Capture The Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  Winston Poteet stood on one side of Madeline, Damasso Salezan on the other. The governor’s hand grasped her upper arm, and Brazos inwardly seethed that the bastard so much as touched her. Salezan broke the silence. “I’ve brought your woman, Sinclair. Where is mine?”

  For just a moment, Brazos hesitated. His fingers rested lightly on the hilt of the Colt revolver holstered at his side, and he mentally pictured drawing and firing at Salezan if the man even hinted at making a threatening move toward Maddie. Please, Lord, protect her, he prayed. Then he said flatly, “I don’t have her, Salezan. I was too late. Your man, Cuellar had already had his fun with Juanita by the time I tracked them down. She was dead. He is, too, now.”

  Brazos stood motionless, prepared to go for his gun as he watched Salezan’s face blanch. In the periphery of his vision, he saw a smile flit across Poteet’s face before the man schooled his expression into a scowl and spat a vile curse. “I warned that boy not to touch her. Damn, I should have killed him myself.”

  In a steel-edged voice, Salezan called, “I suspected you to attempt some nonsense such as this. It was quite daring of you actually, Sinclair. Don’t you worry I might harm your woman, having caught you in your lie? My wife is not dead—you seek to trick me, weakly at that. None of my men would dare to touch my Juanita. Really, Sinclair could you not concoct a better tale?”

  “I have proof,” Brazos answered.

  “Proof?” Poteet and Salezan asked in unison.

  Brazos nodded. “Juanita was a beautiful woman, and those of us who knew her couldn’t help being aware of her greatest vanity.” He gestured to the bag at his feet. “Here’s my proof, Salezan. Look at it, and know that your wife is dead. And while you’re at it, don’t be forgettin’ that it was your man who did the deed.”

  “What sort of trick is this?”

  “Look in the bag, Governor.”

  Salezan shook his head. “You. You show me.”

  Brazos shrugged, then stooped and lifted the bag. Untying the flap, he reached inside and grabbed hold of his “proof,” then let the bag fall to the ground. As it fell, it displayed a long, thick, shining rope of blue-black hair.

  “Son of a bitch!” Poteet exclaimed.

  Salezan swayed drunkenly. “Hijo de la madre,” he cursed.

  Madeline spoke for the first time. “Oh, Brazos, no. She is dead.” For just a moment, the only sound to be heard was the caw of a crow from its perch atop one of the stone statues.

  They’d bought it. Brazos could see it in their expressions. Just as he’d hoped, anyone familiar with Juanita knew that her hair was her greatest vanity. No one would believe she’d willingly allow those knee-length tresses to be cut were she still alive. Of course, no one else knew Nita as he did. All he’d had to do was ask, and the deed had been done.

  Actually, she’d been even more beautiful with ringlets framing her face, although eyes red and puffy from tears had distracted from the effect.

  His hand holding his dear friend’s rope of hair, Brazos fixed a hard stare on Salezan and said, “I figured I’d need to prove it to you, and she was beyond carin’ about it at this point.”

  Salezan’s handsome face turned ugly. To Madeline, he said, “I’m sorry, señora, I had hoped it would not come to this. Lieutenant Poteet, kill her.”

  From behind him, Brazos heard a rifle cock as Julian shouted, “No!” Quickly, Brazos said, “Do it, and you’ll never learn where the silver is. I’ve hidden the armband, Salezan. If you want the mine, you must let Madeline go free.” Poteet looked questioningly at the governor his gun pressed to Madeline’s temple. Along the castle wall, no fewer than fifty guns were trained on Brazos, and a similar number pointed behind him toward Madeline’s father.

  “My wife is dead,” Salezan said. “Why should yours not join her?”

  “Well,” Brazos drawled. “The way I figure it, I’m a dead man no matter what. You’ve lost your wife, so it kinda seems more even that Madeline lose only her husband, instead of both her husband and her life. Besides, I know you want the silver mine. And I’ve a pretty good idea that you’re looking forward to taking me back down to your little playroom beneath the castle.”

  Salezan trailed a finger down Madeline’s cheek. “Maybe I’ll take you both to my chambers below.”

  Though rage coursed through his veins, Brazos forced his expression to remain impassive. “Let her go, Governor. I’ll give you me; I’ll give you the mine.” He palmed the knife hidden beneath his shirt and brought it up to his neck. “If you don’t let her go, I die right here and take the secret of the mine and the amusements you have planned for me right along to hell with me.”

  “You are not a man to kill yourself,” Salezan scoffed.

  “Hell, it was suicide for me to come back to this hell on earth, so that decision’s already been made,” Brazos answered with a shrug. “How it gets done is another matter. You’re the one who has a choice here, Salezan.”

  Brazos held his breath. Every word he’d said was true. He knew he’d meet his end at Perote, and he’d made his peace with the fact. Of course, he wasn’t going to slit his own throat. If Salezan made the wrong decision, Brazos would point it out in a most fatal manner. Sure, the sharpshooters on the wall would get him, but he’d get Salezan first. And if everything went right, Desseau would take down Poteet before he could hurt Maddie, and father and daughter could escape in the confusion.

  Nice plan, if a little ambitious. Brazos bit back a groan. Hell, Maddie wouldn’t stand a chance. Please, Lord, let me have figured Salezan right. He watched Salezan’s eyes and braced himself when the Mexican opened his mouth.

  “Wait just one minute,” Madeline demanded, slapping the gun away from her face. “I’m sick and tired of men thinking they can make all the decisions concerning my life. One thinks he wants to kill me, another wants to divorce me, and I’ve yet to hear how my father managed to lose me when I was but a baby.”

  Salezan and Poteet stared at her with wide eyes. Brazos mouthed a vicious curse and warned, “Maddie!”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I’m done with it, do you hear? I’m going home. To Europe. I shall find a cloister of nuns where men are forbidden to come within a mile, and I’ll spend the rest of my days in peace. You gentlemen can stand here and argue till your tongues fall out for all I care, but leave me out of it. I’m going home!” Tossing her head, she took a wide, determined step onto the drawbridge, and when nothing felled her from behind, she kept on going.

  “Boss?” Poteet questioned.

  Salezan grinned and shook his head. “A hellcat, just like I said. Let her go. All right, Sinclair, I guess I’ve made my decision. Pitch that knife of yours into the water, and join us on this side of the bridge.”

  Brazos closed his eyes and sighed with relief as he tossed the knife into the moat.

  Madeline’s temper exploded as she heard it plop into the water, “You bloody fool,” she raged, advancing on him like the ball from a cannon. “I didn’t need you to save me, you know. I’d have saved myself. I’ve been doing it all my life.” Watching Brazos’s eyes narrow, she could hear Salezan laughing behind her. Her mind worked furiously. Although things had gone well so far, she doubted the governor would allow her and her husband to stand in the middle of the drawbridge and plot an escape. Plus she needed a chance to slip Brazos a weapon; it might be a while before she could return to the prison to help him break out. But Brazos’s hands were as slow as cold honey compared with hers, and she feared he’d fumble and give her away. She decided to take the risk.

  “Maddie,” Brazos said, scowling fiercely. “Shut your mouth and get your fanny out of here.”

  She screamed at him, “Gladly.” Drawing back her hand, she hissed at him, “Fall with me.” Then, staring meaningfully into his eyes, she hit him. Hard.

  He simply stood there, looking furious, and the next time she hit him, she wanted to. She managed to stumble into him and grab his shirt. “Fall, damn you.”

  “Hell,”
he muttered, and they tumbled over the side of the bridge.

  The water was dark, rank, and chillingly cold. Madeline shuddered even as she fumbled for the knife strapped to her leg. She felt Brazos’s arms come around her and quickly she shoved the handle of the weapon into his hand. As their heads broke the surface, their gazes, met, and Madeline’s heart swelled at the admiration reflected in Brazos’s eyes. But she had no time to bask in the glory; she had to pretend to drown.

  “Help,” she cried loudly. “I can’t swim. Save me!” She flailed in the water pushing and pulling at Brazos as they both turned to look at Salezan, who leaned over the bridge and called, “One false move and I’ll kill you both, Sinclair.”

  “Thanks, Beauty,” he murmured in her ear, “I’m proud to have you on my side. Head on out—”

  Beneath the cover of the water she pinched him to get his attention. “Listen to me, Brazos. You stay alive in there. I don’t care what that monster does, you stay alive, or I’ll kill you.”

  Brazos spat out a mouthful of water. “Somehow, that makes sense to me.”

  “We’ll come back for you,” she continued.

  “No! You go home with your daddy, you hear?”

  Madeline ignored him. They were almost to the bank, and she had so much to say, so many questions she wanted answered. Questions like, Why had he come for her? Her feet brushed solid ground, and she knew she’d run out of time. Instead of asking a question, she whispered, “Don’t give him the armband, Brazos, or the priest will die.”

  Then hands reached down and grabbed her lifting her from the water. Soldiers stood between her and Brazos. They pushed at her, blocking her view of her husband as other soldiers led him back across the bridge. A sob built within her and as warm, gentle arms wrapped themselves around her the sound escaped.

  “Ah, cheri, don’t cry. Please. It will be fine. His brother will help him.”

  Madeleine looked up into her father’s troubled face and said softly, sadly, “I didn’t get to tell him that I love him.”

  THROUGHOUT HER life, Madeline had often dreamed of finding her father. The fantasy always involved a conversation in which father and daughter exchanged words of love and regret, of joy and thankfulness and hope for the future. Never had she imagined that their first tête-á-tête would be a vociferous argument that all but scared their horses into bolting.

  The debate had begun less than a mile from the prison walls, when Madeline led her horse off the road and up a small embankment. She’d wanted to study the fortifications from that perspective.

  “I will not hear of it,” Julian said, twisting in his saddle to glower at Madeline.

  She glared right back. “I’m not leaving without him.”

  “You are not going back to that prison, ma fille.”

  She blinked in amazement. Julian Desseau looked and sounded exactly like an exasperated father. His chest was puffed out, his brow was furrowed, and he all but roared as he spat out his orders. It made her feel all warm inside.

  But no matter how much she enjoyed being on the receiving end of parental demands, Madeline had been making decisions for too many years to blithely allow any man to take the power from her. She smiled and said, “Yes I am, Papa. I appreciate your concern—in fact, I think it’s wonderful. But I’m afraid I cannot allow you to dictate to me at this late date. At least, not about something as important as this. If you would like, perhaps we could give it a try after we’ve rescued Brazos.”

  “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 s
uch 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?