The Wildest Heart

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Well, of course someone has to tell you,” she pointed out reasonably, “and Aunt Katherine never would! So it had better be me. Even Jack agrees with me that you should be prepared for what you’ll find when you go to New Mexico.”

  “Good heavens, you make it all sound alarming!” I teased her, but she insisted, for once, that she would be serious.

  “For instance,” she said dramatically, perching herself on the end of my bed, “how much have you been told about Todd Shannon?”

  I admitted that I knew only that he had been my father’s partner, who owned a joint interest in the vast SD Ranch.

  “Just as I thought!” Corinne pursed her lips in an unusual expression of gravity. “And of course he’s Aunt Katherine’s brother-in-law, although I’m sure she never became too friendly with him, even while Uncle James was alive. You see, my Uncle James had come to America many years before his brother Todd turned up suddenly. He was a serious young man, who had been given an education, and while he studied law here in Boston he went to work for my grandfather, who was Aunt Katherine’s papa, of course, and…” Here Corinne stopped to draw in a long breath, and catching my slight smile grinned mischievously back at me. “I know what you’re thinking! They say that all of us Bostonians are related in some way, and I don’t doubt that it’s true! But Rowena, you must listen to me, for I’m trying to be serious for a change. What was I saying?”

  “You were going to tell me something about this man Todd Shannon,” I said helpfully, and she nodded her head sagely.

  “Yes, of course! Well, it was rather embarrassing for my poor aunt and uncle when he turned up in Boston, for he’d been a kind of black sheep, you know! They said that as young as he was he had been mixed up in some kind of revolutionary activities in Ireland. They’re always fighting the British, are they not? Well, anyhow, he had to leave in a hurry, so he came here.”

  “Is that how he met my father?” I asked curiously, and Corinne gave a small shrug.

  “I’m not sure, for it was all before my time, of course. But I think I remember hearing someone mention that they had met on the ship coming over here, and decided to seek their fortune together. It sounds very romantic and exciting, doesn’t it? They went west together, for in those days the frontiers were still expanding, and it was before the war with Mexico. The Spaniards still owned most of the Southwest, and California as well.”

  I had made a point of studying American history, so that I nodded, and Corinne, with one of her quick flashes of intuition, seemed to understand that I was becoming impatient for her to come to the point of her recital.

  “Oh dear!” she said ruefully, “there I go again. Rambling! You don’t want to hear about history, but about Todd Shannon—and your father, of course, for he played a large part in what happened as well.” She giggled suddenly. “How I loved to listen to the grown-ups talk when I was a child! I would stay very quiet, and pretend to be reading, or busy with my embroidery. But you know, to me, the whole story was quite fascinating, and more exciting, than anything I had read in a book.”

  “Go on,” I said. “Now you have me quite fascinated. What happened?”

  “Well, as I was saying, your father and Uncle Todd—I’m supposed to call him that, but somehow he always frightened me a little bit—went west and they had all kinds of adventures; sometimes together and sometimes not, for they were both very independent men. But then, just before the war with Mexico, Uncle Todd fell in love. They said she was very beautiful, a young Spanish girl of good family, who was under the guardianship of her brother. She had been meant for a convent, but instead she met Uncle Todd and fell in love with him too. They eloped, ran away to Texas, and left her brother vowing vengeance. There!” Corinne looked at me triumphantly. “Now isn’t that an exciting and romantic tale so far?”

  “Isn’t there more?” I asked pointedly.

  “Oh, Rowena! Sometimes, I vow you prefer tragedy to romance! Well, there is one involved here. You see, after the Mexicans were forced to cede their lands in the Southwest to the United States, Todd Shannon brought his bride back to New Mexico, and filed claim to her family’s lands.”

  I frowned. “But what of that revengeful brother of hers?”

  “Alejandro Kordes? Oh, he had been one of the few hotheads who refused to acknowledge their new American government. They say he took off into the mountains along with some others like him—and later on there were rumors that he had joined up with a band of comancheros. At least, that’s what they call themselves, but I’ve heard Uncle Todd say that they’re nothing but a crew of renegade cutthroats who trade with the Indians and sell them guns to use against the white men. Alejandro had become an outlaw, but he still hated Todd Shannon.”

  Once she got down to it, Corinne proved a good storyteller, with a gift for evoking atmosphere, so that it was easy for me to picture the terrible, tragic events that had led to a family feud that, Corinne warned me, was still in existence. At the time, it was my father’s part in those events that intrigued me the most.

  He had made some money in the gold fields of California, and when his old partner had written to say he needed capital, he had traveled to New Mexico. He and Todd Shannon had become partners again, in an enormous cattle ranch they called the SD—Shannon-Dangerfield. They had been prospering when tragedy struck.

  “It was the time of the great silver rush in that part of the world, and Uncle Todd and your father went prospecting together. Alma, Todd Shannon’s wife, had given birth to a son, and had not regained her strength, so they had left her behind with a young cousin of Alma’s who had suddenly appeared on the scene, confessing she had run away from the Apache Indians. Elena, her name was, and she was the result of union between a captured Spanish girl, Alma’s aunt, and her captor, an Apache chieftain. Although she was half Apache, Elena had said she had been intrigued by her mother’s tales of ‘civilization,’ and wanted to live as a white woman, not as an Indian squaw.”

  “Elena?”

  The name struck a chord in my memory. I heard it again, repeated in my mother’s spiteful voice.

  “Elena! Sometimes he called the name in his sleep. And you were called Rowena Elaine.”

  “Corinne—what was she like? Did anyone ever describe her?”

  “Why, not exactly,” she said slowly, as if trying to remember. “She—I believe she was very young—only fifteen or sixteen—and very pretty, in a wild sort of way.”

  “Did—did my father ever speak of her?” Something impelled me to ask the question, and Corinne gave me a rather puzzled stare.

  “I—I can’t remember! But he must have been fond of her, for I know he taught her to read and write, and of course, later, he saved her life.”

  She was tactful enough not to ask why I questioned her as she went on with the story in a hushed voice.

  My father and Todd Shannon had returned from their expedition within a matter of weeks, only to find that while they had been away, the Indians had attacked. Their house was burned, their cattle stampeded, and worst tragedy of all, both Alma and her son were dead.

  “One of the vaqueros survived long enough to tell what had happened. He said that Alejandro Kordes and some of his comancheros had taken part in the attack. Perhaps he didn’t know that his sister had been left behind. The house had begun to burn and she ran outside, carrying her child. An Indian arrow killed them both.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “The old vaquero said that before he became unconscious he saw Alejandro Kordes run forward, shouting like a madman. He said he wept as he knelt by his sister’s body.”

  “And then? What of Elena? Was she killed too?”

  Corinne shook her head, her small face unusually grim.

  “That is what really started the feud. Just before Uncle Todd left, he’d had some kind of disagreement with her. He never liked Indians, you see, and he hadn’t wanted Elena there at all. A few days after he left, she had run away without a word. Later, he blamed her. He said she had called
her people down on the ranch, as her revenge.”

  “But my father?”

  “You must understand, Rowena, that Uncle Todd was like a wild animal, crazed with grief and hatred. He would have gone after the Indians and his brother-in-law alone, if your father had not stopped him. And then, to make matters worse, a few days later, Elena came back. It—it appeared—” Corinne lowered her voice conspiratorially, giving me rather an embarrassed look. “It appeared that she was—well, expecting a child. They always hushed their voices when they started talking about that part of the story, and I was ordered out of the room, but my mama told me later, when I was old enough, that Elena had been in love with Uncle Todd, and that the child she was expecting was his.”

  “Oh, God. What did he do when she turned up?”

  “He almost killed her, that’s what! He would have, if Uncle Guy had not dragged him off, after he started beating her. She lost her child, and it was Uncle Guy, your father, who nursed her back to health. But as soon as she was well enough, she ran away again, back to her people.”

  “That couldn’t have been the end of it. How did the feud you were talking about begin?”

  Corinne sighed.

  “Oh, Rowena, that was the worst part of it! It wasn’t long before Elena had run off that the rumors began filtering back. She married Alejandro Kordes, of all people! Don’t you see how it must have looked to Uncle Todd? He felt it proved that Elena and Alejandro had been in league all the time!”

  There was more to the story, of course, but Corinne had been too young at the time to remember too many details. I was to hear it told again later, in all its facets, some of it related in my father’s meticulously kept journals and some of it from the protagonists themselves. But I am going too fast—for many things were to happen before I was to know the whole of the truth.

  First of all, I was to meet the strange and rather enigmatic Mr. Elmer Bragg, the ex-Pinkerton man to whom my father had referred in his last letter to me. It was my father’s legal adviser, Judge Fleming, who reminded me to seek him out.

  “He is—well, a rather rough man, who puts on a show of illiteracy, although he’s self-educated, one of those men who are referred to in the west as ‘frontier lawyers.’ He was an excellent detective, though, and I know that my friend Allan Pinkerton was sorry to lose him when he insisted upon retirement. You know the saying—‘Old soldiers never die’? Mr. Bragg is a living example of it. He has officially retired, but he is not the kind of man who likes to remain idle. He takes on cases from time to time. Your father and he were friends, and I have the impression that he is in Boston at this moment for the particular purpose of meeting you.”

  “He hasn’t attempted to meet me.”

  Judge Fleming nodded in a self-satisfied manner.

  “Of course not. That is not Elmer Bragg’s way. He knows of your father’s letter to you, and I think he is waiting for you to contact him.” He gave me a rather apologetic smile. “I’ve warned you, my dear, that Elmer Bragg is a rather eccentric man. This is typical of his way of going about things. I suppose he thinks that if you need his help or advice you will make some effort to seek him out.”

  In the end, I did exactly this—partly because my father had advised me to do so, and partly because I was intrigued by Judge Fleming’s rather evasive comments about this Mr. Elmer Bragg.

  I had decided to remain in Boston for a while until certain legal technicalities had been settled, so I had time on my hands. Besides, I wasn’t anxious to travel to New Mexico until I knew more about what I would have to face. It occurred to me that this mysterious Mr. Bragg, being a Westerner himself, would be just the person to give me the advice I needed. And I was right in this assumption, for our very first meeting proved informative.

  Four

  “You’re a sensible, self-possessed young lady, I see,” Mr. Bragg complimented me in his gruff, rather grumbling manner. His eyes, shrewd under bushy, grizzled brows, swept over me quickly, and then he gave an almost imperceptible, satisfied nod. “Yes,” he continued, as if there had been no pause in his speech, “I must say that you’re a pleasant surprise! Didn’t know what I’d have to deal with, if you’ll excuse my blunt manner of speech. After all, even Guy knew nothing very much about you, except that the old earl, his father, was determined to bring you up according to his notions. And you’re a highly educated young lady, too, I understand. That would have made your pa happy, for he set great store on education. What makes me happy is that you seem sensible as well as being pretty. Unusual combination in a female!”

  I didn’t know whether I should laugh or be angry with his abrupt manner, but I managed to retain enough composure to return Mr. Bragg’s curious stare with a long, measuring look of my own. Then he began to smile, tugging at his large, untidy moustache.

  “Huh! You don’t say much either, do you? Sizing me up, I guess, and that’s a good sign too. You’re going to be meeting a lot of new people who are strangers to you, and if you don’t mind a bit of advice from an old man, you’ll do best to carry on as you’re doing right now. Watch, listen, and say as little as possible.”

  He paused for an instant and then shot at me, “Do you have a mind of your own, Lady Rowena?” If his sudden question had been designed to take me on guard, it did not succeed in doing so.

  “Certainly I’ve a mind of my own, Mr. Bragg! I should hardly be here if I did not. But I do realize that there is a lot I’m going to have to learn before I travel to New Mexico, and that is why I’ve come to you. My father wrote of you, and I understand from Judge Fleming that you are one of the few persons who is eminently qualified to advise me.”

  He chuckled at that. “So the judge recommended me, did he? Well, it’s true that I know more about Guy and Guy’s way of thinking than most others, including his partner, Todd Shannon. And so you think I might be able to give you some useful advice, eh?” He tugged at his moustache again, eyeing me thoughtfully. “That could be. Yes, it might be real interesting to see how you get on, at that. Did you have a business proposition in mind, then, Lady Rowena? You willing to hire my services?”

  “If you are willing, of course,” I said smoothly, and could not resist adding, “You might even find it a challenge, don’t you think? Or is your retirement permanent?”

  He snorted at that. “Permanent? Permanent hell, if you’ll pardon me for using the expression. And that old fox Fleming knows it too. No doubt he told you that when he advised you to see me. Retired, huh!” He grunted again. “Your father sent for me just before he died. That’s what took me so long gettin’ up here. And I’ve been keeping tabs on everything that’s been going on down there, as a kind of mental exercise, you might say. You’d be surprised at how much I know. For instance, did you know that Todd Shannon tried to contest your pa’s will? The part where he left you a half-share in the SD?”

  I intercepted the sharp, sly look he gave me and nodded in assent.

  “Yes. Judge Fleming informed me of it. But surely—”

  “Ah!” Elmer Bragg waved his hand impatiently as if to brush aside what I had been about to say. “That’s what I meant earlier, when I said I knew more than some people realize. Shannon knew he didn’t have a chance. It was more a gesture of—well, let’s say he was registering a public, formal protest! He’d always taken it for granted that Guy would leave him the whole ranch, free and clear. And then, almost out of the blue, you turn up. What does he know about you, eh? A titled young Englishwoman, brought up as a fine lady. And what did Guy really know about you, except that you were his daughter? Believe me, if Todd had known when you were to arrive he’d have had his lawyer-nephew, young Mark, meet you right here in Boston with a very generous cash offer in return for your rights to the ranch. And no doubt he’d have instructed Mark to persuade you not to go down to New Mexico at all. It’s rough, rugged country there. Lots of violence, very little law except for the jungle kind. Survival of the strongest and the sneakiest. You understand?”

  I couldn’t
help frowning, but his words had made me thoughtful, and I said slowly, “You mean that Todd Shannon resents my inheriting a share in the ranch? But why just that? Surely, as vast as I understand it is, the ranch is the least valuable of all the joint interests my father held with him. What about their shares in that silver mine? And the railroad shares? Does he feel that I have no right to any of those either?”

  “You’ve hit the nail right on the head!” Mr. Bragg exclaimed. “No, Todd Shannon’s not a petty, greedy man by any means, although he can hate hard. He’s an Irishman, big on family ties. He doesn’t grudge you the money, even though the cattle business is booming right now and he’s making money hand over fist, enough so they’re calling him a cattle baron. No, the point is that he feels the SD is his. You take my meaning? Your pa put in the money to get it started, it’s true, but Shannon built the SD into an empire with his fists and his guts and his guns. It’s a symbol to him now, the symbol of the first piece of land he ever owned in his life, the symbol of his power. And in some ways, the SD is like a memorial to his wife. His first wife. Only woman he ever really loved. You’ve heard the story?”

  Slowly I nodded, already puzzled by the complexity of Todd Shannon’s character. What kind of man was he really? My father had thought enough of him to become his partner. Corinne had told me that he had always frightened her a little, with his loud voice and the force of his personality. Judge Fleming had spoken of him with admiration, as a strong, stubborn man who had refused to admit defeat. Patently, he was a man capable of deep love, and capable of hating just as hard. A man who seemed to be haunted by tragedy. Corinne had told me that Todd Shannon had married again after my father had left for England to marry my mother. She was the widow of a schoolteacher who had been murdered by Indians, a woman with a young daughter, whom he had adopted as his own child. But this second wife too had died, in childbirth, and Todd Shannon had never married again.

  “He’s a big, handsome man,” Corinne had told me. “A blond giant of an Irishman, the kind no woman can resist. But there’s something hard about him too. My mother used to say he was the kind of man who is only capable of loving once in his life.”