by Megan Hart
He forced Caite upright and pointed her toward the wardrobe. Keeping the knife against her, he let go of her arm and swung the door open wide enough to reach inside. He tugged one of her dresses from the hook and tossed it at her, so she had to catch it or have it hit her in the face.
"Yes, I'm carrying Jed's child,” Caite whispered, aware of the irony in her hushed tones. A single cry would alert the rest of the household, but she was too afraid to scream, lest Hammond's knife make good on his threat. If she had only her welfare to think about, she might have risked it, but the babe inside her womb deserved more caution. “Surely you cannot wish to marry me knowing that, Hammond."
Hammond sneered. “Put the dress on, Caitleen."
She began to do as he ordered, her heart thumping wildly. He had taken the knife away so she could pull the cloth over her head. She could strike him with something, and run out...
"Don't think about screaming or running away, dear one,” Hammond told her. “I've got my blade pointed directly at that swelling belly of yours. One move or peep out of you, and you'll find yourself holding your babe long before you'd planned."
Caite repressed a shudder, her blood turning to ice. Hammond meant what he said. She thought of how charming he had been at supper, and cursed herself for falling prey to his tricks.
"In answer to your question,” Hammond continued calmly, as she buttoned her dress with trembling fingers, “I don't give a pair of prancing ponies about the bastard in your womb. Oh, I shall admit I'm disappointed I won't be the first to plant myself between those luscious thighs, but I'll still find some good use for you. It'll be several months before you start to swell anyway, and by that time, I'm sure I'll have moved to greener pastures."
He smiled at her, his eyes cold. “Besides we may get lucky. The hard riding might be too much for you, then your delicate condition won't be a problem any longer."
Caite's fingers clenched on the fabric of her skirt. His casual cruelty sickened her. “Why marry me at all, Hammond?"
He leaned in close to her, so close she could smell the mint and whiskey on his breath. “Because I took everything else of value Desmond O'Neal had, and you're all that's left. You, and that house. By marrying you, I get both."
"What makes you hate my father so much?” She asked.
Hammond gave her a snide, cold grin. “When I was a younger man, your father promised to hire me in one of his shops. Promised to take me on as a partner. Instead, he ended up losing that shop in a poker game. Ironic, isn't it?"
"That seems hardly enough reason to hate a person,” Caite said.
"Because I didn't get that job, or that partnership, and therefore, the income, I was unable to ask for the hand of the young woman I wanted to wed.” Hammond's eyes went distant for a moment before he locked his glaring gaze on her again. “She married someone else."
"She mustn't have loved you,” was all Caite could think of to say.
It was the wrong thing. Hammond's lips pulled back in a silent growl, and he waved the knife at her again. “Shut up!"
"No one will believe I went with you willingly,” Caite declared, lifting her chin at him. No matter how frightened she might be, she would never let him know it.
"They will when they see the note you've left them, telling them how you changed your mind and eloped with me after all."
Caite shook her head. “I will not write any such thing."
Hammond tutted, pouting at her. “My dear, my dear. Must you be so tiresome? Must I explain the situation to you over and over? I'd given you credit for more intelligence than that."
He punctuated every statement with the tiniest jab of the knife, each one coming closer to some part of her. Her arms, her chest, her belly all cringed away from the point of the blade. Hammond's pouting mouth thinned into a grimace.
"You'll write that note, in your finest hand, or I'll cut you from throat to navel like a pig for slaughter."
"You ... you would never get away,” Caite whispered sickly.
Hammond's grimacing smile grew almost cheery. “That, my dear, is a chance I'm willing to take."
* * * *
Jed stared up at the stars. Sleep had been impossible with all the thoughts whirling around in his brain. He had given up trying finally, and come out here to lay back in the grass with his hands behind his head. Looking up into the night sky, seeing all those glittering points of light, sure had a funny way of making a fellow realize just how small he was.
And how short life was, too. Too short to waste time being unhappy. Caite makes me happy, Jed thought. Happier than he'd ever been. Heck, even when they were fighting, just the sight of her smile could make his anger roll away like clouds after a storm.
"I love her,” Jed announced to the night, to the scattering of stars. “I love Caitleen O'Neal."
He had loved Patricia, and had not been loved in return. His fear of being hurt again had kept him from telling Caite the truth of his feelings. He had been willing to marry her, but not to trust her.
As Jed looked up into dark-velvet sky, he realized just how puny and silly his fears seemed against the vastness of the heavens. I was a coward, he thought. Afraid to take a chance on the most beautiful and wonderful woman he would ever meet, and all because one woman had not had enough love in her to share any with him.
It was time he stopped thinking so much about one woman who had not loved him, Jed decided, and started concentrating on making things right with the woman who did. Caite did love him. He was certain of that now. He had been blind and stupid to ignore the way her eyes shone when she looked at him, and the way her lips had curved into the smile she reserved solely for him. He had been too afraid to admit he saw those signs, but that would change.
He would go back to Heatherfield tomorrow, with no excuses for doing so, either. He would return to find Caitleen and tell her the truth. He wanted her to be his wife because he loved her.
* * * *
Caite's hand shook as she dipped the pen into the ink, but she willed it steady. Hammond had already cursed her for ruining the first note with blotches of ink. The side of her neck just under her ear still stung from the prick of his knife.
"Happy handwriting,” he growled. “Pretend you're so in love with me the words fairly write themselves."
Caite took down the words Hammond told her. She had reconsidered, she wrote. Dear Drake had so charmed her, she had seen the folly of her ways and decided to go with him to Lonesome. She had not woken anyone because they were so eager to be off, and she did not wish to disturb anyone's slumber.
As she signed the horrible letter, Hammond planted a kiss on her cheek. It took every ounce of will not to shudder at his touch. Instead, she handed him the note as calmly as she could.
"Wonderful,” Hammond praised, scanning the words. “I especially love the part about how you had only just now realized how charming I was. It's a lovely touch."
Caite said nothing. If the hate in her eyes had been bullets in a gun, Hammond would have been shot right through his forehead. As it was, he merely tutted at her again, clearly enjoying the way he was affecting her.
"Come along, Caitleen,” he told her, forcing her into the kitchen.
Instead of bringing the note as she had hoped, he left it in plain sight upon her desk. Not hidden, which would make the finder of it suspicious, but not where anyone would find it right away. Everyone had been so solicitous of her lately, it was more likely no one would even think to wake her before noon. No one would even know she was gone until then, and by that time, only God and Hammond knew where they would be.
Hammond pressed one finger to his lips to indicate her silence. Caite, mindful of his threats against the child she so loved already, obeyed. The pair exited the house out the back door, Hammond carefully closing it behind them so it would not bang.
There's not even a dog to bark and warn any one of our presence, Caite thought in despair as Hammond pointed her toward the barn. His fine white horse had been bedded dow
n there for the night.
"You certainly know how to repay someone's hospitality,” she ventured meanly, daring to speak louder now they were outside.
"My girl, unless you'd like me to bind that tempting mouth of yours,” Hammond snapped sharply, “only use it when I tell you to."
He shoved her through the barn door so hard she nearly fell. “Come to think of it, Caitleen, it might not be a bad idea to do that after all. I wouldn't want you to risk a yell. We're still so close to the house."
To her humiliation, Hammond pulled a fine silk handkerchief from his pocket and tied around her mouth. Roughly, he knotted the silk behind her head, painfully catching a hank of her hair in the knot. As she winced, he brought his mouth to hers. Caite was all at once thankful for the cloth covering her lips, although she still felt the wet imprint of Hammond's tongue as he slid it over the silk.
"Your skin is like this silk,” he muttered. “And oh, what delights I shall have with it."
Gagged as she was, Caite could make no reply. Instead, she suffered through Hammond's loathsome caress, shutting her eyes to block out his face. He pulled away from her and she heard his sneering laugh.
"Don't play the virgin with me, sweetling,” her kidnapper said. “It no longer becomes you."
If the handkerchief had not been covering her mouth, she would have spit at him, such was Caite's sheer disgust. As if reading her thoughts, Hammond drew close once more to run the knife along the outline of her lips.
"Those lovely green eyes tell me so much,” Hammond said gently. “You hardly need to speak at all."
He tapped the knife against her mouth. “Don't make me angry, Caitleen, else you might find speaking with your eyes your only option."
Harshly, he yanked her closer so he could bind her wrists. Only when he had tied her hands to a nearby hitching ring did Hammond move away from her. As he busied himself with swiftly saddling his horse, Hammond kept up a running commentary on all the perversions he planned on sampling with her.
Caite did her best to block the obscenities flowing from the man. Tears at last sprang to her eyes, but not from fear. Grief prompted her helpless tears, grief that her own father should have given her to the villain who was now saddling a placid chestnut mare called Daisy.
"Ah, tears,” Hammond commented when he noticed them sparkling on Caite's cheeks. “Save them, my dear. They'll do you no good."
Stolidly, Caite forced herself to banish the droplets. She did not want to give Hammond the satisfaction of thinking he was their cause. She drew herself up as tall as she could, determined to face her situation with dignity.
Hammond untied her hands from the hitching post and helped her up onto the mare. As Caite's hands were still bound at the wrist, she was able to take only the lightest hold upon the reins. She soon realized, however, she would not need to control Daisy's head.
Swinging up on his mount, Hammond tied Daisy's lead rope onto the white stallion's saddle horn. Thus tied, the little mare would follow the stallion as if she had no rider on her back. Hammond flashed Caite a quick look to be certain she was seated, then urged the horses forward.
As they rode out into the yard, Caite cast one last, desperate glance toward the house. She was certain someone inside would have had to heard a suspicious noise. Shorty, she knew, should have been particularly sensitive about horse thieves.
Not so much as a candle flickered in any of the windows, she saw with sinking heart. Not even the vigilant Shorty had been roused from slumber. Hammond really was going to take her away, and no one was going to stop him.
* * * *
After making his decision, Jed's eyes grew heavy. Yawning, he got up from the grass and went back into the cabin. He had been able to stuff a new mattress, and the bed would be a sight more comfortable now than the ground.
He grinned to himself at the thought of sharing the new bed with his bride. He knew Caite wouldn't mind living in the tiny cabin until they could build a bigger house. That was just one of the things he loved so much about her, the way she took everything in stride.
As he settled himself into the new mattress, Jed pictured the look on Caite's face when he got down on one knee before her. He could hardly wait. The only thing he had to do before heading out in the morning would be to dismantle all the traps he had set for the rabbits. He wouldn't want to come back to a bunch of spoiled meat.
"Yes, sir,” Jed declared to the empty cabin. “I'll tear down my snares and be on my way. Caitey, you'd best be ready!"
* * * *
They had starting riding hard as soon as they were out of earshot of the house, and Caite was in constant fear of falling off. She was still only barely able to hold onto the reins, and every muscle in her body strained to maintain her balance. Her teeth jarred in her mouth so badly she thought they might crack.
After a while, Hammond pulled the horses to a walk. They were far enough away, he explained, they could take a rest. He pointed out the first light of dawn in the sky.
"We'll ride until that sun gets so hot it could burn a hole in your head,” Hammond told her. “I bet you're grateful now I brought your bonnet."
She was grateful, but she would not let Hammond know that. She knew all too well what damage the sun could do to her fair skin. She did not wish to repeat the experience.
Caite had been certain what Hammond had made her write was a lie, and he was not really going to take her to Lonesome. As they continued following the trail, however, familiar from when she had traveled it with Jed, Caite saw Hammond had made her write the truth. He was taking her to Lonesome along this trail.
Caite smiled behind the silk. He was taking her right past Jed's cabin. Hammond was not as smart as he thought!
* * * *
Despite his excitement, Jed found he slept heavily with no dreams. He woke just after dawn, refreshed and ready to head out. Rolling from the bed, he decided to forgo even breakfast, so eager was he to get moving.
Not even bothering to brew some coffee, Jed pulled on his clothes and headed outside. Jed had four rabbit snares to take down, and then he would be on his way. He wouldn't even have to head back to the cabin. He could leave directly for Heatherfield.
* * * *
The sun had begun to rise high in the sky, but it had not yet become hot enough for Hammond to rest. He was determined to push on as far as he could before stopping. He did not wish to risk anyone from Heatherfield coming after them.
"You see, my dear, I don't completely trust your literary skills in this matter,” he told Caite. “Your note might have somehow rung false enough to cause suspicion. I want to get us to the preacher before anyone has any time to stop us."
"If you think I'll stand before a man of God and agree to marry you, then you're sorely mistaken,” Caite replied.
Hammond had thankfully removed her gag several miles back, reasoning no one would hear her scream even if she tore her throat to shreds with her efforts.
Hammond laughed aloud, the sound grating like broken glass in Caite's ears. “My dear Caitleen, you are so foolish. For a mere pittance, the preacher I have in mind will take my vows as binding for both of us."
Caite did not despair. She knew they had to reach Jed's cabin shortly. Then Hammond would be laughing out of the other side of his mouth.
* * * *
Jed unlooped all the snares, being certain to leave none behind. He had no qualms about trapping the cute little critters in order to fill his belly, but he didn't aim to waste their lives. He made short work of the task, his fingers touched by the same excitement thrumming all through him.
Gorry, though, that sun's getting hot. He paused to swipe his arm across his forehead, noticing suddenly how sharp he smelled. It had been a few days since he'd seen the inside of a bathtub. He couldn't very well greet his bride-to-be smelling like a cowboy just off the range, now, could he?
Just over the next hillock was a small pond. He might as well take advantage of the bath nature was offering him. It wouldn't take
very long, and he was sure Caite would thank him for it.
* * * *
"Ah, here's the shack I passed on my way in,” Hammond said, pointing. He reined the horses to a stop, then cast Caite a warning glare. “Not a word from you, Miss O'Neal. I have a derringer at the ready, and I won't hesitate to use it if you so much as whimper for help."
Caite returned his stare haughtily, not deigning to reply. She scanned the area, but found no sight of Jed. Hammond showed her the small weapon, just to be certain she saw he meant business.
"Hello!"
No answer. Drake called again, clearly not expecting an answer. He did not get one either.
"Nobody there.” Hammond snorted. “Just like when I was on my way to Heatherfield."
"But there is a well.” Caite pointed. “I'm terribly thirsty, Drake. In fact, I think I may faint if I don't get some fresh water and some shade. Could we stop, please?"
Hammond raised his eyebrows at both her plea and her use of his given name. Obviously, he was not going to fall for any false charm from her. Would that she had been so wise.
"Don't expect to pull any tricks, sweetheart."
Caite fluttered her eyes weakly. “Please, Drake. I don't have the strength to attempt any trickery."
Hammond grunted, clearly unimpressed by her sudden ill health. Still, he slid off his horse and helped Caite to the ground. She faked a stumble, forcing Hammond to hold him close to her. This time, she did not pull away.
"Thank you,” she murmured, allowing her body to press against his for a moment longer than necessary.
"You must be feeling unwell to allow me such liberties without a fight,” Hammond commented. “Go, get a drink and sit in the shade."
Caite did as he had said, purposefully walking more slowly than she needed to. She pulled the bucket of clear water to the top of the well and pretended to drink, then sagged noticeably.
"Would it be all right if I went inside?” she asked Hammond pitifully. “I'm sure it's much cooler in there."
