Captured (2 page)

“Another time, love.” He raised her hand and brushed the back of it with a gentle parting kiss. “I’m afraid I’m one of those damned Yanks you Southerners are so all-fired anxious to be rid of. I believe my welcome in this fair city has just expired.”

A Yank?! But he was so charming! Maggie reeled in surprise as she watched his long strides carry him swiftly out the door. She opened her mouth to call after him, then hesitated, swearing softly instead. She didn’t even know his name.

A blast of cool air greeted Cole McRae as he stepped from the Black Swan and followed the sound of booming cannon down to the docks. It seemed the entire city of Charleston had come out to witness the attack on Fort Sumter. Men, women, and children swarmed all around him, more than a few roused from their beds and taking to the streets while still attired in their night-clothes, determined not to miss a minute of the momentous occasion.

Cole found a spot away from the bustling crowds and stopped, watching the bombardment from his own private vantage point. He propped his foot up on an empty crate and pulled a cheroot from his pocket. He lit the thin cigar and drew in deeply, enjoying both the flavor of the tobacco and the warmth it brought. His thoughts ran along a purely selfish vein: he was glad he’d already finished his business in town, selling his cargo and taking on fresh goods and supplies. Judging from the giddy pandemonium that surrounded him, it’d be hell trying to get any real work done now.

This would mean war, no doubt about it. President Lincoln had refused to make any aggressive moves, despite the fact that several Southern states had already declared themselves seceded from the Union. In fact, the president had taken pains to ensure that if the South was really determined to fight for its independence, it would have to begin by taking the first hostile action. Well, the hotheaded fools had finally done it.

Cole frowned as he reconsidered, wondering if that might not be for the best after all. Let them blow off some steam. Tension had been escalating between the North and South for years; why not bring it out in the open? After a few months‌—‌six at the most‌—‌the war would be over and the conflict would finally be settled.

As dawn rose and the sky was infused with soft shades of pink and gold, the damage Fort Sumter had taken became clear. The walls were already beginning to crumble under the constant shelling. Cole felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the men charged with defending the fort, but the emotion quickly turned to envy. At least they were being challenged. Tested. His own life was disgustingly void of anything remotely akin to that experience.

He found himself growing increasingly restless, wanting more. The war might actually offer an interesting diversion from his normal routine, he thought, brightening a bit. He considered putting his ship, the Islander, out to sea, if for no other reason than to match his skill against that of some arrogant Southern captain.

The more he thought on it, the more he liked the idea. An excitement he hadn’t felt in ages built slowly within him. Why not do it? He tossed down his cheroot and smiled as he stubbed it out, suddenly eager for thrill of the chase. Anxious for the taste of victory.

It never occurred to him that there might be any other outcome.

July 1862
Fort Monroe, Virginia

Cole McRae weaved his way through the crowded streets, his long strides carrying him swiftly to his destination. The stockades, nearly abandoned after the Revolutionary War, were once again brimming with men doing time for desertion, drunkenness on duty, and insubordination to a ranking officer.

Cole stepped inside, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior. A young guard who looked no older than seventeen and supremely bored, shuffled over. “Tell Sergeant Coombs that Captain McRae is here to pick up his prisoner,” Cole ordered. The boy nodded and headed off into the dark recesses of the building.

“You McRae?” came a gravelly voice from down the hall.

Cole peered into the darkness. “Coombs?”

“Yup.” It was more a belch than a reply. The sergeant stepped forward, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks covered with a week’s worth of dark stubble. A stunning assortment of stains blotched what could only loosely be called a uniform. He reached down, absently scratching the fat, hairy belly that protruded from his shirt. “Me ’n’ the boys was just having a little drink. C’mon.” He turned and stumbled back down the hall.

Cole frowned as he followed him into an office that reeked of cheap whiskey. Five men lounged about in chairs, looking as drunk and sluggish as Coombs himself. The sergeant took a seat behind a thick oak desk and reached for the bottle sitting atop it. He refilled his glass, then looked around for one for his guest. Spotting a mug that had rolled onto the floor, he picked it up and blew into it to rid the inside of dust. He filled it and set it in front of Cole, gesturing expansively to a wobbly chair with torn upholstery and a broken arm. “Have a seat, McRae.”

Cole ignored both the chair and the filthy glass of whiskey. “I’m here for the woman. Where is she?”

His question drew a low round of laughter from the men in the room and a slow, lewd smile from Coombs. “Anxious for her, are ye?” He removed a thin cigar from his shirt pocket, clamped it between badly stained teeth, and took his time lighting it. The sour fumes from the cigar mixed with the stale odor of cheap liquor. Incredibly, the sergeant himself smelled even worse. “So was I,” he continued. “She’s a purty little thing, but she won’t make it easy for you. It just takes a little manly persuasion, if you get my meaning.”

Cole got his meaning. Revulsion swept over him as he took a menacing step closer to the sergeant. “Spare me the details, Coombs. Just bring her out here.”

Anyone a little less drunk, a little less stupid, would have heard the threat implicit in Cole McRae’s voice. The sergeant, however, was oblivious. He leaned back in his chair, locking his hands over his fat belly. “She’s gonna hang anyway, right? So I figured, why waste it?” The loud guffaws from his men only served to encourage him. “She warmed up real quick though, once she got a good look at what I had to offer. I ain’t never had no troubles with females, once they seen—”

“Save it, Coombs. I said I wasn’t interested.”

The sergeant glared at Cole for interrupting, then took a deep swallow of his drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded to his men. “She wanted it though, a man like me can always tell—”

Cole reached across the desk, watching the sergeant’s chin drop with slack-jawed astonishment as he hauled him up by his grease-stained lapels. “All right, you want to talk,” he said with a growl, “then let’s talk. Let’s talk about what I heard.” He paused, pure disgust shining in his eyes. “I heard she got such a good look at what you had to offer that she left you tied to a tree, your drawers wrapped around your ankles and your bare ass a target for Reb sharpshooters. Then she ran so fast it took you and your men five days to find her.”

Coombs’s eyes widened, then narrowed to thin, ugly slits. Unable to deny the truth of Cole’s words, he struggled instead to release the iron grip the other man had on his clothing. But it wasn’t until Cole chose to let him go, shoving him roughly back into his chair, that he was once again free. The sergeant’s furious glare moved from McRae to his own men, who’d all come to their feet in a flash of drunken heat. But registering both the build and the dangerous air of the man before them, they backed down, soberly deciding they’d prefer to keep their teeth.

Realizing this, Coombs turned an even darker shade of crimson. “Harris!” he roared, “bring the little bitch out here. If the cap’n thinks he can do any better with her, let’s let him try.” His mouth worked in silent fury as he chewed the end of his cigar, then he turned and spat on the tattered carpet beside his desk. “I ain’t never had no taste for Rebel whores no how.”

Cole ignored him and moved to stand by the window. Jesus, he was tired of filth like Coombs. Tired of men like him who were almost certain to live through the war, while every day good men died. He pushed the thought from his mind. He wasn’t going to think about that now. He wasn’t going to think about the raw, blistering burn of gunpowder. The anguished sobs of wounded men. The hot, acrid scent of blood. God help him, not now. Not now.

Finding the windowpane stuck, he used his shoulder to push it open. The frame split like kindling, shattering into pieces and falling on the street below. The effort was not only excessive, but wasted. Like everything else, the soft breeze that blew in from the harbor seemed to die before it reached the sullen brick edifice of the stockades. Cole was greeted by a blast of hot, sticky air that did little to relieve the atmosphere in the room. The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats behind him but said nothing.

The sound of shuffling feet in the hall outside drew his attention back to the task at hand. He turned and saw his prisoner for the first time. She was smaller than he’d expected. That surprised him. He’d assumed that a woman capable of twisting a knife into a man’s back would be larger, more threatening somehow.

She stood in the center of the room, her posture stiff and erect. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in a thick sheet of dark mahogany. Her face was smudged with dirt, as was her gown, but she showed little concern for her appearance. Instead she tilted back her head and looked about the room, her gaze burning with unveiled contempt.

When her eyes reached Cole, she stopped, as if registering his presence for the first time. He watched a brief flicker of a question‌—‌hope perhaps‌—‌flash in her soft green gaze, then the light was quickly extinguished. Smart woman. But rather than turn away, she studied him a second longer, coolly sizing him up.

Her stare traveled down his uniform, then back up again. It wasn’t a look he was used to receiving from women. It was the look of an opponent before a fight, probing for strengths, hunting for weaknesses. Her gaze rested briefly on his cheek, taking in the raw, ugly scar that marred his skin. For an incredible second, he felt the scar tingle, as if she’d run her fingers over the wound. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came, and she returned her eyes to his. “Are you the commanding officer here?”

Her voice was low and steady, the soft, husky tone almost incongruous for a woman her size. The hint of a British accent clung to her words. She waited, but when it became clear that Cole had no intention of answering, she squared her shoulders and continued, “There has been a terrible mistake. I insist on—”

“Where are her things?” Cole interrupted, directing his question at Coombs.

“She ain’t got nothing. Her trunks was confiscated for the trial back at Charleston.”

“Trial,” the woman repeated acidly. “That proceeding was a mockery to anyone who—”

“Now, hold on there,” Coombs cut in, lumbering to his feet. “I ain’t gonna listen to you bad-mouthing the U.S. Army. You was found guilty fair and square. If they tried you again, they’d find you guilty again.” His chest swelled with self-righteous pride as his gaze traveled back to his men, eager to restore his former status. “That proceeding,” he mimicked haughtily, “was entirely legimit.”

“I believe the word you mean, Sergeant,” his prisoner informed him coldly, “is legitimate. Though I shouldn’t wonder that the term would be entirely foreign to someone such as yourself.”

“Why, you little—” Coombs sputtered, his face flaming once again. “Let’s just see if a little time spent in that prison up in Washington don’t bring you down a notch or two. Let’s see how you like them rats and fleas and eatin’ slop every day.”

“I can see that prison will have at least one distinct advantage,” his captive shot back. “You, sir, will not be there.”

The sergeant lunged forward, but Cole caught him and tossed him back into his chair. “Sit down, Coombs,” he ordered. “I don’t believe it’s possible for a man to look any more stupid, but if you open your mouth again, you might just prove me wrong. And I hate for anybody to prove me wrong.”

He fixed the sergeant with a dark glare, then turned to his prisoner, frowning as a startled whisper of a smile flashed across her face.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t,” Cole said. “You’ve nothing to thank me for, Madame. I was not defending you, I was merely sickened by the sergeant here.” If she had any ideas about his coming to her aid, now was as good a time as any to dispel them. “It is my misfortune to have been given the distasteful chore of bringing you to Washington. You’ll make the journey easier for both of us if you learn to keep your mouth shut and do as I tell you. Do I make myself clear?”

He watched her face freeze, her eyes turn to glittering shards of crystal-green ice. She drew herself up to her full height, the top of her dark head barely reaching Cole’s shoulder. “Perfectly,” she answered regally. “I am now fully aware that you are every bit as contemptible as the sergeant himself. You may consider your mission accomplished.”

The woman obviously had more guts than common sense. And apparently she wasn’t finished. “May I ask a question?” she inquired demurely.

Cole waited.

“Now that you’ve assaulted me verbally in a room full of people, shall I expect to be physically assaulted next? Or will you wait, as Sergeant Coombs did, until we’re in private for that?”

“You wanted—” Coombs cried.

“That’s enough, Coombs,” Cole said, his eyes never leaving his prisoner’s face. He let her question hang in the air, escalating the tension in the room to a nerve-shattering pitch. Finally he broke the silence. “I have no desire to either touch you or speak to you, Madame. I prefer that our journey, since it must be made, be short and uneventful. If you choose to provoke me and make it otherwise, you’ll suffer the consequences wrought by your own actions.”

To his utter disbelief, his captive smiled.

The woman was clearly insane, that had to be it. In a fit of insanity, she’d knifed a man in the back. Rather than being terrified by Cole’s vague threats, she merely looked amused.