chase hoisted her as best he could, trying to ignore the fire flaming behind his eyeballs.