Canyon Song (17 page)

“Hush
! I’ll only be a little while.”  The whispered words bounced off stone, sounding louder than she had intended.

Though she felt guilty at her plan, Anna pulled a fist-sized rock from the cliff
. She knew Notion had saved her by leaping at Ned Hamby, but she had no choice now except to drive him off.

She tossed the rock toward his hindquarters and was almost relieved when she heard it strike the path beside him instead
. Reaching out, she grabbed a second, smaller stone. This one found its mark. Notion yipped in surprise, tucked his tail between his legs, and slunk beneath a fringe of cliffrose. Anna doubted he would go far, but he at least might think twice about crying after her for a few minutes.

She didn’t think she’d need much longer
. Turning her attention to the rocks above her, she felt about for handholds. Slowly, she pulled herself farther up the steep face. She’d considered herself fit, but her muscles strained with the unaccustomed task. She thought uncomfortably of falling. Though a drop from this height probably wouldn’t kill her, if she broke a bone, the end result might well be the same.

She slipped when stony soil crumbled, but her handholds kept her safe
. With a grunt, she clambered to the top and panted for several minutes until she caught her breath.

Once her breaths grew more even, a wave of fatigue engulfed her
.
Madre de Dios
, but she could sleep forever. She’d risen early, then walked a long way before Hamby’s attack. Yet even if she’d lain abed all day, her conversations with Quinn and the mere sight of the man who’d nearly killed her were enough to leave her feeling spent.

But she could not afford to rest for long
. Not with the night air cooling rapidly, not with the possibility of Hamby’s men about. Brushing the dirt off her elbows, Anna stood and faced the vast emptiness that yawned before her.

The canyon, washed in moonlight, had lost its bloody hue
. In its place, the rock, the tops of juniper appeared a ghostly gray. Where the cool light could not follow lay deep pools of blackness, places where a single rider or an army might lie invisible in wait.

She stared in the direction of her cabin, spotted the silvery reflection of the swollen creek
. By tracing her gaze along its course, she found the correct location. Neither flames nor thick smoke drew her eye, but after staring long and hard, she made out a narrow column that hazed the stars behind it.

Smoke rising from her chimney
. They were staying in her house, probably roasting a goat or her chickens by this time. Eating her food and infesting her pallet with their vermin.

Anna’s teeth ground in her anger
. She’d like to ride there, nail the door shut, and set fire to the whole lot, even though she would lose everything she owned. It would be well worth it to make them pay for all the harm that they had done. It would be worth it not to fear them anymore.

But her desire to kill them was but a shadow of the terror Hamby’s attack still inspired
. Again, she cringed at the thought of how the memories had unhinged her, memories and the clashing of a hundred vanquished songs. Crushed beneath their weight, she’d waited like a lamb for him to come and get her. Blinded by old pain, she’d even dropped the rifle that she could have used to kill the demon.

Hugging her arms against the cold, she realized she would have to climb down from the outcropping to escape this nightmare
. Climb down and mount Quinn’s mare, then ride far from this place. With a tired sigh, she let her gaze sweep across the moonlit canyon. She wished that she could stay here long enough for the dawn to bring its gift of color to this land she loved. She wished she could have time to say goodbye to Rosalinda. Goodbye but for a little while, she swore to herself.

Mi querencia
.
The words made her eyes tear, and a lump of sorrow filled her throat.
The place where I belong.

Feeling as if she’d just surrendered, she crouched on hands and knees to begin her downward climb
. Downward into what? she wondered. Downward into where?

Below her, the chestnut mare remained tied
. Though Anna was no expert on horseflesh, she knew the animal was something special. Special enough to buy her a fresh start, once sold? Special enough to pay her way to San Francisco?

As she grasped her first handhold, her mind screamed its outrage
. It was just temptation, nothing but a lost dream calling her.

Your music’s coming back.

Sangre de Cristo
, how could she even think such thoughts? She was going to find Quinn, to take the horse to him. She was no longer the kind of woman who would consider larceny.

The voices whispered softly, sweetly
. Quinn might have wanted her body when he made his offer, but she knew he never really wanted her. He was nothing but a smooth talker like her father, a man who’d only let her down. She’d be better off without him, maybe even singing.

You’re still young enough to have it all.

The old fantasy beseeched her, and with it came a sound. An infant’s cries, so thin and weak she knew that it was doomed.
Dios mio, Rosalinda!

With the realization came a choking nausea
. So wretched that Anna missed her foothold, so painful that she failed to recover the misstep. Her hands clawed desperately in an attempt to slow her fall. Though her nails tore against rock, she plunged down the face and struck the trail below.

Her knees buckled with the impact, and the left side of her head slammed against a rock near the cliff’s base
. Pain exploded, and streaks of light slashed across her vision. Before she had a chance to wonder how badly she’d been hurt, the lights dissolved into the blackest night she’d ever known.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The tapping at the door was far gentler than the hammering inside Lucy’s chest. Judge Cameron had returned — or she supposed that she must call him Ward now, since they were man and wife.

Wife . . . she was his wife, so what else could she do except allow him into his bedroom
?
Their
bedroom, God help her, where he’d expect to touch her in a few short minutes, just beneath the pristine, lace-trimmed sheets. He’d expect a bloodstain on those sheets come morning. A bloodstain from a wife he had deflowered.

Dear God, she’d have to tell him, before he found out on his own.

She called to him, but her voice, so arrogant before, refused to rise above a frightened squeak. Thank goodness he could not have heard it, she thought as she rose from the bed.

She smoothed her snow-white nightgown and fussed with it in the hope it wouldn’t cling to the small prominence of her growing belly
. With a sigh, she trudged across the room with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner marching to the noose.

Her bridegroom tapped once more
. She thought she heard impatience in the rhythm. After turning the key, she cracked the door and peered at him.

He smiled warmly, no doubt mistaking her reluctance for mere shyness.

“Come now, Lucy. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”  Slowly, he pushed the door until the gap was wide enough for him to step inside. He wore a robe of scarlet in deference to her request that they not undress in the same roo
m
not yet.

Dizziness weakened her knees once more as Ward Cameron turned the key to lock them in — together
. She tottered toward a delicate, cane-bottom chair and lowered herself onto it.

Cameron knelt beside her, instantly solicitous
. “You look so pale, Mrs. Cameron.”

She stared at him, heart racing, knowing her charade was at its end.

He took her hand, so gently, then kissed her trembling fingers. “Shall I have Elena draw a bath for you?”

Lucy stared into his face, almost too shocked for speech
. “E—Elena? But — But I asked her to leave —”

“I assumed that with the wedding, your emotions might be running somewhat high
. I thought that perhaps you might reconsider. Of course, I regard it as a household matter, so the final decision will be yours. But I will miss her
cuernitos
.”

Lucy simmered at the thought of what he’d really miss
. Did he think her blind, to miss the surreptitious looks that passed between him and his housekeeper? Or perhaps it wasn’t that at all. Perhaps Lucy’s own experience — her guilt — with David had heightened her awareness of forbidden looks and furtive touches.

When she swallowed, she felt as if she were choking down a pint of gravel. She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself for what she must say next.

But Cameron, apparently convinced she’d acquiesce, had gone back to kissing her fingers. As her thoughts roamed back to David, her stomach churned in protest. Almost involuntarily, she pulled her hand away.

“My dear,” the judge said, “please don’t be frightened
. I will be as careful, as gentle as I can.”

Ah, but that’s the shame of it, thought Lucy, for with David there had been no gentleness at all
. Only pent-up longing, which flared brighter every time they’d been alone. Brighter, hotter, until it burned them both.

Despite her vow to put him from her mind, she wondered where was David now, on her wedding night
? She’d heard a rumor that he had run off to join the Navy, or perhaps the crew of a merchant vessel. She hoped it was true, that he was off in distant lands leading foreign girls astray. That he’d run far enough to escape her father’s retribution.

She couldn’t help wondering how he’d feel about what she was doing, how he’d react to the idea of Judge Cameron playing papa to his bastard
. Probably with gratitude and perhaps a smug grin at pulling off such a coup against one of her father’s cronies.

It wasn’t as if David would have married her, even if she would have settled for someone of his station
. She told herself it didn’t matter, that the only thing that mattered was the brief memory of flame. A memory to warm her while she lay awake nights beside the judge in his cold bed.

Ward reached for her once more, forcing her to focus on the present
. She stood, her hands writhing like twin serpents to avoid his. Time enough later to endure his touch, if he’d still have her. Now it was time to learn if her gambit had succeeded. Or if he’d cast her out, or even worse.

She lifted her chin and shrugged on her pride as if it were a coat of armor, or a shroud to hide her fear. “I am touched by your concern, Ward, but I must speak with you first.”

He sat down on the bed’s edge without inviting her to do the same. It was just as well. She didn’t want to sit now, particularly not on the bed with him. If she needed to run, she wanted some distance between them at the outset. It was not out of the question that he might strike her. Worthington or not, she was his wife, and they were in wild territory. No one would likely question his right to discipline her.

Her gaze flicked to the lock, the key still in it
. She doubted she would be quick enough to turn it to escape him.

“Tell m
e
what is it?” he asked.

Cameron leveled his sternest gaze on her, one Lucy suspected he normally reserved for ruffians and horse thieves.

Would he truly hurt her? She hesitated, so frightened she could scarcely breathe.

He shook his head and frowned
. “I’ve been waiting since our engagement for the other shoe to drop. Tell me, please, what
is
it with you? Do you have fits or asthma? An uncontrollable desire to drink little bottles of some expensive patent cure?”

Her jaw dropped in surprise, though she knew how foolish she must look
. It had never occurred to her that he’d suspected. But of course, now that she thought of it, their rapid engagement and her eagerness to come here must have made him wary. It could only have been his desire for her father’s favor that kept him to the course.

“No, no,” she stammered
. “No abnormality, I assure you. It’s only tha
t
I’
m
I’m pregnant.”

He stared at her for several long, long moments, his expression so blank that she could not decide whether bluster or a running start would be most beneficial
. Finally, he did the last thing, the
very
last thing, she expected.

He laughed
. A deep roar of a laugh, as if he’d just heard a splendid jest. “Only pregnant?
Only
pregnant? How could I have been so stupid not to think of that? Your fathe
r
he truly took me for a fool.”

She shook her head emphatically and chose words meant to minimize her guilt
. “My father doesn’t know. He knows how the assistant coachma
n
abused his trus
t
but he has no idea what came of the — the seduction.”

She saw the rage snuff out whatever trace of humor she’d detected in his eyes
. God help her now.

“You little slut,” he hissed between clenched jaws
. “So you spread your legs for a mere servant? I’d thought you more intelligent than that.”

A fierce blush heated her face, but anger flooded past it
. She refused to let him speak to her this way. “I may have married you, but I’m a Worthington and always will be. My father will be gratefu
l
very gratefu
l
to his son-in-law. The Worthington name will open doors to you, doors forever closed without his blessing. Surely, you must have known there’d be a price.”

He stood, towering over her so there was no chance of escape
. With every word, his index finger poked her shoulder painfully. “I should drag you right back to your fathe
r
in the Capito
l
with a big, red bow around your neck. I should tell him exactly what you’ve done, you scheming little tramp.”

At least he hadn’t throttled her
. Still she wondered, would he do as he had threatened? Would the shame of raising her bastard outweigh greed and ambition? And what, then, would her father do? Send her off into the countryside to live with Aunt Penelope, to bear her child in shame and secrecy? Or would he disown her, leaving her no way to support herself, much less an infant?

Her child
. She felt resentment churning inside her at this tiny creature that had taken root inside her body, at the upheaval it had already created in her life. She knew, of course, that it was wrong to hate it, that she and David had been the ones at fault.

But neither her anger nor her guilt made any difference, so she waited in silence to hear the sentence Judge Ward Cameron would pronounce.

Finally he spoke again, his voice cold and harsh. “I won’t take you back there. I won’t because I deserve a judgeship in the civilized world, far more than those dolts who had the good fortune to be born into a family name. I deserve it, Lucy, and some other things as well. First of all, your cooperation. Anytime that I require it, you
will
satisfy my needs. Whatever I desire.”

Her pretense of humility shattered against the outrageousness of his demand
. “You prove yourself a man of exquisitely low character with such — with such —”

He grasped her upper arms with bruising firmness
. “You needn’t play the blushing bride with me. If you didn’t mind flipping up your skirts for a mere servant, anything your husband asks should be well within reason. Anything at all.”

Her retort caught in her throat, choked by fear of this huge man
. Her brief encounter with David left her unsure of what Cameron might have in mind. Would he use his sex to punish? Did he mean to harm her or do something that might make her lose the baby? She felt the blood drain from her face as she wondered if such a thing were possible and how much it might hurt.

Relentlessly, he continued without loosening his grip
. “Secondly, I require that Elena remain here. You have no power to dismiss her. And finally, you will confess that we were married in secret this winter during my visit. Today’s ceremony served only to appease your father.
No one
must question that this child is my own.”

She wanted to argue, wanted to protest that one simply could not treat a Worthington this way
. But his big hands on her arms were too real, and the East Coast and her father were much too far away.

He must have taken her silence for agreement, for he pushed her down onto the bed
. Opening his robe, he uncovered his arousal just before he spoke again.

“I believe that we’ll get started on that first condition now.”

*     *     *

Cold
. The cabin felt so cold. Anna shivered, wondering if the ashes, too, had cooled, or if she might find glowing embers to help her resurrect the fire.

When she tried to move, the left side of her head flared so painfully she thought she might vomit
. Her eyes watered with the hurt, making the stars above her swirl.

Stars
?
Santa Maria
, she wasn’t home at all. She was — her head throbbed, and the memory submerged into her groan.

A soft cry caught her ears.

“Notion?”  Her voice sounded fuzzy as the silvery trunks of aspens in the fog.

The dog’s form emerged awkwardly from shadow
. In the moonlight she saw the bandage on his right front leg.

She hugged the animal close and dug her fingers into his warm fur
. As she did, memories slid out of the darkness: Hamby waiting at her cabin, Señor Delgado’s blood staining the snow, Notion’s attack, and her desperate escape. She’d come to this outcrop to try to see where Hamby and his men went. She recalled dimly the hazy smoke rising from her cabin’s chimney and her decision to climb down and ride for help.

She could remember nothing more, but her position at the base of the steep cliff-face told her what had happened
. Using the big dog to help support her, she stood cautiously.

As she did, her vision dimmed, so she leaned against the rocky wall
. Her torn nails, her right wrist, and her hip throbbed, though not as intensely as her head. She took a few experimental steps. Despite her various aches, she didn’t think anything felt broken. For that blessing, at least, she could be grateful.

She sat against a larger boulder and rubbed her arms against the cold
. How long had she been lying here unconscious? Were Hamby and his men still in her cabin? Peering up the rock face, she decided she was too unsteady to climb to the top again. She would have to take a chance that the outlaws remained at her home in the canyon below, drinking her small supply of whiskey and eating the remainder of her meager food stores. She grimaced at the thought and hoped that Padre Joaquín was tougher than shoe leather.