by Kit Morgan
Clyde blocked her path.
Penelope gasped and froze.
Cluck.
She swallowed back her fear. “Is that all you have to say?”
Cluck.
“Now see here, Clyde. Yes, that’s your name, after a very obstinate chap back home. But never mind that. I need to get past. So be a good fellow, and let me by.”
Clucluck!
“I say, you’re not being very accommodating! Now shoo!” she said with a wave of her hand.
SQUAWWWK!
“Oh, Heaven help us!”
There was a flap of wings, a rush of wind, and before she knew it, the blasted chicken had flown over her head to land behind her. The hens clucked and squawked in protest at the sudden upheaval, and soon feathers were flying. Penelope screamed at the chaos, unable to see, and heard an angry shout. Hands grabbed her, and she was suddenly swept up into August’s arms and carried from the stall.
“You dang rooster,” August shouted. “I’m gonna shoot you if you don’t behave yourself!” He set Penelope down. “Are you okay?”
She gripped the basket with one hand and brushed at her skirt with another, trying to compose herself. “Yes, I think so. I appreciate your help, but I did have it all in hand.”
“Hmmm, yes, I can see that,” he said with a smirk.
“Clyde and I had a simple ... misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“Clyde? You mean you named it?”
“Of course – a day or two ago if you must know. And I would prefer it if you’d let me handle him my own way.”
He laughed. “All that talk, just to save your pride?”
“I’ll have you know my forebears defeated the French at Agincourt, drove off the Great Pretender, and routed Napoleon’s navy at Trafalgar! I can handle a rooster!” She snapped her mouth shut, squared her shoulders, and raised the basket proudly for his inspection.
He peeked inside. “Hey, we’ve got eggs!”
“Yes, and now we can have breakfast,” she said triumphantly.
“How about that? And you gathered those all by yourself,” he said teasingly.
“As it’s my first time, I think congratulations are in order, don’t you?”
He looked at her, took her in his arms and kissed her. It was not a chaste kiss – and really, after last night how could there be any more of those? No, it was hungry – and so was he. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her into a stall.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Congratulating you, of course.”
“Mr. Bennett!”
“There’s no one around but us and a few chickens, Mrs. Ben ... Penelope.”
She looked at him, the basket still in her hand. “Here. In the barn,” she replied, mildly scandalized.
“The chickens don’t mind.”
SQUAWWWK.
“Except maybe that one,” August said in a flat tone and sat her down. He looked over the wall into the next stall. “Mind your own business, Clyde.”
Penelope laughed as he turned back to her, and pulled him close. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really want to ...”
Her words were cut off by his kiss, leaving no doubt in her mind that her husband did want to. And he was right – the chickens didn’t mind a bit.
* * *
A few hours later, August and Penelope had eggs and bread – for lunch. He had needed to show her how to cook the eggs, and it was all they could do to make it through the lesson before he had carried her upstairs again ... this time without having to worry about an audience of poultry.
But chickens or no chickens, Penelope couldn’t be happier, and despite the fact she knew far too little about housekeeping, cooking or sewing, she was becoming quite familiar with her new husband. She knew what it felt like to run her hands over his body, and liked the way his skin felt against her own. She enjoyed his kisses, and the way he whispered to her when they made love. She hadn’t understood what love was until now, and wondered how anyone could do what they had done and not start to fall in love, at least to some degree. The act of lovemaking was just that – love-making – and her feelings for her new husband were growing as a result of it. She knew him better now, in just a day, and couldn’t wait to tell her sisters how happy she was. When she saw them again, that is ...
“Oh my.”
“Yes, Penelope?”
“Isn’t there a reception planned for us today? At the hotel?”
“Not anymore.”
“What happened?”
August smiled. “Early this morning, I rode over and told Mr. Van Cleet not to worry about it. I said I figured we’d be ... busy today.” He punctuated that with a nibble on her earlobe.
Penelope gasped. “You scamp! But ... if there is no reception, what do you propose we do for supper?”
He smiled again. “I have an idea.”
“August! Don’t you ever tire?”
“Not of you.” He found another place to nibble.
“Ahem ... but I dare say, we ... we need to be about our business ...”
“We just got married – this is our business.”
“But surely you have chores to do. And I couldn’t even cook an egg earlier without your help ....”
“All true, all true.” He sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I should teach you a few things. But lying here – and elsewhere – with you has made this one of the best days of my life.”
She blushed. “And mine. I simply had no idea it would be so wonderful.” Now she pulled him closer for a kiss.
When the broke apart to catch their breath, he nodded. “The good Lord created it that way. Let’s not disappoint Him in His handiwork.” He pulled her close, and she melted against the warmth of his body. Supper, it seemed, would be a long way off.
* * *
Thackeray Holmes hid in the shadows of the barn. August Bennett should be coming out to do the evening chores soon ... and when he did, he was going to meet with something he didn’t expect.
A knife plunged into his chest might be nice, but that was always so messy. A bullet in the head, perhaps? No, too noisy. “Hmmm,” Thackeray thought aloud. He could hang him from the rafters, but he didn’t have a rope. “Drat. I should have thought this through...”
A chicken clucked behind him in the next stall over, but he ignored it. He’d found some grain to feed them earlier and keep them quiet, but they were growing restless again. As was he – he’d been hiding in the barn for hours. “How long does supper take?” he grumbled.
He sank to the floor of the stall and leaned against the wall. A lone chicken flew up to sit on the half-wall separating it from the next stall over.
“After I kill this one, I’ll wait for the others to marry, then do away with their husbands,” he told the bird. “But wait ... that doesn’t fit into my plan. It’s my cousins I need to do away with. Yes, that’s right. How could I have forgotten that?”
The bird cocked its head this way and that as he rambled.
He stood and looked at it. “I dare say, but you’re a funny-looking thing. Plump, though. I think I’d like to fry you up for ... that’s it!” he exclaimed, and rubbed his hands together. “I know just what I’ll do.” He turned and stared at the barn door, an evil cackle on his lips, and looked back to the chicken. “Yes, I know just how to be rid of dear, cousin Penelope, and you’re going to help me ...”
The chicken looked at him. Cluck.
* * *
“That was a fine meal,” August commented, his voice laced with sleep.
“We haven’t eaten yet,” Penelope mumbled into his chest.
“I did.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she giggled, poking him in the ribs.
“Granted, it wasn’t eggs and toast, but it was mighty satisfying just the same.”
“Oh, that it was!” She raised her head, looked at him and smiled. “And at least I know I’m skilled at something besides a little sewing.”
He smiled back. �
��That you are, my lovely wife. But I think it’s time to fill our bellies. Let’s go see if we can find something.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I have an idea ...”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Don’t worry. Now get dressed.”
They kissed in the fading light. The sun was starting to set, and it would be dark soon. August pulled on his pants and shirt as Penelope watched. “If we keep this routine up, we’ll both get very thin,” she told him.
He laughed as he sat on the bed and put on his boots. “Oh, just get dressed, woman. I know what we can have for dinner.”
She waited until he’d gone from the room, then got up and, for the third time that day, put on her clothes. By the time she went downstairs, August was nowhere to be found. She shrugged and stepped outside onto the front porch. Some nights it got chilly when the sun went down, but it didn’t feel too cold yet.
She pushed aside thoughts of putting on her shawl, and sat in the rocking chair that was placed conveniently on the front porch. Her husband, it seemed, had thought of everything when it came to knowing what she liked, and all before he’d ever met her. It really was as if he knew exactly what his bride wanted, and he’d been right. The colors and furniture in the house, the farm itself, everything was wonderful. Except maybe Clyde. But she had to admit, she’d not seen one spider since her arrival the night before.
She sighed in contentment, leaned back in the chair, and froze as a hand clamped over her mouth.
Her first thought was that it was August sneaking up on her to play a joke, but the hand was smaller than his, and the rag stuffed into her mouth was definitely not his. He wouldn’t be caught dead carrying such a filthy thing.
Before she knew it, she was pulled to her feet and spun around to face her assailant. But she never got a chance to identify him before a burlap sack was flung over her head. She was roughly tossed over a shoulder and carried from the porch.
She kicked and screamed (as best she could with her mouth full of tattered rag) and pummeled the blighter with her fists, to no avail. How could this be happening? Newly married, her life at last bliss, and here she was, being carried off by some ruffian?! Where was the justice?
Not only that, but where was August?
Fourteen
Penelope listened as the cur running off with her cackled like a madman. She felt like she was in one of those “penny dreadful” melodramas she’d heard Colin read to her sisters a couple of nights ago. Their aunt Honoria, Colin’s mother, loved a good adventure story full of villains, damsels in distress and a hero.
Aunt Honoria would probably not be pleased to know she was stuck playing the part of the damsel in distress, or that her story had an actual villain. And she had no idea where her hero was! What could have happened to August?
She struggled against her captor who, judging from the sounds and smells, was carrying her no further than the barn. Once there, he set her on her feet, shoved her against a barn post and tied her to it. She did manage to kick him in the shins, but then he started to spew threats. “Stop that! Or I’ll slit your throat where you stand,” he hissed in her ear.
She was surprised she wasn’t swooning with fear at his words. If she had been in London she surely would have, but she’d been through too much since leaving England – she was a great deal tougher than she had been. Besides, now she was angry. This derelict was disrupting her new found marital bliss, and that was unforgiveable. And if he had done something to August ... She was about to ask him about that in a most unladylike fashion, but remembered she’d been gagged.
“Now,” chortled her captor as he tied the last knot. “For the big finale!”
Who was this raving lunatic? She listened as he fumbled around in the barn and felt something shoved against her skirts. He’d lashed her upper and lower body to the post, rendering her immobile and quite helpless. Not only that, she couldn’t see a thing.
He continued to fiddle about, shoving random things against her, and it didn’t take her long to figure out from the sound and feel of it that most of it was straw or wood. Good Lord, was this madman planning to burn her at the stake?
She struggled, but it was no use. She screamed, but only a muffled cry escaped.
“You’re the first, my dear, but certainly not the last!” he cackled.
Ye gods, he sounded like a struggling actor from a bad play! If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was as English as she was. But that was impossible. There were no other Englishmen in Clear Creek other than herself, her sisters and the Cooke brothers. Blast! If only she could see!
“And now, the end comes ...”
Despite her earlier anger, she still quaked in fear when she heard him strike a match against something, and listened to the distinct sound of a flame coming to life. She was right, he was going to burn her at the stake! She panicked, cried out, struggled madly against her bonds, but it was no use. She was going to die a horrible death!
Noooooo!
“Good-bye, my dear ...”
SQUAWWWK!
“What the ... aaakkkk, stay away from me you ... arrrrgggh!” There was a loud flapping of wings, coupled by her captor screaming “get off my head, you hellspawn!” A crash sounded, and then another.
Penelope was rather enjoying the sound of Clyde – she assumed it was Clyde – taking his wrath out upon her erstwhile captor. But there was another, equally urgent matter ... she sniffed the air thoroughly. No, she didn’t smell any smoke. Good. She hoped it stayed that way.
The chaos around her continued. “Get away from me, you ... foul ... beast ... OUCH! How dare you!”
SQUAWWWK!
“Ack! Oh! Stop! Bloody hell! Get off me get off get off!”
She heard the barn door slam open, followed by the sound of her assailant racing to escape the flapping of wings, and then wailing and cursing from some distance away. Then, and only then, did she faint.
* * *
“Penelope!” August hadn’t been away for more than twenty minutes - he’d gone to bring in the horses, having turned them out to graze the night before, and found them about a quarter-mile from the house, down by a small stream that ran through his place. But in that short amount of time, someone had taken his wife and bound her to a post in the barn – and started building a fire around her, no less!
He let go of the rope he’d used to bring the horses in and raced to his wife. “Good God, Penelope! What happened?” The panic in his voice was hard to miss. With his heart in his throat, he removed the burlap sack someone had placed over her head. “No!” He lifted her head and patted the side of her face. “Penelope! Darling, speak to me!”
Her eyes fluttered open and a muffled cry escaped. He saw the rag stuffed in her mouth and pulled it out. She sucked in air, choked, then sucked in some more.
“Who did this?” August demanded. “Are you all right? Say something!”
“August ...”
He pulled out a knife from a sheath on his belt, reached around her, and began to cut her bonds. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here, no one’s gonna hurt you ...”
SQUAWWWK.
“Oh no, not you! I’m not in the mood ...” Without thinking, he spun on the bird and drew his revolver. “I’ve had enough of y–!”
“August! No!” Penelope cried. Still half-tied to the post, she reached out and pulled his gun arm down. “He saved my life!”
August’s entire body jerked with the news. “He what? Saved you life? How did that thing save you? And from whom, I might add!”
“I don’t know!” she cried – literally, as the tears flowed down her cheeks. Once a damsel, always a damsel, she supposed. And now that her hero was with her, she couldn’t help it. “But Clyde ... drove him off ...”
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.” With that, he cut the rest of her bonds and pulled her into her arms. “You’re going to be all right. Can you
tell me what happened?”
“August, please, I just want you to hold me for now.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ll spend the night in town.” He held her until she relaxed, then carried her out of the barn. From the looks of the straw and firewood piled at her feet, whoever had tied her to that post had also planned on lighting a little fire.
He shook with rage as he took her to the wagon and told her to stay put. He quickly hitched up the horses, ran into the house for a blanket to keep Penelope warm, and then helped her onto the wagon seat. He wasn’t about to stick around there, not with a murderer on the loose.
SQUAWWWK! Clyde came running out of the barn.
“And you!” he called down to the rooster, then moderated his tone. “Thank you. Thank you, I appreciate it.”
Penelope hooked her arm through his and sighed in relief. “I can’t believe what just happened.”
He gave the horses a slap of the reins. “I can’t believe I just thanked a chicken.”
She smiled, held him as tightly as she could, and let him drive the two of them to town. But not before hearing one last squawk from Clyde, the real hero ...
* * *
“He did what?” Sheriff Hughes asked as he sipped his coffee. They were in a cozy corner of the hotel dining room having dinner. Mr. Van Cleet was the first to find out what happened, and had Mrs. Upton whip up a couple of plates of food. He then let August and Penelope have the best room in the house free of charge, considering their ordeal, before sending Seth out to get the sheriff.
“I’m only guessing, you understand,” she told Sheriff Hughes. “But from the sounds of it, Clyde attacked my assailant, and drove him from the barn and away from me.”
“And here I thought that worthless bird was nothing but trouble,” the sheriff mused. “No offense, August.”
