Rebellious Bride Page 4

  After lunch, Abigail worked in her gar-den, thinking perhaps it would soothe her ruffled feathers, though it did not. My mid-afternoon, she was such a whirling tempest of fury again, that she dropped her spade and shovel in the dirt, and went to the barn to saddle her horse. There were just enough daylight hours to get her where she was going, and if she started now, she might even be there in time for supper.

  Not bothering leaving her husband a note, her anger supplanting her better judgment, Abigail was on her horse, minutes later riding swiftly toward her parent’s home.

  Reaching the house of her childhood at dusk, Abigail was warmed by the thought of her mother’s arms welcoming her home, by the thought of her shoulder to cry on. Even Miss Hattie who would surely understand the wretched circumstances fate had dealt her. She was glad to see that her father was not yet home. Tying her horse in the barn so he wouldn’t like-ly notice, she raced in the back door and was within minutes sobbing in her mother’s arms telling her the grand tale of woe.

  “I simply can’t bear the thought of leaving, moving miles beyond my life here, especially to some place so distant and in the wilds. There’s simply no civilization, no culture, no life, none of the grand things I want!”

  “Oh, my dear, dear child,” her mother comforted her, her arms reaching around to hold her tightly, her hand patting her gently on the back.

  “Please, mother, isn’t there some way we could insist he give up this plan?”

  Mrs. McPhearson pulled back. “He is your husband, you have your vows,” the older woman reminded her.

  “But when we married, he talked about a bigger life, not a smaller one than we have now!”

  “You don’t love him enough to follow him?” her mother asked.

  “Surely, I love him. I’d simply leave him otherwise.”

  “Abigail!” her mother retorted. “That’s hardly an answer. He is your husband.” “Please, tell me what I can do. I thought I was so happy, and now this.”

  Margaret McPhearson reached out to hold her again, smiling kindly as she did. “You need some rest, child. A little sleep. The morn ing always puts a better light on things, and it will on this too.”

  “He spanked me, mama,” Abigail blurted out.

  “He did now?” Her mother’s eyes narrowed.

  “Aaron was terribly angry with me.”

  “If you ranted and raved as I know you can to, I’m sure he was.”

  “But, he didn’t even consider my feelings, just made the decision without me.”

  “It is his job to provide for you, Abigail. And if this is how he sees best, then I don’t know what you can do.”

  “Oh, mama, no!” she wailed.

  “Hush, you’ll sleep here tonight, and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

  “What’s Abigail doing here,” her father’s voice rose above her cries, as Mr. McPhearson opened the bedroom door. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Not seriously, Neville. Just some adjustments.”

  “Shouldn’t she be making her adjustments with her husband?”

  “Sometimes it takes a mother’s touch.”

  “Look at me, girl. What’s your complaint?”

  Abigail pulled away from Margaret McPhearson’s arms and looked up at her father with her tear-stained face. Seeing his stern vis-age, she shriveled back.

  “Out with it!” he ordered.

  “I’d rather not say, sir,” she snuffed.

  “Is it some womanly matter?” her father inquired.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you’ll tell me.”

  Abigail gulped.

  “Please, sir. It’s just that Aaron wants us to move to Brighten Springs, and I just can’t.”

  “Humph! Brighton Springs. That is quite a distance.”

  “Yes, you can see how horrible it would be!”

  Neville considered his daughter’s announcement for a moment. “No. I see nothing of the sort,” he concluded. And if that’s where his work takes him, it’s your duty to go. I don’t see a problem here.”

  “But father …”

  “I hope all your complaints are this easy to figure,” he said.

  “Father, I won’t go. I just won’t.”

  “Oh, you will, girl, and you know it. It seems that you’re being typically rash in your objections. Did Aaron bring you here? Where is he?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Not here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Who did?”

  “I rode, sir. On Biscuit.”

  “And Aaron knows nothing of it?” His face was instantly livid, his eyes casting a sharp penetrating look her way.

  “No, sir.”

  “You, my child, need a good whipping, leaving him like that.”

  “No, sir!” she answered indignantly. Her father’s eyes didn’t alter their grim expression.

  “You have no more right to defy me now than you had before you married,” he countered.

  “But you’ll not whip me!” she vowed.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said.

  “Neville, please,” Margaret pleaded.

  Jerking her away from her mother, Neville McPhearson hauled his daughter out of the room, down the front stairs and into the library. The whole house was peering around doors and corners, listening to the tormented young bride plead and kick and wail for mercy, none of which Neville was likely to give her. Her mother following closely on their heels could do nothing but sigh out of weariness.

  “I can’t believe such foolishness from a married woman,” Neville went on. “Why I’d be paddling your mother’s behind if she did anything so senseless.”

  “But you can’t, you won’t whip my bot-tom,” Abigail said jerking away from him.

  Grabbing her back with a mighty tug, Neville had run out of words. The first implement from his closet that he could find was in his hand. Thrusting his daughter over his desk, the wooden paddle was coming down on his daughter’s rear end with vigorous force.

  “Father, stop!” she roared, trying to wig-gle away.

  “You don’t remain still, I’ll tie you down!” he vowed, the paddle hitting its mark over and over, Abigail’s lightweight skirt doing little to protect her from the ferocious sting.

  “I hate you!” she roared once more.

  “Neville, stop!” The sudden sound of Aaron Barrow’s voice rose wrathfully above the thunderous din of father and daughter, for an instant halting all noise in the sweltering library - and everywhere else throughout the stunned household.

  “Aaron!” Neville McPhearson said, acknowledging his son-in-law.

  “What’s happening here?” he demanded to know.

  “Quite obvious, I think,” Neville answered. “Your wife has behaved like a negli-gent brat. She’s getting her due.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. McPhearson, but if my wife’s bottom is to suffer for her disobedience, I’ll be punishing it.” Neville nodded.

  Rising from her bent over position, Abigail looked at her husband’s offered hand. She was shaking like a leaf, the young wife not knowing which was worse, her father’s stern reprimand, or her husband’s potent rage, so evident in the dark demeanor of his face and the scowl on his lips.

  “Abigail!” Aaron barked at her.

  Seeing his firm resolve, feeling how it had the power to command in a way her father never could command her, her resistance to him melted away, even though her fear did not. Taking his hand, she moved to his side, though she was hardly comforted by his waiting arm.

  “If you don’t mind, the paddle will do, sir,” Aaron said, not at all interested in comforting his wife.

  Neville McPhearson handed his son-in-law the implement, admiring the younger man’s staunch determination.

  “You’ll bend over the desk and do this properly,” Aaron said, staring down at his wife, giving her just a bit of shove.

  “Here?” she asked meekly.

  “Here,” he confirmed, his eyes makin
g clear his motive, so there was no doubt in her mind.

  Pushing her to the desk, she was obliged to bend over as she had before, though not with the protest and struggling that had accompanied the row with her father. Once in position, Aaron flung her skirt up over her bottom, and yanked her drawers to her ankles, her gleaming white cheeks, with just a faint blush of red appearing for the eyes of her parents and husband to see.

  “And I’d better not hear you wail, my love, or I’ll be going on all night,” Aaron warned her.

  Standing to her side, Aaron aimed the implement for the center of her posterior and letting it fly, the paddle smacked her soundly in the center of her naked cheeks.

  “Oh, ouch,” she moaned, even though she tried keeping the distress to herself.

  The paddle was harsh and firmly laid, the wound inflicted a wicked sting that began where it stuck and radiated outward, so it seemed that Abigail was feeling it everywhere. Smack after smack landed, Aaron’s strong arm coming down with a mighty vengeance. Though he wasn’t cruel, he was passionate and severe, a testament to the raging anger that he’d nurtured on the anx-iousjourney to find his missing wife. Seeing her bottom quickly turn a blazing scarlet, Aaron began to slow. The punishment was meant to be brief and to the point, going on for several unforgiving minutes, until his anger was somewhat spent and Abigail was sobbing miserably - as much from humiliation as pain. Though the pain could hardly be bad as he’d been advised Abigail could endure, it was certainly enough to get his immediate point across. Regardless of the intent however, he didn’t consider the punishment complete.

  When Aaron at last ended the spanking, he caught his breath, and the three adults stared at Abigail’s punished bottom for some seconds.

  “I think that will do for a while,” Aaron said, and he pulled his wife to her feet.

  The poor young woman was feeling horribly mortified. The whole house heard, she was certain of that; and the way her own parents stared at her, she couldn’t help but blush.

  “We’ll be riding home now,” Aaron said, turning to Neville.

  “Such a late hour? Perhaps you should stay the night,” he offered. The man looked quite bewildered. For the first time in Abigail’s life she had seen her father bested by another man, though that was hardly something to celebrate.

  “There are matters between husband and wife that need to be settled in the privacy of our own home,” Aaron said. “I assure you, Abigail will not be running off to you again. Now,” he said turning to his wife, “apologize to your fam-ily.”

  The chagrined young woman looked from her father to her husband, to the gleaming tear filled eyes of her mother. “I . . I . . I’m so very sorry,” she said, her face still as flushed as her bottom.

  Her father nodded, while her mother reached out and stroked her hand briefly. Aaron, seeing that his business in this house was done for the night, nodded to his wife to restore her clothes. Once done, the two left Neville and Margaret McPhearson standing somewhat awestruck in their library.

  Doors were gently closing through the house, as the young couple left, the hoopla over for an evening, a strange feeling of finality grip ping the place. Abigail had indeed been handed over to her husband, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind after this rude night.

  The silence of their ride home was only interrupted by a few pointed comments from Aaron.

  “I should really make you ride with your sore behind on the horse,” he said, as he was helping her into the carriage, allowing Biscuit to be tied to the rig behind them.

  “You have no idea how I worried over you,” he said. “It makes me angry still to think of it.”

  Abigail didn’t have a response to either retort, not finding any words to speak, except a meek, “I’m sorry.

  Much later, after Abigail had napped a bit, her head falling naturally to her husband’s shoulder, she was warmed to feel his hand reach out to her thigh and caress it. Yes, she supposed he still loved her, despite her bad behavior and his wicked temper. Maybe things would really be all right.

  Arriving home in the wee hours before dawn, Aaron said nothing, but carried her to bed in his arms. Between the comforting downy covers they found themselves pressed tightly to each other, their loins locked, Aaron’s hand gripping her aching behind firmly, his erection deep within her.

  To Abigail’s satisfaction, what had apparently not been worked out with her father’s paddle was taken care of with their loving pas sions. Restoring a sense of order to her life with this love making, Abigail was pleasantly exhausted at the finish, glad at last to look lovingly in her husband’s eyes.

  “I see you’ve calmed, my love,” Aaron said.

  “I think so. Though I still don’t like the idea of this move, you’ve convinced me in many ways that I should go with you there.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Abby,” Aaron said. “Though I hope, you don’t think I’m finished punishing you for your foolish jaunt to your parent’s house.”

  “Not finished? How do you mean?” she asked, startled by his announcement.

  He reached inside her nightgown and felt for her bottom one more time, his hand at the moment, warm and soothing.

  “Your shenanigans have hardly been punished enough, and you know it,” he said sternly. “We’ll be meeting in the barn in the morning to finish what I could only begin under your father’s roof.”

  “Aaron, no!” she wailed her indignation.

  “Abigail, yes,” he stated firmly. His eyes narrowing, his jaw as firm as ever, he silenced her with the look, so that she turned away from him, and remained awake a long time, thinking how unfair it was. Certainly her crime should have been absolved by now.

  The husband and wife ate their breakfast in a gloomy quiet, brought on by the pending feeling of doom Abigail was feeling in her heart.

  “Haven’t you chastised me enough, totally humiliating me in front of my family last night,” she said sulking?

  “Chastised enough?” Aaron looked at her, astounded she should think such a thing.

  “Why yes. I merely did what any young woman would do under the circumstances, sought the comfort of my mother. You can hard-ly find fault in that,” she sassed.

  “You petulant little brat!” Aaron declared, his temper returning in an instant. “I’m glad I’m going to whip your bottom again. You obviously have no appreciation for the ter-ror you struck in my heart.”

  “Terror?” She looked dumbfound.

  “Terror, yes. Walking into my home to find you gone, vanished into thin air, no note, no message, not a single clue as to your where-abouts, except that Biscuit had disappeared too. I was sure at the outset you were off to a neigh-bor’s, but when you weren’t home for dinner, I was in a panic. Not only was your response to my announcement about our move completely out of line, your reckless flight was foolhardy and dangerous both. If you don’t realize that fact, then perhaps I’ll just have to wail on your behind until you appreciate the worry you caused.”

  Surprised by Aaron’s litany of complaints, Abigail could think of little to say, though she tried hard.

  “Isn’t there some other way I could make this up to you?” she asked meekly.

  “No,” he said without reservation. “You’ll finish your chores and meet me in the barn. And if I hear anything that even approach es that nasty tongue you displayed yesterday, I’ll not only strap you, I’ll find a birch as well.”

  “So, you’re not going to the mill?” she inquired.

  “Not until we have this settled,” he said. And saying nothing more, Aaron rose from his chair and left the kitchen, and his wife. The pouting young woman was so filled with both fury and arousal, she was trembling all the way to her toes. She realized the extent of her husband’s reproach was beyond anything she expected of him.

  Abigail stalled as long as she could, doing her chores more perfectly than she’d ever done them - the kitchen in particular was spot less. Though stall as she would, she knew she had no choice but to get the h
orrible thing over with. While she’d worked, she fumed, all the anger she’d felt the day before was as fresh and vivid as ever.

  The idea of the man to control her this way. It was just like her father!

  And yet, unlike her father, Aaron held something over her that she couldn’t deny, though it only made her angrier feeling the way his stern command seemed to arouse her. Aaron loved her and she loved him, and try as she might to hate the very ground that he walked on, there was no way she could accomplish that. Just the previous night’s love making reminded her of the deep feeling of need to have him close and caring for her, and yes, even exerting his authority over her.

  Try as she might to settle the angry brew inside her, however, she was forced to face the inevitable, forced to appear for her punishment as Aaron had commanded.

  From the house to the barn, Abigail tiptoed just inside the door looking for her husband, finding him working in one far corner of the building. Approaching him cautiously, she had concocted a plan, that if it worked, just might prevent the next hour from becoming as painful as her previous evening had been.

  “Aaron, love, I’m here,” she said, cock-ing her head slightly to one side and delivering her message sweetly.

  Her husband turned to her with none too sweet an expression.

  “I’m sorry, I really am. You made me think, I mean really think how silly, how terribly unwise it was to make that trip yesterday. I know I wasn’t very contrite before, but you’ve made me understand.”

  Aaron eyed her suspiciously. “Is this a ploy to get me to change my mind?”

  “Of course not,” Abigail assured him. She moved closer to him, her chest heaving as she breathed. She thought of the day some weeks before, when their passions had hastily brewed while a thunderstorm raged outside the barn, and there, right there in the clean straw, Aaron had made love to her, pouring all his manly affections into her wild and willing body. Taking his hand in hers now, she caressed it gen-tly. “I just wanted you to know how terrible I really feel. Sometimes I’m horribly selfish, and I don’t think of you, and that really is the problem, don’t you think?”