by Paige Tyler
Their first fight had been about spanking, actually.
For two days Jack had remained in bed, gradually his color returning. He shaved every morning, which pleased Morgan, although his smooth jaw only made him look younger. He didn’t talk much, sleeping most of the time. Then the third morning had started out badly. Morgan thought maybe he’d just woken on the wrong side of the bed, so when he snapped at Kate to take herself out to the woodshed, Morgan had tried to interfere.
“I’ll not be hearin’ your complaints in front of the children, Miss Shaunacy!” he’d roared.
Kate had glared at her, and Morgan feared she’d made the girl’s punishment worse by her meddling.
Afterwards, Jack had disappeared into the woods with an axe, and Kate had been more sullen than ever.
Their second fight had also been about spanking. Lee had worked hard all day without complaint. Riding on his pony, he’d hauled cartloads of logs to the house, where the girls helped stack it beside the woodbin. Back and forth, sweat on his forehead in spite of the chilly autumn breeze beginning to blow, and he had himself only recently been quite ill. Morgan felt useless, for the children and Jack had divided all the chores among themselves and left nothing for her to do, except cook - a chore they willingly relinquished.
Then just before dusk Jack returned and took his gun down from its spot above the fireplace. “Lee!” he barked. “Hae ye been touchin’ me gun again!”
Lee’s face blanched, and he dropped the logs he carried.
“I’ll not ask ye agin!”
Lee nodded mutely.
Morgan stepped behind the child and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sure he thought he was just protecting his sisters, Jack.”
“What were ye shootin’ at,” Jack demanded, his face fierce.
Lee didn’t answer. He couldn’t very well admit he’d been shooting at her! Morgan felt torn between wanting to protect the boy from his father’s wrath, and teaching him never to touch a gun again. Lee turned and shuffled outside, presumably to finish the conversation in the woodshed, but Morgan couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.
“You need to calm down,” she ordered Jack. “The boy was sick. You weren’t here. Let’s just forget the whole thing and sweep it under the rug.”
In two quick strides Jack was towering over her, his voice pitched too low for the girls to hear. “Stay out of this, woman! If’n ye know what’s good for ye!”
She obviously didn’t know what was good for her, she grimaced, the pain in her bottom spreading. She’d wanted to stop badgering him, but a small mean streak had crept up inside, pushing him, always pushing him. She was like an insecure child, believing she was unlovable, and so behaving in such a way as to be unlovable.
Lee had been spanked hard enough that he couldn’t sit comfortably, but not so hard that he didn’t have a smile for her by suppertime. He confessed to Morgan then that he’d been forbidden to touch the gun unless his papa was there with him, and he apologized for putting her in danger. Morgan hugged him. She would have protected him, spoiling him because he was crippled. Jack refused to treat him differently, and Lee was a darling child.
It was getting harder to submit. The paddle raining down on her backside was powerful. She squirmed, and the next swat was twice as hard. Morgan couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping. How long would this go on? Her bottom was burning. Her thighs had to be scarlet by now! She would never be able to sit still tonight through supper - if Jack even allowed her to eat. The children would know she’d been given the same sort of punishment they got - would they ever respect her now?
They would show her respect, or they would be punished. But having it forced upon them wasn’t the same as earning it. Tears streamed down Morgan’s face. Her nose was stuffy and she knew she had to look absolutely horrible, but all of that paled against the suffering in her bottom.
“Please, Jack! Stop! I’m so sorry!” she cried.
“Aye. ‘Tis sorry ye’ll be, before ‘tis done,” he answered her. He didn’t even sound winded! Her young betrothed could undoubtedly keep this up much longer than she could. Morgan squirmed in earnest, but was unable to break free.
“Please, stop!” she sobbed.
Ten more, and then ten more after that. Morgan didn’t want to count the strokes in her head, but every swat that came had her praying it was the last, yet another always followed. She knew she’d missed many spankings growing up, but did she have to catch up all at once!
And then, mercifully, the paddle stopped. Her flesh continued to pulse and throb as though still being punished. She felt so hot, she wished she could strip off her clothes and stand naked in the cold pool at the base of the falls. Then Jack helped her to her feet.
She was embarrassed and hurting and she wanted to hide her face, but she really just needed to be comforted. She threw her arms around his chest and held on tightly.
Jack stiffened. She couldn’t bear it if he pushed her away. Then his hands touched her back tentatively. She snuggled in closer, burying her sobs in his shirt. He patted her back, and started to sway from side to side. She didn’t know how long they stood like that. Part of her wished they’d never have to move. But another kind of pain was springing up between them.
She wanted him. She wanted to lie with him, to know him in the biblical sense. And he had to feel the same for her. She could feel his man part swell between them. But how would they find the privacy in a tiny cabin with five children? And just because he wanted to release his seed didn’t mean he particularly cared for her at all.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, still struggling to catch her breath between sobs. “I’ve been horrid. I deserved to be punished. I’m so sorry!”
“Perhaps I was a mite harder on ye than ye’re used to,” he confessed, his deep voice soft and soothing in her ear. “But I believe ‘tis kinder to do it right the first time, and not have many repeat offenses.”
“Please, sir,” she gasped, unable to bring herself to look at him, afraid of the disgust she might see there. “Please don’t send me away!”
His arms tightened around her. “What ever be ye talkin’ about, Miss Shaunacy?”
“I’m not the wife you wanted! I’m too old for you. And I’m disrespectful, and I - I don’t know anything about sheep! But I have no place else to go.”
“Ye’ll not be goin’ no place,” he said firmly. “Ye belong wi’ me, Miss. ‘Twas God’s work what brought ye here. Here ye shall be stayin’.”
He hadn’t said he wanted her, though. Morgan wiped her face with her hand. Jack pulled a bandana from his pocket and passed it to her. She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes, turning her shoulder to him so he wouldn’t have to see her face.
But Jack caught her. One callused finger stroked her chin, tipping it up. She opened her eyes and caught him staring at her. His eyes were a deep, warm brown. Lovely eyes. Expressive eyes. And now they looked confused. Not the strong, dominant hero of a few minutes ago, but a lost boy struggling to understand the ever-changing world around him. Then he did something that would forever destroy her image of him as a boy. He kissed her.
Her first kiss! Thirty-one years old, and no man had ever caressed her lips with his before. It was a pleasant feeling! Wonderful! The pain in her belly increased. The kiss quickly grew urgent. He crushed her to him with his massive arms, nearly driving the breath from her lungs. His lips bruised hers, but she lifted on her toes to bring him closer. Her back arched, pushing her belly next to him, feeling him intimately through the thin fabric of his trousers. She released the fistfuls of his shirt and wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on to him, still afraid he would let her go.
And he did. Jack stepped back abruptly, catching her when she lost her balance. He held her at arms’ length, gaping at her with a hungry look. “‘Tis sorry I am,” he whispered.
Morgan clenched her eyes shut. He didn’t want her. She was right. She was too old for him. Duty would make him marry her, but it couldn’t make him lov
e her.
“I dinna know what be keeping the father, but iff’n he dinna hurry, I’ll be makin’ ye me wife wi’out the good Lord’s blessing!”
“You… still want me?” she gasped.
Jack nodded, his expression almost worshipful.
Relief made her reckless. Morgan tried to throw her arms around him again, but he stepped back and held her away.
“‘Tis not a wise thing t’do, jes’ now, me thinks!”
He wanted her! No one had wanted her for such a long time! Maybe he only wanted her because she was available, but Morgan would take whatever he was willing to give. She was getting the better end of the bargain for sure! A young, strapping, handsome husband. A wonderful father, and a diligent disciplinarian. She put her hands on her bottom, massaging it through her skirts.
“You know I’m very good at making unwise decisions,” she said dryly.
“Aye, Miss Shaunacy. I see ‘tis often I’ll be teachin’ ye ye’re manners!”
“Jack?” Her arms dropped beside her, the brief moment of flirtatiousness had passed. “Could you perhaps call me Morgan now, instead?”
“Morgan,” he breathed, trying it out.
Chills ran up her spine. She’d never cared for her name. She’d been named for some distant aunt on her mother’s side. Morgan wasn’t an Irish name, but was a seashore in Wales. Her cousins had teased her about it, too, since they raised Morgan horses, but on Jack’s lips, her name sounded beautiful. The way he rolled his R’s when he spoke - not too harsh like a fresh-off-the-boat immigrant, but with just a touch of accent. The pitch of his voice, deep and rich like melted chocolate.
Then he broke the spell with a playful swat on her skirted bottom. Morgan yelped. “What was that for?”
“Jes’ a bit o’ remindin’ that ‘tis near supper time, for sure. Ye knows what happens to girls who shirk their duty!”
She gave him a saucy grin. “I think you will not satisfy your hunger with food, Jack. But if you care to try, I’ll have a stew ready shortly.”
Dinner was a painful affair. Lee, Kate, and Morgan were all shifting awkwardly on their seats. Jack seemed to take a perverse pleasure in their pain, ignoring their discomfort. He chatted amicably with the other children, keeping them at the table far longer than customary. He told them a delightful story about leprechauns that had even Kate giggling, although she supplied a word for him from time to time, letting Morgan know that it was a story she had heard before.
Later, as she lay alone in her bed - Jack’s bed - the pain in her bottom kept her awake. She rolled on to her stomach, gingerly touching each swollen cheek. He had done it! He had taken her in hand, so to speak, and she loved him for it. The new pain low in her belly sprouted again, growing more intense the more she thought about him. If only he were with her here, instead of in the hayloft. Was he having as much trouble sleeping? She hoped so. And she hoped the priest would hurry! A week. She’d wait a week. It would take at least that long for her poor bottom to heal. Then she’d try to convince Jack that they should exchange their vows before God and the children, without the priest’s blessing.
Kate wasn’t quite as rude to Morgan as she had been, although she remained sullen. Hannah was too quiet and shy, hiding behind her very pretty sister. Hannah’s mannerisms were puzzling, as well. She flinched at sudden or loud noises, dropped things, stammered, blanched - if Morgan didn’t know better, she’d have said Hannah was an abused child.
Lee was a hard worker. He tried valiantly to do everything his papa did - herding sheep, splitting wood, hunting venison for winter - he was there, his thin arms corded with youthful muscle that seemed exaggerated compared to his twisted legs.
He should see a doctor. Surely there was something a good surgeon could do for him! He was such a sweet, helpful boy - to have to go through life forever marked like that! What kind of future would he have? He would never be able to move out on his own, build a home, marry - he’d be doomed to the life Morgan had only just escaped - living forever indebted, dependent on the mercy of others.
Bridget was full of energy, her shrill little voice never stopping all day long. She wasn’t as clumsy as Morgan would have thought, though. The vision in her one crossed eye must have been affected. Morgan had a thought about that, too. She suggested to Jack that they patch the good eye, forcing her to use only the twisted one. Perhaps that would strengthen it?
Jack said it was worth trying. He let Morgan patch it, which irritated Bridget immensely. She pouted and whined and tugged at it incessantly, until she too took a trip to the woodshed.
Rebecca never spoke, seldom moved without being dragged by the hand. Her expression never varied. Morgan tried to find plenty of time to sit in the enormous rocking chair and just hold the little girl. Perhaps, one day next spring, she could take Rebecca to see a doctor, too.
Morgan didn’t make it a whole week, though. On the fifth day her bottom felt fine and she saw the bruises had faded when she bathed in the pool. Her breasts hurt all the time. Her bloomers were often damp. Her face flushed whenever Jack entered the cabin, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him when he was gone. She hadn’t slept well for days, and when she did manage to sleep, her dreams were wild and shocking.
Jack wasn’t much better. His temper was quick, resulting in frequent woodshed trips for the children, which Morgan regretted. His eyes looked tired, his forehead lined. He spent so many hours splitting wood for the fireplace, that she figured they could survive a blizzard ten months long.
So she launched her attack. The first step was innocent flirting. She found many chances to touch him - on the back as she poured him more coffee after lunch. On the cheek, as she wished him a safe journey when he went to check the fish trap. She moved too close as they passed in the small cabin, letting his arm brush against her breast, or feeling her bottom press against his thigh.
Jack’s temper flared. The woodpile increased.
The next step was suggestive innuendo. She whispered in his ear, telling him how much she longed for him, while the children chattered over their breakfast. She talked about how much she loved his broad chest, his muscled shoulders, how she missed feeling his hands on her naked flesh. It was sinful talk, she knew, and she’d have to say a hundred Hail Marys when the father finally arrived, but Morgan no longer cared.
All that remained of her plan was the final step. The children were all in bed. The lamp in the hayloft had just gone out. Morgan’s heart beat rapidly. Maybe he would reject her… but she didn’t think he could. She would have to be blind not to see how she affected him. And she was doing it for the children, she justified herself. Once they were married, the children might make a lot fewer trips to the woodshed.
Morgan quickly stepped out of her dress, petticoats, and bloomers, boots and stockings. The night air was chilly, raising gooseflesh on her arms, but she still felt too warm. She slipped the thin cotton nightgown over her head, but left the top six buttons undone. Glancing in the polished tin mirror, she gasped at the curve of bosom it showed. She felt feminine. Tonight she would become a lover.
She grabbed the lantern and quickly rushed outside before her guardian angel could convince her to change her mind. Cold pebbles hurt her bare feet. Morgan hobbled quickly over them, slipping silently inside the barn.
The mules shifted in their stalls. The mixed smells of manure and fresh hay and chickens brought back warm memories. Her father had never owned much, but what he owned he loved. His homely old nag was brushed daily, his simple wagon well maintained and splashed with a fresh coat of paint as often as he could spare the money. Jack was like that. She’d seen him fondle the stubborn mules behind the ears, even kiss them when he didn’t know she was watching.
Morgan hung the lantern on a peg. The ladder was just a few steps away. She drew a deep breath, then quickly climbed to the top.
Jack raised up on one elbow, snatching his quilt up over a bare chest. “Go away, woman!” he growled.
“No.” That was simple a
nd direct. Perhaps now he knew where she stood, and they could talk about it. Or better yet, forget about talking, and do something about the need they shared.
But Jack hadn’t read her script. He reacted differently, hauling her over his lap and shoving her thin nightgown out of the way, as he trapped her in position for another spanking.
“Jack, no,” she begged, squirming uselessly.
“Ye’ll naught be sayin’ that word to me ever again!” he shouted, slamming his hand down.
Her bottom stung. This was not the way she’d wanted to spend the night! This was supposed to be her wedding night! “Jack, don’t! Please! No, Jack!”
He didn’t stop. He spanked her long and hard, peppering her naked bottom with so many swats, that the skin felt blistered and raw. She was crying too hard to speak. Resisting him was useless. She lay limp across his lap, crying into his bedclothes, smelling his scent, and burning for him, even while the fire in her bottom spread.
“Ye think yer clever, do ye? Teasing a man wi’ your woman’s ways? Ye’re a little fool, Miss Shaunacy,” he spat.
“But I love you,” she gasped.
His hand stopped in midair. Morgan wasn’t sure she could move, but she had to try. She rolled to her knees, throwing her arms around his neck. Caught off balance, he fell backwards, with her on top of him.
Morgan kissed his chest first. It was the closest target. She kissed the soft fuzz of red hair, kissed one male nipple, sucking it gently. He was hard between her legs, pressing against that sweet ache with only her nightgown for a barrier. Jack groaned as though he hurt. Morgan knew how he must feel, if men and women were made at all alike.
“I love you, Jack O’Shea! And I swear, before God and the mules this night, to love, honor, and obey you, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as we both shall live!”
She didn’t know what he might have said, for she covered his lips with her own and kissed him senseless.
Jack’s arms tightened around her. He rolled swiftly, pinning her beneath him. Morgan reveled in the feel of his weight above her. That burning ache grew worse, but the sense of urgency vanished. Now that she was here, she wanted the moment to last forever. She smiled up at him.
