Rachel kicked him in the shins.
“You spyin’ witch.” He raised his fist. “I’ll—”
Lucas sprang at the brute. The Confederate twisted away.
“I’ll nail your liver to a barn door,” the Rebel shouted.
Lucas grabbed him. The man twisted away, but not soon enough. Lucas struck him square across the jaw with skull-cracking force, driving the man into the mud.
The other men were upon Lucas. Fists flailed. Too many. Lucas was easy prey, pitted against greater numbers. He crouched and pivoted, roaring his rage and eluding brutal blows. He struck back with lightning force and savage punches. Lucas subdued each man that rose and fell upon him. Men sprawled across the ground unable to crush Lucas. He elbowed a man from behind with a vicious crack. The Rebel’s nose gushed forth with a shower of blood.
A Rebel surged forward, a knife in his hand. In a bizarre dance, Lucas and the Rebel circled each other, the man thrusting the razor-sharp blade. Rebels cheered and shouted. He swiped at Lucas’ head. Lucas reared back, missing the full plunge of the strike. Blood dripped from his temple. He shook his head to clear his eyes.
“You’re a dead man. We’ll draw straws to see who has your woman first.” The Rebel snarled and plunged forward.
Lucas blocked the blow, knocking the Rebel aside, and then Lucas twirled, caught the man’s arm and twisted upward. The man screamed. Limp at his side, his arm dangled. His knife fell with a thud to the ground.
More men rolled up from the camp and tackled Lucas. Sheer numbers, he could not stop. A gunshot fired in the air.
“Enough,” roared the Rebel captain.
Grappled by men, Lucas was stood up, and his arms tied behind his back. The wound on his head, a slight scratch, furrowed the flesh across his temple. The other men were bruised, bleeding or lay in agony with broken bones.
“Get down to business,” the captain said. Ropes soared over a stout tree branch. Pushed up onto prancing horses, nooses were flung around their necks. Rachel glanced at Lucas and her heart broke. A sigh of wind wended through the trees and ruffled his hair. She looked away, saw tiny points of light, lasting stars from the night ready to be chased away with the emerging sun. At least it wasn’t going to rain on her hanging day.
“Though we walk through the Valley of Death, we shall fear no evil,” chanted the captain, his bloodshot eyes, taking on a yellow hue. “What’s your name?”
“Captain Davis,” yelled the sergeant, “but he ain’t no officer.”
“They’re being punished because they got caught. You are listening to the Gospel according to Saint… I forget the Saint’s name. Thou shall steal, lie, spy all you can, but don’t get caught.” The captain laughed gleefully, and his men cheered him. Yankees were about to die and that gave them pleasure.
“Let her go, she has nothing to do with this war,” said Lucas.
The captain shrugged. “Dear, oh dear. Ain’t that sweet. All that brawling for nothing.”
Lucas’ horse danced nervously beneath him, and he kneed it closer to Rachel. The world around them grew smaller. Songbirds chirped merrily in the woods, the sound incongruous with the reality around them.
“You can be downright stubborn and independent at times for a woman. Too independent. Such independence I like. But limited.”
Rachel turned her head to Lucas. Despite their terrible situation, he was trying to make her laugh. She was unable to find the words for they were all balled up in her throat.
“I believe you’re the most intelligent and beautiful woman I have ever met. And then there is one more thing I need to tell you,” said Lucas.
“Oh, come on now,” the captain chided. “Do not delay our hospitality with sweet talk. Hang ’em!”
Rachel’s heart pounded. A man with food settled in his beard like a bird nestled in its nest, leered at her. “Too bad, Missy.” He moved in between their horses and raised his hands to slap the horses’ rumps. Rachel began to shake. Visions of her father haunted her.
A group of riders thundered up the road, mud cakes kicked up from the horses’ heels. Rachel’s horse panicked. The bristled rope burned against her neck. She clapped her knees into the horse’s flanks before it dashed from beneath her.
“Halt. What goes here?” ordered a Confederate Cavalry officer. He drew his horse up and held his gloved hand high.
“We picked up these spies, sir, crossing the river, and so far, they have not explained their presence in the area,” said the captain of the militia, spitting a long viscous stream of tobacco.
“You hang them like dogs without a trial? Take those ropes off and untie them,” commanded the cavalry captain. “When have we become so barbaric as to hang a woman?”
The militia captain pointed a rheumy finger at Rachel. “The woman was disguised as a slave. That’s explanation enough as far as I’m concerned.”
Lucas intervened. “She traveled like that for her protection. To protect her from lawless criminals such as these.”
