Chapter Nine #2
“Ramon!” She screamed the warning just in time.
He caught the bandit’s knife hand, they struggled, and for a moment, Carly feared the heavier man might win.
She raced across the clearing and grabbed the heavy length of iron, then turned just in time to see Ramon sink the thin blade deep into Villegas’s massive chest.
The man’s big arms slowly fell away but his eyes no longer moved, just stared sightlessly toward the sky, his mouth gaping open like a dark, bloody hole.
Ramon dropped the knife and came up off him, then turned to see Carly gripping the candlestick high above her shoulders, staring at Villegas and still prepared to swing.
“You can put down your weapon, chica,” he said softly. “The man is dead. He cannot hurt you now.”
She fingered the metal, finally let go, and the heavy iron slipped from her hands, landing with a thud in the powdery dust at her feet.
Tears filled her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks.
She saw Ramon’s grim features, saw his graceful strides as he came toward her, then she was crushed against his solid chest.
“Do not cry,” he whispered. “Ramon is here now.”
She only sobbed harder. “I’m not crying,” she said. “I never cry.”
His long fingers sifted through her hair, cradling her head against his shoulder.
“It is all right, querida. There are times we all need to cry.” His hand stroked her back, soothing her gently.
He whispered soft, encouraging words, but she could barely hear them.
Still, they sounded sweet, his voice so gentle, so achingly beautiful.
She had heard such soft sweet words before.
Somewhere … she wished she could recall.
She glanced up at him through tear-damp lashes, and noticed for the first time that his eyes were not just brown, but ringed with flecks of gold.
“Please, Ramon,” she whispered brokenly, “please don’t be angry. I had to do it. I had to.”
“It is not your fault that Villegas—” He held her away from him, his dark eyes fixed on her face. “You went with him willingly? You were trying to escape?”
A moment of unease slid through her. He hadn’t known she was running away. Dear God, what would he do? “I-I had to go. I … please … try to understand.”
He pulled her back against him, circled her tightly in his arms. “I understand, Cara. I see that this is one more thing for which I am to blame.” He gently tilted her head back, his slim dark fingers lightly touching the bruise on her cheek.
Then he kissed her. A feather soft kiss that said how sorry he was and for some strange reason made her want to cry again.
Then he was lifting her into his arms and striding off toward the trees where he had tied his horse.
“I was so frightened,” she said, nestling her head against his shoulder. Beneath her cheek, hard muscle bunched with each of his long-legged strides. “If you hadn’t come when you did—”
Ramon flashed one of his beautiful smiles.
“I saw how frightened you were, chica. You hit him so hard, you almost took off his head.” He carried her to the place beneath a thick-leafed sycamore near where his stallion grazed, set her gently on her feet.
“We will find a place to camp for the night. In the morning we will go home.”
Carly fought a fresh rush of tears. She hated the thought of returning to Llano Mirada.
But if it hadn’t been for Ramon, her fate would have been far worse.
She glanced up at the tall, handsome Spaniard.
He was more man than she had ever known, stronger, braver, more beautiful.
And gentle. She never would have believed he could be so gentle.
The notion made something squeeze inside her heart.
“You are feeling better?”
“Yes,” she said, but still he held her and neither of them moved. He stood so close she could see his heartbeat throbbing beside a muscle at the base of his throat. Her fingers pressed lightly against his chest, which rose and fell with his breathing.
His hand came up to her cheek, brushed the hair back from her temple.
“Finding you gone … I was the one who was frightened. I could not bear the thought that you might be hurt.” Through the blur of her tears, the gold in his eyes seemed to shimmer.
He stared into her face as if his gaze could touch her soul.
Moments passed. She was certain he meant to kiss her.
Then a long weary breath escaped and he turned and walked slowly away.
Ramon crossed the clearing trying not to think of Carly and what had nearly occurred.
Instead he gathered Viento’s reins, led the stallion away from where he grazed, and returned to the clearing.
Resting his hands on Carly’s waist, he lifted her up on his saddle, setting her astride the horse, then with brisk, deliberate movements, swung himself up behind her, encircling her in his arms. He could still feel her trembling, still feel the tiny shivers running through her small body. His own heart hammered dully.
He had never been so fearful, so close to losing control, never felt such overwhelming anger as the moment he had seen her in the clearing with Villegas.
He’d forced himself to wait, take the time he needed to work himself into position.
Cisco stood so close to Carly he couldn’t chance a shot, and somehow he had needed to end the man’s life with his own hands.
It was a feeling he had never experienced. He hoped he never would again.
Holding her protectively against him, he rode back to the clearing to gather the other horse’s reins, then headed deeper into the woods. He wouldn’t go far. In the morning, he would return to bury Cisco’s body—if the wolves didn’t get to him first.
Ramon reached down to smooth Carly’s silky copper hair. She was nearly asleep, he saw, exhausted by the grueling journey and the bandit’s brutal assault, her small head nestled against his shoulder.
She was a virgin, she had said, and Ramon did not doubt it.
It pleased him that no other man had touched her, but it angered him too, for he knew he could not be the one to claim her.
He would not hurt her again, and that is all that could happen.
Carly needed a husband, and Ramon was determined his children would be born of Spanish blood.
He smiled to think of the fight she had given Villegas. She was tough, this little gringa. A fighter. She deserved her freedom.
He wished more than ever that he could let her go.
* * *
“Why do you do it, Ramon?” They were sitting beneath a huge black oak on a ridge overlooking a small pleasant valley.
The sun sat low on the western horizon, its bright yellow rays lighting the golden grasses, dry mustard, and wild oats.
An eagle soared above them and quail scattered like seeds on the wind as Ramon tossed a pebble into the center of the covey.
“We fight for the return of our lands,” he said. “It is as simple as that.” They had been traveling slowly. Ramon must have guessed how tired she was, how her muscles ached from the newness of riding for so long.
“You’re breaking the law. That makes all of you outlaws.” For the first time since the night of the raid, she had begun to consider what the future would hold for Ramon and the families in the stronghold. She wouldn’t have thought it could happen, but she was worried about him.
“To our way of thinking, we are not outlaws. We are just men trying to regain what is rightfully ours.”
“People often make misjudgments, invest unwisely. That does not mean they’ve been treated unfairly.”
“The government caused us to lose our land.”
“How? I can’t imagine they would purposely do something like that.” If only she could make him see how futile his efforts were, perhaps he would stop his raiding. Then he would be safe.
She looked at him, saw a muscle clamp in his jaw.
“You do not think so? Perhaps it was not done on purpose; there is no way to know for sure. Three years ago, your government passed a number of sweeping reforms. They were supposed to settle land disputes, to ease the tension between Mexican Californios—men who had just lost a war to the gringos—and immigrant Americanos. But the Californios were not prepared to deal with American law.”
He stared out over the valley, his painful memories etched in the lines of his face. The quail began to cluster again, to peck at the loose seeds and berries scattered across the fertile soil but another stone shooed them away.
“Go on,” Carly urged gently. “I’d really like to know what happened.”
Ramon sighed into the darkness. “The Californios had lived on the land for so long they took their ownership for granted. Their disenos—maps showing the boundaries of their grants—were often missing. The deeds that did exist were contested by the gringos. The grants were old, the boundaries marked by vague, indiscernible descriptions: streams that had long ago changed course, two leagues north to a skull’s head on a rock, a right angle westward to the fork in a bent oak tree, that sort of thing. ”
“I see.”
“Then the vultures swept in. Men like your uncle. They schemed and plotted with other gringos, found ways to steal our lands.”
Carly tensed, the back of her blouse rustling against the bark of the oak.
“My uncle? Surely you don’t believe he’d be involved in something like that.
My uncle’s a highly respected member of the community.
It’s obvious you dislike him. What I’ve never understood is why?
What could he possibly have done to you? ”
He looked at her strangely. “You do not know? Your uncle never told you?”
“Told me what?”
“That before he came, Rancho del Robles belonged to the de la Guerras. Your uncle stole our land.”
The breath seemed to whoosh from her lungs. It couldn’t be true. Ramon was lying. Carly stiffened even more. “You can’t expect me to believe that. My uncle is not that kind of man.”