Ian steadied her, his arms circling her shoulders. He smiled rakishly. "So, you would throw yourself in my arms. Now, I am flattered."
She shoved against him, glaring at his audacity. "Your misplaced humor is exceeded only by your arrogance, senor." She stepped quickly away from him and wrapped her shawl about herself once more. "Good day, Colonel McCain."
Ian McCain had artfully been put in his place. In amazement, he watched the woman mount her horse, and he continued to watch until she disappeared behind a hill.
Puzzled, he turned toward Sam Houston's headquarters. He was certain that the woman had come from the general's cabin, and he wondered who she could be. He shrugged. It was none of his concern if Houston took his diversion where he found it. But the commander was sometimes too trusting when it came to women, and there were enemies and spies everywhere-even female ones.
Ian found Houston with his head bent over his map.
"Ali, Ian, I'm glad you're here. I want you to do something for me."
"Yes, sir."
"Did you see the woman who just left?"
"I certainly did, sir. Who is she?"
"She claims to be the San Antonio Rose. I want to know if she is indeed the dancer. Find out everything you can about her and report back to me as soon as possible."
Ian nodded. "As you wish, sir."
"No other comment, Ian? Aren't you curious? She's about the prettiest little gal I've ever laid eyes on."
"If there's anything you want me to know, you'll tell me, sir. I assume she didn't come here to dance for you."
"As much as I would have liked to see her dance, no. I can't tell you anything more than I have at the moment, because I have given my word. Dress yourself so you'll blend in with the Mexicans." Houston looked worried. "You'll find her in Presidio del Rio Grande, Mexico. I don't have to tell you what can happen if the wrong people find out who you are. You speak Spanish like a native, and you are the best man I have for sneaking in and out of enemy camps. It's those damned blue eyes of yours that worry me-they'll stand out among the Mexicans."
Ian grinned. "I'll do my best not to get caught, sir."
Houston suddenly looked like a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "This mission must be kept in the strictest confidence. It's imperative that I know who she is. Since you have a way with the ladies..." He shrugged. "Well, you'll know what to do."
Ian shook his head. "I don't think this one likes me very well. I'm afraid I insulted her a moment ago when I mistook her for a camp follower."
"Put that aside for the moment. We're soon going to have one hell of a war to fight, and there are immense hurdles to cross."
When Ian would have replied, Houston held his hand up to silence him. "I know what you're thinking. What kind of a war is this when I'm forced to send my best officer to spy on a dancing girl?"
Ian smiled slightly. "It had crossed my mind, sir".
Houston nodded. "Before you find the woman, I have another mission for you. This one won't be as pleasant. Find Chief Bowles, and speak to him for me. He knows you by reputation and because I have spoken of you to him." He bent over the map again and pinpointed an area with his finger. "Just ride south and follow the Angelina River. You'll know the village when you come to it."
"Isn't Bowles the chief of the Cherokee?"
"Yes. Are you afraid?"
"I'd be lying if I said no, sir."
Houston laughed. "What's the matterafraid they'll spoil your pretty face and the women won't think so well of you?"
"I think I'm more afraid of the San Antonio Rose than I am of your Indians, sir. She was fearsome to tangle with."
"Amen to that. And pretty, too." Then Houston became serious. "Speak to the chief with my voice; remind him that we are brothers." A grin swept over his face. "With any luck you'll get to him before one of his braves kills you."
"You are a comfort, sir."
"If you fail, Ian, we're likely to be attacked from the front by Santa Anna, and from the rear by the Cherokee." Houston opened a trunk and removed a saber with an ivory and silver handle. "Give Chief Bowles this gift from me."
Ian saluted, turned on his heel, and left abruptly. The Indians were not what occupied his thoughts as he mounted his horse and left the encampment. He was thinking about dark brown eyes in the face of a beautiful woman. He wondered what was so important about her that it would merit the general's marked attention. He knew it wasn't sexual, or Houston would have handled the matter himself.
The woman occupied Ian's thoughts long after he'd left the camp behind.
Ian McCain rode at an all-out gallop after he left Nacogdoches. He crossed a small stream that was so clear he could see catfish swimming in and out of the shadows and occasionally darting out of the water. When he rode up the embankment on the other side, he spotted a doe, two fawns, and a buck with a twelvepoint antler. When they saw Ian, they bounded into the thickets and disappeared.
Texas was a land of plenty and promise for those hardy enough to withstand the hardships that went along with that bounty. He'd found it exciting from the first day he arrived. If he could choose anywhere to live, it would be Texas. But the land was going to have to be won first, and therein lay the real problem: Santa Anna and his army stood between him and his dream.
By the next day, Ian had located his first Indian trail. It stretched through the pinewood like an unraveled thread and then disappeared among a thick growth of trees.
When he reached the woods it was hard going, and he often had to hack his way through. He also had to contend with pesky gnats and mosquitoes. Later he came upon a soggy bayou and carefully maneuvered his horse along a narrow strip of hard ground to keep from sinking into the mire.
It was late afternoon when Ian reached a clearing that brought him within sight of the Cherokee village. With his keen sense of observation, he became aware that there were several Cherokee braves following him. They stayed just far enough behind him to keep out of sight.
Wisely, he made no move for his gun and kept his hands in sight, resting them on his saddle horn. If he appeared threatening in any way, he knew he would never reach the village alive. He was certainly not going to do anything to provoke the Indians.
When he reached the river, three Indians suddenly rode up beside him, silently observing him, their stark expressions suspicious and dangerous.
One of them spoke to him in English.
"Why do you intrude on our land, whiteface? You are not welcome here."
Ian was surprised that the three Indians wore leather boots and clothing made of homespun cloth. He had expected them to be dressed in buckskin and wearing moccasins. Still keeping his hands in sight, he answered, "I was sent by the Raven to speak with Chief Bowles."
Invoking Houston's Indian name brought an instant change in the warriors' attitudes. One of them nodded, his dark eyes still distrustful. "Ride beside us. Do not reach for your weapon."
Ian nudged his mount forward, and the Indians closed in around him-one on either side, and the other behind. Silently they rode across the Angelina River and up the embankment on the other side.
When they entered the village, Ian had another shock. This tribe lived in log cabins rather than lodges or tepees. Smiling, healthylooking children ran along beside Ian, while the women stared at him with curiosity. Ian noticed that the furrowed land was tilled and ready for planting. This tribe was not nomadic if they planted gardens. In fact, they were not at all what he'd come to expect Indians to be like.
His Indian guides directed him to the center of the village, where a man with long red hair was hoeing his garden. Ian was taken by surprise-a white man living among the Cherokee?
The man leaned on his hoe while observing Ian with a blank look on his face. Finally he propped his hoe against the cabin and walked toward Ian.
The cold-eyed look he received from the redheaded man was enough to chill the blood of any man, and Ian felt a prickle of uneasiness. It was apparent that this wa
s no ordinary man, and there was something unnerving about him. In every way except his coloring, he resembled an Indian.
"Why do you come among us, American?" the redheaded man asked in surprisingly good English. "You were not invited into my village."
Ian's jaw tightened, as did his shoulder muscles, when he stared into a pair of the blackest eyes he'd ever seen. It was difficult to judge the mans age, although he did have some gray hair scattered among the red. He bore himself erectly and had an air of nobility about himand there was something very dangerous about him.
"Tell me, white man, why are you here?"
Ian shifted his weight uncomfortably, causing the saddle leather to creak beneath him. "I have come to speak to Chief Bowles on behalf of General Houston. Will you take me to him?"
The deep wrinkles about the mans mouth smoothed, and he smiled. "I am Chief Bowles. If you were sent by my brother, Co-lon-neh, then you are welcome. What is your name?"
Ian tried to hide his shock behind a stiff expression. Houston, with his sense of humor, probably thought it was a good joke to let him find out that the chief of the Cherokee was more white than Indian, at least in appearance.
Although the chief had relaxed his stance, Ian still had a prickly feeling along the base of his spine. "I am called Ian McCain."
After a scrutinizing stare, the chief nodded. "I have heard of you. You are the Raven's Claw. Come," he said in a commanding voice. "Walk with me to the hill, and I will hear what you have to say."
Chief Bowles turned to the warriors who had escorted Ian into the village and spoke rapidly to them in their own language.
Ian imagined the chief told his braves not to follow them, since they immediately stepped back a few paces. However, their dark eyes still studied him with distrust, and one of them kept his hand on the hilt of his knife.
Ian paused by his horse. "Before we walk to the hill, may I give you the gift that Co-lon-neh sent you?"
The old man's eyes brightened expectantly, like those of a child anticipating a treat. "It is always good to have something from a brother I hold in regard."
Ian reached across his saddle for the sword, grasping it by the handle and turning to hand it to Chief Bowles. This set in motion a fierce reaction from two of the warriors, who leaped protectively in front of the chief, their knives drawn and ready to strike. The chief spoke to them rapidly, and they grudgingly moved away.
Ian proffered the sword across his arm in military fashion to demonstrate that his intentions were not hostile.
The chief grinned as he examined it from hilt to point as they walked along. "I like this very well. You can tell Co-lon-neh that I will remember him when I touch this wonderful sword."
"I hope that sword offered to you in friendship today will never be used to draw the blood of Sam Houston or his army."
They had reached the foot of the hill, and the chief halted to look at Ian quizzically. "Why would this sword ever be used to spill my brother's blood?"
God, help me say this right, Ian prayed silently.
"Chief Bowles, it has reached our ears that men from the Mexican government have spoken to you about joining them in their fight against us. General Houston was much distressed by this rumor. It is a false rumor, isn't it?"
The Indian looked thoughtful. "There is truth here, but only a little." He slid the sword back into the fringed leather scabbard and gave his full attention to Ian. "I was approached, here in my village, by several men from Mexico. But I sent them away when I learned that they wanted me to fight against my blood brother." His voice took on a serious tone. "To the Cherokee, it matters little who claims Tejas. All we want is to keep this part that belongs to us. If you have come to ask me for help, I have not considered going to war at this time. So I give you the same answer I gave the Mexicans."
"That is not why I am here. The Raven has not authorized me to ask you to send your warriors into battle. His only request is that you do nothing to harm our fight for independence."
"Tell my brother that I will do nothing to hurt him or his worthy cause." Chief Bowles nodded. "If he fights the Mexican government, he must be on the side of right."
"Then I can tell General Houston that you will not raise this sword against him?"
"Have I not said so?"
"I know your word is good because the general has told me that you are a man of honor."
The chief sized up his young companion. "You are a brave man, Raven's Claw. You boldly ride into my village when my warriors could have slain you. I favor a brave man above all other kinds."
They stopped at the top of the hill, which gave a wide view of the river winding its way peacefully through the fertile land. A warm breeze played through the pine trees carrying with it an aromatic scent.
Ian dragged his gaze away from the landscape and turned his attention to the chief. "Yes, bravery is to be admired. But I must add yet another virtue to that-for what is bravery without honor?" Ian mused aloud. "The most evil of men can be brave, but if he is without honor, that makes him unworthy of himself and a danger to everyone else."
"Your words are spoken with wisdom, and I see the mark of greatness on your brow. It is good that you stand at Co-lon-neh 's side, for he has turbulent times ahead. He will need more like you with him when the war comes."
Ian nodded solemnly. "The Raven has loyal men who follow him, but they are not great in number."
The chief's gaze went out over the land, and he pointed his finger in every direction. "As far as you can see in any direction is our land, but there are those who would take it from us. We want to be brothers with all white men, but they will not have it so. Soon I fear we will have to fight to survive."
Ian could feel the old chief's pain, and he knew that what he had predicted would one day come to pass. "My people always seem to want what the Indian has. I hope that day never comes, but like you, I fear it will," he admitted with regret.
The tired old eyes moved across the land almost caressingly. "Once my people were all around me, as many as grains of sand on a seashore. With the passing of seasons, and the coming of the white man, my people are growing fewer in number. Soon we shall be no more."
"It is sad to think that, Chief Bowles. But I fear that your predictions are not without merit. I hope the time will never come when you and I will face each other in battle."
Chief Bowles looked at Ian with a trouble expression. "Had you said to me that the day cannot come when we would war with the white man, I would not have believed you. But you spoke the truth to me, and for this I will always remember you, Raven's Claw."
Ian nodded. "I must leave now. I hope we shall meet again in friendship, Chief Bowles."
"Let it be so," the old chief said. He watched the young American walk away, assessing his character as a man. Co-lon-neh's young soldier was a proud man with much honor. He hoped the young warrior would not fall in the inevitable battle. But Co-Ion-neh's forces were gravely outnumbered.
He feared Co-lon-neh and his claw would both perish beneath the Mexican sword.
Presidio del Rio Grande, Mexico February 12, 1836
The sound of hundreds of thundering hooves echoed through the small village, causing the people to look to the south in apprehension. Just four days before, an advance guard of Santa Anna's army had passed through the village, and people had been forced to dodge clamoring hooves to keep from being trampled beneath them.
Now more troops were passing through the village, and the inhabitants were beginning to wonder if it would ever end.
It was said that Santa Anna's mission was to put down the insurrection in Tejas-an insur rection that was spreading and gaining momentum because of a handful of malcontents who declared themselves free and independent of Mexican rule.
The long column of soldiers was an ominous sight, with their flags waving, pennants unfurled, and colorful banners snapping in the wind. The mounted cavalry wore dark blue tailcoats with metal buttons that shone in the sunlight-they appeared formidab
le, equipped with rifles, swords, and long lances.
It was easy to distinguish Generalisimo Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, El Presidente of all Mexico, from the others. He rode at the head of his troops, arrayed in ornamental battle gear. His chest was covered with medallions and ribbons, and on each shoulder, he wore gold loops and heavily fringed epaulets.
As the cavalry approached, villagers scattered through the dusty streets, hurrying to their homes, bolting their doors, then positioning themselves at windows to watch the glorious spectacle from a safe distance. When the first riders reached the center of town, they didn't slacken their pace. Fruit and vegetable stalls were overturned; chickens scattered, squawking, their feathers flying through the air. Following the cavalry, an endless stream of infantrymen, wearing dark blue coats trimmed in scarlet, marched past. They looked neither left nor right as they stepped in time.
The villagers were relieved when the calvary had finally passed through without stopping. Then to their amazement, they saw Santa Anna dismount before an inn and hand the reins of his horse to an aide-de-camp. With easy grace, he stepped into the small inn, followed by an entourage of five officers and three aides.
The fathers and husbands of the village hid their daughters and wives, admonishing them to stay out of sight, for it was known that El Presidente favored a well-turned ankle.
Was it possible that he, too, had come to their village to watch the San Antonio Rose dance?
Night shadows crept across the rooftops at Presidio del Rio Grande. The streets were crowded with a loud, enthusiastic group of men. A crush of humanity was pushing and shoving to find a place at Cantina El Paraiso. Many brawls broke out among the crowds because there wasn't enough room inside for everyone.
Many of the men had traveled for days just for the chance to see the beautiful San Antonio Rose dance. They hoped that when they returned to their own villages they would be able to brag to their amigos that they had actually seen the legendary beauty. Her fame had spread throughout Mexico, and it was said that the men who were fortunate enough to see her dance fell in love with her.
San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance) Page 2