Night Wind's Woman

by tiffy

  The kitten was noisily pushing the clay bowl against the side of the adobe wall as he licked the dry bottom furiously with a small pink tongue.

  Setting the girl down, Joaquín said, ʺAna, Sweet Singer appears to have finished his meal. Perhaps you should take him into the courtyard for a bit while I speak with Orlena.ʺ

  Obediently the child scooped her treasure up, ignoring his mewling protest as she patted his full belly. ʺGreedy little one. You will make yourself sick,ʺ she whispered as she slipped out the door.

  Joaquín and Orlena stood facing each other across the kitchen, both afraid to break the spell by speaking. She longed to touch his beard‐stubbled cheek. He longed to run his hands through her golden hair. All at once, the paralysis broke and they rushed into a fiery embrace, devouring each other with kisses. He tangled his hand in her hair and pulled it aside, baring her neck to his voracious lips as she ran her splayed fingers inside his buckskin shirt, kneading and caressing his hard chest, thrilled at the wild pounding of his heart.

  When he scooped her up and carried her out back to the cookʹs garden and orchard, neither of them saw Morena standing in the door with her fists clenched at her sides.

  When he reached the lush foliage of a row of peach trees, he set her down and took her hand in his. Surprised by the cessation of passion, she walked with him through the orchard, bemused and expectant. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Although bursting with her own special news, she held back, waiting for him to speak his piece.

  ʺLioness, I have missed you,ʺ he began softly, stopping in midstride, unable to resist touching one of the loose golden locks lying across her shoulder.

  ʺBartolome was right. You are good for Ana. I can see how she blossoms beneath your tutelage.ʺ

  ʺI would keep her with us, Joaquín,ʺ she said quietly. She looked into his face and waited.

  ʺIs there to be a future for us, Lioness? Do you wish to remain a half‐casteʹs wife?ʺ

  More than anything! she wanted to shout. Instead, she said, ʺWill you continue to raid and risk death as you have, always searching for vengeance, Joaquín?

  Where will we find peace and safety for Anafor our children?ʺ she added softly as her hand unconsciously rubbed her belly. Already she was certain it swelled with a new babe.

  He became very still. ʺYou carry another child?ʺ

  ʺAre you not pleased?ʺ she asked, stung at the hard edge to his voice. ʺWill it interfere in your blood feud against Conal?ʺ

  He looked at the outraged set of her beautiful little face. ʺAre you not pleased might be the better question, Lioness. With a mixed‐blooded babe, you can never return to your old life.ʺ

  ʺI am not the one refusing to give up my old life. You are! Your hate comes before our love, Joaquín,ʺ she accused.

  ʺLove, Lioness? Is it so? Or are you merely a prisoner of your lust and its consequence?ʺ He reached out and touched her hand, pressing it against the slight rounding of her belly.

  Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to humble herself further before this arrogant savage. ʺLust you call it. Mayhap you are right, Night Wind. But I will not shackle you. Go search out your father and kill himkill each other! I care not.ʺ

  She turned away from him and made to run for the house, when a cold deadly voice froze her to the earth.

  ʺHe need not search me out, Butterfly, for I am here,ʺ Conal Quinn said as he stepped from behind a tree. ʺAlways it seems I arrive too late to rescue you from my bastardʹs touch. A pity the child shall know no father.ʺ

  Joaquín shoved Orlena behind him and reached for his brace of pistols, cursing himself for the careless preoccupation that had allowed this catastrophe. Conal motioned and several armed soldiers materialized from behind the smokehouse at the edge of the orchard. The half‐caste continued to hold Orlena behind him, but made no move to withdraw his weapon. ʺHow did you find us?ʺ he asked in icy calm.

  A slow smile spread across Quinnʹs face, twisting it grotesquely as he looked into his sonʹs cold green eyes. ʺʹTwas simple enough. When you killed Pascal, his partner came sniveling to me, looking for the oblivion of a fast drunk. For a few coinsquite a bit cheaper than Pascal was wont to charge meI found you had ridden from the Rio Conchos for this valley. I knew you would not endanger the priest by staying with him, but then I remembered the beauteous Morena. Pity I did not recall her affection for her kinsmen sooner, but I have dispatched a dozen men to take prisoners at the house, even as we speak.ʺ

  ʺSo, coward that you always have been, you will have your men torture me while you watch. This time, Captainʺhe emphasized the demoted rank scornfullyʺwhy not end it once and for allyou against me?ʺ

  ʺThe winner, of course, gets the golden treasure here,ʺ Conal said with a leer at Orlena. ʺI have always misliked taking chances where none was warranted, but after this past hellish year, I owe you your deathand her to witness it,ʺ he added bitterly. Withdrawing his broadsword from its scabbard, he motioned for his men to stand back. ʺYou always showed a savageʹs craft with that knife. Drop the pistols to the ground and let us go blade to bladethe length of mine in exchange for your youthful stamina.ʺ

  A grimace distorted Joaquínʹs features. He did as Conal bade, tossing the brace of pistols in his belt to the ground and moving clear of Orlena. ʺFair enough. I know your word is worthless, so I will not ask that your men spare me when I kill you.

  My only consolation is that you will never touch my woman.ʺ ʹʹNo! Joaquín, you cannot kill your father, no matter what he has done. Conal, for whatever love you once bore me and Santiago, do not do this. Joaquín is your son!ʺ She turned from one to the other as the two men began circling like wolves. Plainly, her plea was useless. She stood back, eyeing the Spanish soldiers, praying that some of Joaquínʹs men had accompanied him to the ranch. If only they would hear the outcry and respond!

  Conal drew first blood, using the advantage of his longer weapon, but the nick on Joaquínʹs arm was only superficial. He feinted left, then parried right, grabbing Conalʹs sword arm and sweeping in to slash his right thigh a telling bloody length before they broke apart. The two men circled, each looking for an advantage. Conal, older and more seasoned, had the advantage not only of a sword but also of the leather armor across his chest. To kill him, Joaquín would have to come in low and gut him, a dangerous, nearly impossible feat. The halfcasteʹs only other alternative was to deflect his opponentʹs sword and lunge for the throat, another risky maneuver. Joaquín, younger and faster, was dressed in lightweight buckskins and an open cotton shirt which afforded little protection, yet allowed him far freer movement. Still the relentless broadsword wielded by Conalʹs strong right arm was a formidable weapon, and Joaquín was soon covered with wounds oozing blood. None were deep, yet the uneven contest was taking its toll.

  Orlena stood motionless, her mind racing and her eyes scanning the soldiers.

  Then her gaze locked on one of Joaquínʹs carelessly tossed pistols lying in the tall grass at the base of a peach tree. She inched toward the gun, all the while watching the soldiers.

  Suddenly, Joaquín gained the advantage by sliding behind the low‐hanging branch of a tree just as Conalʹs sword came down, only to hack a deep gash into the green wood. In the instant it took him to free it, Joaquínʹs knife opened another crippling slash across Conalʹs left leg.

  ʺNow you truly look like Colorado Quinn,ʺ Joaquín taunted.

  Conal only laughed. ʺSo do you, mongrel!ʺ

  Orlena made a swift lunge for the pistol, but the lieutenant caught sight of her from the corner of his eye and jumped to intercept her just before she could reach her prize. As the soldier wrestled her to the ground, Joaquín again ducked beneath a limb.

  ʺYou run like a cowardly savage. You are half white, at least. Stand and fight!ʺ

  Conal swore as another small branch slapped at him, momentarily blinding him.

  In that instant Joaquín was on him and they rolled to the earth between the rows of tree
s. The half‐casteʹs fingers locked on Conalʹs sword wrist, immobilizing the weapon. He smashed Conalʹs arm against the ground and the sword went flying.

  His knife now flashed toward Quinnʹs throat for the kill.

  ʺNo, Joaquín, you cannot! They will shoot if you kill him,ʺ Orlena cried, struggling as the lieutenant yanked her brutally to her feet. Both of his men prepared to fire on his command.

  Joaquín held his blade at Conalʹs throat, his knee against his fatherʹs leather-armored chest, choking the breath from him.

  ʺKill me and die, bastard! Iʹll meet you in hell to finish this battle,ʺ Conal ground out, his green eyes glazed with hate.

  ʺShall I spare you all the moral dilemma? I assure you I have no qualms whatsoever about killing my beloved stepfather.ʺ

  Ignacioʹs voice cut across the sound of the menʹs labored breathing and Orlenaʹs struggles. Everyone froze as the indolent courtier strode nonchalantly into the clearing. Half a dozen men flanked him with drawn weapons. He made a barely perceptible motion to one man, who instantly raised his musket and shot Conal.

  The slug smashed into Conalʹs face, splattering Joaquín with blood and the sticky grayish matter he knew to be brains. He waited a beat for the order to kill him.

  When it was not given, he stood up, ignoring the ruin that had been Conal Quinn.

  ʺYou have had a man killed whom you could never beat in a fair fight, Spanish fop,ʺ he said with cold contempt, waiting to see what the mercurial courtier would do next and praying his men and Conalʹs had heard the shot.

  Ignacio chuckled mirthlessly. ʺPity Iʹve robbed you of your kill, but donʹt be pettish. As your estimable father said, you may rejoin the battle in the next life. I fear I have need of my sisterwithout the annoying encumbrance of a husband, no matter how irregular the technicalities of the marriage. Killing you here in the wilderness will save a good deal of time petitioning the Holy See.ʺ

  He paused and looked from Joaquín to Orlena, who was yet struggling in the arms of Conalʹs soldier. ʺYou have my leave to set her free, or face the same fate as your captain,ʺ he said conversationally to the lieutenant. He felt supremely confident, certain his soldiers outnumbered Quinnʹs presidials, not knowing of the men Conal had sent into the large hacienda. The lieutenant immediately released Orlena and stepped back, near where the discarded gun lay in the grass.

  He had no illusions about how long the courtier would allow him and his men to live.

  Orlena turned to Ignacio with loathing on her face, restraining the urge to fly at him. If only she could divert him until Conalʹs soldier reached that gun, Joaquín might have a chance to slip into the trees and escape. ʺThis avails you naught, Ignacio. Killing my husband will not kill the babe he has given meand this time no one will take it from me!ʺ She walked up to him, intent on grappling with him before he could issue any further deadly orders, but her plan failed. With lightning speed, he struck her a vicious blow, knocking her to the ground.

  ʺNow I have even greater incentive to kill your savage,ʺ he snarled, motioning for one of his men to shoot the half‐caste as he had Quinn. The soldier leveled his pistol at Joaquín, but before he could take aim, Morena raced into the clearing, screaming for Hoarse Bark and Night Windʹs raiders to follow her. She threw herself in front of Joaquín and wrapped her arms about his neck just as the gun exploded.

  Joaquín could feel the impact of the ball as it slammed into her back. Her grip tightened, then loosened as she whispered, ʺI am sorry, beloved. I only wanted Ignacio to take her away . . . forgive me.ʺ She slid to the earth as chaos erupted all about them.

  Joaquín dived quickly across the open ground to where one of his discarded Miquelet Lock guns lay. Ignacio, who stood rooted in terror with an elegant Ripoll pistol clutched in his badly shaking hand, raised it and aimed at the moving target. Both men fired at once, but only Joaquín hit his mark. The shot slammed into Ignacioʹs chest, knocking him against a tree trunk, where he slid slowly to earth as a large red stain spread across his shirt. Ignacio Valdéz could never abide the discomfort of armor.

  The Apache raiders, who had freed Morena from Conalʹs soldiers at the hacienda, poured into the orchard. With savage war cries, they fell upon the remnants of the two Spanish forces. The special troops from the capital who had escorted Ignacio were in disarray, but Conalʹs hardened presidials, having escaped the Apaches at the house, fought viciously. As his men raced across the garden into the orchard, the lieutenant who had held Orlena once more grabbed her before Joaquín could reach them. She kicked and bit as the leathercoat dragged her toward the cover of the trees.

  ʺHold, Night Wind, else your woman dies,ʺ he hissed, but Orlena twisted in his arms and knocked the gun away from her head. It discharged harmlessly into the air as she squirmed free and Joaquín pounced.

  The two men went down, her bloodied husband at a distinct disadvantage against a fresh opponent wearing armor, but Joaquín moved with amazing speed. Before the dazed soldier could free his cumbersome broadsword, Joaquínʹs knife had done its work, slashing cleanly across the lieutenantʹs throat.

  In a blur, the half‐caste sheathed his blade and rolled up. Grabbing Orlenaʹs wrist with one hand, he extracted the half‐freed sword from the dead manʹs scabbard.

  He held her behind him as he cut down another soldier, then dragged her in a fast trot toward the house, calling out in Lipan for his men to disengage and scatter.

  Conalʹs and Ignacioʹs soldiers still outnumbered the raiders even though the Apache had inflicted sizeable losses on them. The savages melted into the trees, leaving the leaderless Spanish in chaos.

  ʺWe must reach the corral where Warpaint and Morenaʹs best horses are kept.

  No one will catch us then,ʺ Joaquín said as he slipped into the kitchen and headed down the long hall toward the front door.

  ʺNo! I must find Ana first. We cannot leave her, Joaquín.ʺ Orlena struggled against his iron grip. He appeared to consider for an instant, thinking the child would not be noted or harmed until Bartolome could come for her, but one look at Orlenaʹs stricken face convinced him to relent. If any harm should befall Ana, he would never be forgivenor forgive himself.

  ʺWhere is she?ʺ he asked.

  ʺHer room is upstairs next to mine, but when she is frightened, I have found her in the cookʹs pantry, hiding with her kitten.ʺ

  Following the path of her eyes toward the narrow wooden door in the far corner of the kitchen, he moved toward it, never relinquishing his hold on Orlenaʹs wrist. ʺAna, it is Night Wind. Are you here, little one?ʺ he called softly as he opened the door. The creaking hinges and the kittenʹs squeal blended as a small body clutching the furball raced into Orlenaʹs arms.

  ʺI heard soldiers. Then Morena crying and cursing,ʺ she sobbed as Orlena tried to comfort her.

  Joaquín, who had finally released his hold on his wife, now scooped up the child with her kitten and called out, ʺFollow me quickly lest they find us, Lioness. I do not think either Conalʹs or your brotherʹs soldiers would be well disposed toward you right now!ʺ

  Chapter 26

  They rode for several hours, but no one pursued them. Once he was certain of their escape, Joaquín shifted their course from dead west, arcing back to the northeast.

  ʺCan we not go to Bartolome and warn him of what has happened?ʺ Orlena asked as they paused by a stream to drink and refresh themselves.

  ʺWith Conal and Ignacio dead, no one will bother Bartolome. I will send him word when we reach our destination,ʺ was all he would say as he picked up the sleeping child and carried her to his big piebald stallion. ʺCan you ride for another hour or so if we slow our pace, Lioness?ʺ he asked.

  ʺDo you care if I lose this child, too, Joaquín?ʺ The moment she spoke the words she wanted to call them back.

  His face, open with concern, shuttered closed, the expressionless Apache facade once more in place. ʺLeave it at this, wifeI care as much as you do.ʺ With that he kicked Warpaint into a slow canter, never looking b
ack as she mounted her gelding and followed him. When they reached the low flat area where underground springs bubbled up into a shallow lake, the rustle of short shaggy pines and tall grasses welcomed them. Exhausted, Orlena slid from her horse.

  She helped Joaquín dismount with Ana and her kitten, both soundly asleep, and took the bundle from him.

  Joaquín watched Orlena tenderly walk with the girl to the waterʹs edge and sponge her face to help her awaken. The golden woman and the small dark child murmured low in warm conversation, petting the kitten and laughing together as he built a fire. Feeling perversely left out and angry with his wife, he interrupted them, saying, ʺThis is womanʹs work. While I go in search of our dinner, tend this fire and get the cooking utensils from the saddle packs.ʺ

  Without a backward glance he strode away, carrying a length of finely braided rope for a snare.

  ʺWhere are we going, Orlena?ʺ Ana asked with a catch in her voice. ʺI will miss the school and the holy brothers, especially Father Bartolome.ʺ

  ʺSo shall I, little one, but I am certain Night Wind will take us somewhere safe where we shall be happy,ʺ Orlena assured the child, praying it would be so. At least where Ana will be happy.

  Dinner that evening was quiet, with Joaquín saying as little as possible except to talk with Ana about her kitten. To Orlena he only gave commands. Rather than create an ugly scene in front of the child, she followed his hateful if not unreasonable orders about making camp and preparing for the night. She and the child shared a bedroll with Sweet Singer. Joaquín slept alone.

  As they slowly wended their way north, the tenor of the journey did not improve. Five days out, they were rejoined by half a dozen of Joaquínʹs men at a prearranged rendezvous point. Hoarse Bark was still cold to Orlena, but the new Jicarilla recruit, Manuel, was friendly, as were the others, an odd mixture of Apaches and mixed bloods, all of whom held their leader in awe. That a Spanish noblewoman was his wife seemed in no way inappropriate to them, but they did not know the story of how Night Wind had secured his white woman, either, Orlena thought bitterly.