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Authors: Carolyn Faulkner
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the ready. “Stand down, corporal.” Hannah recognized that tone. She’d thought he’d used it on her exclusively, but it seemed he spoke to everyone like that.
The young soldier did exactly as he was told, saluting profusely and backing himself and the blubbering hotelier out of the room.
Hannah wanted to call them back, wanted to hide behind someone, anyone, rather than face the wrath of the man who claimed to be her husband. She hated herself for being such a weak willed coward, but it appeared she was not as strong as she’d thought she was.
Wolf was pacing back and forth like a caged version of the animal he was named for, but he stopped for just a second, glaring back and her and saying just one heart stopping word. “Strip.”
She knew she couldn’t refuse him. She knew exactly what he’d do if she did. Hannah sighed. She figured she knew what he was going to do even if she did exactly as he said. She’d failed, and gotten herself into an even worse situation than she’d been in before. At least until a few minute ago, she hadn’t shot him.
So she slid off the edge of the bed, slowly, keeping a weather eye on him as he stalked back and forth. He hadn’t hit her with his fists yet, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t. She’d certainly given him provocation enough for it.
Wolf couldn’t believe what had transpired between himself and the woman he was going to be attached to – legally if not emotionally – for the rest of his life. She’d shot him, for God’s sake! The little chit had used his own gun on him and shot him. He could barely believe he’s been so stupid as to leave a loaded gun in the bedroom where he was holding his wife – whom he obviously didn’t trust and rightfully so, it appeared – captive. He wasn’t quite sure whether to be madder at her or himself, but he certainly had enough anger to go around right now for the both of them, and then some.
At least this time she was doing as she was told, though she’d turned primly away from him to do it, facing the bed and working the buttons of her dress with fingers that shook fit to rival the way her arms had shaken while holding the gun on him. He guessed she had a good idea what he was going to do to her for shooting him, and he knew she was right. He was going to whip her butt good.
The thing of it was, that if their situations had been reversed, he would have done exactly what she did – rummaged through the room for anything he could have used to protect himself. At his size, though, he might have tried to take the guard and escape, but she wasn’t likely to be able to overpower even the stripling corporal, so what she’d done was probably what she considered to be her only choice to defend herself against him.
Her dress and petticoat fell to the floor with a soft “flump”, and she stood there in just her chemise and drawers, her shoulders rounded as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. He stopped and watched her as she reached for the buttons on the chemise, then jerked them down to the drawstring waist of the drawers, then back up to the buttons, as if she couldn’t decide which was the lesser of two evils.
It was then that he saw the dark blotches on the front of her chemise, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t like the idea of a woman crying, and for some strange reason Hannah crying was just that much worse to him. Must be because she was his, and he was supposed to prevent her tears, not cause them.
But he was who he was, and the situation was what it was, and there were some things even he couldn’t change. She was his wife, like it or not, and she shouldn’t have tried to kill him. He could hardly ignore the fact that she’d held him at gunpoint, and he wasn’t about to set a precedent in their marriage whereby she thought she could say and do exactly as she pleased – especially not when it involved his own death.
He couldn’t be soft on her. Not now, not for this. “Do you
The young soldier did exactly as he was told, saluting profusely and backing himself and the blubbering hotelier out of the room.
Hannah wanted to call them back, wanted to hide behind someone, anyone, rather than face the wrath of the man who claimed to be her husband. She hated herself for being such a weak willed coward, but it appeared she was not as strong as she’d thought she was.
Wolf was pacing back and forth like a caged version of the animal he was named for, but he stopped for just a second, glaring back and her and saying just one heart stopping word. “Strip.”
She knew she couldn’t refuse him. She knew exactly what he’d do if she did. Hannah sighed. She figured she knew what he was going to do even if she did exactly as he said. She’d failed, and gotten herself into an even worse situation than she’d been in before. At least until a few minute ago, she hadn’t shot him.
So she slid off the edge of the bed, slowly, keeping a weather eye on him as he stalked back and forth. He hadn’t hit her with his fists yet, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t. She’d certainly given him provocation enough for it.
Wolf couldn’t believe what had transpired between himself and the woman he was going to be attached to – legally if not emotionally – for the rest of his life. She’d shot him, for God’s sake! The little chit had used his own gun on him and shot him. He could barely believe he’s been so stupid as to leave a loaded gun in the bedroom where he was holding his wife – whom he obviously didn’t trust and rightfully so, it appeared – captive. He wasn’t quite sure whether to be madder at her or himself, but he certainly had enough anger to go around right now for the both of them, and then some.
At least this time she was doing as she was told, though she’d turned primly away from him to do it, facing the bed and working the buttons of her dress with fingers that shook fit to rival the way her arms had shaken while holding the gun on him. He guessed she had a good idea what he was going to do to her for shooting him, and he knew she was right. He was going to whip her butt good.
The thing of it was, that if their situations had been reversed, he would have done exactly what she did – rummaged through the room for anything he could have used to protect himself. At his size, though, he might have tried to take the guard and escape, but she wasn’t likely to be able to overpower even the stripling corporal, so what she’d done was probably what she considered to be her only choice to defend herself against him.
Her dress and petticoat fell to the floor with a soft “flump”, and she stood there in just her chemise and drawers, her shoulders rounded as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. He stopped and watched her as she reached for the buttons on the chemise, then jerked them down to the drawstring waist of the drawers, then back up to the buttons, as if she couldn’t decide which was the lesser of two evils.
It was then that he saw the dark blotches on the front of her chemise, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t like the idea of a woman crying, and for some strange reason Hannah crying was just that much worse to him. Must be because she was his, and he was supposed to prevent her tears, not cause them.
But he was who he was, and the situation was what it was, and there were some things even he couldn’t change. She was his wife, like it or not, and she shouldn’t have tried to kill him. He could hardly ignore the fact that she’d held him at gunpoint, and he wasn’t about to set a precedent in their marriage whereby she thought she could say and do exactly as she pleased – especially not when it involved his own death.
He couldn’t be soft on her. Not now, not for this. “Do you
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