Captured

by Victoria Lynne

“You needn’t worry, General, I’m quite finished,” she replied.

  “Hmph,” Brader snorted, then asked in a softer tone, “They need anything?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, they do. The man in the last cot on the left needs his bandages changed. They’re all asking for more cool water, and a few are hungry again. There are some letters I left on the table that need posting.”

  The general nodded, then turned to an aide standing idly nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop. “Dammit, man, what are you standing there for? You heard the lady, now see to it!” The aide jumped to obey. General Brader watched him for a moment, then, satisfied, turned back to Devon and Cole. “Why don’t you all come into my office for a spell? I need to talk to you, McRae.”

  They followed him into his study. The general poured Cole a whiskey, then turned to Devon, the lip of the bottle hovering over a glass. “What about you, little lady? I don’t suppose you’re partial to rotgut?”

  “Tea would be lovely.”

  The general motioned to his adjutant, who left to relay the request to a servant. “You all are leaving for Washington in the morning, is that right, McRae?” he asked without preamble, barreling straight into the topic that was evidently on his mind.

  From the corner of his eye, Cole saw Devon flinch at the question, and silently cursed the general for bringing the subject up now. He’d wanted to talk to Brader privately first and get his advice. As far as he could tell, he had only two options, neither of which was very palatable. If he didn’t bring Devon straight to Old Capitol, he would be in direct violation of his orders and possibly face court-martial. On the other hand, knowing what he knew now, there was absolutely no chance that he would leave her in that rat-infested hellhole.

  The only option seemed to be to leave her with his friends in Washington, where she would be safe until he captured Sharpe. But even as he considered that, Cole was left with the nagging fear that once his back was turned, Devon would slip away, out of his life forever. And that was a risk he was absolutely unwilling to take.

  Aware that the general awaited his response, he nodded. “Yes. We leave for Washington in the morning.”

  He saw Devon stiffen as her expression slightly tensed, a reaction so subtle he would have missed it if he didn’t know her so well. When the servant brought her tea, she went through all the motions of politeness, just as she’d been taught, no doubt. Stir the tea, place the spoon on the saucer, take a dainty sip. Everything tightly under control. Obviously she still thought he was taking her to Old Capitol. Dammit all, there was nothing he could do to rectify that now. He would speak to her privately, after he’d had a chance to confer with the general.

  “Good,” Brader said. “I need you to courier some reports up to General Halleck for me. It’ll save me the trouble of sending my boys on the errand.”

  The sound of shouts coming from the front yard caught their attention. Glancing out the window, they saw a young recruit on horseback race to the front porch. He jerked back the reins and leaped from the saddle, leaving his mount behind sweaty and lathered. The soldier sprinted through the front entrance and down the hall toward them to appear in the doorway of the study, disheveled and distraught, breathing hard. He saluted, swayed to one side, then caught himself before he toppled over. “Corporal Sutter, sir. Request permission to report.”

  The general nodded. “At ease, boy. Tell me what happened.”

  Corporal Sutter licked his lips, his eyes wild, as if suddenly unsure where to begin. Behind him, two of the general’s aides filed silently into the room. “We ran into some trouble, sir,” he finally said. “Out near Taylor’s Pond, down by the old mill.”

  “What happened?” the general pressed.

  “Rebel scouts, sir. Six of ’em. Them boys was hiding inside the mill. We didn’t even know they was there till they started firing at us. How are we supposed to fight properlike if we don’t even know they’re there? Somebody ought to tell them that that ain’t the proper way to fight.” His voice raised to high pitch. “It don’t make sense. That ain’t the way it’s supposed to be. That ain’t the way we’re supposed to fight.”

  Cole recognized the signs of shock in a man who’d never been in battle before. There was no glory to it, no honor, none of the romantic notions that filled men’s heads. A battle was a bloody encounter in which men fought and either lived or died. No more, no less.

  “Easy, Corporal,” the general soothed. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Yes, sir.” The man swayed again, clearly exhausted.

  “Do you need to sit down, Corporal?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then answer my question. Was anyone hurt?”

  “Yes, sir. Three men, sir.” The corporal’s voice came out a rough whisper. He cleared his throat and began again. “Sergeant Samuel Wright had his horse shot out from under him. Busted his knee pretty bad when he fell. Private Jimmy Johnston, shot in the arm. Private Emmett Brader…” He paused, his features tight with strain, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously. “Private Emmett Brader was wounded… mortally, sir. Shot through the neck. I’m sorry, sir.”

  A collective gasp filled the room. The general sat motionless as the color drained from his face, leaving behind a white mask of pain. Devon stiffened in shock, then closed her eyes, her lips moving in what looked to be a silent prayer. Cole felt his gut twist painfully, as though someone had just split open an old wound with a dull knife. He slowly rose, crossed to the general, and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Beau, I’m so sorry,” he said, hating how pathetic the words sounded, how small and meaningless. “I’m so sorry.”

  General Brader nodded, staring straight ahead, then turned his gaze back to the corporal. “Give me the rest of your report, boy.”

  Corporal Sutter’s eyes widened in shock. “My report? But, sir, didn’t you hear me? Emmett Brader—”

  “Yes, goddammit, I heard you! Now give me your report!”

  The corporal stammered out what information he’d been able to obtain from one of the Rebel scouts they’d captured. Devon rose, her face etched with sorrow as she slipped quietly from the room.

  Cole remained in the general’s office, assisting as Brader and his staff fired off cables and sent out reports detailing Stonewall Jackson’s probable troop strengths, weaponry, even the route he would most likely be taking. Through it all, General Brader operated with cool military efficiency that left his aides, and even Cole, stunned. It wasn’t until two hours had passed and he’d done everything he could to get the word out that Brader finally dismissed them.

  Cole left with the others, then realized that the general had forgotten to give him the reports he wanted taken to Washington. He went back to the general’s study, tapped softly on the door, and edged it open. He took two steps inside, and then froze. General Brader sat hunched over his desk, his head cradled in his arms, his massive shoulders racked with great, silent, shuddering sobs.

  Cole backed out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

  CHAPTER 11

  Devon glanced at Cole, who rode on horseback next to her as they traveled north on their way to Washington. Though he was physically near, in every other sense he was miles away. He wore his hat pulled down low over his brow, shielding himself not only from the sun but, she suspected, from her gaze as well. His rugged features were completely shadowed, giving her absolutely no insight into what he was thinking or feeling.

  She doubted if they’d said more than a dozen words to each other since leaving General Brader that morning. With each passing moment, she could feel Cole withdraw a little further away from her. Somehow the fact that they couldn’t share their sadness over Emmett’s death only made it worse.

  They traveled as they had before, staying off the main trails, moving along back roads that carried them past small farms, weaving through dense thickets of woods and into broad open fields. They rode until dusk, stopping only when the horses were too weary to continue. Cole helped her down
from her mount, releasing her as soon as her feet touched the ground. He wasn’t cold, but there was no gentleness in his touch either. The absence of any emotion in his touch hurt almost as much as the silence.

  She watched him without comment as he went about making camp. When he finished tending the horses and spreading out blankets for them to sleep on, he straightened and looked at her. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Devon was about to shake her head no, then thought better of it. Eating would give them something to do, a routine that might make things more normal between them. “I suppose so,” she answered, mustering up what little enthusiasm she could.

  He nodded and removed their provisions from within his saddlebags and passed the food to her. Devon took a couple bites of the meal before her appetite deserted her completely. The meat‌—‌she guessed it was rabbit‌—‌tasted hot and greasy, the cornmeal biscuits coarse and dry. She set the food aside, noticing that after a couple of bites Cole did the same.

  Devon studied him from beneath her lashes, watching the moonlight dance across his rugged features. Dark shadows hung beneath his eyes; his shoulders were stiff with tension. She doubted if he’d slept at all last night. After leaving General Brader’s office, she’d returned to see to the wounded, then, hours later, curled up in a deep chair in a back parlor. She’d awakened at some point in the night to find Cole standing in the doorway, watching her sleep. He’d said nothing, simply moved toward her, tucked a blanket around her, then left as wordlessly as he’d come. She would have dismissed the whole incident as a dream had she not awakened the next morning to find the blanket still wrapped around her and her tapestry bag at her feet. Given the late hour, apparently he’d gone back to the boarding-house to collect their belongings by himself, rather than disturb her sleep.

  “We’ll be in Washington by tomorrow night,” he said, breaking the thick silence that hung between them.

  Devon nodded, ignoring the ache that exploded inside her as his words confirmed what she’d been fearing all along. “I wanted to discuss this with you last night,” he said, “but—”

  “Yes, I know. Emmett,” she said, cutting him off. She didn’t need to hear any more. Perhaps he would say he believed her story, perhaps he wouldn’t. The bottom line was that he was just obeying orders, the matter was out of his hands. She’d had a trial and been found guilty, and that was the end of it. He might regret what he had to do, but that wouldn’t change anything. He couldn’t or wouldn’t help her. She might even be able to bear it, as long as she didn’t have to hear him say the words.

  “I have friends in Washington that you can stay with,” he continued. “It may just be a matter of weeks, it may be longer—”

  Devon stared at him blankly. “What are you talking about? I thought you were taking me to Old Capitol.”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “But what about your orders?”

  “The hell with my orders.”

  Devon studied him, suddenly apprehensive. He was acting like a man who’d made his mind up about something and then put the matter behind him. Unfortunately she couldn’t help but feel that the matter he’d put aside was her. “If you’re not taking me to Old Capitol,” she said, striving to keep her tone level, “then what exactly do you have in mind?”

  “Like I said, I have friends you can stay with. For as long as it takes me to capture Sharpe. It may be weeks, it may be months, but I will stop him. And you’ll be safe there in the meantime. When I come back, we’ll have the proof we need that you weren’t involved in the murder.”

  “I see,” she said slowly. “And after that, once we have the proof we need?”

  Cole hesitated, then forged ahead with grim determination, “After that, you won’t have this hanging over your head. You can start over, Devon, have the life you wanted. Washington is still a lively city, despite the war. There are dances and parties nearly every night. I can introduce you to the best of society, find you a place to stay, give you enough money so you don’t lack for anything. You’ll be free to do what you came here to do‌—‌find a husband and settle down,” he finished flatly.

  Devon took a deep breath, struggling to hide her despair. He was leaving her. Honorably, of course, but he was leaving her just the same. “That’s very generous of you,” she managed.

  Cole nodded curtly, looking as though he was deriving as little enjoyment from the conversation as she was. “You’ll be safe in Washington, but I can’t be there. I have to stop Sharpe, and I may not come back. Do you understand that?”

  Devon ignored the lump that gathered in her throat at the thought of anything happening to him and struggled instead to stay focused on his words. “Because….. because of what he did to your ship?”

  “No.” He tugged his hand through his hair, his expression strained. “Not because of what he did to my crew, or even because of what he did to you. It’s more than that, Devon. I can’t afford the luxury of revenge any longer. Not when hundreds of boys like Emmett are dying every day. And as long as Sharpe keeps breaking through the blockade with ships loaded with guns and munitions, more will continue to die.”

  She nodded, considering his words. “Then take me with you. Let me help you find him. I have connections that you don’t, ways of getting information—”

  “No, it’s too dangerous. You should never have been involved in this in the first place.”

  Devon studied him, seeing the futility of trying to argue. Clearly Cole had already made up his mind. Tomorrow it would all be over, but she still had tonight. “I suppose it’s all settled then,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “There’s just one last item to attend to.” She reached into the pocket of her skirt and retrieved the gold watch she’d stolen from him on the first day they’d met. “I believe this belongs to you. I should have returned it days ago.”

  Cole didn’t move. He stared at the watch, then, with a reluctance that confused her, stretched his arm forward and allowed her to drop it into his palm.

  Devon frowned at his reaction, thinking of the inscription she’d seen on the inside. To Cole, With Love, Sarah. She’d wondered about it at first, then hadn’t given it any further thought. Now she had to know. “Is Sarah your wife?” she said, ashamed of herself for asking, hoping he couldn’t hear the trembling note in her voice as she did.

  “I don’t have a wife, Devon.”

  She nodded, then lowered her gaze in defeat. “I see.”

  “Sarah is my sister-in-law.”

  His answer caught her off-guard. There was something in his tone, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. She felt as though she were skirting along a cliff in darkness, and one wrong step would plunge her into an abyss. But the other side held the promise of light and understanding, if she could just find her way. “It’s a lovely gift,” she said cautiously. “You must be very close.”

  Cole’s hand tightened around the watch and it disappeared within his big palm. “We were. But that was before…” He hesitated, his expression grim. “Before the war.” He tucked the watch, not within his shirt pocket, but deep in his saddlebags. As if he wanted it far away. “We’ll need to get an early start in the morning if we want to make it to Washington by nightfall.”

  Devon had come too far to retreat now. “Tell me about the battle,” she said quietly. “The one you had with Sharpe.” When he didn’t reply, she forced herself to continue. “In your dream, you call out Gideon’s name, and you can’t move. Why can’t you move?”

  A soft breeze stirred the air, sending flickering moonlight shadows across his face. Devon held her breath, sensing that Cole needed to talk about it as much as she needed to hear, but ultimately, the choice was his. After a long pause, he finally answered. “Gideon was my nephew. Sarah and Richard’s only child.”

  “Richard is your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Gideon was killed in the battle with Sharpe,” she said softly, knowing that it was true.

  A
look of harsh regret crossed Cole’s features. “He wouldn’t have been, if only I’d been tougher, stricter. If only I hadn’t encouraged him.”

  “What did you encourage him to do?”

  “Everything,” he answered in disgust. “Richard and my father are so alike, so stiff and proper, but Gideon was always more like me. He followed me around, did everything I did. We even looked alike. He had that same restless, wild streak, and I did nothing but encourage it.”

  Cole’s love for the boy was clear in his voice. Devon studied him, so tall and strong and certain, understanding what a dashing figure he would make for a young boy like Gideon to idolize.

  “Whenever I returned from a voyage,” he continued, “I filled his head with romantic tales of life at sea. So naturally, once Gideon turned eighteen, he wanted to sign up with my crew. Richard and Sarah insisted on sending him to the university, but I convinced them to give Gideon just one year of freedom first. I promised them I would look after him.”

  “So he joined your crew,” Devon prompted into the long silence that followed.

  Cole shook his head, a dark scowl on his face. “Jesus, that was so idiotic. The middle of a damned war, and I encourage the boy with tales of the sea.” He lifted his gaze to hers, as though searching for absolution. “I wanted Gideon to know that there was more to life than the strict confines of society. And at that point, nothing had happened. I’d chased down a few runners, fired a few shots, but that was it. The whole thing seemed more a sport, I didn’t think there was anything I couldn’t handle.”

  A chill ran through Devon. “And then you went after Sharpe.”

  “Yes.” His eyes were no longer on her, but far away. “I spotted a runner heading out to sea‌—‌it was Sharpe. His ship looked damaged, an easy catch. I ordered my men to their stations and went after him. We followed the runner out a bit, then drew close and fired a warning shot. Sharpe turned and fired back, joined by two other ships bearing down on us. I’d led my crew right into a trap. I should have seen it, I should have known it was too easy, but I didn’t…”