Capture The Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  “Yes,” she answered, frowning suspiciously. Still, he thought she looked a little relieved.

  Brazos chose his words carefully. He hoped that the sincerity of his apology would linger over into this second part of his strategy. This was the tricky part. He’d need all his acting ability to get her to believe he meant this next bit of business. “I’ve rethought my position.”

  “What position?”

  On this stupid idea that appears to mean so much to you, he wanted to say. “On the idea that men and women are equals. Now, I’m not sayin’ I’ve changed my mind,” he cautioned. That’d be a stupid move. She’d never believe that. “But I will allow that I can see some merit in your arguments. I’d be willing to listen to more.” And I hope to hell warm, dry nights’ll be worth it.

  He tried so hard to look sincere. The way he had it figured, Madeline would find the opportunity to prove to him the error of his ways too hard to pass up. Then she’d have to spend time talking with him—just as she had the night of the storm.

  “Just what brought this on?” she asked, pinning him with a shrewd gaze.

  “You just got me to thinking.”

  “What a dangerous occupation.”

  He pretended not to hear her droll reply as he looked around for a distraction. He didn’t want Maddie questioning him too closely right yet. His gaze snagged on the sight of a young sailor being tugged in their direction by Madame Benoit, the most irritating colonist aboard the Uriel. “Damn, that woman is dangerous with a parasol,” he observed.

  “Brazos, are you serious about this?”

  “Yep, I am. Look at that, Maddie, Mrs. Benoit is all but banging that boy over the head with her umbrella.” He whistled softly. “He’s opening that hatch. I wonder why. Usually a ship’s hold stays closed the entire voyage.”

  Madeline muttered something about “frustrating fools.”

  A second sailor, older and bewhiskered, noticed the goings-on and spat out a rapid flurry of French Brazos had no chance of following. Both sailors were waving their arms, Madame Benoit was waving her weapon, and they all shouted at one another. Brazos did catch the word capitaine just as they all marched off in a cloud of commotion.

  “Mrs. Benoit’ll be lucky if the old salt doesn’t toss her overboard,” Brazos observed as the trio disappeared.

  Madeline answered his smile with one of her own. So far, so good, Sinclair. He was encouraged by her look and pleased she’d had a moment to warm to his idea.

  “Brazos,” she asked, “have I truly convinced you that women should be treated equally to men?”

  “Well, you don’t need to give me a cake recipe just yet.” He stretched out his legs and wiggled his foot as Rose played with the toe of his boot. “But I figure it won’t hurt us to pass some time together and chew on the idea a bit.”

  “Speaking of chewing on things…” Madeline gently tugged the piece of burlap away from Rose. “This child puts everything in her mouth these days,” she fussed. Then she asked, “Why do I have the feeling, Brazos Sinclair; that you want something from me?”

  Damn. He couldn’t forget that for a woman, Madeline was pretty smart. Brazos decided it was time to pursue the third objective in his plan. Madeline needed to be reminded just how badly she’d wanted aboard the Uriel. “When we were stumbling around Antwerp trying to find us a preacher, how come you were so set on me not mentioning your name?”

  Madeline averted her gaze. “That’s a personal question, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “You’ve asked me personal questions.”

  “You wouldn’t answer.”

  “Maybe I will if you will. Besides, I think we’ve about graduated to personal between us. Don’t you, Mrs. Sinclair?”

  Pursing her lips, she nodded. “Maybe we have at that. Very well, sir, I’ll even gift you with the truth. I was afraid. I don’t want anyone to find me.”

  She watched him closely, as though his reaction were important. “Your fiancé?” he asked, careful to keep his face a blank.

  “Who?”

  “The one who got wounded in the duel.” Her vacant stare frustrated him. Really, the woman needed to do a better job keeping her men straight. “The fella your Emile plugged.”

  “Oh.” She winced. “Yes, yes, him. Or anyone else, for that matter. I want to start over, Brazos. A new life in a new country. I want to create a secure home and family for Rose.”

  “Will he do it for you, your Emile?”

  She looked at him then, her eyes steady and determined, and shrugged. “I don’t know. But if he won’t, I shall find a man who will.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  Brazos dropped his gaze to his hand and the flag he squeezed in his fist. She’s a real piece of work, he told himself. Yet, there was something about her that didn’t fit. For all her hard talk, she had an innocence about her that called to a man, made him want to grab a sword and slay her dragons.

  Yeah. Like I could battle someone else’s demons when I can’t even handle my own.

  He frowned and offered the puzzle piece to Rose, who gurgled and banged the red-and-gold standard of Imperial Spain against the red, white, and blue of the United States. “Aren’t you in love with the man? He is Rose’s father after all.”

  Minutes passed in silence. Her smile was bittersweet when she finally said, “Without Rose’s father, I wouldn’t have Rose. So I guess there must be something there to love.” Her expression tightened. “I was in an impossible situation, Brazos. I did what I had to in order to escape.”

  Her words knocked the wind from his lungs. He’d known there was more to her story than she let on. Could it be that the beauty left something ugly behind? “I can understand hard circumstances, Maddie,” he agreed, studying the proud tilt of her chin. “There are all sorts of prisons in this life, aren’t there?”

  Gently, her fingers stroked her daughter’s dimpled cheek. Such was the look in her eyes, a velvet sadness poignant with love, that he knew a pang of heartbreak at the sight. “I think,” Madeline said, accepting the French flag from Rose, “that I may have found the key to unlock the door.” She turned toward him with a devastating smile. “I love her, Brazos.”

  He’d never seen her look more beautiful than she did in that moment. He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “You’re a lucky woman to have her, Maddie. And she’s a lucky little lady to have you for a mother.”

  Madeline shut her eyes, though not quickly enough to hide the wash of tears collected there. Deciding the time was right, Brazos said, “Maddie, about our marriage agreement. There’s something I want to ask you. I know we discussed this in the beginning, but…well…I want you to consider everything we’ve just talked about. You see, I’ve changed my mind.”

  She trembled, almost imperceptibly. “You want a real marriage?”

  For just a moment, he considered it. Madeline and Rose at Magnolia Bend, maybe a blue-eyed son with golden hair. Then he remembered Lana, the woman he had once loved and planned to marry. Before Perote. Afterward…well…she’d still wanted a home and family. Brazos had needed to run.

  He was still running, and he would continue to run until he’d dealt with Damasso Salezan.

  “Aw, Maddie,” he said, and the regret in his voice was honest. “I can’t do that. A wife doesn’t fit into my life right now. I doubt one ever will. You see, I’ve got too much tumbleweed in my blood to ever settle down. If I try to hang around any one place for more than a few weeks, my feet get to itching something fierce. Besides, I’ve got my own prisons to deal with.”

  She looked away. A chill of loss touched him as he added, “I can be your friend, though. I’m good at that. I’d like to be your friend, Maddie.”

  “I…I…” she stuttered, smoothing her skirt and staring down at her lap.

  “Maddie?”

  She lifted her head, and her eyes reflected confusion as she gazed at him, sunlight dancing a red-gold waltz in the
coil of her braid. She said, “I’m not making sense of this conversation. Just what is it you are asking me, Brazos?”

  He’d intended to do this with finesse. It was the crowning moment of his entire plan. He’d concocted a scheme that would hold up well against one of Maddie’s any day. He’d put it into motion, and it had arrived here at fruition. All he needed to do was to sum up what he’d been saying for the last half hour—tell her that he’d told her what she wanted to hear—and he knew he’d be spending that night in Maddie’s bed.

  Platonically.

  Instead, unplanned words just popped out of his mouth. “I want to move into your bed.”

  “What!”

  “Platonically, of course. For those reasons, remember? Equality, friendship, your earlier offer. I helped you, Maddie; you owe me.”

  “I do not,” she snapped. Madeline stood, planted her hands on her hips, and glared down at him.

  “Yes, you do,” Brazos replied, following her up and mimicking her stance. “I got you on this boat.”

  “I got myself on this boat!”

  “Well, I helped.”

  She leaned forward, speaking through set teeth. “It was my plan.”

  He leaned, too, and they were but inches apart when he said, “I had a good plan, too. You’ve got to admit it. It worked like a charm up until the end.”

  Then Rose began to cry.

  “Oh, dear.” Madeline pulled away and scrambled over to her daughter. “What’s the matter sweetheart?” she crooned.

  Lillibet Brunet’s voice cut across the air. “Well, dearling, if you’d not been so distracted, you’d have seen that she tossed her toy into that hole.” She pointed toward a square hatch, its lid propped open with a metal bar.

  Madeline flushed bright red, and even Brazos shrugged sheepishly. She lifted the wailing baby and rocked her in her arms, patting the child’s back and cooing, “Oh, poor Rose. Don’t you worry, though. Brazos will get it for you.” She raised her eyebrows, watching him expectantly, until he dragged himself over to peer down the hole.

  Steep steps descended into darkness.

  “That’s the hold, Maddie. I’m not going down there.”

  She glared at him.

  He braced his hands on his hips and glared back.

  “Fine,” she said after a long pause. “I’ll go get it myself. Lil, please take Rose for me. It’s her nap time—I assume that’s why you looked for us?”

  Lillibet nodded. “I expected you to bring her to me an hour ago, Madeline. You know, you really should be more careful with her out in the sun like this. She could get freckles.”

  “I know, Lil,” Madeline said, handing her the sobbing child. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

  “Yes, well, no harm done, although it probably will confuse my schedule.” Lillibet turned to Brazos. “This is most likely your fault.”

  “Yes’m. I do apologize.” He bent over and kissed Rose’s forehead. “Good night, Miss Magic. Have a good nap.”

  Holding Rose in her arms, Lillibet began to walk away. Then abruptly she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Mr. Brazos, don’t you let Madeline go down into that place.”

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  Lillibet nodded once before continuing on her way.

  “If you’re not going, I am,” Madeline challenged.

  “Don’t be stupid, Maddie,” Brazos snapped. “It’s just a toy. Rose won’t even remember it after she sleeps.”

  Madeline’s tone was fierce. “It’s hers, Brazos, her very own toy. She doesn’t have to share it or give it away; she can keep it forever. I’m going to make sure.” Lifting her chin, she straightened her shoulders and began to climb down the steps.

  “Madeline!” His voice was urgent now. “Come on, Maddie. I’ll make her another to replace it. It’s not important. Come on up!”

  All he heard was a short scream and then silence. A long silence. “Maddie?”

  Nothing.

  “Hell’s bells.” He stood there, staring into the blackness. With a heavy sigh, his hands wet with sweat, he began his descent down the steep stairs. His breathing accelerated, and as the dizziness come over him, he grabbed at the rope hanging free beside the steps for support.

  “Maddie?”

  Silence. For chrissakes, how did she think she’d find the stupid puzzle piece in this little bit of light anyway? His knees wobbled.

  “Brazos? I’m down here,” Madeline called. “It’s awful. Help me, Brazos. I think he’s dead.”

  Peering below, he could just make out her shape at the base of the steps. She stood atop a crate and stared into a space between two hogsheads. Forcing every step, he descended the stairs and stood beside her.

  His arm went rigid as he reached for her hand and his eyes followed her gaze.

  The dead man’s glassy-eyed stare and leering grin were the last things he saw before the hatch’s door slammed shut, casting the hold into total darkness.

  “Maddie,” he croaked.

  And then the hell began.

  Chapter 5

  The black, endless sea engulfs Sinclair’s body, his will, the very core of his spirit. In flows an acid that eats away the shackles of his resolve, freeing me to roam and to ravage. He no longer possesses the power or the desire to control me. He is the Sinclair, the Weak One.

  I am the Night, the embodiment of hell’s beastly triumphs.

  PLUNGED INTO BLINDNESS BY the total absence of light, Madeline momentarily panicked, losing her sense of time and place. Frantically, she stretched out her hands, searching for something, anything, to anchor herself in this abyss. Her fingers brushed a surface—rough and wooden—a crate. Then the creaking timbers of a ship at sea completed the picture, and she drew a deep, calming breath and whispered, “Brazos?”

  An agonized, inhuman roar answered her.

  She turned, fearfully repeating, “Brazos?”

  Hands thrust forward and clasped her neck, and for just a moment, she stood frozen in shock. Then the fingers gradually applied pressure, and Madeline began to struggle. She twisted and tugged, hit and clawed, pounding the beast who slowly stole the life from her body. She acted instinctively, not thinking, not able to think. Too afraid.

  A rush, a roaring sound filled her ears as brilliant bursts of white light exploded in her mind. Madeline felt herself falling toward the void, and the will to fight deserted her.

  Then she remembered Rose. Innocent, vulnerable Rose. Madeline summoned her strength for a single last effort, and she wrenched herself free.

  Of Brazos Sinclair’s murdering hands.

  She backed away, gasping for air, massaging her throat where his fingers had crushed just moments before. Dear Lord, what was happening here?

  Fear clawed at her heart as she stared with useless eyes into the darkness. Stretching out a hand, she felt her way along the narrow path between the crates, desperate to flee from the stranger who was her husband. He’d tried to kill her; it was unbelievable!

  But—oh, God—it was true.

  Madeline tripped on the hem of her skirt, tumbling forward. Her hands slapped the rough wooden decking, and a splinter pierced her palm. She whimpered. But the cry erupted from the pain in her heart—not her hand.

  Brazos Sinclair had hurt her.

  Behind her, she heard him move. His boots dragged across the planking. She lay frozen in fear. Wood scraped wood as a hogshead shifted, followed by a thud. Then, only ship sounds interrupted the silence.

  Where was he? What was he doing?

  Then she heard a squeak—a rhythmic creak of wood created by continuous rocking. Tentatively, she asked, “Brazos?”

  Creak…creak…creak.

  The sound escalated her fear. She climbed to her feet, intending to flee from the noise, but four short steps brought her to the end of the path. She was blocked on three sides.

  Creak…creak…creak.

  “Brazos, you’re frightening me. Stop it, please!”

  The squeaking cont
inued. “Talk to me, Brazos. Please! I don’t know what’s happening here, but it’s all right, no one is hurt.”

  Creak…creak…creak.

  She steepled her hands in front of her mouth and unconsciously swayed in time with the sound. What now? Why had he tried to hurt her? Would he do it again? He blocked the stairway. She was trapped in the bowels of the ship with a dead man and a mad man.

  Brazos groaned, a tortured, inhuman noise that swelled in the darkness, stabbing her with its misery, writhing along her nerves. He was in pain, and her breath caught at the exposure of utter agony. Physically, he sat a few feet from where she stood, but she sensed he’d left her for a place far away—an awful, evil place.

  He was a man lost among private demons, and Madeline realized—no, she knew with a faith born of her own bitter trials—that the danger had passed. He would not abuse her again.

  She crossed the distance separating them and knelt at his side. Placing her hand on his shoulder she said softly, soothingly, “I’m here, Brazos, let me help you. Speak to me.”

  His shirt was wet with sweat, and the muscles beneath her hand were tensed cords of steel. Compassion misted Madeline’s eyes, but she forced herself to think. Why had this happened? What triggered this event? He’d been his normal, cocky self while they talked above deck. But he hadn’t wanted to come below.

  With the hem of her petticoat, she wiped the perspiration from his brow. That may be it, she told herself. He’d refused to descend into the hold, where it was dark. She shook her head. No, that couldn’t be it. Brazos Sinclair afraid of the dark? She’d laugh if she weren’t already crying.

  Still, she couldn’t deny that he’d resisted entering her darkened cabin the other night. He’d propped the door ajar, and he’d demanded she open the porthole. She kneaded the knots in his shoulder muscles and asked, “Is it the dark that brings this on, Brazos? It was dark that night in my cabin. But you wanted the porthole open, and the door. Is it the hatch, you need the hatch open again?”