San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance) (11 page)

His dark gaze settled on her. "You are becoming important to me, Emerada. When will you
let me make love to you?" His voice was caressing. "I want you more than I have ever wanted
any woman. Surrender to me and I will never
look at another woman."

She placed her napkin on the table and
stood. "We will both know when the time is
right." She moved quickly to the door. She had
to get away from him, to breathe fresh air, to
master her temper before she did something
she'd regret. Now was not the time to kill the
heartless dictator.

But the time was not so far away.

Emerada paced her tent, clamping her hands
over her ears to shut out the continuous sound
of cannon fire. She could understand why
Santa Anna had taken up residence in the
town-to escape the noise, and probably he
was afraid his tent would be targeted by the
Alamo defenders-poor brave fools. She had
declined his offer to join him there, preferring
to keep her distance from him for now.

Even behind the lines as she was, the ground
shook and trembled every time a cannon was
fibred, and there seemed to be a continuous barrage. She tried not to think about the horrible
carnage, the lives that were being lost on both
sides.

After two days of listening to the sounds of
men dying, Emerada had to do something to
help. With trepidation, she made her way to the
medical tent, although Domingo tried to dissuade her. There were men dying who needed
help. She had lived a sheltered life until now,
and she hoped she wouldn't faint at the sight of
blood.

Emerada was surprised to find that two of
the doctors were Americans. They were working diligently on the wounded, although she
learned that they had been captured after a
battle and forced into service by Santa Anna.

Silently she followed the doctors' orders, trying not to be sick at the sight of gaping wounds
and so much blood. She held the hands of dying men, wrote letters to their loved ones,
and held operating instruments and bandages
for the doctors. Hours passed, she didn't know
how many, before she finally rolled down her
sleeves and left the tent of death.

Emerada was surprised to find that it was almost sundown. She breathed deeply, needing
fresh air, but all she could smell was sulfur and
gunpowder. She wanted to get on her horse
and ride away, never looking back, but she
couldn't. Nothing, not even the sight of war, the
wounded and dying, could deter her from her
plan.

"Hello, dancer," Ian called out as Emerada
passed by. "Turned any more prisoners over to
your lover today?"

Ian was tied to a live oak tree, and she considered passing him by because she was just
too weary to trade insults with him. Anyway,
he had a right to think Santa Anna was her
lover-everyone thought they were, and they
probably would be eventually. She lifted a
wooden water bucket and offered him a dipperful of water.

Ian looked as if he might refuse, but he reconsidered. He drank thirstily and nodded his
thanks. "You would have done better to let
your lover kill me."

"He would have if I hadn't intervened. I've
had to save your life twice now. Who looks
after you when I am not around?"

Suddenly a bugler played the haunting melody of the deguello, and Ian and Emerada
stared as a red flag was raised and fluttered in
the breeze-the Mexican signal that promised
no mercy to the Alamo defenders. They knew
that every man within those walls would be put
to the sword-the defenders must know it, too.

"What you did to me was worse than any
death you could imagine." Ian nodded toward
the Alamo. "Men are dying in there, and I
should be with them."

She dropped the dipper back in the bucket
and set it on the grass. "Why? So you could die
with them?"

"Yes, damn it! It's my duty." His eyes were
misty, and she could see his agony. "I beg you,
let me go so I can die with them."

Pity rose up inside her, and she was touched
so deeply by his torment that she considered
honoring his request. But she could not bear to
think of those beautiful blue eyes closed in
death. "No, I will not do it. You are Santa
Anna's prisoner."

Ian shook his head as if to clear it and stared
at the rising smoke around the Alamo. "Poor
brave fools, they are all but dead now."

"I know," she said sadly. "I wish I could do
something, but no one can help them now. Not
even Houston. If he were here, he would be
slaughtered with them. And so would you if I
released you."

"Why should you care?" he asked coldly. "You have your silk tent and your president
lover."

Her dark eyes flamed with resentment. "You
know nothing about me, Ian McCain. Apparently you have not yet learned that things are
not always what they seem."

Her statement jarred him. Houston had said
the same words to him. Ian noticed for the first
time how tired she looked; there were bloodstains on her gown, and even on her hands. He
realized that she'd been helping out in the field
hospital. No, he didn't know her.

"Well," he said after a long silence, "perhaps
Travis and Bowie can slow Santa Anna up a bit
so Houston can pull his men together."

She turned to look at the bastion where the
Alamo defenders were positioned and watched
as a column of brave Mexican infantrymen attempted to storm the walls against a shower of
bullets and cannon fire.

"It is a horrible thing to watch men die, Ian
McCain. So many good men on both sides will
lose their lives, and for what?" She reached
down, picked up a fistful of dirt, and allowed it
to sift through her fingers. "For this?"

Suddenly there was renewed urgency in Ian's
voice. "Cut me loose! Let me die at the side of
my fellow soldiers!"

She turned to him, wanting so badly to touch
his face, to bring him comfort. "I cannot do that,
Ian. There is no reason for you to die uselessly."

"If you have any human feelings left in you,
help me escape," he implored. "I can't live with
this horror! Nothing could be worse than
watching men I know die and being helpless to
do anything about it."

"I cannot help you."

His eyes bore into hers. "I didn't think you
would, dancer. If our roles were reversed, I
would show you no mercy either."

"I know." She noticed that Ian had been positioned so he was forced to watch the destruction of the Alamo. "I will see that you are given
food and water."

"Do not trouble yourself. Do you think I
could eat when men are dying?" His gaze went
back to the Alamo, where a Mexican cannon
had just blown away part of the outer wall. "Oh,
God, this is my punishment," he said, lowering
his head in shame. "This is what I deserve."

"Why should God punish you?"

He raised his head. His eyes were mesmerizing as he stared into hers.

"I deserve to be court-martialed for betraying my command." He slumped against the
ropes. "I thought only of you when I should
have been behind those walls, with Travis and
Bowie," he whispered.

She reached out to him, feeling his pain in
her very soul. But her hand dropped to her
side. She didn't fully understand his words. He
was a tormented man, and she could not help
him. "Events happen for a reason, Ian. Even the outcome of war is in God's hands. It was
not meant that you should die in that place."

"You don't understand. No woman could."/

"I understand better than you think I do, Ian
McCain." She felt the ground tremble when a
twenty-pounder raked the walls of the Alamo.
"You do not have to be a man to know about
duty and honor."

Ian watched her walk away, and he swore
under his breath. She was in his blood, behind
his every action. He'd tried to convince himself
that what he'd done the night he had entered
her tent had been for duty's sake, but he knew
better.

She was with him night and day. When he
was asleep, she dominated his dreams, and
when he was awake, his thoughts were all too
often of her.

He watched as Mexican soldiers made another charge at the Alamo. How long could it
be before they breached those walls and killed
every man inside?

It was long after sundown when the continuous shelling that had lasted for twelve days
suddenly ceased. Ian had been moved to a tent
at the back of the Mexican lines, and he could
no longer see what was happening. The silence
was deafening, and he wondered if the Alamo
had fallen.

If only someone would tell him what was
happening. Emerada had not come near him
since the day he had pleaded with her to free
him. Now he wished she would come so he
could learn the fate of the men at the Alamo.

He pulled and yanked on his ropes, but they
would not budge. Sometime around midnight
he fell into a troubled sleep.

Ian was jarred awake and wondered what had
awakened him. It was still dark, but he knew it
wouldn't be long until sunrise. He heard smallarms fire, but no heavy cannon. The Mexican
forces must be storming the walls of the Alamo
in an attempt to surprise the defenders. He sat
there in the dark, feeling helpless, knowing in
his heart that this was the final assault.

He now heard the rumble of a distant cannon and realized that the defenders were fighting back. It was hell, sitting there helpless
while his compatriots died. It was certain that
they had put up a valiant fight. They had held
off superior Mexican forces for thirteen days.

After several hours the shooting stopped,
and all he could hear were excited voices.

"Oh, God," he prayed, feeling shame to the
very depths of his soul. "Why couldn't I die
with them?"

Later in the day Ian smelled a sickening stench
and he knew that it was all over, and the bodies
of the valiant defenders of the Alamo were
being burned. He thought of Travis and Bowie,
Jim Bonham, Isaac Baker, and so many others
that he hadn't even known. He'd heard rumors
that David Crockett, from Tennessee, had been
among the defenders. If that was so, then he
would be dead, too.

How long he sat there, brooding, he didn't know. But suddenly the tent flap was pushed
aside and Emerada appeared.

"Shh," she cautioned as she removed a knife
from her belt and cut through his ropes. "I
have brought you a horse packed with supplies. You must leave at once. The Alamo has
fallen. All are dead!"

The ropes dropped away and Ian rubbed his
wrists to restore circulation. "Why are you
freeing me now when it no longer matters?
Why not before, when my death would mean
something? I can no longer help the men at the
Alamo." His throat closed, and he had to swallow several times before he could speak again.
"Go away!"

"You do not have time to question me or
refuse my offer. If you remain here, you will be
killed. Some of the soldiers are beyond the control of their officers because they have lost
brothers, uncles, fathers to the rebels. They are
killing every American they find." She shuddered. "Go now, while you can."

"What will your lover think when he finds
out you have released me?"

"That is not your worry. Your best chance is
to skirt the town and ride north. It will soon be
sundown, and then perhaps you can lose yourself in the hills."

He grabbed her arm and twisted the knife
out of her hand. "We, you and I, will ride north
and hide in the hills." He placed the knife at
her throat. "You are coming with me."

"This is not necessary, Ian." There was urgency in her voice. "You don't understand-I
must remain here!"

His arm tightened around her and he pulled
her toward the opening, the knife still at her
throat. "Don't call out," he warned.

Ian carefully looked left and right. No one
was about, so he forced Emerada toward the
horse and lifted her into the saddle. Sliding the
knife in his belt, he mounted behind her and
urged the horse into a gallop.

Emerada had chosen the animal well. The
gelding carried the two of them with ease. His
strides were long, and soon they left the encampment behind. Ian stopped when he got to
the top of a hill and looked down at the devastating sight.

Sad and angry, he saw the crumbled walls,
with fire licking at what was left of the Alamo.
Where only hours ago men had fought as enemies, they were now united in death.

Emerada shifted her position so she could
see Ian's face. "This is a sad day for both sides.
It is my belief that this battle will be remembered by brave men everywhere. There were
honorable acts, deeds of valor and heroism on
both sides."

"When it is all said, they are just dead men."
Ian paused as if he could not go on. Finally he
said, "I should have been among their number."

"It was not meant for you to die, or you
would be dead."

"You took that choice out of my hands. I'll
never forgive you for that."

She turned her head forward and felt the
sting of tears. "I would rather have you hate me
than see you dead."