He nodded and waited as Amina draped a tasseled black wool cloak over Glee. Offering his arm, he swept Glee from the room.
Glee and Captain Havington were greeted at the door to the first white cottage in the long row by Missus Clement, who insisted that Glee call her Irene. She was a small round woman, considerably younger than her husband, with thick brown hair and brown eyes with green flecks. As she took Glee's cloak she suggested that Glee and her escort go into the parlor for refreshments before the meal was served.
The General's house was small, but well-furnished and finished with a woman's touch. The parlor offered a warm hearth, and Glee made her way across a colorful rag rug to stand before it.
"Ah, my dear Miss Montrose, how stunning you look," proclaimed the General as he came into the room.
Glee smiled to accept the compliment. "It was very gracious of you to invite me for supper."
"Tut-tut," he returned. "I had ulterior motives. 'Twas the only way I could convince Nathaniel to come away from his studies. I don't suppose he's had a chance to impress you with his knowledge of the Pawnee."
"Why, no."
Nathaniel took the glass of wine the general held out and gave it to Glee. Green lights flickered in his brown eyes, and Glee thought she saw a resemblance between him and Irene Clement. "Now, sir, I'm sure Miss Montrose isn't interested in our local Indian problems."
"I must confess, gentlemen, that I know very little of the native peoples. Although I am from Boston, I have actually spent very little time in this country."
"There! Let's not bore the little lady-"
Glee's jaw tightened at the reference. "On the contrary, Captain Havington, I would be delighted to know more."
General Clement chuckled softly.
Nathaniel had the grace to flush. He was something of an expert on the subject and did enjoy sharing his knowledge. "Well, Miss Montrose, since you insist-"
"I do."
"Ahem, then perhaps it would be best to start at the point when the first trappers came into this territory and met the Pawnee..."
Actually, Glee wasn't a bit interested in the local Indians. She listened to Nathaniel Havington drone on and on, but her mind darted back to her last confrontation with Alex Pacheco. They hadn't really spoken since she'd implied that his wife was foolish in her choice of husbands. Now, Glee was ashamed that she'd lost her temper so. He had a knack for bringing it to the fore, however. Challenging her, his golden eyes mocking when she failed to be more clever than he. It was a rare thing to meet a man who appreciated her mind enough to give her challenge.
There was definitely more to Alejandro Pacheco than met the eye, she concluded. What kind of outlaw knew Byron or Browning? What kind of man was he?
Irene Clement came into the parlor and swept in to straighten an antimacassar on the back of the china-blue settee as she waited for Nathaniel to finish his point.
"...So," he was saying, "as the west opens further, not only the Pawnee are affected but also the Sioux, Cheyenne and Shoshoni whose territories all lay along the route toward the Pacific Ocean. It is imperative that we learn as much as we might about these peoples, so that we can adequately assess their danger to us and take measures to halt them before they begin."
"Lord, what a grim topic!" Irene moaned. "However did you get to talking about those red devils?"
"Miss Mont-"
Irene waved Nathaniel to silence. "No matter. Let's go in and have supper." She turned to Glee. "I'll bet it's been some time since you had a nice, juicy pork chop, dear."
Glee smiled. "Yes, it has."
Irene wove Glee's hand into Nathaniel's arm and took her husband's elbow firmly, leading them into the dining room. Glee looked up from beneath her lowered lashes. Nathaniel appeared to be embarrassed, but he smiled weakly when she caught his attention.
As he drew back Glee's chair at the table he whispered near her ear. "Forgive my sister, Miss Montrose. We see very few young women of refinement here."
Glee waited for him to be seated then patted his hand. "Your apology is unnecessary, Captain. I am flattered by the attention."
House servants were rare on the frontier, but the general had a few privileges of rank and so had enlisted a pair of cook's helpers to prepare and serve his meals. As the first young man ladled out a thin, fragrant broth from the soup tureen, Irene started asking questions.
"My husband tells me you're from Boston, Miss Montrose. Nathaniel and I are from Vermont, originally, so you might say we're sort of neighbors. I just love your gown!" she said around a mouthful of soup. "And your hat! It must be marvelous on days when your hair is particularly difficult. Is that what they're all wearing now?"
Glee had expected to be interrogated, owing to her unusual appearance so far behind the last of the wagon trains, and the odd character of her party. She answered questions on fashion, a few polite inquiries about her father, and more direct questions from the gentlemen about her travels. Bored, tired and eager to change the subject, she ventured a question of her own.
"I haven't seen Mister Fletcher all afternoon, General. I wonder if you might know his whereabouts?"
The general looked sideways at his wife and then back to the custard on his plate. "Ahem, well, Fletcher's probably at Eastgate."
"Eastgate?"
Nathaniel answered. "The little village which lies just outside the eastern gate of the fort."
"Oh." So, Fletcher was off spending her money on drink and loose women. But at least he wasn't within the fort where he might catch her looking at "Wanted" posters, trying to discredit his claim on Alex Pacheco.
The two helpers began to clear the table and Irene ushered her guests into the parlor again. It was getting late, and Glee felt it was an acceptable time to make her excuses to leave.
She stifled a dramatic yawn. "Oh, forgive me! I'm afraid the day has been rather long for me." She stood. "I wonder if you would excuse me. Mister Fletcher insists that we begin traveling at dawn, and..."
"Of course, dear," Irene said. "Nathaniel will see you to your door."
"Oh, there's really no need. I'm only just-"
"He insists, don't you, Nathaniel?"
"Of course," he agreed.
Glee thanked both host and hostess and Nathaniel helped her on with her cloak.
They made their way slowly, and silently down the row of half-lighted houses to the guest cottage. The moon was a thin crescent, and the sky had become a cloudless black pillow for countless tiny stars.
"It has been a very pleasurable evening, Miss Montrose. I hope Irene's irrepressible curiosity did not offend you."
"No, of course not. I had a lovely time." They stopped at her door.
"Glee, er, Miss Montrose," the shy Captain said softly. "I wonder if you might consider staying at Fort Kearny for a few more days. I realize we have little to offer a woman of your experience, but the rest would-"
Glee cut him off before he got any further and felt foolish later. "No, no. I'm afraid that would be impossible, Captain Havington." She patted his shoulder. "I have rather a pressing commitment in California, and what's more, I'm sure Jake Fletcher would leave without me if I chose to linger."
"I see." He lowered his eyes. "How desperate you must think me."
She smiled and touched his face gently. "Not at all. I know that a goodly number of wagons pass through here during the spring and summer months. Some charming young woman will be on one of them. You'll see."
Straightening slightly, the captain reached up and tipped his hat politely. "I'm sure you're right, ma'am. Thank you for allowing me your company this evening. I hope your travels are both swift and safe."
Glee could feel his disappointment but there was nothing she could do for it. She murmured her thanks and bid him good-night. As she watched him walk away, she remembered being fifteen again, before her father and she agreed to her disguise. The young Frenchman who had pursued her, complimented her, flustered her composure, had also given her her first kiss. Her only k
iss.
Even coming half out from behind her dowdy shield, wearing the fashionable green dress, brought that spark of interest to a man's eye. It was not the bold assessment of a harem-master, but the respectful look of a man who sought beauty and would give something in return. Stuff! she reprimanded herself. He's stuck out here in the wilderness. Lonely. Any unmarried female who didn't have feathers for brains would do. It doesn't really mean anything.
She wasn't fifteen anymore and well past romantic fantasies. Time to get on with her plans. After quietly opening the door, she crept into her room.
It was dark. Only a narrow beam of moonlight snuck past the heavily curtained window. There was a rustle of bedclothes and then the flaring light of a match as Amina lit a bedside lantern. She made to leave the bed but Glee gestured her back.
"I've got an errand yet to run, Amina. It shouldn't take long."
The dark girl frowned. "Where are you going so late?" she signed.
"Fletcher is out of the fort for the night. It seems like the only opportunity I'm going to have to check 'Wanted' posters at the jail."
"You still do not believe him."
Glee pulled her cloak tighter around her before she answered. "I want to, and in many ways I do, but..."
"Proof."
Glee nodded. "Yes, I need proof. What if we are wrong, Amina? How could we live with ourselves, knowing that we allowed a murderer to escape?"
Amina nodded, then pushed the bedclothes off. "It is not right for you to go alone at night. I will come."
"No," Glee said firmly. "I'm in no danger. I'll just check the posters and come back." Amina looked torn. "I mean it. You stay here." She looked pointedly at the big brass bed she was sharing with her maid for the night and smiled. "And warm up my side, will you? It's damned cold out there!"
Grinning, Amina turned the lantern down to a dull yellow glow and squirmed over to the far side of the bed.
"Thank you." Glee opened the door and looked both right and left before she ventured out.
Rather than pass across the compound at a diagonal and make herself obvious, Glee chose to take a longer route around, following the buildings. It was cold, and the ground was still muddy in spots, but she kept up a quick pace. After a brief hesitation at the heavy wooden door, Glee took a deep breath and entered the jail.
A heavyset young man, with reddish-brown hair and watery blue eyes, looked up with surprise from the yellowed newsprint he was poring over. "Wha-"
Glee smiled and pushed the tasseled hood of her cloak off her head. "Good evening..." She cocked an eyebrow.
He rose and introduced himself immediately.
"Good evening, Private Welsh. Forgive the late hour, please, but I dined at the general's home this evening and only just left there." She smiled again, and watched him lick his lips nervously.
"How c'n I help you, ma'am?" he asked.
"I need to see your current 'Wanted' posters." She began to remove her long white gloves and watched his eyes travel from her fingertips to her elbows. Their liquid blue gleam was avaricious. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here unescorted, but there was no help for it now.
He hadn't answered her request, so she added a superior tone to her voice. "Private Welsh? You do have 'Wanted' posters, have you not?"
He nodded. "Whaddya want 'em for?"
Should she lie? "Does it matter?"
"Naw, guess not." He shrugged. "They're on that nail over there." A dirty sausage finger pointed toward the wall to Glee's left.
"My thanks," she murmured.
The posters were in no particular order and varied in size and format. She began at the back of the stack and swiftly scanned the names and occasional faces. There was no poster concerning Esteban Garcia, and, at closer inspection, she realized that the men and women sought were all wanted in eastern cities.
Glee turned back to the private and found him staring at her. Tamping down a prickle of unease, she tried to sound congenial. "You have no posters of western outlaws?"
"Nope. Don't need 'em." He jerked a thumb toward a wooden door with a small, barred window. "It's strange for a Mex like him to come this far east." The private's little eyes lit and then narrowed slightly. "That's what you're really here 'bout, ain't it? That greaser somethin' to you?"
Glee straightened her spine and glowered at him. "You are impertinent, Private Welsh! I have half-a-mind to mention your behavior to General Clement before I leave tomorrow."
His pudgy face hardened. "You're traveling with Jake Fletcher then. My guess is he wouldn't like it none if he found out you been checkin' up on his prisoner." He came around his battered wooden desk. "Mebbe I oughta just go get him."
She watched him take two steps toward the door before she spoke. "Private Welsh! I'm sure we can come to some agreement." He turned and grinned at her, black rot rimming his teeth. Glee suppressed a shudder. "Perhaps I might be persuaded to forget your unmannerly display, if you would also forget to mention my presence here to Mister Fletcher. Would that do?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Very good, we are agreed." Her gaze darted toward the barred wooden door. "I would like to see the prisoner now."
The repulsive private licked his lips again and looked Glee over. "Tall, ain't you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He took a few steps toward her. "I said I think you're tall." A thick arm reached toward her, but to Glee's relief he was reaching past her to retrieve a ring of keys from a peg behind her. He jiggled the keys, not yet ready to open the barred door. "That Mex your lover, 'r somethin'?"
Glee gasped. The man's effrontery was amazing! "I should slap you for that crude remark, Private Welsh," she hissed.
He chuckled, a squeaky sound, as though his lungs were weak. "But you won't. 'Cause I got the keys an' you need 'em." His eyes traveled over her face. "Damn! This is gonna be good! Can't wait to see the look on your snooty face when you see 'im." The private walked around her to open the door.
"What do you mean? Is he all right? If you've done anything to harm-"
Another wheezing chuckle preceded the private's airy gesture toward the dark corridor lined with iron-barred cells. "Go on. Last one on the left. I'll go get a lantern, so's you'll have a good look."
Moonlight filtered through the barred windows of the cells on Glee's right, but failed to pierce the thick darkness on her left. She walked slowly down the corridor, noting that the four cells on the right were empty. Was Alejandro the only prisoner? Finally she reached the end of the building, and she paused, peering into the cell where he should be, cursing the darkness, and pulling her cloak around her more tightly. Cold seemed to seep through the heavy wool and iced her skin.
A light shone at the doorway and came closer. The lantern held by Welsh cast a dull yellow glow on the black iron bars. "See you found it."
Glee tried to find Alex in the cell, but the darkness was too thick. The small circle of light from the lantern only hinted at a dark shape in the far left corner of the small cage.
Chuckling again, the private's voice sounded perversely amused as he offered to turn up the lantern wick. The yellow light grew until the room was fully illuminated.
Glee gasped when she saw Alex. "Oh my God! What have you done to him?"
Chapter 11
A lejandro pulled himself out of the fog of pain at the sound of a feminine gasp. It was an effort, but he managed to open one tawny eye.
"Oh my God! What have you done to him?" she cried, her face paling in the yellow light.
I must look as bad as I feel, he thought wryly. The horror on her face made him want to reassure her that he was not dead yet, and he tried to smile. A shock of agony crept over the left side of his face and the expression died swiftly. Dios how he longed for a drink of water. They had left him unattended in the cell since they'd finished administering his punishment in the late afternoon. It was dark now. How long had he been unconscious?
"Visitors?" he said hoarsely.
Glee tur
ned to the jailor and grabbed his arm. "He's hurt, can't you see that? You've got to get a doctor!" The private stood smirking. "Get a doctor, I say!" She smacked the man on his beefy chest. "What's the matter with you, you fool? Do you want him to die?"
The smirk had disappeared with her sharp attack. "Ain't no concern o' mine."
Her voice was a whip-crack in the quiet of the jail. "Don't you understand, you imbecile? Esteban Garcia is worthless unless he's alive. If he dies Jake Fletcher will take his reward out of your hide!"
The private scratched his greasy head. "No wonder they didn't just shoot him when he tried to escape." He looked at the prisoner. "Guess I oughta clean him up a bit."
Under Wraps Page 11
