Ian studied her silently. Emerada was the last person he'd expected to see there. "I'm always at your service," he said. "How can I help you, Senorita de la Rosa?"
He was stiff and reserved, and it hurt to see him that way, but there was nothing she could say to satisfy his anger. "I have ill tidings, Ian. I am sorry to be the bearer of such grave news."
He glanced at: her lathered mount. "It seems you didn't spare your horse getting here. What can be so important that you would ride that poor animal into the ground? Dare I hope you want to replay the little performance you gave me that night at Talavera?"
She wanted to strike out at him, to answer his cruelty with the same ruthlessness he displayed, but she held her temper and stared into his eyes.
"I rode all night to get here, and I am weary, Ian. I do not have time to spar with you or answer such absurd questions."
His voice was suddenly silky smooth. "What I have in mind won't take all that long."
She curled her hand into a fist, and her rebellious spirit took over. "There are more important things to discuss than what happened between us, Ian."
"What could be more important?"
"Men dying." Emerada went to the creek and cupped her hands, drinking thirstily, giving herself time to regain her composure. At last she stood up and turned back to him.
"What I have to tell you is important." The heat was so intense that she felt light-headed, and she almost stumbled, but caught herself in time. "I would have preferred to tell General Houston, but you will have to do."
He put out his hand, indicating she should precede him to stand beneath the shade of a pecan tree.
Emerada leaned against the rough bark and swallowed several times. She really did feel sick to her stomach. Her hands were trembling, but she didn't know if it was from weariness or from being so near Ian.
He let out a long breath. "What is your news, Emerada?"
She met his gaze. "Do you know a man called Fannin?"
The expression of arrogance left his face, and his eyes took on a look of concern. "Yes, I know him. Why?"
She brushed a curl from her face and wished she had another sip of water. "There is no easy way to tell you. Fannin and his men were killed at Goliad," she whispered.
Ian gazed upward at the branches, and she would have thought he was unaffected by her words if it hadn't been for the tightening of his jaw. "Are you certain of this information?"
"I was with Santa Anna when the messenger arrived from Goliad with the news."
He dipped his head and looked at her for a long, poignant moment. "Can you possibly be telling the truth? If I believed you, would I be courting disaster?" He clamped his hands on her shoulders and brought her closer to him. "I know Houston has decided to trust you, Emerada, but I don't. I no longer believe the fable you wove about Santa Anna having your family murdered. You used your story to gain my sympathy and to earn my trust. Well, it didn't work."
"You are a fool," she spat out. "I will not squander my time on such as you, Ian McCain."
"I've had time to think and weigh the story you told me that night, Emerada. You were in the dictator's pocket then, and you still are." He glanced at her and shook his head. "I have to admit that you are the best weapon Santa Anna has."
She was losing her patience. She knew Ian was speaking from hurt pride and nothing more. "What could I possibly have to gain by contriving such a story?"
"Damn it! Houston ordered Fannin to abandon Fort Defiance. He would not disobey orders. I don't believe you."
"Just like he ordered Travis to leave the Alamo? There seems to be wide insubordination in the ranks, Ian McCain."
"Why would Fannin disobey Houston?"
"I do not know about such things. But here is more information you might want to pass on to Houston. Santa Anna has ordered that every foreigner with a gun in his hand is to be executed."
Ian seemed to have a hard time finding his voice. "If you know that much, perhaps you can tell me how Fannin died?"
"I heard the courier tell Santa Anna about his death." She shuddered, thinking she was going to be sick, right there in front of Ian. "Do not make me tell you."
"The general will want to know," he insisted.
She drew in a deep breath. "Very well. Fannin and his men were held captive for a week, having surrendered with the agreement that they would be taken prisoner and not shot." She lowered her gaze, feeling shame for the unchivalrous manner in which Fannin and his men had died. "They were executed without mercy."
Ian closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, Emerada saw the unleashed anger reflected there.
"There is something more, Ian."
"Yes?"
"Santa Anna believes the war is all but over. Soon he will come at you with everything he has."
He walked away from her and stood at the edge of the creek. "Let him come. We're ready for him."
"No," she said, walking over to him. "I do not know what Houston is doing, but it appears to me, and to Santa Anna, that he is running away. And, from the conversation I overheard when I came up, it would appear some of your men believe it also."
"The general will fight on his own terms. When he is ready, he will engage your Santa Anna, but not before."
"He is not my Santa Anna!"
"Is he not?" In a sudden move, Ian pulled her into his arms. "Has he made love to you? Has he tasted the sweetness of your lips, as I once did?"
She shoved against him, and he dropped his arms.
"What happens between me and Santa Anna is none of your affair," she replied in reprisal. "One night with you does not give you any right to question what I do."
"Perhaps not," he whispered, "but it was certainly a pleasant diversion for a few hours." He saw her face whiten, and he wondered why he was deliberately trying to humiliate her. With forced composure, he changed the subject. "Just think about this, Emerada. The next time we meet Santa Anna, it will be on our terms and in a place Houston chooses."
She walked to her horse and turned back to him. "Tell Houston to choose soon, or all his men will desert him and Santa Anna will sweep over you like he did the walls of the Alamo."
Neither of them saw the man walking toward them until he drew even with Emerada.
"The lady makes a lot of sense, Ian," Houston said, giving her an encouraging smile.
"Sir," Ian said. "Your little spy has been telling me a concocted story about Fannin."
Houston seemed to age before their eyes, and he gave Ian a disapproving glance. "If this gracious lady told you that Fannin and all his men are dead, believe her-it's true."
Ian turned his head toward the creek and stared at the rushing water, feeling like an utter fool. He'd allowed his jealousy of Emerada to rule his thinking. She had ridden all night to bring them the news. He had offered her neither food nor a place to rest. He staggered under the weight of his guilt. Emerada was valuable to Houston, and he had treated her like a whore.
"Senor Houston," Emerada said, looking at him in desperation. "I have come to plead with you to do something soon, or all will be lost."
"Emerada, do you trust me?" he asked her kindly.
"It is not a matter of trust. I am trying to decide if you are a man of greatness or a coward."
Houston chuckled. Few people ever spoke to him so candidly, and he found it refreshing. "So you have heard the stories that call me a coward, Emerada? History is every man's judge-let it be mine as well."
"Everyone is talking about your running away," she said with honesty. "I believe you are misguided, but you are not a coward. You are giving Santa Anna the advantage when you run, and he is laughing at you."
Houston nodded. "I've heard that my actions are being referred to as the `Runaway Scrape.'"
"I have heard that, too," Emerada admitted.
"Come," Houston said, offering her his arm. "You will eat with me and then rest before you return to Santa Anna."
"I don't think she should go back to him, sir,"
Ian said quickly. "It's getting too dangerous for her."
"That's why you will escort her most of the way back," Houston said with irony. "I do trust that you can keep her safe, Colonel McCain?" He smiled down at Emerada. "So far, she's always had to save your skin."
Emerada was not pleased that Ian was to be her escort, and from the dark look on his face, he was none too pleased either.
Houston led Emerada away. "You'll leave early in the morning, Ian."
Emerada stopped, her gaze searching Houston's eyes. "What if I could end Santa Anna's life? I can easily arrange to be alone with him. It would be a simple thing to kill him."
Houston shook his head. "Have you ever killed a man, Emerada?"
"No. But he is not a man. The people of Mexico would be better off without him."
"I pray you will not attempt such an act. They would only send someone else to take his place, probably his brother-in-law, General Cos, who is every bit as ruthless as Santa Anna."
She nodded. "I suppose you are right. I can wait."
Houston guided her forward. "I want you to come out of this war alive, Emerada. I have grown fond of you."
She looked at him with an earnest expression on her face. "And I of you, General."
It was still dark when Emerada emerged on the porch. She had felt ill all night and hadn't slept very well. At times she'd felt feverish and would kick the covers off; then she'd suffer from chills and pull the covers high.
She could not be ill. There was too much she had to accomplish. Everything was beginning to come together, and she had to help Houston.
She half hoped that Ian would not be there and she could just ride away alone. But he was waiting for her, and when she came down the steps, he sat forward in his saddle and nodded stiffly. She didn't acknowledge him in any way after the things he'd said to her the day before. Besides, he didn't want to be with her any more than she wanted him there.
She slipped her booted foot into the stirrup and mounted the horse. Without a backward glance, she started her horse off at a gallop.
Ian and Emerada rode for over an hour in silence. Finally she halted her mount and looked out over a bluff at the rising sun as it spread color across the land.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Ian remarked next to her.
Her eyes swept over the deep valley to a distant river that reflected the sunlight like a golden prism. "It's breathtaking. It is difficult to believe there is a war raging when it looks so peaceful."
Ian turned to her, his gaze tracing her face. "Yes, breathtaking."
She took in a deep breath and guided her horse forward. "There is no need for you to come with me any farther. If Santa Anna sees you again, I will not be able to save you."
"Houston wanted me to accompany you to Santa Anna's encampment-I suppose you know where it is?"
"Si. I know where to find him."
"No doubt you do," he said under his breath.
For the second time in two days, Emerada felt light-headed and lethargic. She gripped the reins of her horse and hugged its flanks with her knees, praying she would not be unseated.
When they stopped to rest the horses, she felt so cold that she couldn't stop trembling. She couldn't give in to weakness-she had to keep moving. She led her horse down a steep incline, counting each step, putting one foot in front of the other. The churning nausea came in waves, and she willed herself not to give in to it.
Suddenly blackness hovered over her, and she clutched her horse's mane to support herself, but she could not stop the blackness from encroaching. Emerada felt herself falling downward. She was unconscious by the time she hit the ground.
Ian saw Emerada fall, and he leaped to catch her, but he couldn't reach her in time. Helplessly he watched as she rolled downward and struck her head against a boulder at the bottom of the hill.
He lifted her head and examined her carefully. There was a wide gash on her forehead that was bleeding. He was puzzled as to why she had fallen. He didn't see her lose her footing; she just seemed to pitch forward.
When he touched her face, he discovered that she was burning up with fever.
How long had she been ill, and why hadn't she said something to him about it?
"Emerada de la Rosa, you're the damnedest woman I've ever known. Were you too proud to ask me for help?" Ian knew she couldn't hear him, but it helped allay some of his fear to hear his own voice. He couldn't tell how badly she was hurt, or how ill she was.
He removed his coat and placed it under her head and then went back up the hill and led the horses down to where Emerada lay. Taking his canteen, he wet his neckerchief and placed it on her head wound.
"Don't worry," he said, softly touching her cheek. "I won't let anything happen to you."
When he'd examined her for broken bones and found none, he gently lifted her and carried her to the other side of the boulder, where the ground was reasonably level. He opened his bedroll and placed her on it, then built a fire to keep her warm, unmindful that there might be hostile Indians or Mexican patrols in the area who would see the fire.
After he had applied ointment and bandaged her head, he saw that her body was still trembling from chills. He put his own blanket over her and sat beside her, his rifle across his lap. Emerada was in no condition to go on, so for the moment there was nothing more he could do for her. He tried to control the panic that rose inside him.
She had to be all right-she just had to!
Emerada groaned, and her eyes fluttered, but she didn't open them.
Ian placed his hand on her arm and said softly, "Don't worry, dearest one; no one will harm you tonight-I won't let them."
She hadn't regained consciousness, and he knew that wasn't a good sign. She was so pale!
Ian raised his head to the now dark sky, with an earnest prayer on his lips. "God, don't let anything happen to her. If you have to take one of us, let it be me. Take me-not her."
Emerada regained consciousness with an excruciating headache. When she turned her head, pain shot through her temple. She reached up and found a makeshift bandage across her forehead. It took her a moment to remember what had happened to her. The last thing she remembered was falling into darkness.
Although she was underneath two woolen blankets, and there was a welcome campfire blazing next to her, she was still cold. She glanced to her left and found Ian sleeping.
He jerked awake and looked at her. "How do you feel?" His touch was gentle, and concern was etched on his face.
"I do not know what happened to me." Her hand went to her head. "Why is my head bandaged?"
He moved closer to her and tucked the blanket about her shoulders. "You hit your head when you fell. Try not to move more than necessary."
Her teeth were chattering. "I am so cold."
He placed his hand on her head. "How long have you had a fever?"
"I am not sure. I did not feel well all day yesterday, but I thought it would pass."
"You push yourself too hard, Emerada. Why can't you stay home and knit socks like other women?"
She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, and she didn't object. "Is that the kind of woman you prefer, Ian-one who will knit your socks and answer to your every command?"
A smile curved his lips. "I seem to prefer a spirited dancer who has more courage than good sense, and more stubbornness than ten men."
She was not amused by his assessment of her. "If that was a compliment, Ian McCain, it was not flattering. But whatever could I have done to earn such high praise?"
He stood up and placed more wood on the fire, then listened to the night sounds before turning his attention back to her. "Go to sleep. We have already lost half a day, I hope you are able to ride in the morning."
She wished her head would stop throbbing and the world would right itself. "Who appointed you my protector, Ian?"
"God only knows."
She suddenly gave him a weak smile. "I believe it was Houston."
He raised an eyebrow and
gave her a disgruntled glance. "If I'd known the trouble you were going to cost me, I'd never have spoken to you that first day. And I would have refused Houston's orders to find out who you were."
She turned her head away and closed her eyes. "Go away. I do not want to talk to you."
Ian watched her for a moment and then settled down beside her. It was a good sign that she had regained consciousness. "You are strong of body and spirit and will never allow a little thing like illness to slow you down for long."
"I want to sleep," she muttered.
And she did.
It was almost daylight when Ian heard riders in the distance. He quickly threw dirt on the fire and gripped his rifle, grateful that a heavy fog blanketed the countryside.
Emerada sat up, her eyes wide. "Is something wrong?"
"Shh."
She edged closer to him when she heard Mexican voices. "Do you see them?"
"No," he whispered. "But that is to our advantage because they can't see us either. I only hope they didn't see our fire."
"You must leave," she urged Ian, getting to her knees and touching his shoulder. "They will not hurt me."
"You can't be sure of that." He placed his finger to his lips. "Shh. They're just below."
Emerada could hear her heartbeat pounding in her head. She was frightened, but not for herself. If Santa Anna's men caught Ian, they would kill him. "Please go. I do not want them to find you here."
He pushed her back down on the bedroll and positioned his body between her and the riders. For a long moment neither of them moved.
Just when Emerada thought they were safe, one of their horses whinnied, and she knew the riders must have heard it. "Ian, what shall we do?"
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Before she knew what he was about, he lifted her in his arms and moved back up the incline. When they reached the top, he set her on her feet and paused to catch his breath.
"We have to hide, Emerada. They will come looking for us. Can you walk if I support your weight?"
San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance) Page 13
