Rebellious Bride by Lizbeth Dusseau Page B

eyes.
    “I slept
just fine,” she said pleasantly.
    She seemed
amiable enough, Aaron thought to himself, but she was still distant.
Approaching her, he put his arms around her from behind and held her tight.
“Time to mend the fences, love,” he said.
    “Oh? Are
there fences to be mended?” she asked, innocently.
    “I don’t
mean real fences, Abby, but the one between us,” he said.
    “Oh.”
While he still held her, she moved to one side, shaking him off in the same
motion. She was opening the oven.
    “We could
start the morning over in bed, what do you think?” he suggested, when she
had her biscuits out on the counter to cool.
    “I have a
thousand things to do,” she replied, giving him only a very fleeting
smile, and continuing on with breakfast.
    “Or,
perhaps we—could start with you over my lap again,” Aaron said, his tone
of voice suddenly quite serious.
    “Whatever
for?” she asked looking up at him, a little astounded that he was mak-ing the threat.
    “I’m not
going to be denied my privi-leges as your husband.
I’d suggest that you get that straight,” he warned her.
    “You’re
going to bully me into bed?” she asked sarcastically. With an impudent
smirk, she swished her full skirt, and moved right past him to the breakfast
table.
    ‘You, my dear,
are behaving like a spoiled and spiteful brat,” Aaron said. “And I
won’t tolerate it.”
    “So you
are going to bully me,” she snapped.
    Just that
little edge in her voice, the wincing expression on her lips, Aaron was fuming,
about to spit fire if he could; but he maintained his composure.
    “Abigail,
you will not -blackmail me withholding sex,” he vowed. ‘I won’t let you
use it as a wedge between us.’
    “And if I
do?” she said, her blue eyes flashing, that certain set to her jaw quite
apparent. Though he could tell she was quivering nervously too.
    “ lf it takes a birch across your ass, then so be it.”
    “You
think that will change my mind about you, Aaron Barrow?” she shot back.
    “Perhaps
we’ll just have to find out.” His eyes were lit with a strange dark hue,
that made Abigail shudder.
    Seeing no
change of heart in Abigail’s attitude, Aaron strode past his wife out the door,
not another word said. A half hour later, when their breakfast was sitting cold
on the table, Aaron returned to the house.
    “Abigail,”
he called. She was in the pantry and out of sight. “Abigail,” he
repeat- ed the call.
    As soon as the
young bride peered into the kitchen, her eyes caught sight of what her husband
held in his hand: two long smooth well-stripped birch branches. Shirking back
into the small room, she slammed the pantry door behind her, a regular storm
racing everywhere in her body.
    “Abigail,
come here,” Aaron called to her.
    “Abigail,”
he roared a second later.
    Inside the
pantry, Abigail rested ner-vously against the door. A
day’s worth of anxiety was caught in her throat, and freezing her in her place.
When the door jerked, she knew she’d been conquered, a fact that only became
more clear, when a grim faced Aaron hauled her bodily from the pantry.
    “You
know, my fine brat, I’ve given you plenty of opportunity to change this sit- uation , but obviously you’re not about to let go this
stubborn streak. Well, today you’re going to find out that I’m as stubborn as
you!”
    Their eyes
exchanged nasty glances as he spoke; and when he was finished, he pushed his
wife over the end of the kitchen table. “You so much as move an
inch,” he warned, “I’ll tie you down.”
    Too afraid to
make a move, Abigail remained motionless while Aaron reached for the bottom of
her long skirt and pulled it up to her waist, revealing her two firm bot -tom cheeks quivering like jelly before him. How white
they were, the creamy mounds begged to be touched, though Aaron put aside his
lust for something far more important.
    “Aaron,
please,” she finally found her voice. “I’m sorry I really