“I won’t leave until my wee brother is back – and you need me for now. Da has need of all of us against the Burleys.”
“Yes,” Alex said, “yes, I suppose we do. But we’ll manage, Jacob, somehow we will.”
“I stay,” he said, “for now.”
Chapter 35
Sarah flopped down beside Ruth.
“Must you always be reading?” she grumbled. “Can’t we do something together, you and I?” She shifted further into the shade of the tree, glowering at the brightness of the May day.
“What?” Ruth asked with a sigh, putting the book down. “We’re not allowed to leave the main yard. We must ask one of our brothers to go with us if we wish to take a walk.” She shook her red braids with irritation. “I wish I was in Providence instead. This is such a dull, wee place. There at least there is conversation and—” She interrupted herself abruptly. “I don’t mean to say we don’t talk,” she apologised, but Sarah was already stalking away. “Sarah, come back! It’s too hot for me to go chasing after you.”
Sarah just lengthened her stride, with Viggo, as always, padding after her. She tried to work off her black mood by doing some of Mama’s exercises, but that only left her feeling even more hot and irritated. Still, she did a few swipes with her hands, pretending she was killing one of the Burleys. This was all their fault. It was because of those misbegotten bastards that she was no longer allowed to roam as she wished.
Da was constantly angry. Mama pretended things were like always, but there was a strained set to her mouth whenever she watched the menfolk ride off, and every evening, when they came back, Mama would somehow soften, as if she’d been holding her breath all the while they’d been gone.
If Da was angry, Ian was even worse, no doubt on account of his back. She’d heard him and Da the other day, a loud argument behind the stables where Da was telling Ian he should rest, while Ian had yelled that he was a man too, and if Da could do double duty, well then, so could he.
So, each afternoon, Ian would strap himself into the special corset Mama and Mrs Parson had designed for him and sit up on his horse, and no matter that he returned ashen-faced every night, next day he insisted on going along as well. Sarah gnawed her lip. She knew Betty worried, as did Mama, but she was mostly jealous. At least Ian was doing something, not cooped up here at home.
She made a face in the direction of Jacob, for the day doing sentry duty with David, and flung herself down in the grass. Longingly, she looked at the cool, green forests. It was so unfair. Her brothers were allowed to go about, albeit in twos, but she, just for being a lass, she wasn’t allowed out of sight. Not even with a musket, Da had said, nor did it help that she pointed out that she always had Viggo with her.
She lay down in the long grass and frowned. No conversation, she had said, stuck-up little baggage. Sarah was going to show her just how little conversation was to be had here, at Graham’s Garden. No, she wasn’t going to talk to Ruth ever again – or at least not for the rest of the day. Reinvigorated by this decision, Sarah went off to find Mama and perhaps wheedle a walk out of her.
“No.” Mama just looked at her. “What is it you don’t understand, honey? Your father has told you that until the Burleys are apprehended, we all stay close to home. Think of what nearly happened to Judith.”
“But that may take months,” Sarah groaned, “or even years.”
“No, it won’t,” Mama said. “Not now that it’s us and the Leslies and the Chisholms working together.”
“The forests are vast,” Sarah snorted. “They could be less than a hundred yards from here, and you wouldn’t see them.”
“Which is where the dogs come in,” Mama said, nervously scanning the wooded fringes.
“Anyhow,” Sarah continued, “it’s not as if I’m defenceless, is it?” She did a quick chopping movement through the air.
“Stop that!” Mama grabbed her hard by the arm. “How can you possibly think that would help against six, seven grown men? No, Sarah, should you ever see them, run.”
“I can shoot,” Sarah sulked, “and Viggo here will defend me, and—”
“…you will stay at home as your father has ordered you to. Right?”
“Right,” Sarah acquiesced sullenly.
*
The men came in for dinner some hours after noon, bone tired after yet another long day out in the fields. First eight hours on the farm, then a further five or six hours scouring the woods for the Burleys – no wonder they all looked half dead. Sarah helped serve them, stared straight through Ruth whenever her sister tried to talk to her, and sat down beside Da.
After dinner, she slouched off to spend more time on her own, as far away as possible from Ruth. Listlessly, she grabbed one of Mama’s baskets and decided she might as well take a stroll round the buildings and see if she could find any nettle shoots. Mama would like that, and Ruth hated nettle soup, which was an added benefit.
Viggo bounded round her, and when they ducked out of sight behind the barn, he rushed off in the direction of the forest, looking back at her with pleading eyes and wagging tail.
“No, come here, Viggo.” The dog lowered his head and trotted back, tail hanging straight down.“I know,” she sighed, “but we can ask Jacob later if he’ll take us for a walk.” She sat down on a rock and placed the empty basket beside her. Too late for nettles, she grumbled, of course it was. In May, they were already tall and stringy, and instead Mama would probably make asparagus soup, which Sarah detested and Ruth loved. Sarah scratched at her throat and waved at the flies.
“Too hot, too many flies, and nothing to do,” she told the dog, who seemed to agree, panting heavily.
She stood, and the dog flew to his feet, once again setting off in the direction of the woods. Sarah hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to but if she stayed close, keeping her home in sight… Yes, that’s what she’d do – she’d walk a short distance into the forest, close enough to be able to run back should she need to. Enough to get out of the sun, and maybe the lupines were out and she’d bring back an armful for Mama. In a much better mood, she picked up the basket and whistling for the dog, stepped into the welcoming shade.
The lupines were out, and Sarah filled her basket with the heavy flower heads. Mostly pinks and reds, and she knew Mama liked the blue the best. There! A patch of blue, just a few yards further in.
Viggo growled, a low menacing sound that had Sarah dropping to a crouch. With a thudding heart, she looked around, trying to discover what the dog had seen. He growled again. There was a whirring sound, and Viggo dropped to the ground, an arrow sticking through his chest. Sarah rushed towards him, the shrubs beyond him parted, and there were men everywhere. Sarah turned and fled.
They laughed when they brought her down, squashing her against the ground. She tried to get back up, she kicked at something, and she was free, running like a hare towards what she thought was home. Again, they tackled her, and again, they laughed. She was rolled over and two faces smirked down at her, faces with cold, light-grey eyes.
I should have fought, Sarah managed to think. Now it was too late, oh God, it was too late! Still, she tried, heaving angrily, and she scrambled back up and picked up her skirts. She flew, swift as a doe, but then her chin hit the ground, and there were hands under her skirts, horrible hands that uncovered her to the air. Sarah tried to scream, but something hit her in the head, and she was hefted up on her knees, standing like an animal as the first man took her from behind.
She was flipped over on her back, hiccupping with pain, with fear. She begged them to let her go, please let her go, and one of them smiled down at her, and she thought that perhaps they would do as she asked them, because he was smiling.
“Open your legs, girl.” He fiddled with his breeches. Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head. She gasped at the pain when he grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her head up, those bleached cold eyes only inches from hers. “I said, open them.”
No, she wasn’t going to. She clamped
her legs hard together. She tried to curl herself into a ball.
He hit her hard across the face. “Bare yourself,” the man said. “Do it, or I’ll slice you open with my knife.”
Crying, she did as he said, uncovering her privates and inching her legs apart.
He let her go, laughing at his brother as he kneeled between her thighs. “See, easily tamed.”
Sarah raked her nails across his cheek. Jesus! The responding blow left her half-unconscious. Hands uncovered her breast, fingers pinched her nipples, and the second man took her.
“My turn, brother,” the first man said, and she saw that he was rubbing himself in preparation.
“Nooo,” she moaned, but they didn’t care; of course, they didn’t care. Sarah was turned this way and that, now and then trying to scream only to have a dirty, strong hand clapped over her mouth, and there he was again, the first man, and, oh God, wouldn’t this stop?
She was aware of an argument and tried to open one swollen eye, but closed it just as quickly. Five more! Dear Lord, let me die, and die quickly, she prayed. Please don’t let me live through this. But God had other things to do, and Sarah was forced to her knees and told to open her mouth.
“She serves you with her mouth only,” Philip Burley said to his men. “The rest is only for my brother and me.”
Sarah snapped her mouth shut, making the other Burley brother laugh.
“It seems she is as yet untamed,” Walter told his brother. Almost gently, he placed a hand on Sarah’s head. “Our little whore, hmm?” He bent his head to her ear and described very precisely what they would do to her unless she did as she was told, and when he was done Sarah was trembling from head to foot. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
*
When Matthew and his sons rode in, they were met by a frantic Alex who had looked everywhere, absolutely everywhere for their daughter.
“And the dog?” Matthew asked, trying to calm her down.
“Not here, not there, not anywhere… Oh God, Matthew, what has happened to her?”
“Mayhap she’s hurt herself,” Mark suggested. “Twisted her ankle or the like, and in the dark it makes sense to stay where she is.”
“Or she’s been bitten by a rattlesnake and is dying as we speak,” Alex said, twisting her hands round and round each other. Or even worse. Matthew’s mouth dried up at the thought.
“She has the dog with her,” he said. “He’ll not let her come to harm.”
They found Viggo, still alive, some three hundred yards away from the barn. They found the basket, upended but still filled with lupines, and Alex wept, kicking at it.
“Why didn’t she stay in the yard as we told her to?” she said through her sobs. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” Dear Lord; his little lass, as wilful as always, but what would this act of disobedience cost her? The dark came in, making it impossible to see anything more. But Matthew had seen enough, seen the marks of scuffles on the ground, and, inside of him, a scream was building.
They returned home with the injured dog, and after a hasty meal, Matthew and his sons donned cloaks and weapons, lit lanterns, and called their three remaining dogs to heel.
“I’m going with you,” Alex told him.
“No,” he replied.
“Yes, I am. Either I go with you or I go alone, but I’m going out looking as well.”
“Alex,” Matthew moaned, “don’t you think I have enough to fear for?”
“And do you think I can stand it here, without her, without you?” She wasn’t backing down, he could see that, and with a sigh he turned away.
“You may not like what we find.”
“And she might need her mother when we find her,” Alex said.
“Here.” Matthew handed Alex his dirk. “You can’t go unarmed.” Alex nodded and settled the knife in the waistline of her skirt. He smoothed back her hair and managed to kiss her brow.
“We’ll find her,” he promised. But how? He wept inside, oh Lord, what have they done to her?
“Of course we will,” she said.
*
It was dark. At a once remove, Sarah noted that there was no moon, only the weak light of summer sky stars that winked high above. She could barely move, and the rope they had tied around her wrists to pull her arms over her head was entirely unnecessary as she wouldn’t dare to try and run. Not again, not after what Philip had done to her.
She wished she could somehow smooth her skirts down over her destruction. Her thighs were sticky with blood and semen, and no matter how she swallowed, she could not get rid of the foul taste in her mouth. Philip snored heavily beside her, but on her other side, Walter raised his head and leered.
“No more,” she begged, and her legs twisted themselves closed, but when his hand closed around her ankle, she did as he wanted. He kneeled between her legs and she closed her eyes.
“Open your eyes,” he said, so she did.
“Smile,” he said, and she made an effort to stretch her lips wide. He was busy with her chemise, uncovering her breasts so that he could paw at them, strong fingers closing on her sore skin. She stifled an instinctive gasp when he entered her. God! He was so much bigger than his brother, and he knew it, savouring the way she tried to put a distance between them. It no longer hurt that much, at least not as much as that first time. The man shuddered and voided himself deep inside of her, remaining where he was a while longer.
“We’ll get a good price for you. Well-trained and tamed, we’ll sell you to one of the whorehouses further south, and all you’ll do for the rest of your life is lie on your back and take man after man into your cunt. Tomorrow, we’ll let the other men have you so that you can practise properly,” he said, wiping himself on her skirts.
“No,” she whispered.
He just laughed.
“Please,” she pleaded, “I’m only sixteen.”
“Becky Ingram was only thirteen, and a right competent little whore when we sold her down in Jamestown, nor was she fool enough to whine.”
Sarah moaned.
“Hold your noise.” Walter Burley casually slapped her face. She lay mute and uncovered, sandwiched uncomfortably between her two abusers, and she didn’t even dare to cry.
Chapter 36
Sarah was stiff with cold when she woke next morning, and for a moment she couldn’t recollect where she was or why – until Philip Burley spread her legs apart and took her, saying there was no reason to waste a good morning cock-stand, was there? She sobbed, she couldn’t help it, but God it hurt! And when Philip was done, Walter wanted his share, and seeing as she was so sore… He indicated he wanted her on her knees.
Sarah screamed, she shrieked in outrage and pain, and Walter laughed, saying what a tight little arse she had.
“Sweetest Lord,” Sarah cried. “Jesus, forgive me my sins, please let me die, please, please, please.” The slap shut her up, and she curled into herself, thinking that she no longer cared if she lived or died. But that wasn’t true. Deep inside her, something was rearing its head: a toothy, black thing that demanded she live – live and make them pay. Slowly, she clenched her hand, bringing it up to rest between her sore and manhandled breasts.
*
“Sarah!” Alex almost fell off the horse. “That was Sarah!” She was riding with Jacob and Matthew, while Mark and Ian had gone to fetch help from the Chisholms and Leslies.
“Aye,” Matthew agreed unsteadily. He called his dog back, and dismounted. “They’re close enough that we can’t come riding or they’ll hear us.” He looped the reins around a branch and indicated to Alex and Jacob to do the same.
“You have the dirk?” he asked Alex, taking her hand in his. She nodded, her mouth so dry with fear she couldn’t utter a sound. Matthew inspected his cavalry pistol, Jacob handed Matthew the loaded flintlock, loaded both the snaphance pistols, tucked one into his own belt and gave Alex the other.
“Aim for the belly,” Jacob said, before gripping his own musket and nodd
ing to his da that he was ready to go.
They split up, with Alex following Matthew, while Jacob moved through the undergrowth some fifty-odd yards in parallel with them. Alex quelled an urge to laugh hysterically, and at one point nearly fell, her legs shaking with nerves. Her hands were slick with sweat, and she tried to move as soundlessly as possible behind Matthew, the gap between them growing yard by yard.
“Aim for the belly,” she muttered, “the belly, Alex.” Her arm trembled with agitation, and she was glad for the comforting warmth of Daffodil, pressed against her legs.
She heard the murmurs of voices before she saw them, and then the clearing widened, a stretch of long grass, a large, solitary chestnut, some shrubs, and at the far end, a group of people sitting in the shade. Alex’s eyes zoomed in immediately on the single important item in the bucolic picture before her: her daughter.
Sitting under a sapling with her legs drawn up, she looked unharmed, and Alex relaxed – until Sarah raised her head and showed the world a puffy, discoloured face with bruises and swellings. She heard Matthew hiss something vicious, and on her far left she saw Jacob stop, coiled like a lethal cat. At most, they stood where they were for ten seconds. To Alex, it seemed like eternal years, an endless period of time with her eyes glued to her battered daughter. She was wondering what to do next when Jacob charged, roaring with anger.
“No!” Matthew exclaimed, throwing his arm wide in a futile attempt to stop his son.
“No!” Alex screamed, but Jacob was already out in the open, his long legs leaping across the ground at an impressive speed. His long hair stood like a golden mane around his head; he bellowed and screamed, in one hand a pistol, in the other his musket. Like a Viking, Alex managed to think, a berserk Norseman.
The men under the tree were on their feet. A puff, a bullet whizzing through air, but Jacob was moving too fast, ducking this way and that, and all the time he yelled, a wordless sound that had the horses neighing and moving restlessly.
Revenge and Retribution (The Graham Saga) Page 29
