He caught her wrists and held her away from him. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered with that same taunting smile. “I can see why a man would hold you his prisoner if he couldn’t keep you in his bed any other way.”
She bristled with anger, indignant over the way those steel-blue eyes were raking over her body…the way his lips twisted into that arrogant, knowing grin that said he knew she wanted them to touch hers. It was ridiculous. The whole situation was absurd. After six months of hell, she was at last rescued—if only she could make this idiot realize that she had been rescued!
“I demand that you take me home, to my people in North Carolina.”
The wind whipped about them, and she shivered. “Come along.” He took her arm and steered her up the hill. “We’re going inside and talk.”
“But you have to listen to me…” she cried as he yanked her along. “My name is Katherine Wright, and I’m from Wayne County in North Carolina. I was taken prisoner by the man who escaped, Luke Tate, after he ambushed Doctor Musgrave and me when we were answering a call to help our men at the Outer Banks last summer…”
She stopped talking as they entered the cabin. The other men were dragging out the bodies. She winced when she saw the discarded arm of Orville Shaw being tossed unceremoniously into the fireplace. “It hardly seems like it was worth the effort to take it off and try to save him…” she said tonelessly.
“What?” The steel-eyed man in the poncho whipped about to stare at her. “Are you saying you amputated that man’s arm?”
“I certainly did! I told you that’s why I’m anxious to go home. There’s a Confederate hospital being set up in Goldsboro, and I’m supposed to be helping there. Doc Musgrave taught me a lot about doctoring, and I can help our people.”
She noticed that the other men were exchanging amused glances. “I’d like to know what your men find so funny,” she demanded.
“Miss Wright,” he cleared his throat, grinning, one corner of his mouth tilting up when he smiled. “Are you aware that Luke Tate and his men have been plundering the countryside all winter, disguised both as Federal soldiers and Confederates, depending on which side was in the area to get the blame for their murdering and looting?”
“Yes, but there was nothing I could do about it. I told you. They held me prisoner.”
“Today,” he went on patiently, still smiling as though he knew a secret, “we managed to catch them in the act, and we killed three of their men before they got away. We trailed them here. Now I want to know—did you amputate that man’s arm?”
She nodded.
“You did a good job, it seems.”
“I told you—Doctor Musgrave trained me. That’s why I’m needed at home, to help our people!”
One of the other men snickered, and he shot him a look that sent him into immediate silence. His eyes were over Kitty once again, as he said huskily, “You don’t understand, Miss Wright. We were sent here to look for Luke Tate—find him and kill him…”
She sighed with exasperation. “Well, that’s fine. He got away, but I’m sure you can catch him. Just get me home…”
He crossed the room, touched the coffeepot in the fireplace and found it warm. She watched with maddening impatience as he found a cup and poured the hot liquid into it. “There is only one slight problem for you,” he said finally, his eyes melting into hers.
“Well, I won’t have any problems if you’ll escort me home.” Her hands were on her hips indignantly, and she felt the flush of anger in her cheeks. Why did he keep looking at her that way, and why did she have to feel all warm inside when he did? He was arrogant and obviously a stubborn fool who delighted in tormenting women. His accent was not familiar. Perhaps he was a Virginian. Whichever, she was impatient. Stomping her foot, she cried, “Are you going to escort me home like a gentleman or do I strike out on foot?”
“You will do neither, young lady,” he said, bowing with exaggerated flourish. “Allow me to introduce myself—Captain Travis Coltrane, and these are the men of my company…”
“All right, so you have a rank!” She let her breath out in a rush. Would this madness never end? Freedom was so sweet, and the nightmare was over, if only this smiling stranger would stop being so mysterious.
He paused to take long sip of his coffee, then set the cup down on the bloodied table where Orville Shaw’s arm had been amputated. “Miss Wright,” he said finally, “I don’t think you understand. You see, I’m Captain Coltrane of the Union army…and you are now my prisoner.”
Chapter Fifteen
Travis knew that she only pretended to sleep. He sat with his back to the fire’s warmth, watching the way the flickering light seemed to make the soft gold of her flowing hair dance with sparkles. She lay too stiff, too rigid, to be sleeping. He had ordered her to make her bed near him, so he could keep an eye on her, for the anger that crackled in those almost purple eyes told him she was not one to be easily subdued. After all, she was a Rebel, and she’d made it quite clear that her intention was to return to her family in North Carolina and work for the Southern cause. But he could not allow it. No. She was much too valuable a prisoner. General Grant had said that doctors and nurses were already scarce, and he, himself, had examined the wound on the dead man’s arm from the amputation she had performed so skillfully. It was amazing, and he was not about to let her return to minister to the enemy.
In the soft glow of the flames he could make out the sleeping outlines of his men. They were exhausted from the day’s battle and had scarcely done more than toss a few hungry gazes in the direction of their prisoner, except for one. Travis stared at the spot where Leon Brody lay flat on his back. For a long while after the others had fallen asleep, he had continued to dart furtive, longing glances in the direction of the young woman, and there was no mistaking his lust for her. Brody had quite a name where the women were concerned, and Travis had experienced a few run-ins with him during a couple of the raids they’d made.
One particular scene had been rather ugly—he had threatened to kill the rebellious soldier when he found him raping a young black girl in the eastern part of Tennessee as they’d passed through.
Keeping Katherine Wright prisoner was going to take plenty of doing, he thought worriedly. She was beautiful. Long, silky hair that ached to be touched—eyes that could swallow a man in their dark fires and shadows. And he had seen her body. Oh, yes, he, like his men, had seen her large, firm breasts she tried to hide after the man called Luke Tate had dropped her into the snow. They poured from her torn shirt. And her skin. So soft, despite the hardships she had obviously endured through the winter. Long, shapely, tapering legs with slender, delicate ankles…hips that were firm and tender to the touch.
Beautiful. God, she was beautiful. Even now he could feel the heat rising in his own body, the pressure of his swelling member as he thought of how it would be to lie down beside her, and hold her, and touch her, and enter the sweet, hungry flesh.
A smile tilted his lips to one side as he thought of the almost accusing way she had looked at him when he ordered her to move her bed closer to the fire so he could keep close watch on her. She had stood there, eyes blazing defiantly, lips set tightly, hands on her hips. “I suppose you plan to keep me for yourself the way Luke Tate did,” she had cried. “And if I refuse to submit to your animal passion, you’ll turn me over to your men to take their turns with me…”
He had laughed at her, He had thrown back his head and laughed at her, and the effect had been devastating. Before anyone could make a move, she had whirled about to grab the first thing her fingers could fasten about—a tin cup half-filled with scalding coffee—sending the hot liquid splattering into his taunting face.
Any other woman, trapped by the impulse of her own hasty action, might have wilted beneath the burning, angry gaze he silently gave her as the coffee dripped slowly down his face and onto his dark blue shirt. But not this one. She clenched her fists and stood her ground, ready to defend herself if
need be.
Again he laughed, and she blinked, surprised. First he had reacted to the idea of having sex with her as though he found it quite amusing. And then, after having hot coffee thrown in his face, he could still look at her and react with good humor.
“You flatter yourself,” he said finally, lips smiling but eyes cold and hard. “You think I want to sow my seed in a Rebel garden? No, thanks, princess. I save myself for more valuable and choice property. You’ll be safer lying near to me, as my men might not be quite as particular.”
Gritting her teeth, she had flung herself upon her pallet. The hive would be warm, and the honey sweeter than the finest wine, but he had no intentions of getting stung by the angry queen bee. He knew his men raped whenever they had the chance, just as the Rebels ravished the Northern women. But he figured it only enhanced a woman’s conceit to turn into a fawning, grunting animal in order to enter their orifices. And handing out compliments to boost a female ego was something he prided himself in never doing.
He forced himself to think of other things, like the war that was about to strike with full fury. General Ulysses S. Grant, himself, had sent him and his band of men to the western mountains of Virginia to rout the murdering group of raiders that reportedly had no mercy for either side. The whole countryside had heard of their brutal killings and raids, and General Grant wanted them out of the region when he left Cairo, Illinois, with 15,000 men early in February to attack the center of the 600-mile line of Confederate soldiers that were stationed between the Appalachian Mountains westward to the Mississippi River. It was a matter of honor, he said, to destroy the Rebel traitors who donned Union clothes to plunder and rob and murder innocent families. For the glory of the Union, they had to be destroyed.
And Luke Tate had escaped. That was unfortunate, Travis conceded, but his men were dead. It would take quite a while for him to round up a new band, and with the area crawling with soldiers from both sides, he would have difficulty—unless he was able to somehow get together the deserters, who, he felt, were unscrupulous enough to be glad to join a no-good scoundrel like Tate.
He had slept for short periods of time during the long night, the chill creeping through the crudely constructed cabin walls to penetrate the very marrow of his bones. The first streaks of morning light began to filter through. Soon it would be time to rouse the men and start the journey to rejoin General Grant. He was anxious to be back in the thick of battle with the Cavalry, charging the Rebel lines and smashing down those who fought to destroy the Union. Those who knew him accused him of loving war passionately, and perhaps they were right. He did not mind killing and destroying to defend something he believed in so strongly.
The last word that they’d been able to hear about the progress of General Grant was that he had been victorious at Fort Henry. A newspaper account told about how the Confederates had constructed twin forts in Tennessee just south of the Kentucky border to protect two important rivers—the Tennessee and the Cumberland. Fort Henry guarded the Tennessee; Fort Donelson stood menacingly on the banks of the Cumberland. On February 6th, while he had been searching the snowbound mountains of Virginia for the band of Rebel murderers that had both sides aching to see them destroyed, Grant had, with the aid of a Federal river fleet, battered Fort Henry into submission. And about ten days later, the word was that Grant had surrounded Fort Donelson and its reported 12,000 defenders. Travis had laughed with approval when he read the reply General Grant had given when the Confederate commander requested surrender terms. He had replied, “No terms but unconditional surrender,” and now people were calling him “Unconditional Surrender” Grant.
Capture of the Henry and Donelson forts assured, Travis knew that the Union would have control of Kentucky and Tennessee and would open Mississippi and Alabama to Federal invasion. And, of course, the loss of the forts would be a severe blow to Southern morale. Now the Rebels knew that the Union army had the ability and the willingness to fight, by God
And then, they had received more jubilant news. There had been an important battle farther to the west for control of Arkansas and Missouri. During the first week in March, at a place called Pea Ridge in the state of Arkansas, a Confederate Army, said to be numbered around 16,000, attacked about 12,000 Federals fighting under the command of General Samuel R. Curtis. And what Travis and his men laughed about was the report that the Confederates were dressed in rags—few had on anything that even vaguely resembled a uniform. And they were armed with only shotguns and squirrel rifles. And they even had Indians fighting with them—about 3,500 or so, they’d heard—Indians that belonged to the Creek, Choctaw, Cherokee, Chickasaw, and Seminole tribes. And after only two days of heavy fighting, a counterattack by the Federals broke up the makeshift “army”—and with the defeat of Pea Ridge, the Confederates permanently lost Missouri and northern Arkansas.
Things were looking very good, and Travis wanted to get back to the war. He enjoyed raids and scouting, but after so many months of trekking through the all but impassable mountains his latest assignment, he was anxious to get back to civilization, even if it meant being in the middle of a boiling battle.
Now they had heard that Grant’s army was near the Mississippi border, and he wanted to move as quickly as possible to get there. He and his men were qualified “Sharpshooters” of the Cavalry. They had been issued the best equipment and the finest horses. Their breech-loading Spencer repeating carbines were deadly, and the Rebels knew it. The ones they captured could not be used, because they lacked the special cartridges and, as yet, did not have the facilities or ample supply of metal for their manufacture. Travis knew his troop of men were valuable, and he was proud of this fact.
He had succeeded in pushing the thoughts of the young woman from his mind. Now she stirred, moaning in her sleep, turning her face toward the soft glow of the fire. She was beautiful, and he bit back the gasp that moved up his throat as he caught sight of one firm, milk-white breast tumbling from the loose-fitting shirt. He stared at it, licking his lips hungrily. Even in sleep, the nipple was taut, almost angry…defiant that he should be staring. And it seemed to be staring back—like an accusing red-pupiled eye. He felt the tautness in his loins as his lips twitched in a sucking motion—how he longed to clamp down on that glaring eye and feel the emotion ripple through the lovely young thing’s body. But no, he checked himself. He had more self-control than that—even if it had been weeks since he had known the delight of emptying himself into a woman’s belly.
Her eyes opened, very slowly, and he met her gaze, and she caught it and held his eyes for a moment, letting the half-taunting, half-defiant challenge leap into the tenseness between them.
Quickly, with the self-control of which he was so proud, Travis forced the moment to pass. Kitty saw that the predatory light she’d seen there only a few seconds ago vanished, to be replaced by indifference.
His eyes flicked down to her exposed breast, and he gave her an amused, half-mocking smile as he said, “I believe you lost something, princess. As I said before, some of my men aren’t so particular about used goods, and they might see what you have to offer and take you up on it.”
“Ohhhh!” She followed his gaze, realized her breast was exposed, and pushed herself back into the shirt so roughly that she accidentally pinched herself. “How dare you think I want you to touch me, you arrogant bastard…”
He raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “The lady knows some dirty words. It seems your Rebel lover didn’t mind the kind of language he used around women, and I thought all you Southern belles were supposed to be so ladylike and refined. Tsk! Tsk!” He shook his head from side to side, taunting her.
She pulled herself up to a sitting position on the pallet, tossing back her golden hair. With eyes blazing and lips trembling, she stared at him in fury. “Just why do you find me so despicable, Captain Coltrane? I’ve told you the truth about my capture, but yet you seem to take some sort of depraved pleasure in trying to torment me and shame me. I’d like to know why.
”
“Haven’t you heard?” he chuckled. “We’re at war, princess, and you happen to be the enemy.”
“The enemy? I’m not at war with you, sir. I’ve been held prisoner and raped for over six months, and I’m anxious to go home and work to help the sick and wounded. Now why does that make me your enemy? Do I get a trial before you sentence me to be hanged?”
Now Travis saw the mocking light in her eyes, and instead of angry tantrums, she was giving him insolence and scorn. A nerve along his jawline tensed. “Why should I turn you loose to go home and help the ones who want to kill me and my kind? Oh, no, you’re going to come with us and work with our sick and wounded. I’d be a fool to send you back to your people, and I don’t like to be taken for a fool—especially by a Southern woman.” His eyes twinkled, and he grinned as he saw that his remark had struck home, and she was again angry.
“You are a bastard! I’ll not lift a finger to help a murdering Yankee. I hope all of you die and rot in hell—except for my father, who so foolishly went to fight with you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your father joined the Union army?”
“His mind was never right after the Vigilantes nearly killed him when they caught him helping runaway slaves to the underground. He can’t be blamed for his feelings. I just pray that he’ll come to his senses and go back where he belongs.”
“This war has turned brother against brother, Miss Wright, and father against son. And why? Because the South insists on making slaves out of human beings just because their skin happens to be black.”
“I’ve never been in favor of forced slavery,” she said, defending herself. “But I do uphold states rights. You and I will never agree, and I will never lift so much as a finger to help a dying Yankee. You understand that before you take me away from here. I’ll die first!”
Her eyes had narrowed catlike, and she had spoken in a hissing sound, her whole body quivering with her wrath. It would take time to break her spirit, but Travis knew it would have to be done. Few women could withstand the horrors of wars. Most fainted at the sight of blood or the sound of a man screaming as his bones were hacked from his body. But not this one. No, she had courage, fortitude, and her services would be invaluable to the Union army. He had no intention of letting her go, nor would he turn such ripe, sweet flesh over to the lusts of his men if she refused to obey. No, there had to be another way, and he would find it. She would bend to his will. He made himself a promise to that effect—and he always kept his promises.
Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 Page 18
