Night of the Condor (8 page)

Leigh moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. 'I—I left my tent and sleeping-bag back at my campsite when I found the mule had gone. Could someone fetch them, please?'

'No, someone could not,' he said mockingly. 'Even if they were still there, which is doubtful in the extreme.' His smile widened unpleasantly. 'You'll have to share my tent, Miss Frazier—if necessary. Still sure you want to come along?'

'Of course.' Bravado sharpened her tone. 'Although if I have a choice of animal, I'd prefer to sleep with the mule.'

He gave her an enigmatic look as he turned to leave. 'I'll try and remember.'

When he had gone, Leigh re-fastened her shirt. She had been too upset, shaking too much to make a reasonable job of it the first time around.

So—she was going to Atayahuanco, but she was unable to raise any sense of jubilation. If she was honest, her stomach was already churning at the prospect. It couldn't be that far away, but she might have to spend one, or even two nights alone with him.

Leigh shuddered. Well, she would see him in hell before she shared a tent with him. The blankets on the bed looked handwoven. Maybe this Maria had some spare ones she could sell, and Leigh could make herself a cocoon of them. A couple of nights under the stars wouldn't hurt her, she assured herself. The air might even help to rid her of the last, lingering traces of nausea and dizziness.

Or she might get pneumonia, she thought, her mouth quirking wryly, as she sat down on the edge of the bed, aware that her legs were still shaking. But anything would be better than sleeping in any kind of proximity to a man like Rourke Martinez.

Unwillingly she found herself remembering a different bed in a very different room, the weight of his body against hers, the heat of his mouth, the stroke of his hand against her naked skin.

Impatiently, she shook herself. Was she crazy? Those were things she shouldn't want to—didn't want to recall. So why did these particular memories remain so vividly, degradingly potent?

She asked herself the question, but could find no answer.

José and Maria were younger than she had imagined, and rather shy, but they warmed visibly at Leigh's lavish praise for the baby son, who was obviously their pride and joy. Their house was basic in the extreme, and it was clear that they took no more than a subsistence living from their land, but baby Juan seemed well enough fed, and entirely contented.

Leigh managed to do a deal with Maria for some blankets. She let the girl think she wanted them as souvenirs, thankful that the language barrier prevented any detailed explanations. She meekly accepted another dose of coca leaf tea, and by evening felt well enough to sit down and eat a plentiful bowlful of the savoury brown stew which had been simmering for most of the day on Maria's wood stove. It had a flavour all its own, and she couldn't recognise many of the seasonings which had been used, but she was hungry after her prolonged rest, and ate every scrap put in front of her.

That night she was slightly dismayed to find that the bedroom was used communally by the entire household, including some of the chickens, but aware of Rourke's sardonic gaze, she made no comment, nor gave any hint that she found the situation unusual in any way.

In the morning, Maria beamingly served them with a fried egg apiece, as well as freshly made bread rolls and sweet milky coffee.

Leigh took her time over her breakfast, then rolled up her blankets into a neat bundle, and went out to where Rourke was re-loading the mule. Now that she took a good look, she could see it in no way resembled Rosita. It looked well nourished with a healthy coat, and infinitely more amiable than Rosita had ever done, and it made Leigh squirm to remember how much she had paid for her. A halting conversation with José the previous evening had revealed that in spite of the waiter's assurances, Pablo Ortega had not been an honest man, but had rooked her abominably. José, and Maria to whom Rourke had told the story in their own language, had both found it highly amusing, but although Leigh had gone along with the joke, she had been privately seething.

'Can the mule carry these?' She handed the bundle to him, and he nodded briefly, without commenting. On her way back into the house, she stopped to look at the row of hutches which stood against one outside wall, and admire the plump guinea pigs they contained. As well as the feathered livestock, José and Maria kept a couple of dogs as big as Alsatians, which were clearly watchdogs, so the presence of the guinea-pigs charmed her, and she lingered.

'Aren't they sweet?' she said as Rourke came to stand beside her. 'It's incredible that people as poor as José and Maria can afford to keep pets.'

'They can't,' he said drily. 'What do you think was in that stew you enjoyed so much last night?'

The world tilted suddenly, and she felt cold sweat break out on her forehead as her
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-outraged stomach threatened once more to heave up its contents.

Rourke Martinez added with unholy joy, 'I'm sorry if it destroys any illusions.'

It was his tone which cured her. He was waiting, she realised, for her to throw up, or faint, or have hysterics. Well, he was going to be disappointed!

By sheer force of will, she dragged herself together. The world stopped spinning, and her stomach quietened a little. She even managed a smile. 'I had no illusions to begin with.'

She wondered if it was the dawning of a reluctant admiration she saw in his eyes before he turned away, but decided it couldn't have been. Not that she wanted his damned admiration anyway, she reminded herself hurriedly. And she might well end this trip a vegetarian.

They'd been walking about an hour when Leigh asked, 'How far is it to Atayahuanco?'

'Far enough.' His glance slanted mockingly at her. 'Want to quit already?'

'Of course not,' she disclaimed indignantly, but it wasn't altogether true. He set a good pace, and her feet were aching. Also it had been downhill all the way, into a deep valley, and the further they descended the warmer it was getting. What it would be like at noon, Leigh shuddered to think. She wanted to rest, but would have bitten out her tongue sooner than ask. She was sure the speed they were travelling at was deliberate, designed to wear her down—and out.

She tried to take her mind off her sore muscles and potential blisters by taking an intelligent interest in what she saw around her. The valley floor was cultivated extensively, with fields of maize interspersed with reluctant pasture land. Someone must work this land, yet she could see no sign of any settlements.

She would have liked to ask Rourke about it. There were a thousand questions bubbling in her mind already, but it seemed safer to maintain the curt silence he had initiated since they set out. The situation was fraught enough without her giving him the impression she was trying to engage his interest, she decided with an inward grimace. And she hadn't got a straight answer anyway to the one question she had posed.

When eventually he did call a halt, she had to restrain herself from giving a faint cheer. They had reached the valley floor by that time, and had followed the stream which meandered there back to the point where it burst out of the rock in a narrow, icy torrent.

Leigh sank down thankfully on to the grass, leaning back against a convenient boulder. She wanted badly to rip off the offending boots and bathe her throbbing feet in the stream, but she didn't dare. Her shirt was sticking to her, and her smart jeans made her feel as if she was encased in cardboard.

Her companion on the other hand looked cool and relaxed, totally untroubled either by the climate or the distance they had covered.

Leigh watched him through her lashes as he rummaged in a pack, and produced some of Maria's bread cakes and a couple of tin mugs.

'Lunch,' he said, handing her a share of the bread, and indicating the crystal gush of the water. 'I'm sorry there's no caviare and champagne.' A pause. 'Or stew.'

Her stomach shuddered, but her face, she hoped, gave no hint of it. She said, 'You really think I'm a lightweight, don't you?'

'On the contrary, I hope you're not, because this time I think you've bitten off more than you can chew.'

He thought she was going to crack up, plead to be taken back to civilisation in the end, she thought.

She took a bite of bread. 'I'm tougher than I look.'

'You'll need to be,' he said shortly.

'Is that a threat, or simply a warning?'

'Read it how you like.'

The terseness in his voice needled her, but on the whole it was preferable to the thinly veiled sensuality with which he had treated her the previous day. Clearly that had been just another ploy to persuade her to abandon the trip, like that cynical pass he had made back in Lima, Leigh thought, almost grinding her teeth at the discomforting memory. Rourke Martinez didn't desire her, and never had. To him, she was nothing more than a—a pampered nuisance.

A perverse idea prodded at her consciousness—an urge to change his attitude—make him look at her in a different light. It would be interesting, to say the least, to see if she could make him regret the way he had treated her. Maybe even make him suffer a little.

He deserved to suffer, she thought broodingly, after all the rotten things he had done to prevent her going in search of Evan. In fact, he and her father made a fine pair.

She chewed vindictively at a crust. Had she been right about that? Had Justin Frazier's long arm reached out from England and touched her here? Had Rourke Martinez been ordered to see that she returned home, suitably penitent?

The more she thought about it, the more utterly likely it seemed.

She watched Rourke Martinez covertly, as he replaced the mugs in the pack and untied the mule, aware of an odd disappointment as her eyes lingered on the firm arrogant lines of his mouth and jaw. No Inca lord after all, or tiger either. Just another of her father's puppets.

And what a fool she had been not to realise earlier that he wouldn't have dared behave to her as he had done without her father's sanction.

The urge to get back at him hardened into resolve within her.

Now I know the name of the game, she thought, I can change the rules a little. A small, vengeful smile curved her mouth.

'Ready?' His shadow fell across her.

She looked up at him, letting her smile widen into gaiety and deliberate charm.

'Ready for anything,' she assured him lightly. As she got to her feet, she stretched, sliding her hands over her slim hips and flanks as she did so.

She saw him register the movement, the thrust of her breasts under her shirt, then turn away abruptly, and she could have laughed out loud.

Now, my dear Doctor Martinez, she addressed him silently as they began to move up the valley. Let's see who'll have the more interesting trip!

By the time they made camp that night, Leigh's smile was wearing a bit thin. She was exhausted, and her right foot was hurting badly enough to prompt her to limp when she knew Rourke wasn't glancing in her direction. She didn't want a campsite. She wanted a hot tub, and a proper bed with clean sheets to collapse into.

She had suggested tentatively at one point that she might ride the mule, but he had looked at her with icy derision.