As if he read her thoughts, he stopped the horse, unfastened his canteen, walked back and handed it to her. She held it to herlips, savoring each long cooling drink, but it was all she could do to keep her hands from shaking.
“Llano Mirada is just there,” he said, accepting the canteen and pointing toward the top of a steep ravine. “That is where we are going.”
She followed his line of vision but saw nothing that looked the least bit like a camp. Just oaks and pines and manzanita, and a long rocky canyon leading up to a sheer granite cliff.
“The climb is a difficult one.” His lips twisted cruelly. “If you ask me very nicely, perhaps I will give you a ride.”
The canyon walls towered above her. Beneath her nightgown, her legs shook with fatigue. How could she possibly make such a difficult climb? She was dangerously close to tears, close to the point of breaking. “Go to hell.”
He frowned at her, then glanced back at the steep, rock-strewn canyon with its seemingly non-existent path. For a moment he seemed uncertain. “Your pride will be your undoing, senorita.”
Carly bristled. “And what of yours, Don Ramon?” Desperation drove her to taunt him. She needed her anger to carry her through. “Was it your grand Spanish pride that managed to get your brother killed? Or was it merely your greed?”
Fury blazed in his dark eyes, as hot as the tip of a flame, yet at the same time so cold she felt chilled. He turned his face away, leaving only his stark, elegant profile. Then he set his spurs to the sides of his horse and started up the grade.
They walked for a while. The trail appeared out of nowhere. It was impossible to see, she realized, and behind her the men used branches and leaves to disguise the way they had come. Her tired body sagged with defeat. Her uncle would never find the trail, and even if he did, guards were posted at intervals all along the rocky canyon wall.
Carly stumbled, hot tears burning, springing to life in her eyes. Dear God, why hadn’t she asked the don for help? Why hadn’t she cast aside her pride and let him be the victor he was so determined to be? What did it matter? But somehow she knew that it did. Her pride was all she had left, all that was keeping her from turning into the frightened little girl she was inside. She couldn’t afford to abandon it. She brushed the tears away.
She made it more than halfway up the hill before she tripped and her legs gave way beneath her. She sprawled in the dry parched dirt beneath a thorny manzanita, several sharp barbs digging into the flesh on her leg. One of the vaqueros rode up beside her, dismounted, and carefully helped her back on her feet. He spoke softly in Spanish, words of encouragement, she thought, but with her head still spinning, she couldn’t be sure.
Pedro Sanchez rode past, halting his horse beside that of the don.
“Enough, Ramon! You will let the girl go.”
“No.”
“You must listen to me,hijo.I have known you since you were a boy. Always, I have been as proud of you as if you were my own son. Do not do this thing.”
“Stand away, amigo.”
“I know that you are hurting. I know that it is your grief that blinds you—I beg of you to stop this terrible thing.”
“I said stand away.”
For a moment the old man didn’t move. “Hear me now, Ramon de la Guerra. If you do this, it will be your gravest mistake, and for the first time since I have known you, you will make me feel ashamed.”
The don worked a muscle in his jaw. His gaze went from Sanchez to Carly and a harsh smile curved his lips. “We will ask the girl. If it is her wish to ride, she must only say so and it will be done.” He raked her with those hard brown eyes, the challengeclear in the cruel set of his jaw. “Is it your wish to ride with me, Senorita McConnell?” He was mocking her, baiting her, daring her to defy him. “If it is, you must only just ask and I will see your wish is granted.”
Fresh tears threatened, burning at the back of her eyes.Dear God, don’t let him see.She stared hard at him, hating him for what he was doing, wishing she could wipe that vicious smile from his handsome face.
Wishing she could give in to defeat and say the words he wanted to hear, but knowing she could not, she glanced to the top of the trail. It didn’t look all that far.
“Si,Senorita,” he taunted, as if he read her mind, “Llano Mirada is just there.” He pointed to the rise. “Not far for one so determined. What is it to be?”
“Por Dios,Ramon—”
Carly met his gaze squarely. With the last of her will, she straightened her shoulders. “You are in my way, senor. Lead on or remove the rope and ride off the trail so that I may pass in front of you.”
Something flickered in his bold, dark eyes. He glanced to the old vaquero, who sadly shook his head. For a moment he made no move, then he nudged the big horse forward. They started up the trail at a little slower pace. When he felt a tug on the rope as she stumbled, the don eased back even more. The stallion began to prance, eager to reach his home, but the Spaniard held him firmly in check, insuring a slackness in the line, allowing her to set the pace.
Why? she wondered, when he wanted so badly to break her, to see her grovel at his feet. If she didn’t know better, she would think he wanted her to make it. It was impossible, of course, and yet…
Carly wet her lips. The rope twisted and swung in front of her. The pale blue robe seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.She wore only her white cotton night rail beneath it, grimy now, the small pink bow torn and dangling at the base of her throat. With a show of defiance that marked her desperation, she stripped off the robe and continued up the hill. Sweat broke out on her forehead, trickled into the place between her breasts. Her breathing grew labored, her lungs on fire with each tortured breath. The blisters on her feet seared into her skin, and the top of the rise seemed to move farther away with each of her shaky steps. Still she drove herself on.
The others rode quietly behind her, none of them speaking, watching her with eyes full of pity. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was reaching the top of the hill.
“It is not far now,” said the don, and there was something different in his voice, a gentleness she hadn’t heard since the day he had given her the rose. “Only a few more paces.”