Marta, concerned about her tarot reading that someone would die, took Mazar's hand when he held the bar. His face flashed with confusion, and this was pretty forward of her, but she had to know if he had something to do with Mary Rose's condition. She told him, "My name is Marta, I only want to help."

Maybe he knew that she was gitana and had the gift of precognition, because he allowed her to hold his hand as he held it out from the cell. She felt concern emanating from him, not regret of a job done badly, or manipulation. She didn't at all get the impression that he had planned to kill Mary Rose. He was telling her the truth and was behind bars for no reason. She also saw that he would not die, either. It was all so confusing to her. The tarot could not have been wrong. Mary Rose and Mazar would not be dead, as she was so certain someone would be in this whole mess.

Just as a soldier found her and was going to take her back to Montoya, she said hurriedly, "The doctor would not lie. The Seņora will be fine."

Mazar almost collapsed with relief as Anton stormed to the bars. "I demand to see my mother, Montoya! Get me out of here!"

Marta was almost carried out of the cell area, but she kept her eyes on the handsome pirate who clearly loved Mary Rose, and wanted nothing but to get free and probably run away with her.

Mazar hadn't felt so relieved since he had stabbed that two-timing brute, Fox. For all the years Mazar had known and trusted him, Fox had always been unshakable. When he had found one of Fox's notes that he was sending to Alfonso, indicating that he had Alfonso's watch and would be returning it for a reward, Mazar had seethed and stabbed him in the gut, as you would any traitor. Fox had almost jumped atop his steed and ridden off, but Mazar didn't bother following him. With that injury, he would be dead in no time. With his missing daughter and finding out that his right-hand man had betrayed him, Mazar's mind had thought there was every reason Mary Rose would turn against him as well. He had, after all, stolen Anton's 'prized' watch from his father. That boy would never believe what a thief his father truly was, as Andres had stolen it from Alfonso. Mary Rose thought she was friends with that bastard Colonel, but he had more than likely been planning on getting her ship and property out from under her for years.

Anton started being boisterous, demanding his release, when Mazar could hardly hear Montoya start to interrogate Marta. Why she had held his hand without asking had nothing to do with seduction. He knew that she had feelings to sort about in this mess, and he was more than happy to oblige. "Shut up!" he ordered Anton, when he could no longer hear what was going on in the next room.

There was something about a dead man on the Alvarado property. Could Fox have made it that far? If he wasn't the dead man, there was a rash of murders lately. He wanted to know Marta's version of the story, if she told Montoya the truth, which might not be a possibility, so he had the whole story of what Fox might have truly been up to. Why would he ride inland and not to Alfonso, who Mazar knew was camped near the shore?

Damn! He couldn't trust anyone to do what they promised other factions. Everyone was playing by their own rules, not those promised. He might have to find another line of work. There were too many headaches, wondering if he could trust anyone. The few he had let into his life had not treated him well. Sure, there were men that only worked for you for gold and silver, but Fox? And now, Mazar's daughter was in the hands of a corrupt Colonel who had revenge on his mind. Now that Mary Rose was safe, his mind filled with wondering if his daughter was.

If he had had men he could trust, Mazar would have stormed the beach where he assumed Carlotta was being held. As of now, it would only be a suicide mission and Carlotta could be killed as well. He had to know that Mary Rose hadn't betrayed him and sold his daughter to Alfonso, her good friend, or so she thought. How could he have been so stupid as to think she would have had a part of it? Mazar leaned his head against the bars as he hoped he could tell her how sorry he was, and to ask her help in getting his daughter back safely. If she would ever talk to him again. If she would be able to do anything to help. If she wouldn't be out of commission for too long. Oh, how he wished Carlotta were safe, Alfonso were dead, that Montoya had swallowed his pride and set him free, so he could nurse Mary Rose back to health. Most of all, he wanted to sail away with Mary Rose and Carlotta and start a new life somewhere.

Anton shoved Mazar over in order to grasp the bars and yell once again to set him free. Yes, Mazar wanted to start a new life with Mary Rose, only without her son.

Act Three

Grisham walked out of the tent and shook Colonel Alfonso's hand. "I will make sure Montoya doesn't interfere."

"Good. I need Mazar myself, and do not want to find him swinging from Montoya's noose."

Grisham heard a struggle in one of the tents down the shore, a woman's yell. "You're not violating her, are you?"

Alfonso, a tall man who had a pronounced limp from some injury that he had been mum on, had trouble moving across the sand. He got himself to steady footing and told Grisham, "I only make men pay for their deeds, and some women who do not know their place."

"Such as Seņora Guevara?"

"Exactly." Alfonso smiled, and it seemed as if he wasn't used to it as it was lopsided. "The girl was probably just trying to escape. Cannot have that, now can we?"

"Oh, no. She is the pawn in this game. Good work getting her." Grisham saw the setting sun, and knew that Montoya was probably missing him by now. He had to get going, but first, he needed to know that his part of the plan was going to come to fruition. "And me? I've done everything you asked. When do I switch battalions?"

"All in good time, Capitan." Alfonso slapped his back in brotherhood. Grisham had been working for Alfonso as a side-line for almost a year. It was time for him to get some of the carrots Alfonso had been dangling in front of him. "You have taken care of sticky situations for me. I will not forget it. Montoya does not know how good he has it. You will climb farther up the ring, and faster, under my command."

"Thank you, Colonel. I look forward to it."

Grisham mounted his steed and started up the cliff to Santa Elena. It was a good thing he had stopped with Perez when his horse threw a shoe. If not, he wouldn't have found Fox's body and been able to tell Alfonso about it. His leak from Mazar's life had more than likely been killed by the pirate, and if Grisham hadn't told Alfonso about it, Alfonso's initial plan would have not turned out.

It had all started when Grisham found out how much Alfonso hated Montoya. Grisham had approached Alfonso with the idea of being a spy for him in Montoya's ranks, playing both sides against the middle. Alfonso hadn't taken him under his wing immediately. Grisham had spent a year thinking it was all for naught and had to try to kill Montoya with keeping the fever potion from him, just to show Alfonso that he could be 'trusted'. Only then had Alfonso taken him on, and Grisham had started passing him information. Sure, it was a fool's game, but a man had to think on his feet. After Montoya became hesitant with him, Grisham had to pretend once again to be loyal, all the while wondering when Alfonso would repay him for his trouble.

Just days ago, Alfonso had made contact with him again to do a favor. Finally! A pouch of reales had been only the opening bid in the game of getting Grisham in Alfonso's good graces. Grisham had pretended that he wanted nothing from him and he could take a flying leap off a tall cliff, especially after his recent close call with Don Gaspar, the would-be rebel, and his castrating knife. That was one man who really couldn't take a joke. Grisham was sure that Alfonso hadn't seen through his act, and Grisham finally accepted the new pact. What Alfonso had against the Irish immigrant who had married well in Spanish society and spent most of her time on a ship, Grisham didn't know, or care. He wasn't very happy with her for blowing up those pirates, a month back, and indirectly saving Montoya's bacon, anyway. All that mattered was that Alfonso was taking him on board and Grisham was more than happy to help.

He was finally going to get the command he deserved, that Montoya would never grant. Montoya was too wily for Grisham to kill, even though he had tried on many occasions. If he could ingratiate himself even more to Alfonso, it wouldn't be hard to kill him and take his command. There were so many after Alfonso's hide, when he would be found dead, Grisham, his newly appointed and totally trustworthy Capitan, would be the last one accused of the deed. Grisham thought there probably wouldn't even be mourners at Alfonso's funeral. He hummed the funeral dirge to himself as he made his way back to his current position, planning what-all he would do with the rank of Colonel.

The first thing, he mused, would be to string up Don Gaspar Hidalgo on the very first charge he could trump up and make stick. Then, Grisham would confiscate old Gaspar's lands and marry the grieving widow as soon as possible. He'd be doing her a favor, cutting short her mourning period. Vera looked lousy in black.

Gaspar's driver was going so fast along the El Camino Royale toward home that he was having trouble getting the crumpet from his plate into his mouth. He had just finished a meeting with three Dons from the north on how to make Montoya curb to their wishes from now on. Sure, Montoya supplied the security of the area, but the Dons produced the economy that trickled down to Montoya. How dare that Spaniard think he could toy with the Dons and make them do his bidding!

As he was trying once again to eat his snack, the wagon hit what Gaspar assumed had to be a boulder from the amount of the jarring. He dropped the crumpet with strawberry preserves and his tea flipped over. Gaspar turned and swatted Alberto on the back. "Slow down! We are not in a race!"

The wagon eased a bit as Alberto said, "You, yourself, said you wanted to get home as soon as possible, Don Hidalgo."

"I want to get home in one piece as well."

Gaspar looked at the road in front of them as he got to his feet and saw a horse and rider coming from the shore. He put a hand on his driver's shoulder to stop so he could squint at the man he thought he recognized, to see if his initial assumption was correct. Yes, it was Grisham. Not only did Gaspar recognize his white horse, but also his cocky manner as he held the reins. That hijo de puta! Gaspar was sure that Grisham had interfered with his petal, Vera, somehow, but he couldn't prove it. And Vera refused to talk about it. It was so frustrating....

What was strange was that Grisham wasn't wearing his uniform. What duties would Grisham have to do in the middle of the day, at the shore and not wearing his uniform?

Grisham was long out of sight by the time Gaspar decided to take a look at what Grisham could have been doing. He told his driver, "Ride to that cliff. Careful of the edge, mind you." Gaspar was deathly afraid of heights. The needling worry that the wagon would go over the side with him on it was more than he could bear. "Be careful," he urged Alberto.

As the wagon was parallel to the edge, Gaspar stood again and saw down the cliff to a military unit on the shore. It looked to be that they were packing up a camp, ready to move on. The man in charge wore Colonel's stripes, but it wasn't Montoya. What was another Colonel doing in Montoya's sector? Madre de Dios, one Colonel is enough.

"All right, go home," Gaspar ordered his driver, and sat back down in the wagon. Wait a moment! Was that a woman screaming? Gaspar stood up again and reached to grab the reins from Alberto. "Stop." He could hear the audible exasperation of Alberto, but he said, "Did you hear that?"

They both paused as they watched below them. Gaspar just about had a heart attack when he saw a young woman being roughly thrown into the back of one of the covered wagons. Not only was she screaming and kicking out, but her hands were bound behind her back.

"Who do you suppose that is?"

"No thought comes to mind, Seņor," Alberto said.

Gaspar couldn't, in all good conscience, go back home as if he saw nothing. That woman needed help. He couldn't do anything about it himself. He was only one man. There were at least fifteen men down there. All armed. A plan formed readily in his mind. "You stay here," he told his driver as he pushed him from his seat. Gaspar had difficulty climbing over the back to take the seat and reins, but fortitude made him not stop until he had accomplished it. Taking gulping breaths, he told Alberto. "Take note of everything they do. I will get help and return."

The fear of the cliff be damned as Gaspar yanked the reins and got his team of horses moving. If anyone could figure out a plan to rescue that poor girl, it would be Don Hernandez. Gaspar actually hated the man, but Hernandez wasn't scared of using a gun and he was always thinking about how to get one over another.

Continue to Part Ten

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