"Son of a bitch!" Justin swore. He reached for Shannon.
She couldn't escape him quickly enough and he dragged her to her feet. She screamed as he twisted her arm hard behind her back.
"Justin—" Jesse began.
"That bitch meant to kill me!"
"Don't hurt her. We don't know what we're doing with her yet."
"I know what I'm gonna do with her," Justin growled savagely. His free hand played over her throat and the rise of her breasts, which had been left bare when the Red Legs had ripped her shirt. The little pink flowers and white linen of her corset were absurdly delicate against the tattered fragments of the man's ranch shirt.
Shannon recoiled, kicking out desperately. Justin pulled harder upon her arm and she choked back another scream of pain. He pressed her to her knees. "Get me some rope, Jesse. I'm too damned tired to truly enjoy what I intend to do with this little beauty. And she can't be trusted an inch."
Jesse lifted a length of rope from his saddle pommel, but he stared at Justin contemplatively as he walked toward him. "We ain't decided about her yet, Justin."
"We ain't decided what?" Justin had his knee in Shannon's back as he looped the rope around her wrists.
She gritted her teeth against the pain.
"She's kin to Cole Slater," Jesse said softly. "And I never did cotton to the idea of rape and murder, Justin."
"You rode with Quantrill."
"Quantrill didn't murder women."
"All right, Jesse. All right. I ain't gonna murder her."
"You're right, you ain't. I'm in control here."
"War's over, Jesse."
"I'm still in control here, you understand that."
Justin jerked hard on the rope, then shoved Shannon flat on the ground. She tasted dirt as he grasped her ankles and began looping a knot around them.
"Maybe we oughta just let her go," one of the light-haired men said. "Hell, Justin, we ain't supposed to rape our own kind—"
"She ain't our own kind. And if we just let her go, she'll have the law down on us so fast our heads will spin. That is, if she doesn't get hold of another gun. She shot at me, you fools. She meant to kill me. And you all say what you want, she's going to pay for that."
He jerked hard on the last of his knots. He reached for Shannon's shoulders and dragged her face up close to his. "Bitch, when I wake up, we're going to have some real, real fun."
Shannon spit at him.
Swearing, he wiped his face and tossed her down hard beneath the tree. He stared at the four others, who were looking his way. "And you all can watch, join in or turn the other way, I just don't give a damn."
Shannon watched Jesse James set his jaw hard. "I'm in control here, Justin. We agreed. Don't you forget that."
Justin ignored Jesse and went to his horse. He loosened his saddle and pulled it off and threw it beneath the tree next to Shannon. He fumbled through his saddlebags for a canteen. Looking furiously at the other men, he walked down a grassy slope to the fresh-running spring water of a stream.
"Water," Frank James muttered, following Justin.
Jesse remained, staring at Shannon. She didn't know what he was thinking. "Lots of people lost in this war," he told her quietly. "Hell, ma'am, I do not like half the things I learned to do, but I doubt that I'll ever forget them. We all want to remember the weddings and the christenings and the flowers in the fields on a Sunday. Hell, I never really wanted to get so damned good at killing. I just did." He paused. "You shouldn'ta shot at Justin. It was a mistake."
"He's an animal. He was there—at Centralia. You heard him."
"You still shouldn't have tried to kill him. You got his temper up way high."
He turned away from her. Justin was back, drinking water from his canteen. It spilled over his face and trickled down his jaw. It reminded Shannon just how desperately thirsty she was. He stared at her, and she saw he knew of her thirst. He smiled and drank more deeply.
She wasn't going to beg. Not of a man like that.
Frank James was back by then, too. He was drinking from a wooden Confederate-issue canteen with his initials engraved into the wood. He looked at her, then knelt by her, lifting her head.
"Don't give her no water!" Justin said irritably. "I'll give it to her." He smiled, nudging at Shannon's rump with an evil leer. "If she's good, if she's real good, she'll get some water. You'll see, my friends. Old Justin knows how to take a Yankee shrew."
Frank ignored him, lifting Shannon's head, allowing a trickle of water to cool her face and seep into her mouth. She drank it thirstily.
"Frank!" Justin swore.
Frank told Justin what he should do with himself, and Justin jumped to his feet. Shannon watched the two men with interest, her heart thundering. If they would just rip each other to shreds…
Jesse, who was now leaning against the tree, paring off a bite of dried beef from a strip he'd taken from his saddlebags, spoke sarcastically. "That's good, you two. Real good. Kill each other. She's enjoying every minute of it."
Both men stopped. They stared at her.
"Let's all get some sleep," Jesse said. "You want her that bad, Justin, the girl's yours. But don't kill her. I ain't no murderer of women and children, and I ain't ever gonna be."
He stretched out on the ground, leaning his head upon his saddle. Frank swore and chose another tree.
The two light-haired men found their own shade, and Justin smiled as he settled down beside Shannon. She stared at him, her face against the earth, hating him. He laughed and reached out, slipping his arm around her, twisting her over and pulling her close against him. She squirmed and struggled, choking on the tears that threatened to stream down her face. "Bastard, I swear I'd just as soon die!" she hissed vehemently.
Justin laughed at her futile efforts. Tied hand and foot as she was, she wasn't going to do anything.
His hand hooked beneath her breasts as he pulled her against his chest and the curve of his body. His fingers played over her breasts and rested there. He whispered against her ear. "Just a few hours of sleep, honey. I apologize for being so exhausted. But just a little bit of sleep…I wouldn't want to disappoint you. I want to hear you scream and scream and scream…" Laughing again, he leaned his head back against his saddle, seeking sleep.
Shannon closed her eyes and set her teeth. She gave him time to fall asleep, then tried to edge away from him.
His hand tightened around her like a clamp. "Not on your life, my golden Yank. Not on your life." His fingers moved through her hair. Shannon held her breath, praying that he would stop.
He did. He dug into his saddlebags for another length of rope and grimly tied her wrists to his own. Shannon watched him in bitter silence. When he was done, he smiled and touched her cheek. "You're a beautiful Yank-lover, you know that?"
She ignored him. He lay down to sleep again, chuckling.
Shannon lay awake in misery until absolute exhaustion overwhelmed her. Despite her hunger and thirst and discomfort, she closed her eyes, and sleep claimed her.
To the best of Malachi's knowledge, there was no one on the lookout for the James boys.
But they were riding as if their lives depended on getting into the heart of Missouri just as fast as possible.
And they were hard to track. By the time he'd reached his bay and found Shannon's big black gelding, the raiders were already well ahead of him.
And they knew where they were going. Thank God they had turned southward, deeper into Missouri. It was land he knew. If he hadn't been accustomed to the terrain, he'd never have managed to follow them. They cut a course right through forest lands, knowing unerringly where they could take shortcuts and pick up roads again and disappear back into the forests again.
By midmorning he realized that they were following the course of a small stream. Malachi stuck with it.
He was exhausted. His leg was aching, and he was afraid that the fever might be searing through him again. An hour's worth of sleep just might make it a bit better…
&nbs
p; But he didn't dare take an hour. He knew Frank and Jesse James only slightly. He'd met them once in the short time that Cole had ridden with Quantrill, and he'd found them to be reckless, sometimes ruthless kids. He thought it might be the Younger brothers traveling with them, another set of reckless youths.
He didn't think that the James boys were especially cruel or brutal. They were still sane, at least, he thought. Like the Younger brothers. They were probably still sane, if nothing else.
But the other man…
His name was Justin. Malachi knew who he was. Cole had seen him in action early on in the war, and the malice with which the man killed and the pleasure he took from his brutal actions had turned Cole away from Quantrill's gang completely.
But to the most decent bushwhacker out there, Shannon would be quite a tonic to swallow. And she wouldn't keep quiet. She wouldn't be able to do so. He had already heard her ranting and raving.
He didn't have time to rest, not for ten damn minutes.
He paused only to give the horses water, and to douse himself with it, and drink deeply. He chewed on the dried meat he had brought, and swallowed some of the liquor Shannon had packed him. It was good, and it helped to keep the pain in his leg at bay.
It was almost night again when he came upon them at last.
He was still a little distance away when he saw the horses grouped in the trees. There were no cooking fires laid out in the camp; in fact, it was barely a camp at all. The bushwhackers had merely stopped along the road.
Malachi was pretty sure that he'd be able to reason with the men; hell, at least they had obstensibly fought on the same side. But the war had taught him to take nothing for granted, so he dismounted from the bay and tethered her with the black gelding some distance down the stream from the raiders. Then he approached them again in silence, coming close enough this time to see the layout in the camp.
They must have been sure of themselves; very sure. No one was left on guard. Each and every one of the bushwhackers was curled up, sound asleep.
Or maybe they weren't so sound asleep. Men like that learned to sleep differently, with one eye open. If a fly buzzed through that camp, the men would probably be aware of it. He'd be a fool to go sneaking in, no matter how silently he could manage it.
And as he had suspected, Shannon was in trouble.
The Younger brothers were stretched out in front of an oak; the others were all laid out beneath other trees, thirty yards apart, and perhaps fifty yards up the grassy slope from the stream.
Shannon was bound hand and foot, and tied to Justin.
He swore inwardly, thinking she must have fought them tooth and nail, because she seemed to have lost Jesse's protection. Jesse, like many other bushwhackers, despite their savagery, still put Southern womanhood on a pedestal. If she had just kept her mouth closed and acted out the part of the Southern belle…
But she hadn't.
Sweat broke out on Malachi's forehead and his hands went clammy as he watched her. She was pale and smudged with dirt, but even so, her features retained their angelic beauty, and her tangled hair swept around her face like a glorious halo. Where the sun fell upon it her hair glowed like golden fire.
She was tied to Justin—but at least she was decently clad. She seemed to sleep the sleep of the dead, but even in that sleep, it seemed she strained with all her heart against the man holding her prisoner.
He hadn't touched her yet. Justin hadn't touched her, Mal-achi assured himself. But he. meant to do so.
At the periphery of the circle, Malachi inhaled and exhaled deeply, deciding what plan of action to take. He could try shooting them all, but the bushwhackers were damned good shots, and if he didn't kill Justin right away, he was certain that Justin would kill Shannon for the pure pleasure of it
No. This wasn't the time to go in blazing away. He needed to play diplomat.
He stood at the periphery of the camp, his saber and his pistols at his side, but his arms relaxed. "Jesse. Jesse James!" he called out sharply.
They moved as one. As soon as he called out, the five of them were awake, staring at him down the length of their Colts and revolvers.
He lifted his hands. He saw five pairs of eyes look over his gray uniform jacket.
By the tree, Jesse stood.
"Malachi!" Shannon called out. "Malachi!" She struggled to rise. Justin jerked on the rope and clamped his hand hard over her mouth.
Malachi nodded toward Justin, trying to burn a message into Shannon's fool head with the strength of his eyes.
"Hey! It's the fool Reb who was taking on the whole of that Red Legs camp by himself!" One of the Younger brothers called out.
"Malachi. Malachi Slater," Jesse said. He walked forward, wary still, but a smile on his face. "You're Cole Slater's brother, right? Hey, they got a whole pack of wanted posters out on you, did you know that?"
"Yeah, I know it. But thanks for the warning."
"What are you doing here about? Heading south? It might be best if you were to take a hike into Mexico."
"Well," Malachi said, "I can't rightly do that yet, you know. I got to tie up with my brothers somewhere. And the Red Legs have got Cole's wife. That's what was going on when you fellows showed up there today. Those men report to a man named Hayden Fitz, and he wants my brother dead. We Slaters stick together; I can't leave yet."
One of the Younger brothers stood up. "Hey, Captain Slater. I seen Jamie. About two weeks ago. He knows about the posters, and he's making his way south. Thought you ought to know."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot. That's real good to hear."
Malachi smiled at the Younger brothers, then turned his eyes on Justin. He strode across the clearing between the trees and lowered himself down on the balls of his feet, staring straight into Justin's eyes.
"I've come for her."
"Well, now, Captain Slater, I'm rightly sorry. She's mine."
Shannon bit his hand. Justin let out a yelp, freeing her mouth, bringing his sore palm to his own mouth.
"Malachi—"
"Shut up, Shannon."
"Malachi—"
"Shut up, Shannon," he said again, smiling with clenched teeth. He stunned her by sending her a smart slap right across the face. She gasped. Tears that she would never shed brightened the blue beauty of her eyes.
"Justin, I don't prowl the countryside for just any woman. This one is mine. We're engaged to be married."
Shannon gasped, and Malachi glared at her.
Justin laughed crudely. "That won't wash, captain. That won't wash one little bit. I know all about this feisty little Yank lover. She hates Rebs. I don't think she even knows the difference between the bushwhackers and the regular army, captain. She just hates Rebs. I thought that I should give her a good taste of Johnny Reb, how about that, captain?"
There was no respect in his tone. There was an underlying hint of violence.
"She'll get a good taste of Reb. She's my fiancee, and I want her back now."
Malachi leaned across Justin with his knife and quickly slit the ropes holding Shannon down. She leaped to her feet, rubbing her wrists, and ran behind him. Malachi stood quickly as Justin leaped to his feet. The men stared at one another.
Malachi reached his hand behind him. "Come here, Shannon. Shannon—darlin'!—get your sweet…soul over here, ya hear?"
He grabbed her hand and jerked her up beside him. "Tell them, darlin'."
"What?" she whispered desperately.
"Tell them that you don't hate all Rebs."
She was silent. He sensed the turmoil in her, even as he breathed in the soft sweet scent of her perfume, still clinging to her despite the dirt that smudged her face.
He was ready to strangle her himself.
"Tell them!"
"I—" She was choking on the words, really choking on them. "I—I don't hate all Rebs."
"She ain't your fiancee!" Frank James said.
"She is!" Malachi insisted, his frustration growing. He swung Shannon around, none
too gently, and brought her into his arms. "Darlin'!" he exclaimed, and he pulled her close. He stared into her sky-blue eyes, his own on fire.
Her eyes widened; it seemed that at last that she had discovered her own predicament, and realized that her freedom might well hinge on her ability to act.
"Yes! Yes!" She threw her arms around him. Her breasts pressed hard against his chest and her fingers played with the hair at his nape.
And her lips came full and soft and crushing against his.
There was a curious audience before them, and their very lives were hanging in the balance.
And at that instance, it didn't seem to matter.
He locked his arms around her, setting his hands upon the small of her back and bringing the whole of her body hard against his. His lips parted over hers, and in the breath of a second, he found himself the aggressor, heedless of the men watching. He thrust his tongue deep into the sweet crevice of her mouth, feeling the warmth and fever of her reach out and invade him. He held her tighter and tighter, and raped her mouth with the sheer demand of his own. The tension of it seared into the fullness of his body. Then she brought her hands between them, pressing hard against his chest, and he finally lifted his lips from hers, and stared into her wide, startled and glimmering eyes.
Glimmering…with fury, he thought. He only prayed that she had the sense to keep silent until they were away.
If they did get away.
One of the Younger brothers laughed. "Hot damn, but I believe him. That was one of the most sultry kisses I've ever seen. Set me burning for a bit o' lovin', that's for sure."
Shannon's lashes fell over her eyes. Malachi heard her teeth grate together as he swept her around him. "Jesse, she's mine. And I'm taking her."
"You got my go ahead," Jesse said. "Frank?"
Frank shrugged. "The man is still wearing a gray uniform, and he says that the girl is his. Guess it must be so."
There was a sound like a growl from Justin. "Well, captain, I don't say that it's so. The girl tried to kill me. I got a score to settle with her."
"She tried to kill you?" Malachi repeated, playing for time. He didn't doubt one bit that Shannon had tried to kill any of them.
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