Deed to Damnation

Three

"Get out of here, Missy." Henry growled, lowering the poker away from Ireland's hip. "This is between me and my wife. You don't know what you're doing."
"You don't!" Missy spat, the oversized revolver shaking in her small fist.
He narrowed his eyes, watching how she was slowly starting to lose the brave facade already. But he had to hand it to her. He never would have guessed she would disobey him and show up here with a hand cannon. She had always known him for the man he showed her; intemperate, brutal, greedy and hedonistic. It didn't matter that he was putting money away for his women. They were just like his gang. There were rewards for being loyal. But to his dismay, she had also learned his mind to such a degree that she was thwarting his plan to let Ireland know exactly where her place was. Up until meeting his flame haired, stubborn but admirably adaptable wife, Missy never would have even thought to ignore what he told her to do. But here she was.
"Take her down right now!" Missy snapped.
He huffed, leveling a stare so cold, it chilled her to the bone. Even so, she held her ground until Ireland crumbled to the floor at Henry's feet, pulling the dirty rag from her mouth and letting loose a loud sob. Despite her bound wrists, she gathered her discarded gown and hugged it to her body.
"We're gonna all sit and have a chat." Missy said in a shaky voice. "And I ain't taking this gun off of you until we do."

Missy had hung back despite the urging from the others to board the coach to Black Rock. No one could understand why she wanted to stay behind but she was compelled to. Henry's mysterious letters and odd requests had set her on edge. And now as the three of them sat in the tearoom, she was glad she did. Holding a gun on Henry Delarue was no easy task but deciding when she should lower it was going to be even harder.
"When were you going to tell me, Missy?" Henry finally asked after a lengthy, uncomfortable silence.
"Never." She answered. "There's nothing worth telling."
Henry's eyes moved to Ireland who had stopped crying. She was sitting straight up in her chair, still wrapped in her wedding gown, a numb expression on her face.
"So I don't need to be thinking the child she's carrying is Drake's then?" He inquired coldly.
Missy's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. The declaration was so shocking she almost dropped the pistol. She looked to her friend who seemed just as shocked as she was.
"Ireland! Are you with child?" She gasped.
There had been times throughout these months that Ireland had become convinced she could not conceive a baby. Henry had ravaged her on so many occasions, not seeming to care if she became pregnant. There was also the fact that her womanly cycle had become erratic, sometimes skipping months and then showing up unexpectedly and inconveniently most times. She had thought it was from the tumultuous highs and lows that came with being married to a man like her husband. There was nothing steady about that.
Her hands moved to her lower belly hidden beneath the crinolines and silk of her disheveled dress, feeling the slight distension with her fingers. No wonder her corsets had seemed like torture as of late. But still, Joss's cinnamon scones and sweet cream butter had been a staple over the winter months. She had noticed the slight changes to her stomach and the way her breasts seemed fuller but the frigid season made everyone heavier, especially with cooking like Joss's. Was she really going to have Henry's baby?
The idea both frightened and thrilled her. She was going to be a mother! All her life she had never known much about her own mother and had grown up without one. How was she to know what to do? And then there was the fact it was Henry's child and he was sitting across from her, suspicious it belonged to another man.
"I don't know if I am." Ireland answered truthfully. "But if I am, I can assure it belongs to you."
Her tone was frigid as well as the stare she leveled at him. What he had just done was unforgivable and had crushed the delicate trust she had just started to establish. Instead of being excited to tell him he was going to be a father, she feared for the child that may or may not be growing in her belly. Only the doctor would be able to answer that question and as far as she was concerned, he could tell Henry himself.
Henry studied her. He now knew she wasn't lying. What he despised most was that neither one of these women had told him about Drake's impromptu visit and finding out about it through a dreadful, conniving young socialite had infuriated him. He had hoped that Jordan had been lying but apparently she had not been and the thought of Ireland's lips on another man's made him lose his mind enough to punish her brutally for it. He had every intention of doing just that, marking her like he marked his animals. It had brought out the part of him that he was renowned for. He cared little of how ugly it was. As far as he was concerned, she should have known better and told him straight away. The reprimand would have been considerably less damaging. Still, someone was going to pay for it one way or another. That was fact. Right now though, he had to convince Missy to turn over that pistol before she killed someone.
"First things first." He said. "Ireland, go get dressed. We're going to the doctor right now."
"At least it's not to treat a burn!" She hissed, standing and gathering her bunched gown.
Henry stood abruptly, crossing the room in three long strides and before Missy could even react, he swiped the pistol from her hand as if she was no more than a toddler holding a piece of candy.
He turned to Ireland.
"You are quite lucky it's not." He snarled. "In my opinion, you would have done just fine. I would have thoroughly enjoyed seeing my mark on you."
"My wedding band and my vows are enough of a brand!" She snapped. "You've done enough damage today, Henry."
And he had. She had really thought he had changed and that maybe she had been able to soften him. But he was too hardened, too unstable to know love or trust and he had just exhausted any empathy or compassion she had come to hold for him. He had meant to hurt her in a fit of unfounded rage.
"And you!" He barked at Missy. "You sit there and don't move. I have half a mind to use that iron on you. Point a gun at me? Really?"
He had raised the pistol and pointed it directly at Missy's face. She shrunk back, flinching as she stared down the black hole of the barrel.
"Don't like it much, do you?" He remarked, pulling it back and tucking into the back of his pants. "We're all going to the good doctor together."