Once seated, he faced forward, turning his back on the spectators, on Jessie, and hissed between his teeth. “What’s she doing here? What have you done, Bernstein?”
Bernstein awkwardly patted Blake’s arm. “I haven’t done anything, Captain, except my job.”
“Your job?”
“Yes. My job is to defend you to the best of my ability. I’d like to take credit for the young lady’s appearance, but—”
He fell silent as the judge entered the chambers, took the bench, and pronounced the court in session. “Is the defense ready to call it’s first witness?”
Bernstein rose. The sound of his chair scraping back on the polished oak floor grated along Blake’s taut nerves. “Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Miss Jessica Ann Colton to the stand.”
Blake’s stomach knotted. In her heavy fur coat that covered her from chin to floor, she seemed to float toward the witness stand.
“Your Honor, I object,” declared the prosecutor.
So do I, Blake thought.
“Why was the prosecution not informed of this witness?”
The prosecution, hell. Why wasn’t I?
“Lieutenant?” the judge asked of Bernstein.
“Begging the court’s pardon, Your Honor, but the witness only made herself known to me yesterday. We’ve been in almost constant consultation since, and frankly, sir, I wasn’t sure she would be here until I saw her just now among the spectators.”
The judge pursed his lips and studied Jessie a moment. “Is her testimony relevant?”
“Oh, yes, sir, I assure you, it’s most relevant.”
“Very well, Lieutenant, but I would prefer no more surprises of this nature.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Objection overruled. Proceed with your witness.”
Bernstein nodded to the judge, then turned solicitously to Jessie as she took the stand. “May I take your coat?” he offered.
“No, thank you, Lieutenant. I’m afraid it was colder outside than I thought. If it’s all right, I’ll just leave it on for now.”
Blake heard the soft words in a daze. How had she come to be here? Why? The only answer that came was a prickling along the back of his neck, where he knew Travis Colton was contemplating putting a bullet.
Jessie must have told her father about them. Blake couldn’t figure any other reason for Colton’s visit last January. There was going to be hell to pay, he knew. If the Army didn’t hang him or stand him in front of a firing squad, Travis Colton would see him horsewhipped. At the very least.
Then again, considering Colton’s ties to the Apaches, and the Apaches’ penchant for torture, maybe Colton had something more…exotic in mind.
As Bernstein strode back to his place at the defense table he refused to meet Blake’s gaze.
Jessie followed the attorney’s progress and couldn’t help but look at Blake in the next chair. Her heart twisted. He looked pale. And tired. Fine lines etched themselves around his eyes and spoke of sleepless nights and endless worry.
If only he’d sent word! Why hadn’t he at least had Lieutenant Bernstein contact her? She could clear him of these ridiculous charges, but he’d refused to give her name.
Jessie sighed. Lord love a stubborn man.
And God give me strength to do what I must. I pray Blake doesn’t hate me too much.
Jessie stated her full name and place of residence for the court clerk who’d asked. Then Lieutenant Bernstein straightened his spectacles. Jessie took a deep breath and buried her clenched fingers in the folds of her coat. A movement at the edge of her vision drew her gaze to the jury box where five grim-faced officers sat in judgment of Blake. One in particular looked more grim than the others. Jessie shuddered at the cold hatred in General Stanley’s eyes.
She tore her gaze away and sought her father, seated just beyond Blake. Knowing only that Blake looked angry, Jessie counted on her father to be her strength. His tender gaze did not let her down.
“Miss Colton, would you tell the court when and how you came to know the defendant?”
“Jessie, don’t do this.” Blake’s tortured whisper threaded through the courtroom like fog through a hollow.
The judge banged his gavel for quiet.
Jessie licked her lips and focused on the lieutenant. “I met Captain Renard last fall. September 7, to be exact.”
“How can you be so certain of the date?”
“Because that’s the date my brother was wrongly arrested, chained, and imprisoned.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” the prosecutor called. “Whatever happened to the witness’s brother has no bearing here.”
“Your Honor,” Bernstein said patiently. “I—”
But with the prosecutor’s words ringing in Jessie’s ears, her patience snapped. Her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. “I realize, Colonel, that the arrest, chaining, beating, imprisoning, and torturing of an innocent man has no bearing to the United States Army,” she said hotly over the banging of the gavel. “If it did, this trial would not be taking place.”
“Miss Colton,” the judge admonished. “I must request—”
“If my brother had not been wrongly imprisoned, Captain Renard would not have been given those despicable orders by General Miles, and General Stanley—” She flung an arm toward the general where he sat with the others who would decide Blake’s fate. “You call that an impartial jury, with him on it? Did a man’s life not hang in the balance, the thought of that man being impartial where Captain Renard is concerned would be laughable.”
Jessie took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her. “Had all that I’ve mentioned not taken place, this—this general would not have been so suspicious of Captain Renard that he set a spy on him, Sergeant Tipplemire would not have been in that courtyard that night to fall victim to whoever murdered the poor man, and Captain Renard would never, never have been charged with a crime he did not commit. So yes, my brother’s arrest has bearing. Sir.”
In the sudden stillness that followed her outburst, a spectator in the back of the room let out low whistle of admiration.
Travis felt his throat close. You are your mother’s daughter, Jessica Ann. Nothing was going to stop her from saving her man. Travis only prayed the good captain was worth what she was putting herself through. What was yet to come.
The judge cleared his throat. “Objection overruled,” he announced quietly.
In the center of the floor before the bench, Bernstein turned in a slow circle, forcing first the prosecutor, then the judge, then each individual member of the jury to meet his gaze one at a time. When he had everyone’s total attention, he turned slowly back to Jessie. “Please continue, Miss Colton.”
Trembling, both with rage and with a terrible fear that her outburst might have hurt Blake’s chances, Jessie wrapped her fingers tightly together and squeezed. When she spoke, her voice trembled. She started over and gave the date again of her first meeting with Blake. Again she explained that it was the date Geronimo and the others were put on the train. She told of the shock of Pace’s arrest and Blake’s part in keeping her from interfering. Bernstein had said it would remind the jury that Blake was a soldier who followed orders—usually.
Then she told of the train robbery, of Blake being shot, her being kidnapped. And of Blake’s rescue.
“Let me understand, Miss Colton. You had known the defendant, Captain Blake Renard, less than a day. He was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to you. Yet, even though gravely wounded himself, he rode all day, ignoring his own pain and discomfort, to go to the aid of a woman he barely knew? A woman, yourself, whom you state he did not particularly like?”
“That’s right.”
“Why do you think he would do something like that?”
The prosecutor jumped to his feet. “Objection!”
“Because he’s a good man,” Jessie said, ignoring the prosecutor’s objection and the judge’s fierce frown. She didn’t dare look at Blake.
“
Your Honor!” The prosecutor’s face was rigid. “The witness cannot possibly know what was in the captain’s mind when he rode after her, and I object to this entire line of questioning. It has nothing to do with the case.”
The gavel banged on the desk. “Objection sustained. The jury shall disregard the witness’s last comment, and the counsel for the defense shall explain this line of questioning.”
The lieutenant’s words, something about establishing the accused’s character, buzzed in Jessie’s ears as she watched the muscle flex along Blake’s jaw. His hands were spread out on the dark surface of the table, his gaze locked stubbornly on his fingers.
What must it be like to sit and listen to others talk about him as though he wasn’t there, not allowed to speak for himself except from the witness stand? To have people think he might possibly be guilty of murder?
Jessie shuddered and almost missed Bernstein’s next question.
“…the Palm Garden Restaurant with the defendant?”
“Wha—oh, yes. As a favor to my mother, Captain Renard escorted me there to dinner.”
As the questions and answers continued, Jessie told about learning of Tipplemire being ordered to follow Blake. She told how Tipplemire ended up wearing Blake’s coat and hat.
“Is it not possible, Miss Colton, that after leaving you for the evening, the captain went below to the courtyard and retrieved his greatcoat and hat?”
Blake looked up then and stared at her, hard. His entire bearing spoke of denial. He knew what she was about to do, and he didn’t want her to do it. Jessie raised her chin. She had no choice. She looked at the prosecutor. His hunger for conviction—and his certainty that it was within his grasp—glowed in his eyes like religious fervor. She looked at the judge, whose face was expressionless. She looked at the jury, and caught the narrowed, speculative stare of General Stanley.
Then she looked back at her father. His gentle smile strengthened her. If she said the word, he would have her out of here before anyone could stop them.
She smiled back. “What you suggest is quite impossible, Lieutenant, as Captain Renard did not leave my company that evening.”
Blake clenched his fists against the tabletop. He willed Jessie to look at him, willed her to hear his plea. Don’t do this. Don’t hold yourself up to their ridicule. Not for me, Jessie. It won’t help. They’ll convict me anyway, because you can’t prove anything. Don’t do this.
But she only met his look with a soft smile that turned wry when Bernstein, damn the bastard, asked her to explain.
“I didn’t realize you were that naive, Lieutenant,” Jessie said. When the choked laughter died with the banging of the gavel and Bernstein’s blush faded, she went on. “Captain Renard could not possibly have killed anyone that night, because he was with me from the time he called to take me to dinner…until dawn the next morning.”
After a long tense silence, during which Jessie heard the sound of her own breathing, the lieutenant finally spoke, softly. “The entire night?”
Jessie refused to let herself shrink from the shocked stares directed at her. “Yes, sir,” she answered. “The entire night.”
Blake let out the breath, and the hope, he’d been holding. Oh, Jessie, I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. Why are you doing this to yourself?
“Begging your pardon, Miss Colton, but…” Bernstein’s face turned a vivid, deep shade of red. “Uh, surely you, uh…slept…sometime during the night.”
She met his gaze squarely, making him blush even harder. “Surely we did not.”
Blake was losing his mind. He could have sworn Bernstein winked at her. Bernstein didn’t know how to do anything so frivolous as wink.
“Captain Renard did not leave my side until after the sun rose,” Jessie said softly.
Bernstein gave her a questioning look. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to spare her having to reveal her final secret before a room full of strangers. He was asking, with that look, if she wished to continue.
One look into the prosecutor’s eyes told Jessie she had no choice. The colonel wanted blood. Blake’s blood. He wasn’t going to get it. Not one single precious drop. She straightened her shoulders and nodded at Bernstein to continue.
“My apologies, Miss Colton. But might I ask, without malice, if you are in the habit of entertaining men throughout the night?”
A low growl came from Travis, another from Blake.
Even having been warned the question would come, Jessie couldn’t help the heat that rose to her face. She met the lieutenant’s gaze squarely. “I know you have no reason to believe me, Lieutenant, except that I’ve sworn on the Bible to tell the truth, and as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am a terrible liar. In answer to your question, no. The night I spent with Captain Renard was the first and only time I’ve ever…done anything like that.”
“I see.” Bernstein crossed the floor slowly. “So you went to dinner with Captain Renard, at the Palm Garden, then invited him back to your hotel room, where he…spent the night. I must wonder—why?”
From somewhere among the spectators a titter of laughter snaked through the room. Blake’s nostrils flared with rage, at the question, at the laughter. At the whole goddamn situation.
“Uh, ah.” Bernstein fumbled for words. “I, uh, did not mean to question why the captain would…ah…what I mean is, anyone can see why he would…be smitten with you. You are a lovely lady, Miss Colton.” His thin cheeks flushed. “Yes, um, lovely indeed. But you are obviously from a good family. By all appearances you are not a loose woman. What I wonder is why you—”
Bernstein stopped and shook his head. “Let me rephrase the question, if you will. Can you tell the court how it happened that you were in Captain Renard’s company on the specific night in question, rather than, say, the night prior, or the night following?”
Jessie thought back to that week and wondered how any of them had survived at all. “The night prior, I was with my mother and sister. We were…well, we were planning how best to free my brother from the guard house here at the fort.”
“And the night following the…murder? Why not wait until then?”
Jessie shook her head. “There wasn’t going to be another night. Not for Blake and me. We both knew it.”
“What do you mean? Why would you think you would not see Captain Renard again?”
“Because…that was when we—Mama, Serena, and I—planned to get Pace. There were so many terrible rumors around town about an imminent attack on the prisoners, we dared not leave Pace there—here—another night.”
“And did Captain Renard know what you were planning for the next night?”
“Oh, no,” Jessie cried. “Blake knew nothing about our plans. He suspected, but that’s why Mama arranged for Blake, Captain Renard, and me, to have dinner together. So he wouldn’t follow her and my sister and learn what they were up to.”
Blake straightened slowly in his chair.
Bernstein’s eyes bulged. “Your mother sent you to spend the night with—”
“Sir!” Jessie protested. “My mother did not intend that anything…untoward…should happen. She merely wanted me to keep the captain from following her while she made certain arrangements, and she wanted me to find out what I could about Blake’s—Captain Renard’s plans concerning the Apache prisoners, to see if he knew of any truth to the many frightening rumors of massacre we had heard.” Jessie paused and licked her lips, darting a nervous glance at Blake. “And she wanted me to do my best to make certain I knew what the captain’s plans were for the rest of the night.”
Blake reeled. The sweet memory of how she’d asked him to stay with her, begged him to make love to her, soured in his gut. That’s why my mother arranged…make certain I knew… Each word she spoke cut like a double edged knife to his heart. Goddamn her!
She couldn’t mean it. She couldn’t have lured him into her room with such cold-blooded intent. Not Jessie. No. He wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t, or he would go crazy.
Bernstein’s voice broke though Blake’s thoughts. “You would have us believe, Miss Colton, that you enticed Captain Renard to your room for the night simply to fulfill your mother’s wishes?”
“No,” came her faint whisper. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
Wasn’t it, Jessie? Blake demanded silently. Wasn’t it? In fact, that night on the trail, when he had made a fool of himself by asking her to marry him, she’d said then that she had used him. He hadn’t believed her then. And, with the rhythm of his heart slowing, he knew he didn’t believe her now. She hadn’t used him. She wasn’t capable of such a thing.
“Then I must ask you, ma’am—and remember please, you have sworn on the Holy Bible to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Therefore, I ask you, did the night as you described it ever really take place, in reality, or was it only in your mind?”
Jessie gave him a wry smile. “Oh, yes, Lieutenant, the night in question most definitely took place.”
Bernstein shook his head sadly. “But you have no way of proving that, do you?”
The nervous fluttering in Jessie’s stomach subsided as the child in her womb chose that moment to give a vigorous kick. Jessie smiled. “Why, yes, sir, I assure you, I have such proof.”
“You mean to tell me that you can prove that Captain Renard spent…was with you all…” Under her slow blink, the lieutenant cleared his throat and started over. “You can prove you were with Captain Renard on the night of September 22?”
“Yes, Captain. You see,” she said as she unbuttoned her coat, “that’s the night I got—” She pulled open her coat and rested both of her hands on the mound shielding her unborn child. “—this.”
At the bench, the judge blinked. In the center of the room, Lieutenant Bernstein blushed. Across the room the prosecutor closed his eyes in despair. In the spectator seats, Travis’s eyes filled with pride.
Apache-Colton Series Page 137