San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  When he entered the cabin, Houston looked up from his paperwork with a grim expression. "What's kept you?"

  "I was Santa Anna's prisoner. I had to fight the rain and mud, and this morning I had a skirmish with three enemy soldiers."

  "Hell, boy, is that all?" Houston chuckled. "I already heard about your capture. I thought you were too smart to get yourself caught, but I knew you'd escape somehow."

  "I'm not feeling too good about getting myself captured." He lowered his gaze and stared at his muddy boots. "I let you down in San Antonio. I should have been with Travis, Bowie, and the others."

  "I'm glad you weren't, because you'd be dead now. How do you think I'd explain that to your ma?"

  "There is no excusing what I did."

  Houston shook his head in annoyance. "You're the best man I've got, and I'll stack you up against any of Santa Anna's men-any day, anytime. But don't come whining to me about failing. This war isn't over yet, and I need you."

  Ian knew he should feel relieved by the general's confidence in him, but he felt worse. "I'm ashamed that I didn't get the men out of the Alamo, sir. You have reason to court-martial-"

  Houston interrupted him. "I'm not going to let you off that easily. No one could feel sorrier than I do about the brave men who died at that mission. But we don't have time to lament. Santa Anna is regrouping and ready to take us on. We've got ourselves an all-out war, and we still don't have an army." Houston glanced back at his paper. "If I could only be sure of Santa Anna's movements."

  "Do you want me to find out, sir?"

  "No, I don't. From now on I want you at my right hand. Even though we're undermanned and untrained, those men out there have got the taste of freedom in their gullets, and that's the best reason I know to get a man to fight." Houston rolled up the parchment and shoved it in a leather satchel. "By the way, what do you think about our independence and our new president?"

  Ian wearily ran his hand through his hair. "I'm reserving judgment until I find out if we can keep the new country and the new president," he answered impassively.

  "Tell me, what did you find out about the woman, Ian?"

  "I discovered that Emerada de la Rosa is her real name." He drew in a deep breath that expanded his chest. "She claims she's willing to die to bring Santa Anna to his knees. She's braver than most men I know, and she'll probably get herself killed."

  "I see she got under your skin."

  "You can't imagine."

  Houston scratched his chin. "I had a feeling she might be genuine. She can still be of help to us if she keeps us informed of Santa Anna's movements. Is that her intention?"

  "I believe so, sir." Ian walked toward the door. "I need to wash the dust off."

  "Catch yourself some sleep. Looks like you haven't seen a bed in days."

  Ian walked through the camp, where husbands, fathers, and old men were being trained in the finer points of war. Most of them couldn't even march in step. One man looked to be in his eighties and shouldered a battered old flintlock musket. Ian had seen Santa Anna's power up close, and he wondered how in the hell this slovenly force could hope to win against the well-trained, battle-hardened Mexican army.

  He found an empty cot in the officers' tent. Not even bothering to remove his mud-splattered clothing, he lay down and immediately fell asleep.

  His sleep was dreamless; even Emerada didn't visit him in the shadowy, peaceful world where-for a time-he found forgetfulness.

  A warm breeze swept the high-flying clouds across an azure sky as Emerada and Domingo reached the outskirts of San Antonio de Bexar. She had learned that Santa Anna still lingered there.

  Emerada had decided not to approach Santa Anna, but to allow him to find her.

  She felt sickened by the gruesome sight that greeted them as they entered the town, or what was left of it. She avoided looking at the ruins of the Alamo, where vivid memories of death still haunted her. She saw the remnants of houses that had been destroyed; those that were still standing had either been blown apart by cannons or had been burned. Where there had once been orchards and vegetable gardens, there were now toppled fences, trampled gardens, and uprooted trees.

  Emerada stared straight ahead, no longer able to look at the devastation all around her.

  "What kind of a world is it, Domingo, when the simple people are made to suffer the most?" She felt a sorrow so infinite, so deep, it tore at her heart. "Why must it be this way?"

  "Give the people time and they will rebuild," the big man assured her. "Life goes on-it always has; it always will."

  "This was once a lovely market town with vendors selling their wares. People laughed, and children played in the shadow of the mission."

  "It will be again."

  "I hope so. Oh, I do hope so!"

  Emerada had been asked by Juan Seguin's aide to dance at La Villita where most of the rundown huts had been burned by the Alamo defenders during the siege. She had readily agreed, wanting to help the people. All she could give them was the gift of her dance.

  Emerada had another reason for agreeing to dance. Santa Anna would surely hear about it and seek her out.

  She wondered if he'd be angry and shoot her on sight, or if she could make him believe that she'd been taken away against her will and had managed to escape. After all, as far as it went, it was the truth.

  A bright moon seemed to be suspended in the sky, and its light blended with the many lanterns that had been placed in a circle in the courtyard, where the San Antonio Rose was to dance.

  People pressed forward to get a glimpse of the legendary beauty. Children sat cross-legged upon the cobbles under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Soldiers, officers and enlisted men, stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a wide circle-many were battle-worn, some wounded, but still they came to witness the dance of the adored one.

  A guitar strummed and a trumpet blared, drawing everyone's attention to the circle of light where the dancer appeared. Emerada did not come among the poor people dressed in splendor, but barefoot, and wearing a plain black ruffled skirt and a white peasant blouse-and they loved her for it. Across her head, and covering the lower half of her face, she was swathed in a black silk shawl decorated with velvet roses and long silk fringe.

  She rose to the balls of her feet with the grace of a ballerina, then spun around with her arms weaving artfully upward. With a loud strum of the guitar, she allowed the shawl to fall away from her face, and the audience gasped at the sight of her beauty.

  With wild abandon, she waved the shawl about her, like the movements of a matador advancing into a bullring.

  The crowd followed her every move adoringly. Young girls imagined they could grow into a beauty like the San Antonio Rose, and every man wondered what it would feel like just to touch her soft skin, or have her look at him with those brilliant eyes.

  Her movements were pure, like poetry of the body, and many cried as they watched her. She was offering them a moment of forgetfulness in this time of war and death, a moment she shared with them alone.

  The moment Emerada had dreaded came halfway through her dance. Santa Anna's aidede-camp was shoving people aside and making a path for the president general.

  His hands on his hips, Santa Anna showed his displeasure at Emerada's dance by his stiff stance.

  Emerada gathered her gown to her knees and moved toward Santa Anna, her eyes staring into his. She tossed her long hair and snapped her fingers.

  When she was almost even with Santa Anna, she saw movement beside him, and she looked into the wistful eyes of a small girl who could be no more than ten years old.

  Laughing, Emerada bent and draped the shawl across the child's shoulder and was rewarded by the girl throwing her arms around her neck and placing a kiss on her cheek.

  The crowd cheered and nodded their approval-all but one. Santa Anna stood ramrod straight, his arms now folded across his chest, his gaze hard and unyielding.

  Emerada knew she had to act fast. She sauntered up to him, her gaze unwav
ering, her smile seductive as she reached forward and withdrew his sword from its scabbard.

  Santa Anna did not blink.

  Emerada swashed the sword several times near his face, but Santa Anna still didn't blink. And when his aide stepped forward to protect him from what looked like an attack, the dictator waved him aside.

  The audience tingled with excitement when Emerada leaped with effortless grace and landed, slicing the sword artfully through the air.

  She put everything she had into the dance. In a fluid motion, she was airborne. Bringing in her training as a ballerina, she spun on the balls of her feet, then charged like a warrior.

  At last she stood in front of Santa Anna, extending his sword to him across her arm, and when he took it, she knelt before him and bowed her head. If he was going to take her life, let it be now.

  Santa Anna took her arm and pulled her to her feet, while the crowd remained silent. When the dictator finally smiled and cried out "Bravisima," the audience joined in a deafening chorus of approval.

  Emerada looked at him inquiringly, and he drew her into the circle of his arms and cried in a loud voice, "Let us celebrate, my people. The San Antonio Rose has returned to us."

  There was music and dancing in the streets as Santa Anna led Emerada away from the crowd. She had to steel herself to keep from drawing away from the touch of his hand. This man with personal magnetism and great power could draw other people to him, but not her. There had been a moment while she had been dancing with his sword that she'd been tempted to bury it in his black heart.

  Santa Anna's aides fell back a few paces as he approached his living quarters, and when he led Emerada inside, he closed the door, and they were alone for the first time since her return.

  She tried not to show her fear, but he must have sensed it, because he seated her on a folding chair with a cushion of green velvet and smiled kindly. "I know what happened to you. Some of my men saw the Raven's Claw take you away by force. They tried to follow you, but lost your trail in the darkness." He touched her cheek. "Did that man hurt you?"

  She shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. She knew Santa Anna, and she knew that he was testing her in some way. "I must be honest with you. I cut his ropes and set him free. Our soldiers were killing every American they could find. I did not think you wanted that man to die. Nor did I expect him to take me as his prisoner."

  Santa Anna's eyes closed, and when he opened them, she could see relief in the dark depths. "We saw that Ian McCains ropes had been cut, and I suspected that you had freed him. If you had not told me the truth, it would have gone hard with you tonight. As much as I admire you, I would not hesitate to condemn a traitor to death-not even you."

  She almost shouted that she knew how ruthless he could be, but she averted her glance. "If I had betrayed you, would I have returned?"

  He went down on his knees before her and raised her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. "He did not hurt you, did he?"

  "No. He did not harm me."

  "I do not like to think about what could have happened to you while you were in that man's hands. How did you escape?"

  "I waited until he was asleep and slipped away. I do not think he was happy when he awoke and found me gone."

  "What man would want to lose you?"

  "He did not want me for himself. He wets taking me to General Houston. I do not know wy.

  "I believe it is as you first suspected-to humiliate me."

  He sat across from her and watched her closely, and from the gleam in his eyes, she knew he was still not through testing her.

  "When you escaped from Ian McCain, did you come straight here?"

  "No, I did not. I knew my maid, Josifina, would be worried about me. So I rode to Presidio del Rio Grande to comfort her."

  "Why did you not bring your maid here with you, if she was so worried about you?"

  He watched her with the expression of a marauding hawk, and Emerada knew that he was waiting for her to make a mistake. She suspected he already knew about her movements in Presidio del Rio Grande.

  A sudden rush of tears took her by surprise and startled Santa Anna.

  "I was too late. I am always too late to help those I love. Josifina was dead when I reached Presidio del Rio Grande."

  Santa Anna was beside her, tucking her into his arms to console her. "I am so sorry. I knew about this, of course, but I did not know that she meant so much to you. After all, she was only a servant."

  Emerada ground her teeth at his graceless attempt to soothe her, and she wanted to fling his arms away from her. Instead she bit her lip and laid her head against his shoulder, while his stiff epaulets cut into her cheek.

  "Josifina was more than a servant."

  His hand moved up and down her arm as he pressed her closer. "I understand, beautiful one. But these are difficult times for everyone."

  She wanted to cry out in protest when she felt his hot lips on her neck, but she suffered in silence. He mistook the shudder that racked her body for one of ecstasy, not knowing that it was from revulsion.

  "I will take care of you, Emerada. After tonight, you will dance only for me. I was jealous of all the eyes that watched you tonight. I was even jealous of the small girl who embraced you."

  Emerada wondered how she would ever be able to let him make love to her when the time came. She couldn't even endure his hands on her. She shoved him away and stood on shaky legs. "No, I cannot do this."

  He looked puzzled. Women seldom repelled his amorous advances. He imagined that Emerada was still grieving over the death of her maid.

  "There is no rush." He patted her hand. "There is always tomorrow."

  Suddenly there was the sound of heavy footsteps, and someone pounded on the door. "Senor Presidente! Our glorious men have killed the foreigners at Goliad. Fort Defiance is in our hands!"

  Santa Anna's eyes gleamed with pleasure, and he opened the door to a weary courier, who must have ridden hard to bring him the news.

  "Then my orders have been carried out," Santa Anna said with a satisfied nod of his head. "Bueno! Bueno! One by one, step by step, I will drive the Americans out of my country. Their blood will mix with the soil that they strive to steal from Mexico."

  Emerada paled. The death and destruction continued. For all she knew, Ian could be among the dead. Houston had sent him to the Alamo; he might very well have sent him to Goliad.

  She had to find out!

  The sun had just reached its zenith when Emerada halted her horse and turned to Domingo. "Houston is camped below. Ride back to Santa Anna as fast as you can, and do whatever you must to keep him from becoming suspicious. If he asks where I am, tell him you do not know. I will think up something convincing to tell him by the time I get back."

  "I do not like leaving you." He gazed down at the tents that dotted the grounds of the Groce plantation. "It is no longer safe for you to travel alone."

  She placed her gloved hand over his. "I must do this, Domingo. If I were a man, you would not question me for doing my duty."

  He nodded, turned his horse, and rode away.

  Emerada nudged her mount forward and rode in the direction of the plantation. When she saw two men near one of the tents, she wondered whether they would know if Ian was safe. Something like a physical pain stabbed at her heart. She had never intended to see Ian again, and now she was afraid he was dead.

  The soldiers knew Emerada on sight and waved her through. One of them, with strawcolored hair and long, lanky arms, respectfully removed his hat and pointed toward the house. "The general ain't here right now, but Colonel McCains over to the creek, ma'am."

  Her heart stopped, and she couldn't speak past the tightening in her throat. She swallowed twice and asked, "When do you expect General Houston to return?"

  The second man wiped the sweat from his face on his sleeve. "Can't rightly say. The general don't tell me his business, and I don't ask."

  With dread in her heart, Emerada followed the man's directions to
the creek, knowing she would have to face Ian after all. With Houston away, she'd have to tell someone her news, and Ian was the only one who knew about her arrangement with Houston.

  When Emerada reached the creek, she saw Ian talking to several other men. He was so engrossed in their conversation that he didn't even know she was there. She dismounted and looped the reins over the narrow branch of a wild pecan tree. She waited for him to acknowledge her, wishing she could mount her horse and ride away.

  She hadn't expected it to be so painful to see him again.

  It was a hot day, and a dry wind stirred through Ian's dark hair-she knew the feel of his hair, since she'd run her fingers through it when he'd held her in his arms. Ian's voice was suddenly raised in anger, and she remembered how softly he had spoken to her the night they had made love.

  Her gaze moved over him lovingly. He wore his uniform trousers, but his jacket was tossed aside, and his white shirt was open at the neck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. One muscled leg was propped on a fallen log, and her gaze went to the hand that rested on his knee. She was overwhelmed with weakness as she remembered those hands touching her. She could almost feel them on her now.

  Dear God, she thought in a panic, her heart thundering inside her. Don't let me feel, don't let me remember how it was between us, not now!

  Anger laced Ian's words as he spoke to the men. "I'm only going to say this once, so listen well. If you don't like the way General Houston commands this army, then get on your horse and leave now! I'd rather have one reliable man at my side than twelve malcontents."

  "Now, Ian, we aren't complaining, we just don't understand why the general's giving the appearance of running from Santa Anna. We want to fight that son of a-"

  The man broke off and stared at Emerada. He then hurriedly whispered to Ian. Coldly, Ian looked over his shoulder at her.

  Emerada could feel the chill of Ian's stare, but she forced herself to walk toward him.

  "We'll take this up later," Ian told the men, and dismissed them with a nod.

  When the men passed by Emerada, they smiled and tipped their hats. She waited for them to be out of earshot before she turned her attention to Ian. She had to face him now, before she lost her nerve. "I hoped to speak to General Houston, but I was told he is away."