Once A Wolf (46 page)

around her throat like a noose.

"I'm sorry we were interrupted," he said, "but tonight we'll continue. If you please me, we'll

leave for New York tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you think about the consequences of

your lover's touch." He tugged on her hair. "You'd better pray that Randall didn't start a brat in

your belly."

Tomás whistled. He did it not because it annoyed Weylin MacLean, but because music had

always kept him from thinking too deeply. Now was not the time to think, when he could so

easily spend every moment worrying about Rowena.

She was all right. She must be. It would have been simple for her to ride into Trujillo when he

didn't return, and get help there. But if she'd held to her foolish notion to go to Cole…

It was doubly urgent that he get to MacLean as quickly as possible, by any means necessary.

Thinking about it wouldn't help until the right opportunity arose. So he whistled. He kept the

beat to the rhythm of his footfalls across the plain to Las Vegas, wandering from one old folk

song to another, while Weylin rode stolidly behind him.

"Did you whistle when you murdered my father?"

Tomás stopped. He turned to face his captor, meeting Weylin's expressionless gaze. Strange,

how one brother could be so different from the other. Try as he might, he could not hate

Weylin MacLean as he did Cole. There was a certain honesty in Weylin, a fundamental decency,

that Cole had no part of. And Weylin hadn't been involved in his mother's and father's deaths.

Yet this was the man who had hunted him for years, while Cole remained in New York. He was a

MacLean, loyal to his family, and thus an enemy. But Tomás had never considered killing him.

Not even now.

He crouched on the dry earth in the manner of his Apache forefathers and dangled his

manacled hands over his knees. "I did not rejoice in his death," he said softly.

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Weylin dismounted and stood beside his horse's head, stroking its muzzle as if to steady himself

as much as the animal. He didn't like to show his feelings, this one, but they betrayed him

nonetheless.

"Like hell," Weylin said. "You enjoyed it, all right. You beat him to death."

Tomás bent his head as the sickness of memory returned. "All I knew was that he had killed my

mother—"

"That's a lie."

"No lie." He looked up, letting Weylin see his open face. "I saw my mother's pelt on the saddle

of one of your father's men, the very day after I returned to Los Valerosos to find the hacienda

burning and went to find her. Did your brother never tell you how Frank MacLean came to

destroy my family's holdings?"

"I know how your mother's people raided our property and stole our cattle, with the help of

Comancheros and Indians. Her ranch was a den for outlaws and rustlers."

"My mother took that path in revenge for my fathers death. Cole must have told you that story

as well."

"I know you'd pervert the truth like any criminal, to make it sound like Cole killed an innocent

man when he fought your father."

"Because it is said that my father shot your eldest brother in the War without provocation or a

soldier's honor? Because your father and Cole offered my father a fair fight when they came for

revenge, and he used treachery instead, tearing off Cole's arm before he was killed? Yes, I have

heard that story. Your brother made everyone in the Territory hear it." He closed his eyes, and

the morning sun danced behind his lids. "You were not there—not in the War, not when they

came for my father, not during the destruction of Los Valerosos. All you know is what Cole has

told you—"

"My father told me about the battle at Glorieta."

"Did your father witness Kenneth's death, or was it Cole?" He sighed. "Of course it is not

possible that Cole tells anything but the truth. He has always been the fine gentleman of your

family, most respectable and worthy of admiration. The MacLeans are beyond reproach. All

that has happened to you is the doing of my evil clan, acting without provocation. No es asi?"

He thought he might at last have planted a doubt in Weylin's mind. The stern face relaxed into

uncertainty, reflecting the thoughts behind it. Weylin might be the one MacLean capable of

seeing beyond his own name.

Not that it made any difference. There was still only one way to keep Rowena safe from Cole

MacLean.

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He laughed, though his heart was clenched in a heavy fist. "We have a saying: "El lobo pierde

los dientes pero no las mientes. A wolf loses his teeth but not his ways."

"You're right," Weylin said, mounting again.

Tomás got to his feet. "Still, you are an honorable man, Weylin MacLean. Honorable enough to

promise protection to one who will need it when I'm gone."

"Who? One of your band of cutthroats?"

"The Lady Rowena."

Weylin sat very tall in the saddle. "She'll be safe enough when you're dead."

"Not from your brother." He held up his hands. "It is said that even those sentenced to die are

allowed a final request. I ask but one thing: that no matter what happens, you will guard the

lady from all harm. Do everything you can to see that she's free to decide her own fate, even if

your brother tries to interfere."

"Why should you care what happens to her?"

"I came to… respect the lady. And to believe she deserves better than marriage to Cole. Not

because of my own vendetta, but because of what she is and what he will do to her if he has

the chance."

The expected angry reaction didn't come. Weylin's face had gone blank once more. "He has no

reason to hurt her."

"I ask that you judge for yourself. Observe your brother and how he treats her. If what I believe

is true, she will not wish to stay with him, and he will not let her go without making her suffer."

He gazed up at Weylin, narrowing his eyes. "Or is it that you fear your brother too much? Ay,

it's loco of me to think you could stand against him—"

"Cole doesn't control me," Weylin said. He tugged at the brim of his hat as if the sun had grown

too bright. "I don't need an outlaw to tell me my duty. She'll have my protection as long as she

needs it."

"Even from your brother?"

" If just one thing you say is true, damned if I won't see her back to New York myself."

Tomás let his hands fall and bowed his head. "Muchas gracias."

The horse snorted and pawed the ground. "Get moving," Weylin said. "I want to be in Las Vegas

by—" His sudden silence caught Tomás's attention. A moment later the scent came to him as it

had to Weylin—the smell of many men and horses. Cole's men, whom he'd confronted in town.

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It took Cole's band a few minutes longer to spot Weylin and Tomás. Weylin pulled his rifle from

its scabbard and held it loosely in his arms. Whatever he thought of his brother, he didn't trust

Cole's hirelings with his prisoner. He watched intently as they approached in a ragged line, their

overworked horses slick with sweat and flecked with foam. Cole was not among them.

"Well I'll be damned," Beck said, yanking his horse to a stop. "Here we been ridin' to hell and

back lookin' for this son of a bitch, and who's got him but Cole's little brother." His tone was

that of a man whose long-sought prize had been snatched right out of his fingers. He spat, a

missile which Tomás dodged easily enough, and mopped at his face with his filthy bandana.

"Won't the boss be surprised."

Weylin stared at Beck, his hand resting lightly on the rifle. "I'm taking the prisoner back to Las

Vegas. To the sheriff."

"Well, well. That's mighty nice of you, to catch him for us 'n' all. Someday you'll have to tell me

how you did it. But you don't have to worry about Randall no longer, Mr. MacLean. Me 'n' the

boys'll just take care of your 'prisoner' from now on."

Weylin raised the rifle and held it ready. "You're not touching him, Beck."

Beck clucked his tongue. "That's a problem, Mr. MacLean. Cole told us to bring him back and

not let anyone get in our way. I'd sure hate to get in a quarrel over this."

"Make one move, and I'll shoot you," Weylin said calmly.

He was so obviously in earnest that Beck hesitated, calculation moving behind his slitted eyes.

Saddle leather creaked as his men shifted uneasily. Pistoleros and ruffians they might be, but

they'd think twice before attacking Cole's brother. There was a good chance they'd back off.

That Tomás couldn't allow. He had to get to Cole. While the standoff continued, he feinted as if

to attempt escape and affected a stumble that brought him almost under the hooves of Beck's

horse. Beck wasn't stupid enough to let the opportunity pass. He kicked his mount in between

Weylin and Tomás and signaled to his men, who enclosed Tomás in a cage of milling horseflesh.

Someone put a gun to Tomás's temple.

Beck and the rest of them had every other weapon trained on Weylin. "Never heard El Lobo

was loco," Beck said, grinning at his own rhyme, "but I guess he took himself right out of your

hands, Mr. MacLean. I think you'd better just throw your rifle down."

Weylin lowered his rifle, uncocked it, and bent over the saddle to let it fall. Under Beck's

prodding he unbuckled his gun belt and dropped it as well. He looked grimly at Tomás through

the screen of horses and riders.

"I'm sorry," he said, so low that only Tomás's werewolf hearing might make out his words. "You

made too many mistakes, Randall. Maybe you could have proved some of the things you told

me. The law would have given you that chance—"

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Tomás shook his head. "No, caballero. But thank you for your honor. In a place better than this

one, we might have been friends. Remember your promise." He saluted. "Adios." He glanced up

at Beck. "Shall we proceed, gentlemen?"

The gunman lost his grin. "Hatch, your horse is freshest. Ride ahead to Vegas and tell the boss

that we have Randall—" he produced a length of rope and tested its sturdiness between his

hands"—and that we'll meet him at the old hangin tree out by Sonrosado Creek."

Felícita remained in the hall to watch and wait long after Cole ordered her out of the room

where he held the Lady Rowena. She returned briefly to the kitchen to make sure that the cook

had not come back, and that the deputy, who had discovered her in the hallway and sent her to

fetch the water and wine, was still safely outside the house. He and Cole had both taken her for

a servant, faceless and unimportant. They had made it possible for her to interrupt what Cole

was doing. What he was feeling when he had Rowena in his hands.

She leaned against the door, as much for support as to listen through the heavy wood. For the

last hour there had been a kind of aching stillness from the lady in the room, ever since Cole

MacLean had locked her inside and gone up the stairs alone. Felícita felt her spirit, beaten down

and despairing but not yet defeated.

It was a miracle that the lady could bear the things Cole had said and done. Felícita knew why

she had let herself be treated so, and what had given her the strength.

Love. Her love for Tomás. Love stood like a shield between her and the vicious cruelty that hung

about Cole MacLean like choking fog.

But the lady didn't understand that she could not bargain with the devil. Felícita did. She had

looked straight into the heart of Cole MacLean.

She trembled in sheer amazement that she had gone into that room and come out still able to

remember her own name. There had been times, even before her intrusion, when she'd been

certain the roaring maelstrom of Cole MacLean's desires would plunge her into madness.

Like Sim, he sucked her into the dark chasm of his being. But with Sim she could stop herself

from falling too deep. Cole MacLean was far beyond anything or anyone she'd ever known. He

howled where the rest of the world whispered. If she had dared to touch him, she could have

heard his thoughts as if they were shouts.

Hearing his words was bad enough. Feeling him take pleasure in causing pain and humiliation

was at the limit of what she could endure.

And she must keep enduring it, for Rowenas sake. Cole was the key. He was the one who had to

be… she hissed between her teeth, caught by a frightening image. Si He had to be exposed, like

a poisonous scorpion scuttling under a rock by day and afraid of the sun. Cole appeared to the

world as a bird of brilliant plumage, hiding the scorpion's sting beneath the beautiful feathers.

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If he were stripped of those feathers, he would lose his power—over the lady, Tomás,

everyone. Felícita felt now as she had the day Rowena and Tomás saved her, as she did with

Sim Kavanagh: Her destiny was bound up together with Cole's as it was to the others'. She must