Allegiance

by Rosalie More

  Alizar flicked a quick glance his way. “Señor O'Donnell, army spy! Leave your rifle where it is and dismount slowly unless you want to watch this whore's blood pour out on the ground."

  Tyler's breath caught in his chest. For a moment he couldn't move or think. Amy, standing close by with her back to him, could have been equally paralyzed with horror because she didn't even glance around. She appeared small and child-like in her white Mexican blouse and long red skirt; her blonde hair tumbled loose below her shoulders.

  Slowly Tyler stepped down from his horse, his functions returning sluggishly. He must find a way to defuse the ticklish situation quickly. He and Amy were lined up in such a way that Alizar had them both covered. One foolish move on Tyler's part and someone would die. He moved forward cautiously. The wagon no doubt contained the muskets and gunpowder—and Alizar probably wanted it all.

  "Stop there!” Alizar demanded.

  Tyler halted a couple of yards behind and to one side of Amy. “I didn't think your honor would allow for killing an unarmed man."

  Alizar didn't reply. His feet were braced, his arm extended, his hand with the pistol steady.

  "Tyler?” Amy's voice quavered on the verge of breaking. “He wants to take the muskets, to force himself into the governor's office."

  "Is that right?” Tyler eased forward a couple of steps. If he got the chance, he would seize Amy's carbine and push her out of the way. Obviously, she wasn't going to fire, and the Spaniard knew it. The stalemate was temporary, since the only logical ending was for Alizar to kill Tyler and carry out his grandiose scheme unhindered. If Amy insisted on opposing him, Alizar would have to kill her, too.

  Alizar's voice roared with authority. “I claim these arms in the name of the Republic of Mexico!"

  Tyler shifted closer to Amy. “Since when do you support the federales?"

  "Never mind, Yankee. Back away from the girl.” Alizar's eyes glittered with menace. “Go over and hitch up those mules for me."

  "And if I don't?"

  "I will shoot you down like a dog. Or better yet, I'll put a bullet through your whore and still have time to reload before you can get to me.” Alizar laughed, as though he were crazy enough to try it. “You want to watch her die?"

  The cold chill of uncertainty suspended Tyler's measured progress. Trying to predict what a lunatic would do was far too dangerous to risk.

  Amy didn't move. “Tyler, I'm so sorry! I should have listened. You told me not to let them fall into the wrong hands—"

  "It's all right, Sweetheart. Let it go.” Tyler's chest constricted with sorrow, realizing that Alizar couldn't afford to let either of them live. Stubborn little Amy, refusing to surrender, would die full of remorse. And he would die, too, without the chance to hold her in his arms one last time. “Don't worry about it, Amy. They're only some old muskets left over from the Revolutionary War."

  "Liar!” Alizar's lips pulled back from his teeth like a snarling wolf. “If that were so, why would you risk your life for them? You have two minutes to harness the mules."

  Tyler, cursing viciously under his breath, moved reluctantly away from Amy toward the trees on the opposite side of the road where the mules stood tethered in a row. If he was going to die anyway, why was he cooperating? Strange how a man persisted in sucking in every possible breath, clinging to the last second of life, praying for miracles. No, he ought to say. I'm drawing the line here. Shoot and be damned. But he turned his back on the armed man and trudged away to do his bidding. Not even for pride or principles would he sacrifice Amy's life or his own one moment sooner than necessary.

  His thoughts raced in circles, searching in vain for a ready solution. With a detachment born of his military training, he calculated the odds. Not quite twenty yards separated Alizar and Amy. The Orlando boy, in his blankets, merged with the shadows of the cutbank behind Amy. The wagon with its deadly cargo stood just beyond the Spaniard, completely out of Tyler's reach.

  The orange light of the fire died away, and the moon cast its cold bluish light over the lurid scene. The night breeze carried the odor of charred leaves and the ammoniac smell of mules. Fear sharpened Amy's senses a hundredfold; details stood out in bold relief, imprinting themselves on her mind with unreal clarity: the mules, eyes rolling, testing their lines; the sickly lamplight glowing under the wagon's canvas; Alizar-turned-madman waving a pistol. And Tyler strolling bravely to his death.

  Oh, Tyler! You came for me! Like a guardian angel, he'd come—from where? How far? How had he known? Had she, in her distress, sent out a powerful signal, far-reaching, like a silent scream? We're going to die together. My beloved, forgive me!

  The strain of holding the carbine up so long made Amy's hands shake as with the ague. She realized she would miss her target even if she pulled the trigger. As she lowered the weapon and sank to her knees, she cursed the weakness that prevented her from doing what she had to do.

  She closed her eyes in despair. Was there any possibility the Spaniard would let Tyler live? Amy thought not. Alizar wouldn't even let her live unless she groveled and promised him everything he wanted.

  "I'd like to avoid bloodshed.” Tyler paused to glance at Alizar. “We should be able to negotiate a peaceful solution to—"

  "Negotiate!” Alizar's laugh rang out, rich with scorn. “Have you not learned that in a compromise no one gets what they want?"

  "Take the muskets and go. We're no threat to you."

  "You are right about that. A fly would be more of a threat than an unarmed Yankee chattering like a squaw. If you do not care about the weapons, perhaps you came for the girl. How much does she mean to you? Are you willing to die for her?"

  Amy ached with compassion for Tyler as he continued speaking softly, urging Alizar to lay his weapon down. Tyler wouldn't quit trying, she knew, until his blood flowed with hers upon the ground.

  "Shut up and keep moving!” Alizar ordered.

  Tyler continued toward the mules.

  The burning pain in Amy's back and shoulders seeped away. She wiped her perspiring palms on her skirt and lifted the carbine once more. She pressed the smooth stock against her cheek. Could she do it?

  Alizar's eyes held on Tyler. She took the time to aim carefully, caught her breath, and slowly squeezed the trigger. Her bullet exploded the brass lamp in the wagon. As flames spread across the floorboards, gaining momentum in the oil she'd spilled earlier, Alizar shouted a curse. He stared first at the wagon, then at her, disbelief etched on his face.

  Her carbine was out of ammunition; she laid it down. If Alizar wanted to kill her, she had no way to stop him. At least he wouldn't get the muskets.

  Slowly, she rose to her feet with a deep sense of failure. How disappointed Tyler must be in her! She'd been so boastful the night they'd parted. So full of bravado about what she intended to do. And it had come to this. Not only had she failed to deliver the muskets to the rebels, but she'd unwittingly helped set a trap for Tyler. He would die, and it was all her fault.

  Quick as thought, the fire crawled up the canvas and engulfed the wagon.

  Tyler doubled back in her direction, sprinting hard. “Get down! It'll blow!” He spread his arms and dove, slamming her into the dirt.

  The world erupted with sound; a blast of air, red-hot and stinging, clapped her ears. The ground vibrated as one boom rumbled into another. Time stretched out like a year in Hades, then silence fell, punctuated by the ting and plop of falling debris.

  Tyler stirred, finally, and rolled off her. “Amy? Are you all right?” His voice sounded tinny and far away. “Oh, God, please—"

  "I don't know.” She sat up, half-consciously rubbing a throbbing hipbone. The pungent smell of burnt powder filled the air. “I think so..."

  Tyler reached out to clasp her chin and turn her face one way and the other. “Does anything hurt?” He ran his hand over her hair, then scrutinized her arms and her clothing. “Talk to me—"

  "Just my ears. A hundred little bells are ringing."

&
nbsp; "That will pass.” He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms once more as though to reassure himself. He blinked several times to clear his eyes. Giving a shaky laugh, he rose and lifted her up with him.

  The world tilted. She leaned into his arms, trembling violently. “We're alive! Oh, Tyler!” Her throat closed on a sob. She had acquired a deeper knowledge of fear than she was ready for, and only he could drive back the dark. “Tyler, hold me."

  He embraced her and stroked her hair. “Lord, that was close! You took a big chance putting that bullet anywhere but between his eyes, you know."

  "Alizar! Is he—"

  "He won't give us any more trouble."

  Amy twisted in his arms to glance toward the charring remains of the wagon. A few feet away, Alizar lay prostrate on the ground with a tapered stick of wood through his body. The wooden shaft looked so oddly out of place, she had to stare for a moment to make sense of it. Death had set Alizar's face in grotesque lines.

  "Oh—How horrible!” Amy shuddered and tore her eyes from the sight. “I didn't mean for that to happen! I wanted to distract him so you could get away. I didn't mean to kill him. But I did, didn't I?” The weakness in her legs spread to the rest of her body.

  "You did what you had to do. He was going to kill us, Amy."

  She kept her head averted, refusing to look again at the ugly reminder of a failed mission. And of the horrible death of a friend gone astray. Poor Alizar. “Would you please cover him with something? I want to take him back to Santa Fe for burial. He had a lot of friends."

  "After I've tended to you."

  She buried her face in the soft warmth of his serape. It smelled of wool and wood smoke. He was safe! That was all that mattered. She kept hugging him to convince herself he was real. “I couldn't believe it was you! I still don't. You came back!"

  "Of course, I came back. When I saw him standing there, threatening you—I thought I'd arrived too late."

  Amy lifted her head to look at him. Red reflections from the fire highlighted his beautiful face. “Just in time. Like a guardian angel!"

  He shook his head and glanced around. “A guardian angel would know how to get you out of here now. My horse is gone, along with the mules. The explosion scared them off. All my gear, my bed roll, everything."

  "I suppose I'll have to share my blankets with you."

  He looked at her, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Where did you leave them? Not in the wagon, I hope."

  A groan erupted from the ground behind her and she remembered Rosa's cousin. She craned her neck, looking down. “Benito! Are you all right?"

  Two eyes, wide with alarm, peered out of the pile of blankets. “Madre mía Papa de Dios! What a magnificent boom!"

  "Are you hurt?"

  The Mexican youth pushed his blankets aside and pressed a hand against his side. “Nothing except what that devil did to me with his knife. I believe my insides are falling out."

  "No, Benito. The wound is not deep, but it will hurt for awhile. Can I get you anything? More water?"

  Wincing in pain, Benito tugged his blankets back into place. “No, Señorita. I need nothing now but your prayers."

  "You have them, Benito. If God will listen to them after what I've done."

  Amy disengaged herself, intending to lead Tyler up the hill to where she'd left her bedroll—it seemed like hours ago—then gasped with pain as her right leg buckled suddenly beneath her.

  Tyler caught her and scooped her up in his arms. “I thought you said you weren't hurt."

  "I sprained something—it's not bad.” The feel of his strong arms supporting her made her feel safe. She slipped her arms around his neck.

  "Bad enough,” he said. “Where, exactly, did you leave your bedding?"

  She pointed. “Across the road among those pines."

  As he carried her up the hill out of sight of the road, the mat of dry pine needles under the trees cushioned his footfalls; she floated through a silent, moonlit world, cradled against his chest.

  "The muskets, the gunpowder. All gone.” She couldn't quite believe it.

  "So what?” Bitterness edged his voice. Carefully, he set her down on the rumpled blankets and knelt beside her. He lifted her foot. “Now, where does it hurt?"

  "My ankle...” She bit her lip as his touch sent a warm shudder through her.

  "See if you can move it."

  She complied, gazing at him in wordless amazement. He was actually kneeling before her in the flesh. He was more handsome than she remembered: tall and lean, with real depth to his chest. His golden hair had grown long, brushing his shoulders. What did it matter that he wore an old serape and a stubbly growth of beard? Watching him, she wondered about the changes she sensed within him, yet couldn't actually see. Was this the same man she'd met almost a year before? Where was the cocky self-assurance, the rigid self-control?

  "No wounds?” His callused fingers slipped a little higher under her skirt. The intimacy jolted her.

  "No. I'll be fine. I still can't believe you're here. If you vanished again like smoke, I wouldn't be surprised. Are you real, or just a ghost?"

  "Oh, I'm real.” He lowered her skirt and put his arms around her. He pulled her close. “Lord, I've missed you! You can't know how much."

  She tightened her arms around his neck. “I feared I would never see you again. All my life people I loved have left me behind, and I—” She drew a ragged breath. “I can't believe I chose to stay behind and let you go. And for what? I didn't realize what was truly important until you were gone."

  He grimaced. “Always, duty came first with me."

  "With me, too! Which made no sense at all."

  "Promise me that nothing will come between us again.” Tenderly, he stroked her hair away from her face.

  "I can assure you of that.” She was filled with a reckless desire to rejoice in life, wildly and madly. She lay back, tugging on his hand.

  He kissed her fingers. “Do you love me?"

  "Come here and let me show you how much."

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rosalie More started writing fiction in junior high school. She completed her first full-length historical novel before graduating from high school and another while earning a B.A. degree at college. Even while she taught grade school and later operated an art gallery, she continued to write sagas about independent women and courageous men of the old West.

  Growing up, she read every book by Zane Grey she could get her hands on, and was thrilled when she later had a chance to meet his son, Romer Grey. When he discovered that she wrote western historicals, he asked to read them. He was so impressed that he offered to help her market them as her agent. Unfortunately, his health failed and he died before fulfilling the dream. The memory of his support and encouragement stayed with her however, and she never quit writing.

  Allegiance reached the finals in seven RWA contests and became a 1998 Golden Heart finalist. A year after being published, Allegiance became a finalist for the EPIC 2000 eBook Award.

  Being an artist as well as an author, Rosalie designed her own book covers and the book covers of other authors. One of those designs won the Spectrum 2000 Cover Art contest.

  She is a founding member of Rogue Writers Ink, a local writers’ organization, and served as their newsletter editor for 7 years, as well as an officer on the Board of Directors for many years.

  She would love to hear from readers.

  Feel welcome to write her at: moresmemo@aol.com

  Please visit her web site at: www.RosalieMore.com

  For your reading pleasure, we welcome you to visit our web bookstore

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  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

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  Visit www.whiskeycreekpress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

 
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