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“Shelene, I know one thing: your uncle is not so stupid as to harm Antonio. Our son is being used for leverage, for distraction. Let’s walk around and come in through the sacristy. We’ll wait for Father Etienne there.”
He took Shelene’s hand and led her along the cobble street. “You see, for all of your uncle’s wickedness, he does want to live to see another day. If he is caught and imprisoned by the king’s men, he will outlive a sentence or he will escape. However, if I catch him and there is one hair on my son’s head missing, he will die. Thus, he must have a very clear reason to take such a gamble and it isn’t to die at the end of my flintlock barrel. Though he would certainly be happy to kill me in the process.” Her hand clenched in his. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen.”
When they arrived at the back of the church, the wooden door was unsecured. “Wait a minute,” he said and slipped into the church, assured that the sacristy was empty. There was another door leading to the chancel. He pressed his ear to it first and heard the priest chanting in Latin. He opened the door to the chancel and altar, peeking through. Yes. Only ten minutes or less to wait. Although he still liked the idea of Shelene walking up the aisle and sitting in the front row. That would have scared the shit out of the man.
He left the chancel and went outdoors again. Shelene leaned against the wall, head down, eyes closed, and fingers clasped together. He didn’t want to interrupt her prayer.
When she stared into his eyes, he could see the fire had returned. Father Etienne was about to be confronted by a mother’s wrath.
He led her inside and made her sit on the wooden chair nearest the door. She would also be the first person Father Etienne saw when he walked into the sacristy.
Shelene’s gaze stayed on the door, waiting for the creaking sound of its opening.
Roman had taken a place on the opposite wall, where the chancel door’s opening would keep him out of sight for a moment or two. Tension mounted. Shelene sat up, back straight, when she heard the final words of the mass. She glanced at him and pointed to her pistol. Roman shook his head, drawing his own but leaving his arm dangle at his side.
A few moments later, the door opened, and the priest stepped in. Roman heard him gasp. “Señora Forrester,” he said, his voice shaking with surprise and fear.
Roman half-cocked his flintlock for good measure.
“Where is my son?” she said.
* * * * *
Shelene had never experienced such fear. She wondered how Father Etienne felt hearing a gun cock behind him. And again, she had that insane reaction to laugh.
“Where is he?” she said again, somehow getting to her feet when her legs were trembling with weakness.
“Answer her question, Father. I think you are the only one who knows.”
Father Etienne’s head bobbled as if his head wasn’t properly attached.
“Roman, shoot him if he doesn’t answer.” Shelene could hardly believe she’d said the words, but why not? Why not be the fearsome creature who would get to the bottom of her uncle’s treachery and rescue her son?
“I—I know where he’s at. He’s not here.”
“Is my son with Belgrano?” Roman asked.
“Yes, of course he is. Who else?”
“Why, Father? Why do something so heinous? Something so against everything you supposedly believe?” she asked.
“Do you think I wanted to? No one disobeys Belgrano. You know that, Señora Forrester. Your uncle is a cruel man. He threatened to burn me, my congregation and this church to the ground. And he would do it too. Do you think I could allow that to happen even in exchange for the life of a little boy? He wouldn’t hurt his grandnephew. It’s Las Colinas he wants. And it was almost within his grasp.”
“What are his plans?” Roman demanded. “Where is he and where is my son?”
“I don’t know for sure.”
“Guess.”
“They were leaving the caves late last evening once they knew the regiment was on its way.”
“Don’t make me keep asking,” Roman said. He waved the pistol with an irritable flick. Shelene didn’t know this man, the one who made life-threatening demands and had every word obeyed without question.
“The weapons and ammunition were being loaded for transportation away from Arco de la Frontera and on to Seville where there are more supporters to provide shelter until they are ready for their little rebellion. Good riddance to such cowardly rabble. You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?”
“I may burn your church,” Roman said. “How many of them are there?”
“Maybe thirty-five or forty.”
