Forbidden Angel (21 page)

The men had ridden for most of the day. Although they knew the general direction of the manor house, it was still difficult to find.

As afternoon edged toward evening, one of the
vaqueros
rode to Rafael’s side and pointed. In the distance, black smoke rose in the late afternoon sky.

Adrian’s gaze followed. “What is it?”

Rafael shaded his eyes and studied the smoke. “The fire is too large for a chimney, but we should check just the same.”

“I agree.” Adrian grimaced as pain shot through his head. His shirt, under the heavy coat, was saturated with blood.

Michael joined him. “You don’t look good, Adrian. Perhaps you and one of the men should ride back to town. There’s no way to know how long this will take.”

Adrian shook his head decisively, then squinted at the pain the effort cost him. “I cannot just sit and wait for news of her. I’ll go mad. I’m trying not to think of what could be happening.”

“We’ll find her.” Michael reached for the front of Adrian’s coat, but Adrian grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“It’s all right,” Adrian assured, even as he flinched at the movement of his left arm. “Michael, I fear she doesn’t know I’m alive.”

“Don’t think the worst.”

They traveled in the direction of the smoke for some distance, before coming across a badly deteriorated road. Following the overgrown path to a clearing, they stopped and stared. What had once been an old mansion was now reduced to smoldering rubble.

“
Dios
.” Esteban swore softly and dismounted.

“This means nothing. We’re not even certain she was here,” Adrian said, unwilling to acknowledge any other possibility.

One of the riders returned from behind the house and spoke to Rafael.

Rafael conversed quietly, then turned to the others. “There is fresh manure in the stable. Someone was here, and not long ago. The horses are gone so I’d assume they are safely away.”

“Boss,” Frank called. He bent down and studied the ground. “Here’s a woman’s footprint and here is another set, a man’s. They’re riding double, I’d swear to it, and leading another horse.”

Frank rose. “At some point he’ll send the other horse off in a different direction to fool anyone following. This ain’t Malcolm, he’s not smart enough. I think we still have our Spaniard.”

“It’s going to be dark soon. Can you follow the trail?” Adrian studied Frank closely, hoping beyond hope he could.

Frank gave a short nod. “Sure, Boss. At least for a while. We got a full moon ta help us and I don’t think they’re more than a day ahead.”

Rafael ordered his men to stay behind Frank, but to fan out and watch for the tracks in the snow. They started riding, slowly at first, and then more rapidly as it became apparent the tracks they followed were headed in a straight line. At one point, the second horse veered off.

Cazador rode at a steady pace with Angeline leaning heavily against him. He slowed his horse to a walk and lifted her chin, surveying her face. She was flushed and shivering violently.

“Angelina. I want you to drink some water.” He held a canteen to her lips.

“Where are we?” she asked weakly.

“I am taking you home.” He studied her expression closely, but her eyes remained heavy-lidded. “I did not believe you would give up so easily. Your mother would not have.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “What do you know of my mother?” Her eyes were glazed.

“I have come to realize you care deeply for this man. I would expect you to fight for him. You did earlier, so why not now?”

“You killed him.”

“I do not think so.”

Her eyes locked with his. “I pray you’re right.” She licked her lips. “You’ve mentioned my mother on two separate occasions, as if you knew her.”

He sighed. “I did. Your mother and I were friends. We grew up around each other.”

Cazador spurred his horse to a canter, making conversation impossible. In silence, Angeline leaned into him.

When he slowed the large mount again, she caught his gaze. “Tell me more, please.”

“Your mother and I shared many long talks with one another. I knew her when she met your father. She came to me and told me of this man and of her love for him. But, betrothed as a very young girl to the son of another wealthy family, she was to wed another. She grew up knowing they would one day wed to combine the two families.”

Cazador gazed into her face, her eyes, seeing another. “When she tried to talk to
Don
Fernando, he forbade her to ever mention William Ashley’s name again. The day of the wedding came, and everyone was at the chapel. Both families and hundreds of friends were in attendance. Your father came bursting through the doors and took her by the hand. When she approached
Don
Fernando, he turned his face away and told her he had no daughter.”

“Who are you?”

“I am
Don
Philippe Montenegro, and your mother was my
prometida
, my betrothed.”

Angeline eyed him in silence for a moment. “Were you terribly angry with her?”

“No. I loved her dearly and wanted her happiness above all else. She wanted my blessing and I wished her well. I never again heard from her. My family would allow no contact. I missed our long talks, and would like to have known if she was happy.” He cleared his throat. “We will stop shortly and I will take you home in the morning.”

With caution, Cazador approached a cabin. Although the small hut appeared deserted, it paid to be careful. He dismounted to look through the dirt-covered window, returning shortly to his horse and Angeline.

“It is empty and will serve our purpose.” He reached up for her.

Weak, she shook uncontrollably. Cazador could feel the heat in her body from the ravaging fever. His fear grew as he swung her up in his arms and carried her into the cabin.

He laid her gently on a cot. “I will take care of the horse, and start a fire to warm us.”

Outside, Cazador led the horse around to the makeshift stall at the side, then fed and watered it. Although the lean-to was close to falling down, it would provide the animal with much needed shelter until morning.

With an armload of wood, he pushed through the door and dropped the pile he’d gathered near the small hearth. Collecting some old straw and a few pieces of kindling, he started a fire, adding more as the wood caught and began to burn.

Once satisfied, he turned his attention to Angeline. “How warm you are,
niña
.” He laid the back of his fingers against her hot, dry cheek.

“Thirsty.”

Cazador lifted the canteen to her lips and let her sip.

She blinked up at him. “I should hate you for what you’ve done, but I cannot. Perhaps it’s because I know Malcolm lied to you, and because of your relationship with my mother.”

Her voice lowered with torment. “You have no idea what Adrian means to me. If he is . . . dead, I will never forgive you.”

He sighed heavily. “I would expect nothing less. Here, take another drink and lay back and rest. I will fix something for us to eat.” He placed the canteen to her lips and held it while she sipped the water.

Angeline laid back and closed her eyes. “May I ask you something?”

“You may ask.”

“Why did you leave Spain,
Don
Philippe?”

He was not unaware she’d used his rightful name. “After your mother left, I searched for some kind of meaning to my life. There was unrest and war in my country, and so I went to fight. Afterward, I just kept going. I found that I had a . . . talent for finding people and settling issues for others.” He shrugged. “It pays well.”

“Have you no desire to go home? You must know how this way of life will end.”

“I do know. But, Philippe Montenegro is dead. All that remains is
El
Cazador.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He frowned uncomfortably. “Talking to you is like talking to Franchesca. You make me question my actions just as she did. She used to stay on a subject until, out of pure frustration, I would give in, or at least consider her words.”

A thoughtful smile curved her mouth. “As a child, I saw a different side of my mother. I imagine she could be very determined.”

He chuckled. “Oh, most definitely. She was my
amiga
, my
compañera
, or you would say, friend and companion. As children we certainly found our share of trouble, much to our parents’ dismay.”

His expression turned grim. “For all these years, I imagined her living her life with William and having children. I wondered if she ever thought of me. I never once stopped to think she might be gone. There is this very heavy feeling in my heart because Franchesca is not there, even in my mind, to talk to. It is like a part of me is gone.” He faced the fire, then ran his hand over his forehead as his shoulders sagged.

“I’m so very sorry.”

He nodded in acknowledgement but couldn’t look at her. He hadn’t realized she’d moved until he felt her arm slide around his waist and she laid her head on his shoulder. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her and held her, remembering other times when he was upset and had held his best friend.

“Rest, now.” He set her aside gently. “We ride at daybreak. I would think someone is looking for us, and I want to return you to your home before we are found.”
Before you die.

He turned in time to see her grab her side. “What is it,
niña
?”

“My side hurts terribly.”

A flicker of apprehension coursed through him. “It was too soon to move you but there was no choice. I need to look at the wound, Angelina, and change the bandage. We cannot risk infection.”

With his help, she laid back and closed her eyes as he carefully lifted the edge of her nightgown. “I am sorry,
niña,
but this may hurt. The wound has opened and the bandage is stuck to it.”

Cazador heated some water and pulled a clean shirt from the saddlebag. He returned to sit beside her and tore the shirt into strips. Soaking a piece in the water, he carefully wet the soiled bandage. When he was able to remove the dressing, he studied the wound carefully. Although not festering, the lesion was red and angry looking.

“You have lost a great deal of blood.” He re-bandaged the wound. “And you have a fever. Sleep now.” Covering her in his cape, he tucked the sides in around her.

Although concerned the remainder of the trip would prove to be too difficult, still he knew they could not stay where they were. He would see her safely inside her home, even if it meant his being caught. He would not let Franchesca’s daughter die.

Cazador moved the remaining chair closer to the fire and sat facing the door. After a hasty meal of bread and cheese pilfered from Malcolm’s house, he closed his eyes and slept.

Throughout the night he awoke often to sponge her fevered body.

Frank slowed his horse and dismounted to study the tracks. “Boss, he’ll have ta rest this horse soon, and he’ll look for somewhere ta get out of the weather. We need ta do the same.”

“I agree with Frank,” Rafael said. “The horses need to rest and be fed, as do we.” Anticipating Adrian’s disapproval, he pointed out, “If we rest as they rest, we get no further behind. If we keep going we may catch them sooner, but if we misjudge and do not find them, we will not be able to travel on tired horses.”

“I know what you say is right, but that doesn’t make stopping easier to accept.” Adrian tried to keep from sagging in the saddle, and failed miserably.

His body ached. His head pounded, and his chest and arm burned. Adrian clamped his jaw against the pain and glanced up to see Rafael eyeing him. Rafael edged his horse closer to Adrian’s side. “How is your wound?”

Before Adrian could stop him, Rafael pulled Adrian’s coat open to reveal the blood-soaked shirt beneath. “
Dios
, you will bleed to death.” He called to the rest of the men. “Make camp, quickly.”

In a matter of minutes, the horses were staked out, unsaddled, and covered with blankets. Oilskins were spread on the ground and bedding placed on top. A fire was started to heat water.

Frank’s brows lifted in surprise. “I’m impressed, Boss. I would say they’ve done this quite a bit.”

“They are good, I’ll give them that,” Michael agreed. “I don’t believe even the Army could match their skill.”

Each man had carried some part of what they needed to feed and care for the whole. They sat around the fire quietly drinking coffee and waited for a broth to heat.

A
vaquero
, carrying a black bag, approached Adrian. “Let me,
Señor
.” Concentrating on the task of cleaning and re-bandaging the wound, he commented idly, “I appreciate what you do, but, had you told us, we could have helped sooner. Take these and chew on them. You will rest.” He handed Adrian two leaves.

Adrian examined them suspiciously, then slipped them in his mouth and chewed. “Thank you.”

The man inclined his head and returned to the others.

Soon, the pain in his body began to ease and the bleeding had once again stopped. To himself, he acknowledged his foolishness, but rationalized it as his desperation to find Angeline. His eyelids felt heavy, and his limbs had turned to stone. “What was that?” he mumbled to Frank who sat nearby.

“It’s a weed I’ve seen Injuns use. I heard tell they carry the wild plant and chew on a leaf if they get hurt. They can keep fightin’ if they don’t feel the pain. Don’t know the name.” Frank touched Adrian’s other shoulder. “Just give up and sleep, Boss. It’ll be light soon enough.”