Bride of Fortune (55 page)

      
“Juarez will and you know it. Question is, if Washington tries to do anything about it, will you expect me to become embroiled in the mess? I've done my ‘duty’ for both governments. Now all I want is to go home.”

      
McQueen measured Fortune for a moment, then said, “The Johnson Administration will lodge official protests but do nothing else except a bit of public hand wringing for the benefit of the European monarchs.”

      
Fortune smiled sardonically. “How better to teach them to stay on their side of the pond?”

      
“You should’ve been in my business, Nicholas,” McQueen said with what almost sounded like genuine regret.

      
“Speaking about those marked for criminal prosecution by the republic, have you heard any more about my brother? He seems to have vanished into thin air.”

      
“As well he should. General Díaz has put quite a hefty price on the head of
El Diablo
. They'll run him to ground sooner or later—or more probably, he'll turn up from under some rock. Be careful on your return to Sonora. Being Lucero Alvarado isn't exactly a healthy identity right now.”

      
“No one this far north knows about Luce. He did his raiding with Marquez in Díaz's bailiwick in the south. Much as I know he deserves it, I hate to see him shot. Perhaps he'll escape. He always did have the devil's own luck.”

      
“Perhaps,” McQueen replied noncommittally.

* * * *

      
Mercedes watched through the kitchen window as Innocencia grabbed hold of Lucero's leg. He backed his great black stallion away, preparing to ride out of the big courtyard.

      
“Hah! Foolish woman, to think that one would take her with him. He has always been fickle as the wind,” Angelina said scornfully. “He cares for no one, not even his own mother, God rest her soul.” She made the sign of the cross.

      
“It seems like only yesterday we buried Doña Sofia,” Mercedes replied, realizing that another fortnight had slipped away since her mother-in-law's death. And still no word from Nicholas. At least now Lucero was leaving. She thanked God for that. If the two brothers were to meet on Gran Sangre, blood would be spilled, she felt it in her bones. And in wishing that her husband would die and his brother survive, she was guilty of yet another in a long list of mortal sins.

      
All of the house servants knew by now that the man preparing to ride away outside was not the man who had returned home a year ago, the man who fathered her child, the man she loved. Even Rosario, in her innocence, intuited the truth. Yet no one condemned her as a fallen woman. She should be grateful, but since Nicholas had left her, nothing else really seemed to matter, only that he return to her safe and whole.
I, too, would beg and abase myself as Innocencia is doing—but only for Nicholas.

      
She recalled Lucero's farewell to her earlier in the day. Dressed for travel, an arsenal of weapons strapped to his body, he had come into the study where she was working on accounts. Startled, she had inspected him warily, reaching for the pistol concealed in her pocket.

      
“No need for the gun,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender as he sauntered closer. “I just came to say goodbye.”

      
There was a strange look in those predatory wolf’s eyes. Mercedes thought she saw a glimpse of regret, perhaps even wistfulness. For an instant he reminded her of Nicholas. Giving herself a mental shake for the absurdity of her fanciful imagination, she stood up and faced him, placing her hands unconsciously on her belly. “Where are you going?”
Will you ever return to usurp Nicholas' position again?

      
“You needn't look so fearful for your lover and his child,” he replied, reading her thoughts with chilling accuracy. “I'm leaving the country. After I relieve the emperor of some of his silver. Where he's going he won't have any use for it,” he added cynically.

      
“I can scarcely wish you good luck then, considering your mission,” she said wryly, feeling an unexpected pang of regret. If only he could have been more like Nicholas—if only he could have
been
Nicholas, their lives would have gone so smoothly.

      
“Always so dutiful and loyal, Mercedes,” he mocked, smiling.

      
Her expression became grave. “Not really, else I wouldn't have fallen in love with your brother when I knew he wasn't my husband.”

      
“What will you do when he returns?” he asked, curious in spite of his casual tone.

      
“I...I don't know,” she said honestly. “You were right. We can't ever marry...even if...”

      
He threw back his head and laughed. “Even if I were so obliging as to die? Well, I hate to disappoint you, little bird, but I plan on living a very long time. If I know Nick, he'll keep you and the land in spite of the convent school guilt the nuns drummed into you.”

      
“Perhaps. But that's for Nicholas and me to decide when he returns.” If
he returns
.

      
“You know, it's a pity we didn't meet now instead of four years ago. I'd take you with me to Argentina, Mercedes.”

      
“I wouldn't go. You'll never change. You'd soon tire of me just as you did then,” she said without rancor. It was simply over, as if there had never been a marriage at all. A surprising surge of relief washed over her. “It's best you do leave now. Good-bye, Lucero.”

      
He had bowed mockingly and then turned to walk out of her life.

      
Mercedes brought her attention back to Innocencia, who stood in the dust of the courtyard as Lucero's cruel words of parting rang in her ears. “Surely you didn't think I'd actually burden myself with you, did you, pet? I can buy your kind at every wayside pueblo between here and Durango. Once I reach Argentina, I'll have wealth enough to win all the women I want.”

      
“I will not let you leave me, Lucero!” she threatened as he pried her grasping fingers free of his leg.

      
“You cannot stop me, Cenci. Since my brother is immune to your charms, find another—perhaps even one foolish enough to wed you.” With that he kneed his big black stallion into a canter, leaving without a backward glance.

      
She crumpled onto the ground sobbing, then looked after him as his figure vanished down the road. Her eyes were dry of tears now, narrowed into glittering black slits. She balled her hands into fists and pounded the hard unforgiving earth. “You will be sorry you did not take Cenci with you, Lucero. Very, very sorry.”

* * * *

      
Gregorio Sanchez was surprised to see Don Lucero's mistress enter the stable, swishing her hips seductively. “Not gone half an hour and already you look for a replacement,” he said scornfully.

      
“Do not flatter yourself, Juarista peon,” she replied with disdain. “I've come to you on business. This far north have you heard of a contre-guerrilla raider called
El Diablo
?”

      
“So?” Sanchez prodded, “Perhaps I have.”

      
“Lucero Alvarado is the famous
El Diablo
who dressed in black. Still he rides his great black horse. The Juaristas in the south have placed a reward on his head. I will have it once you turn him in. He rides east on the road to Durango. From San Ramos you could contact the republican soldiers in Ocampo. I know you are one of them.”

      
“Don Lucero is
El Diablo
? I do not believe it,” he scoffed. “You only tell the lie because he has spurned you.”

      
“Have your Juarista friends wire Durango and tell them
El Diablo
rides the road to their city. They will recognize him when they see him.”

BookmarkChapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

      
Nicholas sat up gingerly, feeling the night chill from the earth that had seeped into his bones as he slept. Lord, but he ached. Dr. Ramirez had been right about the difficulty of the ride, but in a few more days he would be home with Mercedes. Wincing at the stiffness in his side, he rolled up and began to gather his gear together.

      
He disliked making camp along the trail while riding alone. The north was officially pacified, but it was still dangerous territory filled with roaming bands of cutthroats as well as remnants of
contre-guerrillas
making their way toward the American border. This stretch of the road was barren with not so much as a peon's
jacal
left standing after the ravages of war. Sleeping in the open, concealed behind some junipers was his only option.

      
He saddled the big black and carefully swung up on his back, then let the horse pick his way to the road. Just as he was going to turn onto the narrow twisting trail which cut across the mountains, he heard the unmistakable click of a rifle being cocked. A tall rider appeared from behind a copse of pines, followed by half a dozen others, who quickly fanned out in a semicircle around him. The men were dressed in shabby uniforms of the Army of the Republic of Mexico, but their weapons were shiny U.S. Army Springfield rifles.

      
“You are Don Lucero Alvarado?” the lieutenant asked.

      
A prickle of unease danced along Nicholas’ nerve endings. He almost revealed his real identity, but hell, this was Chihuahua—word of the truth might reach Gran Sangre. Besides, the odds were better for a Mexican than an American, who would only be treated as an imperial mercenary.

      
“Yes, I'm Alvarado,” he replied guardedly, “returning home to Sonora after fighting for President Juarez.”

      
“We have witnesses in Durango who will identify which side you fight for, Don Lucero,” the lieutenant said coldly.

      
“You think I'm the
contre-guerrilla
raider called
El Diablo
?” Fortune asked as warning bells sounded now that it was too late—if it had not already been too late from the moment they surrounded him.

      
“You've admitted you're Alvarado. I have little doubt the witnesses in Durango will confirm that you are
El Diablo
.” Turning to his corporal, he signaled for the younger man to disarm the prisoner.

      
“If you take me back to Chihuahua City, I have witnesses who will swear I'm a Juarista,” he countered as his guns and knives were efficiently stripped from his body and his hands bound to his saddle.

      
The lieutenant allowed himself a broad grin now, revealing a mouth filled with rotted teeth. “Ah, but Don Lucero, we are going to Durango and it is in the opposite direction. Let's ride.”

* * * *

      
Mexico City was in turmoil. When Bazaine and the French garrison had departed back in February, people were restive but the upper class felt, as long as the emperor remained with his Austrian and Belgian troops to impose discipline on the Mexican army, that the situation was still viable. Then scant weeks later, Maximilian and his armies had also deserted the capital.

      
Panic set in at once. Shopkeepers boarded up their businesses, embassies closed, sending their personnel to Vera Cruz for safety, and wealthy families returned to their country
hacienda
s taking coach loads of valuables with them. Everyone in the streets went heavily armed. Few ventured out after dark.

      
Rumors of General Díaz's approach from the south with a large Juarista force circulated wildly, causing those who had prospered at the royal court to shudder with fright. Every imperialist sympathizer expected the worst, especially after General Marquez returned to the capital, reporting that a second Juarista army under General Escobedo had the emperor and his forces encircled in Querétaro, trapped and besieged. So hopelessly outnumbered were they that Marquez made no pretense of raising a levy to ride to their rescue. Instead, he set about systematically looting the treasury before taking flight at the approach of General Díaz.

      
When Lucero arrived in the city, he noted the deserted streets with unease. A gut instinct told him that he had come too late. The capital had been so ripe for the plucking that Marquez had not needed
El Diablo
's
contre-guerrillas
to help loot the government treasury.

      
It took Alvarado several days to round up his men from the cantinas and bordellos. Then they rode hard to catch up to the Tiger, whose tail he intended to twist. Riding breakneck over the mountains, they might reach Vera Cruz before Marquez sailed. Lucero would not abandon his dream of a rich life in Argentina so easily.