by Lee Savino
This time, when the switch cut into her flesh, she almost dropped her skirts. Tears flowed faster and she hung her head, whimpering in pain. After a moment, she realized why her husband was waiting. “I will always close the gate,” she said.
“Good girl,” he repeated and stepped close enough to take her skirts from her hand. “Put your hands on the fence now. I’ll hold your skirt.”
Once positioned, she waited for the telltale whistle and crack of the switch. It came, and she flinched, but remembered her lines. “I will always close the gate.”
“That’s it, one more.” Her husband’s voice, warm and comforting, came to her, and the final swat and line repeated, she collapsed a little, sobbing.
She started to reach back to rub her sore rump, and he caught her hand. “Keep your hands on the fence for a few minutes,” he said. She obeyed, leaning forward further as she felt him arrange her skirts so her backside would remain exposed. “Think on your lesson until I return.”
Hanging her head, she wished her hair would cover her face. The chickens all moving about the yard, giving her disapproving glances.
It seemed hours had passed before she heard him walk up behind her.
“Stay still.” His hands traced her weals carefully before smearing some thick unguent over the hurt. The sting didn’t fully leave, but it dulled enough for Carrie to breathe a sigh of relief.
“All right now.” Miles pulled down her skirts and she straightened. He turned her to him and held her; she hugged him back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, words muffled in his shirt.
“I know you are, Carrie girl, and you’re forgiven. The slate’s wiped clean.”
They stood leaning on each other for a moment. Miles didn’t seem eager to move; his broad hand rubbed her back, lulling her into contentment.
Finally he kissed her forehead—she felt a little thrill when she realized what he’d done—and took her hand.
“Come see your wedding present.”
She followed Miles into the homestead, wishing she could rub her bottom, but not quite daring to disobey him.
He stopped just inside the doorway, then stepped aside. He’d pushed the old stools to the side and placed the new chairs at the kitchen table, Esther’s shawl draped over the back of one of them. The larder was overflowing with new food, including some fancy jars filled with delicious, colorful contents.
“How lovely,” Carrie started to say, when her husband caught her shoulders and turned her to face the bed. She didn’t recognize it at first, because piled high on the frame was a new, white mattress.
“It’s down,” Miles said as Carrie hurried to cross the room and sink her hand into the fluffy pile. With an excited cry, she whirled and lay back, and closed her eyes at the feeling like floating on the clouds. Her bottom didn’t even protest as she lay on the soft feathers.
She stretched out, a large grin on her face. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, a weight lay next to her, and her body rolled into Miles. His arms closed around her and he kissed her breathless.
“Been waiting days to do that,” he murmured, his fingers lingering in her hair before he swung himself up and out of bed. “Need to check on the cattle before dinner,” he said.
A sigh escaped her before she could catch it, and his face cracked into another grin.
Miles was long gone before Carrie’s heartbeat steadied. Her bottom still pulsed with pain, but that only seemed to add to her excitement. What was it about this man that set her blood pounding? Her whole body felt hot and happy, flushed with breathless anticipation. And she hardly understood why.
She caressed the soft mattress and felt the familiar surge of excitement, mixed with fear. He’d gotten her a gift that suited her, but would also benefit him. It made her wonder how much she needed to know about the relations between a man and woman.
Her mother had died when Carrie was young, and her brother Thomas had raised her, with the help of a few spinsters at church. Between all her guardians, she’d missed the teaching on lovemaking. None of the old maids had enlightened her on the subject. In fact, some of their advice confused her.
She’d seen a dog mount another, but other than that, what little she’d learned she’d gleaned in snatches from a few of the married church women, plus one awkward conversation with her brother where he’d corrected a misunderstanding.
Of course, the last man who’d made her heart flutter turned out to be a scoundrel, but she couldn’t let her thoughts slide down that dark road.
All through making dinner, worry gnawed her. What if Miles didn’t think she was beautiful? What if she didn’t know enough to please him? Could she be a good wife to him if she could not perform for him in this way?
Then she heard Miles’ footfalls on the porch, and rushed to put the pot of simple hominy on the table. Her eyes fell on the shawl Esther had given her, draped over the new chair.
Don’t worry, he’s already in love with you.
“Dinner ready?” Miles asked from the doorway. He’d washed his face and hands, and sleeked back his reddish brown hair. His face did look relaxed and calm, though his tawny eyes burned when they met hers.
“Yes.” She shook out of his spell and hurried to get the final dish, a luxurious treat of canned peaches in their own syrup, another gift from Esther. Miles watched her rush about, and though she didn’t look at him, she had the feeling a smile hovered over his face, just out of sight.
“You can stand for your meal, if you wish,” he said. Her cheeks turned pink, and she only just stopped herself from rubbing her sore bottom.
As she served him, he caught her hand long enough to squeeze it. She halted and took his large hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. She kissed the roughened skin, looking into his tawny eyes, then ducked her head.
He waited until she’d seated herself gingerly on her new chair before starting to eat.
“Wait.” She stopped him. “We need to say grace.”
He set down the bread and took her hand. A thrill went through her, but she closed her eyes and joined him in prayer.
When it was done, he squeezed her hand. “You’ll be a good wife to me, Carrie.”
Sitting down and eating took the last of the energy she had. Her bottom throbbed, and the excitement of the day, along with all her worried thoughts, started to take its toll. Even with the passion heating her body, exhaustion hit her, and her head drooped over her food.
She woke from her daze when Miles stood. “Bedtime, Carrie.” Gentle hands guided her to the bed, where she sank into the delicious feather mattress. Her body felt heavy.
“You’re tired from all the excitement.” Miles grinned down at her, and the sight was so beautiful she thought it was a dream.
“I’m cold,” she said, and he tucked the woolen blanket around her.
“Sleep now, sweet Carrie.”
He started to turn away, and she reached out and caught hold of his shirt. “Stay with me.”
Her vision filled with his gentle smile, and then his face and the firelight all blended together and she slept.
She woke in the middle of the night and felt her husband’s solid warmth at her back. Outside the cabin, the noises of the wilderness sang in scary cacophony, but for the first time in a long time, she felt perfectly safe.
As she snuggled into the blankets, his hand drifted around her and lingered just above her waist. She could feel its heat on her skin through her chemise, and she waited for it to move higher or lower and stir up the quiet blaze inside her, but Miles simply pulled her closer, and after a while, she fell back asleep.
In the morning, she felt him move and rolled to face him.
“Good morning, Mr. Donovan.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Donovan.” He smiled at her, and she thrilled at the sight. “I best feed the horses.”
She smiled. “I best get the eggs.”
He pulled her up and waited until she tested her foot and proved she could walk on it before ducking out the door.
<
br /> Halfway down the path, he looked back at her. “Need any help with that gate?”
“Not today.” She kept her smile, and sauntered off towards the garden.
When he strode back into the cabin, Carrie was bent over the fire, making biscuits. “Breakfast’s almost done,” she called to him. Esther gave me some of her starter. I’ll be able to make bread tomorrow, if you give me leave to open a new bag of flour.” She pulled the skillet from the fire and put it on the table. As she straightened, she felt a prickle up her spine. Her new husband stood at her back, his fingers sifting through her hair.
She turned around with a question on her face.
“Forgive me. I just…” He let the curl drop and backed up. “Your hair. You usually pull it back.”
She bit her lip. “Do you prefer it up?” Stepping forward, she bent her head into the few inches between them, forehead almost touching his chest. At her invitation, he took a handful of her hair and let it slide through his fingers, lifting the chestnut strands as if it was a finest thread that he’d ever seen.
“Or do you prefer it this way, Mr. Donovan?” Her voice went low and husky.
“Miles. Call me Miles.”
“Miles,” she whispered.
“Carrie,” he said, before he bent his head and kissed her.
It started gentle, but then she felt the pull of his lips. Sighing, she went up on tiptoe, and he cupped her head and held her captive to his plundering mouth. She let her hands roam over his shoulders then down his hard body to snake around his waist.
When their lips finally broke apart, they both gasped for breath. Carrie pressed her body into his and whimpered.
He drew her back to the bed and pulled her on top of him in a puff of flour, holding her head still for his deep, searching kisses.
His hands pulled off her apron, then reached under her skirts to knead her bottom. She gasped as his rough fingers caught on her silky skin.
He drew back frowning. “You all right?”
“Yes.” She pressed herself to him. “Just sore.”
“Oh yes.” He caught her lips and kissed them again. “I remember now.” With a sudden move, he rolled her over and pushed up her skirts. She grabbed the woolen blanket, but he only kissed the bruises and marks he’d left on her.
“There,” he said, laying down beside her to tease her hair again, smoothing it into a fine chestnut sheet. “The skin is healing fine. I’d never truly hurt you, Carrie.”
“I know,” she whispered, and then snuggled closer, totally comfortable in his arms. As his strong arms locked around her, the ache in her bottom spread through her, until her whole body was throbbing with overwhelming need. Rubbing against him, she gave herself over to the feeling, and to him.
Her husband turned out to be a patient and thorough teacher, happy to repeat his lessons. And she’d thrown herself wholeheartedly into her new education. She’d gotten to kiss most of his muscular chest, and in her excitement left a red mark on his strong neck. He’d come into her slowly, with a little pain that later he soothed away with his palm and creative fingers.
She laughed and dusted the fine white particles off the bed. “I got flour everywhere.”
“I would spank you for that, but I’m part responsible.”
She wished she could save his smile and keep it as a treasure. “I’ll gladly share the blame.”
Miles didn’t leave the cabin until well into the afternoon. Once he was gone, Carrie wandered around the homestead, humming. She hung her new shawl over the rough wall, and added the needle and fabric to her things in the corner, and pulled out the trunk to make a little table for her to work on.
After working in the garden, she stopped to fill a jug with flowers. Little by little, she’d take some of the flowers from the hill and plant them all around the porch, just like the red flowers Esther had alongside her doorstep.
Fresh flowers on the table, she saw her husband marching up the hill from the stables and then heard a cry, and looked up to see a golden eagle soaring above the cabin.
She met Miles on the very edge of the porch, and the first thing he did was lift her up and kiss her, then carry her into the house, grinning.
“Wife.”
“Husband.”
He set her down and took in the pretty wall hanging and sewing corner, and the fresh flowers in the jug.
“This is a sight a man wants to see when he comes home.”
His words warmed her heart. “I haven’t gotten dinner ready yet. The stew needs to simmer a while longer.”
She turned back to the hearth when her feet left the floor. Miles swung her into his arms and carried her, squealing, to the bed. “I’m not hungry for stew, wife,” he said, before lowering his mouth to devour her.
In the end, they ate the stew in bed.
The next day, Carrie woke near dawn, but Miles was already gone. Stretching languidly, she felt the soreness in her muscles prickle and smiled. Her husband had taught her many things last night, and she’d been an eager student. Her hands and mouth had explored her husband’s body, and his hers, until they knew every part of each other.
The more she thought about it, the more embarrassed she became.
She’d always been a passionate woman, told to push down her desires and tame them. All her life, she’d been warned against the sins of the flesh; the pastor back home had preached against it, and the congregation rose up to cast out and condemn the wanton women among them. Carrie had believed in keeping her heart and mind pure, until the day came that her lust had taken over. As soon as the church knew of her wicked ways, they’d shunned her. She’d lived in despair until Miles’ letter came, offering escape. Before she started her new life, she’d vowed to be a good and perfect wife, and kept that vow.
Up until last night. She groaned, remembering. Her behavior had been pleasure-seeking and wanton. Could he ever forgive her?
Of course, he said that she’d pleased him, but could Miles want such lust in his wife?
After thinking it over, she decided she must not lose control again. She would be a perfect and chaste wife for him.
Miles stayed out in the field all day, but returned early. She’d heard him at Belle and Monty’s pen and hurried to put dinner on the table. He wasn’t smiling, but there was an easiness to his movements that made her blush, remembering how beautiful his muscles rippled under her hands. He complimented her and ate dinner quickly, seeming eager to get through the meal. Under the table, his foot strayed to her side, pressing against hers. Whenever she scooted her leg away, he found it again, until she finally stood up, feeling flushed.
Her plan to remain chaste and good wasn’t working too well. Fortunately, she had an idea.
Taking a deep breath, she cleared the plates, ignoring the big man watching her with a heated gaze. When she returned to the table, she had her bible in hand.
“What’s this?” He leaned forward once she sat down.
“I thought we could read some verses before bed.”
He sighed, sounding frustrated, but then leaned back in his chair. “Very well.”
She read a bit from Isaiah, hoping to interest him, but when she looked up, he seemed to be studying her more than ruminating on the verses. She pushed the book across to him.
“You never learned to read?”
“No. When I was of schooling age, Pa was often sick, and it fell on me to be the man of the house and work the farm.”
“How old were you?”
“Six. And I didn’t get much schooling even after Pa regained his health, because I was on to the horse farm for my apprenticeship.”
Even though she’d heard many stories of young men kept from school to earn for their families, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for a small, tawny-eyed boy with so much responsibility laid on his shoulders. “Well, then, I’ll teach you.”
She ignored his amused look, and came around the table. Leaning over him, she started to point out letters in the little book, wishing she had a
primer.
“And that’s an ‘E’ that can be used in many words—” She felt Miles’ hand brush back her hair and she swatted at his hand. “—like here, and here, see, in this king’s name…Merodachbaladan…” It took her several tries to pronounce the name, and all the while Miles’ hand was caressing her neck. “Oh dear,” she said, giving up on the ancient king’s name. “Perhaps that wasn’t a very good example.”
Suddenly her student was on his feet behind her, and his lips worried the back of her neck.
“What are you doing?” She felt him pull at the fabric of her dress to uncover more of her skin, and his mouth followed the path.
“Learning to read,” he murmured.
“No, this is not…” She lost the thread of the sentence as his mouth latched onto a sensitive spot on her shoulder.
Then one of his arms snaked around her waist, while the other undid a few more buttons until it could slip into her bodice and cup her breast.
Her knees unhinged completely, and she would have fallen but for Miles’ arm holding her around her middle.
He turned her and lifted her so she was on the table. A few tin dishes went crashing to the floor but neither of them noticed, so busy were they drawing kisses into their hungry mouths.
Deep in her bodice, Miles’ fingers pinched her nipple and Carrie gasped, then gave as good as she got and sucked on his lip, biting it.
Miles jerked away, then touched his lip. When his fingers came away, they were red with blood.
“Miles,” she quavered, sitting half disheveled on the kitchen table. She did not like the look in his eye.
“That’s it,” he said, and she was about to protest when she was over his shoulder then bouncing on the bed. He turned her over and pushed up her skirts while she struggled to escape to the other side of the bed.
“No, I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, you did, sweet wife. You bit me.” He sounded satisfied.
His hand came down with a loud smack, but it didn’t hurt. He followed it with a rub that sent sensations reverberating deep inside her.
Another spank, another rub, and Carrie whimpered, her legs kicking out for a different reason. It was as if she had a fire inside her and each spank struck out a spark to light the blaze.
