Thirty
Royal felt as if he had been buried in thick mud and was just now clawing his way through it to freedom. It took a lot of effort to open his eyes, only to shut them against the brightness in the room. By the time he got them open for the second time, he realized that the room was not really bright at all, but very dimly lit. It was also very quiet, the only sound be could hear being a soft snore and he started to turn toward it.
A tightness around his chest suddenly brought memories to the fore, causing his head to throb with pain and his heart to stop with fear. Marilyn, insane and murderous, had attacked them, shot him. She had been looking for Antonie, too. Seeing that the person by the bed was a dozing O’Neill, Royal’s fear started to choke him. Where was Antonie? He refused to believe that she had fallen victim to Marilyn’s madness. The very thought of it threatened to make him as deranged as Marilyn.
“Antonie,” he rasped, wondering why his voice felt as if he had not used it in a long time. “Antonie,” he called again and, although his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, the man at his bedside was instantly alert.
“Well, three hail Marys, you’ve decided to rejoin the living,” said O’Neill as he rubbed a hand over his face.
“Antonie?” He tried to sit up, but O’Neill easily held him still. “Did Marilyn?” he asked weakly, unable to put his fears into words.
“Marilyn is dead.”
“But Antonie, Marilyn was looking for her.”
“Ah, so that’s what’s got you in a fever. Antonie is fine. She killed that madwoman. Antonie doesn’t have a scratch, Royal. Not a scratch.”
“Thank God.” Royal felt weak with relief. “Where is she?”
“Resting. She’s got a greedy son to keep fed and can’t let herself get too tired. Try moving that arm.”
When he did so, he winced, but not only because of the discomfort it caused, the slight pull on the skin on his chest. His arm felt weak. It took a lot of effort to move it, and he could not understand why.
“Pulls my chest. Why is that? I was shot in the head,” he muttered as O’Neill helped him sit up and aided him in the drinking of a glass of water. “Damn. I’m so weak.”
“That bitch shot you twice. Once grazing your head, and then in the chest.”
He moved his hand to his chest and muttered in confusion, “No bandage.”
“Don’t need one any longer.”
“Another graze?” He grimaced when O’Neill gently prodded his chest, for the result was slightly more than an irritating twinge.
“No,” O’Neill answered quietly. “It was a bad wound. Had to dig the bullet out.”
“Then how can it be like this?”
“Because you slept through the healing,” O’Neill said gently.
“Slept through it?” Royal croaked. “How?”
“That graze on your head. You’ve napped for a little over three weeks.”
“My God! Why aren’t I dead?”
“Well, a body can last a long time like that. Doc Fowler told me he’d known one that was out six months then woke up, weak but fine, fit as a fiddle after eating regular for a while.”
“That’s why I feel so weak.”
“It is, although I think you’re stronger than you might’ve been. You’ve been in and out, sometimes deep asleep, sometimes half-conscious. Antonie and Maria kept you well fed. No mere gruel for you. Damned unappetizing, but they made you mashed food and fed you whenever you were able to be fed. Got that stuff so you could drink it really. They also took turns rubbing and moving that arm, which helped, I think.”
“How’s Antonie?”
“As well as can be expected. She was set to stay right here, but she’s got a babe who needs her and needs her strong and healthy with her milk still flowing. I convinced her that she’d be doing you no favors if she let that responsibility slide. She didn’t like hearing it, but I reminded her about how that lad was you, a bit of you left behind if you slipped away from us.”
“And there was a chance of that?”
“Yup. The longer you stayed out, the greater the chance. There was also that chance that you’d come back not quite right, but I don’t see any sign of that.”
“No? I’m still tired. Is that all right after three weeks of sleeping?”
“Yup. You’re weak.”
“I won’t slip back?”
“No, I don’t really think so. A few more days, some hearty meals and some exercise and you’ll be getting back to normal. Don’t fight the resting. That’ll do you no good.”
“I want to see Antonie,” he protested even as O’Neill calmly saw to his personal needs. “Antonie.”
“She’ll be here when you wake up again,” O’Neill said as he lay Royal back down, then tucked him in.
Despite his efforts to stay awake and the hurried, emotional visits of his family, Royal fell asleep. When he woke up again, he was momentarily afraid that he might have lost another three weeks. His gaze shifted nervously around the room until it met Antonie’s wide-eyed one. To his astonishment, she gave a soft cry, fell to her knees by the bed, and started to weep.
“Antonie?” he called.
“Oh, querido, I thought you were lost to me,” she whispered. “I thought you were dead or, worse, that you would just slip away, little by little. Sometimes you seemed to come back and I would hope, but you would slip away from us again.”
He was touched by this display of emotion for him, but he hated to see her cry and smoothed a hand over the top of her head in a soothing gesture. “Shush, Antonie. I didn’t slip away, did I.”
It was tempting to just leave it at that, but she had made a promise to herself. God had seen fit to allow Royal to stay within the ranks of the living, but she had seen how easily and suddenly she could lose him. She had seen how deeply she would regret never telling him how much he meant to her. Pride and cowardice wanted her to be silent now, now that he was going to be well and the frightening shadow of death was receding. She could not let them win and tie up her tongue again.
Kissing the palm of the hand she held, she stared at it as she said quietly, “I was so afraid. There was so much I wanted to say, things my pride made me keep inside, things you were beyond hearing and might never hear. Then pride seemed such a small thing. It left me only with regrets, and they were bitter. I promised myself that I would not let that happen again.
“I love you, mi vida. My life, that is what you are. If you had left me, I would have lived, but not very well, eh? There would be such an emptiness, a hole even our child could not fill. Por Dios, it is hard to tell you,” she whispered shakily, “but I made a promise to myself that I would speak.
“I saw the danger of you from the beginning, but the pull was too strong. Ah, sí, I knew when you held me that I would place my heart in your hands. Sometimes, I fear it because it is so strong. That is one reason why I ran when I thought you would marry Marilyn. I feared you could make me stay as your ‘little bit on the side,’ eh?
“Well, there, I said it, said what I must. It need not trouble you,” she said and, quickly releasing his hand, stood up.
“Antonie,” he croaked, stunned by what she had told him.
“I will get you some food, querido,” she said as she practically ran out the door, not ready to face him.
Royal stared at the empty doorway for a moment in openmouthed surprise, then sank back against his pillows. A grin started to spread over his face as pure joy filled him. She loved him and, judging from what else she had said, had for a long time. He closed his eyes and savored the knowledge, finding it sweeter than he would have thought possible.
“Which ought to tell you something, fool,” he scolded himself. “Just think on that for a minute.”
“Think on what?” Cole asked as he brought a tray of food in and set it down on the table by the bed.
“Where’s Antonie?”
“Said she had to see to Ram.”
“So that’s the game she’ll play,” Royal muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Who do I thank for getting me back to the house?” he asked as Cole helped him sit up.
“Antonie.” Cole managed to help Royal eat his meal. “I’m damned if I know how she managed to get you into the buggy, tied to her so you wouldn’t fall out, and came home hell-bent for leather. Didn’t even bother to put her dress on. We thought she was hurt, too, for a bit ’cause there was a lot of blood on her.”
“Marilyn’s?”
“Yup.”
Royal listened in amazement as Cole told him what Antonie had done. It was hard to believe that such a small woman could find the strength to get his body back home, especially after struggling with an insane killer. What she had done seemed a clear illustration of what she had just confessed to him, and he ached to talk to her.
But she was not going to give him any chance to, which became very clear as the days slipped by. She always brought someone with her when she did come to visit him. She also continued to sleep in her old room. The way she seemed to be keeping a close eye on his recovery gave Royal an idea. With a grinning O’Neill’s cooperation, he kept his full progress a secret from her. If she did not come to him, was intent upon eluding him, he did not want her to know when he was capable of chasing her down, for she would be sure to find some new way to escape any private meeting with him.
“Well, Royal, you’re as strong as a horse,” O’Neill declared one night, almost two weeks from what Tomás irreverently called his resurrection. “Isn’t it about time to break out of the stall?”
“First tell me where the filly is.”
O’Neill laughed. “Slipped into her own stall a short while ago.”
“Without saying good night to her husband? Tsk, tsk.”
“Ah, and the stallion rears,” O’Neill murmured when Royal hopped out of bed.
“Funny man,” Royal grumbled as he pulled on his pants. “Well, the little coward can’t run anymore.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to lock the door and pocket the key,” O’Neill advised as he left. “That lass can be a slippery little one.”
* * *
Antonie crawled into bed, sprawled on her back, and stared up at the ceiling. Her honesty had turned her into a coward. She did feel better now that she had told Royal how she felt, except that she was embarrassed. No matter how many times she scolded herself for being silly, she could not face him. The way he kept looking at her told her that he wanted to discuss what she had said, and she wanted it to be forgotten.
She knew she would not be able to avoid him forever. He would soon be better and would certainly expect their married life to resume. It was a little puzzling that he had not done so already.
Even as she started to frown about that, she heard her bedroom door open. Her eyes wide, she watched a bare-chested Royal enter, lock the door after him, and place the key over her door. She could break her neck if she tried to get it, she thought a little wildly. Then she realized that he was out of his sickbed and marching toward her with nearly all of his former grace.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she squeaked, sitting up slightly.
“Well, you weren’t coming to my bed,” he said reasonably, as he took off his pants and crawled in next to her.
“But you have been very ill.”
“I’m better,” he murmured as he turned onto his side and reached for her.
It was very hard to think when he held her so close. Antonie found her mind quickly clouding over with desire as he nimbly removed the shirt she was wearing as a nightgown. It felt so good to hold him, to feel that he was alive and well.
“Wait a minute,” she muttered as she tried to wriggle free of his hold.
“A whole minute?” He loosened his arms enough so that, when she pushed her small hands against his chest, she was able to put a little distance between them.
“You were sick.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“No, I mean, you were still in bed this afternoon.”
“Maybe I was just waiting for you to join me.”
When she pushed him again, he abruptly released her. She fell onto her back, and he hurried to pin her down. He met her scowl with a sweet smile. There was no place she could run to now. He placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.
“You have been playing a trick on me,” she accused him, but her stern voice broke on the last word as, holding her wrists over her head with one hand, he began to fondle her breasts with the other.
“Well, yes, I reckon I was.”
“What did you do that for? I was worrying that you were healing too slowly, when all along you were getting better.” As he toyed with her increasingly aching nipples, she gritted her teeth against a swiftly rising passion.
“I could see how you were eluding me.”
“I was not,” she gasped as he caressed her nipples with his tongue.
Ignoring that interruption, he continued, “So I thought I wouldn’t let you know my progress. Then you couldn’t run away.”
The hand that had been so skillfully touching her now sought the silky curls between her thighs. “I was not . . . I didn’t . . . Oh, I can’t think when you do that.”
“Good. I don’t feel like thinking either,” he moaned as he slowly joined their bodies.
He rested his forehead against hers and sighed. Silently he gave thanks for her swift response to his touch. He had been too long without her to indulge in much foreplay. She clearly felt the same way. He was not going to be able to savor the feel of her warmth surrounding him for long. Even now his hips began to move as if of their own accord.
“It feels like coming home,” he said huskily as he kissed her.
Antonie clung to him, wrapping her legs tightly around him. She was starved for him. It had been too long since she had held him close, had felt his body joined with hers. Breathing words of love in Spanish, she fought against losing control. His slow rhythmic thrusts felt good. It also felt as if he were relishing the feel of her. When they simultaneously lost the strength to go slowly, she was almost disappointed, but it was a fleeting sensation erased completely as her climax engulfed her. Even as her ecstasy took her beyond thought, she heard Royal cry out her name and stiffen as he joined her in release. She held him close, as close as she could, as they slowly regained their senses.
Her first clear thought was a strong hope that this was how it would be, that they would simply return to what they had been before. The emotional confession she had made would be set quietly aside, remembered but not discussed. That hope was strengthened when his first clear thought proved not to be about her confession. She was surprised and confused when he abruptly left her arms and crouched over her.
“Damn. I didn’t take care. Did you?”
“Oops.”
“Antonie, oops is not what I want to hear. Damn it, Ram is only a few months old.”
“Well, I had no idea you were coming to my bed tonight. I thought you were still sick,” she added with a touch of accusation in her tone.
“We’ll talk about that in a minute.” He ignored her quick, panicked look. “Maybe you ought to see about that now.”
“Oh. Planning on a . . . um . . . a . . .”
“An encore? Yes.”
“Ah. Well, if you would just turn to look toward the door for a while, por favor,” she said as she started to get out of bed, wondering idly when she would stop blushing about the matter.
Doing as she asked, he said, “Not planning to bolt, are you?”
“You are watching the door and I think you would notice, querido, if I tried to creep out of the window.”
“Quite possibly. Allow me to apologize now if my impetuosity results in something tangible.”
“Huh?”
“If you get pregnant, I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Well, it is said that while you are nursing a baby you cannot get pregnant.”
“Really?” he drawled. “Are those the same people that say toads give you warts?”
She grimaced as she crawled back into bed. “Sí. I am afraid it is the same they.”
“Then maybe we ought to start thinking of names.” He turned and pulled her into his arms.
“It was only the once.”
“Ram was only the once.”
“Maybe. We are not sure. There is no sense in worrying, eh?”
“True. We can have that discussion you’ve been running away from.”
“How about Caterine if it is a girl?”
“Antonie, why are you afraid of talking to me about what you said that day?” he asked quietly.
Staring at him, she frowned a little. That was a question she had not really answered for herself. She supposed it was fear, in a way. The confession was easy enough, but to discuss it meant she had to hear about how her feelings were not returned.
“It does not need to be discussed. I needed to tell you. I was shown how easy it was to lose you, and I did not want to bear the regret of words not said. It need not bother you,” she said gently. “Maybe it was wrong. I should have said nothing.”
“No.” He gently kissed her. “We’ve been too busy saying nothing. The incidents with Oro and Marilyn should have shown us the trouble of saying nothing, and the woe it can bring. We can’t read each other’s minds. There has to be talking or there is confusion, doubts, and hurt.”
“And you have been silent about things, too?”
“Yes, although, a lot of my silence was because I simply didn’t know my own mind. Maybe it’s easier for women to simply accept how they feel, not question it much. Perhaps they see it clearly, know exactly what it means when they experience things like jealousy and need. I was always puzzled and surprised.”
“Maybe,” she said quietly, “some of that was because of who I am, where I come from.”
His hold tightened on her slightly and he nodded reluctantly. “I am ashamed to admit it but, yes, some of it was. You weren’t what I’d planned on.”
“Everybody finds it hard to change what they had planned on. I planned on enjoying this fire then saying adios, amigo.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. It is what men do.”
“When did you change your mind?”
“The first night, although, I did not really change my mind. I still planned on that. I just saw that it would not be easy. It took a while longer to see just how badly my heart had become involved.”
“And what did you decide when you knew that had happened?”
Sighing, she decided that perhaps it was time to be fully honest. He knew how she felt now. There was really not much left to hide. How she had reached the point of loving him was really only incidental.
“I was rather dismayed, but my feelings did not change my plans by much. I was still going to stay and enjoy until I was sent away. What else was there to do?”
“You could have told me what you were feeling.”
“No. I thought about it, but it is hard to swallow one’s pride, eh?”
“Yes, I reckon it is. It’s choked me a time or two.”
“And there was always Marilyn.”
“I’d told you that that was nothing really.”
“Sí, but, too, you did not push her away. That was hard to understand at times.”
“And it made it easy to think that I would choose her over you, ask her to marry me almost immediately after leaving your arms.”
“It did, sí. I thought I was but a diversion, that is the word?”
“Yes, that’s it. And when you said you’d marry me, did you love me then, Antonie?” he asked, aching to hear her say the words again.
She sighed and hid her face against his chest. “Sí, even before then I knew I had love for you, not just a fire, eh?” Feeling his chest move with a deep sigh, she said quietly, “It is no matter.”
“No matter? Don’t you want anything in return for such a gift? You have given me so much. Passion, your innocence, your loyalty, and your love. Don’t you expect anything for all that?”
“It would be nice,” she answered honestly, “but it is not really necessary. You said we will have a sharing in our marriage and that you will be faithful to me. That is a lot. I understand this.”
“So practical.”
There was a hint of amusement in his voice that made her look at him. She did not think there was anything particularly funny about the matter. It seemed to her that he ought to be touched perhaps, pleased that his wife loved him, or maybe a little embarrassed to be told of feelings he had not asked for and did not really return. There were a dozen feelings he could have, but she did not think amusement ought to be one of them. That seemed to be just a little bit cruel.
“See what happens when we say nothing? I can see your mind working furiously and in all the wrong directions. Tell me, Antonie, what did you think when I acted like an idiot over Oro? I scowled over dinner that night in the hotel because Baird was flirting with you. I chased you down that night because I got to thinking Cole was picking up where he thought I had left off. When you took off with Tomás, I was ready to chase you right down without a thought of how it could disrupt my grand plan to expose Marilyn’s treachery. Now, why do you suppose that was?”
“Because you are a possessive man?” she answered tremulously, not daring to trust her own judgment of the soft look in his eyes.
“I can see that you are as stubbornly blind as I was. That is what I told myself. You were mine and a man likes to hold onto what is his, doesn’t want to share it, especially when it’s the best he’s ever had.”
“The best?”
“Oh, yes, love, the best. That’s one thing I’ve known for certain from the very beginning. After the time we spent apart during the drive, I knew I ought to start really thinking about how I felt about you and thinking about what I wanted for us, and from you, but I kept putting it off. There was enough trouble to allow me to avoid facing things. I told myself there wasn’t enough time to do it properly.
“Christ, I had a good explanation for everything. Of course I’d be afraid for you even though you can take care of yourself, because you are small and soft and female. Of course I needed you, for what man wouldn’t need a fire like the one we share. That explained why I had such a need to know you would stay when the battle was over. The need to know you were fighting for me was because I was still stinging from Marilyn’s betrayal.”
“It all sounds very reasonable,” she whispered.
“Of course it does. A man doesn’t elude the truth as neatly as I did without using the best of logic.”
“The truth?”
“Yes, the truth.” He held her close. “I love you.”
She clung to him tightly and felt an urge to cry, she was so choked with joy. He said it so calmly that she had no doubt that he meant it. It was a clear statement of fact. She was not sure that he would ever understand how much it meant to her to hear those words.
“Even when I came out of what O’Neill keeps calling my little nap, I tried to ignore it. The moment I recalled what had happened, I was terrified for you, as terrified as I had been when you were in Raoul’s filthy hands.”
“When did you see?” she asked hoarsely, still clinging to him as if afraid that he would prove to be an illusion and slip away, that this moment she had waited for for so long was only a dream.
“When you told me you loved me,” he answered quietly. “God, Antonie, it felt so good, so damn good. I just lay there smiling like a drunken idiot and reveled in it, savored it. That’s when I finally stopped making excuses for everything I felt. There was only one rational explanation. Once I admitted it to myself, it felt right. I knew I had finally faced the real truth. It explained even the things I’d felt and done that had left me confused. I love you.”
“And I love you, querido. Por Dios, how I love you.”
“Forever.”
“Sí. Forever.”
“Well, I think we ought to do something to celebrate this momentous occasion.”
She looked at him and smiled slowly. “And you have an idea?”
“We-ell, you could always express your delight in our mutual affection by ravishing me.”
“Ah, querido, what a good idea. You always have such good ideas.”
“I’ve got years and years worth of them, love.”