By now they had to know who she was. Had she already been questioned, interrogated? Had she told them what they wanted to hear? She was his wife, but she was also his enemy.… He was sick with doubt, with fear.
He had been so furious and hurt that she’d left him, he had been careless, and he now knew he had fallen into a trap. Had she stayed to be a willing part of that trap? Had she known all along that he would come after her? Had she led him there, right into the hands of the army, in revenge? Did she want to see him hang? Hadn’t she stopped loving him a long time ago?
He cursed.
“That won’t help,” Major Bradley said as the door to his cell was unlocked.
Jack moved weakly toward the cot, almost falling onto it.
“You should be conserving your strength,” Bradley remarked, entering the cell with two soldiers, one big and brawny, the other carrying a revolver, which he had trained on him. “You’ll need it.”
Jack looked at him without expression.
“We can do this the easy way,” Bradley said, “or the hard way.” When there was no response, he said, “I want information. If you give it to me, you will be released. If not, you will die.”
Jack smiled slightly.
“Where is the stronghold?”
There was no reply.
Bradley made a barely perceptible gesture. The brawny soldier moved forward implacably. Jack tensed. The man reached down, grabbed him, and then a fist came smashing into his face. There was a simultaneous explosion of pain and sparking lights, then a black fog tried to descend. Jack sought it, did not try to resist. But cold water dumped on his head brought him back to consciousness, sputtering and coughing.
He tasted blood. His own. With cold eyes, he met Bradley’s impassive gaze.
“Shall we try again? Where is the stronghold?”
Jack smiled. The next blow cracked his jaw and brought another brief respite of black oblivion. He tried to hang on to it, but his mind surged out of the gray mists with a kind of determination, and with one overwhelming coherent thought. He was facing death.
For he would have to be beaten to death before he would tell them anything that might betray Cochise.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
Candice paced. She had been served dinner alone. She was afraid. Bradley had not bothered with her because he had Jack to attend to. Hours ago she had seen Bradley cross the yard and enter the small stone building that was the stockade. He had been with two other soldiers, and they had not yet come out. Was Jack dying?
She had to see him!
She stared out the window. The night was starless, moonless, heavily black. She could barely see the shadowy shapes of the buildings. She listened for the sound of footsteps. Was Bradley still with Jack? If so, he had been interrogating a wounded man for hours and hours. Candice knew Jack would not bend. Ever. They would kill him before he said anything. Dear God—this was all her fault! She had led him right into a trap, and now he would be hanged because of what she had done! It was up to her to get him out, but how?
She was so absorbed in her desperate thoughts that she almost missed Bradley and the soldiers striding across the parade ground. She cried out, then flew to the door and threw it open. “Major! Major, wait!”
He stopped, an almost formless shape in the thick darkness until she was upon him. “It’s late. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Is Jack all right?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“I want to see him,” she pleaded, aghast at how her own voice sounded.
“Impossible. Perhaps tomorrow—before you leave.”
“Leave?”
“Surely you want to return home?”
Candice couldn’t speak.
“Let me escort you inside, Candice,” Bradley said politely, and she let him take her arm and lead her back to her quarters. She was barely aware of him, didn’t even respond when he said good night. She leaned her back against the door, fists clenched. How could she save Jack?
