Bride of the Baja (36 page)

Jordan hooked his finger in his money pocket and brought out four coins. "These were for our passage," he said.

"One should be more than sufficient to entice Enrico to tell all he knows. You must wait here at the inn. I'll speak to Senor Enrico alone."

Esteban's face was grim when he returned to Jordan's room. Shutting the door behind him, he went to the window and glanced into the courtyard before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It is much worse than I feared," he said. "They are not bandits who attacked you and took Alitha. It is the pirate Bouchard and his men."

"Bouchard!" As Jordan breathed the name, his hand gripped the butt of the pistol in his belt. He clenched his teeth thinking of Alitha as a captive among that crew.

"I'll kill him," Jordan snarled. "Kill that bastard Bouchard and all the scum who follow him."

"We'll ride to his camp at once," Esteban said. "Wait until nightfall and then swoop down on them and carry Alitha and the gold off with us."

"No." Jordan shook his head. "First we have to plan, to reconnoiter their camp so we know the lay of the land. We have to find out how many men Bouchard has, how well armed they are, where they have Alitha, where they've cached the gold."

"We can't wait!" Esteban spoke passionately, pounding his fist on the small table. "Such as they are not fit to even look on Alitha, much less touch her with their filthy hands. Men lower than dogs! We must count on surprise to overcome them. If we pause to deliberate, they may scatter to the four winds, each with his share of the gold, and we lose all."

"By God, Esteban, I'm surprised you've managed to stay alive as long as you have. They might have two hundred men in that lair of theirs, all armed, all desperate, all hungry for the gold and willing to kill us on sight. I don't like to think of Alitha there any more than you do, but we'd be fools to attack them as though we were a cavalry troop when we're but two men. I favor the sea--they'd never expect that."

"Are you afraid of Bouchard?" Esteban mocked.

"Afraid?" Jordan took his gun from his belt and slapped it on the table. "Pistols at twenty paces. Now, in the courtyard. Does that suit you, Mendoza? We'll decide matters between us once and for all."

"I do not want to take advantage of an injured man."

"Are you a coward as well as a rash fool, Don Esteban?"

Esteban's face flushed a dark red. "Pistols at twenty paces, then. I don't fight you for myself but for Margarita. For Alitha. I should have killed you long ago."

As they turned to leave the room, the door swung open and a blond man stood barring their way.

"From what I've heard, gentlemen," he said, "this is a time for prayer, not for dueling."

Jordan stared. "Thomas!"

"Your friend from the hospital?" Esteban asked.

Jordan nodded. "Thomas Heath. The man Alitha meant to marry in the islands."

"Ahhh." Esteban looked at the blond man's rough black pants and shirt, his Mexican hat, the Bible in his hand.

"Are you both mad?" Thomas demanded. "Ready to fight one another when Alitha's in the hands of Bouchard?"

"How did you learn that?" Jordan asked.

"By standing outside the door listening, as anyone in the inn could have if they understood English."

"This damn fool of a Californio wants to attack Bouchard's lair," Jordan said, appealing to Thomas. "Just the two of us riding into their camp in the middle of the night firing our pistols. He thinks the pirates will flee from us in terror, leaving Alitha and the gold behind."

"This
estupido
American proposes to procrastinate," Esteban said. "To scout the enemy position for days looking for a weakness that in all likelihood does not exist. He proposes to debate endlessly and finally to act with too little and too late. As a coward would."

At the word "coward," Jordan started for Esteban but Thomas stepped between them. "Forget what you think of each other," he said. "At least for the time being. Our first task is to save Alitha. Are you agreed?" He looked at Jordan.

"Agreed." Jordan glanced at Esteban, then went to the window and stared into the courtyard.

"Don Esteban?" Thomas asked. "Do you agree?"

"Of a certainty. Alitha is our paramount concern. She must not be left to suffer Bouchard's hospitality while we quarrel among ourselves like children. While we waste time."

"Good." Thomas knelt on the floor. "This is a time to pray," he said. "Both of you will join me in prayer." It was a statement, not a request.

Esteban immediately dropped to his knees beside Thomas. Jordan looked down at the two kneeling men, raised his eyes heavenward in exasperation, then joined them on the floor.

"Bow your heads," Thomas said. Both men bowed.

"Almighty God, hear this day our prayer." Thomas's tone was conversational, as though he often talked to God. "Give us the wisdom to know what is right and the courage to act on that knowledge. Protect your daughter, Alitha Bradford, from harm in the dark hours to come and give her courage. Amen."

"That's all?" Jordan asked.

"I think it's sufficient under the circumstances," Thomas said. "I agree with Don Esteban that every minute counts. We have to find Alitha before it's too late."

"But—" Jordan began.

"I also believe, with you, that we can't act impulsively. We must have a carefully thought out plan. Now then, Esteban, tell us what you found out from this man Enrico."

Esteban nodded. "Enrico has been to the pirate camp but once," he said. "It is in a cove some fifteen miles to the south, a place where they bring their ships for repair. Not all the pirates are there now—some are still at sea—but Bouchard is there, or so Enrico's been told. One of the ships is on its side so the bottom may be scraped, they have ..." He paused, searching for the right word.

"Careened her," Jordan put in.

"Yes, the ship has been careened and so is out of action. One other ship lies at anchor in the cove, prepared to put to sea at short notice. For the most part the pirates live ashore in huts behind the beach. They have guards on the only trail leading to their camp. Many guards, Enrico says."

"These ships in the cove," Jordan said. "Could one of them be the
Kerry Dancer?"

"I asked him about the ships, but Enrico could not tell me."

"They're well-armed, of course?" Thomas asked.

"With pistols, sabers and knives," Esteban said. "Their cannons are on board the ships. My idea is to use our remaining gold coins to recruit mercenaries and attack by land."

"They'll overwhelm us," Jordan said.

"We must outwit them," Thomas put in. "If we can't outman them we must outthink them. It's our only chance. And Alitha's only chance."

Jordan hit his open palm with his fist. "I have a plan," he said, going to the window and glancing out into the empty courtyard. "Check the corridor," he told Thomas.

Thomas opened the door and looked up and down the hall. "All clear," he reported.

"My idea is risky," Jordan said, "and the chances for success are less than poor. But as Thomas would tell us, no one expected David would slay Goliath."

"Tell us your scheme," Esteban said, "not stories from the Bible."

"We're all of us right and all of us wrong," Jordan said, ignoring Esteban's remark. "We should use the gold, we should go by sea, and we have to outwit Bouchard. This is my plan ..."

After a long ride Alitha was untied, pulled down from the horse and carried to a hut, where she was pushed inside and left alone in the darkness. She lay huddled on the ground for a moment listening to the sounds around her—the pounding of the surf, the drunken shouts of the men, the neighing of horses, the barking of dogs.

She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring her bruises, gathered her flimsy nightgown about her and tried the door. It was barred from the outside. With her hands she searched the walls of the hut for an opening between the bamboolike poles. She found none.

She heard the bar withdrawn from the door. A man holding a lantern stepped into the hut, a short man with curled mustaches who wore a waistcoat and breeches. A pistol and a knife were thrust in the broad crimson sash around his waist.

Bouchard placed the lantern on the earth floor and stood with hands on hips, appraising Alitha as though she were a captive at a slave auction. He nodded.

"Remove your gown," he ordered.

Alitha stepped back, trembling. She was numb, frozen--she could think of nothing except the horror awaiting her. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, trying to calm herself, trying to think.

Bouchard took the knife from his sash, tossed it spinning into the air and caught it deftly by the handle. He made a downward slashing motion with the blade as though ripping her gown from neck to hem.

"Remove your gown," he said again.

Alitha reached up and slipped the cord from around her neck, holding it in her hand, with the red charm stone dangling from the end. Impatient, Bouchard took a step toward her. She drew in her breath and, with the cord looped around her wrist, grasped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head. She forced herself to watch his reaction as she dropped the gown to her side and stood naked before him.

Bouchard stared at her, transfixed, his eyes roving from the swell of her full breasts down over her white body glowing in the light from the lantern.

"I have never beheld such loveliness before," he murmured, stepping forward.

Alitha took the end of the cord, swung the charm over her head and, still holding the cord, whipped the stone at Bouchard. The stone struck his temple and he grunted in shock and pain. His knees buckled and she thought he would fall, but he recovered enough to stagger to one side, his hand reaching for and grasping the wall of the hut. She swung the stone again but his arm deflected the blow and the cord wrapped itself around his sleeve. She pulled the stone free, then reached down, grasped the handle of the lantern and hurled it at Bouchard. The lantern smashed against the wall in a burst of flame. Snatching up her nightgown, she ran to the door and flung it open.

Outside the hut, the night was lighted by the glow from the beach. Between the dark outlines of the huts, Alitha saw men clustered around campfires and the white line of the surf beyond. Palm trees arched behind her. No one was near, no one seemed to have seen her leave the hut.

She ran between huts, away from the beach and toward the trees. Away from the fires, away from the men. When she reached the first of the palms, she put the charm stone back around her neck and slipped her nightgown over her head. She looked over her shoulder. A man's voice—Bouchard's—called out, but the hubbub of drunken laughter and shouting went on. She saw a flash, heard the sharp report of a shot. A dog barked. The laughter stilled.

She turned and ran under the palms. Get away, she told herself, get as far away as you can. Don't stop to hide--they'll find you if you do. If not now, they'll wait and search for you again and find you by the light of day. Keep running until you're as far from here as you can go. Only then can you risk resting, only then can you find a place to hide and wait for Jordan. Was Jordan alive? If he was, she knew he'd set out to find her, would find and save her. Her foot caught on a root and she fell headlong. Slamming to the ground where she lay gasping for breath as behind her she heard men shouting, then the ominous baying of dogs. Still lying on the ground, she looked back and saw the bobbing of many torches.

Alitha pulled herself to her feet and went on, more carefully now, her hands groping in front of her, her feet feeling their way across the uneven ground. Branches of shrubs caught her gown and she pulled herself free, the fabric tearing. Still she struggled forward, impelled by the growing tumult behind her—not only behind now but on both sides as well. Plus she was beginning to feel realize she shouldn't be this exhausted. Was she getting sick? No, impossible. She hadn't gotten cholera on the Yankee so she wasn't likely to have it now.

More palms arched over her head, their fronds etched darkly against the starry night. She heard the crash of surf in front of her. Running from the shelter of the palms, she found herself on a white sand beach. Had she run in a circle in the dark? No, looking both ways along the beach she saw no sign of the pirate campfires. Instead of fleeing inland as she had thought, she must have crossed the neck of a spit of land and emerged on the beach on the far side.

Disoriented, she hesitated. Which way should she go? She didn't want to be trapped on a point of land thrusting into the sea. To her left. Safety lay to her left, amid the dark mass of trees along the shore. She turned that way, only to see lights ahead of her and on both sides. Voices shouted, a line of men advanced toward her, their torches hissing, and she heard the barking of the dogs. Her escape route sealed off, she had no way to go but toward the sea.

Alitha fled into the trees, feeling herself lagging. As she ran on with the surf to her left, the trees on her right thinned and after a few minutes she saw the ocean beyond them and, in the distance, the fires on the beach. She'd been right, she was on a small peninsula, a Florida-shaped mass of land jutting into the Pacific. Again she stopped and looked behind her. The torches were closer now, and she saw the bearded faces of the buccaneers in the flickering lights. She ran from the trees and on all sides saw nothing but sand and sea. She had nowhere left to go except into the sea or back toward the advancing men.