Bride of the Baja

by Jane Toombs

  Jordan nodded. "Thomas Heath. The man Alitha meant to marry in the islands."

  "Ahhh." Esteban looked at the blond man's rough black pants and shirt, his Mexican hat, the Bible in his hand.

  "Are you both mad?" Thomas demanded. "Ready to fight one another when Alitha's in the hands of Bouchard?"

  "How did you learn that?" Jordan asked.

  "By standing outside the door listening, as anyone in the inn could have if they understood English."

  "This damn fool of a Californio wants to attack Bouchard's lair," Jordan said, appealing to Thomas. "Just the two of us riding into their camp in the middle of the night firing our pistols. He thinks the pirates will flee from us in terror, leaving Alitha and the gold behind."

  "This estupido American proposes to procrastinate," Esteban said. "To scout the enemy position for days looking for a weakness that in all likelihood does not exist. He proposes to debate endlessly and finally to act with too little and too late. As a coward would."

  At the word "coward," Jordan started for Esteban but Thomas stepped between them. "Forget what you think of each other," he said. "At least for the time being. Our first task is to save Alitha. Are you agreed?" He looked at Jordan.

  "Agreed." Jordan glanced at Esteban, then went to the window and stared into the courtyard.

  "Don Esteban?" Thomas asked. "Do you agree?"

  "Of a certainty. Alitha is our paramount concern. She must not be left to suffer Bouchard's hospitality while we quarrel among ourselves like children. While we waste time."

  "Good." Thomas knelt on the floor. "This is a time to pray," he said. "Both of you will join me in prayer." It was a statement, not a request.

  Esteban immediately dropped to his knees beside Thomas. Jordan looked down at the two kneeling men, raised his eyes heavenward in exasperation, then joined them on the floor.

  "Bow your heads," Thomas said. Both men bowed.

  "Almighty God, hear this day our prayer." Thomas's tone was conversational, as though he often talked to God. "Give us the wisdom to know what is right and the courage to act on that knowledge. Protect your daughter, Alitha Bradford, from harm in the dark hours to come and give her courage. Amen."

  "That's all?" Jordan asked.

  "I think it's sufficient under the circumstances," Thomas said. "I agree with Don Esteban that every minute counts. We have to find Alitha before it's too late."

  "But—" Jordan began.

  "I also believe, with you, that we can't act impulsively. We must have a carefully thought out plan. Now then, Esteban, tell us what you found out from this man Enrico."

  Esteban nodded. "Enrico has been to the pirate camp but once," he said. "It is in a cove some fifteen miles to the south, a place where they bring their ships for repair. Not all the pirates are there now—some are still at sea—but Bouchard is there, or so Enrico's been told. One of the ships is on its side so the bottom may be scraped, they have ..." He paused, searching for the right word.

  "Careened her," Jordan put in.

  "Yes, the ship has been careened and so is out of action. One other ship lies at anchor in the cove, prepared to put to sea at short notice. For the most part the pirates live ashore in huts behind the beach. They have guards on the only trail leading to their camp. Many guards, Enrico says."

  "These ships in the cove," Jordan said. "Could one of them be the Kerry Dancer?"

  "I asked him about the ships, but Enrico could not tell me."

  "They're well-armed, of course?" Thomas asked.

  "With pistols, sabers and knives," Esteban said. "Their cannons are on board the ships. My idea is to use our remaining gold coins to recruit mercenaries and attack by land."

  "They'll overwhelm us," Jordan said.

  "We must outwit them," Thomas put in. "If we can't outman them we must outthink them. It's our only chance. And Alitha's only chance."

  Jordan hit his open palm with his fist. "I have a plan," he said, going to the window and glancing out into the empty courtyard. "Check the corridor," he told Thomas.

  Thomas opened the door and looked up and down the hall. "All clear," he reported.

  "My idea is risky," Jordan said, "and the chances for success are less than poor. But as Thomas would tell us, no one expected David would slay Goliath."

  "Tell us your scheme," Esteban said, "not stories from the Bible."

  "We're all of us right and all of us wrong," Jordan said, ignoring Esteban's remark. "We should use the gold, we should go by sea, and we have to outwit Bouchard. This is my plan ..."

  After a long ride Alitha was untied, pulled down from the horse and carried to a hut, where she was pushed inside and left alone in the darkness. She lay huddled on the ground for a moment listening to the sounds around her—the pounding of the surf, the drunken shouts of the men, the neighing of horses, the barking of dogs.

  She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring her bruises, gathered her flimsy nightgown about her and tried the door. It was barred from the outside. With her hands she searched the walls of the hut for an opening between the bamboolike poles. She found none.

  She heard the bar withdrawn from the door. A man holding a lantern stepped into the hut, a short man with curled mustaches who wore a waistcoat and breeches. A pistol and a knife were thrust in the broad crimson sash around his waist.

  Bouchard placed the lantern on the earth floor and stood with hands on hips, appraising Alitha as though she were a captive at a slave auction. He nodded.

  "Remove your gown," he ordered.

  Alitha stepped back, trembling. She was numb, frozen--she could think of nothing except the horror awaiting her. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, trying to calm herself, trying to think.

  Bouchard took the knife from his sash, tossed it spinning into the air and caught it deftly by the handle. He made a downward slashing motion with the blade as though ripping her gown from neck to hem.

  "Remove your gown," he said again.

  Alitha reached up and slipped the cord from around her neck, holding it in her hand, with the red charm stone dangling from the end. Impatient, Bouchard took a step toward her. She drew in her breath and, with the cord looped around her wrist, grasped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head. She forced herself to watch his reaction as she dropped the gown to her side and stood naked before him.

  Bouchard stared at her, transfixed, his eyes roving from the swell of her full breasts down over her white body glowing in the light from the lantern.

  "I have never beheld such loveliness before," he murmured, stepping forward.

  Alitha took the end of the cord, swung the charm over her head and, still holding the cord, whipped the stone at Bouchard. The stone struck his temple and he grunted in shock and pain. His knees buckled and she thought he would fall, but he recovered enough to stagger to one side, his hand reaching for and grasping the wall of the hut. She swung the stone again but his arm deflected the blow and the cord wrapped itself around his sleeve. She pulled the stone free, then reached down, grasped the handle of the lantern and hurled it at Bouchard. The lantern smashed against the wall in a burst of flame. Snatching up her nightgown, she ran to the door and flung it open.

  Outside the hut, the night was lighted by the glow from the beach. Between the dark outlines of the huts, Alitha saw men clustered around campfires and the white line of the surf beyond. Palm trees arched behind her. No one was near, no one seemed to have seen her leave the hut.

  She ran between huts, away from the beach and toward the trees. Away from the fires, away from the men. When she reached the first of the palms, she put the charm stone back around her neck and slipped her nightgown over her head. She looked over her shoulder. A man's voice—Bouchard's—called out, but the hubbub of drunken laughter and shouting went on. She saw a flash, heard the sharp report of a shot. A dog barked. The laughter stilled.

  She turned and ran under the palms. Get away, she told herself, get as far away as you can. Don't stop to hide--they'll
find you if you do. If not now, they'll wait and search for you again and find you by the light of day. Keep running until you're as far from here as you can go. Only then can you risk resting, only then can you find a place to hide and wait for Jordan. Was Jordan alive? If he was, she knew he'd set out to find her, would find and save her. Her foot caught on a root and she fell headlong. Slamming to the ground where she lay gasping for breath as behind her she heard men shouting, then the ominous baying of dogs. Still lying on the ground, she looked back and saw the bobbing of many torches.

  Alitha pulled herself to her feet and went on, more carefully now, her hands groping in front of her, her feet feeling their way across the uneven ground. Branches of shrubs caught her gown and she pulled herself free, the fabric tearing. Still she struggled forward, impelled by the growing tumult behind her—not only behind now but on both sides as well. Plus she was beginning to feel realize she shouldn't be this exhausted. Was she getting sick? No, impossible. She hadn't gotten cholera on the Yankee so she wasn't likely to have it now.

  More palms arched over her head, their fronds etched darkly against the starry night. She heard the crash of surf in front of her. Running from the shelter of the palms, she found herself on a white sand beach. Had she run in a circle in the dark? No, looking both ways along the beach she saw no sign of the pirate campfires. Instead of fleeing inland as she had thought, she must have crossed the neck of a spit of land and emerged on the beach on the far side.

  Disoriented, she hesitated. Which way should she go? She didn't want to be trapped on a point of land thrusting into the sea. To her left. Safety lay to her left, amid the dark mass of trees along the shore. She turned that way, only to see lights ahead of her and on both sides. Voices shouted, a line of men advanced toward her, their torches hissing, and she heard the barking of the dogs. Her escape route sealed off, she had no way to go but toward the sea.

  Alitha fled into the trees, feeling herself lagging. As she ran on with the surf to her left, the trees on her right thinned and after a few minutes she saw the ocean beyond them and, in the distance, the fires on the beach. She'd been right, she was on a small peninsula, a Florida-shaped mass of land jutting into the Pacific. Again she stopped and looked behind her. The torches were closer now, and she saw the bearded faces of the buccaneers in the flickering lights. She ran from the trees and on all sides saw nothing but sand and sea. She had nowhere left to go except into the sea or back toward the advancing men.

  She turned and reentered the darkness beneath a cluster of palms. Where could she hide? There. In that dark hollow under a wind-bent shrub. She lay on the sandy ground, a wave of nausea all but overwhelming her.. As a torch came toward her, she put her head down and closed her eyes. A man shouted a few feet from her.

  Opening her eyes, she saw him—black-bearded, a bandanna around his head, a torch in his hand. He looked about, cursed and went on. She sighed with relief—he hadn't seen her. More men passed, their torches crackling. She heard the men a few moments later milling about on the beach. They had all gone past her hiding place without seeing her and their querulous tones told of their confusion.

  She heard a sniffing and tensed as a lean brown dog stopped above her. As he sniffed at her, she reached out her hand to pat him. The dog barked.

  "Shhh, shhh," she whispered. The dog growled, pawing the ground, then raised his head and began to bark again.

  A pirate approached, calling to the dog, and the animal whined and sidled away from Alitha into the night. She let out her breath in a shuddering sigh. Suddenly a torch flared over her head. The flame was thrust at her, and behind it she saw a grinning face.

  "Here she be," the man cried. His hand grasped her wrist and pulled her stumbling to her feet. Torches formed a circle around her. Men's faces leered at her. One man, a giant redhead, stepped forward and stared down at her breasts, which were partly revealed by the torn gown. He put his hand to the neck of the gown and pulled.

  Alitha screamed. Without warning vomit sprayed from her mouth onto the redhead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The small man who had found Alitha's hiding place sprang at the giant redhead with the harelip. "She's mine," he cried, grabbing the big man's arm. "Grosbeck, you shan't have her."

  Grosbeck shook him off. "She belongs to whoever's man enough to take her. I'm man enough, Ferret, and you're not."

  Grosbeck, ignoring her vomit on his face, turned to Alitha, who was clutching the edges of her ripped gown together to cover her breasts. He took her by the arm and yanked her to him just as the man called Ferret leaped onto his back and began pounding him about the ears with his fists.

  Grosbeck snarled, releasing Alitha. He reached over his head, grasped Ferret's jacket and, bending forward, hurled Ferret head over heels into the crowd.

  "Wait, Grosbeck." One of the pirates stepped forward. "Fair's fair. Ferret found the wench, after all. Let Bouchard decide who's to have her first."

  "He'll want her for himself," Grosbeck protested sullenly.

  "He's had his chance with her. We'll see he don't have her again. Am I right?" He appealed to the men around him, and they murmured their approval.

  "Let Bouchard decide," Ferret whined. He was on his feet again, warily keeping out of Grosbeck's reach. "Fair's fair," he said.

  Grosbeck shrugged his massive shoulders. "We'll see what the captain says."

  He swept Alitha into his arms and carried her into the crowd in the direction of the pirate camp. The men stood aside to let Grosbeck through, falling in behind him, torches held high as they surged forward in a grotesque parade.

  Alitha crossed her arms over her breasts as she felt one of Grosbeck's hands on her leg, the other on her side below her arm. She twisted to free herself from his grasp only to have Grosbeck cradle her closer to his hard body. She struggle to control another wave of nausea and felt her stomach cramp so hard she cried out in pain.

  Grosbeck strode from the trees onto the beach, and in the light from the first of the bonfires Alitha saw Bouchard leaning heavily on a walking stick, his head swathed in a bandage. When Grosbeck carried Alitha to him, Bouchard stared glassily at her.

  "Bring the captain his judge's chair," someone called. Timbers were cross-hatched on the hard ground at the top of the beach, boards were laid on them and a chair was placed on top. Two men lifted Bouchard onto this platform and into the chair, where he sat staring down at Alitha. Torches formed a semicircle around the judgment seat.

  "I'm glad to see the bitch didn't get far," Bouchard said slowly, smiling at Alitha. "Let her stand on her two feet," he said to Grosbeck.

  The big man lowered Alitha to the ground, keeping his hand on her shoulder. Ferret sidled from the crowd to stand on the other side of her.

  "You wouldn't disrobe for me," Bouchard told her. "You should have—you would have found me the most appreciative and civilized of men. Now let's see how you enjoy these"—his gesture included all the men pressing close to her—"these other gentlemen."

  "Remove her gown," he told Grosbeck.

  The redhaired pirate spun Alitha around to face him, grasped the already torn nightgown in both hands and split the cloth down the middle. He stripped the gown from her arms and Alitha stood naked except for the charm stone on her neck. Fighting waves of nausea, she closed her eyes, and buried her face in her hands.

  "Now tell me the nature of your dispute." Bouchard nodded to Grosbeck and Ferret.

  "I found her," Ferret said, "after all the others passed her by, and so by rights she's mine. Fair's fair."

  "Did he indeed find her?" Bouchard asked Grosbeck.

  "He may have, he may not have. Perhaps his dog found her. What's the difference? She's mine because I have her." He gripped Alitha's upper arm. "Possession's nine points of the law. Any man who wants her first can fight me for her. Including you," he told Bouchard.

  "I want no more of the bitch," Bouchard said. "She had her chance to be treated like a lady--now let her be treated like an animal."
He looked from Ferret to Grosbeck. "Settling this matter calls for the wisdom of Solomon." Bouchard began to laugh, almost giggling. With an effort he quieted his laughter and stood up, leaning on his walking stick.

  "And we will decide the matter much as wise King Solomon did," Bouchard said. "Ferret, you found her, so you will have her first."

  Grosbeck took a step toward the platform, but Bouchard waved him back.

  "Grosbeck," he said, "you appear to have appropriated the young lady, so you will have her first. You both shall have her. And when you have done with her, let anyone who wishes have her, and when all that want her are through with her, break her back and bury her beneath the earth and let the maggots have her."

  Bouchard sank back in his chair, his hand to his forehead. Grosbeck reached to pick up Alitha and her bowels let loose at the same time she vomited all over herself and Grosbeck,

  "Phew! Bring some water. I ain't wading in no mess like this," Grosbeck said.

  "Í-I've got cholera," Alitha managed to gasp out.

  "Cholera!" Bouchard exclaimed. "Get her the hell away from me."

  Alitha continued to vomit and her bowels stayed loose as Grosbeck dragged her off, Ferret trotting beside him.

  "She's gonna die like my sister," Ferret said. "Something in my sister's gut burst and she vomited and had the shits just like this one. Took hours afore she died. I ain't gonna do this'un. No way."

  "Gonna throw a bucket of water on her and she'll be clean enough for me," Grosbeck said.

  "Think she's really got cholera? I seen guys die from it and they puke and shit like she's doing. "

  "Yeah, so they do." He stared down at Alitha.

  "You never found that bottle of rum I hid," Ferret said.

  "You better get it and bring it here before some other som' a bitch finds it."

  Ferret trotted off, smirking to himself, sure the thought of catching cholera had Grosbeck scared to do 'er.

  "Esteban found out that the revolutionaries gather here," Thomas said, nodding to a small cafe. Jordan crossed the street and pushed open the door. When he came out ten minutes later, Thomas met him on the road. "It went well?" he asked.