The High Valley Page 13

  Morgana felt as though the muscles of her face had all hardened to a painful stiffness. “Why – why are you telling me this?” she asked, jerkily.

  His eyes narrowed, their tawny brilliance subdued. “There is a tradition in my family,” he said. “When there are sons, one must become a politician, another must enter the priesthood. It has always been so. There will always be a Salvador in the government of Monteraverde, just as there will always be a Salvador in the monasteries.”

  “I – I don't want to know,” she said tautly. “It's nothing to do with me!”

  She turned aside from him, brushing past him to reach her horse. She was trembling so much her legs felt like jelly, and as she passed him he put out a hand almost compulsively and caught her wrist.

  “Morgana!” he muttered thickly. “Listen to me! You've got to listen to me!”

  Morgana stared at him through tear-glazed eyes. “I don't have to do that,” she said bitterly. “That is one thing you can't demand of me!”

  Luis gazed at her tremulous face with disturbed intensity. “Morgana!” he said fiercely, “I want to tell you how it is with me.”

  Morgana tried to wrench her wrist away from him. “Let me go!” she cried, trying desperately to control the tears that burned her eyes. “I don't want to listen to you. What you intend to do with your life is not my concern!”

  “Isn't it?” he asked, harshly, pulling her body close against his. “Can you honestly tell me that it doesn't matter to you what I do?”

  Morgana struggled against him helplessly, and with a low groan he bent his head and put his mouth insistently against the side of her neck where a pulse beat erratically. The warmth of his mouth against her skin was ecstasy, and his fingers pushed the soft material of her shirt aside and sought the creamy texture of her shoulder. She could feel his heart pounding heavily beneath the hand that she pressed against his chest, and when he raised his head she saw the torment in his eyes.

  “Oh, Luis,” she whispered shakenly, “Luis!”

  As though her submission was too much for him, he suddenly thrust her away, thrusting his clenched fists into his trousers’ pockets, and walked deliberately back to where the horses were waiting. With his back to her, he said: “My mother had only two children, two sons.” His voice was taut. “Afterwards, the doctors said she should have no more. She went to America, to the States, and had an operation there that made all chance of her having another pregnancy impossible. Ricardo was only six at the time – I was twelve. She took us with her and while she was away my father was assassinated!”

  Morgana pressed her balled fist against her lips and he went on: “That was almost twenty years ago. Since then Monteraverde has been a dictatorship. That is why I am bound to change things.”

  Morgana made an involuntary gesture. “But you will not become president.”

  “No.” He bent his head. “When my father was alive, he began to train me to follow in his footsteps. It was the accepted thing. At that time it was what I wanted, too. But after my father's assassination, my mother began to lean on me – more and more. And after a while I think I realized that even should I be able to overthrow Queras she would never – could never – accept my becoming presidente, taking on the same risks and responsibilities as my father had done.”

  Morgana shook her head. “It's unfair,” she murmured, huskily.

  He looked at her sombrely. “You would have me break my word – my mother's heart?”

  Morgana spread her hands. “No! No, of course not. But – but – the church!”

  “I have told you, it is the tradition,” he replied, implacably.

  Morgana felt suddenly angry. “Traditions are for the old – not the young. You have your whole life ahead of you. How can you consider taking orders when you know it is not what you really want?”

  Luis raked a hand through his thick hair. “I must,” he said, grimly. “There is no one else.”

  Morgana stared at him, feeling almost sick with emotion. “And Ricardo? Where does he come into all this?”

  Luis made an impatient movement of his shoulders. “Ricardo has his own problems to work out.”

  “Yet it was he who involved me. Why?”

  Luis heaved a sigh. “Ricardo is afraid of responsibility. He is afraid of becoming the figurehead.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “You don't need to.”

  “Oh, Luis!” Morgana controlled herself with difficulty. “Stop treating me like a child! I'm a woman – and I know that what you are doing is wrong!”

  “It is right for me!” Luis was grim.

  Morgana twisted her hair back behind the lobes of her ears. “No, Luis,” she said, with difficulty, “it's wrong? You seem to be living in the past. Just because your mother can't see you as the president, must you then deny yourself a normal existence? Why are you sacrificing yourself like this? For a tradition? Or because you can't face up to life as it really is?”

  Luis took a step towards her. “My God, Morgana, you have no compassion, have you?”

  Morgana's breast was heaving. “I am only a human being, Luis! a creature of flesh and blood, of loves and hates! And right now, I hate you very much!” Her voice broke on a sob, and rubbing the tears from her cheeks with defensive fingers she turned and ran away from him. She had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do, she just knew she had to put as much distance between herself and Luis as was possible.

  She reached the track and her feet sped over the rough surface, uncaring that branches caught in her hair, tearing strands out by the roots, or that the twining tendrils of foliage and the brittle sharpness of twigs and branches scratched painfully across her face and arms.

  She heard Luis shout her name with angry impatience but she was deaf to his demands. She wished he would simply ride away and leave her to find her own way back, then maybe she would retain a little of her pride.

  But presently she heard the sound of his horse's hooves following her and she halted in her tracks and looked back, gasping despairingly for breath. She ought to have guessed he would not trouble to chase after her on foot when he could so easily catch her this way.

  She looked round her desperately, searching for somewhere to hide. The trees still hid her from his sight and if she left the path he would not be able to follow her on horseback. She plunged into the undergrowth at the side of the track, pushing through webs of heavy liana creeper, stumbling over the fallen trunks of long dead trees that rotted in the dampness of the forest. There was a chill in the air here that struck through the thinness of her blouse and the cardigan which she had thrown about her shoulders before she left the villa had been lost somewhere in her headlong flight. There was a dank smell too, of decay and moisture, and she was filled with the urge to turn back to the path and safety.

  But behind her she heard the sound of the stallion's hooves, thundering along the track, and she stood perfectly still and listened with concentration to the receding sound as he passed by. She waited for several moments before pressing on, half-afraid he might hear the sound of a twig snapping or the rustle of the undergrowth as she pushed her way through.

  But presently the silence became almost deafening, there were few birds here in the stillness, and thrusting away the feeling of panic that wriggled, snake-like, in her stomach, she pressed on.

  Thoughts of what might lie ahead of her filled her brain to the exclusion of everything else, and she made no plans because she had no idea what she was going to do. She wondered fearfully whether there were any snakes in the valley, or possibly a wild cat of some kind. She knew there were cougars and jaguars in these mountains. She had seen several examples in the zoo in Rio, with the accompanying descriptions of their habitat. And here, in the stillness of this jungle-like forest her imagination ran riot as realisation that Luis had not come back came to her.

  She halted, uncertainly, looking to left and right, the dimness of the forest enhanced by branches meeting overhead in eage
r reachings for the sun. A pale green glow lay over everything and it was weird and frightening. All of a sudden she wanted to escape from this strange primitive world that seemed to be engulfing her.

  Hysteria rising in her throat, she turned and began pushing back the way she had come. But the foliage was so thick and impenetrable that it was impossible to be certain which way she had come, and a sob rose to her lips as she realised she was lost.

  Halting, she looked about her with determination. If she kept calm there was absolutely no reason why she shouldn't find her way out of here. After all, these forests were not huge and sooner or later she was bound to emerge somewhere.

  With this reassuring thought in mind she began to walk steadily forwards, not looking to left or right but keeping a deliberately straight course, and eventually, when her legs were beginning to ache, and her whole body seemed dropping with fatigue, she came out on to the banks of a narrow stream.

  Wiping her forehead, she looked about her helplessly, aware that she had no idea where she was. She seemed to be in a part of the valley she had hitherto not explored and from the little she could see from her standpoint there was no sign of life or habitation.

  She sank down weakly onto the grassy bank and dipping her hand into the water wiped her face and neck with its coolness. Then she stood up again and considered which direction she should take. There was no especial track or path, just a sweep of undulating grass disappearing in the distance into more trees. She glanced back at the forest and shivered. She would not like to penetrate its depths again.

  She walked to the top of a grassy rise and surveyed the whole area with a hand raised to shade her eyes. Then, to her surprise and delight she saw some houses in the distance. They were definitely inhabited, for smoke was rising from the chimneys, and with rising spirits she wondered whether she had inadvertently stumbled again on the passengers from the plane.

  Half-walking, half-running, she stumbled down the slope, forgetting her tiredness in the excitement of discovery. But as she neared the approaches to the haciendas she heard a sound behind her which caused her to glance round in dismay. The black stallion was pounding after her, her own horse tethered to its master, catching her easily on this open sweep.

  Gasping, Morgana sank down onto the grass and raised a defensive arm as Luis galloped up to her, swinging himself swiftly out of the saddle, and throwing the reins carelessly aside. He dropped to his knees beside her on the grass. In that moment that he took to reach her, Morgana saw several people emerge from the cover of the haciendas and gather in curious groups, watching them. It was the people from the plane, but right now Morgana had no time to speak to them. Instead, she felt Luis's hard fingers biting into her shoulders, and his tortured face glaring at her bitterly.

  “Deus, Morgana,” he swore, unevenly, “I will kill you if you ever do that to me again!” and he bore her back against the lushness of the turf and found her mouth with his. Morgana knew she should struggle, but she was tired, and anyway this was what she really wanted, where she wanted to be. Luis was too disturbed himself, too uncontrolled, to care that he was kissing her as he had never kissed her before, devouring her with his mouth until her whole body was suffused with longing for him. She heard him murmuring to her in his own language as he caressed the softness of her ears and the nape of her neck with his lips and fingertips, the hardness of his body against hers an exquisite torment.

  When she thought that nothing but her complete surrender would satisfy him he suddenly seemed to come to his senses and with a violent movement he rolled away from her, sitting up and raking unsteady hands through his hair. Morgana lay where he had left her, weak and pliable, unable to hide the emotion in her eyes. Luis looked at her broodingly, and then he said: “Deus, Morgana, don't look at me like that, or I will not be responsible for my actions – with or without our audience!”

  Morgana felt sanity wash over her like a wave of cold water at his words, and she sat upright, smoothing her hair with jerky movements. The people from the haciendas were being turned away now by two men, but they were talking amongst themselves and Morgana stared at Luis with tortured eyes.

  “Is – is that why – why you touched me?” she gasped, in horror.

  Luis got to his feet, brushing grass and earth from his pants, and looked down at her contemptuously. “If you think that –” he began, coldly, putting out a hand to assist her to rise. Then: “Come! We must go back. Marianna will worry.”

  Morgana pulled her hand away from his and looked almost anxiously back at the haciendas. There were few people about now and she sighed. Noticing her distraction, Luis looked at her grimly.

  “If it means that much to you, go with them!” he said, bitterly.

  Morgana looked at him through hurt, tear-glazed eyes. “If you believe that, then you are a fool!” she retorted, tautly, and marched past him up the slope to where her own horse was quietly grazing.

  CHAPTER IX

  MORGANA knelt on the couch by the lounge window watching the huge drops of rain beating against the panes with incessant monotony. The storm was almost over, the sky above the gorge was lightening, yet still the rain persisted, drowning the valley in a veil of mist. It was late afternoon and soon it would begin to get dark again and the day would be over.

  With a sigh, Morgana turned and sank down onto her curled up legs, smoothing the short skirt she had changed into after her ride over her slender legs. Not that there was anyone to care whether she was decently covered, she thought unhappily. No one, that is, except Marianna Salvador, and she was still resting.

  With unusual urgency, she reached for a cigarette from the box on the low table beside her and after lighting it from the table lighter she inhaled deeply. She rarely smoked but right now she felt she needed something to fortify her for the evening ahead. Luis's abrupt departure immediately after lunch had aroused much disappointment from his mother and Morgana was quite sure that Marianna blamed her for his change of heart. She couldn't, of course, know what had happened out on the grassy slopes yet Morgana sensed her speculation and was half-afraid the older woman was capable of reading her thoughts. She certainly would not find her elder son's actions excusable, whatever his provocation.

  Morgana tried to relax, folding her arms above her head in an abandoned gesture. She was unable to put what had happened out of her mind, and she had relived those moments when Luis had lost his self-control again and again. It was unthinkable to imagine he might never hold her in his arms again, might never kiss or caress her, might never arouse in her that trembling awareness of her body's needs so that she was prepared to give herself to him without thought for what was right and what was wrong …

  Suppressing a sigh, she rose to her feet, only to become aware that she was no longer alone. Marianna Salvador was standing in the open doorway watching her, a strange expression on her dark-featured face. Morgana coloured awkwardly, wondering how long the woman had been there, watching her, and trying to remember exactly what she had been doing. Had Marianna sensed her vivid recollections of Luis's love-making? Had some extra-sensory powers brought her to the door of the lounge in time to see that yearning look in Morgana's eyes?

  “Oh – hello!” Morgana said now, rather nervously. “Did you enjoy your rest?” The words were mechanical, stilted, but she couldn't help it.

  Marianna came slowly into the room, looking towards the rain beating against the window panes. “It is as well that Luis left so early,” she said, speaking almost to herself. “The mountain path can be dangerous in wet weather.”

  “Yes.” Morgana stubbed out her cigarette jerkily. “I've never seen such a storm.”

  Marianna shrugged, and made her way to an armchair by the fire. “We have had storms worse than this,” she commented. “In the mountains one gets used to the violence of the elements.”

  Morgana smiled her agreement, wishing something would happen to distract Marianna's attention from herself. Conscious of being surreptitiously scrutinised, she said:
“Have – have you always lived here?” She coloured, realising too late what she was asking. “I mean since – since –” She faltered.

  “Since my husband was assassinated, you mean?” asked Marianna calmly, showing none of the emotionalism she had exhibited earlier in Luis's presence. “Yes, I suppose you could say this has been my home for most of my married life. After all, this valley has belonged to the Salvadors for generations; it made them powerful, and it was a refuge in time of trouble.” She sighed. “But of course when Carlos was made presidente we lived in Morado. That was the name of the capital before Queras imprinted his own personality upon it.”

  Morgana listened, her interest reluctantly aroused. It was the first time Marianna had volunteered any information about herself and Morgana was eager to learn all she could about Luis's background.

  With great daring she asked: “How did your husband come to be made president, senhora?”

  Marianna looked up, her eyes guarded. “There were always Salvadors in Monteraverdian government. Carlos's father was himself secretary of state to the previous presidente. When he died, Carlos's father was too old to accept the responsibilities they would have thrust upon him. Carlos took his place.”

  “I see.” Morgana frowned. “Did your husband want to be president?”

  Marianna shrugged her narrow shoulders. “It was his duty,” she replied, without expression.

  Morgana walked to the window and looked out on the rain-soaked hills. “And don't you consider it is Luis's duty also?” she queried, softly, turning to look at the older woman.

  Marianna's eyes narrowed. “Luis will enter the seminary at Voltio,” she answered. “His duty lies in another direction.”

  Morgana compressed her lips. “And who decided which way his duty lay?” she asked, with inspiration.

  Marianna stiffened. “I will pretend I did not hear that, senhorita. But rest assured, Luis is not for you. He will never belong to any woman!”

  Morgana stared at her, aghast at the malevolence in her tones. “You say that as though – as though you hate him!” she exclaimed.