Really? Really! Did she think she could run away from him? Did she think he would let her?
He jumped out of the wagon and started to hunt her down as if she really was a rabbit and he really was a very hungry, very angry wolf.
Hudson would've laughed if his throat hadn't felt like he'd swallowed a burning coal. She was an idiot if she thought she could run from him. He'd follow her through the Portal if he had to. There was way too much riding on that white head of hers for him to let her go.
It didn't take long. He tackled her legs. They both went down. She rolled and tried to kick him. He caught her foot an inch from his face. In a quick move he had her under him, legs pinned, hands above her head—her chained wrists now a hindrance to her instead of a weapon.
He took a second to catch his breath, rage choking him almost as effectively as her chained wrists had earlier. "Rule number one. Don't try to kill your husband especially when he is still reeling from the cost of buying you."
She didn't respond, but her eyes had lost that dead, far-away look. Now they shot blue flames of hate. He should've never wished the dull, complacent look away.
If a man had tried to kill him there would've been no hesitation. He'd put a sword through a man's belly for less. But there were reasons why he couldn't kill her. There had to be. All he needed was to remember just one.
His farm.
That was one. Well, he'd keep her alive, but it didn't mean he had to keep her happy.
"Tell me why or else I'll start chopping off body parts until you do." He hadn't sunk to a killer of women yet, but she didn't have to know that. Maybe his father had been right, a little fear goes a long way in a successful marriage.
"You have to let me leave."
It was the first time he had heard her speak. Her voice was a bit raspy, deeper than he'd expected from one so small. It reminded him of cold, clear nights and hushed whispers behind closed doors. And damn it was sexy, and…focus. He lifted her chain and slammed her wrists on the ground for emphasis. "I just spent my life savings and half my land to buy you. You're not going anywhere."
"Then I'll never stop breaking rule number one," she spat out.
"Well, that will make what I have to do a lot harder."
"Which is what?"
"Get you pregnant."
Her face blanched, and he allowed himself a wicked smile. He could tell she was thinking the worst. Good, by The Path she deserved it. But that wasn't the worst. He could do better. "And I have every intention of keeping you chained to my bed to accomplish it."
Chapter Three
As far as husbands went, Lake guessed she could've done worse. She remembered the feel of him on top of her, all muscle. He hadn't turned to fat—yet. The ones who had enough money to purchase a wife were mostly lascivious, old men with only a few teeth. But being young didn't make him different. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her. It was the same way most men had since the summer she'd grown breasts. Of course, most had been older than her father.
There might've been a time, when she was younger, that her so-called husband would've been the type of man her young heart had fantasized about. But that was a lifetime ago, before things changed, before…
He bought you. One of the many reasons she hated the Elders and their laws. Women weren't meant to be bought and bred like cattle, and then made to watch their daughters be bought and sold the same way. But change was a long way off. Especially with her in these chains.
What was her so-called husband's name again? Huddon? Mutson? Didn't matter, she already hated him. It was nothing personal. At least it hadn't been until he had tied her to the back of the wagon and made her walk the rest of the way to his home. Neanderthal.
Of course, he had slowed the wagon to a crawl, but that didn't count for much. Neither did his turning around to check on her every couple of minutes. Lake waited for him to twist around and look at her again, then she gave him a glare and spat on the ground.
He quickly faced forward. Good. Let him stew on that. She'd fight him with everything she had left.
Her shoulders slumped. The bone weariness she'd kept at bay finally caught up with her. Who was she kidding? She had nothing left. He should've just let her die—wished he had. She'd been resigned to her fate. She'd done all she could. Death would've given her the peace she so desperately wanted. But she still lived and she still breathed. Long ago she had made her decision. She'd left the teachings of her father, left The Way, stopped following The Path. Instead, she'd dedicated each beat of her heart to the Rebellion. And her fight wasn't over, never would be, until she either died or the New Republic was born.
Death seemed more likely.
Lake stumbled, but caught herself. She was tired. Tired of fighting alone. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten—had to be over a day ago. If she could just rest, maybe get a drink of water, she might be able to think clearly. She might then be able to find her way out of this situation.
There'd been a moment when they'd first left the city that she'd recognized the mountain range as the same one that bordered her childhood home. Hope had burst through her. She was closer than she'd thought. She had to try.
What's-his-name stopped the wagon. Lake waited. That's what she did—she bided her time, waited for the right opportunity. But she'd had her opportunity, and she'd blown it. Killing him hadn't been her objective, more of making him pass-out so she could escape. She just hadn't expected herself to be so weak or for him to be so strong.
No matter, she wouldn't give up. There'd be another opportunity. The Path knew he was dim-witted enough. Who would pay that much money for a wife? When she was stronger she'd try again, and the next time she wouldn't be as nice. She'd use the axe.
What's-his-name seemed to be debating with himself—again. Fine with her, she could wait all day. Well, she could if she sat down. Lake eased herself to the ground, trying not to wince at the tightening in her back. Who would've thought a dirt road would be such bliss? She desperately wanted to allow her eyes to close briefly, but she couldn't afford to be taken off guard.
Finally, he hopped out of the wagon and came over to her. Lake stared straight ahead, readying herself for the worst.
"My farm is just over this hill," he said.
She regretted sitting down. She would've felt better having any conversation with him on her feet. She wouldn't stand though and let him know that she was bothered.
"It would be better for you if the first time my men see you isn't..." He let his voice trail off. His booted foot shifted in the dusty road. "It would be better if you arrived as my wife by my side."
Lake couldn't take it anymore and pushed herself to her feet. "As opposed to arriving as your slave?"
"Yes."
He didn't mince words, she would give him that. Honesty was rare in this day and age. Too rare. She searched his features and looked for an ulterior motive. She supposed his face was put together decently, two eyes, one mouth. But she knew better than to trust a nice face. He wanted something from her, men always did. Oh yeah, he wanted to use her as a breeding mare. Get her with child, sell her daughter. How could she have forgotten?
"Can you restrain yourself from trying to kill me for the next hour or so?"
She nodded. There was nothing to gain by refusing.
He untied the rope attached to her chains and helped her into the wagon. As they crested the hill, the tree line around them broke, giving her an unhindered view of the shallow valley below. Lake gasped. Below her wasn't just a farm, but sprawling fields of golden brown and neatly squared patches of rows of green. Men in wide brimmed hats toiled about the land alongside horses that were hooked up to wagons and plows. This wasn't the small vegetable garden of her childhood home. No, this was a working farm that could produce enough food for thousands.
The Elders took what they wanted, either by force or heavy taxation. How the man sitting next to her had held on to land this rich without the Elders claiming it was nothing short of a mira
cle. A slow easing respect grew for her new husband. Maybe it was time to learn his name.
"Do you like it?" There was genuine pride in his voice, as if he actually cared what she thought. Respect was one thing, but giving her approval was quite another. Lake stared straight ahead and let her face settle into nothing.
He sighed as if he was tired. Whatever. He hadn't been the one imprisoned for months.
"Can you at least tell me your name? I need to introduce you to my men."
He wanted her name, something so simple, and yet it felt too intimate. How long had it been since she'd spoken her name, her real name? Her mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed to loosen her tongue. "Lake."
"That's pretty."
She resisted a tsk to show she had any feelings one way or another. Besides, what did he know? There was nothing pretty about her name. Lake wasn't about rain-kissed summer days and fresh berry picnics. A lake was the place people went to drown their shame and hide their bodies. A lake made it easy for them to walk away with peace of mind. Because they all knew this—Lake never gave up her secrets. Never.
***
Lake placed her hands on the large wooden table. The weight of the chains had started to wear on her, and it felt good to ease her burden. During the introductions to Hudson's men (she had found out her husband's name) she'd sat tall and proud in the wagon, a rough blanket thrown over her hands. Now with no one watching, she allowed her shoulders to slump and head to rest against the back wall.
Hudson's home was even more of a surprise than his farm. It was actually a brick and mortar building, instead of the usual mud huts that she grew up in. No stone queries had survived the Global War so the house must've been built pre-war. That was impressive, even by land owner's standards. And his house had electricity.
A person had to look, but it was there in the absence of a fire in the cooking pit, no fresh black soot caked the walls, and if one listened hard, there was no quiet hum of a generator.
If a person had a generator, then one had gasoline, and the only providers of petrol were the Rebels.
When the Rebellion had begun years ago, it was the soldiers who protected the planet on the other side of the Portal who'd made the first conquest. They had usurped the Elders' power and claimed Dark Planet as their own. The Elders had cut off all supplies from Earth, but the Rebels had found their own source of wealth—oil. The Rebels owned Dark Planet, the largest and as of now, only source of oil. If one wanted gas for their generator, then one dealt with the Rebels.
A rush of fear slammed into her. Dealing in commodities that the Rebels wanted wasn't cheap. And it was dangerous. Fresh vegetables and fruit were a rarity, and meat besides horse and goat was nearly unheard of. Was that why Hudson had bought her? Had he guessed at her true value to the Rebellion? She might be a valuable hostage, but the Rebels wouldn't pay. The Rebellion had a no ransom policy. If you got caught, there'd be no one coming to get you. The Rebel's motto was drilled into her—there was a price for freedom, and sometimes the price was your life.
Somewhere in the distance a door opened and footsteps sounded her way. Lake sat up and squared her shoulders. Her back screamed in protest, but she ignored the pain. When Hudson came into view, she sized him up through a whole new set of eyes. He'd given her and the Elders the impression of a back hill farmer, but there was way more to this man. She didn't like the fact that she'd underestimated him.
His boots were working boots, but made of good quality. His clothing was nothing special, dark work pants and a white shirt, stained with sweat and dirt. She made a conscious effort to ignore how his shirt molded his body and strained to fit the extensive span of his shoulders. His forearms were exposed, and her gaze followed the corded muscles of his arms to his hands. Large hands, strong hands, hands she knew were capable of violence—hands that held a pickaxe and a rather large steel stake.
He walked forward and laid both on the table before her. It took effort for her to drag her gaze away from the tools—or instruments of torture?—and watch as he sat across from her. Watch the man, not his weapons.
"We need to talk," Hudson said.
You mean I need to talk. Lake glanced from the crude metal stake on the table then back to her husband's face. He didn't have the look of a cruel man, but Lake had been fooled before. In prison, it had been a common practice to impale the more uncooperative prisoners' hands to the wall, by means of a steel stake. As the saying went, a captive hand freed a tongue.
They'd been right.
Would she break? Lake closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart. She had to be strong. There was no other option.
"We need to come to a compromise," he said.
His voice had a soothing quality to it, which made Lake even more nervous. If she didn't watch herself, she'd tip her hand before she was ready. Lake opened her eyes.
"But first I need to know a few things. Are you against marriage?"
The question threw her. For women under Elder law there was no other option than to marry. Even from birth, female babies weren't given a last name—why bother when they would take the name of their husbands? "If you are asking if I am against the buying and selling of females to the highest bidder, then yes, I am."
"I don't make the rules, little dove. I just follow them."
"Really?" Lake did an exaggerated look around. "You expect me to believe, with all this, that you are a rule follower."
"It wasn't my neck that was stretched out on the executioner's block, now was it, little dove?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
Hudson leaned back in his chair, a smile light on his face. "Regardless, you're married to me. The Marker will be on his way in three days, and I think it would be better for both of us if he doesn't find you chained to my bed or my rotting body in the wine cellar. So, are you willing to negotiate?"
Lake let her gaze roam over him before answering. She'd learned fast that deals endangered lives. But better safe than sorry. Besides, she could've done worse. The man sitting across from her was relatively young. She didn't even mind the soft wave of his sandy blonde hair and how it fell over eyes that seemed to change from simple brown to the golden color of maple leaves in the fall.
"Yes," she answered, surprised that she meant it.
"Good. Good." Hudson nodded and leaned back in his chair with a look of relief. It had her wondering how he would've reacted if her answer had been different.
"I'm not going to pretend I don't have any idea of why you were arrested. Breaking anti-tech laws basically screams of involvement with the Rebellion. But I've kept my life and my farm by not getting involved with the Cause. As my wife I expect you to do the same."
"So you are saying you expect me to close my eyes to the plight of the poor and close my ears to the cries of the repressed?"
"It's easier to sleep that way."
"You're despicable."
"I've been called worse, and yet, I am still willing to negotiate with my wife who tried to kill me on our honeymoon. So, what will it be, Lake? What do you want? And it can't be the breaking of rule number one. That's off the table."
His mouth turned up on one side at his attempt at humor, but she refused to let it soften her. He was right about one thing. Lives were on this table. He just didn't realize that his wasn't important enough to be part of the bargain.
"My freedom. I want to be let go."
He sighed as if he had to explain the incredibly simple to the incredibly stupid. "Impossible. Try again."
"Then we are at an impasse."
Hudson crossed his ankle over his knee and brushed some dirt off his boot. "Have you really no idea how to negotiate? No wonder you were slotted for execution. To you it's all or nothing. But the world is full of compromise. There are more shades than just black and white. There are myriads of grays. Think Lake, what can you live with?"
He surprised her. She didn't like surprises. How she'd ever thought he was a dim-witted farmer shook her powers of percepti
on. Across from her sat a crafty deal maker, and the miracle of him being able to keep his farm all the sudden seemed less from divine means and more from sly ones.
He was good; she'd give that to him. He had her thinking. It had always been all or nothing for her. Do or die. Her against the world, but was there an alternative? What could she live with? Lake swallowed. Her heart raced, but this time with hope. "I need a day. Allow me to leave for twenty-four hours unhindered, and I'll give you my promise that I'll return."
"Done." But there was a twinkling in his eyes.
It was too easy; he knew something she didn't. "And I'll need provisions, a weapon, and..." she racked her brain for anything she was leaving out. "And these chains off."
"Of course." He nodded toward the pick and stake on the table. "That's why I brought the tools. Anything else?" He smiled with both sides of his mouth this time.
She didn't trust him, but what else could she do? This meant too much. Lake shook her head. "No."
"Time for my demands." If possible Hudson leaned back even further in his chair. He seemed way too relaxed.
She was genuinely confused. There was nothing she had to bargain with. He was the one with all the power. "I don't understand what could you possibly want from me that you don't already have?"
"You in my bed."
Did she imagine it or did his eyes grow darker? Don't be stupid, Lake. Contrary to what he thought, she did know how to negotiate. Lake schooled her features, didn't even blink. But it didn't stop her body reacting as if she'd just jumped into a pond of water—mid-winter.
"That's yours regardless." She wasn't giving anything away by stating the facts. She just had to figure out what his game was. "You don't need to bargain with me in order to get me into your bed."
"True, but I do need you pregnant. I don't put it above the Elders to come and check on my declaration of pending fatherhood. Perjury carries the death penalty, and even though that doesn't concern you over much, it's a big concern to me. I have a farm to work. I don't have time to chase you every time you run. And despite what I said earlier, I've never kept a man in chains—yet. Call me foolish, but I like the thought of sleeping without worrying that my young bride is going to kill me. A man likes his wife willing—at least I do. Given the chance Lake, you might even find bedding me enjoyable."
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