The Outlaw's Lady

Chapter Four

He could tell by her sudden stillness that his words had made Tess think. She looked down, blinking. When she lifted her face again, her expression was calmer, though her blue eyes still flashed with defiance.

She’s afraid, he realized. What woman wouldn’t be, in these circumstances? But she doesn’t want to show it. Most women would have swooned by now, or succumbed to a bout of hysterics. His admiration for her spirit grew.

“You’re right, He does know where I am. And if you believe in God, how can you take part in something like this?” She made a sweeping gesture as if to include everything—her kidnapping, the camp and all of Delgado’s men.

He allowed his face to show polite regret and shrugged. “A man must earn his bread in the best way he is able.”

“Having ranches on both sides of the river wasn’t enough for you?”

Inwardly he winced at her scornful tone, much preferring the spark of interest he had seen in her eyes at the barbecue. He wished he could take her into his confidence, tell her she had no reason to fear him, that he was on the side of justice, but it was too dangerous. There were too many eyes on them right now.

“Ah, where is the zest in that? There is no excitement,” he said, knowing his words would make her more furious still, but that she would control herself because she knew she must.

“So being a bandolero is a sport for you?” Tess exclaimed, but didn’t wait for an answer before asking another outraged question. “You never did intend to come and pick up your framed picture at my shop on Tuesday, did you?” she asked then. “That was just a ruse. And you probably don’t even have a mother, do you? Much less one having a birthday soon.”

“On the contrary, Miss Hennessy, my mother is very much alive, living on my ranch north of Chapin, and will be very pleased with the picture you have taken of me, frame or no frame. You do have it with you, don’t you?”

She nodded sullenly, pointing into the wagon.

“And if you had not driven home by yourself, then yes, the appointment on Tuesday would have been necessary—although a kidnapping raid in broad daylight in a town, involving seizing you, packing up your wagon and hitching up your mule, would have been much more risky, not to mention difficult.”

Again, she appeared to consider his words, and it was a long moment before she spoke again.

“Do you think that my parents will just tamely wait for me to return?” she asked. “You don’t know my father. He’ll have the Texas Rangers after you—maybe even the army!”

He couldn’t help grinning at the irony of what she was saying, and knew she would take it as insolence.

Which she did. “You think I’m joking? Mister, you just took hold of a tiger’s tail!” she cried.

“Miss Hennessy, don’t you think if the Rinches—the Rangers—or the army were capable of catching us, they would have long ago?”

He thought she would have another retort for him, but just then he saw her look behind him, and heard footsteps approaching.

“Ah, our guest has arrived at last, eh?” Delgado remarked in Spanish.

“Sí, jefe,” Sandoval said, turning to face the outlaw leader, and switched to English, which Delgado understood as well. “Miss Teresa Hennessy, may I present Diego Delgado, leader of our band, and the reason you are here.”

He saw Tess’s eyes widen as she beheld Delgado, who had dressed for the occasion in the spotless uniform of a Mexican coronel, which had been cleverly laundered of its bloodstains and mended by Delores, Esteban’s old mother, to hide the bullet holes that had caused the uniform’s sudden availability.

Delgado swept her a bow as courtly as any European count could have made.

“Señorita Hennessy, I am delighted you were able to join us, especially on such…shall we say ‘short notice’?” His English was as flawless as Sandoval’s, though more heavily accented.

“Mr. Delgado,” she replied, “the pleasure is all yours. I am here very much against my will.”

He stared at Tess for a moment as if he was not sure he had heard her correctly, and then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “‘The pleasure is all yours,’ she says!” he exclaimed, slapping his side gleefully. “Sandoval, you said she was a feisty one and you were correct, amigo! Ay, caramba, I like her!”

Delgado’s eyes gleamed as, coming toward her, he looked her up and down, as if she were an untamed mare that needed breaking, and suddenly Sandoval had to fight the urge to clench his fists. “Jefe, I have promised her she need not be afraid, for she will be safe among us,” he said quickly, hoping Delgado would get the hint.

It seemed he did, for Delgado took a step back. “Señorita, you will be as safe here as in the midst of a church,” he said, sweeping her another bow. “I, Delgado, have sworn it.” He turned and repeated his words in Spanish for the benefit of his men. “Any man who touches this lady will answer to me, and will pay with his life, you understand, amigos?”

There was a resounding chorus of agreement.

Delgado turned back to Tess. “You see, they agree. You will be as their hermana, their sister.” He made a gesture with his hand to indicate that he considered this problem solved. “And so you are here to take my picture, Señorita Hennessy? Why don’t we start now, eh? Do I not appear magnificent in uniform?”

Now that her worst fears had been relieved somewhat, Sandoval saw the lines of weariness etched on her face. “Jefe, Señorita Hennessy has traveled a long way overnight bound and gagged. She has not eaten anything, I’ll wager, since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps the picture taking could wait a little while until she has broken her fast and rested a bit?”

Delgado looked surprised. “But, of course! How remiss of me not to realize how tired she must be, and how hungry. Delores!” he called over his shoulder to the older woman who had been hovering nearby. “Cook this young lady some breakfast. She is famished! And then assist her to settle in. Get her some comfortable clothes—Alma’s will fit her, I am sure.” His face darkened slightly as he said the last, and Sandoval knew he was thinking of his last mistress, who had become so jealous and demanding that Sandoval had finally taken her back to the village from which he had lured her. “Perhaps I can pose for the señorita this afternoon instead? Until then, señorita,” he said, bowing again.

Sandoval saw Tess nod uncertainly as Delgado walked away. “Come with me, Miss Hennessy,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if your breakfast is a little spicy. Delores makes the best huevos rancheros I’ve ever tasted. Esteban will unhitch your mule and bring your supplies to that adobe over there. It’s where you will be staying.”

Now that the outlaw leader was no longer favoring her with his bold stare, and the other outlaws were busying themselves elsewhere, Tess felt freer to examine her surroundings as she followed Parrish to where the old woman was stirring something into a skillet over an open fire. Beyond them, flush against the high red-rock walls that soared perhaps forty feet above them, sat three adobe huts. One of them was large, and stood on the left end of the row; the other two, including the one Sandoval had indicated as hers, were smaller.

“That one’s Delgado’s,” Parrish said, pointing to the large one farthest from hers. “That one is mine,” he added, pointing to the one in the middle. “The rest of the men sleep by the fire.”

“So you really are Delgado’s right-hand man,” she murmured. “No humble bedroll for Sandoval Parrish.” As she had expected, he only shrugged at her barb.

She was reassured by the fact that Parrish’s building was situated between Delgado’s and hers, but despite his earlier words, how safe was she, really, with Parrish?

Lord, protect me. She had a comforting sense of God’s presence, but knew that sometimes evil things befell God’s children for reasons they might never understand on this earth.

A creek, with a wooden plank bridge spanning it in the middle, mirrored the curve of the rock walls and served to separate the adobes from the rest of the camp. There were two corrals, one empty, one full of horses. Ben was now being led into the latter. Many of the horses had carried the men who had kidnapped her last night, but a tall, rangy black mustang she hadn’t seen before pranced up now to challenge the newcomer, laying back his ears and snorting threateningly. Ben flattened his own longer ears against his skull, brayed and whirled around, lashing out with his heels. His hooves missed the mustang. The black horse turned and trotted away, still snorting.

Tess smiled, then saw that Sandoval was watching her. “My mule doesn’t cotton to bullying,” she said.

“And neither does his mistress, I’m thinking. Good for you, Miss Hennessy.” They had reached the campfire now, and Parrish smiled at the older woman who turned to face them. “Delores, this is Señorita Teresa Hennessy, the photographer and our guest,” he said in Spanish, then added, “and she speaks Spanish.” He turned back to Tess. “It’s a good thing, since Delores speaks little English.”

“Mucho gusto, señorita,” the older woman said, smiling warmly at her, then invited her to have a seat on a pile of old blankets behind Tess. Delores then turned back to the eggs, peppers, onions and tomatoes she was cooking. The wind carried a whiff of the savory, spicy smell and all at once Tess realized how hungry she was. It had been probably more than fourteen hours since she had eaten.

She sank onto the horse blankets, her aching bones protesting at the long, bumpy ride, and smiled gratefully as the woman handed her a tin cup full of steaming hot coffee poured from a pot resting on hot stones within the fire ring. She caught sight of her dusty navy skirt as she drank, and was thankful all over again that she had been wearing sensible, modest clothing. She could only imagine how nervous she would have felt among these outlaws if she had been wearing the frilly, frivolous dress her mother had wanted her to wear.

She wondered what the clothes being loaned to her by the aforementioned Alma would look like, and if Alma would begrudge her the loan. She prayed the garments would be decent—if Delgado and Parrish thought she was going to parade around in revealing clothing like a cantina girl, they had better think again!

Minutes later Delores had deposited tin plates heaped with eggs and tortillas in both her and Parrish’s laps, and refilled their coffee. Tess ate the spicy food ravenously, and saw out of the corner of her eye that Parrish was doing likewise. It was a surprisingly companionable moment. For a few minutes, at least, Tess forgot she was so angry with him for involving her in this strange situation.

After they both had finished, Parrish excused himself, and Delores took their plates away, returned and gestured for Tess to follow her into the small adobe building designated as hers. The wagon had been left right outside the door.

The door itself was a colorfully woven blanket, which Delores pushed aside so Tess could enter, though the lintel was so low Tess had to duck her head. The room was bigger than it had looked from the outside. Thin, makeshift curtains that had obviously been a pair of dish towels covered a small window. The interior was divided into a larger and a smaller room by means of an ornate screen—where had he stolen that? The larger room contained nothing but a rocking chair—probably also booty—and a pallet on the floor.

Delores mumbled something, pointing at the screen, and went back outside.

Tess went and peeked behind the screen. Here she found a pallet with threadbare but clean sheets, a pillow and a light blanket, and a large brass-bound trunk. Lifting the lid, she found a small, purple cut-glass stoppered bottle lying atop several items of folded clothing. Unable to resist her curiosity, she wiggled the stopper until it came out and held it near her nose. The bottle was empty, but the perfume it had held had been musky and overpowering—not the type of scent a demure woman would use. Had this been Alma’s? Where was she now? What had happened to her?

Restoppering the bottle and setting it aside, she pulled out the garments and examined them. There were two skirts, one a much-laundered, faded-brick red, the other of a dingy hue that must have originally been green. Beneath them she found two bleached-muslin blouses with gathered, bright embroidery-banded sleeves and drawstring necklines. There were also a pair of fine white lawn camisoles beneath them and a lace-trimmed nightgown.

The last items in the trunk were the most surprising—a tarnished, brass-framed hand mirror that had a diagonal crack bisecting the glass, a black lace mantilla and a pair of combs. For all her practical habits when it came to clothing, Tess wouldn’t have been female if the mantilla hadn’t made her sigh with pure feminine delight and reach out to wrap the garment around her head. Instantly, she felt transformed into a woman who was mysterious, unpredictable—fascinating!

Tess sighed and refolded the garment. It wasn’t likely she’d ever have occasion to wear it, unless perhaps Delgado compelled his band to attend church on Sundays. The thought made her giggle.

It was getting increasingly warm as the sun rose higher above the canyon. Tess supposed she had better try on the borrowed garments so she would have something cooler to wear than the perspiration-dampened clothing she had arrived in. Peeking outside, she saw no one heading toward her hut, so she stepped back behind the screen and stripped off the dusty navy skirt and waist and pulled one of the blouses over her head. The soft, worn fabric felt soothing as it settled around her shoulders. Tying the drawstring at the neck in a bow, Tess studied herself in the cracked mirror, and supposed the neckline was modest enough, though if the drawstring were loosened, it would sink lower around her shoulders. The lower neckline of the blouse revealed the small, gold cross necklace which she always wore, reminding Tess that just as Parrish had said, God was with her, even here in this outlaw camp.

Next she dropped the skirt over her head. It also fastened with a drawstring. Alma must have been a few inches shorter than she was, for the skirt revealed her ankles, but she supposed if she kept her boots and stockings on, it would be all right.

She lifted the curtain again and gazed around the camp, seeing a few men caring for the horses, but there was no sign of Sandoval or Delgado. She wondered what Sandoval was doing.

Her brain ached with fatigue, her eyes felt heavy. The pallet looked so inviting. She hadn’t slept soundly as the wagon had rolled over the uneven ground, and she was still tired. It wouldn’t hurt to lie down until someone fetched her….

Chapter Five

“Is Francisco here?” Patrick Hennessy tried to sound calm, but he couldn’t keep the anxiety from his voice. He exchanged a look with Sam Taylor, who had come with him. Sam looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night, either.

“Sí, señor, I will call him,” Francisco’s father said, but before he could do so, the boy appeared at the door of their small house. He must have heard the approaching horses.

“Hola, Señor Hennessy, Señor Taylor,” he said, smiling upward and raising a hand in greeting.

“Good morning to you, Francisco,” Patrick said, but did not return his smile. “Francisco, Tess is missing,” he said. “She never came home from Mr. Taylor’s barbecue last night. The housemaid found a note in her room, saying she was all right, but it wasn’t in her handwriting. Her mother is frantic, as you can imagine.”

Francisco blinked and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Have you seen her?” Patrick asked.

“No, señor. What could have happened to her?”

Patrick could see his surprise at the news was genuine. The boy looked as worried as he felt. He had reason to be grateful to her. After all, Tess was his friend as well as his employer. She’d taught him an unusual skill, developing photographs and mounting them, passing on a gift her uncle had given to her.

“We don’t know,” Patrick Hennessy said, wiping a weary hand over his face. “We’re just checking to see if she might have stopped here, or told you she was going anywhere. She…she didn’t say anything about going to New York, did she?” His heart told him his daughter wouldn’t sneak off like that, without even saying goodbye, but he had to ask.

The boy shook his head vehemently. “She wouldn’t have gone to New York, señor, this I know. She told me she wasn’t ready for that. She said she had to have something….” He clearly struggled for the English word. “A…a collection of pictures, do you know what I mean?”

“A portfolio?” Samuel Taylor asked.

Francisco seized upon the word. “Sí, sí, a portfolio. To show Señor Brady, the great master of photographers. She said she didn’t have enough good pictures yet.”

Patrick’s gaze sought Sam’s again as he considered the boy’s words. He felt waves of apprehension dancing down his spine.

Patrick saw the boy move a step closer to his father, as if he feared the two men wouldn’t believe him, and managed, through his worry, to also feel regret that he had caused the boy to be afraid. The Hennessys and the Taylors and most of their Anglo neighbors had always lived in harmony with the Tejanos among them, but prejudice and bigotry were not unknown among the Anglos.

“You…you haven’t heard of anything unusual happening, have you, Francisco? Señor Luna?” Patrick persisted, including Francisco’s father in his question.

“Anything happening, señor? What do you mean?”

“Anything like raiding,” Taylor answered for Hennessy, his voice stern, uncompromising, like that of the Ranger captain he had been in his younger days.

“Señores, one of my neighbors tells me Delgado’s men were seen last night, riding along the main road about sundown. This man, he did not challenge them, but hid so they would not see him.”

The very thing Patrick had feared. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “Not Delgado! How am I going to tell her mother Delgado took her?”

Sam still looked as worried as he, but he spoke quickly. “I never heard tell of any bandit troubling to leave the family a note, and in English, at that. I don’t reckon Delgado knows how to write Spanish, let alone English. No, there’s got t’ be more to this disappearance than that, but I’ll be cussed if I know what.”

“We’ve got to go see the Rangers,” Patrick said. “They have to go after her!”

“Miss Hennessy?” Sandoval called, standing outside the blanket-door, but there was no answer. “Tess, it’s Sandoval.” Still no answer, so at last he stepped inside the hut. As his eyes adjusted to the cool darkness of the main room, he saw she was not here.

Where could she have gone? Could she have been so foolish as to try to escape already? But where would she have gone? It was not as if she could climb the steep vertical wall of the canyon, or walk right past his compadres who were dicing in the shade, cleaning guns or caring for the horses.

And then, as he stood still in the semidarkness, he heard the quiet, even sound of her breathing, beyond the blanket that divided the room. Moving quietly, he crossed the room in three quick strides and pushed the curtain aside to peer into the sleeping area.

Tess was lying on her side on the pallet, fully clothed in her new, borrowed garments, and fast asleep. One arm lay under the pillow, the other cradled her cheek. Her knees were flexed beneath the faded skirt so that only the tips of her toes stuck out. Her features were relaxed in slumber, the fear and anger that had marched across them earlier entirely absent. She looked so innocent….

As innocent as Pilar had looked before Delgado had ridden into Montemorelos, luring her into leaving with him. As I live and breathe, Tess Hennessy, this will not happen to you, he swore silently. He would not fail her as he had failed Pilar.

A wave of longing passed over Sandoval as he continued to look at her. He wanted to drink in the sight of her sleeping until she woke up, even if it took hours, but he knew he couldn’t. Even if Delgado wouldn’t become impatient and come looking for him, he didn’t want to frighten her if she woke and found him staring down at her.

Sandoval stepped carefully and soundlessly backward, letting the blanket fall back into place across the doorway. He called again, louder this time: “Miss Hennessy? Tess? It’s time to wake up. It’s Parrish, and I’ve come to take you to Delgado. He’s ready to have his picture made.”

He heard her utter a quick, involuntary cry of alarm and the pallet rustled. Sandoval imagined her pushing herself up into a sitting position and stretching, perhaps trying to remember where she was.

“I…I guess I fell asleep,” he heard her murmur. “Wh-what time is it?”

Sandoval smiled to himself. There were no clocks in the canyon hideout. The banditos rose with the sun and, when not going raiding, ate and slept when they wanted.

“Late afternoon, Miss Hennessy. You slept through lunch. But no matter. I am sure you needed the rest after your journey, and Delores will be making supper before long.”

“Oh! I—I didn’t mean to sleep so long! I’ll be right out.”

He forced himself to sound casual, even disinterested. “Take your time, Miss Hennessy. Delgado merely thought you might want to take advantage of the afternoon light,” he said, stepping back outside. “With your permission, I’ll have Esteban and Manuel pull your wagon of supplies over in front of Delgado’s hut.”

She joined him three minutes later, one side of her face still faintly imprinted with the mark of the wrinkled pillowcase, and tendrils of escaping hair curling around her face. “Your new garments become you,” Sandoval told her. It was the truth. Her dark-blue skirt and long-sleeved blouse had masked the delicacy of her bones and her womanly form. Her neck was long and elegant, rising above the gleaming, golden cross necklace he spotted just above the drawstring. She was more beautiful in these simple garments than most women would be in satin and lace.