“I didn’t receive my gown. I’m still in my chemise from earlier.”
“Open the door.”
Slowly, she peered through a crack to see Solange’s smiling face… and lack of attire. She was dressed in ruffled pantaloons and a very elaborate corset that pushed her bosom up towards her chin. Sighing happily, she smiled.
“You are waiting for your dress, too?”
Solange’s laughter made Maggie’s skin crawl with dread as she began to realize exactly where she was. There would be no gowns or dresses. She was in a brothel, in a chemise and staring most likely at the madam.
“I am dressed and quite nicely, too,” she said, smirking once she finally stopped laughing. “You need to get out there, Chere. We have a few clients that are looking for a fresh face.”
“I can’t. You don’t understand.”
“I do, and everyone is nervous their first time.”
“I’m not a virgin anymore.”
“Good, then it will be easier for you. Just pretend it’s your love interest and fake it until he makes it, non?” she said with a grin. “The better you perform, the more you draw in. The house, moi, gets fifty percent of everything you earn. The rest you keep for yourself.”
“I don’t want to do –”
“Merde! Did you think any of us did?” Solange bit off, interrupting her. “This is what women do when they don’t want to marry, cook or wash clothes. You think this is what we wanted? No, this is how we succeed in this world. We give them ten or twenty minutes and clean their wallets out happily with a trick or two. The better the trick, the better the treat. See these pearl earbobs? That was a gift for when I –”
“No! Don’t tell me!” Maggie cut in, mortified. She knew her face was beet red with embarrassment at the callous way Solange was gesturing exactly what she’d done to earn her earrings.
“Fine, have it your way but you are expected downstairs. Bare minimum for room and board is two pieces of silver or approximately one lucky fellow. However you choose to get your coins, I don’t care. I just need my money by morning.”
“Solange, I don’t know if I can.”
“Try it, you might like it. C’est vrai?” she coaxed, linking her arm with Maggie’s trembling one. “Let’s find you someone who’s kind and gentle until you are ready for a bit more action. I won’t let them harm you.”
Maggie didn’t say a word. She was in shock realizing that she had run from this very situation and had come full circle. In England, she had fallen for a liar’s sweet words. And now, she would be used again to keep a roof over her head and food in her stomach.
Blinking, she realized that Solange had led her down the stairs already. A large room was alight with lamps and decorated quite lushly. Settees lined the walls and chairs surrounded tables where the men played cards. Several women were draped around them, caressing them and laughing in order to get their next client.
“Who’s your fancy, Chere?”
Stammering, she stared at Solange, shaking her head. None were her “fancy” and she didn’t want to be here. She watched in horror as the madam crooked her finger towards one portly man, inviting him over.
“Now, Edward, this little filly is new and a bit frightened. You’ll be good to her, right? I can count on you to show her a little gentleness?”
“Absolument, mon Coeur.” His squeaky voice grated Maggie’s nerves more so than Solange’s wicked, knowing smile. “Her room is the top right, at the very back.”
Her trembling hand was given to him, and he grasped it tightly, making her flinch. Maggie was certain that her legs would give out under her as she grasped the banister on the stairs. Clutching it, she felt herself being dragged up the stairs mindlessly as her body rebelled. Pulling back, she felt a sharp twist on her chin as Solange grabbed her face, pinching her cheeks hard.
“Go, get it over with. Collect your money and you are done for the night. If he backs out, we’ll have to find you another client.”
“I can’t,” Maggie breathed, clutching the banister in horror.
“You can – and you will. You’ll be fine.”
The man was ahead of her on the stairs, tugging at her hand. Solange pushed from behind and compelled Maggie’s shaking legs to move. She had to leave! She had to get out of here! Getting to the top of the stairs, she felt herself panting in panic. If she got in the room, could she climb out the window? How could she escape and get out of this mess? She had no other clothing and was certain that if she went out in the streets in a chemise she was sure to be in the same predicament. Ladies did not run around in dishabille.
Hearing her room door open, she felt Edward grab both of her arms and pull her mindlessly into the room. “No,” she gasped at the sound of the lock clicking behind him. Her small bed lay ahead of her and the walls were closing in. Her heart was hammering, and she began to feel like she was strangling at the waves of fear washing over her. Hot tears welled up and she looked at him. To her dismay, he rolled his eyes and began removing his belt.
Maggie was in complete terror now. As he bent over to remove his pants, she grabbed the first thing nearby to prevent him from touching her. A large, heavy, porcelain pitcher split into pieces as it connected with his balding head. She heard a small grunt as he dropped limply onto the plank floor.
“What have I done?” she whispered aloud, terrified. Did she kill him? What would he do if he woke up? What would Solange say to her knocking out a customer and still having no money? She had to leave, regardless of how she was dressed. She had to go! Kneeling next to him, she felt that he had breath coming from his mouth and breathed a small sigh of relief. Desperate, she shoved her hands into his pockets and removed any money from them. She found a small pistol tucked inside his pants and took that, too.
Hearing him groan, she stumbled away in fear. Glancing between the window and the door, she chose the door and squeezed through the small gap she was able to open from where he lay on her floor. Silently, she tiptoed down the back stairwell that she had come up yesterday with Solange. Hearing a roar from her room behind her, she bolted.
Flying down the last few stairs, she heard the commotion behind her. She ran as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her feet. Faceless people were shoved to the side as she moved towards the nearest horse tethered on the walkway. Regardless of the exposure, she lifted a bare foot into the stirrup and threw her other leg across the saddle, causing the chemise to ride up indelicately. She didn’t care! She had to escape!
“Get back here, you thief!”
“You slut, you can’t run off with my things!”
“Thief! Thief! Stop her!” Maggie heard screamed behind her from the windows and stairwell she had just exited. Kicking her heels into the horse’s flanks, she galloped quickly through the streets and felt a searing pain in her side. Leaning forward, she continued at her breakneck pace until the city was far behind her. The moon was the only light in the area and did little to hide her in the brilliant white chemise.
Giggling in hysteria, she realized that she had just run again. But this time, there was no ship. It was only her, a horse and the open landscape. She didn’t know where she was going, but it wasn’t back there! Taking inventory of herself, she found the small pistol only had one round and she had approximately six dollars wadded in her hand. The burning in her side had not decreased and she had assumed it was from her running down the street or from the panic she felt. Instead, looking down and touching her side, she saw blood soaking the material of her chemise.
“I’ve been shot?” she gasped aloud, surprised and amazed. A sudden weakness came over her as the rush of adrenaline wore off. Leaning forward, she patted the side of the horse’s neck encouragingly. “Keep going, dear friend. I won’t go back.”
Maggie rode for quite some time, nodding off and on throughout the night as she traveled slowly. She had no idea where she was going and didn’t care. When she came upon a house, a small town or a camp that might have a doctor, she might stop…
or perhaps not. She was simply afraid.
The next evening, she had stopped the horse when they came upon a large lake in order to drink. She and the horse both needed a break. The paranoia and fear that kept her going was now exhausted. The blood on her chemise had turned a dark brown as it dried and had stained quite a bit of the fabric. She had no idea how injured she was, only that it ached horribly. Letting the horse graze for a while, she peered down at her sunburned arms and touched her tender nose. If she didn’t find shelter, a hat or something soon, her side wouldn’t be the only thing aching. Seeing a snake swimming in the water, she climbed back on the horse regretfully.
“I think we are done here,” she murmured and pulled the reins away from where he ate. She continued riding and she realized that she had not paid any attention whatsoever if someone had been following her. She hoped that was not the case but would be on the lookout to see if anyone crept up behind her. The penalty in England for horse theft was a severe flogging or hanging. She could only assume that was the case here as well.
“Maggie Davies, fallen woman and horse thief,” she whispered to the night sky, tears stinging her eyes. “You’ve mucked this up, Maggie-girl. Childish dreams and fear have you in this horrible mess.” She wasn’t sure how she would get out of this situation, but she needed a fresh start where she could be who she wanted and have freedom.
Sighing, she laid her head on the horse’s neck yet again as she felt exhausted. “Take me where I’ll be safe, dear friend. You’ve already saved me once.” She patted his coarse coat, marveling at the feeling of the muscles moving smoothly under her hand. “Keep going and I shall trust your instincts for mine have been quite wrong recently.”
Three
Checking the strap on the saddle, Anthony Mejia was preparing for yet another journey. He had been asked to help out at Camp Sabine and now there was a demand for him at Fort Defiance. He was a doctor or had grown to become one over the years as need demanded. This had caused him to travel for quite some time.
He had not had a chance to return to his small homestead that he had set up outside of San Antonio de Bexar. He had planned to go back and settle down at some point, however, over the last four years it had not happened. There was too much turmoil. Too many injuries and battles. It seemed like regardless that the war was long over, there were still fights and skirmishes.
Now, there was yet another war brewing on the horizon. This time, it affected his homeland. He was Tejano and had grown up in the area. Texas had been Spanish and now was currently part of Mexico. Long ago, they were French. It was prime, rich, undeveloped land that was as wild and free as the people that lived there.
The Texians did not care to be a part of Mexico, Spain or any other country. They wanted to stand on their own, hence they were hunkering down and prepping for battle. Independence was being whispered for any who would listen, and he heard the call loud and clear.
Fort Defiance, or better known as Presidio la Bahia, would be a major route for ammunitions and supplies. Fannin was there, and it was well known that he would be vital to the upcoming fight. He had met Fannin years ago and was stunned by the polished intensity that was held in check inside of him. It was like seeing a fireball being corralled, and God help us all if he was ever let loose.
Others were on the way to the area and that is how he knew that war would be upon them soon. Rumor was that William B. Travis and even Congressman Davy Crockett was on the way to La Segunda Compañía Volante de San Carlos del pueblo del Alamo, better known as El Alamo. The mission was used for storage and was a stop for many travelers. The gathering would be for discussions on how to best proceed with their independence.
If major players were heading down into the body of Texas, he knew things would be coming to a head sooner rather than later. And now, he himself would be heading into the thick of it all, heeding the call of his homeland. Slapping a hat on his dark head, he checked his gun and shoved it back in the holster. He was a doctor, but he wasn’t a naïve one.
“Grab some more bullets, as many as you can. String, needles and another pack of cotton, too,” he barked out to a young boy that was bringing him supplies. His saddlebags were full, but if a battle was coming he would need more than any bag could hold.
“On second thought, I will take two horses. Load up another with as many supplies as possible. Water, whiskey and more rifles.” He carelessly flipped a coin towards the boy. “There are four more if you are done quickly.” He had no desire to travel at night, but if he was loaded down with supplies, as he felt deep in his gut he should be, then it would be best to go under the cover of darkness to prevent himself from being robbed or killed. He would do the men of the cause no good if he ended up dead before he could try to prevent their deaths.
Riding out a short time later, he pulled his hat down low over his brow at the intense heat of the summer sun. It was an ill-timed departure, heading out before sunset, but he would have no choice. Both horses loaded down were sure to be slow going. He would be in the most danger for the next few hours and was prepared to keep a sharp eye out for any signs of being followed. Adjusting his seat in the saddle, he tucked a knife deep in his boot and pulled his rifle onto his lap. Leaning over, he tied the other reins to his saddle horn and said a quick prayer.
Dios, llevame a donde mas me necessitan y protegenos a todos. Amen! He finished, kissing the small crucifix tucked in his shirt. His prayer was simple: lead him to where he was needed and protect them all from what is coming. He rode alertly through the night under the moonlit sky without stopping until he noticed something ahead on the ground near a horse. Drawing his gun, he pulled to a stop and waited.
Maggie had ridden another long day in the incredible heat. She wondered how people got by living in such a hot, humid environment. Back home in England, it would get warm but nothing could compare to this. She could see waves of heat coming up from the ground as she traveled along. Her face was scalding hot as well as her exposed hands. Her side was now throbbing and it hurt to move. It was hell trying to stay on the horse and she believed she was beginning to hallucinate. It was breezy, and she could have sworn that the trees were whispering to her, calling her name. The water she craved, turned out to be swampy pools of stagnant water. There were strange plants here that left prickles on her hands if she touched them. It was as if she were entering some eerie, hellish environment. The lush trees with the vines dripping from them were gone in lieu of grassy flatlands and spiky plants.
“Bloody hell, it’s so hot here I feel like I’m turning on a spit, don’t you?” she asked the horse and noticed that her voice was garbled. “Roasting. Roooooosting. Roosting? No, ro-ast-ting,” she repeated, testing the word on her thick tongue and frowning that it sounded like she said toast. “Ah yes, I’m toasting alive, my valiant steed.” She giggled hysterically at how nasally it sounded and pushed her thick, blond hair back from her forehead.
“I think that at the next pond, lake, river or whatever we find, we should stop and have ourselves a good rest until we cool down,” she whispered and collapsed, sliding off the horse’s back. Landing with a hard thud on the ground, she felt several needles embed themselves in her tender, raw skin. Instead of moving from her painful landing, she let out her breath in a whoosh and shut her eyes. She was so hot and so very tired. “Rest, my friend, just don’t leave me here,” she muttered aloud before fainting.
Maggie stirred at the cold water that was drowning her so suddenly. She still hurt and it was still hot, but the water was infinitely refreshing.
“Shhh. Drink it slowly or you’ll be sick,” she heard a deep voice croon towards her and she swallowed obediently. The water was so cool and it felt as if her throat were being iced down from the inside out. Nodding her head to get the flow of water to stop, she gasped for air and breathed heavy for a few minutes. Her eyes were having a hard time opening as she tried to peer at whoever was helping her.
“Rest, pequena diosa roja. You need more water and I need to p
ull you free from the cactus.”
“What did you call me? What is a cactus?” she asked with a grimace, keeping her eyes firmly shut against the bright moonlight. Everything was hurting; her eyes, her skin, her body. She hated this place and what it was doing to her. “Where am I?”
“You are in Texas and cactus is that painful bed you are lying in.” She heard a rumble of laugher that washed over her. Normally, she would have been angry, but the voice reminded her of a warm fire on a cold day. It was heady and comforting. “Take another sip, diosa, and we’ll get you out of the cactus.” After several drinks, she nodded once again, acknowledging that she needed a break.
“I need to move you, so I can take a look at your injuries. It will hurt,” the voice told her quietly and pushed something towards her face. “Bite down on this if you need to keep from screaming.”
Trying to crack an eye to see what it was, she gave up and nodded once slowly. This caused pain at the back of her neck, making her flinch. Opening her mouth, she tasted leather and bit down hard as she felt hands under her arms. She wanted to raise them up in order to help but she had no strength.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m sorry. But it will be better soon.” Maggie felt a great pulling and tearing sensation as her body pulled free from the cactus needles. She clenched and bit down hard, but a faint groan escaped from behind the leather in her mouth. She felt her limp body being carefully moved and then found herself lying face down in cool grass. Breathing a sigh of relief, she found the canteen at her mouth once again. She raised her head towards the canteen obediently, knowing relief was forthcoming. This time, it wasn’t the cool refreshing water, but a fiery concoction that burned a trail to her belly.
“Bloody hell! That’s awful stuff,” she gasped as warmth began to roll through her body, making her body feel perfectly languid. She heard that deep rumble of mirth and felt herself want to smile, but her cheeks hurt so badly. “Ouch,” she admitted to whoever was there.
Fallen Bride: A Historical Western Romance (Bride books Book 6) Page 2
