San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance) (3 page)

Houston was silent for a moment while he
studied the tip of his boot. When he looked
back at her, he smiled. "Very well. I accept your
terms. At least for the time being."

"And no one will know of our arrangement,"
she pressed.

"No one." He could see the relief in her eyes.
"But I am still not sure that I trust you."

She shrugged. "You are not called the Raven
without reason. I would have no respect for
you as a leader of men if you blindly put your
trust in a scheme such as I have just offered
you. However, I believe that as time passes you
will come to appreciate that I can be of value to
you."

"And how do you know that you can trust
me?" he asked as his mouth slid into a grin.

"We will just have to trust each other. I will
start now by telling you that Santa Anna intends to cross the Rio Grande with a large
army very soon."

"I already know this."

"Si, but you don't know where he will cross,
or where he will amass his troops. I can learn
this for you."

There were several maps spread on the
rough wooden table, and she moved to stand
over them. After a moment of reflection, she
pointed to a spot. "Here is where I expect him
to cross, and I intend to be there to meet him."

Houston glanced down at the map. "If you
can do this, you would indeed be helpful to me."

"There is more," Emerada said, searching
the map and pointing to Nacogdoches. "There
is a Cherokee tribe near here."

"Yes. I know Chief Bowles very well. You are
indeed well informed."

"If you have any influence with the Cherokee, it would be wise for you to seek them out.
I have it on good authority that Santa Anna has
sent someone with orders to persuade the
Cherokee to attack your troops. Ignore this
warning, Senor Houston, and you shall have a
war on two fronts."

He nodded, his gaze focused on the map. "If
what you say is true, and I am beginning to believe it is, you have already been a help to me."

Emerada wrapped her shawl about her head.
"I must leave now. You will hear from me only
if I have something important to report. You
shall know if the message is from me if it bears
my seal, a single yellow rose."

She extended her gloved hand to him, and Houston raised it to his lips. "Until next time,
senorita."

Without ceremony, she swept out of the
cabin, leaving a puzzled Sam Houston to ponder her words.

Emerada descended the steps and stood for a
moment, noticing that a brilliant sun had
burned the fog away, leaving the sky bright and
clear. Her attention was drawn to several riders
entering the camp, and she tossed the scarf
about her lower face so she wouldn't be recognized. She had almost reached her horse when
a sudden gust of wind ripped the shawl from
her head and sent it flying.

A man had just come out of the tent that adjoined Houston's cabin, and with a quick move
he caught the shawl and walked slowly toward
her. He wore a gray uniform, and the grayfrocked coat had red piping down the front and
around the collar. His black boots were thighhigh and his black slouch hat was turned up at
a rakish angle and fastened with a red cockade.
The man's piercing eyes were the bluest that
Emerada had ever seen, and they seemed to
cut right through her as if probing her deepest
secrets.

His lip curled in distaste, and there was an
edge to his voice as he held the shawl out to
her. "Have you lost your way, senorita? The enlisted men are bivouacked by the river."

The man's insult stung Emerada deeply, and her anger rose like molten lava. "Your men are
safe from me, Colonel Ian McCain. As are you.
I would prefer the lowest dregs of your army
over you."

"So you know who I am. I am flattered," he
said in a tone that implied just the opposite.

Emerada allowed her gaze to slide over the
colonel. Although she'd never met him, he fit
the description that others had given her. He
was tall and lean, with dark hair and broad
shoulders. He was undeniably handsome, and
he was reputed to be favored by the ladies, but
he was too arrogant for her liking. She slid her
shawl into place and bestowed her haughtiest
glare on him.

"Do not be flattered. I have heard nothing
good of you, Colonel Ian McCain. The best that
has been said of you is that you are sometimes
referred to as the Raven's Claw."

And with that she turned away.

In her haste to depart, she tripped on a protruding root and, to her horror, went flying forward. To her further dismay, Ian McCain
grabbed her in his arms. For a moment-or
was it an eternity?-she stared into fathomless
blue eyes that seemed to catch the glow of the
sunlight in their depths. The touch of his hand
on her arm was electrifying. Emerada felt in
that moment that her fate had somehow been
linked to this man. But that was foolish. He
had insulted her, and she didn't even like him.

Ian steadied her, his arms circling her shoulders. He smiled rakishly. "So, you would throw
yourself in my arms. Now, I am flattered."

She shoved against him, glaring at his audacity. "Your misplaced humor is exceeded
only by your arrogance, senor." She stepped
quickly away from him and wrapped her shawl
about herself once more. "Good day, Colonel
McCain."

Ian McCain had artfully been put in his place.
In amazement, he watched the woman mount
her horse, and he continued to watch until she
disappeared behind a hill.

Puzzled, he turned toward Sam Houston's
headquarters. He was certain that the woman
had come from the general's cabin, and he
wondered who she could be. He shrugged. It
was none of his concern if Houston took his diversion where he found it. But the commander
was sometimes too trusting when it came to
women, and there were enemies and spies
everywhere-even female ones.

Ian found Houston with his head bent over
his map.

"Ali, Ian, I'm glad you're here. I want you to
do something for me."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you see the woman who just left?"

"I certainly did, sir. Who is she?"

"She claims to be the San Antonio Rose. I
want to know if she is indeed the dancer. Find out everything you can about her and report
back to me as soon as possible."

Ian nodded. "As you wish, sir."

"No other comment, Ian? Aren't you curious? She's about the prettiest little gal I've ever
laid eyes on."

"If there's anything you want me to know,
you'll tell me, sir. I assume she didn't come here
to dance for you."

"As much as I would have liked to see her
dance, no. I can't tell you anything more than I
have at the moment, because I have given my
word. Dress yourself so you'll blend in with the
Mexicans." Houston looked worried. "You'll
find her in Presidio del Rio Grande, Mexico. I
don't have to tell you what can happen if the
wrong people find out who you are. You speak
Spanish like a native, and you are the best man
I have for sneaking in and out of enemy
camps. It's those damned blue eyes of yours
that worry me-they'll stand out among the
Mexicans."

Ian grinned. "I'll do my best not to get
caught, sir."

Houston suddenly looked like a man who
carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "This mission must be kept in the strictest
confidence. It's imperative that I know who she
is. Since you have a way with the ladies..."
He shrugged. "Well, you'll know what to do."

Ian shook his head. "I don't think this one
likes me very well. I'm afraid I insulted her a moment ago when I mistook her for a camp
follower."

"Put that aside for the moment. We're soon
going to have one hell of a war to fight, and
there are immense hurdles to cross."

When Ian would have replied, Houston held
his hand up to silence him. "I know what
you're thinking. What kind of a war is this
when I'm forced to send my best officer to spy
on a dancing girl?"

Ian smiled slightly. "It had crossed my mind,
sir".

Houston nodded. "Before you find the
woman, I have another mission for you. This
one won't be as pleasant. Find Chief Bowles,
and speak to him for me. He knows you by reputation and because I have spoken of you to
him." He bent over the map again and pinpointed an area with his finger. "Just ride south
and follow the Angelina River. You'll know the
village when you come to it."

"Isn't Bowles the chief of the Cherokee?"

"Yes. Are you afraid?"

"I'd be lying if I said no, sir."

Houston laughed. "What's the matterafraid they'll spoil your pretty face and the
women won't think so well of you?"

"I think I'm more afraid of the San Antonio
Rose than I am of your Indians, sir. She was
fearsome to tangle with."

"Amen to that. And pretty, too." Then Houston became serious. "Speak to the chief with my voice; remind him that we are brothers." A
grin swept over his face. "With any luck you'll
get to him before one of his braves kills you."

"You are a comfort, sir."

"If you fail, Ian, we're likely to be attacked
from the front by Santa Anna, and from the
rear by the Cherokee." Houston opened a trunk
and removed a saber with an ivory and silver
handle. "Give Chief Bowles this gift from me."

Ian saluted, turned on his heel, and left
abruptly. The Indians were not what occupied
his thoughts as he mounted his horse and left
the encampment. He was thinking about dark
brown eyes in the face of a beautiful woman.
He wondered what was so important about her
that it would merit the general's marked attention. He knew it wasn't sexual, or Houston
would have handled the matter himself.

The woman occupied Ian's thoughts long
after he'd left the camp behind.

Ian McCain rode at an all-out gallop after he
left Nacogdoches. He crossed a small stream
that was so clear he could see catfish swimming in and out of the shadows and occasionally darting out of the water. When he rode up
the embankment on the other side, he spotted
a doe, two fawns, and a buck with a twelvepoint antler. When they saw Ian, they bounded
into the thickets and disappeared.

Texas was a land of plenty and promise for
those hardy enough to withstand the hardships
that went along with that bounty. He'd found it
exciting from the first day he arrived. If he
could choose anywhere to live, it would be
Texas. But the land was going to have to be
won first, and therein lay the real problem: Santa Anna and his army stood between him
and his dream.

By the next day, Ian had located his first Indian
trail. It stretched through the pinewood like an
unraveled thread and then disappeared among
a thick growth of trees.

When he reached the woods it was hard
going, and he often had to hack his way
through. He also had to contend with pesky
gnats and mosquitoes. Later he came upon a
soggy bayou and carefully maneuvered his
horse along a narrow strip of hard ground to
keep from sinking into the mire.

It was late afternoon when Ian reached a
clearing that brought him within sight of the
Cherokee village. With his keen sense of observation, he became aware that there were several Cherokee braves following him. They
stayed just far enough behind him to keep out
of sight.

Wisely, he made no move for his gun and
kept his hands in sight, resting them on his
saddle horn. If he appeared threatening in any
way, he knew he would never reach the village
alive. He was certainly not going to do anything to provoke the Indians.

When he reached the river, three Indians
suddenly rode up beside him, silently observing him, their stark expressions suspicious and
dangerous.

One of them spoke to him in English.

"Why do you intrude on our land, whiteface?
You are not welcome here."

Ian was surprised that the three Indians
wore leather boots and clothing made of homespun cloth. He had expected them to be
dressed in buckskin and wearing moccasins.
Still keeping his hands in sight, he answered, "I
was sent by the Raven to speak with Chief
Bowles."

Invoking Houston's Indian name brought an
instant change in the warriors' attitudes. One
of them nodded, his dark eyes still distrustful.
"Ride beside us. Do not reach for your
weapon."

Ian nudged his mount forward, and the Indians closed in around him-one on either side,
and the other behind. Silently they rode across
the Angelina River and up the embankment on
the other side.

When they entered the village, Ian had another shock. This tribe lived in log cabins
rather than lodges or tepees. Smiling, healthylooking children ran along beside Ian, while
the women stared at him with curiosity. Ian noticed that the furrowed land was tilled and
ready for planting. This tribe was not nomadic
if they planted gardens. In fact, they were not
at all what he'd come to expect Indians to be
like.

His Indian guides directed him to the center
of the village, where a man with long red hair was hoeing his garden. Ian was taken by surprise-a white man living among the Cherokee?