The Black Eagle Read online

  Roxanne became lost in thought. Her nerves were calmed and she deliberately refrained from glancing round, in case she should see Juan again and become affected by him in the way she had at first.

  ‘It’s a most strange and sad story,’ she murmured at length. ‘Imagine his being a throwback. One does not often hear of such things.’

  ‘The crest of the ancestors I mentioned was a black eagle, and so when one of these throwbacks is born he’s immediately called the Black Eagle.’

  Roxanne shuddered violently, wishing her friend had kept silent about this part of the story. And yet she asked,

  ‘Did this same man tell Martin this?’

  ‘Of course. Martin didn’t speak to anyone else.’

  Roxanne looked up into the black piercing eyes and all her nerve-ends rioted again. Don Juan had come to ask her to dance, and although she opened her mouth to refuse she found instead that she was in his arms and being swung on to the floor.

  ‘You dance so lightly, Miss Hutton,’ he told her after a while. ‘You must do a lot of it?’

  ‘Not a lot. I go to parties, and sometimes my boyfriend takes me dancing.’

  A strange silence followed before her companion spoke.

  ‘Your boy-friend? Tell me about him?’

  She glanced up, frowning a little. The man seemed fascinated by her expression.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t want me to talk about him,’ she said.

  ‘On the contrary, I’m interested. Are you engaged to be married?’

  Roxanne shook her head.

  ‘Not yet, but we are intending to marry.’

  Faintly the thin lips curved. Roxanne had the extraordinary impression that the humourless smile was a result of some private thought of his own. ‘When are you intending to marry?’

  ‘When Joel has saved enough money.’

  ‘So money is all that important?’

  ‘Not to me,’ she replied artlessly. ‘I would marry now, if Joel would agree to do so.’

  Juan looked down into her glowing face and she wondered if his lips really had compressed, or if she had imagined it.

  ‘You must be very much in love?"

  ‘Of course I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t be willing to marry Joel.’

  Absently he nodded, his manner one of brooding, and she wondered if he were thinking of his fiancée. ‘How long have you known Joel?’

  How strange that he should be so interested. Roxanne felt hesitant about answering all these questions, deciding that they were aimed more at getting to know her as a person than gaining information about Joel. But she knew the power again, the power that seemed to hold her, as a net might hold her, and she had no strength to say anything that would inform Juan once and for all that his questions were unwelcome.

  ‘Only three months.’

  ‘Three months,’ he repeated, more to himself than to her. ‘It isn’t very long at all.’ Again the words were spoken to himself; Roxanne wished she could regain her calm, but this speaking to himself set her nerves fluttering again, and now an unfathomable hint of fear was entering into her. She swallowed hard to remove the sudden blockage in her throat and managed to say,

  ‘Do you mind if—if we don’t dance any more? I—er—feel a little unwell.’ The lie brought colour to her cheeks; the black eyes flickered comprehendingly and the thin mouth did now tighten slightly. But the suave voice was pleasant enough as Juan agreed to take her off the floor. But if she thought to be rid of him she was mistaken.

  ‘I said we must talk,’ he reminded her, and she was led unresistingly to a small alcove in which was a table for two. Wildly she glanced around, unconscious of what she did. How absurd to be scared, when there were so many people about. ‘You are very beautiful,’ he was saying even as he pulled out a chair for her to sit down. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen.’ Roxanne became angry with herself for lacking the strength to refuse to answer him.

  ‘A charming age for a woman.’ He seemed to heave a deep sigh; Roxanne knew instinctively that his fiancée was nineteen when she died. ‘Your eyes are an unusual colour—between violet and blue. They change colour—did you know that?’

  Shyly she said yes, she knew this.

  ‘Joel likes it,’ she added, although she had no idea why—unless it was that the mention of Joel seemed to afford her some protection ... from what?

  Passing off the remark about her boy-friend, Juan continued,

  ‘Your hair also is unusual. The copper tints...’

  He was not with her at all, she suddenly realized. His eyes were glazed; he was in the distant past. Had his fiancée possessed her own colouring? Roxanne wondered, and all at once there was a reason for his interest. ‘Your figure, your face...’

  Roxanne went icy cold; unsteadily she got to her feet.

  ‘I want to go back to the others,’ she stammered hastily, ‘please t-take me—back!’

  He came to, regarding her in some surprise.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, rising. ‘Are you really unwell?’

  So revealing, the question. Plainly he had suspected her of inventing a white lie when, just a few moments ago, she had told him she was not well.

  ‘I’m just—just tired,’ she replied lamely.

  ‘Of my company?’

  Startled, she said no, of course not.

  ‘I would rather go back to the others, though,’ was her rather untactful addition when, his face clearing, it would seem that he might invite her to sit down again.

  ‘Very well, Miss Hutton, but perhaps we shall dance together again later?’

  ‘I—I...’ She wanted so much to say no, but how could she? If only Joel were here. If only she had refused to come without him. But he was not here, and she was—alone, it seemed all at once, alone with this strange foreigner, this recluse whose contact with Martin had miraculously brought him from his seclusion all the way to England, where he had met her, Roxanne. She was overcome by a sensation of impending doom, of the Sword of Damocles being suspended above her head.

  ‘You appear to be afraid of something.’ Softly spoken words, edged with the trace of a foreign accent, but also with an indefinable emotion. ‘Of what are you apprehensive, Miss Hutton?’

  She shook her head bewilderedly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, and her eyes were pleading and her lovely lips quivering. He looked deeply into her eyes ... and she thought she heard him catch his breath.

  ‘You are afraid, then?’ he asked, and automatically she nodded her head. ‘But why, my child?’

  My child ... It was an extraordinary way of speaking—for a total stranger.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ she replied shakily. ‘I think my nerves are not very calm this evening.’

  The black eyes pierced; she wondered if he could actually read her mind.

  ‘Have I anything to do with this—er—lack of calmness you mention?’

  Again an extraordinary way of speaking. Roxanne was at a loss as to how to answer him.

  ‘I haven’t ever met anyone like you,’ she said frankly at last, and saw an unexpected gleam of humour enter the hard eyes.

  ‘You find me strange—after your fair and good-looking compatriots?’

  She had not expected bluntness such as this and again she found herself at a loss.

  ‘You’re different, certainly...’ She tailed off, appalled on realizing that she had almost intimated that he was not so good-looking as most of the men she knew.

  But Juan was eyeing her perceptively. She saw at once that he had no illusions about his appearance.

  ‘Shall we return to the ballroom?’ he suggested in a calm and even tone. ‘I won’t ask you to dance again with me, as it’s clear that you would find it an ordeal.’ There was a note of hopelessness in his voice and Roxanne’s soft heart went out to him, for she was thinking of the fiancée he had lost and knowing how she herself would feel should she lose Joel. And in her surge of compassion she said impulsively,
r />   ‘No, don’t say that, Mr.—I mean, Don—Oh, dear, how must I address you?’ She actually managed a light laugh as she spoke and was rewarded by a glint of humour entering his eyes.

  ‘Juan would sound delightful, I’m sure ... coming from you.’

  She shied away, a gesture which Joel would instantly have recognized.

  Oh, but—’ She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘I see no reason why it should not be right. Juan,’ he added softly, and even yet again Roxanne knew the power of him. Obediently she repeated, ‘Juan.’

  Fleetingly he seemed to savour the sound and then, inquiringly,

  ‘You were about to say something ... Roxanne?’ The name rolled, slowly and with an almost gentle inflection, off his tongue. Roxanne was startled by his use of it and, confused, she averted her head, aware that she was blushing.

  ‘Was I?’ she returned vaguely. ‘Oh, yes! I was going to say that to dance with you would not be an ordeal at all.’

  ‘It wouldn’t?’ The angular face was bent and she raised her eyes to meet his. ‘In that case, Roxanne, I shall seek you out later.’

  She nodded, and Juan stepped aside to allow her to come from between the table and the chair she had occupied. The space was narrow and she caught her ankle on the leg of the table. She winced and gave a small cry. Juan’s hands were on her, guiding her out, quite unnecessarily.

  ‘My dear child, have you hurt yourself?’

  ‘It was only a momentary pain.’ She spoke in shaky tones, profoundly, and awesomely, aware of his touch, of the warmth of his hands through her dress, of the dark face above her ... and of the undeniable fact that his lips were touching her hair...

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Hacienda Ramires was situated on a spur overlooking a valley, while high above, and to the rear of the grounds, rose the crags and peaks of the Sierra Madre. Roxanne stared at these crags, but her eyes were unseeing. All that her vision had held, since that fateful day when she had known she must marry Juan, had been the picture of her beloved Joel. His bitter disillusionment, his protests and finally his resignation. These differing expressions on his handsome face would haunt her till her dying day; this she knew without a shadow of doubt.

  ‘Lunch is served, Roxanne.’ Her husband’s stern and icy tones added to the weight she bore. She turned; he stood a short way from her, so tall and lean, one hand thrust into his jacket pocket. ‘Why do you wander out here all the time? What are you thinking?’

  Obedient she had always been; and it was owing to this obedience that she had allowed herself to be hustled into marriage with Juan. But now, very slowly and gradually it was true, she was gaining some self-assertion, and she lived subconsciously for the day when she would have sufficient courage to leave the husband who—because of her remarkable resemblance to his dead love—had created a situation where she had to choose between disgrace for herself and heartbreak for her father and Deborah, or marriage to Juan. She had chosen marriage, because her father all but ordered her to marry Juan, had chosen it because Deborah had also told her she must marry Juan, and because she knew that Joel, though loving her still, would never marry her when she had belonged to another man. This was what they all believed, but it was not true. Juan had framed her, then offered her marriage.

  ‘I suppose I can spend my time as I want to spend it.’ Venturesome words for the girl who had always been kept under, who had been brought up to respect her elders and to obey them. And Roxanne’s words were all the more venturesome because of the formidable character of her husband, who more than once had lost patience and allowed her to taste the lash of his temper. ‘I prefer to be out here, alone.’

  ‘Than with your husband?’

  She looked at him as he stood with his back to the ornamental fountain that was one of the most beautiful features of the garden. The spray rose behind him, tinted with rainbow colours as the sun’s fierce rays were trapped in the rising waters.

  ‘Yes, I prefer to be here rather than with my—husband.’

  ‘Do you know how long we’ve been married, Roxanne?’

  The pallor of her face became more pronounced as she replied.

  ‘I’m not likely to forget that. It’s two months and three days and—’ She glanced as her wristlet watch before adding—‘twenty-two hours.’

  He turned away; it was a swift movement and she felt he was concealing his expression from her.

  ‘You count the hours?’

  ‘I shall count them till the day I die—and I hope that might not be long.’ She hadn’t meant to say a thing like that, but she wanted to hurt him, to keep him for ever aware of his perfidy, and the terrible consequences it had meant for her. She wanted him to remember, all the time, that it was Joel she loved, Joel whom she wanted as her lover, and not the dark, eagle-like man who, immune to her cold aversion, came to her almost every night, came to her demanding and conquering, his arrogance heightened by the act of possession.

  ‘Don’t say a thing like that!’ Harshly the command was given; Roxanne’s thoughts went automatically to Marta, whose photograph had been shown to her by the old hag who went under the name of housekeeper, the ancient retainer who had been so devoted to the girl that she had hoarded everything belonging to her that she had been able to lay her hands upon. ‘You’re not going to die! Not before I do! I won’t let you!’ He made a move towards her and she stepped back. But he caught her arms in an evil grasp and shook her, as he had shaken her several times already. ‘Don’t!’ he snarled close to her face. ‘Do you hear me? Don’t you ever mention dying again!’

  White to the lips, Roxanne stood trembling before him, swaying as he released her, fear rising up to block her throat. It were better to lay down the arms she had begun to use defensively, better to allow him to assert his mastery and his will. Often in the past she had deplored her own weakness in being overridden by others, wishing she could gain more confidence in herself and retaliate. Now that some small measure of self-assertion—born of approaching maturity, perhaps—had come to her she was again experiencing regret, for this rebellion was bound to widen the already yawning gulf existing between Juan and herself.

  ‘Shall—shall we g-go in?’ She managed haltingly to speak, but rising emotion choked her and she had great difficulty in not giving way to tears. ‘The lunch will be getting cold.’

  Even before she had finished speaking he had turned on his heel and his long strides were swiftly covering the distance between her and the house. She followed slowly, passing through gardens kept immaculate by five gardeners who, for the first six years after the death of Marta, had been unemployed, but paid a retaining fee by Juan. The grounds, like the house, had fallen into neglect, but now both combined to form a striking picture set in a lovely frame. The house, a two-storied palacio, had wide french windows and high arches festooned with the bougainvillaea vine; it had a sun-filled loggia; it had a patio of Moorish design and a sixteenth-century facade of Aztec influence. The vaulted ceilings were ornately decorated, the doors heavily carved. Furnishings were of subdued taste, but betrayed the fact of the owner’s wealth for all that.

  ‘Where have you been?’ demanded Juan when at last she entered the dining-room after having been upstairs to wash her hands and face and brush her hair. ‘It’s a quarter of an hour since I came for you.’ He had been waiting and she apologized, accepting the chair which he always punctiliously drew out for her. ‘I didn’t realize I was taking so long,’ she added, meeting his eyes across the table as she unfolded her napkin.

  ‘Have a care, Roxanne,’ he warned softly. ‘My patience is unpredictable, as you should have learned by now.’

  Pale and silent, she began to eat what Luis, the manservant, had put before her. And the meal was eaten without one more word being spoken between them. It was a long time before with a sigh of relief Roxanne arose and accompanied Juan to a small lounge where the tall and unsmiling Luis served them with coffee. All the meals took an unconscionable length of t
ime, simply because, as today, they were taken in silence. Roxanne sometimes wondered how she would endure the many thousands of meals she must take with her husband before escape in one form or another took her from him.

  He spoke while they were drinking their coffee, telling her he was going into town the following morning on business.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to come with me, Roxanne? It will be a change for you and you could buy yourself some clothes.’

  She shook her head without even considering the proposal.

  ‘I don’t need any clothes.’

  Silence for a moment and then,

  ‘You don’t seem to have many things to wear, Roxanne. Let me buy you some pretty dresses and underwear.’

  Her eyes raked him contemptuously, for the first time this ability to portray contempt being part of her increasing confidence in herself.

  ‘Underwear? For you to stand and admire? I’m your plaything, I admit, but I do have a little pride. I’m not dressing up in the kind of revealing things you have in mind!’

  The black eyes glinted suddenly, and the hand holding the cup seemed to quiver a little. Roxanne was afraid now, regretting her temerity.

  ‘Plaything?’ he repeated harshly. ‘Is that how you look upon yourself?’

  She managed to keep her eyes on his.

  ‘Isn’t that the way you regard me?’

  Juan made no answer to this and she coloured slightly. It was clear that he considered an answer beneath his dignity.

  ‘And how do you know what I had in mind?’ he queried at length.

  ‘I took it for granted that you meant the sort of things women wear for their husbands.’

  That appeared to amuse him, but the slight curve of the thin lips was so fleetingly held that Roxanne was not at all sure she had seen it at all.

  ‘You seem to know what women wear for their husbands,’ he commented with a hint of satire. ‘When did you learn this?’