Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 (22 page)

Looking back at the cabin and the gray wisp of smoke rising from the chimney, she made her decision. She would keep on walking, down the hill, moving as quickly as possible. If Luke came after her and caught her, she would say she was searching for special roots and herbs she needed to make proper medicine for Orville. And if she did get lost—or a wild animal attacked and killed her, then that would be her fate and there was no choice but to accept.

Enough is enough
. She blinked back tears as they froze to her cheeks.
I can’t take anymore. If I can’t be free, then let me die
, she prayed.

A rabbit darted from a snow-crushed bush, bouncing across her path, fluffy tail flipping insolently as he disappeared. Somewhere, a bird called mournfully. There was no other sound except the gentle fluttering of the snow as it settled onto ice-crusted leaves. Cold. Oh, God, it was so terribly cold. But she forced herself to move onward, downward, slipping once to land on her bottom in the snow, only to scramble up again to keep moving as quickly as possible. There had to be help somewhere. There
had
to be.

She stumbled again, and this time, before she could scramble up, someone was rushing toward her from behind, fastening strong fingers about her throat to send her sprawling face-forward into the deepening snow.

“You think I didn’t know what you were up to?” The familiar, snarling voice of Luke Tate burned into her ears. “You think I’m stupid enough to let you get away?”

Screaming, she rolled over on her back, swinging out at him with the pail she still held in one hand. It caught him on the forehead, gashing the skin. She swung again this time his forearm flew up to ward off the blow. He caught her wrists; the bucket fell into the snow, and he positioned himself on top of her, spraddle-legged.

“You ever been had in the snow?” He laughed down at her, enjoying the struggles. “Hey, I’m glad to see you fighting for a change. I get goddamned tired of laying a damn stiff…”

She tried to bring her knee up into his groin, but he only laughed louder, reaching quickly to pin both her arms over her head with one hand, while he ripped open her shirt with the other, lips moving to fasten on an exposed breast, teeth biting down until he tasted blood. Talking around her nipple, he said, mumbling, “You stop screaming, and I’ll stop biting…”

The pain was excruciating as his teeth sank deeper into the tender flesh. Fighting within herself, she forced the screams to cease, lying still and quiet in the snow. He yanked at her trousers, pulling them down about her knees, pushing her legs apart.

She choked on the scream that bubbled upward as he plunged roughly inside her body. He seemed to delight in the knowledge that he could cause her intense pain when he wanted. Again and again he drove into her flesh, pumping, pushing, as he grunted and snorted. Like a wild hog, she thought wildly, painfully, like that snorting wild hog that ran across the path this morning…
Anything,
she commanded herself,
think of anything to take me away from this horror
…
this pain…this degradation of my very soul.

At last, mercifully, Luke gave one final grunt as he fell against her, body heaving convulsively as he emptied himself within her. For a moment, he lay there breathing heavily. Then, getting to his feet and adjusting his trousers, he reached to lift her in his arms, her own trousers still down around her ankles, breasts jouncing exposed outside her open shirt as he headed toward the cabin.

“They’re gonna enjoy this,” he said, grinning down at her. “The boys need something to perk them up after today. And as soon as Orville’s able, I’ll see to it that he gets his share. I reckon I’ve been selfish with you, and it’s time to share a good lay and teach you a lesson, to boot.”

They were almost to the cabin when the first shot rang out. Instinctively, Luke dropped Kitty to the snow-covered ground and began running in a crouch toward the cabin. Kitty began to roll herself over and over as more shots rang out, trying to keep out of the line of fire.

Someone let out a blood-curdling scream, and she stopped rolling long enough to see one of Luke’s men fall from the doorway of the cabin, blood gushing from his mouth. Horrified, she watched as Paul Gray leaped forward in a crouch, his carbine firing like the spit of a snake, but suddenly he screamed, clutched his stomach as a gush of blood and bowels burst forth, then he toppled head forward into the snow.

And then she saw them storming the cabin, rushing inside, heard the sound of more gunfire and screams. A cloud of gray smoke began to drift across the way toward her, as she tried to figure out just what was happening. Were they all dead? Were they now going to kill her, too? But if they were Confederates, then surely they would take care of her, see that she got home safely.

Yes, that was it! She straightened, smiling, relieved. They would only be after Luke and his men if they were Confederates. The nightmare was over. She was safe.

Someone was coming out of the cabin. He was walking toward her, down the hill. Then she saw the way he was looking at her, and, glancing downward, she groped to fix her trousers, tuck her breasts back into the torn shirt. “Thank God,” she cried hoarsely, wondering suddenly why he wore no uniform.
But he had to be on
our
side
, she told her throbbing brain. “Thank God, you’re here!”

His eyes lifted above her…beyond her…and as he said, “Sir, one got away…the one who was carrying this young woman.” She turned to look behind her. Why hadn’t she seen him before? He was right behind her—close enough to touch!

He was looking at the other man, not at her, as he said, “Are they all dead?”

“Yes, sir. There was one man that looked as though his arm had just been cut off, and we went ahead and shot him, too. But the one who was carrying her, he got away. Had a horse tied up around back. Guess he was afraid we’d follow them, and he was ready.”

He was lowering his gaze to hers, and Kitty found herself staring into the coldest eyes she had ever seen. They were the color of steel—not blue, not black—but a sheen in between that would have been beautiful, save for the anger and disgust mirrored there. His hair was the color of the raven’s wing, shining black, and he had a firm set to his jaw.

His eyes moved down, lingering on her heaving bosom. The smile he gave her was taunting, as though he knew she found him attractive. She cursed herself for the sudden flash of thought that asked what it would be like to feel those arrogantly smiling lips upon hers. His lips parted to show even, white teeth as he said, “Your lover got away, madam. I regret we must take you prisoner, as we don’t kill women—unless forced to. I trust we’ll have your cooperation to we can avoid any more unpleasantness.”

“You don’t understand.” She spoke quickly, wanting to make him realize right away that she was not his prisoner—she had just been freed! “That man—Luke Tate—he’s held me captive for the whole winter.”

“Soldier, let’s take this woman inside the cabin and persuade her to fix something to eat for us. Then we’ll have to figure out what to do with her.”

“No, you don’t understand!” She threw herself at him then, beating at his chest with her fists. He wore a poncho, made of rubber cloth, and it was impossible to tell if he wore any kind of uniform beneath, but he was obviously a soldier, maybe even an officer. “I’ve been held prisoner. I want to go home, back to my people in North Carolina. I’m needed there, to work at the hospital. And there’s my mother to care for, and my fiancé…he’s an officer with the Wayne Volunteers…please, help me…”

She was crying. Suddenly, it was all too much. He had to believe her. He had to. “Why won’t you listen?” she cried.

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.