Allegiance

  Alizar appeared at her side, a handsome figure in his black velvet charro suit with the embroidery along the seams. The cambric ruffles on his shirt lent a fancy New Orleans touch, but the rest was pure Mexico: the jacket short and fitted, the trousers snug in the thigh.

  He slipped a hand around her waist. “Come, querida. Let us dance."

  Tyler entered the hall at that moment, and she expelled her breath in relief.

  As Alizar led her onto the floor, one of Felicité's girlfriends whirled by with a lighted cigarrillo in her mouth. The dress she wore was one of Amy's favorite creations.

  "I love this gown!” the woman said. “I want to buy more."

  "Good, I'll make you another that fits perfectly.” Mingling with the crowd, Amy lost sight of Tyler.

  Usually, she enjoyed dancing. Tonight should have been special, since living models were showing off her gowns. But knowing the danger Jeb faced as he moved the contraband shipment practically under the nose of the Customs Inspector kept her in a cold sweat.

  After two dances, she pleaded for a rest. As Alizar wandered off to get another brandy, she circled the room in search of Tyler who had disappeared again.. Felicité intercepted her halfway around, grabbed her arm, and steered her toward the back of the room.

  The alcalde's daughter gave her an unsmiling look, her eyes wide and serious. “Amy, I must talk with you. Now. Follow me."

  The rooms of the house, separated by archways, followed one another in a row like beads on a string. Felicité led Amy through three of them before she stopped and turned. “My friend,” she whispered. “I cannot keep this secret."

  "What is it?” Amy's skin prickled with alarm.

  "You are in love with Tyler O'Donnell, are you not?"

  Amy blinked. “Why do you ask that?"

  Felicité closed her eyes, releasing a long breath. “I overheard an official secret. I could be pilloried for telling you. If I am wrong about your love for Señor O'Donnell, tell me. If you do not care, it will not matter what happens."

  "What do you mean? Oh, tell me! If anything has happened, I must know."

  "I thought as much.” Felicité gave her a fleeting smile. “Armijo is not a nice man. He told the governor—why he would speak of such a thing in front of me, I do not know, unless he thought I was deaf. I am not stupid—"

  "What did he say?” Amy gripped Felicité's shoulders.

  "He said Señor O'Donnell is a spy, preparing the way for a Texan invasion."

  Amy's thinking stalled. “What?"

  "They spoke of setting a trap."

  "How? When?” She had to run to Tyler, had to warn him.

  Felicité spread her hands, palms up. “I am sorry, that is all I know."

  Amy swiveled slowly toward the door like a sleepwalker. God, protect him! Please don't let anything happen to Tyler!

  "Are you all right?” Felicité's voice sounded far away.

  "Yes. I must find him."

  Felicité grabbed her arm. “Remain calm! They will suspect—"

  She's right. Take my time. Smile. In the main room, Amy scrutinized the spectators along the walls—Tyler wouldn't be on the dance floor. The hot close-packed room reeked of human bodies and tobacco smoke. She wove her way through the crowd to an open doorway, filling her lungs with fresh air.

  Tyler lounged against an upright post on the walkway outside, one of at least a dozen other people seeking the cool night air. Couples and small groups of men stood smoking and talking in low voices. A current of motion stirred the crowd off to the right. Halfway down the portico, a band of men approached in military style, boots scuffing, metal buttons and scabbards gleaming in the starlight, patches of white and blue uniforms moving against the darkness.

  "Tyler!” Amy's scream shattered the peaceful night.

  He spun around, staring first at her then at the men closing in on him. He backed into the street, but they surged around him like hounds on a stag.

  She started forward, but a hand clamped on her arm.

  "Amy!” Alizar pulled her close and snugged his arm around her shoulders. “You can do nothing for him."

  The soldiers disarmed Tyler with efficiency and manacled his hands in front of him. He didn't resist, but his pale face reflected the same horrible dismay that nearly stopped Amy's heart. His gaze, resting on her briefly, held a message: Be careful; save yourself!

  Amy clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the cry of anguish that rose from deep within as the soldiers led Tyler away. One man shoved him roughly from behind. He staggered and nearly fell.

  "Are you all right?” Alizar murmured directly into her ear.

  "No. Please, let me go.” If Alizar was her friend, why had he stood by and done nothing? Had he known of the plot against Tyler? If so, why hadn't he told her? “I think I may swoon."

  Alizar lowered her to a sitting position and propped her against the adobe wall. “I will bring you a cup of water."

  After he left, Felicité knelt beside Amy and peered into her face.

  Amy rallied at once. “Who can help Tyler? Do you know anyone? Your father?"

  "I will speak to him, of course. But he can do nothing tonight."

  "Help me up. I must find Jeb.” Amy's long skirts tangled her feet. With Felicité's sturdy arm under hers, she gained her balance.

  Far down the street, the last of the federal troops rounded a corner and disappeared out of sight. The spectators, losing interest, began to disperse.

  Ignoring Felicité's pleas to stay, Amy shook her loose and broke into a run, bunching loose folds of her skirt in her fists. Between the sound of her own running footsteps and the pounding of the blood in her ears, she didn't at first identify the distant musket fire. When she did, the import struck her like a blow. Were they executing Tyler already?

  "No! God, please, no!” Her throat tightened around a knot of fear.

  She raced down the center of the narrow dark street, dodging garbage and animal droppings. Near the corner of the plaza, she slumped against the mud brick wall, gasping for breath. Two uniformed sentries standing next to a small cannon stared at her. Tyler, escorted by the army detail, disappeared around the far end of the long government building a block away. He was still alive!

  On the south side of the plaza, another group of soldiers milled among the wagons near a dilapidated old church. Near her wagons! If possible, her sense of doom grew worse. Without thinking, she dashed across the plaza, screaming for Jeb. She found him on his back in the dirt and knelt down beside him.

  "Can you hear me, Jeb?” Shock robbed her limbs of feeling; her head spun. This couldn't be happening!

  He clutched his shoulder, groaning. “I—ain't dyin'. Just wished—I was."

  Someone bent over her, holding a lantern. She tore open the neck of Jeb's buckskin shirt. Dark red blood pooled in the hollow of his shoulder and collarbone.

  Her mouth went dry. “He needs help! Fetch the doctor! You can't die, Jeb. I don't know what I would do if—"

  A soldier tugged at Amy's arm. “Stand back, Señorita."

  "He needs a doctor!” She shrugged off the man's hand. “How bad is it, Jeb?” The hole in his shoulder oozed blood—no spurting or gushing.

  Metal jangled against metal as the soldier tried to put manacles on Jeb.

  Amy pushed the man's hands aside. “He's bleeding to death! Get help!"

  Another soldier dragged her to her feet and gave her a push. “Stand back!” He barred her way, scowling and pointing toward the portico.

  She retreated as far as the nearest wagon. The dim light of a lantern setting on the tailgate revealed pieces of broken wood and scattered merchandise littering the ground. Her sluggish mind tried to make sense of it as she lifted the lantern high, assessing the devastation. What kind of government looted with impunity? And shot the men who defended their own property?

  The dark interior of the wagon appeared empty, save for a pile of loose floorboards. They had taken the cache of muskets!

  She p
ressed her knuckles to her mouth, repressing a groan.

  From out of the shadows of an alley, Raul and Domingo appeared, only to skid to a stop and gawk at the disorder. Rosa shrieked and pushed past them to run to Jeb's side. The girl dropped to her knees, sobbing and hugging his fist against her breast

  Although the mission had ended in a disaster, Jeb's life still hung in the balance. In a disorganized pile of trade goods, Amy found a blanket—one of Tyler's heavy Mackinaws. She elbowed her way past the soldiers to lay the blanket over her brother's shivering body. She sank to her knees opposite Rosa.

  He reached for her with his free hand. “Amy. I—tried to stop ‘em. They were trompin’ all over your raisins."

  She wanted to tell him it was all right, the mess didn't matter, but she couldn't force a sound through her constricted throat.

  The guard yanked her away again, then leaned down to tug at Rosa.

  "Amy!” Alizar appeared at her side. “You must not be here! Come away at once."

  "Jeb's hurt bad!"

  "You can do nothing.” He pulled her up and ushered her toward the walkway. “They are impounding all the wagons belonging to Americans. As soon as they realize who you are, they will arrest you."

  "But why?” She stumbled to keep up with his long strides as he hurried her along, his arm hooked around her waist.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “You are in danger here.” He headed toward the nearest street leading out of the plaza.

  "Wait! I can't leave—"

  "Let me get you to safety, then I will come back and help your brother.” His strong grip allowed no lagging. Once around the corner, he paused in a doorway to look back, shielding her behind him. The starlight barely penetrated the narrow street. After several minutes of silence, he guided her onward. The jingle of his spurs echoed between the adobe walls.

  He spoke quietly. “That bastardo Armijo suspects that every foreigner is a friend of Texas. He made the governor believe it, too. I will protect you if I can. I do not think they would dare threaten my fiancée."

  She let the reference to his fiancée pass. “I can't run and hide while my brother needs me, Alizar! And my—our friend, Mr. O'Donnell, has been arrested. And for what cause? How can they legally confiscate my wagons and my trade goods? I have nothing left in the world—” Her voice broke as grief and rage swept over her. What would she tell Henri? How would she ever repay him for his trade goods? Wracked with sobs, she sank to her knees in the dust.

  "Ah, mi querida, do not weep. I will do whatever I can.” He lifted her in his arms and continued walking.

  "How can I trust you? You didn't tell me they were setting a trap!"

  "I did not know! You must believe that. Right now, I am your only hope."

  "No, I have Felicité, too. She will speak to her father about this.” Amy held herself rigid, fighting the impulse to surrender to his strength, his protection, his promises.

  "The alcalde?” He shook his head. “He cannot afford to offend Pérez."

  "I thought you were a good friend of Felicité's father!"

  "I am, but Don Vicente is prudent to cooperate with the governor for now."

  "Can I trust Felicité?"

  "I believe so, however, she is a young girl. What can she do?” He stopped before a port-cochère with an iron gate and set her on her feet. “It is your choice, cara mía. I can deliver you to the Lorenzos’ home—where I cannot guarantee your safety—or you can make my home your sanctuary. You decide."

  Amy's legs trembled as much from her overwhelming vulnerability as from fatigue. She desperately needed someone to trust. She didn't doubt that Alizar cared. Leaning against him, she rested her weary head against his chest. “I'll stay with you for tonight."

  * * * *

  Tyler, help me ... Amy fought her way free of a miasmic dream world to find herself in a wooden bedstead with a genuine feather mattress. Reassured by the warmth and security, her heart gradually slowed its frantic pace.

  A tap sounded at the door, and a servant woman entered the bedroom with an armload of linens. “Awake, Señorita?"

  "Almost...” Amy snuggled deeper into the softness.

  "Don Alizar awaits you."

  A sick feeling swept over Amy as she remembered the events of the night before: the horror of Tyler's arrest, Jeb's terrible wound, the loss of all she owned in the world. She sat up slowly, fighting off a wave of dizziness.

  "Ooh, what was in that drink you gave me last night?"

  The maid smiled. “A tea of herbs to help you sleep."

  Amy, wearing her chemise and pantalettes instead of a nightgown, swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Where are my clothes?"

  "Here. I washed your dress. Almost, you cannot see where the blood was."

  The maid dropped the pink satin gown over Amy's head and buttoned up the back. The dress was clean, though badly wrinkled. Too bad—Amy had nothing else. According to the good-sized mirror hanging on one wall, the layers of petticoats worked their usual magic to give the dress its shape. After brushing and pinning up her hair, Amy adjusted her lacy cap on her head and followed the maid out of the room.

  The salon, impressive with heavy Spanish furnishings, obviously belonged to a wealthy family. Alizar rose to greet her and present her to his mother, a bone thin woman who wore her hair pulled back from her face in a severe bun. What her patrician features lacked in beauty, they made up for in haughtiness. She sat in a carved wooden chair, using a recumbent servant boy as a stool under her feet. With great difficulty, Amy hid her dismay over the callous disregard for the child's comfort.

  Beatriz Federico studied Amy with heavy-lidded eyes. “She is a lovely girl, Alizar, so pale and fair. A trader's daughter, you say?” The older woman sipped her coffee and looked askance at her son. “From an old St. Louis family?"

  Amy's attention riveted on the boy curled up under the woman's feet. She'd seen slaves perform a variety of degrading services in the southern states, but making foot rests of Indian children had to be the worst.

  Amy didn't wait for Alizar to answer his mother's question, but set the woman straight herself. “A trader's daughter, yes, but not from an old St. Louis family. I come from a long line of dirt farmers in Missouri, all of them poor."

  His mother lost her smile for an instant, then quickly pasted it back on. “At least he did not bring home a girl with long black braids. I could learn to accept you, I think. Would you care for chocolate or coffee?"

  "Neither, thank you.” Amy tried to keep her uneasiness out of her tone. “Alizar, may I speak to you alone, please?” If she didn't find out soon what he had accomplished on her behalf, she couldn't promise she wouldn't turn rude. Jeb and Tyler were counting on her to exert her influence from this side of their barred doors. Time was short and growing shorter.

  Alizar laid a possessive hand on the small of her back. “Perhaps you would like to come out to the patio? It will be cool out there for another hour."

  "Of course.” Amy allowed him to guide the way. As far as she could tell, the house wrapped itself completely around the inner courtyard, with doors leading from every room.

  Alizar steered her to a bench under an almond tree. “I bring good news."

  Hope lifted her spirits. “Really? Tell me!"

  "I have arranged for the return of your wagons and most of your merchandise—what I could find. They decided you have committed no crime."

  She let her breath out in a rush. “Good. I was worried."

  "However, I could not find the kegs of gunpowder or the lead. It has all disappeared."

  Indignation brought an unladylike curse to her lips, words she bit back with an effort. The troops must have stolen the muskets, and if so, they would have taken the ammunition, too. Why hadn't she been charged with smuggling and locked in a jail cell like Tyler and Jeb? If only she dared confide in Alizar, he could help her find the answers. “What happened last night? I don't understand anything that's going on."

  "Don't you rea
lly?” He gazed at her with skepticism. “All along, you have understood much more than you have acknowledged, is that not true?"

  "What do you mean?” Sudden apprehension knotted her stomach.

  "You are not so helpless or ignorant as you pretend, Señorita. We can no longer be friends if you are not honest with me."

  Her face grew hot, and she glanced away. “Alizar, I'm sorry. I feared..."

  "You feared what? Me? Have I not put myself in grave danger for you?"

  "Yes, and I'm grateful."

  "You understand our language, yet you refuse to speak it. Why?"

  She let her breath out slowly. “I am still learning, Alizar. Felicité is a good teacher, but I hate to sound ridiculous."

  His gaze locked on hers for a long moment, then his body visibly relaxed. His lips curved in a smile, and he squeezed her hand. As quickly as he had lost his humor, he regained it. She wished she knew what to expect from him. He was sometimes brooding, other times fiery, always volatile. A person had to be nimble to keep up with his moods. He was clever—she'd be lucky to fool him about anything for long.

  "Tell me about Jeb—how is he?"

  Alizar's expression reflected sympathy. “He will live. I called upon the presidial surgeon and insisted he stay in close attendance all night."

  "And Tyler?"

  His smile faded. “As well as can be expected."

  She realized her slip. Why had she forgotten to use Tyler's last name instead of giving away how informal their relationship had become? She yearned to know more about what had befallen Tyler, but she held her tongue, not wishing to jeopardize Alizar's loyalty. “Jeb could have died without your help. You have proven yourself a good friend to us both. I owe you my eternal gratitude. Did anyone say when Jeb and Mr. O'Donnell would be free?"

  Alizar's brow furrowed. “I said you were innocent of charges. I did not say they were."

  "What do you mean? What charges?"

  He spread his hands in the peculiar Mexican gesture that disclaimed responsibility. “A soldier died. Your brother may have killed him."

  Amy groaned and pressed her hands to her face. She should have known. Jeb had always been hotheaded, but how could he have been so stupid as to fire on a bunch of armed soldiers? “What about Mr. O'Donnell?"