Hotter on the Edge (14 page)

***

They rode along the dirt road in silence. The wagon and the woman next to him were the only two things Hudson owned outright; even the plow horse pulling them was entailed with the farm. The wo— his wife hadn't spoken a word, even when it had been her turn to say the vows. She'd just stared off into nothing. In the end, the Elder had just shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The vows are just a formality. You've paid the bride price. She's yours to do with what you will. I'll send a Marker out in three days' time, and then it will be official."

That had been enough for him. He had her out of the hut, and up on his wagon before the old man could come up with any other "fees" to place on his head. But now in the quiet of the afternoon, with a strange woman sitting next to him, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. This woman was something foreign, odd, she didn't fit into his world. He had no idea what to do with a woman, well, other than get her pregnant.

Did she require anything special for her upkeep? He gave her a nervous glance. Hell, could she even see? She must. She'd stepped up into the wagon with no problem. Could she talk? He pondered that thought. The Path would never be that kind. Would it?

He knew women could talk. His own mother had for one. She'd nagged, ridiculed, and complained until he'd fantasized about cutting off his ears…or her tongue. But his mother had been dead for some time, and now after a year of silence, he'd come to like the quiet. Maybe his wife was waiting for him to speak first? His gaze rested on the iron manacles around her wrists. "I have the tools at home to take those off."

The truth was he'd purposely "forgotten" to ask for the keys. She was a convicted criminal after all. She could be a violent person, and he liked the idea of her being more manageable, at least while they were riding home alone.

The wife made no response just stared straight ahead, her body swaying to the motion of the wagon.

Maybe she was deaf also. Hudson had had a deaf horse once. The mare had plowed the field just fine. He swallowed, then tried again.

"My name is Hudson Black Creek Land because I own a farm." He was an idiot. His last name was obvious since only men who owned property could take the last name of Land. "Do you have a name?"

Silence.

"Can you talk?"

Nothing, just the annoying swaying.

Hudson looked back toward the road and shrugged. This marriage thing didn't seem to be too hard. In fact, she didn't seem to be much trouble at all. He released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He rolled his shoulders a bit, suddenly tired. The early morning journey and "wife buying" had taken its toll. He went to pat her knee, but stopped awkwardly mid-air—still too nervous to actually touch her. He lowered his hand, and instead flashed her a reassuring smile. "I have a good feeling about this marriage thing. I think you'll work out just fine."

***

Air! Air!
He couldn't breathe. He was drowning. No, not drowning—choking! Someone was trying to kill him.

Hudson clawed at the chain around his neck, but his fingers couldn't get underneath the bite of the metal. He twisted and turned trying to break free, but it was of no use, his attacker was strong. Time was running out. His vision narrowed as empty voids gathered along the edges. Through the small hole of light he could still make out the rear end of his horse, the reins that had fallen forward, the wooden bench he sat on. Had he fallen asleep? Must have. There was no other way an attacker could've taken him by surprise.

A fire blazed where his lungs had once been. Strange, animal-like sounds escaped from his throat. He clawed at his flesh, trying to make room. He could feel the attacker struggle against his back as he pulled from a lower angle.
Smaller than?
Hudson was tall, and even in a world of men, he was usually head and shoulders above most. He hoped this time wasn't an exception.

He gave up the fight with the chain itself and reached behind him. He found the attacker's hands and clapped down with a pit-bull grip. His head spun. The roar in his ears grew louder. With the last burst of energy before he fell into the darkness, he threw all his power into his legs and stood. The metal links crushed his throat. He countered it by pulling the attacker's hands hard over his head. The smaller frame crashed at him from behind. The chain loosened.

That was enough. He drew the chain forward and slipped under the noose. He wrapped his one hand around the links and pulled. His attacker flew forward across the bench. He freed his axe. His arm swung high. Rage filled his veins along with the steadiness a man needed to kill. He swung—white hair, shackled wrists, a crusted wound from the Executioner's mark—the woman! He shifted his aim. The axe head found its home in the wagon's bench. The wood split in half with a clean break.

For the second time in one day, his wife had almost lost her head.

His wife,
his wife
, had just tried to kill him! Sharp breath cooled the flames in his lungs as another fire started in his gut. With disgust he yanked on her arm. In reality, he meant to pull her to standing. Instead, he overestimated his strength…and underestimated her weight. In a flurry of white hair and soiled gown, she went flying out of the wagon and landed on her backside with a loud humph.

In shock, Hudson stilled. His plow horse, being a good plow horse, had stopped moving the wagon forward. Everyone and everything around them stopped, except her…his wife. She was up and on her feet, sprinting like a rabbit being chased by a wolf.

Really? Really!
Did she think she could run away from him? Did she think he would
let
her?

He jumped out of the wagon and started to hunt her down as if she really was a rabbit and he really was a very hungry, very angry wolf.

Hudson would've laughed if his throat hadn't felt like he'd swallowed a burning coal. She was an idiot if she thought she could run from him. He'd follow her through the Portal if he had to. There was way too much riding on that white head of hers for him to let her go.

It didn't take long. He tackled her legs. They both went down. She rolled and tried to kick him. He caught her foot an inch from his face. In a quick move he had her under him, legs pinned, hands above her head—her chained wrists now a hindrance to her instead of a weapon.

He took a second to catch his breath, rage choking him almost as effectively as her chained wrists had earlier. "Rule number one. Don't try to kill your husband especially when he is still reeling from the cost of buying you."

She didn't respond, but her eyes had lost that dead, far-away look. Now they shot blue flames of hate. He should've never wished the dull, complacent look away.

If a man had tried to kill him there would've been no hesitation. He'd put a sword through a man's belly for less. But there were reasons why he couldn't kill her. There had to be. All he needed was to remember just one.

His farm
.

That was one. Well, he'd keep her alive, but it didn't mean he had to keep her happy.

"Tell me why or else I'll start chopping off body parts until you do." He hadn't sunk to a killer of women yet, but she didn't have to know that. Maybe his father had been right, a little fear goes a long way in a successful marriage.

"You have to let me leave."

It was the first time he had heard her speak. Her voice was a bit raspy, deeper than he'd expected from one so small. It reminded him of cold, clear nights and hushed whispers behind closed doors. And damn it was sexy, and…
focus
. He lifted her chain and slammed her wrists on the ground for emphasis. "I just spent my life savings and half my land to buy you. You're not going anywhere."

"Then I'll never stop breaking rule number one," she spat out.

"Well, that will make what I have to do a lot harder."

"Which is what?"

"Get you pregnant."

Her face blanched, and he allowed himself a wicked smile. He could tell she was thinking the worst. Good, by The Path she deserved it. But that wasn't the worst. He could do better. "And I have every intention of keeping you chained to my bed to accomplish it."

Chapter Three

As far as husbands went, Lake guessed she could've done worse. She remembered the feel of him on top of her, all muscle. He hadn't turned to fat—yet. The ones who had enough money to purchase a wife were mostly lascivious, old men with only a few teeth. But being young didn't make him different. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her. It was the same way most men had since the summer she'd grown breasts. Of course, most had been older than her father.

There might've been a time, when she was younger, that her so-called husband would've been the type of man her young heart had fantasized about. But that was a lifetime ago, before things changed, before…

He bought you.
One of the many reasons she hated the Elders and their laws. Women weren't meant to be bought and bred like cattle, and then made to watch their daughters be bought and sold the same way. But change was a long way off. Especially with her in these chains.

What was her so-called husband's name again? Huddon? Mutson? Didn't matter, she already hated him. It was nothing personal. At least it hadn't been until he had tied her to the back of the wagon and made her walk the rest of the way to his home.
Neanderthal
.

Of course, he had slowed the wagon to a crawl, but that didn't count for much. Neither did his turning around to check on her every couple of minutes. Lake waited for him to twist around and look at her again, then she gave him a glare and spat on the ground.

He quickly faced forward. Good. Let him stew on that. She'd fight him with everything she had left.

Her shoulders slumped. The bone weariness she'd kept at bay finally caught up with her. Who was she kidding? She had nothing left. He should've just let her die—wished he had. She'd been resigned to her fate. She'd done all she could. Death would've given her the peace she so desperately wanted. But she still lived and she still breathed. Long ago she had made her decision. She'd left the teachings of her father, left The Way, stopped following The Path. Instead, she'd dedicated each beat of her heart to the Rebellion. And her fight wasn't over, never would be, until she either died or the New Republic was born.

Death seemed more likely.

Lake stumbled, but caught herself. She was tired. Tired of fighting alone. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten—had to be over a day ago. If she could just rest, maybe get a drink of water, she might be able to think clearly. She might then be able to find her way out of this situation.

There'd been a moment when they'd first left the city that she'd recognized the mountain range as the same one that bordered her childhood home. Hope had burst through her. She was closer than she'd thought. She had to try.

What's-his-name stopped the wagon. Lake waited. That's what she did—she bided her time, waited for the right opportunity. But she'd had her opportunity, and she'd blown it. Killing him hadn't been her objective, more of making him pass-out so she could escape. She just hadn't expected herself to be so weak or for him to be so strong.

No matter, she wouldn't give up. There'd be another opportunity. The Path knew he was dim-witted enough. Who would pay that much money for a wife? When she was stronger she'd try again, and the next time she wouldn't be as nice. She'd use the axe.

What's-his-name seemed to be debating with himself—again. Fine with her, she could wait all day. Well, she could if she sat down. Lake eased herself to the ground, trying not to wince at the tightening in her back. Who would've thought a dirt road would be such bliss? She desperately wanted to allow her eyes to close briefly, but she couldn't afford to be taken off guard.

Finally, he hopped out of the wagon and came over to her. Lake stared straight ahead, readying herself for the worst.

"My farm is just over this hill," he said.

She regretted sitting down. She would've felt better having any conversation with him on her feet. She wouldn't stand though and let him know that she was bothered.

"It would be better for you if the first time my men see you isn't..." He let his voice trail off. His booted foot shifted in the dusty road. "It would be better if you arrived as my wife by my side."

Lake couldn't take it anymore and pushed herself to her feet. "As opposed to arriving as your slave?"

"Yes."

He didn't mince words, she would give him that. Honesty was rare in this day and age.
Too rare.
She searched his features and looked for an ulterior motive. She supposed his face was put together decently, two eyes, one mouth. But she knew better than to trust a nice face. He wanted something from her, men always did. Oh yeah, he wanted to use her as a breeding mare. Get her with child, sell her daughter. How could she have forgotten?

"Can you restrain yourself from trying to kill me for the next hour or so?"

She nodded. There was nothing to gain by refusing.

He untied the rope attached to her chains and helped her into the wagon. As they crested the hill, the tree line around them broke, giving her an unhindered view of the shallow valley below. Lake gasped. Below her wasn't just a farm, but sprawling fields of golden brown and neatly squared patches of rows of green. Men in wide brimmed hats toiled about the land alongside horses that were hooked up to wagons and plows. This wasn't the small vegetable garden of her childhood home. No, this was a working farm that could produce enough food for thousands.

The Elders took what they wanted, either by force or heavy taxation. How the man sitting next to her had held on to land this rich without the Elders claiming it was nothing short of a miracle. A slow easing respect grew for her new husband. Maybe it was time to learn his name.

"Do you like it?" There was genuine pride in his voice, as if he actually cared what she thought. Respect was one thing, but giving her approval was quite another. Lake stared straight ahead and let her face settle into nothing.