Stronger Than Passion

by Sharron Gayle Beach

  “You could’ve pitched your own tent, you know,” Julian said.

  “Forgot it.” he murmured, laying back.

  “Anyway - that’s not all.”

  “Oh?” Michael said on a yawn, his eyes closed.

  “Yes. I thought it might interest you to know that I’ve received a report from Locklyn. About Christina. It seems she was arrested - for unnatural friendship with the enemy. That means us.”

  The long body tensed. The pale eyes opened - to fix on Julian with a sharpness that was not there before.

  “What in hell are you saying?”

  “She’s in Mexico city. She was taken there for interrogation. Apparently they didn’t hurt her. But she wasn’t freed, either. Santa Anna gave her to Arredondo for keeping.”

  Michael sat up, his breathing deeper and quicker. His thin nostrils flared; the barely-noticeable scar on his face stood out, jagged and white.

  “From what Locklyn says, she’ll probably be forced to marry Arredondo. It all has something to do with a silver mine she owns, and Arredondo and Santa Anna want. But Locklyn’s sources couldn’t confirm everything.”

  “How did Locklyn know we were interested in her?”

  “I wrote him.”

  Michael was silent for a long minute; long enough for his face to completely undergo its transformation to a vicious and narrow-eyed mask. A nearly unreadable mask, to anyone but Julian, who saw the swiftly-bursting spark of some terrible emotion in the level, silver-blue gaze; in the harsh lines of tension cording the neck and jaw and forehead of the man he considered his brother.

  Then Michael said softly. “Goddamn you, Juli. What in hell am I supposed to do about it? She wants to marry him.”

  “She doesn’t know him. You do.”

  He stood up, his movements controlled and contained. “I’ve warned her away from him before. She didn’t listen.”

  “We could get proof - about the silver mine.”

  “She wouldn’t believe it.”

  “We owe her.”

  They faced each other, Julian’s gaze determined and Michael’s angry. Julian pressed his point.

  “You know I’ve got a raid planned on Arredondo’s next shipment of silver to Santa Anna. Come with me. We’ll nose around the area and see if Locklyn’s report is true.”

  Michael was silent for a full minute. Finally his eyes narrowed. “I want to know why Santa Anna arrested his favorite cousin. He must’ve heard something . . . do we have a spy here somewhere?”

  Julian shrugged. “It’s possible. I’ll do some checking.”

  “You do that. Christina deserved better than to be betrayed into Santa Anna’s hands. Especially since she’s innocent of anything they accused her of.”

  Julian nodded. They were in agreement on that. If one of his or Michael’s men had been selling stories to Santa Anna, that man would be found - and die a very slow death.

  “I wonder what she told them,” Michael said.

  “Nothing of importance. Besides, if Santa Anna knows about her time with us - then he knows all about us, too. Although it’s strange that Locklyn hasn’t heard anything about a price on my head, or yours either.”

  “Yes.” Michael looked away, his face hard. “I think I’ll go along on that raid. Then maybe I’ll pay John a visit at the British Embassy.”

  “In Mexico City, hermano?”

  “That’s right. In Mexico City. But first, I’ll write John and ask him to make contact with Christina. I’ll send her my very proper regards.”

  Chapter 26

  The British Embassy officially acted as an interested observer of the conflict between Mexico and America. Unofficially, however, the Minister and his staff were prepared to involve themselves and their Empire in the war in any way that was to England’s advantage; whether that involvement consisted merely of mediation between the two countries, or even of some kind of military commitment.

  As a consequence of the importance of Great Britain to Mexico, the Embassy’s gala reception was a crowded affair. England’s Minister was on hand and surrounded by a sea of people importuning his opinions. Each of his attaches were also nearly mobbed. Until the dancing began; then the ladies managed to reclaim their men, and a more normal evening resumed.

  Christina was dressed in the sheerest white silk she could find and have made up. It was too hot these days, before the onset of the rainy season, to wear anything heavy. The dress was trimmed in white beads and gold ribbon, and little of the traditional lace. It was bad enough that Mexican ladies still favored wearing lace mantillas on their heads; Christina refused to load her dress down with the stuff, as well. Her costume was as simple, and therefore as elegant, as a Mexican ball gown could be, and completed with her pearls and the most sparing of mantillas.

  She was enjoying the formal British atmosphere prevalent here. The looseness and carelessness of Mexican society had always disturbed her, brought up as she was under strict Spanish ways. In Mexico, a morning call might last all day, and into the night; and an evening visit such as this one could invariably go on for days. Hospitality was intruded upon by all. And servants took their cue from their masters, and behaved sloppily and lazily. Whereas in Spain, and England, manners were rigidly adhered to at all times. Servants were dressed correctly and acted respectfully, and their betters would never dream of overstaying their proscribed welcome. At a party, the proper number of dishes were served and eaten - and a guest would never call out for more. Dances were formally bespoken, and acted out with propriety, not wildness. Liquor consumption was expected to be controlled. And here, at the British legation, a serene reception was the rule, not the exception.

  Ladies in brightly -hued ball gowns - often covered in lace - twirled rather sedately for Mexico to the strains of a local band trained in English music. Their partners were equally as colorful, either in their gold-braided military uniforms, or flashy charro suits, as they meandered around the very large dance floor, attempting to remember the steps to these foreign reels. Luis - soberly attired in well-cut black, like the Englishmen - led Christina out onto the floor for two successive dances; then, by mutual agreement, they moved outside onto the torch-lit patio, where it was cooler.

  Christina refused Luis’s offer of a shawl, and instead asked him to procure her a glass of iced champagne. He left her seated in the shadows, and disappeared into the crowd.

  She was content to sit in the night air and fan away the light sheen of perspiration she had acquired in the ballroom. She looked around her. Here where mainly gentlemen, older ones; standing in small groups and no doubt discussing politics and the war. There were several nationalities present tonight, and several persons whom she had not yet met. Including the man who was staring at her right now. And who, noticing her eyes in his direction, hastened over.

  He was of average height and dressed like an Englishman, with dark blond hair and blue eyes - it was difficult to tell in the torch-light. He smiled and bowed before her. When he spoke, it was in English. She wondered why on earth he would assume she even knew the language?

  “Señora de Sainz - forgive me for addressing you when we have not been properly introduced, but this opportunity to speak with you seems to have arisen, and I find I must take advantage of it. I am John Locklyn, of London, England, currently an attaché here at the Embassy.”

  Their eyes met, and Christina knew that her own must show an arrested surprise. She had heard that name before.

  She held out her hand, and he bowed over it. When he arose, she murmured, “I cannot imagine how you know me, sir.”

  “I made it my duty to learn the name of the loveliest lady here.” His smile deepened, with humor this time, and when she returned it, he continued. “And although that is quite true - you are in fact the most charming lady present tonight - I do have another reason for seeking you out. I have a message to give you, I fact.”

  The smile stiffened on Christina’s face. She opened her mouth to say something - she didn’t know what; and L
uis chose that exact moment to return with the champagne.

  “Your servant, Señora,” he said, offering the drink, which she took, and glancing at Locklyn.

  “Good evening, sir,” Locklyn said, bowing.

  “Good evening. I was not aware that you were acquainted with the Señora.”

  “I was not, until now.” Locklyn strove to keep from frowning. He was apparently dismayed at Luis’s unexpected appearance. “I forced the acquaintance on grounds of delivering a message from a mutual friend.”

  “Oh?” Luis raised one eyebrow, and glanced at Christina.

  She made a shrugging movement. “I cannot imagine who it might be.”

  “Perhaps Señor Locklyn will tell you.” Luis turned back to the Englishman, who looked a trifle flushed. Was he wishing to deliver the message in private?

  Whatever his wishes, his voice was even as he said, “I received a letter recently from an old school friend, who in it asked me to seek you out, Señora, and deliver his regards.” He paused for a beat, looking straight at Christina, with eyes grown discerning. “He is Michael Brett - Lord Michael. I believe he now resides in Texas, but of course he hails from England. In the letter, I understood that the two of you used to be well acquainted, but had lost contact some time ago.”

  She said nothing for several seconds. Then her frozen lips moved, and she managed to competently murmur, “Yes indeed, Señor. Lord Michael and his aunt, Lady Antoinette, are my dear friends. From our mutual travels on the Continent, of course.’

  She was improvising sluggishly, her mind operating on the level of shock. What had Michael told this man in his letter? And what did Michael intend to accomplish by sending her his absurd “regards,” so publicly?

  Luis was speaking to her, “You also ran across him at a fiesta, I seem to remember. I know him as well; he was once my guest, some time ago. He was quite interested in my mining secrets in those days.” He turned to Locklyn, smiling coldly. “I suppose he is still investing in silver, is he not, Señor?”

  Locklyn shrugged, glancing at Luis, only to look back at Christina. “I really do not know. His interests are wide, I believe.”

  “Yes,” Christina agreed. “They are.”

  And then, growing aware of the two pairs of watchful eyes fixed on her, she forced her features to relax. She smiled. “Thank you for going to the trouble of finding me, Señor. You must send Lord Brett my best wishes in your return letter to him.” She extended her hand, and Locklyn bowed over it.

  “I shall do so, Señora. And I will thank Michael for giving me the opportunity to meet you. Perhaps I could call on you, some later time?”

  “Certainly, sir. I am staying at the Casa Arredondo.”

  “Ah.” He looked at Luis, who nodded his head.

  “You could have come to me for an introduction to the Señora, and I would have obliged.”

  “Just so. Well, I hope to see you both later. Your servant, Señora.”

  He turned and walked away, his face thoughtful.

  Christina concentrated on controlling her expression before glancing up at Luis. What she would have looked like, or done, had she been alone now, she didn’t know. Possibly she would have cried - or exploded in rage - or merely laughed. God alone knew. But now she must not show that Michael’s message had affected her at all, beyond mild concern.

  Remembering her own fictionalized story about Michael, she said, “He must have wanted to know that I am safe and sound. How kind of him! I only hope that Señor Locklyn is a trustworthy man. It would be disastrous if gossip were to surface again linking me to a Texan.”

  “Yes, it would, and I have gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure that could never happen. Brett is an idiot to have exposed your reputation in such a way.” Luis spoke trimly, and his brown eyes were narrowed with menace. Christina looked at him, and knew that this most civilized of men was just as capable of violence as any other. She shivered.

  “Let’s go inside, Luis. The breeze is chill.”

  She drank her champagne, put the glass aside, and rose. She was aware of Luis’s speculative gaze on her then, and for the remainder of the evening.

  *

  For the remainder of the month of April, 1847, Mexico City reeled from wild accounts of America’s military advance upwards from Vera Cruz.

  It was said, and truthfully, that the flamboyant General Scott wished to depart the flat coastal plans of Vera Cruz for higher evaluations quickly, before the annual onset of yellow fever, which would decimate his army. Leaving behind him a city well-occupied by Americans, he began his march upwards toward Jalapa on the great National Highway, preceded by two brigades; commanded by Generals Worth and Twigg. Not knowing, so it was said, that the inestimable Santa Anna had hurried to Jalapa from his reputed “victory” at Buena Vista, with a force of six thousand men.

  Santa Anna’s plan of attack centered on defense; specifically, defense of Jalapa and the Highway into the capital. In other parts of Mexico, such as far-flung California, America was winning battles and taking cities; and general Zachary Taylor was still somewhere to the northwest, holding his territory, but not easily accessible to Mexico City due to the wide expanse of land separating them. Santa Anna was very much aware of the importance of his task in defending the road to the capital. If America captured Mexico City, less than two hundred miles away . . . then the war would be virtually lost.

  Santa Anna chose for his defense the Cerro Gordo Pass - which he spent a week in fortifying; so that when the attack came, his gallant men, who had just endured an incredibly rapid march to Jalapa consisting of more than a thousand miles, would be ready. But as it turned out, Santa Anna’s six thousand were overrun by the American brigades, swollen to include the volunteer units of Generals Pillow and Shields, and any other American troops who were able to swiftly reach the vicinity. Santa Anna ignominiously retreated - or, in actuality, fled - up the road past his own estate, El Encero, leaving behind his baggage; which included a money chest, and even one of his wooden legs! And on April nineteenth, the Americans, who had suffered very few casualties entered Jalapa in triumph; well on their way to Mexico city . . .

  The capital was in an uproar when news of Santa Anna’s defeat reached it. People in the streets and people in government questioned each other in horror, panic in their eyes. How had Mexico’s greatest warrior been vanquished in such an important battle? Had he lied even when he claimed to have won others, such as Buena vista? Where was he now . . . and what had happened to Mexico’s army? Who was left to defend Mexico City itself from the invaders?

  Then it was said that Santa Anna was alive, and safe, at Orizaba and furiously re-gathering his scattered troops. There was hope! And the government declared that anyone who, either publicity or privately, treated with the Americans, was a traitor to Mexico. There would be no peace, if peace meant surrender! Santa Anna would fight again, and win - and push the Americans down to the sea.

  But by the end of April, news of other American victories reached Mexico City, bringing the enemy even closer. Next the Americans would come to Puebla . . . a city second in importance only to the capital. And what then? Would it, too, be won without even a token defense? Santa Anna must hurry! And he must be sent silver, and arms, and supplies - everything necessary to equip his men, all of which had been lost at Cerro Gordo. And without which there could be no army; and of course, the war would be lost.

  Chapter 27

  One by one, the three heavy wagons rumbled into the narrow canyon, the mules that pulled them straining dispiritedly. No doubt they, like the men who sat on the high seat and drove, preferred to be safely asleep on this moonlit night.

  Michael Brett, Julian Torrance, and four carefully selected guerillas sat their horses just outside and above the southern mouth of the canyon, waiting. They were silent, rifles already cocked and ready. In the darkness, hidden behind trees, they were nearly invisible to any unsuspecting scout.

  The first wagon emerged from the canyon, accompanied
by two horsed outriders. Julian glanced at Michael; gestured toward the left man. Michael nodded. They both raised their rifles.

  At an unspoken signal, they fire. The shots cracked in the still night air, audible for miles. Both of the outriders were hit; one of them toppled from his horse, which bolted - the other slumped down on his horse’s back, groaning, but still alive.

  Shouts and curses erupted from the canyon. One man attempted to back his wagon at the other end - only to be fired at by a watching guerilla. That shot eased the panic, since there was nothing now for the wagon drivers to do but to wait. Wait and pray.

  Julian, followed by Michael, eased his horse down the rocky cliff side, approaching the canyon mouth. He stopped a few yards away from the first wagon and it’s terrified driver.

  “Hola!” he called out softly.

  There was a high-pitched hello in response. Then, “What do you want with us, Señor?” cried out from within the canyon depths.

  Julian answered with quiet menace. “I want to have a look at your wagons. I want to know what is inside them that must be transported on such a dark night.”

  “We carry food to the convent of Santa Theresa,” someone yelled.

  Julian could have laughed, but didn’t. Instead he said, “Yet I have tracked you from the silver mines near Pachuca. The mines belonging to Marquès de Lara y Brihuega.”

  “Perhaps we buy food with our silver, who knows?” the same man brazened.

  “I know,” Julian replied. Then, tired of the game, he gestured to his men. The split up, two going toward the back of the canyon, two toward the front. They went in. Pleas for mercy rang out, followed by guttural laughter and the slapping of ropes.

  Julian and Michael held back and waited, watching as carefully as they were able to, in the nearly complete darkness. Finally the wagons were brought out; their drivers tied up, with Julian’s men up on the seat next to them. The wounded outrider was removed from his horse and placed on the ground, where the others would shortly join him The dead man was pushed aside.