“My, my, my, what do we have here?” a scraggly man snickered at her. He leered at her with his toothless grin and an unshaven face.
“Who are you?” Abigail asked.
“I sees you have the little thief in there,” the man said, as he looked beyond Abigail.
“Who are you, answer my question?” Abigail ordered.
“Seems if you know Darcy Greenwood, you should know who I am. I’m the man she’s running from.”
“Leave her alone!” Darcy called out, realizing what was happening. The sick young woman’ rose from her straw bed and made her way to the door. “Abigail leave, just leave,” her friend encouraged her. Abigail looked back as Darcy approached and the scraggly scoundrel lurched forward and grabbed Abigail’s wrist.
“Oh no, you don’t, you’re not going anywhere,” the man’s leering scowl informed her.
“Please!” she tried to wrench away.
“Get your hands off of her,” Darcy snapped. She was on the old man in an instant, but it was an instant too late. He’d pulled a knife out of nowhere and had it at Abigail’s throat.
“You want to try that again?” he seethed at Darcy.
Darcy’s eyes flashed, her anger raged, but there was nothing she could do that wouldn’t put her best friend in mortal jeopardy.
“Don’t hurt her. She’s just my friend, Burt.”
“Really?” the man said, turning to eye Abigail close up. His breath right in front of her nose was foul from liquor, but Abigail was too terrified to show anything but her trembling fear.
“Please let me go,” she said timidly.
“Maybe,” Burt said. He eased off a bit with the knife, but he didn’t loosen his grasp on Abigail’s wrist. “This the one that gave you the money?”
“No one gave me the money, Burt,” Darcy said.
He looked from Darcy to Abigail and back again. “I think you’re lying. This is the missus from up the road. These fine clothes. You were staying with her, and all of a sudden you have my money. I’d bet. . “
“Burt, you have your money,” Darcy said. “What more do you want?”
“I want it all,” he said.
“What’s that suppose to mean?” Darcy replied.
“I thought that the hundred was all I’d get from you. But now that I see what a fine wellheeled lady that we have here, I know there’s a lot more.”
“Please, I don’t have a penny,” Abigail informed him.
“Oh? Where’d you get the last?”
“Please. I couldn’t possibly,” she protested.
“Listen, Bart,” Darcy said with her eyes going dark as coal, her temperament filled with a biting fire. “Let her go. This is my argument, not hers. I swear you do anything to hurt her, I’ll kill you!”
“My, how bold you are, when it’s a knife at her neck,” he sneered.
“Burt, you’re being stupid,” Darcy went on. Abigail could tell that Darcy was nervous, the little twitch in her jaw, her fin gers clenching and relaxing. But they were gestures that the man didn’t notice.
“I’ll tell you what,” Burt said. “I’ll let her go, but she’d better be coming back tonight with another pocketful of cash, or she could assume that her dear Darcy is going to have a very rough night.” Burt jerked Abigail towards him and then released her. “You hear me, little lass?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
“Abby, don’t pay any attention to him,” Darcy said. “He won’t hurt me. He can’t. Now go.”
Abigail stood stock still for what seemed like an eternity. Her mind had gone blank. Not filled with options, or immersed in a thousand quandaries of how to get out of the wretched predicament, there was not a single thought in her brain. Never had her life been so threatened. All she could think of was the miracle of her husband’s face rising behind the old man. But that didn’t happen.
“Abby go, run!” Darcy called to her.
Shaken into consciousness again, she looked about, thinking of flight, but not yet moving.
“Abigail, run!” Darcy shouted at her. With that, Abigail legs began to move swiftly, taking her out of the barn and towards the road.
“Don’t you dare come back!” Darcy shouted more.
“You will if you want to see your friend alive!” Burt yelled.
Abigail turned back to see the devious drunkard clutching Darcy’s arm in his and hauling her at knife point toward the interior of the barn.
Abigail didn’t catch her breath until she was in her own yard. One glance up the hill toward the mill, she was thankful to see that Aaron had not yet arrived home. And after all, he shouldn’t be home, it was hardly three o’clock. Standing for sometime by her windfilled laundry flapping on the line, she contemplated her last hour, knowing that as much as she desired this horror to be over, the situation was more dire than ever. She couldn’t leave Darcy to the wiles of that awful man, but what recourse did she have? She could confess everything to Aaron, but with the vivid chastisement she’d received earlier in the day still fresh in her mind, she couldn’t imagine what the outcome might be.
Finally going inside the house, she put some water on for tea and sat down to think. Her brooding seemed to lead in circles there being no end to the dilemma that swirled about her. To save Darcy was the most important thing. But how to do it? Thinking of the scoundrel, Burt, she suspected that his bravado was more the liquor in his system than real threats. He wanted more money, and saw a way in her to have it. If only she could give him something to placate him. Money was out of the question. She wouldn’t take from the mill again. But some bauble? A mildly valuable piece that he could trade for cash. Why wouldn’t that work?
There was little of great value in the Barrow household. Aaron was a simple man, and Abigail had never wanted much jewelry and fancy things not the way her mother did. But perusing the house, she finally made her way to a small box of trinkets that she’d kept hidden in her bureau. There was nothing special there, except one old broach that her Aunt had given her on her wedding day. The setting was a horror, and she’d never wear it, but there was obvious value in the obsidian stone, enough perhaps to appease the seedy scoundrel that was holding Darcy hostage.
Making her choice quickly, Abigail wondered if she’d have time enough to get back to the barn before Aaron arrived home. However that decision was quickly made when she heard her husband’s footsteps downstairs.
“Is that you?” she called to him from the upstairs hallway.
“And who else would it be?” Aaron blared up at her.
Fast returning the broach to its box, she made her way down the stairs to her husband’s waiting arms.
“My, what a change in you!” she exclaimed, feeling the warmth from his generous hug.
“Ah! I was rough on you today,” he said, “as well I should be, but perhaps we can put that aside for awhile.”
“Oh, I’d be happy for that,” Abigail replied. She tucked her head into his chest so that she could feel the beat of his strong, powerful heart. It was some comfort amid her terror. If only it could steady her until she had Darcy out of danger.
“My, love, you’re trembling,” Aaron said, noticing her shivering shoulders. He pulled her away from him just enough to see her face. Tears that she’d not expected were running down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry about today, Aaron, I really am. I guess there’s always been a defiant streak in me. And I know you want to tame it so it doesn’t get me in trouble.”
“How well you understand,” Aaron agreed with her.
She was on the verge of telling him everything even though it might mean another session with his belt. But Aaron was thinking other things, of how aroused he was, how his loins were aching to satisfy the raw need that had built up over the day. He was used to Abigail being just as aroused by a session with his belt, and expected her to respond to him eagerly. To not respond … it was out of the question.
Gathering her up in his arms, Aaron mounted the stairs taking his wife to bed. Hi
s hands were on her everywhere, under her skirt, kneading her once wellworked bottom cheeks, caressing her breasts, and finding his way between her thighs where she was warm and moist. He fondled her gently and sometimes rudely as if to remind her he was dominant, and who would be in control though that was hardly a matter of concern. Abigail was as compliant as a lamb, hoping this union with her husband would heal the rift that had occurred that day.
Pressing his erection between her opened thighs, he entered her, hearing the sweet sounds of bliss from her lips, as she moved with him to a sharp and vivid climax. Their pleasure was extended long after the moment as they lay for awhile in each other’s arms, until Abigail was reminded of the prickly dilemma of Darcy and the awful man that held her life in his hands. Just about that moment her sleepy husband opened his eyes and gazed on her.
“You look beautiful, my love,” he said, softly. “And I’d love to stay here all day with you, but … “
“You have to go back to the mill,” she finished for him.
His kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Afraid so,” he said. “But at least you know I still love you.”
“You were rather harsh with me this morning,” Abigail conceded.
“Because you earned it,” he said sternly as he rose from the bed. “But that’s all in the past love, as long as you’ve learned your lesson.”
Oh! She wished she had though she knew the moment she heard his words that she’d be violating his edict as soon as she possibly could.
It was just after midnight. The moon was high in the sky, the round orb sending its light to earth, the beams of it coming through_ the window shining across Abigail’s face, as she lay awake. Awake, not just for the light in her eyes, but because she was waiting. Every minute that ticked by was a minute of dread, as she wondered how Darcy was faring with Burt. If only she hadn’t been sick, she was sure her friend would have accomplished some escape. But in her weakened condition, Abigail wasn’t sure if Darcy had the strength to throw off the man with the knife.
Abigail knew what she had to do. As soon as she was sure that her husband was sleeping soundly beside her, Abigail planned to sneak out and go to Darcy, take the broach to Burt, and hope that it would be enough to get rid of him. And yet the longer she waited, the more she dreaded her task.
Finally hearing the gentle sounds of her deep sleeping husband, Abigail carefully pulled the covers back and crept from bed. With her heart pounding the whole time, she opened her drawer and pulled out the jewelry box, taking the Obsidian broach from inside. Noiselessly returning the box to its place, she turned to find the dress she’d laid out before they’d gone to bed. Throwing it over her head, she pocketed the broach and then picked up her boots. With one sidelong glance at Aaron, just to make sure he hadn’t stirred, she slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door. Down the stairs and through the house, she tiptoed barefoot to the kitchen door, then slipped her boots on her feet.
The kitchen door creaked when she opened it. Waiting for an instant just outside, she listened for any noise from upstairs, any signs at all that Aaron had heard her leave. Then thinking she was safe to make her fast exit, she pattered down the back steps and into the yard.
While the full moon lit her path, she was anxious to take cover under the trees on the other side of the yard. She had the weirdest feeling that from some corner of the property or even the house, she was being watched. The chill racing up her spine made her shiver. What if it was Aaron? But that couldn’t be, he was sleeping like a babe. Maybe it was Burt himself having followed her home hoping to rob her house as they slept, or worse yet, slit her throat and leave her to die? So petrified, she almost turned around and retraced her steps, but something else together halted her progress.
“Abigail!” She heard her husband’s shout rise above the din of voices in her head. “Abigail! She heard the second shout again when she didn’t immediately halt.
Good God! What should I do now! She lamented.
Her head was spinning, her feet hardly seeming to touch the ground, and then as if some spirit outside her was help ing her make the decision, she stumbled over a rock and fell to the ground. By the time her senses awakened from the sudden jolt, Aaron was fast moving across the yard pulling his britches up around his waist, a shirt around his chest.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going!” he blared at her.
Aaron never swore at her, though she hardly expected anything less considering the situation.
“I was … ” she started, but then stopped, not knowing what to say.
“You have exactly two seconds to tell me the entire truth,” he said.
Her hesitation was much longer than that, and before she could begin speaking, Aaron’s strong arm had pulled her to her feet. He hauled her a few yards away, where he sat down on the stump of a fallen tree. Going over his lap a second later, Abigail was howling, trying to get him to stop; but his hands and purpose were far too sure for her. He began spanking her behind with a flurry of angry strikes. Pausing only to raise her skirt so that he could have her naked bottom to paddle, he began again, laying on each sharp, nasty stroke with relish. After several minutes of the howling, smacking, wriggling conflict, he finally stopped though he did not let her up.
“You have an answer for me now!” he barked, as his spanking hand rested on her hot behind.
“Aaron, yes, yes I do,” she filled the sliver of a second he was giving her to speak. She could tell his hand was poised and ready to spank her more.
“I want the truth, and nothing less,” he warned.
“Yes, yes, I promise,” she gulped. Her vow to keep the silence about Darcy had to end. There was just no other choice. And still, that decision made, she found no words. Two sharp smacks of Aaron’s hand against her bottom stung hot, reminding her of Aaron’s command.
“I was going to Darcy,” she finally blurted out.
“You what!” He spanked her twice more.
“She’s hold up in a barn down the road a piece. You remember that old burned out house?”
“What in heaven’s name is she doing there?”
“Oh, Aaron, it’s all so complicated.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with money taken from the mill, would it?” he asked.
Abigail gulped, chagrined, glad that Aaron couldn’t see her face and all the guilt that was written there.
“Aaron, she’s sick, really sick, and this horrible man is holding her hostage.”
“What man?” he asked.
“Some old critter named Burt. He’s got something on Dare, and …”
“I want the truth,” Aaron reminded her with a few smacks to accompany his order.
“I was taking him my Aunt’s broach so that he’d let her go.”
“Abigail MacPhearson Barrow, you’re playing a blackmailer’s game,” Aaron declared.
“I had to,” she said. “He pulled a knife on us, and he only let me go when I promised to bring him back some money.”
“Good Lord, what have you gotten yourself into?” By that time, Aaron was so aghast at the revelation, that he pulled her up to look her in the eye. Sitting her on his lap, he held her tightly to him, a hand clutching one sore rear cheek.
“Tell me now, from the beginning, everything!” he said.
Abigail took a deep breath. It was so hard to speak with tears threatening and her head pounding and Aaron staring at her in the inky, moonlit darkness. “Darcy came to me yesterday morning,” she heaved breathlessly, “and … she asked me to help her out with food and clothes. She was terribly sick, I couldn’t not help…” She stopped to catch her breath again.
“And … ” Aaron eyed her sternly, waiting for her to continue.
“I helped make her comfortable in the old barn. I wanted her to stay with us, but she was so afraid that Burt would come after her here, and she didn’t want to put me in any danger.”
“But you ended up in danger anyway,” Aaron reminded her.
&n
bsp; “In the afternoon, I went back to her. I was so worried, her fever was high and she seemed so weak.”
“You went back in the afternoon, while I was gone?”
Abigail gulped chagrined and nodded.
“I see,” he said. “So I presume Darcy did take my money?”
Abigail looked away from him, her expression sheepish.
“No, I did,” she said reluctantly.
“You took the money?” His hand took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him. “She was desperate, Aaron.”
“And she’s with this blackguard now, who’s blackmailing you for more money?” Aaron asked.
“Yes, in that old barn.” She turned and looked toward the road.
“And you say he has a knife?” Aaron asked.
“Yes, a long, black shiny one.”
“No gun?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so.”
In the moonlight, Abigail could see the grim expression on her husband’s face was as filled with worry as it was anger. Abigail, without a shawl or coat, found her herself hugging her arms in the chill of the night air.
“Let’s go,” Aaron said, making up his mind. He stood up, pulling Abigail with him. Taking her by the hand firmly, he led his wife back to the house, as if she was a naughty child, not a grown up woman. Inside, she watched as he silently put on his coat from a hook on the kitchen wall, and then reached into the closet to find his rifle. It always made her shiver to see him load the deadly firearm, but this time more than usual, considering the nature of his concern.
“You’re going after her?” Abigail asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Shouldn’t I go with you?” she asked meekly.
“No!” Aaron blared. “I’ll have enough to worry about getting Darcy away from this ruffian. And I warn you, Abby, you budge an inch from this house, you’ll be paying for months. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Aaron, I’m sorry for everything.”
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