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?
