Savannah Heat (40 page)

“I must go with you.” Teresa looked pleadingly at Morgan and Jacques. After three grueling hours of traveling through root-bound ravines and vine-clogged trails in the ever-increasing darkness, they had finally reached the entrance to the tunnel outside the prison.

“I am sorry,
ma chère
,” Jacques said, “
le capitaine
’as been generous in bringing you this far.”

“But my father—”

“You can wait near the entrance,” Morgan told her. “If your father’s alive, we’ll see that he gets to you.”

Her dark eyes flicked from Morgan to Jacques for reassurance.

“You ’ave my word,
chérie
. If ’e is there, I will bring ’im out myself.”

“Let’s go.” Morgan turned abruptly, knowing every second was crucial to their success. Morgan, Jacques, and three Texas Marines would move inside through the tunnel, following Paco, the Mexican man who would guide them. The rest of the troops would take up positions outside the perimeter and
lay siege to the prison. Since there were too many prisoners to escape unnoticed, their best chance was to run for the tunnel during the confusion of the attack.

Grabbing one of the long pitch-soaked wooden torches they had fashioned for use in the passage, Jacques turned to follow Morgan. Teresa’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. When he turned to face her, Teresa stepped into his arms, and she hugged him to her. Jacques’s powerful arms slid around her waist, pressing her closer. His mouth came down over hers, and he kissed her long and hard. Then he set her away.

“
Vaya con Dios
,” she whispered, but Jacques was striding off behind Morgan, already out of sight in the tunnel. Teresa crossed herself and said a silent prayer for their safety—and the safe return of her father.

Inside the tunnel, Morgan lit a torch and waited for Jacques and the others to catch up. In was damp and musty, the air heavy and the odor unpleasant.

“Let Paco lead and stay close together. There may be other tunnels branching off the main one. We don’t want anyone getting lost.”

They moved into the darkness, the other men’s torches following Morgan’s, glowing eerily, casting ominous shadows against the walls. Spider webs clung to their clothes, and water dripped down from the ceiling. Their footsteps echoed hollowly; then one man stumbled and went down in a thundering heap.

“Keep quiet!” Morgan hissed. “Damn it, we don’t know who else is in here.”

“Sorry.” The young blond soldier flushed with embarrassment.

As they walked along, rats scurried out of their
way, squeaking in protest to the men’s invasion. In the dark recesses off the main corridor, bat guano marked the sleeping places of the ugly black creatures who had flown off into the night in search of food. Wings fluttered above their heads as the last few darted away. Morgan hoped they wouldn’t return until the mission was complete and the men were back outside the tunnel.

Pulling his watch fob from the pocket of his breeches, he flipped open the lid. Twenty more minutes before the troops would begin their attack. The soldiers would keep up the siege for as long as they dared, then they’d be forced to pull back to safety. There was little margin for error.

Morgan ignored the throbbing in his head, the slashes on his back, the ache in his ribs, and the exhaustion that seeped into his very bones. All that mattered was getting inside and saving the people he loved.

He just hoped the man named Paco, who nervously led the way, knew as much about the ruined Mayan city as he claimed.

Silver glanced through the wrought-iron bars on her window, much like those in her room back home. One way or another, it seemed her freedom was always denied her. Tonight she would lose even more.

Earlier in the day she’d been moved upstairs to a bedchamber on the second floor, nearer, she presumed, to the suite of rooms occupied by General Hernández. This chamber was larger than the one downstairs and far more extravagantly furnished. Floor-to-ceiling draperies of expensive ruby brocade covered the windows, and a large carved bed rested against one wall.

There were few personal objects in the room. Just a silver-backed brush, comb, and mirror set on the carved wooden dresser beside a tiny heart-shaped silver jewelry box. When she lifted the lid, it played a bittersweet time, but there was nothing inside.

An hour ago a bath had been brought up, along with fresh clothing similar to that she had worn before, only the skirt was bright red and not at all faded. She stood bathed and ready and awaiting the man who had bought her—like a harlot of the lowest order. Still, if she had it all to do over, she would do it again.

Silver stared out her window. She could see, lit by a sliver of moon, the abandoned drying racks where long strands of henequen, once meant for market, now shriveled up and blew away. Though she couldn’t see that far in the darkness, earlier she had noticed the spiny fields of sisal, stretching endlessly into the horizon on the north until at last it meshed with the flat thorny plateau of Yucatan scrub. With the fighting and the abandonment, the land looked bleak and desolate, just like the days that lay ahead.

How long would the general use her as ids plaything? How much would she suffer before she found the chance to escape? She didn’t doubt that she would—sooner or later. She’d find a way, or the rebellion would end, or Hernandez would be called to duty somewhere else. It wasn’t the future that frightened her—it was the present.

Silver looked back outside. It had been dark for some time, and still the general had not summoned her. What could have happened to detain him? Dear God, how she wished he would not come.

A hard knock sounded at the door. Silver’s heart started pounding with the same heavy rhythm. Moving woodenly, she crossed the room and waited for
the locked door to open. When it swung wide, she saw the broad-hipped Mexican woman she knew only as Maria, the woman who had seen to her needs since her arrival. Stone-faced and unsympathetic, Maria was obviously a loyal Centralist supporter.

“General Hernandez awaits you in his quarters,” the woman said in her heavily accented English, almost with relish.

In the hallway two
soldados
stood not more than three feet away. They were watching her, as she had known they would be.

“Come.” The woman started past her down the corridor and opened the first door on the right.

Summoning her courage, Silver stepped into the room. The hollow thud of the closing door sent a ripple of fear down her spine.

The room was even larger and more splendid than the one she now occupied, with massive carved wooden furniture, paintings on the walls, and tapestry-upholstered overstuffed chairs. A huge four-poster bed, draped with mosquito netting, sat on an angle in one corner. Fat white candles glimmered softly from tall brass holders.

Near the foot of the bed, General Hernández stood replete in a floor-length burgundy dressing gown, his slippered feet sticking out from beneath. He held a brandy snifter in one short-fingered hand and a long cigar in the other.

“
Buenas noches
, Senorita Jones.”

Silver started to reply, but her lips felt so dry she could barely move them, and the words lodged somewhere in her throat.

“Surely you did not believe I had forgotten our assignation?”

I couldn’t be that lucky
, “I assumed you had been delayed,” she told him, finding her voice at last.

“And so I was.”
Chasing that
bastardo
you convinced me to set free
. “But I am here now … as are you.” He poured her a glass of brandy from a decanter on the heavy wooden table beside the fireplace and crossed the room to place it in her hand.

The brush of his fingers sent a shiver of dread across her skin. Silver took one sip of the burning liquid, needing it for courage, then another.

“I would prefer you change into something a bit more … comfortable,” the general said. Silver followed his gaze to a length of black silk that was draped across the back of an overstuffed chair. “It is French,” he said proudly. “A gift I bought for a lady friend. You may have it instead.”

She couldn’t say thank-you. Could not possibly. She picked up the skimpy black garment.

“Come here,
querida
, and I shall help you put it on.”

God in heaven, help me find a way to endure this
. She couldn’t fight him—at least not yet. He would only call his men into the room to hold her down. He might even share her with them. It was her first impulse—to snarl and claw and scratch—but not this time. For once she would play the game with cunning instead of rage.

“Why don’t you sit down, General? Wouldn’t you enjoy watching me?”

His smile turned wolfish. Taking a seat in a tapestry-covered chair, he took a long draw on his cigar, then a healthy sip of his brandy. “By all means.”

She wouldn’t fight him, but neither would she grovel or beg for his mercy, which she knew he would not give.

With a breath of resignation she hoped he didn’t hear, Silver bent down, unfastened her sandals, and slid them off her feet. Facing him squarely, she
pulled the peasant blouse over her head and tossed it away. When her hands started to tremble, she forced them to be still. Next went her skirt and its one thin petticoat, until she stood before him in her simple chemise and soft cotton drawers.

With a smile and a nod, Hernández urged her to continue.

You mustn’t let him break you
, Silver vowed.
You’re made of stronger stuff than that
. Fighting a sweep of nausea, she reached beneath her chemise and untied the cord of her pantalets. This time the trembling of her fingers would not cease. Steeling herself, she slid the soft white cotton down her thighs and stepped out of them, facing him in just her chemise, the hem riding just below her bottom.

When she reached for the black silk nightgown, meaning to pull it over her head, then remove the last of her clothes, the general’s husky voice stopped her.

“I should like to see your body,
querida
. It appears to be exquisite.”

She would not cry, she wouldn’t. She glanced to the narrow doors leading onto a small wrought-iron balcony. The curtains fluttered softly in the evening breeze, and no bars blocked her exit. There was nothing to stop her—nothing but the stocky man in front of her, several hundred soldiers, and endless miles of murderous terrain. Still, if she thought she could escape, she would try it.

“Hasten,
querida
, I grow impatient.”

Lifting her chin, Silver forced a smile in his direction. She wouldn’t let him see her anguish, would not give him the satisfaction. In a single graceful motion, she reached for the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head. Chin held high, she stood
before him, a few pale strands of her unbound hair the only thing hiding his view of her flesh.

The general’s eyes, looking darker than before, fastened on her upturned breasts. Beneath his waxed mustache, a satisfied smile curved the thin, cruel lines of his mouth.

Silver reached for the black silk nightgown, careful not to show her revulsion, eased it over her head, and down her shoulders. Though the deep V in front displayed all but the tips of her breasts, she felt a little better within its soft folds—until she saw the general coming toward her.

“This afternoon, when your major made good his escape, I cursed you and the bargain we had made. Now I am grateful—for it is I who has struck the better deal.”

The general’s mouth covered hers in a rough, brutal kiss, his tongue thrusting past her teeth and down her throat, but all Silver thought of were his words.
When your major made good his escape
. Morgan had made it! The general had tried to stop him, just as she had feared, but Morgan had gotten away!

She felt one blunt hand on her breast while the other squeezed her bottom, kneading it roughly. His mouth bruised her lips, and his breath tasted sour with liquor and tobacco. None of it mattered. Morgan was safely away.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Morgan whispered. “Time’s running short.” They had reached the inner opening of the old abandoned tunnel, well hidden inside the prison, and extinguished their torches, leaving them for their return through the damp dark passage. With little light from the moon, it was nearly as dark outside.

“You each know your assignment. Jacques will
lead you into the chambers. You’ll free the men and help them back to the passage. Corporal Saxon, you’ll come with me.” Saxon was the young marine who had fallen down in the tunnel.

“Remember the layout as Paco has drawn it.” Morgan checked his pocket watch. “We want the guards out of the way and the men ready to run for the tunnels the minute the shooting starts.”

“Do not worry for your brother,” Jacques said. “I will get ’im out.”

“I know you will. There’s no one else I would trust.”

Jacques took his hand in a bone-crushing grip, and Morgan clamped the big Frenchman’s shoulder. “Take care, my friend.” With a last brief nod, Jacques and his men hurried off to their task. Morgan prayed they’d be ready to flee when the fighting began.