he exhaled a deep breath, and laid his head against the wing of the chair.
"Come on, Rasc, don't fall asleep here. You're too big and heavy, and my back's too weak to carry you up the stairs the way I did that one night when I found you...ah...shall we say...indisposed in the stable with a certain young lady?" He lifted his brows at Fletcher and glanced at him sideways.
Fletcher opened one sleepy eye and arched an eyebrow, casting Caleb a sly grin. "I had a lot of explaining to do the next day, but oh was it worth it!"
Caleb swung his arm around Fletcher's shoulders, and they walked to the stairs. "It's the same room; the third on the left. I think you know your way. I'll have your bags sent up and your horse bedded." He cuffed him lightly in the shoulder. "Rasc?"
Fletcher stopped on the step and turned. "Yes?"
Caleb's eyes flashed sincerity as he extended his hand. "You old rascal, I can't tell you how good it is to have you back. Damn, it's good!"
Fletcher grasped Caleb's hand firmly. "Thanks, young rascal. See you in the morning."
As he felt himself slipping into sleep, Fletcher realized they had never once mentioned Kyndee. Strange, he'd have thought it would have been one of the first things out of Caleb's mouth.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be time enough.
* * *
Brutal hands tore Kyndee from her slumber. Hands clutched at her, tearing her gown. She fought against the hands and screamed. A hand clamped down her mouth.
"Hush up, my little wife. There'll be no screaming in my house for others to hear," said Buck. "Did you think you'd have this bed to yourself forever?" He released his one hand from her mouth, but pinioned her two hands above her head with his other one.
"Buck, please. You're hurting me," pleaded Kyndee. She smelled brandy and fear crept into her spine.
"Don't play coy with me, Kyndee. I know you didn't want to marry me. You think I don't know that you still pine for Saint Fletcher—the illustrious royal pain Fletcher, everyone's knight in shining armor Fletcher? Give it up, woman; he's not coming back. You're Mrs. Stedman now, and the only male Stedman is me. I am the lord and master here. This plantation is mine, your father's plantation is mine and, my very dear Mrs. Stedman, you are mine."
For a man who probably had been drinking heavily, his words were perfectly clear. Buck always did hold his liquor well. It was his foul temper that he rarely held in check.
"Buck, please," she begged again.
"Fletcher treated me like excess baggage, some poor relation needing their charity. I didn't need their charity. I had money of my own that came to me when my parents were killed. But the Stedman name was everything, wasn't it? And I wasn't a Stedman. The Bannistre name wasn't quite as high and mighty."
He kissed her roughly; it hurt her lip as he crushed it against her teeth.
"Well, things do have a way of working out, don't they? I have the love of Fletcher's life because her family needed charity. My charity. Now I'm a Stedman, the only Stedman. I have his name, his home and you, my dear—for as long as we both shall live. Yes, things do have a way of working out."
Buck kissed her ear as Kyndee squirmed and tried to turn away, but it seemed the more she struggled, the more she played into his hands. His hands were like iron bands, strong and unyielding.
"No!" she screamed. "Don't. Buck, not like this!"
He slapped her. "I told you, there will be no screaming," he growled. "Don't tell me, 'Not like this.' Being unschooled in the matter of marital relations you, my little lady, are no judge of what this should or shouldn't be. I have schooled women better than you in what I like and dislike in my bed. I find schooling a wench a loathsome task, but since my usual tart is unavailable, you'll have to learn and learn quickly. I have little patience were my needs are concerned." His chuckle was low and ugly. "In fact, I have little patience at all."
Continuing to hold her hands captive, Buck lowered himself on her, crushing her with his weight. He took her chin in his iron grip and forced his mouth on hers. With his tongue, he forced her lips apart and thrust inside, probing, invading, hurting.
Kyndee resisted, trying to pull her head away, but he was too strong for her. She was writhing, and kicking but he pinned her down with his power. She bit his tongue and he grunted in pain, giving her a split second of release. The second was followed by a flash of pain as Buck's palm again collided with her cheek.
"You bitch. You little bitch," he rasped. "I hope you enjoyed your victory, madam, because it's the first and last you'll ever have over me. Make no mistake about who will win this fight. You are mine, remember? To have and to hold. Well, I'm holding you now, and I mean to have you now, and by God, nowhere in those vows did it say anything about how gentle or rough it had to be."
In the dim moonlight, Buck's eyes were those of some dark monster. He loomed above her, strong and rugged.
Had he been kind and gentle, his same features might have been thought of as handsome: his yellow hair, thick and curly, might have tempted her to run her fingers through it; his smooth-muscled straight shoulders and taut skin might have invited her kiss. But now those shoulders and those muscles were a threat to her, and she fought him with every ounce of strength she had.
Buck's growl was menacing. Realizing that she couldn't escape him, Kyndee tried pleading.
"Buck, please don't hurt me. I am your wife; I did vow to obey you—in all things, even this. But must you beat me to have your pleasure? Can you not be gentle and let me come to learn what it is that pleases you? Perhaps, in time, I might serve your needs well enough that you would seek no other?"
Who is saying these things? her mind asked. What happened to the rebellious, obstinate daring young woman?
She's buried, another part of her argued, buried under the yoke of a promise, heavier by far than that carried by any beast of burden.
Buck's eyes widened, and for the moment he seemed slyly amused. He capitulated by sliding off of her and releasing her hands. Supporting himself on one elbow, he gazed down at her.
"All right, my pretty wench, I can try to be gentle with you. Perchance I can have my pleasure without damaging my property."
Kyndee rubbed her wrists where his hands had chafed her. She was wary of the sudden change in her husband's mood; it disarmed her. He looked at her as would a cat with a cornered mouse, as if he intended to play with her before the kill. She knew he could see her trembling. She moistened her lips and watched his gaze follow the movement.
Slowly and deliberately, he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her delicately on the side of her lips. The touch was feather light; it tingled the bruise he had made before. Kyndee still didn't move.
His kiss moved to her ear, and he nibbled at her lobe. Shivers flew through her but she wasn't sure if they were shivers of desire or fear. He traveled over her eyes, down her cheek, and licked her neck with the tip of his tongue. His breath, heavy with brandy, was not unpleasant.
The torn shift lay open, her breasts exposed to his gaze. His eyes hungrily devoured her chest, rising and falling with shallow and rapid pants. He stared at her, watching her eyes, as he lazily drifted his hand to circle her breast with his finger, drawing it around and around until he cupped it and brought
