Free Wilde, Jennifer by Love's Tender Fury Page B

farmer,
surely not more than twenty. I felt certain he smelled of the barnyard.
    "Look
at 'im," Angie whispered. "Ain't 'e a dandy specimen? I do
declare, I think 'e's givin' me th' eye. 'E is! I wouldn't mind bein' bought
by that 'un, I tell ya for sure. 'Ello, darlin'," she called. "I 'ope
you 'ave somethin' else in your pocket 'sides that pistol."
    The
fanner grinned, delighted with her bawdy comment. Reaching into his pocket, he
pulled out several gold coins, showing them to us.
    "Land
sakes, Marietta, 'e's rich, too! I 'ope you're in a buyin' mood,
sweet'eart. I'm th' best bargain you're ever gonna find—"
    "Shut
up, wench!" one of the guards warned.
    "Go
snatch yourself," Angie told him.
    The
young farmer bellowed with laughter and sauntered off into the crowd. Angie
looked elated, certain he was going to buy her. A large tent had been pitched
at the end of the enclosure for us to use, and she hurried inside to take out
her mirror and brush to do some last minute primping before the auction began.
Their initial curiosity satisfied, several of the other women wandered inside,
too, wanting to get out of the blazing sun. Only a few of us remained outside,
including young Martha Roberts, a fifteen-year-old girl convicted of thievery.
    Pale
and pretty with light-brown hair and haunted blue eyes, Martha had been ill
throughout the sea voyage, a wraithlike creature who rarely spoke. The doctor
who had examined us upon our arrival at the stockade had pronounced her
pregnant, and the girl had dissolved into tears, confessing later on that she
had shared a filthy room back in London with her older brother, that he had
been having his way with her since she was twelve years old. The child would be
his, and she would rather die than bear it. Coleman had had to keep her
confined in a tiny log hut, heavily shackled, to prevent her from taking her
own life.
    Unfettered
now, standing in the blazing sunlight in front of the tent, Martha looked
dazed, as though she had no idea where she was. Someone in the crowd fired a
pistol. The girl jumped, terrified, and then she began to scream hysterically.
Coleman and one of the guards rushed over to her and tried to quieten her.
Martha struggled violently, still screaming, and finally Coleman drew back his
fist and slammed it against her jaw. The girl stumbled backwards, almost
falling. Coleman started to hit her again.
    "No!"
I cried.
    I rushed
over to her, gathering her into my arms.
    Martha
stared up at me dumbly, unable to comprehend what had happened. I knew the poor
child was demented, her mind finally pushed over the edge by all the horror she
had had to endure.
    "Get
away from her, Danver!" Coleman roared.
    "She—she'll
ill. You had no right to hit her like that—"
    "I
said get away from her!"
    He
seized my arm, pulling me away from the girl. I glared at him defiantly, my
eyes blazing. Angie rushed over to Martha, took her hand, and led her into the
tent. Coleman stared at me with flat gray eyes, his face a hard, brutal mask.
    "You've
been asking for it for a long time, Danver. Seems to me you need to be taught a
lesson."
    "Go
to hell!"
    Coleman
flushed, unable to believe his ears. He was accustomed to total obedience, a
brutal tyrant who relished his power and the fear he inspired. He slapped me
across the face so hard that I lost my balance and toppled to the ground. When
I looked up, he was uncoiling the whip he wore fastened to the side of his
belt. It was like a long brown snake slithering on the ground beside me. He
cracked it in the air, smiling when I flinched. I saw him draw his arm back and
heard a loud hissing noise. I closed my eyes bracing myself for the slashing
pain.
    "I
wouldn't, Coleman." The voice was soft and pleasant.
    I
opened my eyes to see a tall blond man in buckskins standing beside Coleman,
holding his arm in a tight restraining grip. Coleman looked startled, then
furious. He tried to pull his arm free. The man in buckskins smiled an amiable
smile and