White Apache

by tiffy

  ʺWeʹre almost there, querida. Hold on, just hold on a few more moments.ʺ

  Too weak to waste her energy speaking, Elise simply clutched him more tightly and nodded her head against his chest.

  Odine emerged from the shadows of the porch as Santiago dismounted and Elise fell into his arms.

  ʺThe babyʹs coming earlymuch too early,ʺ he said swiftly in a low voice. ʺDo you have a clean bed?ʺ

  The frail black woman moved with surprising alacrity now. ʺDis way. Miz Julietteʹs room ainʹt been slep in fer a month oʹ Sundays, but de linens dey be clean, jes in case she come back.ʺ She hobbled up a drafty staircase with Santiago following.

  Each riser protested their intrusion with a loud groan. She cannot die!

  ʺWhat you want ta do wid Miz Juliette?ʺ Odine asked as they entered a large room at the end of the hall.

  Santiago placed Elise on the narrow bed as Odine pulled back the dusty counterpane. She was truthful about the sheets. Mercifully, they looked clean.

  He glanced up at the old woman, her question finally registering. ʺThe hell with Juliette. When Claiborneʹs men come from New Orleans, theyʹllʺ

  ʺDoan nobody be cominʹ. Jacob, he near daid. Shot by Massuh Raoul. Crawled back home.ʺ

  Santiago swore and tried to think as Elise held on to his hand, squeezing it as another fierce contraction struck. ʺHave you a midwife on this place?ʺ

  ʺI de one whut delivered de babies. We got no young gals er bucks to make ʹera fer long time.ʺ

  ʺWell, you have a job now,ʺ Santiago said grimly as he inspected the frail old womanʹs grimy hands. Even the house servants did not bathe in this swill hole of neglect! ʺWe need a fire in the fireplace to warm this room, and then I want some clean waterlots of it, warmed. Get all the servants to workat once!ʺ

  As Odine shuffled out to follow his instructions, Elise whispered, ʺDonʹt leave me, Santiago.ʺ

  He stroked her hair back from her clammy face and tried to smile. ʺI wonʹt go far, but we need heat and water. I know little of birthing, but I do know how important the Lipan consider cleanliness. Iʹve always thought itʹs more than ceremonial. Odine and I will both wash before we help bring this little one into the world.ʺ

  Her violet eyes were dark purple, dilated with pain and fear. ʺItʹs too soon, Santiago. The child should not have come for at least another two months.ʺ The tears glistening on her lashes overflowed. ʺSevenmonth babies always dieʺ

  ʺNo! Donʹt think that. There are waysthings I have heard, things I will do. Our child will not die, Elise.ʺ Nor will you! Nor will you! ʺNow, let me build that fire.

  Then weʹll get you out of all those damp, heavy clothes.ʺ She watched him walk to the fireplace and kneel down to clean the ashes from the grate. Every movement he made indicated how much pain he was in. Dried blood had clotted across his face and shoulder, and a bright red flow still trickled down his arm and soaked through his buckskins. ʺYou, too, need to get out of those ruined clothes. You must have the old woman bind your wounds.ʺ

  ʺDammit, where are those people with the wood,ʺ he muttered as he stood up, again lightheaded from blood loss. ʺIʹve survived a lot worse than this,ʺ he said, trying to soothe her.

  The sound of footfalls creaked up the stairs, and two older women bearing a load of wood entered the room.

  Shortly, a roaring fire was burning, and an old man struggled to haul bucket after bucket of warm water to the birthing room. Santiago stripped off his ruined shirt and daubed at the slashes across his chest and arm, but took little time doing it. He ordered Odine to help him pack and bind the bleeding wounds. She fetched him one of Gasparʹs shirts, a bit small on his broad‐shouldered, six‐foot frame, but it served well enough.

  When he instructed Odine about washing her hands and arms, she looked at him for a moment as if he had taken leave of his senses, then glanced again at those cold green eyes and began to scrub.

  The humor in the contretempts between Santiago and Odine was lost on Elise, but the irony of Santiagoʹs child being born in Julietteʹs bedroom was not. Castal had called his sister a harlot for making love with the renegade. Then Elise had tried not to believe him, but now bits and pieces of his conversation with Santiago tumbled around in her mind, seeming to confirm her fears. She was too weak and racked with pain to dwell on the horrifying idea. Another contraction seized her.

  With incredibly gentle hands, Santiago undressed her, slipping off the filthy gown she had worn for what seemed an eternity. Then he peeled layers of soft silk undergarments away. Elise felt horribly vulnerable, lying there helpless, with her misshapen body on display before him. As if guessing her thoughts, he smiled and said, ʺYou enjoyed watching me strip when I had to dress my wounds.ʺ

  ʺItʹs not the same,ʺ she pointed out as another pain hit. ʺIʹm fat and uglynot to mention that I stink. Iʹve not bathed or changed these clothes in weeks!ʺ

  He looked at her with what was almost censure. ʺA ballgown is not the best choice of clothes for a kidnapping. You should never have followed Castal, but you were ever too headstrong for your own good.ʺ

  ʺAnd instead of answering for my own crimes, my baby will pay for them.ʺ

  He began to bathe her with warm, clean linens, shushing her, castigating himself for upsetting her with his heedless words. ʺYou and our babe will be fine, Elise.

  Please, trust me. Youʹre a fighter. This will be the fight of your life, querida. Donʹt give up.ʺ

  His voice was determined. His touch, as he washed away the grime accrued during her captivity, soothed her. When he finished the task, he helped Odine replace the sheets with clean, dry ones and cover her. The room grew toasty warm.

  Odine vanished, then returned with a tray. She sat it down and poured a cup of steaming liquid. ʺDrink. Make you feel peaceful anʹ hep de baby come.ʺ

  Santiago took the cup from her and inspected the concoction, then tasted it and grimaced. ʺWhatʹs in it?ʺ

  ʺHerbs, tree bark. Always use it,ʺ she said, her ebony eyes daring to meet his. She had scrubbed for him. Now he could follow her prescription. After all, she was the midwife.

  Santiago looked at Eliseʹs pale face and felt her hand in his, ice cold and trembling in spite of the warm room. Remembering that She Who Dreams used many herb and bark remedies, he held up Eliseʹs head and helped her sip the liquid. After a few moments, a tiny bit of color stole into her cheeks and she seemed to relax. Quinn looked at Odine with renewed respect while the old woman examined Elise with bony, arthritic hands.

  ʺNot long now,ʺ she said, then shook her head. ʺBaby be little, come too soon.ʺ

  ʺOur baby will live,ʺ Santiago said firmly. Since he was fourteen, Santiago had never wanted to have a child, to pass down Conal Quinnʹs madness, but he did not think of that now. This was Eliseʹs child. It could not die!

  Grabbing a large porcelain wash basin, he shoved it at Claudy, the other serving woman. ʺScrub this until itʹs sparkling clean, then bring it back and fetch more warm waterlots of it.ʺ

  Odine gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing as she continued massaging Eliseʹs contracting belly.

  The old womanʹs predictions were accurate. Within the hour, the babyʹs head crowned. As Santiago held Eliseʹs hand and wiped her sweat‐soaked brow, murmuring low encouragements in Spanish and French, Odine carefully pulled the bloody, still, tiny body from its mother. Dark hair capped her head, and her small face was screwed up as if she wanted to cryand could not.

  Odine quickly tied off the cord and cut it with practiced ease. She handed the motionless infant to Santiago as she turned her attention back to Elise. ʺPush, one more time. Dat be good. Get it all out. Real good. You be fine. Jes fine.ʺ

  ʺMy babyʺ Elise tried to raise her head to watch Santiago carry the ominously silent infant across the room. ʺNo!ʺ The cry tore from her as Odine attempted to soothe and restrain her.

  He knelt by the fire and placed his daughter in the basin of warm water that Claudy had provided. He worked as calmly as
he could, submerging the frail little body up to its chin in the warm liquid, holding her head upright, massaging her chest, willing her to breathe. After what seemed an eternity, a small, squeaky cry burst from the little rosebud lips and she kicked, splashing drops of water onto the hearth.

  Santiago felt hot tears of joy run down his cheeks as he continued the gentle exercise. She was alive! All thoughts of his tainted blood vanished. He held his daughter in his hands and he loved her. She was a tiny, perfect miracle.

  ʺBring more water,ʺ he instructed Claudy, heedless of the tears streaking his face.

  She complied, and together they kept the frail little girl kicking and gurgling in the freshened warm water.

  ʺWe should name her Orlena, for your sister,ʺ Elise said softly. ʺShe was kind to me. Few women have ever been.ʺ She hesitated, then asked, ʺPlease, let me hold her?ʺ

  Santiago turned and smiled, letting her see the babe, submerged in warm water, still securely held in his hands. ʺShe must not be taken from the water for a while yet, I think.ʺ

  ʺHow did you know to do thatto get her to breathe?ʺ

  ʺI overheard the Lipan women talking from time to time. One of Strong Bowʹs sons was born too soon. I remember the story of how She Who Dreams saved him. Her medicine was sung around the campfires ever after.ʺ He paused to gaze at the tiny wonder their love had created, then returned his eyes to Elise.

  ʺDo you truly wish her named for my sister?ʺ

  ʺItʹs a beautiful name,ʺ she said simply, ʺbefitting a beautiful woman. I would that this little one grow up to be like her.ʺ

  Santiago felt the steel band of misery that had plagued him for so long dissolve.

  He returned her smile. ʺOrlena once told me that you and she were much alike. I think that she was right.ʺ

  Two exhausted, pain‐ravaged gazes locked and held in the still warmth of the room, until little Orlenaʹs lusty cries broke the spell.

  Chapter Thirty‐Two

  Juliette Doubert sat at the kitchen table, glaring at the old woman who had just cut the tight bonds Santiago Quinn had placed on her wrists. She robbed the delicate skin, trying to restore circulation to her hands while her mind worked furiously.

  ʺFree my feet as well, Odine,ʺ she commanded.

  The old woman shook her head. ʺMastah Santiago say only yo hands.ʺ

  ʺThis is my land and I own you, not that Irish outlaw.ʺ Her voice grew strident with fury.

  Odine shook her head. ʺNot no moe. Belonged to Mastah Gaspar. He daid now ʹn the American govnah, he decide whut ta do wif yo. Yo debil brothah gone too.ʺ

  She shuffled out the door, leaving her former mistress to fume in the empty room.

  All night, the house had been in an uproar because of Quinnʹs American whore spawning his bastard upstairs. Juliette had sat bound hand and foot for hours until that Irish scum deigned to remember her and ordered that she be partially untied and fed. Thank God Raoul had prevented the messenger from reaching Claiborne.

  ʹʹMen are all such senseless fools,ʺ she swore as she began to eat the wretched food Odine had placed before her. Raoul and Clark were both dead, their will‐othe‐wisp cause defeated. And, worst of all, she was destitute, without a protector and at the mercy of a man she had tried to kill. Again she damned the Irishman.

  Since the day he first entered her life, he had given her nothing but misery.

  He could have been a virile, savage loverand he was a titled, wealthy man. But Quinn was in thrall to that American nobody. Juliette decided that she must find a way to separate her rival from the Irishman. ʺHe was madly in love with me once. Perhaps I can win him over again,ʺ she murmured as she munched on a chunk of cheese.

  The first thing to do was to meet this American, a feat she could scarcely accomplish unless Quinn deigned to release her. She took a deep swallow of the sour wine and gritted her teeth, praying for patience.

  Shortly thereafter, it was rewarded when Santiago sent Claudy and Rufus to untie her and escort her upstairs. ʺWhy arenʹt you taking me to my room?ʺ She stopped at the master suite at the head of the stairs.

  ʺMastah Santiago, he put his woman in der, her and her baby,ʺ Claudy said, not daring to meet Julietteʹs flashing eyes. In truth, holding her former mistress a virtual prisoner for the Spaniard Quinn made her distinctly uncomfortable, but she was too afraid of the stranger with the cold green eyes to protest.

  Juliette seethed as she heard the mewling cry of a newborn infant when they passed the closed door. ʺFetch me a hot bath and clean linens,ʺ she said imperiously to Claudy. ʺThen Iʹll need you to press one of the gowns I left here last year.ʺ

  She prepared to do battle.

  Santiago slept until nearly noon the next day. Then, eager to see how Elise and little Orlena were doing, he bathed and changed the dressings on his wounds.

  Once freshly shaven and in clean clothes from the Doubert brothersʹ wardrobe, he felt like a new man, ready to confront the formidable problems they had to overcome.

  First he must explain Anaʹs lies and make clear to Elise that he had never intended for her to leave Santa Fe without him. What were they going to do about Eliseʹs husband? Santiago was determined to wed her and claim their child. Just thinking of how close he had come to losing them both had made him realize how dearly he loved his American woman. Orlena told him that he would always love Elise Louvois, trust be damned. No one chose where to love.

  It simply happened, often as not unwisely. In this case, it was certainly proving to be damned impractical!

  He laughed mirthlessly at his reflection in the cracked old mirror. ʺA husband waiting back in Washington is a pretty substantial impediment.ʺ Remembering Anaʹs words about Louvois made the hackles rise on Santiagoʹs neck. A man of unspeakable evil. What did it mean? Would he have to kill the Frenchman?

  There was also the troublesome matter of Juliette. What was he to do with her now that her madman of a brother was dead? He would deliver her to Claiborne and lay the problem at the harried governorʹs door. With that minor difficulty out of the way, he turned his attention to how he would approach Elise.

  In the next room, Elise sat holding her tiny daughter, who was vigorously suckling on her motherʹs breast while snuggled warmly beneath the covers.

  When not cocooned by her motherʹs body heat, little Orlena was placed in heated water in the big basin, where she seemed to gain strength with every passing hour. Through the night and morning, the two black women, Odine and Claudy, had taken turns holding her head above the water while the babe dozed, floating and kicking her arms and legs in small, instinctive movements that helped her breathe as well as gain muscle coordination. If Orlena was as strong as a Lipan child, she soon would not need the water.

  Smiling down at her daughter, Elise stroked the fine dark‐red hair on her head.

  ʺYour eyes will be green as emeralds one day soon.ʺ She felt such a wave of love and gratitude that it brought tears to her eyes. They had survived against all odds.

  Santiago stood in the doorway, transfixed by the beautiful, raven‐haired woman and the babe nursing hungrily at her breast. One of the servants had obviously assisted Elise in bathing and washing her hair, which hung in a gleaming plait down her back.

  ʺYou look rested . . . and beautiful, Elise.ʺ

  She looked up, and her cheeks flushed with unexpected embarrassment at the intimate scene he was observing. Elise could feel his eyes on their feasting daughter, and the flush stole lower, staining her throat and breasts with pink.

  After all he had witnessed the preceding night, this was a most illogical reaction indeed, but she felt flustered as a schoolgirl.

  ʺI scarce think I look beautiful, but I do feel rested,ʺ she replied softly, daring to meet his eyes fleetingly, then returning her gaze to their daughter. ʺOrlena is beautiful.ʺ She stroked the halo of russet hair and sighed contentedly.

  He crossed the room and knelt by the bed. ʺGod forbid she grow up to favor her red‐haired father,ʺ he said in
mock dismay. ʺI warrant sheʹll have her motherʹs bewitching violet eyes and perfect little upturned nose.ʺ He reached over to touch the babyʹs face and his hand brushed Eliseʹs breast. Santiago felt her stiffen and pull away from his touch.

  He withdrew his hand and stood up as she hastily fastened the linen covering over her breasts and snuggled the now peacefully dozing infant inside the bedclothes.

  He pulled up a delicate Chippendale chair enveloped in cobwebs and sat down beside the bed, heedless of the dirt. ʺWe have to talk, Elise. Iʹve traveled a thousand miles to find you and Orlena.ʺ

  She looked at him uncertainly. ʺWhat made you change your mind? You sent me away from the stronghold.ʺ Then her expression changed and her eyes widened as his words registered. ʺTo find me and Orlena?ʺ she echoed. ʺYou knew about the baby before I left?ʺ

  ʺDid you know?ʺ He decided to take the offensive.

  Her face flamed again. ʺNo. Iʹve spent little time at ladiesʹ tea parties listening to women discuss their bodily functions. I only suspected after we left Santa Fe.

  Considering how you banished me, I didnʹt think you would care.ʺ

  ʺI didnʹt intend to desert you, querida.ʺ

  She studied him as he spoke and the truth suddenly hit her. ʺAna lied to me!

  And I let Samuel convince me . . .ʺ

  ʺAna confessed the truth to me, Elise. She was guilt‐stricken for her deceit.ʺ

  ʺWhat caused her sudden attack of conscience? Was it learning about the baby?

  Did She Who Dreams tell her?ʺ

  ʺNo. Ana herself had the vision about the child. She begs your forgiveness, querida.ʺ

  ʺThen she has inherited her mentorʹs gift for seeing the future.ʺ This savage mysticism amazed her and made her uncomfortable. ʺAnd when she told you that we had returned to the United States, you followed.ʺ To claim me or your child, Santiago?

  ʺOf course I followed!ʺ he replied angrily, wanting desperately to read the emotion behind those fathomless violet eyes.

  ʺA debt of Spanish honor, Count Aranda?ʺ Her lips smiled coolly, but her eyes were bleak. ʺOr is it only your child you want? Your Apaches prize children above all else, donʹt they?ʺ