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

by Jeanne Rose

  "But I sensed his power," the bruja stated.

  "Can't you learn more?"

  "Perhaps. In time. Now it is you who are troubled, Louisa."

  "Chaco...he told Frances he sensed something was wrong. And that I'm somehow involved." She hesitated only a second before putting her apprehension into words. "You didn't see me in your bowl, did you?"

  "No. But to be safe, I could make you a charm."

  Louisa's hand went to her shirt, below which she wore the bear claw. "I still have the token that was my father's."

  "As you wish."

  Niches around the room were decorated both with statues of the Virgin Mary and Catholic saints as well as kachinas, representations of ancient Pueblo gods. The combination of religions was nothing knew. Indians were a superstitious people who believed in being prepared, and were fairly open-minded when it came to espousing and mixing various beliefs. Perhaps she shouldn't have demurred at Magdalena's offer so readily. What would it hurt, after all, to have as many magic tokens as possible to protect her?

  Before she could make up her mind to say something about it, however, Magdalena was already outside. Louisa joined her on the second story terrace where a woman was baking bread in a hornos, or beehive-shaped oven, and another was stringing vegetables out to dry.

  Below them, the ground floors had no external doors or windows, and entry to the pueblo traditionally was through a series of ladders that took the occupants to its various levels and could be removed when enemies approached. Beyond the plaza, Louisa saw a man lower himself into an opening in the earth – the entrance to a kiva, the sacred connection between the underworld and the daily world above. The kiva was the spiritual heart of every pueblo.

  "Tell Frances I hope her little one recovers soon," Magdalena said. "And that she should send a messenger if she needs me."

  "I'll tell her." Louisa backed down the ladder to street level. "Take care."

  Magdalena's gaze remained on her as she secured the saddlebags, freed Defiant from the hitching post and mounted him. Louisa couldn't help wondering what the bruja was thinking. If she had an opinion about Chaco's weird feelings, she hadn't been forthcoming. Deciding not to worry about what she couldn't control, she headed her gelding toward Santa Fe, a half hour's easy ride almost straight south.

  Even so, she found it impossible to put away all disquieting thoughts. Suppositions about the form of danger she might be in, added to the disappearance of the two men danced around and around in her mind.

  But she'd never been a person to let fear rule her life. Setting her jaw, telling herself she had more than enough courage, she fingered the bear claw necklace and wondered if she shouldn't perhaps start carrying a shotgun or a rifle. After all, if trouble came looking for her, she wanted to be more than ready for it.

  The Sierra Madre, Mexico

  QUETZALCOATL was once again ready to assume his place in the cosmos.

  Having taken leave of his followers and the herds of animals they'd brought along to feed everyone, Beaufort Montgomery climbed up the side of a rugged mountain until he found an unobstructed view of the west – the direction of the hidden pyramid. Then he stood still and raised his arms skyward to let the power of the elements surge through him, to let the god possess him from the inside out.

  And he allowed other gods to pay homage. The fire of the setting sun, Tonatiuh, warmed his face. The wind caressed him, bringing the smell of rain from the storm set brewing by Huitzilopochtli, the god of the south. Soon a moon would rise in the east to flood him with silver light, to illuminate the shadows creeping in from the north.

  Shadows, the kingdom of Tezcalipoca. But Quetzalcoatl did not fear the handsome god who had once been his rival, nor did he fear the shadows. He did not cower before any of this great continent's deities, all of whom would soon be bowing before him, bowing before even the lesser gods of the Mexica.

  The Mexica had been there before the Europeans arrived. They had been savage and strong, had conquered any other Native gods. And they would be strong again.

  They would rule.

  He would rule.

  He would be lord of death and master of life.

  Beaufort smiled at the thought, especially when he heard the sound of thunder. He glanced to the south just in time to catch a lovely display of lightning.

  A rattlesnake coiled about his neck, he imagined lightning issuing from his own head and spoke in Nahuatl, "Hail, storms, you are my brothers! Hail, mountains, you are my sisters! Hail, all ye gods, we shall soon be fed blood!"

  Streams, rivers, oceans of blood.

  And fierce, brave hearts.

  He had only a little longer to wait for the ultimate ceremonies. And after twenty-two years of imprisonment, he could surely wait with grace. Still, Beaufort/Quetzacoatl couldn't help trembling with eagerness.

  Northern New Mexico

  EAGER TO REACH Santa Fe, Louisa concentrated on the road and keeping Defiant at a steady pace.

  And so, halfway to town, she was not prepared to be ambushed.

  A blur of chestnut whipped out from behind a stand of juniper-dotted rock as did the voice declaring, "Now that's a familiar nag."

  Heart speeding up, Louisa slowed Defiant and faced Sam, who still sat his chestnut like he was born in the saddle -- the very thing she had initially admired about him.

  "He should be familiar since he once belonged to you," she returned smartly.

  The day she'd bought Defiant at Fort Marcy had been the first time she'd set eyes on her pretty tin soldier. She remembered as if the event had taken place yesterday. A brash new lieutenant straight out of West Point, Sam hadn't wanted to sell her the gelding, hadn't believed that she, a young woman, could control a horse who had thrown him.

  "Not that you were able to ride Defiant without tasting the dust," she reminded him before moving the horse forward.

  Sam pulled his chestnut alongside her. "That was a long time ago."

  Admiring his arrogant expression, far more attractive and exciting than the sad one that had been haunting him lately, she said, "You were riding a different horse back then. Whatever happened to him?"

  "He was shot out from under me in a skirmish." Sam's voice tightened. "I had to finish him off myself."

  Louisa swallowed hard. "How horrible." She could hear his heartfelt regret – they had their love for horses in common. But worse, "You could have taken the bullet instead of your horse."

  "A lot of men are killed in the line of duty."

  He said that so easily...almost as if it were expected. "And you think that's all right?" she asked.

  "I think it's unavoidable."

  "Of course it's avoidable. You didn't have to join the military in the first place."

  He seemed astonished by the concept. "I come from a whole family of military men," he explained. "My father and uncles were cavalry officers in the Civil War. My grandfather served in the military and his father before him. Strong fought in the American Revolution to free this country from England's shackles." He practically vibrated with the intensity of his convictions. "The men in my family have always been proud to defend our country."

  But his sense of duty and history hadn't been enough to keep him in the military, Louisa thought. Why? She remembered Sam saying he'd seen and done terrible things.

  Before she could probe in that direction, he changed the subject back to her favorite. "So how many horses do you have now?"

  "A few. The sorrel I rode the other night. Another couple of mares I'm training for charreada riding. And then I have the most incredible new black stallion. El Tigre is still half-wild."

  "Like you."

  A quick glance at Sam told Louisa he admired that in her. "But I'm getting him settled down."

  "I'd like to meet this El Tigre sometime. Maybe ride him myself if you'd let me."

  "Hah! You can't even ride Defiant," she reminded him. Though she'd never seen him take a fall off the gelding, she'd heard about it.

  "Are yo
u sure about that?" Sam taunted. "I might have learned a thing or two about ornery personalities in the past six years."

  The way he was staring at her made Louisa think he meant her as well as the horse he had once owned. She found herself in an equally challenging mood, undoubtedly because she was still angry with him.

  Maybe always would be.

  "Are you suggesting you could ride Defiant now?" she asked.

  "I'm betting I could."

  "What? Did you hide a deck of cards in that vest?"

  Today Sam was wearing civilian clothes -- blue shirt, denim pants, soft brown leather vest – and looking every bit as good as he had the night of the fiesta. The night he had so rudely left her on the dance floor without things being settled between them, she reminded herself.

  "I warn you," she said, her desire to wring his neck renewed, "I'm a practiced cheat."

  Maybe she could get even in a more subtle way than using out-and-out violence.

  "I was thinking in terms of a horse race."

  Counting on that being his intention all along, Louisa felt her heart jog at another memory. She had forced Sam into a horse race with her and had won, but he had claimed the prize – their first kiss.

  "The prize being a ride on Defiant?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as breathless as she was feeling.

  "The prize being Defiant himself."

  "Or your chestnut," she added pointedly.

  "Irish?"

  She forced a frown to counter the amusement in his blue-green eyes. "Hmm, I don't know. I wouldn't want to make you walk back to town."

  "Who said I was going to let you win this time?"

  As if he'd let her win the last.

  "Aren't you going to a lot of trouble to prove you can ride Defiant? All you gotta do is ask and I'll be happy to let you try."

  "Challenging you for the privilege is more fun. What do you say?" Sam urged, the question vibrant with possibilities. "I dare you."

  Never one to turn down a challenge, Louisa found herself mentally laying out a course along the road, ending at a distant rock formation. "All right."

  No sooner had they agreed on the finish line than Sam stuffed his Stetson down to his ears, gathered his horse under him and yelled, "Ready...set . . ."

  "Hi-yah!" Louisa finished.

  Both horses surged together. Laughing with delight, she lifted her bottom out of the saddle, moved low over Defiant's neck and steadied her weight. A glance at Sam told her that he was in a similar position. He had learned something about racing since their last outing, she noted.

  Together they thundered along the crude dirt road that wound up and down and around hillocks. Defiant would pull a nose or so ahead only to lose the advantage to Irish a few seconds later. The horses seemed to be perfectly matched, especially along the straightaways.

  Or maybe it was the riders who were perfectly matched . . .

  Then the chestnut brushed a clump of cedar, frightening a bird that fluttered up and away with a frantic beating of wings. With a startled snort, Irish danced to the side and nearly clipped Defiant. Louisa took the advantage, urged her mount to greater speed and was the first to reach the finish line, if only by the length of a neck.

  They slowed their horses together, gradually bringing them down to a walk that would cool them out.

  Louisa couldn't contain her grin. "Well?"

  "You win again," Sam said ruefully.

  "You really gotta stop underestimating me."

  His expression was contemplative and sobering. And wondering what he was thinking was driving Louisa crazy. For she sensed his mind was already past the race and onto something far more important.

  Before she could probe, Sam said, "That's a long walk ahead of me." He stroked the chestnut's neck as if he were saying goodbye. "Guess I should get started."

  Since she'd only meant to teach him a lesson in humility, not deprive him of a horse he so obviously loved, Louisa told him, "I wasn't serious about the bet."

  "Well, I was." He dismounted and kept walking briskly, his horse in tow behind him. "You won Irish fair and square." He tried to hand her the reins.

  Which she refused. "I'm not gonna take him, so forget it!"

  "I can't forget it." Head high, features composed, he said, "It's a point of honor. A man pays his gambling debts."

  "What?" He was being ridiculous and Louisa could feel her temper slipping. "Another of your stupid duties?"

  "You could say that."

  "And I could say this slavish devotion to duty is plain stupid. I'm sick of hearing about a man's duties!" Sensing her agitation, Defiant danced under her. She calmed herself for the horse's sake. But duty had taken Sam from her six years ago. Duty -- if she had been pregnant -- would have brought him back. And duty would once more take him away, perhaps to be killed by a madman. "You love that horse! He's yours."

  "Not anymore."

  Again, Sam tried handing her the reins, which Louisa stubbornly continued to refuse. Reluctant to let him drift off with nothing settled between them yet again, she jumped off Defiant and kept pace with Sam's long-legged stride.

  "You can at least get him back into Santa Fe for me. I'm visiting Ma," she explained, as if that made her require his help.

  He gave her a long, thoughtful look. "I thought you'd enjoy seeing me on foot and suffering."

  "I've never reveled in another person's misery." And the statement made Louisa think again about whatever might be bothering Sam. Whatever had made him turn his back on this precious duty of his. "Not even yours," she admitted with a sigh, knowing she would share his burden if he would let her.

  "Though I guess I wouldn't blame you if you did."

  She gave him a hard look. "Sounds like you're carrying around a load of guilt."

  "There are some things a man finds hard to live with."

  "Making love to me was hard to live with?" she asked, though she sensed his disquiet went far deeper.

  "Not the way you figure."

  "How, then?"

  "I didn't regret making love to you, Louisa. I regretted using up your innocence."

  "Virginity is overrated," she stated frankly. It wasn't like he'd turned her into a harlot. She hadn't joined Ma's girls in servicing men.

  "But you were only sixteen...as I had to learn from Frances rather than from you. I was twenty-three. I felt terrible about what I'd allowed to happen. Why did you lie to me about your age?"

  While trying not to be touched by the truths he shared with her, Louisa was equally honest. "I didn't want you to treat me like a child."

  "Maybe it would have been better if I had --"

  "So which part didn't you regret?"

  "– for your sake," he finished.

  They walked along in an uneasy silence for a moment before Louisa said, "I haven't turned out too badly."

  "I expected you would have had a family by now, but here you are, still a spinster." Sam shook his head and looked her squarely in the eyes. "I'm not right for you, Louisa. If I ever was."

  Irritated, she stopped on the spot and demanded, "So who asked you? Do you have some cockamamie notion that I've been waiting all this time for you?"

  He stopped, too, turning Irish so the horses faced each other. "Whether or not you want to admit it, we have feelings for each other."

  At the moment hating him for stirring her all up again, Louisa finally demanded to know, "Then why the hell did you abandon me?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HERE IT CAME. Sam had known Louisa would get around to demanding the truth. That sometime was now and still he wasn't ready. Maybe never would be.

  "I had no say about the transfer --"

  "You could have sent me a message explaining what happened!" she interrupted. "You could have made it back to Santa Fe before this. For God's sake, you could have written!"

  "I needed time to get a perspective on us," he said truthfully. "Everything was going too fast . . ." While they had made love, they hardly knew each other in the conventi
onal sense. ". . . and then it was too late."

  "Why?"

  "Because of circumstances that were out of my control."

  Her frustration with him obvious, Louisa asked, "What exactly was out of your control?"

  "Your being half Indian, for one."

  "That's certainly honest enough," she admitted wryly. "Foolish me, I really believed you were the one man at that time who wasn't bothered by my being a breed."

  "It didn't, not for a minute!" He hated the stricken expression he glimpsed before she covered. "I was afraid you would care."

  "About what?" She didn't try to hide her amazement. "That you're not part Comanche?"

  "You don't know all the facts." Uneasy, he dropped his gaze. "You've got a big heart. You're brave and loyal. And I've killed people in the line of duty."

  "People..." Louisa echoed. Frowning, she grew silent for a moment. Then comprehension dawned. "By people you mean Indians. I hate the thought of anyone's dying through violence, period. But why did you think I would find your killing Indians any worse than your possibly killing whites?" She reminded him, "I am half-white." Sighing, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm sure you only did what you had to, Sam. That you were following orders. That you were doing your duty as you call it."

  Though she didn't look happy, she seemed sincere enough about understanding.

  And Sam was sincere when he finally admitted, "Problem is, sometimes orders aren't a good enough reason to slaughter the innocent."

  "You slaughtered innocent people?"

  Louisa's dark eyes widened and filled with disbelief. Sam knew she couldn't quite comprehend the scope of his culpability yet, or she would be blazing with hatred instead. Having avoided the issue long enough, he acknowledged a reckless masochism that made him want to share his burden with the only woman he'd ever loved.