Stronger Than Passion (42 page)

“Señora de Sainz - forgive me for addressing you when we have not been properly introduced, but this opportunity to speak with you seems to have arisen, and I find I must take advantage of it. I am John Locklyn, of London, England, currently an attaché here at the Embassy.”

Their eyes met, and Christina knew that her own must show an arrested surprise. She had heard that name before.

She held out her hand, and he bowed over it. When he arose, she murmured, “I cannot imagine how you know me, sir.”

“I made it my duty to learn the name of the loveliest lady here.” His smile deepened, with humor this time, and when she returned it, he continued. “And although that is quite true - you are in fact the most charming lady present tonight - I do have another reason for seeking you out. I have a message to give you, I fact.”

The smile stiffened on Christina’s face. She opened her mouth to say something - she didn’t know what; and Luis chose that exact moment to return with the champagne.

“Your servant, Señora,” he said, offering the drink, which she took, and glancing at Locklyn.

“Good evening, sir,” Locklyn said, bowing.

“Good evening. I was not aware that you were acquainted with the Señora.”

“I was not, until now.” Locklyn strove to keep from frowning. He was apparently dismayed at Luis’s unexpected appearance. “I forced the acquaintance on grounds of delivering a message from a mutual friend.”

“Oh?” Luis raised one eyebrow, and glanced at Christina.

She made a shrugging movement. “I cannot imagine who it might be.”

“Perhaps Señor Locklyn will tell you.” Luis turned back to the Englishman, who looked a trifle flushed. Was he wishing to deliver the message in private?

Whatever his wishes, his voice was even as he said, “I received a letter recently from an old school friend, who in it asked me to seek you out, Señora, and deliver his regards.” He paused for a beat, looking straight at Christina, with eyes grown discerning. “He is Michael Brett - Lord Michael. I believe he now resides in Texas, but of course he hails from England. In the letter, I understood that the two of you used to be well acquainted, but had lost contact some time ago.”

She said nothing for several seconds. Then her frozen lips moved, and she managed to competently murmur, “Yes indeed, Señor. Lord Michael and his aunt, Lady Antoinette, are my dear friends. From our mutual travels on the Continent, of course.’

She was improvising sluggishly, her mind operating on the level of shock. What had Michael told this man in his letter? And what did Michael intend to accomplish by sending her his absurd “regards,” so publicly?

Luis was speaking to her, “You also ran across him at a fiesta, I seem to remember. I know him as well; he was once my guest, some time ago. He was quite interested in my mining secrets in those days.” He turned to Locklyn, smiling coldly. “I suppose he is still investing in silver, is he not, Señor?”

Locklyn shrugged, glancing at Luis, only to look back at Christina. “I really do not know. His interests are wide, I believe.”

“Yes,” Christina agreed. “They are.”

And then, growing aware of the two pairs of watchful eyes fixed on her, she forced her features to relax. She smiled. “Thank you for going to the trouble of finding me, Señor. You must send Lord Brett my best wishes in your return letter to him.” She extended her hand, and Locklyn bowed over it.

“I shall do so, Señora. And I will thank Michael for giving me the opportunity to meet you. Perhaps I could call on you, some later time?”

“Certainly, sir. I am staying at the Casa Arredondo.”

“Ah.” He looked at Luis, who nodded his head.

“You could have come to me for an introduction to the Señora, and I would have obliged.”

“Just so. Well, I hope to see you both later.
Your servant, Señora.”

He turned and walked away, his face thoughtful.

Christina concentrated on controlling her expression before glancing up at Luis. What she would have looked like, or done, had she been alone now, she didn’t know. Possibly she would have cried - or exploded in rage - or merely laughed. God alone knew. But now she must not show that Michael’s message had affected her at all, beyond mild concern.

Remembering her own fictionalized story about Michael, she said, “He must have wanted to know that I am safe and sound. How kind of him! I only hope that Señor Locklyn is a trustworthy man. It would be disastrous if gossip were to surface again linking me to a Texan.”

“Yes, it would, and I have gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure that could never happen. Brett is an idiot to have exposed your reputation in such a way.” Luis spoke trimly, and his brown eyes were narrowed with menace. Christina looked at him, and knew that this most civilized of men was just as capable of violence as any other. She shivered.

“Let’s go inside, Luis. The breeze is chill.”

She drank her champagne, put the glass aside, and rose. She was aware of Luis’s speculative gaze on her then, and for the remainder of the evening.

*

For the remainder of the month of April, 1847, Mexico City reeled from wild accounts of America’s military advance upwards from Vera Cruz.

It was said, and truthfully, that the flamboyant General Scott wished to depart the flat coastal plans of Vera Cruz for higher evaluations quickly, before the annual onset of yellow fever, which would decimate his army. Leaving behind him a city well-occupied by Americans, he began his march upwards toward Jalapa on the great National Highway, preceded by two brigades; commanded by Generals Worth and Twigg. Not knowing, so it was said, that the inestimable Santa Anna had hurried to Jalapa from his reputed “victory” at Buena Vista, with a force of six thousand men.

Santa Anna’s plan of attack centered on defense; specifically, defense of Jalapa and the Highway into the capital. In other parts of Mexico, such as far-flung California, America was winning battles and taking cities; and general Zachary Taylor was still somewhere to the northwest, holding his territory, but not easily accessible to Mexico City due to the wide expanse of land separating them. Santa Anna was very much aware of the importance of his task in defending the road to the capital. If America captured Mexico City, less than two hundred miles away . . . then the war would be virtually lost.

Santa Anna chose for his defense the Cerro Gordo Pass - which he spent a week in fortifying; so that when the attack came, his gallant men, who had just endured an incredibly rapid march to Jalapa consisting of more than a thousand miles, would be ready. But as it turned out, Santa Anna’s six thousand were overrun by the American brigades, swollen to include the volunteer units of Generals Pillow and Shields, and any other American troops who were able to swiftly reach the vicinity. Santa Anna ignominiously retreated - or, in actuality, fled - up the road past his own estate, El Encero, leaving behind his baggage; which included a money chest, and even one of his wooden legs! And on April nineteenth, the Americans, who had suffered very few casualties entered Jalapa in triumph; well on their way to Mexico city . . .

The capital was in an uproar when news of Santa Anna’s defeat reached it. People in the streets and people in government questioned each other in horror, panic in their eyes. How had Mexico’s greatest warrior been vanquished in such an important battle? Had he lied even when he claimed to have won others, such as Buena vista? Where was he now . . . and what had happened to Mexico’s army? Who was left to defend Mexico City itself from the invaders?

Then it was said that Santa Anna was alive, and safe, at Orizaba and furiously re-gathering his scattered troops. There was hope! And the government declared that anyone who, either publicity or privately, treated with the Americans, was a traitor to Mexico. There would be no peace, if peace meant surrender! Santa Anna would fight again, and win - and push the Americans down to the sea.

But by the end of April, news of other American victories reached Mexico City, bringing the enemy even closer. Next the Americans would come to Puebla . . . a city second in importance only to the capital. And what then? Would it, too, be won without even a token defense? Santa Anna must hurry! And he must be sent silver, and arms, and supplies - everything necessary to equip his men, all of which had been lost at Cerro Gordo. And without which there could be no army; and of course, the war would be lost.

One by one, the three heavy wagons rumbled into the narrow canyon, the mules that pulled them straining dispiritedly. No doubt they, like the men who sat on the high seat and drove, preferred to be safely asleep on this moonlit night.

Michael Brett, Julian Torrance, and four carefully selected guerillas sat their horses just outside and above the southern mouth of the canyon, waiting. They were silent, rifles already cocked and ready. In the darkness, hidden behind trees, they were nearly invisible to any unsuspecting scout.

The first wagon emerged from the canyon, accompanied by two horsed outriders. Julian glanced at Michael; gestured toward the left man. Michael nodded. They both raised their rifles.

At an unspoken signal, they fire. The shots cracked in the still night air, audible for miles. Both of the outriders were hit; one of them toppled from his horse, which bolted - the other slumped down on his horse’s back, groaning, but still alive.

Shouts and curses erupted from the canyon. One man attempted to back his wagon at the other end - only to be fired at by a watching guerilla. That shot eased the panic, since there was nothing now for the wagon drivers to do but to wait. Wait and pray.

Julian, followed by Michael, eased his horse down the rocky cliff side, approaching the canyon mouth. He stopped a few yards away from the first wagon and it’s terrified driver.

“Hola!” he called out softly.

There was a high-pitched hello in response. Then, “What do you want with us, Señor?” cried out from within the canyon depths.

Julian answered with quiet menace. “I want to have a look at your wagons. I want to know what is inside them that must be transported on such a dark night.”

“We carry food to the convent of Santa Theresa,” someone yelled.

Julian could have laughed, but didn’t. Instead he said, “Yet I have tracked you from the silver mines near Pachuca. The mines belonging to Marquès de Lara y Brihuega.”

“Perhaps we buy food with our silver, who knows?” the same man brazened.

“I know,” Julian replied. Then, tired of the game, he gestured to his men. The split up, two going toward the back of the canyon, two toward the front. They went in. Pleas for mercy rang out, followed by guttural laughter and the slapping of ropes.

Julian and Michael held back and waited, watching as carefully as they were able to, in the nearly complete darkness. Finally the wagons were brought out; their drivers tied up, with Julian’s men up on the seat next to them. The wounded outrider was removed from his horse and placed on the ground, where the others would shortly join him The dead man was pushed aside.

Julian and Michael dismounted and walked forward. They then proceeded to search the contents of all three wagons, ignoring the hesitant pleas of the bound Mexicans.

Michael found two crates of silver bars in the first wagon; Julian discovered rifles in the second, and ammunition and more silver in the third. Both men looked at each other and grinned. It was a good haul.

Then Michael heard a familiar, and deadly, sound; the faint whistle of a heavy knife, thrown through the air. The sound had passed him, on its way toward Julian. He yelled - the noise surely too late - but either Julian’s trained ears had picked up the whir of the knife, as well, or his instincts were so swift that he caught Michael’s cry at its beginning, and moved instantly. At any rate, the blade missed him, by an inch, and imbedded into a wooden silver crate.

Michael whirled to look behind him. He met the angry, unrepentant gaze of one of the drivers, probably the brash one who had spoken - with one hand worked loose from its binding. Without thinking, Michael picked up his own rifle, took precise aim, and shot. The blow struck the man’s chest; the force of it thrusting him backward and over the side of the wagon.

Julian approached and looked at Michael dispassionately.

“That’ll teach him to throw a knife at me, eh, hermano?”

Then he laughed. He laughed loudly, the sound of it hoarse, and Michael laughed, too

Julian’s men all glanced at each other; three of them made the sign of the cross. The fourth man, Jack Eastman, only shrugged. He head suspected for some time that they were all in league with the devil.

*

Later, as they were on their way to their well-hidden camp, where they would transfer the silver and arms into poor-looking carretas - Michael took Julian aside, stopping their horses beside a small stream while the rest of the men went on ahead.

“You do realize that this is the third military shipment your troop has interrupted from Arredondo to Santa Anna?”

“Out of only five total, yes.” Julian grinned with satisfaction.

“It wasn’t easy this time, hermano, it only looked that way. You know that I had to spend a fortune - and put two of my most persuasive men on this - for two weeks before I found out the details. Arredondo is no fool. But he will continue to deal with Santa Anna. He wants more church land. To be precise, he covets the monastery on the next hill over from his current, quite productive mine. If Santa Anna stays in power, he will get it. That man is only too happy to rob the church.”