Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1

by Patricia Hagan

  No, there was no other way. She had to do it. Slowly, she got up from the bed and moved across the floor to where he sat hunched over the table—and the bottle of whiskey which he continued to sip. She stood behind him, hardly daring to breathe as she fought to muster the courage for what must be done.

  When he spoke, she jumped, startled. “Have you somehow come by a knife, princess? Are you waiting to plunge it into my back?” He sounded amused, not concerned about the possibility of death at her hands.

  Not trusting herself to speak, she slid her hands up his back, caressing his shoulders, then moving to massage the muscles at the back of his neck, He did not move. She leaned forward, until her lips were almost touching his ear, forcing her voice not to quiver as she whispered, “It’s been so long…here…in this room…alone without you, Travis. I’ve waited for this moment, this time.”

  She touched his ear, felt him quicken beneath her caress. “Hold me, love me…please,” her voice was strong, husky.

  Afraid she would lose her nerve if she did not keep moving, Kitty pushed herself around him, slid onto his lap, nervous, fluttering fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. His chest was strong, massive, covered with thick, curling hair which she wrapped around her dancing fingertips. Pressing her lips against his, she felt the tickle of his mustache, beard, her tongue darting into his mouth as he quietly yielded to her.

  Suddenly his fingers were snaking out to wrap into her hair, pulling her head back. In the orange glow of the lantern his eyes blazed like blue-red embers of coal. “So the lady needs pleasuring.” He smiled, half-taunting. “We wave a flag of truce to give each other what we want, is that it?”

  “Yes.” Her heart was pounding into her throat, blood coursing through her veins. It was an act, she told herself. She did not really want this horrible creature, but she had to pretend, had to make him think that she was beside herself with desire for him. Others died for the South, would it be so great a sacrifice for her to offer the enemy her body if it meant helping the cause? She could not believe it was wrong. She could not even believe that Nathan would frown upon it if he knew the cause was just and worthy.

  “Take me…” She slid her hand down his bare chest to his stomach, then lower, felt the bulging there that told her he wanted her, was yielding to the bait.

  The thin muslin dress tore easily beneath his snatching hand, her breasts tumbling forth eagerly. He touched one taut nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezed as his eyes searched hers for any sign of displeasure. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she gasped deep in her throat, thrusting her chest upward to offer him even more of her bosom to do with as he desired. He squeezed harder, and she moaned out loud. “You like it, don’t you, princess?” He sounded angry. “You like to be hurt, don’t you?”

  She could only moan as her body began to betray her with small flutters of involuntary pleasure beneath his hurting touch. With one quick movement he finished yanking the dress downward, ripping the material until she was completely naked there on his lap. His hands moved over her roughly, squeezing, bruising, lips moving to kiss, bite, probe, and torture.

  Suddenly he was on his feet, lifting her in his arms to carry her to the bed. Falling down beside her, he tugged at his trousers until she felt the raw, hot flesh of his manhood pressing against her thigh. “Now…” she moaned. “Oh, Travis, I love you…forgive me for all the unkind words I’ve spoken. I’ve loved you for so long…those horrible. days and nights when I feared you’d die, I prayed for the time to come when I had the courage to tell you how much I do love you.”

  He continued to caress her, burning the skin everywhere he touched. He found that nucleus of sensation that made her arch her body, a giant roaring beginning deep within her brain, the recesses of all pretense being dissolved as wind against the sky. “Beg for it,” he commanded harshly. “Beg, you vixen, and then beg some more…and I might pleasure you…”

  Had her body not been aflame with desire, had her senses not been parched beyond reason, perhaps she might have felt the smallest twinge of resentment at being forced to resort to begging that he take her. His lips danced along her body, making it quiver with tantalizing spasms of joy.

  Moving on top of her, he roughly used one knee to spread her legs apart. She felt the tip of his throbbing member touch that pinnacle of sensation. Her whole body shuddered. It was warm, throbbing, aching to get inside of her, and she began to move her hips beneath him, urging him onward, into her.

  He was no longer the enemy. He was no longer the arrogant, conceited Yankee officer that she had hated. He was a man, and she, a woman, and this was the way Nature meant for them to be together. It was not a part of a plan to catch him off guard, make him think she really and truly loved him so that he would think she had forgotten about her Confederate lover, the South, the war, all of it—this was another world, a reality that defied unreality, and yet none of it could actually be happening. This could not really be her—the Katherine Wright who once felt it only right to give her body inside the respectability of marriage—this was another woman, this she-devil who was thrusting hips so brazenly upward, vainly attempting to impale herself on the one above, who gave only so much, then withdrew to chuckle at the cries for more. Her nails dug into the flesh of his back as she screamed against his shoulder.

  And at last, when she thought surely death would come if he did not take her, there was the sweetness of penetration. The waves crashed against the shore with all the force and fury of the hurricane, and as the passion was spent, Kitty felt herself floating out with the tide, as helpless and weak as a wounded gull upon the surface of the now-calm waters.

  “I do love you, Travis,” she whispered against his perspiration-slick chest when she was able to find her voice. “I loved you a long time ago, but I was afraid you wouldn’t love me, too. War does strange things to people…”

  “Yes, it does,” he answered quietly, moving to his side to cradle her against his chest, still holding her tightly in his arms. “Kitty, I’ve waited for this moment so long.”

  A spark crackled within her. “Then you love me, too? Oh, Travis, I never dared to hope that you might love me, too, not after the way I’ve treated you, the way I talked to you…”

  “And what about the man you want to marry? Have you forgotten him so easily, Kitty?” Was he mocking her? She could not tell. His voice sounded strange, as though he were fencing with her. “And what about the Southern cause? How do you feel about that, Kitty? Do you now stand with the North? Do you turn your back on the Confederates to stand beside me as my woman?”

  “Oh, yes, of course, Travis.” She admonished herself for sounding too eager. Forcing herself to calm down, she said carefully, “Travis, I do love you. I fought it, I’ll admit, but it happened, and nothing else matters now except that we be together. Yes, I’ll stand with you—and the North. God as my witness, nothing matters but you.”

  She leaned forward, about to slip her hands around his neck and draw his face close to hers, kiss those slightly mocking lips as he gazed down at her. But he reached up quickly to knock her hands away, as his eyes turned to gleaming steel. “Oh, Kitty, did you think I was so stupid?” His voice was laughing, but he continued to look at her angrily, bitterly. “You’re quite an actress, but fortunately I’ve been around enough lying, cheating women that I’m not easily fooled.”

  “Fooled? I don’t understand. I told you…”

  “I know what you told me,” he snapped, shoving her roughly back on the bed. “I also know what you told that soldier in the next room.”

  “I told him nothing…” Her brain was spinning. He couldn’t have heard. The door had opened, and he had been standing there, and she was not talking loud enough to be heard all the way across the room and through the closed door.

  “Stop your lying! That soldier in the next room was a Yankee soldier, you little fool—a Federal—one of our men. I planted him there, to test your loyalty, which I figured you would sooner or later pledge w
hen you got hold of some information you thought was vital. And this is the first time I let you overhear something important. I wanted to test you, Kitty, because goddamn it, I was hoping you had changed. I guess I was hoping that you did care, just a little. You’re a beautiful woman, a desirable woman, and I’ve wanted to take you in my arms and love you since the first time I laid eyes on you—but I knew, damn your soul, that you couldn’t be trusted, but I had to prove it to myself—to Sam. He even thought you might’ve changed! I tried to tell him you hadn’t, but he’s more easily fooled than I am, much to your disadvantage.”

  Their eyes met and held, blazing defiantly. Kitty wanted to reach out and rake her nails into the flesh of his face as she had done to the skin on his back, but she checked herself. He was boiling inside, and in spite of her own anger, she knew he was capable in that moment of taking out his wrath physically. And she would be of no use to the Confederates, or to Nathan, if she were crippled or dead.

  He got up and began putting on his clothes.

  “What will you do with me now?” She spat out the words. “I suppose you’ve already murdered Andy. You probably cut his throat the first night you brought us here. Your kind…”

  “My kind!” He whipped his head around, one leg in his trousers as he balanced nakedly. “What the hell do you know about my kind? What do you think you are? You just begged me to make love to you—and now you look at me like I’m dirt! I don’t want to hear one more word out of you, Kitty. You keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, or so help me, I’ll turn you over to the first marauding bunch of soldiers I run up with—and not give a damn what they do with you. It was one thing when you were honest about your dislike for me and your committed loyalty to the South—that I could understand, and even respect, because it was your right to believe in what you chose to believe in. But to do what you just did, throw yourself at me just to make me believe you loved me so I’d turn my back and let you stick a knife in it…that, I can’t accept. You make me sick!”

  “And you make me sick!” She screamed and leaped off the bed, running for the window, yelling as loud as she could, “Help… Yankees… Help!”

  He dove for her, throwing his weight against her to send her slamming against the wall. Her head cracked against the mantle of the fireplace, and she crumpled silently to the floor.

  He felt her wrist. She was still alive, only dazed by the blow. There was the sound of alarmed voices outside. “Hey, what the hell’s going on up there?”

  “Somebody say something about Yankees?”

  “Get some soldiers up there…”

  Travis hurried to the window and peered out at the dozen or so faces peering up at him, angry and bewildered. He forced a laugh. “If you don’t pleasure a lady these days the way she wants it, she figures it’s a bigger insult to call you a Yankee than call you a son of a bitch!”

  He was relieved to hear a round a good-natured laughter. The crowd broke up, moved away. Behind him, the door opened and Sam hurried in. “Oh, boy, was that close. I just knew we had a fight on our hands…” His eyes went to Kitty, lying on the floor. He bent quickly, felt for her pulse as Travis watched silently. “She’s all right. We might better have a doctor check her over, though…”

  Travis walked over, lifted her in his arms, then placed her on the bed. He picked up the pitcher of water on the bedside table and threw it unceremoniously into her face. Kitty’s eyes flashed open as she sat straight up, shaking her head furiously and gasping as the water dripped down her face. Sam stood back, chuckling.

  “You get your clothes on, sweetheart,” Travis said slowly and evenly, “because we’re going to be riding out of here soon. Scream one more time, and so help me, God, the next one will come from that Rebel, Andy Shaw, because he’s right down the hall waiting for you, and I’ll kill him myself.”

  Dizzily, she got up from the bed and moved toward the pile of clothing Travis was pointing to. He watched her move, his thoughts whirling inside like a tornado—not knowing which way to go, but instinct saying motion must continue.

  Kitty had only been pretending. She did not love him, perhaps had not even wanted him. And he hated himself for not being able to decide whether he was glad—or sorry.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Travis Coltrane had led his band of men out of Richmond in the protective cloak of night. His intentions had been to ride ahead and warn the Federals of Lee’s plan, but they had not traveled far when they rode right into the Confederates’ attack at Mechanicsville, northeast of Richmond. Travis lost three men getting to his own lines, where he found General FitzJohn Porter, who was ably counterattacking. Once again, Kitty was deposited at a field hospital where she was thrust into the middle of the blood, gore, and suffering.

  “And what about Andy?” she had demanded of Travis when he turned her over to a Federal sergeant for close watch as she worked with the wounded.

  Travis had looked from her to the mop-haired youngster, then met her eyes steadily as he smiled. “I think we’ll just leave him here in your care, sweetheart. He can help with the sawing and burying.”

  His disappeared into the smoke and haze, the thunder of the big Napoleon guns roaring to swallow him in their wake. Kitty looked at Andy compassionately. “It’s not going to be pleasant, Andy.”

  “War never is, I reckon.” Suddenly he seemed much older than his fourteen years, Kitty realized. He sounded like an old, seasoned soldier as he said, “I went through a few skirmishes before Shiloh, Kitty, and I saw my friends and neighbors blown to bits. I held a few of them in my arms as they died. It’ll be a bitter bite to swallow, helping Yankees, but I reckon we ain’t got no choice.”

  The parade of death started. Kitty stood by assisting as a short, stocky Federal doctor decided what to cut and what to attempt to save. Soon the table—a board set up on barrels, was slick with blood. Andy quickly splashed water, then went back to digging the nearby trenches where the arms and legs would be buried.

  Outside, all around, the guns belched death. The ground shook ominously. Daylight faded to darkness and the guns quieted, but the work inside the Reid tents went on. Wearily, Kitty was grateful when a soldier handed her a tin of coffee and told her to take a short nap. Andy was waiting nearby, and together they walked out into the warm summer night. The smell of gunpowder and blood touched their nostrils, and the sounds of the anguished and dying filled the air against the night stillness.

  They found an empty spot, away from the rows and rows of bodies, beneath a birch tree. Sitting down with their coffee, Kitty looked about and shook her head worriedly. “Just think, Andy, my poppa might be out here somewhere, among all these wounded soldiers, and me not even know it. I feel like walking down the rows and searching for a man with a patch over his eye.”

  He followed her worried gaze. “Yep. He sure could be. The soldiers are spread out all over, fighting with any regiment that needs them. ‘Course there’s a lot of deserters, too. But somehow, once your father joined up, I can’t see him running away.”

  “He’d never do that.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, and then Kitty was aware that someone was calling to her. “You get in here,” the Yankee doctor said impatiently, pointing at her, “And you…” He looked at Andy. “Get your tail out there to where that soldier is waiting. They need you at one of the guns.”

  “Hell, no, I ain’t shooting at the Rebels,” Andy hooted, almost laughing at the absurdity of the order. “Those are my people out there, and I ain’t about to go a-shootin’ at them.”

  “You hear me, boy?” the doctor yelled, eyes blazing in his rage. “I said get your tail out there now.”

  Andy straightened, looking several inches taller all of a sudden, and in spite of the fear she felt for his refusal, Kitty was proud of him. “And I said,” Andy bit out the words, “I ain’t shootin’ at my own men.”

  The doctor’s hand lashed out, cracking him across the face. Andy stumbled backward, cursing, and Kitty saw the doctor reach
ing for a bloodied knife that lay on a nearby table. She jumped between them. “Don’t you dare! Both of you, stop it.”

  Just then Sam Bucher strode up, holding his bloodied left hand with his right. He was sort of slumped over, as though in pain, but after quickly appraising the situation at hand, he stood up straight and ground out the words, “Just what the hell is going on here? Doctor, why are you chasing this prisoner with a goddamned knife?”

  “I ordered him to get over to that Napoleon gun. They’re short on men. Two just got hit and died. This young upstart refused.”

  “I ain’t shootin’ at the Confederates.” Andy looked at Sam squarely. “You can go ahead and kill me right now, ‘cause…”

  To Kitty’s surprise, and relief, Sam laughed. “Well, I guess you’ve got more spunk than most Rebs I’ve run up against, Andy. Tell you what. We need some help. How about if you just help bring the wounded in from the field? Will you do that so Coltrane won’t have my head for not blowing your guts out this very minute?”

  Andy smiled. “I’ll help the wounded. If Kitty can do it, so can I.”

  “Thanks,” she said to Sam when Andy had disappeared into the smoke and noise that was starting up again as the night faded. “Andy’s a good boy, and he’s got maybe too much spirit. Travis would probably have killed him on the spot.”