Authors: Kat Martin
“We’ll be riding hard to catch up with the rest of the troops. Once we reach them, the pace will slow a little. We should reach Rancho de los Cocodrilos late day after tomorrow.”
“
Sí
, senor. I was raised near there. I know the place well. I may even be able to save you some time.”
Morgan’s mouth curved upward. “Then I shall find it less difficult to forgive my big French friend for his unseemly interference.”
Jacques just chuckled.
“We’ll meet on deck in fifteen minutes.”
Teresa and Jacques said their farewells to Silver and climbed the ladder to the deck.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me go, too,” Silver asked Morgan once the others had gone.
Morgan pinned her with an icy green-eyed glare. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I just thought I might keep Teresa company.”
“No.”
“I’d stay out of the way and—”
Morgan gripped her arms and hauled her against him. “Damn it, Silver, for once I want you safe.”
“But I might be able to help.”
“Just how much help do you think you’d be? With my mind on you instead of the fighting, there’s a damned good chance I’d wind up getting killed.”
Silver’s chest tightened. “You’d be that worried?”
“Damned right I would.”
She reached a hand to his cheek, traced her finger along his scar. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
He smiled at that. “There’s a lot left unfinished between us.… I’ll be careful.”
Morgan bent his head and kissed her, so thoroughly
her knees went weak. She followed him into his cabin, watched him check his cap-and-ball pistol, the knife in the sheath at his waist, and the saber that hung at his side. He picked up his satchel and started for the door.
“I’ll miss you,” she said softly, drawing his attention.
Setting his bag aside, Morgan strode across the room and swept her into his arms. “I’ll be back, milady vixen. You just stay out of trouble until I get here.”
With a last hard kiss, he headed out the door. Silver followed him up on deck, fighting back tears, then stood at the rail to watch their departing figures while Jeremy Flagg gave the orders that would move the ship from the harbor.
In minutes the lines were cast off, a brisk wind snapped the canvas taut above her head, and the
Savannah
began to make way.
The terrain was even worse than Morgan imagined, just a thin layer of earth over the jagged rocky limestone beneath. The forest was scrub—thorny, dense, and hostile—the ground flat and so thickly overgrown it was impossible to see anywhere but along the rutted wagon road they followed. A harsh sun parched the landscape.
Morgan glanced at his two companions. So far the woman had held up well, though the going was tough and he had been pushing her hard, but she’d known the going would be hard from the start. He hoped to hell they’d catch Buckland and the troops by nightfall. The danger of crossing this primitive terrain in the dark would be multiplied tenfold.
“How much farther till we reach the others, Senor Trask?” Teresa Méndez rode her scrawny bay mare
up beside him. She was obviously stiff and sore, and the inside of her leg, exposed below the hem of her skirt, looked red and chafed from the big Spanish saddle. Still, she did not complain.
“Another hour, maybe two. Buckland is pushing them hard.”
Jacques nudged his bony white gelding in their direction. “We would rest if we dared,
chérie
, but it will soon be dark.”
“
Gracias
, Senor Bouillard, for your concern, but do not worry for me I am fine.” She flashed him a grateful smile and an appraising look that Morgan suspected was one of approval. With his thick black hair, well-kept beard and mustache, Jacques Bouillard was a handsome man. The warmth in Teresa’s dark eyes seemed to agree.
Morgan smiled inwardly. Something was happening between the two, for Jacques looked at Teresa with the same gentle approval—and something more.
They rode without stopping for most of an hour, but when the troops had still not been spotted, Morgan reined up his sorrel stallion, a fine vaquero’s steed provided by General Canales, and indicated they should rest and water their mounts.
“You are all right,
chérie
?” Jacques asked Teresa as she sat down on a rock in the shade to work the kinks from her back and shoulders. Parrots screeched in the trees above them. Lizards and small tree toads scampered away in fear.
“There are more important things than comfort.”
Jacques moved her fingers away, replacing her strained efforts with a pair of beefy hands that kneaded her stiff and aching muscles. Teresa’s expression said she knew a man should not be touching
her in such an intimate fashion, but relief from her pain was worth the slight indiscretion.
“You will stay close to me when we reach the others,” Jacques told her. “As you say, your
soldados
will be used to the presence of a woman. Some of the others may not be so understanding.”
“But surely your soldiers will obey their commander?”
“There are others among them, not so used to following orders. Stay by me, and you will be safe.”
Teresa nodded, accepting without question the truth of Jacques’s words.
“We’ll be leaving the road soon,” Morgan said, though the path so far had been little more than a trail in the ever-increasing denseness of the landscape. Though it was the end of the dry season, the ground hot and dusty, he was grateful it hadn’t begun to rain. “There could be Centralist troops nearby.”
“
Sí
, senor.”
After collecting the horses, Jacques swung the small dark woman up into her saddle, his eyes fixed on the smooth olive skin exposed where her skirt bunched up on her thighs. She was just the kind of woman Jacques liked. Stouthearted. The kind of woman who could bear a man strong sons. Unlike Morgan, Jacques had always enjoyed the comforts of a home and family. Morgan wondered if his friend might take the woman to wife.
Mounted again, they rode for two more hours. Off to the west the hot sun turned orange and pink, then, as Morgan had promised, faded into darkness just minutes before they reached Buckland and the men. The soldiers they passed looked weary but strong. With a good night’s rest they’d be ready for the second day’s march.
“It’s about time you got here.” Buckland rode up on a big black horse also provided by the general. With the grazing so scarce here in the Yucatán, the other mounts were thin and scrawny. The mercenaries and marines were making the march on foot; the only other mounted soldiers were Hamilton Riley and the two Mexican officers the Federalists had sent as guides.
“I’ve chosen a campsite down near that small stream we’ve been following,” Buckland said. “I assume that meets with your approval, Major.” His tone implied Morgan had been running the show so far, but that had come to an end.
“It looks fine to me,” Morgan said, ignoring the man’s hostility. “Any sign of Centralist forces?”
“None so far. Canales believes they’ll move north along the coast and head straight for Campeche.”
“The city’s in a better position to defend than we are. I hope he’s right.”
Buckland glanced to Jacques and for the first time spotted Teresa. “What in the name of God is she doing here? Surely even you can’t be so brazen as to drag your doxy along.”
Morgan bristled, and noticed Jacques did the same, sitting a little straighter in his saddle. “Senorita Méndez is not a camp follower, Colonel. She’s the daughter of one of the prisoners from Campeche.”
“See that she’s escorted back there immediately. This is certainly no place for a woman.”
“I agree completely, Colonel,” Morgan said, surprising Buckland and hearing Teresa’s intake of breath. “In fact, I said those same words to the lady myself. Unfortunately she accompanies M’sieur Bouillard, and he is not under your command.”
Buckland’s mouth thinned, and his hands grew taut on the reins.
Jacques chuckled softly. “I will see to the woman, Colonel. You need not worry”
The colonel muttered something beneath his breath. “Keep her away from my troops, Bouillard, I’m warning you.” Whirling his mount, he dug his heels into the animal’s sides a little harder than necessary, and the stallion leaped away.
“I believe you ’ave made an enemy,” Jacques said.
“Long before now,” Morgan agreed.
Morgan checked on Hamilton Riley and the rest of the soldiers who had traveled with him aboard the
Savannah
. Then Morgan, Jacques, and the Mendez woman found places near the edge of the camp. Tomorrow they would make the second leg of the journey. On Tuesday, barring any problems, they would reach the prison.
For the first time in days, Morgan allowed himself to think of Brendan.
Hold on, little brother. It won’t be long now
.
He refused to consider that something might have happened to him. In a few days, four at most, Brendan would be free, and the rest of the prisoners would be safe. The two navy vessels that had brought the men to the peninsula would be sailing up from Ciudad del Carmen for the rendezvous off Champotón and the return trip to Texas. Morgan would be returning to the
Savannah
—and to Silver.
He shook his head. Damned if he hadn’t started missing her already—and he’d been gone only one day. How the hell would he feel when he left her with William in Katonga?
Grudgingly Morgan admitted he was falling in love with the feisty bit of baggage. She wasn’t what he’d thought he wanted, wasn’t the prim and proper,
obedient kind of woman he had in mind. She wasn’t conventional; she wasn’t predictable.
She was just Silver.
Just the most courageous, most giving, caring woman he had ever known.
She was fire and ice, desire and beauty. She was passion and sweetness rolled into one. She was a treasure far greater than any he had ever possessed and he wasn’t about to let her go.
Morgan listened to the sounds of the forest-jungle. Small fires, carefully tended, dotted the greenery where men heated coffee or sat in quiet conversation.
Jacques sat talking to Teresa, smiling warmly while she smiled back. Jacques had teen married twice, loved both his wives, mourned their deaths, and would probably marry again. Morgan had tried that kind of involvement once and failed miserably.
“I’m not like Charlotte,” Silver had said. “I never will be.” He wondered how she had known about the woman in his past, but then Silver had a way of finding out whatever she wanted. Even Morgan had found himself close to revealing things he rarely divulged. He hadn’t because he had to be sure he could trust her.
But did he?
He wanted to say yes. That he knew without doubt the things he’d been thinking were true—that Silver Jones was everything she professed to be and more. Then he thought of the things she had said about William, the hatred for her father she had never really explained, her reasons for running away. What was the rest of her story? How much of what she’d told him was the truth?
Take your time
, a cautious voice inside him said.
Find out for sure
.
And so he would. He would miss her; when he
returned, he would take her to his bed. But he wouldn’t let himself love her—not all the way—not until he was sure.
Silver slept fitfully, worried about Morgan, praying he would find his brother alive and be able to free him and the other Texian men. At dawn she wearily climbed to the deck then went forward to the galley for a hot cup of coffee. With the few men left aboard, she certainly didn’t want anyone going to extra trouble for her.
For the first time since she’d come aboard the
Savannah
, Cookie sat at the huge wooden table looking pensive instead of standing at the cookstove stirring boiling kettles or frying meats. They hadn’t talked much during their weeks at sea, but now his worry for Morgan and Jacques had brought them together.
“How about a cup of coffee, Cookie?”
His brooding expression faded, and he smiled “Sure.” He was friendlier toward her since the talk they’d shared last night after supper while Silver helped him scrub the big black pots. Jordy had joined them for a while, but with the men away, he carried a full seaman’s duties. He had too much work to stay for long. At least the boy had straightened things out with Morgan, explained he’d had no part in what had happened with Dickey Green and Stormy Weathers.
“I saved you some salt pork and biscuits.” Cookie moved toward the stove as Silver took a place on the long wooden bench across from him.
“It smells delicious, she said, sniffing the familiar aromas, “but I’m not very hungry. Just the coffee will be fine.”
Cookie nodded, understanding her lack of appetite. Grandison Aimes was a sensitive man, Silver
had discovered, though he often hid his feelings beneath a gruff facade.
He poured her a mug of the steaming coffee, which he set down in front of her on the table. Silver smiled, but it came out a bit forlorn. “Thanks.” She wrapped both hands around the mug but didn’t bring it to her lips.
“He’ll be all right,” Cookie told her, reading the train of her thoughts. “We been through rougher seas than this.”
Silver’s head came up. “I remember you saying the two of you have fought together. Where did it happen?”
Cookie laughed, the sound hoarse and rough. “We been in many a tavern brawl, but those don’t count for much. We came close to our end once in ’34. In Aragón—that’s a place in Spain. We just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The damned Carlist War broke out over who should sit on the throne. Got real bloody before we got outa there.”
“What were you doing in Spain?”
“Same as we were doin’ on the Niagara in ’37, when the Canadians sank the
Caroline
. Trading mostly—with folks who got problems. Pays a whole lot better than most. That time the U.S. was aiding the insurgents, though it didn’t do ’em a parcel of good and managed to cost ’em a damn fine ship.”
“So he’s done this kind of thing before.”
“Ever since he bought his first vessel—a schooner some smaller than this one. Cap’n’s a man who knows his talents—and how best to use them. It’s made him a wealthy man. Weren’t for his brother, he’d be brokering cotton, livin’ the life of luxury in that fine mansion o’ his.”