Capture The Night (36 page)

“What did you say, Sin?” Juanita called.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his friend. “I asked how you’re doing. Do you want to stop and rest for a bit?” They’d traveled steadily since noon, and she must be getting tired. He certainly was.

“No. We are too close to stop now. I would prefer to reach La Réunion before dark.”

He flashed her a grin and spurred his horse. Juanita was nothing short of remarkable. It never ceased to amaze him that so many people fell for her beautiful, empty-headed woman performance. True, few, if any, others had witnessed her in action under circumstances like the ones he and she had shared. As far as he knew, he was the only man she’d ever broken out of jail.

Take now, for instance. Some women would have swooned at the prospect of sneaking out of a whorehouse and leaving a dead man behind. Certainly, few would ever have ridden hellbent for leather back home with little rest. All she’d asked was that he allow her time to fix her hair proper—her one, true vanity—and keep the facts of her abduction between the two of them. She’d every intention of convincing Monsieur Bureau to take her with him to Paris. “Bet Desseau could be of some help to her in France,” he mused. Bet Maddie would help her.

Damn. He had to quit thinking about Madeline and France. Gave him a funny hitch in his chest. Brazos grimaced when he realized that even Damasso Salezan was a more palatable topic of thought than the subject of his wife’s returning to France.

Salezan
. The bastard had come close this time, closer than ever before. It’d be a good thing for Juanita to go to Europe. Brazos felt comfortable that even Salezan’s long arms couldn’t reach that far. After all, he’d been safe enough over there, and if what Nita’s captor said was true, Salezan wanted him as much as he wanted Juanita.

The Mexican wanted the armband, and he wanted Brazos alive. Why? An answer hovered at the back of Brazos’s mind, but he refused to confront it. He couldn’t stop the shudder that racked his body, however. “I wish Cuellar had waited a bit before jumping for my gun,” he grumbled beneath his breath. “I’d have liked to ask just how they planned to get me to Mexico.”

Why had they taken Juanita and not made a play for him? Had they wanted to take them separately, or had he thwarted an attack without realizing it? Of course, nothing they could have tried would have succeeded. He’d have either escaped or died trying.

He’d rather rope a cloud in the great beyond than set a foot within a hundred miles of Perote Prison.

As they forded a shallow creek less than a mile from La Réunion, Juanita called, “Sin, I’d like to stop for just a few moments, if you will. We are close, and I’d like to freshen up a bit, brush my hair.”

“Sure, darlin',” he replied. “That’s a right fine idea.” Brazos dismounted and tied his horse to one of the towering cottonwood trees lining the creekbank. Kneeling down, he cupped water in his hands and drank thirstily before splashing his face.

The brisk temperature of the water served to wash some of the cobwebs from his mind, and he was beset by a new and totally disconcerting thought. Maybe Salezan and his men had thought he’d follow Juanita to Mexico and attempt a rescue.

He rocked back on his heels and slowly stood, his gaze turning toward Juanita, who sat atop a fallen cottonwood stump taking the pins from her hair.
What would I have done if I hadn’t caught up with them in time
? he asked himself.
Would he have gone after her? Could he have gone after her? He’d like to say yes, but
…

Brazos expelled a harsh breath. These were questions a man faced late at night, when the teeth of honesty chomped down and took a bite out of all the shields daylight erected. Well, the sun was high in the sky, and he had enough walls built to withstand a siege of self-examination. Thank God.

They were less than a mile from Le Réunion. Less than a mile from Maddie. He wanted—no, he needed—to see her. “Hurry up, would you, Nita? Your hair looks fine, you don’t need to mess with it any longer. That music man will be beside himself with lust at first look. If we hope to make it home before dark, we’d best hurry. It’ll be dusk before we get there as it is.”

Home. As he climbed into the saddle, Brazos was shocked at himself for using that particular word. Home and Rose and Maddie. Funny how the three went together so well, sort of like beans and cornbread and buttermilk.

But for how long? How long would they remain at La Réunion in the log house he’d built. When would Desseau try to take them back to France? He swallowed hard as he wondered,
Surely, she’ll still be there. She wouldn’t leave without telling me good-bye, would she
?

Hell, they hadn’t even finished the fight they’d started, what with Desseau’s showing up and then the raid. If he knew Maddie at all, she wouldn’t want to leave with a battle brewing. That’d be too much like surrender and Madeline Sinclair surrendered to no one.

Still, he heaved a relieved sigh when he saw light shining through the window of their house and recognized the horse tied out front as the one Desseau had been riding. Juanita was right behind him as he pulled his mount to a stop, yelling, “Maddie? Maddie, we’re back.” He bounded onto the porch and pushed open the door.

Julian sat in a rocking chair before the fireplace, holding Rose, who slept peacefully in his arms. His face was drawn and his eyes tormented as he looked up at Brazos and said, “Thank the Lord you are back. She’s gone, Sinclair. Someone took her while we were gone. To a place called Perote Castle.”

Brazos shut his eyes and swayed beneath the assault of wrenching emotion. “Oh, God, Maddie,” he groaned. “What have I done to you?”

Chapter 18

PEROTE PRISON, MEXICO

A HARD WIND BLEW across the barren hills surrounding Perote as Winston Poteet called for the lowering of the drawbridge and led his weary prisoner across the moat. The journey from La Réunion had faded to a single long blur in Madeline’s mind. Her captor had set an arduous pace as they raced southward on horseback to Galveston, the trip that had taken the colonists twenty-six days reduced to eight spent mostly tied into the saddle. Immediately upon reaching the coast, they’d boarded a steamer for Vera Cruz, and Madeline had eagerly embraced the misery of seasickness. It was a welcome distraction from saddle sores and concern over her immediate future.

Contrary to his near constant threats, Poteet had refrained from touching her any more than was necessary. She’d found comfort in the fact until he’d explained that he was saving her for his boss, the governor of Perote, Damasso Salezan. That’s when the fear that had plagued her since Poteet burst into her home had blossomed into full-blown panic. She remembered the name. Brazos had spoken it in his nightmares—in a tortured voice that had sent shivers up her spine. Damasso Salezan. Who was he? What was he? What evil acts had he committed to have left Brazos so deeply damaged?

And what did he have planned for her?

Madeline stared up at the huge stone effigies flanking the single entrance to Perote and felt a cold chill invade her bones. She recalled Brazos’s mentioning the statues and agreed with his assessment. These monstrosities intimidated a person more than did the cannon lining the walls.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Poteet said, a mocking grin on his face. “I understand they are supposed to be a pair of colonial soldiers who feel asleep during guard duty. I’m surprised they were carved with their heads on, though, considering they weren’t wearing them when their bodies were tossed into the moat.”

Madeline shut her eyes, but the vision of the strangely garbed men made of stone was slow to fade. Poteet led her past masonry walls a good six feet thick to the main parade grounds, where the clink of chains reverberated in her ears.

A second wall rimmed by the black mouths of cannon was met at each corner by a circular lookout tower. The main building housing prisoners occupied the very center of the fortress. After a short discussion with one of the guards, Poteet led Madeline to the far end of the enclosure, where she was startled to see a building reminiscent of an English country house. With a fierce grip on her forearm, Poteet lifted the brass knocker and rapped on the wooden door.

“A butler?” Madeline murmured when a portly, bewhiskered servant opened the door and peered over the top of his silver-framed spectacles.

Poteet wore a smug grin when he said, “Hello, Joseph. Tell the boss I’ve brought him a present.”

“The governor is aware of your arrival, Mr. Poteet,” the servant replied formally, straightening the lapels of his jacket. “He will see you in his study.” Turning to Madeline, he continued, “A room has been prepared for you, Señora Sinclair if you would care to refresh yourself before joining the governor in the dining room in one hour.”

This wasn’t what she had expected. Madeline followed the man called Joseph up the circular staircase, her brows lifting at the sight of a Gainsborough landscape decorating the first landing. By the time she was shown to her room, Madeline was baffled and more than a little uneasy. This place was not exactly Newgate. Eyeing the slipper tub full of steaming, lavender-scented water and the beautiful silk gown lying on the bed, she commented, “Sir, I don’t understand. This is not how they build a prison in my country.”

Bushy gray eyebrows lowered as Joseph’s green eyes shifted uneasily. “Señora,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I offer you a bit of advice. No matter how well he treats you, never, ever forget that Castle Perote is a vile and loathsome prison. Horrible things go on beneath the floors of the fortress. Despicable.” Madeline shivered as the door to her room closed behind him. The bathwater looked warm and welcoming, and she needed to chase the chill from her bones, as well as to wash away the dirt. As she settled into the luxuriant heat and slathered lavender soap over her skin, her thoughts dwelled on the man she had yet to meet.

The governor of this prison had not gone to the trouble to have her kidnapped and transported thousands of miles to allow her the pleasure of a scented bath and beautiful clothes. And although it may involve comforting luxuries, his plan—whatever it was—most certainly had ties to the devil.

Because as long as she lived, Madeline would never forget the sound of Brazos’s voice as he repeated this man’s name.
Salezan. Damasso Salezan
.

She tried to picture the man. Thick and swarthy, certainly. Probably with beady eyes and a hooked nose. He more than likely had lines of excess on his face and dirt beneath his fingernails. Well, she’d managed many men in her time. Salezan would be no different. “I’ll simply have to escape before he can set his devilish schemes in motion.” True, her attempts to flee had met with failure so far, but she wasn’t about to quit trying.

“I never admit defeat,” she declared, staring at a soap bubble hugging her knee. Well, except for Brazos. She’d given her very best efforts for those two weeks, and still he’d intended to leave. Defeat tasted bitter, but she took comfort in the fact that it took a man of Brazos Sinclair’s caliber to manage the victory.

Splashing away the bubble, she swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. Maybe when this was all over, she could convince her game-loving husband to change the wager to the best two out of three. But that would have to wait. She had other troubles to deal with at the moment.

Quickly, she bathed and dressed, then spent the remainder of her hour gazing out the window, searching for a weakness in the battlements. Certainly, the prison appeared impregnable, but experience had taught her that few things in this world were totally secure. After all, she’d found a way into the earl of Wentworth’s castle; surely she could find a way out of Damasso Salezan’s.

Patience, Madeline
, she told herself. It was one of the most valuable tools of any thief. That and careful study. Over the years, she’d spent many an hour preparing and watching, waiting for the precise moment to strike. The circumstances were no different here. Her moment would come. It had to come—she had a family now, and there was no way a devil named Salezan was going to take that away from her.

She repeated the words over and over as she left her room, prepared to meet her enemy. She almost tripped when she noticed the figure waiting at the foot of the staircase, a bright, welcoming smile playing across his face. He wore a dark blue soldier’s uniform with gold stripes and fringe and gleaming gold buttons. In one hand, he held a single red rose, which he offered to her, saying in a cultured tone of voice, “Welcome, Señora Sinclair, I have so looked forward to meeting you. My home is your home.”

Damasso Salezan was the most handsome man Madeline had ever seen in her life. He all but took her breath away. As she stared at him, the single word that came to her mind was light. His hair was a burnished gold, his skin fair and without blemish. And his eyes—oh, his eyes were the blue of the sky on a crisp winter morning, only they twinkled like stars in the night. He could have introduced himself as the angel Gabriel, and Madeline would have believed him. “Mr. Salezan?” she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief. He smiled at her then, and had she been a lesser woman, she would have swooned at his feet. He was a god.

No
, she reminded herself.
He is a devil
.

Salezan took her arm and escorted her into the dining room, where a long mahogany table was laid with Irish linen and silver of all shapes and sizes. Silver goblets, silver cutlery, silver serving platters. Silver vases held bouquets of roses, and even the paintings on the wall were encased in silver frames. The only items on the table not made of silver were the plates—they were made of gold.

Madeline’s knees were feeling a bit weak, and she gratefully took her seat. Poteet was nowhere to be found. Retreating to the defense of good manners, she smoothed her napkin onto her lap and waited silently while her host sat down. Salezan nodded for dinner to be served, then said, “So, Señora Sinclair I trust you found your room to your liking?”