Captured (7 page)

Her sarcasm did little to dim the fury in his eyes. “A team of men working together in battle has a chance to get away alive. A group of men fighting to save their own skins has none. If Hartwood wants to live long enough to see the end of this war, he’s got to learn to take orders the second they’re issued. Not when and if he damned well feels like it. If he’s smart enough to learn that, then he just may stay alive. That is, if someone like you doesn’t put it into his fool head that he can do whatever he pleases and get away with it.”

Pangs of guilt assailed Devon. Though she knew nothing about battles, there was an undeniable ring of truth to his words. Young, headstrong, impetuous—‌those had to be dangerous qualities to encourage in a boy heading off to war. And she was using Justin, if only to get a letter out. Perhaps even that one small act of defiance was too great a risk to ask him to take.

“There’s one other thing you should know,” Cole continued ruthlessly. “If Hartwood tries in any way to assist you in escape, I’ll see to it that he spends the remainder of his days in the stockades. I won’t like it, but I swear I’ll do it.”

One look at his harsh, chiseled features told her he wasn’t bluffing. “I see,” she replied coolly.

Cole dropped her arm. “Good.”

“If you’ve finished your speech, I believe I’ll retire to my chamber. I find the air up here has suddenly turned foul.”

Devon swept up her skirts and turned away, but her regal exit wasn’t meant to be. The deck suddenly gave way beneath her, and a horrid grinding roar filled in her ears. She fell hard, landing on her hands and knees. Behind her, Cole stumbled as well, but quickly righted himself. He peered over the side of the rail and let loose a string of expletives.

Stunned, Devon came awkwardly to her knees. She glanced around, watching as crewmen staggered up and rushed off to various positions on the ship. Urgent shouts filled the air. From the corner of her eye, she saw Cole’s hand reach out to assist her, but she impatiently brushed it away. “What happened?” she asked, rising on her own.

“We’ve hit a shoal.” He leaned against the rail, his arms crossed over his broad chest, looking both irritated and resigned at the same time. “We’re stuck here until the current lifts us, or until the captain organizes a party of men to hook up ropes and try to pull us out.”

Devon swiftly digested that bit of information. They could be trapped in the middle of the river for hours. It was a reprieve of sorts, if only she could figure how to turn it to her advantage. She stood beside Cole in silence, watching the pandemonium that surrounded them.

After a few minutes, a chagrined-looking Captain Gregory appeared. “It looks as though we’re in a bit of a mess, doesn’t it?” he said.

Devon listened as the two men discussed the situation. While Captain Gregory was older and held superior rank, he spoke to Cole almost deferentially, as though eager for his approval. Cole McRae had that effect on people, she noted. Men seemed to either leave him alone or bend and scrape just to please him. To his credit, McRae seemed to prefer the former to the latter.

“You know, I recall this very thing happened back in April,” Captain Gregory was saying, “when Lincoln himself was traveling down the Potomac to visit General McClellan. Ship hit a shoal, just like this one. And you know what Old Abe did? Why, he borrowed the captain’s bathing trunks and went for a swim. Right there in the middle of the Potomac. Don’t that beat all?”

As far as Devon was concerned, the president’s response was eminently sensible. Now that the gunboat had come to a dead stop, they’d lost what little breeze they’d enjoyed earlier. The sun was suddenly a scorching, burning force, the air thick and heavy with humidity. Perspiration gathered on her skin, leaving her longing for a cool dip in the river’s gently flowing currents.

She glanced at her captor, noting the way his shirt had begun to cling to his broad, powerful chest. Obviously he was feeling the effects of the weather as well. She considered suggesting that they follow Lincoln’s sage example, but quickly dismissed the idea. The thought of Cole frolicking in the water was too absurd for words. She doubted the man ever did anything simply because it felt good.

Devon frowned as she considered the heat. If it was this bad after only ten minutes, how would they tolerate it if they were stuck like this for ten hours?

As it turned out, she needn’t have worried.

A loud, booming roar shattered the silence. The first roar was followed by another, and then a shrill, piercing whine filled the air. Devon instinctively lifted her hands to cover her ears, a position that left her entirely unprepared for what happened next. Cole flung his body over hers, hitting her from behind in a rough tackle that brought them both crashing down. “Don’t move,” he grunted.

Move? With the weight of his body, two hundred pounds of rock-solid muscle, pressing her flat against the deck? She could barely breathe.

An explosion rocked the ship. Devon gasped, stifling the urge to scream. The shrill whine was louder now, coming directly at them. She felt Cole’s body tense on top of her. He pulled her arms down to her sides, covering her completely with himself.

The second explosion was deafening. The shell discharged only scant feet away, driving through the deck and spewing up red-hot timber in its wake. She heard a man shriek with pain, followed by the heavy sound of a body falling. Her heart came to a stop and then slammed against her chest, beating at three times its normal speed. The sharp, tinny rattle of musket fire rang out from all around them. Above her, Cole’s deep voice roared in her ears as he shouted out a command, but she couldn’t make out his words. There was movement, however, as men rushed to obey.

“Get ready,” Cole said, his breath fanning her neck.

Ready for what? She didn’t have time to ask. Devon felt his arm slide beneath her, locking around her waist. Cannon roared again, this time closer. It was one of the ship’s own, firing at the battery of Confederates who attacked from shore. She found herself lifted the instant the cannon went off and half-carried, half-dragged across the deck, Cole’s body the only shield between her and the Rebel artillery.

By some miracle, they managed to get across the deck. Cole made his way down the narrow stairs that led to her chamber. He flung her inside. “Stay here,” he ordered. He slammed the door shut behind him and was gone.

Devon sunk slowly onto her bed, too shocked to even think of disobeying. Though no more than thirty seconds had gone by from the time she heard the first shell fire and explode, it seemed a lifetime had passed.

Maybe it had. Her hands began to shake. Captain Gregory had been standing right beside them when the shell detonated. Was it his cry of pain she’d heard, his body that had fallen? And what about Justin? Where was he?

She even found herself worrying about her captor. Cole McRae was big, and likely the sort of man who would put himself in the middle of the fight. Wouldn’t that make him an easy target? Devon felt her stomach twist painfully at the thought, but didn’t bother to dissect her emotions. It didn’t matter why that image upset her, only that it did.

She listened to the clamor on deck, frantic to know what was happening. The men shouted to one another above the roar of battle. Commands were tossed back and forth. Minie balls and grapeshot pelted the outer walls, striking so rapidly it sounded more like fierce rain than artillery fire. She felt the engines grumble and strain beneath her feet, struggling in a desperate attempt to free the ship and gain maneuverability. It didn’t work. They were stuck, trapped in the middle of the river, a perfect target.

A new sound reached her ears. It took her a moment to recognize the heavy, dull rumble. The men must be dragging the guns from the starboard side to the port, where they could be put into play against the Rebs. No sooner had she identified the noise than a fierce blast rocked the ship, sending her flying against the wall. The explosion must have knocked the crewmen off-balance as well. The massive cannon they were pulling came loose, the wheels screeching as it careened across the deck. Devon heard it rumble back and forth until a second blast knocked her flat once more.

She listened in horror as the huge cannon crashed down the narrow flight of stairs that led from the deck to her chamber, sounding as though it was taking half the ship with it in its mad descent. Devon pressed herself flat against the far wall, the only position that might save her from being crushed by the deadly weight of the huge gun if it were to smash into her cabin. She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a little prayer as the cannon plunged and skidded. Bless us O Lord for these thy gifts which we are about to receive… Inappropriate maybe, but it was the only prayer she remembered.

The cannon lunged off the last step and came to a bone-jarring stop, slamming sideways against the thick door frame. Still shaking, Devon waited. Nothing happened. She slowly let out her breath. The battle raged on above her, but the cannon wasn’t moving. She crept cautiously toward the door and tried to edge it open, but the portal wouldn’t budge. The gun was lodged firmly sideways, blocking it. While the position had prevented the cannon from smashing through the entry, it also rendered her a virtual prisoner in her chamber until it was removed.

As she considered this fact, another blast rocked the hull, louder still than all previous explosions. A keen silence followed, then the desperate cry reached her ears, “Abandon ship!”

More shouts echoed the first. Devon listened to the sound of furious footsteps rushing back and forth and boats being lowered off the starboard side.

“Wait! Wait, I’m trapped!” she shouted through the overhead scuttle, knowing even as she did that her cries were useless. If the shouts of the men didn’t drown out her voice, the constant explosions would. They grew louder and more violent, culminating with a blast that knocked her off her feet once again and was followed by a piercing, screeching hiss. A shell had detonated, destroying the boiler. The impact knocked the ship sideways, finally freeing the hull, but it was too late. In a matter of minutes, maybe only seconds, the entire ship would go up in flames.

Devon threw herself against the door, pounding furiously. “Help! Someone! Let me out!” She lifted the small washbasin and threw it at the door. It crashed and then fell back, breaking in two. The door didn’t budge. “Help—”

“Blake!”

McRae. He’d come back for her. Relief nearly sent her to her knees. “I’m in here!” she screamed. “I can’t get out!”

“Wait there!”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up within her. Where was she going to go? She listened, but couldn’t hear him. Panic choked her voice. “Don’t leave me! Please!”

He returned within seconds. “Get away from the door. Get down,” he shouted.

She flung herself to the farthest corner of the room, curling up in a tight ball. He drove hard against the door, battering it with a thick wooden beam. The portal finally gave and shattered open above the body of the cannon.

Her captor was filthy. His clothing was torn, streaked with smoke, sweat making it cling to his body. A dark stain‌—‌blood?—seeped over his left thigh. His expression was fierce, his rugged features absolutely frightening. Devon had never been so glad to see anybody in her life.

She gave a cry of relief and raced unhesitatingly toward him. Cole grabbed her by the wrists and tossed her over the cannon. He was beside her instantly, wordlessly pulling her with him through a maze of dark passageways. The crewmen had vanished, but signs of the battle were all around. The ship tilted wildly, leaning dangerously to port. The air was thick with heat and smoke, choking her lungs and burning her eyes.

She didn’t understand how Cole managed to see anything, but somehow he did. He tugged her along, not slowing for an instant. When they reached the ship’s rail, Devon peered over the side and gasped. All the boats had been taken. She turned to him, intending to ask what they would do now, but had no time to form the words. Cole McRae picked her up and threw her overboard.

The ship exploded before she hit the water.

Blackness surrounded her. A sharp, throbbing pain started at the base of her spine and worked its way up. There was something else too. A noise. A voice, rather, one that was vaguely familiar and not at all welcome. It kept prodding her, insistent. Devon wanted to sleep, to make the pain and the voice go away, but she couldn’t. Resigned, she slowly opened her eyes.

Cole McRae leaned over her, his expression, as always, grim. His hands were locked on either side of her head, one powerful knee lodged between her skirts. His clothing, like her own, was soaking wet. Small beads of water dripped from his hair and onto her face. She watched his broad chest heave as he dragged in deep, painful gulps of air.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He sounded irritated. Either because he’d had to repeat the question several times now, or because she might not be all right, and what an inconvenience that would be. Devon gritted her teeth as everything came rushing back. And to think she’d worried about him.

Her annoyance dissolved as a flash of alarm raced through her. The ring. She’d forgotten about the ring. Her hand flew to her chest, feeling beneath the soaked bodice of her dress. Please, she prayed, she couldn’t have lost that. It was all she had left. The gold band was still there, tied securely with a bit of string and hanging from her neck. She let out a low sigh of relief.

“Dammit, woman, say something! Are you hurt?”

She slowly returned her attention to her captor. She knew what she needed to say, but getting out the three little words proved more difficult than she’d imagined. Her throat was raw, and just summoning her breath was an effort. Finally, however, she managed.

“Get… off… me.”

To her amazement, Cole’s mouth twisted into what might have been termed a grin. His deep brown eyes sparkled with golden light, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the dark, haunted shadows that normally sheathed his gaze. He rolled off her with a grunt, sprawling out next to her on the coarse, sandy bank.