Bandit Love, Juanita Savage [best pdf reader for ebooks .TXT] 📗

id="id01058">It struck her suddenly that the priest did not appear to be treating the ceremony seriously, and the thought flashed into her mind that possibly "Padre Sancho" was only one of the brigands deputed by Don Carlos to play a part, and the whole proceeding was as much bluff as had been the preparations to torture Tony Standish.

"Is he fooling me again?" wondered Myra, as Padre Sancho gabbled through the rest of the service, closed his book and raised his right hand as if bestowing a blessing, whereupon some of the brigands behind and around him began to cheer. They cheered more lustily still when their hooded chief put his arm round Myra's shoulders with an air of possession.

"Mother Dolores will escort you to your room, Myra," said Don Carlos. "Forgive your bridegroom for not accompanying you. I have to arrange for the release of Señor Standish."

CHAPTER XVII

Myra was infinitely glad to escape, and she flung herself down in a chair with a sigh that was half a sob when she reached her bedroom.

"You may go, Dolores," she said, and motioned away the old woman, who had been murmuring congratulations.

"Si, maestra, buena maestra," said Dolores smilingly, as she withdrew.

"'Maestra?'—That means 'mistress,'" ruminated Myra. "In what sense is it used? He used the word when he addressed his men after the mock-marriage. 'Nueva maestra,' I think he called me. That must mean 'new mistress.' His new mistress! How many mistresses have there been—and what is going to happen to me? … Oh, why didn't Tony play the man!"

Time passed and the suspense was becoming almost unbearable when the sound of heavy footsteps in the rocky corridor made Myra's heart jump convulsively. She started to her feet as the door opened to reveal Don Carlos, still wearing his cowl. Behind him were Garcilaso and Mendoza with Standish, now fully dressed and with a bandage round his eyes, between them.

"Does the Señora Cojuelo wish to say farewell to the lover who renounced her?" inquired Don Carlos, with a note of mockery in his voice. "I am now about to redeem my promise and have him escorted back unharmed to the Castillo de Ruiz."

"Why are his eyes bandaged?" asked Myra sharply. "What has happened to him?"

"Nothing has happened," Don Carlos assured her. "The bandage is merely a precautionary measure. He was brought here blindfolded, so that he might have no idea as to the location of my mountain nest. He leaves blindfolded for the same reason. Don Carlos de Ruiz will follow him when I so choose. Have you anything to say to Señor Standish?"

"Nothing," answered Myra, after a moment of hesitation.

"Myra, if only——" said Standish hoarsely, and paused, gulping as if he were choking. "I suppose it isn't any use attempting to say anything," he added weakly.

"Except farewell," remarked Don Carlos ironically, and laid his hand on Myra's arm. "Permit me to escort you to the door, señora mia, to witness the departure of Señor Standish."

In the wake of Standish and his escort, he led Myra along the corridor to the outer hall, and Myra, her senses acute, watched him closely as he manipulated knobs which looked like part of the rocky wall and the great door that looked like rock itself swung open.

"Lead the English señor forward carefully, and remember I have pledged my word that he shall be returned safely to the castle of Don Carlos de Ruiz," said Don Carlos in Spanish. "Farewell, señor," he added in English. "You will have great stories to tell on your return to England of your encounter with El Diablo Cojuelo and how you escaped from him!"

Standish's face contorted in momentary passion, then with a sigh and a gesture of utter despair he submitted himself to be led away by Mendoza and Garcilaso. Myra, her face tense and white, took an involuntary step forward, and instantly Don Carlos's hand closed on her arm.

"You forget, dear lady, that you are the price of his freedom, and your place is with your husband," he said, as he drew her back into the hall and touched a lever which released the door.

To Myra the clang of the door as it shut seemed like a death-knell.

Don Carlos took off his cowl and flung it aside, smoothed his jet-black hair with his hands, and drew a long breath. His eyes and expression were inscrutable as he gazed fixedly at Myra.

"Exit Mr. Antony Standish," he said slowly, after a pause. "One chapter of your life is closed, Myra. Now another opens, the most wonderful chapter of all, in which you will fulfil your destiny."

Myra suddenly found herself cold and trembling, and to gain time and avoid Don Carlos's eyes she crossed the room to the radiator and held out her shaking hands to its warmth.

"Are you frightened, Myra mine?" asked Don Carlos gently crossing to her side. "Are you still afraid of love?"

"If this is your idea of love, I hate it!" responded Myra with sudden passion. "You have humiliated me until I feel that I am less than the dust. What greater humiliation could you inflict on any woman than to prove to her that the man who professed to love her would surrender her to a bandit? You have humiliated me as much as Tony Standish, and perhaps you have further humiliations in store."

"If you have a sense of proportion, you should thank me instead of reproaching me for proving Standish to be at heart a knave," Don Carlos retorted, the hard note creeping into his voice again. "If you tell me you still love him, and prefer him to me, I will send you back to him at once. Can you truthfully say that you still love him and would marry him if you were free?"

Myra shook her red-gold head despairingly, and sank down into a corner of the couch with a sigh.

"If he were the only man on earth, I would not marry him now," she answered. "But that does not alter the case or excuse your conduct."

"I do not understand, Myra," said Don Carlos. "It was only because you had promised to marry Standish that you hardened your heart against love and me. You have surrendered to love now, at last, and——"

"I have not," interrupted Myra. "I hate you for what has happened."

"Yet, hating me, you have become my wife," Don Carlos commented, with an air of perplexity.

"I am not your wife," protested Myra. "You have fooled me before, but you cannot fool me into believing that the farcical service, gabbled in a language I do not understand by one of your men masquerading as a monk, constitutes a marriage."

"Padre Sancho is an ordained priest. The ceremony was not a farce. You are now my wife—the wife of El Diablo Cojuelo, the outlaw. Later on, when you marry Don Carlos—if Don Carlos still desires you—you shall have a more elaborate ceremony, if you wish it, and you will be doubly married without being a bigamist."

There came an interruption at that moment. Madre Dolores appeared, murmuring apologies, with a tall glass of wine in her skinny hand, and seemingly made some appeal to Don Carlos.

"Myra, some of my men are holding festival to celebrate our marriage, and they have sent Mother Dolores to ask us to do them the honour of taking wine with them and allowing them to toast us," Don Carlos explained. "It would be a gracious act, which will endear you to all my men, to consent."

"But I have told you I cannot believe the marriage ceremony was other than a farce," objected Myra. "Is this another trick to humiliate me and make it appear I have surrendered?"

"Again you misjudge me," replied Don Carlos abruptly. "It is a compliment, and should be proof to you that my men know the marriage ceremony was no farce. They will take it as an affront if you refuse their invitation."

"What does that matter to me?" exclaimed Myra rebelliously.

Don Carlos's brows drew together and he looked chagrined.

"Tell the men, Mother Dolores, that the señora is either as lacking in courage as the Englishman, or considers them such a gang of cut-throat ruffians, that she cannot be persuaded to nerve herself to face them," he said, addressing the old woman. "Tell them she is aware she is affronting them and——"

"How dare you suggest I am a coward?" interrupted Myra, starting to her feet. "Tell them nothing of the sort, Dolores. I am not afraid to face them——"

"So we will be graciously pleased to accept the invitation," added Don
Carlos as she paused.

"Yes," said Myra. "Otherwise, I suppose, you will taunt me with being a coward."

"I think I managed that rather cleverly, Myra," Don Carlos said, his face crinkling into a mischievous smile. "I thought you would not notice that I was giving my instructions to Mother Dolores in English, of which she scarcely understands a word!"

Myra crimsoned in annoyance, but she made no retort, nor did she offer any protest when Don Carlos, after a few words of thanks to the puzzled Dolores, who scurried away, drew her hand through his arm and led her through the corridors to the great cave.

Dolores had spread the news of their coming, and every man was on his feet, glass or flagon in hand. Myra and Don Carlos were each handed a tall glass of wine, and the band drank their health with enthusiasm, shouting all sorts of good wishes. Don Carlos toasted them in turn, drained his glass, and called to Myra to follow his example.

"Drink to me and to love, Myra mine," he cried.

Myra was so confused by the shouting and by the men pressing around with uplifted glasses and flagons that she scarcely knew what she was doing and hurriedly swallowed the wine.

"Thank you, beloved," said Don Carlos, drawing her hand into the crook of his arm again. "We will go now."

Through the corridors they went again, and Myra's heart seemed to miss a beat as he paused at her bedroom and opened the door. She looked up at him with dread and appeal in her dilated blue eyes, to see him smiling exultantly.

"Mine! Mine at last, Myra!" he said in a low, vibrant voice, as he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her into the room. "The hour for which I have waited and craved."

"Don Carlos, is it useless to appeal to you to let me go?" gasped Myra.
"Surely I have suffered enough without—without—this——?"

"Darling, why should you fear love now?" responded Don Carlos tenderly, enfolding her in his arms. "Let me fire your heart with the burning ardour of my passion. I have won you, and I swore I would, and I claim my reward. Myra, mia, I want you—want you!"

His dark eyes were ablaze with ardour, his lean face was flushed, and his breath was coming and going pantingly as he crushed Myra to him and kissed her until his kisses seemed to be burning her very Soul and her senses were reeling. All power of resistance had gone from her. She felt dazedly as if she were encompassed by flames and no hope of escape. She was conquered….

* * *

Languidly Myra opened her eyes—and sat up with an involuntary cry of consternation, for she could see nothing, and the terrifying thought flashed through her mind that she had gone blind. Then she remembered that the rocky apartment was dark as a tomb when the electric lights were not burning, and she groped for the switch.

As the lights sprang to life, realisation of what had happened burned its way into her horrified consciousness, and a burning blush stained her pale, lovely face. She was alone in the bedroom, but she knew instinctively that she had not been alone for long. Her hands went convulsively to her breast, and she shuddered violently and moaned in anguish.

Then followed anger—fierce, passionate fury against the man who had imposed his will on her, and with clenched fists she beat the pillow