by Martha Hix
“How did you—?” She sipped her wine, then carefully replaced the goblet on the table.
She shouldn’t be this nervous about her lie, Reece figured as her mouth tightened fractionally.
“How astute of you to recall such a brief meeting, Señor Montgomery. But you have me at a disadvantage. I didn’t realize you were spying—Oh my goodness, what a poor choice of words! Pardon me. I wasn’t aware of your presence that morning.”
“I was there,” he stated, uncomfortable with her comeback. He hadn’t expected her to strike back like that. Well, ole boy, he asked himself, what did you expect?
“Shame, shame, Señor, eavesdropping on our conversation.” She placed her fingers across her delectable bosom, and spoke to Antonio. “My, General Santa Anna, I’m disappointed in you, associating with a man who has the habits of a cackling old gossip.”
Antonio chuckled at Reece’s sudden frown.
“Cackling old gossip?” he echoed around his chuckle. “My good man here shouldn’t be so compared. Granted, he lets nothing pass his notice, but that is a plus of the tactician, not the minus of a—”
“Thank you, Antonio, for the compliment,” Reece put in. “As I was telling Alejandra that night she asked what you intend to do about all the nasty French flotsam that’s stinking up the bay, you are a fair and just—”
“That wasn’t what I asked you,” she cut in, her face blanching.
“Oh?” Reece endeavored to look abashed. “Maybe I did get it a little wrong. You asked me how His Excellency was doing. And I said fine. Because he is. Just look at him.” Reece hitched a thumb toward the Mexican’s amused face, then lied, “He couldn’t be more ready for the trip I told you all about, Alejandra. His trip to Mexico City.”
“Ah yes, my trip to the capital . . .” No one had ever accused Antonio López de Santa Anna of being thick-headed, and he wasn’t a disappointment in this instance. Smugly, he commented, “It sounds as if I was quite the subject for conversation.”
“You got that right, Antonio.” Reece watched Alejandra. She seemed intent on buttering a roll. “You did want to know all about Antonio, didn’t you, Alejandra?”
She nibbled on a piece of crust. Patting her tightened lips with a linen, she nodded and rang a silver bell for the serving girl. “Of course I’m curious about my husband’s commander. Ninfa, bring more wine for my guests. Tell Cook we’ll have the red snapper now. And ask the musicians to leave; they’re giving me a head—Just tell them to leave.”
“Sí, patróna.”
Reece, wanting to get back to the subject, said to Alejandra, “Pardon me if I sounded like a cackling old gossip with all my references to this or that conversation—” he turned his regard to the other man “—but I just want you to know, Antonio, I have nothing to hide about my last visit with our hostess here. I’ve nothing to hide from you, period.”
There. It was done. Reece had spread bald-faced lies for Antonio’s benefit—just in case she had been honest about her beliefs—and he’d given away neither a single secret nor a hint about their true plans. And he had shown the cur of Manga de Clavo that not even the beauteous Alejandra could entice him into disloyalty.
Why didn’t he get a rush of satisfaction, proving himself?
Her ring finger touched her temple before she said, “What a peculiar thing you said, Señor Montgomery, pointing out your honesty. Peculiar, unless you have something to hide.”
“Doña Alejandra, you should see to your headache! It has clouded your reason. The loyalty of Colonel Montgomery has been proved many times over.”
A smirk of satisfaction lurked at the corners of Reece’s mouth as he looked to his left, to Alejandra. She was glaring at him. “Why are you called ‘colonel’?” she asked bluntly.
Antonio didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Because I elevated him to a position of importance. Many know him as El Cazador. But I call my good friend by the military rank he has earned. None has been more loyal than he.”
With feigned innocence that was remarkable considering her lively features, she uttered a “my goodness,” then smiled blandly. “Tell me, General, have you settled your differences with President Bustamante? Has he restored your rank?”
“Not yet, Doña Alejandra. But it is only a matter of time before the French make a move against us. Has our good friend”—he motioned at Reece—“told you I’ve offered my services to Commandante Rincón at the fortress?”
This line of conversation had Reece uneasy. It would contradict the Mexico City lie—if Antonio intended to tell more of his plans.
“Your offer to defend San Juan de Ulúa was brought to my attention,” Alejandra replied. “At the same time I was told you are gathering an army. I was . . .” She brought steepled fingers to her lips. “I was given to understand you’re more interested in challenging Anastacio Bustamante’s government than in defending our shores.”
Reece had never said anything of the kind. What was she up to? Before he could question her remarks, Antonio shook his head and waved a finger.
“Doña Alejandra, you are out of sorts tonight, and it’s quite unbecoming,” he scolded, using the same tone he employed with his daughters. “You must be careful of the tales you carry. A misinterpreted word or two—to a less prudent person than I, of course-could cause problems for me.”
“I assure you, General Santa Anna, there is nothing wrong with my powers of observation.” Her eyes settled on Reece’s, yet her words were addressed to the other man. “I was also told your ambitions know no limits, that you yearn to redeem yourself after losing Tejas.”
“Redeem myself?” Antonio croaked.
Reece leaned toward her. Where the hell had she gotten these preposterous yarns? They were pap. Maybe not pap, but . . . He realized she wanted to extract payment for his transgression of bringing Antonio to Campos de Palmas, but all this pepper up her nose couldn’t come from a minor infraction of gallantry and good manners.
Could it? Of course it could, he decided. He had been a boor to bring Antonio here. Reece felt rotten. Her reactions were much too strong for a woman caught in a little lie. She wouldn’t be this irritated. And he got the sinking suspicion that he had been wrong about Alejandra.
“Redeem myself?” Antonio repeated, full of gall and wormwood. “With the fires of patriotism and noble ambition in my heart, I led a valiant campaign to maintain the territorial integrity of Mexico. Yet I should redeem myself? Who filled your head with such blasphemy?”
Alejandra’s eyes focused to her right, grazing the tabletop and glancing off silverware before climbing up to Reece’s frowning face. Then, quickly, she settled her gaze on her countryman. “Oh, my, surely you wouldn’t wish me to name a name, Your Excellency,” she replied in a coo, using the term of respect for a first time. “It should be more than obvious.”
Suddenly her lashing out was all too clear.
Reece sat in stunned silence.
Alejandra was a cornered, wounded animal. For days Reece had been adamant in his conclusions that Antonio had used her to test his loyalty. He had been wrong. Dead wrong. He was exposing Alejandra, the Federalist, to her enemy.
With an invisible knife twisting in his gut, Reece couldn’t breathe.
How could he rectify his wrongs? What could he do to gloss all this over? If he couldn’t think of something, and quick-like, no telling what would happen. To either one of them.
Into the heavy silence, Antonio said, “My man Montgomery would never do me false.”
Saved. He was saved. But was she? Maybe. It was then that a plan formed in Reece’s mind. “Alejandra, querida, be careful of what you say, as Antonio cautioned.” His mouth eased into a forced smile as he scanned her flushed and furious features. Reaching to take the hand she yanked away, he said, “You’re letting our lovers’ spat get in the way of reason, and—”
“¡Silencio, sinvergüenza!”
“Now, now,” he tried to placate, “I know I’m a scoundrel. We shouldn’t air our pro
blems in front of His Excellency,” Reece went on. “Let me make everything up to you, my darling. In private.”
Those eyes, those bewitching cat eyes, moved to rest on Reece’s mouth. She took a tiny sip of wine, then ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. “Do you think you could?” was her dulcet murmur.
“Yeah,” he said, falling to English and leaning toward her. He yearned to do many things. All of which should be done in a very private place. “I can make everything right. And good.”
“Could you now?”
Reece had nary a moment to bask in her changed attitude. Anew, her face recaptured its rigid shield. Rising from the table, she gripped the edge of it. She looked straight down the table and said, “You might want to look into something else, Your Excellency. The evening I called on him, to invite him to dinner, I saw a rider leaving Casa Montgomery. Naturally I recognized François of Joinville.”
She had gone too damned far! Reece scowled. What was it going to take to shut her up?
Antonio, his brown eyes growing rounded, sucked in his breath. “Is what she charges true?”
“No need to ask him, Your Excellency. His forked tongue would form nothing but lies. I am telling you the truth. This Anglo you have taken into your trust is a foreign agent!”
Doubt flickered in Antonio’s eyes. “Montgomery, say it isn’t so.”
The urge to grab her, to shake her was more than Reece could contain. Collapsing like a hut of sticks was everything he had struggled to attain over the past thirty-two months.
“I am not an agent for the French.” Reece stood and stepped to her. Grabbing Alejandra by the shoulders, he yanked her to him. “You are the liar, you green-eyed witch.”
Chapter Eight
Alejandra was shaking.
She had been for more than an hour, ever since she started lying to the vulture Santa Anna about that cobra, Reece Montgomery—whose clever, forked tongue had saved him from paying the price of her accusations, despite her ceaseless efforts.
She had one thing to be thankful for as she paced her bedchamber and tried to ignore the knots in her stomach. Reece had rushed the other man from Campos de Palmas before the fish course could be served, thus saving her from plunging a butter knife into his rotten, black heart.
It had been bad enough, his forcing Santa Anna on her. Then, when she had realized the Tejano snake had no intention of aiding her cause and that he was doing everything possible—outside of calling her a Federalist!—to expose her as a villainess, she had been as furious with herself as she was with him. Why hadn’t she, right from the beginning, been more cautious of his reputation and lack of principles?
Why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut tonight? No way could she prevail over his venomous tongue.
“You are the liar, you green-eyed witch,” he had drawled during the aborted dinner as he stomped over to grab her into his arms. His embrace both repelled and intoxicated her. “I’ll not abide any more of your shrewish tongue.”
She wanted nothing to do with this betrayer of promises, yet he smelled of wood and leather and faintly of wine, but mostly of warm and clean man, and the bacchanalia of the evening—all the danger and forbidden excitement—did something quite strange to Alejandra. She was drunk with desire . . . with passions she had never imagined possible.
Fight it! she told herself. Fight him!
If only he would unhand her . . . Maybe then she could gather her wits. She couldn’t. Not with the silk of his shirt and the steel behind it plastered against her bosom, and not with his huge hands splayed across her derriere to press her to his thighs, and certainly not with his sensuous lips half parted as if to beckon a kiss.
A kiss wasn’t what he wanted.
“You never saw any Froggie prince leaving my house, and even if you did see him or some look-alike on the road fronting Casa Montgomery, I can’t be blamed for it. I don’t keep a sentry posted to take note of any and everyone who travels a public road.” Reece’s fingers squeezed the round of her behind. “Now, tell General Santa Anna you lied.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Santa Anna shoved one hand in his pocket and threw the other wide. “Stop this! You lovers embarrass me.”
“We are being scandalous,” Reece said, grinning down at her. “And that’s exactly what all of this is: a lover’s row.” He glanced a mustachioed kiss off her cheek. “You see, Antonio, I didn’t take her seriously when she promised I’d regret it . . . if I didn’t arrive here with a proposal of marriage.”
The nerve of him! Proposal of marriage—huh! A woman would have to be lame of faculties if she wished to spend the rest of her life with such an asp! Wouldn’t she? One thing was for certain there would never be a dull moment. And you must be dull-witted, Alejandra!
He released her, and she half lurched to gain footing. “I think we should take our leave, Antonio,” Reece said, “so that my darling may pull herself together. ”
And so they had departed.
Leaving Alejandra foiled in her efforts to thwart Santa Anna . . . not to mention her efforts to expose Reece as faithless to anything or anyone Mexican. Her fight was paralyzed.
A wail of frustration reverberated through her sleeping chamber. She grabbed her hairbrush, throwing it across her bedchamber. She despised the cursed El Cazador!
A knock on the door whirled her around. Ninfa entered the bedchamber. The moon-faced girl’s color high, she said, “Manuel, um, he, um, located your sister. She was with Señor de Guzman.” Dropping her chin, she laced her fingers. “They were in the stable.”
“¡Madre de Dios!”
Rushing to a window, Alejandra opened it and stuck her head out. The moon afforded a clear view. She looked down the carriageway, then across the lawn to the stable’s outline. Nary a movement did she detect. Were they still in their hideaway?
Five minutes later, Alejandra had thrown off her wrapper and had grabbed a cotton skirt and a jacket, which she was buttoning to her chin. She stomped toward the stable door. Nonchalant as she pleased, Mercedes strolled into the moonlit night. She hummed a tune while pulling straw from the disarray of her blond hair.
Alejandra, scowling, halted an arm’s length from her sister. Yet she couldn’t utter a remonstration. As much as she thought it sinful for Mercedes to lay with Erasmo, she realized her sister must be terribly unhappy in her marriage to have sought the arms of another man. Erasmo, on the other hand, should have been more gallant.
Mercedes spoke. “You’re to blame, you know. You were the one who reminded me it isn’t hate I feel for Erasmo.”
“Mercie, I never meant—¡Maldición! What about Joaquin!”
Mercedes passed her sister. Alejandra whipped around, catching her arm. “I intend to have a few words with Erasmo about you.”
“You’ll have a hard time doing that. He borrowed one of your horses and rode out. Five, maybe ten minutes ago.”
“To go where? Home?”
“Eventually. I think he intends to make a detour first.”
“To do what?”
“To put a bullet between Señor Montgomery’s eyes. ”
Alejandra gasped. Just minutes ago, she would have gladly and with much satisfaction taken Reece’s life. Now that it was in true jeopardy, she knew she had to frustrate Erasmo’s purpose. Why, she neither comprehended nor accepted.
She rushed into the stable and went for a knife as well as her favorite mount. Weapon clamped between her teeth, she climbed, agile as a monkey, atop the mare’s russet back. A hank of black mane twisted between her fingers, she took the closest route to Casa Montgomery. The beach route.
Reece was alone at Casa Montgomery.
Wishing Pepe were here to lend an uncomprehending ear, he stripped naked in anticipation of a short night of rest. But he couldn’t sleep and knew it. Before dawn he would rendezvous with Antonio, at Fort Sante Fe in Vera Cruz, where they would finalize tactics for the former general’s approach to the commander of San
Juan de Ulúa. Reece ached to get inside that fortress and down into the dungeons. Howbeit, the scheme had nothing to do with his restlessness.
He had missed his chance with Alejandra. Her temper simmering below the ladylike surface was what attracted him the most, even beyond her beauty and the sexual aura she didn’t even seem aware of. The challenge excited him. But he’d gone too far.
A solitary walk along the beach might fill that emptiness, might relax his knotted muscles. Might. He grabbed a pair of doeskin breeches, yanking them up his long legs, then went for a cigar and a Lucifer.
Walking barefoot along the shoreline and staring at moonlight reflected off the salt-scented waters, Reece puffed on his cigar and listened to the surf. Which seemed to mock, “Fool . . . fool . . . fool.”
There was no denying the charge.
Antonio had believed Reece’s explanation: a lovers’ quarrel precipitated the treacherous accusations of Widow Sierra. For all his cunning and genius, Antonio Santa Anna did have a gullible streak. To put it mildly.
Reece, to put it even less mildly, could neither pat himself on the back for cunning nor applaud his own genius.
Making peace with the lovely Alejandra was probably beyond the realm of possibility. He had been a cad, a heel, and a bounder by disbelieving her vehement federalism.
There was a hollow feeling in his chest, one he couldn’t describe, it being so foreign.
He kicked the sand, his big toe encountering a piece of driftwood. Pain shot up his foot, and he was glad for it. It served him right to suffer for his mistakes. If only he had accepted Alejandra’s impassioned pleas . . . If only he had given her the benefit of a doubt . . . If only, if only, if only!
If onlys were for spineless, gutless cowards incapable of rectifying their mistakes.
What could he do to right his wrong?
“Killing isn’t good enough for you.”
Reece whipped around to face the voice’s owner. No more than four feet separated them. Under the full moon stood a broad-faced Mexican wearing a silver-studded bolero over his bullish chest and a wide sombrero above a sneering face that sported a nose like a flattened potato. He brandished a flintlock pistol.