To Buy A Wife

Chapter 3

As far as husbands went, Lake guessed she could've done worse. She remembered the feel of him on top of her, all muscle. He hadn't turned to fat—yet. The ones who had enough money to purchase a wife were mostly lascivious, old men with only a few teeth. But being young didn't make him different. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her. It was the same way most men had since the summer she'd grown breasts. Of course, most had been older than her father.

There might've been a time, when she was younger, that her so-called husband would've been the type of man her young heart had fantasized about. But that was a lifetime ago, before things changed, before...

He bought you. One of the many reasons she hated the Elders and their laws. Women weren't meant to be bought and bred like cattle, and then made to watch their daughters be bought and sold the same. But change was a long way off. Especially with her in these chains.

What was her so-called husband's name again? Huddon? Mutson? Didn't matter, she already hated him. It was nothing personal. At least it hadn't been until he had tied her to the back of the wagon and made her walk the rest of the way to his home. Neanderthal.

Of course, he had slowed the wagon to a crawl, but that didn't count for much. Neither did his turning around to check on her every couple of minutes. Lake waited for him to twist around and look at her again, then she gave him a glare and spat on the ground.

He quickly faced forward. Good. Let him stew on that. She'd fight him with everything she had left.

Her shoulders slumped. The bone weariness she'd kept at bay, finally caught up with her. Who was she kidding? She had nothing left. He should've just let her die—wished he had. She'd been resigned to her fate. She'd done all she could. Death would've given her the peace she so desperately wanted. But she still lived, and she still breathed. Long ago she had made her decision. She'd left the teachings of her father, left The Way. Had stopped following The Path. Instead, she'd dedicated each beat of her heart to the Rebellion. And now, her fight wasn't over, never would be, until she either died or the New Republic was born.

Death seemed more likely.

Lake stumbled, but caught herself. She was tired. Tired of fighting alone. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten—had to be over a day ago. If she could just rest, maybe get a drink of water, she might be able to think clearly. She might then be able to find her way out of this situation.

Where was the hope that burst forth when she'd first left Portal City and she recognized the mountain range as the same one that bordered her childhood home? She wasn't completely lost. She knew where she was. She had to pull herself together, find the strength. She had to try.

What's-his-name stopped the wagon. Lake waited. That's what she did—she bided her time, waited for the right opportunity. But she'd had her opportunity, and she'd blown it. Killing him hadn't been her objective, more of making him pass-out so she could escape. She just hadn't expected herself to be so weak or for him to be so strong.

No matter, she wouldn't give up. There'd be another opportunity. The Path knew he was dim-witted enough. Who would pay that much money for a wife? When she was stronger she'd try again, and the next time she wouldn't be as nice. She'd use the ax.

What's-his-name seemed to be debating with himself—again. Fine with her, she could wait all day. Well, she could if she sat down. Lake eased herself to the ground, trying not to wince at the tightening in her back. Who would've thought a dirt road would be such bliss? She desperately wanted to allow her eyes to close briefly, but she couldn't afford to be taken off guard.