Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master

by Vanessa Brooks

  The two women worked together in silence, each wrapped in her own thoughts of the winter to come. Linnet reached out impulsively and placed her hand over Sarah’s. They smiled at one another. “I do wish we could stay and spend the winter here with you. I shall miss you so much, Sarah!”

  Sarah smiled warmly back at her young friend. “Aye, I’ll miss you, too.” She reached over to give Linnet a swift hug. “It wouldn’t work, though; you have no idea the strain a long winter can take. To be snowed in for days at a time with a lack of privacy. I use that time to teach Peter his lessons. If you stayed with us, Peter wouldn’t concentrate, and neither would I. Probably you and I would be at each other’s throats by the end of the winter. It’s far better that you overwinter at the cabin. You and John will have the privacy a newly wedded couple requires to be able get to know one another properly. Actually, it’s the one thing I like about the winter months. Hans and I seem to become closer during the enforced confines of the house.”

  Linnet smiled sadly at her friend. “I understand,” she agreed but she didn’t, not really. How could she, never having experienced the long winter months trapped inside a small cabin.

  Later, in their bedchamber, John pulled out a package from beneath their bed. “For you. Happy nineteenth birthday, darling!” He handed her the parcel.

  “My birthday was a month ago,” she cried, reaching for it excitedly.

  “I know, but you were too ill to know anything about it.”

  “What is it?” she asked curiously.

  “Open it and see.” He perched on the edge of the bed, watching as she tore open the package, revealing the soft, shimmering folds of green velvet that she had admired in Mr. Penman’s mercantile.

  “How did you guess?” she asked, fingering the soft material lovingly.

  “Mr. Penman. I asked him to take note of anything that you particularly liked.” John smiled at her response. “Are you pleased?” he asked.

  “Pleased? I am thrilled! I wish I had a gift for you though.” She flung her arms around her husband’s neck.

  “Oh, I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I could think of something I want,” he said dryly, his eyes narrowing as he reached out and drew her to him, his hands sliding down to her tender bottom cheeks. He squeezed them gently as he pressed her body to his. Linnet sighed as the heat from her smarting bottom seemed to curl exquisitely through her loins. She melted sensuously up against him, ready to thank her husband prettily for his gifts. He wasted no time in scooping her up and throwing her squealing form onto their bed. He joined her and, placing his arms on either side of her head, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter 14

  The day that John and Linnet left for the cabin dawned chilly but bright, the sky pink with the early flush of dawn. They’d loaded the wagon the previous evening, so the goodbyes were heartfelt but brief. Hans handed Linnet a package just as they were pulling away. Intrigued, she opened it to find a lovely carved wooden horse, the lines so smooth and fine it matched the real thing for perfection. She swung Amber around and cantered back to where Hans and Sarah stood. Leaning down from the horse, she kissed Hans’s cheek and thanked him with tears in her eyes before riding after the wagon and John.

  John drove the wagon with the cow tied onto the tail gate, whilst Linnet rode Amber. Sarah turned her head into her husband’s broad chest and wept. The sense of sadness dropped away from Linnet as her youthful exuberance and sense of adventure bubbled to the surface.

  She sent Amber into a gallop and raced the horse up the grassy slope ahead, feeling the wonderful sense of freedom as she rode. The journey was uneventful and they reached the cabin before dusk. Linnet went straight to the cabin and unlocked the heavy door. She was rather shocked at the total lack of rooms. One large space was not what she had been expecting but it was sound and sturdily made. Importantly, it looked to be draught proof.

  Hans had visited the place on a couple of occasions to prepare it for the young couple; he had swept it, so it was relatively clean. He had also refurbished where necessary, then placed rag rugs, homemade by Sarah, upon the floor. A lantern hung from the ceiling and a large lamp sat on the table by the side of the large, sturdy wooden bed.

  John had enjoyed watching his wife as she’d ridden to the cabin, admiring her prowess as a horsewoman, as horse and rider gracefully merged as one. He wished that he could have joined her and ridden beside her on horseback himself but he’d been tied to the cumbersome wagon. He was pleased to see his wife’s enjoyment of the pretty mare he’d bought her.

  The door banged open as he struggled in with armloads of household items.

  “Where do you want these? I think they are mainly bedcovers and such.”

  “Oh just pile them all on the bed, I shall put covers on in a moment,” she told him as she busied herself around the cabin.

  John followed her instruction, watching with amusement as his previously spoilt girl made the place into a home. It took a couple of hours to get reasonably straight; they fed, then bedded down the animals for the night.

  At last the small dwelling was organised, at least for that night. John lit the stove to heat the stew that Sarah had made for their first night together. As soon as they’d eaten, they dropped exhausted into bed and slept dreamlessly until the first light of dawn. Linnet awoke to the sound of John feeding wood into the stove. Although the sun shone without, the cabin was bitterly cold.

  “A sharp frost overnight,” John called over his shoulder. “We must keep the stove in at all times. From now on, if you leave the cabin, even for a short while, check the stove is full first.”

  Linnet shivered, and snuggled back down into the quilts, squealing as John stalked over to the bed, yanking the covers away from her, leaving her curled and shivering in the centre of the bed.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he scolded. Grabbing her ankle, he hauled her over to his side of the bed. “Get up, lug-a-bed, I want my breakfast!”

  She squealed and tried to grab the covers back from him but he held them out of her reach with one hand while he slapped her rump with the other. “Up!” he ordered again.

  She smacked his offending hand away and rose, hurriedly wrapping a blanket around herself. “Bully!” she muttered as she banged a pan down onto the stove.

  Linnet spent a busy morning rearranging the furniture to suit herself. She stored all the spare bedding in chests and stacked their supplies of jars and dried goods onto shelves. Then she made bread dough and set it to rise while she hung curtains at the glassless windows. Placing the two cushions she’d helped to embroider upon each rocking chair, she hung two brightly coloured woollen shawls, both of which Sarah had knitted, over the back of each of the two rockers that Hans had crafted himself.

  When John returned for lunch, he looked around in astonishment, for Linnet had transformed the cabin into a welcoming and cosy homestead.

  They ate a lunch of pickled eggs from a jar packed by Sarah, meant to last them until their own three chickens had settled into their new home and started laying. The eggs were accompanied by the fresh baked bread and some of Sarah’s delicious cheese.

  “I really wonder how we will manage when Sarah’s generous supply of food stock has gone,” Linnet confided ruefully.

  John hummed thoughtfully. “We should really have our own eggs. Chickens won’t lay regularly through winter months but we do have enough vinegar for you to pickle a few before they stop. Did Sarah show you how to make butter and cheese?” he queried.

  Linnet looked uncomfortable. “Well, yes,” she said doubtfully. “I am not sure I will be able to get cheese made, it needs time to mature.”

  John smiled at her and said, “We can have a practice at churning butter and see what we can produce.”

  Linnet nodded, feeling relieved. “I am sure it will be fun!” she enthused.

  John cast her an anxious glance. Did she not realise how much hard work was ahead of them if they were to stock the larder before snow came?

&nbs
p; “Y-yes, but also hard work if we are to stay fed all winter. I want to hunt for a couple of days to stock up on meat. We will have to smoke it so that it will stay fresh, although once it freezes, meat will stay fresh if it is hung.

  “Before I leave here, I need to mend the corral fences. Hans thinks that I should take down a tree, the fir next to the barn. It has grown over tall, if we suffer a heavy gale, it could easily land on top of the barn.”

  Linnet looked anxious. “Can you manage a tree that size all by yourself?” she asked.

  “I think so. It’s not a thick trunk but it is tall enough and heavy enough to smash the roof of the barn, should it topple in a gale. We can’t afford to risk leaving it where it is. I will probably tackle it tomorrow or the day after.”

  With so much to do, it took a few days before John finally found the time to cut into the tree base. Linnet came out to watch as he tied rope around various places along the tree trunk, then pulled and pulled until the sweat stood out on his bare back. The tree stood unmoving.

  “What’s wrong?” Linnet called as John walked over to her, wiping the sweat from his brow with his discarded shirt.

  “I think I need to chop the notch into the trunk much wider. The thing is, I don’t want the damn thing to drop onto the barn, but should I cut too deep, it might fall in that direction. I want to pull it so that it goes over away from the barn.”

  “Well then, I can help you pull.” She strode towards the tree without awaiting his reply.

  John gave her two of the ropes to hold. “No pulling until I say so. If I tell you to stop, you must stop! Understood?”

  Linnet braced herself with the ropes wrapped around her back as John had shown her. “Understood and ready!” she called.

  He stood in position and took up his own ropes. “All ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Pull!” he cried. They strained on the ropes; each leaned using all their strength. There was an easing in the ropes and a groaning crack as the tree began to move.

  John shouted, “Run away, move left. Go!” They both threw themselves out of the line of the falling tree, which fell with a satisfying crash of cracking branches and fallen cones. Linnet squealed. Clapping her hands, she ran over to where the tree lay horizontal, the branches quivering.

  John picked up his shirt, grinning hugely, and walked the length of the tree, running his hands over the knotted bark of the prone trunk with satisfaction. “There’s enough wood here to keep us warm all winter. It’s very green right now but it should burn in a month or two.”

  “What do you mean ‘green’?” Linnet asked, seating herself on the fallen tree.

  “Green wood is unseasoned wood, it still has the sap inside and so it burns with a lot of smoke. Wood should be left to season for a year or two, ideally, before you use it as fire wood.”

  He was standing with his back to her. Naked to the waist, he surveyed the tree while he explained. Linnet cast her eyes over her husband’s bare torso. Beads of perspiration stood proud on the skin of his taut muscles across his shoulders, and she watched, mesmerized, as a line of moisture trickled down the base of his spine and into the waistband of his trousers.

  He turned and caught the sultry look upon her face. Flinging aside the shirt he held, he padded towards her, his body loose limbed with predatory lust. “Turn around and lift your skirts,” he growled, turning her shoulders so that she lay stomach down over the fallen tree.

  She shivered, excited but confused. Her mind raced over the past few days, she could find no fault with her behaviour which might require punishment. She trembled with anticipation; what did her husband have in mind? He exposed her shapely legs, baring her curved behind. Looking around, she saw he was gazing lustily at the provocative sight she presented. He ran his work-rough hands up her smooth skin, his palms outstretched so that his thumbs caught the edge of the mounds of her creamy buttocks. She quivered with desire.

  John held the two orbs of her rump within his hands and kneaded them, letting his thumbs drop down between her legs where she felt her body’s natural dew gathering. He spread her legs wide then dropped to his knees behind her, she felt him press his face into her glistening folds. Parting her with his tongue, he worked his magic, making her hot and fierce with spiralling need.

  She lay with her cheek pressed against the rough bark of the tree trunk. The overwhelming lust that seared between her legs caused her to bite the soft flesh of her forearm as she pushed her hips back against her husband’s questing tongue.

  She moaned his name as he gripped her thighs, holding her firm while he continued his oral ravishment—frustratingly, he halted before she’d reached her climax. She groused as he stood to loosen his breeches, sighing as she felt him shift behind her, his shaft nudging at her slippery core. Then he drove his erect manhood deep into her sweet, waiting cleft. Holding her churning hips still against his pelvis for a moment, he forced her to match his own steady pace, moving inside her with strong, gliding strokes. She dug her nails into the tree bark and bit down again on her arm.

  She barely felt John sweep the soft skein of her hair aside, kissing and nibbling her neck. His hands slid beneath her breasts, gripping them as he increased the tempo of his thrusts. She quickened under him as he pounded into her, fierce and hard. Her climax came as a searing rush of exquisite pleasure that spilled over, her cries blending with his shout as he sang his own cry of release.

  It was a few moments before John lifted his body from hers and swept down her skirt, lifting her off the tree. “You will wear me out come spring!” he complained. “I only have to look at you and I want to take you then and there.”

  She gave a low and sensuous chuckle. Her finger trailed across his naked chest, his copper-coloured paps budded to her touch. He clutched her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth, where he placed a kiss upon her open palm before turning her toward the cabin, giving her a little push in that direction. “Go get your man some victuals, strumpet. I need to keep my energy up if I’m to service such a rapacious wench!”

  The following week passed in a haze of activity. Linnet took out the cut material for her dresses and began the process of making her clothing. The never-ending chores of the homestead kept them both busy as they prepared for the harsh winter soon to come. She successfully produced a pat of butter, hardly able to contain her excitement when, turning the handle of the wooden butter churn, there came the thump, thump, thump of the butter as it finally formed inside the barrel. Cheese took her longer—although she did attempt a roundel of cheese, she decided that since they planned to leave here in the spring, it was pointless to make more. It needed too much time to cure.

  Chapter 15

  The weather grew colder. Leaves fell as morning frosts became bitter and sharp. John finally set off on a three-day hunting trip. He planned to stock their winter larder with fresh venison. It was so cold that the meat would stay fresh once it was hung.

  Linnet was not at all happy with the idea of spending three days alone in the cabin, despite John’s reassurances that she would be safe if she did as he bid and stayed put. In the end, they were barely speaking when he set off, having kissed his sulking wife goodbye.

  John rode Amber, another reason why Linnet was upset. Amber was her horse and yet, the first chance he got, John took her horse for his own use. Linnet moped around the cabin on the first day of John’s absence and did little, other than keep the stove in.

  That night, she awoke alone in darkness. She lay still, listening to the strange sounds outside the cabin, the distant hoot of an owl, the lonely cry of a wolf and the scuffling of small creatures nearby. She dragged herself from the bed to feed the fire.

  When she awoke again, it was broad daylight. Refreshed and full of energy, she built the fire, dressed and went about her usual tasks, setting the dough to rise and sweeping out the cabin.

  She decided that because the day was sunny and breezy, feeling warmer than it had the day before, she would take the dirty laundry t
o wash in the nearby stream. She recalled John reminding her to stay inside the cabin while he was gone but she was certain that since the stream was so nearby, she would be safe.

  She felt annoyed with John for commandeering her horse; this little act of rebelliousness satisfied her vengeful streak. She gathered the stiff brush that she used for washing the clothes and a bar of strong soap, threw them into the clothes basket, and set off.

  It was still a chilly day, despite the sun, and she was glad of the thick shawl she’d wrapped about her. The stream water was freezing but thankfully not actually frozen. She was able to scrub the clothes and rinse them in the clear, swift-running water. Task completed, she stood and rubbed her icy hands, tucking them inside her shawl for warmth.

  Gazing hypnotically into the sparkling, spilling water, she heard a high-pitched squeal. She stared around her but could see nothing unusual along the banks of the stream or on the nearby bushes. She stood and listened intently; a snuffling noise appeared to come from inside the nearby shrubbery.

  Cautiously, she walked over, her heart racing as she knelt down and gingerly parted the bushes. At first she could see nothing; then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior, she detected a pair of dark eyes gazing at her. Leaning in toward them, she realised the eyes belonged to a small, rounded brown face—it was the face of a very young child.

  Shocked, she stepped back to look about her, expecting a parent to materialize close by, but there was no sound save the tinkling of the stream and the calling of the birds. Linnet bent again into the dark recess of the bush and reached for the small child. Her arms closed upon a surprisingly warm little body, and she lifted it out. “Why, you’re only a babe!” she exclaimed as she held aloft a child who was no more than eighteen months and strangely dressed in a pale, soft leather tunic, sewn with small, brightly coloured beads. On the babe’s feet were soft shoes made of the same material, held on by soft strips of leather that criss-crossed the plump little legs. A native infant, perhaps?