Allegiance Page 20

  "It pleasures me to meet you, Señorita.” His accent softened the hard edges of English. White teeth flashed in a friendly smile.

  Amy returned his smile. “A sus ordenes."

  Alizar had sable brown hair and a narrow, hawk-like face. His bold gaze and regal bearing conveyed the pride of a Spanish aristocrat. She sensed steel beneath the ruffles.

  Felicité explained Amy's situation. “Please allow them to travel with us, Don Alizar. She is my friend and we shall have such a good time together."

  He hesitated. “We leave this town pronto. Right after my caballeros arrive with extra mules."

  "We can be ready whenever you wish to leave.” Amy sensed his reservation and hoped he had nothing against Americans. “When are they due?"

  "Quién sabe? Tomorrow, this week, next week.” He glanced around. “Where are your people?"

  Menfolk, he meant. How often men asked her that, she thought irritably; as though a woman by herself couldn't be taken seriously. Nothing would do but for males to discuss important matters only with other males.

  Felicité obliged him by pointing. “Over there, beyond our carriage, see?"

  * * * *

  The sleepy chirr of insects pervaded the hot summer air. Packed hard as brick, the dry surface of the road managed to release a silky haze of dust whenever a wagon rolled by. Tyler pulled out his bandana and mopped the sheen of gritty perspiration from his face. Crossing the street toward him came Amy, Felicité, and what looked like a Mexican dandy.

  Felicité made the introductions, and though the salutations were civil, Alizar's eyes narrowed slightly as he shook Tyler's hand. An indefinable part of the Spaniard's expression closed up, leaving a rigid mask.

  Felicité wheedled the man like a spoiled child. “Please, let them travel with us. We need more wagons and men for defense, is that not so, Don Alizar?"

  "That is true, niña.” Alizar placed a cigarrillo between his lips. He deftly applied flint and steel to a twist of cotton he carried in a metal tube, got a spark and a flame, and lit the slender cigar. He began drawing puffs of smoke. “Can you shoot, Señor O'Donnell?"

  "After a fashion. How many do you have in your company so far?"

  Alizar pondered. “Twenty-five or so. A third that many wagons, not counting the little carretas. We'll be safe enough after we combine forces at Council Grove.” He flicked ash onto the road. “Tell me, Señor, what do you think of the Texas Revolution? I hear much about Uncle Sam's big cornfield and little Sam's cotton patch—will they unite in one big plantation?"

  Tyler kept his face impassive. He didn't want trouble, but the arrogant man wasn't wasting time putting him to the test. If there was any other way, he'd let the Mexican caravan trundle off across the prairie by itself. “I hadn't heard that one. Not a bad idea, though."

  The Spaniard puffed on his cigarrillo, studying him with hooded eyes. Surely, he didn't believe there was an American alive who sided against Texas. Any other reaction from Tyler wouldn't have sounded credible.

  "Tell me, then.” Alizar removed the cigarrillo from his mouth and used it to punctuate his words in the air. “If America isn't planning to break the treaty with Mexico, why are men allowed to recruit in your country to make war in Mexico?"

  "Our government is not recruiting Americans—Texas is. In our country, we have a lawful right to emigrate and to bear arms."

  Alizar digested that, then grunted and turned away. He spoke over his shoulder. “You may bring your wagons to our camp. It is located a few miles south of Chouteau's trading post."

  "Thank you.” Tyler found himself speaking to Alizar's back. “If my partner agrees, we'll probably join you sometime tomorrow."

  The Spaniard mounted a black horse, a stallion, sleek and muscular. As though it were a signal for departure, Felicité climbed into her carriage. “Señor O'Donnell, please allow Amy to come with us now, and we shall have such a good time! Oh, Tía Maruja, may she come with us and spend the night? Our wagon has nothing in it but our beds—there's plenty of room."

  "But of course,” the duenna murmured.

  Tyler glanced at Amy. Her flushed face reflected the tension that had been building between them. She had no guile, and he read her expression easily: she wanted to get away from him for awhile. She probably regretted the night she'd lost her virginity and didn't want anything more to do with him.

  "Would you mind?” She met his gaze. “You can bring the wagons that far without me, can't you?"

  By the tone of her question, he knew he wasn't getting a real choice. He cleared his throat, stalling for time. It struck him suddenly what a fool he'd been. He'd thought she would be pleased—gratified, even—by his proposal of marriage. It would have solved so many problems—all right, one big problem. But ever since he'd mentioned it, she'd avoided speaking to him. And when she'd had to look at him, her gaze had been like a splash of cold water. Now she was going off with people he didn't know. Every nerve in his body screamed to forbid it.

  He took a deep breath, struggling to maintain an impassive expression. “We can manage without you, I guess."

  Chapter 17

  Amy sat beside Felicité on the tailgate of a wagon watching a dozen caballeros race their horses. The young men rode as if born to the saddle, clamped like clothespins on their tough little mustangs. Like centaurs, they rode, as one complete animal with no daylight between the parts. The horses, muscles pumping, manes and tails flying, flashing hooves blurred by dust on the crude track, thundered toward the finish line. They drew shrill yips and whistles of encouragement from those on the sideline betting on the outcome.

  Amy caught her mind drifting, then mentally shook herself. She needed this distraction to keep from brooding over Tyler and his off-hand marriage proposal. She'd come here to escape her oppressing thoughts, and she would jolly well put them out of her mind and enjoy herself!

  She glanced around at the large and bustling encampment. Alizar had led her to believe that “twenty-five people and a third as many wagons” was all he had so far, however he couldn't have counted the women and children or the two-wheeled carts.

  Apparently, the Mexican traders migrated like gypsies with their entire families: women cooked and tended the fires while countless little niños ran naked in the sun. Amy suffered a pang of regret when she remembered the trips Papa and Jeb had taken without her. She'd have been more than happy to have gathered firewood and boiled stew for them, if they'd given her a chance.

  Well, she had her chance now to go to Santa Fe as a merchant trader, but the satisfaction she'd expected proved elusive. She felt out of place amidst this frivolity with her heart weighing like a stone in her chest. The faces all around her were wreathed in smiles, yet she just wanted to crawl away and weep her eyes out. How had she come to let one man ruin everything for her? Tyler O'Donnell: tall and handsome and incredibly stupid. So dense was he, in fact, she doubted he understood one single thing about her.

  Felicité squealed and clapped her hands. “Don Alizar won again! Perhaps he is right—you bring him good luck."

  Her aunt Maruja, sharing a blanket with two other women on the ground, glanced up as though Felicité's remark were intended for her as well as Amy.

  Alizar trotted his lathered stallion down the line of spectators, collecting his winnings from those who'd been foolish enough to bet against him. His leather pouch bulged.

  When he came to Amy, he reined in his prancing horse and swept off his hat. A lock of dark hair fell across his brow. The sun gleamed on the silver buttons adorning the outer seams of his black trousers and flashed on the long wicked rowels of his spurs.

  "For my lady luck.” He reached in his bag, brought out a silver bracelet, and tossed it to her. It spun in the air, bright and shiny, before it dropped into her lap.

  "Thank you.” She slipped it on her wrist and displayed it with a smile.

  The duenna watched without expression, her eyes flicking from Amy to the Spaniard.

  He also tossed Felici
té a few coins “for luck", but his warm brown eyes lingered on Amy's face. Then he replaced his hat, touched spurs to his horse, and departed.

  Felicité nudged Amy with an elbow. “I think you please him."

  "No more than you.” Amy opened the fan Felicité had loaned her and agitated the hot air.

  "He feels responsible for me, no more."

  "How do you mean?"

  "My father asked Don Alizar to escort me back home to Santa Fe. Don Alizar accepted the responsibility."

  Amy thought about the kind of trust a father would have to have in a man to send him more than a thousand miles to bring home a virginal daughter. “Tell me about Don Alizar."

  "He is muy rico ... rich as the governor, himself, perhaps. Most of the men here work for him. He has a big hacienda out in the hills near Santa Fe. Also a home in town where his mother lives."

  "He's not married?"

  Felicité shook her head. “Many girls light candles at church and say prayers for him, but he does not court them."

  Amy watched as Alizar organized another kind of race for his men. They laid down colorful scarves across the field, arranging everything from horseback—los caballeros seemed to dislike touching boots to ground.

  "He looks European,” Amy said.

  "He and his parents came from Spain and lived in Mexico City until the Revolution. Nobody trusted Royalists after that, so those in power exiled his family. They say his father died of a broken heart."

  "For being exiled to New Mexico?"

  "Many of those who had trouble with the law were banished there or to California. I think Alizar's family went to St. Louis for awhile."

  "Interesting."

  "Sí. Exiling his enemies was one way the presidente could colonize the northern territories when nobody else wanted to live there—Oh, look at them!"

  The caballeros were taking turns plucking scarves from the ground as they galloped past at top speed. Their limber bodies dangled like rag dolls with their knees hooked over their saddles and their spurs caught in the rigging on the other side. By all the laws of gravity, they should have fallen under the murderous hooves and been killed.

  A swarthy man with an ugly scar on his cheek rode up and presented Felicité with the crimson scarf he had won. His soulful eyes, as he gazed at her, did not fit the ravaged face.

  After he'd ridden away, Amy grinned at Felicité, amused to be able to turn the tables on her. “I think you please him."

  "Toluca? Do you really?” There was no mistaking the hopeful tone.

  "Yes.” To watch the dainty girl and the rough-looking vaquero gaze longingly at one another left no doubt about their feelings. “Who is he?"

  "A scout for Don Alizar and foreman of his rancho. Do you not think him the most handsome caballero? He has only the tiniest drop of Indio blood, you know. If I marry him, our children will have none at all."

  Amy tried to hide a smile at the way her friend justified marrying a half-breed. “Will you marry him?"

  "It will be up to my father. And Toluca, of course.” Her expression had lost the bright hopeful look. “My father will not like the Indio blood he carries.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Then again, maybe he will realize how unsafe it is these days to have blood too pure."

  Amy wanted to ask what she meant, but the question died on her lips as several more riders trotted up with their tokens of skill in horsemanship, honoring her and Felicité by turns.

  "Are they showing off for us?” Amy pressed her palms against her hot cheeks. “Felicité, we'd better go inside the wagon before they kill themselves!"

  "Perhaps. But aren't they sweet? Oh, look! Are you sure you don't want to watch what they can do with their lariats?"

  "Truthfully, it would take a team of horses to drag me away.” Amy grinned at her companion. “I envy the kind of life you live. This is such fun!"

  Felicité squeezed her arm affectionately. “To have you for my guest doubles my pleasure. Have you thought more about traveling with me and sharing my wagon? I asked Tía Maruja. She said you are welcome. I hope you accept."

  "I'm sorely tempted, Felicité. I must discuss it with my brother first."

  "But of course."

  Amy didn't think Jeb would mind—why should he? There were all manner of unattached Mexicans here that he could hire as drivers or cavvy boys to help him. In fact, he'd probably feel better about having her travel in comparative luxury. It was Tyler's attitude that was the unknown factor. Her long wakeful hours the night before hadn't been due to lack of comfort—the corn shuck mattress in Felicité's wagon felt a hundred times better than the hard ground. No, Tyler's proposal of marriage was what haunted her. Had she been wrong to discourage him? Had she expected too much? Times like these she could use a mother's advice.

  She recalled the marriage proposals she'd gotten so far: old man Meisenheimer had tried to bribe her with security, Henri Dubois had suggested expediency in business, and now Tyler offered honor out of a sense of duty. What other justifications for marriage was she going to hear before she walked up the altar?

  Just thinking of Tyler—his rare but beautiful smile, his protective manner, his solid strength—made her heart ache with longing. Yet, in spite of her inexperience, she knew the difference between love and lust. If his feelings went deeper than friendship, his rigid self-discipline didn't allow him to indulge in them. She'd been right to turn him down, she decided, but righteousness had its price.

  * * * *

  Amy sat beside the Lorenzos’ campfire, watching the embers glow in the dark. She heard them first: Jeb's curses and whip-snappings, then the creak of axles and grinding of wheels on the hard road.

  "Your wagons have arrived!” Firelight danced in Felicité's eyes, bright and earnest. “Remember you promised to ask your brother about traveling with me."

  "Yes. I'll stay with you tonight, regardless, but I need my nightgown and another dress for tomorrow. Will you walk over with me?"

  The aunt's voice sounded from within the wagon.

  "No, I better not.” Felicité rose to climb inside the wagon, using stacks of boxes for steps. “I am coming, Tía Maruja!"

  Amy set off in the dark to meet her own small caravan.

  Jeb and Tyler had unhitched the oxen and were setting up camp about thirty yards from the main encampment. Rather than trouble them at their busiest time, Amy went directly to one of the wagons to unpack her own baggage.

  The lack of light made unbolting the tailgate difficult. The smoke from a dozen fires thickened the air and burned her eyes, adding to the illusion of blindness. The nuts were so tight on the bolts, she had to grope around in the dirt for a stone to tap them loose.

  Felicité's desire for a traveling companion created a dilemma. On the one hand, her invitation provided a solution to the strain Amy would suffer by working so closely with Tyler. On the other, it would hinder her chance of patching up differences with him. Somehow, she had to regain the role of Tyler's colleague and friend. The folly of her rash and impulsive conduct became clear with hindsight; the price a woman paid for flaunting propriety impoverished her heart.

  Two of Jeb's newly-released oxen drifted past like ghosts in the dark, ripping mouthfuls of grass from the earth in a random search for the best pasturage. The third dark shadow to appear around the wagon looked taller and more vertical than a four-legged ox. It also claimed a gruff male voice.

  "Who's there, and what do you want?” Big hands closed on Amy.

  "Lord of mercy, Tyler! You scared me out of my wits!"

  "I figured thieves weren't wasting any time back here."

  "No thief. I just came to get my things."

  He didn't back off. Instead, he turned her toward him and clamped his arms around her. “Maybe you came for this.” The kiss that started out tender grew more demanding, charged with passion barely controlled. His rough beard scoured her face.

  With her arms pinned against his chest, she struggled ineffectually; her toes barely touche
d the ground. She arched away from him, gasping for air. “Tyler, stop! You're hurting!” When he failed to respond, she kicked his shins.

  He released her so suddenly she stumbled backward against the wagon wheel. He swung away from her, hands on hips, breathing deeply. She rubbed her bruised thigh. “Oh, Tyler! I once thought you a gentleman."

  Slowly, he turned back. Against the starry sky, his upper body formed a hulking silhouette. Unreadable. Dangerous. The unpredictable behavior had made him a stranger, nothing like the man she thought she knew.

  For reassurance, she reached out to touch his face, laying the palm of her hand along his grizzled jaw. “We haven't properly gotten into the wilderness yet, and look at what you've become. A wild man.” She gave his whiskers a tug and dropped her hand. “A shaggy beast."

  He stood silent, radiating pain like heat from a stove. Then he spun away and disappeared in the night.

  She attacked the tailgate with a vengeance, refusing to acknowledge the excitement his touch had roused in her. Once inside the wagon, she groped around for a lantern she'd put there. Within moments, she had a light by which to pack all her clothes and toiletries.

  She'd evidently confused Tyler with her outrageous behavior the night they'd camped in Boone's Lick Country, then confounded him completely by stalling her answer to his proposal. Well, she was confused, too, so that made two of them! Granted, she hadn't shown good judgment that night, but it was too late to go back and do it over. Under the circumstances, traveling in the Lorenzo wagon would be the most practical arrangement.

  As she threw her bags out on the ground, Tyler reappeared with a lamp. He cleared his throat. “I see you already have a light. Jeb wants to know if you'll have supper with us."

  The troubled expression in his stormy gray eyes twisted something inside Amy. So, he was going to pretend nothing had happened, was he? “No, I am not. Thank you."

  He glanced inside the wagon. “What are you doing?"

  "I'll be traveling with the Lorenzos for awhile. I'm taking my things."