Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  Roman half-cocked his flintlock for good measure.

  “Where is my son?” she said.

  * * * * *

  Shelene had never experienced such fear. She wondered how Father Etienne felt hearing a gun cock behind him. And again, she had that insane reaction to laugh.

  “Where is he?” she said again, somehow getting to her feet when her legs were trembling with weakness.

  “Answer her question, Father. I think you are the only one who knows.”

  Father Etienne’s head bobbled as if his head wasn’t properly attached.

  “Roman, shoot him if he doesn’t answer.” Shelene could hardly believe she’d said the words, but why not? Why not be the fearsome creature who would get to the bottom of her uncle’s treachery and rescue her son?

  “I—I know where he’s at. He’s not here.”

  “Is my son with Belgrano?” Roman asked.

  “Yes, of course he is. Who else?”

  “Why, Father? Why do something so heinous? Something so against everything you supposedly believe?” she asked.

  “Do you think I wanted to? No one disobeys Belgrano. You know that, Señora Forrester. Your uncle is a cruel man. He threatened to burn me, my congregation and this church to the ground. And he would do it too. Do you think I could allow that to happen even in exchange for the life of a little boy? He wouldn’t hurt his grandnephew. It’s Las Colinas he wants. And it was almost within his grasp.”

  “What are his plans?” Roman demanded. “Where is he and where is my son?”

  “I don’t know for sure.”

  “Guess.”

  “They were leaving the caves late last evening once they knew the regiment was on its way.”

  “Don’t make me keep asking,” Roman said. He waved the pistol with an irritable flick. Shelene didn’t know this man, the one who made life-threatening demands and had every word obeyed without question.

  “The weapons and ammunition were being loaded for transportation away from Arco de la Frontera and on to Seville where there are more supporters to provide shelter until they are ready for their little rebellion. Good riddance to such cowardly rabble. You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?”

  “I may burn your church,” Roman said. “How many of them are there?”

  “Maybe thirty-five or forty.”

  “Is Antonio traveling with them?”

  “I don’t know. Belgrano met me at the crossroads to take the nanny and your son. That’s all I know.”

  “We have to go, Roman,” Shelene said.

  “I beg you to believe me. I had no intention to harm your son. Belgrano is just so enigmatic. Wherever he goes, he imparts his will and there is no stopping him. When he left for Argentina, we were all so happy. And then he returned. Help us, Señor. He mustn’t bother the fine people in the valley any longer.”

  “He was actually in Argentina?”

  “Oh, sí. When he came back and advised us of Señor Hightower’s death, and so soon after your dear mother, we all mourned. And feared. And then praise be to God, you returned to counter his evil.”

  “Wait!” Shelene said, taking a step toward the priest. “You were told my father died before I returned to Las Colinas?” She appealed to Roman. “How could my uncle know that?”

  Roman’s brows furrowed. “Perhaps the same way he knew that I had died. Good Lord. It all started with your father. He made sure your father wouldn’t come back to Las Colinas and he could easily manipulate your mother.” Roman started pacing, the gun once again at his side. “Then he returns to find your mother has passed on. Imagine his glee.”

  “Then I return and with news of a husband. The Lion of England, no less,” Shelene said. The picture Roman painted of her uncle showed brilliance in its tactics, fright in its ruthlessness.

  “By then, he had started his plans for a rebellion. With a few inquiries, he found out what I was doing in South America. He only had to make sure that I didn’t get off the ship in Cadiz. A simple matter.” Roman laughed. “And then both your father and I walked off the ship instead.” He laughed again. “Do we have it about right, Father? Or do you have something else to add?”

  “No, señor.”

  “You are leaving something out, Father Etienne. Were you also encouraged by my uncle and Señor Navarro to support this marriage to one of his allies?”

  Father lifted one shoulder. “Las Colinas and the valley are a prize few men can resist.”

  “I hope you make good use of your thirty pieces of silver,” she said. He at least had the shame to hang his head. “Be sure to make your confession to the Monsignor the next time you are in Seville.”

  They left the sacristy without saying a word and walked around to the front of the church. Joaquin was waiting, holding his horse’s reins.

  “What are you doing here?” Roman asked.

  “Following. I wanted to make sure nothing happened to you.”

  “You should have stayed with the others,” Roman said. “I’ve already told you, you aren’t my guard.”

  “Did you find Antonio?” Joaquin blinked innocently.

  “No, but we know where he is.” Roman unfastened the reins for Shelene’s horse, then lifted her to the saddle. “We need to ride toward the caves.”

  “Why? If they see the men from the valley riding toward them, they will ride east.”

  “They are already riding east.”

  Joaquin lifted his shoulder. “There are only two bridges over the Guadalete. We are already on the north side of the river. We only need to ride a bit farther north then on east to find them.”

  “Yes! That’s right, Joaquin. Roman, they won’t go through the marshland of the Bornos. It would be too risky. And if they are trying to get to Seville, going around the Bornos would take them days. They’ll be taking one of the two bridges.”

  “But which one?” Roman asked.

  “Mount your horse and we will find out,” she said, trying to smile some encouragement. Or maybe to bolster her own flagging courage.

  They turned their horses toward the north, winding through a few of the streets before they found the well-worn road out of town.

  “It’s too bad we don’t have some of the king’s cavalry regiment to help,” Joaquin said.

  “Yes, it may be too late to get their assistance. We’ll have to take him ourselves.”

  “I wonder where the regiment by the San Miguel Bridge is going?”

  Roman pulled his horse to a stop. “What regiment?”

  “They were encamped in the cool of the trees on the far end of the meadow. I think they had just settled for a meal.”

  “Shit. Stay here with Shelene. I’ll be back.”

  Shelene watched him gallop away on his horse and didn’t mind. Since Roman’s return, she understood better how he thought, how he acted and how he took charge of every situation. He thought fast, he acted with confidence and when he was in charge, everyone listened, because they knew their commander was competent. Just as her father had imparted confidence to his crew of men on a tightly run ship.

  Except her. She was independent enough to believe she knew best. Could she be forgiven for thinking her uncle meant all things good for her and Las Colinas when his entire life had been one of barbarism and anger?

  “Perhaps you should go with him,” Shelene said.

  “Oh, Señora Forrester, that is impossible. When León says go, I go. When he says stay, I stay.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  After Roman found the regiment, around thirty men, they rode hard toward the bridges. He glanced over his shoulder to see Shelene right behind him, riding as hard as a trained cavalryman.

  At the first crossroad, Roman and the regiment commander pulled to a stop, the riders circling.

  “We’ll need to split up. Joaquin? How far to the bridge from here on this road?”

  “Five miles or so.”

  His horse turned again. Roman reined her into a circle, trying to settle her. “Men from Las C
olinas will be following them, whichever road they have taken. They have my son and another woman from the estate who are innocent in all this, so I ask you to use caution. And it is likely they will be close to Belgrano.”

  Wagons traveled slowly and the roads along the river wound along the sandstone cliffs and hills. They were no more than two hours behind Antonio and Durra, he felt sure. Would they have caught up with the wagons? It was hard to know. Durra could be purposefully holding them back. She was likely scared for her and Antonio’s life and not thinking strategically.

  There was only one thing he could count one. Durra would protect Antonio with her life, if it came to that.

  “I’ll take ten of your men with me to the next bridge. Remember, there could be reinforcements coming in behind you. Watch your crossfire.”

  Normally, Roman’s blood flowed with excitement when he was so close to an enemy. Now it flowed heavy with regret and fear. He glanced toward Shelene—his brave, iron-willed wife, to see her dusty face and the trail of dried tears. If Roman stopped right here and said they could not go on, he knew Shelene would defy him until she drew her last breath. Until she held her son in her arms again.

  She had the leather bag open, and her right hand tucked inside. Around the flintlock grip, ready and willing to do what must be done, he guessed. What was the saying? To tell a woman what she cannot do is to tell her what she can. Shelene was determined to find her son and punish the man responsible.

  He’d chosen the longer route to the second bridge just to keep Shelene safe a little longer. His horse started an unusual gate, prancing more than sauntering, her head bobbing unnaturally. “Pay attention. Captain, send some of your men to position themselves in those hills. Shelene, stay with me.”

  “A reminder, sir, I have an obligation to take Señor Belgrano alive. His Majesty, the king, wishes it.”

  “Wishing won’t make it so,” Roman said.

  “We are not dragoons. We are His Majesty’s cavalry, and we obey our king.” Yes, Roman was aware of the Spanish Regiment El Rey, identified easily by the red plume on their bi-corn hat that declared their loyalty to the Bourbon King Ferdinand. Their blue coats with red lapels, collars and cuffs and their yellow breeches identified their proud tradition. Roman had to deal with Spanish soldiers in the past, but never the honorable. He was always up against the deserters, the terrorizers, the mercenaries. Men like Belgrano.

  Joaquin tilted his head, listening. “There, can you hear it? Gunshots.”

  “Yes. The rest of you, off the road.”

  Roman tapped a short riding crop across the horse’s hind quarter, and he shot up the hill overlooking the road. He didn’t look back for Shelene, hearing her horse behind him. The Spanish captain hand-signaled his men to adjust their position then pulled a retractable telescope from his saddle pannier.

  “May I?” Shelene asked.

  “Ciertamente.”

  Roman could see three wagons and several riders, traveling fast and kicking up dust. No one that he could identify as Belgrano, though, let alone a small woman like Durra and a child.

  “Do you see anything?” he asked Shelene.

  “No. No, not yet.” She continued to stare through the telescope. “I don’t see Antonio.”

  Roman reached for the telescope. “Let me.”

  “No,” she said.

  More shots were fired. The regiment men had their rifles at the ready, able to fire and load while remaining mounted. They would be ready to ride them down if necessary.

  A volley of shots went off, one lead shot kicking up the dirt near his horse’s hoof.

  He yelled at Shelene, “Stay behind me!”

  The familiar cacophony of battle was upon them. Roman had two of the Baker rifles. Shelene pushed the telescope into her kit and pulled out a flintlock—mostly useless at this range, but it would give her confidence. The men on the hill were firing at anything that moved.

  Dust and noise and yelling ensued. Some of the regiment had ridden into the road, rifles to their shoulders. One of the lead wagons’ horses had stumbled to the ground, blood spurting from its shoulder. It dragged the other down with it, the wagon coming to an abrupt stop. Two men jumped from it. One of them was shot midair and landed face down in the dust.

  Roman tamped down the desire to shoot quickly. With such a rifle, it was better to go for accuracy—maybe two shots a minute. He’d reload both at the same time. Maybe six to eight shots before this skirmish ended.

  After his third shot, he spotted Belgrano in the middle of the retinue. A movement out of the corner of his eye distracted his positioning. “Shit!” He wheeled his horse around and went after Shelene, who was plunging headfirst into the front of the melee.

  He caught her on the road only because he’d taken a steeper downward slope than Shelene had. His horse slammed into her, and he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her in front of him before he kicked the horse and made for the other side of the road.

  She pounded his chest. “Let me go! I saw Durra! I saw them!”

  “Stop it! Do you want to get us both killed?” He glanced toward the area of fighting, seeing the rest of the valley men had come in behind, preventing anyone from escape. Movement had died down, either because they had been shot or killed or just taken cover.

  Shelene escaped his grasp, jumping to the ground and running behind the regimental horses. Roman jumped to the ground and followed her, rifle still in hand. He caught her and pulled her behind a large boulder. She struggled to aim her flintlock. A few more shots were fired before the captain yelled, “Put down your weapons!”

  “You’ll let us go!” yelled Belgrano.

  “No, Señor Belgrano. You are at the king’s mercy now.”

  Belgrano stood in the middle of the wagons with a wrapped bundle to his chest. “You will let me ride away.” He held a flintlock next to the babe.

  Shelene gasped and held his arm. “Roman!”

  He took aim. “This is what I do, Shelene. Don’t make a sound.”

  Antonio let out a wail; Shelene’s grip tightened. “Don’t let anything happen to him,” she whispered.

  A shot rang out. Belgrano stood for a moment, slack jawed, then he toppled over. Antonio disappeared between the wagons with him.

  Roman lowered the gun and looked around. The shot had not come from his gun. He glanced up to see Oliver standing on a rock pylon with a clear view of the killing field below, smoke coming from the end of his gun.

  That’s how battles went. The noise building to a crescendo then what seemed like total silence. The military men who had dismounted, proceeded into the fray using their rifle butts to turn wounded men to their backs and retrieve the still dangerous weapons.

  When Roman stood, Shelene ran toward the middle wagon where Belgrano had fallen. Durra stood then, holding the bundle close to her breast. Shelene reached them and wrapped her arms around Durra, cradling Antonio between them.

  Roman followed, trying to rein in his rampaging emotions. He glanced at Shelene and then back to the men securing the sight. He stopped over Belgrano’s body, his face twisted in a last grimace. Oliver jumped from the pylon and stored the rifle with the strap over his shoulder.

  When Roman reached Shelene, she held Antonio. She walked into Roman’s arms, and he let the building tension melt into a moment of pure contentment. “Is he all right?”

  “Perfect. Just perfect. Durra was a shield, watching him, protecting him every moment.”

  “Thank you, Durra.” He gripped Shelene’s shoulders. “Listen to me now, I want you to leave for home. Will you go with Oliver? There is no danger and if you leave now, you will be home before dark. I don’t want you here a moment longer than necessary.”

  He kissed the top of Shelene’s head. Brahim, Hightower, Joaquin, Oliver and Roman’s other men had all dismounted. Roman waved the men over, giving instructions and assigning tasks, including the responsibility for his wife and son.

  “We can stay,” Shelene implored.

>   “Will you, this once, do exactly as I ask? Not for my sake or yours but for Antonio? He’s had a trying day and he needs the peace of his own home and bed. So does Durra.”

  She nodded, fighting back the tears. “You’ll be safe,” he promised. “We’ll follow along as soon as we can.

  Roman watched them ride away. All the reasons he’d resisted settling in a life with Shelene were evident in the field around him. This was only the beginning of troubles in Spain. He could take Shelene and Antonio to England so they would be safe. But they wouldn’t be home. Was he to abandon those who supported the estates, who lived in the valley, who loved Shelene, Antonio and Commadore Hightower? Brahim and Sakina and the Al Meda family had devoted their lives building their own dynasty in Andalucía. So had Martina and her sons. Were they any less important? No. This was his home now. This was what he would have to fight for, for as long as it took.

  * * * * *

  Shelene was astounded about the casual conversation of Brahim, Oliver and her father, as if they hadn’t just rescued her son. As if they hadn’t just escaped with their lives. Durra rode stiff and frightened, and it had taken a battle of wills for Shelene to pry Antonio away from her. She understood.

  She repositioned Antonio, who stared at her wide-eyed with his fist in his mouth. The only cry she’d heard was when her uncle had used him as a shield, and that cry was enough to tear Shelene’s heart out.

  When they arrived at Las Colinas, the sun was just setting. Oliver helped her from the horse. Her legs were weak, her body stiff. She wanted her room. A bath. Food. As they all did.

  The clatter of their arrival had summoned a flood of servants and stable hands. Tears formed in her eyes. She’d never been so happy to be fussed over and helped and directed. Mrs. Johns was there to collect Antonio. Sakina commanded others to prepare baths, shooing the men into the house for food and drink, almost like Roman earlier today when he knew exactly what to do.

  Durra sat next to her, still not talking. Shelene wrapped her arm across her shoulders. “My dear Durra. You have saved my life by saving my son.”