Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (33 page)

      
“Yes, more of his Comanchero friends. They'll have the guns and whiskey.”

      
“He's bringing information on how to avoid ranger patrols,” Slade guessed.

      
She nodded tightly.

      
“Anything else in the works, Sina? From south of the border? Hear from Antonio Perez or Enrique Flores lately?” He poised on the balls of his feet.

      
She faced him with clear black eyes wide open. “No, nothing yet. They will move before winter, I am certain, but Tonio or one of his vaqueros will tell me first.”

      
“So you can gather all the current information on defenses and militia positions?” His brow creased in a harsh frown.

      
“Please, Diego. I have promised you I would wait and watch, tell you whatever you want. Do not be cruel...” She sobbed and let the tears fall as she turned into his arms. He held her, awkwardly trying to soothe her, and for the first time she felt some of his guilt seep through the poker facade he had erected over his emotions.

      
By the time she had dried her eyes and seated herself, white-faced and trembling, by the parlor table, he was assuring her everything would be all right. He would deal with Markham and protect her from the authorities. Slade promised she would be free of the Englishman and need have no more involvement in espionage and treason. He believed her.

      
It was the performance of her life.

* * * *

      
When Tomasina was ushered into Don Felipe's vault-roofed library, she was once more struck with how singularly appropriate the dark, cave like, decaying palace of a house suited the Rojas family. Unctuously smiling, Don Felipe appeared a moment later, rubbing his hands in nervous anticipation of their midnight meeting.

      
“So delighted to be of service to our glorious cause, Doña Tomasina. I cannot express to you—”

      
She interrupted his flowery oration in an impatient, agitated voice. “Save your speeches for the parade ground when General Woll arrives, Felipe. Is Cordova here yet? I've been awaiting word of his arrival for weeks.”

      
“But of course. I am always a most punctual man, as punctual as the condition of Texas roads and the aim of Texian guns allow.” The sibilant voice was low and insinuating. Vincente Cordova had always disturbed her, with his lithe, pantherish elegance and penetrating black eyes; the eyes of a visionary or a fanatic, she was never sure which.

      
“Since you are here, Captain Cordova, I assume General Woll’s army is now a day's march at most from the Main Plaza.”

      
“Quite so. A day, two at the most. Don Adrian sends his regards,” he replied.

      
“Good. I salute him and anxiously await his deliverance of San Antonio, but it is of another matter that I must speak to you. One of the greatest delicacy and secrecy.” She eyed Don Felipe, who had been hovering silently in the background like a tame crow. With a stammered blush and stiffly affronted gait, he quit the room.

      
Cordova smiled thinly. “I assume you wish to speak of our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Markham, or is it perhaps of other mutual friends...?” He let his words trail off, gauging her reactions. What game did this childish woman play?

      
“As to Ashley Markham, he no longer signifies.” That got his attention, rather more penetratingly than she would have wished. His black eyes were narrowed to slits as he waited for her to continue. “He has let his cover slip rather badly, I'm afraid. My fiancé discovered his connection with Iron Hand weeks ago. Right now, Markham is walking into a trap. No one can save him. He is of no further use to our cause anyway.”

      
“If he is known as a British agent dealing with the Comanche, you are, of course, correct. But British gold—now that is always of use to our cause.” Once more he waited like a chess player.

      
“I can supply the British gold. You can contact the Comanche.” She turned from the mantel, where her fingers had been tracing nervous patterns in a thick accumulation of dust, to watch his reaction.

      
Unexpectedly, he threw back his black, curly head and laughed. “You, a respectable lady, go-between for foreign spies and marauding savages? How dazzlingly unexpected, especially when you will be married to a pillar of the Yankee community, a friend of Sam Houston!”

      
“I am not prone to carelessness, as was Ashley. I will assuredly fulfill my end of the bargain.” Her cold black eyes challenged him openly.

      
“I believe you just may do so at that, Doña Tomasina.” He walked over to Don Felipe's large oak desk and unstopped a crystal decanter. Pouring two small cordial glasses of deep ruby liquid, he handed one to her. “To Ashley Markham's successor.”

      
Measuring each other over the tilted rims of the prismed glasses, they drank in silence.

      
When she was safely back in her own town house, at the other end of the shady, tree-lined boulevard, Tomasina felt the sense of triumph, so tightly held on her ride home, suddenly evaporating. With trembling hands she once more opened a grimy fold of paper and reread the message on it, a message she had copied over a week ago from a note in Markham's pocket. Sated and drowsy from his long bout of lovemaking, he had slept soundly that day at Jake's ranch, slept the sleep of the damned as Tomasina stole away from the bed and methodically and noiselessly searched his clothes. The besotted fool never suspected a thing.

      
Men were all such fools. Diego believed he could use her while keeping that American trash; Ashley thought she was going away with him after his last mission to the Comanche. It would be his last mission anywhere, once Slade and his rangers caught up with the unfortunate Englishman. Perhaps the two men would kill one another. Tomasina smiled at the thought. With the information she'd given Slade, Ashley was dead for certain. If Slade returned to San Antonio, he would walk into the welcoming embrace of the Mexican army. They knew how to deal with turncoats,
Tejanos
like Diego who worked for the Texian usurpers.

      
Even Vincente Cordova was a fool. He patronized her, thought she could not gain access to the higher circles of British espionage. But she had, without Markham ever discovering it. She had found the name of his mysterious contact, the direct link to the British Foreign Office and all that grand Imperial gold. He was William Kennedy, author, traveler, diplomat with a startling affinity for changing sides, first supporting the Republic, then working clandestinely for Aberdeen to suborn the Mexicans and Comanche who worked against Texas. And Kennedy was arriving in San Antonio on September twelfth with a special pass through the occupation army lines. Tomasina smiled. She was counting the gold already.

* * * *

      
September eleventh dawned with a warm, still mist hugging the city, enveloping everything from the tallest church spires on the plaza to the deepest ruts in the roads leading to them. Word of a surprise invasion had circulated the preceding day, brought by a drunken Mexican spy who lingered too long in a local bordello. A delegation of frightened
Tejano
shop keepers who had gone in search of the Mexican army to plead for peace did not return. Another hardier corps of Texian and
Tejano
volunteers fortified themselves to do battle, rendezvousing before dawn in the court building and other houses facing the Main Plaza.

      
Out of the swirling mists, the sounds of martial music echoed across the open expanse of the plaza. General Woll’s army arrived in full military splendor, right down to the accompaniment of bugles and drums. One young drummer fell, the only Mexican death in the opening fray that resulted in the fall of San Antonio.

      
At first the defenders were certain of victory, having been misinformed as to the size of the invading force, so well concealed by heavy fog. While the Mexicans scaled the heights of several church towers under Woll’s precise direction, the Texians kept up a lively fire into the fog bank, yelling and cheering. Then, as suddenly as the lifting of a curtain, the brilliant Texas sun cut through the mist, revealing to the eyes of the horrified defenders over a thousand Mexican soldiers surrounding their meager fortifications.

      
The invading force was ten times what they had been led to expect. Cannons faced them from across the plaza, rifles were trained on them from the heights of San Fernando Church. They were surrounded. They surrendered unconditionally, and General Woll, French mercenary, career soldier and man of essential decency, spared their lives and guaranteed them the rights of prisoners of war, a nicety his own Commander-in-chief in Mexico City had not always observed.

      
All together, discounting boys and the badly wounded, fifty-two prisoners were captured, while many more escaped as the fog once more spread like a blanket over the city. As the alarm went out across the Texas countryside, the city remained the essence of placid order. Martial law was, of course, in effect. A proclamation was issued on the morning of the twelfth assuring the citizenry that all peaceful people,
Tejano
and Texian, were to be unmolested and their property rights respected. They were reminded, however, of their renewed allegiance to the Supreme Magistrate of the Mexican Republic, the illustrious General Santa Anna.

      
Widely varied feelings prevailed across the city—anxiety, anger, deliverance, vengefulness. For Tomasina, none of these emotions mattered. Her mood was one of anticipation. Tonight, she was to meet William Kennedy. If her bargain with him could be as well struck as the one with Vincente Cordova, she would become an arbiter of Mexican-British diplomatic relations, covertly manipulating generals and cabinet ministers. Eventually she'd live in a palace in Mexico City, shaking the dust of Texas from her skirts forever.

      
William Kennedy was not at all what Tomasina expected. For one thing, he was a boyishly young-looking man whose smooth features and carefully tailored clothing belied the measuring look in his piercing gray eyes. As he bent to coolly salute Tomasina's fingertips, one thick, straight lock of light brown hair bounced carelessly on his forehead.

      
“May I offer you what hospitality these modest furnishings afford—a glass of sherry? Or some rather nice claret?” While he poured, Tomasina felt his eyes on her, assessing her as if she were a piece of livestock.

      
“I am not being auctioned, Señor Kennedy,” she said coldly, accepting the claret but not tasting it.
No finesse,
she thought pettishly. At least Markham had a facade of gentility about him.

      
“Please forgive me,” he said briskly, his tone indicating quite perfunctorily that he cared not a whit if she forgave him or not. “I was expecting to meet Ashley Markham tonight. If I had known a lady would be taking his place, I would have suggested a less compromising location to meet than this hotel room.”

      
Tomasina's laugh was brittle. “Being involved in espionage is compromising enough, I warrant. I shall not fear for my reputation, and you need not fear discovery. Unlike your lackadaisical countryman, Mr. Markham, I am most discreet.”

      
“Nicely spoken, Madam. From your remarks, I assume Markham has been compromised. Is he dead then?” His icy gaze riveted on her.

      
She decided to give up all pretense at coyness and play her role with the same startling coolness as he did. “Ashley is a coward who planned to run when he was discovered. Even as we speak, my Texian fiancé is tracking him down. If he is not dead now, he soon will be. I've been his right hand for years, his main source of intelligence in the
Tejano
community here and his sole source from the government in Mexico.”

      
“And now you offer me those same services you rendered to Mr. Markham?” Was his tone mocking, tinged with innuendo?

      
“I am in communication with a high-ranking officer in General Woll's army who has been an irregular with Colonel Perez in the past. He has contacts with the Comanche.”

      
The slashing tan brows arched in distaste. “Those irregulars are little better than cutthroats and savages themselves.”

      
“Then what does that make the foreigners who finance them, Señor Kennedy?” she snapped. “At least we fight on our own land, for our rightful government.”

      
“So do the Indians, Doña Tomasina, in their own benighted way.” His rebuke was quietly stated, considering her sparklingly furious accusation.

      
Deciding she must veer toward a more diplomatic tack, Tomasina forced herself to calm down. “The fact remains, Markham is gone and you need me as liaison to the Mexican government. You also need my contacts, who can equip the Comanche to fight the Texians.”

      
“All bought with English money—Mexicans and Comanche alike. Damn the things we do in the name of political expediency.” He ran a hand through his hair and affixed her with another of those measuring stares. “All right, Mrs. Carver. I have a rather substantial amount of gold, which was to be turned over to Mr. Markham...doubtlessly a good portion of it intended for you and your irregular friends in the Mexican army. I see no objection to dealing directly with you. Felipe Rojas speaks highly of you, and lord knows, your position once you marry Jim Slade will be invaluable. We know he's a close confidant of President Houston, and he's done special assignments for him from time to time.”

      
At the confirmation of her suspicions about Slade, Tomasina's eyes widened in surprise. She said scornfully, “What use is it to know about that Yankee pig Houston? He will die a traitor's death, like all the American usurpers, once the Mexican army reclaims Texas.”