Harlot at the Homestead

by Molly Ann Wishlade

  He watched, spellbound, as she placed a quivering hand over her heart. “I swear to you that although I submitted my body, I never surrendered my heart or my mind. And…though it’ll not be of much comfort…you should know that the attentions he paid me did not last long. When he realized that he was unable to penetrate my coldness, unable to sever me from my loyalty to you, he seemed to lose his virility… In fact, he lost the urge to even try. My scorn emasculated him and he was unable to—”

  “It’s okay!” Kenan stopped her. “Pray do not say anymore, you do not need to.”

  “I’m so sorry to upset you. I’m so ashamed, Kenan.”

  “It’s not you who should be ashamed, Catherine. So how…did you get the marks on your arms?” As he asked the question, he ran a fingertip over the red welts that marred the ivory skin.

  “Those are the markers to show the passing of time. He said I was like a bonded slave, that I would be his for two years and that he would mark me for every month that passed so that I would know how long I had left.”

  “How did he…?”

  “With a red hot knife sharpened by his manservant. Henderson would heat it until it smoked then press it into my skin, dragging the blade through the flesh.” Her eyes glazed over as she spoke.

  “The crazy bastard!” Kenan cursed. “He had no right to do this! No right at all!”

  “It was strange but in a way I almost welcomed the pain. It distracted me from the hurt inside and felt like a physical manifestation of it, plus each burn brought my freedom closer.”

  “If only I’d known you were alive! I’d have come for you. I’d have torn him apart with my bare hands. Why didn’t you get word to me?”

  “I knew that you would do that and also that it would solve nothing. Violence would have led to more violence. I had to hope that you loved me enough to keep going—to keep the memory of our love alive. I couldn’t risk you coming to New York and ending up dead. He’d have destroyed you way before you got to him. He was so powerful, so connected. I knew that I had to wait it out…to play his game.”

  “Kind of a sick game, don’t you think?”

  “It was. I know. But…There was a get out clause.”

  Kenan raised his eyebrows.

  “He said that if I fell in love with him…then he would stop marking me and if I could submit my heart and mind to him as I did my body then he would make me a free woman.”

  “I don’t understand. You mean…if you’d just told him that you loved him he’d have let you go?”

  “But I couldn’t, Kenan.”

  “Why not? You could have come home to me sooner! Got word to me that you were safe.”

  She shook her head. “The only thing that kept me sane all that time as I serviced him and paid off my uncle’s debt was knowing that although he’d taken my body, although he’d treated me like I was no better than a painted cat, he would never, ever possess me like you had. You have to understand that I absolutely could not give him anything else. He had my physical being and could command my presence whenever he chose but he would never ever have my love. That has…and always will remain…only yours.”

  “Catherine!”

  He pulled her toward him and into his arms, devouring her with kisses that told of his own undying devotion and at first she remained stiff, rigid with the pain of her memories but as he continued to kiss and caress her, he felt her melt in his arms, surrendering to his embrace and to her love for him.

  * * * *

  Catherine smoothed out her skirts then held her arms out to Kenan. He lifted her up to the saddle as easily as if she were a small child. She cocked a leg over the horse and slipped her foot into the stirrup. A tingling between her legs made her smile and she shifted slightly to adjust the material of her drawers.

  “What’s funny?” Kenan looked up at her as he tightened the saddle then secured her foot in the stirrup.

  “Our lovemaking has left me a little…” Her cheeks filled with heat. “Tender and, dare I say it, damp!”

  He laughed then ran a hand up under her skirt, caressing the smooth skin of her thigh until he could cup the side of her buttock that was not touching the saddle.

  “Wet and tender. We’d better get going or I will have to pull you down from the saddle and take you again!”

  Catherine gasped. Following her confession, he had taken her into his arms and made love to her again, kissing every inch of her skin with a tenderness and passion that had brought tears to her eyes. He had even kissed every one of her scars and told her that they would always be reminders of how he had once lost her and how brave she had been.

  Catherine was amazed at his understanding. She had feared losing him forever after she told him of her time as a bonded whore but he seemed accepting, if not unperturbed. How could she be so lucky? She had no idea but feared delving too deeply in case he changed his mind or she woke up from this beautiful dream to find herself still in New York, enslaved to a man whose touch made her skin crawl, her heart heavy and her mind numb.

  Kenan sprang into his saddle then squinted at the sun.

  “We’d best be getting back. It will be twilight soon and Rosie will be getting worried.”

  “Of course,” Catherine agreed. Rosie was like a mother hen with her brothers. They were as important to the woman’s existence as sun and water were to crops.

  Kenan dug his feet into his mare’s flanks and Catherine’s own horse fell into the same steady rhythm as it trotted along behind.

  They soon arrived at the farm and Catherine was surprised at how emotional she felt. It was like coming home to the only place she had ever really felt safe and secure. But she should not forget that this was not her home. This was the Duggan homestead and she was not a Duggan. She once would have been but that time had gone and though Kenan had told her that he loved her, he had not mentioned marriage or their future.

  Her heartbeat quickened. In her joy at his passion, she had not considered the reality of the situation but now here it was, staring her harshly in the face like the midday sun. She was a harlot, she had been used by another man, and once folks heard about her return, there would be questions. How could she tell them the truth? And what was the alternative? If they believed her uncle’s story that she’d been taken by the Indians then it would be even worse. She would forever be seen as tainted, like a spring where a dead animal’s rotting flesh has poisoned the water.

  It was rare that a woman taken by the tribal warriors ever returned. If they did, then most made their living as painted cats and never expected a good, decent man like Kenan to take them to wife. Locals would be shocked if Kenan did so and Catherine wondered if it was even fair to place him in that position. It would be wrong of her to expect him to take that upon himself and his family. It would not do. She would have to spare this good, honest and decent man from any slander and make the decision for him.

  “Hey!” Kenan made her jump . “Are you okay?”

  She forced a smile. “Yes. Of course.”

  She allowed him to help her dismount.

  “I’ll stable the horses then come wash up before dinner.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. His lips were warm, his scent so familiar, that she felt the heaviness in her heart increase. She had been foolish to believe that she could really be his wife and take up her former place in his affections. He deserved better.

  Catherine watched the man she loved disappear into the shadows of the barn then she trudged toward the little house, wondering how on earth she was going to summon the courage she needed to leave him again.

  As soon as she opened the door, Rosie flew at her and hugged her close.

  “Catherine! Did you have fun? Where’s Kenan? What took you so long?”

  The young woman pulled Catherine into the center of the room then took her face in her hands. She was as wholesome and kind-hearted as anyone could be. It was yet another reason why Catherine could not bring shame upon this family.

  “Kenan is in the barn. What is it, R
osie? You look…” She searched for the right words as she stared into Rosie’s warm amber eyes. They were illuminated as if someone had lit a fire in her belly and it glowed now, its flames flickering in her gaze.

  “We’ve been invited to a wedding tomorrow!” Rosie giggled, now more like a sixteen year old than a woman just past thirty.

  Catherine gasped as Rosie grabbed her hands and spun her around in a circle, jumping up and down as she did so.

  “Rosie! Stop!”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry, Catherine! I’m just so…so…” A crimson hue filled Rosie’s cheeks.

  “You’re excited?” Catherine queried.

  “Well, yes,” She bit her lip. “I guess I am. It’ll be such a grand fandango!”

  “Who’s getting married? And where?” Catherine squeezed Rosie’s hands to convey her approval, allowing her own concerns to drift to the back of her mind.

  “Billy Hampton’s marrying Rita-Mae Hudson!” Rosie jumped up and down again.

  “How do you know?” Catherine felt her heart lift at Rosie’s infectious happiness.

  Rosie lowered her eyes, suddenly coy. Her blush deepened and Catherine realized that the real reason for her friend’s joy lay in the attentions of a man.

  “Rosie?”

  “It was Joshua Hampton. He rode out here this morning, not long after you’d gone.”

  “Joshua Hampton?”

  “Yeah.” Rosie released Catherine’s hands and made a show of tidying her hair and tightening the pins that held it back from her face. “He rides with Kenan on the cattle trail. I…uh…we met last summer when he stopped by.”

  “And you…” Catherine laughed as she pointed at Rosie. “You like him!”

  Rosie’s eyes gleamed as she grinned back at Catherine. “I do! I really do! But it’s foolish. I’m past being a wife…too old to be a mother!”

  “Nonsense!” Catherine clicked her tongue. “You have plenty of time! Now, while your brother sorts the horses, come tell me all about this Joshua Hampton!”

  Rosie followed her toward the kitchen table where Catherine listened with pleasure as her dear friend told her all about the man who had captured her own heart.

  Chapter Seven

  The wagon rattled along the rough path and Catherine swayed on the wooden boards that served as a seat, bumping against Rosie’s side. She could feel the excitement bubbling in Kenan’s sister at the prospect of seeing Joshua Hampton again. He had clearly made quite an impression upon Rosie and Catherine could see that she harbored hopes of a proposal of her own in the not too distant future. The aura around Rosie was so positive and so full of energy that Catherine allowed herself to bask in it so that it cheered her own soul and lifted her own sagging spirits. Though she had all but made up her mind that she could not—and should not—expect that Kenan would now take her to wife, she would savor the short time they had left together. She could take that at least to sustain her through the long hard winter of a lifetime that lay ahead.

  “What is it, Catherine?” Rosie laid a cool hand upon her arm.

  “Oh, nothing, really,” she mumbled, realizing that she had been wringing her handkerchief in her lap. “I was just…”

  “It’s okay, sweeting.” Rosie patted her hand. “That’s all behind you now. You’re back where you belong.”

  Catherine started at Rosie’s words. Did she know what had happened to her? Though Catherine had told her friend a version of events, she had spared her the gritty details, fearing that the gentle woman’s sensibilities would be shocked at the painful truth. Rosie was a good woman and she did not need to know about the horrors that existed out there in the wider world. Though Rosie had grown up in this wild young country of theirs, she had led a relatively protected life as the sweet, innocent daughter of her father and the sheltered sister to three strong, feisty brothers. The details of Catherine’s time in New York would do nothing other than hurt and wound her friend.

  “You do look fine this evening, Rosie!” Catherine sought to change the subject.

  “I agree.” Kenan grinned at her. He rode his mare alongside the wagon and Catherine’s breath caught in her throat at how handsome he looked. He had on his Sunday best and had shaved his cheeks clean so that his dark mustache and the small triangle of beard that graced his chin stood out, making his eyes seem deeper and darker than usual.

  He sat confidently in the saddle and he rested one hand upon his knee while he held the reins loosely in the other. He was in every way a strong, handsome, self-assured cowboy. The power of her emotions swept through her like a river that had burst its dam after heavy rainfall and her stomach flipped at the knowledge that she would soon be parted from him once more surged through her. Where would she find the strength to do it?

  “Don’t you think the honey satin suits my sister, Catherine?” Kenan smiled at Rosie, who bridled a little at his teasing.

  “It really does,” she replied and Rosie straightened in her seat, smoothing the full skirts of her gown out over her knees. “The color brings out the amber of her eyes.”

  The beautiful dress had actually belonged to Rosie’s mother, packed away for years in a chest of precious things that the Duggan children had treasured. Kenan had been the one to suggest that his sister make use of their mother’s clothing when she’d been in a panic about what to wear. It had not been easy for Rosie to don the gown, clearly she had wanted to protect her deceased mother’s memories, but her brothers had insisted that they would like to see their mother’s best clothes put to good use again. And who better to wear them than their darling Rosie?

  So between them, Rosie and Catherine had adjusted the gown to fit Rosie’s slender frame and she now looked every bit the lady.

  “Are you sure?” Rosie asked Catherine for the hundredth time. “It’s not too much? You know, I’m not used to such finery.”

  “You look beautiful.” Catherine lifted Rosie’s hand and planted a kiss upon her fingers. “Now stop fretting.” She held her friend’s hand tightly between her own, wondering at the strength beneath the red, work-worn skin.

  As for Catherine, Rosie had gifted her a gown that she’d kept for best even though it had long been too short for the lithe young woman. It was made of the palest green cotton calico with a rounded neckline trimmed with a cream lace collar. She had giggled that afternoon with Rosie as they had to let out the bodice to accommodate Catherine’s full bosom which had strained against the cool material. The real issue with the dress though had been the short bell sleeves which had left Catherine’s scarred arms on display. Rosie had kindly removed a set of ruched lace sleeves from another dress then stitched them into the green calico.

  Catherine had left her long, red hair down—the way Kenan liked it—in the fashion of a young, unmarried girl. Though she was far from virginal, she believed that her heart was pure and she wanted to allow herself the luxury of creating the outward illusion too.

  Kenan winked at her then moved forwards to ride alongside Matthew. She smiled and relaxed against Rosie, watching her friend shake the reins to encourage Emmett’s horse to move faster. The youngest Duggan had remained at the homestead for the evening, having picked the short straw. The animals needed watching as that afternoon, when Kenan had been checking the perimeter fencing, he’d found one of their chickens all torn up and half-eaten. It meant that there was likely a coyote in the vicinity and it would be back for a second helping.

  Catherine gazed at the sun as it sank on the horizon behind the black tipped mountains. It looked as though the mountains themselves were on fire and the flames had scorched the peaks, leaving them the color of charcoal. The endless sky itself glowed crimson, amber and dusky pink. Its beauty was breathtaking. Looking at such splendor whilst resting her head upon the shoulder of a dear friend, Catherine wondered at how cruel life could be. With so much to appreciate in this fleeting human life, it was difficult to comprehend how there could be such pain and suffering.

  If she were as innocent as she had been ju
st two years ago, as innocent as Rosie seemed to be, then she would have enjoyed the stunning view without hindrance. But now, physically and emotionally scarred by life and mankind, the beauty was all the more poignant. She could see it, appreciate it and savor it. But a part of her heart lay heavy, for she knew that she would never be totally free to relish the splendor that life and nature had to offer. Her vision of the world had changed.

  * * * *

  Kenan reined in his mare as the magnificent Lone Wolf Ranch came into sight. Its buildings and fences stretched out for miles across the Montana grasslands, where the pale butter-colored sweet clover danced in the wind that swept the open plains.

  The owner of the ranch, Dylan Hampton, had arrived in America with empty pockets and an even emptier belly just twenty years earlier, but he’d been stalwart and determined and he’d built himself a grand business that he had every right to be proud of.

  He owned over ten thousand cattle, including a herd of Texas Longhorns, and he traded his beasts all over the western states. He had a bubbly, buxom wife who’d provided him with ten strong children, ranging from thirty five to just sixteen. Kenan supposed that access to good meat probably helped with the child rearing, as well as all that fresh Montana air. Children born into poverty were often so much weaker, especially those in the cow towns who were exposed to all manners of diseases brought in with the never ending deluge of immigrants. With so many new settlers arriving from as far as China, it was going to take a while for folks to build up immunity to the variety of infectious complaints that so often ailed them.

  “So are we all set for a wedding?” Kenan smiled at Catherine.

  She returned his smile but it didn’t meet her eyes and he felt his spirits sag. He knew that this evening would not be easy for her but he also knew that hiding away would not help either. It would be like branding cattle, better to get it over and done with quickly than to dally around, allowing the poor cows’ fears to build to a blind terror. Short and sharp was best. Let people see her, know that she was back and that she was here to stay. His own guts churned at the prospect of taking her into company but it was a happy occasion and he hoped that folks would be accepting, if not overly courteous.