Rebecca Stratton - Castles in Spain Read online

  'I promise I won't complain.' Almost without realizing it, she leaned a little nearer to him, her bare arm pressed against his persuasively, her pulses skipping not only at the contact with him, but in response to that insistent and ever louder voice singing its plaintive rhythm. 'Please can I see them, Marcos?'

  She had never spoken to him like that before and she was surprised at her own lack of inhibition in trying to persuade him. He said nothing for a moment, but she felt the muscles in his arm more taut suddenly, her own pulses leaping in response.

  'Madre de Dios!' he breathed piously at last. 'You will have your way, will you not, nina?'

  'I only-'

  'So!' He braked the car to a halt as they turned another bend and were almost upon a small crowd gathered on the roadside, leaning against the white adobe walls of cottages and standing in the gutter.

  Without waiting to see if he approved or not Holly slipped out of the car and hurried to join the gathering. This was no sophisticated audience, but the village people of San Adolfo; brown-faced country people and half naked little brown children with huge eyes and bare dusty feet, and she stood out like a pale ghost among the edge of the gathering.

  They had seen it all before, of course, but the flamenco was part of their tradition, and the gypsies the traditional dancers of flamenco. The man singing and accompanying himself on the guitar looked middle-aged, although it was difficult to tell with these people, and the dancer could as easily have been his wife or his daughter.

  A swarthy-skinned, rather dumpy figure made more so by several bulky cotton skirts in assorted colours, and a short-sleeved blouse worn under a kind of tunic top. A few frills on the sleeves of the blouse were the only concession to what most people thought of as flamenco costume, and instead of the mantilla and comb her coarse black hair was partly covered by a spotted scarf tied in the traditional gypsy fashion at the back of her head.

  Her shoes were thick and heavy with low heels, but her steps were as intricate and skilled as any well- drilled performer in one of the city night clubs and Holly was fascinated. The castanets in her thick- fingered hands clicked and snapped to the rhythm of her dance, and those heavily shod feet beat out the same rhythm on the dusty road, thin gold bracelets clinking together on her thick, tanned wrists.

  Holly was intrigued and enchanted by it. Dusty and untidy or not, the woman had skill, and the repetitive, almost hypnotic wail of the man's singing cast a kind of spell that she was willing enough to fall under.

  One or two of the people watching looked at her curiously at first, but then they parted their ranks as if by mutual consent, and made way for her to come through, dark eyes smiling at her obvious interest, happy enough to let her join in their traditional entertainment.

  She had no idea where Marcos was, nor, for the moment, did she care as she watched the dancer, beating out the rhythm, sending up little clouds of dust with each step, and it was only minutes before she too took up the rhythmic foot-tapping of the watchers.

  The performance finished all too soon for Holly, although she realized that she had better not be too long or Marcos would be not only impatient but angry with her for keeping him waiting. He was probably annoyed with her for going off as she had anyway, but she had at least seen what she wanted to see.

  Turning around in the cluster of people about her, she found them already making way for him through their ranks, as they had for her, but with less open friendliness and more wariness when they recognized him for what he was.

  His height made him stand above them all and his proud autocratic features seemed to look more arrogant than ever as he came through to her. One hand took her arm firmly, as if to discourage any attempt on her part to remain, and the other threw a handful of coins to the dancer.

  No one said a word, but the woman carefully counted the pesetas in her hand and the man with the guitar was already strumming more notes, trying out his hoarse flutey voice on another plaintive wail, when they made their way back to the car. It all seemed hardly credible to Holly. The dancer on the dusty road, the dusky, dark-eyed crowd gathered in the village street had a strange mediaeval feel about it.

  It was when she thought of that tall, arrogant figure breaking through the crowd to fetch her, throwing a handful of coins to the woman in that grand gesture, that the whole thing struck her as funny suddenly, and, without any reasonable explanation for her reaction, she found herself laughing aloud as she walked back to the car with him.

  Marcos looked down at her curiously and from the way his fingers tightened on her arm suddenly, she thought he at least suspected the cause of her laughter. 'What is it that you find so amusing?' he asked, and Holly shook her head hastily as he saw her into the car and closed the door on her.

  'It's — it's nothing really,' she said, unwilling to try and explain, for obviously he would not share her feelings about that scarcely believable scene back there.

  He did not immediately start the car after he was seated beside her, but turned and looked at her steadily, one arm laid along the back of the seat behind her. There was something infinitely disturbing about the way his black eyes were watching her, and a hint of tension in the way he held himself, almost like a warning, she thought irrationally.

  'Suddenly you laugh,' he said. Tor no reason appar-ently; am I to believe that you have suddenly gone mad with the sun?'

  'No, of course not!' She looked at him through the thickness of her lashes, then shook her head. 'It's - it's just something - I'd rather not tell you,' she insisted, knowing she had little hope of being allowed to get away with that explanation.

  'Why not?'

  The question was blunt and she took a deep breath before she looked up at him warily. 'Because I -1 don't want to quarrel with you, Marcos, and - and I know you'll take it the wrong way if I tell you.'

  'So!' He nodded, as if his suspicion had been confirmed. 'Now I am sure that you were laughing at me!' The black eyes watched her narrowly. 'Now I will know why!'

  For a moment Holly said nothing, then she looked down at her hands. 'It was when you - when you threw the money to the dancer,' she told him, watching through her lashes for the first signs of anger. 'It reminded me of—'

  'Si?' he prompted relentlessly, and she took a deep breath and stuck out her chin.

  'It was a bit like a - a rather corny film,' she told him defiantly. 'The lord of the manor, generously distributing alms to the lesser hoi-polloi.'

  'I see!' He turned and put his hands on the wheel and she could see how the long fingers were taut and somehow cruel-looking as they curled round the leather cover.

  She had been rude, she knew, unforgivably rude in the circumstances, and she could not expect him to accept it lightly. 'I didn't mean to be rude,' she said, putting a hand on his arm and feeling the hard, unyielding strength of the muscles under her fingers. 'I'm sorry I laughed, but—'

  'But you found me so amusing that you could not control yourself!'

  'No!' she denied vehemently.

  'I'm sorry if my behaviour embarrassed you,' he said, and his voice was cold and hard so that she felt her heart sink at the sound of it. 'You are not yet used to our customs, perhaps. It is usual to pay these people when they entertain, and they had, I assumed, entertained you, judging by your response.'

  'Yes, yes, of course they had!'

  She wished now that she had controlled that instinctive laughter, for Marcos had seen his gesture in paying the woman as perfectly natural, as had the rest of the people there, and she disliked the idea of his being so angry with her for her lack of understanding.

  'But you do not think I should have paid them?' he demanded, turning again to look at her, and she shook her head, wishing he would start up the car and take them away from there, for there was more than one pair of curious dark eyes looking in their direction.

  'Oh, Marcos, of course I don't mean that!' She looked down at her hands. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed.'

  'No, pequena,' he said softly. 'Yo
u should not have laughed!'

  Holly looked up, hastily, suspiciously, but he was already starting up the engine and in a matter of seconds they were off down the hill again, and gathering speed at an alarming rate. By the time they reached the edge of the village they were going so fast that dust, chickens and children scattered before them in a flurry of confusion.

  'Marcos!'

  She was frightened and she hoped he would realize it enough to slow down, but he said nothing, simply drove on, his hands dark and taut on the wheel, the muscular brown arms coping with the sudden turns in the twisting road expertly as always, his dark, hawklike profile set and stern. He did not relax their speed until they turned off the road suddenly and on to a rough cart track, then he only slowed down a little, bouncing the big car over the ruts in a way that frightened her into putting her hands to her mouth and holding her breath.

  He braked hard suddenly and she was thrown forward, almost banging her head on the windscreen, and when she recovered her breath sufficiently she turned and looked at him indignantly. 'You don't have to try and kill me just because you don't like being laughed at,' she told him, and put a hand to her head, brushing back the dark hair from her forehead with a trembling hand.

  'You deserve to have your neck broken when you are so childishly and deliberately rude,' he informed her brusquely.

  He sat there looking at her, his eyes glittering blackly, a feeling of tension about him that communicated itself to her. Her hands were trembling, in fact she was shaking all over, and she could feel the shuddering unevenness of her breathing and the rapid flutter of the pulse in her throat. She did not move but sat there with wide, uncertain eyes.

  'I didn't mean it,' she said. 'I told you I was sorry.'

  'I am very glad to hear it,' he said shortly. 'I gave up an evening with Helena to bring you here so that you could take your fotografier. I will not be treated like one of your lovesick English boy-friends, mi pequena You may laugh at them as often as you wish, with me you will behave, or you will be sorry!'

  He came round and opened the door for her, and Holly looked up at him indignantly. He had no right to scold her like a child, nor to be so high and mighty about her English boy-friends. 'You have no right to—' she began.

  'If you wish to take pictures,' he interrupted shortly, 'you will do well to take them now while the sun is still high enough.'

  But Holly was not listening to him. Something he had said a moment earlier had only now struck her. 'Did - did you say you could have seen Senorita Mendez?' she asked, and he nodded. 'I did.'

  She looked puzzled for a moment, still sitting in the car while he stood with one hand on the open door. 'I see,' she said at last. 'I'm sorryy, I didn't realize she was back. You should have said so, then you needn't have bothered with me.'

  She thought there was a hint of a smile about his mouth, but could not be sure. 'I do not break my word,' he informed her quietly. 'You wished to come and take photographs here, and I had arranged to bring you. Helena understands.'

  Somehow the idea of Helena Mendez being understanding and tolerant about allowing her fiance to escort what was, as far as he was concerned, an unwelcome guest, struck Holly as pretty hard to swallow. She felt her face flush warmly when she imagined the scene between them. Marcos shrugging his broad, eloquent shoulders and asking for understanding because he had already promised to take his stepmother's niece somewhere - and of course he would much rather be with Helena. No wonder he had been so annoyed because she had laughed at him back there, it had been the last straw.

  'You shouldn't have bothered,' she told him, suddenly feeling cross and unhappy, and staying firmly in her seat. 'Take me back now and you'll still have plenty of time to go and see Senorita Mendez!

  For a moment he neither moved nor spoke, but she could feel the glittering, black-eyed gaze fixed on her, and suddenly he gripped her arm with his strong fingers and almost lifted her bodily out of the car. 'You will not play games with me, muchacha,' he said brusquely. 'You wish to take pictures and I have brought you here to do so, now - take your pictures!'

  'Don't do that!' Holly objected, pulling at the arm he gripped so tightly. 'You hurt me when you grab like that!'

  He gave a short, harsh laugh and let go of her arm. 'For very little, mi espinosa' he told her shortly, 'I would put you across my knee!'

  She glared at him, reproachfully angry, for a moment, then leaned into the car and took out her camera. "Very gallant!' she jeered as she moved away to get a better view.

  He did not accompany her, but stayed by the car, lighting up one of the long, dark Spanish cheroots he smoked, watching her with a gaze that set her pulses racing, without her quite knowing why. Her camera was a simple one and she focused it on the castle, half hidden by its picturesque setting, hoping she was expert enough to convey at least some of the slightly unreal beauty of it.

  But whether it was his steady scrutiny, or whether it was the certain knowledge that he would much rather be with Helena Mendez, something made her strangely uneasy and she found she lacked much of her original enthusiasm for the task. At last, after taking only two pictures, she gave up and walked slowly back to the car.

  'That is all?'

  He regarded her with raised brows, and she suspected he knew exactly why she was giving up so soon. She shrugged her shoulders. 'I've got all I

  need, thank you.'

  'You have plenty of time to take more, if you wish to.'

  Holly shook her head, determined not to stay any longer. 'No, it's all right, thank you.'

  For a moment white teeth showed against the dark brown of his face and she was reminded of the devastating effect of his smile at their first meeting, she had thought him incapable of smiling then. The soft, deep sound of his laugh quickened her heartbeat alarmingly, and she began to wish more than ever that she had not asked him to bring her.

  'I think you are being - how is it? Sacrificing, eh, pequena?'

  'It's self-sacrificing,' Holly told him shortly, 'and I'm not!'

  'No?' He did not open the car door for her, but leaned against the side of the car, his eyes narrowed against the smoke from the cheroot, regarding her steadily. 'I think you are lying, mi pichon!'

  He spoke softly, almost seductively, and she knew that in Spanish pichon meant pigeon, and was also used frequently as an endearment between lovers. He had absolutely no right to stand there and speak to her like that, she thought wildly, when he knew that Helena Mendez was waiting for him to join her.

  Her knees felt weak and she dared not look at him directly. Whether or not he was supposed to be marrying Helena Mendez, he could still have the most disturbing effect on her, and she fervently wished she could do something about it.

  She stood by the car, her camera clutched in both hands to try and steady them, her eyes lowered so that long lashes hid what was in her eyes. Did he not realize what he was doing to her - or did he not care?

  'Please take me back,' she said huskily.

  'Holly!' There it was again! That soft, seductive note in his voice that made her tremble. One large hand reached out and rested against her cheek and she longed to lean her face against it, but instead she closed her eyes and resisted.

  'Please, Marcos! Take me back!'

  Instead of opening the car door for her, however, he flung the smouldering cheroot away from him, took her camera out of her unresisting hands and dropped it into the car. Then he put his hands on the door, either side of her, bringing his body close against hers, so that she was tinglingly aware of the warmth and the lithe energy that emanated from him as his face came closer.

  'No!' Her voice was sharp with urgency and she turned her head swiftly before he could touch her mouth. 'Save your kisses for Helena Mendez, she has a right to them!'

  'You little bitch!' His eyes glittered like coals and he brought his hands up swiftly to grip her arms in a bruising hold, pulling her against the hard leanness of his body.

  Holly struggled hopelessly, fighting with
such a jumble of emotions that she was unsure whether she was terrified, or crazily longing for him to kiss her, whether she wanted it or not, and her heart was beating so hard that it almost deafened her.

  The hawklike savagery of his dark features was so close that she could see the fine lines at the comers of his eyes and the pulse that beat with a disturbing throb at the corner of his wide mouth. There was something in the way he held her, in the tanned strength of his hands and in the way he gazed so intently at her mouth, that weakened her resolve and roused her to such a sense of need that she knew she could not resist.

  'Please, Marcos!'

  She just managed to whisper her plea before his mouth silenced her, pressing hard on to hers, as fierce and demanding as the arms that swept her against him and offered no hope of escape Never in her life before had she been kissed like that, and her whole being responded to him without stopping to think of possible consequences, and certainly not of Helena Mendez who was going to marry him.

  When he freed her mouth at last, his strong fingers gently moved aside the thick, dark hair on her neck and he pressed his lips to the warm softness of her skin in a slow, lingering kiss that made her shiver with a sensuous pleasure, almost frightening in its intensity. Her fingers, trembling and uncertain, unfastened the buttons of the white shirt still further until she could slide her hand over the roughness of dark hair on his chest.

  'Mi bella pequena.' he whispered softly, his breath whispering warmly against her car. 'Such a beautiful nina!'

  'I'm not a baby!' she reproached him, but gently, and laid her cheek against the dark head that bent to kiss her shoulder. His fingers slid the soft material of her dress to one side with a touch so infinitely gentle and evocative that she again felt that involuntary shiver trickle along her spine.

  He raised his head and looked down at her with such a look in his black eyes that she half closed her eyes and reached up to put her hands either side of his face, her fingers caressing the dark, lean cheeks, her thumbs pressed gently over his mouth. 'To me you are a baby,' he said softly, kissing the soft cushion of flesh against his lips. 'A beautiful baby with a fine temper, eh, mi pichdni"