The Wildest Heart

I would not admit that I was afraid of such a time. I tried to think only of the immediate future—my meeting with Todd Shannon, his first reactions, and mine.

There was not much time left for anticipation in any case. I lay in my bed that night and listened to the faint sounds of revelry that floated u

p from the village that nestled at the foot of the hill. Some of Montoya’s men had come back from across the border with plunder—and captives, no doubt. I told myself that it was only the noise and the heat which kept me awake, for I had schooled myself during the time I had lived here not to wonder about the poor young woman in whose bed I now lay, and what her fate had been. It seemed there was violence everywhere here. Hidden behind a smile, lurking in the background of the most peaceful-seeming spring morning. And it appeared as if the course of action to which I was now committed could only lead to more violence.

I stirred, restless. How could Luz sleep, knowing that her betrothed was down there with the rest of his men? Just now, I could almost have sworn I heard a woman scream. And yet, earlier, Luz had shrugged carelessly, reminding me that her father too had been a comanchero.

“It is always so when they return. And why not? Men are men.”

“And your man is there with them!” I could not help the sharpness of my voice, but she only shrugged again.

“He too is a man, and I am thankful for it. It makes no difference to me, as long as he climbs this hill and comes back to me every day.”

Why couldn’t I develop a similarly philosophic attitude? Why couldn’t I forget those things that must be forgotten if I was ever to have any peace of mind again?

I slept in the end, and woke late, when the nervous-looking maid brought me coffee. And after that there was hardly time for thinking, as I prepared for what lay ahead. A short journey—of only a few hours, Montoya had told me, to an appointed meeting place.

I expected to see Todd, and had steeled myself to meet the question in his eyes, but instead it was Mark who came, accompanied by five SD men, carrying gold in his saddlebags as Montoya had stipulated.

Poor Mark! His face was drawn and pale with strain and fatigue, and I couldn’t mistake the look of anxiety and relief that came into his eyes when he first set eyes on me. How dear and familiar he looked—Mark, who had been my only real friend, the one person I could confide in.

He had pulled off his hat when he saw me, and his blond hair gleamed in the harsh sunlight. “Rowena! Thank God you’re all right. If you only knew…”

“Yes, I have been quite a trial, haven’t I?” I forced a note of lightness into my voice. “But the señor Montoya has been most kind, and as you can see, I am alive and quite unharmed.”

With the innate tact and delicacy he had always displayed toward me, Mark did not attempt any further conversation until after the money had been counted, and Jesus Montoya, bowing over my hand with exaggerated gallantry, had waved us on our way.

It was I who spoke first, my words sounding more abrupt than I had meant them to. “How is it that Todd did not come himself?”

Mark stammered awkwardly, “I—he—there has been some trouble with rustlers recently, not to mention the Apaches. Fences cut, ranch houses burned. Victoria himself came close to overrunning Santa Rita not too long ago. So you see, someone had to stay behind at the ranch, Rowena. I persuaded my uncle to let me come in his place, because I—oh, God! You cannot imagine how I’ve blamed myself. If I had been strong enough to persuade you not to leave, if I had only insisted upon going with you myself…”

“And thank God you didn’t!” I said sharply. “What happened to the men who survived the Indian attack was not—pretty. I counted myself fortunate, afterward, that I happened to be a female.”

I saw the look in Mark’s blue eyes and gave him an unwilling smile. “Oh, come, Mark! There’s no need to be tactful any longer. Do I look as if I’ve been mistreated? Did you really expect to find me a miserable, groveling wretch, rendered almost mindless by my cruel captivity? I was lucky, you know, that the particular band of Indians who took me knew my father. In fact, their shaman called him blood brother. I was treated as a guest. No one harmed me…”

“Rowena, is that true?” Riding close beside me, Mark put out his hand and touched my arm almost pleadingly, his expression still worried. “You look unchanged, except that you have grown thinner. But there is something else. A difference I can only sense.” He gave a half-bitter, half-angry laugh. “I have always been sensitive to your moods, remember? Even now I can feel your withdrawal. Am I pressing you, Rowena? Is it still too soon for you to bring yourself to talk about whatever it is has brought a guarded look to your eyes? You look at even me as if you don’t trust me. I—”

“It is too soon, Mark.” I interrupted him, frowning. “I’m sorry. Perhaps later we will be able to talk again, as if nothing had happened, and I have only returned from a short holiday, as I meant to have. Please, Mark.”

He lifted his shoulders despairingly, sensitive lips tightening. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m a tactless idiot. But I only thought—” he lowered his voice, and I saw his eyes flicker warningly in the direction of the armed and taciturn SD men who rode closely behind us. “I thought,” he went on determinedly, “that we should perhaps have a talk before you meet my uncle. There are certain things you must be made aware of, even though I’m aware that this is hardly the time or the proper place for such a conversation. You know my uncle’s pride and his temper, and he…”

I had felt my body stiffen while Mark was speaking, and now I could hold my tongue no longer. “If there is something I should know, then you’d best come to the point and tell me what it is. I’ve had my fill of mysteries!”

It was to hide my own quickened heartbeat and the unpleasant memory of Jesus Montoya’s sly hints that I spoke so coldly. Now, seeing Mark’s hesitant, unhappy face, I tried to control my voice. “Is Todd not here because he cannot bear to face me? Did he really expect to find that I had been ravished by half the Apache nation? Is that what has stung his pride? I’m surprised that he should still have been willing to pay so much money to get me back. Or was that a matter of pride too?”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have spoken at all.” Mark’s voice sounded harassed. “You have never been afraid of him, and I know that once he sees you again you will soon be able to convince him of the utter falsehood of those rumors we heard. You must not think too badly of him, Rowena. You know his habit of flying into rages! If Flo’s letter had not come so late, he would never have…”

“Flo’s letter?” My eyes, squinted against the glare, flew wide open, and I could not prevent the look of shock that must have shown on my face. “Is she alive, then? But we heard…”

“No, no!” Mark shook his head distractedly. “I’m sorry that I did not make my meaning plainer. It was a letter she had written before she—well, I cannot understand why it took so long to arrive, and I would have hidden it from him, destroyed it, if I could only have known what she had written. She was deranged; I tried to tell my uncle that. You know how she was! She hated you, resented you even though you tried to help and understand her. You remember the letter she sent to me? This one was addressed to Uncle Todd, and in it she—oh, God, how does one explain the workings of a sick mind? It was full of vituperations, excuses for her own behavior. Accusations—”

“Accusations?” My lips felt stiff. “But what could she accuse me of?”

Mark gave me a miserable, distressed look as he answered me unwillingly. “Of—everything that she herself was guilty of. Yes, you must be told, no matter how ugly it all sounds. She said that she had run off to Luke Cord only to keep you from doing so. ‘I did it for your sake, Pa.’ Those were her very words. She accused you of—how can I force myself to say it? Of having an affair with Pardee, and then killing him to keep him quiet. Of carrying on with me, yes, even that. She knew that Cord had forced himself into your bedroom one night, and she made capital of it. She said that you and he were lovers. That you and he together had planned to kill my uncle that day, in Silver City, and you helped Cord get away afterward. There was no end to her filthy accusations!”

“And yet, it all hangs together very well, doesn’t it?” It surprised me that my voice sounded so calm, and almost indifferent. “Her word against mine, and since she is dead, I cannot disprove it, can I? How clever of Flo. One would almost think that she…” I broke off quickly, for I had almost said what was in my mind at that moment. “One would almost think that she could see into the future.” Instead, before Mark could speak, I said, “And the rumors—I suppose that they too were equally damning? Poor Mark, what a lot you have been through!”

“Don’t say that, Rowena! Do you think that my feelings for you would permit me to tolerate such slander? I told my uncle everything! That it was Flo, and not you, who was the guilty one. He knew her, after all. I think that he had almost begun to believe me when—”