San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance) (4 page)

The man leaned on his hoe while observing
Ian with a blank look on his face. Finally he
propped his hoe against the cabin and walked
toward Ian.

The cold-eyed look he received from the redheaded man was enough to chill the blood of
any man, and Ian felt a prickle of uneasiness. It
was apparent that this was no ordinary man,
and there was something unnerving about him.
In every way except his coloring, he resembled
an Indian.

"Why do you come among us, American?"
the redheaded man asked in surprisingly good
English. "You were not invited into my village."

Ian's jaw tightened, as did his shoulder muscles, when he stared into a pair of the blackest
eyes he'd ever seen. It was difficult to judge the
mans age, although he did have some gray
hair scattered among the red. He bore himself
erectly and had an air of nobility about himand there was something very dangerous
about him.

"Tell me, white man, why are you here?"

Ian shifted his weight uncomfortably, causing the saddle leather to creak beneath him. "I
have come to speak to Chief Bowles on behalf
of General Houston. Will you take me to him?"

The deep wrinkles about the mans mouth
smoothed, and he smiled. "I am Chief Bowles. If you were sent by my brother, Co-lon-neh,
then you are welcome. What is your name?"

Ian tried to hide his shock behind a stiff expression. Houston, with his sense of humor,
probably thought it was a good joke to let him
find out that the chief of the Cherokee was
more white than Indian, at least in appearance.

Although the chief had relaxed his stance,
Ian still had a prickly feeling along the base of
his spine. "I am called Ian McCain."

After a scrutinizing stare, the chief nodded.
"I have heard of you. You are the Raven's Claw.
Come," he said in a commanding voice. "Walk
with me to the hill, and I will hear what you
have to say."

Chief Bowles turned to the warriors who had
escorted Ian into the village and spoke rapidly
to them in their own language.

Ian imagined the chief told his braves not to
follow them, since they immediately stepped
back a few paces. However, their dark eyes still
studied him with distrust, and one of them
kept his hand on the hilt of his knife.

Ian paused by his horse. "Before we walk to
the hill, may I give you the gift that Co-lon-neh
sent you?"

The old man's eyes brightened expectantly,
like those of a child anticipating a treat. "It is
always good to have something from a brother
I hold in regard."

Ian reached across his saddle for the sword,
grasping it by the handle and turning to hand it to Chief Bowles. This set in motion a fierce reaction from two of the warriors, who leaped
protectively in front of the chief, their knives
drawn and ready to strike. The chief spoke to
them rapidly, and they grudgingly moved away.

Ian proffered the sword across his arm in
military fashion to demonstrate that his intentions were not hostile.

The chief grinned as he examined it from hilt
to point as they walked along. "I like this very
well. You can tell Co-lon-neh that I will remember him when I touch this wonderful sword."

"I hope that sword offered to you in friendship today will never be used to draw the blood
of Sam Houston or his army."

They had reached the foot of the hill, and the
chief halted to look at Ian quizzically. "Why
would this sword ever be used to spill my
brother's blood?"

God, help me say this right, Ian prayed
silently.

"Chief Bowles, it has reached our ears that
men from the Mexican government have spoken to you about joining them in their fight
against us. General Houston was much distressed by this rumor. It is a false rumor, isn't
it?"

The Indian looked thoughtful. "There is
truth here, but only a little." He slid the sword
back into the fringed leather scabbard and
gave his full attention to Ian. "I was approached, here in my village, by several men from Mexico. But I sent them away when I
learned that they wanted me to fight against
my blood brother." His voice took on a serious
tone. "To the Cherokee, it matters little who
claims Tejas. All we want is to keep this part
that belongs to us. If you have come to ask me
for help, I have not considered going to war at
this time. So I give you the same answer I gave
the Mexicans."

"That is not why I am here. The Raven has
not authorized me to ask you to send your warriors into battle. His only request is that you do
nothing to harm our fight for independence."

"Tell my brother that I will do nothing to
hurt him or his worthy cause." Chief Bowles
nodded. "If he fights the Mexican government,
he must be on the side of right."

"Then I can tell General Houston that you
will not raise this sword against him?"

"Have I not said so?"

"I know your word is good because the general has told me that you are a man of honor."

The chief sized up his young companion.
"You are a brave man, Raven's Claw. You boldly
ride into my village when my warriors could
have slain you. I favor a brave man above all
other kinds."

They stopped at the top of the hill, which
gave a wide view of the river winding its way
peacefully through the fertile land. A warm
breeze played through the pine trees carrying
with it an aromatic scent.

Ian dragged his gaze away from the landscape and turned his attention to the chief.
"Yes, bravery is to be admired. But I must add
yet another virtue to that-for what is bravery
without honor?" Ian mused aloud. "The most
evil of men can be brave, but if he is without
honor, that makes him unworthy of himself
and a danger to everyone else."

"Your words are spoken with wisdom, and I
see the mark of greatness on your brow. It is
good that you stand at Co-lon-neh 's side, for he
has turbulent times ahead. He will need more
like you with him when the war comes."

Ian nodded solemnly. "The Raven has loyal
men who follow him, but they are not great in
number."

The chief's gaze went out over the land, and
he pointed his finger in every direction. "As far
as you can see in any direction is our land, but
there are those who would take it from us. We
want to be brothers with all white men, but
they will not have it so. Soon I fear we will have
to fight to survive."

Ian could feel the old chief's pain, and he
knew that what he had predicted would one
day come to pass. "My people always seem to
want what the Indian has. I hope that day
never comes, but like you, I fear it will," he admitted with regret.

The tired old eyes moved across the land almost caressingly. "Once my people were all
around me, as many as grains of sand on a seashore. With the passing of seasons, and the
coming of the white man, my people are growing fewer in number. Soon we shall be no
more."

"It is sad to think that, Chief Bowles. But I
fear that your predictions are not without
merit. I hope the time will never come when
you and I will face each other in battle."

Chief Bowles looked at Ian with a trouble expression. "Had you said to me that the day cannot come when we would war with the white
man, I would not have believed you. But you
spoke the truth to me, and for this I will always
remember you, Raven's Claw."

Ian nodded. "I must leave now. I hope we
shall meet again in friendship, Chief Bowles."

"Let it be so," the old chief said. He watched
the young American walk away, assessing his
character as a man. Co-lon-neh's young soldier
was a proud man with much honor. He hoped
the young warrior would not fall in the inevitable battle. But Co-Ion-neh's forces were
gravely outnumbered.

He feared Co-lon-neh and his claw would
both perish beneath the Mexican sword.

Presidio del Rio Grande, Mexico
February 12, 1836

The sound of hundreds of thundering hooves
echoed through the small village, causing the
people to look to the south in apprehension.
Just four days before, an advance guard of
Santa Anna's army had passed through the village, and people had been forced to dodge
clamoring hooves to keep from being trampled
beneath them.

Now more troops were passing through the
village, and the inhabitants were beginning to
wonder if it would ever end.

It was said that Santa Anna's mission was to
put down the insurrection in Tejas-an insur rection that was spreading and gaining momentum because of a handful of malcontents
who declared themselves free and independent
of Mexican rule.

The long column of soldiers was an ominous
sight, with their flags waving, pennants unfurled, and colorful banners snapping in the
wind. The mounted cavalry wore dark blue
tailcoats with metal buttons that shone in the
sunlight-they appeared formidable, equipped
with rifles, swords, and long lances.

It was easy to distinguish Generalisimo Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, El Presidente of all
Mexico, from the others. He rode at the head of
his troops, arrayed in ornamental battle gear.
His chest was covered with medallions and ribbons, and on each shoulder, he wore gold loops
and heavily fringed epaulets.

As the cavalry approached, villagers scattered through the dusty streets, hurrying to
their homes, bolting their doors, then positioning themselves at windows to watch the glorious spectacle from a safe distance. When the
first riders reached the center of town, they
didn't slacken their pace. Fruit and vegetable
stalls were overturned; chickens scattered,
squawking, their feathers flying through the
air. Following the cavalry, an endless stream of
infantrymen, wearing dark blue coats trimmed
in scarlet, marched past. They looked neither
left nor right as they stepped in time.

The villagers were relieved when the calvary had finally passed through without stopping.
Then to their amazement, they saw Santa Anna
dismount before an inn and hand the reins of
his horse to an aide-de-camp. With easy grace,
he stepped into the small inn, followed by an
entourage of five officers and three aides.

The fathers and husbands of the village hid
their daughters and wives, admonishing them
to stay out of sight, for it was known that El
Presidente favored a well-turned ankle.

Was it possible that he, too, had come to
their village to watch the San Antonio Rose
dance?

Night shadows crept across the rooftops at Presidio del Rio Grande. The streets were crowded
with a loud, enthusiastic group of men. A crush
of humanity was pushing and shoving to find a
place at Cantina El Paraiso. Many brawls
broke out among the crowds because there
wasn't enough room inside for everyone.

Many of the men had traveled for days just
for the chance to see the beautiful San Antonio
Rose dance. They hoped that when they returned to their own villages they would be able
to brag to their amigos that they had actually
seen the legendary beauty. Her fame had
spread throughout Mexico, and it was said that
the men who were fortunate enough to see her
dance fell in love with her.

Emerada stood at the top of the stairs, her
body trembling with fear. The day she had waited for had come at last-Santa Anna was
in the village, and she prayed that he would
come to her performance tonight.

She glanced down the stairs at the smokefilled room, searching for Domingo. When she
saw him leaning inconspicuously against the
wall, seemingly blending in with the rest of the
men, she drew in a relieved breath.

What would she do without Domingo? He
was always there, looking after her. He was a
tall man, with arms and legs like tree trunks.
His once black hair had long ago turned to
gray, but that did not keep people from giving
him a wide path when he passed by. One look
at him had discouraged many would-be suitors
when they'd tried to approach Emerada.

Domingo had no past that he could remember, except the knowledge that Comanches had
killed his whole family. Emerada's father had
once told her that at a very young age Domingo
had appeared at Talavera Ranch when it had
belonged to her grandfather. Her grandfather
had settled him in the bunkhouse, where the
vaqueros had befriended him. Somehow, when
Emerada was born, Domingo had attached
himself to her as protector, and he still filled
that role.

Suddenly the soft strum of a guitar filtered
through El Paraiso, and Emerada took several
quick swallows and raised her castanets, clicking them in time with the music.

Everyone fell silent, and each head turned
toward the stairs.

She stood so still that she looked like a
statue, her only movement her fingers controlling the rapid, melodic sound of the castanets.
She was tall for a woman, and her body was
slender and curvaceous. She was dressed all in
red, from the tip of her dancing shoes to the
mantilla that shimmered like a precious jewel
as it covered her waist-length hair. Her dress fit
snugly about her voluptuous body, and the
many-tiered train cascaded to the floor behind
her in graceful folds.