Allegiance Read online

  From every direction, deck hands, firemen, and roustabouts converged on the deck, staring at them and questioning one another. Two boat officials arrived and crowded through to the salon. Curious glances drove Amy deeper into the shadowed corner.

  How could everything have gone so wrong? With this kind of luck, her first tour of New Orleans would be a glimpse of the French Quarter on the way to Police Court. Waiting magnified her fear, and dread settled heavy and cold in her belly. Jeb's eyes showed a margin of white as he clutched his pistol and watched the passengers and crewmen gather near the salon.

  The crowd split as though parted by a sword, and Major O'Donnell stepped through. In spite of his frown, his commanding presence eased Amy's panic.

  "Put it away, Jeb.” He halted within a foot of the barrel's tip. “Tell me what happened."

  Her brother hesitated, then shoved his weapon into its holster. “I've been every way a fool, sir. I didn't believe Jackrabbit cheated me, and I meant to prove it.” A knot of muscle moved along his jaw. “I should have stuck to playin’ mumblety-peg like a kid."

  "You're saying it wasn't a fair game?"

  Jeb's gaze shifted to Amy as he answered. “I saw him do it, just like she told me—dealin’ from the bottom of the deck."

  She read the message in her brother's eyes: you were right and I was wrong. His shamed-faced look was all the apology she'd ever need.

  Taking a deep breath, Jeb faced the army officer. “Lordy, he was smooth! It gave me great pleasure to cripple up his dealin’ hand."

  The major's face hardened. “Sounds like you might have done the Union a favor, but you've still got a problem."

  Amy moved to Jeb's side; she couldn't let him take all the blame. “Sir, to begin with, the dealer drew his pistol under the table. I fired first."

  Major O'Donnell raised an eyebrow, staring at her as though trying to visualize such a thing, then dropped his gaze to a spot below her neck.

  She glanced down and discovered a torn collar and gaping bodice. It revealed the top of her chemise and a shocking display of bare flesh. With a cry of dismay, she clutched her bonnet in front of her. Salvaging what remained of her dignity, she lifted her chin to stare him in the eye.

  The starch went out of his posture. “Jeb, let's get her to her room."

  Her stateroom was one of several built along the outer wall of the salon with the entrances facing the deck. Without a word, she marched toward her refuge, the two men forming a discreet rear escort.

  The shock of what had happened—the sudden violence and the frenzied escape—had nearly shackled her thoughts. As she hurriedly changed clothes in the privacy of her room, she tried to calm down enough to consider the problem. They had set a trap for Jackrabbit Jones and then had fallen into the pit themselves. She wondered how they were going to climb out again.

  She buttoned up her second-best frock and secured it at the throat with a silver pin. Judging from the reactions of the passengers and crew—not to mention the poker players—she and Jeb hadn't made any new friends. Major O'Donnell had given them a chance to explain, but would anyone else listen to their side of it?

  She dumped the bills from her bonnet onto the bed and gathered them into a pile. The small pistol lay next to it. Where could she hide them?

  An abrupt knock on the door startled her. Jeb's voice sounded urgent. “Amy, can you come out here?"

  "Yes, I'm coming.” She glanced around, desperate for an idea.

  In the mirror, she caught sight of herself standing in the center of the room, poised like a bird in mid-flight. Her dress was modest once more but the small bustle at the back of her skirt was askew, and her wanton hair tumbled from its combs. “Just a moment!"

  When she finally opened the door, she found Jeb holding one of the boat's officers at bay.

  The official eyed her brother as he might a cornered wolf. “The captain requests that you come to his quarters, Miss. And you as well, sir. He has a few questions to ask. But you'll have to surrender your pistol."

  Jeb's hand hung near his holster. “You want it, you take it."

  She stepped out between them. “And how is Mr. Jones?"

  One of the bystanders, a minister of the Gospel, puffed out his chest like an indignant turtle dove. “He is alive, thank the Lord for His infinite mercy."

  The color in Jeb's face deepened. “That's just bully."

  "His right hand is badly injured. An uglier mess I have rarely seen, if I may say so."

  "Bullier, yet.” Jeb's eyes narrowed, shifting from one face to another.

  Amy moved closer to her brother, facing the men. If anyone wanted to persecute him, they'd have to go through her. It was all her fault, anyway. She should never have talked him into confronting Jackrabbit.

  The major elbowed his way past the minister and stopped before Amy. “If you'll permit me, I'll escort you."

  The reassurance she found in his steady gaze bolstered her trust. The other men stepped back to let them pass. Apprehension made her mouth as dry as Missouri dust. Her feet felt weighted, and she mounted the stairs as though they led to the gallows. The major's warm hand under her elbow kept her moving.

  Captain Stott met her at the top. “This shouldn't take long—we'll be docking shortly. Come on up, folks."

  In his stateroom, Amy ignored the captain's invitation to sit down and retreated to the window to peer through the glass. From the tall smokestacks, thick black clouds boiled into the sky. The steamboat's structure vibrated with speed as it careened past a rocky point. On the bank, two boys sat with their feet in the water, holding fishing rods in their hands. She wished she were baiting fish alongside of them.

  She turned as several of the boat's officers and certain distinguished male passengers entered. Some found seats but most remained standing. Major O'Donnell took up a station at the rear, standing rigid as a sentinel. His stance radiated tension. His lips were pressed into a firm line beneath his mustache; his eyes flickered over the crowded room as though he expected more trouble. Amy watched him covertly. Would his influence help or harm them?

  Jeb slouched next to the captain's desk, his back to the wall, maintaining an air of injured righteousness. Amy realized it was her brother's short temper that worried her the most. He might forget he wasn't roaming Indian country. According to his own wild tales, law and order out there was as scarce as a powdered wig, and he often had to defend himself like a savage.

  The door opened once more, and Jackrabbit Jones shambled in, flanked by the two other men from the poker game. Someone bounded up to offer his chair, and the gambler slumped his heavy body down without a word. A bulky makeshift bandage on his right hand and wrist created the illusion that he held an infant cradled against his breast. He scanned the room with black eyes glittering in a pasty white face.

  The captain sat down behind his desk. His calm expression and flat voice gave the impression that the circumstances were nothing out of the ordinary. “Mr. Jones charges the Bakers with robbery and conspiracy to murder."

  Murder! The accusation struck Amy like a blow in the stomach. “What are you talking about? He drew on Jeb first! There are witnesses!"

  The captain frowned. “Are you referring to any witnesses other than yourself and Mr. Baker?"

  "Of course! Those two men right there—"

  He shook his head. “Their stories don't support what you say."

  Jeb leaned across the desk, staring at the captain and breathing as if he'd run a mile. “Are you calling her a liar—sir?"

  "Sit down or you'll be hauled out of here. Miss Baker, if you will take a seat as well, we'll try to work this problem out in a mannerly fashion."

  From behind, one man seized Jeb's pistol while another took his knife.

  Jeb whirled with fists doubled, scowling at each man in turn. At the point of a gun, he lowered himself slowly into his chair, rigid and watchful. His eyes held a dangerous glint.

  Someone pushed a chair toward Amy, and she perched on it, struggli
ng to regain her poise. She hadn't intended for her outburst to goad Jeb closer to the edge. As she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to stop the shaking, she searched her mind for a defense.

  Across the room, Major O'Donnell's expression looked grim as he met her gaze. His gray eyes reminded her of lightning-shot storm clouds on a sultry afternoon.

  The captain continued in a monotone voice. “Did anyone else see Mr. Jones draw his pistol first? No one?"

  She glared at Jackrabbit. “He dealt from the bottom of the deck—I saw him."

  The gambler didn't so much as glance at her. “Captain, there's the matter of the robbery. That girl looted the table before she left."

  Amy opened her mouth to protest, then stopped to think. If it was her word against theirs, the less said the better.

  The captain's expression held little sympathy. “Where is it?"

  She held his gaze steadily. “The only money I have is rightfully mine."

  Captain Stott sighed heavily, then tugged a watch out of his pocket to check the time.

  One of his men spoke up. “I checked both their rooms. No money in either place. But I did find her pocket pistol."

  "Search them!” demanded Jackrabbit, baring his long teeth. “One of them must have it."

  Amy's stomach clenched, and she thought she might be sick.

  The captain took out a large handkerchief and blotted his forehead. “Jeb, do you have the money on you?"

  Her brother leaped to his feet and stared around the room. “See for yourself!” He ripped off Papa's coat and threw it at Jackrabbit. The cravat and shirt followed. Jeb broke the stunned silence in the room by bouncing his boot off the gambler's shoulder and eliciting a yelp. He was tugging at his other boot when two men grabbed him.

  "Easy, Jeb!” Major O'Donnell moved toward the grappling men. “Let him go. It's plain he can't have more than a few coins on him."

  The captain's mouth twisted with contempt. “Get that desperado out of here and put him in irons."

  Amy's mind went numb as two robust men dragged her brother, cursing and thrashing, out the door.

  Jackrabbit rose and kicked Jeb's clothing aside. He raised his arm and pointed at Amy. “She's got it, then. There's no where else it could be."

  All eyes shifted in her direction.

  Blood rushed in her ears as she slowly stood up and held her arms out to the side. “Which one of you gentlemen will search me and find out?"

  * * * *

  Tyler O'Donnell cursed under his breath. Instead of allowing the captain to handle the situation, the Baker girl had called her accuser's bluff. She might as well have dropped an ember in the tinder box. Now she stood wide-eyed and pale before them, challenging every man in the room with her defiance. In the uncertain silence, Tyler's nerves tightened. What had she gotten herself into?

  Cuddling his wounded hand, Jones stalked her. A sheen of perspiration highlighted his swarthy face; his eyes glittered, small and mean.

  Tyler edged through the stupefied gathering, alarm adding urgency to his maneuver. Surely the man wouldn't assault a woman in front of witnesses!

  Jones closed on her like a predator, snatched her bonnet strings and yanked the cap from her head. Waves of blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders—no bills or hidden loot, just waves of silky gold.

  She showed her teeth. “Get him away from me!"

  As the gambler reached for her again, she swiped at his face, her fingers curved like claws, and left a row of bloody scratches across his cheek.

  Jones snarled and seized her wrist with his awkward left hand. “Give me your bag!"

  Tyler yanked his sword from its metal scabbard as he closed in. He gripped Jones’ shoulder, spun him around, and held the quivering blade close to the man's face. For a frozen moment, Tyler stared into the bugging eyes and fought the reflex to draw blood. The stifling air had turned rank in close quarters, taking the joy out of breathing. The fat scoundrel inhaled more than his share just being alive.

  Tyler struggled to maintain an icy control over his rage. “If you touch her again, it'll be the last thing you do."

  The smaller man shrank back as the edge of the sword touched his neck. A muscle twitched near his eye. “All right. Don't get jumpy."

  The captain advanced around his desk. “Jones, you're out of order. Back off or the major will run you through. And he'd be well within his rights to do so.” He turned to his officers. “We'll keep Baker secured until we tie up at New Orleans. Then we'll hand him and the young lady over to the jurisdiction of this parish."

  Tyler blinked in surprise. He opened his mouth to challenge the decision, then stopped himself. His army training forbade him to interfere with a figure of authority, especially before an audience. When the rabbit-toothed gambler sidled from under his sword and retreated toward the door, Tyler pronounced a silent curse on him and replaced his weapon in its scabbard.

  Jones paused in the doorway, looking back. “That little bandit's going to be sorry.” With a final menacing scowl in Amy's direction, he disappeared.

  Amy swayed on her feet, clutching the back of her chair.

  Tyler put out a hand to steady her. The flesh of her arm felt cool under his fingers. “Are you all right, Miss?"

  "I think so...” She sank trembling into the chair. “Merciful heaven, what have I done? It's all my fault."

  The anguish in her voice twisted something deep inside him. He peered into her pale face, noting the tracery of bluish veins at the temples, the lack of color in her lips. “Are you feeling faint? Wait here."

  When he brought a glass of water from the sideboard, he found her staring blankly out the window, her fingers worrying the tassels on her small beaded bag. She roused herself enough to accept the drink and murmur a thank you. After taking a sip, she glanced up and her blue eyes met his. Cornflower blue. Hair the color of ripe wheat in the sun. For a long moment, he stood spellbound, aware of the grace and beauty the old-fashioned clothing failed to hide. Within her, he sensed inherent goodness; her deeds lacked the black mark of sin. Her vulnerability and innocence touched his heart, disturbing its rhythm. He suddenly and unreasonably wanted her for his own, to safeguard and protect. To carry her off to a secluded spot and make love to her until the harsh realities of life had shrunk to nothing. The realization left him momentarily defenseless.

  He glanced out the window, deliberately breaking contact. “We're almost there."

  When she dropped her gaze, he began to breathe again.

  "Then you'll be wanting this.” She dug in her reticule, withdrew a rolled parchment tied with a ribbon, and handed it to him.

  "What is it?"

  "The information you wanted from my brother. It's all he could remember."

  He slipped off the ribbon, unrolled the paper, and glanced at the precise lettering—all of one short paragraph. His heart sank. He'd given up hope of getting the maps Royal Baker had promised, the layouts of Santa Fe and the military fortifications. But the names of the revolutionary leaders he needed to contact were crucial. “This is all? No names?"

  "It's a bit meager, I know—"

  "Meager? That hardly describes it!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “There's nothing here. What I need—"

  Between her clenched fists, the loop on her reticule snapped with a twang. She blinked at the broken cord and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  Tyler cursed himself for his tactlessness. On top of everything else, she didn't need this. “Never mind. Don't worry about it.” He folded the paper and slipped it into the front of his shirt, trying to keep his disappointment from showing.

  "Please don't blame Jeb too much. He's had a hard time since our father died."

  She had blue eyes a man could drown in. Gazing into them, he felt an internal tug and cautioned himself against giving in to the feelings few soldiers could afford. “I understand. For what it's worth, I don't think he's getting a fair shake."

  "You know he's not."

  He tor
e his gaze away and faced the window, hands on hips, staring at the shifting landscape. He had to get out of her sight before he made a promise he couldn't keep. Important obligations waited for him in New Orleans. Serving as a liaison between the president of his country and the commander of another, he had no business getting involved in someone else's problems. He had to keep his mind focused!

  With firm resolution, he turned toward her, ready to offer his regrets and make his departure, then saw the bruised look in her eyes.

  Oh, hell!

  "Don't worry,” he heard himself say. “I'll do everything I can to get you out of this."

  * * * *

  Tyler loitered near the window, scanning the river, while he waited for the captain to send his crew to their posts and to clear the room of curious spectators. The river traffic had increased tenfold: steam packets, flatboats, keelboats, and barges dodged from the path of the Missouri Belle. Along the banks, a row of plantations held its ground against the lush greenery of the bayous, while downstream, the outline of a large town came into view. Could it be New Orleans already?

  The captain stepped outside with the last of his departing crew, and Tyler hurried after him. With an apologetic glance at Miss Baker, he exited and pulled the door shut behind him, enclosing her inside the room out of ear shot. “Sir, may I discuss something with you? I'm worried about the girl's safety, not to mention—"

  "It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, I assure you. Every precaution will be taken to see that justice is served. Now, then.” Captain Stott gestured toward the town. “What do you think of our punctual arrival? This old smoke pot has the spirit of a young filly, wouldn't you say?"

  Black smoke belched from the chimneys as the steamboat homed in on a long crescent-shaped wharf. The deep-throated landing whistle sent a geyser of steam from its half-moon mouth. Startled gulls wheeled away over the water.

  Tyler forced a smile which he hoped appeared genial. “Yes, sir, she has spirit. And you've spared no effort in getting down the river. I appreciate it. Could I prevail upon you to release Miss Baker? I'll take the responsibility."

  Captain Stott didn't reply, but ambled over to stand by his bell. Tyler trailed after him, thinking how satisfying it would be to wrap his fingers around that jowly neck and squeeze. How he detested being ignored!