Claimed on the Frontier by Jane Henry

Author:Jane Henry [Henry, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2016-06-16T22:00:00+00:00

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Aaron was honest and forthcoming during the day. He was a man of his word, upright and moral, and he never spoke an untruth or hid his feelings.

But it was in the dark of our evenings that he revealed what could not be spoken of in daylight.

During the day he spoke of things like the price of feed in the store, how we would keep warm in the winter, and his plans for the years ahead with our land.

In the night, he spoke of his past. He would often bed me, and in that first week, he was gentle. I needed gentle. I needed him to ease me into being his, to learn how to accept pleasure and to be pleasured. His appetite seemed insatiable, as he often woke me in the morning with one goal in mind, and our nights together were intensely intimate. But after, when he held me, sated and weakened with pleasure against his bare chest, we would talk. When we were bared to one another, and the room was darkened, it seemed easier then to speak my mind, too. I spoke of my days at the Fitzgeralds, how I’d been no more than a servant, and how very different my days were now. I spoke of my desire to learn to read and write, and how I yearned to learn how to act like a woman. He spoke of his father and his brothers, their early years farming and their moving to a new land. He spoke of his father’s illness and subsequent death, and I was shocked to learn Aaron was wild in his youth. I had much to learn about him.

He did not speak of the French woman until we were wed for weeks.

As we entered October, we managed a sort of routine. In the morning, we’d wake together. He’d often begin the day by having his way with me, before I cooked him breakfast and he tended to the chores. During the day I cleaned, cooked, and baked, and sometimes did chores around our homestead. After supper, I did my evening chores. I cleaned our dishes, wiping them with the soft cotton towel left for us by ma, stacking them neatly in our cupboard.

One evening, Aaron sat by the fire, polishing his gun.

“You’re taking a long time finishin’ your chores, and I told you I had plans for you,” he scolded, but when I looked to him his eyes were twinkling. He was teasing, then. Two could play at that game. I picked up the dish in my hand. I stroked the towel over the dish as slowly as possible. He turned his head to the side and his brows raised high. I placed the dish on the clean pile and flicked out the towel. I hung it to dry on a hook by the fire, and walked with slow, deliberate steps to pick up the broom in the corner. Instead of brushing it briskly over the floor as was

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