letter opener dropped from her hand unheeded and clattered to the floor as a new fear rose up inside her. The officers would not dare to touch her, would they? She was no camp follower. Her lineage could be traced back nine generations to the Acalde in Madrid, Spain.
“So your general makes war on women?” her father said.
“No. Of course not. But Victoria is beyond compare. And Santa Anna has…appetites. I…I am afraid for her,” he repeated awkwardly. A slight flush came to his cheeks.
“Then what do you propose?”
“To take her far from here—as far away from the fighting as possible.”
Victoria couldn’t believe he would separate her from her family. She needed to stay here and help. “That is impossible, Esteban!”
Father turned to her and studied her face, lifting the point of her chin with his fingers.
Shocked that he would consider Esteban’s words, she grasped his forearm. “No! I wish to stay with you. I am strong. I can fight.”
His gaze hardened. “In this, Victoria, you will do as I say.”
“Father,” she said once more, “do not send me away.”
Her father gave little indication that he heard her, instead he turned to Esteban. “Where would you go? Where does the army go next?”
Esteban looked affronted. “I cannot tell you that!”
“You’re an officer,” her father pressed. “Surely you know Santa Anna’s plans.”
“Even if I knew, I would not tell you. You would make a traitor of me when I am here to help you.”
A slight nod was the only indication her father understood the truth of Esteban’s words.
Esteban thought for a moment. “Where does she have family?”
“Monterrey.”
“Too far. I cannot leave my men for that long. Is there no one closer?”
Father looked at Mama and silent communication seemed to flow between them. “Your cousin, Gertrudis? Juan and his family?”
Mama nodded, but there were tears in her eyes. “Bejar. The Texians have control of the city now. Perhaps she will be safe at their hacienda until we can bring her back.”
It didn’t make any sense to Victoria. She moved closer to whisper in her father’s ear. “But, Papa. If the Texians are in control, surely that will be where Santa Anna goes next?”
Under the guise of a bracing hug, she felt his slight nod. “Go to Juan,” he said softly, urgently. “His family is well thought of in Bejar. He will be able to protect you.”
Papa let go and turned to Esteban. “You will escort her there? I have your word as a gentleman that you would guard her honor?”
With a formal bow and a click together of his boot heels, Esteban answered solemnly. “With my life.”
She barely heard his answer. The strange look between her parents, the things her mother said—what was it that they wanted of her? It dawned on her then. She must warn her cousin Juan that Santa Anna was near, so that the people of Bejar could prepare themselves. Excitement thrummed through her.
Didn’t Esteban understand? She tried to keep the urgency from showing on her face. Was he so intent on getting her to safety that he hadn’t evaluated the consequences? Or, more likely, did he suspect that she, being a woman, gave such things little thought?
“You must trust me, Victoria,” Esteban said, mistaking her hesitation for fear. He started to leave, but at the door he stopped. “Wear dark clothes. Pack only what you can carry on your horse and meet me in the stable in fifteen minutes.” He walked through the doorway.
She turned to her parents. “I will warn Juan. You can count on me, Papa.”
“The journey will not be easy,” he said, a worried look on his brow. He crossed to her writing desk and withdrew a sliver of paper, and then dashed off a quick note. Straightening, he blew on the indigo ink and then folded and handed it to Victoria. “This tells the approximate size of the army and the names of the generals here, but you must let Juan know there are two other armies to the south gaining ground. He must prepare immediately.”
She tucked the paper in her fist and glanced between her mother and father. “What will become of you?”
Father shook his head. “For now I’ll do as the soldiers ask. This General Romero appears to be a respectable man. I do not think we will come to harm.”
He folded her into a hug, and she drew in the scent that was his alone, mixed with the tobacco of his favorite cigar. “Get dressed now. There is little time.”
She turned to her mother. “Mama,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around the woman’s neck and shoulders.
“Vaya con Dios,” her mother said, tears wetting her face. “Be strong.” With an extra squeeze, she let go and stepped away.
A lump formed in Victoria’s throat. Would she ever see her family again? She could not allow herself to believe otherwise. She clamped her teeth together, afraid her parents would see her trembling. She must be strong as her mother said—strong and resilient. Pulling herself up tall, her shoulders back, she memorized her parents’ proud faces. “A Torrez has safeguarded this land for generations. Now it is my turn and I am ready. I will make you proud.”
The first night of their journey north, when Victoria dismounted from her horse, her legs would not obey her. She crumpled to the ground, and only the mare’s intelligence, or perhaps its weariness, kept the beast from trampling her. As conditioned to riding as Victoria had been all her life, she still ached in places she did not know could hurt—her thighs, her knees, her hips. Esteban treated her with courtesy and care but dared not slow his pace to accommodate her. She wouldn’t have wanted it, anyway. She had to get to Juan to warn him. If only her body was as strong as her resolve.
Late into the night of the fifth day, they reached the town of San Antonio de Bejar. The moon cast the church tower and adobe houses in a pale-blue light, the sight surreal in her state of exhaustion. Her eyes kept drifting shut as she struggled to stay in her saddle. Sleeplessness and the aches and pains from the trail had taken their toll. She could barely keep Esteban in her vision. He sat taller in the saddle, alert for trouble as they entered the small town. He’d changed from his soldier uniform into a cotton shirt and canvas pants for the journey. The common peasant clothes along with a serape made it possible for him to ride all the way to her cousin’s door without being challenged. She glanced around, aware for the first time that no one had stopped them, no one had questioned them.
Guards should be posted. The soldiers had no idea that Santa Anna was so close—right on her heels. Things would change once she spoke with Juan. She was sure of it.
Her horse stumbled. She grabbed a hank of mane and adjusted herself in the saddle, as her eyes drifted closed again. The sound of subdued voices carried to her. Vaguely it registered that Esteban had dismounted and talked quietly to a couple in the doorway of an adobe house. They were dressed in their night clothes. She
