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She heard the pounding hooves of the Yankee's horse in spite of the rain. The rider gained ground and approached the side of her mount.
"Rein in," he ordered, reaching over to snag the bridle. She kicked at his horse. He fell back.
She'd never make it off her own property with a man riding so close, but one hope remained. With steady hands, she reversed her direction and guided her mare toward the road leading to the plantation bell. One or two rings at this time of the night would not only alert her family, but also bring in every southern soldier within hearing distance.
Again, that Yankee appeared at her side.
Elizabeth slapped the reins against the mare's neck. The animal responded with a burst of speed. The bell stood a few hundred yards ahead.
The Yankee's mount kept pace with her mare. The animals pounded the ground, side by side, racing at a deadly speed. Nausea twisted Elizabeth's stomach as she tried to secure the reins and stay atop the mount.
"Rein in, I order you."
Riding abreast of her, the Yankee leaned over and reached for her, but she steered clear and raced past him. He caught up again, and before she could out maneuver him a second time, he snared her around the waist and plucked her clean off her saddle.
The reins ripped from her hands as her mount pounded on without her. The oil slicker slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground. She clawed at her captor's arms as he tossed her belly-down over his saddle.
"Hold still." He came to a halt. "Christ, are you trying to kill us both?"
"No, only you."
