Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 (29 page)

“Why don’t you just come right out and tell the truth? Why don’t you just admit that the real reason you’re taking me along is because you want me…”

“
Want
you?” He raised an eyebrow, as though the thought of such a thing had never entered his mind. And this angered her even more.

“Yes!” She plunged on, fighting to keep calm and not to let him rile her or make her lose her composure. “Yes, you
want
me. You want me to ride with you so that you can rape me whenever you choose. You aren’t fooling me, and you aren’t fooling anyone else. You don’t give a damn about having someone with some medical knowledge around in case it’s needed. All you care about is satisfying your animal
lust
.”

“And you think you could satisfy it?” He chuckled.

Kitty did lose control then, and she slapped him, taking him by surprise. Scrambling to her feet, she was about to run away, but his hand snaked out to wrap around her ankle, tripping her to fall upon the ground. Quickly, he was on top of her, rolling her onto her back, his body stretched out and pressing down against hers.

He held her by her wrists, his weight pinning her down. His lips were only inches from hers as he spoke in a harsh whisper. “You let me tell you something, you little spitfire, I don’t rape women. I don’t have to. And you know why? Because I make it so goddamned good to them that they try to rape me for
seconds
. And you know
how
I make it good to them? Well, I’m going to show you…”

His lips came mashing down, and she tried to struggle and twist her head from side to side but there was no escaping. He stretched her arms together over her head, pinning them with one hand while his other moved down…slowly, tantalizingly to the bodice of her dress. Slipping inside, strong, firm fingers moved to manipulate the flesh, moving along to the nipple, which he slowly and expertly squeezed to erect tautness.

His tongue slipped inside her mouth as she struggled helplessly. His hands moved away, downward, reaching to shove her skirt upward to her waist. Beneath, she wore frayed, worn pantalets, and these he ripped away quickly with one jerk, exposing, making her naked, vulnerable to his touch.

Gently, he began to manipulate skilled fingertips between her thighs, which she was fighting to keep pressed tightly together. He had moved to one side, using his, knee to probe between hers, forcing her legs apart. He knew just where to caress, where to touch that nucleus of nerves that would make her blood turn to thousands of needles of fire, coursing through her body.

Kitty was having spasms of unfamiliar joy that she could not control. She could feel her pelvic muscles tightening, contracting, insides straining to reach out and grab anything that would bring fulfillment to the strange, delicious hunger this man had been able to arouse within her.

She was forgetting to hate him, and the sounds of people not far away were being pushed into oblivion…voices, a horse neighing, a dying soldier somewhere screaming his last oath of defiance over being snatched to his grave. None of these things mattered any longer. They could not be heard. Not here, not now. She
wanted
him! She wanted him in a way she never thought she could want any man. The pulsating hardness against her thigh—this she wanted to plunge inward, upward, to pound again and again as hard as possible. Luke Tate had only aroused revulsion, disgust—never desire—never this wonderful feeling. Oh, sweet Jesus, never like this!

She was unable to control herself. As much as she tried to keep murmuring her hatred, she could not hold back the waves of frenzied, fevered longing that swept over her as the tide crashes along the shores. She had to have him—had to feel the sweet relief that would surely come!

He raised his lips slightly, fingers still caressing, breath hot upon her face. “Please…” She could hear a voice begging, realized feverishly the sound came from her own mouth. “Please…please…please…”

And then, a great shudder took hold. Kitty felt her insides exploding…as a giant wave of white-hot pleasure spread within the walls of her belly. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she jerked her head backward into the ground, fighting to keep the screams silent. It was heaven…it was hell…it was fire and lightning and wind and rain and thunder and the wrath of God and the devil and gnashing teeth and trumpets blowing and drums beating. It was everything…and anything…and surely she was dying and would never see the light of another day…

Slowly, his fingers slipped from their probe, and he released her wrists at the same time. Kitty lay gasping, spent, bewildered by the spasms that had exploded and left her weak. Rolling away, Travis moved to a sitting position, hands folded around his knees. And he was smiling. She could see him smiling in the moonlight and that was what brought her back to reality…that smirking, taunting smile.

Yanking down her dress and pushing her breasts back into the bodice, she sat up and turned her back on him, staring into the darkness, toward the camp, the fires, and that other world. “I hate you,” she said between clenched teeth. “I hate you with every beat of my heart, Travis Coltrane.”

“What a pity,” he said, chuckling. “A moment ago you would have hated me more if I hadn’t gone on and given you what every woman wants, although I could have done a much better job if you’d begged a little harder. I might have given you all of me, but then you would have screamed your pleasure and woke up the whole camp. Maybe one night will be your lucky night, and you’ll have all of me…”

Scrambling to her feet, she lifted her skirt and began to run, picking her way in the darkness. Angry with him, angry with herself, for the betrayal of her own body, she disappeared into the night, fighting to keep back the tears until she could be alone. Travis Coltrane would never see the day he witnessed bringing tears to her eyes!

He watched her go, a peculiar feeling moving through him. He prided himself in pleasuring women, that was true, but what made him goad this one, torture her, tease her into hating him? She was beautiful, Oh, Lord, she was beautiful. Never had he touched lips so sweet or skin so tender and soft. Never had his loins strained with agony to empty himself into any woman’s body as he yearned for this one. Why, then, did he go out of his way to make her hate him? And why hadn’t he gone ahead and jerked open his trousers and entered her and had his way with her? Was it because that was what she expected? And if so, what difference did it make? She was only a Southern girl, betrothed to a Southern soldier. She meant nothing to him, even if she was desirable and lovely. He could go ahead and make her beg him to take her, to ravish her, and afterward, forget her.

But it was more than that. Damn, there was something about her that made him want more than to just take her again and again and feel her nails rake the flesh of his back and scream his name in her passion as she begged for him to plunge harder and harder, again and again. Women wanted it as much as men did—this was something he firmly believed. They were just not allowed to
act
like it, not the ladies, anyway. The whores could writhe and groan and enjoy it, but not the ladies. And in spite of her spirit, Kitty
was
a lady.

Maybe it would have been different had they met under different circumstances. He might have courted her and made her fall in love with him. He’d never known a woman with so much spirit. Most were empty-headed giggling fools, with no thought, save snaring a husband. Not this one. She was independent, and he pitied any Federal soldier who came up against her if she had a weapon in her hands—any kind of weapon. He had seen her ride a horse as well as any man, and she could probably shoot a gun just as well, too. But he had stood there in the shadows in the tent and watched her cry because a soldier had died and there hadn’t been anything she could do about it. She had wept and looked soft and tender and wonderful, and he had seen that despite the fire…the ice…the anger…there was a quality of warmth, softness, that shone through when her guard was down.

Damn, Kitty Wright was one hell of a woman. But he wasn’t about to let her make a fool of him the way he’d seen other women do to other men…men like his father.

He felt a sickening lurch in the pit of his stomach as the painful memory washed over him. Would he ever forget? Would it ever stop haunting him?

He shook himself. No, he would not let Kitty get the best of him. He would drag her along, tie and gag her if need be, but she wm going with him and his men. Arid if she gave him any trouble, he’d kill that freckle-faced Rebel soldier she seemed to think so damned much of—and if she ever got hold of a gun or a knife and came after him, well, he’d kill her, too. No matter how beautiful she was, or how desirable, she was still dangerous. He’d never turn his back on her.

And somewhere, along the way, she was going to beg him for everything he had to give—a promise he made to himself that would be kept. And that strange feeling twisting around inside him could go to hell. He cared nothing for her at all.

Only fools fall in love with women, he reasoned. Wise men use them, take their pleasures with them—then walk away to freedom and never look back.

And Travis Coltrane prided himself in being a very wise man.

Chapter Nineteen

When the dust had finally settled after the battle of Shiloh, and the blood of 13,000 Federals and 10,000 Confederates had settled into the soil of Tennessee, Captain Travis Coltrane and twelve men, a woman nurse, and a Rebel prisoner not more than fourteen years of age, left General Grant’s army and set out on their mission—scout the enemy, find their position, discover their movements and goals, and report back to Grant.

It was mid-May, 1862, and as Travis sat with his sergeant, Sam Bucher, he thought with discomfort that he’d never known such a hot night for so early in the summer. They had moved into Virginia, and he was sweltering. As he and Bucher discussed the latest war news, Travis had had to ask him twice to move farther back from the campfire. He’d felt a wave of nausea when Kitty handed him a plate of Drap Dumplin’s with a tin of coffee.

“You don’t like my cooking?” she had asked as though she really cared. Lately, the woman had been no trouble at all. She did as she was told, keeping out of the way and silent. The Rebel prisoner did likewise, obeying orders to do the dirty work that came along.

“There’s nothing wrong with your cooking, Kitty,” he had answered. “I just don’t feel like eating—it’s so blasted hot.”

She had reached out to touch his forehead, but he jerked away. Lately, she seemed to brush against him often, or was it his imagination? He didn’t know. It was so hot—too hot to think about such things. He just didn’t want anyone touching him.

“Are you sure you are feeling all right? It isn’t that hot, Travis, And you don’t look well…”

“Leave me alone,” he snapped, and she’d moved back, looking hurt. An act. The damned woman was incapable of feeling any kind of emotion for him. She only wanted to fool him into thinking she was humble. He’d never fall for that ploy. It had been tried too many times by too many other women.

“Coltrane, you listening to me?”

Jerking his head up, he saw that Sam was watching him intently. “I been talking to you for five minutes, but your eyes look plumb glassy. You ain’t been hittin’ the red-eye, have you?”

He shook his head, felt something crawling on his neck and slapped at it with his hand. Lice. Damn, they were everywhere. Once a week, he took a bath whenever a stream or river was available and no Rebs were around, but the varmints were always there waiting when he put his clothes back on. Kitty had seen him scratching and suggested he let her boil his uniform in harsh lye soap the next time he bathed. He’d asked her suggestively if she’d bathe with him, and she had actually smiled as though she just might.

Another act! He snorted.

“Travis, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just tired. Aren’t we all? I want this damned war to end. I want to go home. Back to Louisiana and the bayou, where it’s quiet and peaceful…”

“Well, that may be a long time off. I’m trying to tell you what I heard today when I went into town for supplies. Remember I told you that Lincoln’s got McClellan’s ass on the block, ready to kick it all the way to Mississippi…”

Travis nodded. God, it was hot. And he felt so tired, dizzy, almost. The damned heat. How could anyone stand Virginia in the summer? It was unbearable.

“Lincoln never should have axed him as general-in-chief of all the armies,” Sam was saying, “and just giving him command of the Army of the Potomac only last March. I don’t give a damn what anybody says, George B. McClellan has no sympathy for the South, and he’s no coward. Lincoln and that Secretary of War of his, Stanton, are just scared shitless that the Rebs will march on Washington. That’s why George wound up with 90,000 men instead of the 130,000 he left with, when he started up the Peninsula. Hell, they took a whole army corps from his command and gave it to General McDowell—just to make sure they had plenty of soldiers around Washington. And now George is up against that Confederate Major General Magruder, and no telling how many men
he’s
got.”

Sam was smoking a cigar, and the smoke wafted to Travis’s nostrils, and he felt a wave of nausea. “That’s our job,” he snapped, irritated with himself and taking it out on Sam. “Find out just how many men Magruder has and what George is up against. He’s moving toward Yorktown. We’re riding out tomorrow…”

He swayed, caught himself. Sam leaned forward. “You’re in no kind of shape to ride out of here, Coltrane. Why don’t you let that nurse you dragged along take a look at you? She’s been sneaking looks at you all evening, like she knows there’s something ailing you…”

Travis struggled to his feet. “I told you—there’s nothing wrong with me. It’s this damned Virginia heat. I can’t stand it. I’m going down by the stream to sleep where it’s cooler. Tell the men to be ready to ride about midnight. It’ll be safer to scout around at night in case Magruder does have half the Confederate Army out there waiting for us.”

He stumbled, righted himself, and moved as quickly as he could down the hill to where a stream offered some relief from the heat of the campsite. He didn’t bother to lay down a blanket, just slumped to a bed of pine needles and closed his eyes.