Spellbound Trilogy: The Wind Casts No Shadow, Heart of the Jaguar, Shadows in the Mirror

by Jeanne Rose

  "Dammit, she's my woman!"

  The last words out of his mouth before a fist closed it for him.

  SHE WAS SEEING A GHOST. That's the conclusion Louisa drew when Javier's fist crashed into the stranger's face. For he had to be a stranger. A ghost that was a weird-looking version of the only man she'd ever loved.

  "Sam?" she whispered.

  It couldn't be.

  But she ran to the side of the downed man anyway.

  Javier tried to stop her. "Louisa –"

  "Not now!" she cried, pushing him away to get a better view.

  Staring down at the barely conscious man – at the grubby blue wool shirt, the stringy lackluster hair, the beard-stubbled face, the wicked-looking scar that ran from the corner of his left eye down to his jaw – Louisa tried telling herself she was wrong. This couldn't be the pretty tin soldier she'd fallen in love with.

  He couldn't be.

  "Sam Strong?" she called, hoping against hope she was wrong.

  When he turned his gaze on her, she was certain of it. While his eyes might be blue-green, she saw none of the confidence she remembered, none of the pride, only a haunted expression that chilled her. Then, as he rose to his elbows, the eyes focused on her, and for a brief moment cleared.

  And she knew.

  "Louisa? My God, is that really you?"

  Following pure instinct in answer, Louisa drew her arm back and punched Samuel Strong in the jaw as hard as she could. His head whipped back and hit the floor with a thud for a second time in as many minutes.

  And this time he was out cold for sure.

  "Chica, what has this man done to you?" Adolpho demanded as he pulled her to her feet.

  Bear claw swinging against her chest as she straightened, Louisa said, "He took away my life."

  West Texas

  MONTE RYERSON played with the leather thong holding the bear claw he wore for courage and protection as he re-read the account of the dead men.

  Sitting here in his own ranch house more than a thousand miles and twenty years from the battlefield, ghosts of the past haunted him.

  MUTILATIONS MOUNT read the headline in the San Antonio Star. The article focused on the last body found west of San Antonio. The sixth body in the past few months discovered with the heart ripped out. The first had been in New Orleans, in the French Quarter. The other four had been found along the trail between the two cities.

  No, the first had been on a battlefield in Spotsylvania, Monte remembered.

  But that had been twenty-two years before.

  Monte visualized the horror as if it had happened yesterday. The Union officer would have killed him if Captain Beaufort Montgomery hadn't intervened. Only fifteen at the time, Monte had first been grateful to have his life spared, then horrified when the captain had cut out the man's heart...and while he was still alive.

  The captain's cousin Lamar had led the madman away, saying he would take good care of Beaufort, who'd then been taken to an asylum in New Orleans. Monte had never spoken to anyone of the atrocity he'd seen that day, except at a Union hearing right after the war.

  Now Montgomery had escaped and was running amuck cutting people's hearts out. Because Monte could identify Montgomery, who was in the area, more or less, the Army wanted him to help one of their officers stop the man before he started another war, his soldiers peasants and Indians.

  What could Monte do but agree? It seemed destiny decried that he would once more come face-to-face with the madman who had saved his life.

  El Catorce, Mexico

  "YOUR DESTINY DEPENDS on the pleasure of the gods," Beaufort told Tezco and Xosi in his quarters, while his growing following gathered in the plaza. "I am Quetzalcoatl, and I will save you from destruction. Our journey starts tomorrow."

  "Where are we going?" Xosi asked, her hazel eyes enticing.

  Beaufort steeled himself against her beauty, a difficult charge considering he'd gone more than two decades without a woman.

  "Most of the force will journey with me west to the mountains, to the site of the hidden pyramid," he said, focusing his attention on her brother. "We will pick up more converts along the way and our troops will swell."

  "You said most," said Tezco.

  "Some of the others, including your group, will form search parties for the missing parts of the wheel. You shall bring back the topmost section which resides in an ancient site, amidst the ruins of a pueblo appropriately named Aztec. In New Mexico Territory."

  "If you go west and we head north, how shall we find you?" Tezco asked.

  "I have drawn out a map." Beaufort handed over a piece of paper. "Including the path that you should take to the ruins." He pointed to an X. "Your piece of the wheel lies here."

  An expression Beaufort couldn't read flicked over the younger man's sharp features. "This had better not be a fool's journey."

  "If you want proof, look into your mirror." Believe in Tezcalipoca, the god of the north. He was fully aware that Tezco Baca still hadn't accepted his true destiny. As an additional enticement, however, he pulled forth an ancient, ornate dagger that he'd collected long ago. The blade was obsidian; the handle a snarling jaguar formed of jade and gold. "There will be far more of this in the Tesoreria."

  Beaufort could tell Tezco was impressed as the younger man examined the treasure. Once Tezcalipoca made his presence felt, such trinkets would not be necessary.

  "The ceremonies will start as soon as all search parties return. You shall take your place as leader of the sacred order of Jaguar Knights, with those warriors you deem brave as your minions. For their initiations, of course, you must personally take at least four worthwhile captives on your journey."

  Tezco frowned. "Captives?"

  "We need slaves, true?" Xosi said, circling Beaufort too close for his own comfort. "Better strangers dig for this treasury."

  "Not slaves," Beaufort interrupted, forcing his mind away from her natural sensuality and onto the plan. "Sacrifice. In creating the world, the gods gave their hearts and their blood to the sun. Similar sacrifices must be made to appease them. We will especially need our strength to do battle with the forces of the night so that we will see another sunrise once the earthquakes begin."

  He wouldn't detail the nature of these sacrifices just yet. Even the initiated might squirm at the idea of ripping a beating heart from the chest of a worthy opponent. And the thought of dividing the body for ritualistic consumption might be enough to drive them away altogether. No, this information could wait, Beaufort decided.

  "How does one judge whether or not a captive is worthwhile?" Tezco asked.

  "Why, you must choose the ones with the bravest hearts." An irony, indeed.

  His gaze encountered Xosi's surging breasts. Too bad he had to remain celibate at all costs. Giving into his baser nature had banished Quetzalcoatl from Mexico centuries ago. He couldn't allow this to happen again, no matter how much he was tempted.

  He sent Tezco and Xosi on their way, then called in a young couple who had been recently married. Settling himself in his comfortable chair in front of the fire, he told them what he wanted them to do for him.

  Maybe he had to remain celibate himself.

  That didn't mean he couldn't watch.

  Northern New Mexico

  FOR THE FIRST TIME in six years, Louisa cursed herself for having remained celibate since her one night with Sam. If she'd shared her body and feelings with other men, she wouldn't be consumed with thoughts of him now.

  Luckily she had the horses to keep her busy. Working with them would help her forget the emotions that had raged through her the day before. Thank God Sam Strong hadn't come to by the time she'd left the Blue Sky Palace or she would have had to face him in truth.

  Still, as she worked with the mare who was coming along the fastest – not only was she able to ride the pretty paint, she was already taking the mare through the various gaits – Louisa couldn't help wondering what Sam was doing in Santa Fe and how fast he'd be gone this time. Ma
ybe he'd already left. He'd been so drunk, he surely wouldn't remember seeing her. Not that he cared anyway.

  If he had, he would never have said what he did.

  Naked and a little shy, Louisa relaxed into Sam's side, more content than she ever had been in her sixteen years. She'd finally learned what making love with a man was all about. And while it had been scary, it had also been wonderful, and, most of all, inevitable. For Lieutenant Samuel Strong was her heart. And amazingly, Sam loved her, too. He'd told her so. Several times.

  Sighing, she snuggled in closer to his manly warmth, and though he wrapped his arm around her more fully, he seemed oddly stiff as if something were troubling him.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked.

  "I did tell you I love you." Hoping to loosen him up, she poked him in the side, but he didn't react.

  "I meant that you were a...that this was your..."

  "My what?"

  "First time," he growled softly. "That you were a virgin."

  She stiffened. "Of course it was my first time." How could he think otherwise?

  Realizing exactly how, Louisa grew sick inside. No doubt Sam had heard talk about her and knew about Ma's being the madam of The Gentlemen's Club. He must think...

  "If I had known..."

  "What? You wouldn't have touched me?" Refusing to look at him, Louisa pulled herself free and scrambled for the protection of her clothing. "You thought I was a harlot!" she cried, fumbling with her undergarments. Then why had he lied? Why had he told her he loved her?

  His visage darkened. "I never said that!"

  "You didn't have to." She was crushed, fighting tears. "You assumed you weren't my first lover. Then what does that make me?"

  "A beautiful vibrant nineteen year old woman with normal desires."

  Reminded that she'd lied about her age, Louisa grew even more defensive. "Sam Strong, you're...you're a stupid man." As if she would satisfy her desires with just anyone! Desires she hadn't known she had before meeting him. "I wish to God I'd never met you!"

  "Louisa, be reasonable..."

  But she hadn't been reasonable. She'd been broken-hearted and a broken-hearted sixteen-year-old didn't know how to be reasonable. She'd hurriedly dressed and had spent the rest of the night huddled against the cold wall crying to herself, hoping against hope that Sam would comfort her, would reassure her that he truly did love her.

  Instead, Sam Strong had stayed as far away from her as possible.

  And then in the morning, they'd been rescued by Frances and Chaco. Shortly after, Sam had been transferred to Fort Sill and had left Santa Fe for good.

  Until now.

  As if reliving that night in the cave conjured him, Sam appeared before her, seemingly out of nowhere. He stood near the gate, staring at her. She hadn't even heard him ride up.

  For a moment, she caught her breath as her gaze traced every nuance of the face that she had once loved. The face that had changed so greatly. It wasn't the scar that made the difference. Indians considered scars badges of bravery, and she guessed the Comanche in her did, too. Besides, it didn't take away from his looks. He was still incredibly handsome, but in a flawed, world-weary way that had nothing to do with what she suspected was a healed knife wound. He was only twenty-nine, but he looked far older. And his eyes held that haunted look again, as if they had seen terrible things he didn't want to live with.

  Or couldn't.

  Not a trace of the pretty tin soldier remained.

  She tried to ignore him and her own unacceptable reaction to his presence, continuing to work the mare as if he weren't even there.

  Obviously unwilling to be ignored, Sam called, "You still are the finest horsewoman I've ever seen."

  Her answer was stiff. "Then you haven't seen anything."

  Putting a mostly tamed mare through her paces was nothing compared to what she would be doing at the charreada the following Saturday.

  "I'd rather watch you than any other woman any day of the week."

  "Hah!"

  Her concentration shattered, Louisa grew sloppy. Sensing her inattention, the mare broke gait and tore around the corral like she'd stumbled into a hornet's nest. Damn it all! This never happened to her. Cursing Sam for probably the millionth time, Louisa kept her seat and her head, let the mare run off some steam before showing her who was boss.

  "Easy now."

  Louisa used her legs more than the reins to control her mount. Out on the range, a cowboy often needed both hands to rope a steer, so the horses were taught to obey leg signals. Not that this mare had them down pat yet, but she was learning almost as fast as El Tigre.

  As Louisa regained control, they passed Sam, who said, "See what I mean?" An admiring grin was attached to his lips and his eyes fairly glowed.

  Louisa frowned and chose to end the session early, lest Sam do something to unnerve her for real and therefore ruin her still-fragile rapport with the animal. She dismounted and led the mare to the gate.

  Sam got there first.

  Heart pounding ridiculously, she stared at him through the split rails. Stared into those beautiful blue-green eyes. Then pushed by him when he undid the gate for her.

  She didn't say a word, merely went about her business as though he didn't exist. But he did exist. He silently dogged her steps while she removed the mare's tack and cooled her down, then groomed her and set her back into her pasture. She'd been planning on working with another horse but gave up the idea as being useless. Resigned, she locked the pasture gate and turned to her unexpected visitor. No matter her inclination, she couldn't ignore him forever.

  So, hands anchored on her hips, she faced him down. "What exactly do you want here?"

  "To see if you were real."

  "I can show you," she said, holding out a fist threateningly.

  He grinned and moved close enough so she could smell the liquor on his breath. Had he had to fortify himself to find the courage to face her or did he always start his mornings with a drink now?

  Louisa backed up, saying, "You smell worse than a sweaty horse. And whiskey doesn't help solve anyone's problems."

  "Sometimes it does."

  "Are you a drunk? Is that why you look like...that?"

  She'd made fun of the old Sam, but right now, staring at the seedy man before her – stringy hair slicked back beneath a grimy Stetson, shirt that had seen better days – she wished that pretty tin soldier would make a magical appearance. This Sam was dissipated, falling apart. Looking like he did was enough to break her heart all over again.

  "Sometimes a man has to drink to forget–”

  "What? You surely don't mean me." Louisa laughed and turned her back on him.

  He grabbed her arm and spun her around. "Life can be hard on a man!"

  Strong for a woman considering how physical her work was, she tried to wrench her arm free, but Sam was still stronger. She stood facing him, whether she would or no, fuming, trying to hang onto her dignity.

  "You're not the only one who's had tough times, Samuel Strong!" she shouted.

  "You have no idea of what I've seen and done to survive the last couple of years."

  "I didn't exactly have an easy time of it myself."

  Being looked down upon by just about everyone and tortured by her classmates because she was a breed. Seeing men hanged for rustling when she was a small girl. Having half the town think she was the one who'd murdered a former suitor and his brother. Running away because she'd feared the townspeople would form a vigilante committee and hang her.

  That's where Sam had come in. Didn't he remember? Had the drink erased everything she'd told him...everything they'd shared? Or had he done that himself and gladly?

  He was looking guilty now, surprising her. Perhaps he did remember. The haunted look was back in his eyes.

  Good.

  This time, she freed her arm easily, though she could feel the imprint of his fingers on her flesh. Damnation! She could practically feel his hands running down her body in
timately as they had in truth six years before. She hadn't forgotten Sam or the feelings he'd stirred up in her. To her dismay, she suspected she never would.

  Taking the chance of embarrassing herself good, Louisa said, "I don't understand it – how you could have gone off and left without giving me a second thought."

  "I did think about you, Louisa."

  "Hah!"

  "Ask your friend Frances."

  "What about Frances?"

  "She came to see me when I was in lock-up. I couldn't do anything about the transfer, but I told her to let me know if there were any consequences."

  Consequences? So he had considered she might be pregnant. Unwilling to soften toward him so easily, she demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I...I would have found a way to come back so I could do the right thing and marry you."

  Louisa stared at him, at that moment hating Sam Strong more than she ever had during the past six long, lonely years. He could have said a dozen other things and somewhere mentioned the word love. But he hadn't. Truth was he would have married her out of a sense of duty, not because of any special feelings for her. Long ago, she'd realized he'd lied about loving her, so no news there. Still, she couldn't help the hurt that welled up inside her so strong she could choke on it.

  "I wouldn't have wanted you," she lied.

  "Yes, you would have," he said, more sure of himself than made her comfortable. "You wanted me then." He stared deep into her eyes, making her flush. "You want me now."

  "How dare you!"

  Furious, Louisa swung out, but this time he was ready for her. He caught her wrist.

  His features softening, he said, "You still love me, don't you?" with a sense of wonder.

  Hating the way her heart was pounding in assent, she yelled, "I hate you!"

  "Do you?"

  Before she knew what he was about, Sam jerked her arm so she went flying against his chest. Louisa tried to fight him, but it was a battle she wasn't destined to win. Not with the determination she read in his expression. Though she told herself he wasn't even the man she'd fallen in love with, it didn't seem to matter.