He grabbed her wrist before she could land another blow. She cried out as he squeezed her delicate bones together, then he pulled back a hand and struck her again. Stars flashed before her eyes. The barn became a black-edged blur; her head throbbed as if a million shards of glass pricked her skull. Tears came to her eyes.
“The worst kind of punishment comes to Northern sympathizers. I’m going to ram my cock in you until you beg me to stop.”
His weight pinned her, his fetid breath hot on her face…his hands were everywhere on her body. Rachel bucked beneath him, sobbing. She kicked and screamed, yet his coarse whiskey tongue licked her skin, his skeletal hands clawed her breasts. Pigeons flapped from their roosts. Her fingers knotted in his hair. She jerked with all her strength. “Let me go,” she screamed.
He tore at her skirts. “That’s right, beg me, Miss High and Mighty. When I’m done, I’m going to whip you. I’ll not mar the parts that can be visible. I’ll relish your scars beneath every time I take you to our marital bed.”
“No!” Fresh panic jolted her through her veins. Her hair loosened from its chignon, and tumbled, damp and tangled about her face, suffocating her. He raised his hand to send another blow.
Suddenly Johnson lifted up, his weight released and he flew across the barn, his head snapping against a vertical beam.
Rachel glanced up.Lucas.
Lucas’ eyes narrowed dangerously, a tic pulsed in his jaw.
“Colonel Rourke, we meet again,” Johnson said, never taking his eyes off Lucas. “My dear Rachel, my assumptions about your activities were correct. You must be involved with the Saint to have aided Colonel Rourke’s escape. Clever girl. I never thought you were as stupid as you pretended. You’re a traitor.”
Rachel pushed down her skirts, struggled to stand. A figure dashed behind Lucas. She shouted, “Behind you!” at the very time a soldier jammed his pistol against the back of Lucas’ head. The other soldier had come conscious again. She should have hit him harder.
“Let Colonel Rourke go,” Rachel pleaded. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll marry you.”
Johnson moved behind her, plucked a knife from his boot and held it at her throat. “I don’t need a harlot of the north as a wife.”
“You can have the plantation,” Rachel said. “I’ll sign it over. It’s all you ever wanted…you killed my father for it.”
“So, you know about that. I enjoyed hanging your father. He deserved it. And once you’re hung as a spy, you won’t have to sign papers of legal ownership. The property will be mine.”
“Let her go. You’ve got me,” Lucas said.
“I tip my hat to you, Colonel Rourke, a man with fine abilities, a dangerous enemy and a daring spy. For your reward, you can watch me sample her charms.” His knife pressed against her throat. Trickles of warm blood ran down her neck.
Slow and deliberate like a spider spinning its web was Johnson’s humiliation of her, his performance calibrated to provoke Lucas. His eyes darkened with barely controlled rage.
Johnson snorted. “The belle of Richmond has a predilection for the enemy. Before I get done with you, my sweet,” Johnson goaded, “you’ll tell me everything you know.”
Rachel signaled Lucas with her eyes, the guard distracted by the tableau. She kicked her leg back, at just the right angle, her heel smashing into Johnson’s kneecap with the same thrust she’d used to kick a water bucket. She felt the crack through her boot. Johnson went down. She pivoted sideways to avoid his knifepoint.
A shot went off. The other soldier dropped to the floor, blood pumped from his chest. Johnson grabbed her ankle, tripped her and she sprawled, skidding her palms against the stone.
Lucas dropped on Johnson, his hands encircling the Confederate captain’s neck, suffocating him, until he was pawing for air.
His coming death did not move her. He had murdered her father.
The sound of horses drummed up the drive. Rachel scrambled to a window. Sally melted into a cornfield. “Soldiers are coming. They must have heard the shot.”
“Damn. No time to take care of this cur.” He hissed, dispatching Johnson with a quick jab to the head. He tossed the rebel captain’s unconscious body into a pile of dung.
They raced to the house, a hairsbreadth before the riders galloped into the yard. Rachel opened the trap door of her desk and threw her notes and maps into the fireplace.
“Why did you do that?
“I don’t want to get caught with the evidence.” She tapped her head. “I have it all up here. I did tell you I have a photographic memory.”
There was shouting outside. She tore back the drape. Captain Johnson rose from the dark mouth of the barn, pointed to the house, an evil grimace shown on his face. The soldiers had surrounded the house and cut off all means of escape. Rachel watched in horror as they tossed torches onto the roof of her home.
Lucas yanked her from the window. “They plan to burn us alive. I want to keep you out of this. I’ll give myself up, perhaps they’ll go easy on you.”
Rachel raced up the stairs, and said, “You heard Johnson. You know what fate I’ll receive at his hands. As it stands, your and my corpse will be displayed as a monument to infamy.” In the rear of her armoire, she snatched a Confederate uniform. “We travel together or not at all. Now get this on and be quick about it.”
