Read Online Midnight Rider by Kat Martin - Free Book Online Page B

butterflies swirl in her stomach.
    The man who had been laughing at her all the while, playing her for a fool.
    The stallion tossed its head and started up the trail, and Carly set out behind it. Ignoring her aching muscles, cuts, scrapes, and bruises, she fixed her eyes on the Spaniard’s broad back and forced one moccasined foot in front of the other. Sanchez followed, along with the rest of the men.
    By noon the sun was a fiery ball above their heads, beating down with relentless determination. The woven leather rope chafed her wrists and the blue embroidered robe weighed her down with every step. She stumbled and would have fallen if the don had not slowed. The trail was a long steep incline, sapping her strength along with her will. Her legs felt wobbly and her mouth was dry. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on.
    As if he read her thoughts, he stopped the horse, unfastened his canteen, walked back and handed it to her. She held it to her lips, savoring each long cooling drink, but it was all she could do to keep her hands from shaking.
    â€œLlano Mirada is just there,” he said, accepting the canteen and pointing toward the top of a steep ravine. “That is where we are going.”
    She followed his line of vision but saw nothing that looked the least bit like a camp. Just oaks and pines and manzanita, and a long rocky canyon leading up to a sheer granite cliff.
    â€œThe climb is a difficult one.” His lips twisted cruelly. “If you ask me very nicely, perhaps I will give you a ride.”
    The canyon walls towered above her. Beneath her nightgown, her legs shook with fatigue. How could she possibly make such a difficult climb? She was dangerously close to tears, close to the point of breaking. “Go to hell.”
    He frowned at her, then glanced back at the steep, rock-strewn canyon with its seemingly non-existent path. For a moment he seemed uncertain. “Your pride will be your undoing, senorita.”
    Carly bristled. “And what of yours, Don Ramon?” Desperation drove her to taunt him. She needed her anger to carry her through. “Was it your grand Spanish pride that managed to get your brother killed? Or was it merely your greed?”
    Fury blazed in his dark eyes, as hot as the tip of a flame, yet at the same time so cold she felt chilled. He turned his face away, leaving only his stark, elegant profile. Then he set his spurs to the sides of his horse and started up the grade.
    They walked for a while. The trail appeared out of nowhere. It was impossible to see, she realized, and behind her the men used branches and leaves to disguise the way they had come. Her tired body sagged with defeat. Her uncle would never find the trail, and even if he did, guards were posted at intervals all along the rocky canyon wall.
    Carly stumbled, hot tears burning, springing to life in her eyes. Dear God, why hadn’t she asked the don for help? Why hadn’t she cast aside her pride and let him be the victor he was so determined to be? What did it matter? But somehow she knew that it did. Her pride was all she had left, all that was keeping her from turning into the frightened little girl she was inside. She couldn’t afford to abandon it. She brushed the tears away.
    She made it more than halfway up the hill before she tripped and her legs gave way beneath her. She sprawled in the dry parched dirt beneath a thorny manzanita, several sharp barbs digging into the flesh on her leg. One of the vaqueros rode up beside her, dismounted, and carefully helped her back on her feet. He spoke softly in Spanish, words of encouragement, she thought, but with her head still spinning, she couldn’t be sure.
    Pedro Sanchez rode past, halting his horse beside that of the don.
    â€œEnough, Ramon! You will let the girl go.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou must listen to me, hijo. I have known you since you were a boy. Always, I have been as proud of you as if you were my own