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him escape, such as one of her maids, or even - God forbid - the Indian? Was the Indian in her house now, too! Was she perhaps being robbed?
    Dios, how she wished she could talk to him? Didn’t he know the gag was unnecessary, that she was alone upstairs and it was possible no one would hear her even if she did scream her head off?
    Something of her burgeoning panic must have shown in her face, because he smiled tightly.
    “I’ll bet you’ve got quite a few things to say to me, don’t you, Señora? How would you like to get the chance?”
    His tone was low and speculative. At her jerky nod, he moved closer and eased down on the edge of the bed. He leaned towards her, smiling again as she involuntarily slid her body nearer the opposite edge.
    He shook his head. “No, that won’t do. Come here.”
    He pulled her towards him, stretching her arms even tauter over her head as the rope tightened. She was wearing a pale blue nightgown edged in blond lace and was completely covered up to her neck; yet her body seemed shamefully bare in such intimate proximity to a man, particularly when his hard fingers encircled her waist beneath the covers to slide her nearer, and only the muslin of the gown was between his flesh and hers . . .
    Her skin burned at first, and then crawled with shivers.
    His eyes seemed to take all this in. She closed her own against the intensity of his scrutiny, and then opened him again, lest he think she was ready to submit to whatever it was he wanted. Even in her embarrassment and fear, she was still capable of some pride. Did he see that, too?
    Their gazes locked for several seconds, and she guessed that he was trying to decide what he would do with her. His bearded face was a harsh sculpture above her, impenetrable, and stronger than it had ever seemed before. She sensed that she had been made the fool. If there was a real Jim Malone, then this powerful stranger was he. Not the confusing yet amiably accepting man she had kept locked downstairs. And what did this Malone intend?
    He had reached some decision. He bent over.
    “Señora, if I remove your gag, will you promise to remain quiet? All I want to do is to ask you a few questions, which I expect you to answer truthfully. Then I’ll leave here and you’ll never see me again. Do you agree?”
    She nodded. She would agree to almost anything if he would remove the gag!
    “All right. Now lie still . . .”
    He untied the knot behind her head and the cloth slipped away. She licked her sore lips with a tongue that was nearly dry, like the rest of her mouth.
    “This is an outrage, Señor Malone - one which I hope you will explain!” Her voice was a husky, furious whisper.
    “I won’t. Now, listen to me, or I’ll replace the gag.”
    After pausing to test her silence, he continued. “I know that General Santa Anna wrote to you from Havana. Where are those letters? Did you keep them? Tell me the truth.”
    She stared at him in shock. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t that! Of what importance were those half-forgotten letters?
    Obviously, of great importance. He was serious, dead serious. His eyes glittered unnaturally.
    “Santa Anna is my cousin by my marriage,” she murmured, “and a friend. Of course he wrote me letters . . . but there was no reason to keep them; they were ordinary letters, I threw them away as soon as I read them. Why would you want them?
    “Was Santa Anna your lover? Is he still?”
    “Do you mean - lover, or .. . . what do you mean?”
    “You know what I mean, no woman is that innocent; although I admit you put on a damn good act. Did you ever sleep with him? Did he ever touch you here . . .” He laid a hand directly and unconscionably on her breast.
    She cried out, the heat from his hand searing her through the thin muslin. She squirmed against the pressure, unable to do more with her hands tired above her; only to find that the friction of her movements made the sensitivity even worse.
    “Did he touch you