Allegiance

  The girl deliberated for a moment, gazing upward as though consulting a source beyond the ordinary senses. “No ... Too soon to worry."

  Amy stirred restlessly. “I had hoped they would be here to help us rescue Jeb and Tyler. I can't bear to waste time."

  "I know.” Rosa's round face took on a grim expression. “The longer we wait, the more I fear my beloved might confess to something. Anything."

  Amy had been trying not to think about what Jeb and Tyler might be suffering, but as Rosa put her own fears into words, chilling images of torture lifted the hairs on her neck. “Let's don't think about that."

  Several hours dragged by, each more slowly than the one before. Amy ran out of patience observing the ambitious pursuits of the Orlando family around the patio. Driven mad by frustration, she came to a decision.

  Outside the courtyard, she found Rosa feeding pumpkins to the pigs. “Rosa, I cannot wait for your uncle any longer. I'm riding back to Santa Fe. Do you want to come?"

  "But what would we do there?"

  "I have a plan."

  "Bueno. I know my cousins will help, too. How many do we need?

  Amy shook her head. “I don't want to bring trouble down on your family. These people don't even know Jeb and Tyler. And what if they try to stop us? Besides, it would be better if no one here knew anything, just in case."

  "Perhaps you are right.” Rosa's eyes searched her face. “Am I correct that you plan to break into the dungeon?"

  Amy took a deep breath. “I've done it before."

  * * * *

  On the trip back to town, Amy had little trouble keeping up with Rosa since the girl had to lead Jeb's mule behind her horse. Jeb had left it tied in the alley alongside the carts before the troops moved in on the plaza, so Raul had ridden it home afterward. Someone would have to ride double during the getaway—borrowing a fourth horse from the Orlandos’ corral would have raised questions—but the rest of the plan had fallen together smoothly enough, thanks to Rosa's clever ideas. At first, Amy had suggested a complex scheme requiring a charade, a lot of bluffing, and a possible shoot-out if worst came to worst.

  But Rosa had opposed all that. “We do want this to work, do we not? I have a better idea. Since cousin Mateo found out that Tyler had been moved from below ground and is now in the cell above—"

  "That part is good.” Amy held up one hand to stall her. “We won't have to search everywhere for them. So we'll walk in the front carrying two carbines and—"

  "No, no, no.” Rosa shook her head and waved both hands. “You wish to draw attention? We would have to ride away fast, and the soldiers would give chase, firing their pistolas. No, we must be tricky like the coyote."

  Amy gave in. “What do you have in mind?"

  Rosa explained her plan. Awed by the sheer simplicity of it, Amy had agreed at once, then had helped her friend pack the necessary gear.

  On the outskirts of the Santa Fe plaza, Amy left Rosa with the horses on a side street and approached the jail on foot. She had learned from Jeb and Tyler the value of scouting out a situation ahead of time. Except for the red glow of a dying campfire and a few torches on tall poles in front of the palacio, the plaza was dark. A group of men stood drinking and laughing near the fire. Fear coiled in Amy's belly, setting off alarms like a pit full of desert rattlers.

  She found Tyler's cell, according to the directions of Rosa's cousin, around the corner from the plaza. Amy slipped through the vacant marketplace to avoid the firelight. Only a bleary-eyed man swigging from a jug crossed her path. She hunkered down under the barred window, listening and watching. With a rebozo snugged over her head, she hoped passersby would take her for a Mexican girl grieving for a loved one locked inside. They wouldn't be too far wrong, at that.

  When she was certain the area was clear, Amy softly called Tyler's name. Failing to get a response after a couple of tries, she raised her voice.

  "Amy? Are you there?” A hand appeared between the bars.

  She reached up to touch his fingers. “Are you all right, Tyler?” Her heart thudded erratically. No more than two feet separated her body from his—admittedly, a solid and discouraging two feet—but she wouldn't let dried mud and straw bar her way for long.

  His feeble grasp lacked the strength of a child's. “You shouldn't be here! It's too dangerous."

  "Never mind that. Is Jeb in there with you?"

  "Jeb? No. Should he be?” His voice sharpened.

  She cursed under her breath. With his wound, Jeb might still be in the care of the presidial surgeon. “How many are in there with you?"

  "Five men."

  "We're getting you out.” She beckoned to Rosa waiting with the horses.

  The girl left the animals tied in the shadows and scurried forward on foot, bringing a long horsehair rope.

  Amy fed one end of it through the small window. “Take this, Tyler. Now listen. We're going to saw down between the adobe bricks with this, you on one end and me on the other. It's an old Apache trick. The old mortar will crumble away like dry bread—I hope."

  "My hands aren't working too well right now. I'll give it to another fellow."

  "Fine, but hurry. If someone comes, I'll release my end, and you pull it in out of sight.” She took up the slack, yanking the rope tight between two bricks. It helped that enough of the mud plaster coating had chipped away to reveal the brick pattern. Whoever held the other end of the rope got the idea immediately. She hauled on her end, and he dragged the lariat back across the cut. The rough surface of the twisted horsehair filed away the clay mortar just as Rosa had predicted.

  "You said it would be soft as baked bread, Rosa.” Amy grimaced with the effort. “I'd hate to eat bread this hard and dry!"

  "But it is working. When you get weary, I will—Ay, cuidado!"

  As two men on horseback galloped past, Amy sank to her knees, bowing her head so her rebozo would hide her face. Thankfully, the riders didn't spare a glance on the jailhouse.

  Rosa jumped to her feet and caught the end of the rope as it slithered back out the window. The rough cut extended halfway down the wall, not in a straight line, but staggered around the bricks. The lariat fell into place, and she began sawing.

  Amy rose from her knees. “Jeb's not inside, Rosa. I'm sorry."

  "What?” Rosa faltered. “If he's not there, where is he?

  "I don't know, but I'll find out. Tomorrow.” Amy tried to sound positive, but she knew she'd be lucky to pull off one jailbreak, let alone two.

  Rosa fell silent, but if she brooded over Jeb, it didn't slow down her strokes.

  Amy took another turn when the ragged cut reached the ground. She started from the top again, about fifteen inches away from the first cut. Sawing steadily back and forth, she worked the lariat down the wall. Finally, a number of crumbling adobe bricks collapsed, revealing a gaping hole. The men kicked the section outward and squeezed through.

  The prisoners split up to flee in different directions—a necessary part of the plan. The man who remained behind, swaying on unsteady feet before Amy, bore no resemblance to the well-groomed officer she'd first met on the Missouri Belle last spring. He wore filthy clothes, a stubble of beard, and hair straggling to his shoulders.

  Amy thrust her bundle at Tyler. “Put this on. It will disguise you."

  When he fumbled with the serape, she helped him get it over his head and shoulders. The woolen folds hung to his thighs.

  She handed him a wide sombrero. “Come on, the horses are tied over here. I stowed your gear behind the saddle. Your rifle's there, too. If we get separated, ride hard for the border. Now hurry!” When she tried to grab his hand, he gasped. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

  "I'm all right.” He stumbled after her along the alley away from the plaza.

  When she reached the horses, tethered in a deeper shadow, she waited for him to catch up. He lurched forward, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She thought he merely needed support, but after he gained his balance, he enfolded her in
both arms.

  "Sweet, Amy! I didn't think I'd ever see you again.” He pressed his stubbled cheek against her temple.

  She slipped her arms around his ribs, snuggling against his broad chest. “How can you say that? You should have known I'd come. Did you think I'd forsake you?” Reveling in his warmth, she nuzzled his neck and inhaled the male scent of him. Could he actually be in her arms again?

  "I've been cursing myself for all the times I could have held you like this and didn't.” He bent to kiss her long and hard. His lips were feverish.

  Passion sparked to life within Amy. Her initial feelings of protective tenderness gave way to a hunger for intimacy that made her want to climb inside his serape with him, inside his clothes, flesh against flesh. She returned his kisses with fervor, lost in the timeless moment.

  Rosa straddled the mule. “Vámonos! We must ride!"

  Tyler straightened and gently set Amy from him with the heels of his palms, sparing his swollen fingers. “Would you untie my horse for me?"

  She stared, horrified, at his puffy hands. “What happened?"

  "Never mind now. Let's get out of here.” He pulled himself laboriously into the saddle.

  She untethered his horse and, heedful of his injured hands, looped the reins over his forearms. She jumped onto Sugarfoot's back and led the way at a gallop out of Santa Fe toward the Rancho de Orlando.

  The rhythm of the pounding hooves on the hard-packed road reverberated through her bones. Hurtling through the night with the horse's mane whipping her face and its muscles bunching and rippling between her clamped thighs, Amy became part of something larger: half-animal, half-spirit, soaring on the wind. She was truly alive in a way she'd only dreamed of back in St. Louis. A keen sense of accomplishment swelled her breast with pride and satisfaction. She'd done it: she'd rescued the man she loved and given him his freedom.

  A couple of miles out of town, she slowed her horse to a walk so he could catch his breath; Tyler and Rosa did the same. It seemed unlikely that the Mexican forces would know which way to direct their pursuit even if they were efficient enough to organize a posse quickly.

  Tyler chuckled, an alien sound to Amy's ears.

  She glanced at him with concern. “What?"

  "I remember another jailbreak on a night like this—a hundred years ago, it seems—when you rescued your brother and hauled him to the wharf in New Orleans. You'll have to tell me sometime how you managed that. I gave you a bad time over it, as I recall."

  "Yes, you did.” She frowned, remembering.

  "Insubordination.” He shook his head. “Once again, you disobeyed orders and risked your neck. If you were a soldier serving under me, I'd take your stripes for it.” He grinned. “I have to admit, though, I can't remember when I've been so glad to see anyone in my life!"

  Amy puzzled over his comment without answering. How could he expect her to stand by while friends or family suffered injustices and do nothing? Maybe that was why women weren't allowed in the army—they were more likely to follow their hearts than their ranking officers.

  At the Orlando ranch, Rosa's uncle Domingo and brother Raul waited in the darkened courtyard. Sheathed knives dangled half-hidden beneath their leather vests; holstered pistols hung from their belts. Amy dismounted and approached them, peering into the shadows under their broad-brimmed sombreros for some hint of surprise or welcome, but even at close quarters their expressions revealed nothing.

  Domingo motioned for Amy and the others to follow him inside the sprawling adobe hacienda. The silver toggles decorating the seams of his black goatskin trousers jingled as he walked. The seams flared open below the knee, revealing the folds of his cotton nether garments.

  He led the way through a door hanging loosely on leather hinges. Tiny windows set with slabs of translucent mica glowed dully with the first weak rays of dawn. Domingo lit a grease lamp.

  Eager to hear what the head of the Orlando family had to report—had he cached the muskets away safely?—Amy took a seat on a folded pad along the wall and gave Domingo her full attention. Tyler removed his hat and joined her. Rosa and her brother waited until their uncle had lowered himself to a sitting position on the smoothed mud floor before they sat cross-legged on either side of him.

  Silence prevailed as Domingo rolled a corn husk cigarrillo, ignited it, and slowly inhaled. Finally he launched his story. He'd had no problem hiding the muskets, he said, nobody would ever find them in the secret cave. His advice to Tyler was to ride all night to Bent's Fort on the U.S. side of the Arkansas River. “Get across the border fast; go by way of Taos. Raul can guide you."

  Tyler sat with his forearms propped on his knees, flexing his fingers. When he didn't respond to Domingo, it struck Amy suddenly that he didn't understand a word. Spanish had become so natural to her in the last several weeks that she barely noticed which language she uttered. Tyler was the only person in the room who didn't know what was going on, and judging by his frown, that fact didn't add to his comfort.

  Amy translated Domingo's message. “It makes sense, Tyler. I don't see what else you can do.” Switching to English created a cocoon of privacy for her and Tyler. “Jeb trusted this Orlando family, and so do I. They have connections with other rebels fighting against the governor's troops. I can stay here and complete the mission without you."

  "No, you can't,” Tyler said. “Before I go, I must destroy the muskets. My orders were to keep them out of the wrong hands at all costs."

  "Tyler, no!"

  "Listen, I hate to admit failure as much as you do, but we accepted that possibility long ago, didn't we? It's probably not too late in the year to head back to St. Louis—we'll make good time on horseback.” He hesitated, grimacing. “I'm sorry about your wagons. We'll have to leave them behind."

  "What would I do back in the States? Without my freight wagons, I would have no livelihood—no way to survive."

  "Maybe President Jackson can arrange compensation."

  "Tyler, you're forgetting I'd be safe here. The officials have no proof we smuggled any muskets into the country. And almost anyone could have broken you and the other prisoners out of that cell tonight. I'm still above suspicion."

  He shook his head stubbornly. “I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you, Amy. Especially if it was my fault.” He reached out to smooth back a lock of her hair that had worked loose from its twist during the wild ride.

  She brushed his hand aside. “Tyler, you mustn't destroy the muskets! I won't get my land grant if you do. Houston won't keep his bargain."

  His bark of laughter expressed no humor. “You've had time to look around. Does it appear to you that Houston has this territory under control? Maybe he has everyone back East believing this is part of Texas, but I have yet to meet anyone here who does."

  "If we did what we came to do, Houston's plan would succeed. I still believe in him. It will take time, that's all. I realize that's something you've run out of, but I'm willing to—"

  "Don't you understand?” Exasperation hardened his voice. “I can't leave you here alone to carry the responsibility."

  "Why not? The hard part is done. All I have to do is wait until the people actually revolt, as Alizar is certain they will. After the way the governor and his officials have treated us so far, I'm tempted to start a revolution myself."

  He groaned. “Lord, Amy! Can you explain to me what good it will do for you to fall victim to the tyranny of this government?"

  "But if I turn tail, who'll help Jeb? He's still in jail."

  "I'll get Jackson or Van Buren to negotiate for his release."

  She thought about the muskets waiting in a cave in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, waiting for oppressed people to grab them up and rush forth to demand their God-given rights. Without a forcible opposition, the greedy, self-serving junta in Mexico City would keep their strangle hold on the country. The people desperately needed the edge the muskets would give them. “I'm sorry, Tyler. I'm not ready to give up."

 
; He swore softly. “You are the most stubborn, foolhardy woman I have ever known! None of this is worth trading your life for!"

  "What was my brother's life worth when he defended our wagons against the soldiers?” Her voice rose as she gathered steam. “They looted our trade goods without cause and arrested you for a spy. No telling how much torture they would have put you through if Rosa and I hadn't broken you out. New Mexico won't be a decent place to live as long as the governor can rob innocent people and throw them in jail. I can't quit now, Tyler. Don't you see? When the rebels go up against him, they'll need all the help they can get."

  Tyler pressed his lips into a firm line. “They'll have to carry on their rebellion without you, because you're coming with me.” He grasped her wrist with his bloated fingers, but they didn't have the strength to enforce obedience. He might as well have draped a limp rag over her arm.

  Amy sighed. Locking horns with Major Tyler O'Donnell was the most futile, unproductive, and useless exercise in which she'd ever indulged. He simply would not brook opposition. She swallowed hard, dreading to speak the words that would win the argument, because they would probably mark the end of their friendship as well. “You're forgetting one thing, Tyler. You cannot destroy the muskets if you don't know where they are. And I'm not going to tell you."

  He stared at her without speaking for a long moment, his eyes glittering. Tension hummed between them like an over-tightened guitar string. Finally, he glanced at the three Orlandos, one after the other, no doubt weighing his chances of going around her. Amy was his only link with them, and he had to realize that. Even if he could speak their language, he'd never be able to convince them to take his side against hers.

  Domingo hadn't shown the least impatience during the discussion in English, but now, looking pointedly at Tyler's hand on Amy's arm, he casually reached into his boot for a short dagger and began scraping at his thumbnail.

  "They'll back me on this, Tyler,” she warned.

  He withdrew his hand. “Tell Domingo I mean no harm.” Sighing heavily, he looked away. “I know when I'm licked."