Dare to Love (55 page)

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh dear! I thought I saw some men in masks riding toward us, but,” she added sweetly, “I see now that it was only a group of trees.”

Bradford, who had whipped his pistol out of its holster, replaced it and sat back down, his expression exceedingly grim. Millie glowed with triumph as he rubbed the top of his head. She smiled a smile that should have earned her a resounding smack across the mouth. Bradford looked as though he were contemplating one.

“I really
did
think I saw some men,” she purred.

“I'm not amused.”

“I hope you didn't hurt yourself,” she taunted. “But I'm relieved to see you have good reflexes. I guess I'm just on edge,” she continued. “I've heard so many stories about the Black Hood gang, you see, and I'm absolutely terrified.”

Bradford smoothed his hair back, eyeing her with considerable displeasure.

“This
is
their territory, isn't it?”

“They are supposed to have a hideout around here, yes,” Bradford said, “but I don't think you have anything to worry about, not from them at least. Black Hood and his crew only rob the exploiters.”

“You sound as though you
admire
him.”

“Reckon I do in a way. He's something of a hero to a great many people. He strikes back, you see, hits the big money men where it hurts 'em the most.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired.

Bradford looked at me and frowned, trying to find just the right words to express himself. “Poor folks, dreamers, workers, they came to California in search of gold. Most of 'em didn't find it, of course. They put down roots and dug in and settled the place, buyin' up land for next to nothin', and then the big money men moved in. They began stealin' the land through legal shenanigans, stealin' the gold mines, too.”

He paused and brushed a floppy wave from his brow, still searching for the right words. “Most of the gold was discovered by independent prospectors, poor, uneducated men who had nothin' but strong backs and determination. They found the gold and staked their claims, and then the men with the power came in with their teams of lawyers, cheatin' the miners who were too ignorant to protect themselves. There's a lot of money in California. Most of it belongs to twenty or so men who've never touched a pick, never worked a piece of land in their lives. Those're the ones Black Hood robs.”

“Next you'll be telling us he robs the rich to give to the poor,” Millie declared.

“He's helped a lot of people,” Bradford admitted. “He's given money to families who were about to have their homesteads sold out from under 'em by the exploiters. He's no saint. He's a vicious outlaw who's going to be caught and hung one day, but a great many folks're cheerin' him on.”

“I'm still terrified,” Millie claimed. “I'd just as soon talk about something else.”

But Bradford had said his piece and wasn't inclined to talk any more. He folded his arms across his chest again, burrowed his shoulders back into the cushion and let his eyelids droop again. Bradford, I suspected, was playing his own little game, deliberately trying to provoke Millie, and she sensed what he was doing. Smiling to herself, she settled back, perfectly willing to bide her time. When we finally stopped to eat an hour later, she carefully ignored him.

The way station was a small, primitive building that looked as though it had been built to withstand Indian attacks many years ago. A plump Mexican woman in white peasant blouse and soiled red skirt served food at two battered wooden tables. Millie and I sat at one, while Bradford joined the driver and the guard at the other. The three of them talked together in low voices, eating their beans and tortillas while a dark-eyed Mexican lad took care of the horses. After we finished eating, Millie and I strolled under the trees surrounding the building, grateful to be free of the jostling motion of the coach, if only temporarily.

Millie was exceptionally cheerful as we resumed our journey. She had, to all appearances, lost interest in James Bradford and addressed all her remarks to me. After a while she lapsed into a pensive silence that was most becoming, if hardly typical. Bradford studied her through narrowed eyes, definitely intrigued but stubbornly determined not to show it. Millie was going to give him a hard time in San Francisco, I feared, for I had no doubt that the two of them were destined to see a great deal of each other in weeks to come. Bradford looked as though he could discourage any competition with ease.

Another two hours passed as the horses moved along at an unhurried pace. The coach rocked with monotonous creaks and groans. The road wound through an area studded with huge golden-tan boulders, some as large as houses, vivid red wildflowers glowing in scattered clumps beneath them. Thin, sparsely leaved trees traced pale shadows over the rocks. The sun was high, a bright silver ball in the blue-white sky. It was very warm and dusty. My maroon satin gown with its rows of fragile black lace ruffles was going to be in a sad state by the time we reached San Francisco.

Bradford had the best idea. He seemed to be fast asleep, and Millie was gazing thoughtfully out the window. As the coach crossed a dry, rocky riverbed I leaned back against the cushion and closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, for when the coach lurched to an abrupt halt I sat up with a start. There was a loud yell, then a deafening explosion as a gun went off. Bradford leaped up, pistol in hand. Millie gasped and seized my arm. Bradford started to open the door. A long, slender rifle barrel, thrust savagely through the open window, jabbed him in the stomach.

“I wouldn't try anything,” a rough voice announced. “If I were you I'd drop that gun and step out of the coach. You women, too. Everyone out! Pronto!”

XL

Bradford tossed his pistol out the window. With the barrel of a rifle jammed against his stomach there was little else he could do. The man holding the rifle slowly withdrew it and opened the door of the coach. Bradford climbed out, his hands over his head. Millie looked at me, her cheeks pale, and then she pressed her lips together and followed Bradford, eyes flashing defiantly. The rifleman took her elbow. She pulled it away. I shoved the jewel case under the seat with my foot and, gathering up my skirts, climbed out with a composure that belied the nervous trembling inside.

Bradford was standing to one side with the driver and the guard. Millie stood with hands on hips, ignoring the man with the rifle and glaring at the three men who sat on horseback, pistols leveled at us. One of them was dressed entirely in black, black boots, tight black pants, black shirt, black leather gloves. A silky black hood covered his head, leaving only his eyes visible through two round holes. The other two men wore faded cotton shirts and pants, red bandanas hiding the lower part of their faces, wide-brimmed hats on their heads.

The man with the rifle was dressed in Spanish style, tight leafbrown pants that flared at the bottom. The hem and lapels of his short, square jacket were faced with bands of black and green embroidery. Both jacket and pants had seen better days. His dark brown hat with low crown and wide, round brim was fastened under his chin with thin leather thongs. He had pulled his neck scarf up over his nose and cheeks. Coal black eyes glowed belligerently as he studied us. I felt sure his mouth was curled in a scornful sneer.

The Spaniard walked over to his horse and thrust his rifle into a long, narrow sheath hanging across the saddle. He moved arrogantly, his shoulders rolling, the spurs on his boots jangling noisily. He exuded an air of fierceness. Even though they held pistols on us, the other three men weren't nearly as frightening, not even the man in black. I sensed instinctively that the man in brown was both vicious and highly dangerous. He glared savagely at Bradford and the two men beside him. All three had their arms raised above their heads. Bradford's face was expressionless. The guard seemed ready to yawn. The driver was clearly terrified.

“Where ees the other man?” the Spaniard demanded.

“What other man?” Bradford inquired. “You think someone else was travelin' with us?”

“The Englishman who wears the fancy clothes and handles the gold. He ees supposed to be with you.”

“'Fraid he isn't, partner.”

“They think we're carrying gold,” Millie exclaimed. “They think we have all the money from your performances. Well,” she said, addressing the Spaniard, “you're wasting your time. That money is already in a bank in San Francisco.”

He wheeled around to stare at her and clearly liked what he saw. His coal black eyes glowed with naked lust. Millie kept her hands on her hips, her stance deliberately audacious. Her cheeks had regained their soft pink hue, and her eyes were even more defiant. I knew that she was as frightened as I was, but she wasn't about to show it.

“Thees one ees cocky,” the Spaniard growled, devouring her with his eyes.

“I hope you like what you see!” she snapped. “Seeing is all you're going to do. You lay one hand on me and I'll bite it off!”

The Spaniard took a step toward her. “I think maybe I teach her to be respectful.”

“Easy, Rico,” Black Hood warned.

Rico jerked his head around to glare at his leader, Black Hood, who sat on his horse like some bizarre medieval prince. The leader shook his head. Rico made a disgusted noise in his throat, but he moved away from Millie. She turned to Bradford with an exasperated look.

“What kind of coward are you?” she wanted to know. “Aren't you going to do something?”

“I'm no coward, Ma'am,” he drawled. “Neither am I a fool. I'm not going to do anything with three pistols pointin' at me.”

“A wise man,” Black Hood rasped.

The hooded man slipped his pistol into its holster and swung lightly out of the saddle, strolling toward us. He was tall, very tall, with the lean, muscular build of an athlete, and he carried himself with supple grace. He waved Rico aside and, ignoring Bradford and the others, stopped a few feet in front of me, dark brown eyes observing me through the holes in the hood.

“It seems we've made an error,” he remarked.

His voice was a soft, husky rasp, not really a whisper but closely akin to it. He seemed to caress each word fondly, and the result was unusually seductive—that was the only way to describe it. I wondered what he sounded like when he wasn't disguising his voice. I wondered what he looked like behind the hood. Now that he had subdued Rico, I wasn't at all afraid. The nervous trembling had vanished.

Millie was no longer afraid either. She was fighting mad.

“We've got no gold!” she said. “Why don't you and your men just ride off and leave us alone!”

Black Hood didn't seem to hear her. His luminous brown eyes held mine. The man had a strange, compelling magnetism that seemed to vibrate in the air around him. I had the feeling he would have commanding presence even without the disguise. One sensed great strength and ruthlessness as well, despite the genteel manner and caressing voice.

“You're even more beautiful than they claim,” he said. “The reports don't do you justice.”

“You've seen me before.”

“Oh?”

“You saw me dance last night.”

“So you know about that?”

“Everyone does. It was an unusual risk to take.”

“But worth it, Elena.”

My name was a low, seductive caress, soft and silken and husky, spoken with incredible tenderness. I realized with a start that the man was wooing me, wooing me with gentle gallantry that would have been far more appropriate in a moonlit garden.

“What about the gold?” Rico protested. “You told us the Englishman would be with them! You said he would be carrying twenty thousand dollars!”

“So I did.”

Anthony had had only a few dollars more than that amount in his saddlebags when he departed with the guard the night before. I wondered how Black Hood had reached a figure so nearly exact. It represented what we had taken in during the past two weeks at three different mining towns. I suspected that he had a whole network of people spying for him, providing information about gold shipments and such. One of them had obviously been keeping an eye on us for at least two weeks.

“The money is already safely in the bank,” I said calmly. “My manager left with it last night.”

“That presents a problem,” Black Hood replied. His voice was full of regret. “You see, I need that money.”

“Then I suppose you'll have to rob the bank.”

“Not necessarily,” he said.

Rico climbed angrily inside the coach and began tearing it up. A moment later he gave a loud exclamation and jumped out with the jewel case. Millie gasped and started forward. Bradford restrained her with a sharp command, his hands still in the air. I stood very quietly as Rico broke the clasp on the case, opened it and took out a handful of jewelry. Diamonds and sapphires glittered with shimmering blue and silver-blue flames as they dripped from his rough tan fingers.

“Holy Virgin Mary,” he said thickly. “Look what ees here.”

“Let me see them,” Black Hood ordered.

Rico shook his head in awe, dropped the jewels back into the case and held it out with both hands. Black Hood examined them thoughtfully for a moment, then reached in to extract a narrow silver filigree hair clasp set with over twenty superbly cut diamonds. I had worn it the night revolution broke out in Barivna, the night Brence had killed Heinrich Schroder and carried me away to safety. Black Hood studied it closely, turning it this way and that, the diamonds throwing off dazzling spokes of light in the sun.

“Lovely,” he remarked. “A gift, I assume.”

“It was given to me by the King of Barivna.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I read about him. He lost his throne because of you. Isn't that right?”

“Some people chose to think so,” I answered coolly.

He chuckled softly and gazed at the clasp again, then dropped it back into the case.