Read Online Against the Wind by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Stuart
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in my head, Madelyn, even if you’re too busy mooning around to notice. He wants you, and I don’t trust him not to do anything about it.”
“And you think by telling me that it will keep me away from him?” Maddy scoffed. “Mother, I’m seventeen. That’s more likely to entice me than frighten me.” That was a lie, but her mother wouldn’t know it.
But Helen wasn’t disturbed by Maddy’s bravado. “No, dear one, that’s not what I’m going to warn you about. I’m going to tell you what happened to John Thomas Murphy in Vietnam, and what he did there. And then I have no doubt at all you’ll keep away from him. No doubt at all.”
A lazy mosquito landed on her bare arm, stalked around at a leisurely pace, and then bit. With equal abstraction Maddy swatted him, and the sound was jarring in the still room.
Ramon looked up from his position by the door and flashed her a tentative smile. “The mosquito season is almost over,
gracias a Dios
. You should be glad El Patrón decided to stay up here in the mountains, rather than along the Mosquito Coast.”
“Mosquito Coast?” Maddy echoed, staring at the itching red spot where the bug had recently feasted.
“La Mosquitia. Not at all pleasant, any time of year. The bugs have almost died out up here. You can even sleep with the windows open.”
“That’s a relief. I would probably suffocate otherwise. Puente del Norte doesn’t seem to come equipped with air conditioning,” she said with a vague attempt at humor.
Luis snorted, the noise giving his opinion of elitist
gringa
pigs who have to have air conditioning to survive. Maddy surveyed him from her seat against the wall, wondering for a moment whether there was any way she could get past that angry militancy. The throbbing rib warned her that it was highly unlikely. Luis was no friendlier than Enrique, the guardian at the gate. It would take more charm than she possessed to calm their distrust.
“How long have you been here?” she questioned idly.
Ramon hesitated, then obviously decided that telling her wouldn’t compromise his orders. After all, Murphy hadn’t said to do anything other than watch her. If he wanted her kept in the dark he would have said so—Murphy was always direct.
“In this house, nine months. In the area, two years. It has been a long time, a long war.” He sighed.
“And how long have El Patrón and … and La Patrona been married?”
It was Ramon’s turn to snort, and even the dour Luis looked amused. “Not La Patróna,” the latter said decisively. “Señora Lambert, Soledad is, but never La Patróna.”
“They have been married one year,” Ramon explained. “Though they have been together for longer than that.”
“And why isn’t she ‘La Patróna?’” Maddy persisted.
Ramon grinned. “It’s a title of respect, to be earned. Let us say Soledad has done nothing to earn it.”
Luis seemed in the mood to talk. “She was Morosa’s mistress when she was fourteen years old. He tired of her, passed her down to Ortega, but Soledad is not the kind ofwoman to settle for second in command. She changed sides, and El Patrón is an honorable man. Not the kind of man to leave a woman helpless.” The message was clear. If the Saint of San Pablo had a daughter he never would have repudiated her.
Maddy considered arguing the point, then dismissed the notion, changing the subject. “And the others? Do they have titles of respect?”
“Or otherwise. Carlos, the man you met on the road, is called the Jackal, but that is more his idea than anyone else’s. Feldman is El Nabo.”
“The turnip,” Luis volunteered with a sour smile. “The man is useless in a fight. Don’t look to him for help,
gringa.”
Maddy gave him her best smile. “I won’t. Thanks for the advice.”
Luis snarled.
“The ladies are los Madres, the mothers. I don’t think you would wish to hear what we call Soledad. I doubt you would even know the word, and I would not care to
“And you think by telling me that it will keep me away from him?” Maddy scoffed. “Mother, I’m seventeen. That’s more likely to entice me than frighten me.” That was a lie, but her mother wouldn’t know it.
But Helen wasn’t disturbed by Maddy’s bravado. “No, dear one, that’s not what I’m going to warn you about. I’m going to tell you what happened to John Thomas Murphy in Vietnam, and what he did there. And then I have no doubt at all you’ll keep away from him. No doubt at all.”
A lazy mosquito landed on her bare arm, stalked around at a leisurely pace, and then bit. With equal abstraction Maddy swatted him, and the sound was jarring in the still room.
Ramon looked up from his position by the door and flashed her a tentative smile. “The mosquito season is almost over,
gracias a Dios
. You should be glad El Patrón decided to stay up here in the mountains, rather than along the Mosquito Coast.”
“Mosquito Coast?” Maddy echoed, staring at the itching red spot where the bug had recently feasted.
“La Mosquitia. Not at all pleasant, any time of year. The bugs have almost died out up here. You can even sleep with the windows open.”
“That’s a relief. I would probably suffocate otherwise. Puente del Norte doesn’t seem to come equipped with air conditioning,” she said with a vague attempt at humor.
Luis snorted, the noise giving his opinion of elitist
gringa
pigs who have to have air conditioning to survive. Maddy surveyed him from her seat against the wall, wondering for a moment whether there was any way she could get past that angry militancy. The throbbing rib warned her that it was highly unlikely. Luis was no friendlier than Enrique, the guardian at the gate. It would take more charm than she possessed to calm their distrust.
“How long have you been here?” she questioned idly.
Ramon hesitated, then obviously decided that telling her wouldn’t compromise his orders. After all, Murphy hadn’t said to do anything other than watch her. If he wanted her kept in the dark he would have said so—Murphy was always direct.
“In this house, nine months. In the area, two years. It has been a long time, a long war.” He sighed.
“And how long have El Patrón and … and La Patrona been married?”
It was Ramon’s turn to snort, and even the dour Luis looked amused. “Not La Patróna,” the latter said decisively. “Señora Lambert, Soledad is, but never La Patróna.”
“They have been married one year,” Ramon explained. “Though they have been together for longer than that.”
“And why isn’t she ‘La Patróna?’” Maddy persisted.
Ramon grinned. “It’s a title of respect, to be earned. Let us say Soledad has done nothing to earn it.”
Luis seemed in the mood to talk. “She was Morosa’s mistress when she was fourteen years old. He tired of her, passed her down to Ortega, but Soledad is not the kind ofwoman to settle for second in command. She changed sides, and El Patrón is an honorable man. Not the kind of man to leave a woman helpless.” The message was clear. If the Saint of San Pablo had a daughter he never would have repudiated her.
Maddy considered arguing the point, then dismissed the notion, changing the subject. “And the others? Do they have titles of respect?”
“Or otherwise. Carlos, the man you met on the road, is called the Jackal, but that is more his idea than anyone else’s. Feldman is El Nabo.”
“The turnip,” Luis volunteered with a sour smile. “The man is useless in a fight. Don’t look to him for help,
gringa.”
Maddy gave him her best smile. “I won’t. Thanks for the advice.”
Luis snarled.
“The ladies are los Madres, the mothers. I don’t think you would wish to hear what we call Soledad. I doubt you would even know the word, and I would not care to