The Vow (3 page)
“What’s the matter with you?” Ezra asked.
“Perhaps a bee stung him,” Hannah offered, keeping her eyes demurely lowered while she gloated over her small triumph.
Nate glared at her, his sullen expression promising retribution. “Something bit me.”
Aunt Naomi pursed her thin lips. “You’ve got to mend your slothful ways, girl, and mend them fast. Sloth is one of the seven deadly sins.”
“I try my best,” Hannah said.
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“You’ll try harder, if you know what’s good for you. Your uncle and I took you in out of the goodness of our hearts, like the Bible tells us to, even though you’re a burden. But we expect you to do your share.”
I do more than my share!
Hannah wanted to shout, but she held her tongue.
Aunt Naomi’s eyes narrowed coldly. “And I don’t want you spreading lies about us to the neighbors.”
Hannah stared at her as if she had gone daft. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about Reiver Shaw.”
“I didn’t tell him anything. I barely spoke to the man.”
“See that you don’t, or you’ll be sorry.”
We mustn’t let the neighbors know how we mistreat our kin
, Hannah thought as she cleaned her plate.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, though Hannah could feel Nate’s narrowed, watchful eyes boring into her, like a snake just waiting to strike.
Hannah flung open the window in the cramped attic room that had become her refuge, hoping to coax a breeze out of the still summer night. She sat there for a moment, ignoring her own bone weariness, to appreciate the beauty of the hazy full moon hanging high in the star-strewn sky, and the silence.
She savored every precious second of silence because it was so rare these days. No Aunt Naomi nagging. No Nate and his brothers taunting. Just silence.
Hannah rose and pulled away the thin batiste night shift where it stuck in patches to her damp body, then padded silently on bare feet to her hard, narrow bed, where she collapsed against the cool sheets. She was so exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
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Moments—hours?—later, something tugged at her consciousness, screaming for her to wake. Rising from the depths of sleep, she sensed danger.
She felt something heavy kneading her breast, squeezing her nipple through the night shift’s thin fabric, arousing an unfamiliar feeling of heat deep inside.
Then she smelled the sour, acrid odor of a rutting pig, and her eyes flew open to find Nate sitting on the side of her bed.
For a moment Hannah was paralyzed by fear. All she could do was stare helplessly at his face, faintly illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. Lust gleamed in the depths of his eyes. He licked his lips as he grasped her other breast.
“You like this, don’t you, Hannah?” he whispered, squeezing her harder.
“Let’s get this off you”—he reached for the hem of her shift—“and old Nate’ll make you feel real good.”
Hannah felt the trapped animal’s surge of strength burst through every muscle and bone. She pushed his hand away and rolled across the bed before he could stop her, landing on her feet on the other side and quickly scrambling out of his reach.
“Get out of here before I scream this house down!” Her hammering heart felt as though it would burst out of her chest.
Nate chuckled softly as he rose and loomed before her, only the bed separating them. The dark hair matting his massive bare chest made him look more like a hairy beast than a man, for he wore only his trousers. “I wouldn’t do that, if I was you,” he whispered. “’Cause Ezra gave me leave to be here.”
“You’re lying! Even he wouldn’t—”
Nate lunged, reaching for Hannah across the narrow width of the bed, and she screamed, the terrified sound abrading and affronting the silence. She felt his
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clutching fingers miss her by inches as they swiped by, and her eyes darted around the attic, desperately seeking anything she could use as a weapon.
“That was real stupid,” Nate growled.
Hannah’s frightened gaze fell on the heavy pewter candlestick sitting on her nightstand, and she reached for it, her arm outstretched. Without warning, Nate sprung as lithely as a cat for a man his size, diving headfirst across the bed before Hannah could blink. When his feet touched the floor on the other side, he rose and made another grab for her.
Hannah felt a band of steel wrap itself around her waist and pull her away from the candlestick just as her fingers were about to close around it. She screamed again and clawed at his arm.
“Nate doesn’t like being scratched.” He grabbed Hannah’s long braid and pulled. Hard.
The searing fire spreading along her scalp made her gasp and her eyes water as Nate pulled her body against his and forced her head back against his naked shoulder. She could feel his arousal insistent against her hip, smell the sickening sweat in her nostrils, clinging to her cheek where it pressed against his neck.
“Let me go!” She pushed ineffectually at his arm, not daring to scratch him again for fear he’d pull her hair out by the roots.
“You promise to be quiet?”
“Yes.” She’d promise anything to stop the pain. Anything.
But when he flung her down on the bed and loomed above her, his clumsy hands fumbling with his trousers, terror got the better of her and she screamed.
“Damn you! I told you to be quiet!” To emphasize his point, he drew back his arm and drove his fist into her ribs.
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Hannah gasped at the numbing pain that robbed her of breath. Instinctively she curled herself into a tight ball, hugging her knees to her chest to protect herself.
Sobbing, she closed her eyes and waited for Nate to hit her again, and worse.
But the blow never came.
The attic door swung open with a soft creak. There, standing in his nightshirt and holding a candle aloft, was Uncle Ezra with Aunt Naomi peering over his shoulder.
“What’s going on here?” Ezra’s small dark eyes looked enormous by the flickering candlelight. “Heard screamin’.”
Trembling and sobbing, Hannah sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her arms still wrapped protectively around her aching ribs. “Nate tried to force himself on me,” she said, her voice rising with hysteria. “When I tried to fight him, he—he—”
“She’s lying!” Nate bellowed. “She invited me. Then she got scared and changed her mind. She started screaming and punching me.”
“He’s the one who’s lying!” Hannah jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain.
“Don’t believe him, Uncle Ezra! Nate tried to force me. He hit me. He—”
“Quiet down, both of you,” Ezra said, giving them a quelling look.
Hannah stood there trembling, the back of one hand pressed to her mouth to stifle her shuddering sobs.
Ezra looked at Nate. “That true?”
“’Course not! She’s just trying to get me in trouble. It’s like I said. She invited me, then changed her mind.” Nate cast a look of appeal to his mother. “You believe me, don’t you, Ma?”
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“You’re my boy. Of course I do.” Aunt Naomi stepped around her husband and glared at Hannah. “If my boy says that’s what happened, then that’s what happened. The girl’s been trouble ever since she came to live with us, Ezra.”
Hannah felt her tightly wound self-control finally unravel. “Why should I invite Nate or any of your sons to my room? I think they’re all stupid and uncouth.” She curled her lip contemptuously. “I’d rather sleep with hogs.”
Hannah knew that she would live to regret her imprudent words, but the satisfaction of seeing Naomi’s gaunt cheeks turn beet red burned hot and fierce in her heart.
Naomi whirled on her husband and sputtered, “Are you going to let her talk to me that way?”
“Be still,” Ezra rasped, his inscrutable eyes still on Hannah. “Want to hear the girl’s side of it.”
Hannah took a deep breath. “As I said, I didn’t invite Nate to my room. I was sleeping and awoke to find him sitting on the side of my bed”—she blushed—
“touching me where he shouldn’t. When I screamed and tried to fight him off, he pulled my hair and hit me.” She looked Naomi straight in the eye. “If you think I’m lying, call the doctor. He’ll know that Nate hit me when he sees the bruises on my ribs.”
Ezra sighed and rubbed his jaw with his free hand. “One of you is lying.
Can’t tell which. Let’s just forget it and go to bed. It’s late. Lots of work to do tomorrow. Need our sleep.”
“I want a key to the attic door,” Hannah said. “I want to lock it in case Nate tries to force himself on me again.”
Nate swaggered over to where his mother stood, still glaring at Hannah.
“She don’t need no key, Ma. No man’d want to break in here.” His eyes skimmed over Hannah insolently. “For what?”
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But Hannah knew Nate would be back. And the next time he would make sure they weren’t interrupted.
Ezra stared at his wife’s stiff back turned toward him in the bed they shared.
Naomi was going to make him pay for not taking Nate’s side tonight.
Whenever he displeased his wife, she turned her back to him and slept as near to the opposite edge of the bed as she could without falling out. The space between them was as cold as the Connecticut River in January.
Ezra sighed as he watched the white curtains billow ever so slightly in the faint night breeze. While he wouldn’t admit this to Naomi, he believed Hannah’s story. He didn’t share his wife’s illusions about her three boys. Privately, he agreed with Hannah. Nate, Zeb, and Zeke were stupid and uncouth, Nate worst of all.
Ezra had watched Nate ever since Hannah came to live with them. He had caught him leering at the girl often enough. He suspected Nate put his hands on her under the table at dinner and thought no one noticed. Ezra noticed, all right.
Hannah…
Ezra shook his head in the darkness. What was he going to do about this niece? She may have been a burden to him and a temptation for his stepsons, but she was still his late sister’s only child, and he felt responsible for her. But she was a disruptive force in his household, and it was only a matter of time before Nate or one of the other boys lost his head and had his way with her.
Ezra had to do something about Hannah, and fast.
An idea came to him just before he fell asleep.
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Reiver Shaw sipped his sweet cider beneath the cool shade of Bickford’s oak tree and wondered what the old skinflint wanted. He still couldn’t believe that Bickford had actually sent one of his stepsons to Reiver’s house with a note inviting him to stop by the tobacco farm to discuss a matter of mutual concern.
The Racebrook land, Reiver thought.
He’s going to sell me the land.
He took another sip and forced himself to relax. He mustn’t let the old skinflint get the upper hand. So he nonchalantly discussed the sweltering weather and asked about Ezra’s tobacco crop.
When the tankards were half-empty, Ezra drew his sleeve across his mouth.
“Bet you’re wondering why I asked you to come calling today, Shaw.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Want to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“For the Racebrook land.”
Reiver set down his tankard and leaned back in his chair. “You ready to sell?” Finally.
“Yup.”
“Well, name your price, and I’ll see if I want to meet it.”
“Prime land. Hate to part with it.”
“Then why are you offering it to me?” he asked with a nonchalant shrug.
“’Cause you can do something for me.”
Reiver felt a shiver of suspicion crawl up his spine. “And what might that be?”
“Niece needs a husband.”
Reiver stared speechlessly at Bickford. When he regained his voice, he said,
“Me? You want me to marry Hannah?”
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“Yup. For the Racebrook land. Can’t give it to you. Sell it for fifty dollars an acre. And Hannah. Take it or leave it.”
Reiver rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Fifty dollars an acre isn’t any bargain.
That’s how much you’d expect to get for it without Hannah.” He smiled. “I need an incentive to marry her, Bickford. A powerful incentive.”
“Forty an acre, then.”
“Ten.”
Bickford turned purple and his small, dark eyes bulged from their sockets.
“
Ten!
” he sputtered. “You’re crazy, Shaw! That’s giving it away.”
Reiver shrugged. “If you want me to marry a woman I don’t want, you have to make it worth my while.”
“Twenty, then.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty. Take it or leave it.”
“Seventeen. And that’s my last offer.”
Bickford glared at him, his jaw working. Finally he said, “Deal. Seventeen an acre, and Hannah.”
Reiver wanted that land so badly he felt light-headed. But was it worth marrying a woman he didn’t know to get it?
“What does Hannah think of marrying a stranger?” he asked.
“Doesn’t know yet.”
“You think she’ll agree to the match?”
“Doesn’t matter. She’ll do what she’s told. She’s eighteen. Time she wed.”
Bickford studied him out of those small, dark eyes. “Any objections to her?”
Reiver thought of her delicate ivory features and supple young body so sweetly rounded and inviting. It wouldn’t be a chore to bed her even if he didn’t love her.
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Suddenly a thought occurred to him. “Has one of the boys had her already?”
Bickford shook his head. “Not yet. But boys are boys. If I don’t get her out of the house, no telling what’ll happen to her. You’d be doing her a favor.”