Country Of The Falcon. Anne Mather
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Eventually he seemed to take command, for he silenced Vasco with an unmistakable gesture and then stepped across the pile of equipment in the bottom of the boat into the light.
Alexandra took a step backward, her eyes widening as she realised he looked almost European. He was deeply tanned, of course; no one could be otherwise who lived in this area, and his hair was very dark and longer than Vasco’s, but his lean, harshly arrogant features and thin mouth were almost patrician in cast. Even so, there was a certain sinuous quality about the way he moved that few Europeans possessed, and his eyes were amazingly as pale as blue fire. He was a handsome brute, Alexandra had to concede that, and from the way his eyes were assessing her with almost insolent appraisal he was perfectly aware of it.
‘Boa tarde, senhorita!’ he greeted her politely, with a faint but perceptible bow of his head, which went rather oddly with the close-fitting denim pants he was wearing and the denim shirt which was opened almost to his waist. ‘Isn’t that rifle a little heavy for you?’
He spoke English without any trace of an accent, and Alexandra stared at him in amazement. Her fingers slackened for a moment round the rifle and then tightened again.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded tautly.
The stranger cast a mocking glance back at Vasco, and then, while Alexandra was off guard, he stepped forward and twisted the rifle effortlessly out of her hands. ‘That’s better, is it not?’ he enquired, examining the weapon expertly. ‘Now—as to who I am, I suggest you tell me your name first.’
Alexandra was rubbing her fingers where his determined removal of the rifle had grazed them, and she stared at him a trifle desperately. ‘Look,’ she said unsteadily, ‘I don’t see why I have to tell you anything. I—I—this man here——’
‘Who? Vasco?’
‘Yes, Vasco. He—he was threatening me.’
‘Nao!’ Vasco was openly indignant. ‘I did not have espingarda, senhorita...’
The stranger ignored the other man’s outburst and went on calmly: ‘With what was he threatening you?’
Alexandra looked down at her hands. ‘I’d really rather not talk about it.’
The stranger’s lips twisted sardonically. ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘A woman—or should I say, a girl?—who is prepared to travel unescorted must be prepared to look after herself.’ He tossed the rifle carelessly back to her and she managed to catch it before it fell on the deck at her feet. ‘Look at it,’ he commanded. ‘Not only is it not loaded, but the safety catch is still on.’
Alexandra looked rather warily down at the gun in her hands. She had never handled a rifle before this evening, not any gun if it came to that, in spite of her vain boast to Vasco. And if this man had known that, Vasco, with his awareness of its lack of bullets, must have known it, too.
‘Please,’ she said, suddenly feeling that it was all too much for her. ‘Just go away and leave me alone.’
The stranger dropped the butt of his cigar over the side of the boat and she heard the faint plop as it hit the water and was extinguished. Then he leant forward and removed the rifle from her unresisting fingers, and stood it against the other equipment beside him.
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ he remarked quietly, folding his arms. ‘You see, I came here to find you, Miss Tempest.’
THERE was a minute of complete silence when all Alexandra could hear was the heavy beating of her own heart. She tried to recollect whether she had heard Vasco mention her name in his initial outburst and then decided he must have done, for how else could this man know who she was? And yet he had said he had come here to find her. It didn’t make sense!
‘Who are you?’ she asked at last, unable to find anything more original to say.
‘My name is Declan O’Rourke, Miss Tempest. Vasco will vouch for that, I am sure. I live—some distance up-river.’
Declan O’Rourke!
Alexandra felt more than ever confused. Apart from the pale blue eyes between the thick black lashes there was little to indicate his Irish heritage.
‘But——’ She sought for words. ‘How did you know where to find me? And how did you know I was here?’
‘Explanations of that sort can wait.’ He glanced round at Vasco’s expectant face. ‘I will escort Miss Tempest from here. You can go back to Los Hermanos and tell Santos——’
‘No! I mean—wait!’ Alexandra bit her lower lip hard. ‘How do I know who you are? I mean, you can’t just come along and—and take me over!’
‘Would you rather stay with Vasco?’ O’Rourke’s eyes were mocking. ‘Did I misunderstand that scene I interrupted?’
‘No, no, of course you didn’t.’ Alexandra wrung her hands. ‘But—but you can’t expect me to go with you just like that—without any kind of an explanation.’
‘I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Miss Tempest,’ he returned politely, and she stared impotently at the sweat-stained shoulders of his shirt as he turned away.
Vasco sidled up to him and said something in an undertone and Alexandra wished desperately that she understood Portuguese. She had no liking for Vasco, nor any real trust, but he had brought her this far. How was she to be sure that this man O’Rourke was not some kind of thief or adventurer who, the minute they were out of Vasco’s sight, would ditch her and take what little money and possessions she had brought with her. Her fingers encountered the narrow gold watch on her wrist. Her father had bought it for her sixteenth birthday just over a year ago, and it was insured for almost two hundred pounds. It, at least, was worth stealing. Perhaps even Vasco was in league with him. Perhaps this was some crooked sort of deal they had cooked up between them.
Declan O’Rourke was beginning to manhandle her suitcases into the other boat and his actions inspired retaliation. She rushed forward and grasped his arm, preventing him from slinging over the pigskin holdall that contained her heavier clothes. His flesh was hard and warm beneath her fingers, and there were hairs on his arm that roughened the skin. This close she could smell the heat of his body, but it was not an unpleasant smell, and the aroma of tobacco still lingered about him.
He was turning at the moment she grabbed his arm and his elbow caught her in the rib-cage so that she gasped and released him, collapsing awkwardly on to the pile of blankets.
‘I’m sorry.’ There was a faint smile on his face as he hauled her to her feet at once, making sure she was not hurt by holding her for a moment until she drew free of him. ‘That was careless of me. I’m sure you want to help, but I can manage.’
Alexandra glared at him frustratedly. ‘You know perfectly well that was not my intention!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh—this is ridiculous! What are you doing with my belongings? What do you intend to do with me?’
Declan O’Rourke regarded her mockingly. ‘You really don’t trust anyone, do you?’
‘I haven’t had much encouragement!’ retorted Alexandra unsteadily, her momentary anger dissipating beneath other anxieties.
‘Very well. I—heard—there was a young woman waiting at Los Hermanos, waiting to come to Paradiablo.’
‘How did you hear that?’
‘You would call it a—grapevine, I think. We have quite an efficient one, believe me.’
‘Senhor O’Rourke lives at Paradiablo,’ put in Vasco, and was silenced by a piercing look from those chilling blue eyes.
‘I see.’ Alexandra was trying to make sense of this. ‘Do