Crista had been young when she had arrived at the convent, but she would never forget her time there. The tales of the devil had frightened her the most. The nuns spoke about the devil’s beauty. How difficult it would be to take one’s eyes off him, his features so fine, so stunning that only God could have created him. It was how he mesmerized people and got them to do his evil bidding, and it wasn’t until it was too late that you saw his true demonic features.
She actually was relieved when all Diablo did was adjust the hood that covered his face. She feared to look upon the devil.
He turned to give one last look in the distance where his men had ridden and were now barely visible, having set a quick pace. The shroud shifted just enough for her to get a peek at his neck. There were no distinguishing marks. His skin was smooth and unblemished. There was nothing there that could somehow identify him if ever necessary.
Crista turned her eyes away and hurried to take another bite of the dried meat, fearing what might come out of her mouth when he reached her.
“Finished?” he asked.
She held up the small piece of meat that was left as she chewed on the one in her mouth.
“Hurry and finish.”
He commanded like he was born to it and she wondered over his heritage. Was he born to an outlaw clan? Abducted by one? Became an outlaw of his own choosing? And the one question that persisted… what in heaven’s name did he intend to do with her?
As soon as she ate the last of the meat, she drank a good amount of water worried when next she would get more. She went to stand and lost her footing, her leg cramping in pain.
His hand was at her arm instantly and instinctively she grabbed hold of his arm to steady herself, not that it was necessary. His grip alone was strong enough to steady her.
Her eyes went to his face, meeting the black shroud and a sharp tingle of fear ran through her. Once again she was glad she hadn’t caught sight of the devil.
“We leave now,” he snapped, with a slight shake of his head.
“A few moments to see to my needs, please,” she said and silently prayed she could stand on her leg without help.
He gave a nod and kept hold of her arm as he walked slowly with her—her limp pronounced—to a cropping of rocks.
“Can you stand on your own?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said quickly, fearful he would think to help her. She reached out to place her hand on the rock. “I can manage.”
She was ever so grateful he didn’t argue with her and let her walk on her own behind the rocks, using them for support as she went. It was a bit of an ordeal, but she persisted.
“Almost done,” she called out, worried he would rush around the rocks to help her and was surprised at his response.
“Take your time.”
She barely took a step from behind the rocks when he took hold of her arm once again and directed her to the horse. Surprisingly, he handled her gently and with care as he placed her on the horse, then mounted to sit behind her. They were soon off again, in what direction, Crista had no idea.
Crista tried to hold her tongue, she truly did. Fright, however, made her all the more eager to learn about her circumstances, and she couldn’t contain her questions any longer. Besides, the black shroud remained intimidating, causing fear to rumble through her and talking was one way of easing at least some of it.
“Did you send one of your men with a message to my family letting them know it was all a mistake and you would be returning me home?”
“You want to lose your tongue?” he asked.
“Heavens no and I apologize profusely for not holding my tongue. But as I explained I talk a lot when frightened or trying to make sense of things. And I am overwhelmed by both right now, which is causing me to chatter when I should mind my tongue.”
“If you obey me there is no reason for you to be frightened. I will see you kept safe.”
“And if I don’t obey your every command you won’t keep me safe?” she asked.
“You saw what happened to those who don’t obey me,” he reminded.
She felt herself pale at the horrifying thought. “You would do that to me?”
“Obey me and you won’t need to find out.”
Worry kept her tongue going. “So you will no longer cut my tongue out if I don’t obey you, you’ll whip me instead?”
His hand shot to her neck squeezing lightly.
“What if I chip away at your tongue piece by piece until you learn to obey me?” he asked, his hand squeezing tighter as he spoke.
She shook her head as she gasped for breath.
“You’ll be quiet now?”
She nodded and gagged as she struggled for a breath, his hand falling away from her throat. Tears threatened to fall and she turned her head away from him. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. Unfortunately, it had become a habit of hers to cry when she felt completely helpless. She blamed it on all what had happened to her when she was young, alone, and having no one to protect her, to keep her safe.
Lucia had told her that someday she would find a good man to protect her as Ricardo protected her. Ricardo had a different thought on the matter. He had told her she had to learn to protect herself and he had taught her ways to defend herself. This situation proved challenging since Ricardo had never taught her how to fight against the devil.
She took more deep breaths, swallowing back tears. There had been one thing Ricardo had taught her that she could do and that was not to surrender to fear. Not let it overcome her. Not to give up. She told herself her family would come for her and that she had to survive the best she could until they did.
Diablo had delivered unspeakable punishments to those more than deserving of it. Many knew all too well what he was capable of and it was the reason he was obeyed without question. Crista was not familiar with his infamous reputation, but she would learn. She had no choice if she wanted to survive. What disturbed him, though, was that there was something about the dark-haired beauty that appealed to him. She had the loveliest features, soft, yet striking, and her dark eyes almost matched his own in color, though they were far more expressive, making it easy for him to almost see her thoughts. Her skin was a creamy color and her hair as dark as a starless night, its full length unknown since it was pinned up, disheveled with several strands falling free around her face and neck. And her rosy lips were slim and far too tempting.
She was a problem he needed to see to immediately and be done with before it escalated and delayed his plans. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy to solve as Crista had described.
Her suggestion that he send one of his men with a message was near to what he had decided, though it wasn’t a message he had sent. He had sent two men to see what they could find out about her abduction. Until he knew what was being said about the incident, he would take no action.
For now, Crista Cesare would be staying with him and what he had to make sure of was that she didn’t interfere with his plans. He also couldn’t let her learn too much about Diablo.
They stopped around mid-afternoon from what Crista could judge. She worried her leg would give her trouble again having been confined in one position too long. She was relieved when he eased her gently to the ground and kept hold of her arm.
She faltered when she went to walk and his arm went around her waist. With one lift, he raised her feet off the ground a few inches and walked over to a cropping of oak trees. Gently, he lowered her to sit under the shade of the trees.
His silence disturbed her, having grown accustomed to lots of chatter and laughter once she had gone to live with Ricardo and Lucia. She thought it would be better not to look upon his face, but would she learn more from his expressions if she did?
Crista slipped off her duster. She wore far too many garments, but the nuns had insisted she dress properly for her return home. And proper young women did not go around dressed as a peasant in a skirt, blouse, and sandals, her favorite and most comfortable garments.
The sun was strong today and she loosened several buttons at the neck of her cotton blouse and sighed in relief.
She eagerly took the full canteen Diablo handed her and just as eagerly accepted a piece of dried meat from the small sack he held.
He sat down beside her, removed his gloves, and snatched a piece of meat out of the sack for himself then sat it between them.
She handed him the canteen and he took it and drank, secured the top, and placed it to rest against her leg.
“How long before we reach our destination?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t mind the question.
“Two days.”
A cramp suddenly gripped her leg and her face twisted in pain as she winced loudly, her hands rushing beneath her skirt to rub at her pained calf. She was shocked when her hands were pushed aside, her skirt hoisted above her knee and his hands began to knead her leg.
His actions were not at all proper and she went to brush his hands away.
“Don’t dare,” he threatened.
His strong warning had her moving her hands away and after only a few moments she began to sigh and wince as his fingers dug into the taut muscle, harder than she ever could. He was wrong in touching her intimately and she wrong in letting him. But the way he overpowered the contorted muscle brought quick relief and for that she was grateful, proper or not.
“What happened to leave you with such pain and a limp?” he asked.
“An accident when I was very young and not treated as fast and properly as it should have been,” she said, and thinking that might not appease him explained further. “It’s long periods of maintaining the same position or extensive walking that seems to cause problems. When I pace myself I suffer no pain.”
“Why didn’t your family have you return home when informed of this injury?” he asked, his hands still kneading the now loosening muscle.
They didn’t want me. Thankfully, she managed to keep from saying her thought aloud. Instead she repeated the explanation she had been given through the years.
“It was safer for me in Spain.”
“Safer away from your family?” he asked.
That he sounded doubtful surprised her. What would he know of family? Unless he had one. She had never considered that. Did outlaws have families? A wife? Children?
“They feared I would be abducted as Esteban had been,” she said, wondering why she explained.
He shook his head, his hand still massaging the sore muscle. “You never would have been abducted. You were a young child. You would have been no use to them.”
“You know this for sure?” she asked, the thought upsetting her. Had she spent all these years separated from her family for no good reason?
“I do,” he confirmed.
“How can you be so sure? You can’t know every outlaw in these parts,” she said.
“I know most of them or they know of me, but the group who took your brother I know well. His name was Pacquito. He was my brother.”
“Was?”
“He is dead. Esteban’s wife, Rosalita, killed him.”