The High Valley Read online

  Immediately her legs felt like jelly beneath her, and she caught the lintel of the door for support. He stood there looking so lean and attractive in a dark suit, his linen immaculately white against his tanned skin, while she felt only a few degrees away from exhaustion.

  “Luis,” she murmured, faintly. “How – how nice –”

  Luis stood silently regarding her, and she moved awkwardly, conscious of the terrible mask of her face, and of how unattractive she must appear to him.

  “Won't – won't you come in?” she invited, jerkily. “My – my father's not here. He – he's at the university, you know.”

  Luis stepped inside, and closed the door behind him, still looking at her with those intent tawny eyes. Morgana turned to show the way into the lounge, wishing desperately that she had changed her dress or put on some make-up. What must he be thinking of her?

  The lounge was a large comfortable room at the back of the house overlooking the lawn and the apple trees that Matthew tended so lovingly. Morgana indicated that Luis should sit down but he ignored her gesture and she twisted her hands together nervously, wishing he would say something. When her nerves reached breaking point, she said: “If you'll excuse me, I'll go and tidy up –” and then, and only then, did he put out a hand and detain her, his fingers hard and compelling against her wrist. “You have been ill?” he asked, his voice strangely alien in the quiet room.

  Morgana shook her head slowly. “No,” she replied, quickly, “I – I know I look a mess –”

  His eyes darkened angrily. “You do not look a mess!” he exclaimed, fiercely. “But I want to know who is responsible for this!” He trailed his fingers against the pallor of her cheeks.

  Morgana trembled in his grasp. “Let me go and I'll make some coffee,” she offered, uncomfortably.

  Luis regarded her for a long moment and then he dropped her wrist. “Very well,” he agreed, coldly, and walked past her to the centre of the room.

  Morgana hesitated only a moment, and then she turned and went quickly down the hall to the stairs. She would make the coffee, but first she would do something about her terrible appearance. She ran up the stairs and into her bedroom, and looked round rather desperately as she stripped off her dress. She hadn't much time. Soon he would realise she was not making coffee and wonder where she was. She sat down at her dressing table and taking a tissue began to apply a cleansing cream to her face. But even as she sat there, rubbing vigorously at her skin, she heard the sound of footsteps, muffled by the soft carpet, and swinging round she saw Luis standing at the door to the bedroom. Immediately, her shoulders sagged. Now he would know what a foolish vain creature she really was.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, huskily. “Morgana, I have come many thousands of miles to see you, and now I find we can't speak to one another. You look like death – you tremble in my hands – and now you offer to make me coffee when what I really want is denied me!” He came across to her unbuttoning the jacket of his expensive suit. “Now – are you going to run away again?”

  Morgana got jerkily to her feet, conscious of the scarcity of her attire. “Luis, I don't know what to say. Why – are you here In England? What – what has happened?”

  He stood looking down at her broodingly, one hand playing with the strands of her hair that fell over one soft shoulder. “To what?” he queried, rather thickly. “To Monteraverde? Or to me?”

  Morgana shivered involuntarily. “Both,” she said, unsteadily.

  Luis's eyes probed hers with disturbing intensity. His fingers trailed across her shoulder and bending his head he put his mouth to the creamy flesh. “How can you ask me that?” he asked, achingly. “You must know!”

  Morgana quivered at the touch of his lips, turning her face against his neck, loving the texture of his skin, the roughness of the dark sideburns which grew down almost to his jawline. The cold sickness in her stomach was being displaced by an enveloping warmth of emotion that he was arousing in her, and her body trembled against his until with a savage exclamation his hands slid round her back, pressing her against him with bruising intensity. He did not seek her lips with his mouth, but buried his face in her hair instead, his hands sliding over her hips possessively.

  Presently, he put her away from him, holding her at arm's length, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes dark with suppressed passion. His gaze followed the line of her body and came back to rest for a moment on her mouth, before he said: “I should tell you first of all, I no longer intend to enter the seminary.”

  Morgana's eyes widened. “You're not?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No.”

  Morgana stared at him. “But it was all arranged.”

  “No longer.” Luis was adamant. “Morgana, I am not a wicked man, I love my God, but how can I serve my people from the remoteness of monastic life? Besides,” he was diffidently tender, “there is another – more personal – reason. I need you, I can't live without you. I am just a man like other men, and I want you for my wife.”

  Morgana could not believe this was happening. “Oh, Luis,” she exclaimed, inadequately. “What can I say?”

  His brows drew together. “You could say you are glad, you could say you are relieved. You could say you need me perhaps half as much as I need you.”

  Morgana lifted her shoulders. “You must – know how I feel!”

  “Do I?” He was solemn.

  “Oh, yes.” Morgana spread her hands. “But I never dreamed –”

  “Show me!” he commanded softly.

  “Show you?” Morgana swallowed hard.

  “Yes. Show me you love me,” he nodded, his hands falling to his sides. Morgana shivered, but not from cold. With self-conscious movements she stepped forward, standing close in front of him. But he made no effort to touch her and she bit her lip tightly. Then she reached up on her toes and kissed the leanness of his cheek. It was a brief caress that barely caused a ripple of emotion to cross his face. Then she stepped back and compressed her lips awkwardly. “I'm sorry,” she said.

  He gave her a strange look and then he turned and walked out of the bedroom. Morgana stared after him apprehensively, unaware of what she should do. She wanted to run after him, but too many years of self-discipline prevented her from doing so. Any minute she expected to hear the sound of the front door open and close and the realisation that he might leave her filled her with despair. She was such a fool, such an inhibited creature that she could not – she dare not – reveal the full extent of her feelings in case they were not returned.

  With a sobbing cry, she flung herself on the bed, burying her face in the bedspread and allowing the hot tears to flood her cheeks. All the pent-up emotion of the last few weeks surged out of her and she no longer cared what he might think if he heard her.

  But what she was not prepared for was the sudden giving of the bed springs beside her and Luis's strong hands turned her onto her back, looking down into her tear-wet face with gentle eyes. “Oh, Morgana,” he murmured, huskily, “did you think I would come all this way just to walk out on you?”

  “Luis! Oh, Luis!” Morgana didn't stop to think what she was doing. She just reached up, wrapping her bare arms about his neck, pulling him down to her until his mouth found her parted lips. She had abandoned all attempts to hold back from him and she arched her body against his, kissing him with all the fervour of her untried youth.

  “Dear God!” he groaned, thickly, “I'm only a man, Morgana. Not a saint!”

  He rolled away from her and got up off the bed, walking over to the bedroom window and giving her time to compose herself. Then he turned and looked at her and now a faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Put some clothes on, Morgana,” he advised, softly. “I'll wait downstairs.”

  Morgana slid off the bed, going to him and winding her arms possessively round his neck. “Don't go,” she murmured, stroking his neck.

  Luis put her from him with some urgency. “I've got to,” he muttered, abruptly, and turning walked a
cross to the door. “Don't be long.”

  Morgana allowed a smile to lift her own lips as she hastily washed her face and put on an apricot tunic, brushing her hair into its usual soft style. She didn't bother to apply any make-up. Already her cheeks had colour of their own and her lips were red from the pressure of Luis's mouth. Altogether she looked a vastly different person from the wan creature who had opened the door to him only minutes ago. She ran down the stairs and found him in the lounge, smoking one of his cigars, looking dark and attractive and quite at home. He was standing by the window and she went over to him, sliding her arm through his. He looked at her solemnly and then said: “I want you to know, Morgana, I have to return to Monteraverde in three days.”

  Morgana stared at him, aghast. “Three days?”

  “Yes.”

  She let go his arm and moved uncertainly over to the bureau. “Well – thanks for warning me,” she said, jerkily.

  He sighed. “Don't go cold on me again, Morgana. I have responsibilities. If you had stayed in Monteraverde in the first place it would have been easier.”

  Morgana stared at him. “If I stayed there! What do you mean?”

  He frowned, tapping ash from his cigar into an ashtray. “You know what I mean – leaving with the others like that! You must have known that day we went riding that I was not going to be able to let you go!”

  Morgana blinked. “But I don't understand, Luis. I left on your orders!”

  “You did not!” Luis was bitter.

  Morgana shook her head. “But I did! The pilot came for me. He said you had ordered us all to leave because of the impending revolution.”

  “I ordered the others to leave,” said Luis, rather tautly. “Not you.” He frowned. “And anyway, what do you mean by saying the pilot came for you? He couldn't have done. No one could get into the Villa Carrilhão without being admitted. Or alternatively, without waking the whole household.”

  Morgana stiffened her shoulders. “I'm not lying.”

  Luis frowned again. “You mean you were actually summoned from your bed?” He shook his head. “You knew nothing about it beforehand?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Luis stared at her for a long piercing moment, and then he came across to her, taking her hand in one of his. “I apologize,” he said, softly. “I should have guessed.”

  “Guessed? Guessed what?” Morgana was confused.

  Luis put his lips to the palm of her hand, allowing his tongue to touch her flesh caressingly. “I thought you had been in contact with the others – that you had escaped with them.”

  Morgana found it difficult to breathe when he made this kind of disturbing onslaught on her emotions, but she said: “Did no one tell you? I was sure you had arranged it.”

  “Someone arranged it – that is certain,” averred Luis, firmly. “And I think I know who.”

  “Your mother?”

  He inclined his head. “I am almost certain. No doubt she had assistance. Most probably Ricardo. I know he came to the villa just before you disappeared.”

  Morgana pressed his hand. “And you thought I had run away again?”

  “It was a reasonable assumption, you will admit.”

  She nodded. “But even so – you haven't told me why you have to return to Monteraverde so quickly. I read in the papers that the army was in command there. Are you to be president after all?”

  Luis shook his head. “I don't know.” He sighed. “After you disappeared my mother was left in no doubt as to my feelings for you. Without the imminence of the culmination of our plans I should have followed you whatever the consequences. But I could not desert my men.”

  Morgana bent her head. “You said you had decided not to enter the seminary – did you tell your mother that?”

  “Oh, yes.” Luis nodded, “I told her that without her interference I should have married you there and then – in Monteraverde.”

  Morgana's eyes widened. “But what interference? You didn't know then about the escape.”

  “No,” Luis smiled. “But I did know that she had caused you much heartache – much pain – because of her bitterness. Pieter told me so. I blamed her for you running away – as I thought then.”

  “Oh, Luis!” Morgana pressed her head against his shoulder. “I don't know what I should have done if you had not come.”

  He touched her cheek. “These lines of sleeplessness – they are for me?”

  “Who else?” she asked, without chagrin.

  He shook his head. “That can soon be remedied,” he murmured, and she coloured attractively. “But I still must return to Monteraverde. There is still work to be done. No longer will any man exalt himself to the position of president without asking the people for their support. In three days we are to have the first democratic election of our history, and then – whoever is made president – will remain so only for five years. That is good, yes?”

  Morgana bit her lip. “They're sure to choose you.”

  “And if they do? Can you bear to be the president's lady? Could you bear to live in Monteraverde for at least five years?”

  Morgana clung to him shamelessly. “So long as you are there, I can live anywhere,” she said.

  Luis bent to touch her cheek with his lips and then he said: “You said your father would not be in this morning. We should go out for lunch. I do not think I trust myself here, in this comfortable house, without a chaperon, however pleasant I find it.”

  Morgana flushed. “Is that what you want to do?”

  “You know what I want to do,” he muttered, rather roughly.

  She looked up into his strained face. “Well, then, we will stay here, because that is what I want to do. I will cook you lunch, just to show how capable I am, and afterwards we will go out and I will show you a little of my home town, and the women will all look at you and envy me!”

  Luis's eyes were warm. “All right, we will stay,” he agreed, huskily, drawing her into his arms. “I don't want to leave here, believe me, but what happens if your father arrives?”

  Morgana tilted her head to one side. “I am sure my father will find the politics of your country fascinating,” she murmured softly.

  “But will he permit me to take you back with me when I leave in three days?” Luis asked, insistently. “Because I could not leave without you now.” His voice was hoarse with emotion.

  Morgana lifted her shoulders. “I think so.” Then she sighed. “But there is still the problem of your mother.”

  Luis's eyes darkened. “My mother will present no problems,” he declared, with all the arrogance of his race. “After we are married, she will leave the Villa Carrilhão and live with her sister in Orilla del Mar. We shall have the place to ourselves – for a while at least.” Morgana's cheeks burned at his inference, and he pressed her closer against the hard length of his body. “For a while I want you to myself,” he murmured. “I want to teach you what love can really be like between a man and a woman.”

  Morgana saw the passion leaping in his tawny eyes and she touched his lips with her fingers. “And if you are the presidente, what then?”

  Luis shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then we will have to live at the Palacio in Queranova.”

  Morgana frowned. “The Palacio?”

  “The residence of the presidente,” explained Luis, gently.

  “It sounds terrifying.” Morgana looked at him uncertainly.

  “Does it?” Luis smiled. “Why? I shall be there.”

  Morgana moved against him possessively. “Yes,” she said, with confidence. “Yes, you will, won't you?”

  Luis nodded, his eyes caressing. “Wherever we live, there will always be the two of us,” he said huskily, “and when the day is over we will seek a world of our own making …”

  “Oh, soon,” Morgana murmured achingly, “soon…'

  ISBN: 978-1-4720-9806-1

  THE HIGH VALLEY

  © 1971 Anne Mather

  Published in Great Britain 2014

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