Capture The Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  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.”

  Kill him now, Brazos told himself. Why wait any longer? He’s bluffing about a woman. Juanita’s back in Texas, and Maddie—well, Maddie had to be safe. Desseau protected her. She’s his daughter; he wouldn’t allow her to be harmed.

  Brazos didn’t want to see what was
inside the box.

  I’ll hit him in the nose, he thought. Shove it up under his eyebrows. That’ll kill a man if you do it right.

  He had to see what was in that box.

  Salezan stretched out his arm and offered Brazos the gift. “You did enjoy your steak, didn’t you? I had it specially prepared. My father’s recipe, you know. Remember us talking about my father? About the Karankawa?”

  Brazos went for him. With his left hand, he slapped away the box. He slammed the heel of his right, palm flat, toward Salezan’s face, intending to catch the bastard’s nose and drive it up into his brain. But the derringer went off, catching Brazos in the shoulder and his blow succeeded only in bloodying his enemy’s nose.

  “Pinche cabron,” Salezan cursed as Brazos came at him again, losing blood and quickly growing weak. They struggled for the gun, and with a last surge of effort, Brazos wrenched it from the governor’s hand. Breathing heavily, he backed away and took aim for Salezan’s head.

  “Look,” Salezan shouted, kicking the box at his feet.

  In his weakened state, Brazos looked for just an instant. But an instant was all that it took. A long coil of gold spilled from the box. A braid. Madeline’s braid. Brazos remembered. Brazos died. The Beast roared to life.

  “Ah, bestia,” Salezan said, panting for breath. “My favorite has returned.”

  THE SOUND of chains dragging across the stone floor intruded upon Madeline’s sleep. Not opening her eyes, she tugged the threadbare blanket up over her head and burrowed into the minimal comfort of her thin, lumpy mattress. Her papa was pacing again. The man worried entirely too much. He simply wouldn’t accept her assurances that all would be well.

  Of course, she’d feel better about it herself if her luck in finding the entrance to Salezan’s secret dungeon would improve. The governor had played right into her talented hands when he’d incarcerated them in a remote, seldom utilized section of the prison. No one was around to see her pick the lock on her cell door using the hat pin she always carried in her petticoat.

  One other person shared their wing of the prison, Brazos’s friend Father Miguel Alcortez. After so many years as Damasso Salezan’s guest, the priest was able to provide Madeline with all sorts of details concerning prison life. He knew when the guards were likely to pay a visit, and from whom she could steal clothing for an effective disguise. The one thing he didn’t know, however, was where Brazos was being held. That a dungeon called The Hole existed at Perote was common knowledge, but its exact location was an ugly secret.

  “I spent a couple of months in The Hole, Madeline,” Father Miguel had said. “But I’m afraid I was unconscious both upon entering and when leaving. All I remember is a sliding panel—a secret door—that led to a staircase that winds down into total darkness.” Madeline had begun an immediate and clandestine search for that hidden doorway and her husband. So far her efforts had been fruitless.

  The hazy sunlight of dawn filtered through the single, rectangular window carved in the stone high on the outside wall. In the distance, a cock crowed, while from the parade ground came the sounds of soldiers gathering for the morning review. Madeline stifled a groan as she sat up. As soon as they were all safe, she swore, she’d find a soft bed and sleep for a week. These nighttime excursions were beginning to wear on her body. Almost as much as they appeared to be wearing on her father’s mind.

  The poor man continued to pace. Madeline slipped her feet into her shoes and walked to the door. She peeked into the dark hallway, then listened for sounds. Nothing. Each day, breakfast—or the watery gruel that served as such—was offered to the three prisoners in the isolated wing of Perote after the general population had eaten. Barring an unexpected change in routine, Madeline knew she had a good two hours before a guard would appear nearby.

  So she picked the lock on her cell door and visited her worried father. At the sight of her outside his door, Julian lifted his eyes to heaven and said, “I’ll die of heart failure if she continues this way.” The first time she’d popped over, after he’d recovered from the shock of learning that his eldest daughter knew how to pick a lock, Julian had tried to convince her to escape immediately, without even attempting to free Brazos. He hadn’t listened to her then, and he wasn’t listening to her now.

  “Please, Madeline,” Julian begged, waving away her assurances that all would be well. “Save yourself. The man sacrificed himself for you. Don’t allow it all to go for naught.”

  By now, the argument was tired. “Sir,” she said sharply, “you dishonor me with such talk. Yes, my husband put his life at risk in an attempt to rescue me. But am I less of a woman than he is a man? Brazos has never once claimed love for me, and still he faced his own worst fears by returning here for my sake.” She braced her hands on her hips and continued, “I, on the other hand, have declared my love for him—shouted it to anyone who would listen. What kind of a person would I be if I just walked away and left him?”

  “You’d be a living person!” Julian replied, throwing his arms wide. “Madeline, your reasoning is faulty. For goodness’ sake, you’re only a woman!”

  She almost hit him then. “Only a woman? Only a woman!” She inhaled a deep, calming breath, then said, “The thought crosses my mind that it may have been a good thing for both of us that I did not grow up under your control.” Throwing him a frustrated glare, she returned to her cell.

  Gentle laugher spilled from the room across the narrow hallway. “Ah, Madeline, you do so liven up this old jail,” Father Miguel said. “In my solitude over these past years, I’ve forgotten just how entertaining people can be.”

  “Hush, Father Miguel,” Madeline said, retreating to her cot. “Any more from either one of you, and I’m liable to leave you both behind when Brazos and I escape.”

  The priest was still chuckling, Julian fuming, and Madeline sulking when Joseph arrived with breakfast. Madeline took one look at the contents of the bowl and said in a rueful voice, “You know, Joseph, I find I enjoyed the soufflé you served me a couple of weeks ago more enjoyable.”

  Salezan’s butler sniffed, “Now, Madame Sinclair, I would not complain were I you. This is much better than your poor husband is receiving these days.”

  “Brazos, you’ve seen Brazos?” Madeline asked, clutching his sleeve. “How is he? He is alive, right? He’s well?”

  Joseph winced and backed away a step, looking everywhere but at her face. “I spoke out of turn. I am sorry. It’s just that he’s so…he can’t…” Joseph pursed his lips into a frown and said, “He is not the same man you have known.” With that, he beat a hasty retreat from her room. He failed to speak at all to Julian, but when he opened Miguel’s cell, he brought both food and a basin of steaming water. Watching through the window in her door, Madeline saw Miguel’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “What is this?” he asked.

  Frowning, Joseph showed him a bar of soap and a towel. “The governor will see you in an hour. You would prefer to be clean, I am certain.”

  “Why does he want to see me?” Miguel asked.

  Madeline’s hands gripped the two iron bars in the window of her cell door and said fearfully, “The armband.”

  Joseph nodded. “I’ll see that a clean cassock is sent for you, Padre,” he said as he closed and locked the door. His steps rang hollowly down the long hallway.

  Madeline’s thoughts whirled. Brazos was still alive! But Miguel wouldn’t be alive for long; Salezan was in possession of the armband. Brazos was in some sort of trouble. What had Joseph meant not the same man? “I must find that entrance,” she declared. “Today. Now! I haven’t mentioned this before, Father Miguel, but when I was here the first time, Joseph told me something. He said that as soon as—”

  “As soon as Salezan recovered the armband, he’d kill me. This is not news, my dear. He has told me the same thing almost daily since Brazos escaped.”

  “But why? I don’t understand? What is so special about a piece of silver jewelry?”

  “Ah, Madeline,” th
e padre said with a smile in his voice, “it is more—much more than jewelry. The band is one hundred fifty years old, and I found it buried in a box of old church records. It is a map to riches beyond your wildest imaginings.”

  “A map?”

  “For one familiar with both the area of Texas in question and the symbols and teachings of the Catholic church, the engravings show the way to the El Regalo de Dios.”

  “Silver,” Madeline said, thinking back to her time in Salezan’s home, where silver objects adorned every room. “But he already has so much of it. Maybe he already knows about the mine.”

  “Mm,” Miguel said reverently. The sound of water splashing spread across the narrow hallway as he added, “I’d forgotten what a pleasure hot water can be. No, Madeline. The secret of El Regalo de Dios has been lost for over one hundred years. Your husband and I had just begun to explore the puzzle when we were captured and brought to Perote.”

  Madeline told him, “I’ve seen the silver—a portion of it, anyway. Brazos told me a bit of the story.” She heard the sound of rustling cloth as the priest continued speaking.

  “Using the papers I had discovered, Brazos and I were able to find a cache of buried silver bars—a small portion of the wealth that had been prepared for transfer to Mexico. When the Franciscans began battling with the Jesuits, they hid all evidence of the mine. They didn’t want to lose control to the more powerful order you see. Before any more was done, the Lipan-Apaches attacked, and the secret of the mine was lost.”

  “Until you discovered it.”

  “Yes.”

  Julian, listening to the conversation at his own cell door said, “But I don’t understand. I was of the opinion that you and Sinclair were friends. If he had the map all this time, why didn’t he use it to bargain for your freedom?”

  “Brazos doesn’t know the band holds the key. The church documents showed us the way to the cache. Only after I was interred here in these pleasant surroundings did I, for lack of anything better to do, study the etchings and put the facts together. Salezan overheard my musings and took the armband. But he was unable to decipher the designs. He moved me into a separate area of the dungeon and went to work on forcing the information from my lips. He was close to succeeding when Brazos escaped and for some reason—I believe a message from God—took the armband with him. It’s what’s kept me alive these past years.”