Carolyn Faulkner - Sold!

Chapter One

Carolyn tugged against the rough, dirty bonds that held her wrists together. Despite the fact that the rope was also only loosely looped around the saddle horn, but there was no give in them at all. They were leaving angry, scratchy red marks in her formerly pristine skin.

They'd been riding for what had seemed like forever for her - and she fancied herself somewhat of a horsewoman. Of course, it didn't help that he was forcing her to ride astride like some hoyden, the stiff leather rubbing obscenely between her legs. She'd tried to loop her leg over the horn to approximate the proper sidesaddle position as closely as she could on this barbaric Western saddle, but he'd pushed her leg back over every time, the last time slapping his palm down hard onto her thigh, even reaching beneath the skirt of the dress she'd insisted on wearing over these scandalous breeches he'd forced her into so that he she had less protection against the sharp sting of his hand as it cracked down onto her leg.

"Stop wiggling," he growled against her ear.

It was abominable how close this gauche, dirty fur trader was to her. He didn't deserve the honor of being ground under her heels, much less hoisting himself up behind her on his horse, his thighs cradling hers, his crotch pressing shamelessly up against her buttocks, because he'd insisted on bunching her skirt up between them. She could feel the animal warmth of him plastered against her back - and she knew it literally was animal warmth, since his entire ensemble seemed to be comprised of various furs of various animals.

If it wasn't so blasted cold - already, and it was only September - she wouldn't have been wearing the coat he'd given her that was made of much the same materials. He'd discarded the gorgeously fashionable one her father had presented her with two years ago, and slapped it out of her hands when she'd tried to rescue it from the pile that was obviously going to be left behind.

She was still trying to deal with her stepfather's betrayal. She'd known that the business hadn't been doing as well as it should have - it was hard to miss, considering that since her mother had died he'd spent the majority of his time either drunk or sleeping. Carolyn had done as much as she could, but since her mother hadn't allowed her to learn anything about Kenneth's business, she was pretty much at a loss.

But she'd never thought he'd sell her into slavery! And at such a shamefully low price! When he'd asked her to accompany him to the town square - such as it was - last night, she was surprised. No woman interested in retaining her virtue ventured outside in Shepherdstown at night, especially not during their pale equivalent of the Rendezvous that happened further east. Once a year, the town was even more overrun with insolent and ill mannered but armed to the teeth traders, drunk on the riches of their labors and unbelievable quantities of alcohol.

But she had assumed that Kenneth would protect her, and he had. Right up to the time he finished squabbling with who she now knew was the slave trader that was going to be conducting the auction that concluded the town's Founder's Day festivities. Carolyn had assumed that he was bargaining for some sort of goods the man had that the store needed.

She had rapidly learn to stop assuming when the smelly man grabbed a hold of her arms, bound them together behind her and threw her into a rickety wagon to await her fate. No amount of calling after Kenneth brought him back to her - in fact, she watched through tears as he walked directly into the saloon to drink away the tidy profit he'd just made.

The slave trader was barely understandable and paid even less attention to her ranting than Kenneth had. Finally, swollen eyed and hoarse to the point of whispering from screaming, Carolyn quieted, huddling in on herself and eventually caving in and using one of the disgusting blankets she found there.

The next day, not a lot past the crack of dawn, which she had never seen before in her life, the auction began, and she had to wait through the whole thing. Apparently, the auctioneer/owner had some small amount of business savvy, because saved the best for last. All of the other women - and the few men - had trudged up the steps and onto the makeshift stage - which also doubled as a gallows, when necessary - without much fuss. But Carolyn threw such a fit she had to be carried on, and all the crowd did was laugh. She knew most of the people there, and wished she could have melted into the floor or at least dropped dead on the spot, but instead her wrists, that were bound behind her, were anchored by a long tether to a bolt in the wooden floor made just for that purpose, and her legs were fitted into the rusty iron shackles that were used for every slave presented there.

Unfortunately, instead of dying outright or at least fainting out of the most mortifying situation of her life, Carolyn blushed so hard she thought she was going to faint and then she realized, to her horror, that she wasn't going to, and the situation just kept getting worse. The owner was doing his little almost unintelligible patter, as he did about every poor wretch he put on the block. "Female. Nineteen." He squeezed her arms, just below the shoulder. "Do a good day's work for ya'." Then laid a hand on each hip. "Got breeders' hips." He paused for emphasis and grinned lasciviously at the crowd. "Virgin, too, her Poppa said." He put the emphasis on the wrong syllable, but apparently everyone knew what he'd was saying by the murmur that rippled through the crowd.

Before she could say or do anything, he had taken out a wicked looking knife and slit the seams of her dress and chemise together, letting the front of it fall to her waist, completely exposing her breasts to the crowd. Then he'd reached over and hefted one of them, squeezing tightly until she cried out. Carolyn was fighting her bonds with everything in her, until she realized that all that did was incite the rabble by making her firm breasts dance before them.

So she stood stock still, but refused to look down at her feet, as the others had. She kept her head high, and, while her cheeks burned with shame, she stared daggers through every man who dared place a bid, constantly trying the strength of the knots at her wrists. She had fed some of them in her own - well, her mother's and Kenneth's - fine parlor. Why, Bud Smith, who was old enough to be her father, put in one bid, and so did Lance Gautier, who was only a few years older than she was and had been her suitor until Kenneth had begun losing money, and she'd begun losing status in the community, despite the fact that they still inhabited the largest house in the community.