Country Of The Falcon. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ painfully along her hip. It was a rifle.

      Grasping it like a lifeline, she swung round on her knees pointing the barrel towards Vasco. ‘If—if you move, I’ll shoot!’ she declared in a ridiculously tremulous voice, but Vasco sat back on his heels and roared with laughter. ‘I—I mean it,’ she added fiercely. ‘I have used a gun before.’

      ‘Have you, senhorita?’ Vasco shook his head. ‘Veja—you have me in fear and trembling!’ And he held out one hand and deliberately shook it in front of her face.

      Exactly what Vasco might have done next Alexandra was never to know, because almost simultaneously they heard the sound of an engine throbbing on the still night air. It was a boat coming down-stream, Alexandra thought, and her heart leapt and then subsided again. What now?

      Sounds carried a tremendous distance in the uncanny silence of this watery maze and it was some time before the craft appeared round the bend in the river. There were lights on board and the sound of men’s voices, but it was impossible to tell yet what language they were speaking. Alexandra sat in frozen apprehension, hardly aware of the rifle still in her hands.

      The occupants of the other boat saw them. It would have been impossible for them not to have seen the light of the lamp, and Alexandra tensed as the craft drew nearer. It was a smaller vessel and a tall man was profiled near its bow, standing looking towards them, saying something to the other men in the boat as it drew alongside. Then he hailed Alexandra’s companion:

      ‘Bem, Vasco, tu velho patife, como esta?’

      The boats ground gently together and the other craft’s motor was cut as Vasco scrambled to his feet, completely disregarding the possible menace of the rifle Alexandra was holding.

      A stream of Portuguese issued from his throat as he greeted the stranger, shaking his hand warmly as the other man vaulted into their boat, glancing back at Alexandra and then continuing to talk excitedly.

      Alexandra got unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the rifle. If this man was a friend of Vasco’s, what possible assistance could she expect from him? She stared intently at him. It was impossible to distinguish his features as he was still in the shadows, but his height seemed to negate his being an Indian. He kept turning his head in her direction, however, and she wondered with increasing alarm whether he imagined she was easy game, too.

      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.’

CHAPTER TWO

      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 СКАЧАТЬ