Captured (16 page)

“Is the heat bothering you?”

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, fanning her face with her hand. “I barely noticed it.”

He frowned and set down her bag. “So I see.”

“How does anyone manage to live in this?” she asked after a minute.

“You get used to it.”

“No,” Devon countered immediately. “Being burned at the stake I could get used to. At least that’s dry heat. But this‌—‌this is awful.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” She smiled at that, opened her eyes, and looked at him, certain he was joking. There was no trace of levity on Cole’s face. “All the way to Washington?” she asked incredulously.

He shrugged. “If need be.”

An image flashed across her mind: Cole marching across the countryside, with her bag tucked under one arm, and her tucked under the other. Too hot and tired to care, she didn’t bother to restrain the giggle that welled up inside her. “Don’t you think we’d look the tiniest bit ridiculous?”

Cole shrugged again. “Probably.”

“Just give me a minute. I’ll be—”

The low, rumbling sound of an approaching wagon cut off the rest of her words. “Stay here,” Cole ordered curtly, and moved off through the brush in the direction of the road they’d been paralleling. Devon obeyed, but only because she was too exhausted to run. After a minute, he returned, and she soon found herself deposited in the back of a buckboard wagon, nestled between sacks of flour, canned goods, and various other sundries. It was better than walking, but not by much.

Cole sat in front next to the Union officer who drove the conveyance. Listening to the two men talk, she learned that the area was solidly Union-controlled, with the exception of a few roving bands of Rebel guerrillas who managed to stir up trouble from time to time. A Union cavalry company was encamped nearby, their headquarters having been established in the local town in order to keep the guerrillas and Rebel sympathizers in line. The driver had been on his way to the army hospital to deliver supplies when Cole stopped him.

Devon made herself as comfortable as possible and eavesdropped as the men turned to talk of the war. They discussed campaigns, strategies, and the men who were leading them. They were both disparaging of a general named Pope, a pompous braggart who had recently been given command. High praise was awarded, however, to a man named Robert Lee. So much so, in fact, that it took Devon a minute to realize that Pope was actually fighting for the Union, and General Lee was an officer of the Confederacy.

Bored by their discussion, she glanced around, her eyes lighting on a small farm as they rolled slowly past. A woman stood in the front yard, tossing handfuls of cornmeal at the hens scattered about her feet. She was tall and slender, with lovely dark skin and a dress that was in as poor shape as Devon’s own. As if feeling her gaze, the woman looked up. Devon knew without asking that the woman was a slave. It occurred to her with some astonishment that although she’d always known slavery existed, she’d never in her life actually seen a slave.

She’d heard that slaves were crude and ignorant, that they were fit to be used by their masters. She’d also heard that slaves were very like contented beasts, singing songs as they toiled in the fields. But one look at this woman disabused her of all those shameful tales and falsehoods. Devon saw nothing but shining intelligence in the other woman’s eyes, quiet dignity in her proud carriage.

As Devon watched, the lady of the house stormed out, berating her servant for dallying and threatening to send her off without supper if the woman didn’t see to her task. The slave accepted the tongue-lashing with perfect indifference, then with slow, deliberate motions, resumed scattering cornmeal for the hens. The Wagon rolled away and the moment passed. But Devon, recalling Mrs. Honeychurch and the asylum, was left with a new and painful understanding of the slave’s plight. Sometimes the need for dignity was greater than the need for food or water.

They rode on for another thirty minutes, finally stopping at a large, wood frame house. The yellow flag flying atop the structure indicated it was also used as a hospital. Crisp white tents were encamped on the front lawn and cooking fires smoked cozily in shallow pits. Devon counted about fifty Union soldiers in the yard, all in various stages of repose. “You’ll be wantin’ to talk to the general,” the driver said.

She glanced over Cole’s shoulder as he helped her down from the wagon and saw four men poring over maps spread out over a thick oak table on the front porch. One of them straightened and frowned. He said a word to the others, then moved toward them. The first thing Devon noticed about the man was his size. He was one of the few men she’d seen who was actually bigger than Cole. He had a dark red beard, a ruddy complexion, and a thick pot belly. Cowboy boots‌—‌with spurs, no less—-and a cowboy hat completed his uniform. Against regulations, perhaps, but judging from the size of the man, as well as the number of stars on his collar, she guessed he could probably do pretty much whatever he wanted. A fierce scowl darkened his features as he boomed out, “Cole McRae!”

Devon jumped. Cole froze for an instant, then continued to reach for her bag, dropping it casually at her feet. He turned around slowly and offered a lazy salute. “General Brader.”

“I thought I warned you what would happen if I ever saw your no-good, yellow-bellied, worthless hide around these parts again.”

Devon stared up at Cole, watching as his features turned slowly to granite. He leaned back against the wagon, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Guess I didn’t listen,” he answered.

Silent tension soared. The soldiers surrounding them went completely still. Beneath the brim of his hat, Devon could see the general’s skin turn the same angry red shade as his beard. “You didn’t listen,” he sputtered, his tone steadily growing to a near-roar. “Well, by God, maybe I oughta just make you listen.”

“You can try. That is, if you’ve got enough breath left in that fat belly of yours.”

Devon stifled a gasp. Had Captain McRae completely lost his mind? Not only was he outranked, but he was completely outnumbered and outsized as well. “You son-of-a-bitch!” the general roared and lunged straight at Cole. But instead of knocking him flat, as she expected, he wrapped his beefy arms around Cole in a bear hug, slapping him on the back hard enough to leave bruises. When he pulled back, a big smile showed beneath his beard.

Devon reeled in shock, slowly assimilating the fact that what she’d witnessed had apparently been no more than some sort of absurd ritual between friends. She let out her breath and examined her feelings. Part relief, because it meant Cole hadn’t truly lost his mind, and part irritation, because she’d just lost what might have been a good opportunity for escape.

“How’s that mama and papa of yours?” General Brader demanded.

Cole grinned. “Still trying to recover from your visit two years ago.”

The general’s smile widened. “I reckon they didn’t expect me to bring a travelin’ companion. Still to this day don’t know what your mama objected to most: Miss Lila’s rouge, her colorful vocabulary, or how sweet that gal looked in her low-cut, red satin dress. And when your mama tried to serve her tea and Miss Lila asked for whiskey instead…” He paused and let out a deep guffaw. “Why, I thought your mama was going to faint dead away on the spot. Took to her bed the rest of our stay, complaining of the headache.”

Devon had instinctively stepped behind Cole when the trouble started, and remained there now, content just to watch until she got a firmer grip on this loudmouth, blustery general. It wasn’t long, however, until the general took notice of her.

“Now who’s this here little filly?” he asked.

Devon stepped forward, watching the general’s eyes widen as he took in the sight of her. Putting aside any embarrassment she felt at her current state of dishevelment, she announced with as much dignity as she could muster, “My name is Devon Blake, sir.”

“Whew,” the general replied, waving his hand in front of his face. “Little lady, I’ve stepped in piles of manure left behind by sick cattle and baked beneath a hot Texas sky that still smelled a damned sight better than you do.”

Devon tilted her chin. “How kind of you to point that out. Why let a little thing like manners and civility get in your way when you have an opinion to share?” She tilted her head toward Cole. “Now I understand the basis for the friendship. Two of a kind, I suppose.”

General Brader’s eyes widened in shock, then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Feisty little thing, ain’t she?” he said.

Cole shrugged. “That’s one word for it.”

Devon glared up at them, feeling both dwarfed and ridiculed by the two men towering above her. But before she could get another word out, a young, lanky boy with carrot-colored hair and dark freckles loped up to join them, “Cole, you remember my son, Emmett,” the general said, pride clear in his tone.

Surprise flashed through Cole’s eyes, then he nodded and shook the boy’s hand. “Good to see you…” He paused and glanced at his sleeve. “Private Brader.”

Emmett smiled sheepishly, blushing to the roots of his hair. “Howdy, Cole,” he said, then turned to his father. “Pa, me and Jimmy Johnston was just wondering—”

“Dammit, son! How many times do I have to tell you? You call me General when I’m in uniform, you hear?”

Emmett nodded and studied the ground near his feet. “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “General Brader, sir, Private Johnston and me was wondering if we could go into town for a spell. We got our chores all done now.”

“Your duties, Private. When you’re in the army, you’ve got duties, not chores.”

“Yes, sir. Well, sir, our duties are all done now.”

“In that case, you can go. But I want you boys back here by twenty-one hundred.”

Emmett stared up at him, a confused look on his face. “Twenty—?”

General Brader let out an exaggerated breath. “Nine o’clock, boy. And not a minute past.”

“Yes, sir!” Emmett broke into a wide grin as he nodded and spun around. “Thanks, Pa, er, General!” he called over his shoulder. “Thanks a lot!”

The three watched Emmett run across camp, clamoring a spoon against a stew pot, leaping over a pile of hay, yelling for his friend Jimmy, and otherwise raising a ruckus. “The boy’s grown up,” Cole said.

“Could’ve fooled me.” The general snorted.

“I didn’t realize he was old enough to sign on.”

“He’s not. Won’t be eighteen until October. But the young fool was threatening to run away and join the infantry if I didn’t bring him with me. That boy’s just stubborn enough and stupid enough to do it too.” The general sighed and shook his head. “Hell, I figure at least this way I can keep my eye on him. There ain’t much trouble he can get into around here. We got some boys inside that was wounded in a skirmish outside of Fredericksburg, but that’s about it. Looks like the real fightin’s gonna be down near Richmond.”

“Stubborn and stupid, huh?” Cole said into the silence that followed. “Wonder where he gets that from?”

The general grinned. “Go to hell,” he said cheerfully, then, “What’re you doing traipsing through the country on foot, McRae? Last I heard, you were parading off the coast in that fancy boat of yours.”

Devon felt Cole stiffen beside her. He reached down and grabbed her bag. “No. The Islander’s in dry dock, awaiting repairs.”

Devon watched General Brader as he silently studied Cole. In the awkward pause that followed, she saw a flash of wisdom and perception behind his gruff facade. She wondered if he could feel the tension that suddenly coursed through Cole as clearly as she could.

“I see,” the general said simply, then let it go. “Well, what are we doing standing out here gabbing beneath this blasted sun?” he said as he motioned them toward the house. “I’m full up, so I can’t offer you all a bed, but there’s a boardinghouse in town that takes in strays.” He paused before the front door. “Good news is, I’ve got whiskey inside and I can probably rustle up some tea for the little lady.”

“I don’t believe I care for any tea, thank you,” Devon said, knowing instinctively what was coming next. Every time Cole McRae’s damned ship was mentioned, she bore the brunt of his anger. And the last thing she was in the mood for right now was to sit in audience while Cole recited a long litany of all her supposed crimes. “I believe I prefer to just rest for a moment on this lovely little settee.” She lifted her filthy skirts and moved as gracefully as she could across the porch, toward a grouping of rattan furniture.

As she passed one of the soldiers who stood near the thick oak table, she saw his eyes grow wide. He waved his hand in front of his face and abruptly started choking. Anger and embarrassment coursed through Devon in equal measure. It was all Cole’s fault that she looked and smelled the way she did. It was also his fault that she was about to have to defend herself once again against charges of murder and espionage. How would he like it if people believed all sorts of vicious untruths about him? she wondered, and instantly decided to turn the tables. She wasn’t going to simply wait and try to defend herself anymore. This time she was taking the offensive.

Devon turned toward the soldier who’d been choking and clucked her tongue in silent commiseration. “Yes, I’m afraid the scent is rather terrible, isn’t it? Unless I’m mistaken, I believe I’m covered in goose droppings.”

The soldier’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. “Devon…” Cole warned.

She looked up at him, her dirty face shining with innocence, then back at the soldiers. “That’s my captor,” she informed them politely. “I don’t believe Captain McRae meant to knock me into a slimy pond, not really. But he did toss me off a speeding train, that was certainly intentional. As was forcing me atop a horse that I was quite terrified of. And I really can’t blame him for tying my hands so I couldn’t eat. I suppose that left more food for him and his men. But giving me so much brandy that I became ill—”

“That’s enough,” Cole said.

“Though I still object to the way he woke me out of a sound sleep and pulled me on top of him—”

“Dammit, Blake!”