Night Wind's Woman

by tiffy

  Orlena felt a twist of pain. Night Wind obviously favored Lipan society and despised the Spanish. By indirection, such contempt struck her and her baby as well. Wanting to hurt back, she said impulsively, ʺWhen I was but a girl of five years, long before my brother was born, Conal Quinn loved me, just for myself.ʺ

  His demeanor turned from arrogance to ice. ʺColorado Quinn never loved any but could give him return in gold or silver. Think you your motherʹs lands and wealth did not go to him by the generous hand of your king?ʺ

  That was an indisputable fact, but monstrously unfair and misleading to Orlenaʹs mind. ʺConal loved mehe loves me yet as much as Strong Bow loves his daughter!ʺ With tears shining in her eyes, she turned from him and walked away, her carriage stiffly erect and her step deliberate.

  He swore beneath his breath in Spanish. As if her white blood were not enough, Conal would ever be between them!

  Just then hoofbeats sounded from downstream in the sheltered valley where the band wintered. Night Wind saw Hoarse Bark, a sentry that day, swing down from his horse. Knowing his friend searched for him, he walked clear of the assembly and waved.

  ʺThis message came for you through the Opata who scout for the presidio in Santa Fe,ʺ the Mescalero said, handing a rolled oilskin container to Night Wind.

  ʺIt is from Quinn,ʺ Night Wind said flatly as his eyes saw the signature at the bottom.

  Hoarse Bark knew the message could be only ill news, but he was not prepared for the surge of fury that blackened Night Windʹs face as he crumpled the paper and ground it under his foot.

  ʺHe has Fray Bartolome! He is holding him in Santa Fe in exchange for Orlena. If I do not return her unharmed, he will kill a priest!ʺ

  ʺOne of the Blue Robes? Surely not even Colorado Quinn would do this insane thingthey are holy men among the Spanish, are they not?ʺ Hoarse Bark asked.

  ʺQuinn has no religion but his own,ʺ Night Wind said softly, his eyes narrowed in calculation, running down a mental list of everyone who knew of his bond with the priest. ʺThere is but one way to counter this,ʺ he added finally.

  ʺSurely you will not give up your wife and child?ʺ Hoarse Bark said in surprise.

  He had not favored the fragile‐looking Spanish beauty, but over the months she had spent among the Apache she had proven herself. When Night Wind had told him his reason for agreeing to the marriage, he had been certain that the proud half‐caste had accepted the woman.

  ʺI keep what is mine. But there is yet another way to bargain with Quinn. Come.

  We ride for Santa Fe this night!ʺ

  ʺBlood and bones of St. Peter, it is cold in this hellish wilderness! Does the wind never cease?ʺ Ignacio Valdéz, Conde de Plasencia and Marqués de San Clemente, paced the hard adobe bricks of the governorʹs receiving room. Damn the accursed Irish trash, keeping him waiting when he had presented papers signed by the hand of Manuel Antonio Flores, the Viceroy of New Spain himself! I am no longer a boy for you to bully, you cheap foreign charlatan.

  Indeed, Ignacioʹs power at court had grown greatly with the death of the old king and the ascension of his son as Charles IV in 1788. The former Prince of Asturias had remembered his young companion and rewarded him. When Ignacio wished to pursue his errant sister to New Spain and retrieve her from Conal Quinnʹs grasp, he was given royal letters of recommendation to assure him a smooth course as he went about his task.

  He had found several wealthy and powerful men at court who remembered Orlenaʹs legendary golden beauty. If he could but reclaim her intact, fit virginal property for marriage, his star would rise even higher. And then, too, there was the matter of revenge. Conal had taken his mother, his motherʹs ancestral estates, and now had even stolen his own sister! He would see the arrogant Irish braggart crawl.

  Inside his audience chamber, the governor dismissed several alcaldes who had come with their usual bribe in lieu of the taxes owed by their districts. Being governor of such a venal backwater of the Spanish crown did have its monetary rewards. But all the money he extorted from the provincial officials and merchants could not compensate for his return to this hellish place, nor for the threats to his son or the abduction of Orlena.

  Orlena! He looked at the elaborate royal seal on Ignacioʹs letter of introduction and commendation. As if he needed introduction to that impudent cur! Charles IV could commend him to the devil for all Conal Quinn cared. Yet the man had not only the distant ear of Madrid but viceregal backing from Flores in the City of Mexico as well. And now he was here to reclaim his sister.

  Conal ran calloused fingers through his reddish gray hair and sank into the heavy leather chair behind the long oak table. His message regarding the priest had gone unanswered by Night Wind. It had been simple enough riding to Chihuahua City, locating the obscure mission and abducting the cleric. No one in Nueva Viscaya even knew who had done the deed, but the bold lover of savages was proving a troublesome nuisance.

  The soldiers at the governorʹs palace who were holding him under house arrest had become increasingly in awe of the scholar, and the servants were aghast that even the governor would dare imprison a holy man of God. If only word about an exchange of the priest for Orlena would arrive, then he could at least make assurances to Ignacio that his sister remained unharmed and was merely a political prisoner. The real reason for Night Windʹs vengeance and the nature of it he must keep secret from the deadly courtier. Godʹs Bones, he was in enough royal disfavor already! ʺWell, little is to be gained by stalling the royal emissary any longer,ʺ he muttered with a sigh as he stood up and motioned to the soldier standing at the door. ʺShow Don Ignacio in.ʺ

  ʺYou have done what!ʺ Ignacio exploded, again jumping up to confront Conal across the heavy table. ʺKidnapped a priesta scholar from the Franciscan College in the City of Mexico! You are even more of an idiot than I imagined. All your brains can be held on the edge of your sword!ʺ

  ʺBest beware the edge of my sword, my lord Ignacio,ʺ Conal replied in a deadly quiet tone of voice. He did not rise but held his temper under iron control, realizing how the ascension of the Prince of Asturias to the throne had increased Ignacioʹs arrogance and self‐importance. At thirty, he was no longer rail‐thin, but thickened at the waist from a rich courtierʹs life. His pale face had been mottled red with fury ever since Conal had told him of Orlenaʹs fate. At first he had not planned to inform Ignacio of his scheme with the priest, but when the interview had gone badly, he relented and explained about his ʺhouse guest.ʺ The indulged and scheming youth was even more livid now.

  Then his mercurial temperament suddenly shifted and Ignacio sat down once more. Pale, beringed fingers drummed on the polished wood of the table. His yellow eyes reminded Conal of those of a cornered jaguarcalculating and deadly.

  ʺSo, the governor of New Mexico has taken a cleric under the legal jurisdiction of the Church, and holds him for ransom in return for some savage. Think you, how will such a deed look in my report to his excellency, the Viceroy? If I report your blunder, that is.ʺ ʺYou want your sister returned for your dynastic alliance.

  This is the only way to handle matters. You know nothing of this wilderness,ʺ

  Conal said with contempt. Blood of the Martyrs, this bastard could have him relieved of office and jailed at whim!

  Ignacio scoffed and waved his hand in a swift angry gesture of dismissal. ʺI give not a fig for Orlena now. What spanish nobleman will touch the leavings of a band of filthy savages! Her usefulness to me for a marriage is at an end.ʺ But her usefulness in destroying you has only begun, Irishman!

  ʺI have told you, this half‐caste renegade is in revolt against the crown. He is holding Orlena in return for the freedom of Apache mine slaves. She was not simply taken as a female captive to rape and kill. Night Wind will not touch her.ʺ

  If only I believed that!

  ʺIt matters not. Everyone will believe she has been dishonored. Merely by living months among the savages she has been tainted. You abducted my sister, ruined her chance for a spl
endid marriage, and now you have let her fall prey to renegades. As if that were not indictment enough, you have abducted a priest. I think, Don ConalʺIgnacio stressed the name contemptuouslyʺyou had best prepare yourself for a return to what you doubtless do bestriding about the deserts and mountains, killing savages.ʺ

  Finishing his evening prayers, Fray Bartolome rose on stiffened knees and looked out into the courtyard below. The governorʹs palace was a handsome prison, he had to admit. He had never been this far north. New Mexico was awe‐inspiringly magnificent country. He would actually have enjoyed the journey in spite of being brought against his will if it were not for the reason precipitating it.

  Joaquín had kidnapped Conalʹs stepdaughter in revenge! And now he, as well as the innocent girl, was a pawn in their ugly warfare.

  He alternately prayed for Joaquínʹs soul and Orlena Valdézʹs safety and railed at the cruelty of both men who had done such perfidious deeds. Of Conal he expected no better, but of Joaquín he had hoped for so much more.

  ʺI am an old fool who believes in the face of all odds that an embittered, abused boy can be redeemed even after he has grown into an outlaw,ʺ the priest muttered to himself.

  A light tap on the door interrupted his reflection and he turned from the window as a tall, sallow‐faced young man, elegantly garbed in satin breeches, sauntered into the room. ʺGood evening, Father. I am the Count of Plasencia, Ignacio Valdéz,ʺ he said arrogantly, perfunctorily bowing from the waist to the priest.

  Fray Bartolomeʹs face became grave as he nodded. ʺYou are related to that poor child the Apaches are holding,ʺ he said carefully, instinctively not trusting this fop with the cold yellow eyes.

  ʺMy sister, alas,ʺ Ignacio replied, daubing a lace kerchief at his brow in feigned distress. ʺI wish you to understand that I had nothing to do with your abduction.

  Indeed, I have only last evening arrived here and learned of Orlenaʹs fate this morning. The governor has greatly exceeded his authority in holding youas you well know,ʺ Ignacio added while he measured the priestʹs shrewd gray eyes. This one would not be awed by his rank or deceived with cajolery. He would be blunt. ʹʹHowever, Father, I wish to know what reason you have for sheltering runaway Indian prisoners. I understand this Night Wind who abducted my sister was such a one.ʺ

  Although tall, Ignacio could not match the broad shouldered mass of the priest.

  Fray Bartolome locked eyes with the courtier and paused a moment as his troubled expression gave way to one of rebuke. ʺMy reasons are as old as our holy faith, my son. When Caesarbe he Roman emperor or Spanish kingenslaves nine‐year‐old boys to dig in the mines, the church must protest. Our government is committing atrocities in the silver and gold mines of Nueva Viscaya and Sonora. Iʹve seen small children with whip scars on their backs, our Blessed Savior only knows what scars in their souls. Joaquín, the one now called Night Wind, came to me shot and beaten, starved and filled with hate. Should I have turned a ten‐year‐old back to that hell on earth?ʺ

  ʺYour duty is to save their benighted souls, not to incite them to rebellion against royal authority,ʺ Ignacio answered coldly.

  ʺMy understanding of the policy of the Council of the Indies, in conjunction with his majesty Charles IIIʹs decrees, is that the Indians are to be civilized, made Christians, and brought into our society as peaceful free subjects, neither butchered wholesale nor enslaved.ʺ

  The priest met Ignacioʹs insolent stare with steady assurance as the courtier said, ʺNo matter how well intentioned the laws, the reality of dealing with savages must allow for some harsh measures.ʺ

  Fray Bartolome smiled tolerantly. ʺI believe those were almost your stepfatherʹs very words to me on the subject.ʺ

  Ignacioʹs face hardened. ʺConal Quinn is an opportunist, an unscrupulous mercenary who has overstepped his office. I will reclaim my sister, see your renegade Indian hung, and . . .ʺ he paused to stress his last words, ʺI will bring the Governor of New Mexico before the Viceroy and see him stripped of his rank!ʺ When he had stalked out, Fray Bartolome considered everything he had learned. He and Joaquín and that innocent girl were caught in a power struggle between two utterly ruthless and cunning men. ʺI only pray, Holy Mother, do not let Don Ignacio learn Joaquínʹs secret!ʺ

  Chapter 14

  The Jicarilla scout was a small, squat youth, whose round face belied his trail-seasoned skills. A member of the presidial Indian militia, he was required by law to serve the Spanish government in return for the protection the army supposedly offered his village. In fact he, like numerous other conscripted Indians, was a spy for Night Windʹs raiders, giving them information regarding troop movements and mine shipments from Santa Fe to Durango.

  Juanito had been ransomed by the Spanish from the Comanche, who had captured him from his own people. Thinking the Jicarilla grateful for his salvation from the archenemies of all Apache, his Spanish superior trusted him.

  But the Jicarilla, like the Mescalero, were closely allied with their Apache kin on the plains, the Lipan.

  Now Juanito stood in the deepening twilight beneath a cottonwood grove south of Santa Fe. A man dressed in the simple white cotton clothes of a paisano with a large sombrero shadowing his face walked casually by and stopped. ʺJuanito, it has been a long time since last I saw you.ʺ

  ʺNearly six months. Your yellow‐haired captive, she must keep you well occupied,ʺ the Jicarilla replied in a whisper.

  Night Wind shrugged. ʺShe has caused me much trouble.ʺ

  ʺI have heard about the holy father Quinn holds under house arrest.

  ʺHave you seen him? Is he harmed in any way?ʺ Night Wind asked with dread in his voice.

  ʺHe is allowed brief morning walks in the courtyard of the palace. I have talked with the servants and he is treated well enough. Will you trade the woman for him?ʺ

  ʺNo. But Quinn will trade Fray Bartolome for his cub,ʺ Night Wind replied grimly.

  ʺSo that is why you wanted to speak with me,ʺ the Jicarilla replied in a hushed voice. ʺEver since the girl was taken, Quinn allows his son to go nowhere without a large armed escort.ʺ

  ʺI do not plan a battle, my friend, but I will need some information from you.

  Where does the boy go? How many soldiers accompany him? Everything about his habits, his daily routineany vulnerable time or place where I could reach him without raising an alarm,ʺ Night Wind said as he gazed around the deserted adobes that lay scattered along the winding banks of the river. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled in the still evening air.

  Juanito sighed. ʺWhat you plan is very dangerous.ʺ

  A smile slashed across Night Windʹs face as he replied, ʺAnd have I not lived with danger all these years?ʺ The Jicarilla considered. ʺThe first of each month they ride to Taos for the trade bazaar. I think the governor collects his bribes from the Indians selling their wares that way. While Quinn and his leeches tax the merchants, he lets the fire‐haired boy wander among the crowded market stalls, with guards to protect him. I do not think he wishes his son to know how he steals from the peopleor from his own king,ʺ Juanito said with contempt.

  ʺNext week is the first of the month. I think we will be waiting in the Taos bazaar with a special bargain for young Santiago.ʺ

  He forced down the tears, weak, foolish womanʹs tears. Soon they would be at Night Windʹs stronghold. The arrogant butcher had told him this only last night.

  Again he cursed himself for his stupidity in falling for the trap. Papa would be insane with grief now. First Orlena, now himboth prisoners of this evil halfcaste who spoke Spanish as elegantly as Ignacio.

  Tied to his horse for the past daysʹ journey, Santiago had little to do as they rode but think. He focused on the enigma of his captor. Night Wind was well educated, yet of mixed blood. He hated the Spanish, yet revered the priest his father was holding. The raiderʹs reputation was fearsome, yet he had treated Santiago without rancor in spite of several feckless attempts to escape, including braining one of his guards and
breaking the leg of a good horse. Santiago regretted the horseʹs death, but was unrepentant in his desire to escape. His captor seemed not only to accept this, but to take pride in his willful temerity, saying Santiago reminded him of Orlena.

  When Night Wind mentioned Orlenaʹs name, Santiago had tried to leap at his throat. The boy recalled with humiliation how effortlessly the bronzed savage had subdued him. At least I will see Orlena this day. He prayed fiercely and desperately that her spirit was not broken. There was something mysterious about this half‐caste, something that made him more than another renegade Apache. As they rode, the boy pondered. Who was the Night Wind?

  ʺBut why did they leave so suddenly, in the middle of the night?ʺ Without a word to me? Orlena paced the small confines of Little Otterʹs lodge. Watching her young friend contentedly nurse her infant, Orlena was happy that Strong Bow did not ride with Night Wind and his group of raiders.

  ʺI heard my husband say Night Wind received a messagewhite manʹs writing.

  But often his spies send such. It must have been very important for him to leave so suddenly.ʺ Little Otter hesitated as she rocked Shining Pebble, her bright‐eyed daughter. ʺSun in Splendor, did you and Night Wind quarrel before he left?ʺ

  Orlena sighed. ʺAlways we quarrel.ʺ

  Little Otter smiled reassuringly. ʺAll husbands and wives quarrel. It is natural.ʺ

  ʺPerhaps, but we have so much that stands between us . . . my stepfather, who was kinder to me than anyone, is Conal Quinn, the governor.ʺ Beside Night Wind, only her parents knew of her background. She looked at Little Otter with a mixture of pride and fearfulness on her face.

  ʺAnd you revere this man, Night Windʹs sworn enemy.ʺ Little Otter digested that disquieting fact as she tucked her daughter into her beautiful new cradleboard. ʺI understand why you would quarrelyet he has kept you with him, fought to save you from Quick Slayer, and married you. In spite of this barrier, he cares for you.