San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  "Believe me, you are just one of many," she said, hoping to nettle him. "I am practiced at lovemaking, as you have probably guessed."

  "I'm not surprised," he murmured, wondering why he was so angry. "You know too much about men not to have learned it in the bedroom."

  "That does not mean that I will welcome any unwanted attention from you," she said hurriedly, hoping she hadn't given him the wrong impression. "I choose my men carefully."

  "Go to sleep, San Antonio Rose-you are safe with me. I have never been one to fancy another man's leavings, especially not if that man is Santa Anna."

  No one could make her as mad as Ian. "I never invited you to my bed, and I never will. I pick and choose whom I take for a lover."

  He turned his back with a jerk, and she smiled. She had gotten under his skin at last, even if she had told a lie to do it.

  To Evelyn Rogers, a very special friend with an enormous talent and a caring heart to match. I know if I asked you to walk a mile with me, you would walk two. That kind of friend is hard to find and is to be treasured. And Jay Rogers, what a guy!

  Donna Rusch-Coffee Pot-who has a loving and generous nature. It is a pleasure to know you-you always make me smile.

  And to Haley Elizibeth Garwood, who is a wonderful writer. Thanks for your many E-mails that cheered me on while I was pushing a tough deadline. You said I could do it, I believed you, and I did it.

  This title was previously published by Dorchester Publishing; this version has been reproduced from the Dorchester book archive files.

  Dr. R.N.Gray. No one knows more about Indians in Texas than you do. I could listen to you for hours. Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me, and for setting me straight on Chief Bowels, the red-headed Cherokee chief.

  Thanks to my uncle, Henry Hoyle, for introducing me to Dr. R.N.Gray.

  Whenever delving into history it is inevitable that there will be many conflicting reports on any given subject. This is true of Texas's fight for independence. The one true fact that is consistent throughout is that there were heroes on both the Texas and Mexican side-honorable men who were willing to die for what they believed. My main source of information came from an eyewitness journal meticulously kept by one of Santa Anna's own officers, Jose Enrique De La Pena. I found his account to be invaluable.

  There are several different opinions on Sam Houston's height, ranging from six feet four inches to six feet six inches. I have chosen to believe he was six feet four inches which would have still allowed him to cast a tall shadow. Sam Houston was named Co-Ionneh by his adopted Cherokee father, who was head chief of the western Cherokee tribe-in English the translation means "The Raven."

  There are numerous writings, rumors and legends concerning an unknown woman who kept Santa Anna occupied at San Jacinto, allowing Houston time to launch a surprise attack that ended in the dictator's defeat. Some accounts called her the Yellow Rose. My account names her Emerada de la Rosa-the San Antonio Rose.

  Lastly, I chose to deal indirectly with the Battle of the Alamo since the true accounts speak for themselves and need no help from me. However, all the world needs a hero, and I have mine in the man who gave America one of its finest heroic letters. For those Americans who have never read the letter, I would like to share it with you:

  The Alamo-Feb. 24, 1836

  To the people of Texas and all Americans in the world-fellow citizens and compatriots-I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna-I have sustained a continual bombardment and cannonade for twenty-four hours and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken-I have answered the demand with cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat. I call on you in the name of liberty, of patriotism and everything dear to the American character to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily and will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgot what is due his own honor and that of his country-victory or death!

  WILLIAM BARRET TRAVIS LT. COL. COMDT.

  Lay the proud usurper low, Tyrants falling every foe, Liberty's in every blow, Let us do or die!

  -Robert Burns

  Nacogdoches, Province of Tejas-1835

  The woman emerged from the mist like a ghostly figure. She was dressed all in black, and she rode an equally black horse. She was so well covered that only her eyes were visible, and she hoped they reflected none of the apprehension she was feeling.

  Emerada de la Rosa knew that she was treading on dangerous ground, and every instinct she had cried out for her to turn around and ride away.

  But she had made up her mind; there was no turning back now.

  She squinted her eyes to see through the thick fog that shrouded the land like a spider web. The air was so thick and humid that it was difficult for her to take a deep breath.

  She slowed her horse to ford a narrow stream, then rode up the banks to top a small hill. The thick grass muted the sound of her horses hooves, but the jingle of the bridle interrupted the silence as she guided her mount down the hill to the bivouac camp that lay almost hidden by scrub bushes and dense tree growth.

  Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a guard stepped in front of her, his rifle pointed at her heart. "Identify yourself," he demanded.

  She raised her chin defiandy and matched the young sentry stare for stare. "My name is not important," she said with a slight Spanish accent. "It is enough for you to know that Sam Houston is expecting me. Take me to him at once."

  Although her voice was soft, the words were a command.

  The guard nodded and lowered his gun. "Be you the San Antonio Rose?"

  "Si" she said, "I am."

  "I was told to expect you. Follow me." He led her to a log cabin that was set apart from a row of tents. The guard paused, rapped on the door, then pushed it open, calling to someone inside.

  "She's here, General."

  Emerada dismounted and briskly stepped inside the cabin. The guard closed the door behind her.

  She inspected the man that the Indians called Co-lon-neh, a name he'd been given by his adopted father, a chief of the Western Cherokees. Most people, his friends and enemies alike, used the English translation, which meant "the Raven." The legendary tales of the man's exploits were no less amazing than Houston himself. He was an imposing figure, casting a long shadow at six-foot-four. His eyes were soft blue and his expression was meant to put her at ease. But she wondered what turmoil went on behind those disarming eyes.

  "You are taller than I thought, Senor Houston," Emerada said, lowering the shawl that had hidden her face from him.

  He noted that her gaze swept over him without the apprehension that most people experienced on meeting him for the first time. He had always appreciated a beautiful woman, and she certainly was a beauty, with her ebony hair and dark brown eyes fringed by long lashes. She came only to his shoulder, and he guessed that because she was a dancer she would have a trim body beneath the layers of clothing she wore.

  He was suspicious of this young Mexican woman who had sent a message that she wanted to meet with him on a matter of importance, but he hid his distrust behind a finely honed diplomatic manner.

  "The San Antonio Rose. I must say that I was intrigued when I received your letter. You im plied that you had something to discuss that would be beneficial to us both."

  "N, I do. I hope you will think so, too."

  His fierce gaze fastened on her face. "What can the San Antonio Rose
have to say to me? Surely you have enough admirers that you don't need to add the heart of an old warhorse like myself?"

  Trying to keep her anger under control, Emerada glanced around the cabin to make certain that they were alone. The door leading to what must be his bedroom was closed, so she lowered her voice. If someone was in that other room, she didn't want to be overheard.

  When Houston indicated that she should be seated, she dropped down on a wooden stool and fixed him with a disapproving glower. "I did not come all this way to pry compliments from you, senor."

  His face was expressionless as he asked, "Why did you come?"

  "Your feeble army faces dangers that you do not yet comprehend. You need all the help you can get if you are to defeat Santa Anna. He not only outnumbers you, but his men are seasoned and well trained-yours are not."

  Houston drew in a less than tolerant breath. "Why should the San Antonio Rose wish to help me?"

  "My reasons for helping you shall remain my own... for now."

  "I know nothing about your personal life, and, on making inquiries, I found no one else seems to know much about you either. Should I trust my life, and those of my men, to a woman with no known identity?"

  "I am here to offer my assistance to your cause, but that does not mean I am willing to share my life story with you. Just because you do not know my true identity does not make me less able to help you."

  "Tell me then why I should trust you."

  She matched his intense stare. "Is it your wish that you and I should bicker like two old women in the marketplace?"

  After a long moment of silent confrontation, the stark planes of Houston's face eased into a grin. "I will listen to what you have to say and then judge whether or not you can help me."

  "If you want to know about Santa Anna's movements, you will need to rely on someone who can get in and out of his camp without suspicion-is that not right?"

  Houston's voice had an edge to it when he asked, "And that would be you?"

  She nodded. "I put myself at great risk to come here today. What would I have to gain by misleading you?"

  "What would you gain by betraying Santa Anna? He is your president, is he not?" Houston asked. "Why should I believe that you're willing to champion my cause?"

  "Let it be clear from the beginning that I feel nothing for your cause, Senor Houston," Emerada said heatedly. "As I told you, my reasons for helping you will remain my own."

  Sam Houston walked the length of the cabin and back, stopping before her. He saw many conflicting emotions reflected in the fiery depths of her eyes: pain, disillusionment, obstinance, and pride. In some ways she reminded him of his wife, who was a revered Cherokee princess.

  "If it's money you want, senorita, I can assure you that our treasury is all but depleted," Houston said guardedly, his eyes probing deeper into hers with the intent to intimidate her, to discover her flaws.

  She merely returned his probing glance with one of unrelenting pride. "To suggest that I would do this for money is an affront to me, senor. I did not come here to be insulted, and I do not want your money!"

  His hand went to his chin and he rubbed it over a day's growth of beard thoughtfully. Despite her profession, she was obviously highborn. She spoke English well, but with a slight Spanish accent that puzzled him, because some of her words were tinged with a French pronunciation. She bore herself in a haughty manner, and he deduced that she was one hell of a woman. He could also tell that she was accustomed to getting her own way.

  What did she really want from him? he wondered. "Suppose I decide to believe you. What can one woman do to help our cause?"

  "You know I am a dancer?"

  He nodded. "Your fame has preceded you, but we do not need dancers in my army."

  Emerada proudly tossed her head and glared at him before continuing. "Sometimes a woman can be a far more effective weapon than a gun."

  Houston realized that he had allowed her beauty to disarm him, and that gave him even more reason to mistrust her. He was locking horns with a woman of superior intelligence, and he had to be wary. "Why is that, senorita?"

  "I do not know why they do it, but men always seem to tell me their deepest secrets-you Americans, as well as my people. For instance, I know that your ragtag army numbers in the hundreds, rather than the thousands. I know that it is comprised totally of volunteers, who could desert you in battle if they so choose, and they probably will. I also know that you need a miracle to keep Santa Anna away until you can muster a larger force to stand against him."

  Houston's mouth twisted cynically. "Hell, senorita, everyone knows that. Are you asking me to believe that you can perform a miracle that will keep Santa Anna away until I can meet him as an equal?"

  "No. I am not a miracle worker. It will take more than a woman to keep the dictator from running up your tail, Senor Houston, but I can give you information."

  His glance traced the delicate lines of her face, and he was tantalized by her beauty. "The question that comes to mind is, if you help me, what will you want in return?"

  She lowered her eyes and her chin quivered with raw emotion. "I will tell you what I want when the time is right. For now, I ask only that whatever passes between us be kept secret. I must have your word that no one, and I do mean no one, will learn about our arrangement-that is, should we come to an understanding today."

  Houston was silent for a moment while he studied the tip of his boot. When he looked back at her, he smiled. "Very well. I accept your terms. At least for the time being."

  "And no one will know of our arrangement," she pressed.

  "No one." He could see the relief in her eyes. "But I am still not sure that I trust you."

  She shrugged. "You are not called the Raven without reason. I would have no respect for you as a leader of men if you blindly put your trust in a scheme such as I have just offered you. However, I believe that as time passes you will come to appreciate that I can be of value to you."

  "And how do you know that you can trust me?" he asked as his mouth slid into a grin.

  "We will just have to trust each other. I will start now by telling you that Santa Anna intends to cross the Rio Grande with a large army very soon."

  "I already know this."

  "Si, but you don't know where he will cross, or where he will amass his troops. I can learn this for you."

  There were several maps spread on the rough wooden table, and she moved to stand over them. After a moment of reflection, she pointed to a spot. "Here is where I expect him to cross, and I intend to be there to meet him."

  Houston glanced down at the map. "If you can do this, you would indeed be helpful to me."

  "There is more," Emerada said, searching the map and pointing to Nacogdoches. "There is a Cherokee tribe near here."

  "Yes. I know Chief Bowles very well. You are indeed well informed."

  "If you have any influence with the Cherokee, it would be wise for you to seek them out. I have it on good authority that Santa Anna has sent someone with orders to persuade the Cherokee to attack your troops. Ignore this warning, Senor Houston, and you shall have a war on two fronts."

  He nodded, his gaze focused on the map. "If what you say is true, and I am beginning to believe it is, you have already been a help to me."

  Emerada wrapped her shawl about her head. "I must leave now. You will hear from me only if I have something important to report. You shall know if the message is from me if it bears my seal, a single yellow rose."

  She extended her gloved hand to him, and Houston raised it to his lips. "Until next time, senorita."

  Without ceremony, she swept out of the cabin, leaving a puzzled Sam Houston to ponder her words.

  Emerada descended the steps and stood for a moment, noticing that a brilliant sun had burned the fog away, leaving the sky bright and clear. Her attention was drawn to several riders entering the camp, and she tossed the scarf about her lower face so she wouldn't be recognized. She had almost reached her horse when a
sudden gust of wind ripped the shawl from her head and sent it flying.

  A man had just come out of the tent that adjoined Houston's cabin, and with a quick move he caught the shawl and walked slowly toward her. He wore a gray uniform, and the grayfrocked coat had red piping down the front and around the collar. His black boots were thighhigh and his black slouch hat was turned up at a rakish angle and fastened with a red cockade. The man's piercing eyes were the bluest that Emerada had ever seen, and they seemed to cut right through her as if probing her deepest secrets.

  His lip curled in distaste, and there was an edge to his voice as he held the shawl out to her. "Have you lost your way, senorita? The enlisted men are bivouacked by the river."

  The man's insult stung Emerada deeply, and her anger rose like molten lava. "Your men are safe from me, Colonel Ian McCain. As are you. I would prefer the lowest dregs of your army over you."

  "So you know who I am. I am flattered," he said in a tone that implied just the opposite.

  Emerada allowed her gaze to slide over the colonel. Although she'd never met him, he fit the description that others had given her. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and broad shoulders. He was undeniably handsome, and he was reputed to be favored by the ladies, but he was too arrogant for her liking. She slid her shawl into place and bestowed her haughtiest glare on him.

  "Do not be flattered. I have heard nothing good of you, Colonel Ian McCain. The best that has been said of you is that you are sometimes referred to as the Raven's Claw."

  And with that she turned away.

  In her haste to depart, she tripped on a protruding root and, to her horror, went flying forward. To her further dismay, Ian McCain grabbed her in his arms. For a moment-or was it an eternity?-she stared into fathomless blue eyes that seemed to catch the glow of the sunlight in their depths. The touch of his hand on her arm was electrifying. Emerada felt in that moment that her fate had somehow been linked to this man. But that was foolish. He had insulted her, and she didn't even like him.