“I do so love war,” he sneered, his fingers playing on the hilt of his sword. “I really do love this war as it makes my blood run hotter.”
Her muscles tensed, remembering how she had humiliated him in front of his men, and the brutality this monster could inflict. He snickered, then set her bonds free. “I like my women to give me a little fight.”
Hoofbeats thudded in the distance. She dared to glance out the window, knowing any chance of help would have been with Jimmy’s escape. But Jimmy was dead and no one else knew of her whereabouts to come to her aid.
Ragged clouds moved to cover the moon and cloak its brightness. In defense, the moon rose free of its gauzy web and touched the tops of the trees with ghostly silver. A mounting wind keened about the house, then veered to stir the oak outside the window. Now stripped of leaves, its branches clawed the house.
A rider galloped through the trees, a rough silhouette illuminated by the waxing moon.
“My messenger,” Johnson furnished as he watched her, his delight at her nervousness evident. “He tells me every fifteen minutes if soldiers advance on us. So be rest assured, I will not be cheated of my time with you.” He poured himself a whiskey from a bottle on a table next to a large overstuffed chair and gulped it down in one swallow. He hissed through his teeth. “Ah. Now where were we?”
“We weren’t anywhere.” She circled the room, inching away from him, aware of any sudden move on his part. She’d fight him with every ounce of her strength. Her fingers brushed a window pane. How easy to throw up the sash and jump?
“I took the liberty of nailing the window shut, just in case you have thoughts to escape. The Saint seems to fly out windows.” He kicked up a three-legged stool, toying with her to produce greater fear, a sick game of power.
Stay confident, unafraid, anything to hold his violent inclinations at bay.
“You know what I did to a slave girl who dropped a cream pitcher on my trousers?”
She yawned, feigning boredom. “I can’t imagine.”
“I raped the bitch over and over to teach her a lesson. She dared to expire on me. Not one of them died that soon. So, I kicked her whole body until my boots were worn and bloody.”
He snickered again, and if reptiles could make such an insidious laugh, it would sound just as horrendous.
Rachel shivered. “What does your story have to do with me?” she said, stalling for time. Her gaze darted and she kept moving, always keeping something between them. There had to be a way out of this mess. Her heart panged. Simon was in Washington delivering messages, and she had drugged Lucas. How she wished she had listened to him.
“Once I got me and twelve-year-old girl slave. Itty-bitty thing. How I loved to hear her howl. I played with her for six months. Made her mama watch too. Her mama hollered pretty good too.”
With slow deliberate steps, she paced, forcing herself to appear unhurried, despite the pleasure he took regaling her with his sick deeds. Her palms sweated, and she stopped to strike a pose of avid interest. “Go on.”
“Up north, I met a real nice woman. Fancy. I plunked myself on her doorstep and refused to move, letting her know I was courting her. She looked like you. They all looked like you.”
“All?” She stared at him, the bowels of hell seen in his evil features. “You raped and killed them all?”
“The list is endless. They all looked like you, Rachel. Even the slaves had a hint of you.”
Good God!He carried a perverse torch for her. Rachel bit her lip, the salty taste of her blood palpable on her tongue. For the first time, she knew not what to do.Escape.Her only alternative. But somewhere outside were thirty Copperheads. Inside, she stood trapped with Johnson between her and the door and the guard in the kitchen. She scanned the room for something she could use as a weapon…a bed, a lantern, and the stool he sat on. Nothing.
She glanced out the window, considered smashing the glass to jump out, then through the cloying darkness, a furtive shadow moved from the tree line to the barn. If this was a cruel joke, if someone decided to torment her further…only, there it was again, just a hint of movement. Her heart slammed into her chest. She’d recognize his form anywhere.
Lucas!
He came for her. Oh, thank God, he came. A bud of hope blossomed inside.
“Captain Johnson, tell me how you learned I was the Saint.” She must sound unconcerned…delay…give Lucas time.
“Enough!” He snapped out of his morbid story trance and stalked over to her. He shoved his face directly in front of hers. His eyes gleamed, his lips thinned, then curled up in a sneer. “I want to hear you scream…to beg me.”
Lucas stopped next to the barn, hanging back, melting into the evening gloom, waiting for the two guards circling the edifice. The moonlight was on his side, casting long shadows from the house, his own outline melting into the evening silhouettes. He rammed his fist into the first guard, plowing him into the next, dispatching them both. Many of their numbers were meeting in the barn, near three dozen of them.
His gut tightened. He’d seen Johnson drag Rachel into the house. He could only imagine what abuse the monster planned and itched to get his hands on the bastard.
He dashed to the house, stepped onto the porch and edged to the window. One guard reclined next to a potbelly stove. Bending low, Lucas picked up a stone and hurled it at the door. His ruse was a good one. The guard unlocked the door and stuck his head out. Lucas rammed the muzzle of his gun underneath the man’s chin.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
