by tiffy
ʺWe will guard her well, Uncle Santiago,ʺ Bartolomé said gravely.
Orlena nodded mutely, certain in her heart that her brother must be wrong about Elise betraying them to the Spanish authorities. But she had lied about being married and that had cut Santiago deeply. ʺGo with God, brother of my heart,ʺ
she whispered, giving him a swift embrace.
Ana, once more dressed as Desert Flower in her beaded buckskin tunic and leggings, stared at Spybuck with fury distorting her face. ʺYou cannot just let her go! She is a traitor who will turn you all over to the Spanish governor. She has deceived the Red Eagle.ʺ
Spybuck looked at her beautiful face and lithe slim body as she stood beside her fleet Lipan pony, ready to return to Hoarse Barkʹs stronghold. How many lonely nights over the past months had he dreamed of seeing her again? He spoke to her in Spanish, for his command of the Lipan dialect was inferior and he feared to betray himself with inappropriate words. ʺWhat is between the two of them does not concern us, Desert Flower. Santiago has asked me to take her to Santa Fe. We found nothing in her papers to indicate she is in league with the Spanish.ʺ
In fact, what they had found were notes about Lieutenant Pikeʹs contact with the Osage and his attempts to win their loyalty for General Wilkinson, not President Jefferson. Other passages referred to Samuel Shelbyʹs mission to the Spanish on behalf of Jefferson. Some notations pertained to the various other Indian tribes they had met along the way. Nothing incriminated her as an agent of either the Spanish or the French.
ʺI still do not trust her,ʺ the Lipan woman said stubbornly. ʺBut I will be glad to see her gone and the Red Eagle free of her clutches.ʺ
ʺYou must let go. He does not love you as you would wish,ʺ he said gently.
Anaʹs eyes rounded in amazement. Never before had the big Creek spoken of such a personal matter to her. ʺYou presume much, for a red man raised by whites. You are far from both your peoples.ʺ
He took a step closer to her and reached out for her hand, clasping it before she could draw away. ʺI presume because I have been the Red Eagleʹs friend for many years. I know his heart . . . and I know yours. At last, I would have you know mine. For years I have held my peace, thinking perhaps you and my friend were destined to wed. Now I know it will never be. He loves the American.ʺ
ʺNo!ʺ
ʺYes,ʺ Spybuck replied softly, still holding her hand, which had balled into a small, tight fist. ʺHe feels betrayed by her, and perhaps he will never be able to marry her, but it changes nothing. You have already waited too long, Desert Flower. So have I.ʺ
ʺYou?ʺ She looked up into his glowing obsidian eyes, suddenly realizing what he meant. ʺYou are Creekreally more white than red for all you wear that ugly shaven head like a badge of honor.ʺ
His hand touched his scalplock unconsciously. Always he had been vain about his tribal identity, even though he knew Lipan men wore their hair long, bound back with headbands. He smiled, revealing straight white teeth in his bronzed face. ʺYou, too, have been raised more white than red, but you are right. This is the land of the Apache, not the Muskogee, as my people call themselves. I will think on the matter.ʺ
With that, he raised her hand to his lips and gave it a very elegant European salute, then turned to go.
ʺWhat of the American?ʺ she called after him.
ʺBe grateful I am taking your nemesis to Santa Fe. I shall watch to see she does no mischief. Return to your stronghold. Perhaps I will see you there one day soon.
She leaped onto her pony and kicked it into a trot, refusing to look back at the arrogant Creek or Muskogee or whatever he chose to call himself. How dare he court her? Surely the Night Wind, her foster father, would not accept a bride price from him!
PART III
SAVAGE SCENE
Chapter Nineteen
Elise looked down on the capital of New Mexico from the mountain pass above it. Remembering her first sight of St. Louis, she realized that distant appearances could be deceiving. Santa Fe was a town of several thousand soulsSpanish, Indian, and people of mixed blood such as Santiagoʹs brother. Situated in a wide valley with a bright ribbon of river running through it, the scene was almost too perfect.
Flat‐roofed, open‐beamed adobe buildings predominated, gleaming with whitewash in the brilliant sunlight. Situated at opposite ends of the main square, the bell towers of the cityʹs two churches thrust heavenward.
The pair of riders began the gradual descent to the floor of the valley. Elise looked at Spybuckʹs impassive profile. He had spoken little since he had come to collect her at the ranch. She wondered what Santiago had told him about her, but did not ask. It was as if a great leaden weight had settled on her, and it took all her strength to breathe in spite of the bracing dry air. She had no energy left for talking.
But when l face the governor, I must find out where Samuel is being held and free him.
She chewed her lip in vexation, trying not to think of her bitter parting from Santiago.
Suddenly the taciturn Creek turned to her and asked, ʺWhy did you tell Santiago your husband was dead?ʺ
She knew the question was not asked in idle curiosity, nor was it hostile. ʺI didnʹt mean to betray himor you. I wonʹt involve your caravan in my mission any further. Iʹm sorry about Edouard. . . .ʺ Her words faded. She did not know how to express her desolation.
ʺAre you sorry you wed himor sorry you are not a widow?ʺ There was no levity attached to the question.
ʺBoth. We never had a real marriage, even before we separated. But then, perhaps there is no such thing as real marriage. My parents lived apart most of their lives, too.ʺ
In spite of her brave facade, Spybuck could feel the pain lurking beneath the words. ʺIt is not finished, this love between you and Santiago.ʺ
ʺOh, but it is, my friend. He made that very clear. Besides, Iʹm still married to Edouard, and I have responsibilitiesif not to my husband, then certainly to my country.ʺ
ʺAnd to your brother?ʺ
She turned to him with a look of earnest entreaty in her eyes. ʺAbove all I must locate Samuel. He is the reason I came west in the first place. I must see that he is not languishing in some filthy Spanish prison. Together, he and I must convince Governor Alencastre that President Jefferson did not dispatch Lieutenant Pike as an agent provocateur.ʺ Spybuck nodded gravely. ʺThat may prove a formidable task.ʺ
ʺWhat is he like? Have you met him?ʺ
ʺI have not been granted an audience with the governor,ʺ he replied drily, ʺbut I have heard he is an honest mana rarity for a Spanish bureaucrat anywhere, especially on the frontier.ʺ
ʺThat is what Santiago said, so that lets out bribery,ʺ she muttered beneath her breath.
ʺWhat will you do?ʺ
She shrugged wearily. ʺI donʹt know. First Iʹll have to locate Samuel. If heʹs here alreadyand his papers indicated he would try to arrive before Lieutenant Pike didthen Iʹll discuss plans with him.ʺ
ʺA lone American coming in advance of that expeditionI fear that he will most likely be in custody, Elise.ʺ
She frowned. ʺI fear so, too. That means I must obtain an audience with the governor.ʺ
Spybuckʹs expression did betray a hint of amusement now, in spite of his concern for this resilient woman. ʺI think being the first Anglo female ever to arrive in Santa Fe, you will have no difficulty securing an audience. Nor do I discount your skills of persuasion.ʺ
She looked at him sharply. ʺYouʹve read my papersyou and Santiago! Thatʹs why heʹs set me free.ʺ Spybuck did not deny it. ʺWill he come to Santa Fe to watch meor is that your job?ʺ
ʺLet us just say I have decided to keep an eye on you for your own good.
Santiago has more urgent business to the south, but he will eventually return.ʺ
She speculated about what sort of dangerous mission the renegade might be on, but said nothing. ʺBy the time he is in Santa Fe, I only pray Samuel and I are on our way back to the United States.ʺ <><><><><><><><><><><><> The pala
ce of the governor was hardly the grandiose building an American might expect for a province the size of New Mexico. The low, whitewashed building was of Pueblo architecture with a wide portale fronting it. All sorts of men, savage Comanches and nattily dressed ricos, lounged in its shade while the.
presidial soldiers drilled in the warm morning sun.
Everyoneʹs attention was caught when the American lady, rumored to have come to Santa Fe overland from St. Louis, walked across the plaza. Caballeros swept off their broad‐brimmed hats and made courtly bows while the genízaros stood in open‐mouthed awe. Even the fierce Comanche warriors appraised her with more curiosity than arrogance. Elise swept by them all, through the main door where a surprised pair of guards were too slack‐jawed to prevent the violet-eyed womanʹs entry. In moments, she was whisked into the austere antechamber to await the governor.
As she paced, Elise considered what she had learned since her arrival the preceding night. The small, rude inn where Spybuck had taken her provided more than food and shelter. The elderly woman who ran it also informed her that a lone americano answering Samuelʹs description had arrived several weeks ago and was being held by the governor. Not wanting to arouse the suspicions of the xenophobic government authorities, she decided not to make further inquiries, but to beard the governor directly. How easy it would be for both her and Samuel to vanish forever in some Spanish dungeon!
A tall, rather attractive young officer stepped into the room and bowed politely.
ʺA thousand pardons for keeping you waiting, Madame Louvois, but his excellency will see you now. I am his second in command, Lieutenant Raoul Castal, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to Santa Fe.ʺ
Castal studied her from hooded eyes as he bent to kiss her hand. A magnificent woman! His fellow conspirator, Clark Jamison, had not exaggerated back in New Orleans. She was as beautiful as she was dangerous. However, her arrival in Santa Fe spelled trouble. Her foolish brother had posed no threat, for Alencastre had not believed him, but Elise Louvois could upset all their carefully laid plans.
As Elise smiled her thanks to the elegant man, she noted the way he studied her with intent dark eyes. His light brown hair was meticulously clubbed with a velvet ribbon, and his moustache was neatly barbered, but something about him bothered her. The handsome officer made her uneasy in spite of his courtly manners. ʺYou are most kind, Lieutenant Castal,ʺ she replied as he escorted her into the large audience chamber. Why did his name seem familiar?
Governor Alencastre was a slightly built man with the austere face of an esthete.
His thinning gray hair was cut short, and his uniform was surprisingly plain for his high office. He wore none of the gaudy medals and ribbons of rank so common among American as well as European officers. His leather breastplate spoke of a man who spent more time on patrols than in palaces. So did his windburned skin and keen, ice‐blue eyes.
ʺMadame Louvois, you are a long way from your home. What brings a French lady to New Mexico?ʺ he asked in perfect French.
She met his assessing gaze levelly and replied in the same language, ʺI have come seeking my brother, Governor Alencastre. You hold him prisoner. Samuel Shelby.ʺ He stroked his neatly trimmed goatee as he motioned for her to be seated in a heavy oak chair with threadbare velvet cushions. Pacing around the large table which served as his desk, he said, ʹʹAh, yes. The young man who claims to be an American army officer but arrived here out of uniform.ʺ
ʺHe is a lieutenant in the United States Army, your excellency.ʺ
His eyes turned almost opaque as he fixed them on her. ʺWith a French sister. I find that most curious, Madame.ʺ
ʺSamuel speaks French as well as I do, yet we are both Americans. There is no mysteryour mother is French. Our father was a Virginian. I am wed to a Frenchman who is in the diplomatic service of the emperor. Other than my husband, Samuel is my only living relative, your excellency.ʺ She doubted an emotional appeal would work, but it was worth a try.
ʺBe that as it may, his Catholic Majesty does not allow foreigners in this outlying province. The situation between Spain and the United States right now is particularly grave.ʺ
ʺAll the more reason to hear us out, Governor Alencastre. I cannot know all my brother told you, for I have not seen him in over a year and know nothing of what befell him since he undertook this journey. But I shall tell you my story and you may compare it to his. Our government wishes desperately to avert war with yours.ʺ
Elise carefully related how Samuel had stumbled onto General Wilkinsonʹs plan to send Lieutenant Pike into Spanish territory and have the expedition captured and brought to Santa Fe. ʺSo you see, Governor, there was time to do nothing but leave the information where only I would know to look for it. He had to cover his trail by pretending to drown, then catch up with Lieutenant Pike in St.
Charles and pass himself off as a civilian fluent in Spanish.ʺ
In the midst of her narration, she switched to that language. Alencastre raised his eyebrows but did not interrupt as she finished explaining about Samuelʹs desire to reach Santa Fe before the Pike expedition was apprehended. ʺHe wished to assure you that President Jefferson does not want an international incident.
General Wilkinson has acted for his own gain without presidential approval.ʺ
ʺWhat does he hope to gain?ʺ he interjected as those cold blue eyes studied her mercilessly.
Elise did not wish to admit how precariously weak the new federal union was by betraying Wilkinsonʹs conspiracies. Perhaps Alencastre knew the general was Agent 13, perhaps not. Would Samuel have told him? ʺThe general has political aspirations. Using martial glory, he can realize them,ʺ she replied carefully.
He smiled for the first time, and his expression lessened in harshness. ʺYou are suggesting he is an unprincipled opportunist?ʺ
ʺYour choice of words, your excellency, but a good choice. If only your soldiers can locate Lieutenant Pike and escort him quickly back to American territory, nothing further need come of this incident.ʺ
Alencastre studied her. How muchif anythingdid she know about his orders from Governor‐General Salcedo to capture Pike and deliver him to Chihuahua?
Probably nothing, and he would not enlighten her. The less said about this whole dangerous contretemps, the better.
ʺMy soldiers are searching for this Lieutenant Pike. Once he is apprehended, then we shall see.ʺ Shifting the subject, he smiled again and said, ʺYou are a most adventurous lady to have come where no American woman ever dared before.
How did you do it?ʺ
She met his smile with one of her own, carefully overshadowed by wistfulness. ʺI was desperate to reach Samuel after I found out he was alive and on his way to Santa Fe. I hired a guide . . . well, actually he is a Spanish trader who sells horses and pelts in St. LouisSantiago Quinn.ʺ
ʺI have heard of him,ʺ Alencastre replied, wondering how a lady of such apparent fine breeding had fared with the son of Colorado Quinn. ʺYou are most resourceful to have survived the rigors of trackless prairies and savages.ʺ
ʺIt was an ordeal. I pray, your excellency, may I not at least talk with my brother after having come so far?ʺ She leaned forward, holding her breath.
ʺNow that I have spoken with you, I think I shall have another conversationin privatewith Lieutenant Shelby. In the meanwhile, you may return to your lodgings.ʺ It was not a request. ʺI will send word when you may see the lieutenant.ʺ
Outside the heavy oak door, which had a narrow crack around its sash, Raoul Castal listened to Eliseʹs parting words to the governor. Santiago Quinn! The murdering renegade who had killed his brother was still alive and had returned to New Mexico!
Quickly he moved away from the door as thoughts whirled through his head. He had given up pursuit of the Irishman on the Natchez Trace when river pirates had killed everyone aboard the boat on which he had booked passage. Thinking Quinn dead, he had returned to duty. After serving the past seven years in Texas, he had again been posted to Santa Fe, where
he would be part of General Salcedoʹs overthrow of Spanish authority. What a marvelous stroke of fate that Quinn should fall into his hands at last. He would exact a long overdue vengeance.
The cantina was dark, and the air reeked of fried garlic and sour sweat. Jeffrey Soames sat nursing his third glass of the ghastly swill locals called whiskey.
ʺWhy in hell did I let Brendan talk me into cominʹ ta this shithole,ʺ he muttered.
A stupid thing, Sean getting himself killed over a woman. He cursed Santiago Quinnʹs luck again. The Spaniard should have died in that stampede, not Sean.
When the swell in the natty Spanish officerʹs uniform crossed the cantina crowded with buckskinclad traders, he stood out like a peacock in a vultureʹs nest. Realizing even in his liquor‐fogged state that Americans were prohibited from entering Spanish territory, Soames hunched over his glass and put his head down, praying the lieutenant would pass by without noticing him.
But Castal recognized the American. There had been dozens like him coming and going through Santa Fe for years, mostly ignored if they carried on their illegal trade quietly and greased a few palms along the way. Now, however, he had business with this one.
ʺSeñor Soames?ʺ he inquired, standing in front of the scarred pine table, one hand resting lightly on the handle of his sword.
Soames considered using his broken Spanish to deny his identity, but realized he could fool no one by attempting to pose as a Spaniard. ʺWhat if I am?ʺ he replied, his hand sliding beneath the table toward the hunting knife at his waist.
ʺI would not touch that knifeunless you wish to die, Señor Soames,ʺ Castal said genially. ʺWhich would be a foolish mistake since you might live, a rich man in the bargain.ʺ Soamesʹ bloodshot eyes stared up at Castal with suspicion. ʺRich,ʺ