Señora Mejia was the one Samantha would need to talk to, then. How could she manage it if Hank shut her up in a room?
“Don’t I even get dinner before you lock me up?”
Hank chuckled at her sharp tone. “I thought you would like a bath. Then you can come down to eat.”
They were at the top of the stairs. The two rooms were right there, and out of one came a young lad bearing two empty buckets.
“Your bath is ready,” Hank said, thanking the boy before he steered Samantha into the room.
There was ample light from an old lantern. The tub awaiting her was small, but steaming, and there was a fragrance of roses. Samantha smiled. Her favorite scent had been added to the bath. There were clean clothes, too, lying on the narrow bed.
“Are those for me?” Samantha pointed to the white skirt and blouse flounced with delicate lace, and the beautiful mantilla next to them.
“Yes.”
“The señora’s?”
“No, a friend of hers has a daughter your size. The clothes are new. They are yours to keep.”
“You bought them?” He nodded. “And the rose water was your idea, too? My! You were quite busy while we were waiting out in the street. Will you get me someone to help with my bath?”
“I will be happy to help you.”
“Never mind,” she snapped.
He grinned. “Then I will see you downstairs when you are finished.”
He closed the door, leaving her alone. She ran to the window first, to see if it would offer escape, but there was no overhang, and the drop was straight down. There was nothing to do but take her bath and hope that she still might be able to arrange a word with Señora Mejia.
In less than an hour Samantha descended the stairs, feeling much better after the bath. She had washed her hair, too. The lacy skirt and blouse fit well. They were finely made, probably a special gift for the señorita they had been intended for. She hoped the girl would get something just as nice with Hank’s money.
But why had he gone to all the trouble? There were sandals, too, and the mantilla that was draped over her damp hair was of the same delicate white lace that adorned the skirt and blouse. Samantha felt like a young girl on her way to meet a favored caballero. But the only man she was going to meet was Hank.
He was in the cantina with Señora Mejia. The others had gone. They were talking by the fire like old friends. Hank, too, had changed clothes. He was wearing the black suit he had worn when he took her to dinner so long ago, the first time he had kissed her. That was when she had understood she had to stop using him to make Adrien jealous. How utterly idiotic that scheme had been, and look what it had led to!
Hank came forward and took Samantha’s hand. He led her to a table where a tall candle was burning. There were two place settings, as well as a bottle of wine and a basket of fruit. The señora brought bistec guisado, a thick stew, and rice and bread.
“Hank, where are the others?” Samantha asked.
“They have already eaten.”
That was all he said. He poured them both wine. Samantha frowned. She didn’t like this one bit. Why was he being so formal? And why the intimate dinner for two?
Hank noted the frown. “Is something wrong, Sam?”
The questions she wanted to ask would only have amused him, so she stubbornly refused to do so. “No. I was just wondering why you feel safe stopping in this town. All it would take is for me to tell someone here that you’ve kidnapped me.”
“No one here speaks English.” He grinned.
“How would you know?”
“I know all these people, Sam,” he replied. “They used to live on the Hacienda de las Flores.”
Samantha gasped. “Your cousin’s people?”
“Yes. The old ones and the women and children came here to live after the Don was killed and all the young men were taken away from the hacienda. The men who survived the revolution returned to their families here later. There was nothing for them at the hacienda anymore. Your father was there by then, and he had his own hands and even his own house servants. Even the padre here served the Chavez family.”
Samantha was speechless. And she had expected to find help here! No wonder Hank felt safe. These people would all hate her if they knew she was the daughter of the man who kept their patrón’s son from his land.
She flushed, realizing what would have happened if she had asked Señora Mejia to help her.
“Why didn’t you warn me about this?” Samantha demanded bitterly.
Hank pretended bewilderment. “For what? It was not something you needed to know.”
She glared at him but fell silent. She attacked her food angrily, but soon the anger wore away. After her third glass of wine, she became resigned to spending another week or so with Hank, until they reached the border. She couldn’t have him captured here, but there would come a day when he would pay.
“Come, Sam. We will go for a walk now.”
Hank stood up and held out his hand to her, but Samantha shook her head. “I would rather stay here and get drunk.”
She reached for the bottle of wine, but he moved it away. “No. We will walk first. Then you can come back here and drink all you like.”
“But I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she replied sullenly.
“I insist. And that is sufficient reason, is it not?” He grinned.
“Oh!”
She stalked out of the cantina without letting him take her arm, but stopped outside when she was met by total darkness. There was no moon, there were no stars. It was cool and hushed, as though before a storm. There would probably be a storm before the night was over.
“This way, Sam.”
Hank took her elbow and led her to the street. They passed the general store next to the cantina, the blacksmith’s, a few houses. These cast a little light out into the night, and there was more light ahead, where the church towered at the end of the street. Two men stood out in front of it, talking together. The door was open, and candles burned inside.
Samantha let Hank lead her. She was light-headed from the wine. It was a pleasant feeling.
He walked slowly, and she kept pace with him, his grip on her elbow steadying her. He said nothing.
“Are you taking me somewhere in particular, Hank?”
“Sí, casarse.”
Samantha stopped dead, feeling the wind knocked out of her.
“Married? Married! To—you?”
“Hable un poco más bajo.”
“I will not lower my voice!” she stormed, wrenching her arm away from him. “You’re crazy!”
“And you understand Spanish very well,” Hank replied calmly, the slightest grin curling his lips.
Samantha caught her breath. “You were joking? Of all the dirty tricks!” she spat furiously. “To say something like that just to get me to admit I speak Spanish. Yes, I speak it! And you knew that all along, didn’t you?”
“Sí.”
“Well? What difference does it make?”
“None.”
“Then why trick me like that?”
“There was no trick, Sam. What I said was true. We will be married. Tonight. Now, in fact.”
She could only stare at him, the seriousness of his tone telling her he meant it.
“You…you can’t mean it, Hank.”
“But I do, gatita.” He shrugged then. “Lo exigen las circunstancias.”
“What circumstances demand it?”
“The ones you have created. I do not like it any more than you, but you force me to drastic measures with your schemes to ruin my plans.”
“Is this your other alternative?”
“It was. I was against it. Do you think I really want to marry a vixen like you? No, Sam, you and I could never have a true marriage. We could not live together as normal people. One of us would kill the other.”
“Then why?” she cried but then the answer came to her. “You came to this decision at the mountain camp, didn’t you, w
hen Lorenzo attacked you? That’s what calmed him down, isn’t it? You told him you would marry me!”
“Yes. You forced my hand. I like Lorenzo. I did not want to hurt him. Though I had considered marriage to you and rejected it, I reconsidered. And it does solve the problems you have thrown my way. I may not like it, but I do come out ahead because of it.”
Samantha stiffened. “Aren’t you forgetting something—amante?” she said contemptuously. “In order for you to marry me, I have to agree.”
“You will.”
“Not on your life!”
“No, Sam, on your father’s life. If we are not married tonight, Diego will ride for the border. He will find your father and kill him.”
“You…you’re…”
“Determined.”
“—despreciable! Culebra! Tiránico diablo!”
“Sam—”
“Vil pícaro! Pillo! Sucio—”
“Basta ya!” Hank snapped. “We hate each other equally, but we will still be married.”
“But it’s insane!” she protested frantically. “You think you can control me if you are my husband. You won’t! I won’t live with you!”
“I do not expect or want you to,” Hank replied. “I will still return you to your father.”
Samantha quieted. “I’ll divorce you. You will have accomplished nothing.”
“I suggest you wait a month or two—you may be glad to have the title of señora.”
Samantha blushed hotly. “In case I find myself with child? I don’t care. I would still divorce you.”
Hank shrugged. “It will not matter then.”
“Why?”
“Come along.” He ignored the question and caught her wrist. “They are waiting for us.”
Samantha saw who they were. The two men in front of the church were Lorenzo and Inigo.
They reached the church steps all too quickly, Samantha feeling as if she were being led to slaughter. Lorenzo avoided her damning look. She supposed that, to him, raping was unimportant as long as Hank married her. That was supposed to make it all right!
“Todo está arreglado,” he told Hank.
“Good,” Hank replied smoothly. “We will get it over with, then.”
Over with? Yes, Samantha told herself. Get it over with and soon forget it. Marrying Hank Chavez would make no real difference in her life. She was being forced into this. She wouldn’t think of herself as being really married. Just as soon as she was back with her father, safely away from Hank, she would get a divorce. It would be that simple. She would not battle with him now.
It did not take long. In just a few moments a little old padre was speaking sacred words over her, binding her in the eyes of God to Enrique Antonio de Vega y Chavez. She didn’t even listen. The words meant nothing to her. She had to be nudged when it was her turn to speak. She spoke. She agreed. When all was quiet, she knew it was over.
“Dios le bendiga,” the priest said, and Hank kissed her, a short, dutiful brush of the lips that left her cold.
And then Hank was escorting her out of the church, and the priest remarked on what a handsome couple they made. Lorenzo’s reply was, “Se detestan mutuamente.”
Samantha imagined the priest’s face as he heard that she and Hank detested each other. The old man wouldn’t understand. She didn’t understand any of this anymore. She was weary.
But she was married.
Chapter 30
“SAMANTHA CHAVEZ.” The name rolled off Samantha’s tongue experimentally. “Señora Chavez.” She frowned. “I don’t like the name. It’s the hateful name of a hateful man.”
“You are drunk, Sam.”
“So I am.”
She giggled and fell back on the bed, her arms flung wide. A little wine from the bottle she was holding sloshed onto the floor, but she didn’t notice. Hank was staring down at her, shaking his head, his eyes dark, unreadable. It made her giggle again.
He had brought her back to this room directly from the church. She had expected the worst, but he left her there. Two bottles of wine had been placed in the room, and Samantha had quickly finished one, hoping to drown the confusions of this night, to drown what might still happen. She had just started on the other bottle when Hank returned.
She closed her eyes to try and stop the spinning in her head. When she opened them again, several minutes had passed, and Hank was bent over the bed, leaning toward her. She first noticed his bare chest, then started to look lower, but blushed and quickly met his eyes instead. He was smiling at her, and she closed her eyes against it.
“Go ahead, Hank,” Samantha said thickly. “I won’t remember anyway.”
“Remember what?”
“Your raping me again.”
“Rape?” He chided her with a click of his tongue. “We are married now.”
“Ha!” Samantha laughed. “That ceremony you forced me into didn’t change anything. I am no more willing for you to touch me now than I was before.”
“Then relax, chica. I only meant to remove your clothes so you can sleep comfortably.”
“Truly?”
Hank was lifting her to a sitting position and her head went crazy, throbbing, spinning dizzily. She couldn’t focus on Hank. He was a blur, rocking from side to side, making the dizziness worse.
“Will you be still!” she demanded testily.
Hank grinned but said nothing. And as Samantha closed her eyes, her thoughts became coherent. She knew what was happening.
She didn’t delude herself, however. She knew she was drunk. She knew Hank was undressing her. She felt the cool air on her body when she was laid back down on the bed. Even her underclothes were discarded. Then came the tugging, as the bedding was pulled out from under her, and the warmth when she was covered.
But Samantha couldn’t believe that Hank was really going to leave her. After all, she had drunk so much wine in order to prepare herself. She had wanted to be so drunk that she wouldn’t remember anything about her wedding night. Was it for nothing?
The bed was too still.
“Hank? Hank, where are you?” Samantha asked, her voice slurred.
“Right here, querida.”
His voice was by her ear, and she turned to find his face next to hers on the pillow. He slipped an arm under her neck and drew her head over to his shoulder. Good! She knew he had been lying. He wouldn’t let the opportunity pass. She was just too vulnerable.
“Just be…quick,” she mumbled.
Hank laughed. “As my wife, you now deserve my consideration.”
He sounded more as if he were talking to himself than her, and it took several moments for what he said to sink into Samantha’s muddled thoughts.
“You won’t force me?”
Hank chuckled softly. “On the contrary, little jewel. It will do no good to seal our marriage if you can say later in all honesty that it was not done because you do not remember it. I will wait until you are sure to remember.”
“I don’t want to wait. Please, Hank.”
“Do you at last plead for my love, Samina?”
His teasing tone made her stiffen as she realized she was indeed begging him. She dug her nails into the tender side of his chest.
“You call waiting until I can remember being considerate?”
Hank didn’t answer. Her nails left him slowly, leaving behind the sting of tiny cuts. And then her hand was slack against him, her breathing even, if a little heavy.
Hank sighed. Samantha’s soft breasts pressing against his left side burned as much as the cuts. He ached to love her. This crazy marriage, the reasons he had insisted on it…he didn’t think of those things just then. Her warm body cuddled close to him blocked out all thought, created a fire that would not die down until he could brand her with it.
But not now, not when she was besotted with wine. That was not how he wanted this special joining to be.
Hank cursed himself. He had left her alone after the ceremony in order to increase her fear, to make her wait and
wonder. But he had managed only to spite himself. He hadn’t known Señora Mejia would leave wine in the room for their private celebration. He hadn’t known that his temper would cool off, that he would change his mind and want this night to be special.
He had come back to the room meaning to make Samantha want him—for the right reasons. He meant to make her want him as much as he wanted her.
Samantha stirred and slid one leg over Hank’s. He groaned and, quickly disentangling her limbs from his, shot off the bed. He looked back down at her. She did not awaken. She was not aware of his turmoil.
Her hair was spread out over the pillow, and he marveled at the rich auburn color tinged with red, silken and soft. One stray lock curled over her breasts, rising gently with her breathing. He had not seen her this way before, so at peace, so beautiful. He had to clench his fists to keep from touching her.
“She is making me crazy!” he swore, then grabbed his pants before leaving the room. It would be a long, torturous night—not unlike many other nights he had spent since meeting Samantha.
Chapter 31
“THIS is not the wedding night, Hank,” Samantha protested sleepily. “You missed your chance.”
“What does daylight matter between lovers?”
“Lovers? Lord!” she said, and tried unsuccessfully to push his hands away.
Hank laughed. He had awakened her with his hands. She had come out of her deep sleep to find them caressing her all over. She had thought she was dreaming, the sensations were so delicious. She had been shocked to find the hands real.
“Go ahead then.” She tried to put as much boredom into her voice as she could manage. “I know there’s no stopping you when you get like this. I’m tired of trying.”
“Do you hope to wound me with indifference?” Hank asked softly.
She met his gaze levelly, a frown creasing her brow. “Would it wound you? Would it really make any difference to you?”
Hank grinned down at her knowingly. “You would like to think so, eh? But it is pointless to speculate, querida. Your indifference cannot last. You know it as well as I.”
His lips caressed her softly. A few moments later, she thought she was being devoured by the ardor of his kiss. When the kiss ended, she was left wanting. Hank lay on top of her, his hands tight at her shoulders, his chest pressed to hers, his lips moving maddeningly down her neck.