Shadow of the Fox

by Pamela Gibson

  But with her powerful friend, Abel Stearns, in San Diego there was no one left who might be able to intercede. She was not acquainted with Gillespie or Bidwell or any of the other Americans in the pueblo. They would turn her away without a formal introduction from one of their own.

  She’d signed her formal statement clearing Grainger of the kidnapping charge initially brought by Grandfather at Santoro’s goading. And she now knew why Mitchell’s presence was so important. A dispatch from Monterey had confirmed his identity and his assignment to report on the mood and loyalties of the hidalgos. There was no record of his orders to track Santoro. Apparently no one except Mitchell and Grainger knew the depths of Santoro’s involvement in arming and training rebels to resist the Americans. But when Captain Sutherland’s men had seen the artillery in the cow camp barn, he’d decided to help him.

  She would never forget Grainger’s look as he pleaded with her to leave, to allow him the dignity of not having his beloved witness his humiliation. As she left, she’d learned a decision about Grainger’s military status would be made tomorrow.

  So little time.

  He was good and honorable—a patriot.

  She bit hard on her lower lip, tasting blood. The candle, the only light in the room, held her gaze, mesmerizing her. She desperately wanted to be near him during his ordeal. He needed her. And she needed him.

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, in spite of the paralyzing dread that kept her in the chair. They knew each other so well now. Those moments of doubt, when she was skeptical of his love, were firmly behind her.

  Breath escaped and her shoulders shook. She did not want to go home. But Grainger was right. He didn’t need any other worries.

  The light outside was gone and soon Isabella would awaken. Sorina squared her shoulders, dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and shifted her gaze to Maria, sitting quietly in the corner of the room, awaiting instructions from her mistress.

  “Why don’t you order a tray sent up in an hour? Isabella will be ready to eat when she gets up.”

  “Yes, señorita.”

  “And light more candles. It’s too dark in here.”

  Maria stood and found the matches. “Is there anything else you wish?”

  What do I wish? For the clock to be wound back, for the months to be restored? For Grainger to have refused me when I first threatened him?

  It was far too late to think about what might have been. She should have embraced her fate and left him alone.

  Grainger was not dishonorable. She was.

  Sorina shook her head. “Wait. There is something. Before you go, could you bring me my rosary? The one Tía Consuelo gave me? It’s in a pocket of my reticule.”

  She’d never been one to pray, except when required . . . in church or during marriage or burial masses. She was raised a Catholic, even though her father had been Anglican. To own land in California, he had been required by the government to embrace Catholicism, and to become a Mexican citizen. He had once told her that both believed in the same God. That’s what was important.

  Sorina hoped so. Divine intervention was all she had left.

  ~ ~ ~

  Grainger stretched out on the cot and cleared his mind of his troubles. Instead, he thought about his childhood. He and his father had not lived together once he was old enough for boarding school. The sons of diplomats went away for their education. Some went to England. His school was in New York, where his grandparents lived.

  A warm memory swept over him. A man sat behind an ornate desk, his quill pen scratching away on paper. His hair was straight and white and his eyes hard. He was a man one didn’t want to know on first meeting. But Grainger remembered a sharp wit and unexpected kindness . . . like the time he took him to an exclusive men’s club in the heart of New York, allowing him to sit quietly in the corner while his grandfather conducted business. Afterward, Grandfather had quizzed him about what he’d heard and learned from the experience. It was his first lesson in diplomacy . . . the art of listening carefully and making deductions from the conversations.

  His grandfather had been the role model in his life. An absentee parent was someone you treated with respect and distance, hoping for a pat on the head or an occasional smile of approval. His grandfather had been privy to his confidences and his fears.

  I’m glad he’s gone. He couldn’t have endured a second shame.

  His thoughts turned to Sorina.

  She’d survive. He wished he’d known Sorina’s father. He must have been a brave soul to leave England, probably in defiance of his family, and travel the world.

  That’s what I wanted to be. A sea captain.

  The door opened and the skinny guard came in. “This is your day for visitors, it seems. You have another.”

  Sutherland strode through the open door. “Look what I found lurking at headquarters.”

  “Well, laddie. I guess this is your lucky day.” Mitchell limped in behind him.

  Grainger nearly choked as his throat closed and his breath stilled. Sputtering, he jumped up and glared at his lost comrade. “Where the hell have you been you—”

  “Now, now. Is that any way to greet the gent whose goin’ ta get you out of this mess?” Mitchell leered. “Can’t deprive a certain lady of your pretty face, can we now.”

  Captain Sutherland laughed out loud.

  Grainger expelled his breath, his hands on the back of a chair, afraid to let go for fear he’d slump to the floor. “Tell me you were kidnapped at knifepoint and held captive while you trained a horse for a race somewhere. Better yet, tell me you were wounded and recovering in a hellhole in the desert. Just don’t say you were enjoying the body of some floozy and lost your way.”

  Mitchell lit a cheroot and blew a perfect smoke ring into the air. His grin was infectious, given the weight that began to lift from Grainger’s shoulders. He was here. It was not an apparition that stood before him, a figment of a dream. Mitchell . . . flesh and blood . . . stood before him, acting like it was Christmas and he was St. Nicholas, bearing gifts.

  “Ha! I wish it had been the latter. But you see, when I heard the Army was taking its time to get to San Diego I got orders for us to head back to Monterey. Unfortunately, I got into a little altercation along the way and got slapped into a jail cell in Santa Barbara. A kind fellow from Rancho de Los Lagos, looking for another gent, sprung me and told me to come back here. Don’t know how he knew I was there, but the Mexican authorities had vamoosed and left me and a Frenchman to rot. It was a near thing, laddie. I found myself a good horse and I’ve been on the trail ever since.”

  “Your timing was a bit lacking.”

  “Was it, now?” Mitchell cleared his throat and looked squarely at Grainger. “From what this lad tells me, you’ve had quite an adventure. I’ll need to hear that tale over a pint of whiskey.”

  Grainger’s focus changed to Sutherland. “Can’t you get me out of here now? Do I still have to face the charge of conduct unbecoming an officer?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid you do. But you can rest easy tonight. By tomorrow night, you’ll be awaiting orders with the rest of us. You’ll probably be put on a ship heading north. We’ll stay here. An attack is imminent. Every man is needed.”

  “But there’s someone I must see.”

  “Ah yes.” Mitchell smirked. “Your sister, is it? Didn’t know you had a sister, laddie. Her name wouldn’t be Sorina Braithwaite, would it?” He turned to Sutherland. “You acquainted with that little baggage?”

  “I am.”

  “Then maybe I need to share that whiskey with you, first.”

  Grainger wanted to dance a jig, but his body had been too long carrying a burden and was rebelling.

  “You okay, laddie? You look a bit gray.”

  “I’m . . .
fine. I just need . . . to concentrate on breathing in and out.”

  “Then we’ll leave you to do that,” said Sutherland. “We need to find the commander and inform him of Mitchell’s arrival.”

  Grainger swallowed several times. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” Sutherland said. “Can’t lose good men, now, can we. Sure you don’t want to become a Marine? I could use you.”

  “Ask me tomorrow. Right now I need to wrap my head around what’s happened.”

  “And right you are to do it, laddie.” He blew another smoke ring. “As they say, see you in court.”

  The two left, leaving Grainger to the silence of the room. He lay back down on the cot, aware of tightness in his throat. His savior was Mitchell, but Mitchell’s savior was someone from Sorina’s ranch. How was it that a ranch hand from Rancho de Los Lagos was in Santa Barbara?

  Sorina’s hand was in this.

  He loved her, he wanted to marry her, and this time, he would not take no for an answer.

  Chapter 42

  It was nightfall when Sorina and Isabella walked into the sala of Rancho de Los Lagos. Dinner was long past and Uncle Gabriel, Grandfather, and Tía Consuelo were in the drawing room. Tía was reading her Bible and the men were discussing cattle prices over glasses of port.

  Three pairs of eyes looked up when they entered, weary and disheveled from the long journey which had started before sunrise.

  Uncle Gabriel was the first to rise, folding Sorina into his arms. She wanted to cry, but was numb from worry and lack of sleep. She couldn’t speak. Isabella mumbled behind her.

  “We don’t know anything. It will be a few days before word will reach here.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “Not well. I want to put her to bed immediately.”

  They were talking about her, but Sorina was too tired to protest. She stood back as Tía Consuelo approached.

  “Come, child. Lean on me and we’ll walk to the corridor together. Isabella can take your other arm. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Sorina nodded, her tongue thick in her mouth. Tía Consuelo seemed to have recovered and that should have made her smile. But all she could think about was sleep.

  Standing between Isabella and her great-aunt, Sorina put one foot in front of her and plodded toward the corridor. The door to her room stood open. Maria had already prepared the bed and laid out her nightgown. There would be no washing up tonight.

  Grateful for the support, Sorina let the women tend her. When they finished, she lay down in her bed and closed her eyes. Grainger’s face . . . laughing, tender, tight with passion . . . came into view.

  She sighed as the women said goodnight. Only Maria remained.

  “Would you like me to leave the candle burning?”

  “No. I need the darkness.”

  Maria blew out the candle and closed the door behind her. Sorina’s weary body sank into the feather mattress. She was floating on a cloud, cradled by tufts of white that carried her through the sky. She let her brain go blank and concentrated on the feeling.

  I’ll see him again.

  ~ ~ ~

  The garrison commander had not taken long to make a decision. Mitchell, in a borrowed military uniform, told him about their quest to trap Santoro, to spy on his activities, and to thwart his team of insurgents, who were part of a larger group still creating headaches for the new American regime.

  He told him of their plan to aid Sorina in her flight, guessing Santoro’s ego would stall his activities while he followed his errant fiancée. Grainger tried to keep her safe, but Santoro had tracked them down and ultimately captured both.

  Santoro was dead, killed in the ensuing gunfight. Miss Braithwaite had been returned to her family unharmed.

  Grainger sat stoically through it all. Earlier, he had told Mitchell the entire story, but together they had decided on what would be left out. No need to give details that would compromise Sorina any more than she already was. A runaway bride was not tolerated by her peers. As it was, she would be shunned and condemned.

  Until I marry her.

  The commander was young. No military men trained in the law were available in California. But he was smart, asking probing questions related to the mission which Mitchell could answer. Sutherland, the first on the scene in Santoro’s camp, corroborated what he could, as did the man from San Diego who had also turned up. In the end, the commander ruled no crime had been committed and no dishonor had occurred. Grainger was released.

  He was given new orders. They were still at war, although much of the opposition had fled to Mexico.

  “You are to accompany Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell back to Monterey,” Sutherland said.

  “Is there any chance I can have a few days off first?” He assumed it was a futile request, but he had to try.

  “I’m afraid not. We’re expecting an attack and you’re heading out while you still can. A ship awaits in Santa Barbara to take you both north.”

  “But . . .” Mitchell’s elbow in his ribs warned him not to argue. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  They left headquarters and mounted fresh horses. The sun was bright, but Grainger felt no warmth.

  “You’re missing her, aren’t you, laddie?”

  “She’ll worry.”

  “Not for long. I saw that servant of hers . . . Pablo . . . hanging around. He’ll be heading home to give her the news.”

  Pablo was here? “Do you think he’s still around?” If Grainger couldn’t see her, at least he could send her a note.

  “Last I saw, he was heading over to that fancy new hotel.”

  Grainger turned in his saddle to face the Irishman. “Do I have time to see if he’s still there? He probably left his gear in the stable while he was waiting for the outcome.”

  Mitchell waved his arm in the direction of the hotel. “Go find him, for Chrissake. There’ll be no peace for me until you find out if he’s already gone.”

  “I owe you.”

  “Damn right.”

  Grainger spurred his horse down the street toward the Union Hotel. Its stable opened onto the street behind and was a hub of activity. Several horses were being hitched to carriages and piles of luggage waited to be loaded. People were leaving the pueblo. Maybe word was out that the rebels were making another run at retaking the city.

  Dismounting, Grainger searched the faces of the men in the courtyard. Not seeing the one he wanted, he walked into the building. The man at the front desk perused his uniform before giving him his full attention. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “It’s Lieutenant. Miss Sorina Braithwaite was staying here. I know she’s departed, but I thought I saw her servant in the courtyard. Would you know if he’s still here?”

  The man frowned. “Has he done something wrong?”

  “No. I need to see him before he leaves.”

  “Check with John Gilbert. He’s the man stationed in front of the hotel. He’ll know.”

  “Thank you.” Grainger hurried back outside, found the man in ostentatious bright yellow livery, and made his request. Pablo had gone, but only five minutes before.

  Taking the main road out of town at a gallop, Grainger caught up with a lone rider. As he approached, Pablo slowed, as if to let him pass. Pulling up beside him, Grainger grabbed the horse’s bridle and they both stopped.

  “Señor Lobo, is that you? I didn’t recognize you.”

  “It is.”

  “Congratulations, señor. I hear you are still in your service.”

  “I am.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to send a note to Señorita Braithwaite, but I haven’t any writing paper. Can you deliver a message for me?”

  “Of course. I know she is very wor
ried.”

  “Tell her I have been reassigned to join Admiral Geary in Monterey.”

  “I will.”

  “And Pablo?”

  “Si?”

  “Tell her I love her and I will come back for her as soon as I can.”

  He wanted to tell her himself. He’d held his breath and pictured her beautiful face while the judge advocate read his decision. And once his breath was expelled, his eyes had closed and all he could think about was going to Sorina, crushing her in his arms, and never letting her go. But he was still in the Navy, and his life belonged to his government.

  But not his heart.

  “I will tell her, señor. She is like her mother: strong willed and loyal. She will wait for you.”

  “Thank you, Pablo. Safe journey.”

  Grainger watched Pablo move away until he was little more than an ant on the horizon.

  Chapter 43

  April 1847, Rancho de Los Lagos

  The ocean was gray as far as the eye could see, blending with the sky at the horizon. Sorina sat behind her favorite circle of boulders, watching the waves curl and break, sending a flood of water rushing onshore.

  The sound soothed her, its cadence and regularity bringing her peace and hope.

  She came here when the pain in her heart was too great to ignore, when her longing for Lance drove reason from her mind. He was alive and still had his precious honor. That’s all she should care about.

  It isn’t enough. I want him here.

  She sank her fingers into the sand and allowed herself to dream. They were on the small boat taking them downwind to San Luis Rey. Stars filled the sky with pinpricks of light, and a soft breeze caressed them as they huddled together for warmth.

  Filling her lungs with the brisk air, she ignored the ache her memories caused, the involuntary tightening of her breasts against the soft cloth of the peon’s shirt she wore. She cherished every memory, every deed, every hour she had spent with Lance Grainger, even though she had not heard from him in months.