1841- Van Diemen's Land

The whip uncoiled its tendril finger, cracked like a lightning strike and bit into her shoulder. Jessica jerked forward, her hands sinking into the soft earth. She sneered at the wet ground, clenched her fingers around a pad of muddied grass and pulled.

Finding the strength to stand she turned to face him and then threw the sodden mess as hard as she could. Better dead than in chains.

Pead, the muster master lurched to the right. He straightened in his saddle, swept his long dark hair back over his head, and then nudged his horse forward yanking hard on its reins to circle her.

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he shuffled the whip from one hand to the other before leaning toward her from his saddle. "You need to move faster or my strap will kiss your arse next time."

Drenched from the downpour, Jessica struggled to stay on her feet as she stared up at him in defiance.

"Move." Pead's horse jittered backwards and forwards. Its muscles flinched causing raindrops to shimmy over its beautiful chestnut coat.

No longer afraid, Jessica stood her ground as he came closer.

"Remember, woman, it's not I who is in chains." Pead curled his lip and raised the whip above his head as if to strike adding, "Any more mud throwing and I promise you I won't hesitate to use this with full force."

She covered her face with her hands and hunkered down to protect herself as a male voice hollered, "Mr. Pead, sir!"

The muster master let the whip drop, stood in his saddle, turned and looked to where Murchison led more convicts further down the slope. "What do you want, man?"

"The creek, sir, shall we wade through it or find a place to cross, sir?"

"We wade through it, you fool. The house would be no more than an hour from that side." Pead jabbed the heels of his boots into the animal's gut.

Jessica watched it lunge forward and down the slope, hooves sinking deep into the wet earth.

*

An icy chill swept through Jessica's body as she sank into the water. It sucked the breath from her lungs and eased the scorching pain from her shackles to then gnaw at her bones. She dragged her body through the long grass and weeds clawing her legs and snaring the fetters on her ankles.

"Get your rear end moving, woman!" Pead plunged his stallion into the creek. Jessica gasped as water gushed over her face. She lost balance and tumbled face first, the weight of her restraints dragging her down into the muck and reeds. As she tried to find a foothold a hand grabbed her hair. Searing pain ripped through her skull. Jessica gasped and spluttered as she was pulled to the surface.

Pead took hold of her arm, dragged her through the current and tossed her onto the bank. She scrambled to her knees, clutching the grass and mud as she continued to cough and fight for breath, her body caught in a violent spasm as it expelled the fluid she had swallowed.

"Get up!"

The whip caught her on the backside. She jerked forward, swinging her head around to see him leering down at her body where the thin fabric of her dress clung to it.

"You keep this up woman and you'll feel something other than my whip on your arse."

Hate burned in Jessica; it gave her the power to stand.  Men in power were all the same. One day every man who'd controlled her would get his comeuppance. She'd make sure of that, but for now, she was too tired and weary to do anything more than scowl at him.

He urged the horse towards her, dismounted and took hold of her chin. "What's that look about, eh?" Pushing hair from her face he smirked. "I know what you're thinking but I'm far from being dead." Pead let his eyes scan her body, grinned again and with a chuckle added, "Far from dead, my girl, so you best be careful because I might just show you how alive I am." He shoved her face away, mounted his horse and called, "Murchison! Deal with her!"

Watching Pead's stallion labour up the rise Jessica wiped the back of her hand across her face to remove the feeling of his touch.

"You better do as he asks or you might find yourself in a spot of bother."

Scowling up at Murchison, she hauled her chains with her up the hillside.

*

Jessica tried to focus on the building in front of her. A frisson of cold rippled through her body as she lifted her hand and wiped beads of sweat from her upper lip. Her vision blurred, she swayed and then closed her eyes to force the light-headedness to allay. Wrapping her arms around her body to still her trembling hands she took a deep breath. Burning pain shot through her chest and up along her airway sending her into a fit of coughing. When the spasm was over, she lifted unsteady fingers to her mouth, wiped away the spit and studied the house.

On a different day, this place may have looked welcoming. Today, however, it loomed large and ominous. The trees surrounding it creaked and strained in the wind and rain. Branches danced with demons, tipping and striving to reach each other in a satanic ballet.

Two men stood by the gate of the courtyard. Jessica once more closed, and then opened her eyes in a vain effort to push aside illusory images. Her eyelids drooped; she reeled, held her ground, and then lifted her face to the wind.

"Come on."

Someone tugged on her arm. A blur of black hair moved in front of her so she followed.

*

The warmth of the stable and the smell of fresh hay lent an inviting atmosphere. Jessica tried to clear her head. A fire was being lit in the furnace. She shivered, wiped fine droplets of perspiration from her swollen lip and looked around.

She could smell hay. Yes. She smiled and nodded; Wilbur liked hay. The dog was always digging in it for rats.

"Girly."

Pressure on her shoulder chased Wilbur away. Jessica spun, staggered and was held steady by fingers that belonged to another.

"You gotta stand still."

Rancid breath warmed her cheek. She nodded and clung to her torso as she tried to focus on what was going on around her.

A man was inspecting them. She watched him through the hair hanging over her face. Bile brewed in her stomach. He was going to touch her. She clenched the coarse fabric of her sodden garment and waited.

As he reached out Jessica's heart thrummed to the beat of abhorrence. She struck out with her hand. Pain seared her face. She found herself on the ground, clawing at her throat in a desperate effort to breathe.

"You bitch." Pead hauled her to her feet, grabbed a clump of her hair and yanked her head back. "You don't hit any man."

Jessica's ribs beat a rapid pace as she wheezed in air. Pead let her go and stepped back giving the stranger full access to her. She held her body once more and stared at the ground.

Taking hold of her chin the stranger swept tresses away from her face. She pulled her head back but he held her a little tighter. Jessica closed her eyes, too weary to fight and when she opened them again, she focused on his white shirt and the scratch mark she had left on his neck.

She expected him to force her to look straight at him but he said nothing. Jessica glanced at his features to see he was looking at her body. Hate curdled in her stomach, its acid burning deep within. When he lifted his eyes to her face, she looked away clenching her teeth to prevent spitting on him.

His warm thumb traced her lip, taking her blood with it; fingers swept along her jaw until his palm cupped her bruised cheek wiping away tears there.

"If I see you hit one of these women again, while you are on my property, it will be my whip you answer to, Pead."

Jessica shifted her gaze to see him staring down the muster master. When he looked back at her she closed her eyes and concentrated on his touch. Gentle and warm. She was so cold. He steadied her trembling jaw, parted her lips with his fingers, and then released her before turning away.

I hope you all enjoy this book. It is the very first book I ever wrote so I wanted to share it with you. Thank you for reading. I can't express how much all your support is appreciated. I'd love you to vote, comment and even follow if you'd like.

Copyright © 2018 Donna Fieldhouse. All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Characters and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblances to actual events or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.