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  "Don't," he said sharply, as he grabbed her wrist. His gaze met hers. "I warned you once. I will not do it again."

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  Chapter Six

  Miguel swore under his breath and mounted his horse. Raine hadn't noticed before but it was one of the finest horses she'd ever seen, quite large for its species, even larger than her father's large bay mustang. Rich black in color, it had a racy, powerful build, and a fine head with fiery eyes. At first she thought the horse to be mean, but she soon saw that he just had spirit. Like his master, she thought with chagrin.

  Settled now, Miguel extended a hand down to Raine. She took it and he swung her up into the saddle behind him. With a grumble, he kicked the horse into a run.

  For two days they slept little and spoke even less. Without looking at her, Miguel had asked twice how she was doing. Raine had replied both times with an abrupt "Fine." Yet she wasn't fine. She was exhausted and dirty. Her hair was thick with sweat from Miguel's wide brim hat, which she wore at his insistence to protect her face. She longed for some shade to hide her from the sun, but the only sign of life was an occasional roadrunner. They crossed one river and refilled the canteens. After that, the land grew more dry and barren. The few shrubs and trees they had seen gave way and revealed a flatter land that was mostly rock, white sand, and fissures in the earth.

  They ate in the saddle when they had the chance, something dry and hard, called "jerkey," and drank water from canteens. Raine didn't want to know what this meat-like substance was; it was awful. But she was in no position to complain and it did stop her stomach from grumbling.

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  Just because Miguel was the handsomest man she'd ever seen was no reason to lose her common sense, Raine thought as they plunged into the gathering dust. Nevertheless, her senses had quite deserted her. Maybe it was because she, a supposedly well-bred lady, was becoming aware of her feelings for this revolutionary.

  Raine reasoned that even if she wasn't in the middle of Mexico, and a captive being taken to a hideout, that this man wasn't for her. She was a countess of noble parentage. Louis Napoleon's cousin, for heaven's sake! The Emperor of Mexico's wife, Carlotta, was her friend. Miguel was what? An outlaw. A revolutionary. A renegade, hellbent on revenge. No, he was not for her.

  Since she was a normal young woman, perhaps her attraction to this wild man only meant she was starved for a man's affection. Then she thought, after what she'd done, what man of her station would want her? If one would want her, would she want him after she'd had a man like Miguel?

  Oh! She'd never been so confused in her life.

  It didn't take her long to decide that ignoring her disturbing train -of thought was better.

  The trouble was, she was settled firmly on Miguel's lap with both her legs dangling over the mustang's left side. With his arms cinched around her stomach, she was hotly aware of the contact between her derriere and his strong thighs. She didn't feel well at all. In fact, Raine was certain she had a fever.

  Miguel wasn't exactly comfortable either. As he rode hard over the arid land, heading toward Copper Canyon and the misty reaches the Sierra Madre held, he wished there was some way he could position Raine so that she wouldn't touch the ever-revealing part of his anatomy. Putting her behind him was, out of the question, because she'd already dozed off once and almost killed herself when she fell off the horse. Luckily, he'd caught the waistband of her skirt before she'd hit the ground. When he'd hauled her back onto his lap, she'd hit him, as if it were his fault she'd fallen asleep.

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  He checked the Colt in his holster, making sure it lay ready to fire. The journey had been uneventful, but there was no guarantee it would remain so. Without thinking, he drew Raine closer to him.

  Raine shifted and slipped comfortably into his crotch. It was the best position she had been in since they started riding. Then she realized that her hip rested against something hard. She twisted around and their gazes met and held. Her eyes widened with understanding, while his, wild and bright, searched through the silent, sweeping veils of dust. For long moments, she listened to the labored breathing that spoke of Miguel Chavez's unease.

  Miguel cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said, and shifted her back to her original position. "It is not something I can control."

  Raine's heart raced, and she felt hot all over. "Oh." The word came out on a breathless whisper.

  Miguel narrowed his eyes against the sun's brilliant reflection off the sand. "We will be safe soon."

  She smiled a little. "I'm glad, I don't feel well."

  "I know. You're just exhausted."

  Raine shook her head. "No, that's not it," she insisted. "I'm afraid I am becoming ill. I think I have a fever. My whole body burns from the inside out."

  Miguel raised his hand and touched her forehead. She might very well be ill. Stress could bring on a myriad of physical and menial ailments, and Raine had been under a great deal of stress.

  He sighed. "You don't have a fever. What do you mean, your body burns from the inside out?"

  Raine fidgeted in his lap and wet her lips in an unconscious, sensuous way. "I don't know what I mean. I just do," she snapped and pursed her lips into a pout.

  If she wet her lips that way again, Miguel knew he would kiss her. The thought of her running her tongue over his lips made him groan. Just then, she squirmed, and switched her bottom sideways.

  “Will you sit still?" he growled.

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  "I don't feel well and I'm uncomfortable," she complained. "Do you think I am sick?"

  Her question interrupted his thoughts, and he stared at her for a long moment. She blushed, and picked up the material of her skirt to wipe the sweat from her upper lip.

  Miguel thought, she doesn't know what she feels is desire. "No, I don't think you're sick," he snapped, pulling himself back to reality. "You will be fine after some rest." He could only hope he would.

  Pulling a hanky from her skirt pocket, Raine fanned herself. She'd give everything she owned to be able to take a bath. The sweat trickled down her sides and between her breasts, and she pressed the cloth against her throat to absorb the dampness.

  That night he kept as much distance between them as possible.

  Around noon the following day, Miguel finally reined them to a halt at the top of a cliff. "We're here," he said.

  The big mustang shifted beneath them, and Raine gazed down at Copper Canyon for the first time. She saw a deep, wide canyon with green plateaus and a swiftly flowing river. "It's so beautiful," she breathed. "Where are we?"

  Miguel's face broke into a broad grin. "The Tarahumara Indians call it Barraca de Cobre."

  "They should have called it God's country" she replied, in awe of the beautiful land below them.

  "You have heard of the Grand Canyon in the United States, no?" Miguel asked.

  Raine nodded. "In the Colorado Territory."

  "Well, this canyon system is five times larger than the Grand Canyon. It has an interesting history, too. Many Indian tribes have lived here over the years, and there's a hidden village, called Batopilas, just below the rapids cascading over those huge boulders.

  A few minutes later, Miguel guided the horse down into the tropical bottom of the Canyon, past the rapids, to Batopilas. As far as Raine could see, it was a village of dusty roads and adobe huts with smok-

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  ing chimneys. Just inside the village, they stopped to rest the horse. Miguel stroked the big animal, an action that Raine guessed was second nature to him. He crooned softly in Spanish to his mustang.

  As they continued, Raine saw Indians, cowboys, a few Jesuit missionaries and lean prospectors with their heavily laden mules. She supposed they would soon be on their way in search of more silver.

  "This is your home?” she asked Miguel.

  "This is Batopilas," he clarified. "I live a short distance from here."

  "Remarkable," Raine said, n
ever having seen anything like it. "This place is charmant."

  Miguel smiled. "Sí."

  He didn't know why the French language, which had so annoyed him before, was suddenly adorable, but it was. Shaking his head, his gaze swept her.

  Raine's filthy blouse was a few buttons shy of its original number and was plastered indecently to her, showing much of her well-shaped breasts. Positioned on his lap as she was, her skirt and petticoats were hiked up so high they showed a good amount of her slender calves and ankles. Her thick hair was in total disarray, knotted in back like a rope with the long ebony tail slung over her right shoulder.

  Miguel thought she was very different from the highborn French lady he'd rescued from the bandits, three and a half days ago, but he'd also never seen a woman of greater beauty than she appeared to him right now.

  Raine looked over her shoulder at him, and he smiled. He thought she would be pale and near tears by now. Instead, she sat across his lap with her shoulders back and her head held high even in her disheveled state. Miguel admired her. She wasn't all fluff like most of the ladies he'd known.

  He not only had respect for Raine, he had desire. God yes, desire for her. He hadn't felt any of this in as long as he could remember. Shouldn't feel any of it. Couldn't afford to feel any of it. Eventually he'd use Raine for the revenge he needed so desperately. And he

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  would be whole again.

  Fifteen minutes later, having left the town of Batopilas behind, Miguel and Raine reached his hacienda. Raine pulled his hat further down to shield her eyes as they passed through a gate in the massive adobe walls and emerged into the courtyard. As she looked around, she gasped in delight.

  Sunlight painted the house in a golden glow. In the center of the yard, surrounded by large trees, stood an enormous fountain. As the house and its courtyard shared the skies with the giant mountains, so did the fountain's cascading waterfall.

  "Man Dieu! This is Paradise," she exclaimed, more to herself than to Miguel.

  Miguel's expression suddenly became serious. "Paradise and Hell can both be earthly. Unfortunately, we carry them with us wherever we go."

  His comment took Raine by surprise. How could anyone be so cynical in the midst of this incredible beauty?

  "You are obviously a man of great wealth. Why do you continue to fight in the Revolution?" Raine hesitated. "Or is the Revolution why you are so wealthy?"

  Miguel's smile was sardonic. "No, the Revolution is not why I have money. My family had money long before they came to Mexico. Most of it is still in Spain." He looked away from her. 'Although the French soldiers took everything they could when they murdered my family."

  Suddenly Raine wanted to cry for him. And for her. Not even for a moment, she knew, would he ever forgive her for something she had no part in. She gave him an understanding look, and said in the merest of whispers, "I am sorry about your family, you know that, but I don't understand why you have to punish me for their deaths."

  Silence fell like lightning between them. Raine gripped her hands together, desperately trying to sort out the dilemma she was in.

  Miguel was angry, but in a perverse way, the emotion pleased him.

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  Being angry with her was safer. Already his blood boiled, and she had yet to stay with him one night in the hacienda. How could a Frenchwoman, beautiful or not, raise such long-dead emotions in him?

  Not for the first time, he wondered if he could use her for revenge or exert the self-control needed to give her back her freedom.

  Raine lifted her chin with indifference, although her eyes misted with unshed tears. "How long will you keep me here?"

  He was becoming used to broken trains of thought. "Until I tire of your company, and make an exchange with the French."

  She winced.

  Welcoming the anger he felt, the look Miguel shot her was hard.

  Raine's response was immediate. "I want to go home."

  "No."

  Tears filled her eyes. "I hate you! You are a.. .a pighearted man!"

  Raine stared. Miguel stared back. His jaw clinched and his gaze became intense. "Pigheaded," he corrected.

  She snatched Miguel's hat from her head and slapped it back on his. "I may not speak the slang of your country perfectly, but I am not so stupid as to believe the only reason you are keeping me is revenge!"

  Miguel's eyes shot daggers. "Oh, it's revenge all right. I will, extract it when I am ready."

  Raine's head snapped back as if Miguel had slapped her. With a disgusted look, she jumped off his lap. The trouble was, her legs had so far to go, and were so weak from the days of riding, that when she hit the ground, her ankle folded. She screamed, and tried to keep her balance, but ended up crumpling to the hard ground on her hands and knees.

  Miguel vaulted off the horse and caught her head just before it hit the ground. His anger tied. Damn it! Had she made it through hell only to be overcome by exhaustion or heat stroke? He shook her gently. Guilt and fear overwhelmed him.

  He laid her gently across his lap, and smoothed the hair away from her face. Raine moaned and her lashes fluttered.

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  "Are you all right?" he asked, not knowing why his heart was pounding so damned hard. For a moment, Raine looked at him blankly, vaguely, then tears of pain welled up in her eyes.

  "Where does it hurt?" he asked as he stroked her long tresses. She was still staring at him, and he remembered it was his fault she had jumped from the horse. Had she wanted to get away from him that badly?

  "My ankle," she said with exasperation.

  The doctor within him resurfaced with astonishing speed. "Let me see."

  Pushing his hand aside, she glared back at him. 'The foot, it is fine."

  "Sit still," Miguel said as she tried to rise. "It could be broken."

  Raine stopped struggling. He took her foot in his hand and removed her suede shoe. With gentle motions he examined her ankle.

  She gasped from the pain, but refused to cry.

  He was sorry to have to hurt her and admired her fortitude. Fortunately, he didn't think it was broken, but it was a bad sprain and had already started to swell.

  "Does it hurt much?"

  Gritting her teeth, she shrugged. "It only needs some ice on it."

  Miguel shifted on the balls of his feet to face her, and for the briefest of moments, he had an image of Raine with her arms outstretched, a smile on her face, waiting for him on the steps of the hacienda.

  "Sorry, mademoiselle, the icebox is back in the civilized world. Here we have no such luxuries. Elevation, a splint, and bedrest will have to do."

  Before Miguel knew what she was doing, Raine tried to stand — only to slump to the ground again.

  The muscle in his jaw twitched. "All right," he announced. "If you are trying to make me mad, you have."

  Brushing her hair from her face, Raine pursed her lips but held her tongue.

  Miguel continued, "If you persist in being so stubborn, you will break your ankle. Then it will have to be set."

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  He said nothing more, only reached down and lifted her into his arms.

  Raine stiffened, every muscle tensed. Miguel cocked an eyebrow. "I'm warning you. You had better not give me another moment's grief!"

  Her mouth opened to protest, but she thought better of it when she saw the taut lines around his mouth and the threatening look in his eye. She hugged herself instead as he strode purposefully for the house. Raine felt she could safely say that things couldn't possibly get any worse. Her filthy hair had long ago fallen down, her clothes torn and rumpled. She was in the middle of nowhere, in a hideout no less, with the most difficult man who had ever lived. Not to mention that she was hungry, in pain, in desperate need of a good scrubbing, and needed to go to the bathroom!

  Miguel mounted the front steps two at a time. When they reached the door of the hacienda, he called ou
t something in rapid Spanish. As he raised his knee and kicked the door open, an older man appeared.

  "Bienvenido, Señor. Welcome home," he said.

  "Carlos, I need some materials to make a splint. After you get them, would you please bring them up to the bedroom and then tend to my horse?"

  "Si," the older man said, and headed toward the back of the house.

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  .uel climbed the stairs to the second story of the house and proceeded down the hallway. He shoved the door to a room open, went in, and placed Raine on a large four poster bed.

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  Chapter Seven

  A small breeze came through the windows and labored to stir the stifling heat. Miguel knocked the dust from his hat and tossed it onto the dresser. He propped Raine up on the feather pillows, then squatted beside the bed. "This will hurt, but I have to remove your stocking."

  Raine lifted her chin in a stubborn movement. "I don't think a splint is necessary. My ankle is just sore. It doesn't even hurt much anymore."

  His manner was deliberate, as he raised her skirts to her knees. When he lifted her foot and removed her stocking, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain.

  Miguel cleared his throat. "Since you are in no shape to argue, why don't you leave the diagnosis and treatment of your injury to me?"

  Carlos came into the room. He carried a .

  tray filled with medicines and the materials Miguel had requested. Putting it on the bedside table, he asked in Spanish, "Is there anything else I can do?"

  "Yes," Miguel said. "This is Senorita Raine. She will be staying with us for a while. Would you please prepare a bath for her?"

  Carlos looked toward Raine and smiled. "Si, senor."

  When Miguel shifted his attention back to Raine, she was staring out of the window. Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her again, let her know that everything would be all right. Tightening his control, he said, "After your bath, I will splint your ankle. But I am going to give you something for pain first, so it won't be too bad."

  Raine's emotions gave way, and she shot him an angry look. No! I don't want anything. I want you to leave me alone." Her eyes brimmed with tears.