Chapter Five #2
Madre de Dios, he had never meant for this to happen! If only he hadn’t been so caught up in his grief. If only he had been able to think, been able to block the pain.
If only he had left her at Rancho del Robles.
His heart unbearably heavy, weary clear to his bones, Ramon sat forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. Lacing his long, dark fingers together, he lowered his forehead against his hands and softly began to pray.
* * *
Someone was calling her. Carly could barely hear the quietly spoken words but they were sweet and plaintive, the sound incredibly beautiful.
The voice was deep, husky, melodious. It called to the Virgin Mary, it called to Saint John, it called to the heavenly angels.
Please, the soft voice said, let the little one live.
She wet her dry lips and stirred, drawn to the beauty of the voice, the sensual rhythm of the words.
The language was Spanish, she realized vaguely, the deep sensuous vibrations rolling through her in soft caressing waves.
It moved something inside her, made her want to open her eyes, to see where the silvery, lyrical phrases came from.
She listened to the rich male cadence, demanding one moment, pleading the next, its masculine timbre a balm to her weary soul. She wanted to see the face behind such a voice, to see if it could be nearly as achingly beautiful.
Rousing herself, she opened her eyes to see a black-haired man praying softly beside the bed.
His face was all that she had envisioned: perfect winged black brows, slim straight nose, high carved cheekbones, a strong jaw, and sensuous lips.
Double rows of thick black lashes swept the skin beneath his tightly closed eyes.
His head hung forward, his hair falling over his brow, and there were tears on his cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” she said in his same soft language. “You’re … too beautiful … to cry.”
His head snapped up. For a moment he said nothing. Then the Spanish rolled out, so rapid she didn’t catch the words, but his wide bright smile made her smile at him in return.
“Chica,” he said softly. “At last you have returned to us.”
She studied him for long moments more, mesmerized by the warmth and strength in his face. “I’m … so tired,” she whispered, wetting her lips as she gazed up at him. “And I’m hungry. Could I please have something to eat?”
He stood up from his chair, tall and lean and broad-shouldered. “Si, of course you can. I will see to it myself.” He felt her forehead, breathed a sigh of relief, then reached over and squeezed her hand. “Do not move. I promise I will only be gone for a moment.”
Smiling, she snuggled down into the covers. She was glad the man was there to watch over her. When she woke up again, he was certain to have something good to fill her empty stomach.
* * *
By the time Ramon returned with a bowl of warm broth, Caralee McConnell was once more asleep. But the fever had broken. His prayers had been answered. He felt sure the girl would live.
Relief made him suddenly weary. He set the tray of food down on the dresser, settled himself in the chair and allowed himself to sleep for a while, until Pedro knocked on the door.
Dawn grayed the windows. The chill of night still hovered in the room.
He got up from the chair and stretched his aching muscles, then knelt to freshen the low-burning fire.
“Her fever has broken,” he said as his friend walked in. “I think she is going to be fine.”
Pedro crossed himself. “Thank the Blessed Virgin.”
“I already did,” Ramon said with a grin, the first he had allowed himself in over a week.
Pedro just sighed. “I bring news, Ramon.”
“From Alberto?”
“Si. I am afraid you are not going to like it.”
Ramon frowned. “I have not liked much of anything lately. You may as well tell me what it is.”
“The girl … Senorita McConnell, she is not the woman you believed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Alberto’s cousin, Candelaria, she worked as the senorita’s personal maid. She says the girl was warned by her uncle never to speak of her background, but she was so lonely, I suppose she needed a friend. She trusted Candelaria and told her the truth.”
“The truth?” Ramon said.
“Si.”
“And just what is this truth?”
“The girl was not wealthy as we believed. Her father was a poor, ignorant miner. He died of a lung disease when the senorita was only just ten. The girl and her mother took in laundry to earn money for food. Four years ago her mother died of the cholera. Senor Austin is her mother’s brother, her only living relative.
He sent her money, then arranged for a boarding school so she could finish her education and learn the proper refinements.
Candelaria says the senorita wishes to repay him for all he has done.
She obeys him, even when she disagrees. It was he who refused to let her dance with you.
He warned her not to encourage you in any way.
Candelaria said the girl felt very badly about the way she treated you the day you gave her the rose.
Candelaria says it is not in the senorita’s nature to be unkind to others. ”
Ramon felt a deep, hollow sinking in the pit of his stomach. He had made mistakes in his life more than once, but none any worse than this.
“I have wronged her badly.”
“Si, that is true, but at least now you know the truth.”
Ramon began to pace at the foot of the bed. “I will make it up to her. I will find a way—I swear it.”
Behind them the woman stirred. Ramon reached her side just as she opened her eyes.
“You!” she shrieked, her drowsiness instantly gone, the color draining from her pretty face. “What—what are you doing in my bedroom?”
Pedro wisely remained silent and backed out the door.
Ramon smiled softly. “I am afraid this is my bedroom, chica, not yours.”
She blanched as the truth came crashing in. A tremor moved over her small frame and her eyes flashed a moment of fear.
Inwardly, Ramon cursed. “Do not be frightened, nina. I will not hurt you. I give you my word.”
“Your word?” She drew herself up against the headboard, the effort making her weak body tremble. “What value is there in the word of a man like you?”
“More than you might think,” he said softly, “but I do not blame you for having your doubts. In the meantime, I do not wish you to tax yourself. Your illness has been long and difficult. You need time to get well and grow strong. Rest easy, little one. I will have Florentia bring you something to eat.”
The Spaniard left the room and Carly stared after him in amazement.
Shaking with apprehension and the weakness left by her illness, she tried to recall the scene that had just transpired with the don, but already the images seemed fuzzy and out of focus.
His kindness couldn’t have occurred. There was nothing kind about him. Perhaps she had imagined it.
She glanced around the small cozy room, at the bright-colored quilt on the old iron bed, at the hand-sewn carpet on the hard-packed earthen floor. There was a crude oak dresser against one wall, much like the table beside the bed, and a chipped blue porcelain bowl and pitcher sitting atop it.
Carly fought down the uncomfortable thudding of her heart and the knot in her stomach, and tried to piece together what little she knew.
She was in the don’s bedchamber in his small adobe house in the mountains.
A place called Llano Mirada. She had been abducted from her home by El Dragón, a man who blamed her for his brother’s death.
Carly shivered to think of it. Dear God, what would he do?
Her hold grew tighter on the quilt. How many days had she been there?
He said her illness had been long. As weak as she felt, she’d been sick for more than a day or two.
She glanced at the white cotton nightgown she wore, bigger than her own, spotlessly clean and smelling of strong lye soap.
Whose was it? Why had it been given to her?
Who had cared for her—and why had the ruthless don bothered with her care at all?
The room felt suddenly cold and Carly pulled the quilt up to her chin. Whatever his reasons, sooner or later, she was certain to find out. Carly closed her eyes, almost wishing she hadn’t awakened.
* * *
Ramon left the house feeling a lightness in his chest, though he knew it would not last long.
With the girl out of danger, it was time to return to his hacienda.
Already he had waited longer than he should have.
He couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion, stir doubts he might be involved with El Dragón.