Free Underground Captive by Elisabeth-Cristine Analise

aristocracy.  That will never happen."
                       "How do ye know?  I tell ye, yer bloody way of life is bound to come crashing down about yer heads--"
                       "You don't know what you speak of, Jared," Nicollette interrupted icily.  "If only people like you would leave us in peace.  This is our way.  You're an outsider and it's none of your damned business how we live.  If you don't like it, you can just go the hell back where you came from!"
                       Jared arched an eyebrow, ignoring her tirade.  "Are ye one of those radicals who would want secession if yer beloved South is not left to do as it pleases?"
    " Oui , but we are not radicals--"
                       "I'd expect such from a man, but for ye to be so radical and a female--"
                       "Are you one of those men who expect a woman not to have an opinion?"
                       "Nay, Nicollette," Jared assured her, his tone thawing.  "To the contrary, I think a woman should speak her mind.  I especially know that ye will and I admire that."
                       Nicki thought of Monsieur Lincoln.  He made a lot of people recognize him with that rousing acceptance speech he gave when he was nominated as the Republican candidate in the Senate race.  "A house divided against itself cannot stand...." he'd said.
                       If Northern interference didn't cease, the wisest move for the South would be withdrawing from the Union.  Nicollette agreed with one of Monsieur Lincoln's assumptions.  The nation couldn't continue to be half-slave and half-free.  But Nicollette was sure the South could stand alone.
                       They came to a grassy clearing with a solitary oak, standing straight and majestic near the side of the road.  Dismounting, they led their horses to the shade of the tree and stood looking out beyond the clearing to the river's edge.
    "From a moral standpoint, I suppose slavery is wrong, Jared," Nicollette
    half-heartedly conceded, turning to face him.  "But it is something most people here feel strongly about. You'll find us strangely civilized.  We do care about them."
                       "Ye actually believe what ye're saying?"
                       "That is what I've been brought up to believe."
    Nicollette's voice had taken on a hint of huskiness, heightening
    her appeal.  Swinging around to face her, he glanced down at her.  His expression was unreadable.  "That's what ye've been brought up to believe ye say.  Ye actually believe slavers are civilized despite the immorality of it.”
                       Ignoring Nicollette’s reproving look. Jared looked across the land without responding right away.  Its beauty was unmatched.  Even Scotland could not compete with it.  And Scotland, especially his beloved Highlands, had some of the most beautiful landscape in the world.  He felt suddenly nostalgic.  It had been six years since he last set foot on Scottish soil--the year his father died.  He had always pictured Patricia in Scotland as mistress of Lismore Castle, but he realized she would have been out of place there.
                       She was a Bostonian.  A very correct and proper Boston lady.  She was no match for New Orleans, though she had put her heart and soul into the effort.  Had she stayed in Boston she would still be alive.  Perhaps his wild, beautiful, untamed Scotland would have been cause also for her early death.  But this daring, acid-tongued young Creole beauty would be bold and hearty enough to take on any challenge.
                       He immediately reproached himself.  How could he even think of taking
    the sister of his wife's murderer to Scotland as mistress of his home?  He must not forget his quest.  He must not