She was certain that El Diablo would not wait for her if she was even a few seconds late. In his egotism and arrogance he would consider no one but himself and if she was not ready at the moment appointed, he would, she was sure, ride away without giving her so much as a second thought.

Only when she was dressed, her gloves and riding whip in her hand, did she cross the room to the breakfast tray beside her bed to sip a cup of hot coffee and pick at the fruit that the Indian girl had brought her as well as a more substantial dish of eggs.

“The señora will be hungry,” Neengai wailed as Skye turned towards the door after biting into a fresh apricot and leaving everything else untouched.

“Don’t worry about me,” Skye said with a smile, perhaps the first that had parted her lips since she came to the camp.

There was no one in the sitting room and Skye went quickly to the open door, but the guard was outside. He gave her a look out of his dark eyes that told her without words that she was not yet permitted to pass, so she withdrew to the window and looked down on the camp.

She could see horses being saddled and men hurrying to and fro in their wide sombreros, while women stood at the doors of the huts watching them.

The sun was rising in the Heavens, but had not yet come to its full strength, the breeze was cool and Skye felt a longing to be out in the open, away from the horror and disgust that these strange caves had for her.

She was so intent on watching the scene below that she did not hear El Diablo arrive and she started when his voice behind her asked,

“Are you ready?”

She turned quickly, the sun streaming through the window turning her curls to living gold and making them a halo for her small face. Anger and sleeplessness had left dark lines under her eyes and made them seem even bigger than usual.

She was lovely and even in her riding clothes, exquisitely and provocatively feminine.

El Diablo stood looking at her and she saw the smouldering fire behind his eyes. He took a step towards her and instinctively Skye shrank away, backing until she could go no further, her shoulders against the iron grille of the window.

“You look like spring itself,” he said softly and, when she did not answer, he put his hand under her chin and, tipping back her head, looked down at her face which was suddenly drained of all colour.

“I am only going to kiss you,” he said reassuringly and added, as he saw her swallow convulsively. “Do you hate my kisses as much as all that?”

“Yes, I hate them,” Skye cried passionately, “and you too!”