Blood surged through Brazos’s veins so hard and fast, he thought he just might explode. He was going to wipe the floor with Salezan before he killed him. Madeline looked ready to cry, and Miguel—Oh, hell, Brazos thought.
Miguel was a man of God. A good man. A pious man. But he was still a man. And by the look on his face, he’d not been unaffected by Madeline’s body. Brazos didn’t like it, but he understood it. And he knew damn well that Father Miguel would be mortified if his uncontrollable reaction was made visible to all here in the dungeon. His friend had suffered enough. It would end here and now. “Madeline,” he said, “you go tell Father Miguel that there’s nothing to worry about.” He caught her puzzled gaze, then darted a significant look at the wall torch.
Madeline reached for Father Miguel’s hand and whispered to him. The man nodded, but only Brazos saw his relief. “Salezan,” Brazos said, “if I have to watch this little opera you’re orchestrating, do you think I could at least have Madeline give me a swig of that home brew your soldiers make to help get me through it?”
Salezan crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Why not?” he said expansively. “I find if you mingle the senses—taste, sight, touch—it does increase one’s pleasure. Give your husband a drink, Madeline. Fondle him a moment. Maybe he’ll enjoy this as much as the good father and I.”
“Oh, I think I’ll enjoy this a whole hell of a lot. Now,” he said. And it took only seconds.
Miguel pivoted and swept the burning torch from the wall while Madeline poured liquor over the blanket scrap before shoving it into the bottle. As the priest took the bottle and set it alight, Madeline hurried to her husband and went to work on the locks. Miguel slipped the makeshift bomb through the bars and tossed it at Salezan’s feet.
“No!” Salezan screamed as the bottle exploded. Shattered glass pinged against the stone as blue flames flared at the feet of the king and his throne. Then, in little more than an instant, Salezan’s clothing caught fire, engulfing him in a blaze. His screams echoed off the walls.
With two of the manacles undone, Madeline shuddered, grimacing at the sounds the governor made. The fire spread, consuming the dry straw scattered through the passageway. A breath-stealing fog of smoke rose and hung along the low-ceilinged corridor.
“It’s spreading,” Father Miguel cried, beating at the flames that had inched their way inside the cell.
Madeline had but a single shackle to loosen to free Brazos from the wall. He watched her hands tremble, saw how the heat from the fire scorched her skin, how the smoke burned her eyes. She blinked hard to see through the watery film. She pulled on the manacle. It held. “Damn,” she cried.
Brazos’s voice was calm and soothing even as the table inside the cell went up in flames, the crackle and pop of burning pine causing her to jump. “It’s all right, Beauty,” he said. “You’re doing fine.”
The flames were gaining on Miguel. Gray smoke engulfed the cell, so thick, Brazos could no longer see the door. He realized that if they didn’t escape now, they’d all perish. “I can do this one, Maddie. Go get the door. Open the cell door and help Miguel out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”
“No,” she cried. “I’m not leaving you behind. I can do this. I’m a thief! I do this all the time.” She pulled at the iron cuff. Nothing. “Oh, God, help us,” she wailed.
“Go, Madeline, now! I order you! Save yourself, dammit. Miguel, come get her. We’ve run out of time.”
She looked up at him and shouted, “Bloody hell, Sinclair, are you going to go to your grave still trying to order me around? Haven’t you learned anything over the last months?” She bent herself to her task with renewed determination, and soon came the gratifying click of a lock being released.
Brazos wrenched his ankle from the iron and grabbed Madeline’s arm, tugging her in the direction of the door. “Watch your skirts, honey.” Flames licked his bare feet as he crossed the room, and he knew that if he was still alive tomorrow, he’d suffer from the burns. “Miguel!” he called, staring through the smoke to find his friend. “Miguel!”
Father Miguel didn’t answer, but as Brazos reached the cell door, he found his friend, weakened by years spent in prison, gasping for air. Hell, Brazos wondered, had they run out of time?
“Sinclair?” an excited voice called from the other side of the door.
“Here!”
Julian Desseau drew a penknife from his pocket and quickly tripped the lock. Pushing open the door, he waved them toward the stairs, asking, “Madeline are you all right?”
Coughing, Madeline managed to say, “Yes, but the padre…” She stopped to pull on Miguel Alcortez’s arm.
“Go, Maddie,” Brazos hollered, pushing her at the same time he tried to lift Miguel.
Julian shoved him aside, saying, “Sinclair get her out of here. I’ll help the priest.”
“Papa, you saved us,” Madeline said. “But how did you get the door—”
“Later, cheri. Up those stairs while we’re still able to breathe. The smoke is rising; take small breaths.”
She ran for the stairs, Brazos right behind her. Something caught him around the ankles, and he pitched forward, falling on the smoldering body of Damasso Salezan. The governor’s face was black and crusted, but his eyes were open and alive. Pleading. Brazos stood and wiped his hands on his trousers. He hesitated.
Salezan deserved nothing better than to die here in the bowels of Perote Prison, where he had played his sadistic, horrific games. Here, where he had created the animal that had dwelt inside Brazos for so long—the beast that had been defeated by the pure, unbounded love of the beauty waiting to climb to freedom with him.
Heedless of the heat against his own skin, Brazos bent and lifted his enemy into his arms. Silently, he carried the dying man up the stairs and away from the flaming corridors of Brazos’s personal hell.
Chapter 22
THE ESCAPE FROM PEROTE Castle proved to be easier than Madeline had hoped. Stepping into the tower room after climbing the dungeon staircase, she discovered Joseph, pistol in hand, anxiously pacing the room. After taking one look at the agony etched across Salezan’s disfigured face, Joseph asked Brazos to lay the governor on the floor. Then the servant provided one last service to his master. He put the pistol to Salezan’s temple and shot him.
Joseph displayed little emotion as he provided each of the ragtag band of prisoners a set of clothing before escorting them to Perote’s front gate. Only when he offered the reins of a beautiful black gelding to Father Miguel did the butler betray his true feelings. He said, “I ask your forgiveness, Padre. I am ashamed for the part I played in keeping you here at Perote.”
Father Miguel offered the man a gentle smile and said, “You need not be ashamed, my friend. You found a balance between your familial duties and your moral ones. Without your assistance, Joseph, I don’t doubt that I’d have died years ago.” The priest placed his hands on the servant’s shoulders. “Don’t question God. Everything happens for a reason. You’re free now. Go and pursue your calling.”
The rocky road shimmered with heat as they rode away from the castle. Brazos wiped his brow with a kerchief and asked Father Miguel, “Familial responsibilities?”
“Joseph was Salezan’s half-brother.”
“His brother!” Madeline exclaimed, twisting in her saddle to look at the priest. “Why, Salezan treated him terribly. What made Joseph tolerate such abuse?”
“He had made a promise to their mother.”
“Hard to imagine Salezan having a mother,” Brazos commented, slowly shaking his head. “So Joseph was his brother. Well, I’ll be damned.”
“I suspect so, unless you change your ways, my friend,” Father Miguel replied dryly.
“Wait just one minute,” Madeline interrupted. “Brazos is a very good man.”
The two friends looked at one another and laughed. “It’s an old joke, Maddie. Don’t take him seriously,” Brazos told her. “For a priest, Miguel is a terrible tease.�
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She sniffed disdainfully and gigged her horse, catching up with her father. They rode silently side by side, and were it not for the questions plaguing her, Madeline would have enjoyed the freedom of the ride.
She worried about the future. So far, Brazos hadn’t said a word about it, and she didn’t have a clue as to what he was thinking. She settled for asking her father how he managed to open the lock on the dungeon cell door.
Julian offered her a sheepish look and confessed, “While searching for you, I stole a penknife from Salezan’s study. I’m afraid I’m quite proficient at locks; ‘tis a knack I discovered during my youth.”
A warm surge of pleasure engulfed Madeline upon hearing his words. Obviously, she’d inherited her talent from him. She couldn’t wait to explore other family connections. Most of all, she couldn’t wait to hold Rose in her arms once again.
As Brazos led them to the coastal site where they would rendezvous with the Lucky Linda, she determinedly pushed her worries from her mind. For now, she wouldn’t concern herself with the likelihood that her father would wish to take her sister back to France. She refused to fret any longer about whether Brazos would want her to join them or not.
Dusk cast a shadowed glaze over the water as the steamer paddled its way toward them. Madeline recognized Tyler’s shout and Sister Cecilia’s joyful squeal as the stern-wheeler drew close enough for all to see one another. It seemed to take forever to get aboard, and although Rose was already asleep in her bed, Madeline couldn’t resist picking the child up.
An hour later, following the reunions and explanations, Brazos ducked into his sister’s stateroom and found Madeline sitting on the bunk with tears streaming down her cheeks as she rocked the sleeping toddler. “Aw, Maddie, don’t cry. You know I hate it when you cry. What’s the matter, Beauty?”
What could she tell him? How could she possibly explain what was in her heart? All her life she’d been searching for a dream, and now it was within her grasp. She had a family, a father and a sister; and a beautiful home to return to. In France.
That was a long way from Texas and Brazos Sinclair.
One time, he’d told her he loved her. Once, down in that dungeon cell, where the possibility of their leaving alive appeared slim. He’d not mentioned the word love again, and Madeline wondered if he ever would. Drying her tears, she sighed and said simply, “I missed Rose.”
A shuttered look came over Brazos’s face. “I know, Maddie.” He shut the cabin door and leaned against it, his arms folded, the toe of one boot softly tapping the floor. Silence yawned between them so that every rumble and clang from the engine sounded like a roar. Tension mounted to such a pitch that Madeline wanted to scream.
When Brazos opened his mouth to speak, she knew by the noncommittal look in his eyes that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. “Your father says he’s taking the first ship out of Galveston bound for Europe.” Brazos hesitated for just a moment before he said, “Guess you’ll be goin’ with him and Rose.”
No words had ever hurt more. It was all she could do not to clutch at her stomach and moan aloud. But since acting was one of the numerous skills every good thief possessed, Madeline pasted a smile on her face and replied, “I guess so.”
Brazos pushed away from the door. He paced the room, its space limitations and his size requiring he pivot every four steps, and the more he walked, the more he grimaced. Madeline watched him closely, and the fiercer his scowl, the more she began to hope. “Since the day we met, you’ve talked about wanting a home and family,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Well, you’ve got what you want.”
Madeline returned Rose to her crib, then turned to face her husband. She searched her mind for the right words to say, the words that would make him see what was in her heart, what had always been in her heart. “I’ve never belonged before, Brazos. Not to anyone or anyplace. That’s what I’ve wanted, to belong and to have someone belong to me.”
He stopped. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, twice he snapped it shut without uttering a word. Brazos stared at her, anguish reflected in his eyes. She answered him by allowing love to shine her own.
“Well, hell.” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “I tried, Maddie, I truly did. But I reckon I’ve damn well used up my share of nobility.”
Her heart pounded, and her knees felt weak as she asked, “What do you mean, Brazos?”
He flashed her a crooked grin that was rueful, unabashed, and downright wicked all at the same time. “I’m afraid I’m through with being nice about this. You’re not leaving me. I’m not giving you up.”
“You’re not?” Madeline asked, a fierce elation bursting within her like fireworks on a summer sky.
“I’m not.”
She wanted to fling herself into his arms, but she knew she shouldn’t. It wouldn’t do for the man to think he could order her around. So she said, “What makes you think you can stop me?”
He moved as swiftly as the wind, grabbed her hand, and tugged her out of the stateroom and into the one next door. She saw his saddlebags on the table beside the bed and realized this was his room. His bed.
“Why do I think I can stop you?” he repeated, advancing on her like a predator after his prey. “Because I love you. Because, amazing as it may be, you love me, too.” He stroked her cheek with a gentle finger and Madeline shuddered as a wave of desire swept through her.
Brazos pulled her into his arms, holding her firmly, but gently. “Because, Madeline Sinclair you don’t belong to your father and your sister. You belong to me. I belong to you. I’m never letting you go, and I’ll be damned before I allow you to let loose of me.” He brushed kisses against her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. Just before he lowered his mouth to hers, he swore, “Hell, I’ll go to France. I’ll go wherever you want to go. I’ll live wherever you want to live. I’ll be happy as a ‘coon in a corncrib as long as we’re together. I love you, Beauty.”
And then he kissed her a deep, passionate, arousing kiss. Madeline thrilled at the rough, erotic touch of his tongue against hers. She exalted in the proof of his hunger pressing hotly against her and answered it with a slow roll of her hips.
Somehow, through the haze of desire, his words drummed into her senses. “No, Brazos,” she said, pulling away.
“No?”
She nodded. “Yes. ‘No.’”
His words sounded hoarse as he asked, “Why the hell not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to,” he repeated scornfully. “Well, honey, that’s not what your body was telling me a second ago.”
“Not that,” Madeline said, waving away his comment. “France. I don’t want to go to France. I want to stay here in Texas, Brazos. I’m a Sinclair and all the Sinclairs live in Texas, right?”
Brazos scowled. “All but for Aunt Penelope. She travels with a circus in Europe, so I would have family over there, too.”
“Circus?” Madeline tilted her head and looked at him. “High-wire act?”
“Bearded lady. She’s actually an aunt by marriage, so you needn’t worry about our daughters, Maddie.”
“That’s a relief.”
Brazos sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his chin with his palm. “You really don’t want to return to France?” She nodded, and he said, “What about Julian, Maddie? And Rose? Hell, I don’t know that I could stand to live without Rose being in our lives.”
Suddenly, a sense of peace and purpose settled over Madeline. She sat beside Brazos and took his hand in hers. “We’ll work it out, Brazos. I know we will. I’m good at schemes, remember?”
“Oh, I remember all right.” He lay back against the mattress and pulled her down beside him. “Seems like we never finished that fight we were having a good time back. Schemes and stealing. We need to talk about that, Maddie.”
“Later,” she said, kissing the hollow at the base of his neck.
“Later,” he agreed, rolling to his side and sweepi
ng his hands beneath her skirts.
For some hours after that, they did all their conversing with their bodies.
BRAZOS GRUNTED as Madeline’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “Wake up, Sinclair. You’re been asleep for ages, and there’s planning to be done.”
Slowly, he opened one eye and tried to glare. But he felt too good to glare, so it turned out more as a leer. She gouged him with her elbow again. “Ouch, Maddie.” He lifted his head up and this time managed a respectable glower. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“I’ve an idea.”
“Wonderful,” he said glumly.
She snuggled against him, smiling like a cat who’d knocked the lid off the butter churn. “We’ll convince my papa to stay in Texas. He can join the La Réunion colony, and he and Rose can live—”
“Hold it right there, wife. That dog won’t hunt,” Brazos said, gripping her arms and moving her away from him. “I’m not living and raising my children among a bunch of people who intend to establish something called a Court of Love whose leaders are referred to as fairies, fakirs, and genies.”
“Why is it you only remember the parts of Fourier’s teachings that deal with sex, Brazos?”
He ignored her. He’d do just about anything for Madeline, but a man had to draw a line somewhere. Living at La Réunion was his line. “Now, I know that they’re all not amoral—folks like the Brunets are good people—but I don’t liken to the idea of all those men looking at you with community in their eyes.”
Madeline giggled. “Brazos, I’ve told you before that La Réunion is not entirely committed to all of Fourier’s theories. But I don’t have to live there. Maybe we could move across the river to Dallas.”
“Hell, no.” Brazos lay back down and pulled her on top of him. “That’s too close to that pretty-boy wagon master. I don’t want you within a hundred miles of him.”
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