It seemed they had traveled for hours when Joaquín stopped at a little house Morgan had never seen before. Joaquín began to dismount in front of the house.
“Joaquín, what are you doing? Seth isn’t here.”
“We must rest the horses, and I, for one, am very thirsty.”
It was very dark now, but she could see the look of determination on Joaquín’s handsome face.
The interior of the house was unexpected. There were mirrors everywhere, and the walls were covered with crimson silk. In front was a tiny living room and then an enormous bedroom. The furniture was gold and white, while the bed was draped in a sheer version of the crimson silk.
“What is this place, Joaquín?”
“Can’t you guess?” She turned quickly at the peculiar tone in his voice. His eyes were hard. He stared openly at her body. Involuntarily, her hand went to cover her breasts.
“Joaquín, why are you looking at me like that?”
He moved closer to her and took her hand, kissing it. “I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you. That husband of yours did not even see your beauty. I was glad when I saw how the two of you fought constantly and glad when he did not spend the night with you in the wagon.”
She backed away from him, beginning to be very frightened. “But, Joaquín, I love Seth.”
“Seth, Seth, Seth! That is what I hear from too many women—my own sister, and that cow of a woman, Marilyn Wilson. Do you think that one must be as big as Colter to be a man? I assure you, it is not so. Come, little Morgan, and I will show you tenderness. I will show you the fine art of lovemaking, not the crudeness of these Americans.”
“Joaquín, I’d like to go now.” She started firmly for the door.
“Oh, no.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him, clasping her body close to his. “I’ve waited a long time for this.” His lips on hers made her shudder. They were too soft, too moist. They didn’t make her feel as Seth’s lips did.
She twisted in his arms, pulling her mouth from his. “No, Joaquín.” His lips moved down her throat leaving a damp trail, like a snail.
“No!” She fairly screamed the word and pushed against him with all her might, catching him off guard. He nearly fell. She looked into his eyes, and the hatred she saw there made her realize the danger she was in.
“So, you refuse me. You teased me on the wagon train, yet you meant nothing. You do not use a Montoya and get away with it. Now you will be punished.”
She screamed when he came to her and tied the gag around her mouth. She fought him, but he was surprisingly strong and held her easily.
“Remember this, little one—you have chosen your fate. We could have been such lovers, but now—” He finished tying her hands and then her ankles and tossed her on the bed. “Now that husband of yours will die because of your teasing.” He laughed as he saw Morgan’s eyes widen in horror.
He walked to the doorway. “I will be back in a few hours, and then I have some plans for you.”
After one last searching look at her, he turned abruptly and was gone.
Chapter Eleven
WHEN Seth left the Montoya party, he rode hard for an hour until he realized what he was doing to his horse. He stopped and rested. The first blind rage was gone, and the cool night air helped to clear his head of fury and liquor.
Gradually, he began to remember the way Morgan’s face had lit up when she saw him, the way she had run to him. Damn that Montoya! Seth had played right into his hands, and Joaquín had enjoyed every moment of it.
Morgan, sweet little Morgan. She was so innocent that she probably didn’t even realize what Montoya was like. He had been a fool to leave her there alone. He mounted his horse and started back to the Montoya ranch. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the approaching rider. A shot rang out and the bullet slammed into his shoulder.
Before he could get to his own gun, the rider took it, then grabbed the reins of his horse. Silently, he led Seth back toward the Montoya ranch, blood dripping from his wound, each step increasing his pain.
When Joaquín returned to Morgan a few hours later and removed her gag, she tried to reason with him. He smiled at her, and she wondered why she had never understood the coldness of his smile before.
“It would do no good now to try to save yourself or your husband.”
“What have you done with Seth? Where is he?”
“Ah, sweet little noble Morgan, would you like to save the life of your husband? If you could save his life, what would you do for me?”
Her eyes looked straight into his. “Anything,” she whispered.
“Yes, I believe you would. Too bad Colter had such a woman as you and never realized it. But you can save his life, and very easily, too. All you have to do is write a letter.”
“A letter?” A new fear was growing in her stomach.
“Yes. You see, I have been trying for a long time to get Colter to sell his ranch to me. I thought I had succeeded, but then he brought back a wife. A wife makes a man settle down.”
“Why would you want Seth’s small ranch when yours is so large?”
“A good question, my little pretty one, but your husband’s ranch has the source of water for my ranch. At any time, he could cut off all the water to my home and my cattle.”
“But Seth wouldn’t do that.”
“Who can say? I do not like to trust my fortune to someone else.”
“So, you think Seth will sell the ranch to you if I am gone?”
“Yes. Exactly. But first I plan to make him never want to see the place again. That is important, and that is where your letter comes in.”
The fear inside her increased.
“I want you to write a short note saying that you and I are going away together, that we had planned it for some time, ever since we were on the wagon train together.”
Morgan’s eyes widened in horror. “No,” she whispered. She could not do this. If she ever did find Seth again, he would hate her. Even if she escaped, he wouldn’t want her again. He’d believe the note. Joaquín must know that.
“No? A moment ago you said you’d do anything to save his life. I guess I’ll tell the men to kill him.” He turned toward the door.
“No! I’ll do what you ask. Don’t hurt him. Please.”
“That’s much better. Now I will get a pen and paper.”
Morgan wrote the note with trembling hands. She knew she was writing the end to her marriage. Seth would never want her again.
Quickly, Joaquín took the note from her, retied her hands, and replaced the gag. As he removed the sapphire necklace and earrings, he kissed her neck and she flinched. His eyes hardened, and he raised a hand to strike her.
“No. I will not mar your lovely skin. I have plans for you. I am sure there will be many men who will do more to that lovely body than just strike your cheek.”
Her eyes had gone dead. She didn’t look at him, but held her eyes on the note he carried in his hand.
He left. Morgan felt that her life went with him.
Joaquín’s two men led Seth west, away from the Montoya ranch. The pain in his shoulder had intensified, and the loss of blood was making him weak. Eventually they came to the walls of a crumbling adobe hut. Here the two men dismounted, and painfully Seth did also. It was close to dawn, and the sky was beginning to lighten. He stuffed a handkerchief against the wound to try to stop the blood.
The two men said nothing. They just watched him, pointing a revolver at him continually.
When he saw Montoya riding up in the faint morning light, he used his rapidly draining strength to rush at him.
“Where is she? What have you done with her?”
Roughly, the guards pulled Seth to the ground. One of them kicked him in the ribs. He raised his foot to strike again but Joaquín halted him.
Seth regained his breath and pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the mud wall.
“Such concern for your little wife. Too bad she
does not return that feeling for you. You see, she and I have been planning this, er … meeting … for a long time.”
“I don’t believe you,” Seth’s voice was hoarse. Breathing hurt, and he knew his ribs were cracked.
“Somehow, I knew you wouldn’t. So I brought you a little note from my beloved. Read it.”
Seth winced. He read the note twice. It said very simply that she had always loved Joaquín and that she was leaving with him.
Seth remembered the time on the wagon train when he had seen her kissing Joaquín. Yet he also remembered the four days they had spent in the canyon, and the weeks since then. How could anyone have been such an actress? He had believed she loved him. He crumpled the note.
“I see you sense the truth of her note,” Joaquín sneered. What fools these gringos are, he thought. Colter couldn’t see that the woman lived only for him. She adored him and the dolt was blind to her devotion.
“Now I will take your horse and leave you.”
Seth put his hand to his bleeding shoulder. As he did so, Joaquín noticed a ring on Seth’s little finger. It was surely a woman’s ring.
The three men mounted their horses. When they had ridden a few yards, Joaquín turned, aimed his pistol at Seth’s head, and fired. Seth’s head slumped forward onto his chest.
Joaquín turned to the man on his left. “He has a ring on the little finger of his left hand. Bring it to me.”
When he had the ring, the three of them rode toward the east. After Joaquín had given the two men exact instructions, he rode to the little house where Morgan was.
For hours, she had worked at the rough rope fastenings until her skin was raw and bleeding. The sound of the opening door set her heart pounding.
“Well, little one, I see you are still here.” He removed the gag from her mouth. “It is too bad to have to cover up such a lovely mouth.” He bent to kiss her and frowned when she turned her head away.
He slumped in a chair, ignoring the tight ropes that held her wrists and ankles together. “It’s over,” he sighed.
She turned fear-filled eyes toward him, too afraid to ask what he meant.
“Oh, yes, I have something for you.” He rose and untied the bindings on her wrists. As she rubbed her numb wrists and hands, he held out the ring. Instantly, she knew what Joaquín meant. Her eyes flew to his.
“I believe you recognize the ring? I seem to remember seeing it on your lovely little hand when we were on the wagon train.” He tossed it into her lap and returned to his chair.
Gingerly, she picked up the ring. Her mother had given it to her just before she had died. After she and Seth arrived at the ranch, Jake had taken it into Santa Fe and had it made to fit Seth’s much larger finger. Seth had never taken it off since she had put it on his finger. That Joaquín had the ring meant that Seth had believed her note.
“He believed it,” she whispered, more to herself than to Joaquín.
“More than that, sweet Morgan. It seems that your husband met with an unfortunate accident and is no longer a problem to anyone.”
“Accident?” Morgan was uncomprehending. “Accident! What do you mean? You said if I wrote the note you wouldn’t harm him—you’d let him live.”
“Morgan, you must learn not to trust everyone.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “I couldn’t very well leave him alive when he knew I had taken his wife away, now could I? With the owner of the Colter ranch dead and his new little bride nowhere to be found, it should be easy to obtain his ranch. But even if I didn’t want the ranch, I would have killed Seth Colter.” His eyes gleamed with hatred. “I would like to kill all the Seth Colters.”
Morgan screamed and lunged at him, her fingers curled into claws. She would kill him herself. As her bound feet caught her and made her fall helplessly to the floor, she screamed her rage and cursed him.
“Such language from such a pretty little bird.” He caught her hands behind her. She twisted her head and sank her teeth into his arm. He groaned and hit her across the face, sending her head reeling. He retied her hands and the gag and set her back on the bed.
His teeth clenched as he looked at her. “My men are making arrangements for you now. I will return for one last visit in a few hours.” Then he was gone.
Seth was dead. Joaquín had killed him after all. The world was full of Cat Men and Joaquíns. Even the nearly five precious weeks she had spent with Seth had been marred by his jealousy. Now he was dead, and he had died thinking she had betrayed him.
“That her?” The voice was deep with a heavy accent.
Morgan had lain there for hours, tears soaking the gag. There were no more tears now. She wasn’t even aware of the numbness in her feet or the blood on her wrists. When Joaquín entered, she showed no interest in him or the men with him. He was startled at her expression. It was as if she were dead, she as well as her husband.
When he unfastened her bindings, she remained motionless. “I liked you better when you were raging at me, my love.” She failed to respond and did not even rub her chafed wrists and ankles.
“Trop petite.” The man who had spoken first now made his contempt clear. He was a short man, very stocky, and his clothes were a mixture of rough cottons and animal skins. His hair was matted and reached past his shoulders. There was a gold earring in one ear.
“I do not like them so little. They do not last on the journey to the coast. And these blond ones—it is too much trouble to keep the Indians away from them. They like light hair.” He grabbed a handful of Morgan’s hair and jerked her face up to his. “This one—something has killed her spirit. It will be hard to keep this one from doing herself harm.”
“All right, Jacques, what do you want? More money?”
“She will be a great deal of trouble.”
“Here!” Joaquín thrust some bills into the Frenchman’s calloused hand.
Jacques grabbed Morgan’s hair again, pulling her to her feet. “She must have something else to wear.” With a swift jerk, he tore the red silk down the front.
Joaquín heard his own sharp intake of breath. He took a step forward. Then he stopped himself.
“Skin and bones! This one will be much trouble, but if she survives the trip over the mountains, she will bring a good price at Madame Nicole’s.” He uttered something in a guttural language to a tall, sinewy man who was standing in the doorway. The man was the first Indian Morgan had ever seen. He had on a long tunic, once white, over leather leggings and high moccasins.
Morgan stared unfeelingly at the sight. She had made no effort to cover herself. Now she saw the Indian leave and quickly reappear with a bundle. He tossed it on the bed.
“Get into that!” he ordered Morgan. When she didn’t respond, he slapped her. He thrust the bundle at her. Mutely, she rose and stepped out of her dress, and the Frenchman deftly used his knife to cut the bindings of her corset and the back of her chemise.
Morgan felt as if she were already dead. She paid no attention to Joaquín’s avid interest in her body. Slowly, deliberately, she stepped into the leather shirt and pants. She pulled on moccasins that came to her knees. The clothes were too big for her, and hid her curves.
The group moved outside, and one of the Indians tossed her onto the saddle of a shaggy pony. The Frenchman took the reins of the little horse and led her away. Morgan did not think about where they were taking her.
They rode through the hot New Mexico sun for hours. Morgan’s face was burned, and her back ached from the long hours on the horse. Only once did the Frenchman pass her a canteen of water.
Neither the Indians nor the Frenchman talked, and Morgan was left to dwell on Seth’s death.
The sun was low when they arrived at a large camp. Morgan was vaguely aware of people around her and of dogs barking. She was pulled from her horse and dragged, stumbling, to a crude shelter of sticks and dried grasses—a wickiup.
She fell against the back wall of the hut, the tiredness in her body numbing her to the sharp sticks pressing into her sk
in. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw three other women in the hut. Two were watching her and one huddled in a corner, her face turned away from the others. The oldest of the women left the hut and returned with a dipper of water. Quietly, she held this to Morgan’s lips, cautioning her to drink slowly. Then she spread a heavy blanket on the floor and gently guided Morgan to lie down on it. She covered her with another of the patterned blankets.
“You get some sleep now, honey. They’ll be movin’ tomorrow, and you’ll need your rest.” She stroked Morgan’s forehead, and Morgan was soon asleep.
In the morning Morgan could hardly move for the stiffness in her body, but the woman who had helped her the night before told her she must cooperate or else Jacques would hurt them all. Morgan could not miss the pleading in her eyes.
Unspeaking, she followed the woman’s directions for dismantling the wickiup and fastening the poles onto a travois that was then lashed to a horse. An Indian motioned for her to mount one of the scruffy little ponies.
They traveled in a long column for two days, stopping for only a few hours at night. The woman, continuing to befriend Morgan, rode beside her and urged her to eat the strips of dried meat she offered and to drink the water.
At the end of two days, they made camp again, hastily erecting the crude shelters. As Morgan was lashing some dried grass to the roof of the hut, Jacques stopped beside her.
“My scouts have just returned to tell me that no one is following us. The little Spaniard said he had killed your husband, but I would not trust such a one as him. Eh, ma petite?” She stared at the Frenchman as if seeing him for the first time. He was a short, thick man with a scar across one eyebrow and a belly that hung over his belt. He looked very old, as though every single event in his life had etched a line on his weather-beaten face. He stuck out a dirty hand and caressed Morgan’s breast. Involuntarily, she jumped backwards.
“Ah, so—la petite comes alive. They usually do. You are lucky now. On other trips, I have let my Apache amis take their pleasure of the white women. But they are not gentle and one of the women died. I lose money when one of my women dies. Other women showed up at Madame Nicole’s with Indian babies in their bellies. My old friend does not like this. She says the white men are such silly creatures that they do not like to go where a redskin has gone before.” He cupped Morgan’s chin in his hand and studied her. “Yes, Madame Nicole will like you.” Morgan tried to move her head from his iron grasp, and the Frenchman laughed.