She sighed. “I’ll bet Brazos would have a pithy saying appropriate for the situation.” Wouldn’t she love to hear one of his little bits of Texan wisdom right now. She missed him so.
Deep in reverie, she’d also missed hearing the sounds of Salezan’s footsteps, so when he entered her room through a side door previously kept locked, she jumped, sloshing chocolate from her cup to stain the bright white covering of her down comforter “Oh,” she said with a squeak.
Casually, he tossed a sheet of parchment onto the bed at her feet. “Good evening, Madeline. You must be more careful; I would hate to see you burned.” Though his smile reflected concern, his eyes glimmered with amusement. Salezan wore no coat. The buttons of his shirt were undone, and the placket lay open to display a tuft of yellow hair on his chest. His fingers removed the silver links from his cuffs as he walked farther into her room and remarked, “It appears I startled you. I apologize. Perhaps it is because I am so accustomed to entering this room without knocking—it was my wife’s room, you realize.”
Stealthily, Madeline’s hand edged down the side of the mattress, and her fingers felt for the cool surface of her weapon. She palmed it and stowed it beneath her sheets as he placed his cuff links on the table beside the bed. Madeline swallowed hard and gripped the letter opener hard when he sat down beside her and trailed a finger across her cheek.
“What sort of lover is your husband, Madeline?” he asked. “Is he gentle with you, does he linger over you and savor you? Or is he perhaps rough, sometimes even violent in his lovemaking?”
He cupped her breast, and Madeline had had enough. “I’ll not give in without a fight,” she declared, jerking away from his touch and scooting across the bed, out of his reach.
Salezan laughed. “Ah, you are a hellcat, Señora Sinclair. How much pleasure you shall bring me over the next few days.”
She looked at him then, questions in her eyes. He lifted the paper and handed it to her saying, “I have sent him my reply. Rest well, my dear. The games begin tomorrow.”
Grabbing her hair he yanked her toward him and lowered a bruising kiss upon her lips. At the same time, his free hand found the weapon and wrenched it from her hand. “Such a hellcat,” he repeated, rising and leaving the room without a backward glance.
Madeline stared at the door until she heard the lock click, then lowered her gaze to the paper. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped as she read the words: “
You win. Me for her. Hurt her, and I’ll kill you.
” The note was signed “
Brazos Sinclair
.”
“Oh, Brazos, no!” Madeline reeled in shock. He’d come for her. Here, to Perote. “No, I don’t believe it.”
But she held the proof in her hands. Brazos Sinclair had actually returned to this place, where all his nightmares had begun. For her! And he had offered himself up to his enemy in exchange for her freedom. Why? Why would he do such a foolish, stupid thing?
Her heart began to pound as a hazy thought took shape. Could it be that she’d succeeded in stealing his heart?
Salezan’s words echoed in her mind. The games begin tomorrow. “No.” She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to escape now—tonight. Before Brazos could do such a crazy, wonderful thing as to sacrifice himself. Besides, she’d a question she couldn’t wait to ask. Had Brazos come to love her?
Madeline scrambled from her bed and flew to the wardrobe, where behind and beneath Juanita Salezan’s multitude of dresses, she’d hidden her disguise. Quickly and silently, she donned the boy’s shirt, trousers, and boots. Grabbing the pouch of coins, she stuffed it down her chemise before tiptoeing to the window and easing it open.
The hinges creaked, sounding like a cannon shot in the night. She held her breath and listened. Nothing out of the ordinary—somewhere, someone was strumming a guitar; and the faint sound of laughter could be heard from the soldiers’ quarters. She peered into the darkness. The shadows were deep, but all was still.
Madeline released her breath in a silent whoosh. Stepping to her bed, she reached way under the mattress for the rope she had hidden there three days earlier. After tying one end around her bedpost, she fed it through the window, where it dangled against the ivy-covered wall.
Careful, Madeline
, she told herself. This was the most dangerous part. She kept her gaze glued to the door connecting her room and Salezan’s as she climbed onto the windowsill and eased her way over the edge. The rope burned her hands when she slipped a bit, her foot becoming tangled in the ivy vine, her knee scraping against the rough brick. She ran out of rope some ten feet above ground, so she held her breath and jumped.
“Bloody hell.” The angry oath escaped her lips as she landed with a thud on her behind. Standing, she dusted herself off and glanced up toward Salezan’s window, praying he’d not heard either the noise of her crash into the bushes or her curse.
No sounds of stirring upstairs. Although her heart was pounding, as she turned to go, she wore a half smile upon her face. It died abruptly when two figures stepped from the shadows into the moonlight.
“You win, Poteet,” Damasso Salezan said, his voice colored with amusement. “I believed it would take her at least thirty minutes.”
“Nope,” the Texan answered. “Less than half that, just as I predicted. Of course, I have more experience with Mrs. Sinclair’s escape attempts. After all, she tried it at least twice a day the whole way down here from Dallas.”
Madeline heard the clink of coins as Salezan tossed Poteet a pouch. Both men laughed, and had she had a gun, she’d have shot them both dead right then and there. Angry and filled with despair, she held herself rigid as Salezan escorted her back to her room. She’d failed him; she’d failed Brazos. This defeat was more than she could bear.
Calling for Joseph to stand as her guard, the governor tied her to her bed, trailing his hands familiarly across her breasts and thighs. Madeline clenched her teeth, more angry than afraid. Silently, she swore,
I won’t bear it. I won’t admit defeat. Somehow, I’ll find a way. I refuse to leave Brazos to Salezan’s mercy
.
“Such expressive eyes you have, Señora Sinclair,” Salezan jeered, his lips twisting in a savage smile. Then he twisted her nipple viciously and slapped her hard across the face.
Madeline was quite proud of herself for holding back her tears until after Salezan exited the room.
Joseph pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the wetness from her cheek before dabbing at the blood dribbling from the side of her mouth. Madeline stared at the bright red stain on pristine linen and asked, “What will he do to my husband, Joseph? What does he have planned?”
The servant shook his head. “Don’t, madam. You cannot affect it, so there is no need to add to the worry. The governor has planned this confrontation for years. He has kept the priest alive for this moment alone.”
Madeline tugged against the rope that bound her. “What priest?” she asked.
“Padre Alcortez.” A frown creased deep wrinkles in Joseph’s brow. He sat in a rocking chair and folded his hands, saying, “If you must worry, Mrs. Sinclair, concern yourself for the good father. He is a good man, a true man of God. For many years, I have seen to his comfort, and it pains me to know the fate he is facing.”
Madeline’s eyes had rounded. “Padre Alcortez? Is his name Miguel? Is it Miguel Alcortez?”
“Yes,” Joseph confirmed. “He and your husband arrived at Perote together some six years ago. He has taught me much over that time.”
“Brazos believes he is dead.”
Joseph shrugged. “Your husband is premature in his beliefs, but not by much. Salezan will kill the priest once he recovers the El Regalo de Dios armband.”
Madeline pictured the piece of silver jewelry and the man who wore it. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“The governor has kept Padre Alcortez alive to translate the etchings on the band. Once that has been accomplished, Salezan plans to send the priest to his reward.”
Madeline shut her eyes and asked, “And Brazos? What of my husband? Tell me, Joseph. What does Salezan intend to do with my husband?” The only reply was the yawning creak of the rocking chain “Joseph, please!” she insisted.
The old man sighed heavily and said, “He is the
bestia
, madam. He is the governor’s closest friend.”
Chapter 19
BRAZOS LED JULIAN TO a sheltered area in an outcropping of rock some five miles from Perote Prison, and there they made camp. The weather was colder than Julian had anticipated, it being the summer months and so far south. But they were high in the mountains, and rain had fallen for a good portion of the day, drenching the area with a bone-chilling drizzle. Shortly before dark, the sky cleared and a quarter moon rose to bathe the area in a shadowed, silver light.
“A rustler’s moon,” Sinclair said with satisfaction.
Julian stacked brush and twigs for a campfire and asked, “Why a rustler’s moon?”
“A moon like this provides both enough light for cattle thieves to see and enough shadows to conceal them,” Brazos replied. He gestured toward the pile of leaves. “We can’t build a campfire this close to the prison, Desseau. Salezan undoubtedly knows I’m here, but I’d just as soon not show him exactly where.”
Julian tugged a woolen blanket around his shoulders and watched as Brazos stood tossing a ball from hand to hand as he gazed toward the east. Toward Perote Prison. From the moment he had returned to his La Réunion home and discovered his wife missing, Brazos had been a force to be reckoned with. Resourceful, determined, relentless—he’d blasted his way through any obstacle set in his path. Yet, tonight an air of hopelessness clung to him, and it left Julian with an uncomfortable question. What devils did Sinclair expect to face on the morrow?
The Frenchman had been told but a portion of the story about what had happened between his son-in-law and Damasso Salezan. He’d discussed the subject with Tyler while aboard the
Lucky Linda
and learned that even Brazos’s brother knew only bits and pieces of what had occurred behind Perote’s walls. But here in the talons of the night as he observed the silent, brooding figure, Julian knew a sinking in his stomach. He recognized the presence that surrounded the Texan like a velvet cloak.
Death
. Death draped the shoulders of Brazos Sinclair. He wore it knowingly and with a calm acceptance, and Julian realized then that Brazos believed a return to Perote Prison meant his death. But he was going anyway.
Mon Dieu
, Julian thought.
So great must be his love for my daughter
. “Sinclair?” The Frenchman’s voice cut through the shadows of the night. “It is not too late to halt this scheme. We could proceed with your brother’s idea. I could attempt to infiltrate the prison and free Madeline from the inside.”
Brazos shook his head. “Nothing has changed, Desseau. I won’t put her at further risk, and I won’t leave her in Salezan’s clutches for a minute longer than necessary. We’ll continue as planned. Tyler has made some powerful connections in Mexico City since my last visit to this country, and I feel certain he’ll be able to get me sprung lickety-split.”
Julian gave Brazos a searching look before quietly saying, “I’m certain your brother will give the venture his greatest efforts.” Silently, Julian added,
But you’re not counting on him, are you, Sinclair? You believe that nothing can save you
.
Maybe the Texan had good reason for such pessimism. Maybe death did await him at the prison, or perhaps something worse than death. Julian accepted Brazos’s decision and his right to make it. But if returning to Perote meant certain death for Brazos Sinclair, then all care should be taken that his sacrifice not be made in vain.
With that in mind, Julian voiced the worry that had plagued him since Salezan’s man arrived at the
Lucky Linda
with a reply to their message. “There is one potential problem we have not discussed, Sinclair. In truth, I’ve been afraid to bring it up. It is obvious from Salezan’s answer to your message that he suspects you of rescuing his wife. He demands that she be returned to him tomorrow. Have you considered that once you tell him his wife is dead, he might return the favor? He might well kill her Sinclair. He might kill Madeline.”
Brazos stepped back and hurled the ball he held into the darkness. As he spun around, his voice ripped the night. “Don’t you think I’ve thought about that? Don’t you realize that it tears me to pieces to know I might be puttin’ her in more danger than she’s already facin’? Dammit man, it’s all my fault! She’s there because of me. And I want her out of that hellhole and safe more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
His head fell forward, and he raked both hands through his hair. When he spoke again, his tone was both bitter and determined. “The stakes of this game are higher than any I’ve played before, Desseau. I’ve considered all the angles. I know what cards Salezan’s holdin’, and I know the different ways he might choose to play ‘em. I think you’re right; he might consider killin’ Maddie. But I can figure no other way than to gamble that he wants me and the silver mine more than he’ll want to make an innocent woman pay for Juanita’s ‘death.’ Pray that I’m right, Julian, ‘cause if I’m not…”
“She’s my daughter,” Julian said, pushing angrily to his feet. How could he express what those words meant to him? The child he’d lost, miraculously returned, then cruelly stolen once again, before he’d so much as embraced her. She must be saved, at all costs. “Is there not anything I can do to help in this, Sinclair?”
“Just do as we’ve planned. Get her to the boat safe and sound.” Sauntering over to his bedroll, Brazos tugged at the leather ties, then kicked it out flat. “That’s the most important thing—it’s the only important thing. I want Maddie safe.”
Lying down, Brazos stretched out and covered his eyes with his hat. Julian opened his mouth to argue that although Madeline’s safety was paramount, other considerations did exist—little things like the Texan’s life. But he stopped himself before voicing a word. What use was there? Sinclair’s decision had been made during a single long minute upon his return to La Réunion with Señora Salezan in tow. Julian himself had witnessed the emotions that had rolled across his son-in-law’s face, betraying but an inkling of what demons lurked within the man. But once Sinclair had declared his intentions, he’d never faltered.