by Lyn Cote
The talkative stranger pointed a thumb at himself and then at the man beside him. “I’m from Louisiana and my friend’s from Tennessee. We were in Natchitoches and heard Davy Crocket was here and decided to come too. We fight the Mexicans and we get this land, this Texas, for the U.S. and us.” The man grinned.
Scully had heard of Davy Crockett. Who hadn’t? “Well, I wish you all luck. But I have to get back.” He lifted a hand in farewell and sauntered away into the rain.
Then he was hailed again. He turned and saw a familiar tall man with light brown hair, who asked, “Aren’t you Scully, Quinn’s top hand?”
Scully halted. “I’m Scully.”
“I’m Bowie.” The man held out his hand.
Scully shook with him. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I was just saying farewell to Veramendi and he told me you married Don Carlos Sandoval’s sister this morning.”
“I did.”
Bowie chewed on this awhile, and Scully waited, rain pouring down on them. Some of the chill rain was soaking Scully’s neck bandanna and leaking down his back. Then Bowie continued, “I’m glad you’re watching out for her. We’re in for troubled times. I think you best get her home as soon as possible. I wouldn’t want my wife here.”
“That’s my intention.”
“Good. Give my regards to the Quinns, will you?”
“Of course, sir. I will.” They shook hands again and Scully headed out onto the street. On the way back to the inn the rain streamed over his poncho and his boots got soaked. The feeling that a dark cloud was above his head about to dump more cold wet trouble on him grew within. If he was in charge like Bowie and Travis and expecting the Mexican Army, he’d have been doing something about getting the Alamo ready for a fight. But he wasn’t in on that.
His job was to protect the señori—to protect Alandra. And getting her out of Bexar appeared to be the best way to do it. Just before ducking under the overhanging inn’s porch, he looked up and studied the lead-gray clouds. This rain wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. If they had been traveling by coach or wagon, mud would have kept them from heading home. On horseback, they’d still be able to make it, just slower.
He ducked under the porch, took off his hat and poncho and shook them both, flinging rain around him. Then he entered the inn, nodded to the innkeeper and hurried up the steps. His need to see Alandra safe and sound unexpectedly caught him around the heart. He knocked on the door and heard her, his wife—Stop. I have to stop thinking of her as my wife. She’s not my wife. I am only protecting her. He heard Alandra say, “Who is it?”
“Scully.” Your husband. Stop thinking that. Hearing the door lock click, he opened it and walked in. She was alone. “Where’s Carson?”
“I sent him back to Ash. With this door locked and all the people in the inn, I am safe.” She sat down on the side of the bed, as she had earlier. She still looked worn-out. Her hair had come loose and flowed like darkest chocolate over her shoulders.
“There aren’t as many people in Bexar as you think,” he told her. “The Tejanos are leaving town. Rats leaving a sinking ship.”
“Are Tejanos rats?” she asked, challenging him.
He hung his hat and poncho on a peg by the door. “That’s not what I meant.” He shoved his fingers back through his damp hair.
“What did you mean?”
“I mean to say that everyone decent is clearing out of town. There are rumors that the Mexican Army is coming. And I talked to Jim Bowie at the Alamo. He told me to get you out of town soon.”
Alandra covered her face with her hands. “Then we must leave.”
Her voice was low and muffled. And the way she bent her head and covered her face made him guess that she was crying again. And didn’t want him to see. Again he moved near her. She’d snubbed his comfort this morning, but he still needed to offer it. He felt clumsy and out of his depth, yet he patted her back. She didn’t shrug his hand away.
“I am feeling trampled down,” she whispered, “as if my strength has been forced out. Stolen from me.”
He didn’t know how to help her, but he’d try. “You are a strong woman. You have stood up against Comanches and—” What were the terms Ash had explained? “—those Creole ricos who are trying to take your land, your rancho. They can’t make you marry Fernando now. And Quinn, Ash, and I will not let them take your land.”
She sat back, her legs folded under her long black riding-habit skirt. He followed her lead and moved away to the bedside chair.
“Thank you, Scully.” She drew in a long breath. “It’s just so many things have been hurled against me in such a short span of days. I have not been given any real time to recover. My sleep has been restless.” She pressed her hand over her forehead, smoothing back stray hair. Then, sighing, she looked him in the eye. “You think we need to leave right away? Today?”
He gazed at her. She looked pale, starved and exhausted. She’d ridden all night. Still, she was ready to get up and go if he said so. Maybe they should leave now. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask her to saddle up and ride for another night, and through a chilling downpour at that. Everyone had their limit. He didn’t want her to get sick. “No. I think we should have a warm meal. You should have a hot bath. Then a good night’s rest.”
“Are you certain? If we must go now to avoid the Mexican Army and perhaps another siege, I can go. I can ride back to Rancho Sandoval if we—”
“We have time. Trust me.”
She gazed into his eyes for a long while, as if trying to read his mind. His neck warmed at her attention.
He broke their connection, rising. “I’m going to go and get us food, and after we eat, you’ll have that bath. That’ll help you revive. We’ll plan to leave in the morning. First light.”
She nodded. “Will you ask the innkeeper to have someone press my riding habit while I sleep and have it ready for our departure?”
He picked up his hat. “I’ll do that.” He turned toward the door.
She stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “Gracias.”
He clasped his hand over hers for just a moment, then headed out of the room. Just as he closed the door behind him, he heard her whisper, “…esposo valiente…fuerte.”
The next afternoon, they were nearly home. The day was cloudy, but yesterday’s rain had ended. Alandra rode between Ash and Scully. Carson and Antonio had ridden directly to the Quinn rancho to explain everything about the wedding and the state of the war. “We need to decide what we will say to my dear loving relatives.”
Ash chuckled and said, “That’s up to you and your husband. I just came along for the ride.”
Scully glanced her way. “What do you want to do…Alandra? It’s your rancho, your relatives.”
She heard the slight hesitance in his voice when he used her name. That wouldn’t do. She looked into his green eyes. “Well, first of all, Scully, you are a man of few words. But today you must behave very much as my husband, Spanish men are very…forceful, very much in charge in a loud way, not a quiet way.” She fisted her hand and raised it to emphasize her point. “Not quiet like Tío Quinn with Tía Dorritt. More like her stepfather.” She had accompanied Dorritt to visit her mother a few times over the years. “I never liked Señor Kilbride.”
Ash chuckled again. “I never did either, but then the feeling was mutual.”
Scully did not respond, just rode on, looking down.
She waited, realizing now that he was not a man who disliked talking, but a man who did not speak without thinking first.
Finally, he looked into her eyes. “You want me to do the talking?”
She grinned. How like him. “Sí, you must not stand back and let me do the talking. You must act as an esposo or as they expect a husband to act, do you see?”
He nodded. “That means I get to tell them to leave.” He smiled suddenly.
She smiled back. “Sí.”
And then the rancho was spread out ahead of them. Alandra’s
horse broke into a trot, creating a welcome breeze, and she did not restrain him. As they rode up to the hacienda, her cousin Fernando stood in the doorway.
Scully slid from his horse. Coming to her, he put his hands at her waist and lifted her down like a bride. “Very good,” she whispered, and he grinned.
Then turning toward the hacienda, he offered her his arm and led her to the doorway where Fernando waited. The man looked as if he were spoiling for a fight. Ash dismounted and gave their horses over to the vaqueros who’d come running. A few more vaqueros lingered in front of the hacienda as if waiting for orders.
Scully walked up to Fernando, who blocked his path. “Please let us by, señor.”
Alandra heard the challenge in Scully’s voice. She merely looked into Fernando’s eyes with all the contempt she felt for him, a man who was trying to take what didn’t belong to him.
Fernando lifted his eyes as if looking at Scully pained him and glared at her. “Cousin, mi prima, where have you been? And traveling with these low companions and without a chaperone? When will you learn how a true doña behaves? Didn’t we tell you to have nothing further to do with these inferiors?”
That does it. “Your opinions don’t matter here, señor,” Scully said, put one hand to Fernando’s thin chest and shoved. Hard. The dandy staggered backward, nearly falling. While he sputtered with outrage, Scully led Alandra past him, with Ash close behind. He was proud of how she looked, her face rosy and her chin high.
Benito and Isabella rose from their seats in the courtyard, their expressions shocked. “What is this?” Benito demanded. Flushed, Fernando moved to stand by Isabella as if she might be in danger from Scully. Or maybe he thinks I won’t knock that sneer off his face when he’s standing by a lady.
Scully removed his hat. “Yesterday Alandra and I were married in Bexar. I am the man here now.”
Alandra tightened her hand around his elbow, and he pressed a hand over hers, acting like a husband.
Benito, Fernando, and Isabella all started speaking at once in Spanish. “Quiet,” Scully ordered, raising his voice. Alandra whispered the Spanish word to him. And he repeated it, “Quieten.”
All three Mexicans glared at Alandra. All three ignored him. “What have you done, you foolish girl?” Benito demanded, breathing hard.
“She married me,” Scully replied with a show of indifference. “And you people are leaving our land. Tomorrow.” For emphasis, he said the word in Spanish, “Mañana.”
Fernando glared at Alandra, still refusing to look at Scully. “I do not believe it. But if you have married this vaquero, that only means that you, mi prima, are foolish beyond measure. Your marrying this…this Anglo means that I will have the land and you will be dispossessed completely.”
Scully tried to ignore the possibility that the Mexican might be speaking the truth. With the way things stood in Texas now, an Anglo husband might be more of a hurt than a help in this situation. But he couldn’t let this stop him from doing what he had married Alandra to accomplish.
“You’re going to have to prove that in court,” he said, staring into Fernando’s sneering face. “My wife and I don’t believe that the document you have shown is legitimate. Now, get packing. I expect you to leave here tomorrow morning. If you’re not packed by then, our vaqueros will pack you and escort you off our land. Is that clear?”
Fernando drew himself up and smiled. “You think you know everything. But you don’t. We will leave tomorrow and go to San Antonio de Bexar and submit the will to the magistrate there. After that, it is I who will be ordering you both off my land.” Fernando turned to Isabella. “Come. I will take you to your room. You should not be expected to endure such low company.”
As they swept away toward the other side of the courtyard, Benito drew himself up and glared into Alandra’s face. “To lower yourself to marry a common Anglo cowboy. By this action, you have proven that you are unworthy of the name Sandoval. You are your mother’s daughter. She was just a low, conniving—”
Alandra slapped the man’s face. It rang in the shocked silence. “You dare speak against my mother? To me?”
Scully sucked in air, ready to defend her.
Looking about to explode, the sputtering older man turned and marched after the other two.
Alandra started to pursue him, then halted. “I see why my father broke with his family.”
Scully grinned. “Me too.”
Ash spoke up. “Yes, looks like your father was a smart man. But we knew that.” He gestured at the black wrought-iron chairs and table. “Let’s talk.”
Sitting down next to Alandra, Scully seethed at the strangers for hurting her. No one had the right to do that. He clenched his fists, looking forward to running them off the next morning.
In a lowered voice, Ash said, “I think they know something we don’t.”
Six
A lighted candlestick in hand, Scully closed the door to Alandra’s large bedroom. She walked ahead of him to the window. Her head was bent forward. Was she hiding hurt feelings? The coming of night had been a relief. He’d had about all of her relatives that he could stand. They had come to the table for the evening meal, only to sit in icy silence and ignore Alandra and him. He knew he wasn’t anything near a gentleman and he didn’t care what these people thought of him. But Alandra didn’t deserve such scorn.
A few times he’d had to grip his hands tight together under the table to keep from shoving a fist into “fancy” Fernando’s sneering face. He had even imagined how satisfying his bruised knuckles would feel. How was he going to get rid of them, not just from Rancho Sandoval, but from Alandra’s life? For good?
He lit the candle in the iron sconce near the door and then set the candlestick he held on the bedside table. Trying not to stare at her, he gazed around at the gleam of the polished wood of the four poster bed with its white mosquito net pulled back and tied. He’d never seen a fine bedroom like this till he hired on with Quinn.
Her back to him, she murmured, “Do you think Ash is right? Fernando and Benito might already have bribed judges?”
“He might be.” Scully mulled over Ash’s words.
Standing here made him very aware that he did not belong in such a grand room. Much less to be here alone with this beautiful woman, the woman who owned this hacienda, the woman he had married yesterday. For a split second he wished that he were different, that he wore fine clothes like that Fernando, and knew fancy manners.
But no, he was who he was, a man born to wear buckskin. And that was God’s will. His second ma had explained that to him. And she’d warned him not to question God. That never went well. She’d said, Just be an honest man, a good man and let God take care of the rest.
He looked to Alandra and wished he had fine words to say to a fine lady. She was staring out the window, her head down. A cool moist wind blew inside. Just the kind of unhealthy air that could sicken a person. That wouldn’t do. He approached her and touched her shoulder.
She started and blurted out what she must have been thinking. “What will happen if the Mexican Army does come to take back the Alamo?”
“I don’t know what will happen other than people are going to die.” Then he regretted saying this. Her eyes had widened and her full lips parted. A man wasn’t supposed to talk like that to womenfolk. But being forced to sit in silence while Fernando had insulted Alandra with his icy silence and lifted nose had grated Scully’s nerves raw. He had wanted to take the Mexican by the collar, drag him outside, and beat the sneer off his face. But Alandra wouldn’t have wanted that.
He sucked this scalding vexation down and rested his hand gently on her slender shoulder. “I’m going to close these shutters. That wind isn’t good for you. And you’re tired. You should get into bed.”
She turned to him, and looked as if she was having trouble understanding.
She’s done in. Too much saddle time, too much bad in too short a time. And more bad coming with Mexican generals fighting Texians for for
ts.
He snapped down the shutter openings, then swung the wood panels inward and fastened them closed. The lady still hadn’t moved. So he took her hand and led her to the side of her bed. He tried to ignore how just touching her hand went through him, made him feel things he had no right to feel.
Finally she looked up, her large eyes sad. “Please open the door. My maid will be there waiting to undress me.”
That kind of surprised him. She needed someone to help her undress? But she was a lady, and that must be the way ladies did things. He nodded and went to the door. As the girl entered, she smiled at him and giggled. He stepped into the hall. A few minutes passed and then the girl came out, giggled at him again, and vanished down the dark hallway.
Scully hesitated. He opened the door and murmured, “Can I come in?”
“Sí,” Alandra said.
He entered and paused. In a white high-necked nightgown, she was sitting in bed with the white mosquito curtains draped around it. A lovely picture. For a moment he had trouble drawing a breath. Then he noted her sober expression. That stopped him.
He didn’t know what to say to her to try to make her feel better. Her beauty and her troubles tugged him in different directions. He wanted to go toward her, find a way to comfort her. But he was a husband in name only, an Anglo to boot. He made himself look toward the flickering bedside candle.
“Estoy bastante bien,” she murmured. “I am all right, Scully,” she went on in English. “Do not worry.” She sighed, tried to smile, and teased him, “I have not been helping you to learn to speak Spanish better. And that is the reason we gave for why you came with me, isn’t it?”
He forced himself to grin. “Yeah, I mean, sí.”
She opened the white gauzy bed curtain and slipped out, making him take a hasty step back. Padding on bare feet, she brought out a pillow and blankets from a chest at the end of the bed. Then she slipped through the curtain and into bed. He couldn’t stop himself from watching her small white feet disappear under the quilt.
As Scully watched her, he realized that here, in this room alone with him, Alandra wasn’t only the proud señorita who had slapped Benito for insulting her mother. She was an innocent young woman. Only nineteen. It moved him to want to protect her more than ever. Especially at the troubling idea that the three unwelcome guests knew something about this blasted will and the courts they didn’t.
