Stronger Than Passion

by Sharron Gayle Beach

  A gunshot sounded from close by. The man with the knife dropped to the ground. His compadres stopped in confusion, looking at Michael, at each other, and then in dawning dismay at the group of unsavory-looking men who were just riding up - led by a tall Indian on a big dark horse, holding a rifle pointed at them.

  *

  “I won’t say I couldn’t have handled them myself. You saw how close I was to my horse -”

  “I saw that man about to throw his knife into your back, hermano.”

  “So did I. I would’ve ducked.” Michael grinned, his face streaked with sweat and dirt.

  Julian resisted the urge to slap him around, as he would have done in the early days when Michael was no more than a green boy and had committed something reckless and idiotic that he’d had no business doing. In those days, before and after the death of Julian’s stepfather, Michael would follow Julian into Comanche territory and perpetrate an endless number of disastrous events. Disasters which Julian had had to smooth over and which could have easily been avoided, if Michael were only someone else. They’d fought each other frequently then. Or, rather, Julian had punished Michael, in the way of a big brother. Until Michael had learned to fight back with Comanche skill.

  “You still haven’t informed me why you left Monterey alone, and set off to track this dangerous band of Mexican shit without even - ”

  “Juli, Juli.” He held up a hand to silence his friend “I knew I could find them, but I could do it faster and quieter alone. The matter was urgent enough for me to try, at least. These men have managed to intercept three carriers, kill two scouting parties and disrupt the supply line from Camargo. General Taylor was at his wit’s end yesterday - you were nowhere to be found, and the Rangers have been after these guerillas for a week without any luck. So, I decided I would locate this camp. But I had no intentions of even capturing one of them, much less killing anyone. Things just got out of hand.”

  Julian grimaced. “I can see that. Exactly how long have you been at Monterey?”

  “A week.” Michael drained his glass of locally-made tequila and picked up another tortilla. He used it to scoop a pile of beans from the pan on the edge of the fire. Julian’s troop didn’t have any eating utensils, or plates. Or a cook. They bought their food from villagers, and this was what they normally got. Tortillas and beans. “Come into town with me tomorrow, and I’ll buy you a steak. I’ll even get you a bed to sleep in.”

  “Did they make you a General?” Julian asked, leaning back on an elbow away from the fire’s heat, in the darkness.

  “They haven’t made me anything. I was offered a commission, but I declined. I don’t want to be regular army. So I’m simply a volunteer - with staff privileges. I report either to Taylor or directly to Polk.”

  “Why not ride with me?” Julian’s voice was bland. It might be safer, he thought of adding, but didn’t.

  “If you need me, I will.” Michael stared at Julian’s impassive face, and found it unreadable, as usual. “I hear you’re doing some interesting things.”

  “Nothing decisive yet, not as long as Taylor rots here and Santa Anna holds court at San Luis Potosi, gathering more men and persuading the Catholic church to pay for arms. My unit will be more effective once Santa Anna starts to move.”

  “Yet, I’m sure your little group must be at least as annoying to Santa Anna as these idiots have been to Taylor.”

  Julian’s mouth crooked. “If he knew our names, I feel sure there would be a large price on our heads. But we can’t get as close enough to him as I’d like.” Julian paused, and his dark face hardened. “We steal his mail, we kill his scouts . . . unfortunately, we can’t kill him. And guerilla tactics won’t win this war.”

  Michael sat thinking, his expression containing the same absorbed bitterness that had been on Julian’s a moment ago. “If we could separate him somehow, after a battle, maybe . . .”

  Julian shook his head and leaned forward. “Drop it for now. We can’t do anything about killing him until the armies start to move. However . . .”

  Michael turned frustrated eyes on his cousin. “Well?”

  “I do know one way to hurt him, where he’ll feel it like a gunshot.” He lowered his voice. “How would you like to steal some silver?”

  Michael smiled. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Where is it?”

  “Right now, in the possession of a certain Marquès de Lara y Brihuega. You’ve had dealings with him before, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I have.” Michael looked away, thinking hard, remembering the last place he had seen the man. Santa Anna’s country estate, a few months ago . . . . And he had been dancing with Christina de Sainz. He had been the one to tell her the truth about Michael. Her supposed “fiancée.” He frowned. “As far as I’m concerned, we should steal him blind. I suppose the silver is meant for Santa Anna?”

  “It is.” Julian went on to tell him how he had received his information, how he expected to discover more, and what tentative plans he had made for relieving the Marquès of it. There were only a few hours left to dawn. Julian laughed evilly. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. You may expect Leaping Spirit Woman to arrive in this vicinity any day now.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Michael’s voice was low and disgusted. “What in hell has gotten into her this time? She should know I don’t want her here!”

  “Apparently she has decided to become your camp follower. At least, that was the gist of the message I received from your housekeeper.”

  “She’ll just have to turn around and go right back to Texas. Provided she makes it here at all!”

  “She’ll get here. She has three Comanche braves for an escort.”

  Although angry at Leaping Spirit - who was a complication he didn’t need or want at the present - Michael had to give her credit for her tenacity. “I wonder how she managed to convince Bold River’s men to leave the tribe for such a length of time. Never mind. I don’t suppose they could resist her. They’ll just have to take her home again.”

  If Julian was skeptical, he kept it to himself. “At least you didn’t see fit to bring the Señora here with you. Leaping Spirit would probably try to kill her.”

  Michael grunted. He had no desire to discuss Christina.

  Julian waited. When it seemed obvious that Michael intended no reply, he added, “I take it you disposed of the Mexican Colonel who so foolishly charged to her rescue?”

  Even in the darkness Julian could tell that Michael had stiffened.

  “What?”

  Colonel Manzanal. I intercepted his letter to Santa Anna in the same packet that included Arredondo’s. He wrote that he knew you had the Señora and were taking her to Washington. He was going after her. I sent you a message immediately. Did you - ”

  “I never got it.” Michael sat up, running stiff fingers through his hair. “Goddam it! I knew she was acting suspicious . . .” he cut himself off, eyes staring into nothing. “You’ll have to tell me exactly what was in that letter. Or do you still have it?”

  Julian watched Michael intently. “Of course I have it. But not with me. In my house at the village.” But he proceeded to relate the contents of Manzanal’s letter with nearly perfect recall.

  Michael heard without actually listening. His mind was back in Washington, replaying the events of that last reception - the events that had led him to such extreme jealousy, and eventually to extreme loss of control. The events that had led to the one night of his life he actually wished he could forget . . . but would probably die remembering.

  “You’re not attending, hermano. I asked you what you have done with the Señora.”

  He tried to snap back into the correct place and time. “I left her in Washington, with your mother. Antoinette is supposed to be bringing her to Texas. Did I tell you Rowan has joined the Rangers? He’s in Monterey . . .”

  “I know that. And also that ‘Toinette is finally coming home.”

  “I thought I could trust Antoinette to get her there safely. I though
t I could trust Christina to go along without any trouble. If I hadn’t been so stupid . . . Oh, Christ, Juli.” He turned narrowed, angry eyes on his cousin. “I even saw the man, saw them together. Dancing. It must have been him, because she - acted so strangely.”

  Michael’s face looked different to Julian, leaner and harsher in the shadows, but introspective at the same time. All of Julian’s intellectual and analytical instincts were aroused. His attention focused on Michael’s every frustrated movement, on the nuances in his voice. He concentrated on Michael’s bitter, unusually self-recriminating words. There was something strange here.

  “You should have let me kill her before you bothered to take her out of Mexico.”

  “Is that your answer to everything?” Michael snapped.

  “In her case, it would have been, yes.”

  “Well, it’s too late now. Because of my blindness to what was going on before my very eyes, she’s probably halfway to Santa Anna already - if she didn’t find someway to get through the blockade outside of Vera Cruz. If she did, she could be in Mexico City right now.”

  “I doubt that.” Julian’s black eyes slitted as he considered possible routes and options. He knew well any way into or out of both Mexico and Texas. Finally he shook his head. “No Miguel. It would take time and a great deal of money for Manzanal to bribe his way into Vera Cruz by ship from Havana - the blockade is now quite thorough. Probably - almost certainly - he brought her by steamer to Corpus Christi. That town is so crowded these days that even Santa Anna himself could slip in without being noticing. From there, they would travel by land into Mexico. Then Manzanal will have two options.”

  “To continue traveling overland - which will take weeks - or make it to the coast, hire a small boat, and sail carefully toward Vera Cruz as far as possible.”

  Julian said nothing. His gaze was inscrutable.

  “That’s what they’ll do,” Michael said. “Provided Manzanal has any sense. I think I met him once - he didn’t strike me as being very smart.” The man had appeared to be no more than an officious pawn of Santa Anna’s. Now why had Santa Anna sent that particular man after Christina? And how had he managed to find her? He assumed then that it had been Luis Arredondo who had mentioned his presence at the reception, and from there the connections with Christina’s escaped, wounded Americano had been made. Someone had decided she had been kidnapped, and by him. He supposed from then on the trail had been easy to follow. Surely the Mexican he had hired to drive his diligence into Vera Cruz had talked. He should have expected that.

  Of course, he would never have guessed that anyone would chase them all the way to Washington, in the middle of the war!

  This Manzanal was a persistent fellow.

  The anger that had been inside him all along, biding its time so he could think clearly, surged into his brain and threw out everything else. Damn her! She had known, that last night, that she was planning to escape him. He had even interrupted her plotting - - and she’d had the boldness to pretend that the “Frenchman” he’d nearly caught her with was a potential lover! She had fooled him then, and as coolly as you please, to distract him even further, had allowed him to take her to bed. She had outdone herself in her enthusiasm and cooperation. A London whore couldn’t have performed any better. He had bought it, bought everything, to the extent of feeling guilt and a touch of remorse over making love to her and then leaving her so callously. He had been completely, utterly duped.

  Michael Brett was not used to feeling like a fool. Particularly considering that he had begun to feel protective and affectionate toward Christina, and both emotions were fairly unfamiliar to him in regard to any female other than his aunt; including his uncaring mother and any woman he’d ever slept with. Christina had taken him in, and in many ways her deceit was still unbelievable . . .

  “ We’ve got to find her,” he said. “Before she gets to Santa Anna.” He looked at Julian, his eyes reflecting the same cold savagery he saw in the half-breed Indian’s. “She’s got to be stopped.”

  “I told you so, didn’t I?”

  Chapter 14

  Penny was afraid of horses. Not only was she afraid, she had never ridden one before in her life. Her rolling eyes and pitiful groans whenever she contemplated the miles to be crossed on horseback were as agonized as they were comical.

  But there was no other way to cross the rugged terrain ahead of them, except by riding on some sort of four-legged beast. So Christina occupied her first days in Texas by attempting to teach her maid how to ride.

  They started with a borrowed donkey and graduated to a mule. But the donkey was mean, and bit Penny on the arm; and the mule proved too intractable for either of their patience. Then Angel acquired an ancient sway-backed mare, both placid and incurious. She accepted Penny on her back without any fuss and scarcely any notice. Unfortunately, she moved only when following the lead of another horse. This delighted Penny, who had no desire to strike out on her own alone. She was happy to trail along behind Christina, clutching the mare’s broad neck in fright whenever her pace quickened from a walk.

  After four days of keeping to themselves in a tiny hotel room, aside from the riding lessons, Christina and Penny were both excited at the prospect of beginning their journey, even with the discomforts it would entail. Finally Angel declared they were ready to depart Corpus Christi and set out to cross the Rio Grande. He had arranged for their transportation - sturdy locally bred horses, bought at a steep price - and for two mules to carry baggage, tents and provisions. He had also hired on five unsavory-looking men to ride with them as an escort. Christina considered they might need more protection from the escort than either Indians or bandits, but she took comfort in arming herself with both a pistol and a knife. Never again would she go anywhere without them, not in this country or her own. She had resolved that no enemy, be he bandit or soldier or even supposed friend, would ever find her helpless and without defense again. She was tired of playing the victim!

  As they began the difficult journey which would lead them to the Mexican coast, Christina was grateful for the presence of Penny at her side in the middle of their loose troop of men. She hadn’t expected the girl to agree to come with her; after all, Penny had been hired by Michael, and she owed him her loyalty for that reason alone. Why should she wish to leave comfortable, civilized Washington for the hardships of traveling to Mexico? But Christina had underestimated Penny’s devotion to her, plus her determination to keep her job. Penny had demanded to accompany Christina wherever it was she intended to go. And although she did make one attempt to persuade her mistress against leaving - using Lord Brett’s displeasure, of all things, as the primary reason! - she conceded that If Christina was determined to go home, then she was going, too. She enjoyed being a lady’s maid too much to give it up. And who else would hire a girl like her for so exalted a position? So when Christina walked away from the Brett brownstone, Penny was with her. She had scarcely known what to expect from then on.

  During these first arduous days en route to the Rio Grande, when they were all sore from the hours on horseback and irritable from the heat and the insects and - in Christina’s case - the lack of privacy, the two females of the party rode together and slightly apart from the men. Quarrels and rude jests were breaking out, and Angel’s admonitions against them were ignored. Manzanal was used to dealing with servants and obedient Mexican soldiers; not this unpredictable, independent mixture of Texans, former Mexicans and army deserters that he had hired. He was able to keep them under a nominal amount of control, but that was all. Their insolent glances toward the women were infuriating but unstoppable.

  Yet, it was Manzanal whose smiles and protective attentions bothered Christina the most. The hired men were crude and insulting but would never overstep the basic respect a real lady instilled in them. She had learned to look inward and ignore them. Or else gaze at them in a calm but disapproving stare - her “Patrona” face - and suggest they desist from whatever it was that disturbed her,
to find she was quickly obeyed. However, dealing with Manzanal was much more perplexing.

  She felt obligated by politeness to invite him to sit at their campfire each night. She even attempted friendliness and gratitude, engaging him in ordinary conversation whenever the opportunity arose. No matter that all he cared to talk about was her beauty, or his own selfless courage and devotion; or his brilliant superior Santa Anna, or the stupidity and perfidy of the Americans, Michael Brett in particular. Christina thanked him for the flattery, praised his integrity, agreed that Santa Anna was a marvel of intelligence, and was silent on the subject of the Americans. But the Colonel’s warm, heavy-lidded stares and solicitous, caressing hands were growing too annoying to ignore. There was also Manzanal ’s complete insistence that they travel as man and wife.

  Christina had reluctantly agreed, in the beginning, that traveling as a married French couple was both practical and sensible. Pretending to be brother and sister might arouse an unwarranted interest in their affairs, possibly rendering them more memorable, and therefore easier to trace . . . . Although any pursuit seemed unlikely. If Michael Brett wasn’t around to know Christina was gone, he couldn’t come looking for her! A reminder that still rankled, ever since she had discovered his absence in the townhouse. But a little caution was wise, in any case. They registered everywhere as Madam and Monsieur de Montpellier, always fashionably taking two rooms. However, now that they were in a Spanish-speaking part of the continent again, Angel had taken to calling Christina “Señora Manzanal” a dozen or so more times a day than was necessary. But then, Penny detested him anyway.

  It was after they had crossed the Rio Grande at a shallow point and were in legal Mexican territory that Manzanal’s more cautious possessiveness erupted into something truly aggressive.

  He insisted, one clear night, that he and Christina go for a walk. Alone. And after only five minutes of strolling - just long enough to get them out of sight - he kissed her.

  Revolted but not startled - she’d expected something like this - Christina shoved Manzanal backwards, and put on her most affronted air. Angel’s black eyes were narrowed and feverish, and even though he begged her pardon and swore his respect and admiration, she knew his gaze was still darting up and down her body as though she were a feast and he a starving man. Then he proposed.