don’t want her to miss a thing.”
“God!” she shouted, and shouted again before one of them stuffed a filthy rag into her mouth. It was hard for her to breathe then, and she was forced by the lack of air to control herself even as Josh’s scarred hands tore at her dress, ripping loose the bone buttons and metal clasps until she could feel the forest’s cool breath against her sweaty skin. He sighed, laughed, and tore the bodice of her undergarment until her breasts were freed. He pawed at them, squeezed them while his legs bunched her skirts up to her waist. She continued to buck, to writhe, hoping the hand that kept her wrists pinned would loosen its hold and her fingers could rake his face; but he was strong, too strong, and she had to be content with freeing one leg and kicking Bobbie in the groin before he could ward off the blow. He screamed and fell back, and Josh shook his head in near admiration as he laughed yet again.
Laughing! Cass thought as she thrashed her head from side to side; it was no more than a sport to him, like hounds and hare; she could tell it by his crooked grin as his free hand left her aching breasts and moved to loosen his breeches.
By the time he was ready, she had only her eyes to fend him off, to bear into his own glazed ones with a hatred that exploded into loathing as he rose, spat, lowered and entered her with a sadistically powerful thrust that brought from her a scream even through the gag that threatened to suffocate her.
Mercifully, the agony of body and mind dropped her into unconsciousness before Josh had done with her and it was Bobbie’s turn. And when it was finally over, when the three Confederates had taken out their fury at the Union army on one Northern woman, they trussed her, wrist and ankle, and threw her over the back of Josh’s horse as though she were a bedroll. She came around shortly afterward, only dimly aware of the knives of pain that continued to thrust unmercifully into her thighs, her stomach, only faintly understanding that she vomited several times until her stomach was empty and there was only agony left to tear through her raw throat. She thought of nothing—though a part of her rejoiced that she was still alive—and did not struggle against the waves of unconsciousness that washed over her periodically whenever her mind threatened to remember what had happened.
S ometime during the next few hours she realized through a nauseated haze that they had exchanged their horses for a small, closed carriage and had tossed her unceremoniously onto the floor. She lost track of the sun, and she was unable to see the countryside because they kept her on her back and had drawn the stiff, blue curtains over the tiny windows in the doors and sides. One of the three always sat on the rear seat above her, boots on her legs or stomach as though she were nothing more than a convenient footrest. By the second or third night she was dizzy from thirst and hunger, and she asked tightly for something to keep her alive. A smile nearly broke through her dried, cracked lips when the gag was finally removed and the man called Cal held a canteen to her mouth.
He was as she had imagined him to be, back in the forest: as young as the others and as dirty, but with a faint spark of kindness he could not keep from his deep hazel eyes, a spark that kindled in Cass the first glimmerings of hope.
“Slowly, ma’am,” he said when she choked on her first grateful swallow. “I know it’s a mite awkward, your bein’ like that and all, but it’s for your own good, you know.”
She drank again, more carefully, relishing the taste of the tepid liquid that settled uneasily in her stomach. She ached over every inch of her body, it seemed, but still she was wary enough not to complain. Despite her trancelike existence over the past two days or so, she knew they had not touched her again, and had even clumsily covered her nakedness with what remained of her dress. Not wishing to