Page 58 of The Enchanted Land

“More than that, sweet Morgan. It seems that your husband met with an unfortunate accident and is no longer a problem to anyone.”

“Accident?” Morgan was uncomprehending. “Accident! What do you mean? You said if I wrote the note you wouldn’t harm him—you’d let him live.”

“Morgan, you must learn not to trust everyone.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “I couldn’t very well leave him alive when he knew I had taken his wife away, now could I? With the owner of the Colter ranch dead and his new little bride nowhere to be found, it should be easy to obtain his ranch. But even if I didn’t want the ranch, I would have killed Seth Colter.” His eyes gleamed with hatred. “I would like to kill all the Seth Colters.”

Morgan screamed and lunged at him, her fingers curled into claws. She would kill him herself. As her bound feet caught her and made her fall helplessly to the floor, she screamed her rage and cursed him.

“Such language from such a pretty little bird.” He caught her hands behind her. She twisted her head and sank her teeth into his arm. He groaned and hit her across the face, sending her head reeling. He retied her hands and the gag and set her back on the bed.

His teeth clenched as he looked at her. “My men are making arrangements for you now. I will return for one last visit in a few hours.” Then he was gone.

Seth was dead. Joaquín had killed him after all. The world was full of Cat Men and Joaquíns. Even the nearly five precious weeks she had spent with Seth had been marred by his jealousy. Now he was dead, and he had died thinking she had betrayed him.

“That her?” The voice was deep with a heavy accent.

Morgan had lain there for hours, tears soaking the gag. There were no more tears now. She wasn’t even aware of the numbness in her feet or the blood on her wrists. When Joaquín entered, she showed no interest in him or the men with him. He was startled at her expression. It was as if she were dead, she as well as her husband.

When he unfastened her bindings, she remained motionless. “I liked you better when you were raging at me, my love.” She failed to respond and did not even rub her chafed wrists and ankles.

“Trop petite.”The man who had spoken first now made his contempt clear. He was a short man, very stocky, and his clothes were a mixture of rough cottons and animal skins. His hair was matted and reached past his shoulders. There was a gold earring in one ear.

“I do not like them so little. They do not last on the journey to the coast. And these blond ones—it is too much trouble to keep the Indians away from them. They like light hair.” He grabbed a handful of Morgan’s hair and jerked her face up to his. “This one—something has killed her spirit. It will be hard to keep this one from doing herself harm.”

“All right, Jacques, what do you want? More money?”

“She will be a great deal of trouble.”

“Here!” Joaquín thrust some bills into the Frenchman’s calloused hand.

Jacques grabbed Morgan’s hair again, pulling her to her feet. “She must have something else to wear.” With a swift jerk, he tore the red silk down the front.

Joaquín heard his own sharp intake of breath. He took a step forward. Then he stopped himself.

“Skin and bones! This one will be much trouble, but if she survives the trip over the mountains, she will bring a good price at Madame Nicole’s.” He uttered something in a guttural language to a tall, sinewy man who was standing in the doorway. The man was the first Indian Morgan had ever seen. He had on a long tunic, once white, over leather leggings and high moccasins.

Morgan stared unfeelingly at the sight. She had made no effort to cover herself. Now she saw the Indian leave and quickly reappear with a bundle. He tossed it on the bed.

“Get into that!” he ordered Morgan. When she didn’t respond, he slapped her. He thrust the bundle at her. Mutely, she rose and stepped out of her dress, and the Frenchman deftly used his knife to cut the bindings of her corset and the back of her chemise.

Morgan felt as if she were already dead. She paid no attention to Joaquín’s avid interest in her body. Slowly, deliberately, she stepped into the leather shirt and pants. She pulled on moccasins that came to her knees. The clothes were too big for her, and hid her curves.

The group moved outside, and one of the Indians tossed her onto the saddle of a shaggy pony. The Frenchman took the reins of the little horse and led her away. Morgan did not think about where they were taking her.

They rode through the hot New Mexico sun for hours. Morgan’s face was burned, and her back ached from the long hours on the horse. Only once did the Frenchman pass her a canteen of water.

Neither the Indians nor the Frenchman talked, and Morgan was left to dwell on Seth’s death.

The sun was low when they arrived at a large camp. Morgan was vaguely aware of people around her and of dogs barking. She was pulled from her horse and dragged, stumbling, to a crude shelter of sticks and dried grasses—a wickiup.

She fell against the back wall of the hut, the tiredness in her body numbing her to the sharp sticks pressing into her skin. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw three other women in the hut. Two were watching her and one huddled in a corner, her face turned away from the others. The oldest of the women left the hut and returned with a dipper of water. Quietly, she held this to Morgan’s lips, cautioning her to drink slowly. Then she spread a heavy blanket on the floor and gently guided Morgan to lie down on it. She covered her with another of the patterned blankets.

“You get some sleep now, honey. They’ll be movin’ tomorrow, and you’ll need your rest.” She stroked Morgan’s forehead, and Morgan was soon asleep.

In the morning Morgan could hardly move for the stiffness in her body, but the woman who had helped her the night before told her she must cooperate or else Jacques would hurt them all. Morgan could not miss the pleading in her eyes.

Unspeaking, she followed the woman’s directions for dismantling the wickiup and fastening the poles onto a travois that was then lashed to a horse. An Indian motioned for her to mount one of the scruffy little ponies.

They traveled in a long column for two days, stopping for only a few hours at night. The woman, continuing to befriend Morgan, rode beside her and urged her to eat the strips of dried meat she offered and to drink the water.

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