Rash Reckless Love, page 39
She felt as if she were dying.
Arthur moved abruptly. His fumbling effort to wrest his trousers open had not succeeded and he must needs shift his position to achieve his purpose. As he moved, his mouth left Anna’s for a second and his body lifted from hers. It gave her her chance.
In that moment Anna wrenched free and rolled violently away from him. Still suffocated, with her breath sobbing in her throat as she gasped for air, she could not speak. Her sudden move was involuntary, catlike in its swiftness. With her rent gray broadcloth doublet spilling out a delicate cascade of sheer white lawn and torn lace and revealing a long expanse of bare flesh and a round, pink crested, pearly breast, Anna gained a crouch on all fours. White-faced now and desperate, she was prepared to bolt—to escape him at any price.
But escape was not to come.
Now Arthur had his trousers open and saw that his prey was escaping him. With a howl of rage he plunged for Anna. She darted to the side, chose the wrong direction, collided with Arthur’s heavy body—he was on her again, knocking her to the ground she had so recently left.
With her burnished gold hair spread out in a bright tangle in which twigs and leaves were caught, Anna looked up into a face she would not have recognized, a face that lust and rage had combined to contort into what seemed an evil mask.
Gone was the handsome countenance all the girls sighed over. In its place was another face—the true Arthur: brutal, remorseless, bent only on satisfying his lust.
“You can’t take me like some tavern wench!” she choked. “You’d hang for it! I am not your whore!”
“Ye’ve teased me long enough!” The words were a hoarse growl as he held her bare white shoulder to the ground with one big hand while he eased his now half-naked hips into a more comfortable position down on top of her squirming body. “Now I’ll take what’s mine!”
With what air was left in her gasping lungs, Anna screamed. Her scream was short and sharp and carrying—but that scream too was promptly cut off by the suffocating slap of her gray broadcloth skirts, which Arthur promptly and callously tossed over her head and held over her face with a big suffocating hand.
His impassioned gaze raked over the cool beauty of her naked figure, bared now to his lascivious contemplation, and his brown eyes gleamed. He had wanted Mistress Smith with a pain that knifed through his groin—and now he would have her! He would enjoy her charms to the fullest!
Faced with real suffocation now, sure she would not survive to see Mirabelle again, Anna clawed at the material Arthur held so oppressively over her face but it was held there with remorseless pressure.
But one thought—one thought only—was held uppermost in Anna’s whirling brain. Through reeling senses she clung to it, for a savage ripple of unwanted pleasure had gone through her suddenly as his masculine hand roved along her stomach.
Let me not respond to him, she prayed silently. Though I die of it, let me not respond to him!
Intent on what he was doing now, lost to all else, Arthur never heard Anna’s frantic muffled cries—or cared not if he did. Always a handsome lad, Arthur was endowed with a great sense of his own worth. It had never occurred to him in his wildest dreams that a girl he deigned to offer marriage might actually decline to marry him. And that the wench be of low antecedents—a bondswoman’s niece! It was unthinkable. Arthur had been fighting all week the dim realization that Mistress Anna Smith was doing the unthinkable—she was toying with him. It was blazoned before him now in letters of fire. But he would have her anyway! For now he meant to make her his in an old, time-honored fashion. He would put the insolent wench in her place, he would strip away these airs she took, he would make her pregnant and she would come whining to heel soon enough!
Moans rose in Anna’s throat as with grim determination he set about his task.
Until an ungentle hand closed over his straining shoulder and he was jerked away from the brink of entering the wildly struggling girl.
“What devil’s work is this?” cried a rough booming voice. Let the wench go!” And as Arthur was fetched willy-nilly to his feet and Anna was able at last to dash the suffocating gray broadcloth away from her face, “My God, ’tis Mistress Anna! Are ye mad, Arthur? Tobias Jamison would have ye whipped across the island at the tail of a cart for this day's work—if he was generous enough not to have ye hanged!”
It was Walter Meade with his deep chest and broad back and rippling muscles, Walter Meade, Arthur’s cousin, whose shock of wheat-colored hair was falling over his blue eyes, which were filled with a combination of consternation and disbelief as he hauled his houseguest away from the disheveled girl on the ground.
Anna was thankful to her bones that it should be a man as powerful and heavy-muscled as Walter who had come to her rescue, for she didn’t doubt Arthur might have attacked some lesser rescuer and very possibly won. Numbly she came to a sitting position. Her face was still flushed dark with the exertion of trying to draw breath into her heaving lungs while suffocated and now she bent her head, gasping in air as she tried to pull herself together.
Mistress Anna and I were only frolicking,” began Arthur defensively, at sight of his Cousin Walter’s dismay.
“Frolicking’! Is that what ye call this—frolicking? With the girl's head covered up with her skirt to keep her screams from being heard?”
“You don’t understand!’’ shouted Arthur. “And it’s none of your business anyway, what I do with Anna!”
“We were racing downhill.” Anna found her voice, albeit she was still gasping. She had swished her skirts down over her silk-stockinged legs and was trying to pull her torn doublet up over her deliciously bared breasts from which Walter—gentleman that he was—was careful to avert his gaze. “Arthur was thrown,” she added tersely. “It seemed to madden him. He said he would kill Thunder and when I struck his whip away—”
“Aye, and struck me! She left this welt on my face!” cried Arthur, thrusting out his jaw the better that Walter might view the damage.
Anna gazed on that red weal with distaste. “Yes, and did that too,” she agreed. “And might have done worse had he persisted in his attack on Thunder.” She gave Arthur a dangerous look. “It was then that he lost his temper, dragged me from Floss’s back, threw me on the ground and tried to rape me. I think,” she added dispassionately, “that he was going to kill me as well, for he cut off my breath with my skirt.”
Walter’s honest face darkened. “Ye’re a disgrace to the family, Arthur. Ye come to us from Boston and make light of all that we say and do, calling it ‘rustic,’ and yet ye have no more common sense than to attack a lady!”
Arthur, who had managed to hitch up his trousers as the others talked, gave Walter’s broad shoulders a gloomy look. Too broad. He’d seen that rippling back, made muscular by chopping down the big cedars to make sloops. He was tempted to throttle Walter and proceed with Mistress Smith as planned, but he realized with regret that he’d never make it. At his first move Walter would bear him to the ground and perhaps further injure his already stinging face.
“My intent is to marry Mistress Anna,” he said sulkily. “Ye know that well enough, Walter.”
“Yes, but my God, man, this is rough courting!”
“ ’Tis no courting at all,” declared Anna. She gave Arthur an icy look and turned back to Walter. “And ’tis grateful I am that you came along, Walter, for a moment later would have been too late!” She paused significantly. “But I’ll thank you to forget what you have seen, Walter, for I’ve no mind to become the scandal of these islands.”
“And what shame is there in lying with the man ye’re to wed?” demanded Arthur passionately.
“None,” agreed Walter. “But it would seem you brought her to earth unwillingly. Ye’re supposed to get permission, Arthur, before you rend a young lady’s doublet, toss her skirts over her head and pierce her maidenhead.”
At this graphic description of events, the flush deepened in Anna’s already hot face. “You are lucky Papa Jamison is away,” she told Arthur darkly.
Having realized that he was losing this battle, Arthur threw caution to the winds. “Am I so? He’d do naught but have me marry you!”
"I think not.” Anna gave him another cold look. “I think he'd prefer to shoot you.”
“What! And have ye bear a bastard child?” sputtered Arthur, to whom the idea was inconceivable.
“No child of mine would need lack for a father,” Anna retorted. Her tone was like a slap.
“Mistress Anna is right,” agreed Walter severely. “She lacks not for suitors, Arthur, and there are plenty of men on this island who’d stand up with her, ruined or not!” He turned to Anna. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Mistress Anna, that ye’ve decided not to pursue this matter, for Arthur here is still our kinsman and our guest and my mother would near die of shame if a guest in our house was brought up on charges of raping a neighbor’s daughter.”
“She’s not Jamison’s daughter, and I didn’t rape her!” cried Arthur, maddened.
“Near enough!” Walter gave him a savage cuff on the ear that sent Arthur staggering backward. He reached for Thunder's bridle and beckoned to Anna. “Come mount up, Mistress Anna. I’ll see you and Floss safely home and Thunder safe in his stall. As for my Cousin Arthur here, he can walk home. The exercise may work off some of his spleen.”
By now Anna had managed to regain her breath and even regain some of her aplomb. She realized that she was actually unhurt although her back was scratched and Arthur had pinched her breasts hard enough to turn them black and blue. Her riding habit was ruined and her chemise would have to be discarded but her virginity was still intact—indeed she had emerged triumphant from a terrifying encounter.
She vaulted to the saddle, unmindful of the flash of bare curves and white skin as she did so. A second later she had caught up her gray doublet with her fingers, held it together with one hand.
“I leave you with this warning, Arthur,” she called over her shoulder. “If you bother me again, or if you speak out against me and slander me, I will have Walter here call you to account—and if that is not enough to quiet your tongue, I will charge you with attempting to rape me!”
“No court would believe you!” howled Arthur. “You are a notorious tease, a flirt—you invite assault!”
That there was some truth in his last remark stung Anna.
She turned in the saddle. “And if I do charge you, and the case comes to trial and you are acquitted, be certain that if Papa Jamison does not shoot you himself—which is likely—I will have certain gentlemen of my acquaintance find you some dark night and drown you in the sea. You will not live to see Boston again, Arthur, if you dare to make free with my reputation!”
There was no truth in this latter remark. Anna did not know anyone who would do such a deed for her, but she hoped sincerely that Arthur would believe it. She could not hear Arthur’s strangled reply, for she had already urged Floss forward and the underbrush crunching under the hooves of the three horses drowned out what he said as she and Walter departed.
It was a pity she did not look back, for the sight would have done her heart good. Arthur stood there with a mixture of emotions fighting for mastery of his handsome countenance—a turmoil of wild rage and self-pity and frustration. His features were contorted, his eyes bulged, his breath heaved raspingly in his throat. He looked as if he were about to burst.
She had escaped him! The damned slippery wench had escaped him! Blast the luck that Walter should come riding by at just the wrong moment! Blast Walter for daring to interfere in what was no affair of his! Blast Walter for being so powerful in build that only a man demented would attack him with his bare hands in broad daylight! He cursed himself for not having brought his sword along, for he could have slashed to ribbons an unarmed Walter Meade and left him in the cedars—aye, and the wench too if she protested too much! As it was, Walter would go back and tell the Meades all about it and Arthur would no longer be welcome in their home.
Arthur felt dismally sorry for himself. And to make it all worse, a pain knifed miserably through his groin, reminding him vividly of what he had almost had—and missed.
With a despairing groan of pure self-pity, Arthur threw himself face down on the ground, hammered the turf with his clenched fists, and sobbed like a baby as the sounds of their hooves diminished and the riders disappeared. His self-love had been violently punctured.
Anna, had she looked back, would have given a scornful laugh. But she did not look back. She had fought Arthur valiantly—indeed she would have fought him to her last breath, and she had held her calm while she told Walter about it.
But now a nervous reaction had set in and as she rode, she discovered that she was trembling. She was ashamed that this should be so, and hoped that Walter would not notice her attack of “nerves.” She tried to speak and was shocked to find her teeth were chattering.
“If ye’d care to stop and collect yourself for a moment. Mistress Anna?” Walter asked solicitously.
“Just—just for a moment, Walter.” Anna reined Floss in and leaned forward along that long arched neck, buried her face in that familiar silver mane and told herself she was safe—safe. She was back aboard Floss, heading toward Mirabelle. Nothing could happen to her now—nothing.
Walter watched with compassion. He had the good sense to keep silent. How he wished he had smashed Arthur’s teeth for him! Indeed, if Arthur had the temerity to show up for dinner, he might do it yet!
“Mistress Anna,” Walter hesitated. “Are ye sure he didn’t—?”
“No—he didn’t.” Anna’s voice was muffled and Walter gave her slender back, dirty and with twigs stuck to the broadcloth, a relieved look. For a moment there he’d thought...
After a few moments in which she managed to bring the four corners of her world back together again, Anna lifted her head. She was feeling better. She gave Walter a wan smile. “I’m all right now. We can go on again.” As the horses began to move forward she said soberly, “I’m indebted to you, Walter. For had you not come along when you did—how did you happen to come along, Walter?”
“I was riding to find the work crew, felling a cedar up above us.” Walter jerked his head toward the summit of the next hill. “And I chanced upon your hat. I recognized it by the silver buckle that caught up the gray plumes.”
“Yes,” murmured Anna. “ ’Tis hand-worked, with my initials graven upon it.” For the first time she noticed that Walter had the hat attached to his saddle. Arthur’s unexpected attack must have rattled her more than she had realized, she thought ruefully.
“I listened and I could hear a horse crashing through the brush below me—”
“That would have been when Arthur fell off.”
“And then a little later I heard you scream and rode toward the sound as fast as I could.”
“Lucky indeed for me.”
“Lucky for Arthur.” Walter’s strong white teeth closed with a snap. “The men of this island would have strung him up if he’d raped you!”
“Oh, I doubt it,” said Anna. “Arthur would have made up some awful story about how I lured him on and half the island would have believed him.”
“And the other half would have strung him up!”
“You won’t let Arthur ride Thunder again, will you, Walter?” Anna cast a worried look back at the big gentle horse following them.
“Indeed I will not.” Walter’s square jaw closed with a snap. “Nor any other horse from our stable! He may rent a nag in town to carry him about or use his legs, whichever he chooses.”
Anna thought that an extremely fair decision, one which would certainly bring humiliation to Arthur. Her eyes gleamed. Humiliation richly deserved!
“I feel I must apologize for Arthur’s treatment of you.” Walter’s frown brought his wheat-colored brows together. “I’d thrash him save that he’s our guest—and our kinsman.”
“You are not to blame for your relatives, Walter,” said Anna crisply. They were now approaching Mirabelle and she reined in Floss.
Walter stopped and looked at her quizzically.
“You need not accompany me to the house', Walter. For my clothes are quite torn and I’d not like the servants to think that you—I mean you have a young wife, and servants tell such garbled stories, and for your sake I’d not like gossip—” She stopped in confusion. “I will tell the servants I was racing Arthur to the sea and Floss tossed me and the tree branches tore my clothes and I rushed home instead of joining him because I didn’t want him to see me in this condition.” Her winsome smile flashed. “They’ll believe me, for they’re all convinced I’m bound to break my neck riding.”
Big conservative Walter, married a year now and with a baby scarce two months old, gave her a grateful look. He had been worrying about how it would sound to his jealous young wife, Coraline, to hear that he had squired Mistress Anna Smith to Mirabelle with half her clothes missing!
'You’re a fine lady. Mistress Anna—and thoughtful too,” be burst out. He gave her a troubled look. “Love can make a man do crazed things.” He was thinking how during his courting days he had clambered to Coraline’s balcony on a moonlit night, hanging onto some vines, and near broken his neck when they gave way at the top. “Arthur is a rash fellow and needs a firm hand but—”
“That firm hand should have been applied by his father before he was out of dresses!” said Anna with spirit, thinking of the even-handed justice applied to tots before the boys were separated from the girls by dressing them in little trousers while the girls remained in the same skirts both had worn up to that time.
“But it wasn’t. Obviously,” said Walter with a sigh. “Still,” he added thoughtfully, “he is hot to wed you.”
“Nonsense,” scoffed Anna. “ ’Tis Mirabelle he’s hot for!”
