UN SABOR PART THREE

~~~~~

It was very early morning indeed when a knock sounded at Luis' office door. He looked up in some surprise from his paperwork, took a sip of coffee, and called "Come!"

The door opened and a girl entered. She looked familiar; he placed her as sister to the man who had been injured in the stable accident a short time ago. Juanita, that was her name . . .

"Colonel," she came toward him, hesitant and not a little nervous, and it was then he saw the folded and sealed paper held with care in her hand. "This is for you, sir."

The girl has manners. Aloud he said, "My thanks, senorita," and took the note. She bobbed her head respectfully and left as he broke the seal and scanned the contents.

There was no greeting, but he recognized the small, firm handwriting:

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
the love I bear thee, finding words enough,
and hold the torch out, while the winds are rough
between our faces, to cast light on each?
I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach
my hand to hold my spirit so far off
from myself--me--that I should bring the proof
in words, of love hid in me out of reach.
Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
commend my woman-love to thy belief--
seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
and rend the garment of my life, in brief,
by a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.

He struggled a bit with the language--poetry in English was always a challenge--but after some minutes of concentration he began to understand what was being said. He felt a curious lifting of his heart--something that happened often when Lucy was involved. It brought to mind his first acquaintance with her library . . .

~~~~~

He stood in the bright steady light of the electric lamp, a miracle in itself, looking over the astonishing largesse of his lover's collection of books. There were hundreds of them, on every conceivable subject--many of which were to him unknown, and unknowable.

Javascript? he puzzled. She studies the writings of the scribes of the island of Java? Another title caught his eye. When God Was A Woman. Dios mio, she really is a heathen!

How he longed to comb through their pages for the information he would gain!

"Luis."

She stood in the doorway smiling, her thick mane of honey-brown hair tumbled about her shoulders and down her back. The glossy strands were her only garment.

"You look good in blue," her voice was warm and full of gentle innuendo. Luis glanced down at the robe he wore. She had bought it for him over his half-hearted protests that it was not at all practical, but he had finally approved both the color--an elegant dark sapphire--and the material, a slub silk which caressed him with every move. He shifted a little, savoring the feel of the soft fabric against his skin.

"And you look very fine in nothing at all," he abandoned his browsing to approach her, opening his robe to enfold her in it, "but as you say to me constantly, 'you must be cold.'"

"Mmmm . . ." She snuggled in next to him, one hard nipple pressed against his ribs, the soft curve of her hip measuring the length of his upper thigh. "Maybe just a little . . . we could do some exercises to warm up."

"Indeed," he breathed in the scent of her hair, fragrant with the lavender oil he had brought her. "What do you suggest?"

"Plenty of repetition," she giggled, then shrieked in mock dismay as he swept her up into his arms.

"Brazen woman," he kissed her rosy laughing lips and carried her away from books and lamps and even silk . . .

~~~~~

With great care Luis folded the note closed, then reached inside his coat. From an inner pocket he took a small book bound in brown calf leather and tucked the paper between the verso and the front page, folding it in half to make it fit with the few other pieces of paper he kept there. He opened the book to the appropriate page for the time of day and took a few moments to enjoy the intricate illumination, his eye delighting in the bright, harmonious colors; then he closed it with some reluctance and eased it into its accustomed place. Its small weight was a reminder and a reassurance, ever present.

He turned back to his paperwork, a faint smile softening his strong features.

It was going to be a good day.

~~~~~

NOTE: Lyrics to the song "It's All Been Done" used without permission.(And yes, using this song is something of a personal triple injoke. *chuckle*)

~~~~~

Luis straightened his cuff one last time, then looked in the cheval glass. It was not vanity that made him examine his reflection with the utmost care, more an imperative to live up to the image of military commander. He had to be seen as without fault, unapproachable . . . remote. At least the blue uniform did that service well. And he did not need the cane today, although he was still in some mild discomfort.

"Luis."

Ana stood in the doorway. She wore a muslin gown, designed in the style of the English but far less revealing of course. The pure, soft white of the dress suited her coloring.

"You look very imposing." There was reluctant admiration in the dark gaze. He smiled a little.

"And you look charming, Ana." He stepped away from the cheval glass. "How kind of you to see me off."

Ana's expression underwent a subtle change. "'See you off'?"

"Yes." Could that possibly be disappointment in her tone? Luis moved through the doorway into the rose courtyard, Ana trailing him like a wraith. "The tax gold goes to Monterey today, and I go with it."

"But--why? Don't you have someone you can delegate for such a menial task?"

"Of course. However," he paused at the table for a last sip of cooling coffee, "this shipment requires my presence, as royalty might come visiting."

Ana's dark eyes narrowed. "You mean that bandita everyone's talking about?"

"The Queen of Swords. Soon to be an ex-Queen, if I have anything to say about it." He savored the words.

"Luis, you cannot be serious!" Ana came to stand a few feet away. "You're acting like a little boy obsessed with a toy he can't have!"

"I assure you, my dear Ana--the Queen is no one's plaything." He smiled at the notion, then put such foolish thoughts away.

"You're infatuated with her, aren't you?" The cultured tones held a delicate contempt. "Really, Luis--a bandita! How vulgar!"

He paused, apparently considering the idea.

"No," he said after a moment. "Not infatuation, my dear. Astonishment at her continuing audacity in the face of sure death, perhaps."

"There's someone else then." The contempt was more obvious now. "Can't you at least be more circumspect? You do have an image to uphold, even in this cesspool."

Luis looked away from Ana, then back as he fought down rising annoyance. "I am a model citizen, which is more than can be said for many of the people who live here."

"I wonder if the good Doctor would agree with you." His antagonist kept her gaze level. Luis didn't back down.

"You are free to ask him whenever you wish. And now," he accorded her a brief bow, "I must be on my way. Do you have all you require for your comfort?"

"Of course not," Ana snapped, "but pray don't let that keep you from your obsession!" She moved to the courtyard gate. "I'd wish you luck with your venture, but of course El Colonel needs nothing so mundane from a mere woman." She flung the gate wide and stepped out into the street. Luis sighed and closed the gate behind her. As he did so his gaze fell on the doctor's quarters. A wagon waited by the door . . . He frowned a bit. Those were Alvarado horses; undoubtedly the gitana had been sent to town--but why?

He was about to turn away when the answer was revealed. Doctor Helm came through the doorway carrying his patient--Elio, that was the man's name--to the back of the wagon, where he was settled into a pile of blankets, quits and pillows. The gypsy was there, but no sign of Lucy. Luis' frown deepened. Odd--she should be present, if for no other reason than to fuss over the proceedings . . . well, no matter. Perhaps she was involved in some other chore. He smiled a bit at the memory of watching Lucy absorbed in a task.

~~~~~

She stood by the kitchen table, putting away supplies--"unpacking groceries", she called it--singing along with the utterly unmelodic songs her time seemed to prefer. The abundance in those strange thin bags both reassured and disturbed him.

"Does no one grow their own food any more?" he asked, enjoying the view of hip and thigh as she reached above her head to put away a bright-colored package.

"Some people garden," she paused to smile at him. "I do like homegrown tomatoes, they taste better." She picked up the apple she was eating and took an enormous bite, then offered him the untouched half. He took it, eying the unfamiliar color.

"Oh go on, it isn't poisoned." Lucy swallowed the mouthful of apple, then bent down and kissed him, tasting of sweet juice. "See?" Her blue eyes sparked with amusement. He returned the kiss, but when he would have brought his arms up to capture her she slipped away from his grasp.

I met you before the fall of Rome
And I begged you to let me take you home
You were wrong, I was right
You said goodbye, I said goodnight
It's all been done

She sang, setting the bag of apples on the tabletop.

"I don't understand anything about how you live in this time," he said with a sort of despair. "Your songs don't even sound like songs!"

Lucy laughed and put a jug of milk in the steel box she called a "refrigerator"--though he thought the ice held in the top compartment was insufficient to cause such even, intense cold. "Luis, someone from the seventeenth century would be just as puzzled by some of your time's advances as you are by the ones you've encountered."

"But it seems to me there have been greater changes in the two hundred years between my time and yours," he argued, a bit nettled by the comparison. "And more of them as well."

"The Industrial Revolution caused a lot of it, I think." Lucy put away a dozen eggs, then held up a jar of salsa. "This is great on omelettes."

"Peasant." Luis bit into the apple. It was sweet and cold and crisp. He savored the delicious flesh, chuckling as Lucy put her tongue out at him in a childish gesture.

The music changed then, a sinuous melody, vaguely Arabian; Turkish, perhaps. Lucy set down the loaf of bread she was holding and extended her arms above her head, even as her hips began to move in a slow, undulating motion. Luis watched in astonishment, the half-eaten apple in his hand forgotten. This was his woman as he had never seen her before--her gaze shadowed and turned inward, even as a glint of sultry humor showed in her ordinary features.

She came closer, moving in perfect time with the music to pause directly in front of him. With confident grace she turned in a slow half-circle, her hips shimmying gently, back arched a bit even as one hand reached out, almost touching his cheek before she withdrew. Under the clinging fabric of her shirt he saw the curve of belly and breasts--close now, so close . . . The end of her braid brushed the floor as she bent back, arms still extended above her head in a slight arc that echoed her soft curves.

She straightened to turn again, stretching in a lithe motion that made him aware of his response, trying to tent up the rough material of his trousers. When she reached out once more he caught her to him. She did not struggle or attempt an escape; instead she leaned in, offering herself. He accepted with alacrity.

"Where did you learn to move in that way?" he asked much later.

"Belly dancing class," Lucy trailed her fingers over his arm. "It's an excellent way to stay in shape."

"I didn't notice anything wrong with your shape." He smiled at her soft giggle. Just as quickly she sobered.

"Luis . . ." She hesitated. "I never . . . I've never danced. For a man, I mean."

He felt an absurd pleasure in her words and the trust they revealed. "Yet you danced for me," he let his hand rest on her hip, cradling her to him. Lucy put her face against the join of his neck and shoulder--hiding, he realized.

"Never tell me you are shy?" he asked, smiling. She nodded, her fingers threaded through his unbound hair . . .

~~~~~

Luis came out of his daydream with a start.

"Delgado!" he called. A moment later one of the guards stood before him, coarse features ironed into an expression of dutiful impassivity.

"Have the groom bring Salan to me," he instructed, "and get the escort ready."

"Si, Colonel!" The guard disappeared. Luis gave the scene across the square a last glance. He wondered once more about Lucy's absence, then set his concern aside. She had been perfectly well at the party the previous evening; when he returned he would inquire about her, perhaps even make an official visit . . . He turned his back on the doctor's quarters, moving toward the soldier approaching with Salan, intent now on his duty. Time to go hunting . . . and if he was fortunate, he might catch two birds today--a red-winged blackbird and a popinjay.

~~~~~

It was just past sunrise when Lucy crawled back up onto the cot. Her stomach heaved and she swallowed down bile, the room spinning as pain rose up in feverish waves, threatening to swamp her. She gritted her teeth, then flinched as the pantry door snicked open. Even the slightest sound made her feel as if she was standing on a rifle range.

"Well well--a bit under the weather? And here I thought ladies like you didn't drink to excess."

The mocking words stabbed at her. She lay as still as she could to minimize the nausea; she didn't need to see who spoke . . . Grisham. When she didn't answer him he laughed.

"At least you'll have the satisfaction of knowing our little plan worked. Colonel Montoya leaves for Monterey, but he won't be coming back."

Lucy started to lift herself up and winced as agony exploded in her head. The Captain laughed again. She heard the scrape of his boot against the rough floorboards; the bedframe shook as he pushed it with his foot. Lucy bit her lip but couldn't keep a moan from escaping as the pain escalated.

"Ah, so you are alive." Her tormentor gave the frame another push and Lucy felt unconsciousness gathering, ready to swallow her whole. "I thought you'd be overjoyed to hear of dear Luis's demise. Oh well. No accounting for tastes, I guess." He pushed the bed a third time and brought his foot back down to the floor with a thump--and then he was pressed close to her, his lips brushing her earlobe.

"Thanks for the one night stand." His fingers swept a lock of hair back from her cheek. "Any time you want a real man again, come see me."

"Go to hell," she gasped as his hand squeezed her buttock.

"That's my girl." He smacked her and she fought the darkness as it dragged her down. She had to warn Luis somehow . . . The last thing she heard was Grisham's soft, mocking laughter.

~~~~~

Marta handed another pillow to Juanita, smiling as the younger woman tucked it with tender care behind her brother's head. Elio looked up at them, his thin face bright with anticipation as he held Juanita's hand.

"Gracias, Marta. Doctor Helm," the man's eyes shone with gratitude, "I will find a way to repay your and señora Lucy's kindnesses, I promise you."

Rob's answering smile was genuine. "De nada. We're glad to be able to help." His smile faded as he glanced back at the office.

"Something is wrong?" Marta tucked the trailing edge of a quilt up over the side of the wagon.

"It's Lucy. She isn't at all well." Rob wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Still early morning, and it was already a warm day . . . Part of him noted sunbeams gilding the cracked stucco of a building across the street, giving it temporary beauty.

"What troubles her?" Marta looked past him into the darkened doorway of the office.

"That's just it--I'm not sure," he admitted. "None of the symptoms make any sense. She has a bad headache, quite similar to a megrim from the sound of it, has to be in a darkened room and she's sensitive to touch. She's a bit fevered, but there's no other sign of infection."

"Does she have swelling under her jaw and in her armpits?" Her gaze sharpened when Rob nodded.

"It's something like a case of grippe, but her lungs are clear and there doesn't seem to be drainage anywhere."

"I can help," Marta said after a moment. "It will require an hour or so to take Elio home. While I am gone you could gather up herbs for the tea."

"What sort of tea?"

"Here's what you will need . . ."

He noted the short list, a bit surprised by the ingredients. "These are common herbs . . . are you sure this will work?"

"It is the combination of their natures that increases their healing power." Marta clambered up into the wagon and took the reins, looking back at Juanita and Elio to make sure they were ready; then she turned her attention to Rob. Her dark gaze caught him with its intensity.

"I'll have everything ready," he promised, and watched as the wagon made its slow way down the dusty street.

~~~~~

Luis settled himself back a bit in the saddle, ignoring a faint twinge from his injured ankle. It was a beautiful morning, if a little on the warm side even for this semi-arid climate. The sun rose in a blue sky that reminded him of Lucy's eyes, the gold and brown of sand and chaparral, of her hair . . . He took a deep breath, catching the faint edge of her scent in the spicy-clean smell of sage.

When he returned, he would persuade Lucy to live at Mountain View--once he and Ana were wed, it would be a simple arrangement to set up, and of mutual benefit.

I shall have my way in the end, he congratulated himself, then set the daydream aside. Pay attention to the business at hand before you proceed on to pleasure.

"Morning, sir."

Grisham was at his side, properly deferential and not quite successful in hiding his anticipation. Luis glanced at him.

"Good morning, Capitan. You seem pleased with yourself for some reason. Is there anything you wish to share with your commanding officer?"

"Just the thrill of the hunt, sir." Grisham grinned at him. "We have her now."

"Not yet. Soon, but not yet." Luis shook his head. "Assume nothing."

"Come on, sir. The Queen's caught good and proper this time and we both know it."

Luis snorted. "Your arrogance truly astounds me at times, Capitan." He gestured at the ragged escort surrounding the shipment wagon. "You might earn your pay and shape up that line of men."

"Yes sir." It wasn't quite insolence. With a kick Grisham urged his mount forward. Luis watched him go, surprised to feel something like regret. He had once owned a certain hope for his second-in-command--the potential for greatness was there . . . but it was buried under a refuse pile of lust and petty greed.

Ah well. Luis shrugged. There will be others to guide and mold. He tightened his hold on the reins. My own children . . . perhaps a protege or two, after I've retired and published my memoirs . . .

~~~~~

"You're sure this will work?" Rob sniffed the fresh infusion and made a face. Marta sent him an impatient look.

"Don't judge a medicine by its smell, Robert. If you did you'd have to throw away almost everything on your shelves."

He wrinkled his nose at her. "Very amusing."

After allowing the infusion to steep for a few minutes Marta poured some of the steaming liquid into a mug, added a few drops of honey, then made a sign over it. Rob's eyebrows quirked upward. "And what was that?"

She smiled and he blinked at its brilliance. "Insurance." She picked up the mug. "Let's go."

They found Lucy curled on her side on the narrow cot, deep asleep--or so they thought at first. Rob took her pulse, frowning.

"Someone has been in here." Marta closed her eyes for a moment. "Grisham."

"But why would he--?"

"Only she can tell us that." Marta crouched by the cot. "Can you wake her?"

"She isn't asleep, she's unconscious." Rob ran his fingers lightly over Lucy's skull, feeling for a lump or cut. "It doesn't appear as if Grisham knocked her out though."

"Let me try." Marta moved next to him. Her thick mane of curls brushed Rob's shoulder; despite his concern for Lucy, he had to make himself concentrate on the task at hand.

Marta put gentle fingers to the pale temple. Once more she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"Lucy," she whispered, so softly Rob could only just hear her. "Lucy . . ."

After a few moments the patient's eyelids fluttered. She tensed, a faint gasp escaping her lips. Marta lifted her fingertips so that they hovered above the skin but did not touch it. She seemed to be concentrating, her brows drawn together a little. Rob stayed still, hesitant to move lest he break the spell that seemed to be stealing through the room.

"Luis . . ."

Marta's eyes opened. "What is it?" Her voice was still little more than a breath.

"Luis . . . " Lucy struggled to lift her head and winced. "In trouble . . ."

"It was a dream," Rob kept his voice low and soft. "Lucy, we have some medicine for you, you must take it."

The patient did not resist when they put the cup to her lips. She managed a few sips, then flinched away.

"No . . ." She clenched her jaw. "Not a dream . . ."

Marta glanced at Rob, troubled. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Even if she's right, there's little we can do about it now."

"Shouldn't we tell someone?"

"If Grisham's involved somehow that might be rather foolhardy." Rob sat back on his heels. "El Colonel can take care of himself, believe me."

Marta said nothing, only put the cup to Lucy's lips once more.

~~~~~

It was midday by the time they reached the one and only stop they would make on the way--a dusty water hole with slight shade. Marcus wiped the sweat from his face and licked his lips, grimacing a little at the dust coating them. He sure as hell wouldn't miss living in this era . . . Visions of flying down an L.A. freeway on a spanking new Harley filled his mind for a moment, to be shattered by the sound of the Colonel's voice.

"Half an hour," Montoya instructed. Marcus nodded and sent the call down the line.

"Half an hour! Get the horses watered!"

"Surely they know that already," Montoya commented.

"'Assume nothing'," Grisham quoted. The Colonel gave a dry chuckle.

"Well said," he moved forward. Marcus watched him go, feeling a powerful surge of hatred fill his chest. Not much longer now before his plan would be--

"Come along, Capitan, unless you plan to admire the scenery all afternoon!"

Marcus glared at the retreating figure. "Bastard," he muttered, and spurred his horse forward.

~~~~~

Ana paced the room for the fifth time since returning from Luis' manor. The utter arrogance of the man, leaving her behind! You'd think we were already married, she fumed, and cast a baleful glance at the blue silk dress thrown carelessly over a chair.

What on earth is Luis doing with that in his closet? I can't believe HE'D be wearing it . . . The mental image brought a reluctant curve of the lips, but only for a moment.

With whom could he be having an affair in this dreadful place? There's no one here worth looking at twice--well, perhaps the Hidalgo woman, though she is horribly common. Not really his type. And she's pursuing that idiot Capitan or whatever his rank is. She thought back to the reception, trying to remember where Luis' gaze had rested most often. I seem to have seen him watching the doctor with the Alvarado girl and her servant . . .

And then it struck her--not the girl nor the gitana, but the physician's cousin. She paused, astonished. That drudge? She's an old maid! Dirty blonde hair, face as plain as the sole of a boot, red rough hands... She's far too short for such a large bosom, Ana felt a touch of reluctant envy. Still, if the herd is small I suppose any cow will do for the bull. She was a little surprised at how much that observation hurt. With some impatience Ana set the feeling aside and went back to the matter of immediate concern. She began to pace once more, slowly this time, hardly aware of what she was doing.

Perhaps a visit to the doctor was in order, as she had threatened earlier that morning. It would be of strategic worth, if nothing else. A mirthless smile touched her mouth. They could devise a schedule between them--wife and mistress . . . except she wasn't a wife, not yet. And evidently if Luis had his way, not ever. Ana snatched up her reticule.

"Alfonsa!" she called. "I'm going out!"

Her maid appeared a moment later carrying a tray. On it was a small pot, a cup of steaming hot chocolate and a basket of rolls. "My lady, you haven't had your breakfast yet!"

"It's midday," Ana retorted. "I have a visit to make. Go ahead and take siesta if I am not back in time."

"But to go out alone!" Alfonsa wailed. "My lady, please--"

Ana shut the door on the last dispairing cry and headed downstairs in the direction of the doctor's quarters, a bit frightened but quite determined to have her confrontation.

~~~~~

Grisham glanced at the men forming up the escort once more and knew his time had come around at last, at long last! It was now or never.

"Sir!" he called, and rode forward to meet with Montoya. The Colonel paused, but did not afford him so much as a glance. Arrogant prick, Grisham sneered in his mind. We'll see how you beg for mercy later...

"What is it, Capitan?"

"Lopez just told me about some suspicious tracks leading back toward Aguo Pequito. If you like I can check them out."

Montoya did turn to look at him this time. The cool grey eyes held some indefinable emotion. "No no, Capitan. I'd better go myself, if this seems important."

"Very wise of you sir," Marcus agreed, keeping his expression impassive. Montoya paused, as if he were about to say something; after a moment he moved off toward Lopez, who sent Grisham a hooded glance. Marcus nodded and the sergeant looked away at once.

"This way, Colonel," he called. Grisham watched with some satisfaction as a small escort headed off toward Aguo Pequito. Only when they were well on their way did he send the shipment onward, unable to suppress a grin this time.

Miserable bastard, he thought at the fast disappearing figure in blue, wait until you find out your backup plans won't work. You'll get yours at long last . . . and so will I.

~~~~~

"She seems to be resting a bit more comfortably now, Robert."

"That tea worked well, Marta. Please give me the list again..."

"It isn't just the list. It is how you put the herbs together."

"I see... would you instruct me?"

"Use that innocent look on someone else, Doctor."

Lucy heard the soft exchange but didn't try to comprehend it. She let the words go by without catching them, grateful that the pain seemed to be receding at a steady pace.

"I must go and visit Senora Perez, would you stay with Lucy till I return?" Rob sounded worried. "It should only take an hour or so."

"I'll be all right," Lucy managed to get the words out and not jar her head too much in the process.

"One of us ought to stay..." Marta's quiet voice was full of concern.

"I'm all right. Go on," she insisted, sensing hesitation.

"Well..."

"If you're sure..." Rob was still hovering.

"Get out already!" Lucy groped for a pillow and pulled it over her head. When she emerged a few minutes later, the room was silent. With caution she sat up, amazed to find only a trace of nausea and dizziness. In fact she could even open her eyes, as long as she didn't look at the strong light coming in through the open door from the hallway.

There was a kettle full of hot water on the stove in the kitchen. She made herself a cup of tea from her dwindling store of teabags, rather than use Robert's precious supply. With a faint smile she remembered how she had surprised him the other day with fresh muffins and a pot of perfectly brewed tea.

"I may be Scottish," she had told him, "but I do know the proprieties."

She sipped the strong peppermint brew and wondered what composed Marta's infusion. Something fast-acting... unusual for herbs to work so quickly though.

"It's time for you to go back."

Her uncle sat at the table, looking reserved and rather stern, arms folded. Lucy set her cup down with care.

"Go back?" she repeated. "But I--"

"--won't," he finished for her. There was no gainsaying the authority in his voice.

"I've tried," Lucy rubbed at her temple. "And every time there's this--this..." She shivered a little.

"Where there is fear there is power," her uncle reminded her. Lucy glared at him.

"I know that!"

"No you don't," he replied quietly. "Not this time."

"How can you know something a hundred times and not know it another?" she snapped. Her uncle returned the glare.

"You tell me."

"I blacked out twice trying to see what happened!"

"Why didn't you ask for help?"

"I did!"

"You didn't build a medicine wheel," Uncle said. She could barely hear him. "You didn't honor the spirits. You acted like a three year old. All you did was ask, and when you didn't get an answer right away, you got mad and closed yourself off."

Lucy felt her stomach tighten.

"What, no smartass remark?" Uncle leaned back a little. "Maybe you know I'm right, Speaks."

She looked down at her toes, curling them tight, and didn't reply.

"You have to go back."

"Why?" she burst out. "Why now?"

"Because it's time." Dark eyes narrowed. "Because you have what you came for."

Lucy stared at him in confusion. "What...? What I came here for?"

Her uncle said nothing. Lucy heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Do I have to play twenty questions?"

"You're smarter than that." The tone was reproving. "Think about it."

"Jeez Louise," she picked up her tea and sipped at it, then froze as a flash of intuition, like pure lightning, shot deep inside her.

"The infusion," she whispered. "The tea Marta gave me... that's it, isn't it?"

Uncle nodded. Lucy felt the knot in her stomach clench a little tighter.

"You don't have to go right this minute." For the first time a glimmer of a smile showed in the stern features. "You need the combination recipe from Marta. Then you can leave."

"But--" she began, then fell silent.

"You knew you couldn't stay," he said, and his words were not without gentleness. "You aren't here for him."

"I don't want to leave him behind again," she whispered. "And I had a dream or something--I think he's in trouble."

She looked up and found herself alone.

"Dammit!" Lucy smacked the table and winced a little. "I hate it when he does that!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Senorita de la Vega stood in the doorway from the office, looking poised and immaculate, not a dark hair out of place. Lucy knew a sudden, vivid awareness of her ragged braid and rumpled clothes.

"Senorita," she said, looking at the faded wood of the tabletop.

"Were you speaking with someone? I thought I heard your voice." The visitor glanced around the kitchen in disbelieving contempt. "You actually eat in here?"

"How may I help you?" Lucy forced herself to be polite. "If you're looking for Doctor Helm--"

"No, I came to see you." Ana's lip curled. "However, I don't wish to converse in a kitchen."

Lucy bit back the reply perched on the tip of her tongue and levered herself off the chair.

"We can go into the office," she said, getting up to lead her visitor there, trying to ignore the way Ana held her skirts close to her. "May I offer you some tea? The kettle's hot."

The senorita gave a delicate shudder. "You needn't observe the niceties," she said. Her dark eyes were hard with annoyance.

"Very well," Lucy said, making her voice matter of fact as they entered Rob's office. She folded her arms and stood by the desk. "How may I help you, senorita?"

"You can begin by telling me about your liaisons with Colonel Montoya." The tone was colder than a snowdrift. Lucy felt her cheeks grow warm, but she did not look away.

"He's talked to you about this?"

Ana gave a short, angry laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would he speak to me about something of this nature?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"No man of breeding, even Luis, would discuss such matters with his wife," Ana snapped. Lucy's eyebrows rose.

"Just when did you two get married?" she asked, and at once regretted the impulse to annoy her visitor. Now the senorita was the one with scarlet cheeks. Lucy took a slow breath.

"You have my apology," she said quietly, "that was uncalled for."

:You have not answered my question." The tones grew even more frozen.

"I don't know what to tell you." Lucy decided honesty was the best policy. "We've been lovers, yes."

"And has he offered to make you his mistress?"

"Yes." Lucy lifted her chin. "I didn't accept."

"Why not?"

She had wondered about that a few times herself since the night of the dinner. "I didn't want to."

The senorita's eyes widened. "You didn't want to," she repeated slowly. Lucy felt her temper beginning to rise.

"No," she said.

"Again I must ask--why not?"

Lucy made the reckless decision for complete and total truth. What did it matter, really? She was leaving anyway, wasn't she?

"I love him," she said simply, "but I don't want to be his whore."

Her visitor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

"And just what do you find amusing?" Lucy's fingers dug into her arms.

"I find it rather ludicrous to hear someone of your social station concerned about appearances." There was an undercurrent of gloating humor that sent Lucy's annoyance level soaring.

'You people have this fixation on 'social status'," she said. "Frankly I couldn't give a fuzzy pink rat's ass about that kind of thing." She almost giggled at the other woman's puzzled look. "What I want," she continued, "is his respect. I won't settle for anything less."

The senorita laughed again, and this time the scorn was palpable.

"You must be joking! The Colonel respects no one, least of all," she left the sentence unfinished, but her gaze traveled down Lucy's disheveled attire to her bare feet. Lucy felt her cheeks grow warm again.

"Ah, there you're wrong," she said. "He respects the Queen of Swords."

The change in the senorita's attitude was immediate.

"That bandita again!" She almost stamped her foot. "You cannot be serious! Luis has told me several times--"

"I don't care what he's told you, " Lucy interrupted the angry flow. "Pay attention to actions, not words."

"She's an outlaw!"

"She lives life on her own terms," Lucy pointed out, "and by her own convictions--just as the Colonel does."

The senorita opened her mouth to argue, then stopped.

"Exactly," Lucy said, and smiled a little. "Sometimes I think I hate her."

"He is obsessed." The slender shoulders drooped, but only for a moment. "After we are married he will no longer feel the need to chase after her."

"Yeah right," Lucy said under her breath. Ana sent her a vindictive look.

"Between the two of us we ought to keep him satisfied, but one never knows with Luis." A slight smile touched the haughty mouth. Lucy shook her head.

"Please forgive my bluntness, senorita, but I am not about to become the Colonel's mistress now, later or ever." She gave the woman a hard stare. "If you will excuse me, I have duties waiting."

"I find that hard to believe when you're only now getting out of bed." The senorita looked amused. "Surely the Doctor begins his day earlier than this?"

Lucy didn't bother to answer. She moved past her visitor and went to the door.

"Good day to you," she said, holding the door open. Ana gave a little snort of indignation at this broad hint. As she turned to go her gaze caught Lucy's, just as she winced in the strong sunlight.

"Are you all right?" the other woman studied her face. "I was wrong," she said slowly. "You have been ill."

"I'll survive." Lucy shaded her eyes, feeling the blush creeping up her neck for the third time.

"Your cousin has been unable to treat you for this condition?" There was a sly implication in the question that Lucy caught only at the very last. This time her annoyance would not be held back.

"I should think," she chose her words with care, ignoring the dull throbbing at her temples, "if I were to become a mistress, I would certainly know how to prevent a pregnancy."

Senorita de la Vega drew back as if Lucy had slapped her. Without further comment she stepped through the doorway and out into the square. Lucy shut the door behind her and leaned against it, feeling winded and very alone.

"Hello? Doctor? Is anyone here?"

"Ye gods, this place is friggin' Grand Central!" She moved away from the door to open it with some reluctance. Tessa peered around it, her dark eyes sparkling.

"I just had lunch with Vera and thought I would... " She paused, looking Lucy up and down. "You look dreadful."

Lucy suppressed an almost hysterical giggle. Tessa's eyes widened. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, then put a gentle arm around Lucy's shoulders.

"A bath and some tea will help," she said. This time Lucy did laugh.

"If I drink any more tea my bladder will explode, but the bath sounds good." She stopped for a moment as dizziness assailed her.

"Luis," she whispered. A terrible foreboding touched her, like an icy finger sliding down her spine. "The dream... he's in trouble... "

"Colonel Montoya can take care of himself," Tessa unknowingly echoed Robert's words, "but you need looking after." She steered Lucy toward the back room. "Let's get you cleaned up."

~~~~~

Luis felt a trickle of sweat slide under the collar of his uniform. The sun was still high in the sky; heat shimmered on the horizon, and somewhere off in the distance a crow called in a harsh voice.

"Not much farther sir," the sergeant riding at his side stretched a bit and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Luis gave the man an assessing stare.

"You said that half an hour ago, Lopez."

The man colored under his sunburn. "I must have miscalculated," he looked away. "We'll be there shortly, Colonel."

As soon as the rest of your gang of robbers shows up. Aloud he said, "I certainly hope so. I would hate to think you have wasted my time."

"Oh no sir!" Sergeant Lopez' broad face was all apprehension. "I promise you--"

"Yes, yes," Luis waved him to silence. "I suggest we find our destination quickly."

"Si, Colonel!"

They reached the edge of the great desert ten minutes later. Sand dunes went on as far as the eye could see; above them stretched a burning blue sky. Luis raised his hand to stop the procession and looked at Lopez. "Well?"

The Sergeant was grinning at him, a pistol in his hand.

"Why am I not surprised?" Luis sighed. "I suppose you want me to go with you."

Lopez' grin widened. He gestured with the pistol. "Your weapons, Colonel."

Where are my soldiers? They should be here waiting... He gave up his sword and pistol, then dared a glance at the escort. There were at least five men in the company who had been bribed to go to his side if and/or when the coup was staged. All five had their weapons trained on him and broad, contemptuous smiles plastered over their features. Well, that had been a long shot anyway.

"The dagger in your boot as well, Montoya."

He had no choice; the man would shoot him, he knew Lopez' capacity for low cunning and viciousness. It had earned him his rank. Luis bent down to retrieve the dagger, only to have the world disappear in a white-hot explosion of pain.

~~~~~

Lucy sank back into the steaming water, sighing with delight as Tessa poured a fresh pitcher of warm water through her hair.

"Marta's a good teacher," she tipped her head forward a bit, letting Tessa squeeze the water out of the thick locks. "You should go to cosmetology school. Get a license. Set up shop."

Tessa coiled Lucy's hair up and put a thin towel around her head. "You're teasing me," she accused, and handed Lucy another towel. "Why does everyone have to torment me? No one--Lucy? Are you all right?"

The pain was sudden and intense, located at the back of her head.

"Oh God," she got up on unsteady feet and sloshed out of the tub to Robert's bed, oblivious to the amount of water she was spreading over the floor. "Luis..."

~~~~~

He came to and found himself slung over the back of a horse--gagged, his wrists and ankles bound together under the animal's belly. His head ached fiercely when he tried to lift it a bit, but that wasn't what made his stomach lurch in alarm. He could feel rough cloth against his neck and cheek-part of a hood or covering of some sort--but even worse, his lower legs and feet were being burned by intense sunlight. He had been stripped down to his linen, his boots removed. To make escape difficult, he thought, and winced. Where in damnation are my troops? He tugged at his bonds, but they were far too tight and firm to allow any chance of freeing himself that way. Well, he sighed finally, this ought to prove an interesting experience. Something to tell my grandchildren someday.

Strangely enough, an image came to his mind's eye then-Lucy. She was sitting on the terrace at Mountain View, the one that faced west, out over the ocean. There were children sitting around her--a half dozen boys and girls of various ages, from a rosy-cheeked toddler with wide grey eyes to a very serious-looking girl about twelve years of age, a thick mane of dark auburn hair tamed into a neat braid. Lucy appeared to be reading to the little ones, her warm, expressive voice bringing the words to life. She wore a dress of soft brown, simple yet elegant, and over it a white apron. Her glossy hair was pinned in a coronet braid; it was her only adornment. It was a setting that bespoke a modest lifestyle and simple means, and yet despite it Lucy looked... radiant, that was the word. Her plain face glowed with contentment as she put a slender arm about the young girl, gently bringing her close. The girl settled beside her, resting her head on Lucy's shoulder...

The vision faded, try as he might to hold onto it. It was rather difficult to concentrate when he was being jogged up and down, back and forth... but he was mildly astonished at seeing Lucy and not Ana at the center of the group of children.

It must have been caused by that blow on the head, he decided even as he heard a shouted "Halt!"

Now the fun begins, he told himself, and dragged his thoughts away to the crisis at hand.

~~~~~

"He's in terrible trouble," Lucy repeated. The damp washcloth being held to her forehead was soothing, but she pushed it away. She didn't want to be soothed, she wanted someone to listen to her! "Please--I know what I'm saying sounds weird-"

"What exactly did you feel?" Marta set the cloth aside, her dark eyes somber. Next to her Robert snorted.

"Oh come now, Marta--you can't believe such things happen!"

"I can and do," she snapped. "You don't have every answer, Robert."

"But this is ridiculous! You're suggesting there's some sort of preternatural link between the two of them!"

"'There are more things in heaven and earth'," Lucy quoted, and Rob fell silent, though his skeptical expression did not alter.

"So what did you feel?" Tessa's soft, uncertain voice broke the short silence. Lucy shook her head a little.

"A sharp pain at the back of my head, something . . . I don't know how to explain it--it wasn't happening to me, though I--I could feel it." She took a deep breath. "It was happening to Luis."

"How do you know that?" Marta asked gently. Lucy's hand moved to her heart, and then reached up to touch a spot between her brows. Her gaze met Marta's. After a moment the gitana stood, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

"Perhaps we could do a bit of investigating," she said. Rob groaned. Tessa stood as well, her eyes wide with excitement.

"An investigation! My goodness, that sounds so official!" She danced across the short space to Marta's side. "Perhaps we'll receive a commendation from the Viceroy himself!"

"You have to find the Colonel first," Rob pointed out in his best dry tone. "I really think you two ought to leave it to the authorities."

"Leave it to Grisham?" Tessa shuddered. "Then if the Colonel is in trouble he's as good as dead." She put a hand to her mouth and glanced at Lucy in genuine distress. "Oh, Lucy--forgive me, I never meant--"

"Grisham," Lucy said. She rubbed her forehead, aware of a gathering memory--whispered words, a low satisfied chuckle . . .

"He was here," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "He was here . . . he told me . . ."

"Colonel Montoya leaves for Monterey today, but he won't be coming back."

"Who are you talking about?" Rob looked from Lucy to Marta in obviuous confusion.

"Grisham," Lucy said. She sat up, a sudden fury sending the blood to her cheeks. "That son of a bitch! He came here and told me because he knew! He knew all along!"

"Knew WHAT?!?!" Rob slapped his hand down on the bed in exasperation.

"Luis and I knew Grisham's been planning a coup of some sort. We thought we had him convinced I had turned against Luis, but I think . . . " She stopped. "Well, it doesn't matter now," her blush intensified as she remembered several incidents rather blatant in their indiscretion.

"So you were double-crossed," Rob said. Lucy closed her eyes.

"We were overconfident," she amended. "I just hope there's some way to--to--" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Right." Rob stood and straightened his lean frame, flexed his arms. "I've got the experience needed here. I'll go out and look for Colonel Montoya."

"Couldn't we help?" Tessa wheedled.

"NO." Rob sent her a quelling look. "The best thing for you, senorita, would be to go home and stay there until the situation is resolved." His authoritarian tone softened a bit. "Your workers will need you. You'll do more good there than here anyway."

Tessa's expression was mutinous. She opened her mouth, obviously intent on arguing.

"Your advice is good, Robert," Marta interposed hastily. "I'll stay with Lucy for a while."

"I'm all right," Lucy protested. "It's Tessa who needs you--"

"I am not a child!" Tessa exploded. "I can handle things by myself, I don't need any help!" She stormed out of the room, Marta following her, their voices raised in heated argument. Rob watched them go, a bemused expression on his face.

"I can get things ready here, " Lucy said, "in case . . . " She didn't go on. Rob nodded.

"Do you know where Grisham planned to take him?" he asked quietly.

"Somewhere near Aguo Pequito," her answer was just as quiet. "Probably into the desert." And I was supposed to send Luis, only Grisham couldn't wait any longer . . . We delayed things too long by our overconfidence.

"Good work, I'll start there." Outside the office they heard the rattle of the wagon as Tessa started the journey back to the hacienda.

"I'll pack you some water and food," Marta came back in, looking defeated. She went into the kitchen as Rob moved to take her place next to Lucy.

"I'll do everything I can to find him," he promised.

"Rob," she hesitated. "I know how you and everyone else feels about Luis--"

"No you don't," he interrupted her softly. "You have no idea at all what I think of Montoya."

"Fine then," Lucy shot back. "Enlighten me already."

He looked at her in confusion. "Beg pardon?"

"Tell me," she said with exaggerated patience, "what you think."

Rob exhaled slowly. "You won't like it."

"Will you tell me before I get a broom handle and beat it out of you?"

He chuckled, then grew serious once more.

"I think he's a necessary evil," he said after a moment's silence. "I've met much better men."

"You're right," Lucy said, her hackles rising. "I don't like it."

"But I've also met much worse," he continued, and gave her a grin. It changed him, revealing the vital, charming man behind the sober physician's mask. Lucy smacked his shoulder with the flat of her hand.

"Smartass." But she felt a little better. "At least you're honest."

"Always," he captured her hand in his and gave the back of it a kiss, hazel eyes twinkling. "Try not to worry," the bright gaze held kindness. "If Grisham has him, it will be easy as the devil to find them."

Lucy swallowed on the lump in her throat. "I hope so," she said softly. A long wait loomed ahead before her now, full of uncertainty and fear.

~~~~~

The two lines quoted by Lucy are indeed from a very fine poem written by Emily Dickinson. I'd give you the number, but the book is packed away ready for moving day. Well worth looking up though.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THIS SECTION AS WELL AS THE NEXT THREE OR FOUR CONTAIN GRAPHIC SCENES OF VIOLENCE. My apologies if this offends or upsets some readers; I had to write the story as it wished to be written, and sometimes I'm very hard on my heroes. Bear with me, mi compadres. There's a reason why the story's playing out the way it is, honest. Many thanks to all of you who have given me so much praise, encouragement and also teased the hell out of me *gives Jim a mock glare* Without all of you egging me on this would never have been written at all. Youse guys are the greatest!

I also wish to thank my friend and fantastic beta reader Maril for all the wonderful help she gave me with these sections. Her suggestions and corrections helped make my story a better one, and I am deeply appreciative. Muchas gracias, mi amiga.

~~~~~

"Halt!"

The bonds at wrist and ankle were cut. Luis felt his body slipping off the horse and tried to save himself from an ignominious fall; he was partially successful, managing to go down on his knees into searing-hot sand. Laughter erupted around him, loud and ugly even through the cloth of the suffocating hood.

"What's wrong, Colonel?" Lopez' mocking tones rose above the noise. The amusement hardened into command. "Make sure his hands are tied!"

His wrists were seized and yanked behind his back, crossed and bound with quick skill--not too loose, not too tight.

At least these damnable conscripts learned that much. He was made to stand. Something settled about his neck and tightened--a rope halter, he realized just as he was jerked forward. His injured ankle gave way and he stumbled but kept on his feet in an undignified move that evoked more laughter.

"Well done, Colonel." Lopez raised his voice to a hoarse shout. "Forward!"

He had no choice; it was walk or be dragged. In silent exasperation Luis tried to gather as much information as he could from the limited input he had, trudging along beside his captor; sun burning his back and right side would suggest they were traveling in a south-southeasterly direction, given the approximate time of day. His feet encountered nothing but wind-rippled sand--no scrub or chapparal, no stones . . . .that could mean they were somewhere among the dunes of the great desert, heading away from Aguo Pequito and the coast. The air that seared his lungs with every breath seemed to bear out his theory.

We can't have gone terribly far though, he reasoned. The horses are moving fairly steadily, they're not winded and aren't acting as if they're thirsty. He couldn't recall feeling anything like a saddle pack full of provisions pressed up against him during his sojourn on the horse's back, but that was inconclusive at any rate.

A hard yank on the rope sent him sprawling as jeers and laughter broke out once more. He began to struggle to his feet and jumped as something struck his back, leaving a stripe of pain across his shoulder blades.

"Hey! Stop that!" Sergeant Lopez was clearly not pleased. "There's plenty of time for that later, now quit playing around and get moving!"

Slowly the escort began moving again, with coarse jokes and laughter called back and forth between the men. Luis growled as the halter rope smacked against his cheek.

This is going to take an eternity of endurance, he told himself as they plodded along. I might just die of boredom first however.

~~~~~

Lucy walked around the examination room once more, counting off items on her mental checklist. She had set things up to give a crude sort of emergency care to someone suffering from exposure, dehydration and/or traumatic shock. It was automatic, a procedure she had engraved in her brain from years of experience. Usually the routine was calming, even numbing, but now she kept picturing Luis alone, rendered helpless somehow, hurt, even unconscious--

No! she shouted at herself. Stop it! You won't be any good to anyone if you freak now, he'll need you strong and able to help!

She could feel an adrenaline surge spike through her, making her heart skip in an erratic pattern--familiar and terrifying, just as it had been all those times she and the others had waited for the casualties to arrive . . .

He is not a casualty! She pinched herself hard enough to make a small blood blister, hoping the momentary flare of pain would stop the vivid memories. He won't come in shot up or poisoned or . . . he won't!

"Lucy." Marta's hands touched her gently. "Come sit with me, I grow tired of my own company."

She allowed herself to be led out of the exam room and to the back porch. A comfortably shabby chair waited, draped with a shawl; there was a bottle of wine open on the small table, with two glasses beside it.

"It's a fine night," Marta said. Her smile glimmered in the faint light coming from an open window near her. "It would be a shame to spend it inside."

Lucy sat down and reached for the bottle, wishing it was a vat of expensive single malt. She'd downed quite an amount of the stuff while in the Gulf; it worked faster than rotgut or wine to numb raw nerves, and the hangover wasn't as harsh.

"You don't have to sweet-talk me," she poured herself a full glass, then looked at Marta.

"About a third of that," the other woman said dryly. "I don't plan on spending the evening flat on my face."

Lucy poured the second glass and handed it over, then forced herself to settle back in her chair. She sipped at the wine and paused. It was a bit on the tart side, but actually rather nice for all that--dry and resiny. She took another mouthful and made herself savor it.

"Well, whatever else may have happened, the cantina is still popular." Marta leaned back with a quiet sigh. Indeed, it was possible to hear the usual crowd's noise half-drowning out the musicians.

"Rob complains all the time, but I think secretly he kind of likes it." Lucy fingered the soft folds of the shawl, feeling the chill in the air. Luis, please be protected from the cold, wherever you are . . . "He leads a lonely life, you know."

"Now who is doing the sweet-talking?" Dark eyes flashed. "Don't think we aren't aware of the lengths you and Tessa have gone to!"

"Aw, come on Marta--you can't tell me you haven't enjoyed it, " Lucy protested. "You could have walked away any time." She took another large sip of wine and looked above her. The moon was climbing into the sky, almost full and a luminous butter-yellow, her limb silver.

"Easy for you to say." Marta tossed her head, sending ringlets flying, but there was a slight curve lifting the corners of her mouth which belied the acerbity of her words. Lucy glanced at the moon once more, her own faint smile fading.

Can you see this where you are, mi halcon? She let the alcohol stay on her tongue for a moment. Do you know I'm looking up at it too? Please be well and safe, please . . .

"'The moon was but a chin of gold a night or two ago/ And now she turns her perfect face upon the world below,'" she quoted.

"I like that." Marta glanced at Lucy. "Is it a poem?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes. "Never liked poetry till I discovered Emily D."

"She sounds like a very observant woman. Is she from our time or yours?"

Oh man . . . Lucy didn't hesitate for long. "More your time than mine." Something brushed her cheek--a moth, huge and dust-colored. She let it cling to her finger a few moments, admiring its beauty; at last with great gentleness she shook it off, watching it blunder away, wings fluttering in frantic silence through the darkness.

Luis . . . are you in darkness tonight? Someplace where there is nothing but blackness surrounding you? Can you feel my arms around you, protecting you?

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I didn't at first." Marta sipped at her wine. "It was something Rob said once, when you were staying with us. I began to think about what he wasn't saying." The wineglass glittered in her slender hand. "My people know about travelers. I've never met one though."

Lucy nodded. "There aren't many of us, I think. It's . . . it's painful. Each trip back and forth gets harder and harder."

"And now you have been told to go back."

Lucy took a defiant gulp of wine. "I'll go when I'm damn good and ready," she muttered, "not before."

"You cannot change his fate," Marta's voice was quiet, "and if you want to know what happens to him--surely they have books in your time? He would be a small part of the history of this place, so his destiny would be written down."

"He's more than just a footnote. At least to me." Lucy took the winebottle and poured another glass. "I'm staying till he comes back," she made herself say it, "dead or alive." She took the shawl and draped it over one shoulder. "Besides, I'd like your recipe for the infusion you gave me."

"But it's a common tea. The recipe can be adapted to use local herbs if need be. In fact it works better if you do so. That's why my people use it a great deal." Marta looked a bit surprised. "You've never had it before?"

"I've never had that combination. Feverfew," Lucy tried to remember the tastes, "mint, nettle . . . something else."

"It is a plant that grows here by streams and springs." Marta shrugged. "I have only ever heard it called yerba buena. The indios say it is good for bad headaches and disturbances of the energies."

Lucy nodded. "Do you have some of the plant I could take back with me? And would you be willing to give me the recipe?"

For answer Marta got up and went into Rob's office. She returned a few moments later. "Here." She handed Lucy a folded piece of paper and a small square envelope. Lucy tucked them into the pocket of her apron.

"Thanks." It was an inadequate response for all Marta had done, she knew it even as she said it. With an effort Lucy forced her thoughts away from Luis and looked over at the other woman.

"Thank you for this." Her hand rested on the pocket. "If it helped me, perhaps it will help others. There are so many of us . . . so many . . ." She thought of the VA hospital where she volunteered.

"If it helps just one other, then all this will have been worth it." The dark eyes were kind. "Yes?"

Lucy nodded, looking down quickly. There was a soft rustle of skirts as Marta came to stand by her. A slender hand came to rest on her shoulder, the touch slight yet comforting.

"Whatever is happening to Montoya, he'll survive it. He's a strong one. You know that."

Lucy said nothing. The statement might be true, but it made no difference to the amount of waiting left to go through.

~~~~~

It was sunset by the time a second and final halt was called. Luis was still standing, but it was with some difficulty. The soles of his feet were burned and probably beginning to blister; he was faint with thirst, while being pulled continually off-balance had resulted in one serious wrench to both back and weakened ankle. His legs were trembling with fatigue.

"Bring El Colonel forward!" Lopez sounded distant, as if he was far forward of the column. The halter rope jerked Luis into a stumbling walk. He kept his aching back straight and head up as best he could. No matter what they did to him, he had to show strength.

"Tie him to the palm." Lopez was closer now. "Make sure he can't get away. I don't feel like chasing anyone tonight."

Luis was dragged several yards further, his wrists cut free as he was pushed up against the bole of a good-sized palm. Before he could enjoy his freedom his hands were pinned high above his head and tied together tightly, then bound to the trunk. A rope was being passed about his ankles as well, his feet having been positioned on either side of the base of the tree. It was an uncomfortable and awkward position, forcing him to put most of his weight on the balls of his feet. The rough surface of the palm dug into his sunburned back, and his sore wrists radiated pain from the new binding.

Hard fingers tugged at the cloth of the hood as it was pulled off. Laughter rang in his ears as a fist punched into his solar plexus, shocking the breath out of him.

"Welcome, Colonel!" Lopez' booted feet came into view. Luis struggled to raise his head. "You look the worse for wear, sir." Black eyes glittered with malicious amusement. "A little dusty, a little sunburned... something wet would taste good right now, wouldn't it?"

Luis tipped his head back, trying to ignore the pain in his diaphragm long enough to get a deep breath. Lopez sniggered.

"All you have to do is ask pretty please," he grinned and sketched a mocking salute, then turned away.

"Someone give Colonel Montoya a drink," he ordered. One of the men clustered by the campfire stood up and moved toward Luis with an unsteady gait. It was more than obvious that he had been imbibing for some time.

"You wan' a taste, Colonel?" He drew closer, putting his thumb over the mouth of the bottle he held and shaking it hard. Luis knew what was coming. He turned his head away just in time to avoid a faceful of vile-smelling liquid. The alcohol burned on his skin and trickled into one eye, half-blinding him. Raucous laughter broke out as the man threw the near-empty bottle, the end clipping Luis' shoulder hard before falling into the sand.

There will be a bruise, he thought as he kept his good eye on the drunk, but that is the least of my worries at the moment. What did they brew that disgusting mess in? A fish barrel? He shifted position, letting his wrists bear his weight to rest his feet and calves. Well, so far it really is no worse than the winter my regiment spent in the hills during the war. We all nearly died of exposure several times over, and yet here I am, alive and healthy enough to torment. He sighed soundlessly and raised up, locking his knees to allow circulation back into his hands. The gods indeed mock Luis Ramirez Montoya.

~~~~~

Marta readjusted the shawl over Lucy's sleeping form. It had taken most of the evening and several glasses of wine, but at least she had relaxed enough to consent to rest for a while. For an hour or two she would be free of fear and dread . . .

Montoya doesn't deserve her, Marta mused as she collected the wine and glasses to bring inside, but he needs her . . . or he will, if he lives.

~~~~~

The moon was well above the horizon now, her silver light shadowed among the dunes just past the oasis. Luis watched her rise, thinking inevitably of Lucy. Was she too looking up, admiring the beauty of the night sky?

~~~~~

She stood next to him in the open field; his arm clasped her waist. Their breaths mingled in the frosty air. Before them lay patterns of snowdrifts, trees, and houses, all rendered dark and colorless by the dim brilliance of moonlight pouring down from a cloudless, star-seeded sky.

"So beautiful . . ." He drew her close, amazed and pleased as always by the way they seemed to fit together, her curves pressed against him with a delicious elusivity through their bulky clothes. She leaned into him, her gloved hand covering his. He could feel an ephemeral warmth from her touch.

"Yes," she agreed softly. They stood together a few moments; he felt Lucy shift position a bit--and then soft lips pressed a kiss to his cheek before she lay her head down on his shoulder, relaxed and secure in his embrace.

~~~~~

A kiss from her would be welcome right now. If she were leading a company of competent militia and carrying a knife and armaments it would be even better. He lifted up to let his numb hands tingle back to life. Being back in my office barricaded by paperwork would actually be welcome at this point. And I hate paperwork. His burnt back stung when the leaf scars on the palm's trunk gouged it, his weight once more on his feet. His calves knotted in protest.

"You look like a man with an itch he can't scratch, Montoya."

Lopez stood before him. In the wavering firelight his gaze held a bright gleam of triumphant anticipation.

"Why don't we introduce the Colonel to the reason he's here?" The smirking face came a bit closer. "One of the many reasons anyway." He turned to the men clustered around the campfire.

"Make him ready while I go get my friend Ernesto."

~~~~~

Her legs ached--they were heavy and twitching with cramps; her wrists had blazing lines of pain encircling them, and she was in the grip of a terrible thirst . . . She heard the coarse jeers and laughter of many men, even as white-hot pain seared across her back--

Lucy sat bolt upright, eyes wide in the half-dark. She had heard a beloved voice cry out soundlessly, reverberating in her mind . . . She shuddered, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Luis," she whispered, and gasped as blackness opened up in front of her. She stared at the swirling void. It was a time window. She had never had one open of its own accord before . . . A curious sort of compulsion stole over her, a need to go to it, look into it . . . to scry it.

Slowly she got up and approached the opening. She could still sense Luis' pain and fury, though not as directly as when asleep. It all seemed linked to the access somehow--perhaps this was a way to help him, to find escape for both of them . . .

She was close enough to touch it now. Her bones thrummed with resonance and she was suddenly almost overwhelmed with a desire to merge with it, to leave her physical body behind and journey through endless, eternal spirals of time . . . Her hand lifted. She could see the bones and blood vessels, sense the energies streaming from her fingertips. She reached toward the light.

Lucy . . . NO!!

She cried out as Luis' voice echoed through her, desperate with fear--for her. Her hand jerked back away from the whirling portal as she turned.

Luis, she whispered, shaken to the core. Mi halcon--where are you?

But the connection was gone, fading even as she called out his name. Only the portal remained, spinning in silence. Lucy turned to face it once more. The compulsion she had felt a moment or two before was gone, but she could see a point of light in the center of the churning mass. As she looked at it, it began to expand.

~~~~~

"Colonel, I'd like you to make the acquaintance of a friend of mine."

Luis straightened, his body aching with fatigue. The man who stood before him was unremarkable--short, skinny, pockmarked, sallow. Black eyes studied him with undisguised hatred.

"Ernesto Gutierrez, this is Colonel Montoya." Lopez could have been introducing them at a Court ball, his tone polite and sober. The mocking edge was very subtle.

"The Colonel and I, we have met before." Ernesto grinned, revealing a set of teeth impressive in their state of advanced decay. "It was a few years ago, but I remember the occasion very well." The grin faded. "Do you remember me, Montoya?"

Luis, unable to speak for the gag still in his mouth, shook his head and received a hard blow to the cheek.

"Look again, "Ernesto advised, and stepped closer. An overpowering stench of unwashed body assaulted Luis' nose. "Think about it, Montoya. Think very carefully." Something cold touched his temple--the end of a pistol barrel. Luis sighed.

How am I supposed to answer him when I cannot speak? After a moment he dared to shake his head once more. He heard the click of the pistol being cocked and closed his eyes, waiting for death to take him.

"I have to admit you're a cool one, Montoya." Ernesto said this with no trace of admiration. He gestured and the pistol was taken away. "Let me remind you then." He came closer, his face inches from Luis'.

"Five years ago," he paused to take a long, gulping swallow from a dirty bottle. Luis entertained a brief and utterly ludicrous fantasy of snatching it away to drink his fill of whatever was inside. "Five years ago, a pair of brothers was brought before the military governor--that was you, Montoya," the bottle tipped toward him in recognition, "for the crime of stealing some fruit from a merchant in the marketplace. Your first verdict was death by hanging for both boys." The dark eyes burned with rage. "Then you decided a bit of leniency was in order. The sentence was reduced," this said with bitter emphasis, "reduced to twenty lashes and five years hard labor in the mines." He took another long pull from the bottle. "Do you remember it now, Colonel?"

Luis had a vague recollection of the event described. Hot afternoon, two sullen youths, a worn-looking woman on her knees screeching at him for mercy--well, didn't they all ask him for that in some manner?

"I see you do recall it," Ernesto said softly. "Perhaps you never bothered to find out what happened to the boys."

Luis waited. He would be told whether he wanted to know or not.

"One of them died in the mines with a hundred other prisoners when the hole they were working in collapsed. The other . . ." Ernesto pushed the top of his shirt aside, revealing a bony shoulder. He turned a bit. The firelight showed several ridges of scar tissue laced across his skin.

"I survived to escape. When I did I vowed to find you." The hideous grin was back. "I want you to know a little of the pain my brother Paolo and I felt, Colonel." Something was held up before Luis' eyes--the handle of a whip. "I think twenty lashes would be a good start." Ernesto chuckled, a most unpleasant sound.

His ankle bonds were loosed and he was turned around so that he faced the tree. Luis rested his cheek against the rough bole and tried to brace himself for what was to come.

"In the name of the Law and the Crown," Ernesto said with obvious enjoyment. The lash uncurled in a practice strike, the end flicking a tiny chunk of bark from a spot next to Luis' cheek. He couldn't help but jump, and of course the men watching laughed. He clamped down hard on the dry cloth of the gag and narrowed his concentration, focusing on his breathing as the sensei had taught him long ago--bringing strength and calmness into himself with an indrawn breath, releasing pain and fear as he exhaled . . .

He felt the first stroke jar his body, then the second. One-tenth of the way through . . . His torn wrists protested as his hands made involuntary fists. An image was forming in his mind's eye, drawing itself out of darkness into patterns of light and shadow. He watched it grow, fascinated. This was not imagination or daydreaming--that would be impossible given his circumstances. No, this was something else--

The third stroke blazed across his shoulder blades. The image wavered but did not disappear. Luis dragged together every shred of willpower he possessed to keep himself concentrating on what he was seeing. The shapes began to coalesce into a familiar form . . .

She stood before an opening in time--he could sense rather than see it. Slowly her hand lifted toward it. There was an expression on her face . . . a mixture of fear and wonder. She reached out as if compelled, and he knew at once if he didn't stop her he would lose her forever. With all the strength left in him he cried out her name.

Lucy . . . NO!

She jumped--and then she turned toward him, her pale face streaked with tears.

Luis . . . Her soft voice rippled through him like cool water. For one moment he felt her thoughts touch his, a swift wash of terror, frustrated rage and a love so powerful he blinked. Mi halcon--where--?

The connection faded, even as the lash descended again. The men were chanting along with the strokes.

"Seven!"

He tried to hold onto the sound of Lucy's voice but it slipped away, leaving him alone once more.

"Eight!"

A curious numbness seemed to be spreading through his body. He could feel the shock of each blow but only in a dim sort of way, almost as if it were happening to someone else. He wondered if this had been the experience of those he had sentenced over the years. Most of the prisoners who received floggings had tended to pass out early on in the administration of their punishment . . . he could almost envy them.

"Nine!"

He closed his eyes. Halfway now--as far to go back as it was to go forward. A hard knot of laughter pushed upward. He fought it down by main force and leaned his forehead against the trunk.

"Ten!"

"Stop." Lopez' command cut through the shouts of the men. "Get some water, he's about to pass out."

Fingers fumbled at the back of his neck, loosening the gag.

"Colonel," the title was not said in mockery. The opening of a canteen touched his lips, bringing with it the smell of warm water. It was better than the scent of a precious perfume, but Luis jerked his head away. Show no weakness, he told himself, no weakness . . .

"Colonel, please." The quiet voice was anxious. "You must drink."

Luis opened an eye. An earnest young face loomed close. After a moment he placed it. Private Rosalez. A boy, not much more than fourteen--one of the few who had volunteered to join the militia, his small salary a welcome aid to the family income. If he remembered correctly, Rosalez was one of ten children.

"Come on sir," the soldier put the canteen to Luis' lips. "Just a little, please." The container tipped forward, splashing water in his mouth. Luis tried to pull back, but too late. He tasted the brackish liquid; it was better than his best cognac.

All of which Grisham has already sold or finished off himself, undoubtedly. He savored the few drops of water that reached his tongue. When more was offered he drank, swallowing on a dust-dry throat.

"A little more." The soldier's anxiety was rather peculiar under the circumstances. Luis moved his head and froze as his torn back blazed with pain.

"All right, that's enough!" Rosalez was pushed away as the gag was put back in place and tightened roughly. "Resume administering the sentence, Ernesto."

The next stroke fell as Lopez spoke the last word. Luis gasped as renewed agony surged through him.

"Eleven!"

Continued in Part Four