The Raging Hearts: The Coltrane Saga, Book 2 (26 page)

“Don’t try to fight me,” he breathed hoarsely, raising his mouth only slightly. She could still feel his lips against hers. “Fight me, and I will only have to hurt you, Kitty, and I don’t want it like that. I just want to hold you and touch you and kiss you…tell you how much I love you and must have you. I know your body is still sick from birth, and I won’t take you, not now. But I can have this much. Oh, God, Kitty, let me love you.”

A groan came from deep in his throat as he closed his mouth over hers once again, hungrily, tongue thrusting inside to probe about. She began to struggle and fight, terrified, but he quickly caught both her wrists and held her arms above her head with one hand while his other slipped inside her gown to fasten about her breast. He squeezed gently, then roughly, and she heard his gasping noises as though he were experiencing deep pain.

His fingers moved from her breasts long enough to push the skirt of her robe upward, baring her thighs. Then he was moving himself against her, and she could feel his swollen organ moving to and fro. His fingertips moved to her nipples, gently, then roughly and painfully, and she could only lie there beneath him helplessly while he kept working his swollen flesh rhythmically against her. He worked his hips faster, faster, and the whimpering sound from deep in his throat grew louder, more agonized.

Suddenly his mouth left hers and he was throwing back his head to scream. He gave several more short jerks against her, then rolled away. Sickened and frightened, Kitty shriveled against the pillows, trying to get as far away from him as possible as she stared in horror at the stain spreading on his pants about the crotch. He had actually brought himself to pleasure by his gyrations. What if she were not still physically incapacitated from childbirth? He would have raped her.

Leaping off the bed, she held her robe together and cried, “I hate you, Corey McRae. You’re a monster. You pretended to be kind to me and my baby, and this was what you were after all along. Nothing can prevent me leaving now. I’ll never be taken in by your lies again, never.”

His breathing had become normal, and he lay there for a moment longer, regaining his composure. Lord, he thought, even if it had been only a poor imitation, it had been good. He had actually thrust himself against that sweet flower between her legs. He had almost tasted the nectar. And those breasts, oh, those wonderful mounds of glory, how good they had felt. He would never tire of the fruits from her basket. He was sure of that.

He stood up, straightened his coat, then saw the stain and realized it would be necessary to change before going downstairs. Undaunted, he faced Kitty and smiled. “I intend to have you, my dear, as my wife. You are trying my patience, I must admit. But all my waiting will be justified.”

“You are mad,” she cried hoarsely. “I’m leaving here today, at once. And don’t you try to stop me.” She looked about wildly, spotted the heavy candlestick beside the bed, and grabbed it and held it above her ominously.

Corey merely laughed. “Oh, you don’t have to resort to violence, my sweet. The only violence you and I will ever share will be in our bed, and it will be sweet pain that we enjoy. I promise you this. Now, suppose I go and change, and you put on one of those lovely dresses I ordered for you from Raleigh, and we will have a nice Christmas dinner. I have an exquisite gift for you, something I think you will really like.”

“I am leaving here today, Corey.”

He gestured helplessly, shrugging his shoulders, the play of a smile on his lips. “Very well. I will send word to Jacob that you and the baby are leaving this afternoon, and I will have Dulcie pack your things. I will even have one of my carriages take you to your little shack in the swamp.”

She stared at him suspiciously, biting the corner of her lower lip as her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She set the candlestick back down on the bedside table. “Don’t try to trick me, Corey.”

“You have my word.” He bowed graciously. “You are free to go any time you wish. I love your spirit, Kitty, and I live for the day when I’ll have that same spirit in my bed for always and always.”

“That day will never come.” She turned her back on him. “Leave now, please. Send word to Jacob, and send Dulcie in to help me. I won’t take anything I did not come with, which were the clothes I wore.”

“Those rags?” he scoffed. “I had them burned. No, Kitty, you will take everything I have given you. Burn
them
, if you wish, but you will take them. I will drop by to see you in a few days to see how you are getting along.”

“I never want to see you again.”

“Is that any way to talk to the man who saved your life and the life of your baby? Is that the kind of gratitude that you Southern ladies have? My, my, Kitty. Your rudeness shocks me.”

“I am grateful for your help, but now I see that it was all a trick. You were merely waiting for my body to heal so you could take me at your will.”

“If that were true, I would have had you that first night you stumbled onto my porch in town begging for help. Wake up, Kitty, and realize a few things. I could have taken you then. I’ll be waiting for you to come to your senses.”

She continued to stare at the wall before her, anger boiling. Finally the door closed, and she whipped her head about, relieved to see that he was gone.

Pacing the floor furiously, she kept returning to give the bell cord a vicious yank, silently cursing Dulcie for not answering the call. Now that Corey had shown his true colors, she could not get out of his home fast enough.

There was a hesitant tap on the door. Kitty snapped, “Come in,” and Dulcie entered slowly, head down, shoulders slumped.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Kitty told her anxiously. “I want to take as little as possible, Dulcie, but I wish to leave here at once.”

“Ma’am, please understand.” The girl took a deep breath, still not lifting her eyes. “I works for Mistah McRae, and I has to take my orders from him. He say fo’ me to take you into the nursery, and a tray o’ Christmas dinnah gonna be brung in. He and Gertrude gonna pack yo’ things. When the carriage is all a’loaded, we take you and the baby downstairs. Please don’t say nothin’. Mistah McRae gonna take it out on me if it ain’t done this’a way.”

Kitty shook with her anger. She did not want to take all the clothes that Corey had bought for her. When he had given them to her, she had protested, but he would not listen. She wanted nothing from him. She wished it had not been necessary for her to accept his hospitality in the first place. All she wanted was to take little John and leave, but as she looked at Dulcie, saw the tears slipping down her cheeks, she knew that the young girl was frightened to death of her master.

“All right, Dulcie.” Kitty sighed and moved toward the door. “Only because of you will I go along with the way Mr. McRae wants it, but please don’t pack any more than you have to in order to get by. I want nothing from that man.”

“He say pack it all,” she whispered, starting to move toward the huge pecan wardrobe closet. “I gotta do what he say.”

Suddenly Kitty stamped her foot and the young Negro whipped her head about to stare at her with wide, frightened eyes. “Why do you do it? Why do you stay here with a tyrant? He has a fit if you don’t talk the way he wants you to. If he had heard the way you’ve been talking in here just now, he’d be angry. There are surely other places you can go, Dulcie, other jobs. You’re free now. The war is over, remember? You never have to be a slave again. Take your freedom and live your life the way you want to live it. A lot of good men died to give you that freedom. Don’t abuse it by staying here with a man who treats you as though you’re still in chains, fearful of the lash.”

Dulcie shook her head slowly from side to side as the tears continued to slide down her brown cheeks. “You don’t understand, Miss Kitty. It ain’t…I mean, it
isn’t
all that easy fo’ us now. The white folks around here, they hates us ’cause we ain’t…isn’t, I mean…” Sobs shook her body as she trembled in her frustration.

“Please, Dulcie, speak the way you want to. It doesn’t matter to me. Just tell me what it is you want me to know.” Kitty touched her shoulder gently.

“They hates us ’cause we ain’t slaves, no mo’. They wants to see us starve and die, so they can sit back and say, ‘See there? You wanted to be free. You was tickled to death when the Yankees set you free. Now you a’starvin’ and a’dyin’, ’cause you too dumb to look after yo’selfs. You was better off as slaves.’ And they sit back and laugh at us, Miss Kitty. That’s what they do. So I’m a’tryin’. Mistah McRae, he pays better’n anybody about. He might be mean sometimes, but they all mean, all white folks, ’cepting ones like you, and they ain’t many of you. I
has
to do what Mistah McRae tells me to do. I
has
to.”

Opening her arms, Dulcie threw herself against Kitty’s bosom as she sobbed convulsively. “When Captain Coltrane returns, Dulcie,” she whispered, close to tears, “we’ll have a place for you. He’ll make our land prosper, and we’ll take you in with us. I promise. I wish I could take you with me now, but I’m not even sure I can feed myself and my son, much less Jacob. I can’t ask you to share poverty with me.”

Dulcie straightened, embarrassed that she had let herself go to pieces. “I’ll be all right, missy,” she sniffed, dabbing t her eyes with the hem of her apron. “Don’t you fret none about me. I does all right. Mistah McRae, he’s fine as long as he ain’t crossed, and me and the others make sure he ain’t crossed. He’s awful mad now ’cause you leavin’, so let me go ahead and get you out of here ’fore he really get mad. He scares me when he’s mad.”

“Well, he doesn’t scare me.” Kitty gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “And don’t let him frighten you, either. Just remember, you’ll have a home with me one day. Until then, just endure and keep your chin up. Life will be better for all of us. You’ll see. Now, you do what you must do, and I will go in the nursery and wait with John till you are ready for me to go.”

Dulcie watched the beautiful golden-haired woman leave the room. She could feel only pity for her. Now she was spirited, confident that her beloved captain would return. Dulcie prayed that Kitty would never find out that Corey McRae, suspecting that Kitty was writing to General Sherman, had ordered Dulcie to give the letter to him. Dulcie had cried silent tears as she watched the letter burning to ashes in the parlor fireplace while Corey stood grinning down triumphantly. If Captain Coltrane lived, he had received no word about the birth of his son. Corey McRae had seen to that.

And Dulcie prayed to God to forgive her for her deceit. But there had been no other way, no way at all. She had to think of her own survival.

Chapter Seventeen

It was February. The ground was frozen, and the wind beat against the thin walls of the cabin like an unrelenting enemy, determined to penetrate and destroy. Kitty sat before the fireplace holding baby John tightly against her. It was cold, oh, dear Jesus, so very cold. To get out of the range of the fire’s warmth meant instant chill. She dared not move.

John sneezed, and Kitty wrapped him tighter in the blankets, snuggling him close. Corey had provided for him well, and her pride took a great blow when she had to accept his gifts. Were it not for his generosity, there would be nothing for the baby—no clothes, no food, nothing. They would have perished.

And still no word from Travis. He was not coming back. That fact became more evident with each passing day. It screamed out at her in the black chill of night. Travis is not returning.
He is dead.
Or else he never really loved her. She was alone, except for the baby.

John had a cold. She touched her lips to his forehead. It was warm, very warm.
Oh, God
, she prayed silently,
don’t let my baby get sick.
There’s no money for medicine or a doctor. Spring, please hurry and get here. Let the warm sun kiss the lands. Give the earth life to grow food and crops. There had to be a way. There had to be. She had come too far, suffered too much, to be defeated now. Jacob was out in the woods hunting. He had to find food—anything—a rabbit, a squirrel, and how wonderful it would be if he found a fat turkey, or even a deer. The last of the meat from the wild hog he had killed two weeks before was gone. There was nothing left but swamp roots, which, when boiled with water, gave precious little nourishment. Corey had been more than generous to send over a milk cow. The pompous white overseer who delivered it grinned maliciously when he relayed the message, “Mr. McRae says you can be proud and starve if you want to, but he thinks enough of the baby that he don’t want him to suffer. He says he don’t think you’re stubborn enough to see your own baby starve.”

Corey was right. She would not let her baby starve. She accepted the gift and sent a message of appreciation, adding that as soon as she was able, she would repay him, with
money
, she emphasized. That had brought another snaggle-toothed grin from the overseer.

The baby slept at last, his breathing hoarse and rasping. Reluctantly she laid him in the little wooden cradle Jacob had made. Tucking the blankets about him, making sure he was near the fire, she poured herself a cup of swamp-root tea and sat back down before the crackling flames.

The sound of hoofbeats crunching into the frozen earth made Kitty jump from her chair. Gathering her shawl tightly about her shoulders, she went to peer through a crack in the boarded-up window. A rider was approaching, and it was impossible to tell who it was just yet. He came closer, and finally a frown creased her forehead as she recognized Jerome Danton sliding down from his mount. How dare he have the nerve to come here? He was removing a large burlap bag tied to the saddle. She noticed that he walked with a slight limp as he moved toward her door.