Harlot at the Homestead

by Molly Ann Wishlade

  When he had reined in his emotions, he looked at her face. Her eyes glistened with tears like green pools freshly filled in a rainstorm.

  “I’m so sorry, Kenan. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  He glanced around the room. Rosie was darning socks at the fireside now, attempting to give them some time to talk.

  “Hurt me?” He frowned at the understatement.

  “Well, yes…” She wrung her hands together on the table top. “I know that I’ve hurt you.”

  “You think that you hurt me, huh?” He sniffed. “Your uncle and aunt told me that you were dead, Catherine. Dead… Murdered by Indians, most likely the Sioux, on your way back from purchasing material for your wedding gown.”

  “For our wedding.”

  “But they lied.”

  “They did,” she whispered. “It was wrong of them but please don’t blame them…they had their reasons.”

  Kenan fought the urge to tell her exactly what he would do when he got hold of her uncle, reasons or not.

  “So are you gonna explain? Or keep me hanging around for another two years so I can really feel the ache in my heart start to drain away my will to live?”

  She stretched a trembling hand across the table toward him, the movement causing her sleeve to ride up her arm. He shivered as her cold fingertips met his skin and he swallowed hard to suppress the emotion rising in his throat.

  Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist.

  “What in God’s name is that?”

  Chapter Two

  Catherine tried to pull her arm away but Kenan’s grip was too powerful. She struggled for a moment but he held on and the movement hurt. So, she gave in and slumped against the table. The wood was unforgiving beneath her breasts and she had to spread her legs to maintain her balance. Though she knew that the timing was wrong, she felt the flame of arousal flickering inside. The heat of Kenan’s grip, the pressure against her hardening nipples and her open thighs, all combined to ignite her desire. She wished that she could clamber over the table top and cover his mouth with her own, push her tongue against his and run her hands through his thick, dark hair. It had been a long time since she’d felt such strong desire.

  “What are these marks, Catherine?” He dragged her back to reality.

  She tried to read his eyes—not so mad at her now but clearly confused.

  She lifted her chin. “I burnt my arm on the stove.”

  “On the stove, huh? What”—he held her fast in one hand and ran the forefinger of the other over the scars—“ten, maybe twelve times?”

  Heat filled her cheeks and she looked down at the table.

  “Let me see the other arm.”

  She considered refusing but what would be the point?

  He pushed up her sleeve and his touch made her jump as if a lightning bolt had struck her. Her heartbeat quickened and her body stirred like the creek bed when the first rains came. Kenan still roused her passion and though her mind screamed with fear at the idea of him discovering her secrets, her body responded to him, yearned for him, needed him. If only he’d gather her into his arms and press her against his chest, hold her close like he used to do.

  “This one’s worse, Catherine.” He ran his finger over the red welts then gently released her, watching as she pulled her sleeves down. “What happened to you?” His tone was gentler now as if he sensed some of what she’d endured. But she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone. It was awful and she was ashamed.

  “I was told that you were dead.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Why would they lie unless…they had something to hide?”

  She squirmed on the bench. He wasn’t going to be fobbed off.

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  She bit her lip.

  “Where did you go?”

  Her stomach churned and she forced herself to meet his eyes.

  “Catherine, if you’re embarrassed…and your aunt and uncle were too…then you must have done something wrong.” His words pierced her heart like an arrow.

  He believed that she was to blame, just like her uncle had said he would.

  “Did you run off with someone and your folks tried to hide their shame by telling me you was dead?”

  The tears in her eyes brimmed over and trickled down her hot cheeks.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” he demanded. “You ran off with a man.”

  She watched helplessly as his anger took him farther away from her.

  “You’re nothing more than a harlot, Catherine Montgomery. You made me believe you loved me then you ran off with another man and your folks were so ashamed they had to make up some story about the Indians taking you.”

  She shook her head, the tears running down her chin and dripping onto her chest.

  “Well explain it to me then.” He stood, scraping the bench backwards as he did so.

  “I can’t,” she choked out, hugging herself now as protection against his fury.

  “I thought you were dead.” His eyes were wide and wild. A lock of his dark hair tumbled over his forehead and she fought the urge to jump up and smooth it back.

  Rosie appeared at Catherine’s side and she rested her hands on the younger woman’s shoulders.

  “Kenan!” Her voice bore the assurance of the woman of the house. “This won’t do any good. She’s exhausted. Can’t you see she’s been through an ordeal?”

  “An ordeal of her own making.” He thumped the table with his fists. “I have grieved for you for two whole years, so smitten with you that I couldn’t even look at another woman properly, let alone think of taking one to wife. No one could hold a candle to ya. It hurt so bad that even when I was full as a tick, I couldn’t shake off your memory. And then you waltz back into my life, my home, my family…as if nothing ever happened.”

  He stepped over the bench and glared at her, making her heart lurch.

  “Please, Kenan…” she proffered her shaking hands toward him. “Please don’t be so mad at me.”

  “I want nothing to do with you. Nothing.” He glared at her and when he spoke again his voice was dangerously low. “You can get yourself some rest for a few days but soon as you feel better, I want you out of here before anyone finds out. I’ll not have people saying that the Duggans are the type of family to tolerate a harlot at their homestead.”

  Catherine watched, as powerless as a newborn foal, as he stormed off into the night, banging the door behind him. She sat still, frozen in time, listening carefully to the tearing of the seams at the edges of her composure. One by one, they unpicked until the grief came tumbling out and she hunched over her knees, surrendering to sobs that rendered her breathless. The guilt, the pain and the anguish came flooding out of her and she submitted to them all, no longer forced to suppress them.

  Rosie rubbed her back and stroked her hair, then enveloped Catherine in her arms. The tender act brought more tears and Catherine cried until she was empty and her eyes were sore and swollen.

  “He doesn’t mean it, Catherine. He’s just shocked to see you again is all. It’s an enormous shock for him…for every one of us.”

  Catherine looked up and wiped her sleeve across her face.

  “He’ll never forgive me, Rosie.”

  Kenan’s sister reached out and smoothed the hair from Catherine’s face then took hold of her hands.

  “Maybe not, Catherine, maybe not. Give him time and let him make up his own mind. But you’ll have to be honest with him. A man and woman can’t base a relationship on lies. You may never find the innocence of the love you had before but you may be able to salvage something. Even if it’s just friendship. But you must tell him what really happened.”

  Catherine’s eyes filled up again and she struggled against the choking pain in her throat. Tell him what really happened? That could never be. He was convinced that she was a harlot, that she’d willingly betrayed him. And in a way she had.

  Kenan strode into the black night, oblivious
to the rain that pelted his body, soaking him instantly and causing his clothing to cling to his skin. He walked right out of the gate and onto the path that led to the surrounding land then he began circling the perimeter fence. He took long strides, his pace increasing his heartbeat and forcing him to breathe quickly.

  Darn it, he was so mad he was knocked galley west and he didn’t know how in the hell he was going to recover. How could this have happened? He’d tried so hard to accept that Catherine was gone and now here she was, all pretty, sweet and vulnerable and he was likely to end up in a hoosegow if he didn’t master his emotions.

  He was horrified that she’d been hurt. Those marks on her arms had turned his stomach. He’d battled the anger within him since the day he’d been told of her disappearance and done his best to squash it down but every time a memory had surfaced or a nightmare had tortured him, he’d been all churned up again. Catherine had been the woman he was meant to protect, but he had failed.

  Or he’d thought he had. Each time he’d followed what seemed to be a fresh lead in his continued search for her, it had come to a dead end and he’d finally been persuaded to give up. But he’d never stopped thinking about her.

  Now it seemed that she’d actually made a choice and left him. Sure, she seemed ashamed of her scars but she’d been in no rush to explain them to him either. Maybe she’d gotten them leading some other fool into a false paradise.

  So the grief he’d suffered had been an illusion and he’d been a fool. But now her jig was up and there was no way he was going to fall for her sweet deception again.

  Catherine stood at the window and stared out into the darkness. Her head ached from crying but she was warmer now and the faint that had claimed her outside had passed. She’d walked all day without any food and the relief at arriving at the Duggan homestead had welled up in a swirl of emotion that had made her dizzy.

  She could see her hazy reflection in the glass and she looked into her own eyes. Her pupils were so dilated that the green was barely visible and she felt that their ebony centers reflected the blackened hollow of her heart. She had done wrong and her soul was tarnished. Fear climbed up her spine like a dead man’s fingers. What if the darkness kept on growing until it swallowed her whole?

  She had loved Kenan and been devoted to him, but circumstances had taken her away from the path she had chosen. If she had felt that she’d had a choice then she would have followed that path unerringly, but she’d been torn apart and had made the only decision that she could have made at that time, as a young woman with people relying on her. She had owed her aunt and uncle her loyalty—they’d taken her in when she’d had no one else. It would have been wrong of her to abandon them when they had faced their own private troubles, but she wished that there had been another way.

  Her lips trembled as she recalled of Kenan’s words. He’d called her a harlot. The term churned in her gut and forced a sour taste into her mouth. She was no harlot, not really. She hadn’t wanted to do what she’d done but sometimes life was unkind and it led her in directions she’d rather not have gone. Women didn’t have as many choices as men in this world. Sure, things were improving and some women had even set up their own homesteads and businesses but it took courage, a strong will and self-belief.

  Catherine hadn’t needed to worry because she’d come fresh from college and the teaching examination to her uncle’s farm where she’d met Kenan. Prior to college, which she’d been late attending because her Mama had needed her at home, she’d only wondered what it would be like to become a teacher. She had wanted to work with the children of the west before settling and having her own. Meeting Kenan had only confirmed to her that being a wife and mother was all she wanted in life. They would have carved out their path in the American landscape. It had been their mutual aim. How cruel it had been then when that simple dream had been stolen away.

  A movement outside the window caught her eye and she leaned her forehead against the cold glass.

  He was out there. He’d come back. She hurried over to the door and flung it open, ignoring Rosie’s shouts and the fierce wind that whipped at her skirts as she ran out into the rain.

  Kenan slumped against the gate, gazing into the darkness, fighting the urge to just lie down and be done with it all. He couldn’t give up. He had responsibilities. But he felt so worn out, so much older than his thirty-two years. By now, a man should be wed and raising his children, not grieving daily and feeling so churned up all the time.

  A noise startled him. He could just about make out a figure dashing toward him through the rain. It stopped in front of him on the other side of the gate.

  “Catherine.” Her white face was illuminated by the moonlight which peeped through the heavy clouds. She was a fallen angel. Her red hair clung to her cheeks and her cotton dress was like a second skin.

  “Kenan.” She held his gaze.

  “You’re getting drenched, Catherine. You’ll catch cold and you’ve only just warmed up.”

  “I don’t care, Kenan. I need to talk to you. To try to make you understand.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know that I can understand, Catherine.” He couldn’t let down his guard. She would just hurt him again and he couldn’t afford that. The rain became heavier and way off in the distance, lightning pierced the sky.

  “Please, Kenan.” She reached out and touched his face, pressing the flat of her trembling palm against his cheek.

  Her touch stirred him and he had to swallow hard against the pain in his throat. He covered her hand with his own and watched the spark ignite in her eyes. It brought a host of memories rushing back—times when he’d seen her eyes flash in that way when she was needy, passionate, eager. In spite of his doubts about her and in spite of his anger, another powerful feeling coursed through him. Desire. He desired her still. He desired her body, her touch and her fulfilment, which made his own all the sweeter. And he desired to lose himself, just for a moment, in order to escape the living hell he’d come to accept as normal.

  “Come on.” He opened the gate then walked through.

  Thunder boomed like an angry cannon and large raindrops plopped into gathering puddles like tears from the heavens.

  “Where?” she questioned and he could resist no longer. He leaned over and planted a kiss upon her luscious lips.

  “Our old haunt.”

  He took her hand then headed toward the barn. She hurried to keep up with his large strides. As they approached, the door swung open and Matthew and Emmett emerged. Darn it. He’d forgotten they were out there. He pulled Catherine behind the oak tree that grew in the yard and placed a finger against her lips. The lightning illuminated the yard as it struck just feet away, causing Catherine to jump. Kenan covered her mouth with his hand and shook his head.

  When his brothers had passed and gone into the house, he led Catherine into the barn.

  He secured the door with the wooden bar. Then he turned to her. The dry warmth of the barn with its musky animal scent was comforting and it brought a wave of memories of times when he’d been here with Catherine before.

  His heart beat so hard he felt like he would pass out. Excitement and fear coursed through his veins and he trembled with their effects.

  As if echoing his inner turmoil, thunder cracked directly overhead. Catherine grabbed his shirtfront.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “The storm will soon pass.”

  She leaned her head against his chest and he held her that way until her breathing and her trembling slowed. Droplets of water ran off the ends of her hair and soaked into his cotton shirt and he realized that she must be cold.

  “I’ll grab some of the blankets we keep for the horses. You’d better get out of your wet clothes.”

  She peered down at herself then back at him. In the darkness, the only illumination came from the intermittent flashes of lightning as they pierced small holes in the wooden walls, so he sensed, rather than saw, the uncertainty in her eyes.

  “I…I d
on’t know, Kenan.”

  “Catherine.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s pitch black in here. I can’t see a thing so I’m not going to be able to see you changing, am I?”

  He held his breath as he waited for her response.

  “Then light the lamp.” She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his mouth. The cool featherlight touch of her lips against his sent fire through his body and he knew that he had to have her. He needed to feel her yielding beneath him, harlot or not. There was no going back as desire swirled like a hot fog through his mind and limbs, possessing him as he yearned to possess her.

  He lifted the kerosene lamp from the peg by the door and lit it, then returned to Catherine’s side. He watched the speedy rise and fall of her chest and wondered if it was due to fear or anticipation.

  “Kenan?” Her voice fluttered over his skin like a butterfly’s wings.

  “Yes?”

  “The blankets?”

  He shook his head to clear the trance.

  “Of course. Wait here.” He pointed at her as if to hold her in place—as if to stop her from leaving his sight and his life again.

  When he had retrieved two thick blankets from the tack room, he hurried back.

  The center of the barn was empty. He lifted the lamp higher, creating a wider circle of light that reached the stalls, causing the beasts to stir. Catherine was gone. The circle of light shook and he turned around and around then rushed to the corners to check that she wasn’t hiding. He’d known that it was too good to be true. Her presence must have been a figment of his imagination, a fever caused by being out in the storm. She really was dead, taken two years ago and he was alone. Grief, his familiar companion, began to swirl in his belly and sour bile filled his mouth.

  “Kenan!”

  An urgent voice from above caught his attention.

  “What are you doing? I’m up here.”

  He raised the lamp and looked toward the trapdoor where a white oval face peered down.

  “Come on up.”