Spring was coming to the Piedmont as I traveled
northward. It was 1781 and the news was not good.
Cornwallis was busily rousing the loyalists in the
Carolinas; Arnold was rumored to be on his way to
Virginia, and I still had a long way to go to get back
to my company up on the James. The road had been empty
all morning but now a carriage lay ahead of me with no
team to be seen. Odd, thought I.
The girl that sat on the pulled-down steps of the
fancy rig looked sad indeed, nearly despondent, head
down and knees wide apart. She was drawing on the
ground with a stick and, I suppose, did not hear my
slow approach. She glanced up as I dismounted and gave
me a wan smile. There was neither team nor driver in
sight so the problem was obvious.
She stood and my cock stirred. She was a true stunner,
dressed in the height of fashion and sporting a mop of
dark red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and
well down her straight back, a torrent of copper
curls. I am, I know well and truly, a fool for
redheads. She put her hands on her hips and thus
spread open, her short jacket and displayed her
bulging chest and trim waist. I smiled and knuckled my
forehead, admiring her youth and beauty, wondering
that I did not frighten her. Her luscious breasts were
prime, true pippins, high and hard pointed.
"Need some help?" I asked, hopefully.
"No," she said, lifting her chin and showing her
teeth, "I enjoy sitting out here in the middle of
nowhere. I'm learning to love nature. What kind of
tree is that?" She pointed with her stick.
"Hickory," I said, stepping back toward my mare and
grabbing a stirrup.
"Wait," she said. "Wait. You're the first person I've
seen in more than an hour. Where in the world am I?
Don't go."
"What happened?" I asked as she resumed her seat, and
I squatted on my haunches near her, member swelling
along my thigh. Her impressive bosom was nearly bare,
with her jacket flaring open as it was and her trim
waist only emphasized the roundness of her hips and
size of the jutting boobs with their prominent nipples
that seemed to have escaped her tight-laced corset.
She was lightly freckled, long-legged and, for a girl,
wide-shouldered. She surely was a year or two short of
twenty, still soft and fuzzy, but ripe for all that.
"Team ran off," she said absently. "Something broke, a
bolt or some such thing, and the driver scurried off
after them. Down that way." She nodded westward along
the very narrow and deeply rutted trail.
I waited, watching her hazel eyes and soft lips,
wishing I could look at a young woman without
picturing her naked and heaving beneath me but
enjoying the idea nevertheless.
"You hungry?" I asked, hoping to get my mind off her
body.
She nodded, tossing auburn curls, "Ravenous."
I fetched some sausage, cheese and dark bread from my
saddlebag, presents from the women I had recently
helped to widow. Since my canteen was about fifty-
fifty white lightning and well water, I hesitated to
share it. I used my bayonet to slice off some bread
and made her a thick, one-sided sandwich, and then I
squatted again and ate with her, enjoying her nearness
and smell.
"Anything to drink?" she asked, chewing hard on the
dry bread.
I uncorked my canteen and handed it to her. "Sip
first," I said, "it's more than water."
She sipped and her eyes widened. She drank a bit more,
swallowed and shivered. She handed me back the canteen
and nodded her thanks. "Whew," she said. "What is
that?"
"Corn whisky," I said after I downed a mouthful.
"How far is the next town?" she asked, chewing hard.
"No idea," I told her. "I'm just heading north, toward
Richmond."
"Are you a soldier?" she asked, licking her fingers
and then buttoning her tight-fitting jacket, hiding
her luscious globes, as the sun started to sink and a
cool breeze rose.
"How did you guess?" I said, giving her my best smile.
"I saw the gun," she said, "and the size of your
knife. And there's something about you." She cocked
her head to the side and her eyes sparkled with
mischievousness. She took a deep breath and licked her
lips. "My husband is a soldier, an officer," she said.
"Captain."
"Virginian?" I asked.
"Loyal Legion," she said proudly, "cavalry and light
artillery."
I nodded, not surprised. Her clothes were likely worth
more than most poor folks' houses and land. "No
servants?" I said, lifting an eyebrow.
She shook her head. "My maid ran off t'other day, to
the coast I suppose."
"Slave?"
She nodded. "A gift from my father." Then she wrinkled
her forehead.
"Could you take me somewhere, to the next town or an
inn, someplace I could wait." She looked about and
scrunched her lips together, furrowing her forehead.
"It's getting dark. I really don't want to spend the
night out here."
"Wait for what?" I asked as we both stood. She might
have been five-foot-five or so, maybe nine or ten
stone, a very healthy young woman, probably built for
endurance rather than speed. I was eager to mount her
and find out, and I pulled at my waistband to adjust
my britches a bit, riled but not ready.
"Well," she said, looking worried, "I'm sure my
husband or some of his men will come looking for me.
We were supposed to meet at a crossroads before
sundown. My driver's a drunken fool."
"Dangerous to ride in the dark," I said as the
cloudless sky turned various shades of purple.
She nodded. "You think I'm safe here; I mean to sleep
here?"
I shook my head and swallowed a smile. "No ma'am,
nobody pretty as you are is safe anywhere."
She lifted her chin and looked me in the eyes. "What a
thing to say."
We heard the jingle of harness chains before the
riders rounded the curve in the woods, four of them,
single file and at a fast trot. I squinted and she
waved.
"See," she said, "I knew it, my husband's men. See
those hats?"
I saw them and quickly looked for escape routes,
figuring my horse was a goner. The small group rode up
in some dust and their leader, a sergeant by his
stripes, doffed his hat as I backed away. "Mrs.
Harrison, ma'am?"
"Yes, yes," she said happily as he dismounted, hitched
up his britches and scratched at his groin, lips
pursed. "I certainly am glad to see you." She nearly
bounced with pleasure.
The man looked her up and down as one might size up a
cow or horse at a county fair's stock auction.
"Yes'm," he said, rubbing his hands together, "yer
driver tole us you was here. An' who's this big
feller?"
"Man that stopped to help me," she said. "Gave me some
food."
"That so," he said, waving his other men off their
horses and then looking at me, eyes narrowed. "Why
don'chu git on yer way."
I stepped back toward my horse, and he smiled.
"Shank's mare's good enough for you, snot-nose," he
said. "All these damn farmers have horses," he said to
his three leering men. They were looking at the woman
with absolute hunger, all but salivating, elbowing
each other and passing whispered comments. I knew that
look since I was guilty of it enough times myself.
"Git on," he said to me, jerking his thumb at the
woods. "Yer cob's the King's horse now."
I hesitated and looked at the lovely young woman. Now
she appeared rather fragile as well as very luscious
and desirable.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, raking at her mop of
hair.
"It's all right," I told her, backing up as the three
men tied their horses to a scrubby tree and then
removed their belts.
"Go on, shit-kicker," the sergeant said, his hand on
the hilt of his short sword as he leaned toward me,
"This here piece is too good for you."
I scurried along the trail into the woods without
further talk, shamed by the laughter behind me but
fearing what was to come. I stopped at the first big
tree and waited, leaning back and listening, fear
mixing with anger. I wanted the woman, of course, but
I also wanted my horse, and four men were in my way of
both goals.
"Mark," asked the sergeant as I quietly came back
though the forest, trying to figure out how to get at
them without harming her, "wasn't you first las' time,
on that there milkmaid yestidday, the fat one?"
I could not hear the answer.
"No, you fool," the girl shouted, "I'm Captain
Harrison's wife!" Cloth tore. "No, please," she cried
again, real fear in her plaintive voice.
"You're a prime piece a'ass, thas' what you is," the
sergeant growled at her as I crept closer. "Strip! Yer
turn Bob; whip it out an' git it ready."
"No," she yelled, and then there was a general laugh.
"Lookee there," the sergeant said happily, "she done
fell down, stupid cow. Go on, Bobby, y'kin poke `er
right there. Jim, grab `er arms."
I circled around as quietly as I could, hoping to get
to my musket, but when the woman screeched, I stopped
being patient, drew my bayonet and charged though the
brush, some sort of scream in my throat. They seemed
to freeze as I burst from the woods.
One man was kneeling between her kicking legs with his
white cock in one hand and her thigh in the other
while another grinning soldier held her wrists high
above her head with a boot on her shoulder. The other
two were standing and watching, enjoying the show of
bare legs, auburn bush and flailing feet. I skewered
the sergeant first, right in the kidneys, kicked him
aside and swung at the other standing horseman,
slicing open his arm and chest.
Then I yanked the would-be rapist up by his hair and
drove my big blade all the way through him, striking
bone as he howled. It would not come out so I left the
bayonet in him and went after the man who had been
holding her arms. I kicked him in the balls, then in
face and the ear after he fell, stomped on his chest
and got turned at the woman's warning cry just in time
to see a bleeding soldier pull the pistol from his
gasping sergeant's belt.
As he cocked it and held it up toward me with both
hands, the woman rolled over and kicked him in the
belly. The pistol fired almost straight up and I was
on him in a second, throttling him and then bashing at
his skull with the pistol butt until it caved in.
I stood panting, hands on knees, looking around as the
young woman got to her feet, brushed her clothes and
came to stand beside me, her hand on my heaving back,
holding her dress together at her bared breasts.
"I don't understand," she said. "They were my
husband's men."
I put my foot on the chest of the one they had called
Bob and drew my blade out of his limp body. I cut the
throat of the man I had stomped since he was gasping
for breath like a fish out of water. I heard the women
moan and choke as I did that. I wiped my blade on his
jacket, sheathed it and then faced her. "Like I told
you," I said, my heart thumping. "You're just too damn
pretty. These here were animals, not men." I snorted
for breath.
She came into my arms and I held her until she stopped
shuddering.
"Now what?" she said, looking up at me.
"There's a ravine over yonder," I said, pointing,
"passed it coming up the hill. I'll toss the bodies in
there." I flipped her the sergeant's heavy purse,
turned him over on his face and dragged him away by
his feet. I enjoyed watching his body tumble down the
hill and disappear in the brush. In short order, the
other three went the same way, vanishing as if they
had never been.
When I scuffed away the trail of blood and got back to
the carriage, it was almost fully dark but a sickle-
shaped moon was rising. The girl sat on the step where
I had first seen her, a bit more bedraggled but just
as handsome and desirable, perhaps more so with her
torn bodice hanging open and her double-mounded chest
turning silver. My foul mind churned up an image of
the knot of hair between her long legs.
I squatted before her and put my hand on her knee.
"Now we have four horses, but no way to hitch them
up."
She nodded and gulped.
"Never saw anybody die before," she said quietly.
"That was awful"
I handed her my canteen and she took a good draught.
So did I and then another before I corked it closed.
The liquor burned its way down to my riled member.
"My husband will find me," she said, nodding to
herself.
"Not tonight." I stood. "But we'd best make a small
fire just in case anybody is out looking for you.
Keeps the critters away."
"How could you do that?" she asked as she stood beside
me and put her hand on my forearm. I knew what she
meant.
"My job, missus," I said. "I'm a rebel."
She stood on tip-toe and kissed me, kissed me hard and
quick, grinding her belly into my groin, hands linked
behind my neck, lips parted. "Never kissed a rebel
before either," she said with a small chuckle. She
tasted awful good, but I had managed to keep my hands
off her for some reason.
I gathered some brush, my mind whirling, while she
picked up an armful of sticks along the old road, and
we made a conical fire. She went back to sitting on
the carriage step.
"Would they have killed me?" she asked as I poked the
fire and leaned bigger sticks into the flames.
"Likely," I said. "Then told your man you were gone
when they found the carriage."
"And, and attacked me, raped me?" she asked quietly.
"All of them?"
I did not answer. I knew she knew.
"Will you sleep beside me?" she asked. "Hold me? I'm
shaking; my heart is pumping madly."
"That's too much to ask," I said, sorely tempted,
"I've got a blanket roll. You sleep in there. I'll
stay out here."
"It excited me," she said. "I must admit it, all that
blood, the violence of it, the fear, that man holding
my leg. I can still see the look on their faces, like
you said, animals. And yours; you were wild."
"You kissed me," I said nobly, trying to ignore the
swelling beneath my codpiece, the usual result of a
brief and bloody fight and a lovely and willing woman.
"That's enough reward." Her eyes pleaded, and she
stood with her elbows back, making me a present of her
lush body, the top of her tight-fitting dress hanging
open, an invitation.
"Come," she said, pulling me up from the small fire.
"Don't tell me nonsense. I'm no child." She kissed me
again, and this time my hands had a field day, a town
fair, a tented circus. Her buttocks were round and
firm, her back smooth and muscular, her breasts soft
and hard-pointed when I shucked her out of her jacket
and popped open her remaining buttons. She gasped and
gnawed at my mouth, writhing in my grip and working on
my belt buckle with real fury as my hand slid down her
stay-covered belly.
My belt and bayonet fell to the dirt and I pried open
my fore-flap and released my rigid pike. It sprang out
as if made of spring steel. She was shaking her head
and making only small noises when I pushed her back to
the side of her carriage, lifted her skirts, spread
her legs with my knee, hefted her butt and impaled
her, sinking all the way to the hairy hilt with one
long thrust between her trembling and sucking lips.
She was ready, ripe and dripping, but she uttered a
moaning cry and rocked back, lifting her chin when I
struck bone.
I pulled up her legs one after the other, and she
wrapped me in them and arched her back so only her
head and shoulders touched her rig as I plunged
repeatedly into her welcoming quim, and she quivered
and rippled in response. She gasped and cried out in
pleasure while I simply grunted and gritted my teeth
rocking the carriage relentlessly by pressing her
against it, flexing from the knees. We came nearly
together, me first, jolting us both, and then she
climaxed with a wild howl and clawing fingers, bucking
like a wild thing on my fully extended spear, her feet
kicking my rump.
As she sobbed and her legs slid down, I lifted her
hips and withdrew, dripping and still blood-hot and
oak-hard. Wordlessly, we undressed to shirt and shift
and adjourned to the interior of her carriage. I was
not aware there were so many different possible
permutations in such an enclosed space. The one I
believe I liked best had her upon her back on one of
the seats, her feet drumming on the roof of her
carriage and my toes braced on the side while I banged
my thick root into her. We were serenaded by the
carriage springs. We both panted out our joy in each
other's strength.
Eventually, I was on the floor, my knees bent to fit
the space, and she was atop me, riding like a mad
cavalryman, intent on climbing the hill of pleasure
one last time before we were both exhausted. She did
not make it, but the attempt was well worthwhile, and
she fell into my arms, her extended nipple in my
sucking lips, mewling out, "God, god, god, god."
When she was curled on one seat and asleep, I covered
her and went out to roll up in my blanket beneath the
carriage after prodding our few cinders back to life
and seeing to the horses. I tried to recall how many
times we had done it as I fell into well-earned sleep
but gave up and simply dropped into darkness.
The sky was turning pink when I awoke. As usual, I was
impossibly hard and desperately in need of
satisfaction, of friction, of sex, of release. I
stepped up into the carriage, still wearing only my
shirt, and sat across from the sleeping female, who
looked barely nubile, her hair in wild disarray. She
was curled into a small shape, knees near her chin.
A hazel eye opened, looked up at me and then down at
the head of my engorged member which stood trembling
at a very rare angle, rising howitzer style,
unlimbered, loaded, primed and ready to fire. She sat
up, holding her blanket about her bare body and faced
me, our knees touching, her charms in shadows, nipples
prominent in the cool air. She looked into my stubbled
face and smiled.
She reached out a hand and touched the overheated
monster's fat head with a fingertip, pushing it down
and watching it spring back up. She licked her lips.
"I don't think I can," she said very quietly, looking
again into my eyes. "That's awfully big."
I smiled, exercising great patience. "We can but try."
Lust surged through me, and my rigid member jerked
spasmodically.
I brought her over to my knees, blanket and all,
scooted myself forward and pulled her to me. She bit
at her lower lip, put her hands on my shoulders and
her knees on the seat edge, raised a bit so her firm
boobies were right in my face. The head of my thick
pike found its longed-for home and penetrated at once
as her knees came past my buttocks.
"Ah," she cried, eyes closed as she sank down on it.
It was a damn tight fit. I thrust and she wiggled. In
and up it went, jerking and throbbing. She made small
noises, like a trapped animal's, deep in her throat
and then, once we were firmly joined, she sighed out,
"Ahh, ah, ahh. I’m ruined." The carriage rocked and
shook as we enjoyed each other. She leaned back
against my grasp and came repeatedly until she
collapsed on my shoulder, spent and limp, moaning and
trembling.
I pulled her off my blood-hot pole, turned her limp
body about and brought her back to my still-eager ram,
entering her soaked quim's bruised lips very slowly,
my hands gripped together at her waist, fingers
probing for her sensitive nubbin. Deeper and deeper I
sank, and she groaned and shook, leaning away from me.
Before I was done, she was holding herself bent
forward with her hands on the opposite seat and
meeting me thrust for thrust until I finally exploded
in her, crying out in joy and relief like a wild
creature and pumping time after time unto her silky
depths.
We dressed quietly, kissed briefly as I did up her
stays, sipped some whisky for breakfast, and I rigged
a blanket side-saddle for her. She found her jewelry,
and we were off by the time the sun had topped the
trees and the squirrels were chattering at us. By high
noon, we had seen no one else on the narrow road and
found not a single place to get some food, not even a
farm house or the promised crossroads. It was as if
the world had vanished while we slept. Then we topped
a hill, and there was an inn, a mill, a silver stream,
a smithy's furnace and a troop of blue-clad men with a
neat row of pale tents.
"Maybe we should part here," I said to the young
woman, my hand on her firm thigh, hoping she might
say, let's swive first.
"Um," she said. "I suppose. But I can't ride in as if
nothing happened."
I nodded and down the hill we went and right on into
the midst of the loyal cavalrymen. I dismounted by the
largest tent and helped her down. An officer appeared,
a very young one, and she stopped him.
"Thompson, isn't it?" she said.
He nodded and bowed.
"Where is Captain Harrison?"
"Called away, ma'am, some sort of meeting." He glanced
at me and then at her disordered hair and torn
clothes.
"This his tent?"
He nodded and held the flap open for her. I followed
her inside and held her close in the semi-darkness.
"You'd better leave," she said. "I'll think of some
sort of story."
I kissed her again, kneading her rump, tonguing deeply
into her throat.
"I'll stay at the inn, just in case," I said after I
pulled my mouth from hers.
She nodded and looked away.
I pushed my cock down my leg and left.
Several hours later I was enjoying the dead sergeant's
money when one of the tavern girls came and handed me
a message, a folded piece of paper. "Waiting outside"
was all it said.
And she was, cloaked and hooded. We kissed and
grappled our bodies together.
"He won't be back until this Saturday," she said when
her mouth was free. "I told that ensign I did not want
to sleep in a tent."
I brought her in under my arm and took her right up to
the bed I had rented, sure no one had seen her face. I
paid the woman I had hired for the night two shillings
and told her to find another man. She smiled and
kissed me; I smacked her rump. "I'm right next door
t'you all," she said. "If you needs anything special."
By the time I got back to the room, she was completely
bare and under the quilts, waiting for me with a wide
smile. I got out of my clothes and into her arms in
about ten seconds, and we were hard at it in twenty,
making the bed rattle. She had been wonderful in the
carriage, tireless and inventive, but now, in this big
bed, she was a wild thing, insatiable and indomitable.
We made the war and the world vanish in the throes of
the two-backed beast. I did my very best, but ended
begging for quarter, for mercy, for sleep.
She petted my shrunken manhood, kissed its bruised
head and turned her back to me, giving me a sniff of
disgust or regret. I snuggled close, felt inadequate
and we slept, my hand cupping her heavy breast.
I awoke with the young woman shaking my shoulder.
"Hist," she whispered. "He's here, my husband. I heard
his voice outside there." She pointed to the front
window. The sun was up, barely but up nevertheless. It
was as late as I had slept in some time.
I rolled out, fully engorged, my huge horn bobbling
and rearing well before me, gathered up my clothes and
boots and scooted out the door and then into the next
room down the hall. The bar girl I had planned to
roger rolled over, yawned and welcomed me to her small
bed without a question.
At about the time she was gasping as I sank my huge
ram all the way into her well-oiled folds, boots
thumped up the steps and someone pounded on the door I
had recently left.
"Margaret," a man's voice said, and the woman
answered. The bawd beneath me wrapped her legs about
me, and I arched up automatically, driving my shaft
still farther in, getting down to doing what my body
demanded, deep plowing, row after long row, turning
over her flesh, furrow after furrow. We grunted
together, and I broke a sweat.
Loud voices invaded my attention to the pleasurable
task at hand and then the door burst open while I was
reared above the girl on fully extended arms and
hammering my long ramrod into her at better than
double-time.
"This yours?" the uniformed man in the doorway asked
as I missed a couple of beats and the women hammered
my chest and whinnied. He held out my belt and bayonet
while behind him in the hall stood the young woman,
wrapped in her quilt, suppressing a smile as I still
rogered on despite the interruption, my hips serving
the woman automatically with half-foot thrusts.
"Looks like it," I said, feeling my stones begin to
swell and tremble as I rammed away, nearing
fulfillment.
"What was it doing under my wife's bed?" he asked,
shaking the heavy weapon to me.
"Gave to her for protection," I said, grunting with
effort as the girl writhed and bucked on my spear,
gasping. I congratulated myself briefly on the quick
lie, and then returned to the job at hand, ignoring
him as best I could.
"I want to talk to you," he said, closing the door.
I made to pull it out of the wench, but she locked me
in with her strong legs and forced me to finish what
we had so well begun. When I finally stood, well
satisfied, she lay spread-eagled on her rumpled bed, a
smile on her wide face, her groin a swamp.
"Damn that was good," she hoarsely whispered. "You can
come back anytime and bring your long friend with
you."
I got into my clothes and knocked on the door of the
front room.
"Come," said a man's voice and I entered.
The woman was still in bed, the quilt held to her
throat, eyes gleaming.
"Well," he said, still angry, "tell me about
yesterday, about how you come to know this young
woman, my wife here."
Behind him she nodded and smiled.
"Met her on the road," I said, swallowing the 'sir' I
might have said. "Seems her team broke loose and her
driver went after them."
"She told me that," he said. "Go on."
"Then some men, yours I suppose, wearing that uniform
anyway, they came up." I paused and she gave me a
small nod. "She thought they had come to rescue her."
"And?" said the man, "what happened? Go on."
"Well, you aren't going to like this; they attacked
her, and I ran back when I heard her yell. There was a
fight."
"A fight?" he said. "A fight, with my wife in the
middle?"
I nodded and behind him, she smiled.
"It didn't last long." I said.
"Then what?" he asked.
"In the morning," I said, skipping over the most
pleasant part of the story, "we rode on in to your
camp, and last night she came to sleep here. I'm not
sure why, but after that attack I can understand. She
saw me downstairs. I was drinking some, with the bar
girl."
"And you gave her this thing?"
"Yep," I said. "She is awful pretty, you know?"
"I do not believe a word of it, but I'm sending men
back for our carriage. Perhaps they will discover the
truth."
"Tell them to look in the gully," I said. "There's
four bodies they might want to bring back."
"Four?" he said, looking from his wife to me.
We both nodded.
"A big sergeant and three men," I said.
He shook his head and handed me my bayonet.
I stood and buckled it on. "I'll be leaving," I said.
"Wait," he said and went to the window. "Wentworth,"
he called, "bring two men up here."
"Robert," the woman on the bed cried out.
"I intend to find the truth," the young officer said,
turning to face me, his hand on the hilt of a fancy
sword.
"Don't you believe your wife?" I asked, my hand on my
bayonet.
He licked his lips as feet thudded the steps.
"Don't kill him," the girl cried as I drew my weapon.
I hit the man in the jaw with my big blade's handle in
my fist and he was jarred back. I jumped through the
window, slid down the porch roof, landed on my feet
and ran for the shed. I tossed my saddle on my mare,
checked my musket and lit out, not even looking back.
A mile down the dusty road, not hearing any pursuit, I
slowed and let the good horse amble on, blowing hard.
Then I debated what to do. Something called me back. I
knew I should go on and let the two of them make
peace, but it did not feel right. I trotted back
toward the inn wondering why I was doing that.
The room was empty. The bartender made a face at me.
"He hauled her out back. She was crying."
I found them in a stall, led there by the crack of a
whip and the girl's yips. He had her cornered and
stood at the open end, legs spread, a long carriage
whip in his hand. She wore only her shift and stays.
Her forearms, legs, chest and back bore bloody
stripes. Her hair flowed wildly as she jumped back and
forth, trying to dodge his blows.
"Stop that," I yelled, and the man spun and flicked
his whip at me, nicking my forehead as I raised my arm
in defense. I grabbed the end, wound it in, pulled the
handle from him and tossed the whip away. He came at
me with a roar, and I hit him in the face. He sat
down, legs outthrust, blood in his mouth.
"You rogered her, didn't you?" he demanded, wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand.
Behind him the girl shook her curly head and pulled
her shoulder strap back in place, ending a fine
distraction. Her firm breasts were globular and tipped
with cherries.
"Well?" he demanded, spitting, "she's a round-heeled
trickster, isn't she?"
"Your wife," I said, yanking him up to his feet and
pulling his face close to mine, "is as good and brave
a woman as I've ever met. She fought for her honor
when it would have been wise to yield." I shook him
some, dislodging his small wig.
"But she slept with you," he blubbered, "admit it."
"I never talk about such things," I said. "If she was
mine, I'd believe her."
"You can have her," he cried. "Take her away."
"You're a fool," I said pushing him back into the
stall.
He drew his sword with a hissing ring and thrust at my
stomach, jumping forward on his right foot and
slipping in the straw. I moved aside and kicked him in
the knee. He crumpled and I put a foot on his wrist
and disarmed him.
"Don't kill him, please," the young woman cried.
"Please." She grabbed my hand and pressed herself to
me.
"What did you tell him?" I asked.
"The truth, that you slept under the carriage," she
said. "He won't believe me."
I pulled the man up by his coat collar. "It's the
exact truth," I said, happy to be saying it.
She turned to him and held his arm. "Come, come," she
said soothingly. He thrust her aside and ran from the
shed. I let him go, resisted the temptation to take
the girl for a quick roll in the hay, held her briefly
and patted her rump. Then we headed back toward the
inn, she a step behind me on the stones.
Her husband dashed through the back door, a big pistol
in his hand. I spun and tackled the women down to the
dirt as he fired. I believe I actually felt the ball
pass over us. I scrambled to my feet and saw that he
was cocking the other barrel. I drew my bayonet and
charged, weaving slightly across the twenty paces that
separated us, ducking low and hoping. He waited, a
smile on his face, and had me dead in his sights at
only two or three steps when he pulled the trigger.
The pistol misfired and as the pan flashed, my knife
disemboweled him before he fell back against the
doorjamb screaming, his gripping hand filling with his
guts.
His wife came and touched his close-cropped hair and
then held my arm, ignoring the blood dripping from my
big blade.
"He was a fool," I said, enjoying the feel of her, the
warmth.
"Yes," she said, her lips quivering, a tear on one
cheek.
Men from the camp retrieved the body while the girl
stayed in her room. The young ensign asked me a few
questions and then talked with the inn keeper. I went
up the stairs and found her dressed, her hair combed,
quite composed, hands in her lap on top of her laced
stays.
"I'll go back to my own home, to my father's place,"
she said.
"Where's that?" I asked, admiring her coolness as well
as her beauty.
"Oh, twenty-some miles," she said with a very small
smile. "Upriver. If we get started right after they
bring in my carriage, we might get there before dark."
"We might?" I said.
"I doubt it," she said, holding back her smile, "the
roads are so poor."
It took us five days to cover the twenty miles, but we
spent four of those days in a large bed on the second
floor of a stage-line's big inn. We took turns
fetching food and drink and left the room only to
visit the privy or walk, hand in hand, by the stream.
Those days fit the definition of idyll.
Her father was a brisk man of fifty or so who owned
several hundred acres and a dozen adult slaves. She
was welcomed like the prodigal son, and I was fed and
cozened like some sort of hero.
"I never cottoned to that Harrison boy," her father
told me. "Too straight-laced he was. Prissy; you know
the kind."
I nodded and smiled. "Your daughter's a very fine
young woman," I said, "I'm sure she'll find a better
man now."
"Good looking, ain't she?" he said. "A lot like her
ma, God rest her."
"Yessir." I said.
After supper, we parted very politely and courteously.
I went back to the war with real regret.
