White Apache

by tiffy

  ʺMassah Raoul,ʺ he said, touching the brim of his hat respectfully.

  Castal took in the set lines of the old stablemanʹs face and instantly sensed trouble. Pulling a pistol from his sash, he aimed it directly at the old manʹs heart and asked coldly, ʺHow is it you are away from the plantationand riding such a fine looking mount? I would accuse you of horse theft, but it is not even from Doubertʹs stable.ʺ

  Jacob considered a number of stories and just as quickly rejected them. Castal was vicious and intelligent. Nothing he could invent would be of any use. He stared resolutely at the white men and remained silent.

  ʺSearch him,ʺ Castal instructed Clark Jamison.

  Washington, DC, February 1807

  Samuel Shelby paced like a caged lion in the deserted antechamber next to the presidential office. A great deal had happened since he had arrived with the news about the New Orleans conspirators and General Salcedo.

  ʺRestless as usual, I see,ʺ Thomas Jefferson said to the uniformed young officer, recently promoted to the rank of captain.

  Samuel smiled at the president and followed the tall old man into his private domain. As was his wont at such a late hour, Jefferson wore his favorite gray and blue plaid robe of sturdy linsey‐woolsey and a pair of comfortably scuffed carpet slippers. He sat wearily in the big oak chair behind his desk and motioned Shelby to a comfortable seat across from him.

  ʺI assume by your expression that all went as well as could be expected.ʺ

  How tired and haggard he looks. Samuel replied, ʺYes, sir, I wrote out my complete report and personally submitted it to Secretary of War Dearborn. He still seemed unwilling to believe Wilkinsonʹs complicity and was all too quick to point out how the general is now arresting those in New Orleans involved in the plot.ʺ

  The presidentʹs lined face, usually so tolerant, took on a cynical cast that Shelby had never before seen. ʺAlas, captain, you have grown up in the noble wilderness and pursued only duty and honornever political office. I have more men in my cabinet than Dearborn who would overturn this whole national government if they believed it would place them in power. Why do you think I must yet rely on James Wilkinson as my general?ʺ

  ʺYouʹve neutralized him as a direct threat in this filibuster and convinced him not to break the peace with Spain,ʺ Samuel replied.

  ʺI imagine heʹs consigned that fool Pike to the tender mercies of the Spanish governor in Santa Fe,ʺ Jefferson said wryly.

  Shelby sighed, now having a small inkling of the weighty machinations that kept a president awake more nights than not in this big white house. ʺEven if you canʹt have Wilkinson cashiered from the army, perhaps you can disgrace him once the extent of this filibuster comes to light.ʺ He looked at the president, then sighed gloomily. ʺLittle chance, eh?ʺ

  ʺThe beginning of worldly wisdom,ʺ Jefferson replied drily.

  ʺPerhaps itʹs best that I return to New Orleans as quickly as possible,ʺ Samuel suggested. ʺFrom there, Iʹll be in an excellent position to keep an eye on the general. Wonʹt he be amazed at my resurrection?ʺ

  ʺMuch less your promotion, but I think a discreet letter from me will serve to keep him on the straight and narrow in his dealings with you.ʺ

  ʺFrankly, Iʹm worried a great deal more about my sister than I am about the general at this point,ʺ Samuel said, his face darkening. ʺSheʹs alone in New Orleans.ʺ

  Jefferson smiled reassuringly and replied, ʺLiza has survived amazingly well all these years, even when you were not there to protect her, Samuel.ʺ

  Shelbyʹs face flushed as he debated how to explain Lizaʹs altered circumstances.

  ʺWell, you see, Mr. President, there is a complication for Liza now.ʺ He paused, then forced himself to meet Jeffersonʹs concerned gaze. There was nothing for it but to tell their old family friend the whole truth. ʺLiza is with child, sirdue to deliver within a few months. She needs me.ʺ

  He went on to explain what he knew of the strange relationship his sister had with the Spanish renegade Quinn, the circumstances under which they parted, and her determination to keep the child. ʺI think she still loves the damned Spaniard, although she refuses every attempt Iʹve made to get her to discuss her feelings for him. At least sheʹs safe from disgrace because she can still claim Edouard Louvois as her husband. No one in New Orleans knows how long theyʹve been separated. If she returns to Washington with the child, she can simply say she was in France with the miserable wretch when the child was conceived. I trust he has returned to Washington by now?ʺ

  Jeffersonʹs expression grew very troubled. He stood up and walked over to stare out the window, pondering what he must tell Shelby. ʺHe is in Washington, Samuel, but Iʹm afraid it may not be desirable to name him as the childʹs father.

  You see, there has been quite a scandal at the French embassy. Let me explain everything to you. Then we must decide what to do to protect Liza. . . . ʺ

  Chapter Thirty‐One

  The Louisiana back country

  Elise knew she had taken a wrong turn, but where? Had she been so disoriented when she left the plantation that she had headed northwest instead of southeast?

  Or had she lost her way on the twisting, overgrown trail? There had been at least three narrower side trails. Perhaps she had misjudged. She rubbed her back. ʺIf only this infernal aching would relent, maybe I could think straight.ʺ

  Darkness would fall all too quickly, and the day had been so overcast that the sun gave her no clue about her direction of travel. Soon the swamps would be alive with a thousand nocturnal horrors, and she was alone on a deserted trail.

  ʺDonʹt panic. You must find shelter for the night,ʺ she commanded herself, patting the gelding as much to reassure herself as the skittish animal. She eyed the side trail just ahead and decided to follow it. With any luck, it would lead to another plantation. Even if she dared not show herself to the inhabitants for fear they would turn her over to Castalor worseshe could find some sort of shelter until dawn.

  Just as she turned the horse toward the cutoff, hoofbeats sounded behind her.

  Someone was riding fast on the overgrown trail. Perhaps it was a native of the areaor an enraged Gaspar Doubert! She kicked her mount into a canter, but before she could hide herself, the rider called out to her. Her blood froze.

  ʺFor a woman well advanced in pregnancy, you prove incredibly agile, my dear.

  Who would have imagined you could ride so far astride a spirited animal?ʺ A nasty smile slashed Raoul Castalʹs face.

  Elise reached into the pocket of her skirt and felt the pistol. One shot. Should she take a chance? For certain, she could not outrun him in her condition. She waited for Castal to come closer, but then she saw the other man with him. Clark Jamison! Praying Castal would not search her, she slid her hand free of the pocket. Shooting Castal would not serve if she still had to contend with Jamison.

  She must remain calm and await a better chance.

  ʺHave you freed poor Gaspar or let him languish in my manacle?ʺ she asked with a coolness she was far from feeling. One moment at a time, just take it one moment at a time.

  Castal seized the reins of her horse and laughed. ʺFor all I know or care, Doubert has been eaten by alligators. It is not he but Quinn who interests me now.ʺ

  Her heart skipped a beat, then she scoffed. ʺDo you still believe the renegade will follow me? Give up, Castal.ʺ

  ʺAh, but he has!ʺ At her slight start of amazement, he swelled with pleasure.

  ʺYes, your Irishman has just come from a tryst with my treacherous sister Juliette. Instead of leading him into my trap, she took him to her bed.ʺ He watched her reaction and was rewarded by her look of stricken incredulity.

  ʺSantiagoʹs here?ʺ Dear God! Her mind went blank as another wave of back pain swept over her.

  ʺYour renegade is not only in Louisiana, he is on the trail after youa trail, alas, that I am far more familiar with than he.ʺ He turned to Jamison and said, ʺWatch our back and be prepared. That shortcut by the river placed
us only a half hour ahead of him.ʺ

  With that, he led Eliseʹs horse toward the narrow trail she had been considering.

  When he reached the fork in the road, he reined in and ripped several strands of hair from her head before she could stop him. Carefully he twisted them around a Possumhaw bush so they floated in the chill late afternoon breeze, a clear signal that she had left the main trail.

  ʺNow if your fabled White Apache is half the tracker legend makes him, he will follow us directly into a trap. He will not escape as he has the past two times.ʺ

  Elise allowed him to lead her down the trail, her fingers tightening on the pistol in her pocket. She must make her one shot countbut not too soon, else she might send Santiago rushing headlong into a trap. All I can do is even the odds before Castal tries to bind and gag me. She shifted uncomfortably on the saddle as they wended their way down the trail.

  In moments she could hear the sounds of the river, and shortly thereafter she saw the vast, sullen body of brown water moving relentlessly toward the delta. A small, crudely constructed flatboat had been grounded at the foot of the embankment. Castal led the way down to it and then dismounted. The gleam of madness lit his eyes as he reached for Elise. ʺWith you tied on the deck and Clark and I strategically positioned in the undergrowth, the Irishman will at last meet his fate.ʺ

  She waited until he had helped her down from the horse, then walked docilely toward the boat with him. Jamison dismounted and vanished into the blackness of the sedge and grasses, leading their two horses but leaving hers standing by the riverʹs edge.

  Itʹs now or never. Elise pulled the pistol from her pocket, already cocked, and aimed it squarely at Castalʹs midsection. ʺGive me your weapons, Raoul, and donʹt try my patience. Iʹll shoot you without a blink.ʺ

  His eyes narrowed in surprise, but his voice was almost genial. ʺYou are a most resourceful bitch. This will serve nothing since there are two of us against your renegade.ʺ He pulled his pistols from his sash, but instead of handing them to her, he dropped them into the muddy water. ʺShoot me, and you will bring Quinn into the trap for Jamison to kill.ʺ He knew she had only one shot. Now he had kept her from increasing her fire power and evening the odds.

  ʺSo it will be a standoff, lieutenant,ʺ she said, insultingly emphasizing his former rank, ʺWeʹll wait for Santiago, since youʹre so certain heʹs coming.ʺ Where the hell was Jamison? Had he seen her pull the gun on Castal?

  She stood by the edge of the rickety plank connecting the muddy ground and the boat, which was partially run aground. Just as she caught sight of a faint movement among the live oaks atop the riverbank, a searing pain tore through her body, wrapping its steel fingers deeply into her belly.

  Seeing her double over and gasp, Castal grabbed for the gun in her hand. They struggled, but Raoulʹs foot slid in the mud and Elise broke free. She scrambled up the plank onto the flatboat, clutching the weapon. If she could brace herself against the cabin wall, maybe she could stand steady enough to fire.

  Santiago saw Elise double over and Castal leap at her. As he kicked True Blood into a gallop down the trail, he heard her scream a warning.

  ʺThereʹs another man to your right in the rushes!ʺ

  Snarling, Castal lunged after her. He raised his fist and delivered a swift blow to her jaw. She fell to her knees but did not relinquish her hold on the pistol. Quinn catapulted from True Blood and ploughed into Raoul. They went down onto the splintery planks of the deck, rolled clear of Elise, and came up facing each other.

  Castalʹs expression was twisted with hate as he glared at his nemesis. ʺNow, at last, it is just you and I, as you wished back in New Mexico.ʺ Ignoring Eliseʹs crumpled body, he reached into his pocket and the gleam of brass flashed as he slipped the devilʹs claws over his knuckles. ʺI will have you begging before I am through, Irishman. For her treachery,ʺ he gestured to Elise, ʺand for bedding my worthless harlot of a sister!ʺ

  Santiagoʹs pistols had been knocked from his sash when he leaped onto the boat to stop Castalʹs attack on Elise, but he still had his knife. With a feral grimace, he slipped it from its sheath on his thigh and crouched, cat‐taut, waiting.

  Castal swept the long sharp points of the devilʹs claws up to counter the renegadeʹs knife while he drew his own from a hidden sheath on the back of his belt. With a weapon in each hand, he was ready. Hate energized him as he leaped forward, letting his blade arc up to meet Quinnʹs and hold it immobilized for a second. His left fist raked his enemyʹs right arm, shredding the heavy buckskin jacket.

  Santiago fell back as the claws bit into his shoulder. He heard Castalʹs harsh bark of laughter.

  ʺBefore I am finished, you will be slashed to a bloody pulp, begging for death.

  Then I will use these on your woman and the bastard she carries in her belly.ʺ

  Santiago fought the urge to fly at the raving Creole. Madmen could be uncommonly strong and cunning, and Quinn knew he must not underestimate his enemy. ʺYou boast a great deal for a Creole dandy who could not rise beyond a lieutenantʹs rank in the Spanish army,ʺ he said as he parried another thrust of Castalʹs knife and turned to let the claws whistle by his face.

  The insult had the desired effect. Castal moved in too quickly, and Quinnʹs knife opened a long slash up his arm. ʺPerhaps ʹtis you, not I, who will be slashed to ribbons, Raoul,ʺ Santiago said as the two men circled on the uneven deck.

  Castalʹs blow bad only grazed Elise because Santiago had deflected his aim. She huddled against the cabin as the men rolled past her and rose to begin their deadly ballet. Another sudden stab of pain caused her to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She must not distract Santiago from Castalʹs lethal attack. She was immobilized now, gripped by the searing contraction. Please God, not now, not yet.

  Itʹs too soon!

  The pain ebbed and vanished. Taking advantage of the respite, Elise tried to aim the pistol at Castal. Then the thought struck herwhere was Jamison? He had not come rushing to his comradeʹs aid. She found it impossible to believe he had simply fled, but before she could analyze the situation further, the two combatantsʹ flashing blades and strident words fixed her attention on them.

  By now, both were cut in several places and bleeding freely as they thrust and feinted with their knives. Fortunately, Castal had connected with the shredding claws only two times, but when he grazed Santiagoʹs cheek, she stifled a scream.

  He could blind the renegade with one swipe!

  ʹʹThat little kiss of the devil was for bedding Juliette,ʺ Castal said with labored breath. ʺNext I will take an eye. You will not be so pretty for women then, eh?ʺ

  Santiago was bleeding from the slashes inflicted by the claw, but not so badly as Castal was from the deeper knife wound. He saw Elise double over in agony a second time and knew something was happening with the baby. He must finish off Castal quickly. He stumbled to one side, as if losing his footing on the wet, slippery deck planks. Castal seized the opening, raising his left hand with the claws on it as he slid the knife in for a low, deadly thrust with his right hand.

  Quinn moved with blurring speed, pivoting clear of the knife thrust and turning around in mid‐stride. He caught Castalʹs left hand and jammed it back into his face.

  Raoul Castal dropped his knife in shock when he felt the devilʹs claw sink its three‐inch curved spikes into the side of his face. The bone in his temple collapsed, and his eye socket flamed with agony. Then everything went black.

  Santiago stepped back as Castal fell to his knees in the throes of death, unable to release the hellish brass claw from his fist or pull it from his ruined face. He pitched sideways onto the deck and lay motionless. Quinn rolled him over with his boot, then shoved the body into the river and rushed to Elise, who struggled to stand up.

  ʺJamisona New Orleans filibuster was with Castal,ʺ she gasped as another pain began.

  ʺAnd here I am, dear lady,ʺ Clark Jamison said as he materialized from the undergrowth with a rifle aimed at Quinn. ʺYouʹve done r
emarkably well, Señor Quinn. General Wilkinson needed to rid himself of the troublesome Lieutenant Castal. But now, alas, that leaves you and your lady.ʺ

  ʺYou and Juliette planned for me to kill her brother all along, didnʹt you?ʺ

  Santiago asked as he eyed the French carbine. At such close range, Jamison was unlikely to miss.

  The filibuster shrugged. ʺJulietteʹs loyalties have never been all that stableunlike those of Madame Louvois. Your lady is as resourceful as she is beautiful. A pity for you both,ʺ he said as he raised the carbine and aimed at Santiagoʹs chest.

  The bullet hit Jamison with such impact that he was thrown backward into the mud of the riverbank. His own weapon discharged harmlessly into the air as he fell. Santiago turned from the dead Jamison to Elise, who was braced firmly against the wall of the boat. She lowered the spent gun, murmuring, ʺI saved the shot until it counted.ʺ

  She fainted in his arms.

  ʺElise!ʺ He caught her and strode off the boat, wading across the muddy bank to where he had left True Blood. ʺCan you make it until we reach the plantation, querida? ʺ he whispered hoarsely as she clung to him, her fingers clawing into his torn and bloodied buckskins.

  ʺYes,ʺ she gritted out as he lifted her onto the stallion.

  ʺHang on to the saddle while I mount,ʺ he instructed. The ride back to the Doubert plantation was a nightmare. Elise clung to Santiago, her whole body writhing when each new contraction hit her. Santiago was lightheaded from loss of blood and sheer terror for his woman and his child. He could lose them both!

  The thought was beyond bearing as he urged the stallion through the unfamiliar terrain of Louisiana swamp trails. Darkness fell, and he was forced to rely on True Bloodʹs instincts and training as they slowed their headlong rush toward the dubious haven of Doubertʹs decaying mansion.

  Just when he despaired of making it through the black, cold swamp, a faint light flickered through the moss‐laden trees. He broke into a gallop over the open path toward the big house.