Capture The Night (40 page)

“Madeline…” Julian began.

“Don’t worry!” she said, turning her face into the steady, warm breeze. How good to feel the sun and wind after so much time indoors. Freedom kissed her skin, and she reveled in it. “All we need is a plan.” Leather creaked as she dismounted, and she paused to pat the bay mare’s neck before stepping forward for a better view of Perote. “I’m quite experienced at devising plans,” she continued. “Good at it, too. Over the years, I’ve developed a number of schemes for finding my way into places. In fact, I’ve a head start on the problem, because I spent a good portion of my time at Perote figuring a way out of there.”

“Even if I agreed to this ridiculous notion,” Julian countered, swinging from the saddle, “which, of course, will never happen, it would be just as impossible to break into that prison as to escape from it. Look at the place, Madeline.” He stood beside her and waved toward the castle. “It’s impregnable. It would take an army to breach those walls.”

“I don’t intend to breach them, Father. I’m going to sneak by them. I have this idea–”

“That’s enough!” Julian snapped. “Listen to me, child. Even your husband realized such an effort would be futile. That’s why he chose to offer himself up like a human sacrifice!”

“I did something about five years ago,” Madeline continued as though he’d never spoken. “There has to be a convent or a monastery near here someplace. We’ll get some robes and—”

Julian raked his hands through his hair “It’s over with, Madeline. More than likely, the man is already dead. He expected as much. Stop this foolishness, please!” Reaching out, he took her hand and said, “Don’t allow his sacrifice to be in vain. Come now. I promised him I’d take you home. Let me do that. It was what he wanted.”

She stared down at the hand gripping hers. “He is not dead. He’s not. And I told him I’d be back for him, and I intend to be. Brazos escaped from Perote Prison once before; he’ll do it again.”

A harsh, evil laugh split the air. “I wouldn’t count on it, sweetheart,” Winston Poteet said, his Colt revolver aimed at Madeline’s heart. “You see, Juanita Salezan was around to help him back then.” The Texan spit a stream of tobacco juice at her father’s feet and added maliciously, “I’m afraid you’ll be otherwise occupied.”

“What is this?” Julian demanded, stepping in front of Madeline.

Poteet’s smile was ugly. “You foreigners are just plain stupid people. Did you actually think Governor Salezan would allow you to go free? Hell, as soon as your backs were turned, he sent me after you.” The light in Poteet’s eyes took on a sinister gleam as he added, “He’s got a quiver in his liver at the idea of having Mrs. Sinclair participate in the entertainment he has planned for her husband.”

Chapter 20

SMELL THE MOLDY ODOR of sodden walls in a darkness brilliant in its totality. My lungs expand and fill with the fragrance. My lair, my castle, my home. Sinclair, the Weak One, fights me yet. He struggles, and I play with him. It amuses me.

My hunger grows, but the time of my satisfaction is near. The Weak One will feed upon the truth, and it will kill
him
.

I shall live forever
.

Brazos woke slowly, clinging to the oblivion of sleep like a child clutching the ragged crib blanket that was his talisman. With awareness came pain—the raw burn of skin scraped bloody by iron manacles; the throbbing of muscles beaten and bruised; the hollow, aching acknowledgment of all he had lost.

He was chained to the wall in the dungeons of Perote Prison. How long he’d been there—days; weeks; hell, it felt like years—he couldn’t tell. Salezan kept him in the dark, literally. Only when the guard entered The Hole carrying a torch and a cup of water did Brazos see anything, and then the light nearly blinded him. It was one of those cruel mercies that they kept him thirsty enough so it happened only on occasion.

So far, the one good thing about his stay beneath the castle was that he’d managed to defeat the terror that had plagued him for years upon occasions infinitely less threatening than this. He’d fully anticipated losing his senses the moment he set his foot on the first of the crumbling stone steps leading down into the dungeon. But he hadn’t, and although at times he felt that awful fear rumbling around inside him, he managed to hold it at bay. Mostly by thinking of Madeline—imagining where she must be by now, remembering how she looked, the rosy fragrance she wore, how she tasted, how tight she—

“Damn,” he sighed into the darkness. Maybe he had lost his senses after all, thinking of such things under these circumstances. The rate he was going, he’d die of frustration before Salezan ever got to him. “Might not be such a bad way to do it. Wouldn’t that just fry his bacon.”

Salezan was already pretty damned angry, Brazos thought, and despite the physical pain of doing so, he grinned. Neither the governor nor his lackey lieutenant had been happy when they’d whipped the location of the armband out of him. Heading into this situation and not knowing just what was in store, Brazos had wanted to make the band available, but not too easy for Salezan’s people to retrieve. So he’d left the piece with the monks at St. Francis Monastery with explicit instructions as to how it could be used. The holy men were to keep it for one year, after which time they would be free to sell the jewelry and use the proceeds as they saw fit.

Such provisions would not prevent Salezan from obtaining the armband, but it would delay the inevitable. Even a man as powerful as Damasso Salezan would find it difficult to fight the Catholic church in Mexico. He’d win eventually, but those monks would give him a fight.

Monks. Priests
Brazos’s thoughts wandered to the last words Maddie had whispered in his ear.
Don’t give him the armband, Brazos, or the priest will die
. How had she known about the monks? Sure, the woman was a talented thief, but he didn’t think she’d advanced to stealing his thoughts. How had she known he’d left the armband with a bunch of priests? And if that wasn’t what she’d meant, what in the hell had she been talking about?

Was there a priest somewhere out there who would lose his life once Salezan recovered the armband?

Brazos wondered about the possibility off and on for the next few hours until a nagging thirst became a raging need. Apparently, Salezan had added a new depravity to his games. He must have decided that starvation was taking too long.

A thought—a truth—niggled at the edges of his brain. Something about thirst, about being hungry. About his last time at Perote. Then he felt the thing that lived inside him breathe a breath, and Brazos slammed shut the door in his mind. Instead, he tried to remember the last time the guard had arrived with water and released his chains to allow him the use of the fetid bucket in one corner of the cell. But his thoughts glimmered only in fractured, frustrating images. Seeking respite, he slept until a bright light and music pulled him back to reality.

Or was it reality? Torches lined the walls, lighting even the farthest, darkest, corners of the cell. Brazos winced, his eyes throbbing at the assault. On a round, marble-topped table set against one wall, a ribbon- wrapped package sat beside a music box that played a tinkling minuet. But what captured his attention wasn’t the sight, or the sound, or even the sensation of freedom that resulted from the release of his wrists from their manacles. What brought him away from the wall and straining against the iron collar around his neck was the aroma of roasted meat arising from the table set for one in the middle of the small room.

Droplets of water beaded on the surface of a silver pitcher, a few of them dribbling down its side in a slow, seductive trickle. Brazos’s tongue felt too big for his mouth, and his throat ached to taste what his eyes feasted upon. Hell, he was thirsty.

Oh, Lord, he was hungry
.

“Well, well, my friend, I see you have finally awakened.” Brazos tore his gaze away from the table to see Damasso Salezan standing beside the closed cell door, a derringer held casually in his hand. The governor of Perote Prison wore a ruffled, white linen shirt beneath a vest of royal blue satin and a black frock coat. Polished silver buttons flashed in the torchlight, and silver spurs spun on the heels of his black leather boots as he stepped across the stone floor toward Brazos.

A chill crawled up the Texan’s spine at the look in Salezan’s eyes. This was it, then. The end. But only the beginning of the end, God help him.
Just let me die like a man
, Brazos prayed.

And let me take Salezan with me.

The governor gestured toward Brazos’s neck. “The bolt has been loosened. You may remove your necklace should you so desire. I would caution you to remain circumspect in your motions, however. Any aggressive movements you might consider would be dealt with harshly.”

Forcing his raw and stiffened fingers to maneuver, Brazos removed the iron from his neck. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back. The scent of food and drink called out to him, but he ignored it, concentrating instead on the man whose dark gaze raked him with an anticipatory gleam. When Salezan’s stare fastened upon the old scar on Brazos’s left breast and heated with a glowing, sexual light, Brazos felt a sickening in his gut and the stirring of the monster within himself.

Was this the truth he’d been running from for years? The event that had given life to the overpowering fear that ruled him?

Had he been raped?

Cold crawled across his skin like a slow-moving fog. His mind was a blank; he couldn’t remember a damned thing. Salezan motioned for him to take a seat at the table, and slowly, the chain binding his ankles together clanking against the cold stone floor, he complied. With a nonchalance he did not feel, he lifted a goblet to his mouth and sipped. The water was sweet and cool, and if it was drugged, he could not tell. He drained the vessel as Salezan took a seat opposite him.

Salezan lifted the silver pitcher and refilled Brazos’s goblet, saying, “You must be terribly thirsty. I’m afraid I quite forgot to send a man with your water for the past few days. My apologies.”

Although hunger was a sharp pang in Brazos’s belly, his gaze shied away from the juicy hunks of meat sliced into bite-size pieces on the plate in front of him. Salezan caught the look and grinned knowingly. “Help yourself, Brazos. I’m certain you must be starved. You’ll forgive the breach of etiquette in serving your meat already cut, I trust? After your little foray with the knife last week, I thought it best to limit your access to sharp objects. Two of those men almost died.”

Brazos lifted his fork and speared a chunk of fried potato. He fought to keep his hand from trembling as he brought it to his mouth. Cooked in bacon grease and seasoned with onion, the potato was both heavenly-tasting and too much for a stomach so long empty. Slowly, Brazos finished the potatoes, ate the green beans, the carrots, the rolls, and the baked apple.

But he didn’t want to eat the steak. And although he could not have said why, he knew it was because of more than a heavy hand with the seasonings.

Amusement twinkled in Salezan’s eyes. He said nothing, just watched, his gaze never once leaving Brazos’s face. When Brazos, his hunger finally assuaged, laid down his fork, Salezan began to chuckle. “What is the matter
mi amigo
? Is the meat not cooked to your taste? Perhaps it is too rare? Or, more likely, too well done? I seem to remember that you like your meat almost raw.”

Brazos’s gut clenched.
I must’ve eaten too fast
, he told himself. But he didn’t believe it. Something else caused the nauseated feeling inside him, and suddenly he’d had enough. “What kind of game are you playing, Salezan?”

“A game? Why, you are the master game player Sinclair, not I,” Salezan protested. “Don’t you remember all the tricks you used to play on me during your last visit to my home?” One corner of his mouth lifted in an insolent grin. “Maybe not, hmm? Then dreams, perhaps? Your dear wife did suggest you suffer from nightmares of your time here at Perote. Now, why is that, do you suppose? If you’d like, I’d find it a pleasure to refresh your recollections.”

Brazos’s hand clenched around the stem of a goblet filled with red wine. He’d wanted to know, hadn’t he? He’d thought to confront Salezan at the mine and wrestle the information out of him, hoping to rid himself of the fear that slithered around inside him.
Hope
. That’s what his entire plan had been about, and since that was the case, why should he worry about learning the truth now?

Did he really want to learn that he’d been buggered by Damasso Salezan years ago? “You so much as touch me, and I’ll kick your
cajones
up under your ears.”

Salezan’s brows lifted. “So, that’s the way of it? You think I fucked you?” He burst into laughter and rose from his chair. Walking to the small table set against the wall, he lifted the music box and rewound the key. Music once again filled the small cell; only this time, the airy notes reminded Brazos of a dirge. “True, I enjoy a wide variety of sexual experiences, Sinclair, but I am not a man lover. I like women. In fact”—he tilted his head and gave Brazos a measuring look—“I considered taking a woman—one particular woman—here on this floor while you watched. I thought it just might be enjoyable. But I’m afraid the anticipation of offering you my gift has overwhelmed me. I’ve waited for so long. I can wait no more. Eat your meat, Sinclair.”

One particular woman. Brazos set his wine down abruptly. “What woman?” he demanded.

“Eat,” Salezan said, gesturing toward the plate with his gun. “Eat, and I will tell you.”

“Damn you, Salezan.” Brazos speared the smallest piece of meat with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. He all but gagged at the taste, and inside him, the terror rose. Forcing himself to swallow, he said, “All right, I ate. Let’s hear it, Salezan.”

The music ended. The governor’s eyes shone with a fiendish light. He lifted the ribboned box from the round table and walked toward Brazos, his boots clicking hollowly against the stone. “Open my gift, Sinclair and you’ll know everything.”