Stronger Than Passion

by Sharron Gayle Beach

  The half-breed Indian was a disconcerting, deviled man, that much was certain. He seemed to have no compunctions at all about killing; and she knew without a doubt that he had meant it when he hinted he would kill her if Michael wished it done. Yet Michael was close to this strange man, and Antoinette regarded him with immense affection. Perhaps it was the man’s honesty and conviction which drew them. Antoinette had mentioned once that Julian had suffered at the death of her husband, his stepfather; and she was afraid that revenge now ruled his life. If that was true, and he was determined to bring down Santa Anna, then wouldn’t he use any means at his disposal to do it? Including striking at him through his cousin, the Señora de Sainz?

  How much influence did Michael Brett hold over Torrance? And how long would it be before that influence began to wane?

  But also: would Michael continue to want her alive, now that she was in Mexico and a threat to them all?

  She was in danger. She knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The past weeks of listlessness and dreaming, which had ultimately led her to think she might have been mistaken in leaving Washington at all, had ended in violence and fear and shock. Now she had come full circle and was at the beginning; a prisoner of the enemy, in Mexico, with her life in question. But at least there was a sense of fate to it all, of submittance to a higher will. She had resisted; only to be humbled once more. So be it.

  She would see Michael again, at least. Even if he killed her.

  Another lathered horse rode up, and on its back sat a big, long-haired white man and, held tightly in front of him, Penny; eyes dazed and glassy and lifeless. Her red hair hung down around her tear-stained face, and her dress was torn at the shoulders. She stared ahead of her unseeingly.

  Christina straightened, and her abrupt movement caused the horse to shy. The mare’s head raised back, and she whinnied; causing a chorus of replies to emit from the other restless beasts. Torrance, feeling the reins nearly jerked out of his hand, turned and impaled Christina with his suspicious eyes.

  But before he could speak, she said, “That girl is my companion. Let her ride with me.”

  She pointed to Penny, and there was both demand and entreaty on her face.

  Torrance’s hand swung around, and he lifted his eyebrows at Will Jersey, who had claimed her.

  “Now hold on a minute, Torrance. This here is a white girl, and I aim to take her to some friends of mine and sell her. She’s probably worth a hundred dollars or more - to the right people - and I aim to collect. I took her fairly, you can ask Bear Paw or Paco, they saw me.”

  Torrance glanced to his right, at a slender Mexican. The man grinned and shrugged. An Indian on the ground behind him came forward and began a long, involved explanation in some form of dialect. Julian listened and, when the Indian was through, turned back to Jersey.

  “I told you we weren’t dealing in women, Jersey,” Torrance said softly, in English. “Women interfere with business.”

  “But this is a white girl, she’s worth a hundred dollars, and I can be rid of her in three days. I ain’t giving her up.” Jersey’s eyes narrowed, and one hand dropped toward the hilt of a knife, which protruded from a hip sheath. “Besides - ain’t you got one yourself there, Captain?”

  Torrance didn’t acknowledge that, but Penny let out a loud gasping sob. There was movement behind Torrance, on the horse, and then Christina called out,” I will buy her from you With these.”

  Torrance turned, and his gaze and everyone else’s took in the picture of the white-faced but determined Señora holding aloft a long, gleaming necklace of large perfect pearls. The self-same pearls that had once belonged to a princess, and which Christina had protected through all of her travels. The symbol of Felipe’s and her own noble, dead ancestors, who would not be pleased with her at this moment.

  A sigh went out all around. Both men and horses shifted eagerly. Penny began to weep.

  Torrance said quietly, in Spanish, “You do not have to buy her, Señora. That Americano has disobeyed my order by claiming her, and he will die for it.”

  “No. Don’t kill anyone. Give him these; they are worth far more than one hundred dollars.

  “I could take them from you and keep them myself,” he said. “You understand that what is ours belongs to me now.”

  “And do you realize you are breaking your own command?” she hissed, willing his perverse nature to agree with her.

  He did agree. He nodded, smiling, granting her a brief victory. “I am an unfair man, am I not?”

  He took the pearls from her and examined them. He scratched them. He scratched them against his teeth. He played with their cold, hard length. Then he swung them from his fingers, dangling these toward Jersey like the tempting prize they were.

  “These are real, Mr. Jersey. The Señora wishes to give them to you in exchange for that skinny girl. I recommend that you take them.”

  Jersey remained on his horse, looking wary, but interested.

  “Let me see them.”

  Torrance threw the pearls, and Jersey caught them. Instantly his face grew absorbed. He held the necklace up unable to keep the admiration and greed from his eyes.

  Penny quivered, cowering away from him. He shoved her off the horse. She fell to her knees on the ground, then scrambled up and run toward Christina.

  Jersey pocketed the pearls. He was grinning. “I think it’s time for me to be moving on, gentlemen. Got to find me a big city to sell these pretty jewels in.” He picked up his rifle from its saddle holster and slung it across his lap. He backed his horse away, still talking easily. “Sorry I won’t be riding with you boys anymore, but I figure you can do without me. Give Santa Anna hell when you catch him. Oh - and don’t think about following me, “cause I’ll surely be watching.”

  He whisked his horse around and took off into the trees

  Torrance frowned and called out two names. The men came forward, Indians both. He spoke to them quietly and briefly, and they nodded, went to their ponies, mounted, and rode off - in the same direction as Will Jersey.

  Penny collapsed on the ground and clung to Christina’s stirrup in helpless gratitude.

  Chapter 16

  Julian Torrance, formerly known as Running Dog, He-Who-Roams-The-Earth, and Truth-Speaker, took the long string of pearls from Bear Paw without comment. It had taken less then twenty-four hours to retrieve them.

  In the end Jersey had died, and now the pearls belonged to Torrance and to the unit.

  They could be sold to buy guns, enough to arm many men. Or the money from the sale could be used as bribes. Or it could buy them all food for a year. At any rate, the money would be useful in Torrance’s bitter fight against Santa Anna.

  And to think, the pearls were practically a gift from Santa Anna’s own cousin!

  Torrance was a man who appreciated the ironic jest over all others. To him, the pearls held a meaning indefinitely more satisfying than a monetary one. They represented another twisted nail that could be driven into Santa Anna’s coffin ; another golden bullet that could be fired into his corpse; one more deliciously subtle form of wicked revenge.

  These pearls were part of the proof that Santa Anna could be defeated, and would be.

  Julian had planned for the day of Santa Anna’s downfall for ten years now . . . ever since the massacre at Goliad, when his kind and staunch adoptive father had been gunned down while already a defenseless prisoner. On Santa Anna’s part, ordering that act had been not only unnecessary, but foolish, as well, because it engendered the kind of hatred in those who had relatives and friends die there that never went away. That monstrous murder of three hundred sixty-five helpless men had created Julian Torrance as he was now: a highly motivated killer, out for revenge. And there were others like him.

  An intense hatred of the vain and exceedingly self-interested Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna ran in the veins of most Texans since before - and especially after - the days of the Alamo and Goliad, and not even Santa Anna’s defeat back the
n by Sam Houston’s army had mitigated that feeling. Santa Anna, although captured and humiliated, was released without suffering a scratch, free to cause even more trouble. And those who remembered the Alamo and Goliad knew that, alive and free, Santa Anna was still a deadly enemy to Texas. Only his death - or the might of the United States - might end the threat of Mexican armies overrunning the land.

  And an undivided peace for Texas and ll its inhabitants - American, Spanish and Indian - was the goal Julian Torrance had been unknowingly seeking all of his life. Ever since, as a small child, he had first heard and understood the words “bastards” and “half-breed.” And had learned the intensity of the hatred and contempt that lay behind them.

  *

  Julian Torrance had gone his solitary way, after his adoption by Bradley and Antoinette Torrance, existing as a half-breed Indian in an upper-class white man’s world, until he was old enough to wander away from the Torrance stronghold. He left in confusion, and out of a sincere desire to know where he really belonged. But instead of finding any answers among the Comanche Indians who were his mother’s people, and to whom he had gone, he had found only more bewilderment. His mother’s people had disowned her for following the ways of the white man - and they spoke of her with contempt. They challenged her English-raised son to prove his Indian blood. Julian was forced to fight to show his bravery, which was an easy thing for him, after all. The Comanches accepted him then, and trained him in combat, in horsemanship, in tribal traditions - and in hatred of the white men, which was the only area at which the boy did not excel. He left the tribe, emerging strong and hard from Indian country, just in time to join Sam Houston in fighting Mexico. Bradley Torrance was dead by then, and Julian was amazed at the weight of his grief. Fresh from his experiences with the Comanche, Julian now understood what kind of man Bradley Torrance had been to take in a bastard half-Comanche orphan and call him son. Bradley had given him a name and a home, more than he should ever have expected, given what he now knew of life. But Bradley, his “father,” was dead - and Julian was Indian enough to demand revenge. No matter how long it took.

  Julian Torrance was coldly pleased with the current progress of the war against Mexico, and of his contributions - including these expensive pearls. In his opinion, Santa Anna was as good as dead. Already!

  Julian dropped the Rivera family pearls into a soft deerskin pouch. He tied the pouch around his neck so that it hung low on his chest, along with his medicine bag. He glanced at Bear Paw, who just as silently met his gaze, and then turned away.

  *

  Julian’s men hated Christina from the first night of her capture, and with good reason. Before they had all ridden out of the looted and desecrated camp he had announced she was a relative of Santa Anna’s; adding ironically and provokingly that she must be treated well so that he would have nothing to complain of when she was returned.

  Reading the instant flare of hostility and anger that crossed the encircling faces of the white men, and the hard, thoughtful gaze on those of the Indians, she knew that she would probably soon be dead.

  Her horse was often crowded and pushed during that first night’s hard ride on the cool barranca. But no one said or did anything to her openly until they stopped to rest at the first light of dawn.

  They had come to yet another sparsely populated village, and the people here welcomed the men. They stopped before the largest hut, which was instantly vacated. But the troop remained gathered together instead of dispersing to rest.

  It was a crystal-eyed German who spoke first.

  “Captain - ” he called to Torrance. “Who gets the women? Do you keep them both for yourself, or do we bid for them fairly?”

  All of the men were tense with frustration and expectation. They knew Torrance, had learned to accept his unpredictability and also his determination . . . and everyone realized he had good reason for bringing along the women. But the Señora was a Santanista and an enemy, and a damned good-looking one. Even her scared little maid was young and fresh. It wasn’t fair they were to go unmolested, all things and Julian’s harsh authority considered.

  Torrance swung down from his horse and strolled very carefully toward the females before replying to Schenk’s challenge. He stared up at Christina, eyes wide and mocking as he made a show of looking her over. Then he spoke with a pretended surprise.

  “Well, I guess I never realized it before, boys, but the lady here is a real beauty. Good, pretty skin - fine eyes - a lovely mouth. She even has a nice figure to recommend her. I know because I saw it. And well-bred, to boot! Why, compared to her breeding, I expect we’re all no better than dogs or peasants! She’s Royalty, alright. I’ll admit it.” He gestured then toward Penny, siding her horse close beside Christina. “And the other one is a fine, healthy girl. The two of them make a mighty interesting pair.” He paused, then continued, the put-on drawling voice deepening even further. The listening men sat forward, enthralled despite themselves and sensing this was the moment Julian would fire his shot. “Of course, I’d want them myself, if it weren’t for one thing. One small, but rather important thing.”

  “Was it?” Schenk demanded.

  Julian turned toward him then, all sarcasm dropped from his face and replaced by an expression that was both chilling and measuring.

  “The fact that both of these women belong to Michael Brett, who is as my brother, but who would not hesitate to skin me alive in the manner of my mother’s people were I to touch either of them. So I will not touch them. I would like to keep my skin.” He glanced around at the other men, many of whom would not meet his eyes. Excepting the Comanches, who would never want the white women anyway. And Schenk; who looked thwarted, but still tempted.

  “But your ‘brother’ isn’t here, Captain,” Schenk said. “He wasn’t even with his property when we ran across it. I’d say he doesn’t do a very good job of looking after it. I’d say he doesn’t deserve it.”

  Julian’s lips curved into a tight smile and he shrugged. “You may well be right. I will acknowledge that, yes, it is possible that Miguel does not protect his women as well as the should, and you may feel free to tell him that when he arrives to take them off our hands. But for now - ” Julian’s face was calm and his voice even. Only his eyes displayed any hint of threat. They were like black granite and just as hard. “For now these women live in my tepee, so to speak. They are under my protection until Miguel decides to come claim them. And you may be sure that I will take my duty even more seriously than does Miguel.” He turned then, took up the reins of his horse, and led it to the thin stream that ran behind the thatched hut. He called over his shoulder, “Go buy yourself a woman, Schenk. I would hate to have to kill a good fighter over a cousin of Santa Anna’s. Really,” he said quietly, but still loud enough for them to hear him as he walked away. “Miguel should never have put me in this position.”

  From that point on, even though the men treated Christina with a kind of overdone solicitation that seemed to amuse them, they also held back from harming her in any way. There was a certain amount of unwilling respect in some of them, almost as though she and Penny had been elevated from the ranks of whores into something a little better. And the story of her interrupted rape by Manzanal was circulated, engendering pity in those of them who were still capable of feeling it.

  Christina had attempted to thank Torrance for taking them into his “tepee.” She confronted him that same day, while he was watering himself and his horse. But Julian had been impatient with her, and said he had only done it to keep the men from fighting amongst themselves over her. And if she didn’t keep quiet, stay out of trouble and do what she was told, he would sell her into a Mexican brothel right away, no matter what Miguel wanted.

  He hadn’t said anymore about Michael, and she had been reluctant to ask. Julian’s straightforward, annoyed stare made her nervous. Besides, he probably wouldn’t tell her anything anyway.

  But he had instructed her to cook. Her position was to be that of camp chef.
She would be given coins to buy whatever she deemed necessary, at any small village they should pass; she would be provided with fresh meat, two pans, two pots, and a large spoon. Everything else was up to her. Penny was to help.

  Well - at least camp cook was better than camp slut. It did give her a prominent place in the eyes of the men, which led to a further warming of their attitude toward her. Good food was the most important thing on the minds of these rough fighters before and after a day’s ride, and if she and Penny provided it, their quiet gratitude added to a certain feeling of belonging, and of security.

  Possibly Julian had anticipated this, possibly not. But it was true the meals prepared by Christina - or, rather, by Penny, who knew a lot more about cooking than she did - were several cuts above those the men were used to. It even pleased many of them to be served by females who spoke English and kept clean and looked pretty. And better that no one at all in camp slept with them, than if only two men did; that way, everybody could wish and no one was jealous. Except maybe of Michael Brett, whom a few of them began to hope would never show up.

  The current business of the guerilla unit seemed to be scouting around. They knew a group of Santanista guerillas was in the neighborhood somewhere, and their job was to find it and destroy it. Supply lines from Texas into Mexico and to the American army had been cut three times so far by this particular group, and fifteen men had been killed protecting the goods they were delivering. General Taylor was livid; he needed every item of food or medicine or ammunition he could get his hands on, and to lose even a single bullet to the Mexicans infuriated him. But it was the loss of life that was the real waste, because the army could ill afford to lose any more men. Taylor had four other scouting parties besides Julian’s out looking. The territory was vast and filled with places in which not only a dozen men but a hundred might hide. Unless the Santanistas were on the move and careless, they would be difficult to find.

  Except for Torrance’s troop, which possessed the services of Comanche Indian scouts.