San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  He'd overheard two soldiers talking, and they knew that Travis and Bowie were holed up in the Spanish mission. They had called the mission the Alamo. Dammit, how many men did Travis have, a hundred, two hundred, or less maybe?

  "Damn," he swore aloud. They would all be slaughtered.

  Later in the morning, the ropes were removed from Ian's legs, and he was tossed in a cart and tied to the rails. As the cart bumped along, his anger grew. What would Houston think of him if he could see him now?

  A cloud of dust made him cough, and he glanced up to see Santa Anna riding by, surrounded by his usual entourage. A few moments later, Emerada rode by, and he couldn't resist the urge to call out to her.

  "How's the dancer?"

  Emerada slowed her mount to keep pace with the cart. She saw that Ian's lip was cut, and there was dried blood on his face. Her heart wrenched to see that he'd been treated so cruelly, but at least he was still alive.

  She knew he would not welcome her pity, so she hid it from him. "The dancer is fine, senor. I wonder if you know how fortunate you are? No American during this war has stood eye-toeye with Santa Anna and lived to tell about it. If I were you, I would be counting my blessings."

  "Oh, I do, dancer-I do! I go down on my knees and bless the fate that placed me in Santa Anna's hands. That fate being you, of course."

  "We see it differently. It seems to me that it was you who came to my tent, threatened me, and tried to take me away by force."

  "Perhaps I just wanted to have you to myself."

  "I have always observed that a person cannot be too bad off if he keeps his sense of humoryou seem to have kept yours. I hope you still have it after today. You will be going to San Antonio de Bexar. Did you know that?"

  "I heard talk." Sarcasm laced his voice. "What surprises me is that you are going along to war. Will you dance on the battlefield?"

  "I have other talents besides dancing. Who knows, I may take up a rifle and join the battle."

  "Well, little dancer, congratulations-it seems that Santa Anna can't do without you."

  She stared straight ahead. "So it would seem." She turned to him and asked, "Are you thirsty-have they fed you?"

  He looked deeply into her eyes and saw compassion reflected there. It only fueled his anger. "Oh, yes, Emerada. I dine on fine linen, have tea at three and sup fashionably late."

  She nudged her horse in the flanks and joined Domingo. "That man is insufferable! I am glad he can no longer spy on me. After all, he was trying to kidnap me."

  "Si," Domingo replied. "And if you had not revealed his identity, he would now be dead. But he will never believe that."

  "I do not care what he thinks-why should I?"

  But she knew in her heart that she did care. She cared very much.

  Emerada was surprised to find the streets of San Antonio deserted. The shutters on the shops and houses were closed, and there was no sign of life. This was the town where she had gone to market with her family as a child. She had once known most of the people who lived there. Where were they now?

  Her mare shied and reared, spooked by the thundering sound of cannon fire. She finally managed to bring the animal under control, and glanced about in astonishment. The Alamo, the little mission where she had often gone with her mother to take delicacies to the monks, was under siege!

  Had the whole world gone mad?

  She heard bullets whizzing past, and a cavalry officer riding three horses ahead of her fell from his horse with a bullet wound to the head. She leaped from her horse and raced toward him. Domingo pulled her back before she reached the man.

  "There is nothing you can do for him. He is dead."

  This was Emerada's first bitter experience of war, and she knew in her heart that it was going to get much worse before it ended.

  Later that night she dined with Santa Anna, which had become a nightly habit. This was her only way to learn about his plans, other than letting him make love to her. So far she had managed to escape his advances and still keep him interested in her. She was aware that when she left him, he'd have other women brought to him. Sometimes Emerada would see a woman leaving his tent in the early morning hours. Some of them were mere girls, and this only made her despise the dictator even more.

  She glanced up and found Santa Anna watching her. "Antonio, you have enough food here to feed twenty soldiers."

  "A man such as myself must keep fit. If I fall ill, who will lead my troops?"

  "It seems to me, although I am but a woman and know little of such things, that it is not wise to have your foot soldiers storm the walls of the Alamo. You have already lost so many that way."

  Santa Anna speared a chicken leg and held it out for her inspection. "You see this-those soldiers mean no more to me than this piece of chicken." He dropped the meat back on his plate and patted her hand. "You are right, my dear, you know little of such matters."

  She had the strong urge to leap across the table and carve his heart out. Instead she forced a smile to her lips. "I know that your men are not as important as you, Antonio. No one is."

  His dark gaze settled on her. "You are becoming important to me, Emerada. When will you let me make love to you?" His voice was caressing. "I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman. Surrender to me and I will never look at another woman."

  She placed her napkin on the table and stood. "We will both know when the time is right." She moved quickly to the door. She had to get away from him, to breathe fresh air, to master her temper before she did something she'd regret. Now was not the time to kill the heartless dictator.

  But the time was not so far away.

  Emerada paced her tent, clamping her hands over her ears to shut out the continuous sound of cannon fire. She could understand why Santa Anna had taken up residence in the town-to escape the noise, and probably he was afraid his tent would be targeted by the Alamo defenders-poor brave fools. She had declined his offer to join him there, preferring to keep her distance from him for now.

  Even behind the lines as she was, the ground shook and trembled every time a cannon was fibred, and there seemed to be a continuous barrage. She tried not to think about the horrible carnage, the lives that were being lost on both sides.

  After two days of listening to the sounds of men dying, Emerada had to do something to help. With trepidation, she made her way to the medical tent, although Domingo tried to dissuade her. There were men dying who needed help. She had lived a sheltered life until now, and she hoped she wouldn't faint at the sight of blood.

  Emerada was surprised to find that two of the doctors were Americans. They were working diligently on the wounded, although she learned that they had been captured after a battle and forced into service by Santa Anna.

  Silently she followed the doctors' orders, trying not to be sick at the sight of gaping wounds and so much blood. She held the hands of dying men, wrote letters to their loved ones, and held operating instruments and bandages for the doctors. Hours passed, she didn't know how many, before she finally rolled down her sleeves and left the tent of death.

  Emerada was surprised to find that it was almost sundown. She breathed deeply, needing fresh air, but all she could smell was sulfur and gunpowder. She wanted to get on her horse and ride away, never looking back, but she couldn't. Nothing, not even the sight of war, the wounded and dying, could deter her from her plan.

  "Hello, dancer," Ian called out as Emerada passed by. "Turned any more prisoners over to your lover today?"

  Ian was tied to a live oak tree, and she considered passing him by because she was just too weary to trade insults with him. Anyway, he had a right to think Santa Anna was her lover-everyone thought they were, and they probably would be eventually. She lifted a wooden water bucket and offered him a dipperful of water.

  Ian looked as if he might refuse, but he reconsidered. He drank thirstily and nodded his thanks. "You would have done better to let your lover kill me."

  "He would have if I hadn't intervened. I've h
ad to save your life twice now. Who looks after you when I am not around?"

  Suddenly a bugler played the haunting melody of the deguello, and Ian and Emerada stared as a red flag was raised and fluttered in the breeze-the Mexican signal that promised no mercy to the Alamo defenders. They knew that every man within those walls would be put to the sword-the defenders must know it, too.

  "What you did to me was worse than any death you could imagine." Ian nodded toward the Alamo. "Men are dying in there, and I should be with them."

  She dropped the dipper back in the bucket and set it on the grass. "Why? So you could die with them?"

  "Yes, damn it! It's my duty." His eyes were misty, and she could see his agony. "I beg you, let me go so I can die with them."

  Pity rose up inside her, and she was touched so deeply by his torment that she considered honoring his request. But she could not bear to think of those beautiful blue eyes closed in death. "No, I will not do it. You are Santa Anna's prisoner."

  Ian shook his head as if to clear it and stared at the rising smoke around the Alamo. "Poor brave fools, they are all but dead now."

  "I know," she said sadly. "I wish I could do something, but no one can help them now. Not even Houston. If he were here, he would be slaughtered with them. And so would you if I released you."

  "Why should you care?" he asked coldly. "You have your silk tent and your president lover."

  Her dark eyes flamed with resentment. "You know nothing about me, Ian McCain. Apparently you have not yet learned that things are not always what they seem."

  Her statement jarred him. Houston had said the same words to him. Ian noticed for the first time how tired she looked; there were bloodstains on her gown, and even on her hands. He realized that she'd been helping out in the field hospital. No, he didn't know her.

  "Well," he said after a long silence, "perhaps Travis and Bowie can slow Santa Anna up a bit so Houston can pull his men together."

  She turned to look at the bastion where the Alamo defenders were positioned and watched as a column of brave Mexican infantrymen attempted to storm the walls against a shower of bullets and cannon fire.

  "It is a horrible thing to watch men die, Ian McCain. So many good men on both sides will lose their lives, and for what?" She reached down, picked up a fistful of dirt, and allowed it to sift through her fingers. "For this?"

  Suddenly there was renewed urgency in Ian's voice. "Cut me loose! Let me die at the side of my fellow soldiers!"

  She turned to him, wanting so badly to touch his face, to bring him comfort. "I cannot do that, Ian. There is no reason for you to die uselessly."

  "If you have any human feelings left in you, help me escape," he implored. "I can't live with this horror! Nothing could be worse than watching men I know die and being helpless to do anything about it."

  "I cannot help you."

  His eyes bore into hers. "I didn't think you would, dancer. If our roles were reversed, I would show you no mercy either."

  "I know." She noticed that Ian had been positioned so he was forced to watch the destruction of the Alamo. "I will see that you are given food and water."

  "Do not trouble yourself. Do you think I could eat when men are dying?" His gaze went back to the Alamo, where a Mexican cannon had just blown away part of the outer wall. "Oh, God, this is my punishment," he said, lowering his head in shame. "This is what I deserve."

  "Why should God punish you?"

  He raised his head. His eyes were mesmerizing as he stared into hers.

  "I deserve to be court-martialed for betraying my command." He slumped against the ropes. "I thought only of you when I should have been behind those walls, with Travis and Bowie," he whispered.

  She reached out to him, feeling his pain in her very soul. But her hand dropped to her side. She didn't fully understand his words. He was a tormented man, and she could not help him. "Events happen for a reason, Ian. Even the outcome of war is in God's hands. It was not meant that you should die in that place."

  "You don't understand. No woman could."/

  "I understand better than you think I do, Ian McCain." She felt the ground tremble when a twenty-pounder raked the walls of the Alamo. "You do not have to be a man to know about duty and honor."

  Ian watched her walk away, and he swore under his breath. She was in his blood, behind his every action. He'd tried to convince himself that what he'd done the night he had entered her tent had been for duty's sake, but he knew better.

  She was with him night and day. When he was asleep, she dominated his dreams, and when he was awake, his thoughts were all too often of her.

  He watched as Mexican soldiers made another charge at the Alamo. How long could it be before they breached those walls and killed every man inside?

  It was long after sundown when the continuous shelling that had lasted for twelve days suddenly ceased. Ian had been moved to a tent at the back of the Mexican lines, and he could no longer see what was happening. The silence was deafening, and he wondered if the Alamo had fallen.

  If only someone would tell him what was happening. Emerada had not come near him since the day he had pleaded with her to free him. Now he wished she would come so he could learn the fate of the men at the Alamo.

  He pulled and yanked on his ropes, but they would not budge. Sometime around midnight he fell into a troubled sleep.

  Ian was jarred awake and wondered what had awakened him. It was still dark, but he knew it wouldn't be long until sunrise. He heard smallarms fire, but no heavy cannon. The Mexican forces must be storming the walls of the Alamo in an attempt to surprise the defenders. He sat there in the dark, feeling helpless, knowing in his heart that this was the final assault.

  He now heard the rumble of a distant cannon and realized that the defenders were fighting back. It was hell, sitting there helpless while his compatriots died. It was certain that they had put up a valiant fight. They had held off superior Mexican forces for thirteen days.

  After several hours the shooting stopped, and all he could hear were excited voices.

  "Oh, God," he prayed, feeling shame to the very depths of his soul. "Why couldn't I die with them?"

  Later in the day Ian smelled a sickening stench and he knew that it was all over, and the bodies of the valiant defenders of the Alamo were being burned. He thought of Travis and Bowie, Jim Bonham, Isaac Baker, and so many others that he hadn't even known. He'd heard rumors that David Crockett, from Tennessee, had been among the defenders. If that was so, then he would be dead, too.

  How long he sat there, brooding, he didn't know. But suddenly the tent flap was pushed aside and Emerada appeared.

  "Shh," she cautioned as she removed a knife from her belt and cut through his ropes. "I have brought you a horse packed with supplies. You must leave at once. The Alamo has fallen. All are dead!"

  The ropes dropped away and Ian rubbed his wrists to restore circulation. "Why are you freeing me now when it no longer matters? Why not before, when my death would mean something? I can no longer help the men at the Alamo." His throat closed, and he had to swallow several times before he could speak again. "Go away!"

  "You do not have time to question me or refuse my offer. If you remain here, you will be killed. Some of the soldiers are beyond the control of their officers because they have lost brothers, uncles, fathers to the rebels. They are killing every American they find." She shuddered. "Go now, while you can."

  "What will your lover think when he finds out you have released me?"

  "That is not your worry. Your best chance is to skirt the town and ride north. It will soon be sundown, and then perhaps you can lose yourself in the hills."

  He grabbed her arm and twisted the knife out of her hand. "We, you and I, will ride north and hide in the hills." He placed the knife at her throat. "You are coming with me."

  "This is not necessary, Ian." There was urgency in her voice. "You don't understand-I must remain here!"

  His arm tightened around her and he pulled her t
oward the opening, the knife still at her throat. "Don't call out," he warned.

  Ian carefully looked left and right. No one was about, so he forced Emerada toward the horse and lifted her into the saddle. Sliding the knife in his belt, he mounted behind her and urged the horse into a gallop.

  Emerada had chosen the animal well. The gelding carried the two of them with ease. His strides were long, and soon they left the encampment behind. Ian stopped when he got to the top of a hill and looked down at the devastating sight.

  Sad and angry, he saw the crumbled walls, with fire licking at what was left of the Alamo. Where only hours ago men had fought as enemies, they were now united in death.

  Emerada shifted her position so she could see Ian's face. "This is a sad day for both sides. It is my belief that this battle will be remembered by brave men everywhere. There were honorable acts, deeds of valor and heroism on both sides."

  "When it is all said, they are just dead men." Ian paused as if he could not go on. Finally he said, "I should have been among their number."

  "It was not meant for you to die, or you would be dead."

  "You took that choice out of my hands. I'll never forgive you for that."

  She turned her head forward and felt the sting of tears. "I would rather have you hate me than see you dead."

  He stiffened. "Why?"

  "I do not know. It just seems that our lives have become intertwined. I did not want it to be so, but it happened."

  Ian had a sudden, horrible thought. "Tell me quickly, what happened to the women and children who were in the Alamo?"

  "Most of them left days ago. There was one American woman and her daughter who remained with her husband. I am sorry, but I do not know her name. Santa Anna spared them and provided an escort to see them to safety."

  "And I suppose, in your eyes, that makes him a compassionate man."

  "I will not discuss Santa Anna with you."

  He jerked on the reins and turned the horse northward, away from the burning funeral pyre, away from death and destruction.

  Emerada could feel the tension in Ian. She leaned back against him, and felt his unsteady intake of breath. He was grieving for his fallen friends, and she was grieving for the dead on both sides of the war.