There’d been the time when he held her hand to help her across the stream, and all that had been innocent enough, at least on her part. And then, several months ago, he had cornered her in the stable and kissed her. Jenny had been so angry, raising her hand to slap him away, but all he had done was grab her hand and kiss her again, forcing himself into her mouth and leaving both of them panting – him with arousal, her with what she assumed to be rage. But she hadn’t told Ian, and next morning, Patrick had smirked and grazed the back of his hand against her bosom.
He hounded her; he kissed her again, holding her still against the stable wall; he fondled her breasts leaving her in a state of severe disarray.
“I’ll tell my husband!” she’d hissed back in June, backing away from him while she adjusted her bodice.
“Do that,” he’d sneered. “Do that, and I’ll tell him you’ve been kissing me back for weeks.”
“No, I haven’t,” she’d protested, her cheeks mottling with shame – because she hadn’t stopped him either, had she? She was filled with conflicting emotions. One part of her was insulted, another part was mortified, but there was a third part as well: the very big part that liked the way Patrick held her, how his lips felt. That made her even more ashamed, and suddenly the time frame in which she could have told Ian was gone, and she had no idea what to do.
Patrick was like a predator. Confidently, he circled his wounded prey, the circles narrowing until that day in July when he found her in the dairy shed, pressed her down on the workbench, and took her. Not a sound had she uttered, and when he was done, he’d re-laced his breeches, smoothed down her skirts, and walked off. She’d heard him whistling when he resumed his wood chopping, and between her legs, his come had oozed. Jenny had remained where she was for a long time, her eyes firmly shut.
After that, she was trapped. Should she attempt to say no, he threatened her with telling Ian, and no matter how much effort she put in staying away from him, he always found her. He had the upper hand, and he enjoyed it, caressing his crotch as he used his head to indicate that he wanted her to go to the stable, or behind the privy, or into the woods, and Jenny would do as he wished. Even worse, Jenny looked forward to these quick copulations, finding a release in them she no longer found with Ian – not now that their lovemaking had become nothing but a chore.
She cleared away the mugs, brushed the table clean of crumbs, and sat down to think. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. Three days in a row, she had thrown up behind the privy, and her courses were four weeks late for the first time in five years. She leaned her forehead into her hands to stop her head from spinning with shame and hope and revulsion, and took several deep breaths. Oh God, what was she to do?
Chapter 6
Peter handed Constance Leslie down from her dappled mare and turned to beam at Alex, pointing at his new son, fast asleep in the arms of his nurse.
“Two sons!” Peter looked proud enough to burst.
“Three if we’re going to be correct,” Alex reminded him, receiving a grateful smile from Peter’s eldest son, Nathan Leslie, who was busy unhorsing his sizeable family. Ailish snickered and winked at Alex before sliding with considerable grace into the receiving arms of her husband, despite her pregnant state.
“You know what I mean,” Peter said with an edge. “Two boys in two years. Is she not a marvel?”
Constance smiled weakly, her overlarge eyes flashing in the direction of Nathan. No love lost there, Alex concluded.
After spending an adequate amount of time admiring Peter’s baby son, Alex went over to greet Thomas and Mary Leslie, at present busy talking with their daughter, Naomi. Where Peter was all bluster and show, his elder brother Thomas was a nondescript, quiet man. As always, Thomas was in his customary grey, with grey eyes and
He hounded her; he kissed her again, holding her still against the stable wall; he fondled her breasts leaving her in a state of severe disarray.
“I’ll tell my husband!” she’d hissed back in June, backing away from him while she adjusted her bodice.
“Do that,” he’d sneered. “Do that, and I’ll tell him you’ve been kissing me back for weeks.”
“No, I haven’t,” she’d protested, her cheeks mottling with shame – because she hadn’t stopped him either, had she? She was filled with conflicting emotions. One part of her was insulted, another part was mortified, but there was a third part as well: the very big part that liked the way Patrick held her, how his lips felt. That made her even more ashamed, and suddenly the time frame in which she could have told Ian was gone, and she had no idea what to do.
Patrick was like a predator. Confidently, he circled his wounded prey, the circles narrowing until that day in July when he found her in the dairy shed, pressed her down on the workbench, and took her. Not a sound had she uttered, and when he was done, he’d re-laced his breeches, smoothed down her skirts, and walked off. She’d heard him whistling when he resumed his wood chopping, and between her legs, his come had oozed. Jenny had remained where she was for a long time, her eyes firmly shut.
After that, she was trapped. Should she attempt to say no, he threatened her with telling Ian, and no matter how much effort she put in staying away from him, he always found her. He had the upper hand, and he enjoyed it, caressing his crotch as he used his head to indicate that he wanted her to go to the stable, or behind the privy, or into the woods, and Jenny would do as he wished. Even worse, Jenny looked forward to these quick copulations, finding a release in them she no longer found with Ian – not now that their lovemaking had become nothing but a chore.
She cleared away the mugs, brushed the table clean of crumbs, and sat down to think. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. Three days in a row, she had thrown up behind the privy, and her courses were four weeks late for the first time in five years. She leaned her forehead into her hands to stop her head from spinning with shame and hope and revulsion, and took several deep breaths. Oh God, what was she to do?
Chapter 6
Peter handed Constance Leslie down from her dappled mare and turned to beam at Alex, pointing at his new son, fast asleep in the arms of his nurse.
“Two sons!” Peter looked proud enough to burst.
“Three if we’re going to be correct,” Alex reminded him, receiving a grateful smile from Peter’s eldest son, Nathan Leslie, who was busy unhorsing his sizeable family. Ailish snickered and winked at Alex before sliding with considerable grace into the receiving arms of her husband, despite her pregnant state.
“You know what I mean,” Peter said with an edge. “Two boys in two years. Is she not a marvel?”
Constance smiled weakly, her overlarge eyes flashing in the direction of Nathan. No love lost there, Alex concluded.
After spending an adequate amount of time admiring Peter’s baby son, Alex went over to greet Thomas and Mary Leslie, at present busy talking with their daughter, Naomi. Where Peter was all bluster and show, his elder brother Thomas was a nondescript, quiet man. As always, Thomas was in his customary grey, with grey eyes and
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