At that moment, he wanted nothing more than sleep, and with the woman securely tied, he was free to drift off. But now that his lust had finally been sated, the niggling worry that had bothered him occasionally during the past six or seven hours returned as a major concern.
He’d missed the rendezvous with Poteet, something the Texan would not take too kindly.
It’d been a mistake to stop here with the woman. Had he followed the plan, they’d have camped for the night some three miles north of here. But after spending days in the company of such a beautiful woman, one who challenged him repeatedly by attempting to escape, he’d found his need to master her overwhelming. So he’d pushed on toward this brothel, where he knew a mattress and total privacy would be assured.
But he never intended to stay here so long. A little sex; a little sleep. That’s what he’d anticipated. But the woman had been insatiable, and he—well, it had been the sexual zenith of his life. Madre de Dios. No wonder Governor Salezan had gone to such lengths to secure the return of this woman. No wonder he planned such a frightening reception for Brazos Sinclair.
Cuellar bolted upright as a new thought occurred to him. He’d been worrying over Poteet’s reaction to their delay. Maybe the one he should be concerned about was the governor himself. What would Salezan do if he ever learned that his lieutenant had sampled this woman?
Cuellar shuddered as he rubbed his bristled chin with his hand. He turned his head and looked at Juanita. She watched him with steady black eyes, a hint of amusement warming their depths. Pinche cabrόn, he cursed. He should have listened to Poteet. Rising from the bed, he searched through his saddlebags for a cheroot. Smoking always helped him think, and Cuellar had the uneasy suspicion that his life might depend on just how well he thought.
Poteet had warned him to keep away from the woman. He’d known she’d be a temptation. He’d known—Cuellar froze. Poteet must have known that I would find the dark-eyed Juanita irresistible, and still he assigned me the task of escorting the woman to Mexico. Cuellar tossed away the smoke he’d yet to light, staring as it rolled beneath the bed. He lifted his gaze to the naked beauty lying atop the dirty sheets. Had he been duped? Perhaps Poteet was threatened by his rise in power in the governor’s army. Possibly he worried that the second in command might replace him.
“Poteet seeks a hold on me. A threat. He intends to use you, puta. Well, I’ll not allow it to happen.” He lifted his knife from the table by the door and tested its point against the pad of his thumb. Killing her would be an answer. He could kill her and somehow place the blame on Poteet. The Texan would not be expecting that. His hard gaze raked Juanita, and he felt a stab of regret. He didn’t enjoy the idea of removing one of such talent and beauty from this world.
“Maybe I could release you,” he murmured. “If I had something to offer as proof of your death, something that implicated Poteet.…No, it would be too dangerous. I’ve seen how he pursues you, Señora Juanita. I dare not risk being discovered in a lie.”
Knife in hand, he straddled her. “My apologies, but I find I must kill you.” He drew the knife slowly across her throat, and a thin red line appeared in its wake. She fought her bindings, biting at the kerchief gagging her mouth, terror flashing in her eyes. Cuellar’s loins stirred at the sight. Maybe he wouldn’t kill her quite yet. Holding the blade against her throat, he entered her with one hard thrust.
Then the door burst open, and Brazos Sinclair tore into the room. Taken completely by surprise, Cuellar was slow to react. Lifting the knife, he twisted to face the intruder. Sinclair was there, backhanding him across the face with a gun and wrenching the blade from his grip. Sparing Juanita a single quick glance, Brazos knocked Cuellar to the floor with a hard punch to the gut, then threw a vicious kick to the groin. Through a haze of pain, Cuellar heard Sinclair ask, “Nita, you all right?”
Brazos grabbed Cuellar’s knife and cut Juanita’s ropes. The Mexican rolled to his hands and knees, and Sinclair kicked him down again.
Juanita rubbed her wrists as Brazos gently removed the gag from around her head, then poured her a cup of water from a pitcher by the bed. “I was beginning to worry you’d not arrive in time,” she said after quenching her thirst. “He planned to kill me, Sin.” She scrambled from the bed and pulled on her dress as Brazos, his expression icy, hauled Cuellar onto the bed and put his gun against his temple.
“Wait,” Cuellar breathed, fear turning his bowels watery. “I’ve information. Spare me, and I’ll tell you.”
“Information?” Brazos replied. “I don’t know. I’d just as soon kill you as look at you any longer.” He paused, cocking his head to one side. “Your call, Nita. It was you he hurt.”
“I’d rather you not kill on my account, Sin. See what he has to say.”
“All right,” Brazos agreed. “I guess a few minutes won’t hurt anything. What do you know?”
“You will spare my life?”
“I’ll make it worth your while, that’s all I promise.”
Staring up at his enemy, Cuellar realized that any mention of Sinclair’s wife would mean an instant death. He’d shadowed the Sinclairs long enough to know that the Texan wouldn’t hesitate to lull anyone involved in the abduction of his woman. Instead, he said, “Salezan wants more than Juanita’s return. He wants you and the band you wear around your arm.”
Brazos’s shirtsleeve moved as his muscle flexed. “The band?”
“Yes.” Cuellar nodded. “The governor has learned that it holds the secret to El Regalo de Dios.”
Juanita looked at Brazos. “The silver mine? But you have all of it, Brazos. Why would Damasso want to know where the mine is?”
“Actually,” Brazos answered, his gaze never leaving Cuellar’s face, “it wasn’t the mine itself that Miguel and I found. That’s all beside the point. What I want to know is how Salezan learned this information about my armband.”
Referring to the priest imprisoned in an isolated cell in Perote Castle would be only slightly less dangerous than speaking about Sinclair’s wife, Cuellar decided. He’d heard whispered tales of the bestia and his partner. He said, “I don’t know. I only learned about the band because I overheard the governor speaking to my boss, Winston Poteet.”
Brazos lifted his eyebrows. “Poteet? Win Poteet? Isn’t he a Texas ranger?”
“He is Salezan’s right-hand-man.”
“Well, son of a bitch. You never can tell about some men, can you.” He shrugged, then nudged Cuellar with the gun. “Tell me, son, if Salezan wants my armband so bad, then why didn’t one of you folks just shoot me and steal it? Since you got close enough to get Nita, I’m sure you had the opportunity to get me, too.”
“He wanted you alive.”
“Alive? Y’all thought to take me back to that hellhole alive?” Sinclair’s laugh was harsh. “You folks are dumb as dirt if you think you could get me back to Perote still breathin’. I’d just as soon shake hands with the devil before sunset as set foot inside Damasso Salezan’s little house of horrors.”
Juanita bent to don her shoes and moaned as her injuries pained her. The sound distracted Brazos just long enough for Cuellar to make the move he’d been waiting for. He made a swipe at the water pitcher beside the bed and swung it at Brazos’s head. Sinclair ducked, and Cuellar grabbed for the gun.
It proved to be a fatal mistake. The shot reverberated through the room, and the last sound Joaquin Cuellar lived to hear was Brazos Sinclair saying with disgust, “Yep, dumb as a cottonwood stump.”
BRAZOS AND Juanita rode hard to make the return trip to La Réunion in the shortest possible time. Throughout the long hours in the saddle, Brazos felt his mind racing from one worry to another. He fretted about Juanita and how she was making out after her ordeal. He wondered about Salezan and how he had learned the secret of the armband. He troubled over Lillibet and Thomas, and how the fake Indian raid would affect them over the long haul. But most of all, he brooded about Madeline and Rose and how the appearance of Julian Dess
eau would change their lives. His own included. Because somewhere between Corsicanna and Little Brush Creek, the idea that Desseau might take his daughters back to France had slapped Brazos in the face.
All this time he’d figured he’d be the one doing the leaving. Also, though he hated to admit it, he’d harbored the faint hope that if things with Salezan worked his way, he could return to Madeline and Rose. But now that their daddy had showed up, it looked like any returning would involve a trip to France. Lord knows he couldn’t face another boat trip if his life depended on it.
The midafternoon sun beat down upon the riders hot enough to pop corn in the shuck. Perspiration beaded on Brazos’s brow and plastered his blue chambray shirt to his back. He licked dry lips and tasted salt and thought of the sea and Maddie. An ocean voyage during the summer would be tough on her what with the seasickness and all. A person always felt worse when he was ill during the heat of summertime than he did when he was laid up in the cold season. Maddie would be much better off if Desseau would wait a few months to take her back to France. “I’ll have to be sure and mention it to the man when we get back,” he said, taking the kerchief from around his neck and wiping his face.
“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 h
e 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.”
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