The Tiger Lily (57 page)

Sabrina
smiled reassuringly at him, suddenly feeling so much stronger and wiser. Her
arms were about his neck, and she kissed him on his chin, the stubble of the
day's whiskers pleasantly scratching her lips. "I am strong as a horse—look
at Tia Sofia. There'll be no trouble, I promise you."

He
hadn't said that he loved her, but his obvious fear for her safety wrapped a
warm little glow around Sabrina's heart. That and his obvious delight in the
news. And he had been delighted.

Depositing
her gently on his big bed, he kissed her with a sweet restraint, as if she were
very fragile. Wonderingly he said, "I've never thought of being a father
before, but I find the idea suddenly greatly appealing." An endearingly
uncertain expression crossed his face. "Will I be a good father, do you
think?"

Sabrina
giggled, loving him so much. "An exemplary one," she replied gravely,
a twinkle in the amber-gold eyes. It was times like this that she had no
regrets, no fears for the future, times like this that banished any
reservations about the past.

Lying
next to her, Brett's hand moved possessively down to her stomach, gently
caressing it. His eyes warm and tender, he demanded huskily, "When?"

"Late
March, I think." She pulled his face down nearer hers and rained soft
little kisses over his nose and mouth. "You are very potent, Senor . Our
baby will be born practically nine months to the day after our wedding."

"Do
you mind?" he asked with a sensuous curve to his mouth.

She
shook her head. "No. My parents had to wait years and years; I am glad we
do not." She smiled impishly at him. "Besides, I want many, many
babies."

"Oh,
God!" he breathed thickly, "I'll do my best, tiger lily, I swear I
will." He kissed her with a gentle hunger, and when she moved suggestively
beneath him, the bath was instantly forgotten for a long time. . . .

They
entered a new state in their life together, the delight of the coming baby
momentarily pushing the dark clouds away. The second week of November, Brett
had to leave for a meeting with his business agent in New Orleans, and a little
forlorn at being left behind, Sabrina watched him as he moved about his room
making certain that Ollie had overlooked nothing in the packing. Brett caught
sight of her expression, and putting his arms about her, he asked, "Are
you certain you don't want to come with me?"

She
looked down at her expanding stomach and said ruefully, "You will not be
gone more than a few days, and I think I would be more comfortable here."
The pregnancy was proving to be an easy one but the week before she had been
ill with chills and a fever, and she was still not fully recovered.

Reluctantly
Brett bid her good-bye and left for New Orleans. He arrived to find the city
full of news. News that both relieved and alarmed him. Had he been wrong about
the map and Wilkinson, after all? Wilkinson, it appeared, had finally arrived
at Natchitoches with his army in late September, and instead of commencing the
war that everyone had expected, on November 5th, he had signed the Neutral
Ground Treaty with the Spanish. The Spaniards were to retire to Nacogdoches;
the Americans to Natchitoches, and the General had been quick to trumpet his
triumph. He was a hero, having "complied with my orders in proclaiming the
jurisdiction of the United States here." What he failed to mention was
that the jurisdiction had not been established at all, the area in question
having been made neutral ground. But Wilkinson had been satisfied, and he had
taken himself off to Natchez, sending his army, under Colonel Gushing, to New
Orleans. It was the presence of the army that alarmed Brett. Had New Orleans
been Wilkinson's target all along?

That
night as he lay awake in his bed in the town house in New Orleans, he wondered
about Wilkinson's action. Obviously the General had averted a war with Spain, a
war everyone had expected and many people had seemed to want, A war that would
have given him the excuse to invade Spanish territory and seek the treasure
Jason had revealed. Why had the General not done so?

The
answer to that puzzling question arrived a few hours later in the form of Blood
Drinker, Jason's Cherokee Indian companion. Brett woke at dawn to the chilling
sensation that someone else was in the room with him, and when he would have
reached for the small pistol that was never far from his side, a deep,
melodious voice halted his movements.

"My
brother, Jason, sent me to you," Blood Drinker said calmly as he found an
oil lamp in the dark room and swiftly lit it.

The
flickering light disclosed Blood Drinker's tall form as he moved nearer the bed
where Brett had been sleeping. Blood Drinker was magnificent; tall, straight,
and proud, his features undeniably handsome, with chiseled lips and high
cheekbones and dark, fathomless eyes. His hair was blue-black, and he wore it
parted in the middle, two long, thick braids lying on his chest.

There
was a mystical air about the Indian, as if he knew things of other worlds that
eluded ordinary men, as if he were capable of things that other men only
dreamed of, and Brett suddenly understood Jason's confidence in Blood Drinker.
Blood Drinker, he soon learned, was like no one he'd ever met. There was
silence as Brett quickly shrugged into a robe and threw some water on his face.
He motioned Blood Drinker to follow him into the other room, and when they were
there he motioned his unexpected and slightly unnerving visitor to a seat.
Blood Drinker shook his head and murmured, "I shall be here but a
moment." And reaching inside the buckskin shirt he wore, he pulled out a
crumpled piece of paper. "Jason thought you might like to actually hold it
in your hands—he said it was yours to do with as you pleased."

Brett's
hand trembled a little as he took the map from Blood Drinker. It actually
existed, he thought disbelievingly with one part of his mind, his eyes roving
curiously over the crude drawings and letterings. He looked at Blood Drinker.
"How did you get it? When and where?"

Blood
Drinker smiled faintly. "The General did indeed have it—he has carried it
all this time in a thin packet about his waist. The only time it wasn't in his
possession was when he bathed, and then he had it in his sight."

"But
how did you get it?"

Blood
Drinker shrugged. Almost apologetically he said, "It took me longer than I
expected to discover where the map was, but once I had decided the General must
keep it on him, it was easy enough to wait for a night when he had imbibed too
freely and sneak into his tent and take it from him." A little gleam of
amusement suddenly lit those opaque black eyes. "The General sleeps rather
heavily," he murmured softly, as if that explained everything. Turning
away. Blood Drinker began to walk back toward Brett's bedroom. "I will go
now the way I came."

Reluctantly
Brett followed him, watching as the Indian swung a leg over the balcony and
prepared to make his way to the courtyard below. A grin tugged at the corners
of Brett's mouth. "A bit unorthodox, wouldn't you say?"

"True,
and Jason has often accused me of doing these things for effect—sometimes I think
he is right." Blood Drinker looked back at Brett. "He will wish to
see you when he arrives in the city on Wednesday. Will you remain that
long?"

Brett
nodded. "I can delay my return home for a few days longer." He stared
intently at Blood Drinker and asked suddenly, "How long ago did you obtain
this?"

Blood
Drinker swung the rest of his body over the side, and just as he dropped from
sight, he said, "Eight days ago."

Opened-mouthed,
Brett stared at the place where Blood Drinker had been. Eight days ago would
have been November 4th, the day before Wilkinson had struck the Neutral Ground
Treaty. He laughed a breathless, pleased little laugh and stared at the scrap
of paper in his hands. Had they altered history? Would a war with Spain have
come about except for this one piece of paper? He didn't know, no one would
ever know, but Brett liked to think that the disappearance of the map had
completely changed Wilkinson's plans.

Seated
on the edge of the bed, he stared at the map for a long time, and then slowly,
deliberately, he reached over and brought the oil lamp closer. If all his
suspicions were correct, the map had already cost men their lives, it had
nearly been the cause of a war, and all for greed. Not a greedy man himself,
content with his own life, with deft, sure movements, Brett fashioned the map
into a spindle and then, very calmly, fed it to the flames of the oil lamp. A
moment later, there were only a few blackened particles floating through the
air. Nolan's map was gone forever, and the Aztec treasure was safe until some
other adventuring man discovered it.

Brett
spent the next two days finishing up his business and also buying gifts for
Sabrina. He wanted something special, something she would have always, and
consequently he sought out a jeweler he knew in the city. Escobar and Sons had
long been established in New Orleans. Their own work was superb, and they
occasionally bought private collections, too. They would have the very best
selection of anyone. Brett found several pieces that pleased him, and in an
extravagant mood he bought them all.

His
meeting with Jason on Friday was brief, but it confirmed their suspicions that
the map must have been pivotal to Wilkinson's plans. Seated in the library of
Brett's house, Jason said bluntly, "I've just come from a social call at
Governor Claiborne's, and he had just received a letter from Wilkinson. A very
interesting letter, I might add. It has the Governor  rather concerned, for
Wilkinson writes that Claiborne is surrounded by dangers and that the American
government is seriously menaced. Wilkinson claims that there are spies
everywhere and that within six days the President will be apprised of a plot
that will implicate thousands." Jason grinned. "Much of it we can put
down to Wilkinson's flare for the melodramatic, and of course he swore
Claiborne to secrecy."

Brett
cocked an eyebrow. "Yet the Governor told you?"

Jason's
emerald-green eyes twinkled. "Don't forget, Claiborne knows that I am one
of Jefferson's brilliant young men."

Brett
laughed, but then his face grew serious, and he muttered, "It seems as if
Wilkinson has made up his mind to betray Burr. What other plot could he be
referring to?"

Shrugging
his shoulders, Jason replied, "You're probably right, but we shall just
have to wait and see. The next few weeks should be extremely diverting."

Eager
to return home now, Brett left before dawn the next morning for Fox's Lair, and
noon on the following day found him being greeted enthusiastically by his
delighted wife. Her eyes sparkling with pleasure, Sabrina confessed
breathlessly, "Oh, I have missed you! I did not think a week could be so
long!"

Inordinately
moved by this impetuous speech, Brett caught her more tightly to him. She must
feel something for me to say such a thing, he thought bemusedly.

It
was later that day, after dinner, when they were sitting in the salon, that he
gave her the presents he had bought in New Orleans. The weather was growing
cool and it had begun to rain, and consequently there was a merry fire burning
on the hearth. Sabrina was seated on a green velvet sofa, and with childlike
glee she opened the gifts he almost shyly presented to her. "I've never
personally bought you anything before," he said with a deceptive
casualness.

Sabrina
was enchanted with the gorgeous necklace and earrings, the diamonds they were
comprised of obviously expertly selected and just as expertly fashioned into
jewelry worthy of royalty. "Oh, it is lovely," she cried with
appreciation. There was a wide, happy smile on her lips as she opened the last
package, but as she stared at the contents of the little box, her smile faded
and she paled. Looking anxiously up at Brett, she demanded, "Where did you
get this? Whom did you buy it from?"

Brett
had been standing next to the fireplace, one arm resting negligently on the
mantel, but at her expression and questions, he frowned and walked over next to
her. "From a jeweler well-known in New Orleans. Why? Is something
wrong?"

Sabrina
looked again at the contents. It was a very lovely, very unusual brooch. Fine
gold had been intricately fashioned to form a roaring lion; its eyes were tiny
emerald chips, and its teeth were white, gleaming ivory. Sabrina had seen it
before, had seen it often as a child. It was Senora Galaviz's brooch that had
been stolen the night of the birthday fiesta over six years ago.