Captured Read Online Free Page A

where she was back in Liverpool, in her element, Cole McRae was a man she wouldn’t have said so much as boo to, regardless of the money involved. But as the choice was not hers to make, the best she could do was to get away from him as quickly as possible.
    To that end, she scanned the crowded streets, looking for an opportunity. Despite the oppressive heat, they were surrounded on all sides by a maelstrom of activity. Messengers raced by on hot, sweaty mounts, dodging wagons, mules, and soldiers. Troops drilled to the north, filling the air with the sharp rattle of musketry. Just ahead, crates of foodstuffs and other provisions were being unloaded and carried into the general store.
    So immersed was she in taking in her surroundings that she paid no attention to their path until she felt a sharp rock cut between her toes. With a startled gasp, she came to an abrupt halt, despite the iron grip the captain still maintained on her arm. He stopped as well, scowling down at her. Devon ignored him and took another step, only to feel more sharp rocks sting the soles of her feet. Much to her dismay, she noted that the smooth clay pavement they’d been on had slowly given way to a rough, rocky road as they neared the docks.
    Before she could move again, he grabbed a handful of her skirt and tugged it aside to reveal her filthy, bare feet and dirty ankles. Humiliation swept over her, along with a healthy dose of anger. She yanked the thin fabric of her gown out of his hands. “Just what do you think—”
    “Where are your shoes?” he demanded. There was an unmistakable accusation to his tone, as if she’d deliberately chosen to shame and debase herself by running through the streets barefoot.
    “Sergeant Coombs has doubtless sold them by now,” Devon replied, bringing up her chin. “Apparently I’m considered far too grave a danger to the U.S. Army to be allowed the privilege of footwear.”
    “The only danger you pose, Madame,” he returned coolly, “is to yourself, unless you learn to control that tongue of yours.”
    “Oh, dear. Another threat. I suppose I shall have to begin writing them all down, lest I forget one.” Pleased at having gotten the last word, she turned and started walking, refusing to show the slightest hint of discomfort as the brittle rocks and pebbles bit into the soles of her feet.
    Unfortunately her show of stubborn bravado was wasted on Captain McRae. Before she could guess what he was about, he grabbed her around the knees and tossed her over his shoulder like so much unwanted baggage, not even breaking his stride. Devon made no attempt to silence her cry of outrage. She beat her fists furiously against his back, demanding he release her. When that failed, she squirmed sideways in his grasp, threatening to bite off half his ear.
    Her struggles drew a crowd of amused onlookers, whose bawdy shouts merely increased her fury. “Put me down this instant,” she hissed, her voice dripping venom, “or I swear I’ll…” She paused, searching for another suitable threat, when a rough bellow from the crowd caught her attention.
    “Here now, what’s going on?”
    Devon leveraged herself up as best she could, peering around the captain’s shoulder. Her anger disappeared like gin at a drunkard’s table, replaced by an overwhelming surge of giddy triumph. Her luck had finally changed.
    The town blacksmith, drawn out of his shop by all the commotion, stood squarely in front of them, blocking their path. The man’s upper torso was naked beneath his apron, his huge body dripping with sweat from his labors. He held a twisted piece of iron in one hand and a heavy anvil in the other. Devon, glancing at the size of his thick arms, wondered if he bothered to work the metal over a fire, as most blacksmiths did, or simply bent it in half with his bare hands.
    No matter. In either case, he was surely capable of knocking the stuffing out of the high-handed Captain McRae. The only pity was that she wasn’t