Hotter on the Edge (15 page)

He sighed as if he was tired. Whatever. He hadn't been the one imprisoned for months.

"Can you at least tell me your name? I need to introduce you to my men."

He wanted her name, something so simple, and yet it felt too intimate. How long had it been since she'd spoken her name, her
real
name? Her mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed to loosen her tongue. "Lake."

"That's pretty."

She resisted a
tsk
to show she had any feelings one way or another. Besides, what did he know? There was nothing pretty about her name. Lake wasn't about rain-kissed summer days and fresh berry picnics. A lake was the place people went to drown their shame and hide their bodies. A lake made it easy for them to walk away with peace of mind. Because they all knew this—Lake never gave up her secrets. Never.

***

Lake placed her hands on the large wooden table. The weight of the chains had started to wear on her, and it felt good to ease her burden. During the introductions to Hudson's men (she had found out her husband's name) she'd sat tall and proud in the wagon, a rough blanket thrown over her hands. Now with no one watching, she allowed her shoulders to slump and head to rest against the back wall.

Hudson's home was even more of a surprise than his farm. It was actually a brick and mortar building, instead of the usual mud huts that she grew up in. No stone queries had survived the Global War so the house must've been built pre-war. That was impressive, even by land owner's standards. And his house had electricity.

A person had to look, but it was there in the absence of a fire in the cooking pit, no fresh black soot caked the walls, and if one listened hard, there was no quiet hum of a generator.

If a person had a generator, then one had gasoline, and the only providers of petrol were the Rebels.

When the Rebellion had begun years ago, it was the soldiers who protected the planet on the other side of the Portal who'd made the first conquest. They had usurped the Elders' power and claimed Dark Planet as their own. The Elders had cut off all supplies from Earth, but the Rebels had found their own source of wealth—oil. The Rebels owned Dark Planet, the largest and as of now, only source of oil. If one wanted gas for their generator, then one dealt with the Rebels.

A rush of fear slammed into her. Dealing in commodities that the Rebels wanted wasn't cheap. And it was dangerous. Fresh vegetables and fruit were a rarity, and meat besides horse and goat was nearly unheard of. Was that why Hudson had bought her? Had he guessed at her true value to the Rebellion? She might be a valuable hostage, but the Rebels wouldn't pay. The Rebellion had a no ransom policy. If you got caught, there'd be no one coming to get you. The Rebel's motto was drilled into her—there was a price for freedom, and sometimes the price was your life.

Somewhere in the distance a door opened and footsteps sounded her way. Lake sat up and squared her shoulders. Her back screamed in protest, but she ignored the pain. When Hudson came into view, she sized him up through a whole new set of eyes. He'd given her and the Elders the impression of a back hill farmer, but there was way more to this man. She didn't like the fact that she'd underestimated him.

His boots were working boots, but made of good quality. His clothing was nothing special, dark work pants and a white shirt, stained with sweat and dirt. She made a conscious effort to ignore how his shirt molded his body and strained to fit the extensive span of his shoulders. His forearms were exposed, and her gaze followed the corded muscles of his arms to his hands. Large hands, strong hands, hands she knew were capable of violence—hands that held a pickaxe and a rather large steel stake.

He walked forward and laid both on the table before her. It took effort for her to drag her gaze away from the tools—or instruments of torture?—and watch as he sat across from her.
Watch the man, not his weapons.

"We need to talk," Hudson said.

You mean I need to talk.
Lake glanced from the crude metal stake on the table then back to her husband's face. He didn't have the look of a cruel man, but Lake had been fooled before. In prison, it had been a common practice to impale the more uncooperative prisoners' hands to the wall, by means of a steel stake. As the saying went, a captive hand freed a tongue.

They'd been right.

Would she break?
Lake closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart. She had to be strong. There was no other option.

"We need to come to a compromise," he said.

His voice had a soothing quality to it, which made Lake even more nervous. If she didn't watch herself, she'd tip her hand before she was ready. Lake opened her eyes.

"But first I need to know a few things. Are you against marriage?"

The question threw her. For women under Elder law there was no other option than to marry. Even from birth, female babies weren't given a last name—why bother when they would take the name of their husbands? "If you are asking if I am against the buying and selling of females to the highest bidder, then yes, I am."

"I don't make the rules, little dove. I just follow them."

"Really?" Lake did an exaggerated look around. "You expect me to believe, with all this, that you are a rule follower."

"It wasn't my neck that was stretched out on the executioner's block, now was it, little dove?"

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

Hudson leaned back in his chair, a smile light on his face. "Regardless, you're married to me. The Marker will be on his way in three days, and I think it would be better for both of us if he doesn't find you chained to my bed or my rotting body in the wine cellar. So, are you willing to negotiate?"

Lake let her gaze roam over him before answering. She'd learned fast that deals endangered lives. But better safe than sorry. Besides, she could've done worse. The man sitting across from her was relatively young. She didn't even mind the soft wave of his sandy blonde hair and how it fell over eyes that seemed to change from simple brown to the golden color of maple leaves in the fall.

"Yes," she answered, surprised that she meant it.

"Good. Good." Hudson nodded and leaned back in his chair with a look of relief. It had her wondering how he would've reacted if her answer had been different.

"I'm not going to pretend I don't have any idea of why you were arrested. Breaking anti-tech laws basically screams of involvement with the Rebellion. But I've kept my life and my farm by not getting involved with the Cause. As my wife I expect you to do the same."

"So you are saying you expect me to close my eyes to the plight of the poor and close my ears to the cries of the repressed?"

"It's easier to sleep that way."

"You're despicable."

"I've been called worse, and yet, I am still willing to negotiate with my wife who tried to kill me on our honeymoon. So, what will it be, Lake? What do you want? And it can't be the breaking of rule number one. That's off the table."

His mouth turned up on one side at his attempt at humor, but she refused to let it soften her. He was right about one thing. Lives were on this table. He just didn't realize that his wasn't important enough to be part of the bargain.

"My freedom. I want to be let go."

He sighed as if he had to explain the incredibly simple to the incredibly stupid. "Impossible. Try again."

"Then we are at an impasse."

Hudson crossed his ankle over his knee and brushed some dirt off his boot. "Have you really no idea how to negotiate? No wonder you were slotted for execution. To you it's all or nothing. But the world is full of compromise. There are more shades than just black and white. There are myriads of grays. Think Lake, what can you live with?"

He surprised her. She didn't like surprises. How she'd ever thought he was a dim-witted farmer shook her powers of perception. Across from her sat a crafty deal maker, and the miracle of him being able to keep his farm all the sudden seemed less from divine means and more from sly ones.

He was good; she'd give that to him. He had her thinking. It had always been all or nothing for her. Do or die. Her against the world, but was there an alternative? What
could
she live with? Lake swallowed. Her heart raced, but this time with hope. "I need a day. Allow me to leave for twenty-four hours unhindered, and I'll give you my promise that I'll return."

"Done." But there was a twinkling in his eyes.

It was too easy; he knew something she didn't. "And I'll need provisions, a weapon, and..." she racked her brain for anything she was leaving out. "And these chains off."

"Of course." He nodded toward the pick and stake on the table. "That's why I brought the tools. Anything else?" He smiled with both sides of his mouth this time.

She didn't trust him, but what else could she do? This meant too much. Lake shook her head. "No."

"Time for my demands." If possible Hudson leaned back even further in his chair. He seemed way too relaxed.

She was genuinely confused. There was nothing she had to bargain with. He was the one with all the power. "I don't understand what could you possibly want from me that you don't already have?"

"You in my bed."

Did she imagine it or did his eyes grow darker?
Don't be stupid, Lake.
Contrary to what he thought, she did know how to negotiate. Lake schooled her features, didn't even blink. But it didn't stop her body reacting as if she'd just jumped into a pond of water—mid-winter.

"That's yours regardless." She wasn't giving anything away by stating the facts. She just had to figure out what his game was. "You don't need to bargain with me in order to get me into your bed."

"True, but I do need you pregnant. I don't put it above the Elders to come and check on my declaration of pending fatherhood. Perjury carries the death penalty, and even though that doesn't concern you over much, it's a big concern to me. I have a farm to work. I don't have time to chase you every time you run. And despite what I said earlier, I've never kept a man in chains—yet. Call me foolish, but I like the thought of sleeping without worrying that my young bride is going to kill me. A man likes his wife willing—at least I do. Given the chance Lake, you might even find bedding me enjoyable."

Now
this
didn't surprise her. Men and sex went together like water and desert. "So it comes down to bed sport then."

"It's been a currency for years."

"What are the terms?"

"You get your one twenty-four hour period, with me as your guard, of course. And I get you in my bed until you are pregnant. When you're with child we can readdress the terms."

"No guard."

"Not negotiable."

Lake narrowed her eyes. "Let me go alone, and I'll bring back a year supply of petrol."

"I have a year supply of petrol."

"No one has a year supply of petrol, and with winter just around the corner, I'd think long and hard about my offer." She'd lied, of course. Her life wasn't worth a year supply of anything to the Rebels. At least not yet, but she'd become a very good liar over the last year.

A fire lit in his eyes. Oil was a man's drug, and for a landowner, even more so.

"Fine," he said. "A year supply of gasoline and you willing, in my bed, indefinitely."

She didn't like the way he'd said that last word, but she nodded. The deal seemed more than fair, at least on her end. But… "How do I know that you won't follow me?"

He did a half-hearted shrug. "You don't. But I am a man of my word. In these parts, honor still means something, and I have a good reputation. The question should be, do you? How do I know that I can trust you?"

She mirrored his half-hearted shrug. "You don't. But I guess we need to start somewhere."

"I seem to be doing a lot of the trusting."

"And I'll be doing a lot of the bedding. So it'll even out in the end."

The tips of his fingers came together to form a webbed pyramid as he pinned her with his gaze. "I'm a man of my word, Lake, but don't cross me. Men have died for less."

Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat. She knew what he said to be true. The way he took care of the guard at her execution spoke volumes. But in this world only the strong survived, and she wasn't above using any weapon at her disposal. She lowered her head and gave him her best thick-lashed gaze. "I wouldn't expect any less. Who knows, this marriage may turn out to be enjoyable for us both."

He tapped his fingers together in an annoying pattern. "As long as you remember, enjoyable is optional. You in my bed is not."

***

How long had he stood here, in a dark pocket of the barn, watching her ready herself for her journey? Ten minutes? Fifteen? The question he should ask himself was how long was he willing to stand here and let his gaze trace the swell of her bottom and the sweet profile of her breasts before he decided to go back on their bargain?

Lake stood in the open doorway, tucking her long white braid underneath a non-descript hat. A bag was thrown over one shoulder, a sword strapped to her hip. Gone was the flimsy white gown, instead she was dressed in sturdy traveling clothes—an old shirt of his, a pair of pants she must've begged off one his men, since his would've never fit her smaller frame.

She stood silhouetted against the setting sun, the glow outlining her with an orange halo, the evening breeze floating stray wisps of hair around her head.

Was this the last time he'd see her? So many things could go wrong. The sword she carried was no match for a desperate man bent on evil. She could be abducted, or get lost and die wandering in the desert. She could get killed. She could simply not return.

His hand ached. Hudson looked down, surprised to see his fingers wrapped in a death grip around the hilt of his sword. He'd make her stay, break his word. No one would blame him. It would be the wise and prudent course.

Slowly he released his grip, forced himself to relax. He wasn't a gambler. He knew that much about himself. A man didn't hold on to land like his by chance. And yet, there was a part of him that wanted a real marriage. Was his longing to have a wife he could trust worth losing all he had on the word of one towheaded girl?