Free Counterfeit Bride by Sara Craven

after a pause. 'And the Montalbas could well spare the land. Some of the ejidatarios work hard on their holdings, but others do not. They find the life too hard, and prefer to remain peasants, selling their labour as they can.'
    'As you do yours?' Nicola asked slyly.
    'As I do mine,' he agreed.
    She was disconcerted. She had expected at this point that he would tell her that he was Ramon de Costanza, cousin of the great Don Luis. She could see no point in his keeping it a secret. The thought that perhaps he was not communicating his identity because she was not of sufficient importance was a riling one.
    Meanwhile this ride through the darkness was playing havoc with her unaccustomed muscles, and she moved restlessly.
    'Is it much further—wherever we're going?'
    There was a smile in his voice. 'I thought you were used to horses, chica. But no, you will not have to suffer for much longer.'
    'Where are we going?'
    'So many questions.' He sounded faintly exasperated. 'We are going to a nearby ejido?
    Nicola's spirits rose slightly. It sounded hopeful. A house, however primitive, occupied by a farmer and possibly his wife and family too. Food and warmth, and somewhere to lay her head. But most of all, other people, she thought with sudden unease.
    She began to peer forward into the darkness, looking for a lighted window, but there was only the night, which made it all the more surprising when her companion said, 'Your ordeal is over, señorita. We have arrived at our destination.'
    Malagueno had stopped, and lowered his head to crop at unseen grass. Nicola found she was being lowered to the ground beside him, and she ran her fingers caressingly down the satiny neck. 'Gracias, Malagueno,' she said under her breath.
    Dismounting, her companion looped the horse's reins over the branch of a nearby tree.
    'Where is this place?' She stared round her helplessly.
    'You don't believe it exists?' His hand closed round her arm, and she was urged gently but firmly forward. Had she been alone, she could well have blundered into it, she realised. It was only a shape, slightly darker and more solid than the darkness around it. No lights, no dogs barking, or friendly welcome of any kind. In fact it looked—deserted.
    She said sharply, 'Where is everyone?'
    'There is no one but ourselves,' he said coolly. 'Believe me, chica, when you see the size of the cabin, you will be grateful.'
    Nicola felt anything but grateful. She hung back as he opened the door, which creaked eerily.
    'Frightened?' He was laughing at her again. 'Wait here, then, while I light a lamp, and dislodge any intruders which may have taken up residence in Miguel's absence.'
    'There's no need for that,' Nicola protested. 'Other people are just as entitled to a night's shelter and ...'
    'I was not thinking of people,' he said gently, and a shudder went through her, as she suddenly imagined unnamed horrors waiting there in the dark. Rats, she thought. Ugh—or scorpions—or even—snakes.
    She heard the rasp of a match and saw a glimmer of light which gradually swelled into a steady flame. A moment later, and another appeared in a corner of the room. Nicola stepped gingerly across the threshold and looked around her. It was not a prepossessing sight which met her eyes. There was a blackened fireplace built into one wall, with a rusty-looking cooking pot suspended from a hook in the chimney, and in the opposite wall was a deep alcove with a wooden bedstead actually built into it. A frayed curtain hung from a rough pole above: the alcove, and could be drawn for privacy, Nicola supposed. The first lamp her companion had lit hung from the ceiling. The second stood on a square wooden table in the corner. Two stools and a lumpy mattress on the bed seemed to supply the rest of the furnishings.
    Something of her feelings must have shown on her face, because her companion gave a low laugh. 'What did you expect, Señorita Turista? A room at the Continental in Mexico City?'
    She looked at