Midnight Rider (23 page)

“You've made your point, de la Guerra.” Uncle Fletcher met his hard gaze squarely. “Is there going to be a wedding or not?”

A slight nod of his head. “But of course. That is why we are here, is it not?”

Carly said nothing as he reached out and took her hand, his grip as hard as his eyes and totally unrelenting.

“I-I was hoping I might speak to you first,” Carly said. “There are things I need to explain.”

“There will be time for talk later. We have kept the priest waiting long enough.”

Carly didn't mention it was he who had been late. Gauging the black mood he was in, she thought it best to say nothing at all.

The ceremony was a brief one, not the High Mass spoken at the altar, an act of celebration in front of friends and family as Ramon would have wanted if his bride had been a woman of his choosing.

For the first time since all this had happened, a niggle of guilt crept down her spine. She hadn't been fair to Ramon. Then again, he hadn't been fair to her the night of the raid, when he had dragged her off on his horse and forced her to march through the mountains.

Carly straightened her spine. To hell with Ramon. In the end things would work out. In the meantime, she would just ignore him.

Staring straight ahead, she let him take her hand, heard his soft vows of marriage, repeated the words herself. He slid something onto her finger. She looked down to see a heavy gold ring, blood red stones surrounding the de la Guerra crest. Then all too soon the ceremony ended.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” the priest said, “I pronounce that you are man and wife. You may kiss your bride, Don Ramon.”

A cynical smile curled his lips. He pulled her hard against him and covered her mouth with a hot, steamy kiss. Carly gasped at the cruel invasion of his tongue, at the anger that shuddered through his tall lean body.

Dear God, he was madder than she thought. He released her so suddenly she had to grip his shoulders to keep herself from falling. “Ramon, please, if we could only have a moment to speak.”

Hard brown eyes bored into her. “The afternoon grows late. A storm threatens and it will be dark before we reach home. There will be time to talk once we arrive at Las Almas.”

“But—”

Taking her arm, he thanked the priest for his service, dropped some coins into the offering box, and started down the aisle toward the wide double doors, Carly running along beside him. Pedro Sanchez followed in their wake, escorting the two older women, his craggy face creased with lines of worry.

Her uncle strode along at the rear, exiting the doors and coming to a stop when he reached Ramon's carriage. He took her hand and gave it a surprisingly gentle squeeze.

“Good-bye, my dear.” He stared at the stone-faced don. “I hope to God you know what you're doing.”

So did she. Dear Lord, she hadn't counted on any of this. “I-I'll be fine.” Impulsively, she reached over and hugged him. “I'm sorry it turned out this way.”

He faltered a moment at the unexpected gesture. “My fault,” he muttered gruffly. “Damn, but I wish you had let me guide you in this.”

Carly just nodded. Right now she wished she had. Even marriage to Vincent seemed preferable to the Spaniard's mounting fury.

She glanced in his direction, watched him help his aging mother and aunt climb aboard the once-grand carriage. Now a faded, weathered black, its red leather seats were spider-webbed with cracks of age and the floorboards creaked beneath the old women's weight. Standing a few feet away, Pedro Sanchez came toward her, holding his hat in his hands.

“I wish only the best for you,” he said gravely.

“He's so angry, Pedro. If he would just let me explain—”

His callused hand came up to her cheek. “You have suffered his temper before,
pequeña.
You should not have done this thing.” He looked over at Ramon, took in his angry features and released a weary breath. “Then again, perhaps God has had a hand in this and in the end, it will all turn out as He has planned.”

“It isn't as it seems, Pedro. If he would only listen.”

The old vaquero just nodded. “In time, his temper will cool. You will have your chance to explain.” But he didn't really look as if it would matter.

Carly felt a churning in her stomach. She had underestimated Ramon when she had first met him. She prayed she hadn't done it again.

The women spoke little on the ride back to Rancho Las Almas, just a cursory welcome to the family and best wishes on her marriage. Ramon spoke not at all. Pedro rode beside them on his high-spirited dapple gray stallion. By the time they reached Ramon's small rancho, a light rain pattered on the roof of the carriage, and darkness hid the burgeoning clouds. Still there was enough light to see it, nestled in a grove of sycamores, a bubbling, willow-lined creek meandering off to one side. The buildings were mostly of adobe: a barn, an outdoor kitchen, a smoke house, and several sturdy corrals.

“I hope you are not disappointed,” Ramon said coolly, reaching up to lift her down. “There are only five hundred acres—not the twenty thousand of Rancho del Robles. But I suppose in time you will get used to it.”

“It's lovely here, Ramon.” Unwilling to endure his condemning expression, she glanced away from him toward the two old women who had made no move to leave the carriage.

“Pedro will take care of them,” he said. The aging vaquero had dismounted from the stallion and tied his horse behind the carriage. As Sanchez took his place in the driver's seat, Ramon's lips parted in a chilling half smile.

“My mother and aunt will be staying with friends for the next few days … so the newly married couple can get to know each other.”

A queasy ripple slid into Carly's stomach. This had gone far enough. Beyond far enough. “We have to talk, Ramon. This won't wait a moment longer.”

A sleek black brow arched up, followed by a slight curl of his lips. “As you wish …
mi amor.
”

“And damnit, Ramon, please stop calling me that!”

For the first time his look held something other than fury, then it was gone. “Come. We will speak inside the house.”

Thank God.
Her limbs went weak with relief. At last they could talk things over, straighten things out. She let him lead her inside the small adobe dwelling, which was warmed by a fire and lit with soft oil lamps. The smell of burning cedar drifted toward them from the hearth, and a light repast of bread, cold meats, and cheeses sat beside a flagon of wine on the table in front of the sofa.

Ramon closed the door, which shut with a thud of finality that set Carly's nerves on edge even more. The minute he turned to face her, she started talking, the words tumbling out as fast as she could force them past her lips.

“I know you're angry, Ramon, and I don't blame you. I-I had hoped we could talk about this the night of the
fandango,
but unfortunately we didn't get the chance. I'm sorry for what has occurred, but I had to do what I did. I wasn't about to marry that … that peabrain, Vincent Bannister—I don't care how much money his family has. And after what he did to me in the barn, I had to marry someone. Surely you can see that. I would have been ruined. This way—in time—it will all be forgotten. We can get an annulment and you can marry whomever you wish. My reputation will of course be somewhat tarnished, but it won't be completely destroyed. I'm hoping my uncle will take me back, that by then he'll have realized he can't force me to do his bidding. If I can't go back to del Robles, then I'll do something else. I can go to San Francisco. There's bound to be some sort of work there, even for a woman.” She glanced up, her face blushing a bit. “Respectable work, I mean. I'm very resilient. I can take care of myself. I've done it—”

She broke off then. She had almost told him she had taken in laundry in the mine patch. Good heavens, she couldn't possibly tell him
that.

“You are finished?”

“Yes … well, I suppose I am. Except to tell you how sorry I am to involve you in all of this and to say that I really appreciate your help … grudgingly given as it may be.”

“Now you are finished?”

Why was he still so angry? “You understand what it is I'm trying to say?”

A subtle turbulence moved across his features, shifted in the depths of his eyes. “You are saying you do not mean to honor the marriage. That this was only a means to rid yourself of Bannister.”

“Of course. I'll be free of Vincent and in time, you'll be free of me. I'll go back to my uncle, or get a job in the—”

He gripped her shoulders and jerked her against his chest. “I think it is you who does not understand.”

“What … what are talking about?”

“You have had your say, now I will have mine. What I am telling
you
is that we are married. I have taken you for my wife in front of God and a priest. I have given my solemn word and I do not mean to break it. And neither …
querida
 … will you.”

For the longest time, Carly just stared at him. “You—you can't be serious. We have to get an annulment. You don't want to marry me. You want a Spanish wife. You want your children to be Spanish. You've taken a vow, promised your family and friends.”

A corner of his mouth curved up, but his smile was far from pleasant. “
Si, chica.
I believe I made that clear.”

“Then why can't we simply—”

“I have told you why. Because we have spoken the vows. Because we have pledged ourselves before the sacred altar in the church.”

“But—”

His face grew harder still, cutting off her words. “Our bedroom is there.” He pointed out to the patio to a heavy oaken door opening off the central courtyard. “Go. Make yourself ready. Prepare yourself to accept your husband.”

Carly's mouth went dry. She stared into Ramon's dark features. “You can't mean to … you can't possibly expect me to—to—”

“I expect you to do exactly what you have pledged to do in the Holy Mother church. Now go!”

Carly bit hard on her trembling lip, a cry of stark terror lodged in her throat. This wasn't Ramon. This was the cruel, ruthless man she had known on her journey through the mountains. This man was the Spanish Dragon.

It took every ounce of her courage to lift her head and walk from the room with at least a semblance of dignity. Moving as if her legs were made of wood, she headed out the door leading onto the courtyard, then turned down the covered hallway that lead to the door Ramon had shown her.

Lifting the heavy wrought-iron latch with trembling hands, she swung it open and stepped into the lamp-lit interior. The room was small and neat and reminded her a little of Ramon's room in the simple adobe cabin in the mountains, except the furniture was finer, dark carved pieces from Spain. There was very little of it, just a heavy bureau with a mirror on top, a large carved armoire, a night stand, and an overstuffed horsehair-covered chair.

A pair of boots, fashioned of fine black leather, sat neatly beside the bed, silver spurs with big Spanish rowels strapped to the heels. One of his flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hats hung on the back of the door by a long, finely braided length of leather.

Carly moved farther into the room toward the bed, her heart thudding dully. A beautiful white silk nightgown, embroidered with snowy white flowers across the yoke, had been carefully laid atop the quilt, among the fragrant pink petals of a rose. Seeing it made her stomach tighten, and suddenly she felt dizzy. Dear God, everyone believed this marriage was real!

Ramon believed it. That was the reason he was so angry. He didn't want her for his wife, yet she had forced him to wed her, heedless of his feelings, thinking only of herself. She had thought he would understand, that he would be willing to help her.

Instead of a dandy like Vincent, she had a husband who despised her for ruining his life.

Carly pressed a hand against her lips to hold back her tears but the ache of them scalded her throat. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't! She hadn't broken down when he had marched her through the mountains, she wouldn't allow herself to do it now. But dear Lord, she was frightened.

She remembered his cruelty the night of the raid, how cold and heartless he once was. She knew little of what occurred between a man and a woman—she was terrified to think what Ramon might do to her in his anger.

She lifted the beautiful white silk nightgown with trembling fingers, felt the coolness of the fabric as it slid through her hands. Then a faint knock sounded, jerking her attention in that direction. It was a timid knock, she realized, definitely not Ramon.

Forcing her feet to move, she crossed the room, and pulled open the heavy wooden door. A small, slightly bent Indian woman stood in the opening. She smiled, creasing her weathered face as she walked in.

“
Buenas noches,
Senora de la Guerra. My name is Blue Blanket. Don Ramon sent me to help you prepare for bed.”

Just the word
bed
made the heat roar into her cheeks. Her insides knotted and her palms went damp. She pressed them against her gray silk skirt to keep them from shaking so badly. Fighting a sudden urge to flee, she glanced toward the window. Running would be futile; she had no money and no place to go. She wouldn't even know how to get there if she did. Besides, she had brought this on herself, set this whole crazy plan into motion. There was no hope for it now but to face what she had done.

“Thank you, Blue Blanket,” she said softly.

“You may call me Blue. That will be enough.”

Sick with dread, her body taut with nerves, Carly let the woman unfasten the row of buttons down the back of her pearl gray day dress. Blue helped her out of it and out of her layers of petticoats, then untied and removed her corset. At the woman's gentle urging, she pulled off her chemise and stepped out of her pantalets, then stood stiffly as the stoop-shouldered old Indian slid the white silk gown over her head. Blue took down Carly's hair and carefully ran a bristle brush through it, then the old woman's mouth pulled into a smile that showed gums full of missing teeth.