by tiffy
Lighting a small tallow candle on the crude wooden table, Joaquín motioned for the priest to sit down on a sturdy oak chair.
ʺIt is you who should sit, I think,ʺ Bartolome responded.
ʺAs I did when I was your pupil in school?ʺ He walked over and placed one moccasined foot on the seat of the chair, then turned to Bartolome. ʺI told you only that I would not kill Quinn. I also swore I would be revenged.ʺ
ʺEnough!ʺ The priest pulled from his robe a rolled‐up paper and slapped it down on the table. ʺYou take your war to women and boys now! Even if I were to excuse the abduction of Santiago because you wished only to save my life, I can never excuse this. This is evil. The man who wrote this thinks and acts as Conal Quinn would!ʺ
Joaquín paled as he recognized his letter to Conal, written so long ago, a lifetime ago. ʺThat was a mistake,ʺ he said quietly.
ʺWhat have you done with the girl? Do you deny seducing her? Using her, an innocent child, as a pawn in your revenge?ʺ
Joaquín met the priestʹs accusing gray eyes levelly. ʺShe is at our wintering place in the Guadalupes. I have married her, Bartolome. She carries my child. I will never give her back to Conal.ʺ
The Franciscan stopped and stared, speechless for a moment, then threw back his shaggy head of graying brown hair and roared with laughter. ʺYou have had the scales of fortune reverse themselves well enough! You stole this girl and she stole your heart. I imagine that was not in your plan, eh?ʺ He looked at Joaquín with a delighted grin slashing his face. ʺA child, you say. If your tribal elders permitted a marriage, they must have accepted her.ʺ
ʺOrlena is Sun in Splendor, daughter to White Crane and She Who Dreams,ʺ
Joaquín replied with evident irritation in his voice. He did not enjoy feeling the fool this explanation seemed to make him.
Sensing the ambivalent feelings boiling beneath the surface of Joaquínʹs carefully controlled facade, the friar sat down and waited until the younger man did the same. ʺI think there is much to this tale that I would know, but we will have some time to sort it out later. Only know this. I am happy for you. You have been alone for too much of your life. Now you have begun to learn love instead of hate. I think you will find it far more sustaining.ʺ
ʺI have not said I loved her,ʺ Joaquín replied defensively. ʺShe carries my child and I would not dishonor her.ʺ
ʺYou also said you would never return her to Conal. That was not revenge speaking. You can hide your feelings from yourself, Joaquín, but you have never long hidden them from me. You care for this Orlena Valdézand for her brother, I think.ʺ
ʺSantiago is a fine boy. As unlike Conal asʺ
Joaquínʹs words were interrupted by the pounding of hooves and an outcry from the sentries. Fearing they had been set upon by Conalʹs soldiers, he leaped up and raced for the door. ʺHide yourself in the trees behind the cabin and pray as you have never before prayed,ʺ he called out as he vanished through the door.
A small group of riders were dismounting by the flickering light of the fire. As they drew nearer, Night Wind could see they were Lipan. His men exchanged hearty greetings with them. Suddenly, one small figure darted from the group and ran toward him as he walked into the circle of light.
ʺNight Wind! I had to come.ʺ Orlenaʹs arms reached out to him and enveloped him in a fierce embrace.
Chapter 16
Joaquín embraced her tightly for a moment, then roughly gripped her shoulders and held her at armʹs length. ʺWhat are you doing here? It is days from the stronghold through dangerous territory. If you care not for yourself, think of the child.ʺ
ʺI do care for our child, with all my heart,ʺ she defended. ʺI knew you would be angry, but I had to come. White Crane and She Who Dreams understood. They gave me escort. I did not ride alone, Night Wind.ʺ
Scowling, he looked at several younger warriors, including Strong Bow. ʺSo, you have enlisted your malleable parents in this madness. Why, Orlena?ʺ He placed one arm protectively over her shoulders and began to walk away from the group, out of earshot.
Orlenaʹs thoughts were jumbled and all her carefully rehearsed speeches deserted her. One look from those angry green eyes and her mind spun dizzily.
ʺI . . . I needed to know the exchange was made safely, that my brother is all right,ʺ she began hesitantly.
He scoffed, ʺSantiago is back in Conalʹs loving arms. Does that reassure you?ʺ
His sarcasm cut her and she blurted out, ʺI did not ask of Conal, but only feared for my brother and my husband.ʺ The minute the words escaped her lips, she wished to call them back. Her pride demanded it. Her pride also demanded she look him squarely in the eye and face whatever scorn or pity Night Wind might reveal.
Predictably, his expression was shuttered and hard. ʺI have told you we are both well,ʺ he said flatly.
ʺWhat of the Franciscan? Is he here?ʺ Orlena waited for his reaction, knowing he would be wary of her motives, as he was of all she did.
ʺBartolome is in the cabin. When it is safe, I will arrange escort for him to return to Chihuahua Cityafter the bishop in Durango has been informed of Conalʹs actions.ʺ
ʺI rather imagine the bishop will be informed quite soon by this ladyʹs elder brother,ʺ Fray Bartolome interrupted. He had followed Joaquín from the cabin, worried about what ill news the riders might have brought. Then he saw the blonde woman run into Joaquínʹs arms and knew she was his new bride.
Orlena looked up at the towering giant of a man with a bushy dark beard streaked with gray. He looked fierce and formidable and his words about Ignacio jarred her.
ʺYou do not appear as I had imagined you,ʺ she said with a gulp, all her inbred Spanish pride suddenly deserting her.
ʺAnd how, Doña Orlena, did you imagine me?ʺ His gray eyes glowed warmly.
She responded hesitantly, ʺOh, slight and stooped over from much studying.ʺ
Turning her small pointed chin up, she smiled at him and was rewarded with a rich chuckle. ʺYou said Ignacio has come from Spain?ʺ She bit her lip in vexation.
Wherever her older brother went, trouble followed.
ʺYes, he arrived in Santa Fe while I was a guest of your stepfather. It appeared the two do not share any family loyalties,ʺ he said drily.
ʺIgnacio hates Conal,ʺ Orlena replied baldly. ʺHe has come to ruin him and to drag me back to Spain for a monstrous marriage that would benefit him.ʺ
ʺYou still have not explained why you came here,ʺ Joaquín interrupted.
Orlena looked from her husband to the priest, then back to Night Wind. ʺI would like to speak privately with Fray Bartolome.ʺ
ʺTo confess your sins, Lioness? You have committed none. They are all mine, as the good father has already reminded me,ʺ he said with a wrenching mixture of defeat and sadness in his voice.
Orlena put one small hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat accelerate. ʺYou mistake me, Night Wind. I do not wish to confess, only to learn . . .ʺ Her voice faded.
Fray Bartolome watched the exchange and realized what Orlena sought. She was Conal Quinnʹs stepdaughterand his renegade enemyʹs wife. Dare he tell her the truth? He looked at Joaquínʹs hard, cold face, suddenly filled with vulnerability and pain. He has not told her.
ʺThere is much to be said for a willing pupil,ʺ the priest interjected, smiling in reassurance at her, then looking at Joaquín. ʺOnce, many years ago, I had a very bright pupil, eager to learn, a delight to teach. He grew up to be a fine man.
Flawed, human . . . but a fine man. And now he has chosen a fine woman for his wife.ʺ He paused and looked at Joaquín reassuringly. ʺI will tell her of my favorite student. There are some things she must hear only from you, my son . . .
when you are ready to tell her.ʺ
Joaquín nodded silently and walked away, vanishing into the darkness like his Apache namesake. Fray Bartolome escorted Orlena into the cabin and offered her a chair. One of the men had brought fresh water to drink while they were outside. A pouch of jerked beef and dried
fruit lay beside the cooling refreshment.
ʺHere, sit. You and your babe must be weary.ʺ
Orlena felt the heat rise to her cheeks. ʺThe Church has not blessed our union.
But I do not want you to blame Night Wind. I . . . I came to him willingly.ʺ She met his eyes and saw no condemnation, only the faintest hint of a mysterious smile.
ʺSo, you love him. And he, I believe, has come to love you as well. Joaquín should not have stolen you from your familyʺ
ʺThat is part of what I wish to learn about.ʺ Orlena interrupted him, leaning forward, the food and water forgotten. ʺYou call him Joaquín. You educated him to be white, but he chose to be Apache. His hatred has something to do with my stepfather. Father, I have always loved Conal Quinn, since childhood. Yet I have learned things about him since coming to New Spainthings that frighten me.ʺ
The priest looked at her wide golden eyes, filled with confusion, as vulnerable as Joaquínʹs had been the first time they met. He began very carefully, ʺSometimes a man can be two men. When you grow up in one world and then are forced to leave it and enter another, this can change you. I left the cloistered world of books in Santander and sailed to New Spain where I ended up ministering to Indians and peasants who live impoverished lives in a frightful wilderness. This has changed me. Conal Quinn came to this strange new world as a youth, out to make his fortune as a soldier, without the constraints and blessings of the Church which have sustained me. The man you met in Spain and the man he has become again in New Mexico are not the same. To Conal Quinn, Indians are not people.
They are animals, to be used as such.ʹʹ
Remembering the scars on her husbandʹs back, his feverish nightmares about the mines, she shuddered. ʺI must know. Was Conal in charge of the soldiers who . . .
who killed Night Windʹs mother and burned his village, who sold him into slavery?ʺ
Her anguish was a palpable thing. Bartolome could feel her pain reach out to him in much the same way a young boyʹs pain had those long years ago. ʺYes, Orlena, Conal Quinn sold children into slavery in the mines of Nueva Viscaya.
But they were Apache childrennot human to him, people without reason, people without souls.ʺ
ʺHe was so kind to me. I was five when he married my mother. My father never loved me or Ignacio. Poor Ignacio. No one ever loved him, I suppose. And he learned to love no one,ʺ she added with a shudder as his cruel yellow eyes flashed before her.
ʺBut Conal became your champion?ʺ Bartolome asked gently. ʺA man can be two people, as I said. Only remember the good part of him. Forgive the evil and put it behind you. Teach Joaquín to do the same. You are the only one who can reach himyou do know that, do you not?ʺ
Orlena looked startled. ʺI am not certain of that at all. He has shown me kindness and treated me fairly after I came to his people, butʺshe paused in stricken pain, then whisperedʺhe was forced to wed me by the law of his people. He never has said he loves me. Joaquínʺthe name sounded alien on her tongueʺmy husband never has spoken of love, only duty,ʺ she finished sadly.
The priest reached across the table and took her delicate hand in his. He could see the callouses on her palms and the abrasions from rough work. Joaquín should take her to a safe place, make a secure life for her. Living as Apaches would bring them both to early graves. ʺYour husband loves you, Orlena. He is a hard and solitary man. You know of his childhood, the pain and humiliation he endured in the mines. But there is more. Only remember now what I have said, for I know him well. In time he will tell you the rest and you must accept it, no matter how bitter the truth. Nothing worth having is easily gained, else we would not value it.ʺ
As they sat in reflective silence for a moment, Joaquín walked through the door.
Seeing the friar holding Orlenaʹs hands in earnest conversation, he felt a sudden flash of resentment. What has he told her that her devilish mind can use against me?
ʺSeveral of the warriors from my band who have never seen a Blue Robe want to meet the prodigy of wisdom and tolerance I have so often described,ʺ he said with a wry twist to his mouth.
ʺSo, you have filled their heads with fairy tales and now I, a man of clay, must appear to disillusion them,ʺ Fray Bartolome said, laughing. ʺLet us leave your wife to rest and refresh herself. Then we must see to sleeping arrangements, for this shelter will hold only the two of you.ʺ
Now Joaquín did smile openly. ʺEver blunt and practical, Priest,ʺ he said affectionately as they left Orlena sitting alone at the table.
She chewed the dry, spicy jerked meat, softened with sips of water, all the while thinking about the friarʹs words. What did Night Windor Joaquínhave to confess to her? You must accept it, no matter how bitter the truth. The words haunted her.
What had the priest meant? He knew another side of her husband, the white side, that she had never really seen.
Her back ached from the long ride and she was tired, but before she rested, she must eat some more. Ever since the child had begun to grow in her, her appetite had grown with it! Reaching for the pouch full of meat and fruit, she saw a rolled piece of paper lying on the edge of the long table, partially covered by the water bucket. Curiously, she pulled it from beneath the rusty container belonging to the luckless paisanos who had long ago toiled in this valley.
The paper was new, obviously not left by the adobeʹs former owner. Some intuition told her not to read it, but her curiosity won out. It had been so long since she had seen anything to read. The script was beautiful, easily legible, as if composed with great precision. Then she saw the salutation, to Conal. Her eyes raced to the signature of Night Wind, then rose with dread to read the message in its crushing entirety.
ʺI may yet take one or two of your young men, especially Strong Bow, I think, down to that stream and baptize them,ʺ Fray Bartolome said as they walked back to the adobe. ʺFailing that, I will certainly put the blessing of the Church on your marriage to Orlena.ʺ
Joaquín grunted. ʺIf not one sacrament, another. You toil overlong in the vineyards, Blue Robe.ʺ His voice was oddly light and teasing. If Bartolome approved of the match, might it not be a good idea to wed in the Church?
When he stepped inside the door, he suddenly froze, nearly causing the larger man behind him to knock him over.
ʺWhat is wrong, Joaquín?ʺ His eyes went from his stricken friend to Orlena, who was holding Joaquínʹs letter to Conal crumpled in her hands. ʺShe can read?ʺ he whispered in amazement and horror. Virtually no Spanish ladies learned more than to sign their names. He had never in his fifty‐odd years encountered a literate female. What had he done, carelessly leaving the purloined letter lying on the table after their argument?
ʺYes, BartolomeOrlena can read,ʺ Joaquín replied sadly. ʺLioness, what I wrote at that time, what I intended thenʺ
ʺYou intended to seduce meto use me and then send me back to Conal. When did you think to complete your vengeancebefore or after your child was born?
Would you deign to keep it, having such contempt for my Spanish blood?ʺ Her voice crackled with fury, but her eyes overflowed with burning tears that she made no attempt to staunch.
Joaquín walked toward her slowly, agonizing over what to say, intent only on holding her in his arms. He could never let her go! Too late, perhaps, he realized that fact.
ʺDo not touch me, Night WindJoaquín, whoever you really are. I will not fall under your spell again.ʺ She backed away, hurling the balled‐up paper at him.
Ignoring her outburst, he moved after her, desperately needing to absorb the pain he had inflicted on her. He reached out and pulled her rigid, unresisting body against his own. Running his arms up and down her back, he buried his face against her neck, whispering low, ʺI love you, Lioness. Yes, I did plan to use you for my vengeance, but I did not know this would happen between us.ʺ So long Orlena had prayed to hear his declaration of love. Now she had it, but could she believe it? She felt numb and exhausted, buffeted like a galleon in a hurricane, unable to think rational
ly with this man, her lover, her beloved, holding her so possessively, murmuring love words in her ear, kissing her neck. The urge to cling to him nearly overwhelmed her, but pride held her back and she kept her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Just then, shots erupted in the still night air. Shouts and hoofbeats echoed from down the valley as a large number of riders came thundering into their camp.
Night Wind quickly pushed Orlena beneath the table, ordering, ʺRemain here under cover. Do not come out unless I call you!ʺ He turned to the priest, who had returned from outside to warn him. ʺStay with her!ʺ
All he carried was the knife at his waist. His guns, his hunting bow, every weapon, lay across the clearing at the campfire where chaos now erupted.
Sweeping the scene with a quick glance, he could see more than a dozen Spanish leathercoats mixed with a good number of Indian militiathe hated Comanche.
No wonder the sentries gave no warning!
Slipping from the adobe hut into the shelter of the trees, he made a quick decision. Everyone would be killed if resistance continued, but the heavily armed soldiers could never catch a lightly mounted Apache. ʺFlee to the mountains and scatter,ʺ he cried out. ʺReturn to the stronghold!ʺ
Even over the battleʹs din they recognized their leaderʹs voice. The Apache evaporated into the night, one or two at a time. Several lay dead, sprawled grotesquely on the bloody earth. Their bodies were quickly obscured as one fleeing Lipan kicked dust over the coals, extinguishing the eerily dancing flames of the campfire.
Suddenly Night Wind felt the prick of a knife blade at his throat. Another blade flashed across his chest and was positioned low on his abdomen. Both Comanche were set to draw blood, yet apparently were under orders not to kill him. Using the advantage, he kicked at one man and knocked the otherʹs blade clear of his throat, spinning to the side to escape the deadly trap. Several more of his foes jumped him. He could not count how many before darkness descended on him.