Shana's Guardian

by Sue Lyndon

  How she’d gotten it in her head to visit the trading post was beyond him. None of the men allowed their wives or daughters to travel the dangerous roads. Ever careful, Daman insured the group he organized was heavily armed and remained vigilant through the entire trip. Outlaws had attacked them on a handful of occasions, but none of the Jackson Settlement men had suffered a casualty in years. Daman was blessed with a sixth sense when it came to danger, and the men in the settlement respected him for leading them to and from the trading post with nary a scratch.

  Shana’s presence would be an immense distraction. All their lives would be endangered if he couldn’t focus. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, especially because he couldn’t guarantee her safety. The thought of harm coming to Shana because of her own stubborn foolishness prompted a resurgence of anger to boil his blood hotter than the mid-July sun.

  He tightened his hold on her waist and raised the strap. It fell with a resounding crack across her bottom cheeks. Before the first red mark appeared, he swung the strap down, again and again, covering her flesh from her lower thighs to the middle of her upturned backside. It didn’t take long for her whimpers to turn to howls, but he kept on swinging. He intended this lesson to be a memorable one. He paused near the end and splayed her cheeks apart with one hand. Setting the strap aside, he gathered moisture from her pussy with his fingers, keeping her spread wide.

  “The next time I hear mention of you stepping an inch over the settlement barrier, you can expect another session with the strap.”

  She gasped as two fingers pushed into her tight bottom hole. He hadn’t penetrated her here since the night before their wedding.

  “How dare you disrespect me, Shana,” he scolded as he pumped in and out of her asshole. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

  “Oh! You did!” she said, speaking for the first time since the first stroke of the strap. “Please! I’m sorry.” Her bottom muscles clenched around his thrusting digits, but his momentum didn’t slow.

  “Soon you will feel my cock here, Shana, during punishments and during lovemaking. Your body belongs to me.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said.

  He withdrew his fingers completely, only to push deep past his knuckles, and repeated the process a dozen times more. Stopping once her shoulders relaxed and he sensed her total submission, he rubbed and inspected her bottom, which was a lovely crimson. Only a few small welts had risen. He thought of the night she’d snuck away to the gypsy town and his jaw tightened at the memory.

  “You’ll take the final ten bent over the bed,” he announced as he slowly helped her to stand. Their eyes locked as she straightened, and Daman nearly lost his resolve when her lip quivered. Tears filled her eyes and she wiped at her face, sniffling.

  Shana was crying – for the first time in years.

  Concerned, he inspected her from head to toe, turning her around to double check her punished thighs and ass. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He’d turned her backside a brighter red than this on many occasions. So why the hell was she suddenly sobbing when harsher punishments didn’t illicit as much as a single tear? He spun her around.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face. “Why are you crying?”

  Another heavy sob racked her body and she attempted to look away, but Daman cupped her face between his hands, forcing her to meet his anxious gaze.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he demanded, growing tenser by the second.

  “I – I don’t know,” she sobbed, fresh tears pouring from her eyes. “I’m just so sorry.”

  He sighed as most of his anger evaporated. It wasn’t fair to punish her again for misdeeds she committed at the age of eighteen. He reminded himself why she was being punished, which was mainly because of her bad attitude in response to his refusal to bring her on the trading mission. Of course, he’d promised her ten additional strokes of the strap, and he was nothing if not a man of his word. He couldn’t command respect by being a pushover. Tilting her head up, he planted a kiss on her lips.

  “I know you’re sorry, Shana, but you’re punishment isn’t over yet. Bend over the bed so we can finish this.”

  She wiped at her eyes again and nodded. As she took position, he decided to end her suffering and deliver the strokes in rapid succession. He placed a firm hand on her lower back to prevent her from rising up. Careful not to strap the same place twice in a row, he brought the leather implement down across her punished flesh ten times. She rose up on her toes but made no attempt to thwart him.

  “It’s over.” Daman dropped the strap and stroked his hand down her back. Her shoulders heaved as she mumbled incoherent apologies into the covers. Her hands surrounded her face, and her breathing gradually slowed.

  At first her tears had scared him, but now they brought him hope. The emotional wall she’d built around her heart was crumbling down. This pleased him greatly. He wanted all of Shana – her light and her darkness, her happiness and her sorrow.

  His hand roamed lower to cup her exposed mound. Even without gliding his fingers through her folds, he could feel her pussy weeping for his touch. “All is forgiven, Shana,” he said as he freed his engorged cock. Taking her body was the final act that would seal the rift between them.

  Her walls clamped down on his shaft as he pushed inside her slick entrance. He groaned, lost in the delicious sensation as she pulsed around him. She pushed her center backward and arched her back to allow him fuller access to her pussy channel. Pulling out, he rammed forward and repeated the process as he gripped her hips. The rhythm of his thrusts quickened, and he knew it wouldn’t be much longer before pure ecstasy surged through his senses and culminated in a powerful, quaking release. As their bodies rocked together, he glanced down at her little form underneath him and his heart swelled with joy. She was his, all his. He groaned and threw his head back as he released inside her welcoming warmth.

  All his.

  Chapter 5

  The temperature drops to freezing most nights now, Shana realized with a heavy heart as she stared out the kitchen window. She regarded Daman conversing with the group of men he’d assembled for the trading mission in the backyard. Further away in a nearby field, she saw over a dozen supply wagons lined up and ready for their horses. Tonight the monthly marriage celebration would be held, and tomorrow the chosen men would leave before sunrise for the trading post. A gust of wind disturbed the large map Daman was bent over, and Shana shivered even though she was indoors. Would he fall asleep at night on the side of the road, freezing and dreaming of home?

  She tapped her fingers on the counter and gave Margery a wary glance.

  “Oh stop fretting,” her friend said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “They’ll be fine. They always are.”

  Shana sighed and went back to work fixing turkey sandwiches for lunch. “Daman said it’s dangerous.” She paused. “I asked him to take me along and he refused.”

  “You what?” Margery shook her head, laughing. “Mark says taking a woman on the road is bad luck – not that I’ve ever asked if I could come along.” She placed the sandwiches Shana had made on a tray.

  Shana shrugged and grinned at her friend. “Okay, I’ll admit it wasn’t my brightest idea.” Her sore bottom clenched involuntarily as she remembered the cost of her wayward tongue.

  Margery delivered the sandwiches to the men while Shana started cleaning up the mess. Once lunch was eaten and the kitchen made spotless, the two women decided to visit Beth in the greenhouse. Rare solar panels kept the greenhouse warm all year round, so it would be a cozy place to pass the afternoon.

  Shana led the way to the awesome structure situated behind the Clayton house. Heat instantly enveloped her as she walked inside. Even during the harshest winter day one could enjoy fresh fruits and vegetables in the settlement. Beth’s husband, Mr. Clayton, had engineered the building of the massive domed structure six years ago. Everyone pitched in to help take care of the produce, and a second greenhouse was schedu
led to be built next summer.

  Beth was busy picking blueberries from the potted blueberry bushes in the middle of the aisles. Her face lit up when she saw her friends. “I hope you’re here to help,” she said, nodding toward some buckets stacked on a stool nearby.

  Shana laughed. “As long as you promise to put those in one of your pies, I’ll help.”

  Beth narrowed her eyebrows mockingly. “Oh fine, it’s a deal.”

  The three women picked the berries for a few minutes in silence. Shana was nervous about the marriage celebration and Daman’s imminent departure to the trading post, and she tried to use this opportunity to clear her head. It didn’t work. Her insides were all twisted up, and her stomach kept lodging in her throat.

  “It’ll be nice having you around for company for the next two weeks,” Beth finally said, giving Shana a cautious look followed by a reassuring smile. “I have the guest room all made up for you.”

  Margery gasped. “Daman still won’t let you stay by yourself? I thought since you were married now –” Her voice trailed off and her unspoken words hung in the air.

  Ugh. Embarrassed didn’t even began to describe how Shana felt at this moment. Her face burned as she regarded her two best friends. What could she tell them?

  “He treats you like a child,” Margery said, tossing a handful of blueberries in her bucket. “You’re nearly twenty-four. Doesn’t he know how old you are? Mark never makes me stay with anyone when he leaves.”

  Shana didn’t need any reminders about her age, or for Margery to rub it in that Mark let her get away with murder. “He thinks I’ll be lonely if I’m by myself for two weeks,” she said, half lying. Daman really wanted to ensure Shana behaved herself, especially after she’d recently brought up the subject of traveling outside the settlement barriers. Her husband trusted Mr. Clayton to keep an eye on her.

  Margery shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Shut up, Margery. Shana nearly crushed the berries she held in her tightening fist before she realized what she was doing.

  “Guess what?” Beth suddenly asked, a twinkle in her eye. “The Johnson triplets are sneaking off to the gypsy village on Friday night.”

  “Really?” Shana asked, grateful for the change of subject and ready to latch onto it. “How do you know?”

  Beth picked up an empty bucket and began filling it with more berries from the next bush. “They asked me for directions.” She grinned and spun around, her dress flaring outwards. “Remember how much fun we all had that night?”

  Margery nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll never forget it. What a night it was!”

  Oh, no. Shana didn’t like where this was going. Nope, not one bit. Neither of her friends had gotten caught, and neither of her friends knew the price she had paid for defying Uncle Daman. “Yes, it was fun,” she offered, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. It was fun . . . until she got caught.

  “They invited me to go with them,” Beth said, winking as she popped a blueberry in her mouth.

  “Let’s do it!” Margery said, throwing her hands up in the air. “It won’t be long before the three of us have babies. This is our last chance for some wicked fun.”

  Beth shot her friends a pointed look. “Won’t your husbands be angry?”

  “Not if they don’t find out,” Beth said, practically singing the words as she twirled again.

  “I can’t go with you,” Shana said nervously, her thoughts centered on how disappointed Daman would be if she disobeyed. And the awful strap. Especially the awful strap.

  “Why not?” Margery asked, a hand on her hip.

  “I promised Daman I wouldn’t set foot outside the barrier again.”

  “Again?” Beth’s eyes widened. “What do you mean again? How does he know about the first time?”

  She flushed. “If you must know, he caught me sneaking back through my window all those years ago. He wasn’t pleased.” And he took a strap to my bare bottom every night for a week. That’s why I never told you.

  Margery’s eyes shone. “You’re forgetting something, my dear. Daman won’t be here on Friday. It’ll be easier for you to sneak away than it will be for us,” she said, gesturing between herself and Beth.

  “You’re both the devil,” Shana said, sighing. “Okay, okay, I’ll think about it.” Hopefully that would placate her friends for now. No matter what Beth and Margery said though, she wouldn’t think twice about visiting the gypsy village with them.

  The three women filled up ten buckets of blueberries while talking about the marriage celebration that night. Margery had promised to watch her sister’s baby, so she would miss out this month, but Beth would be in attendance with her husband. Shana was happy there would be at least one friendly face in the crowd. After helping Beth close up the greenhouse, Shana delivered a bucket of blueberries to old Mary Miller, stopped at the library on a personal errand, and went home to prepare for the impending party.

  She took a long bath, all the while mourning the days to come. She had missed Daman each and every time he left the settlement, but now that he was her husband she felt his imminent absence like a gaping wound in her chest. Asking to come along with the men had been silly. She understood that in retrospect. Even Margery had thought her crazy for asking such a question.

  Beth and Margery were the crazy ones though. They planned to visit the gypsy village in less than a week! Shana doubted she could say anything to sway their minds, especially Margery’s. Margery’s husband was a big pushover, and even if she were caught, she would hardly suffer through a scolding. Beth’s husband seemed just as strict as Daman, and Shana was certain Beth would suffer severe consequences if she were caught. How did Beth plan to sneak out when she shared a bed with her husband?

  Shana sank lower in the tub, submerging her head completely underwater. She held her breath for as long as possible, because when she emerged, it would be time to dry off and don her mother’s wedding party gown. When the pressure in her torso became unbearable, she resurfaced and sucked in a much needed gulp of air. Loneliness spun a tangled web of heartache through her chest. Her mother was dead, and Shana would be preparing for the party alone. All the other girls had their mothers or aunts or sisters to help them get ready.

  She stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her dripping body. She supposed she would ache for a female presence now and then in the years to come. It was probably normal, but she wouldn’t let it ruin her last night with Daman before his departure.

  She hastily towel dried her hair and braided it into a crown atop her head, leaving half of it flowing down her back. She applied a hint of makeup, just as she had the day they’d gone to the chapel. Warm stockings and the dress came next. At least her mother’s dress was long-sleeved and heavy. The wedding celebration was always held outside, even in the dead of winter, so she was grateful for the warmth of the garment. As she struggled to close the countless buttons on the back of the dress, Daman pushed aside the curtain and entered her bedroom – her old bedroom. She’d decided to get ready here so her husband would have enough space to prepare on his own.

  The air in the room seemed to warm as he approached her, his eyes conveying so much heat she nearly melted at his feet. God be good, she loved this man so much it hurt to breath sometimes.

  “Here,” he said, turning her to face the mirror. “Let me help you.”

  As he worked to close the buttons on her gown, Shana peered at his reflection in the mirror. He wore a dark gray suit. His hair was damp from a recent bath, and it shimmered brilliantly in the candlelight, and combined with his burning eyes gave him an unearthly look. Like a fallen angel, she thought with a secret smile.

  “Something funny?” he asked, spinning her around after latching the last button.

  She flushed. “I’m just very happy,” she said. That wasn’t a lie, at least.

  He studied her for a long while, holding her out by her arms. His mouth opened. “I have something for you.” He dropped her arms, reached into his
pocket, and pulled out a beautiful diamond encrusted comb.

  Shana gasped. She’d never seen anything like it.

  “It belonged to my mother,” he said.

  “Oh, Daman, it’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, smiling wide.

  He lifted his arms and fixed the comb in place within her crown of braids. She glanced at herself in the mirror, feeling like a princess from one of the storybooks she’d seen in the library.

  “Oh!” she gasped, catching his eyes in the mirror. “I have something for you too.” From under the pillow on her old bed, she produced a package wrapped in light green fabric, tied with a gold ribbon. She watched his expression as he opened it, praying he would like it. To her immense relief, he grinned like a child opening a birthday present when he pulled the book free from its wrappings.

  “How did you get the library to part with this book? It’s their only copy.” He held up the abused copy of 1984, his favorite book, and began flipping through the pages.

  Shana giggled. “That took a lot of negotiating with Mr. Anderson. I ended up agreeing to hold a story and craft time for children twice a week for the next four months.” She bit her lip and eyed him worriedly. “I hope you won’t mind.”

  Daman sighed, shaking his head while wearing the biggest grin she’d ever seen. “You’re something,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “So you really like it? I had the hardest time figuring out your present. You’re a difficult man to please, you know.”

  He drew her closer, encircling his arms around her waist. “I love it, Shana. And I love you.”

  * * *

  Daman glanced at the starry sky, eyeing the waxing gibbous moon appreciatively. It was large and bright, and the impending fullness of it would make a perfect travel companion, assuming the weather held out. Laughter and music filled the square where he stood beside Shana, holding a possessive arm around her waist. She was breathless from dancing with the settlement children. It was considered good luck to dance with as many brides as possible, so superstitious parents encouraged their children to dance with all the young women dressed in white.