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Chapter Seventeen
After Roman found the regiment, around thirty men, they rode hard toward the bridges. He glanced over his shoulder to see Shelene right behind him, riding as hard as a trained cavalryman.
At the first crossroad, Roman and the regiment commander pulled to a stop, the riders circling.
“We’ll need to split up. Joaquin? How far to the bridge from here on this road?”
“Five miles or so.”
His horse turned again. Roman reined her into a circle, trying to settle her. “Men from Las Colinas will be following them, whichever road they have taken. They have my son and another woman from the estate who are innocent in all this, so I ask you to use caution. And it is likely they will be close to Belgrano.”
Wagons traveled slowly and the roads along the river wound along the sandstone cliffs and hills. They were no more than two hours behind Antonio and Durra, he felt sure. Would they have caught up with the wagons? It was hard to know. Durra could be purposefully holding them back. She was likely scared for her and Antonio’s life and not thinking strategically.
There was only one thing he could count one. Durra would protect Antonio with her life, if it came to that.
“I’ll take ten of your men with me to the next bridge. Remember, there could be reinforcements coming in behind you. Watch your crossfire.”
Normally, Roman’s blood flowed with excitement when he was so close to an enemy. Now it flowed heavy with regret and fear. He glanced toward Shelene—his brave, iron-willed wife, to see her dusty face and the trail of dried tears. If Roman stopped right here and said they could not go on, he knew Shelene would defy him until she drew her last breath. Until she held her son in her arms again.
She had the leather bag open, and her right hand tucked inside. Around the flintlock grip, ready and willing to do what must be done, he guessed. What was the saying?To tell a woman what she cannot do is to tell her what she can.Shelene was determined to find her son and punish the man responsible.
He’d chosen the longer route to the second bridge just to keep Shelene safe a little longer. His horse started an unusual gate, prancing more than sauntering, her head bobbing unnaturally. “Pay attention. Captain, send some of your men to position themselves in those hills. Shelene, stay with me.”
“A reminder, sir, I have an obligation to take Señor Belgrano alive. His Majesty, the king, wishes it.”
“Wishing won’t make it so,” Roman said.
“We are not dragoons. We are His Majesty’s cavalry, and we obey our king.” Yes, Roman was aware of the Spanish Regiment El Rey, identified easily by the red plume on their bi-corn hat that declared their loyalty to the Bourbon King Ferdinand. Their blue coats with red lapels, collars and cuffs and their yellow breeches identified their proud tradition. Roman had to deal with Spanish soldiers in the past, but never the honorable. He was always up against the deserters, the terrorizers, the mercenaries. Men like Belgrano.
Joaquin tilted his head, listening. “There, can you hear it? Gunshots.”
“Yes. The rest of you, off the road.”
Roman tapped a short riding crop across the horse’s hind quarter, and he shot up the hill overlooking the road. He didn’t look back for Shelene, hearing her horse behind him. The Spanish captain hand-signaled his men to adjust their position then pulled a retractable telescope from his saddle pannier.
“May I?” Shelene asked.
“Ciertamente.”
Roman could see three wagons and several riders, traveling fast and kicking up dust. No one that he could identify as Belgrano, though, let alone a small woman like Durra and a child.
“Do you see anything?” he asked Shelene.
“No. No, not yet.” She continued to stare through the telescope. “I don’t see Antonio.”
Roman reached for the telescope. “Let me.”
“No,” she said.
More shots were fired. The regiment men had their rifles at the ready, able to fire and load while remaining mounted. They would be ready to ride them down if necessary.
A volley of shots went off, one lead shot kicking up the dirt near his horse’s hoof.
He yelled at Shelene, “Stay behind me!”
The familiar cacophony of battle was upon them. Roman had two of the Baker rifles. Shelene pushed the telescope into her kit and pulled out a flintlock—mostly useless at this range, but it would give her confidence. The men on the hill were firing at anything that moved.
Dust and noise and yelling ensued. Some of the regiment had ridden into the road, rifles to their shoulders. One of the lead wagons’ horses had stumbled to the ground, blood spurting from its shoulder. It dragged the other down with it, the wagon coming to an abrupt stop. Two men jumped from it. One of them was shot midair and landed face down in the dust.
