UN SABOR PART FOUR

~~~~~

The light continued to expand, opening like the iris of a camera lens. Revealed within the light was an image--vague at first, resolving itself into what seemed to be the interior of a room.

Lucy stared at the image, confused. She rubbed her temple, aware of a growing discomfort. She could just see the view beyond the grimy windows; it appeared to be snowing, although the flakes weren't moving, either up down or sideways. In fact the entire scene seemed to be static--no movement of any kind. Lucy frowned. There was a cold sinking sensation at the pit of her stomach, and she could feel herself beginning to tremble. Something about this image filled her with profound dread.

And then it began to move. Lucy's eyes widened.

~~~~~

"Eighteen!"

He was having trouble breathing; his entire body was filled with pain. He willed his legs to stay locked.

"Nineteen!"

One more, he told himself, one more . . .

"What do you think, compas?" Ernesto's hoarse voice rose above the count. "Shall we give him a little extra something to remember us by?"

Luis' heart sank. So this is how I die, he thought. Whipped and beaten like a common criminal . . .

The lash seared his lower back.

"That is for me!" Ernesto shouted. Another strike landed across Luis' upper thighs, cutting through the sweat-soaked linen. "That is for my mother!"

A pause--and then several blows fell on his middle back in rapid succession.

"For my brother!" Ernesto roared. Luis felt his legs give way at last under the assault, sight and sound starting to recede into darkness.

The rope binding him to the tree was loosed. He collapsed, only to be hauled to his feet. Fingers tugged hard at the torn linen about his hips; it fell away.

"Look at him, mi hermanos!" The rough voice was loud and compelling. Luis shuddered as his head was yanked up and back. "It is time you all learned Colonel Montoya is a man like any other! He bleeds, he suffers, he hungers and thirsts . . ."

They pulled him forward by his tied wrists. He gasped as his body twisted in terrible pain, stumbling to fall to his knees, only to be hauled back on his feet. After several minutes of forced march a hand in the small of his back sent him sprawling face-first. Laughter echoed in his ears as he was rolled over. He couldn't stop a cry of pain as his torn back was pushed into the sand, but his throat was too dry to allow sound to escape. The bonds at his wrists were removed as his arms were pulled apart, then pinned in place. The same procedure was used on his legs.

"Spread him wide," Lopez said, and laughed. "I want him to feel it later."

His limbs were pulled taut enough to make the joints pop. Something wet was wrapped about his ankles--rawhide thongs soaked in water he realized, even as he felt the rough wood of a stake positioned near his foot and driven deep into the sand with quick, efficient blows. The thongs were snugged down tight as they were tied to the stakes. The same procedure was applied to his wrists. Luis gritted his teeth as the raw, scored flesh was wrapped tight with a soaking thong.

If I'm fortunate I'll be unconscious by the time they've dried out. As the moisture began to evaporate from the rawhide it would exert even more pull on his limbs, with the result of dislocating his shoulders and tearing ligaments. But the sun is what will kill me . . .

"Hey, Montoya." Ernesto squatted at his side. Luis did not bother to look at him.

"Ah now, you're not upset with me are you? Come on Colonel . . ." There was a soft gurgling sound of a bottle being tipped back, followed by a series of noisy gulping swallows.

"Nothing like a good mezcal." The slurred words revealed more than a nodding acquaintance with the contents of the container. "Sure you wouldn't like a taste?" A few drops splashed on Luis' cheek. He turned his head away slightly.

"Now don' be that way," Ernesto wheedled. Alcohol was dribbled into Luis' eyes. He shut them tightly as his tormentor laughed.

"How does it feel to have your back on fire and your eyes stinging with sweat?" He leaned in to deliver a hard slap to first one side of Luis' face, then the other. The prisoner fought down the fury rising up in him and made himself lie still, though he couldn't stop the trembling of his muscles. Ernesto laughed again.

"Enjoy your little stay in the desert, Colonel." And he was gone. Some distance away a guard stood watch; Luis could just make him out through his blurred vision, a dark figure silhouetted against the star-filled sky. No way to tell who it was . . . His body ached with exhaustion, his flayed back throbbing, his pulse amplified until he thought his heart would pound itself to a standstill. A chill night breeze blew across his overheated skin and he shivered, regretting it immediately as every muscle and nerve blazed with pain.

It won't be long till I'll wish this cool night was still surrounding me, he thought in weary dread, and jumped as a hand touched his shoulder.

"It's all right sir." Private Rosalez spoke quietly. He untied the gag and carefully eased it down; this time when the canteen was presented Luis did not hesitate to drink. The water was cool and fresh, given in small amounts to avoid stomach cramps.

"I promise you," Rosalez was saying, "I'll get you out of this somehow sir, you have my word."

If he could have, Luis would have laughed. Still, a faint hope began to grow, however absurd it was in reality. He heard a rustle of cloth; something was placed over him--a uniform jacket. The garment covered him from mid-chest to his thighs, providing some respite from the growing chill.

"I have plenty of water," Rosalez said, and stood. "A little more later on, sir," and he moved a short distance away. Luis closed his burning eyes, feeling an odd sense of safety despite the intense pain of his wounds. At least the raging thirst had abated somewhat, tamed to a bearable level. Impossible to sleep though, despite exhaustion. And anyway, why waste what might be his last few hours?

Over the incessant shrill keening of pain he opened his senses. In spite of the cool breeze it was a calm night. Somewhere off in the distance, above the sounds of the carousing soldiers, a coyote barked at the moon burnished silver white now, high up in the sky. The bark was answered after a few moments by another, and then another.

They'll be a great deal closer tomorrow night. The wind picked up and he was grateful for Rosalez' jacket. If the wind grows any stronger they'll be here sooner than that.

"Don't worry sir," the youthful voice of his guard was filled with quiet reassurance. "They won't get near you."

Briefly he wondered what he had done or said to inspire such unusual loyalty, what sort of hold he had over someone so young, but try as he might he couldn't remember. After a time he gave up. It was growing harder to concentrate; besides, another concern was pushing everything else aside--even, to his surprise, his own safety.

What is happening to Lucy?

~~~~~

She sat on the narrow bed staring at the floor, hands clasped, shoulders hunched. She wasn't really looking at the hard-packed dirt under her feet however; her mind's eye was replaying the scene shown her by the time window.

After a while she got up and went into the office, to be greeted by an irate Doctor.

"House arrest! AGAIN!!" he stormed. "'Montoya's orders', bah! How much of a fool do they take me for?" He paused, shooting a narrow look at Lucy. "What is it?"

She was too numb to speak. Her tongue wouldn't work, and she seemed to be having trouble breathing as well.

"What's the matter?" She was guided into a chair. Lucy looked up into sober green-gold eyes. She tried to focus on what he was saying; she tried to tell him what she had seen. Blackness began to gather at the edges of her vision.

"Here now," her head was gently pushed down. "Take a deep breath." Her temples throbbed, but the blackness began to withdraw.

"What happened? What's wrong?" he asked again. Lucy sat up slowly. She wouldn't look at him.

"What is it?" Marta stood in the doorway. "What has happened? I felt a chill . . ." She knelt down beside Lucy. As they touched Marta gasped. Her wide, frightened gaze met Lucy's.

"You can't," she whispered. Lucy half-smiled.

"I don't want to, believe me."

"What?" Rob burst out. "Will someone tell me what in bloody damnation is going ON?!"

Lucy sighed. She took another deep breath to steady herself; then she lifted her gaze to meet Rob's, and began to speak.

~~~~~

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Private Rosalez paused in the act of giving Luis more water. His hand, blocked from view by his body, rested on Luis' straining shoulder for just a moment.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and loosely replaced the sodden gag over Luis' mouth before he rose to his full height, unremarkable as it was. His voice was steady though, with just the right mixture of insolence and apprehension.

"I mean you're giving him water and he's got your jacket draped over him like he's your favorite whore," Sergeant Lopez sneered. "Whose side are you on anyway, Rosalez?"

"Sergeant . . ."

Luis sensed the two of them moving away from him.

"This had better be damn good!"

"Well . . ." Rosalez hesitated. When he spoke again he was almost whispering, though Luis could hear every word. "I've got him trusting me. He doesn't know the water's going to make him sick. *Very* sick. Cramps, dry heaves . . . he'll wish he was already dead."

There was a long pause. Then Lopez laughed. "Clever, Rosalez, clever! And it's no better than he deserves."

"As you say, Sergeant."

Luis managed a slight smile behind the gag. He had caught the broad hint thrown to him. He took a steadying breath; this was going to hurt.

"Oooohhh . . . " He moaned softly and shifted, as if his belly was cramping. His back clenched and spasmed but he persevered, gritting his teeth as he moaned a little louder.

"See, it's working already!" Rosalez laughed along with the Sergeant. They came back toward him, looming as two blurred shadows in his compromised vision.

"What's the matter, Colonel? Too much mezcal?" Lopez jeered. Luis growled at him, then groaned as a booted foot drove into his side.

"Good work, Rosalez!" And the Sergeant left, singing an off-key bawdy song as he staggered back to the encampment. The moment it was safe Rosalez knelt by Luis once more, removing the gag.

"Sorry sir." He examined Luis' side with care. "It doesn't look as if the ribs are broken or cracked. Can you breathe without much pain?"

"I'll be all right." He clenched his teeth on a spasm.

"If I thought we had good odds of getting away and surviving I'd chance it," Rosalez said quietly. "But only a few of the soldiers are allowed to drink tonight in case a rescue party shows up." The youth sighed. "I'll stay with you as long as I can, sir."

"What happened to your company--you were supposed to ambush these men . . ."

"Grisham knew about us somehow and warned Lopez. When they caught us they made us swear allegiance to their mutiny." Rosalez offered him the canteen once more. "I swore their oath so that if you needed me I would be at your side, Colonel." The sober voice held a hint of a smile. "Even though I am now trying to poison you."

Luis chuckled weakly, ignoring the pain.

"Despite your intentions I'm fortunate you're here, Private." He closed his eyes. "How long till sunrise?"

"About three hours." Rosalez stood. "I'll be back to check on you in a little while, sir." Once more the gag was replaced, mainly for appearance's sake; then the boy moved off, sand crunching softly under his boots. Luis drew in a ragged breath, let it out again.

Three hours . . .

~~~~~

The three of them sat in silence for some minutes after Lucy stopped speaking.

"You can't," Rob said, aghast. Lucy did not reply, nor did she look up. Marta shook her head.

"She must."

"That's ridiculous!" Rob snapped. 'Why must she go back to-to that?"

"It isn't for you to decide," Marta's voice was sharp. "She is called to go back."

"Called--this is insanity! There's no reason--"

"Yes there is." Lucy's voice was quiet. There was a set quality to her features Rob had seen many times in others, particularly before a battle. "The infusion Marta made . . . just one or two cups helped me, Robert." The dark blue eyes were full of sadness. "I have a responsibility as a healer. You should understand that."

"I don't understand sacrificing yourself!" he snarled.

"You don't know that's what it would be," Lucy said with some asperity. She sat up a little more. "I have to take the chance."

"Don't ask me to be a party to this." Rob pulled himself out of the chair. His angry gaze swept over the two women before he left the room.

"How long till sunrise?" Lucy glanced out the window. The thought of sunlight bothered her. In fact it filled her with a sense of dread she could not explain in any other way than her connection with Luis.

"An hour or two," Marta pushed a curl from her cheek. "Lucy, I have to go to Tessa." She stood with some reluctance.

"I understand." For the first time Lucy smiled a little. "I'll be all right." She waited until Marta was at the door before she spoke again. "Please give my regards to the Queen when you see her."

Marta turned slowly and regarded her with raised eyebrows.

"It would seem we both know secrets about each other," she said finally. Lucy nodded. She said nothing more. Marta's gaze warmed for a moment; then she slipped out the door into the darkness.

~~~~~

"Good morning, Colonel." Lopez' grinning face looked down at him. "A fine clear day dawning, wouldn't you say?"

Luis closed his eyes and tried to ignore the taunting voice.

"The guard I'm posting to watch you will need some kind of entertainment to keep him awake. Your cries for mercy should be noisy enough." The sergeant stood. "Hey Rosalez! Get over here!"

The sun was not quite up over the horizon yet, but it was light enough for Luis to see the young man who came to kneel beside him.

"Take off the gag," Lopez ordered. He glanced away toward a group of soldiers. Rosalez untied the gag and eased it away, then lifted the jacket and folded it over his arm. He checked the rawhide thongs, secretly loosening them as much as he could; he looked down at Luis, gave a slight nod, his gaze full of reassurance--and then he was gone.

"Burn in hell, Montoya." It was Ernesto standing over him now, next to Lopez. "You'll burn here first though!" With a raucous laugh the bandit emptied the last of a bottle over Luis' head before lurching toward his horse.

"Make sure he stays put!" Lopez yelled at the guard. "The rest of you, get in line and follow me!"

Luis blinked, his already-swollen eyes and burned skin stinging once again. He did not dare to turn his head--his neck muscles were stiff from attempts at preventing any movement.

The sun was warm on the soles of his blistered feet. He swallowed on a dry throat. It was going to be a very long day indeed.

~~~~~

Lucy stood at the stove, stirring a small panful of milk. To sit and do nothing while she waited for whatever was to come next was unacceptable. Making bread was sufficiently time-consuming and labor-intensive to keep her occupied for several hours.

"What are you doing?" Rob spoke from the doorway. "It's too early for breakfast."

"I'm heating up some milk to make bread." Lucy didn't look at him.

"Where did you get milk?"

"Elio's mother sent it with Marta earlier." She took the pan off the stove and added some starter to it. "There's enough left in the pantry for you to have a glass if you want it."

"I haven't voluntarily consumed milk in years." Rob watched her add flour to the starter.

"She sent some eggs as well. I could make you a omelette if you like."

"What I would like," he came toward her, "is for you to stop pretending all is well, that would please me no end."

Lucy couldn't prevent a bitter laugh. "All is well . . ." She folded a clean towel over the top of the bowl. "That's a good one." With care she set the batter near the stove to proof, then turned to face Rob. "I need something to keep me occupied while I'm waiting. Is that so terrible?"

"Waiting? What for?" Rob folded his arms. "I thought you had to go back to your time post haste."

"I'm not leaving till Luis comes back." She did her best to keep her voice calm.

"You have no guarantee he'll come back at all, much less live through whatever is happening." The words were uncompromising.

"I know." Lucy wiped a smear of flour off her chin. "Dead or alive, I have to know. I'd prefer alive though." She was shaking; her hands weren't steady. "I'm not going anywhere until he comes back."

"What if he doesn't?"

"He will." She said it with far more assurance than she felt. "Listen, you don't have to stay here and harass me. I'm perfectly fine being by myself."

"Well I'm not." He sat down at the little table that served as work area and dining room. "How about some coffee? I'll put milk in it if it will make you happy."

"You ought to get an hour or two of rest," Lucy protested. Rob shook his head.

"Nope." Hazel eyes glimmered with faint humor. "No point in going to bed now."

"So you plan on waiting with me?"

"I plan on being ready for whatever happens." He watched her measuring out beans into the small grinder. "Is the examination room set up?"

"We're as prepared as we can be." Lucy sighed. "Wish I had an IV at least."

"Things are so different in your time?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"This all must seem rather primitive to you." He sounded a little wistful.

"Sometimes." Lucy raised her voice above the noise of the grinder. "The technology does come in handy, but occasionally it gets in the way as well." She stopped and opened the grounds drawer to check the amount, then got herself a spoon and the coffeepot.

"'Gets in the way'?" He sent her a quizzical look. Lucy paused in the middle of spooning grounds into the pot.

"Well, when you have the ability to prolong life without knowing if there's any good reason for doing so . . ." She considered, then added a last spoonful of coffee. "Life is sacred, but sometimes death is a healing the person truly needs." She added water to the pot and set it on the stove.

"Death as a healing process?" Rob stared at her, incredulous. "You cannot believe that with any degree of seriousness!"

"Of course I do! We've both seen patients who were ready to leave a diseased body, or people who have sustained injuries so severe you knew they'd never have any kind of a life--"

"That is not for me or you to decide!"

Lucy stared back at him. Never had the divide between her century and his been so obvious. "By saying that you've already decided for them, Robert."

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black! You certainly weren't willing to let Elio die. By all rights he ought to be dead, you know."

"He wasn't ready to go." Lucy settled the coffeepot a bit further back on the stove, feeling her face grow warm. Her annoyance level was rising fast.

"And just how the devil do you know that?" Rob crossed one lean leg over the other.

"I just know it. I . . . I felt it," she turned to face him and touched her heart, "here."

That statement earned her a derisive snort. "You and Marta."

Lucy sent him a level look. "Me and Marta what?"

"All this hugger-mugger and mysticism . . . it's just foolishness and you know it." He shifted a little, not quite meeting her eyes. Lucy fought down a surge of anger that changed all too easily to anxiety. Suddenly she wanted Luis; she wanted to feel his arms about her, to hear his voice. Her eyes blurred with tears. The idea that he was suffering, perhaps even dying, filled her with an anguish so intense it was as if her heart was withering in her breast. Her hand gripped the back of the chair.

"Here," she was guided into the seat by large gentle hands. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have argued with you." When he would have moved away she reached up and clasped his fingers in hers, needing a little human contact.

"Hey now," he knelt down beside her, hazel eyes dark with concern. "Lucy . . ."

"He's hurt, he's somewhere hurt or dying and I can't help him," her breath caught in her chest so that she couldn't speak. Rob said nothing more, only gathered her to him. She buried her face in his shirt, feeling helpless.

"I want you to lie down for a little while," the quiet voice rumbled comfortingly under her cheek. "You're worn out and you won't do Montoya any good in this condition."

"I--I slept for a little while," she sniffled.

She was swept up in strong arms.

"No," she protested weakly.

"You are of no use to anyone in this state." He moved into her room and settled her on the bed as if she weighed no more than a feather. He straightened, then strode out of the room, to return a few moments later with a cup in his hand. He crouched down and put it to her lips.

"I need to be awake," she closed her eyes as more tears fell, knowing Rob was right. On a silent protest she drank the drought, swallowing the cool, bitter water. When the cup was empty Rob settled her down, plumping the thin pillow. Once more his big hand took hers in a gentle grip.

"I'll stay here for a while," his fingers squeezed hers in reassurance. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you if anything happens."

"Promise . . ." Whatever it was, it was strong; she could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing she knew was Rob's hand clasping hers, warm and firm.

He waited until he was sure she was truly asleep, her breathing slow and even, before he let go of her hand and stood. He picked up the cup and looked into it, smiling a little. Amazing what a few drops of digestive bitters and the power of suggestion could do . . . He glanced out the window and caught sight of the soldier stationed on his back porch.

"Damn," he muttered. Grisham had made sure escape was almost impossible. Oh, not that he couldn't outwit the simpletons guarding him, that was certainly easy enough--but with Lucy exhausted and in no shape to deal with any more crises, he couldn't leave anyway. With a final glare at the fool loitering outside his door he went to pour himself another cup of coffee.

~~~~~

"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't owe him anything."

Tessa finished tying the mask in place. She gave Marta a grin. "You're right, I don't owe him--but if I find El Colonel and rescue him, he'll owe me, won't he? And it'll be quite a debt."

Marta shook her head. "It's a foolish risk, looking for that man. He won't be grateful."

"He might be a devil, but at least we know him. That's reason enough to keep him around." Tessa frowned at her friend's low chuckle.

"The English have a proverb about that. Robert told me," Marta said by way of explanation. "You may be right, but I still think this is a fool's errand."

"Marta, you always say that whenever I ride as the Queen." Tessa came forward and kissed her friend's cheek. "I'll be careful."

"You always say that whenever you go," the older woman's tone was sharp, but the embrace she gave Tessa was warm and affectionate. "If you do find El Colonel, take him to the doctor's--but be cautious. Grisham will probably have guards posted there by now, if he's behind all this."

"I'll be careful," Tessa promised. She headed for the hidden back door, pulling on her riding gloves. "This won't take long." She sounded more sure of herself than she really was. As easy as Montoya's soldiers might be to track, it was a large area to explore . . .

~~~~~

There was heat--heat everywhere; he felt as if he were in the middle of a blast furnace, the sand around him burning his skin already, though the sun was still relatively low in the sky. It did not bode well for midday.

"Hey Montoya!" The guard stood over him, grinning. "Enjoying your little sunbath?"

Luis gave no reaction. The grin faltered.

"You're only getting what you deserve!" A foot kicked at him and caught his hip before the man moved back to his post, which happened to be in the shade of a large saguaro. Luis could just about see him, a rather blurred, dark figure.

I'll have to make sure there's stricter discipline instituted for these scum, he told himself. Grisham wouldn't have gotten such a following if there was more fear instilled in their moronic minds . . . He gave an experimental tug at his bonds and gritted his teeth as several waves of pain met and clashed together.

"That won't work."

A man sat in the sand next to him--an indio. He wore a shabby green and white checked shirt with what appeared to be some sort of animal skin draped over his shoulders, while his trousers were made of a plain dark green material. The boots he wore were dusty and well-used but in good repair. His

thick black hair was sprinkled with silver, but the eyes that watched him so calmly were an ageless obsidian. Luis frowned a little, momentarily distracted. He had never seen this man before, but he somehow looked familiar . . .

"You know my niece Lucy." The Spanish he spoke was fluent but held the trace of an accent, elusive and unplaceable. "She's worried sick about you."

Luis chuckled, then winced as it caught and made him cough, his bruised ribs sending razor-sharp jabs of pain up into his head.

"Glad to see your sense of humor is still working." The indio looked out over the sands. "Especially when there's not much chance of you making it to the end of the day." He glanced over at Luis, but now that calm gaze held a curious intensity. "Let your ghosts have their say, Montoya."

And he was gone. Luis stared at the place where the man had been, seeing only sand and blue sky.

Lucy never mentioned an uncle. He closed his eyes, picturing her slow, brilliant smile, her mane of honey-brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, her slender, work-worn fingers resting on his arm . . .

~~~

"What are you thinking?"

With some difficulty he pulled his attention away from the images on the screen before him. 'Television,' she called it. He could accept pictures on a nearly flat surface, that made sense--like the magic lantern he had once seen as a child--but these pictures moved. And there were so many of them! She had gone from one 'channel' to another, sounds and colors and a babble of languages piling up so that he had finally put his hand on hers to stop the flow.

"I am wondering," he said at last, "how it is that you didn't die of utter boredom in my century."

She laughed and snuggled a little closer, bringing the thick quilt up over their shoulders. "I didn't find it boring," her fingers gave his hair tie a teasing tug. "If anything I found it rather pleasant in some ways."

"Such as?"

"No TV," she pressed a small button on the slender black box in her hand and the images disappeared. "No radio, no nine to five, no morning commute. Just . . ." she thought about it for a moment. "Quiet," she said finally. He frowned.

"Quiet?" He thought of Santa Elena as a rather noisy village.

"Luis, in this day and age it's very difficult to find true peace. This," she gestured at the darkened screen, "the world, it follows you everywhere. You can't get away from it unless you try very hard, and even then it only lasts for a little while. But in your century, there's time to think about things." She took his hand in hers. "And time to be with you," she brought his fingers to her lips to kiss each one. "Wouldn't mean anything if you weren't there."

He returned her kisses with one of his own, well aware he had done little or nothing to deserve such devotion, but willing to bask in it all the same.

"Say it," she said after a few moments. He sighed.

"Again?"

"Come on, say it." A fingertip traced his lips. He bit at it gently, eliciting a giggle.

"Why do you find this so amusing?"

"Because I think it's cute." She kissed his jaw. "Come on . . ."

He sighed again. "Blipper."

"Bleeeeeeper," Lucy laughed aloud when he tweaked her nose in retaliation for her mockery. His punishment was a rain of lingering kisses on his chin and cheek, interspersed by more giggles until he silenced her with a kiss that left all the others forgotten.

~~~

"Luis."

The soft, sad voice transfixed his thoughts. He said the first thing that came to mind, absurd as it might be. "Mother?"

"My son." There was a terrible sorrow in the endearment. "You went away and never said goodbye. My only child gone to war . . . why did you not write to me?"

He wouldn't look, knowing he would meet green-grey eyes full of love--unwarranted, unconditional love, the same kind she had offered his father.

"I didn't find out what happened to you until after Eduardo died." There was no reproach in the gentle tones, only a bewilderment that pierced the armor of his heart as if it were paper. "Do you truly hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you." The words escaped before he could call them back.

"Luis . . ." There was a breath of a kiss against his cheek. He remembered many nights when he had received just such a caress before being sent off to bed, along with a few loving words meant for him alone. As he had grown from child to youth he had endured the nightly ritual with ill grace, refusing to look at the careworn, anxious face, still beautiful despite lines and silver at the temples.

"Why?" he burst out, unable to hold back the demand any longer. He choked on a dry throat and felt his chest seize in a spasm.

"Why did you love him?" he got out at last. He had longed to shout it at her so many times . . .

"For the same reason your Lucy loves you." There was quiet resignation in her answer. "You must ask her." He felt small fingers touch his brow. "Remember me to my grandchildren."

He sensed rather than saw her leave, fighting the urge to call her back. He had nothing to say to her, weak-willed as she had been. She had refused to see how things were, had lived in her own version of life-

"I should have known you would fail."

The man looked just as he had when the war had begun. Clothes of the proper somber colors for a diplomat's secretary, outdated wig slightly askew, his features screwed up in an expression of disappointment and paternal sorrow that did nothing to hide the coldness in his gaze.

"You never were suited to become a leader." His father folded his arms. "Your current situation bears this out."

"Go away," Luis croaked. He turned his head--a mistake, as every nerve in his ravaged back screamed at him in protest.

"Pathetic." The word dripped scorn. Luis fought the familiar reactions rising up inside him--fury, hatred, and worst of all, an aching sense of rejection. He pushed them back within, trying to marshal the strength to master his emotions. It wouldn't work though; the more he attempted to focus on them, the greater they became until he began to struggle physically as well, pulling at his bonds despite warning shocks of pain.

"Ah, Ramirez. Passing judgement on everyone in sight, as usual."

Luis tensed.

Not him . . . anyone but him! he groaned. Must I be plagued by every dead relative my family can claim?

"Oh come now, cousin. Whining doesn't suit you at all."

He stood silhouetted against the sun--tall, broad-shouldered, resplendent in a pristine uniform. Perfect white teeth flashed in a tanned, handsome face.

"Look at you, Ramirez." Dark auburn hair gleamed as the visitor shook his head in mock sorrow. "By the end of the day you'll be as brown and tough as a strip of dried meat." The lean form crouched down on long legs. "Whatever happened to all those wonderful plans for gold, glory and empire?"

He was not going to talk to this miserable excuse of a man--nothing could provoke him to do so . . .

"Lucy." The resonant voice said the name slowly and with consideration. "She's no beauty but she's well worth pursuing. You have impeccable taste as always." The smile flashed down at him again. "I could have her from you in a heartbeat, Ramirez."

"Liar!" The word burst out of him. The man laughed.

"You remember when I met Estella? She took one look at me and forgot all about you, cousin. Couldn't even remember your name."

He hadn't voluntarily recalled the incident in years. Estella had been his mentor's daughter, a young lady of modest but adequate charms and sufficient intelligence to make her company bearable. She had professed herself agreeable to him . . . until they had gone to a ball, escorted by both sets of parents and a dragon of a duenna. Everything had proceeded as it always did--influential contacts maintained, nobility catered to, the latest gossip passed about--

And then Ramon came down the staircase. Estella and every other girl in the room fell for all that practiced charm without a struggle. A surge of fury rose up within him once more. Women are such fools! So easily taken in by a handsome face . . .

"Now now, Ramirez. You're letting your jealousy show." Ramon gave him a smirk. "I just made sure you didn't get everything you wanted simply by snapping your fingers." The grey eyes darkened, but only for a moment. "Can't stay," the lean form straightened. "My regiment's on the move. Good luck to you, Ramirez. You'll need it." He gave a mocking salute and strode away.

"You're dead!" Luis croaked, and heard his guard laugh.

"Not before you!" was the hoarse reply. "Shut up!" A moment later something struck his side hard--a bottle, empty by the sound of it. Luis winced, his torn back and bound wrists and ankles making their presence known.

Either Rosalez better show up or I should pass out. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about a drink of water.

~~~~~

She would have had a far more difficult time finding her quarry if it weren't for the rather large contingent of buzzards circling high up in the otherwise empty blue sky. Tessa let Chico rest for a few minutes while she estimated distances. It looked to her as if they had sighted something in the desert past the mesa. About an hour away . . . She frowned at the thought of Montoya wounded or dying, perhaps already dead. As many times as she had wished him gone or hated him for his cruelties, she had never wanted him disposed of in this way.

"Well boy," she patted Chico's neck, "let's see what turns up."

It was a little farther than she had expected--well out into the hard-packed sand that comprised the beginning of the great desert. It was nearing midday and the heat was fierce, shimmering over the barren horizon in deep, thick waves.

She came upon the Colonel suddenly. She guided her mount over a small rise and found him lying spreadeagled on the sand, pinned in place by thick rawhide thongs tied to stakes. A little distance away in the scant shade of a saguaro was what looked to be a guard, except that he lay prone. Upon further investigation Tessa found he was drunk--passed out. She snorted in amused disgust, removed his pistol and sword, then returned to the Colonel. Montoya was in a very poor way; he was deeply burnt by the sun, his face swollen and battered, and there were livid purple-black bruises here and there over his torso and limbs. Tessa stood looking down at him for a few moments, trying to master her shock at seeing him in the altogether, and in such a dreadful state as well.

She could walk away, solving several personal problems with his death.

"To say the least," she murmured aloud. Chico snorted and shook his head, indicating his willingness to leave this place of infernal heat. Tessa took the canteen from her saddle and opened it, then poured a little of the water over Chico's nose. One corner of her mouth quirked upward as he gave an indignant snuffle. Then she looked down at the prisoner once more, her brief moment of amusement fading.

She might save many lives, perhaps even prevent the forcible takeover by military coup of Nueva Espana sometime in the near future if she left Montoya here. Only one person would mourn his death, and even Lucy wouldn't deny that the Colonel had brought this down upon himself, for past behavior if nothing else. And yet she couldn't do it; she would be as responsible for his dying as the ones who had put him here.

With a sigh she wiped the sweat out of her eyes and moved to the captive's left foot. Squatting down, she took the dagger from her boot and cut the thong, noting how tight the bonds were--tight enough to sink deep into discolored flesh. And there was very little spare flesh on the Colonel . . . She freed his right foot, then his wrists. With care she checked to make sure he had no broken ribs, then started to lift him up. He groaned and tried to open one swollen eyelid, but was unsuccessful. Despite herself Tessa felt a pang of sympathy.

"Don't worry," she said, and couldn't help but smile. "You're in good hands."

At first he didn't respond--and then she heard a faint ghost of a chuckle. The cracked lips moved slowly.

. . . just . . . my . . . luck . . .

Tessa gave a soft laugh.

"This will hurt you quite a bit more than it will me," she said, and helped him to sit up. He gasped and fell back against her arm. Through the fine leather of her glove she felt irregular ridges across his back--whip cuts, deep ones at that, scabbed over and crusted with sand. Someone had wanted to make sure he suffered greatly before the desert sun finished him off . . . She caught him around the waist and stood, half-carrying, half-dragging him to a patient Chico. Without grace she draped him over the front of the saddle, then climbed up, bringing him back against her. Sweat stung her eyes and she shook her head to clear away the drops trickling down her brow. Black was not the most practical color for high desert sorties.

"Come on boy." She nudged her mount into motion and tried not to think about the long ride ahead.

~~~~~

It was nearing sunset by the time Rosalez reached the rise near the spot where the Colonel had been left. With caution he approached the top of the little hill and looked over. His eyes widened. Two minutes later he was crouched down by a stake, examining the remains of the rawhide thong still attached to it. Cut . . . someone had freed him. Someone with a horse . . . He glanced at the guard lying by the saguaro, unconscious.

Dying of dehydration and alcohol poisoning, undoubtedly. David dismissed him as of no consequence and turned back to the hoof prints headed in the general direction of Santa Elena. He stood silent for a moment, allowing a plan to take shape in his thoughts; when it was settled to his satisfaction, he mounted his horse once more and began following the trail left by the previous visitor.

A cool breeze ruffled his hair as he watched gold and crimson rays touch the deep blue of approaching night. There would be other evenings, other sunsets to admire, at least if his prayers had been heard and granted. Of much more importance at the moment was finding the Colonel and helping him in any way possible.

He urged his horse to a canter and concentrated on the task at hand.

~~~~~

Rob checked on Lucy once more. She was motionless, curled on her side, her thick braid draped over her cheek. He watched her for a few minutes, pleased to see she was deeply asleep, though concerned by her exhaustion. She was carrying a terrible burden; already drained by the unknown illness she had told him of, she was in no condition for so much sustained tension.

At last he turned away to glance out the window. He could just see the shadows of late afternoon stealing across the alley. He stared out at them, feeling a curious sense of loneliness, an ache within that left him wanting Marta at his side. He closed his eyes for a moment. The sound of her soft voice with its lilting accent, the rustle of her skirts, the delight of her kisses . . . With an effort he shook himself from his daydreaming and gave the view one last look.

Someone was looking back at him--a woman in black, her all too familiar mask of lace hiding everything but sparkling dark eyes and an impish grin. Rob jumped.

"You!" he exclaimed. "How did you get in here?"

"Keep your voice down, Doctor. I memorized the floor plan for this palace long ago. At any rate it wasn't too hard to find a way in past that idiot of a guard." The teasing note in her voice faded. "I've got Montoya."

Rob tensed. "Alive?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. The Queen nodded.

"Yes, but just barely." She gestured toward the alley. "I have him hidden for now but we'll need a distraction of some sort."

"It'll be dark soon," Rob glanced at the clock on the mantel.

"I don't think we can wait." The Queen looked anxious.

"I can't believe you care," he couldn't resist the jibe.

Velvet-brown eyes flashed behind the delicate lace. "I wouldn't allow anyone to just die, Doctor. Not even Colonel Montoya."

"That's quite a statement," he glared at her. "Considering the number of soldiers you've injured or outright killed, you ought to feel a bit hypocritical about taking such care of their leader, don't you agree?"

The Queen tilted her head a bit, though her gaze never left his face. "What would you have me say? If I confess my guilt in such matters, will you offer me your personal forgiveness and then see to the Colonel?" The glitter of anger had fled her gaze, leaving only a deep sorrow in its wake. "This is not the time or place for a moral debate, Doctor. A man urgently needs your help. We can argue with each other another day."

Rob felt a flush of embarrassment warm his cheeks. "Yes, well," he muttered, and bent his gaze on the floor. After an awkward moment between them he spoke. "You'll need a distraction of course."

"Can you get the guard at the back to come around front?" Her words were level, her tone unemotional. "I can bring Montoya in through the alley."

Rob gave a stiff nod, still smarting from her rebuke. "I can manage that. Just listen for some loud voices and get in here as fast as you can."

The Queen gave him a faint smile. She went to the window, peeking through the shutters--and then she was gone, silent as a shadow. Rob shook his head.

"Damn fool," he muttered, and went into Lucy's room. He bent down to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. He didn't want to disturb her, but he would need her help.

"Lucy."

Years of on-duty catnaps had programmed her to wake quickly. She sat up, orienting herself.

"The Queen found Montoya," it was Rob speaking, "but we need a distraction so we can get him inside."

She nodded, a surge of adrenaline and fear pushing her to her feet. It was an all-too-familiar feeling, bringing with it a haunting combination of dread and exhilaration; how many times had she been confronted in the early hours of the night by the arrival of casualties?

"I'll be in the office," he mapped it out for her. "You stay with me for a few minutes and then go in the back." He stopped her as she was about to move past him.

"He could be badly injured, even dying." The green-gold gaze was kind. "You know that."

She nodded. However prepared she thought she was, when the patient came through the door it was always a different story. "I know."

"Good girl." He put a gentle hand on her shoulder for a moment, then moved toward the office. Lucy took a deep breath, steadying herself.

~~~~~

"LUCY!!!"

She jumped at the sound of her own name bellowed through the quarters.

"How many times have I told you not to disturb my desk?!"

She roused herself to answer him. "Robert, it was a dreadful mess!"

"You've tidied up and now I can't find anything!"

Lucy stifled an urge to laugh. Rob Helm Sings Thomas Dolby's Greatest Hits . . . "She blinded me with science," she said under her breath, and went to the doorway.

"If you would keep things clean in the first place you wouldn't have a problem!" She raised her voice to a shrill screech and earned a coarse chuckle from the guard posted by the front door; he was enjoying their argument, though it was doubtful he could understand anything beyond the overall tone, since they were fighting in English. She moved into the archway between rooms. Rob was standing at his desk, rustling papers.

"Well I'm informing you now, leave things alone!" He turned his head to peek through the shuttered window and grimaced. Apparently the other guard hadn't come around from the back. The fight would have to escalate a bit.

"You don't inform me about anything!" In a sudden inspiration she picked up a pottery bowl and hurled it across the room. It exploded with a spectacular crash against the far wall.

Rob stared at her in genuine shock. "HEY!"

She grabbed one of the mugs off the shelf. It followed the bowl.

"Bloody woman!"

"Don't you DARE yell at me, you awful man! I cook, I clean, I do your laundry--none of it matters to you at ALL!" She threw another mug, this time aiming it to fly out the half-open shutters. "You can do it yourself from now on!"

They both heard the guard break into loud laughter.

"Hey 'rique!" he called, the words echoing faintly in the office. "Come up here!"

Rob grinned, then motioned her to the back. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?" He picked up a mug and sent it to join the others piled in a heap of fragments at the foot of the wall.

"How else can I make you listen?!" She slipped into the examination room--only to find it still empty.

"In here," the Queen's soft voice came from Lucy's pantry/bedroom. She was about to protest when the logic of it registered. They couldn't treat their patient where any of the guards stationed outside could push open a shutter and look in at will. Why hadn't they thought of that? With a sinking heart she went to the doorway of her room.

The Queen had managed to settle Luis on the narrow cot, so that the first thing Lucy saw was his back. It was covered with whip cuts, some of them deep, all of them crusted with copious amounts of blackened dried blood and sand. Her heart contracted sharply in rising horror and fury when she saw the angry red skin, the swollen features, the bloodied wrists and ankles still trailing rawhide thongs, the bruised feet covered with broken, oozing blisters. She knelt down beside the bed, swallowing on a dry throat.

"I must leave while the guard's still distracted," the Queen put her hand on Lucy's shoulder for a moment. "At least he's alive, senorita Sparhawk."

With an effort Lucy lifted her gaze to the masked woman's. "Thanks to you. We both owe you a debt we can never repay, Your Majesty."

The only reply was a gentle pressure from the gloved fingers and a warm smile--and then she was gone, a shadow gliding from the room. Lucy watched her leave.

"Vaya con Dios," she whispered, and stood to take a clean sheet off the shelf above her. She shook it out and floated it with care over the still figure on the bed.

"I've got to go help Rob," she said to him, "but I'll be right back." She leaned down, checked his pulse and breathing; with a little sigh she gave in to her feelings and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to his cracked lips. Then she hurried back to the office where Rob prowled back and forth, still venting his wrath on innocent earthenware.

"Now look what's happened!" she wailed as she watched another cup met its demise. "I'll have to go to the market tomorrow and get all new ones!"

"Don't blame me for your bad temper," Rob growled. "Is he--" he asked in the barest of whispers. Lucy nodded.

"That's it then!" he bellowed, making her jump. "Go and make me some coffee!"

"Get it yourself!" she shouted, and picked up the last cup. They both watched it join the other ex-utensils. "We don't have anything to put it in now anyway!" She gestured toward the pantry. Rob nodded.

"You damnable shrew! I've got account books to go through, how can I do that without at least a cup of tea?" He smacked the desk with the flat of his hand. "Termagant! Virago! Harpy!"

"Go to hell, you jerk!" Lucy gestured at her bedroom door, watching Rob think through the same sequence of realizations she had a few moments ago. They moved together then, to the small room where their patient waited.

~~~~~

"Luis . . ."

Her voice was like cool, pure water. It rippled down his throbbing sides and back, over his legs . . . a deliciously soothing process. He surrendered himself to the sensation without a struggle.

"Luis . . ." Rose-petal lips touched his crown, then his temple. "Drink this for me."

It was water, cool and sweet and pure. He sipped it slowly, savoring the taste, feeling his desperate thirst begin to relax. A sort of gradual, dreamy complacence settled over him; he floated without weight, like a leaf on the surface of a still pond, aware of a loving presence there at his side, exactly where she ought to be.

"Go to sleep," the soft voice urged. He obeyed, letting the dark waters close over his head in silence as he sank down.

~~~~~

Lucy watched as Rob began to clean the first wound, irrigating it with cooled boiled water, then carefully removing the sand and crusted blood with a clean cloth soaked in oil of lavender and rosemary. The injuries were profound, and Lucy's heart sank at the almost certain probability of infection. In her time it would be a simple matter of administering antibiotics and fluid IV. Now all she had was the tube of Neosporin she kept in her first aid kit, and several herbal preparations.

Thank the Goddess he's out. She looked at the prescription bottle on the night stand. She had used the last of her migraine meds to sedate the patient, unwilling to let him face the agonies of debridement while conscious. A dangerous thing to do given his weakened state, but the intense pain would have been just as detrimental.

"These wounds are very deep," Rob said quietly. "He'll have scars."

"At least he's alive." But she remembered flawless smooth skin wearing only a sheen of sweat as it played over well-defined muscles, warming under her touch . . . She forced her tears back to their source and held out a clean cloth with a steady hand.

~~~~~

It was early evening by the time Rob straightened his aching back and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I've done all I can," he said quietly. "Now we wait."

Lucy nodded. She looked the worse for wear but she said nothing, only gathered up the dirty cloths and the basin of water and took them into the kitchen.

"You didn't leave anything suspicious sitting out?" he asked when she returned in a minute or so.

"I wrapped a bandage around my hand and dumped the water in the alley. The cloths are soaking behind the stove as we speak." She looked Rob over. "You're done in," her dark blue eyes were gentle in her pale face. "I could get you some tea if you like."

"I'll be quite all right. Do you want me to take the first watch?" He rubbed his neck.

For answer Lucy sat down on the little stool next to the bed. She took Montoya's bandaged hand in hers, holding it with a tenderness Rob found both sad and profound.

"Go get some rest." She gave him a small smile.

"He's feverish," Rob warned. "If his temperature rises you'll need to . . ." He trailed off at Lucy's look--part exasperation, part pure amusement. Rob felt his face redden for the second time that day.

"Oh--right," he remembered their first encounter. "Never mind."

"If he spikes a fever I'll come get you right away." She turned and took the compress from Montoya's forehead, dipped it in the basin on the table next to her, wrung it out, and replaced it with care.

"I know what I'm doing," she spoke quietly without looking at him. "Go to bed, Rob."

He watched her a moment longer; then he said a soft "Good night" and left, closing the door behind him.

~~~~~

It seemed to Luis he had traveled a great distance over rough terrain; his head felt very peculiar, and his back ached abominably. He started to sit up and gasped as pain assailed him from every side.

"No, Luis. Lie still."

"Lucy . . . ?" It hurt to use his throat muscles.

"Yes." Lips brushed his temple, an oddly familiar gesture. "You're in my bed in the doctor's quarters, my love."

In her bed . . . he couldn't help being amused. He chuckled and caught his breath as bruised ribs complained.

"Shh . . ." Those soft lips pressed kisses to his brow, his cheek, his mouth, even as he became aware of slender fingers clasping his hand in a warm, gentle hold. "You must lie still." Another kiss feathered over his lips. He smiled a little, though it hurt.

"Take care," he whispered, "you don't . . . spoil me . . ."

The hand holding his with such tenderness trembled.

"Luis . . ." She came close--he felt her warmth, smelled the faint fragrance of lavender and sage soap she liked to use. Her soft cheek touched his. "Oh Luis . . ." He could feel her trembling; she kissed him again and sniffled a little.

"Don't cry," he did his best to comfort her. "Don't have to . . . do paperwork now--anyway."

"You fool," she gave a watery half-giggle, half-sob and very gently pressed closer. He drank in her nearness. As exhaustion claimed him his last conscious thought was one of gratitude. He was alive and in Lucy's bed. What better place to plan his vengeance?

Things could only get better from here on out . . .

~~~~~

Ana glanced out of the window for what felt like the thousandth time just in the past hour. She pushed a strand of hair away from her cheek with an impatient hand. The day was already warm, and her careful arrangement of curls was coming loose.

Something is not right, she thought, watching sunlight illuminate the church facade on the other side of the square. I can't put my finger on it exactly . . . but I've seen enough conspiracies and intrigues at Court to know when one's being played out. She wriggled her foot to stop her shoe from pinching. Luis' second in command . . . he's up to something.

An hour spent at the manor earlier that morning with Capitan Grisham had proven frustrating and unproductive. He had answered her delicate probings with vague replies that told her nothing, given her what he obviously considered to be his best charming smile, ordered breakfast to be delivered to her room, and all but locked the door in her face as he escorted her out of Luis' office.

Curious, she mused, looking out over the busy market scene. If the Capitan was supposed to accompany the tax money to Monterrey with Luis, then how can he be here? There certainly wasn't enough time for him to travel all that way and come back. And why wouldn't Luis come back with him then? She dared to lean out on the sill a little, recklessly courting the creation of freckles. If I wait for word of what's happened I'll never learn anything, slender fingers curled into fists. I'll have to find out my own way, as usual.

She looked out the window once more. As she did so she saw the town doctor striding across the square toward his office, head down slightly, shoulders hunched. Ana's eyes narrowed. He was trying a little too hard to be inconspicuous . . .

It took only a few moments to slip out of the room while her maid Alfonsa was occupied with some trivial chore. A wave of heat and noise greeted Ana when she walked out into the square, a reminder (as if she needed one) of how uncouth and primitive this land was. In Spain there would be arcades, great stone archways to protect against the fierce light. At any rate, instead of walking she would be in a carriage with her maid and duenna.

Ana frowned. A humiliating experience, having a chaperone at her age! Well, that was why she had braved the journey here, wasn't it? It was time to force Luis' hand one way or the other. His seeming disappearance would cause only a slight delay to her plans.

I'll find him if I have to travel to the ends of the earth, she vowed as she approached the humble quarters that served as the doctor's office. Whatever is required, I'll do it. She slowed her steps to a hesitant walk as she neared her destination.

"I really must see the physician," she told the guard lounging by the door. "I have a pain . . ." She pressed a hand to her bosom and sighed, coldly amused at how the man's avid gaze followed her gesture.

"Of course, senorita." He executed a clumsy bow and opened the door.

The interior of the office was dark and cool. Ana's eyes were still dazzled by the bright sunlight of the square, so that when the doctor loomed up before her she gave a little gasp of startlement.

"How may I help you, senorita de la Vega?" The tone was polite, but she heard the steel underlying the formal words.

"What's going on?" she asked. No point in wasting time with idle chatter.

"I don't understand what you mean." She could see a little better now. His inoffensive tone was belied by his stare, hard and bright with dislike.

"You understand me perfectly. What or who are you hiding?" She raised her voice a bit and had the satisfaction of seeing hostility replaced by alarm. Without another word she pushed past him into the interior of the office.

"Senorita, please!" The doctor was right behind her.

"Tell me what I want to know and I won't make a scene," she said over her shoulder. "Otherwise I'll scream the place down and have every guard in town at your doorstep."

He hovered for a moment, indecisive. Ana turned to face him. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

"I am Colonel Montoya's betrothed," she said, with just the right blend of coolness and dignity. She had used this attitude on countless occasions and knew it worked to her advantage. "He should have returned to Santa Elena by now, but no one will tell me where he is or what has happened. I have a right to know. "

Those changeable eyes studied her; then he moved ahead, noiseless as a bird in flight, and gestured at a door before stepping aside. Ana took a deep breath, walked forward and lifted the latch with care.

It was small, lined with rough shelves and stocked with a modicum of food--a pantry or storeroom of some sort. An oil lamp shed light, revealing what appeared to be a cot. The narrow bed held an occupant, and it was Luis.

Ana's breath caught in her throat. Though most of him was covered by a sheet, it was plain he was badly injured--his swollen, bruised face and the ugly whip cut just visible on his shoulder told her that much. It also gave her a clue as to why he was hidden away in the little room. Someone had tried to kill him, and not quickly either . . . He lay on his stomach, propped a bit with pillows to hold his head up. There was a compress on his forehead, a basin of water not far away, but what caught Ana's attention was the woman sitting by his side. It was the doctor's cousin. She was crouched down on a low stool, fitted in the cramped space in what had to be a horribly uncomfortable position; she looked tired and hot, but she didn't seem to be aware of her surroundings or her appearance. All her concentration was focused on Luis. One work worn, reddened hand held his bandaged one, while the other stroked his hair. As Ana watched the woman took the compress from his forehead, refreshed it in the basin of water and squeezed out the excess moisture, each step accomplished without letting go of his hand. When the cloth was in place she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his temple with a few whispered words, then settled back into her half-crouch. The entire action had been accomplished in an aura of tenderness and love Ana had never seen displayed by anyone before for any reason.

She moved then. As silently as before she closed the door, then went back to the front of the office. The doctor was sitting in a chair by the doorway, waiting for her. When she entered he stood up. Ana forestalled his comment by speaking first.

"You are in no danger from me."

"What will you do now?" he asked, his voice gentle. She did not allow herself to fall under its resonant spell. The compassion and kindness in his words threatened to be her undoing. Without conscious thought Ana took refuge in anger--the only fortress that had kept her safe through the long, bleak years she had endured alone.

"I'll do what I've always done," she snapped. "Don't try to tell me you care. I detest lies and hypocrisy." Though pity is infinitely worse, she added silently.

"It might be easier to care if you weren't such a bloody contrary female!"

The gentleness was gone, replaced by the enmity he had shown earlier. She had the upper hand in the exchange now, this was familiar territory; she told herself it was exactly what she wanted. The doctor stalked to the door and yanked it open.

"Your complaint is not a serious one, Senorita." His green-gold eyes held no trace of their former warmth. "You should see an improvement in a day or so. Good morning."

Ana favored him with a distant nod and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. It was the drastic change in light that made her eyes water as she strode across the square, ignoring the respectful bows and murmurs of the people passing by. Still, even as she presented the appearance of knowing where she was going, in her mind and heart she felt lost--like a rudderless ship adrift on a becalmed sea.

But not for long, she vowed. Not for long.

~~~~~

Lucy woke as a hand touched her arm. She sat up and stretched a bit, then glanced at Luis. He was asleep, his bruised face relaxed so that the lines of pain and exhaustion were less obvious.

"You must go and rest for a little while," Rob said softly. "I'll take the watch for a few hours."

Lucy nodded. She leaned forward and kissed Luis' cracked lips, then got to her feet, a little startled to find she was somewhat lightheaded.

"Come on," a lanky arm went about her waist. "I shouldn't have let you stay so long."

"I'm all right," she said, the response automatic.

"No you're not, you're worn to a thread. Sit," she was guided to the kitchen and settled into a chair. Something touched her fingers--a mug of water. She looked down at it in dumb surprise.

"I convinced one of the soldiers to purchase some for me at the market. We had quite an amusing conversation about the vagaries of a woman's temperament." The cup was guided to her lips. She sipped at the cool water, aware her shoulders and back were stiff, only to forget her soreness when a plate was set down in front of her. It held freshly baked flour tortillas and a golden mass of scrambled eggs mixed with tomatoes and peppers. Lucy stared at this feast in disbelief, even as her empty stomach rumbled. "Where did this come from?"

"I can cook, you know." Rob sounded a bit defensive.

"I know you can." Lucy's mouth was watering. "I just didn't expect--this smells wonderful!"

He chuckled as he picked up a tortilla. "Here. Eat."

"What about Luis?" She half-rose in her seat, anxiety overruling her empty stomach's protest, only to be settled back down.

"I'll sit with him. I want you to eat," he scooped up some eggs with the tortilla and handed it to her. She accepted and took a bite, astonished at how the flavors seemed to burst on her tongue. Her second mouthful was much larger.

"Very good." She heard the smile in Rob's voice. "When you're finished you you're to go and rest."

Lucy barely heard him leave; she was ravenous now with awakened hunger, her hands trembling. She ate the tortillas and eggs, a handful of grapes, an apple and half of another mug of water before she was full enough to call a halt. When she took her dishes to the stone sink she found the bread dough starter from what seemed like an entire lifetime ago, long since proofed and now exhausted.

"I know how you feel," she told it as she opened the door to the back alley and tossed it out. The soldier standing guard a few feet away sent her a dirty look, which she returned before slamming the door shut.

The cot in Rob's room was remade with clean linens, one corner of the sheet folded down. Lucy tucked it back in place, smiling a little at the strange mixture of kindness and arrogance that made up her friend Rob's personality. She curled on her side and closed her eyes, drifting off into the darkness.

~~

"You have to go back now, Speaks."

Her uncle stood by the bed looking down at her, his homely face a blend of sternness and a subtle sorrow that filled her with dread.

"You knew about what I saw in the time access." It wasn't an accusation, more a statement of fact.

"Yes." His expression did not alter. "I've known from the beginning."

"And you wouldn't tell me?"

"You had to remember on your own."

She nodded. It was making sense at long last. Sort of. "I'm scared."

"I know."

"Do I have to do this?" It was a foolish question but she had to ask it.

"There are people waiting for the herbal combination." He spoke with a calm gentleness that was harder to bear than if he had shouted at her.

"Couldn't I please stay another day?" She heard the pleading note in her voice and hated it. "Just until I know he's going to be all right for sure--"

"No." There was no negotiating with that implacable word. "You must go."

~~

Lucy woke as that last statement echoed in the quiet room. Slowly she sat up, a bit confused and frightened by the lengthening shadows--and then she remembered, all of it. She sat up, steadying herself. After a moment she went to her room. Rob looked up as she entered, a smile creasing his lean face.

"Our patient is awake," he informed her softly. Lucy felt her heart twist with pain and joy combined. She came in and sat on the stool as Rob moved past her, and reached out to take a bandaged hand in both of hers. This time the swollen fingers returned her clasp with a slight pressure. Bloodshot grey eyes gazed at her with comprehension, the pale depths full of weary tenderness.

"Lucy," his voice was a bit stronger. She smiled at him, ignoring the tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Luis," she leaned forward and kissed him. As she did so she heard the door close--Rob leaving to allow them some privacy.

"You must not cry," Luis was saying, and she knew a sharp stab of anguish at the concern in the hoarse words. She pressed brief, feather-light kisses to his cheek and brow and felt him give a soundless chuckle.

"You are spoiling me," he whispered. She kissed him again, then moved back a little.

"Luis," she said softly, "what happened? Can you tell me?" She smoothed a strand of matted hair back from his forehead.

"Grisham," he coughed and winced, his eyes closing. Lucy took the mug of water from the table and put it to his lips. He drank and then lay back, trembling. "He knew about the plan... had the men ambushed."

"And the second backup plan?" She offered more water but he refused, obviously at the end of his small reserve of strength.

"Didn't work," and he was asleep once more. Lucy stroked his temple with the lightest of touches, then stood. Her backpack was only a few feet away; she reached down into the zippered opening at the side and found what she was looking for, tucked it into her apron pocket, and left the room in silence.

"I'm going out for a little while," she informed Rob when she came into the office. He glanced up at her sharply from the journal he was reading.

"What is it?"

"Just an errand I have to run," she made her tone casual. "I'll be back."

"Lucy, what are you up to?" Hazel eyes glinted.

She didn't answer as she slipped out the door and shut it behind her, to be confronted by the first obstacle on her journey.

"Halt!" The guard stepped in front of her. Lucy let her expression turn sullen.

"Never tell me I'm under house arrest too?" She pouted. "How am I to get a decent drink if I'm cooped up with the doctor for days and days? You have no idea how mean he is!"

"Senorita, you're going to get me in terrible trouble!" The soldier didn't sound all that concerned. Lucy giggled.

"Just one little drink at the cantina," she gave him her best pleading look. "I promise I'll be good and come right back." She sent him a coy glance from under her lashes. "Maybe when the situation changes, you and I could have a drink together sometime." Two hundred years of women's liberation straight down the drain, she thought with a mental sigh.

"Well . . ." He was wavering. Lucy took advantage of the hesitation. "Thanks!" And she was gone, just another fleeting shadow in a street full of light and darkness.

~~~~~

Marcus tipped back in the soft leather chair behind the ornate desk and took another large sip of cognac. The remains of a fine dinner lay on the table in the other room; he considered going back in for more dessert, then patted his full belly. Later perhaps . . .

So I've finally gotten what I deserved all along, he congratulated himself. Montoya always said there was no reward for timidity. At least now I won't have to listen to his platitudes or put up with his smartass remarks. He chuckled, picturing El Coronel lying near death in the desert, watching in helpless terror as the coyotes approached for their evening meal.

"Maid!" he called, swirling fine liquor in the delicate glass. Perhaps he would have a bit of 'dessert' after all. "Hey DOMESTICA! Get in here!"

"Will I do?"

She looked ridiculous in her plain green dress with the white apron over it, almost like a little girl playing at being a grownup. There was nothing girlish about the figure in those clothes though. Marcus let his gaze linger on her breasts.

"You're kinda on the shopworn side, but yeah, you'll do." He laughed at the sudden blaze of hatred in her eyes. "What's the matter, Lu-seee-ta?" He made a mockery of her name. "Can't handle the truth?"

"You'd be surprised what I can handle, fuckhead."

The gun appeared in her hand before he could even sit up. Marcus blinked. It looked like a Glock--small gun, large bore, an excellent choice for a concealed weapon. More importantly, it was aimed right at his head. "Where the hell did you get that?"

"I asked the blacksmith to make it for me, duh. Does it matter?" She gestured toward the middle of the room. "Move."

"Now Lucy--" He gave her his best grin. "Be careful with that thing, okay?"

"Get. Up. I won't tell you again."

He stood slowly, wondering if he could manage to make enough noise to attract the guard's attention before she squeezed off a shot. "Look, if this is about the gold, I'm more than willing to share it with you."

A calculating look crept into those sea-storm eyes. Marcus was pleased to see the barrel of the gun waver a bit, then drift away from him slightly. "How much?"

"More than you've ever dreamed of," he took a step toward her, his voice low and sibilant. "We take all of it back with us, we own the planet. Houses, cars, drugs, Vegas--anything you want baby, it's yours." He took another step toward her. So close . . .

"Hmm, pretty tempting . . ." The gun was trained on him again. "NOT." This time her aim was lower, in the vicinity of his pelvic area. He dared another step in her direction and froze as she smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. "Please, give me an excuse to make you sing soprano."

"Don't be stupid!" he snarled. "You're throwing away the chance of a lifetime, you idiot!"

"Oh, I don't think so." He had never known a woman's voice could be so cold. "Take off your clothes, Marcus."

He stared at her. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Aw come on--"

She put one hand over the other to steady her aim. He sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Look, if this is about Montoya--"

"Shut up."

"I never understood how you could like him, he's--"

"SHUT UP."

Her arms were steady, her gaze unwavering. He was too far away from the desk and chairs to throw anything at her, and if he tried to shout for help he'd end up with a sizeable hole in an area he held dear. On a frustrated growl he pulled his shirttail out of his pants and began undoing his suspenders.

Lucy laughed when his stripdown revealed a very disreputable-looking pair of briefs. Marcus glared at her. "What's so funny?"

"Your Undaroos. Never knew you were a fashion geek, but it figures." She sobered. "Get naked."

"Bullshit I will!" He folded his arms. "What the hell--"

"Keep arguing, why don't you." She took aim once more. Marcus glanced at the door. Where the hell were the guards? With some reluctance he hooked his fingers in his underwear and pulled down, then stepped out of them.

"The boots too."

"You're enjoying this," he muttered as he sat down to pull off his footwear. The thought of throwing a boot at her was a tempting one--

"I wouldn't if I were you," Lucy admonished. "You might startle me and then the big bad gun would go off." She bared her teeth at him in a brief grin. "Throw them to your right."

With a snarl he hurled the boots away.

"Good boy." She held the gun steady--and then she began to sing. Well, not really sing, more like holding a single note. It tickled his ears and gave him a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, just like--

"Oh shit! You're not sending me back, goddammit!" Furious and starting to panic, he tried to back away from her. Lucy changed the pitch of the tone she was singing. Marcus felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand up. Something was opening behind him . . . a timegate. He didn't have to see it to know it was there. How the fuck had she found a way to open one without the blood offering? Or maybe he was the sacrificial lamb?

The caterwauling ceased abruptly. There was a look of anticipation on Lucy's plain face that told him all he needed to know about his destination. Wherever it was, it wouldn't exactly be the Tropicana.

"Look," he gave her his best ingratiating smile as he fought to think of a plan, "we can negotiate this, can't we? There must be something I can do for you!"

She appeared to consider his words.

"You're right," she said at last, and Marcus let go a held breath. "There is something you can do." One corner of her mouth twitched upward. "You can beg."

"I--what?" He stared at her.

"You heard me. Beg," she let go of the gun with one hand for a moment to make a shooing gesture at him. "And put some enthusiasm into it. Drama will count for fifty percent of your grade."

"Jeezus," Marcus groaned. Still he obeyed, folding his arms and trying his best to appear humbled. "Um, please."

Lucy sighed, looking bored. "Fifty percent," she prompted. He glared at her in impotent hatred, any pretense at humility gone.

"PLEASE, don't pull the trigger. Satisfied?"

"You know Marcus, I get the feeling you're not taking me seriously. Tsk tsk."

He saw the barrel drop down, saw her finger caress the trigger--but not fast enough to move. The bullet hit his knee dead center, destroying the joint completely in an explosion of blood and bone. Marcus grabbed his leg as a blaze of agony slammed up into his head. With a howl of pain and rage he lunged at her and collapsed to the floor. She stepped back, her laugh almost lost amid the echoes of the gun's report.

"That was for Luis, you double crossing bastard." Her dark blue eyes gleamed like winter sun on a frozen lake. "And just so you know, you're a terrible lay." She wiggled her fingers at him in mocking salute. "Goodbye, Marcus."

Once more she began to sing--a high, clear note that pierced him through every cell. Marcus screamed as the gate pulled him into a maelstrom of chaos, wrenching his injured leg and spinning him into oblivion.

~~~~~

David waited until the room within was quiet; then he opened the ornate office door a crack. The nose of a rather odd-looking weapon pressed against his cheek.

"It's me--Rosalez," he said with some haste. "We both need to leave this place, senorita."

The weapon pulled back. "You've got a point." The weapon was withdrawn. A moment later she emerged, closing the door behind her. Her apron was splattered with blood and her face was rather pale, but she didn't seem hysterical or about to faint. Once again David found himself admiring Montoya's acumen. The man was an excellent judge of character; his woman was proof. He held out his hand and she took it, her fingers cold and dry. Together they slipped down the back stairs, hiding in lightless corners as soldiers moved past on their way to the Colonel's office.

"The Doctor has Luis hidden in his office," she said after a time. They were crouched down in a corner behind a table, waiting for the last of the guards milling about in the courtyard beyond to clear out. "Let me go there first. I'll tell Rob you're coming." She sounded worried. "If the soldiers find you-"

"They won't." He grinned. "I've had plenty of practice not getting caught. Once after I cut the braids off my sister's doll, I hid in the chicken coop. My mother walked by me a dozen times a day for three days and never knew I was there."

The senorita shifted a little, sitting up a bit straighter against the wall. "These men won't be as lenient as she would be, David."

"You don't know my mother," he said, and she stifled a laugh.

"Luis has a good man in you," he could hear the smile in her voice. "Go to him as soon as you can." She looked away. "He'll need you."

"You are leaving." It was a statement, not a question. She nodded.

"I must." Her words were flat and dry, freighted with unspoken anguish. After a moment she broke the silence.

"David, do you believe in coincidence?"

She turned her head to look at him then. He returned her gaze steadily in the faint light. "You are speaking of our meeting each other an hour ago outside the manor."

"Yes."

"I think many strange things happen in this world," he smiled a little. "It might be better to believe it was God's will we should meet."

"God's will." She tipped her head back. "My uncle would say you have an old head on young shoulders, chiquito." There was a small silence. "May I ask you a favor?"

"Yes, senorita."

"Take good care of him." She was holding her voice steady; it wasn't easy for her. "It would mean more than I can say, knowing you're at his side."

He shifted his position so that he faced her. "You have my word."

She said nothing, but her hand touched his cheek, light and gentle. Then she was gone with a soft rustle of skirts, leaving behind the smell of blood overlaid with the faint scent of lavender and sage. David leaned back against the wall, arms folded. He was suddenly aware of his scarcity of years pitted against the task ahead.

Take good care of him . . . The quiet words whispered in his mind, only this time he could clearly hear the echo of trust and sorrow they held. And more; they pointed a way he had not allowed himself to consider possible until now.

God's will indeed. He watched the moon rising over the top of the wall, her mild light gilding the roses. May it continue to guide me, and the senorita as well. We'll both need all the help we can get, I think.

Continued in Part Five