by Linda Ladd
The big gringo inclined his head toward Tomas, but he looked her straight in the eye when he answered. She immediately detected the fatigue hovering in the blue-gray depths.
" Sí, senora. We've been staying at Papa Gilberto's hacienda for several months now." He glanced at his blond-haired companion, but she didn't look up. "This is Windsor Richmond, and my name's Stone Kincaid. I believe that both my brother and sister are acquainted with your son, Senor Lancaster. Actually, I was hoping to find Carlisle here. Papa Gilberto told me she'd been sick with malaria."
"Kincaid! Why, you are Carlita's brother, no?" Tomas asked excitedly.
For the first time, Stone Kincaid's dark-bearded face flashed with a white smile. "Yes, I am."
"Carlita often spoke of you and your brother, Gray, when she and Chaso lived at my casa in Mexico City," Dona Maria explained, examining his face with renewed interest but deciding he bore no resemblance to his flame-haired sister.
"Is she here now?" he asked.
"No, I am sorry to say she has gone home to America for a visit. But we expect her to return to the Hacienda de los Toros any time now with Chaso and their children."
Stone Kincaid frowned slightly, looking at Tomas, then back to Dona Maria. "Children? I'm afraid I don't understand, senora."
"Why, you do not know, then, Senor Kincaid? Your sister was wed to my son, Chaso, back in the autumn. She recently bore him twin sons." Maria smiled, noticing that the girl looked up at the mention of the babies.
"Well, I'll be damned," Carlita's brother swore, shaking his head, then quickly looked apologetic. "Forgive my language, senora, but that news comes as quite a shock. I've been out of contact with my family for months now, and I had no idea Carly had married, much less had a child. Last November, when I left Chicago, we knew she was down here on a visit with the Perez family, but no one suspected she was considering marriage to your son. In fact, I was under the impression she didn't like him."
Dona Maria was reluctant to relate all the tragic incidents that had led to her son's hasty marriage to Carlita. "I fear Carlita's story is a long one, senor, and I am sure you are much too tired to listen to all of it just now. Forgive my saying so, but the senorita looks exhausted."
At Dona Maria's mention of her, the silent gringa raised her large, golden-lashed eyes. The expression in the sapphire depths was so full of sorrow that Dona Maria was startled.
"Sí, I am very tired, senora," Windsor Richmond answered. Her low words were uttered in English, but were threaded with some accent other than Spanish. Dona Maria wondered where she came from.
"We've been traveling hard for several weeks now," Stone Kincaid explained, draping his arm protectively around the girl's shoulder. When she flinched slightly, he was quick to remove it. Dona Maria became even more curious as Stone Kincaid continued. "I was hoping Senor Lancaster would put us up here for a while, until I can arrange passage to New Orleans. But if he and Carlisle aren't here—"
"Oh, sí," Dona Maria interrupted swiftly, "You must remain here. Carlita would be most disappointed if I were to let you leave before she arrives. As I said, she will be here shortly." She swept her arm up toward the arched gallery running along the second floor. "And as you can see, the Hacienda de los Toros is very large. Tomas and I will be honored to entertain you until my son and daughter-in-law arrive."
"Gracias, senora." Smiling at him, Dona Maria nodded, appreciating Stone Kincaid's attempts to use her own language. He was not fluent in Castillian by any means, but the Spanish words he did use were understandable.
"There is another thing, Dona Maria. I do need to send a message to my brother, Gray, where he lives in Chicago. Is there a place near here where I can find a telegraph office?"
"We often send riders to Monterrey for just such a purpose. If you'll write what you wish to wire, I will see that the message leaves here in the morning." Dona Maria smiled, but she was a little worried about the senorita, who was swaying on her feet as if ready to drop. "My son and I were just about ready to partake of a meal, senor," she offered, still eyeing the poor girl. "We would be pleased to welcome you to our table."
"I don't wish to be rude," Stone Kincaid replied, "but Windsor has been very ill for the past few months. I'm afraid our journey here has been hard on her. Would you be offended if we retired for the night and then visited with you again in the morning?"
"Sí, the journey down from the sierra fria is a grueling one. I will show you to your apartments myself. Tomas, would you summon Rosita to bring warm water for baths, por favor?"
"Sí, Mama."
Stone Kincaid watched the boy hurry away. "You're very kind, Dona Maria, but please don't go to the trouble to ready two rooms. I'll stay with Windsor in case she needs me through the night."
Again Dona Maria was shocked. Nodding, she hid her reaction and preceded them toward the steps leading to the upper floor. When she glanced behind her, Stone Kincaid had picked up the frail young woman and was carrying her in his arms. Dona Maria lifted her long rustling skirt and swept up the white adobe staircase to the second-floor bedchambers, instinctively aware that something most dreadful was wrong between the norteamericanos.
Windsor sat across from Stone, looking as still and fragile as the porcelain vase filled with white roses on the crystal-laden, linen-festooned table between them. As he studied her face, he knew it was imperative to find a way to reach her. They had been at the Hacienda de los Toros for nearly two weeks now, and though she seemed more rested, she was still as edgy as a trapped cat. Any sudden move or unexpected noise sent her jumping with fright. Stone's stomach contracted, his emotions as tangled as a knotted skein of thread.
More than anything, he had hoped her shattered nerves would improve in the relative safety of Chase Lancaster's ranch. That was one reason he had decided to make the strenuous journey down from the mountains. Stone had never felt secure in the sierra where Clan and his filthy band of cutthroats rode unopposed. God only knew where the bastard had gone.
Here, on the other hand, Lancaster had over a hundred armed vaqueros patrolling the sprawling estate night and day. No intruder could get past them, not even one as clever as Clan. The house, with its tall walls and barred gates, was also manned by a battery of servants and as fortified as a castle keep.
Physically, Stone felt a hell of a lot better than he had in a long time. He had shaved and bathed the first night they had come, and since then, Dona Maria had been an unparalleled hostess, making sure they had everything they needed. She had even instructed her cook to prepare plain dishes for Windsor, steamed rice without the tomato sauce and chilis Mexicans depended upon for their spicy cuisine. And he slept on a real bed for a change, one with a comfortable mattress. But not with Windsor. She still would barely let him touch her.
At the moment, she was poking at her food with a heavy, engraved silver fork. At least she was eating something. At Papa Gilberto's, she had partaken of food only when Stone had insisted. Yes, she was better here. She stayed in her room most of the time, but she did rise early each morning to walk by herself in the interior garden. He considered that a victory in itself. Still, she wouldn't discuss what had happened to her or what the future would bring.
Lightning flashed behind him, and Windsor looked up. When their eyes met, her mouth curved in a softly entrancing smile. He thought of the first time he had ever seen her, when she wore a nun's habit and carried Jun-li hidden in her bamboo case. Even then, garbed in dreary black, she had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. They had been through so much together since they had boarded that train in Chicago. It was hard to remember what his life had been like before he had met her.
Now, in front of his eyes, she was wasting away, in body and in mind, and it was killing him to watch.
Tonight he was going to make her remember the way it had been between them, the way it could be again. But the idea was as terrifying as it was desirable, because he knew he had to be careful not to sabotage the painstaking progress he'd
made with her.
Outside the tall white slatted doors, which stood open beside him, rain beat upon the scrolled, wrought-iron railing on the balcony of their bedchamber. It had been raining all day, filling the terra-cotta geranium pots with water and pelting the bright red blossoms until they bent their heads in defeat. The drenching deluge drummed relentlessly against the curving red Spanish tiles of the roof and dripped in slow, hypnotic rhythms from the overhanging eaves.
Lifting his stemmed goblet of wine, he observed how her white embroidered shirt had fallen off one shoulder. Her slender collarbone stood out as a prominent reminder of her ordeal, making her smooth ivory skin appear fragile and translucent. But she had regained some of the weight she had lost and was still undeniably beautiful, her lovely face smooth and soft again, free of the bruises and scrapes left by Clan's abuse. The only scars now were those inside her head. Anger gripped him for an instant, hot, intense, overwhelming. He would never forgive himself for allowing Clan to abuse her, not as long as he drew breath.
After the horrors he had survived at Andersonville, he had thought of little but his own obsession to kill Emerson Clan. He had skimmed over the surface of his life like a water bug darting over the still surface of a pond. Hunting down Clan had been his life. He hadn't cared about anything or anybody else. He had gone through the motions of living, with his family, with the handful of women he'd wanted enough to make an effort to be civil with, but he hadn't really lived, not like other people did.
Although he had to go after Clan again someday, now he found himself wanting a peaceful life. He wanted Windsor at his side, the wonderful, enigmatic Windsor that she used to be. If God would give him that, he would never ask for anything else.
Windsor sighed again, her attention focused on the spattering rain, and Stone's gaze lingered on the bluish circles beneath her eyes. She was resting better, but she had yet to make it through the night without being awakened by nightmares.
Thunder growled threateningly, rolling across the night sky, recalling to Stone the night he'd awakened in the Osage lodge, sweating and heaving from his own brand of hell. He glanced down at the jade bracelet Windsor had given him. He hadn't taken it off his wrist since she'd knotted it there months ago.
If only he had known then what he knew now, he would have wintered there among Sun-On-Wings' people. If he'd done that, Windsor would still be the woman who shot arrows blindfolded and defeated hardened warriors barehanded. Bitter regret gouged into him, puncturing deeply, but he quickly pushed his remorse away. She would be that way again someday, he told himself firmly.
"Do you remember the night you gave me these jade stones?" he asked, lifting his arm so she could see them.
She nodded, but her sapphire eyes were clouded. When she put her fingers to her throat where her own jade necklace had once hung, Stone realized she was probably remembering when Clan had taken it from her. He didn't want her to think about Clan anymore, not tonight, not ever.
"The Jade stone have helped me, but now you need them more than I do."
Stone slipped the bracelet off his wrist, then slid it over her hand. Windsor stared down at the smooth round stones, twisting them between her fingers. '"Thank you, Stone Kincaid. These are the only things I have left that I brought with me from China." Her voice broke, and she bit her lip. "Even poor Jun-li is lost to me."
Stone fought his need to touch her, hold her close, stroke her hair, bury himself inside her. That's what he wanted and that's what she needed if she was ever going to forget.
"You rubbed my neck that night and stuck a bunch of needles in me." He grinned. "I wasn't so sure about you then."
"You did not like me much. You did not trust me."
"I trust you now, Windsor," he told her quietly. His eyes captured hers. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes. Thrice you have saved my life."
"Then let me hold you, let me touch you. I need you, sweetheart. I miss having you in my arms. Is that so much to ask?"
Her thick golden lashes lowered to shield her eyes; then she stood and walked to the open doors. Stone rose as well. Moving up behind her, he cupped her shoulders with his palms, felt the tension in her body. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, Windsor. Surely you know that by now."
As he spoke, he slid his hands up beneath her short, silky hair, pressing his palms firmly against her scalp as she had done to him that rainy night in the Indian lodge. How strange life was, he thought. How ironic that their roles had reversed so completely. How could one evil man disrupt so many lives? Why were such things possible?
He flexed his fingers, drawing them down from the center of her head to her temples, then back up again. Windsor emitted a soft sound of contentment and relaxed against his chest. After a time, he lowered his hands to her shoulders, kneading the tight muscles until they became soft and pliant beneath his touch.
"Feel good?" he whispered, his lips caressing the delicate curve of her ear. His own self-control was slipping, fast. God, how he wanted her. But he couldn't force her, couldn't push her too soon. He swept a handful of silken curls behind her ear so he could nuzzle the side of her throat.
"Yes." Her head lolled weakly back against his shoulder. Stone shut his eyes, struggling to contain his desire for her but mindlessly intoxicated by the sweet fragrance emanating from her hair.
"I love you, Windsor," he muttered, his voice so thick as to be nearly incomprehensible. "I don't give a damn what happened to you. I want you for my wife. Let me show you how much I care. Let me make love to you the way I used to."
Windsor's head rolled back and forth, denying him, but as his palms moved down her shoulders, teasing loose the ties of her blouse, she did nothing to stop him. Stone's heart began to thud. God help him, he had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted to carry her to the bed, to let the softness of her wrap around his loneliness and need. But he knew only too well that he could not. She needed his gentleness and understanding much more than the thundering passion which held him in its fist, making his hands tremble.
She pulled away, clutching her loosened bodice against her breasts. "No, I can't do what you want, not ever. Please don't. You know I can't bear to feel your hands on me!"
Her words hit him hard. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'll never hurt you, never," he muttered hoarsely, turning her around and forcing her to look up at him. He took her by her wrists and gently placed her open palms against his face. "Look at me, Windsor. It's me, not him. Let me love you. Let me help you remember how good it is between us."
Tears pooled in her eyes, dripped over her long lashes to run down her cheeks. "I can't, Stone Kincaid. When you hold me like this, all I can think about is him and what he did—"
Stone stared down at her, not wanting to force her but afraid that if he didn't break through her barriers soon, he never would. Tortured by the thought of losing her, he pulled her up until his face was buried in her hair. "Please don't do this to me, Windsor. I don't think I can stand it if you keep pushing me away."
"Oh, Stone, he hurt me so much. He hurt both of us," she moaned, her voice cracking with agony, her despair flooding out. "He laughed when he hurt us! And I thought I could stand it. I thought I could control my mind so that he couldn't torment me, but when I did that, he would turn on Nina instead and use his whip on her! He'd hit her over and over, and she'd scream and scream and beg me to do whatever he wanted. I can still hear her terrible screaming. I can still see the blood running down her back until she was covered with it—"
Stone's mind recoiled. This was the first time she had revealed anything of what had happened to her, and he wasn't prepared for the rage that roared inside him as Windsor twisted away from him. Distraught, she fell upon her knees, hiding her face in her hands. "He kept me with him all the time," she muttered, her words muffled by weeping. "When we traveled, when we stopped, every minute, he wanted me close so he could taunt me and hurt me. At night he'd take us to a barn or a stable, just Nina and me, and he'd keep us there for
hours, hitting her with his whip, making me crawl on my hands and knees and beg him for things. And, oh, Stone, he made me tell him about you, about what we did together, about how you touched me and made love to me. He made me tell him that he was a better man, a better lover, that I never really loved you—"
Stone turned to granite, every muscle as hard as rock. The anguish that gripped him was so powerful, so all-encompassing, that it completely consumed him. He couldn't move, couldn't answer, couldn't even comfort her. All the fury he had suppressed and held inside himself for months could no longer be contained. The tight rein with which he had harnessed his boiling emotions slid from his grip, and extreme, unbridled horror flooded over him, despair and guilt gushing upward from the bottom of his soul to take possession of his body.
Shaking all over, he took a few jerky steps to the supper table and clutched the edge until his anger exploded. He gave the table one vicious heave, overturning it and sending plates and cups shattering against the wall. Still blind with rage, he staggered to the bed and braced both hands on the bedpost. He leaned his head against it, gripping the wood so hard that his fingers hurt, fighting an internal battle to stop the terrible pictures inside his head, the visions of the woman he loved with Emerson Clan, of Windsor being touched and tortured and defiled.
A moment later, he went rigid when Windsor put her arms around his waist. She laid her cheek against the quivering muscles of his back. "I'm so sorry, Stone Kincaid," she whispered softly, her words low with regret. "I have closed my eyes to your pain and have thought only of myself. Forgive me for being blind to your suffering."
Groaning, his eyes shut, Stone turned and crushed her against him. "What happened to you is my fault. I did it to you," he muttered, his voice rough. "Oh, God, Windsor, I'll never get over letting him hurt you."
"I blame you for nothing," she said in a soft voice. "You came for me when I had given up hope. You brought me here and took care of me. I love you."