Stronger Than Passion (37 page)

Still fighting the tears, she said, “Thank you. But I must go home.”

“Look at me, Christina.”

It was difficult for her to face him in his kindness. But there was no gentleness in the hard expression he wore.

“I won’t say that I’m sorry for abducting you that night - it was the right thing, the only thing, for me to do. And nothing has really changed since then regarding your value as a prisoner, to me or to Julian or to the American cause. But it seems you’ve managed to convince me - and Julian - that holding you any longer simply isn’t worth the tragedies you enact. We’re both too busy to watch you and keep you out of trouble, and I’d prefer not to throw you into prison. I’ll have to trust you, though, to keep quiet about Julian, at least. His identification will mean a lot to Santa Anna one day.”

He paused, waiting for her response. Yet she couldn’t speak. There was a sense of aloofness about him now, as if he had washed his hands of her and this was goodbye. Well, she wanted that, didn’t she? She was still ill; that could be the only plausible explanation for the feeling of breathlessness that held her, preventing her from speech and causing her pain in some unidentifiable region.

He straightened and moved closer to observe her with harsh scrutiny. “Do you refuse to keep Julian a secret from Santa Anna?”

“No,” she said, forcing the word but not wanting him to think her capable of treachery to a friend. “I won’t mention him to anyone in Mexico, I swear it. Or you.”

He smiled tightly, bending over her. “My name is probably well-known by now. Besides,
you have to give some explanation for your absence to Santa Anna - and to your fiancé, the Condé. I recommend you give them a partial truth, leaving out as much military information as you can and anything about Julian. Oh, and I wouldn’t talk about the personal degree to which you know me either, lover. Arredondo might not appreciate hearing it. Goodbye for now, and heal yourself.”

Then, before her senses could absorb anything more, his lips dropped to graze her mouth lightly, indifferently. He turned and was gone.

She told herself the appalling tears that leaked form her eyes were borne of pain and disbelief, and nothing more.

Antoinette, and Elizabeth who had insisted on accompanying her, rode into Dos Rios with six servants and two wagons of hastily-gathered supplies, intending to see to Christina’s smooth convalescence and scrutinize the household management, while at the same time questioning the sick girl and interrogating Michael with all the persistence of a lawman.

But when she left to return to San Antonio ten days later she was not at all sure that she was completely satisfied.

Christina, for all her malnourished and dehydrated and pained body, was just as charming as before, in Washington. But her quietness spoke of mental stress, and her confidences - when pressed - were strained. Although she was at least honest about her past, and told the incredible story of her abduction from Mexico with unrelenting candor, still she obviously kept many things to herself. And it was impossible, even for a determined Frenchwoman, to pry past the young Señora’s controlled facade.

She made just as little - and as much - progress with Michael. That is, before Michael left Dos Rios, the day after she came.

Michael looked tired, but seemed restless. He scarcely smiled, she noticed during the hours they spent together going over household matters and discussing Christina. He never laughed. Michael used to laugh frequently - not always pleasantly, to be sure, but he used to see the black humor in most situations. Not anymore. Now, he paced and prowled, seldom sitting still for long. He drank excessively. And when he spoke , his words were either clipped and terse, or drawling and sarcastic. He was unhappy, or uneasy, or both.

This mood was not new to Michael. Actually, he had been like this when he first came to America, a surly youth of twenty, hating his parents, bored with school, still touchy with guilt over his brother becoming crippled. Antoinette had seen him change during the two years he had lived with her and her family at Tor Bend; becoming challenged by the frontier lifestyle and his friendship with Julian, growing content beneath the affection concentrated on him, learning to accept Bradley Torrance as a father figure and a disciplinarian. And then came Goliad, and Bradley was killed, and Michael reverted once again to his old attitudes - tinged, this time, with mature anger and adult contempt. But the initial mood had passed with time and action. Antoinette hadn’t seen him enough in the years since then to observe him again at his blackest. But she was seeing him that way now.

He told her flatly that Christina was hurt in an accident with a knife when she attempted to ride to San Antonio, and he had refused to let her go. (Oddly enough, Christina never spoke at all of
her wounding except to call it “that foolish accident.”)

Antoinette noticed that Michael often looked away when he spoke of Christina - sometimes in the direction of the staircase, as though she might drift down at any moment. But he did not, to her knowledge, visit Christine in her sickroom. And Christina never asked after him, or for him, either. The circumstances between the two of them was a puzzle.

One that unfortunately Antoinette was not to unravel on this visit, at least. She could not bring herself to ask the Señora outright what sort of relationship she had with Michael. And when she did query him, he merely replied that at the moment, there was none. Antoinette was not to have her curiosity satisfied by any significant admittance from either of them.

Michael had left, after displaying a nearly offensive indifference towards Elizabeth - who was now, at long last, desiring to go home to England. Elizabeth had no interest whatsoever in Christina, beyond unconcealed dislike, and now declared herself through with Michael, as well. If Michael wished to fulfill his brother’s wishes and marry her - he must come to England and beg! Meanwhile she wanted to find some relatively fast route home. Antoinette must help her, which meant their leaving Dos Rios as soon as possible and returning to San Antonio.

Antoinette regretted the necessity of parting from Christina so soon. Michael would likely not return for her until after Christmas, and Christina refused to travel to San Antonio to await him. It was not likely that Antoinette would ever see the girl again, and she was sorry; any woman who could captivate not only Michael Brett but Julian Torrance, as well, was worth knowing more of.

Antoinette wished that she would be privy to the events of the long and dangerous journey ahead of Christina and Michael when they traveled to Mexico. If only she were younger, she would accompany them herself and observe the ending of the elusive romance she suspected. Perhaps Julian would come to know, and tell her . . .

*

Generals and politicians, thought Michael Brett sourly, could disrupt the course of a smooth war.

If only they could trust each other; or, in the general’s case at least, follow orders. However, the lack of trust and the injured vanity and the stubbornness amongst the commanders of this particular war might just prove enough to give the enemy side an edge.

Brett had gone to Camargo, by the Rio Grande, and was now with General Winfield Scott; the man appointed by President Polk to take charge of the Vera Cruz expedition which was intended
to go all the way to Mexico City, and win the war. Polk had picked Scott to lead this major offensive because he did not like Zachary Taylor, currently somewhere in Mexico that he was not supposed to be. But Polk also did not care much for Scott, either, and had tried to have him displaced as leader before he even reached Mexico.

Scott knew this, of course; and was understandably angry with the President. And they were both mad at Taylor, who had been ordered to meet Scott at Camargo, to turn over many of his troops to the new senior general for his own use - but who had never shown up. Taylor had taken his own advice over that of his superiors, and was presently occupying the town of Victoria . . . which had no strategic importance at all, according to Scott, and was a violation of orders, besides.

Michael Brett was forced to digest all of this, in his role as discretionary aide to both generals and direct functionary of Polk’s. It was his duty to assist whichever of the generals he deemed most needed his expertise on the terrain or the culture, while writing daily or weekly reports to Polk, via Lowndes. He would rather be in a calvary unit. Or, better yet, a guerilla troop.

At least, he supposed, as he cooled his heels outside the General’s headquarters, waiting to be received - at least he was free and under neither Scott nor Taylor’s command. This caused both generals to dislike him, but he could deal with a little hostility in return for the freedom to move and act as he pleased. And also to advise, without fear of reprisal.

Not that all of his advice was taken, or even considered. His big tactical recommendations - to Taylor, to work with Scott, willingly sharing his men, for greater efficiency; and to Scott, not to demand so many of Taylor’s seasoned troops, lest he leave the general too weak; were ignored. But his smaller-scale advice was frequently accepted and acted on.

Now he was about to tell General Scott that no way was he accompanying him by boat from Tampico to Vera Cruz. The journey, and the initial landing at the Island of Los Lobos, and the eventual occupation of the town, would take up far too much time. Time much better spent with General Taylor or General Wool engaging Santa Anna’s reported twenty-five thousand men in a direct fight, whenever it came. Or first - time much better spent in reconnoitering Vera Cruz and its surroundings, and escorting Christina de Sainz to her home.

General Scott could do without him, until he was actually needed - when the general began to march inland. He would rejoin the general then. In the meantime, Christina, then Zachary Taylor and eventually Julian Torrance were expecting him.

The general’s door opened, and one of his aides gestured Brett in. He strolled inside ready to tell the general goodbye, and be on his way.

Michael returned to Dos Rios a few days after Christmas, tired and in an inexplicably bad mood but impatient to begin the complicated trip into Mexico, if make it he must. He might’ve called the whole impulsive thing off had it not been for Christina’s quiet, but nonetheless real anticipation, and pleasure - for once - with him. He had seen it in her eyes when she had greeted him, and he could not force himself, despite his better judgment, to disappoint her.

But Julian had some plans in which he wanted to be involved, and it was hard to pass on them while he took a jaunt of many hundreds of miles into hostile territory to deliver a woman whom he would’ve preferred to keep safely at Dos Rios to her home - which would soon be directly in the line of the war. He felt himself to be a fool, and since Christina had turned him into one he was not happily disposed with her.

She was eager to begin this trip, and did not balk at the harsh pace he planned for them from the start. They would travel to Port La Vaca on Matagorda Bay, a journey of only a few days, where he hoped to find a steamer willing - for money or by virtue of the identification papers he carried
- to haul them down the coast of Mexico. The American blockade should be no hindrance to his intentions, but as soon as they were landed - somewhere near to Vera Cruz - the danger would begin. He hoped to safely deliver Christina, do a little reconnoitering for Scott, then rendezvous with Julian somewhere in Mexico. Speed would be a critical factor. If they were delayed for too long, Scott and his troops would be bringing the war to Vera Cruz and reaching Jalapa might prove impossible.

Christina, thanks to her own will and the fussing of Antoinette, was well enough to undertake the journey. Her wound had healed, the soreness was minimal, and she had been riding daily to build up her strength. And although she felt she would miss Dos Rios when she left, she was as anxious to get started as Michael. It would be only to easy to remain in this placid ranch for a long while, with occasional visits from Michael or Julian to look forward to. It would be too easy to drift idly, with no responsibilities, while the killing and the war took place elsewhere. Michael was right; she had seen enough of death. If her own people were not threatened, she might do anything within her power to avoid violence for the rest of her life.

Michael and Christina between them harried the rest of their party into readiness. It was to be small; only Penny and two ranch hands, one of them a former Mexican, would accompany them to Mexico. Michael was bringing the men along to hunt and to provide more protection. Although he had surprised Christina, on the morning of their departure, with a gun for her own use.

“I understand that you know how this works. Keep it in your saddlebag, and don’t aim it at anything you don’t want to kill.”

She accepted the gun, not reacting to his sarcasm. It was to be a task that tried her patience excessively in the days to come.

They traveled through torrential rains nearly the entire way to the coast, sleeping in make-shift shelters out of doors when there was no village on their route. Michael allowed them few lengthy rests. He seemed to be pushing them against some schedule only he knew of, and his few comments to Christina - or any of them - relayed his impatience.

Nor did his mood improve when the party finally reached Port La Vaca. Christina would have liked a day of resting, complete with two or three hot baths, while Michael made arrangements for a ship. However, a small steamer was in port, laying in supplies to take to the Americans garrisoning the Mexican town of Tuxpan. That Michael was able to bully the Captain into taking them all aboard did not surprise Christina in the least.