Chapter 4: Jacob

The door crashed open, wood splintering.

I rolled out from under her, still hard as a rifle barrel but fading fast. She pulled the quilt up, breathing loudly. A lean man in some sort of uniform and cocked hat pointed a Brown Bess at me. His bayonet was still in its scabbard, but the musket was cocked and looked ready to fire. It was very steady in his hands. His eyes looked bloodshot and mean.

"Ah Susan," he said with a sneer, "my dear little wife, you filthy, rutting, turncoat bitch. I heard you were humping the whole German army, but who is this big, hairy stranger with his limp prick in his hand?"

I tried to look small and timid, bent back against the wall, watching him out of the top of my eyes and hoping my shirt tail covered my fading erection.

"Jacob," she said, taking a audible breath and adjusting her shift to cover her nakedness, her mouth swollen from bruises and our fervent kissing. She swung her legs out of the high bed giving him a pleasant view, I'm sure, of her other, equally battered lips.

I slid over toward the hearth where my weapon stood against the end of the bed, keeping my back against the logs, my chest tingling in the cold air and my shrinking member drooping quickly to hide between my thighs. Susan crawled out of bed and took a step toward her dress, dividing his attention. I thought of the pistol and wondered if she would use it.

"Stand still, you randy son of bitch or I'll blow yer damn cods off. I don' plan to wear no horns. Kick that musket over this way." He gestured with his weapon at mine, and Susan inched toward the table. He glanced at her.

"I'm just getting my dress, Jacob," she said calmly. "I'm cold."

"Who the hell are you?" he yelled at me, ignoring his wife. She slipped the pistol out from under her dress, and I kicked my musket to the floor. She was smart enough to use that noise to cock her weapon, but he heard her and swung his head around with his gun still pointed more or less at me.

Susan held the big weapon in both hands, closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The old pistol's pan flashed, but the gun misfired. The man ducked and jumped back, discharging his weapon into the roof. I leapt over the bed, yanked his rifle from his hands and hit him in the belly with the stock and in the face with my elbow, jarring off his hat. He fell to his knees, and I kicked him in the ribs almost breaking my toes. He yelped, and I groaned and hopped a bit. Susan still stood with the big, unfired gun in her hands, chest heaving, looking shocked. I hit her husband in the side of his head with the rifle butt like I was driving a peg, and he fell to the floor, face first, and quivered a couple of times.

"Don't kill him, please," she said. "Don't!"

"Do you think he came alone?" I asked her as she put down the pistol and pulled on her dress while I got my insides calmer.

"I guess," she said, shaking her hair loose. "If somebody was outside, they would have heard the shot."

I put my hand behind her head and kissed her gently. "That was a smart, brave thing to do," I said, feeling her rapid heart beat against my chest.

Chapter 5 »