Read A Lady of the West for Free Online Page B

recesses of his mind came the hellish memory of pulling out of Elena and the shining knife abruptly slashing at him. He remembered the terror, the sick helplessness he’d felt with his pants around his knees as he rolled on the floor, trying to escape that darting knife. And once again he felt the sharp pain and horror of steel cutting into him.
    He jerked away from Victoria, cursing and limp. Furious, humiliated, but above all else lost again in that remembered horror, he left the bed and stamped into his own room, slamming the door behind him.
    For a long time Victoria lay as he had left her, with her nightgown up around her waist and her body rigid. The only sound she could hear was her own rough, sobbing breaths. When she did move, it was to shove her fist against her mouth to stifle the hysterical sounds that welled in her throat.
    She couldn’t bear it. If this was what being married entailed, she simply couldn’t bear it. The wrenching loss of modesty, the pain … how could any woman ever endure this? She felt shattered by the intrusion into her body, and terrified because she knew he hadn’t finished it, though she didn’t know why. She only knew he had been trying to put that—thing—into her as he had put his finger. She had never dreamed her very body would be penetrated, never dreamed such things were possible or that men’s bodies were so different from women’s.
    Slowly, her movements stiff and jerky, she slid from the bed. She wanted to wash and she had to blow out the candles. She wanted to hide in the dark and pretend this had never happened, but she knew she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking as she wet a soft flannel in the cool water and drew her nightgown upagain. She pressed the wet cloth between her legs to soothe the ache and was startled to find it came away stained with blood.
    She stood with her head bowed for a long time, trembling. If this was what her life was to be like, she must somehow find the strength to endure it. For Emma and Celia, she had to endure it. For her parents. This was the sort of bargain women had made for centuries, and she would find the strength to keep her end of it.
    Knowing that she was only one of many was little comfort, because she was appallingly alone. She couldn’t retreat and say, “No, I don’t like this, I’m going home.” She couldn’t run to Emma and sob out her fears like a child. There wasn’t even the security of her home, of familiar rooms and streets, familiar people. This huge, elegantly simple hacienda, so alien from her home in Augusta, was where she would live for the rest of her life. She hoped that in time it would become home. But now she knew she had no hope at all that she would ever become accustomed to the Major.
    At length she blew out the candles and felt her way across the dark room, to crawl between the sheets and lie for long hours, shivering and trying to muster her courage. She did eventually find some measure of control. If it wasn’t courage, perhaps it would do.
    She got up early, having only dozed fitfully, and dressed in one of the simple skirts and shirtwaist blouses she had brought. After pinning up her braids, she slipped quietly from the room. She didn’t want to wake the Major. She hoped to find Carmita in the kitchen. Victoria had an urgent question that had been tormenting her all night, and Carmita would know the answer. It would be difficult to voice such a question, but she was learning that difficult didn’t mean impossible.
    As it happened, Carmita, Lola, and Juana were all in the kitchen, gossipping cozily. The friendly chatterof rapid Spanish halted when they noticed Victoria in the doorway.
    â€œSeñora,” Carmita said, smiling broadly. They were all smiling at her. Belatedly Victoria realized they expected a blushing bride. She did blush, though not from happiness.
    She said, “Please, Carmita, may I talk with you for a